#I'm still eating my danish.....

[lightgaswaterelectricityrent]

There's lap swim at the y until 11:45 which is one hour and 40 minutes from now. The y is 3 minutes away from my house. I wonder if I can get myself there in time

[damnprecious]

I cooked dinner from scratch for the first time in forever

[greaseonmymouth]

noget jeg ikk' tør sig' (2753 words) by nerakrose Chapters: 1/4 Fandom: Afdeling Q | Department Q (Movies) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Assad/Carl Mørck, Assad & Carl Mørck Characters: Carl Mørck, Assad (Afdeling Q), Rose Knudsen Additional Tags: Case Fic, There Was Only One Bed, Established Relationship, Secret Relationship, Coming Out, POV Alternating Summary:

Figuren på rygsækken havde langt sort hæklet hår i en fletning, nøjagtigt magen til fletningen på den unge kvinde der lå ved siden af i en pøl af sit eget blod.

Der er en seriemorder på Samsø. Carl og Assad undersøger sagen - problemet: det er Samsø festival, højsæson for turisme, og alle hoteller er fuldt booket. På nær et.

[ihatemakingusernames]

Here he was again, the big, fat, wobbling tub of lard approaching my coffee shop for the third time this week... It's Wednesday, he's here every day.

Though we do this every morning, I couldn't help but get excited by how wheezy he sounded as he approached the counter. Little beads of sweat were gathering on his forehead as he desperately tried to calm his embarrassingly loud breathing.

"The usual?" I asked, knowing his order by heart. He nodded his assent, still trying to catch his breath.

I prepared a large iced coffee, with heavy cream and extra caramel - fantasizing yet again about pouring in a caramel boost as well. I tossed a buttery chocolate croissant, two heavy, rich, cheese danishes, and two warm bacon, egg, and cheese sandwiches into a bag for him. Feeling flirtatious, I also tossed in a fresh chocolate chip cookie as well - on the house.

I handed the coffee and the very full bag over to him. I could see his plump face light up when he saw the cookie on top.

"Thanks, Audrey!" He said.

I smiled and winked at him. "Anything for my best customer!"

As I watched him waddle away, I couldn't help but imagine what it would be like shoving each delicious bite into his greedy mouth.

The rest of the day wore on until about an hour before closing time. The shop was slow and I was busying myself wiping countertops and packing up the leftover baked goods - I usually donated whatever was left at the end of the day, I hated seeing good food go to waste - but then I was greeted by a familiar huffing and puffing.

"Oh? Back again are we?" I asked, "I've only ever had the pleasure of seeing you once a day!"

"Audrey," he said through wheezing breaths "I just wanted to thank you for your kindness. Those extra goodies you've been adding to my order have really been delicious, but," he ducked his head to hide his blushing cheeks, "I'm going to have to cut back." "I've been starting to notice that I've put on a few pounds and if you keep giving me all the extras I can't help but eat them!" He placed a hand gently on his bulbous gut for emphasis.

I could feel my cheeks flush and a familiar heat of arousal warm my body. "I'm not sure what you mean, if anything you look like you've lost weight!" I lied.

"Oh come on, Audrey," he chuckled. "If you had given me any more free food, I'd almost think you wanted to see me fatter!"

I blushed even harder, if I wanted him to know my true intentions... And take any shot of fulfilling my fantasies... This was it.

"I do want to make you fatter." I muttered almost under my breath.

He cocked his head at me. "You what?"

It was now or never. "I do want to make you fatter," I repeated, a little louder. "I love seeing how much bigger you get week by week... It's kind of... Sexy."

"Y-you do??" He stammered in disbelief.

"I really do," I admitted. "I know it sounds strange but I take pride in the weight I've put on you." I dared to reach out and touch the fat belly I've been daydreaming about for ages. "It looks good on you."

He relaxed at my touch and said "I'd be lying if I said I didn't have a crush on the cute barista at the coffee shop, little did I know all I'd have to do to impress her was eat!"

I started moving my hands across his enormous gut, feeling every pound I'd put on it. With a crooked smile, I teasingly raised an eyebrow, "Well, you could always eat a little more?"

"I have been feeling a bit hungry," he said "I wonder if there's anywhere with a few good pastries?"

I jumped up to lock the door and close the blinds. "I think I can help with that!"

I had already packed four full bags of leftover pastries, I picked them up and brought them to a small table. "Here, sit," I commanded.

He did as he was told and sat down. The small bistro chair creaked beneath him, he seemed a bit apprehensive resting his full weight down, but that only served to make me hornier. I picked up two huge, glazed apple fritters and sat atop the table. He looked up at me as I pressed one to his mouth. He took a small, delicate bite.

"Really? You're going to tell me you've packed on this much weight taking such little bites?" I teased.

He smiled and began to eat with gusto. I had stuffed about a bag and a half of food into him before he leaned back in his chair and groaned. "Ugh, Audrey, I am stuffed! I don't know how much more I can..."

*CRACK*

The chair snapped beneath him and he spilled onto the ground.

"Oh my God, are you okay!?" I rushed to his side and he just started laughing, it took all my strength to help him heave himself off the ground. He said, "had I known how badly you wanted to feed me, I would have asked you to dinner months ago!"

I chuckled. "Well there's no time like the present, is there?"

"You want to go to dinner? Now??" He asked, glancing down at his stuffed gut and looking around at the mess.

"I thought you'd never ask!" I said, grabbing his hand and pulling him towards the door. The mess could wait, but I couldn't wait any longer.

[woso-dreamzzz]

Birthday

Hardersson x Child!Reader

Part of The Big Adventures Universe

Summary: It's your birthday

It's weird, you think, having Morsa with you on your birthday.

She's never been around for your birthday before. Things have always come up like last year when her plane got delayed and she had to sing you happy birthday through the phone while you sat in front of the cake with the Wolfsburg girls and Momma.

She made it up to you though with snacks and presents and big kisses and cuddles but you've never actually had Morsa at your birthday before, let alone your party.

You don't have friends your age but that doesn't matter because this year you have the Not-Wolfsburg girls at your house. They bring presents and party hats and lots and lots of unhealthy food that Momma is desperately trying to not let you see.

Morsa is running around like a chicken with its head on fire (you don't know what that means but Millie said it and you don't think she would lie to you). She's darting between the food table to you to the pile of presents and then back to you again.

Momma is running after her, muttering murderous words in Danish as she tries to move things around.

"Magda," She hisses as they both loop past you again," Stop adding more presents. Where did you even get these?!"

You're sitting on the floor, propped up on your knees as you play Connect Four with Guro and Jessie. You don't really understand the game but Jessie lets you put the counters where she tells you and that's enough for you.

Your pile of presents is sitting not too far away. You opened your presents from Mamma and Morsa this morning after Morsa let you drown your pancakes in syrup and spray a whole can of whipped cream over them.

It's gotten steadily bigger as everyone arrived for your birthday but Morsa keeps adding to it and you think it's annoying Momma a little bit.

"Yay!" You exclaim as you put the last counter in to get you and Jessie win. You throw your hands in the air as Jessie pulls you into a hug.

"Congrats, birthday girl!" Jessie says, cuddling you nice and tight.

You giggle before looking over her shoulder to Momma and Morsa arguing in hushed tones. Morsa's holding a party popper that Momma confiscates off her.

Morsa huffs in annoyance before peeling away to sit next to you and Jessie. You climb off Jessie's lap to crawl into Morsa's, who layers ticklish kisses all over your face.

It's still weird to have Morsa here on your birthday but it's a good weird. You like that she's giving you lots of affection. She never strays too far from you even when she lays out sugary snacks on the table.

She's got some little fairycakes on a plate that she hand feeds you as you sit in front of the tv watching Lady and the Tramp. It's a movie about puppies. You want a puppy when you're older but Momma and Morsa are still getting you settled in England so you don't think you'll get one for a long time.

"Morsa!" You giggle after she presses kisses onto your face after every bite.

"What?" She teases," I'm not doing anything!"

"Magda," Momma says as she approaches, crouching down to smile at you," You're going to ruin her appetite."

Morsa pouts. It's a bit of a weird expression on her face and it makes you laugh. "It's her birthday. She can eat whatever she wants."

You decide that you like Morsa being around on your birthday because she has good excuses like that. "Yeah, Momma," You say," It's my birthday!" You think for a moment and then gasp. "It's my birthday! Can I open my presents now?!"

Momma looks like she's going to refuse. Usually, you open her and Morsa's presents in the morning and then after dinner, you open presents from everyone else. It's not after dinner yet but a lot of the Not-Wolfsburg girls are yelling at Momma to let you open some of them.

Morsa's looking at her with big puppy dog eyes that she says you inherited from her and Momma sighs.

"Only a few," She says," Then we finish your movie, order dinner and then we open the rest."

"Thank you, Momma!" You bound to your feet and press a big kiss to her cheek before moving to your presents.

Millie crouches down next to you to help you open a few of them before Sam takes over. Momma says that sometimes Sam is like a big kid and you like that because she helps you rip open some of the wrapping paper with as much enthusiasm as you.

You get lots of new toys to play with and some new clothes too. You get some custom Not-Wolfsburg kits with almost everyone's number and name on which is okay and then a new Not-Wolfsburg scarf and hat that you like because it's only really the Not-Wolfsburg colours and the crest is very small so you can almost pretend that they're a normal hat and scarf.

You get some new footballs but your favourite present is the new Wolfsburg kit that Jessie got you. It's got your first name on the back with the number one and you cajole Morsa into helping you put it on then and there.

Momma laughs at the funny look on Morsa's face as she helps you change.

"Thank you, Jessie!" You cheer, barrelling into her arms and hugging her nice and tight.

"Oh, come on, Jessie!" Sam complains with a laugh," We're never going to get her to wear the Chelsea kit now!"

"It's her birthday," Jessie replies," She's allowed to wear what she wants."

"Yeah, Sam!" You stick your tongue out at her. "It's my birthday! I can wear what I want!" You sit down cross-legged on the floor and drag Sam's box closer to you.

She looks hopeful for a moment but you start pulling on the ribbon it was wrapped in and try to make a bracelet out of it, winding the ribbon around your wrist until it fit properly.

"Well," Momma laughs as she picks you up," What does this birthday girl want for dinner?"

You think for a moment before blurting out the name of your favourite fast food place (Millie and Sam took you for the first time without Momma's permission and you have been hooked ever since).

Momma makes a face and then you remind her that it's your birthday.

"Your usual, princesse?" Morsa asks, already loading the app to order.

"Yes, please!"

It takes a while for the food to get there because all of the Not-Wolfsburg girls order too but soon enough you're happily sitting on the sofa with your greasy food as the film plays on the tv.

Momma covers your eyes once you're done and you immediately know what's happening next. You wiggle impatiently until she uncovers you and everyone starts singing.

It's horribly off tune but you love it, eyes tracking Morsa as she walks in with the biggest cake you've ever seen with just the right number of candles for your age. It's obvious that Morsa didn't tell Momma how big it was because Momma looks shocked and a little bit annoyed at the size of it.

