#offering you a truffle

[coyoteworks]

i dont like going anon for stuff if i dont havw to the message is i love u a lot and i am glad were friends 🫶

hi juno this is so sweet im attacking you with rocks (im also glad we're friends <333)

[this-doesnt-endd]

Europeans who complain abt american candy in an american candy store fuck off

[with-the-words-all-wrong]

i’ve got (Dallas) stars in my eyes for you 😍💚 happy valentine’s day!

aw thanks friend!!!! 🥺🥺

[joelmillerisapunk]

Italy ~ let go and let daddy

soft daddy!Joel x f!reader

Masterlist ♥︎ Soft Daddy Masterlist

Wordcount: 4,915

Summary: As your adventure begins, it becomes clear that Joel is determined to make this the best summer of your life.

Warnings: 18+, unprotected p in v, f oral receiving, lots of soft daddy stuff - like so much, use of 'baby girl, good girl, my girl, baby, daddy', reader has breasts and wears a dress, just Joel doting on you so so hard. The endinnnggggg 👀🤭

Notes: Hi friendinos! Thank you for waiting so patienly for this! I wish I could write them here forever so I could have them see more, but Joel has a short timeline to show reader the world, shining, shimmering, splendid.

Joel's song for this entire AU: To Be With You - Mr. Big

As you start your summer adventure headed to Italy, you can feel the excitement building up inside of you. You never expected that you'd be traveling the world let alone with an older man like Joel, a man you've only been seeing on and off for a short while, but as you think back to your time with him, you know that he's going to take care of you, and you can't wait to see what kind of adventures he has planned.

Joel's plane tickets are first class, and as you board the plane, you can't believe how luxurious everything is. You're immediately struck by the opulence of the interior. The plane is decorated in rich, warm tones, with plush leather seats and polished wood accents.

You notice the attentive service. The flight attendants welcome you aboard with warm smiles and promptly offer you a glass of champagne. You feel like you're dreaming. The most you've ever been offered on a normal flight is a packaged biscuit and half a can of cola.

As you settle into your seat, which feels like an entire room, you can't help but feel pampered. The seat itself is incredibly comfortable, with ample legroom and a built-in massage function that you take advantage of immediately. The entertainment system is state-of-the-art, with a wide selection of movies, TV shows, and music to choose from.

And just when you get settled, you're presented with a menu featuring dishes prepared by a Michelin-starred chef, complete with wine pairings selected by an expert sommelier. You opt for the seared scallops with cauliflower puree to start, followed by a tender filet mignon with truffle mashed potatoes.

Obviously the food is impeccably presented, and each bite is a symphony of flavors. You feel like you could get used to this. As the flight attendants clear away the food Joel suggests watching a movie together and after a brief disagreement about which one to choose, him wanting action, you wanting something a little less intense, he finally relents and decides on watching "The Notebook," a movie that he knows you love. However, he takes forever trying to line up the movie on his device so that it plays at the exact same time as yours.

"Come on, Joel. Just press play already," you say, giggling.

"Okay, okay. But I want to make sure we're synced up perfectly," he responds, trying to fix the timing one last time. “Okay press play on yours in -” he pauses to look over at your screen and then back at his, “in 5 seconds.”

“Yes sir.” You wink at him.

Finally, he presses play, and as the movie progresses, you find yourself getting lost in the story you laugh, you cry, and you even find yourself holding Joel's hand during the more emotional scenes. Joel is surprisingly engaged in the movie, laughing at all the right moments and making thoughtful comments about the characters and their motivations.

You can't help but feel a warm glow spreading through your chest as you listen to him. You've never felt this close to anyone before - not like this, at least. You find yourself getting lost in Joel's gaze, the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles, the way you can almost hear a southern twang when he laughs too hard.

He suddenly glances over, looking at you, his eyes are filled with warmth and tenderness. You feel a flutter in your chest, and you can't help but smile.

"What?" he asks, grinning.

"Nothing. I just... I'm happy,"

"Me too, darlin'. Me too," he says. "I'm glad you're here with me.”

"Me too," you whisper, feeling a sense of contentment wash over you.

Throughout the rest of the flight, you're constantly amazed by the level of service. The flight attendants anticipate your every need, making sure your glass is always full and your needs are met. Even the bathroom is luxurious, with plush towels and premium skincare products.

As you prepare to land, it's clear that Joel has pulled out all the stops to make this trip unforgettable.

When you arrive, Joel has arranged for a private car to take you to your destination and as you ride through the winding streets of Italy, you can't help but feel like you're in some kind of dream.

When you step out of the car, you're immediately struck by the beauty of the where youre staying. The architecture is a stunning blend of modern and traditional Italian styles, with intricate details and ornate accents that reflect the country's rich history. The grounds are immaculately maintained, with lush gardens, sprawling lawns, and a picturesque courtyard. As you enter the lobby, you're greeted by a warm, inviting atmosphere.

The hotel staff is impeccably attired, with friendly smiles and welcoming words. They escort you to the check-in desk, where you're presented with a chilled glass of prosecco and a warm, freshly baked cookie. The check-in process is seamless, and as Joel finishes with the receptionist, she provides you both with a detailed itinerary of the hotel's amenities and services.

-

After settling into your private villa, you can't help but marvel at the incredible space as you start to walk around. You've never seen a place so big. The living room is spacious and inviting, with plush sofas and armchairs arranged around a crackling fireplace. The dining area features a table that can seat at least ten, with crystal china and silverware already laid out for your convenience. The bedroom is a true sanctuary, with a comfortable king-sized bed adorned with plush linens and pillows. A flat-screen TV hangs across from it on the wall. The ensuite bathroom has a deep soaking tub, a separate shower, and a dual vanity area and is stocked with luxurious bath products, including high-quality soaps and scented candles. And just as you think you've seen it all, you discover a fully equipped kitchen, a home office, and a private patio with an outdoor grill and dining area.

The pièce de résistance, however, is the private pool off the bedroom, which features a stunning infinity edge that seems to blend seamlessly into the ocean beyond.

After you spend some more time exploring the Villa, Joel interrupts you, leading you out to a separate balcony that overlooks the ocean and picturesque view. He stands behind you, his hands wrapping around your waist.

You both stand there enjoying the moment before you say something, “what a beautiful view, huh?”

But Joel's not paying attention to the view. He's studying you, how you look so surprised and happy. He never takes his eyes off you when he replies, “sure is darlin’, nothing more beautiful.” He pauses for a moment longer. “Now come with me." He grabs your hand and leads you to the massively oversized bed and helps you sit down on the edge. He has a mischievous glint in his eye, and you can tell that he's excited.

“Alright, close your eyes.”

You do as he says.

He quickly starts moving a small table in front of you and positioning boxes and bags onto it.

You hear the rustling of tissue paper and your curiosity peaks.

“Okay - open.”

Your jaw drops in amazement. In front of you are an array of beautifully wrapped boxes, each one perfectly tied with a satin ribbon. In addition, there are bags from some of the most exclusive designer stores in the world, Gucci, Prada, and Versace. Joel smiles at your reaction.

“Joel, this is too much, I -”

Joel interrupts you before you can finish your sentence. "No, no, darlin'. It's not. I want you to have the best of everything. You deserve it. Just open ‘em, please." He says, almost desperate.

You look up at him a little unsure, before slowly getting off the bed like you're trying to be quiet.

“Here,” Joel intercepts with a box, he can still see your clear reservations about all of this.

You're overwhelmed by the sheer luxury of the items inside. There are designer dresses, shoes, handbags, and accessories, each one more beautiful than the last. You try on a few pieces, and they fit you perfectly, as if they were made just for you. But you can't help feeling a mix of emotions. On one hand, you're overwhelmed by the generosity and thoughtfulness of Joel's gifts. You've never had anything this extravagant before, and you can't believe that someone would go to such lengths to make you feel special.

On the other hand, you can't shake the feeling that you don't deserve any of this. You've always been a simple girl, content with the basics, and never really needing much more. You've never been one to indulge in luxury, and the thought of wearing designer clothes and accessories makes you a little uneasy, like a fish out of water. But as you look up at Joel, you can see the joy and excitement in his eyes. He's clearly thrilled to be able to share this with you. You can't bring yourself to disappoint him. So you push your reservations aside and continue to try on the beautiful items, smiling and thanking him with each new gift.

"Joel, these are all so beautiful. I don't know what to say."

"Say you'll wear them for me,"his eyes are sparkling with excitement. "I want to see you in all of these beautiful things. You deserve to feel as special and loved as you are, darlin'."

You can't help but be touched by Joel's words. You've never felt this seen or appreciated by anyone before. You take a deep breath and push your reservations aside once again. "Okay, I'll wear them for you," you say, smiling up at Joel. "I can't believe you did all of this for me."

“I can’t believe how damn good you look, baby.”

Joel's face lights up with each outfit change. He wants to help you try them on, but you force him to stay while you run in and out of the bathroom, piecing each option together.

As you try on the last item, a stunning designer gown that fits you like your fairy godmother had magically placed it on you, you stop to look at yourself in such disbelief that this is even happening. When you step out, Joel takes your hand and spins you around, looking you up and down.

"Better call NASA because you're out of this world, darlin." Joel's face is filled with admiration as he takes in your appearance. "Wow, just wow, takin’ my breath away. Can't wait to show you off."

You feel your body get warm with pleasure at his words. You've never felt this beautiful before. The dress really is stunning, and it makes you feel like a million bucks.

After trying on all of the beautiful clothing and accessories, you and Joel decide to head out for a romantic dinner at a local Italian restaurant. The food is delicious, and the atmosphere is warm and intimate. You can't help but feel grateful for this amazing experience and for the man sitting across from you. As the night wears on, you can see the exhaustion setting in on Joel's face. He's been going nonstop since you arrived, making sure every detail of your trip is perfect.

"Joel, why don't we head back to the hotel? You look exhausted," you suggest.

"I am a bit tired, darlin'. But I don't want the night to end just yet. How ‘bout we head back and I'll run you a bath?"

You can't help but feel a surge of love for this man. He's always taking care of you, always making sure you're happy and comfortable. "Only if you join me," you say, smiling at him.

“Wouldn't have it any other way.”

As you make your way back to the hotel, you can feel the tiredness setting in on your own body as well. The day has been a whirlwind of excitement and new experiences, and you're looking forward to a relaxing bath.

When you arrive back at the villa, Joel guides you to the bed. You sit on the edge, feeling the comforting pull of the bed beneath you. You're about to reach for your shoes, but Joel grabs your wrist and kneels down in front of you. “Let daddy take care of you.”

Joel starts to undress you slowly, taking his time to savor every moment. As he removes your shoes, he kisses your feet gently, causing you to giggle and squirm with delight. He then moves up to your legs, gently rolling down your stockings and kissing your thighs as he goes.

“You deserve to be taken care of, baby girl. You've had a long day, wanna make sure you're comfortable."

"Thank you, Daddy," you say, smiling down at him.

Joel's face lights up at your words. He stands up and takes your hand to help you to your feet, he turns you so your back is facing him and he slowly unzips the your dress, his fingers brushing against your skin as he goes. The fabric slides off your shoulders, revealing your bare skin underneath. Joel can't help but let out a low whistle as he takes in your bare shoulders and the curve of your back.

"You're so beautiful, darlin',"

He helps you step out of the dress, carefully folding it and setting it aside. He then turns his attention back to you, slowly sliding your bra straps down your arms, and unclasping it in the back. Then he works your panties off. You feel a shiver of pleasure run down your spine as he undresses you. It's like he's worshipping your body.

Once you're completely naked, Joel helps you onto the bed, covering you with a soft blanket and tucking you in. He leans down to kiss your forehead, his lips lingering on your skin. "Be right back, darlin'. I'm gonna run you a bath and get everything ready," he murmurs.

You nod, feeling a sense of warmth and safety spreading through your chest. You snuggle deeper into the blankets, your mind drifting as you wait for Joel to return.

Joel returns carrying two flutes of champagne. He sets them down on the bedside table and then helps you up from the bed. He grabs the drinks, and you make your way to the bathroom. The tub is filled with steaming hot water and scented bubbles. Candles flicker on the edges, casting a warm, inviting glow.

Joel holds your hand as you step into the tub, making sure you don't slip. Once you're settled in, he hands you a champagne flute. "For you, my love," he says, his eyes sparkling with affection.

The name catches you off guard. He's never called you something so - relationshipy. But you try not to think too much about that and take a sip of the champagne, feeling the bubbles dance on your tongue. It's the perfect complement to the warm, soothing water.

Joel joins you in the bathtub. He sits down behind you, his legs on either side of your body. He takes the washcloth and begins to gently wash your body, starting at your shoulders. His touch is tender and loving, and you can feel your body relax under his ministrations.

As he washes you, he praises you, telling you how beautiful and sexy you are. He tells you how much he loves your body and how much he loves being with you. His words are like a balm to your soul. He moves up to your hair, massaging your scalp with his fingers. It feels so good that you can't help but let out a soft moan. Joel smiles. "That's it, darlin'. Let go and let daddy take care of you.” As he moves down and washes your neck, he leans in to press a soft kiss to your skin, causing you to shiver with pleasure.

"You like that, baby girl?" he murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear.

"Yes, daddy, feels so good," you whisper.

Joel smiles, pleased with your response. He continues to wash you, moving down to your shoulders and arms. Massaging your muscles with the washcloth, helping to ease any tension or knots. His hands move down to your chest. He washes your breasts gently, taking care to avoid your nipples. You can feel your body responding to his touch, your breasts feeling sensitive.

"Daddy.." you moan, your voice filled with longing.

"I know, baby," Joel replies, his voice low and husky. "But, I want to take care of you first. You deserve to be pampered."

He moves down to your stomach and hips. He's meticulous and thorough, making sure to cover every inch of you. As he reaches your thighs, he pauses for a moment, his fingers lingering on your skin.

"Can I wash you here, darlin'?".

“Yes please.” You're so turned on that you can feel yourself trembling with anticipation. Joel smiles, pleased with your response. He washes you gently, his fingers exploring your folds with care.

His fingers keep rubbing over your clit again and again, and you can feel yourself getting closer to the edge. "Daddy, I'm gonna... I'm gonna..." you moan, unable to finish your sentence.

"Shhh s'okay," Joel replies, his voice soothing, as he kisses the top of your head. "I've got you baby."

With those words, you let yourself go, your body shuddering with pleasure. Joel holds you close, his free arm wrapped around you as he whispers into your ear as you come down from your high, “there's my good girl, always so good for me.”

As you come down from your orgasm, you can't help but feel a little embarrassed at how loudly you moaned. But Joel's gentle touch and soothing words help to put you at ease.

"You're so beautiful when you come, princess," he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder.

—

As the water starts to cool, Joel helps you out of the tub and wraps you in a soft, fluffy towel and leads you to the bed, helping you to lie down on your back.

All you can do is let out a contented sigh as you relax into the bed.

"Does daddy need to take care of his baby?” he asks.

You nod, unable to speak. You're stuck in some kind of love haze, and all you feel is calm and euphoric.

"S'okay baby, you don't have to think about anything, just relax, let daddy do all the work.” He hums as he starts to massage your shoulders, working out any knots or tension that you might have. His strong hands move down your arms. You can feel your muscles melting beneath his fingers. As his hands move down to your chest, he pauses for a moment, "Can daddy play with your tits, baby?"

“Mhmm..” You lightly moan

He starts to massage your breasts, his fingers teasing your nipples until they're hard and sensitive. You can feel yourself getting wetter with every touch.

As his hands move down to your hips and then your thighs, he finds your sensitive nub and starts to rub slow circles over the bundle of nerves. Your breathing becomes frantic, “Daddy need you inside me, I- fuck -”

"I know, I know, my princess, but first you gonna come all over daddy's fingers, arentcha? Dont worry m’gonna take real good care of this beautiful pussy."

Joel's fingers continue to work their magic, building you up to the brink of ecstasy once again. You can feel yourself getting close, your hips bucking against his hand as you chase your release. "That's it, baby," Joel murmurs, his voice a low growl in your ear. "Let daddy make you feel good."

With a final thrust of his fingers, you come apart, your orgasm crashing over you like a wave. Joel holds you close, murmuring words of love and praise as you ride out the waves of pleasure. “Oh, I know, I know, I gotcha baby girl, you're okay daddy's here.”

When you finally come down from your high, Joel begins to kiss his way down your body, his lips leaving a trail of fire in their wake. He pauses at your hips, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your skin as he looks up at you.

"You're so damn perfect, darlin'," he says, his voice filled with awe. "Daddy’s gonna have a lil snack now, okay?"

You nod your consent, your breath hitching in your throat as Joel's mouth descends on your clit. He licks and sucks, his tongue exploring every inch of you as you writhe beneath him. It's overwhelming, the sensation of his mouth on you, his fingers inside you, and you can feel yourself building up to another orgasm already.

