#my husband from day 1 finally getting the love and attention he deserves

[random-stardew-panda]

||•~The Worst Thing~•||

Harvey (SDV) x reader(female)

Warnings: Language, Violence, Death, Nightmares

Word count: 2.6k

Helloooo everyone! New blog dedicated to my rekindled Stardew Valley obsession. First fic obviously must go to my beloved doctor, you will be seeing him here a lot. I hope you enjoy and hope you don't hold my terrible grammar and probably terrible spelling against me 😅 I have no excuse. English is all I speak and I do it terribly.

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You’ve had an exhausting day, it was the end of the season and you had been fishing all day for the last fish you needed for the community centre and the ones you needed just were not biting.

“Finally!!” You squealed as you reeled up the last fish you needed, sighing loudly you stretched your limbs and groaned as your joints crack softly. It was so much later than you realised, it was already dark out.

You wandered through the town square, eyelids drooping, trying to stay awake when you passed the calendar and help wanted board and your eyes shot open as you rushed over and let your finger scroll over the date and you curse yourself. You had accepted a quest from Clint a week ago to kill 50 Slimes you hadn’t gotten around to finishing it, too busy trying to finish these fishing bundles, today was the last day left! You let your forehead fall against the wall as you look down at your watch, 7pm, you could finish and get home in time surely? You only had 7 left to kill, easy work.

“Harvey is always upset when I get home late…oh but I promised Clint. Uhg…one more late night won’t kill him, I’ll just give him some extra kisses. He can’t stay mad at me.” You giggled and slowly pushed yourself off of the wall and started making your way to the mountains and down into the caves. The trail to the caves felt extra long tonight, you splashed your face in the lake trying to wake yourself up a bit before you entered the caves.

You slash at the monsters in the cave, stumbling at the force behind your swing, you were panting and clinging to the wall of the cave. Maybe this wasn’t the best idea after all…You felt so, so tired…No. No! You only had one more left. You glance down at your watch, 12am…damn it really was getting late.

“One left. One more. I got this…I got this…” You mumble to yourself, repeating the sentiment that you could do this as you start climbing down the ladder, using the inside of your elbow, squeezing the ladder rungs between your forearm and bicep to help support your weary muscles as you climb down, shaking a little bit, two steps from the bottom you lose your footing and slip off the ladder.

“AH!” Your body hits the floor and your head bounces off the ground, you squeeze your eyes shut and lift a shaky hand to your bleeding head, the room feels like it was spinning. “Ow…” you lay there flat on your back on the ground for a moment staring up at the ceiling as a ringing filled your ears, it was at this point you hear the familiar squelching sound of slimes approaching.

With great effort and loud groans you push yourself up onto your hands and knees and are met with 5 slimes, using your sword to push yourself up to your feet you lunge at one of them slashing it in half, your vision is spinning and everything is blurry and out of focus you were cursing yourself, this had been a horrible idea. With every slash at the creatures you staggered trying to catch yourself, every hit from the monsters was causing worse aches in your muscles, cuts and bruises littered your body and you were getting to a point where you had embedded your sword into the ground using it to keep yourself upright leaning on it more than actually attacking the monsters, you desperately tried to kick the slimes away and with the hand that wasn’t white knuckling your sword you tried to swat away the insects cutting into your flesh with their sharp claws. The few slimes left leap up attacking you, smashing into your chest the sudden force knocks you back to the floor, you desperately try to reach out and grab your sword, your hand sliding down your sword slices your palm open as you topple over your head once again hitting the hard ground of the cave, you fall unconscious.

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Linus had seen the farmer go into the mines hours ago but he hadn't seen her leave yet, the farmer always took the path past his tent through the back of the mountains to get back to the farm late at night. He was getting anxious it was almost 2am he had a terrible feeling something was wrong. Linus walked over to the adventures guild and started pounding on the door. After several moments the door was yanked open and a very disgruntled Marlon was standing infront of Linus.

“What?!” Marlon growls a deep frown set in his features.

“I think the Farmer is in trouble. She is still in the mines…”

Marlon groans and turns back into the guild, leaving the door open as he reaches over the counter and pulls his sword up into his arms. He walks out of the guild, pushing past Linus, slamming the door behind him.

“That kid is going to be the death of me…let's go then.” Marlon sheaths his sword and rubs his forehead.

The two men head into the mines, every level was littered with dead creatures and exposed ladders, the farmer had definitely been here. They made their way down more levels of the mines.

“Oh Yoba!!” Linus yells as they round a corner and are met with an unconscious farmer being smothered by creatures, cave insects, slimes, even a stray cave crab was slashing at their defenceless body.

“Well fuck.” Marlon unsheathed his sword and starts slicing at all the creatures making quick work of them. “Get the farmer!!” He yells at Linus as he brings his sword down piercings the crab.

Linus grabs the farmer under her arms and starts dragging her body towards the ladder leaving a trail of blood in the dirt. Marlon quickly grabs the farmers sword off the ground and rushes over to the ladder. Marlon grabs the farmers legs and they quickly climb up to a level with an elevator. As soon as Marlon saw the elevator he grabs the farmer off of Linus and starts carrying her by himself.

“Is she okay? She doesn't look like she is breathing!” Linus is fussing over the unconscious farmer the entire time they are in the elevator. A loud ding sounds and the doors open to the main level of the mines. Marlon sighs with relief.

“Linus. Go get Robin to call the farmhouse. Call Harvey. Get him to the clinic. Tell him Y/n needs him NOW!”

Linus rushes out of the mines sprinting towards Robins house. Marlon follows behind him carrying the limp unconscious body of the farmer in his arms. Marlon kept glancing down at the farmers face he was trying so desperately not to show how alarmed he was. Everyone else was going to freak out someone needed to be to be calm and reasonable but tears filled his eyes as he thought about how injured his dear friend was, was she going to make it…? He shook his head and kept heading out the mountains. No, he couldn’t think like that, he was going to get them to the clinic in time and Harvey was going to save her.

Marlon was rushing past Robins house, the door was wide open, he was the chaos inside, Linus and Robin were practically screaming into the phone as they saw Marlon and the injured farmer rush past the house down towards the town. Maru was pushing past everyone in the hallway, shoving them out of the way as she rushed out to catch up to Marlon.

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*RINGGG RIIINGGG RINGG*

Harvey groaned and rolled over in bed to hold his wife and was suddenly aware of the absence of the second person in his bed he frowned and rubbed his eyes gently tapping around on the bed trying to find her.

*RINGGG RINGGG*

Harvey groans and flings his hand over to the nightstand and blindly feels around until the phone is in his hands.

“Hello?” His voice was gruff and tired.

“Harvey you need to get to the clinic now!!” He was met with Robins frantic voice and he sat up finally starting to wake up.

“Robin? Calm down tell me what is happening?”

“HARVEY NOW YOU NEED TO GO NOW. IT Y/N!” Robin sounded like she was about to burst into tears.

Harvey’s heart stopped, he looked up at the clock on the wall, 2am? She wasn’t home…? His mind was running through every single injury she had ever gotten. Every operation he has had to preform. Every single time he scolded her for staying out so late, for being so reckless. A horrible feeling of dread was starting to choke him.

“I’m leaving right now.” Harvey hung up the phone and flung the blankets of off him.

Harvey was practically flying out of the house, stumbling over his own feet as he grabbed a coat off the hanger and slid his shoes on without even tying the laces. He slammed the door behind him so hard it shook the wall slightly as he ran out of the farmhouse.

Harvey was sprinting towards the town square, towards his clinic, he was fumbling with the keys in his coat pocket. The cold night air was making his tears feel cold. By the time he reached the clinic he was out of breath and trying his hardest not to breakdown but his mind was racing with every horrible outcome. What kind of shape would she be in when she got here? He was pacing around the clinic preparing everything he thought he might need.

It took 10 minutes for Marlon to reach the clinic, Maru rushed in first and held the door open, the sound of the bell dinging caused Harvey to stop dead in his tracks and stare teary eyed at Maru, who looked equally distressed.

“H…Harvey…she isn’t breathing…” Maru has tears in her eyes.

Marlon entered the clinic holding the farmers limp body and he looked like he was about to start shaking and crying. Marlon places the farmer down on an examination table Harvey had already prepared. Harvey was looking wide eyed at Maru for a moment before he rushes over to the table and tries to take his wife’s pulse but he can’t find one, tears are streaming down his face as he stares at his wife, her bruised cut up body laying there in front of him. Maru was softly crying and Marlon was leaning in the corner of the room with an unreadable expression.

“No. No she isn’t…She can’t be.” Harvey climbs up on the table and starts doing CPR.

“Harvey.” Maru steps closer to him but he doesn’t stop, he leans down pressing his lips to his wife breathing air into her lungs.

“Wake up…wake up!” he is pushing down harder against her chest.

“Harvey.”

“NO! SHE IS OKAY. WAKE UP!” Tears are rolling off his cheeks as he keeps giving her chest compressions, leaning down trying desperately to force air into her lungs.

“HARVEY!” Maru yells at him with tears streaming down her face.

“NO SHE CAN’T BE. SHE…she can’t…” His compressions slow down.

“Harvey…” Maru puts a hand on his arm urging him to get down and he shoves her hand away.

He leans down collapsing onto his wife’s body and starts sobbing, he clings to her, wrapping his arms around her as tight as he can.

“Harvey…man you have to stop…” Marlon grabs Harvey’s shoulder and tries to pull him off.

“GET OFF OF ME!” Harvey sobs trying to shove Marlon away.

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Harvey shoots straight up in bed he tried to scream it came out as a strangled wail his voice cracked, his eyes were filled with tears. He was gripping at his heaving chest, gasping desperately for breath. His eyes were darting around the room as he struggled to breathe.

“Harvey…?” You softly whisper as you sit up in bed and place a hand on his arm softly, looking up at him with sleepy eyes you find his hand covering his mouth as he sobs, wide eyed and straight ahead.

“Harvey?! Are you okay? Sweetheart what happened…what's wrong??” You sit up higher on the bed and place one hand on his chest and the other gently on his cheek rubbing your thumb softly over his face whipping away the tears that were streaming over his cheeks.

“H…Harvey..? What's wrong talk to me what happened..? Harvey darling…?” Your voice was shaking a little full of concern

He doesn't even speak as he jerks forward and wraps his arms around you pulling you tightly against his chest as he cries hard into your shoulder

“oh!…Harvey…” you wrap your arms around his head holding him against you, gently running your fingers through his hair softly scratching at his scalp “shhh….shh it's alright sweetheart…it's okay shhh I'm right here it's okay…” his grip on you tightened clinging to you like you were about to disappear, like his arms were the only thing holding you to the earth.

“You were gone…” his voice cracks as he whispers softly continuing to cry into the crook of your neck. “You were…gone and I couldn't save you. I couldn't…” he is gasping for air as he sobs

“hey...hey shhh breathe…breathe I'm right here. I'm right here okay? I'm not gone. I am right here, you have me in your arms, see?” You squeeze him a bit tighter before cupping both his cheeks and lifting his head in your hands so he can look into your eyes

“You were gone y/n…you were g…gone…” he is clinging to you tighter it was a bit uncomfortable but you didn't say anything “You were dea-” he gasps and more tears fill his eyes as he looks into your face “You were dead! You…you were dead in my arms and I couldn't do anything to save you. You were in the mines and I failed you and you were gone. You were gone and you weren't ever coming back.”

You are running your thumbs over his cheekbones as you lean forward and softly kiss him.

“Harvey. I am right here. You need to take a breath and calm down, you are getting yourself all worked up. I am right here. I am right here. Take a breath honey…” you press another more chaste kiss to his lips before pulling him back into a tight hug.

“You're safe..?” He whispers quietly.

“I'm safe.”

“…You aren't going to leave…?”

“Harvey sweetheart. I'm right here and I'm never leaving you okay? Never. I'm staying here with you forever.”

“…P…promise…?” He sniffles quietly as his tears slowly stop.

“Harvey look at me. Hey look at me. I promise you. I promise I am not leaving. I know I'm a little…uh…reckless in the mines sometimes and I'm so sorry I didn't know it was upsetting you this much. I'll be more careful. I promise. Come back to sleep…” you softly rub his chest “I promise I'll be here in the morning too.” You kiss his cheek as he pulls you down onto his chest, holding you tight against his body, he sighs deeply as you snuggle up with him.

“I love you so much My Love…you mean the world to me.” Harvey sighs quietly as he squeezes you tighter. You kiss his cheek a few times softly rubbing your nose against his jaw.

“I love you Harvey. Always.” You softly trace invisible patterns over his chest as he slowly drifts off to sleep, you stay up a while after he falls asleep making sure he sleeps soundly. His arm draps loosely over you even as he sleeps he wants to feel you close to him.

“Goodnight Harvey...” You kiss him one last time, smiling softly and put your head down on his chest letting yourself finally fall back asleep.

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You can check out my other non stardew related stories at @random-writing-panda

[wutheringcaterpillar]

Domesticity Series Part 1: The Beginning

Summary: Being the only one seeming to notice William’s ptsd, he realizes that his feelings from the past may be the answer to his future when you come to his rescue.

warnings: depictions of ptsd, scenes from the movie, insecure william, trauma, lies, just overall William needs love and you are there.

All the small talk and music in the room stopped abruptly, catching everyone’s attention.

“Now why would you turn that off, do you not like that silly old song?” Vera snickered, completely oblivious to her husband’s struggle as she was too intwined dancing with the poet whom you’d known to have slept with her while William was away.

It was a shame, William was always a loving, gentle, respectful man that deserved all the kindness, all the sympathy in the world. If only his wife could see in him what you did. She merely watched him come back a broken man yet still found the audacity to conversate and be friends with not a man but a boy with an ego the size of the planet whom she had an affair with right in front of his face.

“Thank you.” William finally spoke from where he was standing against the counter, his knuckles turning back to their normal shade as he released his grip on the wooden surface.

Vera turned, finally looking his way like an utter bimbo, completely oblivious of the fact William’s mind was rotting every singular day, even when he’s asleep from what he had partaken in during the war.

Having endless flashbacks being caused by small triggering factors. He felt as if he were an outcast, still struggling to find his way back to a normal routine. It hurt him immensely that other peoples lives including his wife just moved forward and he was stuck at the bottom of this endless pit of hell. They’d never understand and she’d never make an effort, making him believe she just wanted him for money, surely not love.

He glanced toward you once more, nodding his head in sincerity that you noticed. That’s all he ever wanted from his wife, but then again her wants weren’t anything like his.

He did always think you were quite beautiful, the shyness and humbleness always held an attraction to him, and you were always very kind.

“Well I- I guess I’ll get dinner on the table then.” She stuttered, walking awkwardly between the two of you feeling out of place. She recognized that look, his blue eyes fixated on you from time to time even when you weren’t looking. That’s exactly what she did with Dylan. 

~

The sound of multiple gunshots scared you out from the deep slumber you were in. When you heard Vera yelling outside, attempting to convince William to go back in the house, you knew what he must’ve found out. The poor man’s head was all over the place, feeling like he had risked his life for his country and a woman that did not love him how he loved her. Living in complete turmoil not knowing if he’d survive to see another day, and he wished he hadn’t, he really did.

Scrambling out of bed you quickly fastened your robe, heading toward the house of misery as you liked to call it.

When you approached the door, the sound of the rifle echoed through the atmosphere, it was then you realized you would not stand there, and allow William to stoop to their level. 

Walking into the home, Vera was to your right, hands covering her mouth in disbelief as she finally shut up, seeing the meltdown her husband has been having, seeing that he was finally snapping like a small twig under the feet of poor excuses of human beings.

“How can you just stand there? As if everything is alright? Don’t you care?” Dylan’s wife stared longly at him with her tear stained face, confused and too frightened to say anything.

“Your husband and my wife? Rowatt isn’t even mine, they’ve been lying to our faces.” William stood there distraught, a broken down man who had never felt so alone, so heartbroken. Tears rolled down your cheeks effortlessly not only for him but for Dylan’s wife. As of the moment it was clear she didn’t know of the affair when she took a glance of utter betrayal toward Vera with her bloodshot eyes.

The sound of a child crying in the other room echoed through the silent house, but it didn’t seem to phase him.

“William?” You spoke ever so softly, barely moving a muscle as you didn’t want to scare him or make him believe you meant any harm.

Your voice seemed to be the only one he listened to.

Turning his head slowly, hands still wrapped around the gun, Vera was taken aback at how easily his attitude had changed, like the flip of a switch just from the sound of your voice.

“Listen to my voice, alright?” He nodded, gulping back the fear and anxiety, his anger simmering down like the flame of a cigarette.

Noticing the shift in his gun, his grip loosening, Vera lunged to grab the weapon from him until you shot daggers into her unfaithful eyes, daring her to even touch him. Backing away, not wanting anymore trouble she excused herself outside once realizing the hypnotizing effect you had on William, realizing she could never handle him with such care the way you did.

Cupping his cheeks, your forehead pressed against his, reaching for his shaking hand settling it upon your chest where your heart lay. “Do you feel that William?” He nodded once again, his breathing becoming more steady with each passing second.

“My heart beats for you. It always has and always will. Please come home with me. The screaming child means you no harm, he needs his mother, just like I need you. The longer you hear the screaming, the longer you will experience traumatic effects from the war. Please, let’s go back to my house.” Almost instantly, the wounded solider fell into your touch, his head nuzzling into the warmth of your neck, needing to be closer to the woman who brought him so much comfort, so much love without once caring what others may have thought.

He began to weep into your chest, clutching onto your soaked clothes for dear life, dropping the gun onto the floor. Dylan and his wife stay staring, still frightened to move, the sod of a poet disgusted you, the way he smirked like he had finally one his true prized possession, the lovely Vera.

Putting his arm over your shoulder, you picked up his gun from the floor to ensure the others would not take his firearm that he owned before walking him to your house.

~

He had calmed down once he was away from everyone, just alone with you. You had seated him in the kitchen, insisting that he eat something, even if it was small and grabbed him a blanket from the living room sofa. He didn’t hesitate to wrap the warm fabric around his trembling, frigid body, nodding to you gratefully. 

He was almost too stunned to speak and didn’t know where to start on how grateful he was for you. The moonlight shimmered in your hair, his eyes fixated on every step you took while he pondered and took a breath before speaking.

“I don’t even know where to begin to thank you. You were always such a genuine, kind-hearted girl and- and I’ve always had a feeling deep within my heart that I was with the wrong woman.” Carrying over his cup of tea and a plate of graham crackers, you sat beside him brushing his hair back to reveal his uncannily beautiful face. 

He was a damaged man, and you were a strong woman, willing to make any sacrifice for him, and his injured soul. William needed love, he needed to know that he isn’t hard to love.

“William, you don’t have to thank me. I can assure you those bastards don’t deserve you or the love you so willingly gave. It angered me, and saddened me to see them take advantage of you and I want you to know you mean so much more to me than you could ever comprehend. I’ve sort’ve always loved you. Now please eat.” He followed your instructions, and to his surprise you made his favorite tea, adding just the right amount of honey and sugar. You stayed seated, sipping your own cup, pulling a book to read to him. It was a love story, about a man who grew up without a family, and a woman that was independent and believed in equality. William couldn’t help but notice the similarities between your own lives. Every word, every annunciation, and the soft, adoring tone of your voice had him feeding and listening intently to every word, even when you stuttered or mispronounced a word he found it adoringly cute. 

Closing the book, once you finished the chapter, you settled it soundly back in its spot in the corner of your table, realizing William had finished his tea and crackers.

“Do- do you mind if I stay with you tonight?” His eyes scanned the floor In embarrassment, causing you to take gentle hold of his hand, brushing your fingers over his wounded skin.

“William, I wouldn’t love anything more. Come.” You stood up, and walked him to your room. He felt out of place being in your private area but when you padded the mattress, he took the hint that it was okay for him to sleep beside you.

“Can- can I take off my clothes. It’s quite warm in here and my clothes are still wet but I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” He stood awkwardly on the other side of the bed, glancing around unable to make eye contact with you. He didn’t want to scare you or think he’d take advantage of you in any way.

“Of course. That’s alright.” After asking once more, he shed himself of his clothes, deciding to stay in just his gray short-sleeve and underwear.

Taking his side of the bed, the subtle cinnamon smell of your belongings brought a strong comfort to him, and he nuzzled his head into the soft pillow. When you turned the light off, William lay with his back to you facing the wall. He wished he could kiss you, he was beyond grateful for all you’ve done and was very hesitant, he didn’t want you to kick him out, but you were thinking the same thing as you stared at his muscular back.

“William?” He turned around to face you, his blue eyes still finding someway to shine in the darkened room. “Are you alright?”

“Kiss me, you fool.” Slowly, he moved closer toward your body, his hand gliding over the delicate skin of your neck as he pressed his lips against yours. The moment fully sinking in that he did indeed marry the wrong woman. He had never kissed someone where it felt so right in an instant, it felt like an electric current was moving through his veins. Your lips were very soft, almost angelic like, you kissed him with such fragility and patience, not wanting the moment to end. Tracing your hands behind his neck, you deepened the kiss, pulling him against your body. Needing to taste more of him, your tongue delve into him with grace, skimming over his. He tasted of honey and cinnamon, such an inviting taste, so magnetic and alluring. His mind was swirling in every direction and for some reason he felt closer to you in such a short amount of time than he had ever felt with Vera.

Something about you just felt so right, William was unable to break away from your velvet lips, taking much enjoyment in the silk, smooth feeling of your tongue and how you tasted of cherries and rum. This was somewhere he wanted to stay, ignoring the sound of Dylan and Vera arguing outside the house as his lips spread into a wide smile, finally feeling like he had found a home and a future wife to love him whole. As far as he was concerned Vera was history, especially since he found out Rowatt wasn’t his, he found no reason for him to need to stay, but he was determined to take things slow as a love like your was much too fragile, and difficult to find. He wanted to enjoy every second with you, and he vowed to himself, he would be the man for you.

Falling asleep in his arms, you fell asleep with a warm smile on your face, the fluttering beat of your heart being held purely in his hand and his only.

[magnetarmadda]

Happy @jonsimsandcats day! I'd wanted to write a new fic for today, but alas, the chronic illnesses are Illnessing, and so instead, I have for you a small collection of ideas @artificialdaydreamer and I have dreamt up and some snippets to accompany them. They are: 1. Sasha the comforter, 2. Sasha gets a new cat tower, and 3. Sasha can talk (under the cut)

You can find the published Sasha cat au fics on ao3, and I hope more will join them soon!

1. Sasha the comforter

Jon's had a bad week, really. The whole thing could go in the bin, but it was today in particular that made things seem so grim. How does someone get over an apocalypse? Jon still doesn't know, and whenever his students make mention of their scant memories of the experience, his guilt climbs high into his throat and makes a home there. Sasha makes a small chirping noise as they near the front door, and he offers her a small pat as he reaches for his key. The door closes behind him, he sets his bag down, he feeds Sasha and puts her on the floor, and then he's suddenly in his bed, crying. It's been happening more and more lately, which is supposedly a good thing, according to his therapist. But that doesn't stop the guilt--the guilt for freeing the Fears, for saving himself and Martin, for starting to be happy. And talking to Martin about this is very hard, because Martin doesn't believe the damning of an untold number of souls is really Jon's fault. It is Jon's fault, of course, but he appreciates that Martin's love convinces him otherwise. He really does, but it's usually better to have this self-pitying cry before Martin gets home. Sasha barrels into the room, full speed ahead, and climbs into his lap, and isn't that a prime example of the love, kindness, and happiness he doesn't deserve? "Sasha, no," he says softly, rubbing his nose on his sleeve as he gently pushes her away with the other hand. "Sasha, you're too little, I'll hurt you." She gives a tiny but ferocious meow and leaps into his lap again, this time climbing his shirt and making her home in his pocket again, purring so hard, he can feel the reverberation in his chest. He pauses, his sobs temporarily stopped in confusion and heartbreak, then says, "I know you want to help, but I don't want to squish you, darling." "MEOW!!" "Okay okay!" And he's laughing now, tears streaming down his cheeks, but somehow, the guilt feels a little lighter.

2. Sasha gets a new cat tower, and she's adorable

"Jon, that's not really going to fit in our flat," Martin says, but he's laughing. He's just gotten home from the shops, and Jon is almost entirely through building Sasha's new cat tower. "Martin, my love, it's already fitting in the flat," he says without emotion, gesturing to the obvious piece of furniture in their living room. "Not very well," his husband says, still laughing. "I'm not sure where you and I are supposed to sit or stand." Jon refuses to acknowledge that, instead placing the final flower bed on the top of the last tower and beginning the process of screwing it into place. He says, "You ordered this one, not me." Sasha, as always, has impeccable timing, and chooses this moment to venture out from the bedroom to survey her new throne, interrupting Martin before he tries to protest his online shopping choices. She pauses to let Martin bend down to pet her and offer her some sweet words before she makes her way to the new cat condo. She sniffs around the bottom very deliberately, taking each piece in turn, before she rapidly climbs the middle column, right up to where Jon has finished assembling it. "Does it meet your standards, my darling?" She bumps his hand for attention, and then flops onto her tiny side, emitting a little squeak and rubbing her face on a flower petal. "I think it does," Jon says to Martin, sweaty from the effort of building the tower but extremely pleased.

3. Sasha can talk...sort of. This last one doesn't have any real writing attached to it yet, but I love the idea so much, so here you go

Sasha's a little older now, and Jon learns that actually yes he can talk to her. It starts off small, where it seems more like she and Jon are having conversations where he's speaking aloud and she's meowing back. Then one day, he actually hears her answer a question as "No" and goes "MARTIN DID YOU HEAR THAT SHE SAID NO!" Martin: "Uh, she meowed?" Then it builds up to where, as she grows over a few months, she's much like a toddler in that her speech capabilities also grow. "The fucking Eye is useful for something here at least," Jon grumbles. "I love you, Dad," Sasha meows back, and Jon's eyes tear up

[rosethornewrites]

Fic: a pool of light, ch. 3

Relationships: Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī/Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn, Jiāng Chéng | Jiāng Wǎnyín & Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn, Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn & Wēn Qíng, Niè Huáisāng & Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn

Characters: Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī, Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn, Wēn Qíng, Granny Wēn, Fourth Uncle, Wēn Níng | Wēn Qiónglín, Lán Huàn | Lán Xīchén, Lán Yuàn | Lán Sīzhuī, Niè Huáisāng, Niè Míngjué

Additional Tags: Pre-Jiāng Chéng | Jiāng Wǎnyín & Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn Reconciliation, Dissociation, Mental Health Issues, Anniversary, Food, Food as a Metaphor for Love, Found Family, Emotional Constipation, Communication Failure, Jiāng Chéng | Jiāng Wǎnyín is Bad at Feelings, Jiāng Chéng | Jiāng Wǎnyín is Trying, Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn Needs a Hug, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, POV Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn, POV Third Person, Podfic Welcome, Food Sex, Friendship, Reconciliation, Psychological Trauma

Summary: A reconciliation, but not the one expected.

Notes: See end.

Part 1 | Part 2

Chapter: 1 | 2

AO3 link

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The next morning, Wei Ying’s phone, playing A-Li’s ringtone, wakes them—later than they usually rouse, but they had an emotional evening and a very late night. He hesitates only briefly before answering, not because he doubts her, but because the emotions of yesterday wash through him so powerfully he almost forgets the phone is ringing.

A-Zhan squeezes his hand, and he squeezes back as he answers.

She starts with small talk, clearly hesitant to discuss Jiang Cheng’s actions, but eventually she broaches the subject.

“I didn’t know what A-Cheng was planning, or I would have told him to do it on a different day. I hope it didn’t ruin your anniversary. A-Xuan is going to settle quickly, so Jin Enterprises won’t challenge the suit. You deserve restitution, A-Ying.”

The wording rubs him wrong, like she wouldn’t have told him even if she knew in advance, like she would have let him go through this some other day. He’s not sure if he’s reading too much into her words, if this is his trauma misinterpreting.

Wei Ying can feel himself slipping into a dissociative state, focusing vaguely on his husband’s morning wood against his leg and imagining the glorious sensation of taking it with the remnants of last night’s lube only barely dulling the pain of the stretch.

It takes a moment to drag his attention back to the conversation, and he does his best not to feel guilty about thinking of being fucked by his husband while talking to his sister on the phone.

“Wen Qing is going to reach out to him about Dafan Applications joining the suit on my behalf to make it more, ah… legitimate.”

He can’t help but wince at the word, since it makes it clear Jiang Cheng no longer has the standing alone as his brother to do this—his estrangement from the family had been so terribly ugly and public, after all, and in that time his brother had never reached out, not even when Uncle Jiang had his heart attack. For that matter, Jiang Fengmian has never reached out, either.

A bitter lump settles in his throat, hurt he still carries, and he knows he’ll need to make an appointment with his therapist to unpack this, and then he’ll be nonfunctional the rest of the day—and he’s so tired of having to unpack and process his damn trauma all the time.

A-Li’s pause speaks multitudes, perhaps about her own guilt, and Wei Ying steadfastly refuses to feel guilt about her own guilt, too many emotions bogging down his brain. He can barely manage his own right now, let alone anyone else’s, even Jiejie’s.