You love it though.

Having Morsa around for your birthday is the very best.

You blow out the candles and you think someone takes a picture of Momma and Morsa kissing your cheeks at the same time.

[nolita-fairytale]

don't you worry, there's still time | chef luca x fem!reader, feat. marcus brooks

summary: after losing his mother, marcus searches for joy and stillness in copenhagen. you and luca, who are more than happy to host, decide to take a big next step in your relationship. a oneshot from the world of 'burn your life down.'

warnings: fluff, light angst, grief, death, light smut, second person pov, swearing, danish inaccuracies, off-canon connection to the storyline of the bear.

word count: 5.8k

listen to: the playlist

a/n: wow, i missed this world! who is ready for the reveal of chef's restaurant name?! while i don't think i have the bandwidth to write another full series (nor a linear story to tell) i'm thinking of creating a second part to 'burn your life down' where we just get to drop in and see what they're up to. thoughts??

chef luca masterlist | full masterlist

After a tumultuous holiday season, it doesn’t take long for Sydney to realize that her friend is in need of a little help. A reprieve, she so kindly explained to both Marcus and Carmy when she’d proposed the idea. 

It was Sydney this time, who called Luca, knowing that she and Carmy would have to find something to do with Marcus. It wasn’t fair – that he’d lost his mom just before Thanksgiving – and they both agreed that Marcus needed to get out of dodge. Quick to act, Carmy set up a few stages in NYC for a week or so, which, while seemed to inspire Marcus, seemed to only plunge him further into a slump come Christmas. “I don’t know. I think we gotta send him on some kinda… eat, pray, love trip. The guy can only sulk on my couch for so long before I consider jumping out of the window,” Sydney says, her attempt to lighten the mood with humor still genuine. “It’s getting sad, Carm. Like… real fuckin’ sad.”

“You’re right. Uh… what about Copenhagen?” Carmy pitches with a shrug, because he knows what all consuming grief feels like. 

“Again?” she asks, uncertain of whether it’s the best choice that they could make. 

“Yeah,” Carmy shrugs in response. “Think he got a lot of it last time. Could be good for him to go back to somewhere familiar… work with Luca again. You don’t think it’s a-?”

“No I do! I just-,” Sydney hesitates, though she knows her business partner makes a good point. “Familiarity will be good for him. To be around people he can trust.”

“You want me to uh-,” Carmy begins to offer, figuring he’ll make the call. 

“Probably best if I explain the situation. Just ‘cause, you know, I know more of what’s going on… just send me his info and I’ll call later,” Sydney interjects. 

Carmy agrees with a curt nod before adding in:

“Uh… okay yeah. Yeah.”

*

You get plenty of time to prepare for Marcus’ visit, performing all kinds of fancy footwork to arrange a proper visit – a week’s worth of time spent staging and living in Copenhagen. When Luca finds out that the prolific houseboat, a chef retreat of sorts that’s always been an option for lodging, is booked for the week and a half that Marcus plans on visiting, you offer up your place without hesitation. 

The arrangement goes as follows: while Marcus stays at yours at no cost, you’ll stay with Luca for the duration of the time. 

This is how you find yourself at the massive Ikea on Dybbølsbro on a Saturday morning with Luca, in search of a set of fresh bed linens intended for guests. 

“I really should host more. And Astrid said she and Lina were planning a trip out here so… why not kill two birds with one stone?” you’d reasoned to your boyfriend, making a strong case for why you and Luca should make this little shopping trip. 

“What do you think of the blue?” Luca asks you, as you run your hand over a set of the display sheets, checking for softness. 

“Don’t know if the blue is what I’m going for. I was thinking of something warmer. Maybe a yellow or… I don’t know. I’ve kind of been into that trendy rust color as of late,” you reply with a shrug, moving onto the warmer colors. 

Luca chuckles and with a small shake of his head, he clarifies his previous questions with:

“No, I meant for me.”

“What do you mean?” you ask him curiously, his comment pulling all of your focus as you search his face for answers. “You just got new bedding.” 

And expensive ones too. 

But as your eyes follow his gaze, you realize that he’s not talking about sheets, focused on the XL Twin-sized duvets just above where the sheets messily fall along the shelf. 

“I was thinking…” Luca trails off, checking in with you before he continues, with “... maybe it’s time I get two duvets… you know… for us.” He takes a beat, and a step towards you, and you know you’ll never stand a chance against his boyish charm as one side of his mouth turns up into a smile. 

You’re no stranger to the Scandinavian duvet method – two twin duvets for one king sized bed – but it sounds like Luca’s suggestion is about way more than buying an extra duvet on this trip. 

“I want you to feel at home… at my place."

“I do,” you reply, almost instantly, a warmth spreading through your belly as you take a step towards him. 

“But I mean really… feel like it’s your home. Because it is. It could be. You know… if you want it to be,” Luca continues, this time with more insistence, a look of hopefulness in his deep blue eyes. 

“Are you… are you asking me to move in with you?” you manage to get out, your heart skipping a beat. 

“Why not? We could use this week to try it out,” he suggests so casually that you practically have to do a double take. “See how it goes while Marcus stays at your place?”

“Yeah I-... that sounds like a good plan, yeah,” you stammer out, the grin on your face undeniable as you nod enthusiastically in the middle of a goddamn furniture store. 

“Besides,” Luca says, clearing his throat as his tone changes to one that’s much more playful. “You’re an absolute blanket hog and a repeat offender at that.” Luca winks your way as you roll your eyes with a laugh in response. “This could prevent some of our silly little quarrels, don’t you think, love?” 

“Uh huh,” you sound, your face skeptical as you look his way again. “Preventative measures. Sure, babe.”

Luca chuckles before leaning down to press a chaste kiss to your lips, right then and there, in the Ikea bed linen section, the place you’ll now forever think of as the place your boyfriend asked you to move in with him.

Connection

When Marcus arrives in Copenhagen, you’ve arranged your home with the most comfort in mind, having already packed a week’s worth of things and left for Luca’s. You can only imagine what he must be going through, deciding that something like that – losing your mother – though inevitable, is your goddamn worst nightmare. 

“Marcus, 

Enjoy your stay and please reach out if you need anything. I can’t wait to meet you!”

…is the note that you leave him, along with a few morning pastries you picked up from your favorite baggeri across the street, and your number scribbled down at the bottom of the notepad. 

As Marcus arrives, his eyes drawn immediately to your note and gift, Marcus smiles to himself, noticing that you left a very nice looking bottle of wine on the counter as well. He’s moved by your generosity, considering you’ve never met, and the fact that you’re willing to take so much care, extend this much kindness to a stranger, causes a wave of softness to wash over him. 

Maybe, just maybe, he can find softness again – the last few months riddled with pain, grief, and numbness to get through the days. 

While he came here to work, encouraged by his friends that a change of scenery may do his broken heart some good, it’s the first time Marcus has had a chance to be still. His feelings of grief sit heavier here and it catches him off guard, uncertain that he’s quite ready to sit with them yet. He pushes aside the thought, focusing on exploring your home and unpacking his bags. Marcus knows how to stay busy – he’s become an expert at it by now – reminding himself that he’s got work at 5 am sharp tomorrow.

*

“A little too much, chef. Take it down by about 15 grams,” Luca directs, his voice even and sure as he inspects the balls of dough that Marcus currently shapes. 

“Yes, chef,” Marcus nods in understanding, plopping the ball of dough back on the scale to adjust the measurement. 

The two of them work like this for the rest of the morning, Luca treading carefully while keeping things professional, while Marcus buries himself in the work – something that feels good, safe, right. 

He’s missed this. While Marcus has one chef he works with directly at the restaurant, he’s the expert – the head patissier. He misses being surrounded by excellence, getting to be a student of someone who is just as driven, if not more, and inspired. It’s good, quiet, calm, yet there’s a focus and intensity in Luca’s kitchen that feels like a breath of fresh air. 

His stage trip to New York has been more of a mess than beneficial. Maybe it had been the chaos of the city, or the chaos of the chefs he was working with. Maybe it was the fact that Marcus, though hungry for a distraction, hadn’t quite been ready to walk directly into the line of fire yet.

As Marcus’ practiced hands move with the dough, there’s a newfound confidence in the way that he works that's not lost on Luca. Luca watches his friend carefully, pride swelling in his chest as his mentee makes the adjustment with ease and diligence.

“Can I join you?” Luca asks, gesturing towards Marcus' workstation. 

“‘Course, chef,” Marcus replies, his response short yet reverent. 

As Luca joins him, finding a space to the right of Marcus, he busies his hands with rolling each perfectly measured ball of dough into mini boules, ready to proof. The two of them work quietly, side by side, the air between them heavy with words unsaid. He can feel it – the weight that lays so heavily on Marcus' heart – but Luca doesn’t want to bring it up, uninterested in forcing the conversation. Especially about something so painful, something he knows that Marcus has barely begun working through. 

“Thanks, again. For uh… you know… letting me come work,” Marcus begins, momentarily checking in with Luca to gauge a reaction. 

“‘Course,” Luca replies, his answer instantaneous. “You’re welcome here any time, mate.” 

“Yeah?” Marcus asks, stealing a glance in Luca’s direction.

“Yeah,” Luca responds with a certain nod. 

“And uh… shit. I can’t thank your girlfriend enough for letting me crash at her place,” Marcus adds, as he works through his discomfort and overwhelm from the wave of feelings that begin to bubble up in his chest.

“You can thank her yourself on Saturday,” Luca brings up, excited over the fact that Marcus will not only be meeting his girlfriend, but staging at her restaurant too. “She’s really looking forward to meeting you.” 

Marcus nods slowly, his hands the only steady thing about him as he continues to focus on his work. 

“I just mean-, well, she didn’t have to-. ‘S not like either of you owed it to me or anything and I-. You guys just really came through…” Marcus trails off, wanting to make his gratitude clear. It means more to him that he can articulate so instead he settles for, “So thank you. Again.”

Luca shrugs with an aplomb about him as he returns with, “We got you, mate.” He pauses before continuing, fully aware that Marcus isn’t quite comfortable with the feelings that have presented themself in this moment. “And the way I see it, I wouldn’t have met her if it weren’t for you – for our conversation the last time you were here – so we really do owe you for it.”

This time Luca makes an effort to check in with Marcus, gauging his emotional capacity as he concludes with:

“But that’s not what any of this is about: debts, who owes who what. We were both more than happy to host you. That’s what mates are for.”

It’s not till the end of the next shift that it hits him, and Marcus finds himself sitting outside of the restaurant on a bench across the street. He’s not sure whether it’s the jet lag or the exhaustion of the 5 am start time in another time zone, but it hits him all at once, like a ton of bricks. Suddenly consumed with the feelings that he’s been trying his best to avoid, all he can do is pause, completely caught off guard by the strength of them. 

Quietly, Luca joins him, having spotted him on his way home, rerouting himself in Marcus’ direction instead. 