"Daddy, I'm gonna come again," you gasp, your fingers threading through Joel's hair as you hold him close.

"Come for me, baby," Joel murmurs against your skin. "Soak daddy's face.”

With a final thrust of his fingers and a flick of his tongue, you come undone, your orgasm shuddering through you like an earthquake. Joel stays with you, his mouth on you as you buck around, until the last aftershock fades away.

When he finally pulls away, he crawls up your body, his lips finding yours in a passionate kiss. You can taste yourself on his lips, and it only serves to heighten your desperation for him even more.

"Need to be inside you, darlin'," Joel growls. "Need to feel you wrapped around me."

“Please daddy, please.”

He gently caresses your cheeks with his large hands. The sensation feels similar to being in a sensory deprivation tank, making you feel calm and warm. His hands cradle your face like it's made of the most delicate china. “Shhh, baby, I'm here, m’gonna give you whatcha need,” he says before kissing the top of your forehead, letting his lips linger there for a moment.

He pulls away and positions himself at your entrance, his eyes locked on yours as he pushes inside, inch by inch. You're so wet, so ready for him, that he slides in easily, filling you up in a way that makes you feel like you're home.

Joel starts to move, his thrusts slow and deep. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, deeper. You can feel the tension building up inside of you again, the coil of pleasure in your belly getting tighter and tighter.

"Daddy, I - I can't, gonna come again," you gasp, your fingers digging into Joel's shoulders. The feeling is incredibly overwhelming this time as Joel's rock hard cock fills your walls, it feels like he could break through and rip you to shreds.

"Yes baby, come for me," Joel growls, his thrusts getting faster, harder. "Come for daddy.” He never takes his eyes off you, “That's a good girl.”

As your orgasm crashes over you, you feel yourself clenching around Joel's cock, your walls pulsing in time with the waves of pleasure. Joel lets out a low growl as he feels you coming, his thrusts becoming more erratic as he chases his own release.

"Fuck, darlin'," he groans, his fingers digging into your hips as he pounds into you. "I'm gonna come, baby."

You can feel him swelling inside of you, his cock twitching as he gets closer and closer to the edge. With one final thrust, he comes undone, his release filling you up in a way that makes you feel impossibly full.

Joel collapses on top of you, his heavy weight making you feel warm and safe and secure. eventually, he shifts his weight, so he's beside you and wrapping you in his arms. "My princess," he murmurs, stroking your hair lovingly. You look up at him, your heart pounding rapidly in your chest. His brown eyes gaze down at you.

Your hand reaches out, your fingertips running along the side of his face, his stubble scraping against your skin. Joel leans down, his nose brushing against yours, his lips inches from yours.

"Thank you," you say softly. You want to thank him for being there for you, for loving you unconditionally, for taking care of you, and giving you everything.

"There's nothin' to thank me for,” he replies tenderly. "I couldn't be happier than I am right now, havin' you in my arms."

You rest your head against his chest, your eyes fluttering closed. You're not sure how long you lie there, but eventually, you start to feel the pull of sleep. Your eyelids grow heavy, and your breathing evens out.

—

When you wake up, you're not sure how long you've been asleep, but you feel refreshed and energized. Joel is still lying beside you, his arm still wrapped around you.

"Hey, sleepyhead," Joel murmurs, his voice thick with sleep.

"Hey," you reply softly, turning to face him.

Joel's eyes are still closed, but he's smiling. "How'd you sleep?"

"Like a baby," you reply, snuggling closer to him.

Joel's arms tighten around you, and you can feel his heart beating faster. "Good," he murmurs. "I have a surprise for you."

You look up at him, your curiosity piqued. "What is it?"

"It's a surprise," Joel says, his eyes still closed. "But I think you're going to like it."

You wait patiently, your mind racing with possibilities. Finally, Joel opens his eyes and sits up. "Come on, get dressed," he says, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

You do as he says, slipping on a pair of jeans and a cute top. You're not sure what Joel has planned, but you're excited to find out.

When you're ready, Joel takes your hand and leads you out of the Villa. You follow him through the lobby and out onto the street. Joel leads you through the winding streets, pointing out different landmarks and telling you little stories about each one.

Eventually, you come to a small courtyard, tucked away from the hustle and bustle of the city. In the center of the courtyard, there's a wall covered in locks, each one engraved with the names of two people.

"This is the wall of love locks," Joel says, his voice soft. "Couples come here to declare their love for each other, and then they throw away the key."

You look up at him, your eyes wide. "That's so romantic," you say, your heart fluttering in your chest.

Joel smiles at you, taking your hand. "I want to add our own lock to the wall, if that's okay with you."

You nod, your eyes filling with tears. "That would be amazing, I've always dreamed of seeing this. "You say, your voice thick with emotion.

Joel leads you over to the wall, and you pick out a lock together. You engrave your names on it, along with the date, and then you secure it to the wall.

As you throw away the key, you feel a sense of finality.

Joel's face breaks out into a wide smile, pulling you into a tight embrace. As you stand there, surrounded by the love of the people who came before you, you can't help but feel a sense of unease and happiness mixing together.

Eventually, you make your way back to the hotel. Joel pauses in the lobby, “Hey, you head up, princess, just need to check on something at the front desk.” he hands you the key card and watches you disappear into the elevator.

He walks up to the front desk, “hello Mr. Miller, how can I be of service?”

“Just checking in for a delivery, small box?”

“Ah, yes, it was just delivered. One moment, sir.”

The receptionist heads into a room behind the desk, not long before coming back out with a small box in their gloved hand.

Joel takes the small black box and opens it, staring at the stunning ring nestled inside. He knows that he's found something special with you, and he's not going to let it go. He's going to make sure that you have the best summer of your life, and he's going to make sure that you never forget him.

—

Thank you so much for reading! Where should they go next?

[cuubism]

I missed my boys. New chapter of bookstore cryptid Dream and coffeeshop owner Hob. E.

-

Dream is reading some bodice ripper again.

Actually he’s on his third romance novel that day, because he reads very fast when he’s into something, sprawled across the couch in the cafe, tongue poking past his lips as he reads. The other books are stacked by the couch, carefully bookmarked and annotated. What the hell is he doing, writing a dissertation on the regency romance genre?

“Want me to get you a few more?” Hob asks, gesturing to the stack of books. “Three wasn’t enough?” They look functionally identical to Hob. Gallant men and elegant swooning women. Some more dressed than others.

Dream takes the chocolate truffles Hob offers him—a new cafe selection—and pops one in his mouth, licking the sugar coating off his thumb. Hob swallows, throat clicking, as he watches. “I need comprehensive notes,” he says.

“For what?”

Dream’s eyes sparkle. “If you wish, you can come with me to get more.”

Hob follows him, still confused, as Dream eats the other truffle in one bite, then stands fluidly and heads for the door.

Across the street, they enter the Library, its cool dusty interior a relief from the summer heat. Sweat prickles on the back of Hob’s neck, but he thinks it’s less the heat outside and more the determined way Dream stalks in front of him. Something is clearly on his mind.

He leads Hob on a winding route back through the stacks, past Dessert Histories and its sister shelf Desert Histories, through Husbandry, through a tiny section on the inside of a doorframe called “thresholds,” and into—

Ah. Erotica.

Frankly Hob’s surprised the Library doesn’t have multiple erotica sections, broken down into its sub—

Dream spins and pushes him up against a shelf.

Hob’s too surprised to do anything but let him, and besides, when Dream looks at him like that, eyes going dark and tongue darting out to wet his lips, Hob is hardly inclined to question it.

“Something on your mind?” he breathes, as Dream’s hands splay over his chest.

“Something,” Dream agrees. “I don’t think I want to pick out another book.”

Hob thinks back to the swooning heroines of Dream’s romance novels. Okay. He gets it. He can play.

He takes Dream by the arms and pushes him up against the shelves in turn. Dream squeaks, but before he can speak Hob’s mouth is on his, claiming. Tipping Dream’s head back. Dream moans, caving back against the shelves. Yes, that’s what he wanted, and he didn’t want to ask for it because he wanted it to be spontaneous and passionate like in his novels. He’s such a silly thing. Hob loves him so.

“Apologies,” Hob breathes, lips brushing Dream’s, as Dream grasps at him with weak fingers. He tries to put on the persona of a character from Dream’s novels. He’s no actor, but he’ll try, for Dream. “I simply couldn’t stop myself. You’re too tempting.”

Dream stares up at him with huge eyes, totally enraptured.

Hob feigns hesitance, stepping back. “I should not—it’s unbecoming, I should protect your virtue—”

Dream grabs his shirt and hauls him back in until their noses are touching. “Perhaps I don’t want you to. Perhaps I want you to take it.”

God he’s hot when he’s hungry like this.

Hob pushes in close to him again, chest to chest, edging in between Dream’s knees. Rolls his hips so Dream can feel that he’s already hard.

“Don’t open that door,” he warns. “I won’t have you let me in and then regret it after.”

“That door has been open to you for a long time,” Dream says. His hands find Hob’s shoulders, his chest heaving. “Were we not to be married?”

Hob fumbles for the thread of the story. “You ended that.”

“I was afraid. Afraid of how much I feel for you.”

“Nothing to fear.” He noses under Dream’s jaw, nips, kisses his neck. Dream shudders. “Am I obliged to marry you, then?”

“No. No obligation. I’m afraid I must have you either way.” He meets Hob’s eyes, lip trembling. “I need you. Even if you walk away from me forever.”

Hob wouldn’t do that. The Hob of this tale wouldn’t either. “Once you let me in I’m never walking away from you.”

He kisses Dream, on the lips this time, plumbing deep in his mouth, just tasting him. Dream moans, and then gasps as Hob gets his hands under his thighs and lifts him, pushing him up against the bookshelf.

Dream wraps his legs around Hob’s waist, skirt rucking up— is that why he’s wearing a bloody skirt today? Was he plotting this all along?

“You clever, naughty thing,” Hob breathes, and Dream smirks, a look that breaks into a gasp as Hob sucks a mark into his throat, fingers bruising on his thighs.

His loose shirt slips over his shoulder as Hob lavishes attention there, kissing his way down his collarbone and to his sternum. Dream’s hips thrust, searching for friction, and Hob rolls up against him, making him cry out.

“Why does something tell me you prepared yourself too?” he breathes, voice going rough just at the thought.

Dream only smiles craftily.

With Dream clinging onto him with arms and legs, Hob manages to reach a hand around and under him, where Dream’s not wearing underwear, pressing lightly. Dream’s tight entrance gives to his fingers, his hole already wet and open. A moan’s wrenched from Hob’s throat. When and where did he even sneak away to do this? In Hob's bathroom at the cafe?

“You’ll be my actual death,” he says.

“Not until after you make love to me.”

Make love. He really is leaning into the romance. It’s sweet when he gets like that. Dream can be so lovely when he’s not too busy being mysterious. (Though Hob can’t kid himself that he doesn’t love the mysteriousness).

“I live to serve you, my love,” Hob says.

Still holding Dream up precariously with one arm, Hob undoes the button and zipper on his jeans and takes himself out. It’s difficult balancing like this, so he only gives himself a few strokes before lining Dream up and, carefully, letting him sink down onto his cock.

“Hob!” Dream cries, throwing his head back, as Hob buries his face in his neck, trying to breathe. It’s so overwhelming to be in him, every time.

“Is that what you wanted, sweetheart?” Hob says once he’s gotten his breath back. “Me inside you?”

“Yes. Yes,” Dream whines. “I need it. I can’t. I can’t live without it.”

Hob’s lost track of whether they’re still doing the story, but it hardly matters. He gets his hands firmly around Dream’s ass and starts bouncing him on his cock. Dream wails, fingers twisting in Hob’s shirt. Hob curses at the feeling of him.

“Feel so good, darling,” he pants. “So good. Perfect.”

Dream whimpers, meeting him halfway as Hob thrusts into him. He pushes deeper, holding on tight to Hob’s shoulders. His back must be absolutely digging into the bookshelves, but he doesn’t complain.

“You really needed this today, huh?” Hob says.

“I wanted it,” Dream says. “So many tempting scenarios in fiction… why not see if I could pull some into fact?”

“No concern about whether it’s possible, huh?” He likes being involved in Dream’s fantasies, though, being in the stories that go on in Dream’s head.

“You’ve made it possible.” Dream smirks, lips dragging over Hob’s cheek.

Yeah, Hob’s really glad now for all the times he’s carried huge pallets of books up and down the stairs for Dream. It’s the only thing granting him the arm strength to do this. Even so, his shoulders will be sore tomorrow, but it’s worth it for Dream’s happiness.

Dream tugs his skirt up further so his cock can rub against Hob’s belly, smearing pre over his shirt. His fingers dig into Hob’s shoulders. “Hob,” he pants, as Hob bounces him on a particularly hard thrust, nailing his prostate. “Hob. Hob!”

Hob’s arms shake, more from the fire of being inside him than holding up Dream’s weight. Dream clutching at him, wrapped around him, at Hob’s mercy in this position, blazes warmth through him, sets arousal alight on his skin. He buries his nose in Dream’s throat, inhaling the scent of him, paper and coffee, and it does nothing to ground him. He won’t last much longer.

“Hob, I’m—” Dream cries, and then he comes over Hob’s belly, biting down on Hob’s ear, the closest body part he can reach.

Dream’s body clenching around him sends Hob over the edge, and he groans into Dream’s throat as he spills inside him.

He can feel Dream’s heart hammering under his ribcage, the heaving of his lungs, and loses himself in the rhythm of his body for a few moments.

Dream recovers first, combing his hands through Hob’s hair, nuzzling over his temple. “You will have to marry me now, lover,” he says, in that alluring voice he’d used to tempt Hob into this game. “Else my reputation will be in tatters.”

Hob laughs. Back to the story, is it? “If you stay with me, I’ll give you anything,” he promises.

He carefully disentangles them, helping Dream down. Dream winces as he stretches out his legs, gone stiff from holding his position, and Hob rolls his shoulders, hearing them pop. Yeah, he’ll be feeling that tomorrow, but he doesn’t expect he’ll regret it.

He gets Dream situated by the fireplace--of the Erotica section has a fucking fireplace, though Hob had been way too distracted to clock it before--where there is a scattering of pillows and blankets they could definitely have used instead of the wall. He stretches out with Dream settled between his legs, lying against his chest, massages Dream’s sore hips with his thumbs, while privately aroused at the thought of him being sore, of him feeling it.

“Thank you,” Dream murmurs at length, face still mashed into Hob’s chest. “For indulging me.”

“Don’t thank me. I love being able to fulfill your fantasies.” He kisses the top of Dream’s head, burying his nose in his hair. “I love you.”

Dream taps his fingers over Hob’s heart. “I love you.”

They sit quietly, listening to the crackle of the flames. Finally, Hob says, “So. Does the Erotica section enhance the experience for you? You can feel the resonances or something?”

Dream sighs. “I do not have a psychic connection to the books, Hob.”

“You sure?”

Dream pokes him in the side, but immediately undermines his admonishment by slipping his hand under Hob’s shirt to lay against his side.

“Could put an actual bedroom in the Library,” Hob suggests.

“That would be absurd. It is a bookstore.”

Hob’s never going to win this debate. He’s tried.

“Fine, then,” he concedes. “We’ll just have to keep using mine.”

“And the wall,” Dream says, and then giggles. Hob accepts his fate of lifting more weights. And sore shoulders.

And, of course, a happy Dream, curled up with him by the fire, making it all worth it.

[wonyowonyo]

Flavors of Love (M. Sana X M! Reader)

My first 3rd Gen Girlgroup oneshots, and it's none other than my lovely bias Sana! Nothing much to say here, and as always hope you all enjoy this one!

The bustling urban neighborhood was alive with the clamor of a thousand voices and the mouth-watering aromas of street food. Amid the chaos stood two food trucks, locked in a fierce battle for culinary supremacy. On one side was Sana's 'Sweet Eats,' a vibrant truck adorned with pastel colors and whimsical designs, offering the most delectable desserts. On the other side was Y/N's 'Savory Bites,' a sleek and modern truck serving up irresistible snacks that could make anyone's mouth water.

Sana and Y/N were the talk of the town. Their rivalry had become legendary, with each trying to outdo the other in flavor, presentation, and customer service. Sana's desserts were a symphony of sweetness, with intricate decorations and bold flavors that left customers in awe. Y/N's snacks were a carnival of savory delights, with perfectly balanced spices and innovative combinations that kept people coming back for more.

Despite their differences, the two had one thing in common: their unwavering passion for food.

It was early morning, and the sun was just beginning to peek over the horizon. Sana was already hard at work, preparing her famous macarons. Her assistant, Momo, a bubbly young woman with a passion for baking, was by her side.