“That’s a fantastic idea,” she finally settles on, “and I’m sure A-Cheng will welcome it.”

After some awkwardness, the rest of the conversation turns to tales of little A-Ling and his toddler adventures, which Wei Ying answers with stories of A-Yuan and Turmeric. It ends on a promise to get together soon, “once this unpleasantness is settled,” in A-Li’s words.

When they hang up, he lets A-Zhan draw him close and hold him, settling his head against his chest to hear his heartbeat.

Once, his adoptive sister was someone he went to for comfort in difficult times, but she wasn’t there in the most difficult ones, and now Wei Ying feels like they’re circling around each other, trying to find the shape of a new relationship, but always out of step. Where once he craved her warmth and would bring up her number on his cell and wish he could call her, now it’s hard to look forward to her calls, harder to reach out himself.

He has trouble finding that trust he once had, reminded all too often that she capitulated to demands he be cut off, by her parents and Jiang Cheng, by her husband’s family. He doesn’t even know if she really believed in his innocence. It’s not like he can entirely blame her—they were raised in the same household, and each of them carries the scars of that upbringing.

Wei Ying isn’t sure there’s any going back, and sometimes it feels like she wants to return to what was instead of figuring out where they are now. Compu-Jiang’s motto may be “attempt the impossible,” but too often this seems beyond even that, and he wonders if he’ll always hold her at arm’s length, if this is just another part of his life destroyed forever.

Eventually A-Zhan rises, helps him into a much-needed shower, and tenderly bathes him, the kind of non-sexual intimacy he needs right now. Wei Ying returns the favor, happy to focus on dragging a soft sponge across flesh, on laving away the remnants of their night, massaging shampoo into his scalp and rinsing the suds away. They dry each other, too, and dress in comfortable pajamas.

A-Zhan makes congee and pulls out some of the leftovers from dinner to act as toppings, one of their favorite ways to repurpose leftovers into a hearty breakfast. They’ll probably use some of it for fried rice, and others will be reheated as side dishes for supper.

They have a few hours before Lan Xichen returns with A-Yuan, and neither of them have messages from anyone—which means their son is fine, that Wen Qing is handling the lawsuit issue and doesn’t need their input, and that neither of their numbers have leaked to the press—though they don’t tempt fate by looking at their emails, personal or work.

Which means they’re left with several hours to kill, and after spending the night having increasingly kinky followed by increasingly lazy sex, they’re quite sated and a bit too sore and tired to have another round.

Instead, they let Turmeric out of his hutch so he can hop around the living room while they watch a documentary about Chinese music traditions, one of A-Zhan’s major interests that will also allow Wei Ying to cuddle up and dissociate to music.

Wei Ying hasn’t been able to concentrate on watching anything longer than half an hour since the Jin were arrested and the media converged on them, while A-Zhan requires distraction from his anxiety, so this was the solution they alit on, a way for them to be secure and loved and close while also handling their mental health needs.

The credits (because A-Zhan of course reads those) have just finished rolling when A-Zhan’s phone alerts, the gentle guqin note indicating a text message.

“Xiongzhang would like to know if Nie Mingjue and Nie Huaisang can accompany him when he brings A-Yuan home,” he says.

The plan has always been that Lan Xichen would bring lunch when he came to drop off A-Yuan, so he’s really asking if he can bring them as guests to lunch. It’s nice of him to ask instead of just doing.

Wei Ying has a suspicion that Nie Huaisang is behind the request, that he wants to reconnect after the takedown of the Jins. He hasn’t seen his old friend since his public disowning and the subsequent blacklist years, but Nie Mingjue’s health had failed due to the stress of the targeted attack against Nie Innovations, and he’d changed phone numbers and email addresses multiple times due to harassment since, so it wasn’t terribly surprising.

A-Zhan is watching him quietly, putting no pressure on him for an answer either way, which means he has no objection either way. It used to be a problem, A-Zhan capitulating to what Wei Ying wanted, but their therapy has helped him voice his desires and made their relationship healthier.

He’s a bit surprised to realize he would like to reconnect with Nie Huaisang, though there’s a painful nostalgia associated. Along with Jiang Cheng, they’d been terrors as kids, pulling all sorts of ridiculous shenanigans, and those memories bubble up with the thought of reconnecting with his old friend, bittersweet now that those days are long behind them, those relationships lost.

“They can come,” he murmurs finally. “We’ll try it.”

And he truly means try—A-Zhan will happily alert his brother if either of them is distressed, and Lan Xichen has not let them down since he returned to their lives after the ugly meeting with Lan Qiren, and he won’t hesitate to usher the Nies out if needed. But if they’re lucky, this lunch will be a little like the dinner that had brought A-Zhan’s brother back into their lives, a chance to heal and find the shape of potentially a better relationship.

After A-Zhan texts his brother, they prepare the apartment for guests, including putting Turmeric back in his hutch, tossing their very used sheets in the wash and tidying up from breakfast; they keep a tidy apartment generally, thanks to his husband, so they’ve also changed out of their pajamas and have tea on by the time their guests buzzed to be let in.

A-Yuan insists on hugs immediately upon entering, which is a nice distraction from their guests, and then he runs past them to greet Turmeric in his hutch, leaving them to awkwardly greet the Nies and Lan Xichen. Nie Mingjue’s regained some of his health since Wei Ying last saw a picture of him, but still has a wasted look about him, and Wei Ying wonders if his and A-Zhan’s troubled years show on them to those they knew before. Nie Huaisang presses an intricately carved wooden box on them, and inside is the sort of teapot one might give at a wedding—Yixing clay, red with intertwined golden dragons, clearly customized and made for a couple.

“Thank you for having us,” is all his old friend says, but the gift is far more than a guest gift.

From the way A-Zhan is handling it and Nie Huaisang’s tastes generally, it’s clearly a very expensive piece. He’s sending a message—in part an apology for distance, for missing their wedding, not that they’d expected him given the sudden collapse of Nie Innovations at the time. Nie Mingjue’s faintly embarrassed expression solidifies that idea.

Just the memory is exhausting for Wei Ying, and his mind distracts him, wondering if at some point A-Zhan would like to renew their vows now that they’re in better times. They’ve certainly managed being there for each other in sickness, and it could be a statement looking forward to healthier times.

Lan Xichen’s comment, something about not talking shop today, brings him back to the present.

“Agreed,” A-Zhan says, his voice doing that thing that implies he will brook no argument.

He’s directing this to Nie Huaisang, who smiles sheepishly and nods, then hides his face behind a fan he unfurls dramatically.

Wei Ying remembers teasing him about his love of collectible fans, and he can almost hear Jiang Cheng asking how many fans one person can have, and Nie Huaisang arguing there is no limit.

“It’s not about how many I can use. If I get enjoyment out of them, even just looking at them, they’re worth having,” he said at the time.

He doesn’t understand the need to collect, even now, having learned young not to get attached to physical things that could be taken away thanks to a combination of foster care and Yu Ziyuan.

The one Nie Huaisang has with him now was one of his favorites back in high school, Wei Ying remembers, and he wonders if carrying it today means something, is some kind of message, then shakes himself out of that line of thinking, knowing that way lies madness. He knows from therapy that he all too often looks for hidden meanings and agendas when he feels on edge, something borne from so many years of trauma even before the corporate espionage accusation thanks to survival mechanisms developed because of Madam Yu, survival mechanisms that are no longer useful and instead lead him to seek patterns where none exist.

“It’s good to see you again,” he finally settles on, a safe thing to say, and effective if the way Nie Huaisang lights up is any indication.

“Ah, Wei-ge, you too—oh, wait, you’re both Wei-ge now, so maybe I should call you Ying-ge and Zhan-ge?”

His hands flutter as he speaks, and Wei Ying can’t help but smile at the frenetic energy he somehow forgot Nie Huaisang exudes in his speech when nervous, how it reminds him of high school and some of their silly shenanigans. He does his best to ignore the flip side of those memories—the punishments he received the times they were caught, and the fact that the last third of their trio is still absent, the weird attempt at apology notwithstanding.

Nie Huaisang just ghosted him, not that he didn’t do the same, afraid to reach out lest he be blamed for Nie Innovations’ woes as well, so this reunion was less fraught, to a certain extent. Jiang Cheng… well, that’s different, involved hurtful words, You are dead to me, he remembers among the worst of them.

“Those work fine,” A-Zhan answers for him, likely noticing he’s become lost in his thoughts, then asks after Nie Mingjue’s health.

The distraction is welcome, and Wei Ying focuses on pouring tea for their guests while their guests answer—recovered, mostly, but under doctors’ orders not to engage in stressful activities. While Nie Mingjue speaks, Lan Xichen spreads the takeout on their lazy Susan, and A-Yuan rejoins them and helps set the table, lured out away from Turmeric by the smell.

They’ve brought Indian from one of the better places in the city, and it smells heavenly—and Wei Ying isn’t ignorant of the fact that a particular container of rogan josh has been set by his seat, meaning it’s extra spicy, just the way he likes, along with several samosas that also must run on the spicy side. He’s not sure whether A-Zhan texted his brother his favorite or if this is somehow Nie Huaisang remembering from years ago his preferred order from takeout during college.

Other dishes on the lazy Susan include more samosas, palak paneer, and mushroom korma, likely made with a spice level the Lans can tolerate, goshtaba, chicken tikka masala, and dhaba goat, which he guesses is likely for Nie Mingjue, though they’ll all share (except him because no one else can handle his spice level). There are plates of paratha and naan, as well, with gajar ka halwa and gulab jamun for dessert. There’s even a plate of the typical raita, pappadum, chutney, and other sides that would be typically served in-restaurant alongside their meals.

As Nie Mingjue discusses his health, with occasional interjections by Nie Huaisang, they all fill their plates with their preferred foods—Wei Ying taking tastes of the mushroom korma, goshtaba, and dhaba goat, but otherwise sticking to his rogan josh.

His maladies are largely heart-related, brought on by extreme stress, which required some major lifestyle changes, they learn. He’s recovered a lot, but is still monitored by doctors and largely uninvolved in the recovery and running of the company, which falls to Nie Huaisang.

“A-Sang is doing a wonderful job running the company, and Xichen’s help is very welcome,” he finishes simply.

Nie Huaisang makes a token protest at being responsible for anything, which none of them buy, and they turn to the task of eating, thankfully saved from difficult conversation as A-Yuan talks between bites about his fun sleepover, taking them through each hour with occasional interjected additions from the Nies or questions by Wei Ying or A-Zhan.

They’ve chosen not to address, by mutual agreement, that Lan Xichen seems to have moved in more with the Nies than his own apartment, with A-Zhan wanting him to finally have space to make his own decisions and decide what to tell others. It’s the sort of independence they’ve started to give A-Yuan with smaller matters, and Wei Ying knows his husband is very aware of the fact that neither of them were ever given that by Lan Qiren, that A-Zhan himself wrested that in his decision to stand by him against his uncle’s wishes.

In many ways, they’re all having to heal from traumas, and Wei Ying thinks that may be why he doesn’t judge Lan Xichen for anything that happened—for someone so lacking in independence, his fight to keep him from being charged despite the will of the GusuLan Tech board and his uncle took incredible willpower. He wants to imagine that maybe Jiang Cheng and even Jiang Yanli are coming from similar places, but he’s too close to it to be able to analyze it in the same way.

Yeah, he can see there’s definitely going to be a very intense therapy session in his near-immediate future.

Lan Xichen cleared A-Yuan meeting the Nies with them in advance, and they okayed it—they weren’t strangers, and he and A-Zhan decided that the gap of time since seeing them last had not made them strangers, which was why he could handle them being here, in their home, instead of meeting them elsewhere as they did with other people trying to reenter their lives. Jiang Yanli still hasn’t been to their home, for instance, and after this morning…

Wei Ying takes a deep breath and mentally drags himself back to the conversation in time to hear A-Yuan talk about all of Nie Huaisang’s fans, which are apparently in some sort of special cabinet with drawers for each one, which he’s guessing he’s had custom-made. The last time he remembers visiting him they were all displayed, which probably means something about how vast his collection has grown.

“How many fans do you have now, anyway?”

Nie Huaisang blushes at the question, which he finds amusing, but Nie Mingjue answers for him with a number that has thousand in it, and he can’t help but laugh at the chagrined look that follows.

“How on earth do you display them all?” he can’t help but ask.

This proves to be a mistake, as they are run through a list of themes and fans until Nie Mingjue shoves a samosa in his mouth—unfortunately one of Wei Ying’s, which leads to the need to get something to quench the fire in his taste buds.

A-Zhan quickly gets a glass of orange juice, which he’s learned through accidents with A-Yuan taking a bite of A-Die’s food without thinking to keep close to the table, and disaster is averted. Wei Ying eats the rest of the samosa anyway, not one to waste good food, but the act feels more weighty than that since it’s something he did in the old days when it was common for them to share food like this, like something important has shifted into place. Somehow the atmosphere eases, and conversation becomes less stilted.

He’ll only really understand it later, when he has a chance to think and talk with A-Zhan, after the Nies and Lan Xichen leave. This winds up being much later in the evening, after Nie Huaisang pouts about the mishap and Nie Mingjue apologizes, laughing still at his brother’s face, red and tear-streaked after the spice. After they finish dinner, they have more tea and dessert, which eases poor Nie Huaisang’s taste buds a bit more. A-Yuan insists they introduce the newcomers to Turmeric, and ultimately they settle in the living room with Dora the Explorer on in the background for chatting and play, Turmeric snuggled on Nie Mingjue’s lap, Nie Huaisang joining Wei Ying and A-Yuan in building a block tower, even, until A-Yuan’s naptime.

Before they leave, Nie Huaisang asks them to come for dinner in the next few weeks, and Wei Ying feels safe enough to agree when A-Zhan glances at him.

Distractions continue in the form of chores to be done and dinner to be made. Despite being mostly leftovers, decisions about how to work Indian cuisine into Chinese cuisine keep their minds blessedly busy. They’re nothing if not pros at compartmentalizing.

It will be nearly bedtime before he and A-Zhan discuss the day and he realizes this is evidence that they don’t have to keep their entire old lives cut off; they can pick and choose who they decided to include in their lives going forward from this time, this opportunity for reconnection. They can decide what role the people they reconnect with will play, and in some ways that’s simultaneously an incredibly freeing but also intensely terrifying prospect.

But the overtures toward such reconnections don’t have to be stressful, like reaching out and actively attempting to bridge the chasm of so many years, or announcing a lawsuit like Jiang Cheng has chosen in an effort to somehow make amends. Their relatively simple decision to allow A-Yuan to come into contact with the Nies via Lan Xichen was likely the impetus that led them to ask if they could come for lunch, leading to this tentative revival of their relationships.

All they have to do is find a way to send out feelers to old friends they may want in their lives again. And that, he knows, is something he and A-Zhan can decide to do together.

Wei Ying still has no idea what to do about Jiang Cheng’s overture, but that can be handled as it comes.

—————

So A-Zhan and Wei Ying’s mental health difficulties manifest in different ways, based partly on my own and how they manifest in sometimes very different ways at different times, and those of friends and family. Wei Ying’s voice and his difficulty focusing because of the mental health is interesting and sometimes hard to write, because it involves a lot of reflection on my part as the writer. One thing to remember is that, because this is written very much in Wei Ying’s mind, as readers you may notice how a sort of paranoia exists around his very close relationships.

I read a Tumblr post not long ago that discussed bullying and trauma and I read it while I was high so that sent me down a weird spiral of thought. Trauma, like with bullying, impacts our sense of safety to the point of needing to hide our full selves because all people are potential threats who cannot know our vulnerabilities. Maybe some, but not all, which means we might show different aspects of our personalities depending on what we feel safe to show. The problem with that is the potential to lose one’s sense of self doing that, so a much smaller group of close relations is the way to counter that.

Basically, Wei Ying is seeing everything through trauma goggles, especially seeing possible betrayal or hints to hunker down again in the NC-zone. He knows this, but doesn’t always see it in his own reactions and what he feels the need to emphasize. Like with Jiang Yanli, where he focused on all the problematic phrases, recognizing at one point that he’s doing it, but ending with another he doesn’t recognize (her use of “unpleasantness” to describe the situation). So this isn’t necessarily her dismissing this event as nothing, or her not also being retraumatized by these events. It’s Wei Ying’s perspective and he can recognize how it impacts his interpretation, but not how it was meant by Jiang Yanli. He’s fucking terrified and it impacts his perception. It’s a bit of a miracle that he’s able to tolerate the Nies in his space for so long, and he should be proud he didn’t dissociate entirely.

That was a ramble but also I am a little high again. Thank goodness for legal states because my chronic pain is eased a bit, as is some of my anxiety.

So with the Yixing teapot… this is some of the highest quality clay used to make teapots in the world. Furthermore, the clay used is harvested from spots with particular minerals that change the composition and color depending, as well as the value. This teapot could be made of hongyi (red) clay, which is a top-quality color. But there’s also a much more expensive possibility, a particular kind called zhuni, which fires especially densely in a way that makes it nearly perfect as a teapot but means most of the pots crack in firing and are useless, leaving a precious few surviving. Which is why it is extremely expensive and requires expert verification on authenticity.

You decide which it is!

Now that I think about it, that very kind of teapot, the zhuni, could have been the one the Nies presented to Lan Qiren during the CQL lecture arc. I don’t know.

I could explain the different Indian dishes, but I figure that’s easy to look up if you’re curious. Basically there’s mild vegetarian dishes for the Lans. Rogan josh is a particular kind of curry that’s known to be very flavorful and spicy. Goshtaba is a yogurt-based curry with mutton meatballs. Ca halwa is a sort of carrot pudding (insert bunny joke). The rest of the dishes are fairly standard fare one might find easily in any Indian restaurant in the US. I used to sleep over at a friend’s house when I was in elementary school, and her grandma used to make what I called “Indian pancakes” for us, which I’m pretty sure was actually paratha. She didn’t speak English, so we couldn’t talk, but I adored her.

I hope you enjoyed this piece in the series. Jiang Cheng really is of the opinion that he’s sent out his overture, and is waiting to see if Wei Ying responds. He’s just as nervous and uncertain as Wei Ying, but shows it differently because he’s an angry grape. His idea of an overture is much different than theirs, of course. It’s more of a crescendo, but that’s kind of him.

I’m doing ok, largely unpacked, but mental health is very difficult and there were some very ugly hiccups that cost money, time, and spoons. Recovering enough that I’m cooking again, which is… I just haven’t had the energy for anything but simple and easy for a long time. Haven’t started a freelance gig yet. It’s hard. And it shouldn’t be, but it is and it sucks.

[junghelioseok]

heart-on.

↳ your one-night stand definitely isn’t relationship material, but maybe—just maybe—your manager’s son is.

◇ hoseok x reader ◇ smut | strangers to lovers!au ◇ 10.1k [1/1]

❛❛ my boss is always telling me how perfect her son would be for me and she promises he’s coming to the next holiday party and don’t worry he’s heard all about me too and ALSO there’s this dude i slept with once a couple of months ago and sometimes he still sends me dick pics when i ask him to at 3 in the morning cause seriously dude’s got a good dick ❜❜

notes: welcome to the first installment of the serendipity series! we’re starting with hoseok, because, well, have you met me? 🤣 be warned, however, that this isn’t anywhere near as edited as i’d like so i’ll probably give it another read/edit tomorrow but for now!!! here it is!!!

⇢ series masterlist. | inspired by this post.

warnings: dirty talk bc hoseok’s got a bit of a mouth on him, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it, kids!), sexting. dick pics, obvi. brief mention of a dead pet goldfish :(

You’re refilling your mug when you hear it. Voices filter out from the kitchen, floating past the coffee station where you’re pouring yourself another drink and hanging in the open air of the hallway that leads back to the rest of the office. They’re familiar voices, too—voices that belong to the resident gossips of your workplace. Lottie’s pitchy, nasal tone melds with Hyejin’s higher one, their conversation interrupted every so often by an exaggerated exclamation or gasp from Sandra, the third and final member of their trio.

“Haven’t you heard? Carolyn’s divorce was finalized over the weekend, the poor thing.”

“I can’t even begin to imagine how she’s feeling. I mean, getting back into dating at her age? Goodness!”

“And now she’ll be all alone at the holiday party, too. How sad is that?”

“It’s tragic. Poor thing.”

Rolling your eyes, you grab a packet of sugar and tear it open, upending it over your mug and watching the crystalline granules fall into the dark liquid within. You know for a fact that Sandra and her husband can’t even stand to be in the same room for an extended period of time, considering how they’d spent most of last year’s holiday party talking to entirely different groups of people. You’d sat two tables away from them during dinner, and they hadn’t even made eye contact once. And as for Lottie and Hyejin, well, you’re certain that their relationships aren’t much better. All three of them are miserable people as far as you’re concerned, and you make a mental note to check in on Carolyn—a sweet woman in her thirties who always keeps chocolate bars in her purse—on your way back to your desk.

“Sheesh. Vultures, the lot of them. Don’t you think?”

You whirl at the sound of your manager’s voice. Kyunghee Jung is a dark-haired woman in her late fifties, and she laughs when she sees your startled expression, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Easy! You’ll spill your coffee if you’re not careful.”

“I’ll probably have a heart attack first,” you reply, pressing a hand to your chest. “What was your job before this? Some kind of intelligence operative? Are you a super spy?”

Kyunghee laughs again and joins you at the counter. “Nothing even remotely as exciting as that,” she answers, plopping her mug down beside yours. It’s decorated with what looks like every color of the rainbow, a massive smiling sunflower taking up the majority of the surface, and the only remnant of the ceramic’s original color is on the very edge of the handle where there’s a lopsided little patch of white. The piece is clearly handmade, and a stark contrast to the simple mint green cup that houses your coffee. Looking at it, it’s impossible not to smile.

“I love that,” you remark, inclining your head at her mug. “Was it a present from one of your kids?”

“Hoseok,” she confirms, running a fingertip along the imperfect handle fondly. “I’ve told you about him before—he’s right around your age.”

You chuckle. “Right, I remember. That’s why he’s the perfect match for me, right?”

“Come now, there’s more to it than that,” Kyunghee defends, waving a hand. “But yes, to answer your question. He gave it to me as a birthday present when he was eight.”

“Well, you never told me he was an artist,” you tease. “Does he have an Etsy? Can I buy one of these off him? Does he do custom orders, maybe?”

Normally, your manager is more than happy to play along with your jokes, but today Kyunghee fixes you with an uncharacteristically serious look. “Why don’t you ask him yourself?” she asks. “He’s coming to the holiday party, after all. I figured you could finally meet.”

You blink. Kyunghee has been making offhand remarks about how well you would get on with her son, Hoseok, for over a year now, but you’ve never even come close to broaching the topic of meeting him. You don’t even know anything about the man beyond the fact that his name is Hoseok and that he works somewhere downtown. He also favors tall socks and yellow suspenders if the framed photograph on Kyunghee’s desk is any indication—or at least, he certainly did when he was still in diapers. Whether he still does, is anyone’s guess.

“Wow, I had no idea he was even interested in coming,” you manage when you’ve recovered from your surprise. “Did you bribe him?”

If Kyunghee notices that your voice is a few pitches higher than usual, she doesn’t remark on it. “Oh, you know. I just told him that this would be his last chance to score free booze on the company’s dime.” She laughs. “Three more months and it’s going to be all beaches and sunshine for me. I might even become a cruise person in my retirement.”

You gasp and slap a hand to your heart. “Kyunghee! Think of the environmental impact!”

“I said I might!” she retorts immediately. “Sheesh. Even in my old age, it’s hard to conveniently forget how shitty and unsustainable those damn boats are.”

You pick up your mug and raise it in a salute. “Well, the oceans thank you.”

“My husband doesn’t,” she answers with a sigh. “He’s been dying to book one of those trips that stop all along the Mediterrannean coastline, and I can’t exactly blame him.”

“That is tempting,” you admit. “You’ll have to send photos, if you do end up going.”

“You’ll be sick of me and my photos before the first day is even up,” she promises. Then she pauses, her eyes darting toward the kitchen where silence has fallen in the last few minutes. “Speaking of being sick—you think the vultures are still hovering around in there? I haven’t had lunch yet, and I need the microwave.”

Obligingly, you edge a little closer to the kitchen doorway and poke your head around the frame, scanning for Lottie and her sidekicks. “Coast is clear. Enjoy your lunch, Kyunghee.”

She nods and raises her mug at you, returning your salute. “I always do.”

///

As soon as the work day ends, you fall into your usual routine. Your commute home is easily walkable on nicer days, and though the winter weather is brisker than you’d like, you decide to walk for the sake of stopping at the convenience store on the corner of the block.

Once you arrive back at your apartment, you change into your comfiest sweats and a loose tee. You turn on some music while you throw together some dinner, and settle onto the couch half an hour later with a full plate and Netflix. Television is a welcome distraction from the events of the workday, and you manage to get through three full episodes of your current show before your pesky brain decides to revisit the events of today, replaying the conversations that you’d both had and overheard.

There’s no denying that you’ve been single for quite some time now, and for the most part, it’s been by choice. Ever since graduating from university, you’ve chosen to focus more on your career, and it’s paid off both in terms of the important position you hold in your company and your above average salary. And yet, you can’t help but think back to the gossip you’d overheard earlier—about the supposed tragedy of being single and attending the upcoming holiday party alone. Your mind wanders to Kyunghee’s son, Hoseok, and how he’ll be in attendance this year. You wonder what he’s like, and whether he really is perfect for you, as Kyunghee seems to be so fond of mentioning.

And then your mind goes to Jay.

You met Jay two months ago, on a well-deserved night out after a hellish workweek. The bar was crowded, and the music coming from the neon dancefloor in the back was just loud enough to drown out your inhibitions. That, combined with the alcohol swimming through your system, made you bold. You sashayed your way across the dancefloor, dodging inebriated bodies and swaying limbs as you fixed your attention on the head of pale lavender hair and deliciously broad shoulders that awaits you just behind the bar counter. The bartender is nothing short of gorgeous, and you’ve thrown all caution to the wind. Sure, several other women are eyeing him like he’s their next meal—several men are, too—but you need another drink. And while he prepares it, you plan to flirt.

A lot.

The bar counter is sticky with spilled liquor, but you don’t pay that any mind as you lean across it, the wood digging into the narrow strip of exposed skin left by your cropped top. “Hi!” you call, and the bartender looks up from where he’s just finished pouring a round of shots for a group of raucous young men.

“Hi yourself,” he says, his pillowy lips stretching into an easy smile. “What can I get you?”

You pretend not to notice the way his eyes flicker down to the dip of your cleavage and instead put on the sultriest smile you are capable of mustering. “Vodka soda,” you tell him, injecting a bit of purr into your voice. “A bit of lemon too, if you have it.”

“Trust me, I have it,” he assures, his smile growing as he reaches for a clean glass and a clear bottle. “Name’s Jin, by the way. I’m here all night, if you need anything e—”

A loud clatter and the sound of breaking glass interrupts the rest of his sentence, and all eyes at the bar go to the source of the disturbance. Conversations stutter to a halt, and even the thumping bass of the music seems to dull. Jin darts to the other end of the bar, where you can see that one of several barstools has fallen to the ground. There’s a man on the ground as well, surrounded by shattered glass and spilled dark liquor, and your eyes widen when you realize that you know him.

And arguably, a little too well.

“Fuck,” you mutter under your breath. People are starting to lose interest in the spectacle, turning back to their own conversations and continuing on as if nothing had happened at all. The man is beginning to clamber to his feet, and a few people lend a helping hand as Jin begins barking out orders for everyone to step back so he can sweep up the broken glass. You seize upon the opportunity, latching on to the nearest arm and pulling them close so you can hide behind them. Vaguely, you’re aware of them sputtering in surprise, but you only have eyes for the man who had fallen off his stool, watching him carefully as he brushes himself off and tries to play it cool despite the sizable patch of whiskey soaking his white shirt.

“Hey, uh…” Your human shield is speaking. “Are you okay? You’re squeezing me pretty tight.”

That draws you out of your daze. Abashed, you loosen your grip on his arm and look up into his face, your throat going dry when you realize how handsome he is. His black hair is parted over his forehead, a stray strand falling into warm brown eyes set above a straight nose and an inviting mouth. There’s a freckle above his top lip, just shy of the center, and your inebriated brain wonders just what it would be like to kiss it.

“I, um—” You clear your throat and try again. “Sorry about that. I just didn’t want him to see me.”

Your newfound companion raises an eyebrow and glances over his shoulder at the drunk man, who is now being ushered out of the bar by his buddies. “You know that guy?”

You nod, cringing. “Yeah, his name’s Trent. I… may or may not have dated him for a few months last year.”

The man laughs out loud. “You dated a Trent?”

“What, like you’ve never made a questionable life choice?” you challenge. “Besides, you shouldn’t judge someone based on the sins of their parents. It’s not his fault they gave him a terrible name.”

“Sure, but it is on him for going along with it,” he replies with a shrug. “I would’ve changed my name as soon as I could if my parents had named me Trent. But hey, that’s just one man’s opinion.”