All he can think of are the words you’ve asked him, and he you, time and time again – the ones that cut right to the core of you each and every time – that show you how much he cares. 

“How’s your heart?” Luca asks Marcus, after a few minutes of sitting on the bench together in silence. 

And how is his heart? 

He’s not sure how to answer, considering it’s been a while since he’s really had a chance to check in, the crippling reality of this great loss is too much to bear alone. 

His heart is broken, shattered into an infinite amount of pieces. 

He, and his heart will never be the same again and he doesn’t know where or how he’ll ever put it back together. 

His heart is… lost, in desperate need of finding a soft place to land. 

Marcus takes a while to answer, racking his brain for any semblance of a cohesive answer. 

He waits. And then he waits. 

Until finally, he can answer. 

“I uh… don’t know. But I’m hoping this trip will help me figure that out.”

Creativity 

“do you remember the 21st night of september? love was changin' the minds of pretenders while chasin' the clouds away.” (earth, wind, and fire.)

Everything about the way you run your kitchen feels different than what he’s used to. 

It’s sure as hell different from his last stage trip to New York, Marcus thinks to himself.

With Carmy and Syd, working with them, there’s a buzz of chaos that runs underneath even the most organized and efficient service. It’s something integral to what they have, gives an edge to The Bear that seems to make it hum in all the right ways. Even with Luca, who comes from fine dining and Michelin-starred restaurants, there’s a quiet and determined focus – an intensity to his work – even without the undercurrent of chaos. 

But this. But you. 

Your kitchen somehow teeters the line of organized chaos and reckless play so well that Marcus understands why this works – why it’s efficient. 

Still, he watches as you and your staff dance – no, literally dance – around each other to the highly recognizable Earth, Wind, and Fire tune. Mathilde sings along while chopping chives for the brothy mushroom grain bowl, while, mid-phrase, manages to yell out a short command to a line cook in Danish. Out of the corner of his eye, Marcus catches Jesper working the dining room, while you finish plating two more dishes, ready to be walked out. 

It’s as if you find focus in the center of all the noise, somewhere between the electric energy between you, Mathilde, and your staff, and the feel-good vibes and homeyness of the restaurant that you’ve created. 

You had been more than welcoming when Marcus had walked through the doors of your restaurant, Kokuore, mere hours ago. You’d given him the tour, shown him which station he’d be working this evening, then warmly introduced him to your entire team before family meal started. Marcus can’t stop moving, too afraid to be still in fear of falling apart in the presence of how comforting you’ve been. 

And this? Your kitchen. It’s all joy, connection, and artistry. 

It’s not hard for him to see why Luca fell in love with you. 

“Marcus, feel free to take a break,” he hears you say, as you nod towards the dining room through the open kitchen. 

As Marcus follows your gesture, he notices that Luca’s arrived, remembering something about a standing Saturday date. 

“You sure, chef?” Marcus asks, looking to you for approval. 

“Positive,” you nod, reassuringly.

Marcus nods in return to confirm, before taking his apron off and making his way over to the dining room where Luca is exchanging a few words with Jesper. 

“Wassup, chef,” he greets his mentor. 

“You know, you can call me Luca,” Luca reminds him with a crooked smile. “At least when we’re off the clock.”

Marcus chuckles, “Uh… yeah alright. That’s gonna take some getting used to.” 

Luca chuckles in return, before Jesper shows them to his table, mentioning something about Americans being so afraid of fluidity. 

“She’s brilliant isn’t she?” Luca asks, in reference to you as his eyes catch yours from across the room. 

“Nah for real. Like… mad scientist vibes,” Marcus concurs with a smile. “She can throw down for sure.” He pauses as they sit down at Luca’s table. “So you come every Saturday night, huh?”

“When I can, yeah, which is… most Saturdays,” Luca replies honestly, before beginning to list why he’s kept up this routine. “But it’s nice. Keeps me inspired. I get to see my girl, walk her home at night which makes me feel better.” Luca leans back in his chair this time, crossing his arms over his chest. “And I never mind helping close down at the end of the night.”

Marcus hums in response before one of the waitstaff comes to their table, with a glass of wine in hand, on the house. They chat for a little longer before Marcus returns to the kitchen, his excitement for what you’re doing here filling him to the brim. 

As dinner service comes to an end, Marcus can’t help but notice the chemistry and how unique it is as you all work together in perfect harmony. There’s a warmth to it, something different, and he begins to understand why the name of the restaurant comes from the word, heart. 

Luca is quick to get up from his table, quickly finishing his glass of wine as he offers to help close down. The music volume goes from underscoring the buzz of a busy night of service, to the main attraction, as a motown throwbacks playlist begins to blare from the speakers. You all work quickly and efficiently, eager to close down, get home, and begin your weekends, but it’s when an old Otis Redding track that Luca decides to put a pause on the progress. 

“Dance with me, my love,” he says, offering his hand out to you as a huge gesture that earns a few looks and giggles from some of your staff. 

“Luca,” you begin to protest, looking around. 

“You can take three minutes,” he offers, exchanging a look with you this time. 

You nod, taking his hand as you agree with, “Okay.”

And as Luca wraps you up in his arms, engaging you in a slow dance to Otis Redding’s “That’s How Strong my Love is,” you chuckle, relaxing into him.

“Oh, get a room, you two!” Jesper calls out after you, teasingly. 

“She pretends – always puts up a fight – as if they don’t do this every single week,” Mathilde adds, as an explanation to Marcus. 

“Every week?” Marcus asks, a little surprised by both you and Luca’s willingness to pause and revel in a moment with each other, instead of just pushing through. 

“Yeah. Romantics, they are,” Jesper chimes in. 

Marcus smiles to himself. It’s a reminder of slowness – something he hasn’t let himself experience in a long time – and for just a moment, he lets himself settle into the feeling. 

*

You don’t even mind that you woke up an hour before your alarm the moment you feel Luca’s arms wrapped around you, and his lips against your soft skin. The low rumble of his voice resonates across your shoulders, sending chills down your spine as you arch into his hands, his arms wrapped around you. 

“I know we’re only a few days in… of our little trial,” Luca begins, the bass of his voice reverberating through your shoulder blade.

“Our living together trial?” you clarify with your ask, letting out a gasp as he nibbles on your shoulder gently. 

“Yeah. Just wonderin’ where your mind’s at,” Luca murmurs, his eager hands beginning to explore underneath the oversized shirt you put on before bed last night. 

“Well… I really like this,” you reply, the sound that comes out of your mouth somewhere between a giggle and a moan. 

“Hmmmm?” Luca sounds, innocently. 

“This… Waking up to you thing.”

“Oh yeah?” 

“Mhm.”

Luca’s name escapes your lips as his fingers gently begin to play with your nipples, his erection hard against your back as you begin to grind your hips back against. 

“And the access to round the clock sex is really a bonus,” you sigh, blissfully. 

“Oh yeah?” he asks you again, a large tatted hand slipping between your legs. 

“Yeah… I’d even be… interested in leaning into that part… right now,” you hiss in reply to his touch. “Considering you’re distracting me with sex.”

“Hmmmmm. ‘S not just it, love. Have I told you how grateful I am for what you’ve done for Marcus?” Luca asks, his mouth back on your neck. He presses your body against him, your back to his chest as he rocks his hips against yours. 

“Luca!” you protest, unable to focus on the conversation. 

“It’s your kindness. Your heart… I’m in awe of it,” he continues to praise you as the two of you begin to set a rhythm between your bodies. 

It’s all heat, and soft sighs of pleasure, and foreplay.

“Well, I know a little something about what he’s going through,” you answer breathlessly. You begin to impatiently push the hem of your shirt higher so that you can give Luca more access to your body. 

“That’s why I love you,” Luca murmurs into your skin, his hands all over you, his focus unbroken and your mind beginning to go blank. His hands are tearing your shirt over your head as he continues to praise you. “Your heart, the way you share it.”

“You helped me get there, baby,” you gasp, turning your head so that you can kiss your boyfriend. 

Instead of answering, Luca nods knowingly, before crashing his lips into yours. His mouth on yours feels like heaven, and you can’t believe that you ever fought your feelings for him. 

“Ah fuck it. Let’s do it. Let’s move in together,” you surrender to him, lost in the moment. 

“Yeah?” Luca pauses, pulling away, as if almost can’t believe what he’s hearing. 

“Yeah. I mean it, baby,” you nod, catching his gaze, certain in the way you answer. “I wanna wake up to you every morning.”

“Me too, my love,” Luca grins, before pressing his lips to yours again. “Now will you please let me fuck you, darling?”

“Fuck yes.”

Luca spends the next hour showing you just how grateful he is for you, while you in return, spend the next hour showing him just how sure you are about this decision. 

And you are sure. If mornings like this are a constant for the rest of your life, you think you’ll die a happy woman. 

You’ve found a home in him, and he, you. He’s the person you want to come home to at the end of the day. He’s the man that puts a smile on your face every single time he gets on his soapbox about how Beyonce is the performer of your lifetimes, and he is unequivocally the best, most unexpected thing in your life. 

Luca Davies, in almost a year of knowing him, and eight months of getting to love him, has somehow become your favorite person. 

By the time you and Luca are both showered and decent-for-company, you’ve begun your mise en place for brunch, completely content with the fact that you’re running a little behind schedule (and in all fairness, the sex was worth it – it’s always worth it). The smell of bacon sizzling away on your carbon steel fry pan fills the entire apartment, and you’re glad that Luca opened a window earlier. It’s not exactly window weather yet, but the air ventilation is a must when it comes to smoked meats.

While you play catch up with your brunch plan, Luca’s busy welcoming Marcus in, pouring him a cup of coffee using the extensive ten-step pour over he’s been fixated on ever since he purchased it, while they chat here and there about what else he’s explored in Denmark. 

“Been too busy working, to be honest but… I don’t know. I might wander around today… see what kind of stuff I can get into,” Marcus answers frankly with a shrug. 

“Ah, mate. We just had a walk at the Frederiksberg Gardens. Definitely something I’d recommend checking out,” Luca suggests, his eyes lighting up with excitement as he mentions it. 

Luca continues moving through his list of recommendations, Marcus chiming in with places and things he did the last time he was here, excited to spend a few days exploring the city instead of just working. 

“Wanderin’ around. I dunno. There’s something about it. ‘S good for the spirit, you know?” Luca concludes. 

“Yeah,” Marcus nods in agreement, before turning his attention over to the French toast you’re working on. “Okay, I see you. What is that? Mascarpone?”

“Yeah, good eye. It’s just something new I’m working on: a mascarpone stuffed french toast. We’re actually talking about extending our hours… maybe doing weekend brunch,” you answer thoroughly, as you dip the stuffed pieces of bread into their egg batter, pre-cook. 

“For real? That’s sick,” Marcus compliments, watching you carefully. “I mean… shit. You could have a whole brunch spot.”

“What do you mean?” you ask, looking up from your cutting board. 