"Morning, Sana! Ready to take on Y/N today?" Momo asked with a grin.

Sana smirked. "Always. We have to make sure our desserts are perfect. The customers expect nothing less."

Just across the street, Y/N was busy prepping his ingredients for the day. His best friend and sous-chef, Eunwoo, was helping him chop vegetables for their signature sliders.

"Think we can beat Sana today, Y/N?" Eunwoo asked, glancing over at the pastel-colored truck.

Y/N chuckled. "We don't need to beat her, Eunwoo. We just need to be the best at what we do. Our food will speak for itself."

As the day progressed, the lunch crowd began to gather. People lined up at both trucks, eager to taste the delicious offerings.

"Two chocolate lava cakes and a strawberry tart, please," a customer ordered at Sana's truck.

"Coming right up!" Sana replied with a smile, her hands moving deftly to prepare the order.

Over at Y/N's truck, a group of friends was debating which snacks to try.

"Those sliders look amazing," one of them said.

"Yeah, and I've heard the spicy wings are to die for," another added.

Y/N overheard and grinned. "Why not try both? I promise you won't be disappointed."

The friends laughed and placed their order, excited to taste Y/N's creations.

By mid-afternoon, the competition between Sana and Y/N was in full swing. The aroma of sweet and savory delights filled the air, drawing even more customers.

Sana glanced over at Y/N's truck and noticed the long line of people waiting. She frowned and turned to Momo.

"We need to step it up, Momo. Let's bring out the new recipe for the salted caramel cupcakes."

Momo nodded and quickly got to work, her hands flying as she mixed the ingredients.

Meanwhile, Eunwoo was helping Y/N plate their famous nachos when he noticed Sana's truck bustling with activity.

"Looks like Sana's got something new," Eunwoo said, nodding towards 'Sweet Eats.'

Y/N raised an eyebrow. "Interesting. Let's see if we can surprise her with our new truffle fries."

As the evening approached, the rivalry between the two food trucks became more evident. Sana and Y/N exchanged glances and smirks, each determined to outdo the other.

During a brief lull, Y/N decided to approach Sana's truck. He leaned against the counter, a playful grin on his face.

"Hey, Sana. Heard you got something new today. Trying to keep up with me?" he teased.

Sana rolled her eyes but couldn't help but smile. "In your dreams, Y/N. My salted caramel cupcakes are going to be the talk of the town."

Y/N chuckled. "We'll see about that. Just wait until you try my truffle fries."

Momo watched the exchange with amusement. "You two are like an old married couple," she said, laughing.

Sana and Y/N both blushed and quickly looked away, their competitive facade momentarily cracking.

Among their regular customers were Mr. and Mrs. Kim, an elderly couple who had lived in the neighborhood for decades. They were well-known for their friendly demeanor and love for good food.

"Good evening, Sana dear," Mrs. Kim greeted as she approached 'Sweet Eats.' "We'll have our usual, please."

"Of course, Mrs. Kim. Two lemon meringue pies coming right up," Sana replied warmly.

Over at 'Savory Bites,' Mr. Kim was chatting with Y/N.

"You know, young man, I think your sliders are the best in the city," he said with a wink.

"Thanks, Mr. Kim. That means a lot," Y/N replied, genuinely touched.

The Kims were just two of the many regulars who frequented both trucks, enjoying the delicious food and the friendly rivalry between Sana and Y/N.

As the day came to a close, both food trucks began to wind down. The sun was setting, casting a warm glow over the neighborhood. Sana and Y/N were exhausted but satisfied with their day's work.

Momo and Eunwoo were chatting nearby, discussing the day's events.

"Do you think they'll ever admit they like each other?" Momo asked, glancing at Sana and Y/N.

Eunwoo laughed. "Not a chance. They're both too stubborn. But it's fun to watch them dance around it."

Sana and Y/N exchanged a look, both aware of the unspoken connection between them. Despite their rivalry, there was a mutual respect and understanding that went beyond their competitive banter.

As they packed up for the night, Sana approached Y/N's truck one last time.

"Good job today, Y/N. Your truffle fries were amazing," she said sincerely.

Y/N smiled. "Thanks, Sana. Your salted caramel cupcakes were pretty incredible too."

They stood there for a moment, the tension between them easing. For now, the rivalry was set aside, replaced by a shared appreciation for each other's talent.

As they parted ways, both Sana and Y/N couldn't help but wonder what the future held for their food trucks—and for their unexpected connection.

————————————————————

The annual food festival was the highlight of the year for the neighborhood. Food trucks from all over the city gathered to showcase their best dishes, and the competition for the 'Best Food Truck' title was fierce. Sana and Y/N had been preparing for weeks, each determined to claim the coveted prize.

The festival was in full swing, with music playing, people laughing, and the smell of delicious food filling the air. Sana's 'Sweet Eats' was a hit, with people lining up for her famous macarons and decadent chocolate cakes. Y/N's 'Savory Bites' was no less popular, with his signature sliders and spicy wings drawing crowds.

The rivalry between Sana and Y/N was on full display. They exchanged glares and snarky comments, each trying to outshine the other. But beneath the surface, there was a grudging respect for each other's talent and dedication.

The morning of the food festival was a flurry of activity. Sana and Momo were setting up their display, making sure every dessert was perfectly arranged.

"Make sure those macarons are front and center, Momo. They need to catch people's eyes," Sana instructed.

Momo nodded, adjusting the trays. "You got it, boss. We're going to knock their socks off."

Across the festival grounds, Y/N and Eunwoo were busy grilling sliders and arranging their signature spicy wings.

"Think we're ready, Eunwoo?" Y/N asked, wiping his brow.

Eunwoo grinned. "Ready as we'll ever be. Let's show them what 'Savory Bites' is all about."

As the festival progressed, the judges began making their rounds. This year, the panel included renowned food critic, Elena Martinez, local celebrity chef, Marcus Lee, and the beloved neighborhood mayor, Mrs. Robinson.

Elena was the first to visit 'Sweet Eats.' She sampled a macaron, her eyes closing in appreciation. "Exquisite. The texture is perfect, and the flavors are bold yet balanced."

Sana beamed. "Thank you, Ms. Martinez. We strive for perfection."

Next, the judges moved to 'Savory Bites.' Marcus took a bite of a slider, his expression thoughtful. "Impressive. The spices are perfectly balanced, and the meat is tender and juicy."

Y/N nodded. "We use a special blend of spices to enhance the flavor."

As the evening wore on, Sana noticed the judges heading towards Y/N's truck again. She frowned, feeling a pang of anxiety. Deciding to take matters into her own hands, she approached Y/N's truck.

"Hey, Y/N. How about a friendly wager?" she asked, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

Y/N raised an eyebrow. "What kind of wager?"

"Whoever wins the 'Best Food Truck' title has to treat the other to dinner," Sana suggested, a challenge in her voice.

Y/N smirked. "You're on, Sana. Get ready to lose."

Just as the festival was reaching its peak, disaster struck. The entire area was plunged into darkness due to a sudden power outage. Panic spread through the crowd, but the food trucks had backup generators that kicked in, providing some relief.

However, the storage tent where all the supplies were kept was not so lucky. Sana and Y/N found themselves trapped inside, surrounded by boxes of ingredients and supplies.

"Great, just what I needed," Sana muttered, folding her arms and leaning against a stack of flour bags.

"Yeah, because being stuck with you is my idea of a good time," Y/N shot back, rolling his eyes.

Sana shot him a glare. "You could lighten up a bit, you know."

"Me? Lighten up? That’s rich coming from you," he quipped, crossing his arms defiantly.

They stood in silence for a while, the only sound the distant murmur of people outside and the occasional creak of the tent.

After what felt like an eternity, Sana broke the silence. "So, why food trucks? Why not a restaurant or something?"

Y/N glanced at her, surprised by the question. "I like the freedom. No fixed location, no overhead costs. Plus, I get to meet new people every day. What about you?"

Sana shrugged. "Same here, I guess. I love the creativity and the challenge. Every day is different, and I get to make people happy with my desserts."

"Even when it means competing against me?" he teased.

"Especially when it means competing against you!" she shot back with a laugh.

They both chuckled, the initial hostility giving way to a tentative truce.

As the night wore on, they began to talk more freely. They shared stories of their early days in the business, the challenges they had faced, and their dreams for the future.

Sana leaned back against a crate, her eyes sparkling. "I dream of opening a bakery one day, a cozy spot where people can come and enjoy my desserts. Something special."

"That sounds amazing, Sana. You’d make it a warm, inviting place," Y/N said, genuinely impressed.

Y/N spoke of his desire to start a culinary school, where he could teach others the art of cooking and inspire the next generation of chefs.

"Teaching is a big responsibility," Sana mused. "You really think you could handle it?"

"I could if I had a great assistant," he winked, causing her to laugh again.

To their surprise, they found that they had a lot in common. They both came from humble beginnings, had worked hard to get where they were, and were driven by a deep love for food.

As they talked, the atmosphere in the tent began to change. The rivalry that had defined their relationship started to fade, replaced by a growing connection. They laughed and joked, shared their hopes and fears, and found comfort in each other's company.

At one point, Sana reached for a box of supplies and accidentally brushed against Y/N's hand. They both froze, the contact sending a jolt of electricity through them.

"Sorry," Sana said, pulling back quickly, her cheeks flushing.

"It's okay," Y/N replied, his voice softer than usual. He could feel his heart racing.

Sana’s gaze fell to the ground for a moment before she looked back up at him. "You know, you’re not as unbearable as I thought."

Y/N smirked. "And you’re not as sweet as your desserts."

Their eyes met, and for a moment, the world outside the tent seemed to disappear. There was something there, something that neither of them had expected but could no longer ignore.

Just as quickly as it had gone out, the power came back on, flooding the tent with light. Sana and Y/N blinked in the sudden brightness, the spell broken.

"Well, there goes our moment," Sana said, her voice laced with disappointment.

"Yeah, back to reality," Y/N sighed, forcing a grin. They quickly gathered their supplies, the mood shifting again as they realized what had just happened.

As they stepped out of the tent, the festival atmosphere buzzed with life once more. But the tension between them had transformed; the fierce competition was now mixed with an undeniable chemistry.

————————————————————

The days following the festival were filled with hilarious and heartwarming encounters as Sana and Y/N tried to navigate their new dynamic. They still competed fiercely, each trying to outdo the other, but there was a new layer to their interactions.

One afternoon, while setting up for lunch, Sana caught Y/N glancing at her. She smiled and waved. "Enjoying the view?"

Y/N chuckled, shaking his head. "You wish! I was just... checking on my competition."

"Right, keep telling yourself that," she teased back.

They found themselves thinking about each other more often, wondering what the other was doing, and looking for excuses to talk. Their banter became more playful, their glances lingered a little longer, and their rivalry took on a new, more personal dimension.

However, confusion and mixed signals abounded. One day, Sana might seem distant, focusing solely on her work, while the next, she’d be laughing at Y/N’s jokes and leaning in a little too close.

One day, as they both waited in line for coffee, Y/N caught her eye. "What’s it gonna be today, Sana? Another one of those fancy frappes?"

Sana smirked, crossing her arms. "Actually, I was thinking of getting a plain black coffee. You know, to fuel my superior baking skills."

"Plain coffee for plain competition?" Y/N shot back playfully.

Sana leaned closer, a mock-serious expression on her face. "Don’t underestimate the power of simplicity."

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh, feeling the familiar spark ignite again. But as they bantered, an undercurrent of tension lingered, complicating their every interaction.

However, confusion and mixed signals abounded. One day, Sana might seem distant, focusing solely on her work, while the next, she’d be laughing at Y/N’s jokes and leaning in a little too close. Y/N, too, found himself caught between wanting to keep things professional and feeling an undeniable pull towards Sana.

————————————————————

Enter Mina, a charismatic food blogger with a massive following. Mina had heard about the legendary rivalry between 'Sweet Eats' and 'Savory Bites' and decided to feature them both on their blog.

"Hey, Sana! Hey, Y/N! I'm Mina, and I run 'Foodie Frenzy.' I'd love to do a feature on both of your trucks. How about a joint interview?" Mina suggested, a camera in hand.

Sana and Y/N exchanged a look, the idea of working together both exciting and nerve-wracking.

"Sure, Mina. We'd love to," Sana said, her competitive spirit shining through.

"Let's do it," Y/N agreed, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

The joint interview turned out to be a huge success. Mina's questions were insightful, and their followers loved the dynamic between Sana and Y/N. The interview ended with a challenge: Mina asked them to create a fusion dish together, combining their strengths.

"Why not?" Sana said, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "It could be fun."

Y/N nodded. "Let's show them what we can do."

They spent the next few weeks working together, experimenting with different flavors and techniques. They argued and laughed, challenged each other and supported each other, and in the process, grew closer than ever.

But the closer they got, the more complicated their feelings became. Sana found herself getting jealous when Y/N talked to other women, and Y/N couldn't help but feel a pang of irritation when Sana seemed overly friendly with male customers. Their confusion and mixed signals reached a peak one evening after a particularly heated argument over a recipe.

"Why do you always have to be so stubborn?" Sana exclaimed, throwing her hands up in frustration.

"Me? You're the one who insists on doing everything your way!" Y/N shot back, his eyes blazing.

They stood there, breathing heavily, the tension between them almost tangible. Suddenly, Y/N stepped closer, his voice softer. "Sana, why do we keep fighting like this? There's something here, something more than just competition."

Sana's eyes widened, her heart pounding. She opened her mouth to respond but hesitated, the words stuck in her throat. "I... I don't know, Y/N. Maybe we're just too different."

Y/N looked at her, his expression pained. "Maybe. Or maybe we're just scared to admit how we really feel."

The following days were filled with awkward silences and longing glances. Both Sana and Y/N found themselves replaying their argument, questioning their feelings and what it meant for their future.

One night, Sana couldn't sleep. She decided to take a walk and found herself outside Y/N's food truck. To her surprise, the lights were on. She hesitated for a moment before knocking on the door.

Y/N opened the door, looking surprised but pleased to see her. "Sana, what are you doing here?"

"I couldn't stop thinking about what you said," Sana confessed, her voice trembling. "You're right. There's something here, something I've been too scared to admit."

Y/N stepped aside, letting her in. "I've been thinking about it too. Sana, I... I think I'm falling for you."

Sana looked up at him, tears brimming in her eyes. "I think I am too, Y/N. But what if it doesn't work out? What if we ruin everything?"

Y/N took her hands in his, his gaze steady. "We'll never know unless we try. I don't want to spend another day wondering what could have been."

With that, they leaned in, their lips meeting in a gentle, tender kiss that sealed their newfound connection.

As their relationship blossomed, Sana and Y/N began to dream of a future together. One night, as they sat in a cozy café, Y/N brought up an idea.

"Sana, what if we combined our talents and opened a place together? A bakery and snack shop where we can create amazing fusion dishes and share our passion with the world."

Sana's eyes lit up with excitement. "Y/N, that sounds incredible! 'Sweet & Savory Bites'... a place where we can be partners in every sense."

The next few months were a whirlwind of activity as Sana and Y/N poured their hearts and souls into establishing 'Sweet & Savory Bites.' They found the perfect location in a bustling neighborhood, renovated the space to reflect their combined styles, and crafted a menu that showcased their unique blend of flavors.

They worked tirelessly, supporting each other through the challenges and celebrating each milestone together. Their friends and family rallied around them, offering help and encouragement every step of the way.

————————————————————

A year later, Sana and Y/N stood outside their brand new establishment: 'Sweet & Savory Bites,' a combination bakery and snack shop that had quickly become the go-to spot in the neighborhood. Their dreams had merged into one, and the community had embraced their unique blend of flavors and their inspiring story.

As they cut the ribbon, surrounded by friends, family, and loyal customers, Sana and Y/N exchanged a look that spoke volumes. Their journey had been filled with competition, collaboration, and connection, and it was only just beginning.

"Here's to sweet and savory," Y/N said, raising a glass.

"To sweet and savory," Sana echoed, clinking her glass against his.

And with that, they stepped into their future, together.

[teddynivvy]

☀︎ before the sun. chapter 1.

pairing: jschlatt x she/her reader. 2.5k words.

warnings: mentions of infidelity. reader wears a dress.

a/n: chapter 1 is here! ty for so much love on the prologue, i hope you enjoy.

summary: on the first day of your hawaii trip with your family, you meet your parent's friend's son.

Stepping off the plane into the humid Maui air was more suffocating than it probably intended to be. You felt sticky immediately, your top clinging to your stomach and shorts pressed to your thighs, tote bag slung over your shoulder. Your mom took a deep breath in, the smile on her face bright as she pulled you in close. 

“What a perfect day!”