You laugh. “Okay then, Not-Trent.” Relinquishing your grip on his arm, you let your fingers graze his hand before pulling away entirely. “What do you say we continue this conversation over a drink?”

The man, whose name is decidedly not Trent, catches your fingers in his and gives them a gentle squeeze. “Happily.”

One drink turns into two, and then three. By the end of the hour, you are feeling pleasantly warm, the alcohol spreading through your veins like molasses and turning your surroundings into a hazy blur. The music has grown even louder, pounding against your eardrums, and you grab onto Not-Trent’s wrist as he sets his now-empty glass back down onto the counter.

“Do you wanna get out of here?” you ask, raising your voice to be heard over the thumping bassline. “I can’t even hear myself think.”

“The parking lot’s out back,” he suggests. “Why don’t we get some air?”

You nod and stand up on wobbly legs, cursing your decision to wear heels when you stumble into your companion. He steadies you with a gentle but firm hand, and you don’t miss the way his touch lingers on your lower back, his palm warm through the material of your blouse.

Together, the two of you pick your way through the throng of swaying bodies on the dancefloor. The bassline thuds in your ears, dark and hypnotic, and you can feel the reverberations thrumming across the slats of your ribs and echoing in the cavern of your chest like a second heartbeat.

It’s almost a relief, then, when you step out into the cool night air. Your ears continue to ring for a few seconds, but it soon fades and leaves behind only the muted hum of traffic from the street and the faint sound of music from inside. At your side, Not-Trent releases a long breath and leans against the brick wall of the building, and you turn to take in the steep slopes of his side profile as he tilts his head up toward the velvety night sky.

He’s handsome. Dressed in ripped jeans and black leather, he’s a sight to behold, and you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t been craving a bit of intimacy for quite some time now. The alcohol swimming through your system makes you bolder than you normally would be, and you reach out to lay a hand on his arm. He turns toward you with a silent question glimmering in his irises, but you simply step closer, until you’re pinning him against the wall with your body and you’re breathing the same air.

“Hey,” you say, your voice an airy whisper. His eyes are near obsidian in the dimness of the parking lot, illuminated only by the orange glow of the streetlamps on either end, and your gaze flickers down to his mouth before roving to the freckle that sits upon his top lip. “Kiss me?”

Your companion’s eyes widen. His lips part, but no words come out, and you’re about to repeat your question when he finally finds his voice again.

“That���s really… that’s not a good idea.” Awkwardly, he clears his throat, but the hoarseness of his voice and the harsh bob of his Adam’s apple give away his true desires. “Look, you’ve been drinking. We both have, and—”

You cut him off, pushing up to your tiptoes and planting a messy kiss to the soft dip just beneath his bottom lip. “Don’t care,” you mumble against his skin. “I want you.”

Your companion laughs weakly. His hands find their way to your waist and pause there, as if he can’t decide whether to push you away or pull you closer. “You don’t even know me,” he murmurs.

“I don’t have to know you,” you reply. Your fingers drag down his chest, trailing along the delicate silver necklace that rests against the black of his shirt. From the chain hangs a round pendant, the surface engraved with the letter J. Slowly, you trace it with a fingertip, the metal shining even in the dim light, and satisfaction blooms in your heart when your companion’s throat bobs again. “I want you,” you breathe, soft but insistent. “Isn’t that enough?”

“I—” He clears his throat and tries again, and you wonder if he realizes that his hands have slid down to your hips, or that there’s a growing hardness against your lower stomach that’s becoming increasingly harder to ignore. “Look, I’m flattered—really, I am. And you’re… I mean, fuck, you’re gorgeous. But I don’t think we should do anything when you’re clearly not in the right frame of mind to be making this kind of decision, and—”

“And, nothing.” You wind your arms around his neck, pressing close and grinding subtly against the bulge in his pants. You smirk when he releases a low hiss from between his teeth, and hide it by laying a trail of kisses along the stretch of bare skin exposed by the dip of his collar. “Stop being such a gentleman,” you whisper. Your fingers trail down his chest, past the silver of his pendant and down to the faded denim of his jeans, teasing at the cool metal of his belt buckle. “I want this. But if you’re not interested, I can always go back in there and—”

The rest of your sentence dies in your throat. Your companion has tugged you flush against him in one smooth motion, and your gasp is cut off by the firm press of his mouth against yours. Immediately, you melt into the kiss, and a moan tears from your lips when he spins you around and pins you against the brick wall of the building.

“You’re a spoiled little thing, huh?” His breath fans hot against your cheeks, and you shiver when you meet his eyes and see the dark promise reflected there. “Used to getting what you want, huh, princess?”

Your breath hitches at the endearment—something your companion doesn’t miss. “Oh, you like that?” He chuckles hoarsely, and when he speaks again it’s in a rasp that sends heat straight to your core. “What else do you like, hmm? You want me to be rough with you, princess? Or should I be gentle and treat you like a queen?”

You reach up, raking your fingers through his hair and skimming across the soft strands of his undercut before finding purchase at his nape. “You talk too much,” you whisper.

And then you’re crushing your mouth back against his, whining when he immediately takes back control of the kiss. His grip slides downward, his fingertips digging into the skin just above the curve of your ass, and you squeak when he grabs the back of your thigh and hooks your leg around his waist.

“You feel that?” he rasps into your ear, nipping at the delicate shell and chortling when you keen. Your skirt has ridden up dangerously high on your spread thighs, and you let out a soft whimper when he grinds harshly against your center. The lace of your panties and the denim of his jeans are the last barricades between you, and you wonder, vaguely, whether your companion has a bit of an exhibitionist streak when he slides one of your sleeves down your shoulder and begins kissing a trail down to the swell of your cleavage. “You feel how hard you’ve gotten me?”

You lean down, kissing the soft spot where his jaw meets his ear before letting your teeth graze against his skin. “Why don’t you do something about it then?”

He hisses out a sharp breath, his hands tightening their hold on your hips. “You’ve got quite the mouth on you, huh? I can’t wait to make you eat your words.”

Any retort you may have had is interrupted by a sudden swell of music and the sound of a slamming door. Whirling to face the source of the noise, you immediately spot a familiar head of lavender hair atop broad shoulders encapsulated in the black uniform of the bar. Jin hasn’t noticed the two of you yet, his attention fixated on his cell phone screen, but he looks up when you let out a little squeak of surprise and shove your companion’s chest in an attempt to create some distance between you.

“Hey.” Jin raises a hand in greeting, a knowing smirk curling his lips. “This phone call shouldn’t be too long, so please. Don’t stop the party on my behalf.”

Heat floods to your cheeks. There isn’t much use protesting against his insinuation, considering the rather compromising position you’re in. Much to your relief, though, your companion simply huffs out a chuckle and waves Jin off. “Thanks, man, but we’ll get out of your hair.” Lowering his voice, he turns back to you. “Coming, princess?”

You nod. He offers you his hand, and you take it gratefully, adjusting your skirt so that it drapes properly over your hips and thighs again.

“Have a good night!” Jin calls after you, amusement lacing every word. You can’t work up the nerve to respond, and luckily, you don’t have to. Your companion leads you around the corner of the building, where several rows of cars are parked beneath an orange streetlamp. On this side, the exterior brick wall is painted with a mural, and you admire the colorful galaxies and nebulae swirling amidst silvery white stars and the word serendipity spray-painted in pale blue.

The last car in the row is parked just beneath the letter Y, and it’s here that your companion stops. The sleek black vehicle has an almost vintage feel to it, and you glance up when you hear the jingle of metal.

“I’m guessing this is yours?”

He nods, pulling a set of keys from the pocket of his leather jacket and inserting one into the lock. “Yeah. You like it?”

“It’s beautiful,” you tell him, tracing the edge of the passenger window “Makes my car look like a total piece of shit by comparison.”

Your companion chuckles, pulling open the driver’s side door, and you catch a glimpse of your reflection in the window as he presses a button to unlock the rest of the doors. Your hair’s a bit of a mess and your mascara has smudged beneath your right eye, and you hurriedly swipe at it as your companion turns his attention back to you.

“So,” he says. “Now what? I can give you a ride home, if you want.”

Deliberately, you let your gaze drop down to his crotch, where his bulge—albeit waning—is still visible. “Seriously? I thought you were going to… what was it again? Make me eat my words?”

And just like that, it’s as if a switch has flipped. His eyes darken to obsidian, his lips settling into a stern line, and you barely have time to draw in a breath before he’s caging you against the side of his car and molding his mouth to yours. Your lips part beneath the onslaught, and he wastes no time in dipping inside to explore, licking into you until you’re both breathless.

“Inside,” he breathes once you’ve broken apart, and you instantly obey. You wrench the door open and all but tumble into the backseat, and he isn’t far behind as he slots himself between your spread thighs. Your hands fly to his shoulders where you help him shuck off his leather jacket, tossing it carelessly to the front where it lands in a heap on the dashboard before focusing your attention on the hem of his black t-shirt. Your companion obliges you as you push it upward to expose his toned abdomen, grabbing it by the collar and pulling it off the rest of the way when your reach falls a little short in the cramped interior of the backseat.

“Your turn,” he whispers when you try to reach for his belt, his hands settling around your wrists. “It’s only fair, princess.”

Pouting, you let your hands fall limp in his grasp, and he chuckles as he leans down to pacify you with a kiss. Deft fingers find the hem of your blouse, pushing it up until you can twist out of the material. You throw it aside with no regard for where it lands on the ground, and lay back as your companion drinks you in, his dark gaze raking across the lacy black lingerie that decorates your curves and skims you like a second skin. “Fuck,” he breathes, his voice hoarse with a combination of amazement and disbelief. “You’re stunning.”

You smile, trailing a fingertip from the dip of his collarbone down to the silver necklace that sits prettily against his bare chest. “You’re not so bad yourself,” you tell him, tracing the letter engraved into his pendant. “Jay.”

Your companion—newly dubbed Jay—smiles back. “You’re something else, princess,” he murmurs, before leaning down to kiss you again. He explores your mouth thoroughly—languidly—before moving down to nip at your neck, and already, you can feel the beginnings of marks beginning to form, blossoming across your skin as irrefutable proof of your tryst.

It isn’t long before Jay frees you from your bra, watching with carnal fascination as your breasts spill out of the lacy material. You whine when he reaches out to cup one, his palm hot against your bare skin, and he smirks crookedly when a pinch to your nipple makes your back arch off the leather of the seat. “So pretty,” he rasps. “I can’t wait to see how you look stretched around my cock.”

“Stop waiting, then,” you tell him, trying again for his belt buckle. This time, he lets you fumble it open, leaning back to watch you work with hooded eyes and a lazy little smile. Emboldened, you push aside the denim of his jeans and free his cock from the confines of his underwear. He’s hard and hot and heavy in your palm, and your tongue darts out instinctively at the sight of the pearlescent precum beading the tip.

“Jay,” you murmur, thumbing across the head of his erection and smirking when he hisses in pleasure. “Fuck me.”

Jay seems to consider your demand, mischief flitting across his features before he manages to school his expression into something more neutral. “Where are your manners, princess?” he asks, pushing your hand away and giving himself a few long, slow strokes. “Say please, if you want it so bad.”

For a moment, you consider refusing. Jay seems to be the type of man who enjoys a good game, but between the state of his cock and the earlier interruption, you’re pretty sure he’s nearing his limit. And even if he isn’t, you are. And so, you shelve your pride for the time being, and trail a hand down the length of your bared body as you bat your lashes up at him. “Fuck me, Jay,” you repeat. “Please. Want your cock so bad.”

His answering smile is equal parts amusement and satisfaction, and altogether sinful. “That’s my girl,” he rasps, before shoving your panties aside. Lining the head of his cock up, he enters you in one smooth thrust, and you moan as your walls stretch to accommodate his girth. You’re more than wet enough to take him in his entirety, your eyes fluttering shut when he bottoms out, and he groans hoarsely as he takes a second to relish the feeling of your walls gripping him so tightly.

“Fuck. You’re so wet, princess.” Jay dips a thumb into your slick, spreading it across your clit and rubbing a few experimental circles around the sensitive nub. He groans when you clench around him, his hips stuttering, and you squeeze around him again just to hear him grit out another curse. “Shit. I’m not going to last long at this rate.”

“Don’t care,” you murmur, rocking against him and sighing when the motion sends him a little deeper into your core. “Just fuck me, Jay. Please.”

Jay leans in, a dark lock of hair falling across his forehead as he plants an indulgent kiss on your waiting mouth. “Anything for you, princess,” he breathes. Slowly, he pulls back until only the tip of his cock remains inside you. Then he’s slamming forward, and you can’t even find it in yourself to care about the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin or the way the car rocks. Jay’s thumbing across your clit in tight circles that he times perfectly with the rock of his hips, and you wonder whether the rapidly building pleasure in your belly is due to your dry spell or if he’s just that good. You can feel every inch of him as he fills you up repeatedly, his brows furrowed in concentration and his dark hair flopping as he drives deeper in search of the spot that will have you seeing stars.

You know he’s found it when the pleasure in your belly spikes, your back arching off the backseat. Your skin is sticky against the dark leather and you’re certain the sweat gathering at your temples has destroyed the last of your makeup, but Jay alleviates your concerns with a particularly well-timed thrust and a harsh nip to the soft spot at your clavicle. You keen out something unintelligible, and his lips stretch into a smirk against your skin.

“That’s it,” he encourages. “Cum for me, princess.”

That’s all it takes for the mounting pressure to snap. Your body collapses into a searing orgasm, the pleasure flaring out like a supernova and spreading through your veins like wildfire. “F-fuck, Jay—” you gasp, your fingers scrabbling at his back for purchase and no doubt leaving scratches in their wake. “Fuck, you feel so—”

The remainder of your words trail off into garbled nonsense, and Jay huffs out a strained chuckle as he begins chasing after his own orgasm, rutting against you in a way that both prolongs your pleasure and sustains his own. “Shit,” he groans, his eyes fluttering shut. “Fuck, that’s it. Look at you—taking my cock so well. So pretty and perfect and—”

Whatever he was going to say dissolves into a groan as he gives a few more erratic thrusts before his release overwhelms him. Creamy warmth floods through you, and you rub his back tiredly as his head drops onto your shoulder, his breath flaring hot against your skin as he rides out his orgasm.

It takes several long seconds for the pleasure to recede. Your legs are still shaky when Jay pulls away, straightening up and tucking himself back into his jeans. There’s an empty ache in your core now that you are no longer stuffed full of his cock, and already, you are missing the feeling. Still, you push that aside as you sit up, adjusting your panties and wincing at the wetness that soaks the material and sticks to your skin.

“So,” Jay says after a moment’s silence, and you glance over at him when he huffs out a short chuckle. “That was fun.”

“Not bad at all,” you agree weakly, an irrepressible smile tugging at your lips.

Jay grins. It’s a bright, infectious grin—and it’s one that you’ve already grown rather fond of in the short period of time you’ve known him. It’s a grin that showcases his perfect teeth and crinkles his eyes into crescents, and one that all but forces you to grin back.

“Here, give me your phone,” he says, and you watch as he punches in his number once you hand it over. “Just in case you ever wanna do this again,” he tells you, handing it back. “Don’t be a stranger, princess.”

You glance down at his contact information, saved under the moniker you’d given him and affixed with a short string of emojis. “I won’t,” you tell him, chuckling. “In fact, I just might take you up on the offer.”

-

The screen of your laptop has long since gone dark, and you stretch your arms overhead before waking it again. Rolling your shoulders, you navigate back to the main Netflix menu, hovering over the resume button and watching the trailer loop in the background.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t think about Jay often. You’ve texted each other quite often since that night in his car—usually when you’re bored and alone and have had a few too many glasses of wine in the evenings. You’ve found yourself tapping on his name instinctively during those odd, ambiguous hours—when late night and early morning meld together and you’re aching for a bit of relief.

And as if he knows you’re thinking about him, your phone buzzes against the coffee table, the screen lighting up with a familiar name.

[11:22pm] Jay 😘🍆💦: thinkin about u, pretty girl 😘

It’s followed by an image, and your heart rate picks up, thudding loudly against your ribs as you open it.

Fuck.

Your memories of Jay’s face—made all the more hazy by the alcohol and the amount of time elapsed since your first and only meeting—truly don’t do him justice. Though the photograph cuts off just above his nose, you can still admire the sharp angle of his jaw and the fullness of his puckered lips. His skin is golden against the white of his t-shirt, and you lick your lips before thumbing across your screen to respond.

[11:23pm] You: yeah? what else are you thinking about, hmm?

His response is instantaneous.

[11:23pm] Jay 😘🍆💦: thinking about that pretty little pussy of yours

[11:23pm] Jay 😘🍆💦: how good it looked in that pic u sent me tuesday 👅

You barely even notice the way your hand begins trailing down your body, pushing aside the elastic waistband of your sweats. It’s as if you’re on autopilot, as your fingers find their way to the damp spot growing on your panties.

Yeah? you write back with your free hand, already teasing at your clothed folds with the other. Tell me more.

///

It’s an uncharacteristically warm Friday morning when you find yourself in the elevator with Jimin, a good friend of yours who works on one of the lower levels of your office building. “Morning,” he says as he steps in, a large iced coffee in hand despite the fact that it’s still very much the middle of winter. Then he squints, leaning a little closer. “Oh my god. You got laid!”

“Oh my god, not so loud!” you hiss, whacking him on the shoulder and jabbing the button to close the elevator doors. “And no, not exactly. I’ve just been texting Jay.”

“Texting, sure.” Jimin mimes air quotes around the word and rolls his eyes. “You’re sexting him, and we all know it. How many pictures of his dick do you have saved on your phone now?”

“Oh my—” You sigh, trailing off. “Can we not talk about this right now?”

“Right, of course.” Jimin takes a sip of his coffee and pretends to check his watch. “When would you like to talk about it then? Do you need to check your calendar? Can I book an appointment for later this afternoon?”

You stick your tongue out at him. “Shut up.”

Jimin just grins, his lips puckered around his straw. “So, how’s Jay? Have you asked for his real name yet?”

You shrug. “What’s the point? It’s not like we’re friends or anything. We’ve literally only met the one time.”

“Yeah, but that’s just because you’re a coward,” Jimin points out. “What’s stopping you from meeting up with him again? You have his number. You have at least one photo of his dick. Ask him out already!”

“It’s not that easy, though,” you sigh. The elevator doors open to let a few more people in, and you move to the side and lower your voice so that only Jimin can hear. “Jay—he’s not exactly boyfriend material. I mean, we fucked in his car the first night we met.”

“So?” Jimin frowns and takes another sip of his iced coffee. “You talk about things besides sex, don’t you? You definitely told him about your goldfish dying, at least. I mean, you told him before you even told me!”

“Yes I did, and he was appropriately sympathetic about Mustache’s passing, unlike some people,” you sniff. “Get over it already, won’t you?”

“Never,” Jimin replies, ignoring your pointed jab. “I’m sure you only told him because you knew you could get a sympathy sext out of it. How many dick pics did you get out of that night, anyway?”

“You’re gross,” you tell him, punching him in the arm. “Not to mention that’s exactly why Jay’s not boyfriend material. He’s perfectly happy with—whatever it is we’re doing. I can’t just ruin that by asking him to get dinner.” You frown, gnawing on your bottom lip. “I don’t want to make this into something that it’s not.”

Jimin hesitates. “Fine, okay. I guess I can understand that.”

“Yeah.”

There’s a pause, as the elevator makes a few more stops. You watch the numbers crawl higher, and know that you’ll soon have to part ways with your friend..

“Hey.” You nudge Jimin with your shoulder, just as the elevator doors close and you begin the ascent to his floor. “Wanna know something interesting?”

Jimin looks up from his phone, where he’s scrolling through Twitter. “Always.”

“My boss’ son is coming to the party tomorrow.”

Jimin’s eyebrows disappear into his ashy blond hair at your revelation. “Kyunghee’s son? Hoseok, or whatever?”

You chuckle. “The one and only. She’s found about a million ways to bring him up in conversation this past week. She thinks we’re a match made in heaven.”

“Wow.” Jimin releases a long breath. “I wonder what he’s like, then.”

You shrug, adjusting the strap of your work tote over your shoulder. “I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”

///

The morning of the party, you wake up to an empty refrigerator. Half stale cereal and the last dregs of milk from the carton become your breakfast, and you munch on that as you mull over the contents of your closet. You’re still in your pajamas, but you pull out your comfiest jeans and a sweater to change into after you finish eating. Then you turn to your collection of dresses, rifling through them and mentally debating the merits of each material and color.

You could go in one of two directions tonight. On the one hand, this is still a work party, and as such your attire should probably maintain a certain level of decorum. But on the other, you’re meeting Hoseok Jung for the first time tonight. You aren’t necessarily looking to start anything with the man, of course, but you do want to look good. With that in mind, you eventually settle on a deep red number that you pull out of the very back of your closet, made of a silky material that skims your curves and accentuates your best assets. Laying it on the bed, you begin your hunt for a pair of matching shoes. Twenty minutes of searching and another five of agonizing later, you step into the bathroom, intent on showering and getting on with the rest of your day.

Upon exiting the bathroom, you decide that tackling the state of your refrigerator takes top priority over your other weekend errands. Sitting down at the dining table, you take stock of what you have in your pantry, planning out your meals for the upcoming week and making a list of what you need to purchase in order to make them a reality. It’s just after one in the afternoon when you exit your apartment with a completed grocery list and your purse stuffed full of reusable canvas bags. The store is a short walk from where you live, and you decide to put in your earbuds as your feet navigate the familiar route. The temperature is surprisingly mild for winter, and the sun shines bright from its perch in the cloudless blue sky. It’s perfect weather for a walk, and the fresh air clears your mind and eases your heart.

At the grocery store, you forego the stack of baskets and instead grab a shopping cart. Weaving your way up and down the aisles, you check items off the list on your phone one by one. Eventually, you find yourself in the cereal section, grabbing a box of granola before turning to where your favorite cereal normally sits. It isn’t there, and you turn in a full circle, confused, until your gaze finally lands on the familiar box on the top shelf.

Great.

Sighing, you push up to your tiptoes, stretching your arm as far as it can reach. Your fingertips graze the shelf, but you can’t quite get a grip on the box itself. Glancing down, you scan the bottommost shelf and wonder if you can step on it to give yourself a boost.

“Need a hand?”

The voice comes from behind you, and a vague sense of familiarity sparks in your brain. Slowly, you turn around, and your entire body freezes when your gaze slides up to the speaker’s face.

“Jay.” The syllable escapes you in a near whisper. “H-hi.”

“Hey.”

Jay stands before you, looking like sin incarnate in a faded denim jacket, black sweatpants slung low on his hips, and not much else. At his throat, his silver necklace sparkles, the silver J pendant glinting beneath the fluorescent lights of the store, and you’re suddenly beyond grateful that you decided to put on a decent sweater before leaving.

“Here,” he says, stepping forward until he’s close enough that you can smell his cologne—sandalwood tinged with sweet citrus. “Let me help you with that.”

The sudden proximity has your breath hitching in your throat. Your heart thuds erratically against your ribs as he reaches around you, the denim flaps of his jacket gaping in a way that exposes even more of his bare chest. By the time he pulls back with your cereal box in hand, you feel almost faint, belatedly realizing that you’d been holding your breath.

“You wanted this, right?” Jay asks, and you aren’t sure if you’re imagining the innuendo underlying his words or the teasing inflection of the syllables.

“Y-yeah, that’s the one,” you manage, fighting to quell the uneven tempo of your heartbeat as you accept the box. “Thanks.”

“Happy to help,” he replies. Then he leans in, close enough that you can feel his warm breath fanning your cheek as he murmurs his next sentence into your ear. “Anything for you, princess. You know that.”

Heat floods across your cheeks. Your heart skips two full beats before taking off into a sprint, and it’s impossible to ignore the way your core begins to thrum, as if anticipating a repeat of that night you first met all those weeks ago. Almost instinctively, your eyes dart up to the ceiling where the security cameras are, and Jay follows the trajectory of your gaze with a low chuckle and a soft brush of your cheek with the pad of his thumb.

“Sorry, princess. As much as I’d love to get my hands on you, I’m kind of on a time crunch today.”

You can’t stop the wave of disappointment that washes over you, even if you’re in the exact same boat. “Rain check, then?”

“Rain check,” he agrees. Slowly, you reach up to touch the engraved silver pendant resting against his chest, rubbing it between your fingertips before tracing the curve of the J, and he catches your wandering fingers between his and presses a gentle kiss to your knuckles.

“You know how to reach me,” he murmurs with a mischievous wink. His gaze lingers even after he’s released your hand, and you clear your throat awkwardly before turning to deposit your cereal box into your shopping cart.

The two of you go your separate ways then, exchanging goodbyes. You finish the rest of your grocery shopping in a daze, idly going through the motions at checkout and letting muscle memory guide you back home. Your arms are aching by the time you step past the threshold of your apartment, and you heave your shopping bags up onto the kitchen counter with a relieved sigh before returning to the entryway to toe off your shoes. You throw together a sandwich as you unpack your groceries, taking a big bite as you walk back to your bedroom to look at the dress you’ve picked out. Pacing over to the closet, you double-check your shoe choice. Briefly, you debate whether or not to wear flats instead of heels.

There are still a few hours left before you have to start getting ready, so you take the last of your sandwich back to the kitchen and whip up a smoothie to go with it. You scroll through your phone as you eat, browsing through the latest news headlines and scrolling through your social media accounts. Just before six o’clock, as the sun starts setting beyond the horizon and casting long shadows across your living room, you start getting changed. You snap a photo in the mirror once you’re dressed, pulling up Jimin’s name in your phone and sending it to him.

[6:13pm] You: last chance to come tonight

Your phone buzzes with a response almost immediately.

[6:14pm] Jimin: nah. i’d hate to step on hoseok’s toes.

You laugh. Not so fast, you text back. We don’t even know anything about the guy yet. What if he’s boring? Or sexist?

[6:15pm] Jimin: if u think kyunghee raised a sexist you’re seriously deranged

[6:16pm] Jimin: now stop taking selfies and get your ass out the door! you’re gonna be late!!!!

///

Each year, the holiday party tends to be a little over the top, and this year is no exception. The company has bought out the entirety of a restaurant for the evening, and you glance around in amazement at the twinkling lights and lush evergreen boughs decorating the walls and strung up along the ceiling. An assortment of sparkling ornaments hangs from the massive tree in the far corner, interspersed between silver tinsel and more lights. Grabbing a champagne flute off a passing server’s tray, you head farther into the restaurant, skirting around tables draped in creamy linen and greeting your colleagues and friends.

“Is she alone?”

“Figures.”

The voices come from the direction of the open bar, and somehow, you just know that they’re talking about you. Lottie, Hyejin, and Sandra are clustered in the corner with glasses of wine in hand, casting glances around the restaurant and gossiping about anything and everything with a pulse. You’re sorely tempted to grab the nearest pitcher of water off a table and pour it over their heads, but you suppress the urge and instead head over with a saccharine smile. “So lovely to see you, {Name},” Lottie says as you approach.

“I love your dress,” Sandra adds. “Very slimming.”

“Thanks,” you reply, putting on your brightest, fakest smile. “Yours is great too. How are you and your husband enjoying the party so far?”

Sandra’s face sours, and you hide your smirk in your champagne flute. Maybe it’s petty to bring up her rocky relationship, but you’ve been subject to snide comments from Sandra and her friends for years now and it’s become increasingly hard for you to bite your tongue. A few tables away, you spot Sandra’s husband, Rodney, take an enormous gulp of his whiskey and wince as it burns down his throat.

“We’re all having a wonderful time, aren’t we, ladies?” Lottie cuts in when Sandra takes too long to answer. “Hyejin’s date is over there with Rodney, and my boyfriend is fetching himself a drink. You remember Dev, don’t you?”

You nod, even though it’s a lie. “Sure. Say hi to him for me.”

Lottie’s lips curve up into a smile, her head tilting to the side, and you’re suddenly reminded of a snake rearing its head back for the kill. “So, what about you? Have you brought someone tonight, or—?”

“Hi ladies!” Kyunghee materializes at your side, her lips painted a festive red shade to match her dress. She’s wearing the disingenuous smile that she reserves for the resident gossips of your office, and you try not to let your relief show on your face when Lottie’s attention refocuses on your manager.

“So good to see you, Kyunghee,” she simpers. “Have you been here long?”

“Not as long as you,” your manager replies, nodding at the near-empty wineglass in her hand. “I see we’re already making a dent in the wine supply, and you’re falling behind, {Name}. Why don’t we go remedy that, hmm?”

She doesn’t give you a chance to respond, grabbing your arm and leading you away. Kyunghee is surprisingly spry for a woman her age, and you follow after her with some difficulty as she marches through the throngs of conversing people, all the way to the line at the open bar.

“I’d like you to meet someone,” she says, gesturing at the man standing at the end of the line with his back to you. “{Name}, this is my son, Hoseok.”

The man turns around at the sound of his name, a warm, affable smile stretched across his face. “Hi, I’m H—” he begins, but he’s cut off by your sharp intake of breath. His eyes go wide, his smile fading as his mouth falls open, and you’re certain you’re wearing an even more dumbfounded expression. “It’s you,” he says, his voice hoarse.