“A Brunch spot,” Marcus repeats, simply, the excitement in his eyes at the new idea, evident. “Yeah, you know. Luca could do the morning pastries. You work your magic on the rest of the menu.”

“That’s a novel idea! What do you think, my love?” Luca asks, intrigue in his voice as he searches your face for a reaction. 

“I-,” you begin, looking from Luca to Marcus, then back to Luca again. “I… never thought about it like that.” You take a beat, eyeing Luca carefully. “We’ve never talked about going into business together.”

Marcus shrugs, before picking up his coffee mug, “Yo, it’s just a thought. I think you two would be unstoppable together.”

“Unstoppable, eh?” Luca asks, his eyes locked with yours. 

You only hum in response, raising a quirked eyebrow in Luca’s direction before adding:

“It’s certainly one hell of an idea, Marcus.”

Kokuore

Monday afternoon, you find yourself at your restaurant with Marcus Brooks, on a day off. 

“I might need a little extra help with something tomorrow. We’re closed tomorrow, but I want to get ahead on this special I’m working on. Could use the help of a pastry chef. What do you say?” you’d proposed to him, over one more espresso before he left. 

To Luca’s dismay, (“ you silly Americans just can’t enjoy a day of doing nothing,” he’d teased the two of you) Marcus had given you an unwavering yes, reassuring you that he was down to learn everything he possibly could from you, especially while he was here. 

And it’s true. You do need the help. But should he want someone to talk to – someone who gets it, even just a little bit – you want to offer him the space and the opportunity to do so.

“As a patissier, do you get tasked with pasta? At The Bear?” you ask Marcus, as you pleat a dumpling in hand with a speed that only comes with practice. 

“Nah,” Marcus sounds, his focus on the dumpling he’s pleating too. His concentration on getting the pleats right is reverent and unbroken, even as he answers your question. “Our head chef, Carmy, he uh… he comes from an Italian American family so when we’ve done a stuffed pasta… he usually takes the lead on that.” 

You nod in understanding, placing the dumpling you’ve just finished down on the full-sized sheet pan. The two of you sit across from each other, having pushed a few dining tables together as a makeshift workstation. 

“Think Luca’ll take over this kinda stuff when you guys open a restaurant together?” Marcus asks, lightheartedly pushing his agenda from yesterday. 

You laugh in response, your hands working quickly on yet another dumpling. 

“For someone with no skin in the game, you’re really insistent on this idea,” you tease him in return. 

“Don’t tell me you’ve never thought about it,” Marcus pushes right back, his tone still light. 

“I…” you sigh, trailing off as you pause your work for a moment. “You know, we just said we’d move in together. That and a restaurant? Feels fast.” 

“Oh shit.”

“Yeah.”

“Like… a few hours before you came over for brunch,” you elaborate, earning a whistle from Marcus. The two of you exchange a look, and a laugh, as you pick up another dumpling wrapper that you and Marcus rolled out together earlier. 

“It’s a good idea though,” you add, stealing a glance his way so that he knows that you’re serious. 

“Well, when you two inevitably do open a restaurant… I want ten percent,” Marcus jokes, earning another laugh from you. 

“Deal,” you agree with him. 

You and Marcus work like this, exchanging a few words, the conversation light, underscored by a softer acoustic soundtrack from one of your Spotify radio stations.

“So how’d you learn to cook like this?” Marcus asks you curiously. 

“Uh…” you hesitate, treading carefully as you realize this conversation could open a can of worms. 

“I don’t know how much Luca’s told you about me… but I was married… before him,” you begin, cautiously. “And… well, I learned a lot of this… a lot of traditional Japanese cooking from my mother-in-law.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. These are her dumplings actually – her recipe. She passed away last Fall and… well, it was important to me to celebrate her – to celebrate her life – by creating a few dishes for her,” you continue, and it’s as if all of the air has been sucked out of the room. “We’re bringing this one back as a special this month but um… yeah. I’m… still very much grieving and… it helps me remember her. Cooking her food helps me feel close to her, you know?”

“Yeah,” Marcus sighs, his heart heavy as he exhales. 

He waits a beat. 

And then another, having paused his work as he watches you pleat, head down, with expert hands. 

The silence between you and Marcus is full, heavy, connected by shared experience. You wait for Marcus to say something, and when he doesn’t, you decide to continue. 

“This restaurant… has so much of my heart in it: it’s got my love for Italian food from growing up in my best friend’s family’s restaurant, and it’s got my love for her – for Aiko – and everything she taught me,” you begin to explain. “And lately… it’s got a fresh perspective… inspired by the love I have with Luca, I think. Well, I know. Inspired by him… how this place brought us together.”

“The name itself is… totally made up, but means a lot to me. The Japanese word for heart is, kokoro, and the Italian word for heart is, cuore. Somehow an homage to my past… and was… Prophetic in so many ways too.” 

As Marcus listens, Luca’s previous question lingers in his head:

How’s your heart?

At the time he didn’t know how to answer, and after five days in Copenhagen – after five days of doing what he loves in a place that he loves – his heart is somehow so full, yet so broken all at once. He’s filled with deep sorrow and with the spark of creativity all at the same time, and he’s just not sure how to hold all of this feeling inside of him. 

Marcus waits a beat, opens his mouth, then lets the words fall out. 

“It’s evident. In your food,” is all he manages to say. “It’s got soul. It’s got heart. I-, it’s inspiring. That’s for sure.” 

“I made a dish. For Michael,” Marcus adds, his eyes on the dumpling he works on, but the guard on his heart beginning to fall away. “He was uh… well, he was the old owner of the restaurant, called The Beef back then. Carmy took over after he died. Felt right to honor him and his life, you know? When we reopened as The Bear.”

“Food is… it’s our art, you know?” you agree. “Sometimes it’s the only way I know how to express myself and… sometimes it’s just the thing that makes sense.”

“Yeah.”

A beat. 

“Maybe one day I can make one for my mom,” Marcus says, his voice stuck in his throat as he admits, “I don’t know if I’m ready yet. But I think… I think I’d like to eventually.” 

“Of course,” you reassure him gently. “You don’t have to be ready now. You don’t have to be ready ever. But when you are, your art will always be there.” 

“Thanks,” Marcus nods solemnly. 

You get up this time, realizing the sheet pan is full, and ready to be placed on the baker’s rack. As you return to the table with a new empty sheet pan, lined with parchment paper, Marcus finally asks you, his eyes soft, the heartbreak in them present. 

“How’d you get through? You know. Losing her? Your mother-in-law?” 

You return to your chair with a heavy sigh. 

“I’ll let you know when I do,” you answer, letting up a soft chuckle. “It helps to have good people and… from what Luca’s told me, you do. But… I had to let ‘em in, let ‘em help me. Let ‘em love me. And in all honesty, most days I’m still just… taking it day by day.” 

“Yeah, I-. I do. I got some really good people. Back home,” Marcus drags out slowly. 

“Then that’s all that matters. Your people and your heart. The rest… you just-,” you start. 

“Take day by day?” Marcus interjects, pausing to catch your eyes. 

You and Marcus exchange a knowing look, the recognition of each others’ pain is met with empathy. 

“Yeah. I think that's all we can do.”

By the end of your work session with Marcus, you’re ready to head home so that you can spend the rest of the day with Luca. 

“What’re you gonna do with the rest of your day?” you ask Marcus, curiously. 

With a sigh, and then a shrug, and a heart that feels just a little lighter, he answers with:

“Think I might wander around a bit. Someone once told me it’s good for the spirit.”

[george-weasleys-girl]

Begin Again - Pt.1

Season of Love Event

Friends to Lovers to Friends to Lovers Again

*I didn't intend on this turning out as long as it did, but here we are. I'm not certain when the next part will be out. I'd like to say it'll be before the end of the week, but it'll more likely be a couple of weeks. Or possibly in March.

George Weasley x fem!reader

Summary: Six years after the war, a familiar face shows up on Diagon Alley

Warnings: mention of underage sex

~•~

Y/N sank back into the oversized, velvety chair. It'd been a long time since she had traversed the cobblestones of Diagon Alley. Not since before the second Wizarding War.

So much had changed. The little coffee shop she sat in used to be... what was it? A shoe shop? She couldn't quite remember. Well, whatever it had been, it certainly wasn't this cozy little place. She sighed and glanced out the window, her eyes drifting back over to the now world-famous joke shop, debating for the umpteenth time since she set foot back in London two days ago, whether or not to pay a visit.

"Here you go, ma'am," the server's voice broke through her ruminations.

Y/N turned and smiled, happy to see that her order of a double shot of espresso and a giant cinnamon roll had arrived. It wasn't the healthiest of breakfasts, she had to admit, but she needed something to jolt her awake.

"Anything else I can get you?" The server asked, eyeballing the stack of muggle tabloids with a mixture of curiosity and disdain.

"Nothing at the moment, thank you," Y/N smiled, ignoring the way he looked down his nose at her. Let him think whatever he wants. She was long past the point of caring what other people thought of her. She had far more important things to occupy her mind.

Like this absolutely divine cup of espresso sitting before her.

She enhaled the heavenly aroma before taking a sip. "Mmm, caffeine, my friend," she mumbled, smirking at her own silliness.

The coffee hit her veins almost immediately. Y/N pulled the Weekly World News from the top of her pile and dug into her morning routine. She scanned the pages, snorting at a couple of the more ridiculous stories. She knew, just as much as any rational person (magical or not), that only the very gullible believed this nonsense.

Except... as she'd come to learn long ago, it wasn't all nonsense. In amongst all the batboys and alien love slaves there was hidden a sliver of truth. And if you knew what you were looking for, you'd find it.

~•~

George shuffled into the coffee shop. He hadn't had a decent night's rest in weeks. April 1 had only just passed, and May was barreling toward him like a rogue bludger. As it did every year since the war.

"Morning, Mr. Weasley."

The redhead pasted on a smile. "How are ya, Albert?" He greeted the barista.

"Oh, fine, fine," Albert grinned. "What'll you have?"

"The usual," George leaned over to look at the pastries. "And a cherry danish."

The barista nodded. "Comin' right up."

"Thanks," the redhead sighed. He didn't particularly like cherry danishes, but Fred loved them. Every year he was gone, his lost twin seemed to drift further and further away from him. George hoped the pastry, as small a thing as it was, would bring a little of Fred back to him.

He turned around to take in the busy cafe, debating whether to eat here or take his meager breakfast back to the shop when he spotted a familiar face. George's heart skipped a beat. Could it be? After all this time? It was a face that once lit up his life, that he once loved to kiss, that he once sought out in every crowd.

And, admittedly, still did.

Y/N Y/L/N. Beautiful, funny, intelligent, and, once upon a time, his.

She was his first everything.

First best friend outside of Fred.

First crush.

First girlfriend.

First kiss.

And after the Yule Ball, his first lover.

He'd intended to propose to her once they'd graduated, but something happened in their seventh year. Maybe it was because of all the stress from everything that was happening then, or maybe they were just too immature, but they started drifting apart. Arguing more. Lots more. They soon realized that they were fighting more than not and decided to take a break and try going back to being friends.