The sun was yellow-orange in the sky as you made your way through the airport and out onto the shuttle to take you to the resort. Your bag was heavy and annoying, strands of hair sticking to the side of your face as you pushed your headphone deeper into your ear, watching the palm trees pass you by. Lush green grass, and the soft rustle of the trees accompanied the drive as you felt yourself get sleepy, music in your ears turned to a low volume. You’d tuned out your parents musing about their planned excursions with their friends, most likely leaving you at the resort to fend for yourself for the week. They had mentioned something about a big dinner tonight with their friends and their son.

You were starting to get nervous about this babysitting situation you were likely going to be put in. You didn’t know much about Dan and Sarah, other than they’d moved to New York for Dan’s job a few years ago. Your parents were super close with them, and you’d heard stories of their son in passing, but not enough to know anything about him. The thought of being back home lulls you into a gentle sleep, forehead pressed against the cold windowpane of the air-conditioned bus for the remainder of your journey to the resort.

🫧

Your mom gently shakes you awake half an hour later, to which you feel grossly under slept and a little annoyed. She had a soft smile on her face, offering her hand as she helped pull you up, leading you off the bus and onto the resort grounds. It was grand, for sure - a big blue waterfall with the name of the resort above it, in cursive writing. The sun was hot now, beating down on your face as you followed the white-brick path to the check-in desk. Your parents had (very graciously) gotten you your own room, just down the hall a few doors from theirs. They handed you your room key, a white, nondescript card.

White Sands All Inclusive Resort and Spa.

“We’re going right to the beach,” your dad mused, putting his arm around your mom. “Whatcha gonna do, kiddo?” 

You looked down at the suitcase in your hand and the keycard in your other. “I’m gonna go try and find my room. Maybe lay down for a bit.”

“We have a reservation at the steakhouse tonight, at 7. You can meet us there?”

You nodded as your mom pressed a kiss to your head, watching your downcast eyes and rubbing your shoulder.

“Try to have some fun, pumpkin. I know it’s hard.”

You flipped the keycard over in your palm as you gave her a tight lipped smile, trying not to let tears well up in your eyes again. “I will. I promise.”

🫧

The room they booked for you is exquisite - bright white linens and billowy curtains, with a view of the deep blue ocean, palm trees lining the beach. Soft white sand, people milling about below, being served brightly coloured drinks with little tiny paper umbrellas. Vast pools with swim up bars, lively music and the expanse of the water kissing the shore line.

You weren’t in a particularly good mood, but goddamn, was it beautiful.

The binder full of room service selections was calling to you, so you flipped it open. Calling in an order of truffle fries and one of those fruity little cocktails, you began to unpack your bag. It was apparent to you now that the headspace you were in while packing was not a good one, pulling out skimpy tops and shorts, along with sundresses you haven’t worn for years. You stuffed them into the drawers of the dresser before noticing a very distinct piece of clothing missing.

“Did I fuckin’ forget my swimsuit?” 

You blushed red at your own mistake, palm pressed to your forehead, searching every hidden pocket of your suitcase.

“Fuuuuuuuuck,” you huffed out, looking down at the time on your phone. There was a knock on your door shortly after, where a man dressed in all white pushed a tray of food into your room. 

“Is there anywhere on the property to buy a bathing suit?” You laughed, rather incredulously. “I have somehow managed to… misplace mine.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he answered. “There is a surf shop in the lobby area that has a selection of swimwear.”

“Thank you,” you smiled, closing the door behind him and once again letting out a sigh. You stuffed a few fries into your mouth and took a long sip of the drink, as tequila and fruit juice slid down your throat and cooled you down. The chilled drink immediately made you want to lay down in the soft sheets, which quickly brought you into a deep sleep once again.

🫧

A few hours later, you were awoken by a gust of ocean air coming through your window. The sun was hanging low in the sky, painting it a blood orange, as you rubbed your eyes and looked at the clock beside the bed.

6:46 PM

“Fuck,” you groaned, pulling yourself out of bed and walking over to the dresser. You pulled out one of the sundresses you’d packed, not being able to think for long, as you knew you had to meet your parents in less than 15 minutes. You took a quick look at yourself before grimacing at what looked back at you. Tired eyes, red and bloodshot from lack of sleep. Hair unruly, dress a little too tight around the hips, your nose still looking a little red from all the crying you’d been doing these past few weeks. 

It was, unfortunately, the best you were going to get right now.

Luckily, the steakhouse your parents had made a reservation at was only a few minutes away, which allowed you to explore the resort a little more. You took in the clean white finishes, servers moving around with trays of drinks, of which you were offered one as you passed by. You happily took it, downing the glass before putting it on a nearby surface and approaching the restaurant, where you could see your parents and their friends sitting at the table already. 

The other person sitting next to them, you were sure you’d never seen before. A baseball hat turned backwards on his head, button up Hawaiian shirt and khaki shorts on his body. He had groomed facial hair, from what you could see, and a broad back.

“Hi,” you smiled as you approached their table, pulling out the vacant chair. “Sorry, I was asleep,” you explained, shooting a smile to Dan and Sarah.

“Nice to see you again,” you offered politely, your dad lightly rubbing your shoulder as you sat next to him.

“Nice to see you too sweet pea! My, have you grown up!” Sarah mused, her hand finding yours across the table. “So pretty!”

You blushed at her compliment, squeezing her hand and smiling back. “Thank you.”

“This is our son, Jay,” she introduced him, as he looked across the table from you.

Honey brown eyes, with bold facial features and fluffy brown hair peaking out from under his hat. He already had slightly sunburnt cheeks, freckles sprouting across his nose as he smiled at you politely, putting an awkward hand up to wave.

“No one calls me Jay. I usually go by Schlatt.”

“Sure, nice to meet you,” you offered, watching as his eyes fell from your eyes to your lips.

Your parents certainly didn’t mention that their friend’s son was so fucking handsome. 

Dinner went off without a hitch, your parents sharing stories of what they’ve done in the last year since they’d seen each other. Dan was still working at some big law firm, Schlatt living out of the house in his own place. 

A few drinks deep, and his mom started to ramble.

“I still don’t really know what he does on that computer all day,” she laughs, corners of her eyes squeezing shut. “Gun to my head, couldn’t tell ya. But his landlord isn’t after him for rent so it works for me.”

You shared a giggle as you looked down at the ice in your drink, deciding whether or not to get another one. The light buzz was starting to get to your head, and despite the afternoon nap you’d taken, it was making you unbelievably tired. 

“What do you do?” 

Schlatt’s soft voice brought you out of your trance as you looked up to him. The adults continued their conversation on the other side of the table as you sighed, putting your drink down on the coaster. 

“I work in social media management,” you shrugged, playing with a loose thread on your dress. “It’s fun, I like it. I can relate to your parents having no idea what you actually do.”

He nodded at that, downing the rest of his drink.

“I stream video games and make YouTube videos,” he laughed, deep and hearty, as you smiled back. “They have no idea what the fuck I’m doing.”

You felt yourself smile for real, for the first time in probably an entire month. Your hand ran down the condensation of your glass, leaving finger-tip streaks. He could tell you were distracted, but didn’t say anything.

“You wanna go walk on the beach for a bit?”

“Yeah, um,” you felt yourself warm. “I actually forgot my swimsuit. So I need to go to the lobby and get something before tomorrow, if you don’t mind coming with me.”

“You forgot your swimsuit?”

You met his eyes, now noticing how handsome he really was. Golden hour was illuminating his soft features, reflecting in his eyes as he palmed the whiskey glass, fingers wrapped around the base.

“Yes, don’t tell my mom. Or anyone else for that matter, I’m horrifically embarrassed.”

He laughed to himself before sliding his glass onto the table, standing up and offering you a hand to help you up. 

“Sure. I don’t mind an adventure.”

🫧

The surf shop was not full of options, per se - especially a nice, family appropriate swimsuit. You weren’t exactly trying to show your whole ass to the beach, or to Schlatt’s mom and dad. 

You settled on a basic black one-piece, still rather cheeky and boob-y for your liking, but it was the best option. It cinched low in the back, corset style around your waist. You picked at it in the mirror, pulling on the tight fabric and shaking your head. “Whatever, I’m just gonna get it.”

“It looks nice on you,” Schlatt offered, and you found yourself blushing as you closed the curtain. “You really have nothing to be insecure about.”

You bit your bottom lip as you peeled the swimsuit off and threw your dress back on. 

“Thanks. You’re sweet.”

Schlatt picked up a bottle of sunscreen and a bag of sour gummy worms, tearing open the bag behind you. You looked back at him, with a cocked eyebrow and a smirk.

“I get snacky at night,” he shrugged, dropping a gummy worm into his mouth and offering you the open bag. 

“Thanks,” you picked out a red one, sucking it between your lips and offering a thumbs up. 

🫧

You pulled off your flip-flops as soon as you reached the beach, feeling the warm sand between your toes as you and Schlatt walked alone the shoreline. The wind was slightly blowing his hair out of his face, and you couldn’t help but look at him.

“So, who wants to start talking about why we’re on vacation with our parents first?”

You felt the lump in your throat at the question - you had managed to avoid thinking about your ex for this entire evening. 

“You can go first.”

Your eyes were downcast at the sand as Schlatt stopped at the shoreline, dipping his toes into the warm ocean. He sat down and motioned for you to follow, which you did.

“My parents say I spend too much time holed up in my place,” he laughed. “Which is probably true. But I also like to be alone, ya know?” You nodded along, drawing lines in the sand and looking out into the horizon. “I certainly wasn’t planning on coming, but they convinced me it would be fun so… now I’m here.”

A nod and a smile as you avoided his gaze, you rubbed your fingers together. Grains of sand falling through your palm back into the mound below, forming a small pile as you swallowed down the lump in your throat.

“I broke up with my ex like, a month ago. He cheated on me.” you finally said, once again avoiding his gaze. “We’d been together for a long time so… I moved back in with my mom and dad, and now I’m here. On vacation with them to ‘cheer me up’, I guess.”

Schlatt was silent, suddenly feeling very awkward that he even asked.

“That fuckin’ sucks,” was all he could offer. “Sorry.”

“No, you’re good,” you laughed, digging your toes deeper into the sand and feeling the evening sun on your face. “It’s nice to be here. Unfortunately, they were right, it is cheering me up already.”

You felt your eyes move to Schlatt’s face, your knees pulled to your chest, leaning your head on your arm. The warmth of the sun was making you feel tired once again, your eyes fluttering closed as you looked at Schlatt’s silhouette. The slope of his nose, poutiness of his lips evident against the tangerine background. The sounds of the ocean relaxed you heavily, before you noticed Schlatt standing up and offering his large hand to you. 

“Let’s go back, you probably don’t want to fall asleep on the beach.”

You took his hand as he pulled you up, his bicep bulging under his shirt. It did not go unnoticed how strong he really was, broad chest and shoulders, forearm muscles prominent when he pulled you. 

You pushed the sand off of your dress and let go of his hand, offering another awkward smile, before following him back to the resort.

You made small talk on your way there, learning that Schlatt really didn’t have much planned for his stay. His parents were planning on doing something every day - golfing, hiking, excursions to waterfalls, and all sorts of other activities. 

“I just want to lay on the beach,” he laughed, turning into the dim hallway, with you following. He fished in his pocket for his room key, standing in front of the white door, stopping your conversation. 

“This is me,” he motioned up to the door, with black lettering. Room 1106.

“Oh, no way,” you pushed past him slightly, feeling the brush of his arm on yours. “I’m 1108.”

“Sweet,” he laughed, tapping his key on the door. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

You felt yourself blush once again, leaning against the door as you smiled politely. 

“Yeah, definitely.”

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Schlatt.”

[minubell]

AU where Sauron goes to Eonwe after the war and begs for pardon. Where Eonwe apologetically tells him that is something he cannot grant, and Sauron will need to go to Valinor. Where Sauron decides to Nope right out of there rather than face possible punishment for his actions. Where Sauron’s fear of the Valar is never overridden by his guilt to rebuild. Where even when his solitude grows too much for him, he is wholly unwilling to actually show his face in Eregion.

So.

A black cat with orange eyes slinks into Eregion in the middle of the night. No one sees it arrive, but it must be a furious hunter for the mice and the rats and the birds in Ost-in-Edhil all but vanish overnight.

The animals know he is not one of them. They flee before the flick of his tail, and the city is his.

It takes the elves some time to notice their visitor. The cat is strangely aloof and stalks along the tops of walls and the rooftops rather than roam the streets. It is never seen eating. Never seen sleeping. Never even seen grooming, despite how luxurious its coat remains. It is not merely quiet, but completely silent. It never truly interacts with the elves, and they are more than happy to ignore it until-

“Would you like to come in?”

The first words spoken to cat are soft, kind, and accompanied by an open door. The heat radiating out from the forge is warm and comfortable and familiar, yet the cat merely stares from its perch upon a roof’s edge across the street. The snow swirls between the two of them, grey in the moonlight, and it is not the cat who blinks first.

“I’ll leave the door open for you,” Celebrimbor offers, leaning down to set a brick against the heavy door, propping it open. He returns to his work, humming softly as he does so.

If he notices the cat slink inside the forge a few minutes later, he does not comment.

If he notices the cat watching him work over the next few weeks, he does not say anything.

If he notices the cat drift closer and closer as the days pass until he could almost reach out to touch it, he gives no indication.

Until falls asleep there, as he often does when he is too busy with his work to return home.

He awakens to find the cat staring at him, a massive ruby between its teeth which it promptly drops in front of him as if it were a dead mouse before fleeing out the door. The next time he accidentally slumbers within the forges, its gift for him is an equally large sapphire, the following the next by some beautiful white adamant stone. Celebrimbor is left rightfully confused, though he supposes if pigs can hunt truffles why can’t cats hunt for gemstones?

The nickname Celebrimbor gives the stray is well-earned. It is, after all, quite good at giving gifts.

AU where Annatar is a cat.

[dearsnow]

MANIC MOVES & DROWSY DREAMS (3)

- after discovering something that forces all of your relationship’s problems to the surface, you seek solace in your only potential friend in san diego. (bradley “rooster” bradshaw x fem!reader, hurt with future comfort, part of the series “out of touch” ⚠️ ADULT TOPICS, please be 18+ to read)

OUT OF TOUCH: It’s been twenty years since you last saw Bradley Bradshaw, and, suddenly, you realize he’s finally grown up.

word count: 3,110

a/n - this chapter is lowkey crazy 😭 i hope y’all enjoy because i’ve had a blast writing this. the next chapter might take a bit to write up because i need to plan out the rest of the series, but it hopefully shouldn’t take tooo long!!

The next few days were relatively uneventful as you attempted to get your life in perfect working order. There were a few visits from the navy men, with Fanboy (who you learned was actually named Mickey) being one of your best customers until he witnessed firsthand your boyfriend giving you flowers and a peck on the cheek. He seemed a bit crestfallen after that, but you knew he would perk up eventually. He hadn’t gone through it for nothing, though- you always slipped him an extra cookie sample when he came by.

The best part of your life was not interviewing potential employees or ordering more vintage tables, but instead, it was Derick. He was truly your rock in the midst of a change that otherwise would’ve thrown you into chaos.

He handled your calls, he mopped the floors and shined the counter, and he took you on amazing dates. You can firmly say that you’ve never had a boyfriend as respectful and supportive as him.

Too respectful, however, is an ever-present problem.

You’ve been with him for almost fifteen years and you can reasonably count the times he’s been anything other than a perfect family-friendly gentleman. If you look back on it, it was probably around fifty-two instances.

That seems like a lot, but spread out over fifteen years of young adult antics, it’s almost like he didn’t want to be intimate. He didn’t want to make out, or put a hand just a bit too low on your waist, or do anything passionate or fiery or heated. He just wanted dinner dates, a kiss on the cheek, and a hand to hold. You were fine with that, because in essence, that’s what you needed at the time, right? Stability. Comfort. Romance. Someone to wipe away your insecurities and hold you down at ground level.

A lingering thought, always bouncing around in the back of your mind, whispers that it shouldn’t take hours of tempting and teasing for a guy to want you.

You ignore all of that for right now. Derick is currently sitting across the table from you at the fanciest restaurant in the area.

Fancy places always make you a little nervous. You’re afraid to say the wrong thing or mispronounce a word on the menu, and your dresses get rumpled as you fidget with them. Even your nail polish doesn’t survive as you pick at the edges with your thumb. Derick smiles.

“What are you thinking about ordering?” He asks, setting his own menu down. You cease your picking and clear your throat. He looks especially nice tonight, with his dark hair gelled back and his black suit nice and crisp. It doesn’t quite fit with your dress, though you suppose it doesn’t need to.

“Uh, the caprese salad sounds good.” It’s the cheapest thing on the menu. He always pays, but you know that he gets a bit bothered when the bill racks up too high. You’ve offered to pay for yourself numerous times, but he waves the suggestion away, even when his face makes it known that he doesn’t want to.