“Wh-what… how…” You trail off, speechless. The words flounder and die in your throat as your brain struggles to process this development, and you practically feel the way the gears in your head churn to a stuttering halt.

Because this man standing before you, the one that Kyunghee has just introduced as her son, is none other than Jay. He looks completely and utterly devastating in a navy waistcoat and matching slacks, a green tie shaped like a Christmas tree knotted loosely around the white collar of his shirt. His dark hair is parted, his undercut exposed, and you can’t tear your gaze away from the loose strand that has fallen across his forehead.

“H-hi.”

Jay—Hoseok—swallows. “Hi.”

Kyunghee glances between the two of you, her brows furrowing. “I take it you two already know each other?”

Hoseok’s ears begin taking on a scarlet tinge, the color spreading to his cheeks as he struggles to find his vocabulary again. “I—yeah. Yeah, we’ve met.”

“Right. Do I even want to know how?” she asks dubiously, before shaking her head and huffing out a sigh. “No, forget I asked. I don’t want to know. I’ll just leave you two to… catch up.”

Waving goodbye, Kyunghee disappears back into the crowd of partygoers milling around. Hoseok turns back to you, sucking in a deep breath, and you fight the urge to stare down at your toes as his gaze roves across your face.

“I can’t believe this,” he says, breaking the silence that’s fallen between you at last. “My mom’s been talking about you for months, but I never imagined that it’d be you.”

“You’re telling me,” you reply, finally having recovered your voice. “Kyunghee brings you up all the time, but I never thought… I mean, we didn’t even know each other’s names, and now…” You shrug. “Here we both are.”

“It’s a pretty crazy coincidence, huh?”

“Definitely.”

A beat passes, and then two. You’re fully aware that you’re staring, but you don’t dare blink, afraid that he’ll disappear if you close your eyes. Of all the things that you thought might happen tonight, this particular meeting wasn’t even close to making the list. Never would you have thought that the man you only knew as Jay would turn out to be Kyunghee’s son. Never would you have connected Jay to the photographed little boy in yellow suspenders on Kyunghee’s desk, or realized that they were one and the same.

From behind you, someone loudly clears their throat. Another voice calls for you to get a move on, already, and both you and Hoseok belatedly realize that you are still standing in line for the open bar. Hoseok’s eyes go wide again, and you nearly tread on his toes when you both try to move forward. “After you,” he says with a chuckle, gesturing for you to go in front of him, and that’s enough to break the tension. You step ahead of him with a laugh, catching up to the line, and Hoseok doesn’t stray far as he follows your lead.

“So, what are you drinking?” he asks, a smile playing at the corner of his lips. “Vodka soda with a twist?”

“Actually, I think I’m going to stick with wine tonight,” you reply, peering at the bottles lined up on the counter. “What about you?”

“Hmm. Jack and coke, I think. Nothing else is really calling my name right now.”

Grabbing your drinks, the two of you begin searching for a place to sit. You spot Kyunghee at a table near the front, and she smiles knowingly and offers you a thumbs-up when she catches your eye. Eventually, you settle on a table near the Christmas tree, the lights glimmering off the glasses and reflecting off your knife as you pick it up to butter a slice of crusty bread from the basket in the center. Hoseok follows your lead, grabbing a piece for himself, and the two of you munch in silence for a few seconds before Hoseok breaks it.

“You know, my mom says you’re the perfect girl for me” he says with a dry little chuckle. “Think she’s right?”

“I don’t know,” you answer. “It’s funny, though—Kyunghee’s been telling me the same thing. She sings your praises all the time.”

Hoseok laughs and scratches the back of his neck. “Oh, jeez, that’s kind of embarrassing. I’m glad she’s saying good things, at least.”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” you tell him, grinning. “She’s only shown us one photo album from your childhood.”

His face crumples. “Was it the Disneyland one?”

You nod, fighting back laughter, and watch as Hoseok groans and lets his forehead meet the linen-covered tabletop with a dull thunk.

“I don’t like rollercoasters,” he mumbles into the tablecloth, his voice muffled by the material. “They make me queasy.”

“Even now?” you ask, and he nods.

“Yep.”

The clinking of a fork against a wineglass—amplified and broadcast through an array of invisible speakers built into the restaurant’s walls—interrupts any further conversation. You twist in your seat to watch your company’s leadership give their opening remarks, listening as they congratulate everyone for a great year and wish you a happy holiday season. The servers begin going out with plates of food, and you thank them as they set yours down. Hoseok does the same before raising his glass in your direction, clearing his throat and offering you a crooked little smile.

“Here’s to second meetings.”

“Third, if you count the store earlier,” you correct, and he chuckles and nods in agreement before clinking his drink against yours.

You spend the entirety of dinner chatting with Hoseok, getting to know him beyond the few facts Kyunghee has mentioned and what little you’ve gleaned from texting him the last two months. He tells you all about his dance studio, Hope World, where he teaches both contemporary dance and the occasional Pilates class. You find out that in addition to rollercoasters, he also dislikes sour foods and raisins, but he loves mint chocolate and sweet and sour pork. He also has a very low tolerance for alcohol—something he tells you as he tilts the rest of his drink into his mouth. “Should I be worried?” you ask as he sets his glass back down, and he chuckles and shakes his head, sending the loose tendril of hair flopping across his forehead.

Dessert is served, and subsequently eaten. The music is turned up, and people slowly begin finding their way to the open space that serves as an impromptu dancefloor. Hoseok rises to his feet and extends a hand toward you, and you only hesitate for the briefest of seconds before accepting it. He leads you out amongst the other swaying couples, his hand finding its way to the curve of your waist, and you rest your hand on his shoulder as he begins guiding you in a slow, simple waltz.

��So?” Hoseok’s voice is a low murmur, soft and gentle against the shell of your ear. “What’s the verdict?”

You blink. “The verdict?”

Even without looking, you can tell that he’s smiling. You can hear it in the lilt of his voice, and imagine it in the curve of his lips. “About me,” he clarifies, carefully pulling back so you can spin in a circle beneath his outstretched arm. “About us. My mom will never let me hear the end of it if she turns out to be right, but I still wanna know. So what are you thinking?”

“Are you asking if I think we’re perfect for each other?” you ask, giggling. “I don’t know if I believe in all that, to be quite honest. Destiny and soulmates—I mean, doesn’t it seem a little too good to be true?”

Hoseok hums. “Maybe. But considering all that’s happened to us in the last couple of months, don’t you think there’s a chance that it's all more than simple coincidence?”

“Maybe,” you concede. “Still, I don’t know if I can give you a verdict just yet. We haven’t even gone on a date.”

“We did do things a little backwards,” Hoseok admits, tugging you close and winding his arm around your waist. “Let me make it up to you, then. Are you free tomorrow?”

“What if I am?” you challenge.

“Then, I’d like to take you out for breakfast,” he replies without missing a beat.

The prospect of a proper meal with Hoseok Jung does something funny to your insides. Still, something makes you hesitate, and you avert your gaze as you search for your next words. “I wasn’t expecting to end tonight with a date,” you admit slowly. “I honestly didn’t even think you were interested in… well, anything beyond sex, to be honest.”

Hoseok’s face creases into a frown, and you look up again when he murmurs your name. “I understand why you would think that,” he says. “Really, I do. But honestly? I had every intention of texting you and asking you out properly. I was going to play it cool and wait a few days, which was stupid in retrospect. And then you texted me first.”

“I texted y—” You trail off. “Oh, god.”

“It seemed like you’d been drinking,” Hoseok says with a shrug, and you press a finger to his lips before he can say anything more. You remember the night in question, and you remember the bottle of wine you’d consumed. And you definitely remember the photographs you’d sent of yourself, and the ones Hoseok had been kind enough to send in return.

“Wait, so you were going to ask me out? And then I… I sexted you?”

Hoseok nods, and you groan and bury your face into his chest.

“I can’t believe this,” you mutter, and you feel laughter rumble through his chest before a hand comes up to stroke along your back.

“Believe me, I’m not complaining,” he assures you. “But I’d still really like to take you out, so what do you say?”

His gaze doesn’t leave yours for a second as he awaits your answer, and your heart skips a beat when you look up to see the earnestness in his eyes and the hesitant smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Breakfast sounds wonderful,” you whisper, and the smile that blossoms on your companion’s face is nothing short of radiant.

“Good,” he says. “Great. Breakfast tomorrow, then. Now, can I kiss you?”

You’re already pushing up to your tiptoes, your fingers fisting in the soft hair at his nape. “God, yes.”

///

“Hey, you made it!”

You beam. “Hi.”

You and Hoseok are about to commence your first date, having just sat down at a cozy little café for breakfast. Hoseok has pulled your chair out in true gentlemanly fashion, and you can’t help but smile over your menu at the few lingering snowflakes that have yet to melt into his dark hair.

“So, here we are,” you remark. “Our fourth meeting.”

Hoseok’s lips stretch into his signature grin, breathtakingly bright and infectious. “And hopefully many more.”

You grin at him. “Yeah? Too bad this is breakfast, because I’d drink to that.”

He leans forward, his grin widening. “Next time,” he says as his hand finds its way around yours, his fingers slotting comfortably into the spaces between your own. “We can do dinner, maybe. Or I can cook for you. But for now, I’m just happy that we’re finally doing this.”

You give his hand a soft squeeze. “Me too.”

“Just promise me one thing?”

The sudden seriousness of his tone has your brow furrowing in concern. “Sure, of course,” you reassure. “What is it?”

He winces. “Please don’t tell my mom about all the dick pics.”

[lilxberry]

Hardly Burglar Material - Bilbo Baggins

Requested by: @donniethescienceguy​

Helloooooooo! Can I have a Bilbo x hobbit wife reader where after Thorin insults him (in the beginning when he arrives) she defends him and Thorins like: are you sure it’s the male Baggins we want?

I mean, I still did as what was requested but man, did I not know where tf this was going lmao

I followed quite a bit of the manuscript of the film, the only alteration is when reader confronts Thorin

Warnings: Nothing really. Asshole Thorin. Terrible writing lmao. 

Words: 1,796

Pairings: Bilbo Baggins x Reader (female reader) (wife!reader)

_______________

You hadn’t expected your quiet evening meal with your husband to be interrupted but when a dwarf, a big, burly, tattooed, balding, towering one at that knocks your door, there certainly isn’t much you can do.

After the dwarf, who introduced himself as Dwalin, had entered your home and devoured your husbands fish dinner, to which you offered Bilbo your own meal, more and more knocks sounded at the door, each one miffing your husband further and further until he had finally had enough.

“There’s nobody home!” he shouted as another sound came from the front door, arms holding up the abundance of weapons the two brothers’, Fíli and Kíli, loaded on to him.

You felt terrible, watching as your husband becomes frustrated, not knowing what to do other than spectate in concern.

He tossed the items down out of his arms as he stormed towards the door, shouting at whoever was on the other side. “Go away and bother somebody else! There are far too many dwarves in my dining room as it is.”

Bilbo closes in on the door. “I-I-If this is some plotheads idea of a joke,” he laughed in disbelief before grasping the door handle in his hand. “I can only say, it is in very poor taste.”

With that, he pulled the door open and in comes tumbling through the doorway a cluster of dwarves, all grumbling and whining at the other to get off of them. Bilbo and yourself, who stood a few steps behind, looked down at the mess of moving bodies on the floor before his feet, dumbfounded expressions on both of your faces.

Movement behind the pile up caught both yours and Bilbos’ attention, and once the tall figure bent down ever so slightly to reveal himself, your face twisted into that of utter confusion as your husband sighs in exasperation.

“Gandalf.”

_______________

Although you were concerned for your husband, you couldn’t help but find the whole situation quite amusing. You found some of the dwarven folk that had invaded your shared home to be quite a fun, entertaining bunch.

Of course, you were concerned about the possessions within your home, hoping that the dwarves leave your home relatively untouched and that your husband wouldn’t have some sort of mental breakdown.

Your uninvited guests had pillaged the pantry of its food. The race of dwarves certainly did have quite an appetite. Even Gandalf had nibbled on quite a bit of food.

The rowdiness of the dwarves had calmed slightly, if only for moment when they downed whatever drink they had. Even the ridiculous and frankly disgusting belching afterwards was calmer than their initial arrival.

Yet that was quickly replaced with plates, platers, knives, forks, and spoons were tossed from one dwarf to another as they sang a merry tune. Bilbo was quick with demanding caution and for things to be put down. Even you were slightly worried for your kitchen utensils.

The dwarves released hearty laughter when you and Bilbo peered into the kitchen and had seen that everything was clean and stacked, Gandalf chuckling along with them as both you and Bilbo simultaneously release sighs of relief.

Then, the atmosphere became tense as three, loud knocks sound at your front door for a final time that night.

The laughter died out instantly and Gandalf spoke quite ominously. “He’s here.”

_______________

You couldn’t really pinpoint what exactly was unsettled you so much when it came to the dark-haired dwarf who sat at the head of the table. Maybe his stature. Possibly his stoic expression.

Most likely the look behind his eyes.

Well, you certainly didn’t like him all that much whenever he addressed your husband.

Most of the conversation between the dwarves and Gandalf became muffled when reaching your ears, certainly seeing no point in listening in on their talk. The second your husbands voice rang out through the room though had piqued your interest and your attention was brought to the conversation.

They spoke of The Lonely Mountain, the dragon Smaug, how they were on a quest to reclaim their home. Gandalf had produced not only a map of some forts but a key, a key the dwarves seemed to become quite excited about.

You also happened to admire the young dwarfs’ courage. Ori.

Then, the topic of a burglar arrived.

“That’s why we need a burglar,” Ori spoke.

“Hmm, and a good one too. An expert I’d imagine.” Bilbo moves back from peering down at the map, holding on to his suspenders.

“And are you?”

Bilbo glances around to behind him before looking towards the dwarves once more. “Am I what?”

“He said he’s an expert!” Oin spoke cheerily. Of course, the dwarf with the horn to aid his hearing would say as such.

“Me? No, no, no, no, no,” your husband started, eyes darting to each dwarf, hoping his point would get across. “I’m not a burglar. I’ve never stolen a thing in my life.”

You nodded your head in agreement. As much as you love your husband, he is quite the stickler for following rules.

“I’m afraid I have to agree with Mister Baggins,” Balin was next to speak. “He’s hardly burglar material.”

You supressed a chuckle as Bilbo, although relieved that someone agreed, looked the tiniest bit offended.

The group of dwarves began to chatter and raise in volume, no words could actually be comprehended by yourself, it all a jumble of noises. Then Gandalf raised out of the seat slightly, his voice booming over the racket the dwarves created.

“ENOUGH! IF I SAY BILBO BAGGINS IS A BURGLAR,” he lowered his voice with each following word. “Then a burglar he is.” Bilbo looked as if he wanted to protest but no words left his mouth.

“Hobbits are remarkably light on their feet,” he continued. “In fact, they can pass by unseen by most if they chose. And while the dragon is accustomed to the smell of dwarf, the scent of a Hobbit is all but unknown to them which gives us an distinct advantage.”

The whole discussion about your husband was unnerving for you. You disliked how your husband was talked of like a ploy in some silly game.

“This quest is no place for gentlefolk.” Thorins’ tone was as if the words left a vile taste in his mouth, clearly showing his disgust for your husband. “He probably wouldn’t last 5 miles away from his precious little home. Look at him, Gandalf! He isn’t made for such things, it’s as clear as day. His big feet and rounded belly would slow us down. Your little Hobbit would cry out for home within a day.”

Your blood boiled with each word he spoke, an anger rising in you which you desperately tried to keep down. Your nails dug into the palms of your hands and your jaw was clenched tightly shut, but enough was enough.

“HOW DARE YOU SPEAK OF MY HUSBAND LIKE THAT?! NO LESS WHILST YOU ARE IN HIS HOME AND IN HIS PRESENCE!”

Your outburst caught the attention of every soul in the dining room around the table. Their eyes settled on your figure that stepped closer and closer to them up to the point where you stood glaring down at Thorin right beside his seat. Even Bilbos’ eyes were wide and looked almost ready to pop right out of their sockets.

“My husband may not be a fighter like you…you BRASS DWARVES! But he deserves no less respect. I will not stand for someone speaking down on my Bilbo in such a manner, even if they are some king,” you all but spat out.

Some of the dwarves looked offended that you spoke to their leader in such a way, others looked thoroughly shocked, surprised that a small thing as yourself had such a fire in you. Gandalf smirked as Bilbo looked like he genuinely feared for your safety. He had witnessed outbursts from you that scared him before, which were quite rare, you barely losing your temper, but for once, he was terrified of the consequences seeing as it wasn’t at him nor a fellow Hobbit.

But it was Thorins’ reaction that had you confused. He seemed…impressed?

Thorin turned towards Gandalf, a smirk of his own forming on his face. “Are you sure it was Mister Baggins you had wanted to join our quest?”

Gandalf chuckled and looked towards you and your husband, you now joined your side, who was silently scolding you with his eyes but nonetheless remaining the concerned, dotting husband. “I was certain on Mister Baggins being the 14th member of your company, but I would highly recommend you take a 15th as I believe Misses Baggins certainly has something of her own to bring to the quest.”

“They both have a great deal more to offer than any of you know, including themselves. You must trust me on this,” Gandalf finished.

Thorin looked at Gandalf and Gandalf at he for a moment, Thorin evidently mulling it over within his head before finally, he spoke. “Very well. We’ll do it your way. Give them the contract.”

Both yourself and Bilbo began to protest as Balin produced the document. He handed it over to Bilbo who unravelled the parchment and began to scan over the words, your eyes peering over his shoulder to read it for yourself.

As Bilbo and you busied yourselves with reading over the document, Thorin had leant over towards Gandalf to whisper within his ear. “I cannot guarantee their safety.”

“Understood,” Gandalf hummed in acknowledgement.

“You’ll be left responsible for their fate.”

“Agreed.”

Bilbo began to read aloud the text, brow furrowed out of concentration, your own face screwed up slightly, straining to peer at the words.

“Terms; cash on delivery up to but not exceeding 1 14th for total profit, if any. Seems fair, uhh-“

“Shouldn’t it be changed to 1 15th if I were to join?” you questioned aimlessly.

Bilbo nodded his head in agreement before continuing. “Present company shall not be liable for injuries inflicted by or sustained as a government, thereof including but not limited to; lacerations. Evisceration?” He unfolds a piece further, reading before looking towards the group with a look of disbelief. “Incineration?!”

“Oh, aye. It’d melt the flesh off your bones in the blink of an eye,” Bofur quipped with ease.

Many more ‘encouraging and reassuring’ words were spoken by Bofur, unnerving both yourself and Bilbo, though you hid it extremely well. The moment your husband passed out, was when Bofur seemed to finally relent.

“Oh dear.” You looked towards your husband laying on the floor unconscious with concern before turning towards the others with a worried expression.

Valar forbid you allow him to go with those dwarves and that conniving wizard alone.

_______________

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I mean, I don’t really have anything to say sooooo

If you want to be added to a taglist lemme know

Anywho, I hope you enjoy

As always, constructive criticism and requests are welcomed and greatly appreciated :D

_______________

LOTR / The Hobbit taglist:

@iwazoomingouttahere​ 

[alberivh]

devotion (ROYAL AU) — pt.1 : realization.

Butler! Diluc X GN!Reader . Royal! childe (as supporting character), butler! Kaeya (supporting cast ; in pt2 story line)

contains : heavy angst, comfort/hurt, isolation, arranged marriage, major character death, mentions of blood, injuries, execution, abusive relationship, abandonment, ‘consumption’, false accusation, blades

summaries : arranged marriage has always been one of your family ruthless tradition. You were allowed to love them you couldn’t reach, yet the feeling of being abandoned once and for all by those who you truly treasured was more than numbness could ever describe. Diluc who’s your lover need to accept this tradition, yet he, himself need to get his life down for your future sake.

A/N : thank you for 100 followers!! It has been a wild ride since i’ve just joined this community. Thank you very much and as a rewards, here’s a token of heavy angst for y’all. I have a really bad writing block right now, so this might took more than you think hehe. So once again, thank you very much! ( i actually hate this, tyvm)

“Your majesty…please allow me to hold y—“

“No. I simply do not have time for people pleaser, please let yourself be out from here..” , you cursed your future-husband out of from your bounties. It startled all of the maids and butlers in your room, it even make your somewhat-fiancé looked awful. You were pissed by him, by the structure of his eyelids, the heavy breathe from who-knows-where and many more part of him you don’t even want to recognize.

There’s no reason to deny that you hate this, all of this, Known as the maiden of the family, you were nothing but their only pry. It pissed you, it really does. How come you are holding the throne at the age of 25? Aren’t you supposed to check your garden instead taking all of your well-behave throne and the awful arranged marriage your family has made? No? What an unlucky person you are, the butlers thought.

“Diluc please guide master tartaglia to the upfront door, i have no intention to see him now. If you already had brought him downstairs, get back to my resident immediately.”

“this is the main reason why everyone despis—“

“Please leave Immediately. My master have no further interest to speak with you, master tartaglia.” Diluc shouted your internal response to the group of scums in front of your sight. He heard enough of this small talk your future-husband has been talking about. Diluc wasn’t jealous, he was simply too disturbed with your disgusted face everytime tartaglia walks around your residence. just how much pressured you had been under to make you act so ruthless in front of the man you’ll called husband in no time?

he silently observing him down the hall. Not wanting to have a talk with a scum like him, he avoid any sights of his ‘particular’ interest. After all, in his eyes, tartaglia doesn’t deserve any part of you. He acts too normally, there diluc suspicion of your fiancé grown. There must be something behind his motive. Tartaglia have recognize diluc’s gaze for a while now. Though, he pretend none of those bothering suspicion triggered his rage. And so, he fired him up with a quick straightforward awareness. Or as the citizen say, A threat.

“mr. Butler..stop loving my future partner or tomorrow you’ll have the consequences..got it? And do not touch them..i’ve warned you when you were alive, i like my future partner to be a virgin ins—“

“master tartaglia i have no relationship with the majesty, how come you assume such a thing from a humble butler like me? I was just simply following orders, hope you could understand, master tartaglia.” , answering his rage. Tartaglia found his emotion drains wild. It look like those bothering emotions he hide finally show diluc their true intention to spoiled you. Diluc’s eyes met your fiancé terrifying visions, the murderous aura in it explains his true intention. Diluc could only plea inside, let my majesty be safe.

“don’t you dare say anything to your master, mr butler. My partner has been mine all along, stay away from our relationship or tomorrow would be your last day…”

“Though, i simply wouldn’t mind, ajax.” , he gurantees tartaglia’s eyes.

The night came. the breeze flew through your open windows, leaving chills through your spine. it was an unsurprisingly beautiful night, you quoted. Diluc was preparing your bed, as you humm through the southed area of your room. The melodical sound of your humming have always soothes his grudge from afar. It was always been his favorite sound.

“ your majesty, the bed has been done. You may rest peacefully now..so please excuse m—“

“Diluc…stop making it seems like i’m the only one who loved you..just stay here, i missed you a lot..” , in a sudden your arm was attached to his body, his dirty and ordinary body. You embraced him so tightly, as if diluc were going to some place you wouldn’t want him to cross. You were scared of losing him. You don’t want any of this marriage, you don’t want tartaglia to even acknowledge your presence. You just want diluc to stay by your side, even if you both have considered how selfish it is.

You clunge onto his chest, pressing gentle kiss on his cheeks. Not wanting him to leave nor to leave you behind. So desperate of you to feel this way.

“you’ve been doing great darling,i’m proud of you..”

“please stay like this for a while, i love you. So please, don’t go..don’t go..” , diluc watch your flattering smile turns into a small-sobs, it cracks him, he doesn’t want to let you go either. He was simply following your fiancé awareness, he doesn’t want anyone to harm you, even if it meant for you to see him in agony. Diluc Carries your figure into your bed in return, not wanting to bare any of his emotions. Feelings are fragile and so do he. giving soft and gentle kisses to your forehead as he wiped your tears, whispering a ‘goodnight’ before he left you again. If he was being honest, he wants to be more selfish, he wants to be with you, forever.

“hmm..i’ll be waiting for you, goodnight my beloved..”

“What’s with the inconvenience…?” The loud atmosphere greet you with chills. What time is it? You don’t even know. All you know is the sunrise have yet to grown out from the wave of the clouds. but why must all of your maids gather themself on your room, something important? But why must them gather at the edge of dusk..? Did your mother fucked up again? But actually, what happened?

At the same time, you mumbled a form of question. Where’s diluc? You asked yourself.

“Y-Your majesty! d-diluc have now been courted by the queen, i-i don’t know what happened but please stay put i shall help you! Yes! I-i—“ courted? In sudden, you dropped your glasses. The broken piece of the glasses shard scarred your leg. It was painful, but you didn’t care. The blood shed of your scars leave the carpet of your resident turn into a red motives of blood. What did diluc do to make himself courted by your own mother? All he did was to love me, mother. The maid beside you were in all panics, trying to brag your arm from leaving the room. Although you declined the embrace of it, you were still running in pain, it made the maids panics turn into vomits.

Rushing through the open corridor of your resident in sweats and blood shed, You found diluc. His hands tied with a rope, a slight red bruises covered his face. He was Courted by your mother because of an unknown letter that has been sent to the queen herself, it was dumb for her to court an innocent person like him. Though, at last, you found yourself screaming his name. The pain which hold onto your consciousness leave your body in a second. diluc was aware of this, Everything. His hands wanted to touch you and lead you to rest. but he couldn’t, the execution would be in front of his eyes in no time.

“you did harm my child don’t you? Look at those blood on their legs! How come a butler like you harmed my precious child..?! They are unconscious because of you filthy butler. Know your degree, h—“

“you abuse them, your highness. You abuse them, ever since their father die, you abandoned them and break them to pieces. How come you only care about them dying when their time to hold the throne came? They were dying because of you, those consumption they witness are all because of you. And you dare to tell me what to do when all i did was just to love them?!” He quoted every single words you wish you could say to your mothers face. You wished you have the audacity to tell her the truth, yet your weak body refuse it’s urge to make diluc out of the execution lines. I’m sorry, i’m really sorry.

silence fill the room. You were laying in pain, as you heard diluc’s defense and your mother’s lies. You realized once more, you were nothing to them. Just a pry for the throne. none of the guards have pitied you either, they are too focused on never-letting diluc’s eyes or hands meet your figure in this state of time. Those scarred glasses on your legs have made you lose too-many bloods, it scared diluc. After all, as a lover he is, he has devoted himself to protect you in all cost. let them be safe and take me away. It’s his last hope for you to stay awake for him.

“no execution needed. I have no reason to pay attention to fools like you. so isolation it is. This is all because of you, my child is dying and you’re the one at fault. Noticed how they haven’t even called your name again? They died because your lack of responsibility.” , spitting her mucus in diluc’s knees. You could barely saw diluc chills which you usually saw in his eyes. He’s about to cry..you think.

“Guards, please take my child away and let them rest in their bed. And so for this butler, put him in the isolation room, make sure to let him eat only once in a day, understood? Ah..don’t let my child see him, i don’t want them to see an abuser like him crawling out their life’s on my window.” , orders from your mother are none to first. They couldn’t be disobey and you understand them. You understand how ruthless it is, you understand it. But why must diluc? Why him? You saw the sight of him, blades are all over his neck. For what reason actually? To let him never see you again.

carried by the guards to your room and diluc was gone from your vision. He is not wrong, your highness. So why must those who loved me left my side, mother? Why won’t these bruises you add to my flawless skin never leave me? Is it because i’m a procession of your own sin? It was a cursed to fall in love with those you could barely reach.

PART 2 : COMING SOON

this is shitty, really shitty in fact. Though, thank you very much for reading this. Part 2 will come soon, if i had some energy to write the readers mother personality without getting pissed off. But anyways, see y’all soon at part 2 <3

[anneimaginesundertale]

💃 Dancing with Gaster, please?

This was the problem with having the Royal Scientist for a husband, you thought. He was always forgetting about things that were important to you in favor of things that were important to all monsterkind. You were incredibly proud of him, but missing your date night (for the third week in a row) just wouldn’t do. It was time to take action.

You strode through Hotland like you were on a mission, ignoring all the monsters around you and skipping as many of the puzzles as you could. You finally made it to the lab. No one there stopped you going in. Everybody here knew who you were, and could probably guess why you were here.

You only stopped your purposeful stride when you reached the final door. You paused and closed your eyes, giving yourself a quick pep talk. You were doing this for a good reason. All of monsterkind could wait. You were tired of waiting. And Gaster deserved a break. Your sweet husband worked himself to the bone (heh) and he needed to learn to take time away.

You opened your eyes and straightened your outfit. This was for his own good, and yours. You made sure you had your special item and then you pushed open the door. A strange humming filled the air. You spotted your husband bent over his desk, furiously scribbling something. He was surrounded by coffee cups, his glasses had fallen off one side of his skull, and you could tell even from the doorway that he (a) hadn’t slept in far too long, (b) hadn’t eaten since the last time you’d fed him, and (c) had no clue you were here. You couldn’t help your smirk. He was thoroughly distracted, as you’d known he’d be. Time to get his attention.