And they did try. But everyone knows how those things go. By the time he and Fred made their dramatic exit from Hogwarts, they were barely speaking.

Not because they were angry. They just didn't know what to say to each other anymore. Everything had become weird.

After that, she visited the shop a few times. The last he saw her, she'd stopped by the store to say goodbye. She'd taken a new job and was moving to Italy.

He'd wished her well, kissed her cheek, and then she was gone.

"Here ya go, Mr. Weasley," Albert's cheerful voice shook George from his reverie. "That'll be three galleons even."

George paid and then made his way to her table. "Y/N?"

Y/N looked up, and the smile that spread across her face lit up the whole room. She saw the boy she once loved in the man standing before her. A boy she once thought she might've eventually married.

Her pulse quickened in spite of herself. "George!"

The years suddenly fell away, and without thinking, she stood to embrace him. He met her halfway, his long arms wrapping around her, pulling her in close.

~•~

"Believe it or not, I use them for work." She admitted when George asked about the stack of tabloids. "And, they're good for a few laughs."

George eyed the stack. "Looks like you need a lot of laughs."

Y/N shrugged. "Life hasn't always been kind."

"I know what you mean," George looked down. "My brother, my twin, Fred, you remember him? He, um, he ...

Six years on, and he still couldn't say the words.

She reached out and touched his hand. "I know. I-I heard. I'm so sorry, George." Y/N said. "I wanted to write, but I... " Words failed her.

"It's alright," he gave her a sad smile. "It's not like I was in any shape to read letters. Truthfully, I wasn't in shape to do much of anything for a while."

Y/N squeezed his hand. She didn't have any siblings, much less a twin. So, she could only imagine the pain he must've endured. "All the same, I should've..."

"No, love, please," he interrupted, taking her hand in both of his. "Don't torture yourself with 'should'ves.' Godric knows I've done enough of that these past few years. And it won't change the past. It only makes things... hurt more." George looked away for a few moments. When he turned back, his smile had returned. "So tell me about this job that requires you to read this crazy stuff." George nodded toward the tabloids.

~•~

"So, your telling me there are other worlds?" George looked incredulous. "And things sometimes travel here through holes in the... membrane between the worlds?"

Y/N nodded.

"And these tabloids occasionally report it."

"Surprisingly often, actually," Y/N grinned.

George opened his mouth, then closed it again. "What's your job in all this?" He said after a few moments. "Do you hunt down whatever comes through?"

"Oh, no," Y/N took a nibble from her cinnamon roll. "I'm a seamstress."

"A seamstress?" George was about to take a sip of coffee but froze at her words.

"I mend the holes," she clarified. "Sew them back together. With magic, of course."

George stared at her for several seconds before speaking again.

"So... um..." he began, still trying to wrap his brain around the whole concept. "Do these holes just appear randomly or what?"

Y/N took a deep breath. "Ok, so... there are three types of openings between the worlds. Holes, gateways, and rips. Holes are where reality got too thin, and things wander through, usually unintentionally. The second are gateways. A hole formed, and instead of repairing it, structures were built to allow easier passage and communication. These are heavily guarded and highly regulated." She paused to take a sip of her espresso. "And then there are rips," she continued. "This is when something decides it wants to get through right now. Damn the rules."

"Wow..." George leaned back in his chair. "What happens when something rips through?"

"There are people whose job is to, well, put things back where they belong."

George nodded, thoughtful. Then something occurred to him. "Why haven't I heard about this before?"

"Used to be top-secret," she shrugged. "Only the highest echelons of the government knew. But then a rip opened in the US president's oval office. No one was there at the time, thank Godric. But, long story short, word of our organization leaked, and then, after a fair bit of chaos, a bunch of stuff got declassified. Now here I am telling you about it."

"Oh, that's good then, you know, that things worked out, and you're, you know, here," George stammered. "I'm glad you're here."

"Me too," Y/N smiled, reaching for his hand again.

"So, um, how long are you back for?" George asked.

"Permanently."

George's face lit up. "Really?"

"Yep," Y/N smiled wide, matching his enthusiasm. "They're expanding the London headquarters. I'll be retiring from the field next month to head the new training program."

"That's fantastic!" George was practically bouncing in his seat. "I guess we'll be seeing more of each other then?"

"I certainly hope so."

~•~

That night, George poured himself a shot of whiskey as he always did after work. But rather than settling down for the night, he paced the apartment, trying to rid himself of his restless energy.

He'd been bouncing around the store all day like a giddy schoolgirl. It was a far cry from his usual fake smiles and general mopiness this time of year, and, of course, Ron noticed.

He finally cornered his older brother during the afternoon lull. "Mate, are you alright? You've been acting... odd." Ron looked genuinely worried.

George bristled at the question at first, but then he remembered the date.

Oh.

The reminder deflated him a little. "Yeah. Surprisingly, I am okay. I-I ran into Y/N at breakfast."

Ron blinked. Of all the things his brother might've said, that was the last thing he expected. "Y/N? Y/N Y/L/N?"

"The one and only."

"Ok, wow," Ron mused. "Haven't seen her in forever. How long's it been?"

"Too long," George said, walking back to the sales floor.

Ron eyed him warily. He'd lost count as to how many ill-fated whirlwind romances his brother had had since Fred's passing. He hoped this wouldn't lead to another one. "So, um, how is she?"

"She's great," George said. "Moving back to London, actually."

"Oh, yeah? So, I take it you guys are meeting up again?" Ron probed.

"Of course. We're meeting up in a couple of days to go apartment hunting."

Ron screeched to a halt. "You're WHAT?!"

George stopped, eyebrows scrunched together. "Apartment hunting... she's just moved back and needs a place to live. I know the area better than her and thought I'd help her out. W-was that wrong?" He finished, suddenly uncertain of himself.

His younger brother's shoulders relaxed. "No, no. Not at all. I just thought for a second you two were... you know... moving in together."

"What? No, it's nothing like that. Yet," George said, keeping the last bit silent.

"Well, that's good," Ron replied, relief evident in his voice. "Just... take it slow, ok? Get to know each other again before you jump into anything."

George only nodded.

~•~

A disgruntled rumble from his stomach alerted George that he hadn't eaten since lunch. He glanced out the window to the warm glow emanating from The Leaky Cauldron. Dinner out, he decided and grabbed his coat. Maybe a walk would do him good. And he could chat with the bartender while he ate.

George had never gotten used to being alone. Not for very long anyway. It was why he jumped from one woman to the next. Anything to keep his loneliness at bay.

Most of them were friends with benefits, though there was the occasional girlfriend here and there. But in the end, he ended up feeling lonelier with them than without. And so he'd move on to the next one, endlessly searching for that deep, soulful connection.

Like he'd had with Fred.

Like he'd had with Y/N.

George froze mid-step, a thought suddenly occurring to him. Maybe the reason he'd never had a successful relationship was because somewhere in the dark crevices of his heart, he was still holding out for the one he'd never stopped loving.

He was holding out for Y/N.

~•~

@milivanili99 @fancy-pantaloons @turvi @zvummyummy @xmjthewitchx @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @georgie-weasley @samberriejams @nighttimemoonlover @jsjcue @wzrd-wheezes @mrsgweasley @hufflepuffie @morally-grey-obsessed @fredweasleyyyyy @anvaaryn @samshifts @asuperconfusedgirl @hmisa11 @superduckmilkshake @mysticsheepsoul @gemofthenight @1Lellykins @junerprsh @wolfkill16 @kaysau2510 @qmylovexoxo @planetkt @costheticbabe

@smallsweetvanillabean @hanne-montana @greenapplegrass @el-de-phi @lizzytrees @spididerman @yoursarahg @marvelgirlstories @theimpossible-girl-whowaited @ceehance @Havenater1920 @jelloangela @charmedfandomgal @loca4moony @whotfskai @netflix-addict

@moonatician @lunacurlclaw @sierraluvzz @min-aaa @now-that-we-dontalk @lillisummers @lovesanimals0000

[wordsbyrian]

No Coat - Hardersson x Kid!Reader

Summary: Kid!R has a very full day but it always comes back to not wanting to wear a coat.

A/N: This is very dialogue heavy and if it seems like a hot mess its because I tried to think like a 3-year-old. Also, how many conversations do you think I've had with my mother about weather appropriate clothing?

Game day is your favorite day of the week.

Mostly because it means that you get to lay in bed for a long time and you don’t have to get dressed and go to nursery or your babysitter’s house.

And sometimes, if you’re really lucky like you seemed to be this morning, you get to have a cuddle with your moms in the big bed.

Grabbing your stuffed moose, Älg, you roll out of bed and make your way down the hall to your mothers’ room.

Opening the door, you aren’t surprised when your Danish mother lifts her head and watches you make your way to her side of the bed.

“What are you doing out of bed lille skat,” your mamma asks you.

“I want to lay in the big bed,” you tell her softly.

She doesn’t respond, just picks you up and pulls you into the bed, where you make yourself comfortable immediately.

The last thing you hear before you drift off is your mamma mumbling about how cuddly you’re being while stroking hair.

You’re practically dead to the world after that, only stirring when you get passed from one set of arms to a different but still familiar pair.

Shortly after that, you’re awoken by a voice asking if you’re ready to wake up and start your day yet.

“Nej,” you whine, trying to bury yourself further within the blankets.

“Nej,” the voice, which your slightly more awake brain recognizes as your Morsa, says in fake shock, “But our friend Älg is awake and ready to eat breakfast. We wouldn’t want him to starve, would we?”

Peeking your head from under the blanket, you see your Swedish mother looking at you and holding your favored stuffed animal.

“If Älg is hungry, I guess we can get out of bed,” you say, sitting up.

“Good choice, älskling,” Morsa says before she gets up and carries you to the kitchen for breakfast.

“Morsan,” you say, once you’ve reached the kitchen and she’s placed you in your seat.

“Yes.”

“Sun’s out today, don’t need to wear my coat,” you tell her pointing out the kitchen window.

That gets a laugh from both your mothers, Mamma placing a plate in front of you while ruffling your hair.

“Sorry skat, it’s still February, the sun is tricking you,” she says, making you pout.

Breakfast passes smoothly for you, in that you’re more focused on what’s on your plate than whatever conversation your parents are having.

When you’re done, and your face and hands more than thoroughly covered with food, your mamma takes you from the table to help you get ready for the day.

It goes well until it comes time to get dressed.

“What jersey do you want to wear today, Y/N/N,” Mamma asks, opening your drawer.

“Jessie?”

“Your Jessie jersey is short-sleeved,” she tells you, “If you wear that you need to wear both a hoodie and your coat.”

“No. No coat,” you say, eyes already beginning to fill with tears.

“Yes, my love, you have to wear a coat,” Mamma says again, “No matter what kit you choose, you’ll be wearing a coat.”

“No, no, no,” you wail, tears starting to fall, “No coat.”