“I make more money than you, babe, just let me take care of it.”

You try to smile sweetly, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. If he can tell, he doesn’t show it.

“Sounds good. I’m having the truffle alfredo myself.” He flags down a waiter, and you shrink a bit in your seat.

You can tell that this night is going to be another awkward one. After being with someone for so long, you come to expect certain things. Despite that, you wouldn’t trade this stability for anything. He makes good money, he buys you gifts, and once or twice a year, he’ll even sleep with you. What more could a girl want?

Bradley hasn’t had stability in a long time. He has a home in San Diego, sure, but going out for drinks every once and a while with people who have vastly different schedules isn’t really enough to make him want to stay. In truth, he almost misses being deployed because, at least then, he has a purpose.

When he saw you, he thought he might have an opportunity to right a wrong that has been tearing him up inside. He despises what he was like as a teenager, taking nothing seriously except his dreams to be a naval aviator. He’s learned throughout his life that everything matters, especially the feelings of other people, and even the small, mundane things he couldn’t care less about. The small, mundane things are what keep the world working.

He’s sitting on his couch, enjoying a small, mundane thing (a shitty reality show with acting so bad it makes him laugh) when an unknown number lights up his phone. He perks up, staring at the number as the reality show carries on. It’s probably just a spam number, but on the off chance it’s you, he picks up.

“Hello?” He hates how shaky his voice sounds. Just the idea of you sets his nerves on fire.

“I need a friend,” your soft voice mumbles. “Where can we meet? A place that serves strong alcohol would be preferable.”

Right after your early dinner date with Derick, you walked into your shared apartment, boxes lining every walkway. You really ought to have put everything away more quickly, but after a long day’s work, all you and your boyfriend could seem to do was pull out a few objects and give them a place in your new living quarters.

He immediately went to take a shower, as he usually did after a long day, and placed his locked phone on your nightstand. You collapsed onto your bed and looked up at the ceiling, still dressed, and began to dread opening shop in the morning. You love the cafe, but your lack of employees hits harder every day.

Derick had been handling most of the hiring process, with the good majority of the interviewees being his connections. It was helpful having a business major boyfriend, as his college networking and current accountant networking proved extremely useful for managing an actual business. He was always so enthusiastic about helping you run the place. You seriously don’t know what you would do without him.

His phone lit up next to you with a series of texts. You lazily let your gaze drift over to see what was going on. He wouldn’t mind if you checked who was texting, right? When you picked up his phone, the name that popped up was “employee candidate 4”. You smiled to yourself; Derick was so responsible, you thought. He must have given the candidates his number to see if they needed anything.

You unlocked his phone with your thumbprint, which you so sneakily added to his password bank a few months ago when you first started collaborating on the cafe’s business plan. What you saw made your heart drop down to the floor, splintering into a million little pieces that got stuck in your fresh linoleum.

Bradley hands you another drink, a strong one at that, and you gulp half of it down in one breath. “Want to tell me what’s going on?”

You look up at him through your eyelashes, makeup half-rubbed off from tears and friction. The sun began to set when you first entered, and in the dimming light, Bradley could tell that you were rattled. You still are, evidently. He waits for a moment before you clear your throat and offer a few gut-punching words.

“I checked my boyfriend’s phone.” He can tell where this is going. He doesn’t want it to be true, because who in their right mind would cheat on you?

“What was on it?” He prompts gently. You take another breath. You don’t want to dump this all on someone that you barely know, with the only history you have being a failed almost-relationship when you were teenagers, but you don’t have anyone else. When you moved to San Diego, you left everything behind, including your friends and family. You haven’t even talked to your friends in ages, as you’ve been so busy with the cafe and Derick that you couldn’t so much as call them. The idea of having Bradley nurse your broken heart is both gut-wrenching and just a little bit like a dream.

“A lot. I… I don’t want to ruin your night by bothering you. I should go.” You try to stand up from your bar stool, but he catches your wrist in his warm hands.

He shakes his head, eyebrows creased. “Just tell me. I’m here for you; I meant what I said in the cafe.” You nod, fresh tears welling up in your eyes as you sit down.

“I’ll get a few drinks in me first.”

You keep your word, managing to take down a sizable amount of alcohol within a few minutes. It’s not enough to get you passing out or throwing up, but enough to loosen your lips.

“Do you want to know what I saw?” Your face is warm, either from the alcohol or Bradley’s hand on your back. “Twenty-eight photos of his dick. It isn’t even good enough to warrant one photo, Bradley, one! None of them were sent to me, of course. Just the girls he would chat up online and fuck.” The words tumble out of your mouth, every pent-up frustration making its way into the light of the bar. “I looked through his search history, too, and then our finances, because I was suspicious of everything at that point. I found four subscriptions to porn sites in our bills and three more for online dating premium memberships. Who the fuck even needs a premium membership? God. I hate him.”

“Slow down, princess.” He says. His lips are quirked into a small smile as you ramble on and on about every small thing Derick has ever done to piss you off. “He seems like a real piece of work.”

“He is! He so is. I never get to order what I want, he always makes me feel responsible for his mistakes, and not once has he made me finish. I mean, we’ve had sex maybe twice in the last two years because he can’t get it up. Probably because he’s been sticking his dick in STD central.” Those last few items slip through your internal filter, but even in your state, you recognize that you probably shouldn’t be talking about your sex life with a guy you re-met a few days ago. “Sorry. That was personal.”

Bradley lifts his shoulders in a shrug. “Nothin’ I can’t handle. I can’t believe you stayed with him that long when he can’t do a single thing for you. If you were my girl, you wouldn’t know a day without pleasure.” It’s his turn to be embarrassed about what he said, but as his cheeks turn red, you don’t even seem to notice.

If you were his girl, he thinks, he’d treat you so well. He’d actually get you your favorite flowers instead of the ones he thinks would look nice in the aesthetic of your apartment, and he’d cook for you, and he’d never make you feel bad for loving him.

“Exactly.” You say. “He just wanted someone to come home to without even thinking about how I would feel. I wanted stability, and he gave me that, but nothing else.” You suddenly sound sober, but the tears are back, and they’re stronger than ever. “I loved him.” You choke out. “I don’t think I could ever get something better, not after so long.”

Bradley feels bad for even considering picking you up after this. You’re distraught, more than he’s ever seen anyone before. It’s clear that this is something you’re going to take a while to heal from. “You can and you will. He’s a dick, and I’m sorry you wasted so much time on him, but you will find some kind of relationship that deserves you. You can have a fresh start, and he’ll just be another asshole that you put in your past.”

You nod, taking in his words as you sip your soda. Bradley cut you off a while ago, which you’re eternally grateful for. If you had one more sip of alcohol, you think you'd either be dancing on a table or crying on the floor. Now, at least you’re crying upright in a stool, with the man across from you handing you tissues once in a while. The lady running the bar seems to know him, and she also seems to know that an endless supply of tissues is necessary for you tonight.

The doors of the bar open, and though you don’t want to peel yourself away from the sight of someone caring about you, you turn around anyway. When you do, your blood runs cold.

Bradley sees you stiffen and follows your line of sight to the person that just walked in. He’s handsome, in a way, with short, dark brown hair and a five-o-clock shadow. He seems like the stuck-up type. Your eyes are blown wide at the sight as the man walks over, a sort of fake concern lacing his expression.

“Baby-“

“Don’t fucking call me that, Derick. How did you even find me?” Oh. The soon-to-be ex. Bradley sits up on his stool, pulling himself to a position where he can easily stand if the moment calls for it.

Derick pulls out his phone sheepishly. “You left your location on.”

Goddamnit. Fuck.

“Get out. I don’t want to see you right now.” You’re seething, the anger coming off you in waves. You think that if you weren’t angry, you’d be sad, and you can’t handle that right now. The devastation of finding out your boyfriend is a freak and a cheater is something you just opened the box to, and you don’t feel like unpacking it in front of him.

“I’m sorry, okay?” He protests. “They didn’t mean anything to me. I love you, and I want to marry you, and I’ll never do it again. I- I have the ring right here, see?” He pulls out a familiar velvet-lined box, and you scoff.

“You should’ve thought about that before you cheated. Multiple times.”

Bradley stands up, placing a soothing hand between your shoulder blades. “Leave, man. She’s made it pretty clear that she doesn’t want you here.”

Derick bristles, his pasty face tinged red with anger. Bradley almost rolls his eyes at how small he looks. “You don’t need to stick up for her.” He takes a step forward. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were fucking her behind my back. That’s what this is, isn’t it? An excuse for you to leave me because some navy fucker had some nice enough sex with you?” He’s approaching fast. By the time he finishes his sentence, Derick’s fist is wrapped around your wrist tightly.

You let out a soft sound as his bruising fingers close around you, but as soon as he’s there, Bradley shoves him away and loosens his grip on you. “Okay, that’s enough. You’re either going to walk through those doors or you’re getting dragged out. I don’t care which.”

Derick scoffs. “Fine with me. I never liked you anyways.” He gives you a pointed glance, tucking the ring box into his jacket pocket.

“You have tonight to get your stuff out of the apartment that I paid for.” You say, rubbing the space between your eyebrows with your thumb. “I never want to see you again.” The second part comes out as a mumble, but he clearly gets the message.

“Fuck you.” He walks out, and the group of navy men by the door give him a dirty look. He’s more than ruined multiple peoples’ nights by this point. It went from one crying girl at a bar to the start of a bar fight in the two minutes he stood in front of you.

Bradley, concerned, gives you a soft look. “Do you have anywhere to stay tonight?”

You shake your head as more tears drip down your jaw. You hate this. You hate Derick, you hate yourself, and you hate the pitiful way Bradley is staring at you. Your California dream has turned into a nightmare. “No, but I’ll get a hotel somewhere. It’s not that big of a deal.” Your attempt to downplay the situation has Bradley on the verge of running after Derick and slapping the back of his big groomed head. You’re too nice for this, too sweet to be cheated on and forced to sleep in a cold bed that you paid $200 for.

“You can stay over at my place if you want. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“I don’t want to put you out like that. It’s fine,” you assure him, though your voice is the least sure it’s ever been. “There’s a nice enough place a few streets away.”

Bradley shakes his head. His warm hand is on your shoulder, like he’s trying to ground you. “It won’t put me out. C’mon, princess, it’s not a big deal. You can rest up and we’ll figure out what else to do in the morning.”

He called you “princess” again. It’s nice, you think, in your drunken mind. Right now, you’re too tired to fight anything about the situation you’re in. “Alright. As long as you’re sure.”

He pays your tabs, slipping a look to the lady running the bar. She nods at him and mouths something that you can’t quite make out. As he leads you to his car, a nice, blue, vintage bronco, he keeps one hand on the small of your back. The heat feels nice, like you have someone securing you. Like you won’t ever stumble or fall before his strong arms catch you. He must be a real nice guy if he’s doing all this after so long.

He buckles you into your seat, and you let your head fall back onto the headrest. Your eyes close, and you desperately try not to think about what your life has come to. You feel a buzz in your jacket pocket, but you don’t pick it up. Everything is fine, you assure yourself. You didn’t just break up with the man you were going to marry, and he didn’t cheat on you, and your phone isn’t going off wildly through the fabric of your coat, and you’re not strapped into the car of your high school self’s dream boy. You ride that feeling, that denial, right into sleep.

You’ll deal with the real life problems in the morning.

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Taglist: @m1dnightsnackz @itsarabellebabes @shanimallina87 @sadgirlgiselle @callsignstingray

[muddyorbsblr]

charades

'one look and they'll know' collection masterlist See my full list of works here!

Placement: pre-relationship era; months before 'one look and they'll know'

Summary: After a particularly horrible day on set, Chris extends an invitation for you to join the cast in a game of charades to unwind.

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x Reader

Word Count: 1.9k

Warning/s: workplace bullying (mentioned); language [let me know if I missed anything!]

Things to be aware of: hints of mutual pining; we're in Hemsworth's POV

"Come on, it'll be fun, Tiny Terror, I promise." Chris gave your shoulders a slight shake to hopefully snap you out of the sour mood you'd been in all day. It was more than obvious why, considering that there were a good few production assistants that looked like they were on their own personal mission to get you to break composure and break a nose, constantly putting your team down for working too slow or some other reason.

One of them even tried insisting that there were props out of place so they could call into question your skill in clocking the continuity between shots. And while it was simple enough to debunk their accusations, it had also been a rather tedious day even just watching all of the little inconveniences happen that seemed hellbent on putting a damper to your day. He couldn't imagine how much more stressful it was in your shoes.

You were only allowed a few minutes to breathe without much worry when those assistants were pulled aside for Taika to have a word with them. Because other than him, there was someone else that not only witnessed the borderline harassment that occurred today, but was damn near foaming at the mouth to start snapping at them for their insolence.

Tom.

And right now Chris could only imagine that the Brit was standing at full height putting forward every single intimidation tactic he had on display at those people and asking them point blank if they had some sort of issue with you.

"I really don't know, Hemsy, it's been a long day. I kinda just want it to be over," you sighed, the facade you'd put in place of trying to look unbothered finally cracking as your shoulders slumped. "No idea who fucking pissed in their cereal this morning but if their goal was to drag someone down with them, they fucking succeeded. Just wanna go back to my hotel room and order a big bowl of pasta and a bottle of wine and turn my phone off until tomorrow morning."

"Alright, how about this. Just a few rounds, and if you hate it, I'll pay for your pasta and wine?"

You paused, thinking over his offer for a few seconds before finally sighing, "Fine. Thirty minutes. But if I tell you I wanna go, you better be ready to order me the fattest bowl of truffle cream pasta you can find."

Just as you walked off back to your team, Taika and Tom came out of one of the back offices where they sequestered the offending crew members. There were visible scowls on their faces as they muttered to themselves while Taika whispered some instructions to security, probably telling them to keep an eye on the troublemakers moving forward.

"Saw you talking to Lil Mayhem," Taika spoke up once he stood where you did just a few moments ago. "She alright?"

Had the situation not been so tense, Chris probably would have poked a bit of fun at the way Tom's face became visibly more animated as he scanned the set trying to find you. If the Brit became even the slightest bit more enamored with you and still refused to do anything about it, he might have to tell you himself just to caution you that if you didn't feel the same way, you'd have to let him down gently. And preferably sooner rather than later.

"She will be," Chris answered. "She's joining us later."

"Ah perfect," the New Zealander exclaimed, clapping his hands together. "We can pair her off with Tom."

"Hmm?" There was an alarmed look in Tom's eyes now, the sound coming out of him uncharacteristically higher pitched than normal.

"Oh come on, mate, did you really think nobody noticed? You look at her like a pup, wagging its tail and jumping in place when its mum comes home." Chris clapped a hand down on his shoulder, trying not to laugh at how mortified he looked finding out his subtle "work crush" on you wasn't exactly that subtle. "Just don't go humping her leg when she walks in."

"Oh my God, yes you're here too," Tessa exclaimed when you walked into Taika's suite, doing a little bounce on her place at the couch and patting the seat beside her. "We can be partners and smoke their asses."

"Hemsworth promised to buy me pasta if I hated it," you told her with a shrug, sitting at the vacant seat. You didn't seem to have noticed that Tom had moved over, making room next to him on the other side of the table. "And I'm not one to turn down free food."

"Tessa you're already partnered with Chris over here," Taika informed her, pointing at the Australian.

"Hold on since when?" He simply showed her a paper containing all your names, your eyes widening slightly when you saw that yours was next to Tom's. "Fine," she huffed, shifting her gaze over to Chris. "We got this."

Taika then presented a little fishbowl containing folded scraps of paper and explained that a single turn would consist of each of you picking out a paper and trying to sign out whatever was on their paper, while the other had to guess what it was. Straightforward enough. "Whoever's signing cannot talk, but they can make sounds if they think it'll help," he kept on explaining. "Winning pair will get…a nice swanky dinner for two when we get to LA for the premiere. Sound good?"

Lay it on a little thicker, Taika, I don't think they're catching on yet, Chris thought sarcastically, immediately clocking the way your cheeks were reddening and Tom was without a doubt imagining what it would be like to be sitting across from you in a fancy restaurant, imagining that you two were on a proper date. What with the way he couldn't keep his eyes off of you, along with that dopey lovestruck smile painting his face every time you even shared the same breathing space, it wasn't that hard to take a guess what the Brit was thinking right at this moment.

Once everyone had a scrap of paper in their hand, Taika spun a little wheel of your names to pick out which pair went first. "Alrighty then, Tom? Y/N? Which one of you'll be guessing first?"

"Oh, uhm…can I guess first? 'Cause I can't sign for shit."  Your request as you addressed Tom sounded casual enough, had it not been for the chuckle at the end that immediately had both Chris and Taika knowing much better than to mistake your demeanor for 'casual'. Seemed you were as skittish around Tom as he was around you.