You pulled out the item you’d brought with you, a small speaker that Gaster had built for you. You set it down on the floor (there were no clear tables or counters in this place) and pushed the right combination of buttons to start the music. You let that build and while you cleared some space. A bit of blue magic pushed desks and machines and piles of papers out of the way. If he was paying attention, Gaster would probably be annoyed about that, but if he didn’t want you moving his stuff, he should have come home for date night.

The music filled the room. At his desk, Gaster’s scribbling slowed. He reached up and adjusted his glasses, getting them on the right way, then kept scribbling. You walked to his side and stood right next to him. Softly, you sang along with the music. The song you’d chosen urged the listener to come away, to stop, to take a moment. At just the right moment, you reached out and touched his shoulder.

Gaster jumped almost a foot in the air. His glasses slipped again and three of the mugs fell over. You caught them with blue magic before they hit the floor. “Hello, Dings,” you said softly.

Your sweet goofball husband looked at you as if he was seeing you for the first time. “Darling?” he asked, his voice sounding like he hadn’t spoken to anyone for days. (He hadn’t.) “What are you doing here?”

“It’s Friday,” you said. “Friday night.”

“Friday night,” he repeated. “Friday…night…” You watched it dawn on him. His eye lights grew huge and for a moment, he looked like a sad puppy. Then he flung his arms around you (sending his pen flying across the lab and almost knocking over another two mugs). “Oh darling, I’m so sorry! I forgot again, didn’t I?”

You relished the feeling of his embrace. “You did,” you said, resting your head on his collarbone, “but I’m willing to forgive you if you’ll do something for me.”

“Anything, my love!”

You looked up at him, your eyes shining. “Dance with me?”

For a moment he just stared at you. You counted silently. 1…2…3…Right on cue, the music changed to a sweet waltz (as you’d intended it to) and Gaster took the hint. “i would love to dance with you,” he said and he led the way to the space you’d cleared. It wasn’t a big space, but there was enough room for you and your love to move to the music.

“I’m so sorry,” Gaster said again as you revolved together. “I keep forgetting, and I really do need to stop. As soon as the king finds me an assistant, I promise—I swear—I’ll be home more.”

“I’m going to hold you to that,” you said with a smile. “We’re going to want you around at home.”

1…2…3…

“We?!”

Your smile grew wider. “I haven’t had a chance to tell you because you’ve been working so much,” you said, letting of his hand to place yours on your stomach.

“When?”

“October, I think?”

“What month is it now?”

“June, my love.”

“June!” Pause. “October?!”

You laughed. “You miss out on quite a lot when you’re always working, Dings,” you said.

“I won’t from now on! I’m going home now. We’re going home now. I want to know everything I’ve missed! Come on!”

You didn’t even have a chance to grab your little speaker with how fast he pulled you toward the door. The two of you practically flew home. You had a lot of catching up to do.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Right, so. As you may have guessed, this is Gaster and his late wife. This is a little glimpse into life before things went wrong. I really struggled with figuring out how to write this, because in The Best of All Timelines world, Gaster is scattered across time and space, but I really wanted to write this for you. So…flashback. This is UT Gaster and UT Optima (which is apparently the name I chose for Sans and Pap’s mom, at least in one thing that I wrote…I don’t remember if I’ve said anything about her elsewhere…I do have ideas…)

Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this, Nonny. I had a lot of fun writing it!

[drivinmrdriver]

5 Years Today (Flip Zimmerman x reader)

Description: If you watch Modern Family you may recognize the plot a little bit lol. No warnings, just mention of an important date forgotten. This work is very tame thus I feel like it’s not as good as my others so I’m sorry. Just thought it would be a little cute! Also writing from my new dorm at college, should I do a college theme work? If so with which character??

Flip had a long day at work. To top it off, he was called in on a Saturday, which was never good news, and even worse it was for a homicide that wasn’t even in his jurisdiction. A couple counties over just needed some extra help and the culprit was pretty easy to catch, pretty much just waiting at the gas station to be taken into custody.

He came home the day before at around 1 in the morning and was called away at 7 to go help with the case. Not seeing his wife for such a long amount of time on that beautiful Saturday you could’ve spent together was brutal for him and he knew it was for you too but there was always Sunday.

He turned the cruiser off and made his way into his dark cabin of a house sighing softly at the dim light of the bedside lamp in the upstairs bedroom. He knew that you had waited up for him, not being able to sleep until his truck of a body was laying next to you in your Queen size bed at night.

Kicking his boots off on the porch, he walked into the dark house and sniffed the air sighing sadly. He could tell you had made supper not knowing when he would get back. The remnants of what was surely a delicious roast was still in the air as he dug through the fridge eating the meat right from the dish like a wild dog. To be honest, he wasn’t as hungry as he was tired and ready to see your face again.

He walked up the stairs unbuttoning his flannel with every step he took before smiling softly as he saw you leaning against the headboard reading a book and placing it in your lap at the sight of him, “Hello, darling. Past your bedtime isn’t it?”

“I could say the same thing to you…..darling.” You give him a strained smile that had him quirking a brow at your behavior.

“No need for the hostility, honey bun. You know how my work is. We had to help out in Larimer…there was a homicide…we got him though and I’m back before midnight.” He walked over kissing the top of your head as he slid off his jeans and changed into clean underwear and long Johns.

“Well I through together a lovely dinner, especially considering the occasion.” You said through gritted teeth as he walked to the bathroom to brush his teeth.

He looked himself in the mirror confused before brushing his teeth, “Occasion? What occasion?”

You sat in bewildered silence. He had forgotten. He had actually forgotten. This was typical of men and you knew this of course, they weren’t the best with dates but due to this being your husband of now 5 years today, you held this man on a pedestal.

He took your silence with you busying yourself with your book again so he didn’t push. It was probably your mothers birthday and he’d make it up to her by fixing something around her house like he usually did.

You had planned an evening of romance. You’d make his favorite, roast beef, baked potatoes, collard greens, and a biscuit with your famous sweet tea. You’d open a bottle of wine by the fire place and show off your new intimate wear that you and Patrice picked out last week and the rest is history. Now that intimate wear sat still in its box in your shared closet. He didn’t deserve it on you tonight and being the little attention whore you are, you’re gonna milk it for all it’s worth.

Flip grinned tugging the quilt back on the bed and laying beside you pulling you to his side as he put your book on your bedside table. He kissed your cheeks and forehead and nose and finally your lips noticing you didn’t look too pleased with him.

“Baby, I promise. You’ll have me all day long tomorrow.” He reassured you before turning off the lamp beside the bed.

You stared at your alarm clock beside the bed. 11:59. You whispered the countdown just loud enough for Flip to lift his head curiously, “3…2…1..You missed our anniversary.”

Flip immediately sat up his movements nearly causing your mountain of a man to fall off the bed, “What the fuck?! What no! That’s next week.” He stumbled out of the bed nearly running to the at-home office next door to your bedroom looking at the calendar on the wall nearly falling over as he saw the ‘5 year anniversary’ written on what is now yesterday’s date with the little hearts you put around it and he felt his heart crack.

He ran back in the room falling on his knees beside your side of the bed. He turned the lamp back on reading your expression, “Oh fuck, baby I’m so sorry. If I had remembered I would’ve told Bridges to fuck off.”

“It’s okay, I only reminded you on Monday at 10 am, Tuesday at 7pm, and Thursday I put a note on your lunch sandwich about it.” You grumble turning away from him again now looking at his empty space on the bed. You knew that he missed for a good reason. You couldn’t even help but feel a little selfish. I mean, he was kind of solving a murder case.

“Oh God, what can I do bubbeleh? How can I make it up to you?” He groaned, his tired eyes searching your posture before he crawled back into his side of the bed taking you into his arms.

“Well, you’re going to be punished, obviously.” You say smartly. His eyes darkened a bit, he wasn’t used to you making rules. No. He was the one who made the rules. But if this was what it took then he would oblige with anything to make this right.

“And what’s my punishment?” He asked slowly. These words felt foreign to your very dominant husband.

“Since you seem to forget about your wife quite often, you’re gonna see what it’s like to be without one for a week or so.” You smirk. This is technically punishment for you too in a way but it brought you satisfaction to know he’d suffer a bit for what he did.

“What do you mean by that?” He asked in a warning tone sitting up on his elbows to look down at you. You saw what he was doing and you sat up to be taller than him looking down at him.

“No sex for a week. Im not cooking, I’m not cleaning, and I’m certainly not servicing you at the station either. I’m going to have some me time, funded by you of course, and come Saturday at 11:59, when that clock strikes midnight you can ravage me like our honeymoon.” You nearly grow giddy with power as you watched his eyes widen and then narrow.

“You’ll forgive me if I do this?” He asked hesitantly.

“Oh I’ll more than forgive you, I’ll pretend like you never forgot. Won’t even bring it up in future arguments or anything. Won’t tell our future kids. Won’t tell my mother who will surely chew you out. Clean slate.” You smirk looking down at him before laying back down pulling the covers over you.

“Fine. You got yourself a deal, honey bunny.” Flip went to lean into kiss you but you put your hand in his way shaking your head.

“Excuse me sir, that’s a wifely duty.” You giggle at his growl as he turns in bed and settles in, “Goodnight, Phillip.”

He let out another growl at that. You hadn’t called him by his first name since the day you got married and you had to say his name for the vows.

You had a very stable marriage, in fact it was the envy of the town. In having a stable marriage, however, came a very VERY stable sex life. If not twice a day, then once. By the end of the week somehow 10-12 times not including lunch break quickies. Going a week without your body would be torture. Nothing his hand couldn’t fix but it couldn’t even compare. He never had a need to jack off even because you were always there happy and willing to help him out yourself. You were always so attentive to him physically and he cursed himself for not being the same for you but emotionally. If this week is what it took to make you realize he was sorry then he would man up.

Monday morning, Flip woke up with the birds to go to work. He unconsciously opened the fridge and made a grab for his lunch sack his wife usually makes the night before but he sighed as he was met with nothing. Looking at his watch he cursed at the time and grabbed an apple before jogging to his truck to go to work cursing all the way.

He made it to work on time and plopped at his desk rubbing his face with a sigh. It was already proving to be a long week. He was pint up and frustrated.

“Hey man. Patrice told me about your anniversary, congratulations.” Ron said wheeling his chair over to Flip’s desk.

“Yeah? Well I wish she would’ve told me.” Flip grumbled filling out the paperwork on his desk.

“No shit? How’s (Y/n) holding up?” Ron asked concerned. From talking to Patrice he knew you were looking forward to it. Five years was a decent amount of time.

“Let’s just say I’m in the doghouse for a little while but we’re alright. I’m letting her simmer down and give it a week, everything will be back to normal.” Flip nodded standing to fix himself coffee.

At his lunch he decided to call the house and talk to you to at least make sure you were holding down the fort.

“Hello?” You answer with a small smirk.

“Hey, dumpling? How’re you doing?” He smiled hearing your voice.

“Oh, I’m great darling. I do have a hair appointment I have to get to though. I’ll talk to you when you get home tonight.” You smile and hang up the phone taking his card from the table.

He groaned slamming the phone down and standing up. He loved when you got your hair done. You were so gorgeous and confident and had just that glow about you that radiated beauty. This week would be difficult.

Tuesday was the same, this time you had a nail appointment, Wednesday you went shopping with Patrice, Thursday you went out drinking with some friends just as Flip got home from work, and Friday night you went to the disco. Flip couldn’t let you go without him. He knew he was on punishment still but he’d be damned if some sucker at the disco thought you were up for grabs. He sat at the bar and watched you danced with your friends.

Saturday morning he felt around the bed sitting up quickly as he realized you weren’t there. He sat up looking at the clock to see it was almost noon. He slept in, probably from getting home late from the disco last night. He looked around the house for you before his eyes zero’d in on you.

You lay back in the lawn chair in the front yard, clad in your bikini that barely covered anything, your skin glistening with oil or sunscreen or a mixture of both as the few cars that drove by surely were slowing as they drove past your house. He opened the door quickly stepping out on the porch.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” He called out, his voice booming.

“It’s called tanning, genius.” You fire back, “You should try it, Casper.”

“And you couldn’t do this in our backyard?” He growls stalking towards you putting an end to this.

“The mowers are back there.” You shrug looking up at him lowering your sunglasses, “Is everything okay?”

“No everything is certainly not okay. Look, I’m sorry about forgetting about our anniversary. There’s no excuse for that and I can assure you it won’t happen again. I’ve learned my lesson. I take you for granted. You do just so much shit for me that you don’t have to and I never really realized until this week. I mean, you lower the toilet seat back down…..I didn’t even have the courtesy to do that. I don’t know why you even stuck with me with how I’ve been disregarding you.” He sighed plopping into the grass looking down at his large hands.

You smile sitting up from the chair sitting in his lap, “Honey, I enjoy doing all those things for you. Not the toilet thing but the cooking and the sex and all that. I mean I love it. But I don’t get credit. I do it all because I love you and you do so much for me too. You grill me steaks, support my shopping habits, definitely don’t hold back in the bedroom, and you just love me so Damn much. I forgive you for forgetting.”

“Good because I’m going to spend the next week making it up to you.” He smirked lifting you off the grass and carrying you inside, “In every room, on every surface, against every wall….” He trailed off kissing you passionately grabbing your face as he closed the front door and locking it before he pushed you against it moving your bikini bottoms to the side.

“Mmmm I’m kind of glad you forgot…”

[sariahsue]

A Cat of Their Own - Ch 5

[1] [2] [3] [4]

It was Tuesday night. Adrien stretched out on his stomach on his soft carpet, school papers scattered around him and video game cases lined up, ready to be grabbed. He ignored them all for rereading messages on his phone as he waited. The bright glow of the screen did more to light up his room than the sinking October sun. Plagg munched softly on something in the background. Probably cheese. (Adrien hoped it was cheese.)

Tuesdays used to be his only free night of the week, but starting now they were game night with Ladybug's family. He'd been ready for an hour, and it was almost late enough for him to call them.

Adrien's texts to Ladybug's parents had become much more frequent in the two weeks since they'd fought The Saboteur, and he'd never been happier in his life. He would often have three conversations with them going at once, one with just Tim, another with just Serena, and a third with both of them together. He even started bringing his phone with him on patrols, hidden in his suit's pockets. Ladybug, naturally, had complained about it, though she never told him to stop, even when he asked her if she wanted him to.

When they weren't texting, he'd often reread past messages, like he was now.

When Serena surprised her husband on his birthday with a new game controller, Adrien heard all about it. "He hadn't even thought to ask for one. You should have seen his smile!"

"My wife is small, but she is mighty," Tim had told him a few days ago.

"My husband has a punning problem," Serena had mentioned only yesterday. "You can probably relate." That had been in the group chat, and Adrien laughed when Tim replied that he didn't have a purr-oblem. Cat puns showed up often in the group chats.

It was no wonder Ladybug was so cute. Her parents were adorable. (It was probably weird to ship real people, but it was okay if they were already married, right?)

He looked up at the clock again. Time was moving so slowly. It was five minutes seven, when they'd agreed to get on. The whole thing had been Tim's idea, and it had taken him the entire two weeks to convince Ladybug that playing games together was not going to end with an identity reveal, but he'd finally done it.

Adrien scrolled through a few more messages, trying to distract himself from the ticking clock. Tim and Serena had quickly become a source of strength and wisdom for him, a constant connection to his Lady, and a reminder that there were adults who cared about him enough to text him out of the blue. Ladybug was so lucky to have such good parents. And Adrien was honored to be included, even as he wished it were more.

But that wasn't right. He was being greedy. This was more than he thought he'd ever get, and it was far more than he deserved. All of this attention from her family was far more than he was entitled to, and he reminded himself to be grateful.

In total, it had been almost two months since they'd exchanged phone numbers, and it had only made him fall farther in love with Ladybug. Though he appreciated the time they spent together outside of patrols and battles more than he had words for, it went beyond that. Tim and Serena were Ladybug's model for a relationship. It made sense that she would want something similar for herself, and he was quickly realizing it was something he wanted too. A loving, affectionate, stable relationship, where they joked around and were always there for each other. Adrien wanted that kind of relationship with her.

At two minutes to seven, he figured it was close enough. He was finally going to see if his Lady was as good at video games as she'd always claimed. Few people could beat his score at Ultimate Mecha Strike III, but he wanted to see her try.

***

Tom wasn't sure who was the most excited for game night. It was a toss up between himself, Cat Noir, and (secretly) Marinette. She'd been wondering aloud how good he was. "He boasted about it when we were fighting The Gamer, but he always boasts about everything. I'm just curious." It would have been more convincing if she hadn't brought it up eight times in the past three days. It also would have been more convincing if she hadn't started setting up forty minutes before they were expecting his phone call.

Ever since the Saboteur and the phone call that followed, Cat Noir's texts had started changing. Instead of waiting for them to text first, he would call or text at random times. He started giving more details about his personal life, though it was never anything specific, and finally took them up on their offer to ask them for help if he needed it.

That last one had taken the form of asking questions. They were mostly innocent. Where was that secret level again? Hey, what was your high score for this game?

There were quite a few personal ones, like "I have this childhood friend, who was my only friend for a long time, but she's kind of a jerk now, and she does things that make me uncomfortable. How do I talk to her about it? What should I do?" Tom's first response was a pun. He followed it up with real-life advice.

One of the most memorable questions had been just three days ago.

Catson: Can I ask kind of a weird and dumb question?

Tom: Don't be in-tim-dated.

Catson: How do you know if it's love or just a crush?

Tom couldn't help but show that one to Sabine before giving him a very serious answer. She chuckled.

"Either we're reading the signs very, very wrong," he'd said, "or he's talking about our daughter."

Marinette came back into the living room with a plate of cookies and a can of soda under each arm. "Papa, can you take this please?" she asked, holding the plate out for him. One of the sodas fell and she yelped and almost dropped the plate. He grabbed her wrist to keep her upright. The soda landed on one of the pink cushions she'd brought down from her room.

The room looked like she was expecting him to drop in at any moment. There were snacks and drinks for everyone, with plenty of soft places to sit. Every controller was set out and ready, and the game was already loaded and waiting, and they still had ten minutes left to wait. Marinette checked the time, and then became very interested in fluffing all the pillows when she saw him watching her.

"Has he texted you yet?" she asked.

"Not yet."

"Can you check?" Worry laced her words, high and tight, like she was worried he was going to cancel.

Tom opened his messages, but it still showed their conversation from that morning.

Catson: Random question, what should you do if you're really tired and can't sleep?

Marinette read over his shoulder. "That's the kind of thing you guys text about?"

"Sure," Tom said. "I think he's just looking for things to talk about."

Marinette looked uneasy. He and Sabine thought it was cute, trying to keep in touch with his crush's parents that way and make a good impression, asking for advice.

"I don't think that's all it is," Marinette said. "He's mentioned no one noticing him enough to realize that he's Cat Noir."

Sabine put a finger to her lips, thinking, and then pulled out her phone and started scrolling through her texts. "Why would he ask us, though? He has parents, doesn't he?"

"What if he doesn't?" Tom asked. The question hung heavy in the air for several seconds, until Cat Noir's early phone call interrupted them. Marinette snatched Tom's phone and answered it before the second ring.

"Hey, Kitty!" she said too brightly. "Are you ready to get your butt kicked?" She turned it on speaker and strode to the couch.

"No way." His voice was muffled as she sat down in front of the tv and started rifling through her game collection, calling out ones she thought he would enjoy.

Tom and Sabine watched her, still transfixed in their horror. That poor boy wasn't an orphan, was he?

"He obviously has someone looking after him if he has a phone and so many video games," Sabine finally whispered.

Tom could only nod and watch as Marinette took over the conversation, something she'd never done before. She complimented him, said how excited she was to be able to play with him, and didn't even complain about identities once. On the other end, Cat Noir stuttered over his words and thanked her for saying yes, and admitted he'd been looking forward to this all day.

"Uh, we'll just get some more snacks," Tom announced as pulled Sabine into the other room, so they wouldn't be overheard. Something else that had been on his mind for a few days. "What do you think about them?" he asked.

"What about them?" Sabine pulled open a cupboard.

Tom followed her example to make it sound convincing. "I mean, look at her talking to him. She can't do that with Adrien."

"You think she'd be better off having a crush on her partner?" Sabine turned around to steal a glance at her. She was laughing loudly at something he had said, eyes crinkled with a genuine smile, all traces of her daily stresses erased with a few words from him.

"They have a strong relationship already," Tom said. "That's one reason I pushed for this game night thing. I think this will help them."

"To see if her feelings would change?" Sabine said. "Or maybe..."

"I wasn't thinking specifically that. They both need to have fun with the only other person who understands what they're going through. And they obviously care about each other. But-"

They stopped, extra snacks forgotten in their hands, watching as Marinette made a pun, and as a glowing grin spread across her face when she heard Cat Noir's answering laughter.

"But maybe she just needs to realize what's already there," Tom finished.

***

Marinette's character spun in a tight circle and kicked Cat Noir's in the chest, knocking him over. He yelled his compliments at her as Sabine came back into the room, Tom following close behind her.

"Ladybug," Sabine said, careful not to use her real name. "We have more snacks."

"Thanks."

"Sorry we can't send any to you, dear," Sabine said.

"It's fine," Cat Noir said. "I'm counting on the food distracting her."

"Hey, you said you could beat me fair and square. That's cheating."

"Not cheating if you do it to yourself. I'm not the one offering."

"Either way," Sabine cut in, sending a knowing grin to her husband, "we'll have her bring the leftover cookies for you on the next patrol."

"That's if Tikki and I leave any for you, Kitty! HAHA!"

"Noooo, My Lady! I want cookies too!"

A scratchy voice crackled over the phone, one Sabine had never heard before. "Can you send some cheese with her, too?"

"Plagg," Tikki scolded. She floated right above the phone, bright red and difficult to ignore. "Can't you see they're having a conversation? Behave yourself." Sabine knew enough about how everything worked at this point to quickly realize that must have been Cat Noir's kwami. Another little creature teaching children to lie to their parents.

"Hey, kid," Plagg said. "Can I go over there and get some more cheese?"

"What? No," he said. "We have a bunch here for you already. Eat that."

"Pleeaase? Tikki's probably got a huge stash that she isn't even eating."

From the way Cat Noir sighed, Sabine suspected this was a routine sort of conversation, but something about it bothered her. "Why are you asking him?"

"We need our holder's permission for things like that," Tikki supplied, moving directly in Sabine's face.

"Permission?"

"Yeah," Plagg said. "And this kid never lets me eat as much as I want! It's horrible! I'm starving over here!"

"You're a stomach with legs. You're fine."

Plagg wailed incoherently, and Tikki frowned. "He likes to complain," she said quietly. "But the current Cat Noir and Ladybug give us a lot of freedom. We normally don't get holders that are so kind to us."

Tikki floated back toward Tom and Marinette, who were taking turns on the controller against Cat Noir. Both kids and Tom seemed to be having fun while Sabine stared at the corner of the television screen.

Marinette controlled how much this creature ate and when and where it could go? The revelation didn't sit well, and she was relieved when her phone rang, inviting her to jump off the couch and leave her thoughts behind.

"Oh, sorry," she said. "Just keep it down for a second. It's Shu Yin."

The others battled in silence for a minute as Sabine explained in hasty Mandarin that they had someone over and couldn't talk. Tom elbowed Marinette quietly, hoping to throw her off the platform. Marinette's character wobbled as she shoved him right back. Cat Noir won that round.

"Okay," Sabine said, pocketing the phone. "Who's winning?"

"You speak Mandarin?!" Cat Noir shout was tinny over the speaker. "I speak Mandarin! This is great!"

Sabine stole a quick glance at Marinette's face, waiting for her to complain about this new piece of information.

"You do?" Marinette asked, incredulously. "Since when?"

"Me too!" Tikki said.

"Why does everyone I know speak Mandarin?"

"Do you, LB?" Cat Noir asked.

"No," Sabine said. "And I've been trying to teach her for ages."

"I only know about ten words or so," she said.

"Oh, really?" Cat Noir said. They could hear the smile creeping into his voice. "Well, in that case, wǒ ài nǐ."

All three of them froze. Those were three of the ten words that Marinette could speak. They all could. I love you. 

Tom and Sabine looked at each other over Marinette's head. There was the confirmation that they'd been looking for.

Marinette's face burned bright red. "I know that much, you big dork." She covered her face with one hand.

"Oh, uh... heh heh." He cleared his throat. "Sorry."

She peeked through her fingers. "You've overlooked something important, though," she said, trying to pretend as though nothing had happened even as the blush creeped down her neck.

"What?"

"Now we know even more about each other!" she said, throwing her hands in the air. "We'll be figuring out each other's identities next week at this rate! This is disastrous!"

"On the bright side, I can teach you Mandarin on patrols. What do you say?"

"Please do," Sabine said. "She won't listen to me when I try to teach her."

"Yeah, it'll be a fun way to pass the time," he said.

"To distract both of us, you mean," Marinette said, as she glared at the screen and avoided looking at the phone (and her parents' curious glances). "Patrols are for focusing, Cat! Something you need to do more of when we're playing because I'm smoking you right now! HA!"

"Nooo," he wailed through the phone. "That was sneaky! I want a rematch!"

"What did you say earlier? It's not cheating if you do it to yourself?"

He groaned as Marinette plowed his character off the side of the arena.

***

Adrien was up early the next morning, not ready to get up for his photoshoot but much too happy to fall back asleep. The hazy dawn glow spread across his blankets, filling him up almost as much as game night had last night.

Tim was usually up at this time of day, so he sent a quick text (and he didn't even feel bad about starting a conversation without having anything in particular he wanted to say). After a few minutes of back and forth, Tim let it slip that Ladybug was upstairs working on her fashion hobby.

Tim: Don't tell her I said that, though!

Adrien: Really? Is she good?

Tim: Well, I'm horribly biased in her favor.

Adrien: Naturally.

Tim: I also know nothing about fashion, but she's very passionate about it.

That didn't surprise Adrien at all. Ladybug never did anything halfway.

Tim: She can spend hours at a time on it, and she's even won some awards. Probably shouldn't mention which ones.

Adrien happily buried his face in the nearest pillow. She loved fashion! It was perfect! If they ever got engaged, his father would have a reason to love and accept her!

Then his stomach dropped. She'd brushed off his (admittedly unplanned) confession last night and changed the subject as fast as she could. It had been a blunt reminder that she liked someone else. He shouldn't be expecting anything more than her friendship. That would have to be enough.

Adrien: Question.

Tim: Shoot.

Adrien: Is Ladybug... uncomfortable with me flirting with her?

Tim: She's never said anything about it. Why?

Adrien fumbled his fingers over his phone before answering. Tim had to know how he felt by now, between the questions he'd been asking and his declaration during the game. The thought of her parents knowing his feelings for their daughter should have felt uncomfortable, but it wasn't.

Adrien: Well...

Adrien: Because I know she likes someone else. I want to be with her but...

Adrien: Is he good to her? Is he a good person?

Adrien: Does he treat her right and take care of her?

Adrien: I just want her to be happy.

Tim: Yes, he's a good person. He's very respectful and kind to her, and he would be very good for her, but he is unaware of her feelings for him.

***

Sabine's next text from Cat Noir was Wednesday afternoon, and unfortunately it was a pun in Mandarin. And she made sure Marinette was the first to know about it. She'd climbed up to her room to share the awful news.

"No language is safe!" Marinette had complained, throwing the blue chiffon she was working on over her head to block out the terrible pun. "And now I have to listen to them all the time, not just on patrol."

Sabine smiled. "You know, sweetie, if things don't work out with Adrien, maybe you should marry your partner!"

"Mama!" Marinette said, scandalized. "Adrien is my one true love!" She picked up the photo she kept on the desk and held it close to her heart.

"Of course, dear, of course." She gave Marinette a quick peck on the head. "Just remember that he's a good person, he has our approval, and, most importantly, he's fluent in Mandarin."

Sabine had meant it as a joke (mostly), but she felt terrible about her flippant comment when Marinette came home from school the next day.

Read Ch 6 here

***

Author’s note: So, uh, you're definitely getting a chapter again next week.

Because it's already done! HAHA!

@tbehartoo @redhoodsdoll @salsyy301 @kayla0binow @fleurie3am15inspo @ladybug-182 @secretacademia @lunadensmidnightprowl @vixen-uchiha

[hisbucky]

Is it even a surprise?

"It should not be a surprise; more often than not, when it comes to the Diazes, those two are always going to be his two exceptions. Namely, whenever Christopher is involved, he’s reminded once again just how much he loves their little sunshine because of it."

Or

1 time Buck and Eddie enjoy the fruits of Christopher's plans, the 5 surprises it took to get them there, and the 1 time Christopher reminds them of his genius.

[full fic here]

Buck is, usually, not a big fan of surprises nowadays.

Once upon a time, maybe so. After everything he’s been through however, what with the surprise truck bombing, the *surprise* embolism, and the, you guessed it, -surprise- tsunami, his heart really can’t take it anymore.