Before you can work yourself into a full tantrum, you feel your mamma take your hands in hers.

“Listen to me, Y/N,” she says firmly, “You and I both know that screaming and crying is not the way to get what you want, I’m sorry you're upset so I'm going to give you a moment to calm down, and then we can try again.”

Taking a deep breath, you roughly wipe the tears from your face, grimacing when your mamma stops you only to do it with a wet wipe instead.

“Finished,” she asks, only continuing when you nod, “Alright. Now we can go back and forth all day about what you’re going to wear but what’s not up for debate is a coat, understand?”

“Yes, Mamma.”

“Good, so let’s go back to jerseys.”

“Wear Jessie’s?”

“We can make that happen,” Mamma says, “But if you wear just that, you’ll get cold, so you need to wear something warm.”

“Won’t get cold, promise.”

“I know you think that but Mamma has been here for a long time,” she says slowly, “So you have to trust me on this one. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Great, so we have a couple of options: you can wear a long sleeve shirt or a hoodie as your extra layer,” Mamma explains, “If you wear the hoodie you can wear it underneath your jersey so that everyone can still see your jersey when we get to Kingsmeadow.”

“Long sleeves,” you say simply.

“Good choice, skat. Now, will you be wearing a hat as well?”

“Uhm,” you say thinking about it.

Then you hear your morsa shout from the hallway.

“That was rhetorical, Y/N/N,” she calls out.

“Don’t know what that means,” you yell back, then in a much softer voice, “Mamma, what does that mean?”

“It means that the question doesn’t need an answer,” she tells you, tugging the long sleeve shirt over your head.

“Oh, that’s stupid.”

“You’re not wrong but let’s try to use kind words.”

“Okay.”

With that crisis averted, the rest of the time spent getting ready goes well.

Even the part where your Morsa forces a hat onto your head and your coat onto your body happens without much fuss but that’s mostly because your mini-tantrum has worn you out.

By the time you’re awake enough to protest, she’s carrying you through the players' entrance and into the locker room.

The second the door closes behind your small family, you’re instantly taken from you Morsa’s arms, the culprit none other than Zeçira.

“Everyone, Magda and Pernille brought my good luck charm,” she announces, carrying you to her locker, “Did you wear my jersey today, Y/N/N?”

“No,” you tell her, “Wore it last time. Wearing Jessie’s today.”

“Oh so you’re Fleming’s good luck charm today,” the Swedish goalkeeper says, getting back up and placing you in the space between Jessie and Niamh Charles.

Luckily for you, the two young players are more than happy to keep you company in the spare that they have before they need to head out for warm-ups.

“Lose the battle again today, Y/N/N,” Niamh says, helping you take off your coat.

“I don’t like it,” you tell her pouting, “Don’t like the hat either.”

“Yea mate, we know.”

“It’s not all bad though,” Jessie says, “If you weren’t wearing a hat I couldn’t do this.” She pulls your hat down further so that it covers your eyes. “Much better.”

Pushing the hat back away from your eyes, you begin to grow frustrated when Niamh reaches over and pulls it down again.

“Cut it out,” you whine, looking up at her.

“Yea Niamh, cut it out,” Jessie says, trying not to show her smile.

“Sorry, Y/N/N,” Niamh says, “I know you like being a living ice cube.”

“It’s okay,” you say, forgiving her easily, “We can play still after the game.”

“Sounds like a plan, mate. I bet you and me can score tons of goals on Zeçira.”

“And Jessie too,” you say, unwilling to leave your favorite Chelsea player out of the planned fun.

“Yes, Jessie too. Maybe Alsu will want to play as well.”

“Of course, I want to play,” the Russian woman shouts from across the room.

You smile widely, glad that all four of your favorite Chelsea players have agreed to play with you after the game.

A few minutes later, Emma comes into the locker room to give her pregame talk and send the players to warm up, so you go around giving your customary prematch high-5, making sure to pause and give both your moms a cuddle.

Once in the stands with your babysitter, time passes quickly as she lets you do and eat whatever you want. By the time the game is over, you’ve had a hotdog, a cheeseburger, some chips, and a soda.

It’s safe to say that you go a little overboard with the freedom your babysitter allows.

At the end of the match, you’re allowed on the field and while you do take a moment to congratulate your parents on their performance, it takes less than a minute before you wiggle away and run toward where Jessie and Niamh are kicking around a ball.

When you reach the players you waste no time, stealing the ball away and sprinting towards the goal as fast as your little legs will carry you. You’re laughing gleefully as Jessie and Niamh, and Alsu when she spots you, all put on a show of trying to stop you.

Once you get inside the 6-yard box, you come face to face with Zeçira who dramatically dives the wrong way when you shoot. When it crosses the line, you can hear the fans that remain break out into raucous applause.

You and the four footballers continue your mini-game for a while with them allowing you to take up different roles on the field. Your smile only grows wider each time you steal the ball or stop a goal after Zeçira gives you her gloves.

Eventually, after your third attempt to take off your hat and coat, the players decide that enough is enough and Jessie carries you back to the locker room.

Unfortunately, neither of your moms are to be spotted in the changing room and although you can hear the showers running, you aren’t willing to check there and instead wander back out of the room and down the hall to where the press conferences are held.

After taking off your outer layers of course.

Opening the door, you quietly make your way to the front of the room and the table where Coach Emma and your Morsa are sitting answering questions.

When you get there, you stand silently between the two women, head barely peeking out over the top of the table, patiently waiting for Morsa to finish speaking.

When she does, you make your presence known by climbing into her lap.

As you try to make yourself comfortable, you can hear the soft laughter of the reporters and you’re pretty sure you hear Emma say something about being joined by the youngest member of the squad.

None of that matters to you though.

You’re more than content to sit with your head on your mother’s chest, zoning out as she answers the boring questions.

You stay like that for a while, feeling the vibrations of her voice through her chest before you notice she’s turned her attention to you.

“Are you going to answer the question Y/N/N,” she asks when you make eye contact with her.

When you stare at her in confusion, she repeats the question.

“They want to know who your favorite player is.” She then helps you shift on her lap so that you can speak into the microphone. “Go on.”

Leaning forward you go to speak into the mic pausing for a second to look at your Morsa, when she nods her approval you continue.

“My favorite player is Rolfö,” you say.

“It’s not one of your mummies,” one of the reporters asks.

You shake your head, leaning back once more, feeling your mother laugh again but you tune back out before you hear if she says anything.

The memories you have of the rest of the press conference are blurry, you hadn’t been paying attention and you really had only come in here because you wanted to be held anyway.

Which is why no one should be surprised when you fall asleep despite all the bright lights shining in your face.

You wake up slightly in the locker room when your mamma tries to put your coat on you. You know it’s her because only she would try something like this.

So without opening your eyes you begin to whine in protest, “Nej, Mamma, jag vill inte ha jackan på mig.”

You're pretty sure that your protests are ignored, especially since you fall back asleep almost instantly.

[distorted59]

I need Danish Gremlin Lars headcanons so bad right now plsssss

Hi!!! first of all, I'm sorry it took a little while, hope you enjoy!! <3 and again, thanks for asking!

Loves it when you play with his hands! we all know this man has incredible hands, esp with all that tape around his fingers, lord have mercy.

Would absolutely love to teach you to play the drums

He WOULD tease you with his drumsticks, i fucking know it, this man is a kinky mf.

Like, he would slide one over the inside of your thigh and the other one over your neck and breasts. 

THE TAPE AROUND HIS FINGERS STAYS ON!!! (need i say more)

He’d whisper sweet things to you in Danish, whenever he’s proud of you or when he tells you he loves you. 

ALSO, during sex???? and he’d go all crazy cus it all just feels so, so good???

I feel like he’s quite dominant, maybe in his early years (‘81-‘84) he’d be a little bendable (not literally, but who knows?). But, in the 90’s he’d be FERAL.

Like I said earlier, I feel like he’s a kinky mf. Exhibitionism, he likes to get freaky in public. He loves getting praised, he wants to hear how good he is at something. Pleasing you, playing drums, cooking, mowing the fucking lawn. He doesn’t mind, please fulfill his ego.

Small dick, but the energy is BIG.

Has stamina for DAYZZZZ!!!

He would fuck you on his drumset, i can just imagine him eating you out and hitting the kickdrum while doing so. (IM SORRY I HAD TO)

I feel like early 80’s Lars is a real sweetheart, maybe still a little shy but definitely runs his mouth. 90’s Lars has no fucking filter, he’s cocky, arrogant, gets whatever he wants and takes whatever he wants. 

Loves to just be around you, showing you he’s here. You’d watch him and the boys rehearse and he would squeeze your hand or your thigh, flashing you small smiles and giving you kisses here and there. 

“You still with us, darling?” He squeezes your thigh, smiling with those adorable dimples of his. 

"Hm?" You dozed off a little, but his fingers sliding to the inside of your thigh keep you very awake. 

“Are you enjoying watching us, babe?” Lars grins.

“Oh, yeah.” You nod. “You’re doing great, baby.” 

“You think so?” He smirks proudly, his fingers tracing circles over your soft skin. “You like watching me play?” 

“Mhm.” You hum and smile down at his hand. Already knowing what you two will be doing later. 

He would take you to Denmark, showing you his hometown and places he went to as a kid. His childhood home (which is now a fertility clinic I believe, lol) and his school, where he played tennis as a boy. 

He loves art so he would take you on little museum trips and years later to these auctions where he would sell the pieces from his home for millions of dollars, (SKOM docu).

Loves bragging to people about you. “My girl is great, she’s the prettiest woman i know.” and "Well, my girl loves playing the drums with me." <3

You know those bandanas he wore in the 80’s? Yeah, tying your wrists up with them or putting it in your mouth to prevent you from moaning too loud <3.

He is a little fruity tho. (so threesome with Kirk maybe? yes/no?)

Load/Reload era, this man wore some heavy eyeliner. I can see him asking you for a little help.

He’s in the bathroom, trying to figure out what the fuck to do here.

“Babe, could you help me out here?” He holds up the pencil and gives you puppy dog eyes. 

“With what, baby?” you walk into the bathroom and look at him, slight confusion written over your face. “Is that my eyeliner?” 

“It’s for the new album!” He protests. “We got a new look, ya know?”

“What, cutting your hair wasn’t enough?” You tease him and sit on the sink counter. 

You take the eyeliner from his hands and pull him closer by his shirt, you wrap your legs around his waist and make him look at you by holding his chin. 

“Okay, close your eyes.” 

He obliges and you softly apply the liner just above his lash line. He squints a little and breathes out through his nose. 

“Don’t move, baby.” You scold him. 

“Sorry, It feels a little weird.” a wide smile spreads on his face. 

“Look up for me.” 

He does what he tells you, looking at you before he looks up entirely. You apply some under his waterline, smudging the edges gently with your fingers. 

“All done, babe.” You kiss his lips softly. 

He smiles into the kiss and murmurs a “thank you” against your lips. He checks himself out in the mirror behind you and grins. 