And maybe Chris didn't have to interfere and advise you to let his friend down easy after all. Maybe he just had to sit back and let you two find each other at your own pace.

Though admittedly this was the type of behavior that started out cute but would grow frustrating to watch if it went on for too long. If neither of you made a move in the coming weeks he might be tempted to lock you two in a cramped storage closet to move things along.

Tom stood up from his seat, cheeks quickly becoming tinged with pink when he saw the words on his little scrap of paper before looking up and holding your gaze. On a whim, Chris decided to take his phone out and have his camera at the ready.

The chime on Taika's phone signaled him to start, and he held up five fingers in front of you.

"Five words." He then nodded and held up one finger before creating a letter "T" with his hands. "First word 'The'." He held up four fingers next and did the "T" symbol again. "And fourth word 'The'. So 'The Blank-Blank The Blank'?"

He nodded at you, a light shining in both your eyes as he kept on, like a couple of kids excited they found someone to play with. But then when Tom went on to sign the second word, for a split second you gave him a look that had everyone in the room that paid even the smallest amount of attention that his affections were definitely not one-sided.

You were well on your way to being completely smitten with him, too.

He held up two fingers before making a lassoing motion and snapping his fingers so loud that the sound made your neck twitch, your eyes glazing over as he pointed to the space in front of him. "Uh…uhm…Capture?" He shook his head, repeating the motion again. "Herding?" He shook his head again. "Collaring--Cowboy?" He let out a laugh before shaking his head again. "Okay I don't think I'm gonna get that, maybe another word we're running out of time."

Tom took a deep breath, as if composing himself before holding up five fingers. And then he drew his hands close to his chest and started making the most ridiculous sound with his head tilted to the ceiling. "Ememememe omomomomo".

That had you bursting into a fit of giggles, making him break out into a face-splitting grin and a few chuckles of his own. "I'm sorry I got absolutely nothing on that, go back to the second word." He went back to the lassoing and snapping movement. "Wait is this for a person or an animal?" He made a motion as if weighing an object in each of his hands, signaling to you that it was both. "Both?! Okay so…domestication?" He shook his head, but motioning for you to keep going down that route. "The--Taming?" Then you gasped, standing up right as two seconds were left on the clock, clapping your hands. "The Taming of the Shrew! The Taming of the Shrew!"

Out of the sheer excitement in the moment, he made his way around the table, grasping for your hands before framing your face in his hands. Had you both lost yourselves in the moment for even a few seconds longer, Chris would have bet good money that you two would have shared a kiss right in front of them.

But then both of you froze in place, giving each other an awkward smile before he stepped back, making his way back to where he stood seconds before. Good thing Chris already had his phone in hand and snapped a photo before your mutual shyness toward each other got the better of you.

"Cute," Taika commented, throwing Tom a look. "Alrighty then Y/N, it's your turn now."

You stood, looking at your scrap of paper and then looking around the room, your eyes landing on the decorative skull flower vase on the dining table.

Before you could signal for Taika to start the clock, Tom spoke up, "Hamlet?"

A choked sound of utter shock slipped out of everyone else in the room. "Hold up, that counts right, T?" Taika just nodded.

"How the fuck--Are you two telepathically connected or something?" Tessa threw the question out, pointing her finger at both of you. "You know what it doesn't matter, the night's still young. We still got a chance to smoke 'em, Hemsworth."

Chris wasn't paying much attention, shooting you a text instead. So you wanna cash in on that free food, Tiny Terror?

He had to fight back the knowing grin that pulled at the corners of his mouth seeing the message you typed back. I could stay a few more rounds.

A/N: I did mention before that I have some pre-relationship chapters planned for these two blorbos, right? 👀 Well if I didn't, I'm saying it now. Chapters. Plural. I honestly don't know how many pieces I have in store for this collection but safe to say it's not ending any time soon. 😳💖

'everything' taglist: @simplyholl @loopsisloops @imalovernotahater @coldnique @loz-3 @huntress-artemiss @salempoe @vickie5446 @athalialaufeyson @lokiprompts @kats72 @kikster606 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @lokixryss @thomase1 @mischief2sarawr @lovingchoices14 @lunarnights95 @goblingirlsarah @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @creationsbyme @maple-seed @mjsthrillernp @ladyofthestayingpower @mygfloki @sititran @glitterylokislut @ozymdias @fictive-sl0th  @lokidbadguy @mochie85 @silverfire475 @joyful-enchantress @elizabethmidnight2017 @holdmytesseract @smolvenger @gigglingtiggerv2 @lokidokieokie @lunarnights95 @superficialdomina @kmc1989 @november-rayne @goddessofwonderland @buttercupcookies-blog @peaky-marvel @lokiified @tom-hlover @dryyoursaltyoceantears @herdetectivetheorist

[stellamancer]

obligatory (satoru gojo x reader)

notes: haha. the valentine's fic. it's funny i still have to post halloween fic. maybe i'll finish this week since i'm off work. uh anyway, for those who say my posts, i'm kind of hesitant to post this for two reasons: 1) it's removed from context— like you can still get a feel of what is going on, but there's no explanation as for why and 2) due to reason 1 it's tonally different than usual, at least according to my beta reader. my eternal gratitude goes to @momodita who helped me workshop this fic and continues to demand i write more gojo fics despite denying being a gojo fucker.

contains: implied f!reader (no pronouns), the return of gojo's pov (a little less whacky this time lmao), jealous gojo (because those who know me know i can't get enough), light angst or whatever the hell is going on there. additionally, for those who don't know giri choco is chocolate you give out of obligation to your coworkers and honmei choco is chocolate you give to someone you have romantic feelings for. part of the infinite loop verse.

wc: 1.8k

“Here you go.”

Satoru graciously accepts Shoko’s offering: a thin, delicately wrapped box of Valentine’s Day chocolate. Naturally, it's giri choco; Satoru is well aware that Shoko would be caught dead before even thinking about giving Satoru honmei choco. That said, it looks like she's given more thought to her gift this year— the last few years she's just handed him a gourmet chocolate bar from some high end chocolatier. Actually, the last time she'd given him something wrapped up like this was…

“There better not be any liquor in this,” Satoru says in a petulant tone reminiscent of his high school days.

Shoko merely laughs. “As if I'd waste something like that on you.”

There's no way she’s forgotten how sick Satoru got the one time she did give him liquor filled chocolates. Not only had it made him sick to his stomach, it'd given him the worst headache of his entire life. If it were up to Satoru, liquor filled chocolates wouldn't even exist. “Welllll, thanks for the chocolate. I'll be sure to get you something good next month.”

Shoko gives him a relaxed smile. “Looking forward to it, Gojo.”

Knowing Shoko, she'll want liquor as usual. Maybe the same bottle of shochu that he got last year? She liked that, but then again, the same gift twice would be boring and Satoru is not about that. Whatever it is will be a little pricey, but Satoru doesn't mind it one bit— anything for one of his oldest friends.

Having given Satoru her yearly offering of chocolate, Shoko shoos him away so she can actually get to work. Satoru considers ambling around for another hour or two, but Ijichi will probably have a heart attack if he delays his mission briefing any longer. The sooner he does it the better, he guesses. Satoru starts sauntering toward the assistant managers’ office to find Ijichi, pulling at the ribbon on the box he received from Shoko as he goes. Inside are two rows of perfectly round chocolate truffles and Satoru picks one at random and pops it into his mouth. It's filled with a sweet raspberry cream that practically melts on his tongue. Shoko really went all out this year, but no matter how good these are they'd never match up to anything homemade.

Though, when he thinks about it, Satoru supposes he won't be getting anything like that this year.

When he gets to the assistant managers’ office he easily finds Ijichi, who, for once, is not bent over a mountain of paperwork, and with him is—

You.

Handing Ijichi a box of chocolates.

For some reason, Satoru suddenly feels very, very annoyed.

“Well, well, well,” he says, the volume of his voice louder than intended, but he doesn't care. “What do we have here?”

Ijichi whirls around and lets out a squeak, his face red as can be. He starts to blubber and it almost feels like Satoru's caught him in the middle of something more illicit than receiving chocolates. If Satoru weren't feeling so annoyed, he'd find the whole sight rather funny.

You, on the other hand, are far calmer, indifferent even, as a slight frown mars your features. Something about it makes Satoru's blood burn hot.

“Did I just interrupt a heartfelt love confession?” Satoru asks dryly and Ijichi starts to freak out even more, and while Satoru notices the slightest twitch of your eye, you remain impassive.

“I hope you like the chocolates,” you tell Ijichi, outright ignoring Satoru and somehow that makes Satoru's blood run even hotter. “I kept in mind what you said about last year's so they're not as sweet.”

“Thank you!” Ijichi squeals and you give the man a sympathetic smile before you head toward the door where Satoru's standing. He knows he's blocking the way, but he doesn't move.

Will you say something to him?

You don't.

Instead, you keep your head down and squeeze past him. Or try to. You brush against his side and Satoru doesn't miss the way your body jolts when you make physical contact with him. But it only lasts a second, and when that second ends, Satoru tries to ignore the feeling of bitterness rapidly spreading throughout his chest.

He means to say something, anything to you, but the words get caught in his throat.

By the time they free themselves, you're already gone.

Satoru sighs and saunters over to Ijichi, who's been taking deep breaths to calm down after Satoru's little bout of teasing. He leans against one of the desks and crosses his arms. “So, you had a mission for me?”

“Right! Yes!” Ijichi squeaks again and takes a deep breath before he starts to explain. Satoru only half listens to the briefing, his attention more focused on the little box sitting on Ijichi’s desk. The mere sight of it spurs a complicated set of feelings. He doesn't understand. You've been giving Ijichi chocolates every Valentine's ever since you moved to Tokyo and it's never bothered him before so why now?

“Um, Gojo?”

“What?” Satoru almost snaps.

Ijichi doesn't answer right away, instead he clears his throat and then says. “It's giri choco.”

Satoru scowls. Of course it is. It's not like you'd give Ijichi honmei choco. You don't see him like that. “I know that.”

Ijichi swallows thickly. Nervously. “Just making sure.”

Then he falls silent, the air between them now terribly awkward.

“...do you want some?” Ijichi asks.

“It's your chocolate.”

“I don't mind sharing,” Ijichi says, reaching over and opening the box to reveal your homemade chocolates. They're nowhere near as perfectly round as the ones Shoko bought for Satoru, but he can tell you put effort into making sure they looked presentable. “Help yourself.”

Even Satoru isn't terrible enough to steal an entire box of chocolates meant for another man, but he does grab the nicest looking one and tosses it into his mouth.

It's bitter; a mix of dark chocolate and black coffee that's not only completely unpalatable to Satoru, but disturbingly reminiscent of the bitter feeling that's now threatening to eat him whole. He almost wants to spit it out.

But he doesn't.

Satoru swallows it all.

The mission is uneventful, absurdly easy even, though Satoru took a little longer than he needed to by toying with the curses a little prior to exorcising them. Some would consider it a touch cruel, but Satoru doesn't care. Anything to rid himself of that pesky feeling from earlier.

If it were up to him, he would have headed straight home afterwards, but Yaga had asked him to come back and do some paperwork. Satoru had tried to reason with him, tell him he'd just do it tomorrow but the principal was insistent.

Satoru trudges to his office and throws open the door. Inside, someone lets out a surprised yelp.

It’s you.

Again.

Both you and Satoru stare at each other in surprise. Given that you've been avoiding both him and this entire corridor like the plague for the past two months, you're the last person he’d expect to find in his office, hovering over his desk. And yet…

You look away from Satoru, your expression awkward. This isn't like your encounter in the assistant manager's office earlier; you can't just walk out of his office without an explanation of why you're there.

Well, you can try, but it's not like Satoru will let you.

“Weren’t you supposed to be out on an assignment?” you finally ask. Satoru thinks you mean to sound annoyed, but your tone is watered down.

“I was, but it was so easy I could have done it blindfolded.”

Normally, you'd just roll your eyes or snap back about how he's a show off or his jokes are shit, but you remain quiet. He shouldn't be surprised, but it still makes him feel weird. Almost sad. Almost empty.

“Principal Yaga asked me to leave some paperwork on your desk,” you say, sounding uncharacteristically meek.

Satoru frowns a little. Yaga, huh? He never pegged him as a meddler. Satoru approaches the desk to look at the paperwork in question; he grimaces— it's a whole freaking stack.

You start to shuffle away from Satoru and toward the door as Satoru flips through all the papers. “Anyway, if you'll excuse me—”

“Wait a sec.” Satoru says and you glance back at him in confusion. There's something peeking out from under the stack of papers. Satoru gingerly fishes it out, revealing a familiar looking box. He holds it up and adds, “Did you leave this too?”

A myriad of varying emotions flashes across your face before you settle on an awkward sort of embarrassment. “I… did.”

It's weird. Satoru didn't expect you to be so straightforward given that under normal circumstances you always choose to be as obstinate as possible. Which Satoru doesn't mind in the slightest; it makes things exciting. There are few things more fun than prying the truth out of you with whatever means necessary. Answering him so readily like this… almost feels wrong.

“I accidentally made too much,” you explain.

Satoru stares at you. It’s not an excuse, not a lie. Honestly, adjusting the amounts to account for one less person probably slipped your mind until it was too late. You could have done anything with the extra chocolate, given more to each person, eaten it yourself, but instead…

You still chose to give it to him.

Satoru tries to ignore the strange feeling stirring in his chest.

“Anyway, eat it if you want, toss it if you don’t,” you add, almost hurriedly as you move closer to the door. You give a quick bow to excuse yourself and before Satoru can say anything else, you run off.

His eyes remain glued to the empty doorway where you were just standing for a second before looking back at the box of chocolates you left for him. Carefully, he unties the ribbon and pulls off the lid. Just like Ijichi’s chocolates, the ones in his box aren’t perfect, but something about them looks nicer than the ones Ijichi got. Satoru wonders if you consciously put in a little more effort when you’d realized you had extra. The thought makes him chuckle a little.

He delicately plucks one from the box and pops it into his mouth. It’s sweet, infused with a hint of strawberry and vanilla that makes Satoru crave even more. As soon as he’s done with the first he shoves another into his mouth, and then another. With each chocolate he eats, the painful feeling in his chest grows, but he ignores it.

Before he knows it, the chocolates are all gone. Satoru licks his lips, hoping for one last taste of that strawberry vanilla sweetness only to find nothing. All he has left is the empty box and an aching heart.

if you read this whole thing, thank you and i hope you enjoyed it.

also yes, shoko got chocolates (tomo choco) too. they were similar to ijichi's, but with liquor instead of coffee.

[piratefishmama]

Fake it till you make it | Part 10

Eddie declined the invitation to stay for dinner that evening, politely of course, and genuinely solemn in his refusal. He would have actually liked to stay, the Harringtons weren’t… bad. They weren’t bad. As baffling as that notion was, they weren’t bad, but Eddie had dinner with Wayne every night. It was part of their routine, had been since his freshman year of Highschool and continued to be even now when they could see each other a lot more now that he wasn’t in Highschool anymore.

It'd always been the only time during the day where he’d be able to see Wayne before he went to work. A time where they could catch up, Wayne could ask him about school, now it was about the band, or if he’d had any luck finding an actual job, or if he’d heard any new gossip.

Wayne loved a bit of gossip. Quiet as he may have been, he soaked up gossip like a sponge because nobody ever expected him to be actually listening to the conversations they had around him.

What the Harringtons were actually like, he’d be on the edge of his seat waiting for that bit of juice. Metaphorically of course, Wayne was always the picture of calm indifference whenever he asked about the gossip, like it wasn’t deep down his life blood.

They had pretty solid excuses to not see each other for the rest of that week though.

Eddie had band practice, Steve had work, they’d ‘see each other’ in between where the parents couldn’t see and the only phone call that needed to happen between meet the parents day, and the day they left, was the night before to arrange the time when he ought to arrive back at the house with Uncle Wayne in tow.

It was… heaven, actually.

In Steve’s case anyway, that week, leading up to the week away? Bliss. Complete and utter bliss.

His parents were happy with him, they weren’t trying to introduce him to anyone, weren’t bothering him, sure they asked a couple of times if Eddie would be coming by, offering an open invite for dinner again, but they didn’t mind when Steve gave them the same excuse of he’s having dinner with Wayne!

The only issue he had was Robin and her teasing little “you made out with Eddie Munson” sing song she brought out at random while working together midway through the week, and no amount of “it was PRACTICE” would shut her up.

“I just can’t believe it!” She’d said while they were stocking shelves “you, Steve Harrington, Keg King, ruler of the jocks—”

“Ex, Robin, ex-king, pretty sure I haven’t been king of anything in years now” he’d shed that title. Let it fly free to land on a douchebag who wanted it more.