Bobby and the growing number of grays in his hair would agree with that sentiment. Eddie too, on a lesser degree. Or was it more?

Hmm, bet Eds would totally rock that salt and pepper look though, smirking smugly while he does that—no. Stop. Focus.

Don’t think about how his best friend slash life partner would look like if the older man had that kind of hair to go with that sexy smolder of his…

Oh yeah, Buck definitely bagged a total dilf for himself—

Stop it. Bad Buck. Not the point right now.

…

Anyways, the point he’s trying to make here is that just like any other thing in life, there is an exception to that.

It should not be a surprise; more often than not, when it comes to the Diazes, those two are always going to be his two exceptions. Namely, whenever Christopher is involved, he’s reminded once again just how much he loves their little sunshine because of it.

A little smile graces his face at the thought, to think he can call Christopher as their little sunshine.

Buck still can’t believe that he can actually call Chris as his own kid instead of just Eddie’s, and a part of him is forever grateful for the Diazes for welcoming him into their family and giving him what he had craved to have for a long time. He cannot imagine a life without it.

Because of that, it should be no wonder whenever there is an exception to the surprises in his life, it would always somehow involve at least one of his boys.

From their very arrival, every time there is a new development, he’s more than pleasantly surprised by them.

His partnership with Eddie, meeting Christopher for the first time, the surprising ease at how the three of them shifted from one thing to another and finally into what their little family is now. Every single day, Buck basks in the happiness he feels when he wakes up next to his husband, later waking both Eddie and Chris up for their usual morning routine as Buck cooks them all breakfast.

And really, Buck never would have thought that all those happy little surprises, all of it leading to this lazy happiness he gets to have, is all thanks to the one, good intentioned, meddling kid he loved with all of his heart.

Bet I got your attention now, huh? Christopher’s a good kid, and he’s got the biggest heart, like, ever. What people don’t know is just how smart he is, and how determined he is to see through everything. I think it all started when—

“What’re you doing there, carino?” the sleepy, deep voice of his partner whispers into Buck’s ears, making him shiver just as he feels a familiar, strong arm coming over and wrapping around his middle. With one good tug from the other, Buck finds his back pressed against Eddie’s firm chest, snuggled tight under the veteran’s limb.

Instead of replying right away, Buck takes the moment to sigh contentedly, burrowing himself deeper into the man’s embrace, smiling secretly to himself.

Eddie’s a patient man, but Buck never was, so it is not long before he shyly admits, “Oh, you know. Just doing homework for therapy and stuff, sorry if I woke you up. The good doc wants me to write down the things in my life I love about right now, so I’m writing about you and Chris.”

Because he gets to have that, Dr. Copeland said. Buck does not have to look for reasons to ‘deserve’ having what he has at the moment. What he needs to do is be aware of and accept the love he gets for what it is, and the life he has right now? That’s the love freely given to him.

Behind him, he might have heard Eddie’s breath hitch, before Buck feels the other’s lips press softly against his temple coupled with, “We love having you in our life too, Evan. The best decision I’ve ever made.”

Buck chuckles freely then, reminded of that so-called “decision”. Buck leans back into his partner, bringing up the entry he had been writing in his tablet for Eddie to see, “Actually, that’s the funny thing. Remember how it wasn’t really us that lead to, you know, us?”

“You mean how our diabolically genius son had me dancing in the palm of his hand for a month?” Eddie groans, feeling more awake when the embarrassment mixed with pride fills his face as he recalls the whole ordeal. “Are you actually writing about that?”

It was actually longer than a month, if Buck’s suspicions were correct, but he is not going to burst Eddie’s bubble anytime soon.

Turning his head to see the other better, Buck replies, “Just be glad he’s using that mind of his for good. In any case, yeah, Dr. Copeland—well, she said it’ll be good to write down the development of our relationship, makes it easier for me to accept that a good thing happened if I see the signs that the love was there all along.”

“You do realize that you’re going to basically make us look like a couple of idiots in there, right?” Eddie deadpans, but Buck catches the fond look in his husband’s eyes, so Buck’s not worried.

That’s another thing he has to work on, he thinks. Remembering that people don’t regularly think he is dumb; most of the time, the affection behind the tone is real, and not just his imagination.

But that’s a whole other problem, and Buck knows it will take some time before he unlearns the habits he picked up after 20 plus years of neglect from his environment.

He’s not worried, because Buck knows that Eddie and Christopher have his back on that.

“Well, duh,” Buck says, genuinely amused, “All this thinking made me realize that Christopher’s the only reason we’re together after all, and I’m not ashamed of that one bit. He’s just awesome like that, so I’m gonna gush about him in my next session.”

In fact, it is the easiest thing he has ever done the whole time in therapy. Loving Christopher, talking about the little man and being involved in all the things that is their kid is Buck’s greatest joy—falling in love with Eddie at that point was just inevitable.

“God, I love you,” was all Buck manage to hear, and before he could register what was happening, the tablet he had been holding was gently tossed to the floor and Buck was on his back blinking cluelessly up at his partner.

“Wait, wha—Eddie? Eddie?! Wait—”

And people in the station had the audacity to say Buck was the horndog in the relationship.

—

(In Eddie’s admittedly shallow defense, he has always been weak to the sight of Buck being great with kids. When it comes to Buck not-exactly-peacocking that competence and love for their son—Eddie is not ashamed to admit he gets the need to throw his partner to the nearest flat surface available.)

find the rest here

[revengeisourlullaby]

If I Never Knew You Pt.1

Pt.2   Pt.3   Pt.4   Pt.5   Pt.6

Warnings: 18+, eventual smut, arranged marriage plot, kinda royal au, some fighting, secret relationship, angst.

a/n: This is going to be a six part series. I’ve never done a series before, but I write so much anyway I thought why not make one. I’ll probably upload each part daily unless there is demand for them to come faster. I hope you enjoy. Requests/asks will be open if you wanna send smth to me! Although I will admit I am kinda slow in finishing requests. I have a lot to balance in my life so my apologies if I don’t get to them immediately!  

Word count: 1.8K

Loki x female!reader 

The sun shone through the window of your home, the golden rays warming up your cheeks and waking you from your slumber. Sitting up, you stretched, feeling the sleep vibrate out of your body. Tossing the sheets off your body, you swung your legs out of the bed and walked to the bathroom to begin your morning routine. Finishing with tending to the mass of hair on your head you trailed back into your bedroom to change into clothes appropriate for the day. An array of dresses always leaving you indecisive about what to wear.

Settling on an olive green one you walked towards the mirror and fastened the ties around the back of your neck. The loose sleeves draped over your shoulders, cascading down your back, and gold accents adorning the neckline. Finding your shoes, you slipped out of your bedroom, closing the door behind you, and walked down the hallway, the chatter of your family becoming more clear as you near the entrance of the main room. 

 “Good morning, mother. Father.”

It seemed you had slept in quite a bit, given your parents already eating breakfast. Your mother piped up

“There’s a portion left for you on the counter, my dear.”

Eying the food you decided you weren’t all that hungry yet. You had just woken up and your body had yet to settle. Declining, you grabbed your satchel and began to walk towards the door.

“But Y/N, you should really eat something before starting your day.”

“I’ll be fine, Mom. I promise. I’m just not that hungry right now. I’ll eat when I get back.”

Finally reaching the door, your father chimed in,

“You know, Y/N, just because you try to avoid the obvious, doesn’t mean it’s going to go away any sooner.”

Dropping your head, you sighed. You couldn’t seem to escape the duties of being a young woman in a world where royal obligations were something you were expected to partake in. Upon reaching the age of 18, you were supposed to be on the lookout for a decent suitor of a husband. The fact of the matter was, you were now approaching 22 and had yet to find someone acceptable, not only by your standards but by your parents. 

For this uniting of peoples would also be a uniting of families. You had until your 21st birthday to find a man suitable to everyone's liking and if you didn’t, arranged marriage was the next option. No one wanted to be known as the woman in Asgard who couldn’t get a man to offer his hand in marriage, yet here you were in all your glory. It was frustrating. 

If only they knew. 

“I know, Dad. Things are a little bit harder when I have to seek my parents' approval for my marriage.”

Your tone became short, frustrated at the entire situation. You already had someone, for a while now actually, but you hadn’t the guts to inform your parents because you knew they would shut him down. So you loved in silence. It was more than painful, not being able to be truly open with your lover, but you had yet to find the right time to pour out your heart to your family. Taking a deep breath, your grounded yourself and turned towards the door,

“I’ll be back later, I love you.”

Your mom got to responding before your father did,

“We love you too dear. Make sure to pay attention to who you’re around. Be safe.”

Smiling lightly you finally walked out the door and stepped into the fresh air that was Asgard. It never got old. The scent of the trees and freshwater that surrounded this place sent one into such serenity. Just being outside could allow your mind to drift elsewhere and forget about the troubles in your life. Walking as far as you could from your home you spaced out in the direction you were going. 

Coming back to when you accidentally kicked a pebble across the ground. Looking up you found yourself in one of the many gardens that surrounded Asgard. Walking to a marble bench, you scrunched up some of your dress in your hands, folding one leg under you before sitting atop it. Crossing your other leg across it and letting the fabric of your dress fall to the ground. 

Pulling your satchel into your lap, you grabbed your journal out of it and began to sketch the garden in front of you. Paying special attention to the detail of the flowers, wanting to make sure you entirely captured the essence of their beauty on paper. Lost in concentration, you failed to hear the footsteps approaching behind you. It wasn’t until you felt a hand rub small circles into your shoulder that you turned around. 

Hair fell in your face, obscuring your view of who was in front of you. Bringing your hand up to place your hair away from your face you dropped your pen on the ground. You went to reach for it, but a separate pair of hands grabbed it first.

“You seem to be quite the mess today, my darling.”

A genuine smile stretched across your features before looking up into the enchanting blue of his eyes. 

“Loki, hi! What are you doing out here?”

Sitting down next to you, careful to avoid your dress he spoke,

“Well, I was informed that a beautiful lady was sitting in the garden in front of the palace so of course, I had to go inspect the situation. And upon seeing a stunning shade of green draped over the bench, I had to introduce myself.” 

An airy laugh left your throat, blithe being showcased across your being.

“If I didn’t know any better, it sounds like you fancy this beautiful woman.”

“How could I not? Her beauty extends beyond the physical. She's incredibly intelligent and the only one to unconditionally show kindness and love to those who deserve it. It’d be incredibly injudicious of me to not be aware of that.”

“Alright, alright Loki, you’ve buttered me up enough.” you chuckled

“It’s never enough, darling. And it’s not buttering you up if it’s true, which it is. So, against your wishes, I shall continue to do it.”

You rolled your eyes and smiled. Looking down at his hands, you placed yours on top of his and gazed into his eyes once more. Glancing down to his lips and back up to his eyes, you slowly leaned in, Loki meeting you halfway. A kiss so tender you forgot it was Loki whose lips were tangled in a dance with your own. 

Loki moved his hand out from underneath yours and placed it on your cheek. You pulled away from the kiss and nestled your head into his hand, his thumb caressing your cheek allowing you to relish in the moment of being with each other. Flashing your eyes back up to his you asked,

“Shall we go for a walk?”

“Why not?”

Stuffing your journal and pen back into your satchel you untangled your legs and got up from the bench, Loki helping you stand up so that you didn’t trip on your dress. Taking your hand in his own, you two walked through the garden on a path that would eventually lead you to the entrance of the palace. 

“I’ve missed you Loki. I always miss you, I hate being away from you.”

“I know my love, I do as well, but you of all people know our predicament.”

You stopped in your tracks and turned in haste to stop him as well, making him face you. You brought both your hands up to cup his face, an idea flashing bright behind your eyes,

“Well, maybe we can change it! We can be the change to get rid of this stupid rule. I can’t imagine my life without you Loki. I don’t want to have to share my world with someone else. It’s only ever going to be you.” 

Bringing his hands up to your wrists, he looked deep into your eyes, sorrow and hope swimming behind his facial features. 

“Maybe we can, although we have to prepare for the worst...but that doesn't mean we can’t try.”

Giving a small smile, he moved his hands to the back of your head, thumb caressing your temple, and leaned in to kiss you. Giving you all the reassurance you could’ve asked for. Pulling away from each other you continued down the path hand in hand. Closing your eyes you took a deep breath, serenity washing over you. 

Opening your eyes, you realized you were closing in on the front of the palace meaning you would now be in the public eye and the last thing you wanted was more gossip to fall upon you. Looking at your lover, you stopped walking, halting him in his tracks. Forcing him to turn around and look at you.

“What is it?”

You sighed, suddenly being overcome with emotion.

“Well, if we walked any further, everyone would see us and I wouldn’t want to cause any trouble for you…”

“...Trouble? For me?”

Loki scoffed, his signature smirk following.

“Love, all I’m known for is for causing trouble, I wouldn’t mind another notch on my belt.”

You were hesitant. You loved Loki and you knew your feelings were reciprocated through him, but it was difficult breaking from the chains of what you ‘were supposed to do’. It left you in such dissonance and yet you felt in your heart to rebel so fiercely that Asgard would immortalize your change. Your silence alerted Loki and he spoke again,

“Y/N, if we are to ever make any sort of change we cannot hide in the shadows anymore. We cannot separate and scatter like roaches when the light is shined upon us. We must bask in it. That is the only way we can possibly aspire to reach our goal of loving one another in true fulfillment.”

“You’re right.”

“I always am.”

You placed your hand back in his and Loki smiled down at you. 

“Ready to have the target on your back, Y/N?”

“As long as you’re by my side, I can handle anything.”

Walking out of the secluded area of the garden, you finally stepped into the light. For the first time in the last year being open about your courtship with Loki. Asgard’s God of Mischief and your parent’s worst nightmare. You felt armored for anything to be hurled in your direction with Loki was by your side and always would be. 

The anxiety of it all had yet to drain from your bones and you couldn’t help but draft up ‘what ifs’ in your head. As if Loki was scavenging through your brain, he gave your hand an inspiriting squeeze, bringing you back into your body and out of your head. If only you knew how the whispers of your choice in partnership would rain the fires of hell all too soon.

[crispyimagines17]

“Maria Bonita” - [ Timothée Chalamet  | One Shot ]

Summary: We invite you to take a glimpse to the Chalamet’s house. A teenage parents who would do anything to protect, love and take care of their little one despite all the eyes of society. 

Written by: Crispy Imagines.

Soundtrack: main theme

Notes: A promise is a promise ppl, after two years of waiting Maria Bonita is finally here. First of all I want to thank every single person who was asking for this masterpiece, I hope i don’t let you down. Feedback is always welcome and nothing, enjoy it cause y’all deserve it.  Also, we attach several audios to make you feel part of the story, so contrast them just as a background sound. 

Tags: @miss2001babe ; @lg-vangogh ; @expectodonuts ; 

[1]

The creaking of the bed came to a halt as your two-year-old Maddox weigh crashes down the mattress; his tiny feet pressed on daddy’s back, sending a burst of chills down Timothée’s spine. Maddox hands traveled to mommy’s cheeks, pitching or stretching them as he let out a chuckle.

“Mommy?” he whines, kissing your cheeks softly “Mommy” he repeats, nuzzling his face on yours.

“What’s up champ?” Timothée speaks, his groggy voice echoing the room as he stretches his body.

“Daddy!” the little one leaves you and jumps all the way to Timothée.

“Good morning.”

“morning.” Maddox repeats.

You opened your eyes, and the first picture your eyes capture was little Maddox hugging tightly his daddy with a Woody on his right hand. When he saw you, you could see his eyes glowing and leaving daddy’s side just so he can be with you. Immediately you open your arms, letting his tiny weigh crash on yours as he looks at you with pure happiness.

“Hi mommy”

“Hi momma.” You hear Timothée’s voice as you rolled your eyes. He slowly approaches to you two, snugging and earning laughs from both of you. “How’s my family?”

“We’re fine. You need to get Maddox a shower bef-…”

“Noo…” the little kid as soon as he heard shower leaves the bed in such a hurry, leaving his favorite toy in bed. Both of you laughed.

“I’ll make some breakfast and I want you ready by the time I’ll call you.”

“Yes momma.” Timothée gets up from bed and before leaving the room he approaches to give you a tiny peck, then a kiss and later a passionate kiss; grabbing towels from the drawer.

“Come here little man, before I’ll catch you.” You could hear Maddox giggles all over the apartment and timmy’s footsteps running around.

…

“Come on bub, we’re late for school. Just put some damn clothes.” Timothée’s voice came out as desperation as Maddox was running in circles butt naked. He tried everything, baby shark song, let Woody shower with him and even doing some funny voices, but none of them work. He sighs, face palming as he listens to the little one singing “You’ve got a friend in me”.

“Love.” He speaks. “Can you help me with Maddox?”

“Sure, just watch the scramble eggs.” He sighs in relief, and lifting himself from the wet floor walking carefully. When he clashes glazes with his son, he mumbles him

“You’re going to get in big trouble, mommy is coming.” Maddox smile fades and the fear got in his eyes, so he quickly runs to his bedroom bringing the first piece of clothing he found.

…

“Dammit.” You whispered as you tried to adjust the child seat. Timothée was right behind you, holding Maddox; both of them watching you getting pissed.

“Let me try, love. Here, hold Maddox.” You sigh, extending your arms as little Maddox lunges towards you. You lay your head against his, as you rock yourself back and forth. “we’re ready.”

Today was going to be a long day due to your shift, leaving early sounds nice, but also means going to the grocery store, doing laundry, cleaning the house, teaching Maddox, do some paperwork. Although timothée helps you in every way he can there’s still more job to do, like you’re working nonstop all the year. As you drive towards Maddox daycare Timothées hands were on your thing, resting peacefully as he slowly reads some scripts.

“Shit” he mumbles, you looked at him with an arched eyebrow. He realizes his mistake and quickly covers his mouth and watches Maddox, who’s been gazing at the window without a clue of what happened. Timothée let out a sigh as he slowly began to read his duties when the little one laugh.

“Shet” Maddox said giggling as he smashes his toys. Both of you close your eyes in regret, he will now say the word to nonstop and the ladies from the daycare will complain, like always.

“Oh no.” you let out “Maddox, honey.”

“Wa mommy?”

“Remember when we said that kids shouldn’t say big words?” he nods. “You need to stop saying that, it’s rude and people will not like it.”

“Shet.” He repeats giggling.

“Love, say something to your child” you said looking at Timothée.

“Me? Why?”

“Cause you said the big word.” You insist.

“Why I’m always the bad guy…” he whispers as he take a breath. “Bub, what do we talk…”

“shet shet shet shet!” Maddox said out loud causing both parents to sigh.

“Well, we tried” Timothee said as you parked at the daycare.

[2]                                 

Picking up Maddox from daycare was the heavy stuff of the day, receiving each and every day complaints from the teachers about his hyperactivity, molesting other kids or yelling in story time. Today was not the exception, despite the look of irritation from the teacher you were calm and hugging a tired Maddox rocking back and forth.

“Maddox is… a special kid. His behavior today concerned the other teachers due to the fact that the child said the word shit many times. That cause the other kids to follow him and my job here is to ask you, Is everything okay with your… boyfriend and you?” you arched your eyebrows surprised.

“Y-yeah, we’re fine, Maddox is like a sponge absorbs everything, including the bad stuff.” You chuckle nervously.  She shakes her head.

“Kids at your age don’t know how to raise a child, it surprises me that you’re still together and with Maddox temper…” you were in shocked, does she tell you that? And in front of your kid? Oh, you’re so mad you’ve couldn’t hold your tongue.

“Believe me that my kid is surrounded by love and emotional stability lady, you have no right to judge me or my husband. We’ve been swallowing some bullshit since I was pregnant, but I will not tolerate to insult me in front of my kid. So, fuck yourself and your stupid business.” You raised your middle finger and walk towards the exit without looking back.

After you put Maddox in his chair, he looked at you in a lovely way, touching both of your cheeks and smiling.

“Love you mommy.” Your eyes watered as you kiss him on his forehead.

“Love you too.”

…

Going to the grocery store was Maddox favorite thing; the thrill of daddy pushing the car so fast; when mommy buys his favorite cereal and the music that always calms him. So when you said your next destination a chorus of happiness filled the entire car.

“Okay, we’re supposed to get the basic. Love, get a car and I’ll see you on the aisle 2.” You grab Maddox hand but he didn’t walk. “What happened?”

“Daddy.” He points with his little finger towards Timothée direction.

“Daddy will come soon. Come on, let’s go.” But Maddox stayed, making his little body heavier so you couldn’t walk.

“Daddy.” He repeats.

“Love he will come back, let’s go.” You tried once more, but he let himself fall on the floor, starting a tantrum that led all the eyes of the store on you two. You smiled awkwardly picking up Maddox as you tried your best to avoid the judge of the people’s eyes, walking down the first hall as you let him down with tearful eyes.

“Maddox, honey, you need to listen to me.” You cup his cheeks in an attempt to catch his attention. After he saw you his concern became evident.

“wa hapen?”

“Here you are, I thought you said aisle 2.” After he saw your eyes, his smile faded and he kneels with you two. “What’s wrong, baby?” you shake your head.

“Nothing, I just-“ you immediately tried to recover yourself and got up wiping your eyes. “We need to hurry up, we still have to make dinner.” You grab the car. “Love, please take Maddox with you.”

And so were you grabbing everything you need and both of your boys were trying hard to cheer you up by singing or listening to Timothee saying stuff like “Mom looks pretty today, isn’t she?” “We’ll make dinner so you can take a rest”

You were in line ready to pay and behind you there was a nice lady pampering Maddox. Timothee smile to her.

“Taking care of the little brother, huh.” She said waving at him. “what a handsome man.”  You both look at each other without saying anything. It was normal that many people believed one of you was babysitting a younger sibling or a cousin so you didn’t bother to correct the lady.

“Mommy sleep.” Maddox said, looking at you with tired eyes. Your eyes immediately watch the lady who was quite skeptical. “Mommy.”

“Oh” she only said. Your eyes travel to her, you’ve could see her disappointment on her face, it was something you’ve got used to it. You tried to recover yourself, this was too much for one day and it hasn’t ended yet.

“Love, can you pay? I’ll have to take some air.” Timothee’s eyes were concerned.

“Sure love, here, take the keys. Maddox will stay with me.” You grab the keys and exit the store as soon as you can, fighting hard to keep the tears from falling.  

When you get into your car you let yourself go, tears streaming down your face and allowing yourself to feel this way.

The migraine you’ve been dealing with was in its best moment, due to Maddox screams and the tv in all the volume it has. Timothee was in the bedroom with a script; he left you with all the toys, crayons and food on the floor. You sigh, frustrated and just when you were calming yourself you saw Maddox torn one of Timothee’s scripts and laughing. Timothee was behind him with a red face, taking him the pieces of paper to look directly at you.

“Seriously? Are you not watching this kid?” after those words your blood began to boil, throwing him the nearest object.

“Are you fucking serious? I fucking make dinner because you “innocently” forgot, I’m doing laundry so you can go to your fucking auditions clean; I’m washing dishes cause you’re so busy reading your stupid scripts and you can’t watch Maddox. And you’re implicating that it’s my fault that I don’t watch our kid? Unbelievable.” You said furious. “I don’t fucking have a break, I work my 8hr shift, pick up Maddox; do all the chores; helping Maddox with his homework; shower him, giving him dinner; make us dinner; shower myself if I have time; and checking some paperwork. You’re… You’re just auditioning, promising that one day we’ll be in a mansion and lived happily ever after, you do not do anything unless I asked you for.” He was shocked, avoiding all eye contact with you.

“I-I don’t know what to say.” You sigh, leaving the kitchen, taking one of your coats and leaving the apartment.

…

You could hear Timothee’s footsteps behind you, but you just keep on walking, breathing deeply so you can’t say something you regret.

“Wait, love.” He tried to grab you softly by the arm.

“So now I’m your love, huh?” you rolled your eyes, stopping yourself to look him in the eye.

“You’ve always been my love. Sorry for behaving like an asshole. You were right, I’m a completely shitty father. I leave you with all the heavy duty while I focus on a stupid dream.” You could see the sadness of his face, eyes beginning to water. Immediately you cupped his cheeks and touched your forehead with his, staying in silence for a couple of seconds.

“You know I’m the biggest supporter of your dream.” You said in a whisper. “But you have to be a responsible father and husband. We are a team; we’re supposed to help each other in every way we can. I’m not asking to give up on what you are passionate about.” you sweetly pressed your lips against his.

“I love you.” He said, with eyes pure of love that your stomach curled up.

“I love you too, handsome.” You stayed hug for a while, while you feel like there was something missing. It was Maddox!

“Oh my god… where’s the kid?” you lift the head to catch his eyes.

“I left it with Maddie, I think we should pick him up before she calls us.” You nod.

An so where you, walking back home holding hands having the warm sensation that everything from now on will be just fine.

 [Soundrack] [3]     

The sound of nature calms both of your boys, you suggest to travel to the nearest park to set up some wood fire. And now you are carrying Maddox tired body, the little one is closing his eyes so often, and it will not take too long for him to sleep; since he’s got his thump already in his mouth. Timothée was watching the stars, with a sad tone on his face he said:

“Sometimes I forget that I’m a dad. When they invite at some restaurant for brief seconds I forget that I’m someone’s dad, that I change diapers or fed him. And that feels weird, not good weird, like something is missing. I’ll never going to regret being a father at my age, I will have a long way to watch him grow and become anything he wants; and somehow that makes me happy.”

“I don’t regret either. I feel that this kid connects us in beautiful ways; we are his mentors to teach him the good and bad. I think we’re more than ready to take the challenge.”

“I love you. And I’m so happy I chose you to be the mother of my child, even if that means by accident.” You couldn´t help but laugh.

“I love you too. Come on, let’s go to our house.”

“At least let us heard one more song before we go.” Timothee got up shaking the dirt from his pants, he went to the car and shuffle a couple of songs before he found out the one. “This one will work. Let me get Maddox on the car.”

After he let the baby he slowly approaches to you, touching his forehead with yours, rocking back and forth as Maria Bonita was playing on the back.

“Even if this song is made for a Maria. In this park, at midnight with the stars and moon as witnesses you’re my Maria Bonita. The one I will always be in love, beyond my body and soul. I’m all yours baby. Just say the word and we will go to the nearest chapel.”  You smile.  

“Yes.” You whispered on his lips

“Promised me that you don’t lie just because you feel idolized.” You kissed him. “I love you Mrs. Chalamet. Let the world know I Love this woman.” You shake your head, chuckling, the song ended and to seal the promise he kissed you passionately taking from his coat a jewelry box; knealing.

“Will you marry me?”

[angryschnauzer]

Blackwater Lake - Chapter 1

Summary: There’s a little town high in the mountains where everyone has a secret, and every family has something that makes them unique. In Blackwater Lake those that are outcast by nature come together. 

Characters: Werewolf!Captain Syverson, Werewolf!Female Reader, Vampire!Walter Marshall.

Warnings (for this chapter, all small mentions but warning just in case): Breastfeeding, Accidental Cutting Injury/Blood loss, blood transfusions. This chapter contains no sex scenes or scenes of a sexual nature.

A continuation of previous Werewolf!Sy stories Moonlight on the Sand and Castle Under The Stars. This will be a series of stand alone stories/2 parters, which will revolve around the residents of the town, with some recurring characters.

I do not run a tag list, but please follow @angryschnauzerwrites​ and put that blog onto notifications. You’ll then get an alert every time i post something new.

Blackwater Lake - Chapter 1

The late spring day brought pleasant scents and mouth watering flavours, Blackwater Lake’s town May day parade in full flow as you held two month old Luna in her carrier to your chest, turning to smile at your husband Sy as he balanced Mikey on his shoulders so your son could watch the floats whilst they slowly cruised past. You knew he would be most excited about the Fire Department bringing their trucks past. At the first whoop of the siren Mikey squealed with joy, the ice cream cone in his hand tipping slightly and setting a blob of blue bubblegum flavour gelato into Sy’s cheek;

“Hey, no wriggles! Its raining ice cream down here”

Pausing the consumption of your own cone you handed it to Sy as you reached into your bag and found a baby wipe, moving to wipe his cheek before stretching to wipe your son’s face. Finding a trash can to toss the wipe into, you smiled as you watched your two boys as they waved to the Fire Trucks, the crew making sure to honk their horns when they saw Sy.

Everyone in town loved Sy. You’d moved there together when you’d found out you were pregnant with Mikey, your army days behind you and wanting to seek somewhere quiet where you could live in the woods to allow for full moon runs whilst being close enough to civilisation to raise a family. The aging receptionist at the realtor had pulled you aside the second you’d arrived in their office when you’d visited the town, recognising one of her own as her nostrils had flared and she’d explained that there were ‘all sorts’ in the town. That was your first meeting with Edith, and you’d gone on to move in just up the mountain from her. Once Sy had finished in the Army and baby number two was on the way, he’d started working alongside retired detective Walter at his construction company where they specialised in commercial buildings. They were always on call for when businesses had emergencies, so had come to the aid of half the town after storms and accidents.