“Wow, I look sexy!” 

“Larzy Poo” - James Hetfield, 2023

[venriliz]

10 random facts about me

got tagged by @druidberries @alientown @papermint-airplane TY <3

u literally tagged the most boring person but that's probably what half of all people think of themselves, huh? °-° i might regurgitate some of the facts i used for my introduction post in the sims of tumblr community. i wrote a lot so i'll put a cut with the facts below here. °-°

my birthday is the 4th of july and when i was a kid (prolly like 5 or 6) i saw an american parade on the news on tv. after i asked my dad why these people are celebrating he literally told me that they're celebrating my birthday °_° i believed for several years that americans celebrated my fucking birthday bc i wasn't aware of independence day existing lmfao. my dad just loved fooling me V.V he might be dead but i'm still holding that grudge lol.

i'm kinda lucky to be alive i guess? when i was a kid i was hit by a car in what we in germany call "Spielstraße" which is kinda like a street in dense neighborhoods where kids are allowed to play freely and cars aren't allowed to go faster than 7 kph/4.3 mph. i don't now how fast the driver was but it probably was something around 30 kph/18 mph. i didn't have very bad injuries but still °-° i could've died.

i was a typical horse girl as a kid (i still like horses but i'm not riding anymore because i'm a very old 20-something with knee problems lol) and i was fucking INSUFFERABLE abt it.

i don't want to have kids or get married. i'm not one of those people who hate children like i love my nieces and my nephew BUT i have a lot of mental health issues and can't possibly take care of another life if i can barely take care of myself properly, right? marriage to me is just a weird concept. i can totally respect people getting married and if i'm invited to a wedding i'm obviously attending but i personally can't really subscribe to the idea of binding myself to someone with a piece of paper and it then being such a stupid process when it doesn't work out. also... it costs too much money lol

i have kind of an affinity for finding missing pets (i also photograph every missing poster i see so i guess that helps with recognizing them?)

i was NOT good at school like i kinda sucked and i can probably blame a mixture of mental health issues, trouble at home and also being a lazy teenager that just wasn't really built for school life lol. i barely managed to get the "Mittlere Reife" (if you're german u know what i mean. i could explain what that means but explaining the german school system would take years). english, german and biology were my only good classes. i absolutely hated math like we're lifelong enemies.

speaking of germany, i am from germany or to be more specific from the most northern region nearest to the danish border and i LOVE living here. the north and baltic sea are close to me and people here are usually quite chill. the only thing i don't like that much abt living here is kind of the regional cuisine bc a lot of it is fish and i don't like eating fish T.T

i HATE going shopping (i'm an online shopper °-° EMP my beloved) and my friends just don't take me with them on shopping trips bc they know i'll kill the mood by complaining like a child and wanting to go back home lmfao

the first sims game for me was the og Sims and i almost fried my dad's old ass pc playing it. my first vivid memory of the game was noticing that here and there random houses appeard out of seemingly nowhere. the goths got a new house that didn't fit their vibe for example lol. years later my dad told me that he used to play the game when i was sleeping and just built these houses lmfao. so i guess my dad was an og simmer oO.

i remember 9/11 (yes i'm old enough don't age shame me T.T). i was in kindergarten at that time and just came home from a friends house when the towers fell. i saw it on tv and even though i was very young i understood that a lot of people were getting hurt. definitely had an impact on me as a kid.

yeah that's it. i rambled a lot but yeah °-°

tagging @landgraabbed @olli-online @living-undead @moonwoodhollow @microscotch @crazy-lazy-elder-sims @aniraklova @tiallussims @skaterboi108 @faerun-s @cristalviper @none-of-these-days @fadingforrest @acuar-io @elderwisp @lilamausmaus @simpleratattack @azeterna @butteredfrogs @mmonetsims and everybody else who reads this! HA!

[augustmonsooning]

The Bear in 5 Acts : We're really in the Act III weeds, pals

One of the first thing's they'll teach you about good story telling is about the 5 act structure - it's tried and tested, from Shakespeare to films like I don't know, Past Lives, they all follow the same beats.

I think's it's significant that the title card at the this season and maybe season 2 (I'm gonna have to go back to check) says "The Bear Part III"; these seasons are components of a cohesive whole, it's not being made up as they go along. This is part of the reason why the writing and filming is so quick: the bare bones of the story arc is already there, they are just embellishing and perfecting.

Season 3 thoughts under the cut!

Now, I know Season 3 has the crowd split. My initial reaction was that I loved the cinema of it: the first episode I think was one of the best, most innovative bits of TV I've seen in a minute. I really enjoyed how they played with memory and anxiety. The show had a lot of interesting things to say about grief and regret and shame this season, and the ways we cope with it all.

It also cemented for me that The Bear is following v classical 5 act storytelling.

Act 1/ Season 1: Almost pure exposition, and probably why it stands out as a very strong standalone season. You could get away with not watching any episodes after Braciole and still feel like you've watched a great show. The money in the tinned tomatoes, and Carmy's proposal (of a restaurant) to Sydney is the inciting event. You could also think of Sydney coming back as the inciting event - this is probably the first time in Carmy's life where someone outside of his family (maybe even including his family) has seen the worst of Carmy and decided to come back

Act 2/ Season 2: Rising tension. Will The Bear make it? Will Carmy escape his traumas? Will Sydney and Carmy actually find their way back to each other?

Act 3/ Season 3: This is where we are now. To mix metaphors. The traumas and bad copies strategies are coming home to roost. This is Carmy at his very worst, because somehow he thinks this is him at his best. This is how Backstage, a theatre newspaper describes Act III : "Oftentimes, the end of your third act leads into a “dark night of the soul,” where the main character is at their lowest moment as a result of the climax. They believe that they cannot achieve that new, overpowering goal established at the end of Act 1. " I think that pretty much sums up Carmy and Syd this season, on the surface their goals have been achieved: The Bear is a functioning kitchen, it's packed out every night. There's modern Danish design, there's two tops, a tasting menu at the bar, and a window on the side for the sandwiches (the family style has been scraped, but we'll get to that later). So why does it feel so off? Can it be that neither of them wanted any of that shit in the first place? Can it be that they were at their happiest eating gluey spaghetti with their friends they loved in a place that had regulars who knew them, a place they could innovate with the odds and ends they had lying around and still make wonderful food. Could it be that a place where bricklayers and teachers and postmen were eating was the goal all along?

Act 4/Season 4: Where next? I think both Syd and Carmy are gonna reckon with what is actually important to them. And we alreayd know what that is, it's that scene under the table last season: they love to take care of people, they love to cook (not be "chefs"), they love to be there for each other - be someone the other can rely on. Everything they absolutely were not doing in Season 3.

Act 5/ Season 5: The real coming back. I remember watching Braciole for the first time thinking fuck, is this just an extremely silly show? It feels so real, so earned all the way up until the cash falls out of those tomatoes and Syd comes back. Because nothing has actually been resolved or addressed. Carmy has learnt absolutely nothing. Syd is as impatient and green as ever, jumping into a new business with a guy who has absolutely shown himself to be volatile and unreliable. But we forgive them, because as the viewer we've come to love Carmy and understand that the angry, doughnut slamming Carmy is not the real him, and we understand Syd because sure, of course it feels intoxicating that when the person who made the best thing you've ever eaten, the person who can seemingly finish all your sentences, the pinnacle of your professional ambitions looks at you with his freakishly blue eyes, and ask you open a restaurant with him, you're gonna say yes. The series from Season 2 onwards feels to me like a redux of the last few episodes of Season 1 in slow-mo but this time with real learning, real consequences, and real, abiding love. Like a "find out what you love, and do it on purpose" type of thing. When they get back together the last episode it's going to feel even more magical than in Season 1.

Listen. I feel like that dude trying to get Tina et al to invest thousands of dollars to get a job in Napkins. It feels like a scam to tell you all to invest more time and hope. But, imma do it, because it's gonna pay off.

It also doesn't escape me that Strange Currencies, the song they use on the show to signpost Carmy's romantic life, has the lyrics "I need a chance, a second chance, a third chance, a fourth chance"

Carmy had a chance in season 1, he fucked it up by going absolutely bananas in 'Review', he had another one in season 2; and he ran away and then thought he could fix it with a fancy chef jacket and promises under a table, he's had another chance in season 3 and safe to say, he's fucked it again. He's gonna get another, but he better stick the landing.

[xxsugarbonesxx]

miguel tingz that wont leave my brain

a/n: I have a few thoughts on my wife Miguel that echo through the vast emptiness I call my noodle. Please be nice to me this is my first time :,(. Think of this as word vomit, enjoy. Or don't, I don't care, I'm not your mom. Slight NSFW at the end if you squint????

I think this is kinda like he retires as spidey and settles down. He marries (you in this senario) and has a couple kids, now that he doesn't have to save the universe constantly, he's much more relaxed, but his previous life does tend to slip out here or there.

Bro has a dad bod, his arms and legs are thick with muscle, he's still got those big ass hands and super strength. But now he was a chubby tummy, with lots and lots of hair. A thick happy trail that leads down to the base of his thick cock. Arm, leg and chest hair, maybe he's got a bit of a trimmed beard moment?? I feel like he has a short wolf cut now, something kinda shaggy but doesn't touch his neck just yet.

I feel like Miguel enjoys danishes. Stuff with light icing, flaky pastry insides and some sort of berry. I think he'd like cherry or black berry the most. Bear claws too, almond desserts 'n' such. But the danishes are the sweetest thing he can eat. His teeth are really sensitive to cold and sugar. But I like to think he get something sugar-y as a treat for himself very rarely and just powers through the discomfort.

He has a very thought out and meticulous hair routine. Maybe skin too, I dunno...but his bathroom sink is full of fancy product he uses, if you were to use some of it without his knowing, he'd know exactly how much was used by holding the container. He's very precise, mans has spent YEARS perfecting his routine to get everything just so. He likes feeling handsome and clean I feel.

He smells warm. Something cozy, like fresh citrus, firewood and dark chocolate. Paired with his natural musk, bro smells heavenly. He has a lot of colognes, fancy rich guy colognes to be more specific. The man is rolling in it. He keeps the lights on at the Spider Society, that power bill has to be atrocious by just looking at the architect of the building. And his universe is set in the future, so inflation has to make it even worse.

He dances like a dad. Specifically a dad who loves to embarrass his kid(s). Thought this was a normal get together and daddy dearest would finally behave? NOPE. I feel like he has that one song that just sets him off, that one song that makes him have his little 'dance like no body's watching moment'. So much so said kid(s) would shudder as the beginning would play. And he'd maintain eye contact through out it. He's dancing and he's staring his kid(s) down, the ultimate power move, reminding them there's nothing they can do and pops will always be there when they need him the least to embarrass them.