“Okay but still, lord of the jocks, with Eddie. King of the nerds.”

“And why is that so weird?” Why was she acting as if it were actually real? As if she hadn’t been there when Dustin had suggested the faux relationship.

“I didn’t think he’d be your type!”

“He’s not” the only real issue he had, was that maybe that wasn’t actually… completely, strictly... true, as he was rapidly beginning to realise.

And Robin knew it, if her scoffed little “ch’yeah OK, an I’m not a lesbian.” Was anything to go by. She let it go though.

She let it go because the chime above the door rang alerting them to customers, and their day continued on as normal.

Their week continued on as normal, with a brief appearance of the kids on the Thursday evening to try and sneak an R rated movie by him for a sleepover at the Wheeler’s but they didn’t get very far.

They took the Goonies despite Dustin’s very loud complaints about having seen it five times already and that he wasn’t going to do the truffle shuffle again, so don’t anyone ask him to do it, only to immediately lose all the wind in his very serious sails when Jane mentioned she’d yet to see him do it.

Friday was uneventful save for the phone call with Eddie the night before.

And then It was Saturday, and he was watching an old pick up pull up to a stop out front, watching Wayne Munson, in his well-worn jeans covered in dust, work boots, and flannel climb out of the truck. He may have been up all night working, but he was awake, alert, and he even grabbed Eddie’s bags out of the truck for him while Eddie sorted out his carryables.

A gym bag that’d never been used for gym full of… well, Steve didn’t know but it looked heavy, and a guitar case that looked fit for an acoustic rather than the beauty hung over the mirror in Eddie’s bedroom.

Steve rose to his feet and poked his head back through the front door to yell “The Munsons are here!” Before making his way down the drive to greet them halfway, taking Eddie’s suitcase from Wayne to put it by the door with the rest of their things with a friendly “morning, sir! How was your shift last night?”

“Exhaustin, an boy I told you over the phone, it’s just Wayne.”

“I know I just… have this, memory issue, bopped on the head a couple’a times, so you’re just gonna have to keep reminding me.” It earned a chuckle from the man and a gentle pat to his shoulder, and then Eddie was there, a bundle of energy dressed in a band tee with the sleeves chopped off and ripped black jeans, a buffalo check flannel wrapped and tied around his slim waist to complete ‘the look’. His hair wild and free as usual. “Eddie, you uh… you clean up nice…”

The smile was replaced with a look of surprise, Eddie doing a quick once over of himself as if he hadn’t actually— “I do? I didn’t—well I wasn’t trying to I mean—” tried to look good. He just naturally looked good. Of course, he just naturally looked good, the bastard.

“Guess it’s just a you thing then. Looking good I mean.” So smooth, but it worked. Eddie actually looked frozen in place, like a wire had just decided enough was enough and shorted out. It recovered quickly enough though, allowing Eddie to cutely hide behind his own hair, cheeks a pretty pink, dimpled by his bashful smile.

“Guess games on then huh, boys?” Wayne spoke through an amused chuckle, before turning his attention to the two adults who appeared in the doorway, both in… surprisingly relaxed attire.

When Wayne pictured the Harringtons, and he had once or twice when he’d overheard them being mentioned in town, he’d always kind of pictured two highly manicured people, pencil skirts, blazers, pressed slacks, polo shirts and pastel colours. Nothing old, nothing well worn, everything looking like it’d only just come off the rack and dry clean only.

Lynda however, in her red house socks, soft, dark brown, woollen skirt resting just below her knees, and baby-pink sweater tucked into her skirt, looked comfortable. And John was wearing something Wayne probably would have worn himself! Jeans and a simple dark blue button down shirt.

The only ‘manicured’ thing about them was that John was clean shaven, and Lynda’s honey brown hair looked freshly blown out. She wasn’t even wearing makeup, he felt like he’d stepped into some alternate reality where rich people were normal folk. “Mr Munson” John greeted as he stepped out of the house, hand extended which Wayne took to give a firm shake then released. “I see our boys are in a world of their own.” Wayne turned back to them as if to check and yep, they’d begun loading Eddie’s things into the Lincoln… slowly. Matching smiles on their faces as they talked about… god only knows what.

Damn scheme would make idiots out of the both of them. “Seems like.”

“Why don’t you come on inside and have a coffee, let the boys load everything up.” Well, he wasn’t going to turn down whatever fancy shit the Harringtons had in their cupboards, was he?

“Don’t mind if I do, might wake me up some.” And he was inside. The damn hallway looked bigger than his whole trailer for a moment. But no, it couldn’t be, it was just… long, and felt emptier without knick-knacks or pictures lining the walls. It was clean though, not even a hint of dust. “So… Steve lives here on his own while you two are away?”

“It wasn’t ideal” Lynda admitted softly “but Steven had to finish school so we couldn’t take him with us, and well, after that he was old enough to take care of himself. We keep in touch the best we can” calls were occasional, and they dropped in from time to time, but Steve was an adult now. It wasn’t like he was still a child.

He could probably move out if he wanted to. It wasn’t like he didn’t have access to the trust fund yet. It was his! He just hadn’t touched it yet, worked for his money, was clearly saving the fund for something more important.

“And the boys…” Wayne began once they reached the kitchen, a room full of mahogany and marble, John already there setting the coffee maker, everything pristine. Steve kept the whole place spotless, all on his own. Could be as supportive as they wanted, there was no excuse for leaving that boy all on his own for so damn long. “You don’t mind them bein… themselves around you? Now I've walked in on them up to all kinds'a nonsense, in a total world'a their own. They’re kinda touchy an they ain’t about to be like some bashful damsels actin shy with each other, they’re both men, an you supportin that means they’ll assume it’s okay to be who they are around you.”

Even though Wayne knew they weren’t actually a couple, he saw them, he saw their chemistry, he saw how Steve looked at his nephew, and he knew, he knew Eddie had had his fair share of mole related crisis’s over the years being in Steve’s vicinity in school.

There was no way they’d come out of this cleanly. Either of them. No drawn out fake date scheme ever ended cleanly.

“Boys will be boys.” Lynda chirped as if she wasnt even the slightest bit surprised, huh. “The chalet is quite large, Mr. Munson—”

“Wayne, please, ma’am.”

“Then, Lynda, if you please, Wayne” he gave her a curt nod “as I was saying, the chalet is large, there’s plenty of places for them to hide away, and I know Steven knows all of them. We used to play hide and seek when he was little, we almost had the police out searching for him once or twice, so I know he knows where to go if he wants a little privacy. We don’t expect them to be… chaste, our son is—” she paused, then looked to John with a slight scrunch in her nose.

“A slut.” Wayne was glad he wasn’t drinking anything yet because it’d have been all over the floor as he choked on his own saliva. John so nonchalant with how he said it. “We were all young once, Wayne and he’s no innocent child. Now I don’t know Eddie, but if I know my son…” and he liked to think he did, at least a little. “With what I saw the other day... i'm not surprised that they've already rounded a few bases.” A fair assessment. Their chemistry was off the charts. “How’d you take your coffee, Wayne?”

“And that ain’t an issue to you? Just black’s fine.” He was handed a mug filled with black coffee, clean, black porcelain, plain. Nothing fun about it. He still kind of wanted to take it home to add to the collection, the rare ‘expensive house, rich family’ mug.

“Not really no. As long as they're staying safe. The world is changing outside of Hawkins, and when you own a business you either change with it or get left behind.” A solid business stance, Wayne couldn’t argue with that but… if it was just for business then—

Lynda placed a hand on her husbands’ arm, offering a warm smile that reminded him a lot of Steve, that boy got a lot of his softness from his mother it seemed. “Eddie is delightful, a little quirky, looks a little different to the people we usually find in our home, but… if he can make our son look that happy just by being here, well… even if we wanted to stand in the way of it, which we don’t… I don’t believe we could. Steven is an adult now, and we can either support him in his decisions, or lose him.” Those were the options. Support him, or Steve would inevitably find his own way. “We may not be around as often as we’d like, we may have missed a lot of him growing up… but we would still rather support him than lose him. People like them… they deserve to be happy too, don’t you think?”

Wayne took a sip of his coffee, damn near groaned at the rich taste of quality grounds, both in love of the taste, and in mourning of what he'd only have once, but nodded his head in agreement. Approval. “Couldn’t have said it better myself. The peace an quiet at the trailer’s gonna be real strange.” He was giving his go ahead. “But… I suppose I can let him go on ahead with you.”

Eddie could go and he wouldn’t stop him. Although the chief would know where Eddie was, just in case he mysteriously disappeared, as terrifying as that thought was. As sobering and... mind changing, as that thought was.

No, Eddie would be fine. He'd be okay.

“Wonderful!” Lynda cheered, as if Eddie really was welcome among them. “So… has Eddie ever been on a plane before?”

Part 12

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Bittersweet 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc. 

Part of the Sweet and Spicy AU 

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk. 

18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you. 

Summary: Your startup business catches the eye of a powerful rival.

Character: Loki Laufeyson

Please comment and reblog if it’s not too much. I always love getting to chat about these stories and hearing all your ideas! You all are wonderful and loved. 

“So, the Green Bundle includes a Match truffle, chocolate mint smoothies, and green tea infused fudge,” you explain to the trio of women across from you. “The deluxe includes peppermint cocoa as well and comes in a this mug.” 

You present one of the few kits you have left in your inventory. As big a deal as getting a stall at the event was, you hadn’t expected the crowd. You’re overwhelmed, especially realising you’re the only stand with only a single body. 

“That’s so cute,” the taller brunette remarks, “what about the Pink kit? It says strawberry and creme?” 

“Ah, yes, that one sold out rather quickly today. I can offer a voucher for my online boutique or I can sell you a sampler box? It has the strawberry and creme as well as my more popular flavours.” 

“Do you do this all yourself?” The curly blonde asks as she eyes the chocolate dipped cherries. 

Another body crowds in, a tall men bending to peruse your hand-painted sign listing all your bundles and boxes. He pays you little mind as he eyes cling to the letters and he reaches to pluck up one of your cards. You return your attention to the blonde. 

“Yes, they’re all hand-crafted. The mugs as well but I don’t do those. I’ve a friend who makes those.” 

“The packaging is so pretty,” the first preens, “can I have a sampler then?” 

“Sure,” you answer, “I do the packaging as well. All the stickers, the bows I tie myself, and I decorate each box.” 

“Wow, that’s so cool,” the middle on remarks, “I’ll have a sampler as well and the green bundle.” 

“Sampler for me,” the third agrees. 

You go through the same process with each. You grab the product, put it in a bag, seal it with a sticker, and ring them through with a tap of their card. They all seem excited for their purchase and it’s contagious. It’s been a hectic day but you’re running low and you don’t think you’ll make it through to closing. Still, it’s good advertising. 

“Green tea fudge?” The tall man slithers towards the center of your counter, “an unusual combination.” 

“Yes, that one took a lot of experimenting.” 

“Mmm,” he still has your card in hand, bending it slightly as he flicks it with his thumb, “the red bundle. Cherry, red velvet, and...” he leans back to check the sign, “cayenne. Interesting.” 

“I try to make sure there’s variety in each,” you explain. 

“Yes, so it seems. I’ll take a red then.” 

“Sorry, sir, um, I’ve sold out of most. I still have the yellow, the black, and the green--” 

“Sold out?” He raises his wrist to give an emphatic glance at his watch, “either you’re very popular or ill-prepared.” 

You’re surprised by the accusation. He’s rather blunt. You’ve dealt with many different types today but they’ve all been relatively pleasant, after all, it’s hard to be in a bad mood at a Baking Show. 

“Fair, I wasn’t expecting so many buyers, sir. But you have my card, you’ll see my online boutique is listed--” 

“But I want to buy now,” he says as he tilts his head, dark brows rising just slightly. 

“I understand, I apologise for the inconvenience, but I just don’t have the red on-hand. I do have a sampler here--” You grab one of the variety boxes, “it would have the cayenne and the cherry.” 

“Do you think a one-person operation like this is sustainable?” He inquires sharply. 

You wince and shake your head, “sir? I’ve only just started. I’m sure with growth I’ll have to adjust.” 

“And do you have a business plan or is this some Etsy venture with no goals?” 

You nearly choke. You don’t know what you’ve done to offend him. 

“Well, sir, if you don’t want to buy, I do have free samples available. I don’t have any of the red flavours but I do have some banana peanut butter and salted caramel apple--” 

“I didn’t ask about samples,” he insists, “I’m asking about your business plan.” 

You bat your lashes and look around. Has he come to this event just to interrogate people over their bottom line? 

“I suppose it’s something I will have to review after today,” you contend. 

“I’d say,” he tucks your card into his jacket pocket, his hand lingering within as he pulls out a leather wallet, “if you have any questions...” 

He slides a card free and offers it. You take it hesitantly and read the gold font on matte black cardstock. Black Snake Chocolatier. You run your fingers over the embossed lettering and narrow your eyes. You peer over at the large banner over that business’ booth. He must be from over there but he’s not exactly dressed for the work. His suit is pressed and stainless. 

“I did sponsor that one,” he pulls your attention back, “but I’ve come down to take measure of my competition and possible... acquisitions.” 

You nod slowly as you meet his green eyes. Is this intimidation? 

“Loki Laufeyson,” he offers his hand as a glint of silver in his hair catches the light, “might I have your name?” 

You trade your name and a handshake. He squeezes enough for you to wince. He lets go and you slip his card in you apron pocket with all the others collected from your fellow vendors. 

“I’ll certainly take a sampler,” he says, “see if this little venture has any teeth.” 

His every word is like a bite. He speaks with the fangs of the very logo of his business. You put his purchase into your phone and offer the square for him to tap his payment. He processes it and swipes up the box before you can package it. 

“Do you want a bag?” You ask. 

“I can handle it,” he tucks the box under his arm. “Best of luck to you doing the same.” 

He glances around and slowly moves aside as a group of new customers set in. A family of five with three hollering children with grabby hands. Your eyes widen as you smile at them as best you can. This day has truly tested your social battery. 

[marigold-hills]

June 17: pic ‘n’ mix | @wolfstarmicrofic | word count: 542

PREVIOUS PART • NEXT PART • FIRST PART

It’s a silly thing, really. Having to sneak away like this. They’re both of age and about to graduate. In two weeks, they’ll be living in London, free of supervision, of constraints, of curfews and house points.

Still, it almost feels like old times, to slink through the tunnel to Hogsmead, hide under the Cloak. Almost because it’s also brand new: Moony’s fingers in his, hands palm-to-palm.

They’re wearing their weekend clothes. Remus is in a soft, thin jumper, the sleeves just a little too short and exposing the delicate bones of his wrists. There is a hole in the hem from a Potions’ revision mishap. Sirius put on his favourite combat boots and all his favourite rings - he’s fiddling with them on his left hand, right one busy holding onto Moony’s.

A wall of pic ‘n’ mix takes up the back of Honeydukes. The bottom of it, which Remus is half-bent to peruse, is nothing but chocolate of more variants than Sirius has bothered to try in all the times he’s been here. There are the more common tastes, like peppermint mice and fudge flies, but they veer into obscure the further down he looks. Sure, butterbeer chocolate covered honeycomb sounds delicious, and firewhiskey cauldron cakes will probably be his new favourite, but he’d rather steer clear of the limited-edition chocolate frogs (now with more frog!).

Remus, ever the cocoa-based purist, grumbles at the lack of dark chocolate options but (despite his insistence that classic is best) gets himself a selection of all the new flavours the shop offers.

“Aren’t you getting anything, mo réalta?” Remus squeezes his fingers lightly, just enough to underline the question. He doesn’t even hesitate before picking out extra portions of Peter and James’ favourites – old as their friendship, the accounts of them sneaking through his stash.

“Not sure I fancy anything, to be honest.” Sirius likes spice with his sweet. Burning chilli in his chocolate, sharp salt in caramel. Something to offset the saccharine before it turns insipid. Remus, inconspicuous, with a glint of mischief in his eyes, looks around to make sure nobody is looking their way and raises a piece of something to Sirius’ lips, pushes it into his mouth – fingers unyielding until Sirius accepts.

Sirius bites. It’s an orange truffle, smooth, and inside of it the silkiness of vodka. He says nothing, makes no noise. Remus doesn’t break eye contact once as he chews through the chocolate, and must see something because he nods once, satisfied, and fills up a bag with the proffered sweet.

Stars explode on Sirius’ tongue for an age, each of them a new burst of zest. The alcohol was barely anything, but he is the kind of tipsy that makes the world precise, welcoming. It only lasts a few minutes until the enchantment ends, and immediately he wants to try it again.

“Good?” Remus asks on a laugh (crinkled eyes, happy mouth).

“Amazing.”