As the parade dragged on Luna woke, grumbling for a change and a feed. The two boys were transfixed with the parade and you’d lost your ice cream cone to Sy who was now mindlessly munching away on it. Tugging on his sleeve you caught his attention;

“Luna’s woken up, i’m gonna take her into Sue’s Coffee Shop to change her and give her a feed”

“Sure thing Darlin, we’ll come find you in a bit”

-

The coffee shop was quiet, its doors opened onto the sidewalk and as the radio played soft rock music, just one or two tables taken outside but the inside empty. Sue - the owner - smiled at you as you walked in;

“Hey Sue!”

“Hey there! What can I get'cha?”

“Can i get a decaf iced latte? I just need to change Luna if that’s ok?”

“Of course, no need to ask, the restroom is empty”

A couple of minutes later your little girl had a clean butt but was still grizzling, now hungry for your milk. Sue had set your drink onto a table in the corner, a soft window seat she knew you liked to sit at to feed. Settling in you pulled your cami top down and unhooked the strap of your nursing bra, helping Luna to latch on as she cried before a blissful quiet descended over you as she happily suckled on your breast. In the quiet of the coffee shop you reached for your drink and sipped on it, smiling down at your beautiful daughter as she gazed up at you;

“Hey there my little Luna, better now? Is that the good stuff? Yeah? Well that’s what your Daddy says it is…” you said with a whisper and a smirk.

“Hey”

The sudden greeting made you jump, looking up to see Walter standing near your table;

“Oh, Hi Walter”

“Sorry…” he glanced away, averting his eyes from where you were feeding; “I just asked if you wanted anything?”

“Oh no, i’m fine, i’ve got a coffee… but you’re welcome to join me if you like? Sy and Mikey will be along once the Parade’s over”

Nodding once the quiet man went to order before returning with what looked like a quad espresso but faltering when it came to taking a seat;

“Where did you want me to sit?”

“Oh anywhere you like” you shifted Luna as she had finished on one breast, hooking that side up before shifting and moving her to the other breast. You’d mastered the art of switching breasts without revealing anything, the baby's head blocking any view of a nipple, and you were a vehement supporter of breast feeding - in fact any feeding - and had been known to get into loud shouting matches with anyone that told you to cover up something that was completely natural.

“I mean, i don’t want Sy to think i’m here oggling his wife’s tits”

Laughing, you kicked out a soft chair with your foot;

“This is fairly low, take this one and here…” you moved the upright menu on the table in front of Luna’s head, knowing that she would now be shielded from view and with your breast, and saving Walter’s embarrassment.

Just as Walter sat down Sue brough over his sandwich, the scent of it hitting your nostrils and making your stomach audibly growl;

“Oh wow, what is that?”

“A steak wrap with chimichurri sauce” he lifted one half and offered it to you, but you shook your head.

“Thanks, but that’s just a little too rare for me… looks like a good veterinarian could bring it back to life”

Walter laughed as you called out to Sue, ordering one of the same.

“You want yours still mooing too?”

“Medium, please” you laughed as she nodded and walked away.

As she cooked your meal you turned back to Walter. You’d had a few conversations with him over the 11 months he and Sy had worked together, but knew very little about him apart from his reputation of being quiet and surly, generally sleep deprived and a little pale most of the time. He’d been medically retired from the Police Department after an accident where he’d lost a lot of blood and had never fully recovered.

As Luna happily fed and Walter devoured his sandwich you sipped on your drink, watching with curiosity as the man ate in silence, savouring each bloody bite. When he finally crumpled the napkin onto the plate and sat back he caught you watching him;

“What? Do i have something on my face?”

“No” you laughed softly; “Just watching how quickly you devoured that sandwich. Rachel not feeding you at home?”

Walter’s face dropped;

“She left”

“Oh fuck. I’m sorry Walter, i wouldn’t have said anything if i’d known”

“S’ok. She got fed up with the way i lived my life, but i can’t change who i am”

“True”

Just then Sy and Mikey came running into the coffee shop;

“Hi Darlin! Hi Sue! Hi Walt… be right back, Jnr has a bathroom emergency!”

The two Syverson boys disappeared into the restroom, and you could clearly hear Sy’s voice;

“Point! POINT IT AT THE TOILET! That’s it, stand on your tippy toes… there we go! Got here in time!”

You suppressed a laugh, Walter raising his eyebrows;

“Potty training?”

“Uh-huh… it's been a challenging few weeks to say the least, but Mikey wanted to give it a go”

The sound of the dryer could be heard as Sy and Mikey reappeared, Sy giving you double thumbs up from behind his son who ran to you;

“A perfect aim Darlin, no leaks. Think this deserves a cookie!”

As Mikey squealed with joy you groaned;

“Sy… not more sugar! He’ll be up all night. Mikey, honey, how about some fries?”

“And Eggies?” Mikey asked

“Sure thing honey, get Daddy to ask Sue”

As the afternoon wore on and the boys chatted, you listened as Sy and Walter discussed work stuff, Luna sleeping peacefully in your arms as you ate with Mikey. Finally glancing at your watch you motioned to Sy the time;

“Hun, i’ve gotta go collect our meat order from Walkers Meats”

“Oh yeah, sure. Here…” He opened his wallet and peeled off a bunch of $20’s as he turned to Walter; “She makes the best Steak Tartare… it's unbelievable”

“You make that?” Walter asked

Angling Luna into her carrier sling you adjusted the straps and nodded;

“Sure do! Hey, did you want to join us for dinner?”

“Yeah, join us!” Sy parroted; “And before you say anything, you wouldn’t be intruding”

With a weak smile Walter nodded;

“Sure, that’ll be nice. I gotta go to the lumber yard before though… pick out the stuff for next week's job”

You noticed that Mikey had finished his meal and was looking sleepy, holding your hand out to him he slid off the chair and stood next to you;

“How about I take the kids home, Sy you catch a ride with Walter?”

With everyone happy with the arrangements you made your way along main street to where Sy had parked his enormous truck, helping Mikey into his seat before unlatching Luna and settling her into her carrier. They were both fast asleep by the time you got to the drivers seat. 

You managed to park directly outside the door to Walkers Meats, and Freya the weekend girl helpfully brought everything out to you when you called inside that the kids were asleep in the car and you didn’t want to leave them.

-

Dinner had been fun. The two kids were peacefully sleeping as the three adults chatted after the meal, before you finally stood to load the dishwasher and start hand washing the items that couldn’t go in there. Just as you were about to start you heard a cry from the kids, Sy standing;

“It’s Mikey, i’ll go”

As you started to handwash the various knives and delicate glasses, Walter stood at your side to dry items, the two of you talking casually before you let out a cry and pulled your hand from the soapy bowl of water. The dark crimson of your blood flowed from your finger, the knife you’d forgotten you’d put in the sink the cause;

“Fuck… hand me a towel…” you asked Walter, but were surprised when he sucked in a sharp intake of breath and turned, hunching over. Clutching your hand to your chest, you were surprised by his reaction, before he suddenly turned and you let out a shriek.

Sy appeared at the doorway in a panic before rushing to you, wrapping a napkin around your hand before he finally turned to look at Walter;

“What the fuck…”

Walter was pale, paler than usual, but that wasn’t what shocked the pair of you. No, it was the fact his eyes were pure white except for dark pools for his pupils, and as he opened his mouth to speak you saw his fangs;

“It’s… it’s the blood…” he gasped out; “It drives me…”

Sy wrapped his arm around your shoulders, but looked at his friend as he slumped onto the floor, shaking and sobbing;

“Think we need a chat Walt”

-

The three of you sat around the kitchen table, a hefty glass of scotch in front of each of you as Walter spoke;

“So umm yeah… this is why i left the Department. Went into a supposedly abandoned building, but it wasn’t empty. Two what we thought were junkies in there, looked like they were frail and would snap in a keen wind, but they had this strength and speed… They overpowered me, latched onto my neck. Drained my blood, and when the last drop was about to pass their lips one of my officers finally found me and shot them. They bled into me. The EMT’s took me to New Mercy and gave me a massive blood transfusion, and treated me for severe anemia… well guess what, the fangs and fucked up eyes were a surprise a few weeks after i was discharged”

You sat wide eyed and mouth agape, not touching your drink;

“I have so many questions...”

“Okay”

“Garlic. Crosses. Being invited in. Sunlight…”

Walter chuckled;

“Most a load of complete bollocks. Garlic? Well you put some in your steak tartare didn’t you? In fact it helps with the anemia. Crosses? No issue. Being invited in, again that’s just rubbish. Sunlight however… why do you think i’m so pale, huh? Have to wear factor 50 all the damn time otherwise i end up looking like a Maine Lobster at a cookout”

Both you and Sy were transfixed, Walter chatting away but his eyes hadn’t returned to normal and his fangs occasionally caught on his lip as he spoke.

“What ‘bout blood then?” Sy asked

Walter cleared his throat;

“Well, i’ve been making do with cows blood since Rachel left”

“You used to suck her blood?” you asked in a high pitched voice

Again Walter cleared his throat, this time just the faintest hint of a blush crept over his cheeks above his beard;

“Err yeah, about once a month… but she had enough in the end and left”

“I got another question” Sy interjected; “Why are your fangs still out?”

Although he answered Sy, Walter looked directly at you;

“Because she’s bleeding”

You looked down at your hand, puzzled as the wound had now sealed, before it hit you;

“Oh… I should go and sort that out”

Sy caught up quickly, glancing at the back of your dress;

“You’re fine Darlin, Walt caught it in time”

When you returned to the kitchen the two men had knocked back their drinks, Sy pouring another hefty glass for the pair of them. Pouring your drink into Sy’s you smiled at him;

“Luna won’t appreciate it”

Making yourself a herb tea you sat down next to Sy, leaning on his shoulder as you sipped your tea. Walter cleared this throat;

“You two have taken this a lot better than i envisioned anyone would… better than Rachel did…”

You looked up at Sy and smiled, his own grin crossing over his face before he nodded and you both turned to Walter as Sy spoke;

“Oh… we have a bit of understanding of this kinda thing”

With the full moon starting tomorrow night you knew that you could both force your eyes to turn orange, the bright ring of fire in your irises flaming like a pyre, shocking Walter so much he slipped back on his chair and fell to the floor. Greeted by both of you giggling, he pulled himself back up using the table as he righted his chair, knocking back the rest of his glass;

“What… the… FUCK?”

[sheloooveswomen]

holiday retreat escapades - billie dean howard x reader

masterlist

pt.1 banquet escapades/prequel

summary: xmas sequel to company retreat escapades. spending the holidays with billie's family at their vacation home. if you recall billie's dad is your boss, you met the medium at a company event, you were seeing each other in secret for a while, now her family knows about your relationship.  

includes: billie x fem!reader, thoughts are italicized, all in reader’s POV.

warnings: semi nsfw in the second half but no smut

3,170 words

Y/N POV//

"Nervous?" Billie does that thing where she puts her hand on the back of my seat to better look out the rear view window to park. I'm almost to antsy to acknowledge how hot that is, "Honey?" she pats my thigh.

"A bit, yeah" I stare out the window.

"That's why I'm so afraid"

"That's why I'm so afraid"

"Eleanor will be fine. My mother will keep my dad in check, she loves you. If anyone should be wary it's Ryan- Eleanor's boyfriend. No ones met him yet and she's the baby of the family, so there’s that."

"Is your brother bringing anyone?"

"Tony?" she laughs, "No. His dating life has a revolving door."

"My hopes are low" I mumble.

"Well I love you so it's impossible they'll fare any different" she turns her hand palm up to intertwine our fingers, "I can tell you exactly how it'll go."

"Do tell"

"Mama will greet us. There will be a bone crushing hug, she'll throw a comment in about children or marriage, force my father to say something, and then we will unpack. Tony and Elle will show up if they haven't already and we'll have a lovely dinner. Followed by dessert and some well deserved rest."

"Finally get to sleep in?"

She grins, "We will have to get out of the car first, though."

I roll my eyes, "Okay"

"Okay?" she raises a brow.

"Yep"

"Let's go then, gorgeous"

I grab my carryon from the backseat while Billie grabs her huge suitcase from the trunk.

"There's no need to be nervous, my love." she quickly kisses my cheek and knocks.

"They're here!" a feminine voice sounds from inside. The door whips open to a petite blonde in a royal blue dress, "I was wondering when you'd get out the car. Welcome! Come in come in please!" she engulfs her daughter into a hug, "Hi sweet pea, I've never seen you pack so light! Merry Christmas!"

"Merry Christmas, mama. You can thank and I will blame Y/n for my lack of luggage." Billie glances at me over her mom's shoulder before squeezing her tight.

"Good on her, I've missed you- let me look at you, Bee!" her mom holds her at arms length.

"You saw me less than two weeks ago and we speak on the phone almost everyday." Billie grins.

"Oh hush! You'll understand when you have kids."

Billie cuts her eyes at me as if to say 'told ya so'

"Hello to you too, doll!" her mom pulls me into the bone crushing embrace Billie mentioned and rocks us side to side, "Merry Christmas Eve, darlin'. I forgot how cute she is, Billie Dean!"

I unintentionally blush from the sudden attention, "Merry Christmas Eve. Thank you for having me, Mrs.Howard."

"None of that, it's Lainey" she wraps an arm around my shoulder and stage whispers, "Mom soon if that one knows what's good for her"

"I can hear you" Billie feigns indignation.

"You're supposed to, bumble bee!"

"I guess I'll get the bags then" my girlfriend feigns indignation.

"Oh that won't do, Bruce come help your daughter!"

Virginia Elaine Howard -or Lainey affectionately- is a 5'2 (5'7 in heels which she surprisingly isn’t wearing), honey blonde, with stunning green eyes. Basically a mini, green eyed, bubbly version of my girlfriend (who is 5'8 but 5'11 with heels on).

By her side as soon as we reach the living room is Bruce Howard. Well, Frederick Bruce Howard. I laughed for days when Billie told me her father's actual first name. A reserved, 6'3, chestnut haired, broad shouldered man, and my boss. Bruce is definitely more fitting.

"Mrs.Howard is his mother" Lainey grins up at her husband.

He quietly addresses his wife, "What am I helping with?"

"Their bags, bear."

He acknowledges me with a slight nod of his head, stern expression in place when he steps through the entryway to help Billie.

I nod back politely as he passes, "Mr.Howard"

He brings the bags to the top of the stairs for us to deal with afterwards.

Billie Dean has her mother's hair, dimples, and figure while she inherited virtually everything else from her father. From her height to her athletic abilities to her workaholic tendencies. Though Billie is definitely a better conversationalist, thanks to her mother.

"Stop scaring her, Frederick." his wife elbows his side when he returns.

He bristles at his first name, "No need to be so formal, Y/N. Bruce is just fine. How was the trek, Bee?"

Billie places a hand on my hip out of habit, "Just fine. Some turbulence. It's not too hot or cold out so the drive from the airport with the top down was beautiful." a southern drawl comes through like it always does when she speaks to her parents.

"Tony is on his way, still. That boy is always late. Your sister and Ryan are unpacking, you two can go ahead and do the same while I finish dinner!" Lainey smiles. Bruce gives another nod and follows her to the kitchen.

"I will never get used to how big this place is" I whisper to Billie as we climb the stairs.

"You've got time. If I remember correctly you said the same about my place, and you're definitely used to it now" she winks, "our house will be this big after all."

"Don't you dare" I follow her down the hall.

Placing our bags on the benches of the walk in closet of Billie’s bedroom, we chat aimlessly while putting our clothes on hangers or in drawers.

"You really knew exactly what your mom would do"

Billie chuckles, "She's a creature of habit, that one."

"Or maybe you are a psychic" I try and hide my smile knowing I'm pushing a button.

"A medium, dear." she glares playfully but I ignore it.

"They're kind of the same thing anyway, aren't they?"

Billie lets the shirt she was putting away fall from her hand and cocks her head to the side. She stands from her crouched position and I glance towards the doorway back to the bedroom, she does the same. The second I move she’s right behind me. Somehow just as fast with her heels on, and she pushes me back onto the bed.

Hovering over me she finally replies, "You're lucky you're cute."

"Cute enough to tag along for familial holidays. It'll be nice to be here and be able to share a room. For the whole night I mean."

Billie settles beside me, propped up on her elbow to see me, "Haven't lost the excitement now that we're not sneaking around?" it's said as a joke but I sense her apprehension when she fidgets with my collar.

"As if. It seems I'm only capable of falling more in love with you." I mirror her position so we're facing each other.

She smiles softly, hand moving to play with the baby hairs at my nape, "Good. Because I feel the same... I love you."

Smiling like she put the stars in the sky I reply, "I love you, too."

Billie pushes me onto my back and leans in for a long awaited kiss.

My hands naturally fall to the curve of her waist, slowly tracing over her hip and down to rest on her ass, "Especially on these rare occasions you wear jeans, Billie Dean. How are you laying down so casually but you exude the seduction of a centerfold?"

"Flattery will get you everywhere" she scratches her acrylics on my scalp.

"Promise?"

"Mhm—" there's a knock at the door.

"Bee? Are you ladies all set, your brother is here?!"

"Damn" I drop my head back.

"We're coming!" Billie calls out, her mother's steps become quieter as she retreats down the hall.

"Unfortunately we are not."

She chuckles, pulling me to stand and encircling my waist with her slender arms, "Dinner now. Dirty later."

With one more kiss she grabs my hand and guides me downstairs.

Bruce greets me with another nod and Billie with a glass identical to his. Filled with what I assume is bourbon or some other whiskey, "I wasn't sure what you drink, Y/n."

"I'll make her drink, Pop." Billie chimes in.

"Is that Bill?" a voice as deep as her father's calls from the kitchen.

"Anchovy?" Billie replies, stepping to the bar.

The spitting image of Bruce (with Lainey's green eyes) walks into the living room/dining room, "Very funny" he looks to me and offers a hand, "Anthony Jeremiah Howard. And you are?"

A familiar arm wraps around my waist, "Taken." she hands me a glass.

"Ah, the famous Y/n then?"

"It's nice to meet you" I smile politely and shake his hand.

"Likewise. Keepin’ her on a leash?" he nods towards Billie.

"Everyday." I grin.

"I like this one, Bill. Where's El-ignore and Brian?"

"Eleanor and Ryan are coming now" Lainey answers, trailing down the stairs.

"I have to give him a hard time, mama, I'm the big brother."

"You're younger than Billie and older than me by two minutes" a carbon copy of Lainey (but with chestnut hair like Bruce) responds as she comes down the stairs.

"I'm still the biggest" Tony frowns.

Bruce pats his son on the back, "Almost, champ."

(( time skip / dinner time ))

"Can I do anything to help? Maybe bring out the hors d'oeuvres?" I ask Lainey.

"That'd be lovely, sweetheart. You have more manners than my own kin." she winks at me.

"She's gotta earn your love, ma" Tony grins when Lainey flicks his forehead in passing.

"Refill?" I ask Billie quietly, setting the last appetizer on the table.

"I'd be forever indebted to you" she smirks and slides the empty glass in my direction.

I am gay.

"Does William still snore?" Anthony asks me when I come back.

"No." Billie answers sharply.

"Who?" I ask.

"William" he repeats.

"Anthony would you like to wear your dinner? I will warn you, it doesn't go with your tie." Billie taps her nails rhythmically.

"In school the teachers assumed Billie was a boy when they read the roster" Eleanor clarifies, chuckling.

"I never understood why. They're looking at my name printed in ink and they assume it's a nickname." Billie grumbles.

Eleanor laughs, "Then your middle name is Dean!"

Billie arches a brow, "Easy there, Eleanor Bertha."

Eleanor takes a gulp of her wine, "Guess we're both unlucky" she glances up at her boyfriend, now joining the table after chatting by the bar with Bruce.

"I love her name, Billie Dean Howard" I mock their southern twang.

"Whipped" Anthony chimes in.

I laugh, "Wait- you said she snores?"

"Ever since she was little. Bruce and I have called her Bumble Bee because of the little buzzing sound she'd make in her sleep." Lainey smiles wistfully.

Billie scoffs, "What is happening- it only occurs when I sleep in a weird position and its hereditary. Same way I have dad's lisp I inherited his snoring."

"That's partially why I call your father ‘Bear’" the parents make eye contact.

"Oh gross" "Please god no" "We are eating" the siblings groan in response.

"How do you think you all got here, Fedex?" Bruce replies.

"It's okay I wasn't meant to enjoy my meal." Anthony drops his fork.

"When are you next set to film, Bee?" Lainey asks.

"Third week of February, we're headed to Nebraska. So we'll be home for Valentine's Day."

Bruce hums in thought, "It's nice that you get to travel for work but when are you going somewhere warm again?"

"When do you think you'll retire?" his wife adds.

Billie scoffs, "I'm not nearly old enough, thank you"

"Sweetheart, retiring isn't about age it's about income" she pats her husband's shoulder, "ain't that right, honey?"

He hums, "Of course dear... is that why you've never worked?" the corner of his mouth quirks up into an almost smile.

"Careful dear, I prepare your meals and know your life insurance policy by heart" she pats his cheek, "this family has always been a full time job anyways. Between all the extracurriculars- the girls did every sport and dance they damn well could and Tony was in every baseball or basketball camp available. Plus we were always hosting something for the company."

Lainey takes a deep breath and that's when I notice Billie, Anthony, and Eleanor mouthing the words as their mother says them, "But those were the days!"

(( time skip / after dinner / night time ))

Staring up at the skylight I reflect on dinner. Family Billie is far from LA Billie and even at home Billie, but still somehow seems so right.

"I love your family" I concede.

"They sure as hell love you" Billie calls from the bathroom, doing her last little bedtime rituals since we already showered.

I smile thinking about how they all slip into their childhood roles when thrown back into a shared environment, "It's funny to see your little, sibling quarrels. I love hearing what you were like as a kid."

"I'm glad one of us is amused" she chuckles dryly, flicking her hair over her shoulder.

"Why do you look so suspicious" I ask as Billie nears the bed.

She tilts her head slightly, "I don't know what you mean, babydoll."

After taking in her outfit (a black silk robe that reaches mid thigh) I let out a nervous laugh, wagging my finger at her, "No no no no, you have no pants on and you're using your extra sexy voice—"

"Just what are you insinuating?" her tone mixed with her actions keeps me quiet as she crawls onto the bed.

"Billie- what if they hear us?"

"All of our bedrooms are in different wings of the house and honey, you're not that loud." she bites her lip to hold back a smile.

I hide my blush with my hands, opening my eyes when I feel her sitting beside me, "Hi" I grin in a disgustingly lovesick way.

Billie's eyes shine with adoration, "Hi baby" she pulls my legs out to lay flat so she can straddle my hips, "We have this tradition where we open one gift on Christmas Eve..."

I'm totally listening and not at all noticing the red lace around her hips peaking out or watching her hands as she reaches for the tie of her robe.

When it finally falls from her shoulders I'm met with a bright red bow. Not a bra. A silk scarf wrapped around her chest and tied into a big perfect bow. An acrylic nail gently scratches along my jaw till it reaches my chin and guides my head close enough to feel her breath when she whispers against my lips, "So... unwrap me."

It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas...

(( time skip / next morning ))

The second my eyes open I'm met with the most beautiful sight: the most beautiful face with the most adorable sprinkle of freckles over her nose. A halo of golden hair against the pillow- and jesus christ, her jawline.

Leaning forward I press a kiss to the small mole beside her mouth, then her shoulder, and her cheek, smiling when her nose twitches in her sleep. I sit up on my elbows and move Billie's hair from her face as she stirs, "Good morning"

"Good morning" Billie nuzzles into my hand before abruptly leaning away from me, "What are you doing?"

"What- wishing my woman good morning?"

"No, what are you doing here?" she sits up, holding her pillow over her bare chest.

"Well I was sleeping" I mockingly sit up as she did and glare when she remains quiet, "also like two hours ago your hand was all up in my hair while my tongue was all up—" she hits me with the pillow before plopping it behind her.

"Such a dirty mouth for such a sweet girl" Billie tsks.

"Because you're so innocent, Miss Howard?"

"I didn't say that... I don't exactly call you sweet girl for your personality. As I was saying, what are you doing here?"

"Why do you keep asking me that?" she catches my wrist when I go to swat her arm.

"The gifts are supposed to be under the tree. Now when I go down there and I don't see a you-sized package I will be disappointed. There was nothing else on my list and though I've been naughty I was still hopeful." her finger runs down the valley of my breasts and her serious facade falters.

"It's too early for you to be this corny-" I pull the sheet over my head, "that's cute and horny by the way."

Laughing, she pulls the covers back and slides under to press kisses to my chest and stomach. Earning a happy sigh from me. Slowly -very much taking her sweet time actually- going lower. Making sure to kiss the marks left from the night before, and then trailing back up till her eyes meet mine, "You've turned me into a lovesick fool and I'll never forgive you."

"You miss being the queen of nonchalance? On the prowl... living freely as a cougar?" I ask.

The sheets fall to her waist when she straightens up with a scoff, "On the prowl? Excuse you! I was never a cougar!"

I rest my hands on her hips, natural instinct when she's straddling me like this, "Mhm I totally believe you—" I'm cut off by my own laughter when she pokes at my sides.

"I'll have you know I have been with people not only my age but older!"

"By what, a year or two? A few months? Days? Did you ask for their birth certificate so you could do it by minutes?" I smirk walking two fingers up the side of her thigh.

"You are so fresh." she swats my hand, "I just happen to naturally attract those younger than me" she boops my nose, "exhibit A: you, who seems to only be attracted to women old enough to be your mother" she points to herself, "exhibit B: yours truly"

"How very dare you!" I slam my hand down on the mattress, "I am!"

She places my arms around her waist and pulls me to sit up so we're chest to chest, well face to chest since she's sitting in my lap, "Merry Christmas, my sweet girl."

"Merry Christmas, William."

Billie looks down and arches a perfect brow, "For your sake I will give you a moment to beg for forgiveness."

"Bumble bee?" I smirk.

She squints, "You're getting warmer."

"My Billie Dean?"

"There's my good girl" her lips meet mine, and again I sigh happily.

A steady stream of sweet nothings flows between the two of us for a few hours before falling back to sleep in hopes of resting before breakfast.

[roanniom]

Hey Issa, my sweet honey bun! I don’t send many requests to people, so bear with me. I’ll forever wait for the day you write Kylo, but until then I’ll throw this one at you for Charlie. I had a wander through the prompt list, and I kinda liked “I’ll feel better if you let me walk you home.” with Charlie being all protective of reader, unsure if she reciprocates his feelings. And because I’m a garbage can of filth, I also loved “I’m not made of glass. You won’t break me.” if you wanted to move into smut. I hope this gets the creative juices flowing? Take your time, no pressure ever! 💕💕💕

@paper-n-ashes as you know I have been holding onto this and chipping away at it steadily for FOREVER so I can get it just right for you, so I hope you enjoy it, my love <3

Push

Charlie Barber x Reader

Word Count: 6,862

Warnings: NSFW, fingering, PIV sex / unprotected sex, light light light choking (not even really), mention of infidelity (just canon from Marriage Story plot), a lil post-divorce angst/lack of confidence

The above photo is Charlie Barber, 1-year post divorce. He’s been working out as a form of anger management and because Henry, over many late night phone conversations, has shared his new love of hiking, a pastime he’s picked up since living in LA. Charlie plans to take Henry hiking on the Appalachian trail next summer break and wants to be on tip top shape to keep up with his enthusiastic son.

He’s been to therapy. Learning more about what went wrong in his marriage, but more specifically learning about how he can become a better person in the aftermath. How infidelity and self-interest were born of a deep-seated need for a love that he was not receiving. A love that was no closer to him prior to his indiscretions but all the same rendered unreachable as a result. He’s given himself time to grieve the man he’d thought himself to be. Because that is what had died with his marriage - not Charlie Barber himself. But the Charlie Barber he’d built in his mind. A man limited by support that came with conditions, love that came with caveats. That Charlie was a father and a husband. He was often suppressed, wound tight, on edge.

This Charlie is a father and a man. He is free to celebrate his own success without fear of wounding nearby egos. He’s limited only by what he feels he deserves. And granted sometimes those self-imposed limitations can really hold him down, as they did when he vowed not to jump into any further entanglements - affairs or otherwise - in the time immediately following his divorce. But that limitation was ultimately beneficial. It gave him space to be alone - with himself, for himself. He was able to finally see his own flaws with his own eyes instead of having them recited back to him by another, as if through a crude, second hand reflection. And in seeing these flaws, he also saw the virtues. Charlie was actually starting to like himself again.

And this is when he meets you.

You storm into his life with an energy he doesn’t recognize, introduced at a party by a friend of a friend, filling his senses with your too-loud-laughter and too-bright-eyes. In many ways that’s how he sees you: too much. Your enthusiasm makes you appear too young, though in truth you’re not that much younger than him. Your smile makes you appear too beautiful, though in truth there are often much more conventionally attractive women in the room at any given time.

“Charlie. Charlie Barber,” Charlie mutters as he shakes your hand. Its warm in his larger one and he’s suddenly a little self-conscious of the fact that he’d been holding his sweating scotch on the rocks just moments before the contact.