His Moony makes a little self-satisfied noise, all contentment. A squeeze of fingers. Picks out other things Sirius is pretty sure will be just to his taste, and there is something about being known, even in this – favourite flavours, such a simple thing – that makes Sirius think yes and more and thank you.

@moon-girl88 @digital-kam @tealeavesandtrash @sweetstarryskies @alltoounwellll @hunnybeemarie @hoje--aqui @annaliza999 @hihimissamericanbi @gipitothefrog @shamelesswolfstarshipper @a-pine-cone @cosmicweeds @cocoabutterandbooks @bloodoffire @residentdisaster @shamelesswolfstarshipper @ravenwordss @prancingpony42 @themoonlovesthestars

(let me know if you do/don’t want to be tagged in next parts

[dhampling]

butter gn!reader, 2.5k

Astarion and his legendary beauty. Old hunting ground turned safe haven. A halo of well-aged tavern dust floats atop his perfect head in the sunlight and you couldn’t be more in love if you tried.

-

you and the vampire spend a short gloaming sun discussing marriage outside the Elfsong.

word count: 2,538

crossposted on AO3 HERE

read the tags and decide your fate!

He’s softer this evening and the room is fuzzy.

The smell of richly slow-roasted meats & seasonal field greens slapped up high on battered dishes and lathered with fresh salted butter, topped with baby mint, with window-grown rosemary; with truffle salts and crushed peppercorns. Red wine gravy. The open kitchen and the overworked barkeep with sweat glistening at his cheekbone.

Chalices lift from sticky dark tables, sleeves animated in shades of burgundy & emerald moving yellowed, peeling playing cards to chests. Hands joined in prayers of gratitude and glory. Extra chairs for those held close. Laughter; lilting as the bounce of those who whirl around the open floor to the sound of the bards, folding over in some giddy stupor and barreling back to the bar for more.

You nurse a now-warm pint of Balor Ale with eyes closed, calm in empty contemplation as the city smells and sounds wash over you. A late summertide tapestry. 

Though people mill about the bar frenetically and the sounds from inside the Elfsong are as raucous as ever; it all knots together to form a sweet, almost melancholy ambience. 

Nearby merchants bellow late-day deals on (mildly) heat-foetid produce. Peals of children laughing as they bomb through the cobbles. 

Occasionally you’ll flit your lazy eyes open to find him amongst the throngs of people inside.

And in perfect view, he lounges on the back support of an open booth seat Karlach occupies. 

Other party members dot similarly around the bar area and the wine flows free as the Chionthar among them. Legs crossed one over the other and cool hands coloured in late amber - one to support, the other to hold the stem of an ‘aged’ Rosymorn Firewine which threatens to spill a little overside as his arm moves in conversation.

From this angle he’s captured beautifully in the gloaming tenday light and from his slightly straightened poise it’s clear he knows that you’re watching for him. 

A voyeur. 

He’d question your intent, right by your ear, in a sing-song voice so sinfully rich it’d go straight to your head; before chortling in that one silly way he knows never fails to make you smile and capturing you - his darling dearest - in a kiss for the ages. 

Astarion and his legendary beauty. Old hunting ground turned safe haven. A halo of well-aged tavern dust floats atop his perfect head in the sunlight and you couldn’t be more in love if you tried. 

-

You see he looks to you after what seems to have been a joke told by one of the group, eyes heavy lidded with joy and the worn creases by his eyes a little deeper by the day. Checking in. You join your friends when you want and are gratefully received on those many occasions, but you revere your time alone. He holds back because he doesn’t want to upset you in the slightest. 

Despite reiterating that he is forever welcome to join you in said alone time - and all puns entailing your ‘ alone time ’ whispered in a soft silken purr aside - you feel it in the way he speaks to you. 

A fruitfly hums by your ear. You swat it away and look to him once more. 

Astarion’s eyes are back on the group. 

He listens to stories beyond your earshot and smiles, lolling his pretty head back and dipping to sip from his glass often, the tips of his ears twitching ever so slightly as he does. You clock the sparkling glassware as opposed to the standard tavern-offering pewter chalice and grimace. A heavy bell rings from one of the gilded towers in the near distance.

There’s a cathedral near where you’re from - you remember your visits there as a young thing. The height of the tallest spire seemingly miles above your tiny skull. Ribbed vaulting and lancets. You’d marry him there, when he’d let you, in one of the smaller chapels just off the aged cloister walkway. 

The old stone reminiscent of so many who’d loved in all sorts of mangled, patchwork ways before you two were even a thought. 

You’d find a way for the sun to forgive him once this was over, so he could stand in the light of a stained rose window and feel faith in something the way those born into religion do. 

A reception bursting at the seams with old friends at the Elfsong. You could dance yourselves to the point of a tired stupor with reason enough to do so. A celebration. 

Travel across Toril and find a way for him to be able to stomach real food, maybe. Have a cake with marzipan and trifle with rich sherry-soaked sponge for the guests. For him.

His lips show the faintest touch of a wine singe as he looks from Wyll and across to Jaheira, squinting in the sun before standing to - presumably - head to the bar. 

-

You close your eyes again and somewhere in the middle distance, bells continue to ring. A dopey grin as light heeled footsteps approach.

“I think everyone was beginning to wonder if we’d had a tiff.” 

Astarion sniffs gently and sits - almost slumped - toward you before leaning in for the kiss.

His lips open lazily to meet yours over and over again, skimming over the back of your teeth with a tannin-stained tongue and all the urgency of a tenday rest. A cold thumb brushes over the apple of your newly freckled cheek. 

A carafe of freshly corked wine on the bench before you both, glassware and a plate with warm bread. The butter you’d smelled earlier. 

“Could’ve come to me sooner, lover.” You pose with a slow blink, holding his arm still at the wrist to keep his hand to your burning face. 

Foreheads meet. The sun beats in the back and the still early evening air is interrupted by the faint buzz of insects and far-off children.

“I know. I do. You just looked so very deep in thought. Our heroic leader.” He jokes, emphasising ‘heroic leader’ in a mock grizzled tone before his head leaves yours and bringing you into his torso with his arm around you. 

His stillness feels reverent. 

He doesn’t jostle, not a single gesture. You steadily pour two glasses of Firewine from the hefty carafe and sit back into him again. 

“I was thinking about you.” You say in earnest while moving to toy mindlessly with the hand draped over your shoulder.

“Hm?” 

A flicker - his eyes are on you, a familiar burn, a fire poker. He knows that he’s often the subject of your pondering (if your word is to be believed) and has spent days of his own considering what that could mean.

On nights where his tongue sours with centuries of fermented scorn and his bedroll soaks through with thick, cold sweat; your mind is a fertile meadow and he resides as naught but a simple buxom milkmaid - giving and dense and virile atop dry grassy knolls and by stony running rivers, rutting and riding and suckling and spilling with bare teeth brushing shining cheekbones and dirt smears on thighs. Dimples on cheeks. Eyes of green and silver, blunt teeth.

“You. I was thinking about you.”

Astarion looks into the oncoming twilight. He rests his head to the side on yours, then nestles in a little. A sigh.  

From that meadow however, there’s a house with a thatch roof in the far distance; in which he sits by a roaring fireplace in comfortable clothes of his own choice and you, bundling through the door with a basket of fresh produce to stew in hand. 

Those lips alone capable of crafting a euphoria akin to a godsly blessing on him. 

One bedroom; perhaps two. 

Maybe even three. 

“How so, my sweet?” He speaks with the familiar measure of a thousand yard stare.

He doesn’t make the voyeur joke you’d seen so vividly in your mind’s eye, nor does he collapse around you with both arms at either of your sides and his chin on your head; burying kisses into your hair and cackling maniacally. 

His laundry must’ve dried on the balcony in your party’s quarters during the blazing height of Flamerule. Ruffled shirt linen, crisp and earthy.

“You want to know how I was thinking about you?”

A soft intake of breath. 

“Yes.”

You shift a little to look to the Lower City further down the hills and pathways of Baldur’s Gate, the span of the Chionthar and its banks now lit with flaming torches. 

The racket continues inside the Elfsong with songs being sung; food arriving at waiting tables and being spooned, hot, into hungry, wet mouths. Sweat slickened palms joining in prayer. Yellowed cards downed and reshuffled, hands dealt. Bards plucking at lutes and lyres on streets and in parks just far enough away.

He looks to you as you roll your tongue around the inside of your cheek. Soft round eyes seeking permission to dream alongside you. 

‘I was picturing a wedding. Our wedding. In the cathedral back near home - I’m sure I’ve mentioned it before.”

Though it hasn’t been left to sit long enough to aerate, you take a long sip of wine and a cloying film of carnelian remains on your tongue. 

His eyes sharpen.

“You didn’t just propose to me, did you?’ 

He quirks a brow.

‘Really, darling? Here?’

He gestures to your surroundings while feigning disdain and reaching for the other glass. You begin to shake your head.

‘Come on now, little love. Not even a ring?”

Astarion drinks. His voice is lower. You roll your head back in loving laughter and wriggle yourself from his grasp, buttering a chunk of bread before popping it cleanly into your mouth.

”You want a ring?’ 

A sip. A smile.

‘Go nick one. You’re the rogue here.” You quip, chewing still on the crust and wiping your fingers on a scrap of cloth. 

He brings them to his lips and licks clean any trace of salty butter, kissing each pad of calloused flesh attentively before sipping from his glass. 

“Thieving my own engagement ring? How very sad.’

Spare hand gesturing once again to the tavern in such a blasé fashion it would make you cringe if you still put any doubt into his estimation of you.

‘This whole thing.”

His brows furrow in jest, the corner of his mouth pulling at a quick smirk. 

“Steal one for me, then.” You suckle at your wine, keeping the vessel close pressed to your lips lest their wavering seriousness give your smile away. Astarion studies you.

“You’d accept a stolen ring as a sign of promise? Of intent to marry?” He queries, though not sounding as airy - nor aghast - as he likely means to.

“Depends who stole it.”

He looks back to the city in the distance. Silence between the two of you.

“What were you picturing in that pretty head of yours? The wedding.”

His hands roll over one another nonchalantly as he says the word. Wedding. The glass sloshes. He’s toying on the precipice of serious, a scene he can’t quite play at comfortably yet.

“Oh no no no, my love. You’ll recoil. It was far too homely for your tastes.” You shake your head animatedly, waving your hands in emphasis. 

He leans in towards you; a sordid grin. He’s comfortable now. The warmth in which his shirt dried vividly present.

“Oh go on, darling. Make me squirm. Tell me every fang-rottingly flaccid detail and I’ll absolutely hate it, I promise.”

You choose to forget the face of endless night this evening. 

The anticipated fast approaching absence of the tadpole means - most likely - the rescinding of Astarion’s ability to walk in the sun, to bask under the stained glass rose in the chapel; or to waltz in a quiet midday embrace atop the Elfsong veranda.

“Can I trust you to be as absolutely appalled as I imagine you’ll be?” You whisper, saccharine in mock secrecy. 

“I swear it. Hand on undead heart.” 

He lingers barely above you, solemn; a voice of liquid gold. 

You let the silence hang.

“A chapel’

He winces.

‘Cold and draughty in some early morning moment - a choir elsewhere in the building, not close enough to be loud but not far enough to have their verses be wholly indiscernible in song.” 

“Go on.”

“Maybe a little austere in tone owing to the nature of the environment, but each moment feels anticipatory. A small - no, intimate - service, fast but…’

You tap your fingers on the dry wood of the bench. Trying to recall the exact sentiment.

‘Eager. Full of devotion so sickeningly true it literally fizzes below the surface of the flesh. Both of us.” 

Now you sip, content. Astarion looks into the distance 

There are no burdens pertaining to the ‘Absolute’. Life is being lived and the day feels as if it is ending only for another one - just the same - to rise in its place tomorrow. The idea of fighting and peril waits for the morning chimes. An unspoken agreement.

“I keep forgetting I can make choices like that now, truth be told. To commit myself to something with no intent other than that which I decide.”

He’s wistful. A little contemplative. Fingers tapping away.

“There’s no rush, my dove.’ 

Eyes back on you, hand reaching for yours.

‘Besides - for the trifle I pictured at the reception; we’d need to solve your little taste problem first before I’d dream of allowing such an indulgence to go to waste.”

Astarion coughs, a glint in his eye.

“You’re questioning my taste now?”

“Oh, absolutely. Look at your choice in partner.” 

He laughs softly.

“You're an insufferable thing.’

Your fingers & knapsack are both heavy already with stolen gems, as are those of every friend you’ve met along the road. Rings of onyx, quartz; once personal keepsakes & now your plunderer’s spoils. He’s like a magpie whilst rummaging through burlap sacks and rotten barrels. Token pieces without rhyme or reason.

He knows they’re worthless to sell on, anyway.

‘Who knows, though. I might like that. Once I know who I am again.”

Wobbles his head. Examines his pristine fingernails, buffing them softly against his blouse.

“Did you just accept a proposal that you fictionalised in the first place?” You gulp the last of your glass before refilling it swiftly.

“No. But now, you’ve got me thinking.”

“Pray tell?”

He looks at you, eyes now awash with mischief. 

“Though I absolutely adore the vision of you on your knees for me - you know I do pet, hush now - I also like the idea of claiming the pose for myself. In a way that’s meaningful for me.’

He sips. You remain in place, hushed.

‘I’m not a details man, my love.’

Eyes on you.

‘Don’t do it for me. I want to. Once we know where we are.”

You beam at him. Pinpointing the moment he turns from rogue to butter, a soft smile on his face. Sincere in the last of the sunshine.

You’re not hinting, and you’d never intend to. When - or if - you’ll tie the knot is as asking the length of a piece of string. 

The road which brought you to this very bench, however; has been one fraught with similar nonsensical questions.

[mncxbe]

ihihi a bit unsure if your requests are open (I don't think I've read that they're closed? But it couldve been an oversight on my part iiii dunno) but if they are, could I rq sfw prompt #5 w/ Denji (´▽｀*)?

ok so technically my prompts are closed cuz I don't have that much time to write but it's Denji i can't say no to him😳 i loved writing this hihi hope you like it♡

5– helping you cope with period cramps

"Denji— hurry up please"

Your voice was weak, barely above a pained whine, piercing through the silence of your apartment. The blond shut the entrance door, hastly discarding his shoes in the hallway. "I'm coming right away, Y/N. Hang in there"

You've always warned your boyfriend about how bad your periods could get, but he was lucky enough not to see you at your worst during the few months you've been dating. Well, not until now. When you texted him earlier that day to cancel your date because of your cramps he knew he had to help somehow.

So here he was, stumbling into your bedroom with a handful of boxes of sweets, sodas and a cat plushie. Denji's face dropped when he saw you curled up under the futon, your face scrunched up in pain as you struggled to breathe. "Hey, pretty, how are you?" he asked softly, placing the gifts he carried on the mattress next to you– chocolate truffles, biscuits dipped in vanilla cream, soft cookies, canned cake and cherry flavoured fizzy drinks.

"I didn't know what would help so I got all your favourites" he smiled shyly, pushing the pile of treats closer to you "And I hope you like the cat. The label says it's called Pusheen so... it was pretty cute. I thought you could hold it when you sleep when I'm not here."

God, he was so sweet. Although you've been dating for a while now, Denji was still nervous around you. He wanted everything to be perfect, more than anything, he wanted you to be happy and well; and knowing that there was no actual way for him to magically cure your cramps left him helpless. He babbled on and on about making you tea, running you a hot bath– should you even take a bath? he offered to go and buy more sweets, or maybe give you a massage? It could help. You felt your heart swell at his heartfelt words.

Reaching a hand out towards him, you ran your thumb over his thig, making Denji visibly tense up under your touch. His brown eyes peered down at you "Just come cuddle me, okay?" you smiled and he complied. The air in the room felt cold against your skin as he lifted the blanket and nestled himself next to you. You moved closer to him, hooking your leg over his thigh to pull yourself flush against him and Denji hugged your waist. His deft fingers slipped past the hem of your tshirt and rested on your lower back. Your skin felt warm, almost feverish as he started massaging your back. "Is this okay?" he hummed contently and you nodded, letting out a deep exhale.

The newfound closeness managed to soothe your pain a little– the comfort of his embrace, his warmth, that sweet, syrupy scent of his made it all better. Hell, you were oddly grateful your cramps were so bad this month. If they weren't, you wouldn't get to hold him like this. Lifting your head up from the crook of his neck, you trailed your lips along his jaw before pressing a quick kiss to the corner of his lips. Your boyfriend pouted, totally unsatisfied with the halfass kiss he got and you couldn't hold in your laughter. Sweet, he was so sweet.

So you kissed him again, your lips lingering above his as a content smile etched itself on your features "Thank you, Denji. It's perfect" And it was. He was the best boyfriend you could ever ask for.