“Hello Charlie-Charlie Barber,” you reply with a massive grin, shaking his hand back vigorously and with seemingly no reaction to its clamminess. “The famous director, I assume?”

Charlie clocks the quirk of your eyebrow. A tease. A social cue he’s not used to. Not these days. He looks down at his worn tennis shoes, all too aware all at once of the way they dress down his sweater and jeans. He feels rumpled next to you and he’s not sure he likes it. You’re too put together.

You’re too honest, too fearless, too open to new things. Though Charlie’s beginning to grow, your presence reminds him of how stunted he’d been in his marriage. How the same old restaurants, the same old clothes, the same old glass of the same old scotch had become items of comfort for him, talismans of a previous life that he clung to for some semblance of familiarity. Around you, however, those same old things looks dull and uninspired. Quite the opposite of you.

You are the one to ask him out, though he’s not even really aware that it’s a date at all when he arrives. That’s how much he doesn’t see you coming. His affair had been one of convenience. An opportunity to blow off excess steam, and a pretty disappointing one at that, with neither party really find what they were chasing. His marriage had grown cold long before it had ended. All of this to say that Charlie wasn’t very familiar with warmth. With interest that occurred in the light of day, and attention that was given without anything sought in return.

You’re halfway through lunch before you realize that he doesn’t understand your intentions. So you explain them to him. Clear and empty of any pretense. You are attracted to him and interested in getting to know him further. It’s simple, really. He’s shocked by your openness and the absence of any games. In another life he’d once assumed that a relationship without strife, without agony, without strategic tug of war would be one without passion. However, as he soon learns while taking you out on the second date, that he couldn’t have been farther from the truth.

Over dinner this time he finds himself getting lost in your micro-expressions. Finds his eyes lingering on the animated way you gesture, finds his words getting twisted in his tongue as your gaze weighs on him, expectant and waiting for a response to some question. His bodily responses to your attention are no less potent in the absence of angst. In fact, he is surprised to find that his yearning practically triples when you part ways and he realizes not once had he been made to feel like he had to prove something, or fight, or challenge.

He learns over time that you challenge him in other ways. Challenge him when it comes to picking restaurants outside his comfort zone. Challenge him by dragging him, mid-lunch date, on a shopping trip with you, a trip where you gently help him to finally replace the worn out tennis shoes to which he’d been clinging. Challenge him by laughing with him, not at him, even when the subject of the humor is himself. Your laughter is lighter, more carefree, than he is used to. Then again, he’s not used to being around someone like you.

He kisses you after the third date – the lunch-turned-shopping trip. It’s quick and it’s light, on the curb before an intersection on the East Side, right before you both are about to walk in separate directions. You say nothing when he pulls away. Just smile and turn on your heel, already headed to your next destination. It drives Charlie crazy over the next few days. Not because he assumes you have some hidden agenda. On the contrary, he’s horrified that your interior thoughts match your exterior actions. You have been nothing but honest with him. It is Charlie who has been oscillating wildly in his mind. Between thoughts of how much it might hurt if you turn out to be too good to be true and thoughts of how much he’d love to feel your body on his. To explore the mouth you use so effortlessly to tease him, to compliment him, to charm him. You speak kindness like pleasantries, as if affirmations and praise were as easy to dole out as a cheery “good morning” on a stress-free Saturday. Charlie wants to know what you’re like on a Saturday. Away from the bustle of the city. Away from the common friends and the crowded shops and restaurants that have buffered all of your encounters.

But Charlie’s still afraid.

On your fourth date Charlie is more reserved when you arrive at the restaurant. You break the ice by pointing out that the formality of your dates is beginning to feel silly.

“Maybe it’s the fact that the tables have tablecloths,” you joke, swirling your pasta around a fork. “Or maybe it’s the fact that I’ve never repeatedly had meals with someone I wasn’t already in a relationship with.”

Charlie prickles at the implication, taking a labored swallow of ice water. He doesn’t want to comment on the relationship part of your sentiment so he chooses something more neutral.

“Should I remind you that two of these meals have been at your suggestion and you did, in fact, also plan them as meals.” He relaxes a bit when you laugh heartily at that, relieved that the conversation doesn’t get any more dicey.

“Touché,” you reply. Then you lean forward and whisper conspiratorially at him across the small table. He feels himself lean in, curious but also looking for a chance to just get closer in proximity. He wishes he’d had the courage to sit next to you rather than across from you when he’d first sat down. “Feeling adventurous enough to let me pick where we go after this tonight?”

And Charlie feels adventurous. Adventurous as he lets you whisk him across town and to your favorite arcade bar. Adventurous as he passes you a large handful of quarters he got from the little machine at the front, only to grasp your fist in his when he miscalculates how much of his handful you’d be capable of taking, narrowly avoiding a massive spill of loose change on the floor. Adventurous as he orders a couple of beers and lets you show him your favorite game, Burger Time – a silly little maze game where you collect burger ingredients. Adventurous as he shows you his favorite game, which is pretty much any pinball machine known to man.

“Yours looks cooler than mine,” you huff, walking over to the pinball machine he’s playing once you abandon the one that was definitely broken. Or at least that’s how you justify so many consecutive, immediate losses. Charlie laughs and pulls back the plunger but doesn’t release, effectively pausing his game.

“You wanna try it?” Charlie ushers you in front of him and puts your hand on the plunger beneath his, careful not to release it in the process. “The key is anticipating where the ball will go. It’s all about patterns after a while.”

“Then why does it seem so random?” you ask, looking up at him over your shoulder.

“You just haven’t played enough yet. Over time you can predict what will happen if the ball hits a certain corner. Where it will go if it ricochets juuust right at the last second.”

“Sounds fake but I’ll let you prove it to me,” you say with a laugh, focusing your attention back on the machine.

“We’ll let go in one…two…three.” When you feel the pressure of his hand let up you let go as well, letting him guide both your hands immediately to the buttons on the side of the machine.

For as great as his theory of pinball predictability is, he probably underestimates your ability to suck. Because you do, hard. But you laugh the whole way through, and you never quit. Never turn to him in frustration asking to do something else or even to leave. Instead you keep feeding quarters into the machine and bringing your hands back under Charlie’s on the machine. And no matter how shitty you are, you always at least try to focus.

Charlie, meanwhile, is having a very hard time focusing on anything that isn’t your body. His hips bracket your ass in this helpful position he’s adopted, and he feels your pressure against his pelvis with every enthusiastic wriggle and little jump of frustration that you take in response to the game. When he makes the unfortunate mistake to look down over your shoulder at one point he’s met with a direct view of your cleavage, exposed as it is in your low-cut blouse. Charlie begins to sweat and it has nothing to do with how packed the arcade is or with the exertion of gaming. When he remembers that the arcade is also a bar, he excuses himself to get more beer, hoping that one will cool him off and cool him down.

You dazzle him with a smile thrown over your shoulder when he approaches with the two fresh bottles, and he’s not prepared for how the sight of your face almost knocks him back on his ass.

“Charlie! I did better this time!” He chuckles at your enthusiasm.

“Oh yeah?” he asks, handing you your beer which you sip gratefully.

“I lasted a few more minutes than last time,” you elaborate proudly. “So I’d say that means I now qualify as a pinball wizard.”

“Move over Elton John,” Charlie says with a smirk. You slap him in the shoulder and immediately engage him in a spirited discussion of whether the Elton John movie version of “Pinball Wizard” was better than The Who’s version from the original album. However, after a few minutes Charlie realizes he’s lost in thought. Lost in your voice. Lost in your expressions. Lost in you.

When it finally comes time to leave the arcade, the night drawing much later than it had on your previous nighttime date, Charlie’s scared he’ll be lost without you. The two of you walk together for a couple of blocks before you reach that similar intersection. The place where you part ways.

“I think we really turned around that formality thing, don’t you?” you ask him, turning to Charlie and leaning back against the column of a pedestrian sign. Charlie moves into your space, swallowing his hesitation.

“I don’t know, I began to feel a little unworthy when you ascended past the role of pinball wizard.”

“Oh did I get a promotion?” You ask, tipping your head back so you can look up at him as he steps closer.

“The word wizard conjures up images of wizened old man,” Charlie says dismissively, as if that clears up everything.

“So if you’re saying I don’t remind you of a wrinkled old Merlin – to which might I say, shocker – then what exactly is my new title.”

“One that fits you inside and out.” Charlie braces a hand against the column above your head, his other in his pocket. His head dips down so that it’s closer to your face despite your height difference. You feel warm despite the slight chill in the air.

“And that would be Pinball….?” you prompt.

“Goddess,” he completes the title before pressing his lips to yours. His hands remain on the column and in his pocket until you reach forward and grab a fistful of his sweater, pulling him to you. Then his hands are at your waist, pushing you back into the column. His tongue is in your mouth and your hands are in his hair and he can’t breathe. But he doesn’t want to. He wants to suffocate, wants to asphyxiate on you and the way he feels so tethered to this moment, this intersection, this place where you cannot part ways.

When you break apart to, in fact, breathe, your chest heaves and your smile is radiant.

“As far as kisses goodnight go, I’d say that was top tier,” you say on a laugh. Suddenly Charlie’s throat is constricting and he has to fight his facial muscles to keep from frowning as his hands tighten on your waist.

“That wasn’t a kiss goodnight. Not yet.”

“Any longer and it’ll be a kiss good morning, sir. Have you seen the time?” Your tone is joking. You call people ‘sir’ all the time. It’s a weird quirk of yours, like calling someone dude or pal. But Charlie can feel himself choking on the word, as well as the implications of a ‘kiss good morning.’ All of a sudden he feels like if he could have only one more thing before dying, that’s what he’d ask for. But then he kicks himself internally for being so fucking dramatic and he fiddles with the hem of your shirt.

“Exactly. It’s late.

You survey him from under your eyelashes with a small smile.

“I’ve made this walk many times.”

“It’s dark.”

“I’ve made this walk in the dark many times.”

“I’ll feel better if you let me walk you home.”

Charlie’s heart clenches. Before he can overthink, you’ve ducked out of his hold, grasped his hand and started pulling him down the street.

“C’mon Charlie, hurry up. You’d keep a goddess waiting?” you toss back at him over your shoulder. But in truth it was taking all of Charlie’s self control and the fact that he didn’t know the way to your place to keep him from throwing you over his shoulder and breaking into a full sprint.

~*~

Your place is exactly like you. Eclectic, warm, inviting. There is a moment, as you pull off your coat and turn away to place it and Charlie’s on a coat rack, when Charlie feels much too big for the space. Like he’s some kind of giant invading the home of a sweet little wood nymph. But then his little wood nymph is grabbing him by the front of the shirt and dragging him to a bedroom and the worries fade right out the window.  

At first Charlie is gentle with you. His hands ghost over your body as you kiss him beside your bed. When you push him to sit down on the edge of the mattress and step between his open legs to kiss him with a different height dynamic his heart just about jumps clear out of his chest. He hasn’t done this – hasn’t touched or been touched – in so long. The affair had been transactional, just the mechanical motions of sexual gratification. Sex with Nicole, before it stopped, had been even colder, almost as if she had been begrudgingly completing some unwelcome chore.

You, however, are like fire beneath Charlie’s fingers. Your skin, your lips – everything is so warm it feels like you’re too hot to touch. But Charlie would rather risk burning up than to not become accustomed to the feel, the shape, the substance of you. He smooths over your body with a reverential softness, his muscles tense with restraint so as to keep from accidentally pushing you too far too fast. To keep from handling the way that, deep down, he desperately needs.

When your lips suddenly leave his, his brow furrows in frustrations. Before he can open his eyes a soothing finger smooths the furrow away, sliding down the bridge of his nose to press against his kiss-swollen lips. Charlie opens his eyes with a question present in them and you cock your head to the side.

“You’re tense. Like you’re holding back.” The statement isn’t accusatory but it isn’t a question. Charlie takes a shaky breath, unsure about how much he should say. Would his desperation read as too dramatic? Too undesirable? Would his enthusiasm come across as pushy or dominating? His brow must furrow again because your hand moves back up, finger pressing out the wrinkles. He shrugs.

“It’s been…a while for me. I didn’t want to come across as too…much.”

You laugh then and yet again Charlie is struck by how strange it is that you can laugh in his face directly in response to something he’s said without making him feel like you are laughing at him.

“I’m not made of glass. You won’t break me, Charlie.”

“You’re sure about that?” Charlie huffs out with a little chuckle. You give him a smirk and say your next words up against his lips.

“Try me.”

You probably were expecting him to require more cajoling. You probably were expecting him to gradually ease into something more. But Charlie takes you by surprise, grabbing you and pulling you onto the bed with him, rolling so that you’re laid out beneath his body, all the while maintaining hungry possession of your mouth. His body finds its place between your legs and you gasp at the feeling of how huge he is. How hard and insistent against your softness. He drinks from you like a man whose thirst can not be quenched. His hands find purchase on your waist and he squeezes. So hard you’re sure you’ll bruise. You smile against his mouth with the realization that you look forward to watching them bloom later.

Since Charlie seems too preoccupied with groping and making out with you, it is you who eventually takes the next step, beginning to pop open the buttons on your blouse one by one. When Charlie feels the motion of your hands between your bodies he ultimately pulls back to investigate, mouth dropping open at the slow reveal of the lingerie you’re wearing beneath. His hand shoots out to caress the delicate lace of your bra, teasingly not applying any pressure to the breast beneath.

“Do you wear things like this often?” Charlie’s voice is already rough as he asks this. You shrug.

“Whenever I want to feel sexy.”

“You wanted to feel sexy while out with me?” Charlie asks, lifting an eyebrow.

“You made me feel sexier than the lace, Mr. Barber,” you say with a smile before leaning up to capture his lower lip between your teeth. He groans and moves to practically swallow you whole. You’re entirely foreign to him. Enthusiasm, amusement, and enjoyment bundled up into one devastatingly sexy package. There’s no shame in your movements, no angst in your eyes. Just humor. Only an unabashed pursuit of pleasure. And if it’s pleasure you want, it’s pleasure you’ll get.

Charlie now aids you in the process of removing the rest of your garments, so it goes much quicker. When you move to pull off your bra, however, he catches your wrist in his massive hand.

“No…can these stay on?” Your eyebrows shoot up but you notice the way that Charlie is gazing at you with eyes slightly hazy and tongue running over his lips.

“This doing it for you, Charlie?” you tease, shimmying a bit. Charlie’s answer is sincere regardless as he dips his head down to sample the plush skin at the line of your cleavage.

“You have no idea.”

“So you’re a lingerie man, huh?” When you ask he stops to think for a second because, truly, he had never considered himself that way before. He’d never had any reason to. Sure lingerie models in magazines were hot, but it’s not a specific fantasy he’d ever explored previously.

But the sight of you here, strategically covered in lace and laid out beneath him pretty as a picture has him so hard he feels like a teenager unable to control himself. So, as you had urged him, he doesn’t.

“I might be. But really, I’m just enamored by these tits.” His teeth sink into your flesh and you sigh, especially when his tongue comes out to lave warmly at the spot. He moves down your body then, peppering kisses to the exposed skin of your stomach, sliding until your inner thighs rest against the sides of his face and his hands dip below you to squeeze your ass. “Although I feel like this might end up being my favorite part.” He says this last part directly into your clothed cunt, his lips just barely ghosting over the fabric with his words.

You wiggle a bit in his grasp, loving the answering way his fingers dig into your soft flesh. Your fingers card into his lush hair, tugging lightly at the roots, a feeling that shoots through his body and straight to his rock hard member. The way he discretely ruts against the mattress in response does not go unnoticed by you, so you drop a hand under his chin to tip his face back up to look at you.

“Will you fuck me, Charlie?” Your voice is clear and bright. Not playing coy and requiring any convincing. Just asking for something you want. And the hunger in your eyes seems unmistakable, though it still feels to good to be true. Charlie drops his gaze back down to the wet spot forming in your panties before looking back up and practically pouting.

“I’d like to taste you,” he counters. A brilliant smile breaks out across your face at the sound of that but you shake your head.

“There’ll be time for that later,” you argue, tugging on his shoulder to get him back on top of you. “If you don’t get inside me right now I’ll die.”

Charlie almost misses that last part because he’s still stuck on the first part. There’ll be time for that later. The possibility of later squeezes at Charlie’s hard and it’s only after a few echoing seconds that he’s able to process the rest of your statement with a delayed, choking laugh.

“Is someone getting dramatic on me?”

“Not yet, but I will if - ”

“If I don’t get inside you?” Charlie completes the statement in the exact moment a hand drops between your thighs and presses against the soaked fabric covering your slit. You inhale sharply.

“Exactly.”

“I didn’t take you for someone who was pushy in bed,” Charlie says good naturedly, swiping his fingers up the line of you to end with a swirl over where he assumed – correctly – your clit was. You tilt your pelvis to maximize his pressure before surging up to kiss him long and hard.

“I’m actually not. Not really,” you say breathlessly when you finally pull away and drop back down onto the pillows. You stretch luxuriously, almost like a kitten in the sun under his piercing gaze, the movement of your hips bumping his hand to rub you even better. Running your hands up and down the big, strong arms that cage you in and support him, you kiss his shoulder. “I’ve been hoping you would be.”

Suddenly your wrists are being pinned down above your head by one of Charlie’s hands. He’s got your legs open wide with his body sinking against you, hard and heavy.

“Pushy? You want me to be pushy?”

You grin big and wide at him.

“Yeah. Take charge like I know you want – oh!” You’re cut off by the welcome sensation of stimulation as Charlie’s hand drops inside your panties to slide around in your waiting slick. Without the barrier of the fabric between you, the feeling of your velvety slipperiness is enough to make him loose a growl.

He’s not hesitating and he’s not teasing anymore. Charlie has been waiting for this moment. He’s been waiting to care. Been waiting to feel. And what’s heightening the experience even more is the look on your face, the way your lips are parted and the way you gaze up at him longingly, expectantly. Providing all the evidence he needs to prove that you want this too. He wants you and you want him – what a novel idea. There are no angles or obligations, but also no shame or secrecy.

“Well if you wanted me to take charge you should have said so earlier,” he says, the corner of his lip quirking a bit as he dips two fingers inside your soaking cunt, not bothering to start with one. You gasp at the sudden intrusion. The stretch is a lot, but it is everything. Charlie sees the enjoyment register on your face, discomfort melting away almost immediately, and he begins to pull them slowly in and out to massage your walls.

“Maybe – ahh – maybe I should have,” you reply.

“Should I have caused a scene in the arcade?”

“Yes – fuck!” During an inward thrust Charlie curls his fingers up this time, rubbing against that spot in your upper wall that previous guys barely even knew was there. Before you know it he’s adding a third finger and you’re beside yourself. Charlie is elated to see how easily your body responds to his ministrations, how free you are with your reactions. He leans to down to suck a mark over your collar bone while his thumb meets your clit in tandem with his other thrusting fingers.

“You knew what you were doing when you kept rubbing that pretty little ass back into me while I taught you pinball.” His words rumbling against the skin of your throat.

“You made it so easy.”

“And you made it so hard,” Charlie counters, humor very present in his voice. You gasp out a laugh and try to tug your wrists from his grasp, but he doesn’t let you. Just keeps you pinned down as he continues to finger fuck you nice and slow.

“So impatient. I should have known. You’ve been impatient all night, haven’t you?” You whine out affirmations and screw your eyes shut as the pressure starts to build to a crescendo. Charlie picks up speed, his voice growing deeper as he continues. “Wanted me to fuck you on the pinball machine in front of everyone, didn’t you?”

You gasp and toss your head back against the pillows at that, hips bucking involuntarily. Charlie’s nose glides along the perimeter of your jaw, breathing in the scent of you as you fall apart. He’s never felt so powerful as he does with the feeling of your muscles tensing up under his fingertips. Never had the inspiration or audience for such language, but as you shiver and respond to his words, a surge of pride fills him and all he wants to do is dangle you over the edge over and over again.

“Charlie…” His name is a whimper when it falls from your lips. You’re so close. He feels it. So he pushes his fingers deep inside you, curling up with the motion, just as he sweeps one, two, three final circles into the throbbing bud of your clit.

You crest and you break against the tide of your orgasm, plummeting down from such heights you didn’t know you could reach from simple fingering. But there’s nothing simple about Charlie, the man who had been broken and put back together, only to find you, the universe’s overly generous reward for his perseverance.

Charlie’s slightly (unfocused) eyes focus on your heaving chest as you finally descend from the orgasm, but you’re the one to break the spell. Impatient is the perfect way to describe you as you wrap your legs around his middle and hook your ankles to trap him against you. You lunge up to arrest his mouth in a kiss. It’s sloppy, but just enough to distract him so that you can pull your wrists from his grasp. Once free you push him gently to the side so that you’re both rolling over, mouths still attached. He comes to rest on his back with you straddling him.

Charlie blinks up at you, taking in the way your breasts bounce in their bra cups as you busy yourself with the task of removing his clothes. He hadn’t even realized he was still in them until you began unbuttoning and pulling and pushing. Your impatience is clear once again in the way you divest him of the frustratingly excessive material and he finally gets the memo that he should help you.

With his pants and underwear pulled off and discarded, as well as the button up shirt that you had come to love as his signature look, you rest your palms flat on the plane of his chest. You’re still in your lingerie, as he had requested, only it is now beautiful askew. Your breasts now strain out of the cups, having been jostled into almost spilling out with your change of position. Your panties are sopping wet and stretched from his vigorous fingering and the evidence of your orgasm.

You’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

But you become even more beautiful when you wrap your hand around his aching cock, lifting up on your knees as you do so. Your fists slides up and down, up and down and he watches it, mesmerized, until you lean forward to catch his eye.

“What should I do, Charlie?”

Your face is soft and open. You’re asking for him to continue taking the lead. And Charlie realizes right then and there that he will never want to disappoint you. Snapping out his daze he lets his fingers dig into your flesh where his hands curl around your hips.

“Sit down on my cock, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart.

The term of endearment is so sugary. He’s called his son that, but never a lover, casual or otherwise, and never during the first time. Your face, however, lights up and you do as you’re told, sinking down onto his long, hard length. The impact draws a moan from both of your throats followed by gasped phrases spoken over one another.

“You’re so big!”

“You’re so tight!”

You both laugh at the overlap but laughter turns to groans as you roll your hips experimentally. After a few moments of this, it appears that Charlie becomes the impatient one finally.

“Ride me,” he spits through gritted teeth. Your nails imprint half moons in his skin as you clench at his tone, not quite hearing the words. Charlie sucks air through his teeth at the squeeze.

“What?”

“Ride me. I need you to fucking ride me.” You can tell that he’s trying to remain cool and collected, but his brow is furrowed and his bottom lip is caught between his teeth.

So you do as he says. You lift up and drop down, feeling the length of his cock slide through your sheath with a speed that you set, establishing a rhythm that has your toes curling. You let out a particularly shameless moan and Charlie opens his eyes. They widen immediately upon seeing that you’re clutching and squeezing at your own breast with one hand while grabbing onto his hip to stabilize you with the other. The sight alone of your face, screwed up in pleasure, flips a switch in Charlie and suddenly he is thrusting up into you without mercy.

“Charlie!” you cry out, both from surprise at the increased jostling and from how tremendously good it feels.

“I should have fucked you in the arcade. I would have if I had known how good you feel.”

“I – oh fuckfuck – knew,” you barely get out. Charlie hoists you back so that he’s sitting up with his back against the headrest now. The position gives him more leverage and power so he can lift you up and down his cock, bouncing you now with a rhythm that vibrates through your entire being.

“What was that, sweetheart?” Charlie asks, engulfing one of your breasts in his huge hand. The added sensation is perfect, but not quite enough. You wonder if you can coax more.

“I knew you would feel good.” You reach down to the base of his cock, encircling it as much as possible with it’s girth, and fisting upward just as he pulls you up, therefore maximizing the squeeze on his length. Charlie inhales abruptly and drops you back down.

“Little Miss Know-it-all, are you?” His voice is harsh and it sends a thrill throughout your body. Before you can respond, you’re pushed and yanked around, losing your grip with the motion.

“What - ?” Charlie’s hand on your throat quiets you. Not because he’s truly squeezing, but because the solid warmth of his hand causes you to squeak your way to silence. His adjustments now find you pulled up to the edge of the bed, legs spread and pushed back, with Charlie standing between them. Bent over, he grounds himself with one hand on your throat and one on your hip, positioning his tip back at the entrance to your weeping cunt. You expect him to slam his hips forward, to impale you with his cock, but he pauses with the swollen head just inside your folds.

“This okay?”

This power and control, the way he is manipulating your body for your pleasure and his own – he loves it. It’s so new and yet something he now wonders how he ever did without. But he also feels the need to check in and make sure that you’re still with him. The nod you give, the sparkle in your eye, and the quirk of your lips is all it takes to convince him and then he is plowing forward, slamming himself back in again and again. You let out a full throated moan and Charlie revels in the way your eyes roll all the way back.

He wonders what else will make you do that. What else will make your eyes roll back and your toes curl and your teeth sink into your bottom lip? He wonders, as his hand presses softly into the contours of your throat, what it would feel like to squeeze a little harder, and if the pressure would make you even more desperate for him. He wonders if you like a little pain with your pleasure, as he has long suspected he might enjoy, though has never truly had the chance to confirm.

But there will be time for that.

So now, he does his best to focus in on the sounds you release. Sounds of delight and surprise and sensual thrill. He coaxes you to your second climax and you don’t fight it. You don’t demure or wait for him or hesitate. Instead you unapologetically allow yourself to get lost in the pleasure he’s built for you, seizing and quaking beneath him without shame.

The sight and feeling are so beautiful he can’t help but follow soon after, pulling out and allowing releasing all over the bra and panties you had so generously left on for him. The sight of his seed landing on the delicate lace, as you lay beneath him fucked out and smiling, causes another tremor to rock through him, and he finds that he’s still cumming long after he usually would have finished.

Charlie finds himself in a daze in the immediate aftermath of his release. He looks around for something to clean you with, and when you notice you point out a box of tissues on the desk. After he’s done his best to wipe you up, you give him a kiss on the cheek. The mundane intimacy of the act makes him blush all the way to the hidden tips of his ears. It is absurd because you had just had sex, however the press of your lips to his skin seemed to seal the deal. This was not transactional. It was something more, Charlie can’t help but think to himself as you get up from the bed and skip to the bathroom.

In your absence Charlie again registers the smallness of your room. How large – out of place, maybe – he is amongst your delicate things. He pulls on his underwear and sits back down on the mattress, unsure.

Unsure about your expectations. Unsure about whether or not you’d want him to leave. Or stay.

Before he can make a decision in either direction you are bounding back into the room, a smile on your face. Your face is freshly washed and you’re in a faded, oversized tank top, having divested yourself of your abused lingerie. Charlie swallows at the sight of your breasts, free and outlined beneath the soft fabric. He adjusts his hands in his lap. No need to let you see him getting worked up again so soon like some horny teenager. You don’t seem to notice, instead slipping easily into bed beside him, shimmying under the covers and patting the space beside you so that he does the same.

So stay he will.

Once you’re both comfortable and situated, you slide into his arms, drawing them around your body without a question or seemingly a second though. Much like the way you’d slid into his life, Charlie thinks ruefully, nuzzling his face into the top of your head as you tuck in beneath his chin.

“Charlie?”

“Hm?”

“I know you always go to that diner on 15th for breakfast,” you begin, and Charlie’s heart spasms. Both at the thought of breakfast with you and the fact that you so casually know details about him. About his likes and his habits. He pulls you in a little tighter and nods his head.

“Yeah?”

“Would you mind if I show you a new place in the morning? I think you’ll really like it.”

And Charlie laughs. Because of course you’d want to push him out of his comfort zone. It’s what you do – push him to try new things. Push him to do things he wouldn’t usually consider. Push him to be the man he’d been working so hard for the past year to be.

“Yes, but I’m not changing the way I order my eggs,” he grumbles with humor, kissing the crown of your head. “Not yet.”

~*~

The next morning you order first, and you’ve never had breakfast with Charlie before, so when he asks for the same dish, you can’t possibly know that this is his first time ordering eggs Florentine.

As you both laugh and eat and sip coffee in the outdoor seating area of the quaint café you’d picked, fingers intertwined between you on the wrought iron table, you also can’t know that this is the happiest Charlie has felt in ages.

But he makes it his mission, right there and then, to do everything in his power to make you feel the same.

~*~

Tagging some lovely friends (please let me know if you would like to be tagged or untagged in the future!): @celestiasin @tlcwrites @noocturnalchild @thedivinemissn @insufferablelust @edencherries @historyandfandoms50 @lostinthedrive @thewilddingleberries @mariesackler @safarigirlsp @direnightshade @sacklerscumrag @clydesfavoritegirl @wayward-rose @hopeamarsu @barbers-glimmerin-darlin @finn-ray-nal-beads @fizzywoohoo @maybe-your-left @aliveandlonely @han-not-solo @mrs-zimmerman @maryforyou @jynzandtonic @renmaulxo @millenialcatlady @soggywhore @transparentmeoo @leia-suns @alpha-lobito