He'd be very warm and sweet and doting to his kid(s) and you, though he can kinda be sassy with them. But anyone outside of his circle, he'd be very cold like how we see him during the movie. He totally talks shit about people he doesn't like to you. "Can you believe Sonia's husband, he's such a tool. I really--I honestly just can't with him..." He'll say as he sighs, massaging his temple as he nurses a glass of red wine.

He's a wine mom, he'll end the week on the couch with a cheesy telenovela that he's lowkey obsessed with though plays it off like it's nothing. Sipping his glass curled up with you, going back and forth between watching the show and gossiping like a auntie. If you work, he needs to know the scoop. Tyler is married to Pamela but Pamela is swapping spit with that Melina? His undivided attention.

He cuddles. If you've every shared a bed with a bernese mountain dog, you know what I'm talking about. His whole body weight on you, his head on your shoulder and his legs tangled with yours. I feel like he sleeps naked, skin on skin, keeping you nice and warm all night long as he snores. He cock warms too, his fat cock pushed deep inside you, your velvet walls cradling his length as you two spoon. If he wakes up first, he'll slowly buck his hips into you with his nose buried into your hair. The sound of soft claps and sweaty grunts as your wake up call.

[seliasvault]

because i apparently now have the writing itch thanks to the increase in free time, here's a classic book trop drabble with a sprinkle of fifty shades of grey cause i just rewatched that movie, very unorginal but i eat this trop up everytime time. might just continue this

if you have any ideas or asks, leave a request!

meet cute

ceo!ghost x reader

ceo!ghost: who met you one day when you were in a hurry.

Moving to a new city isn’t easy, and job hunting certainly isn’t either, so finally landing an interview at a respectable company was a blessing.

What wasn't ideal was being late to said interview, a chain of events led to you leaving the house merely 20 minutes before you had to be there.

Rushing to get coffee you join the line while going over the details of your resume and talking points. You put in your order, wait, and pick up. Your nose still buried in your phone you don't notice as you open the door to leave the man walking in.

Of course to add to your luck you crash chest-first into him, spilling the contents of your drink onto his white button-up and suit. With the difference in temperature and liquid staining your shirt you're pulled out of the shock and filled with a high amount of embarrassment and guilt.

"oh my god! I'm so sorry, I-" You move the cup, upright so it can stop spilling onto both you and the man you've so graciously made sticky. Simon who, very much did not expect to be covered in coffee before work, makes a noise of acknowledgment.

"I-let me pay for the dry cleaning, that suit must cost a lot and-" You pause quickly thinking of ways you can remedy the situation. "let me buy you a coffee, a coffee and pastry, they have really good Danishs." You say a little nervously, hoping he takes you up on the offer.

The man responds his voice deep with an accent uncommon to find in Chicago.

"s'alright, no need for that." he clears his throat, he can't say this hasn't happened before, but he will say it was the first time he met someone so apologetic.

"no really, let me buy you something and here" You get out your wallet, pulling out two 20s, yes you were short on money but no you were not just going to hand this man a 20 to cover what looked to be a very expensive suit. Extending a hand you open your palm, waiting for him to accept it.

"Trust me I don't need your money sweetheart " his tone is flat, unimpressed.

"maybe you don't but it would make me feel infinitely better, so take it and let me get you a coffee." You try and make your voice sound firm and commanding, but it doesn't quite come out that way.

You're stubborn, a good trait to have but he didn't need your money, he could very much buy 1000 of these suits and still never see a dent in his wallet. He was running late and needed to cut this short.

"just the coffee," he grumbled out, heading inside.

You followed suit, glancing at the time, you had 10 minutes, following through with your word you bought him the coffee, after he begrudgingly gave you his order. And as promised a cherry cheese Danish to accompany it. Glancing at your phone to peek at the time, you cut the interaction short.

"I'm really sorry again."

"s'alright watch where you're going next time." "will do." You give him a small smile, walking out and half running to your car.

[lemonmaid]

Type of drinks and food they order from Starbucks!

Warnings: None!

Riddle Rosehearts : Royal English Breakfest Tea Lattle with brown sugar and a Red Velvet Loaf.

When he doesn't (when he is lazy) want to eat at Heartslabyul and have tea with others, he will stop by and get something small to take to class. Basic tea and a sweet loaf.

"Are you okay Riddle?".

"Yeah, am just overwhelmed. I need something fast and simple just to get the day over with".

"Is it that type of day already?".

"Yes, you can blame that duo of yours".

"Do you want shared custody?".

"If they keep waking me up in the middle of the night. Yes".

Leona Kingscholar : White Mocha with raspberry syrup and an Impossible Breakfest Sandwich

Listen when this man got the Impossible sandwich he thought it was a regular sausage sandwich, he still does, don't tell him he is eating vegan meat.

I also feel like he doesn't drink a lot of coffee, it's like a once-a-month thing for him when he is feeling peckish.

"White Mocha today Leona?".

"Yeah... I forgot that we have a pop quiz today in Trein's class".

"Oh shit, is that today?".

"Yes, also can you get me that sandwich that Ruggie always brings me?".

"Yeah, the impossible?".

"Yes that... also what's in it? What makes it "impossible"?".

"Uhhhh".

Azul Ashengrotto : Americano adds four shots and the Mushrooms & Kale egg bites.

This man loves those disgusting americanos, even more disgusting he keeps adding shots, he is business savvy and has to stay awake to deal with the Leech twins shit.

"Sir, I really don't feel comfortable giving this drink to you..."

"Why?"

"Because this is your third Grande Americano with four extra shots...... it already has four.... You've basically had 24 shots of expresso..."

Kalim Al-Asim : anything from tic tok and a Tomato & Mozzarella on Focaccia

This man is the type of customer who just shows a picture in the batista face.

"CAN I HAVE THIS??".

"Umm yeah, is Jamil okay with you coming here to drink? You know assassination? I could poison your drink right now".

"Psh it's fine, besides I've heard this drink is basically Neapolitan ice cream! But i wonder what Jamil would want.."

"Probably a shot-in-the-dark".

Vil Schoenheit : Chocolate Cream Cold Brew and a Feta Wrap

I feel like he doesn't really like sweet drinks "too much sugar", so he gets something bland but has a sweeten taste. It's like regular coffee but cold and instead of creamer you're putting melted whip cream on top.

"Samethinh always?"

"Yes, I'm so exhausted. My phone kept blowing up, Stan twitter is really something else".

"Oh yeah, I heard Epel talked about that. Are you getting canceled or something?"

"Ugh, no I wish. Me and Neige were seen eating brunch yesterday and now we are being shipped or media outlets saying "OH wHaT a KiND hEArT NieGe hAS foR MaKInG uP with ViLaN aCtoR ViL".

"Wish you luck on that, here's your drink by the way"

"Ugh, you're going probably remake this, there's too much water not enough cold brew".

Idia Shroud : Matcha Crème Frappuccino and Cheese Danish

When he does come out of his room, instead of the library he goes to the Starbucks café and plays video games or study.

"Um (Name) can you make it extra pretty, like in the picture? I wanna take a photo for my discord normies to prove I get out of my room".

"Yeah of course! Do you want caramel or honey on your Cheese Danish by the way?"

"Caramel but I want the Danish hot".

"So when you work, do you think as it as Papa's Freezeria but real life?"

"You need to get out more and yes. Yes I do, I even hear the music in my head".

Malleus Draconia : Caramel Macchiato with hazelnut and Coffee Cake

He only came to visit you, I doubt this man has drank any caffeine in his life. So when you asked what he wanted he saw the first thing and order it. I can't say if he liked it though, but do you know when cats' eyes dilate? Yeah his eyes were like that for a while, then he would randomly twitch, and purr.

"Okay, Malleus. Let's stop with the coffees, we have tea you know.... we even have cake pops".

"Coffee cake...."

"Malleus...."

Authors Note:

Hey guys! Sorry I've been so busy, I literally just started working and I got out of training yesterday and my manager came up to me ans was like "do you wanna be manager?" Appernlty everyone is leaving the store, so it will be me and two other people, who've by the way, worked longer than I have. I'm just tired and busy, but I am trying to get Isseked Baby Reader out soon, I just want to make it a longer chapter, so you guys can enjoy that while I girlboss my way to owning an apartment.

Thank you guys so much for the support and likes!

[ukulelegodparent]

hey i just wanted to send an ask as someone who has been like really struggling with this for a while. it was your tag on post about white south africans that went something like people acting like having ancestors in europe gives them some magical tie to that place. i see a lot of posts telling people like me to reclaim their european roots rather than appropriate stuff that doesn't belong to me. is that really the answer? i just feel like i don't l have another option. seeing people with cultural ties that they can draw pride, inspiration, wisdom from and then looking at my own lack of any of that just kind of opened like a deep pit of dread in me as i thought about it more and more. idk even know if you have the answers necessarily its just been eating away at me and that tag kinda just kinda made me really wanna ask on the off chance you had any sort of answer.

Hey, I mean I'm no expert on the topic and can only really speak from my own experience which is mostly as a European interacting with Americans. This won't necessarily match your situation, but I just know more about the situation in the US bc of well. The everything of it.

I mean embrace your roots all you want and look at the culture of your ancestors and keep what you want and leave the rest. It's yours. But let's take someone who is German-American. Their ancestors came there in the mid 19th century and that is their latest direct cultural tie to Germany. Or German lands or whatever. It's the middle of the 19th century. It's complicated. Point is those ancestors left a society where their specific culture (whatever region they were living in) was the majority and went into a culture where it was the minority. So either they assimilate or they form a smaller community with other Germans. Either way at that point they are cut off from the main bulk of what they consider their culture. They themselves will have strong cultural influences from the culture that surrounds them and even without that the culture on it's own will slowly warp and change. So too will their language. Maybe they stop speaking German in the first generation, maybe during one of the world wars, maybe there are still parts of the adult population of that community that speak a form of German. What that German-American person would consider the traditions and culture that were passed down to them from the German side of the family might have very little to do with anything that was part of the culture of those initial immigrants to the US. Now while all that was happening German culture in Germany also changed a lot. Between Unification, a world war, the establishment of a democratic system, the absolute turmoil of the 20s, female emancipation, fascism, another world war, a refugee crisis, another dictatorship, a lot of immigration from Turkey and Italy, the establishment of the EU, reunification etc etc. German culture in Germany is also drastically different from what it was in the mid 19th century when those ancestors left.

So that is the one slightly odd thing that like. People talk about their what they consider their own culture and they call it eg "German" or "Polish" or whatever, but the culture they have has just been through a lot of washes. Which is fine, but it is a bit silly when people post pictures of two old women on a cemetery and they want to call them 'sweet ladies' but end up calling them 'old hags'. But also by calling it like a culture that has a whole country attached to it it's a bit like they're declaring themselves experts which. I mean it leads to miscommunication is all I'm saying. And also there's the point that ethnicity just doesn't work like that in Europe. It's just not carried down that far through the family. I might have had Polish or Dutch or Danish ancestors in the early 19th century but I literally would never know. So it's odd to us here for people to build their identity around something that lies so far in their past. Again. This is the part that is just a little odd, will get people made fun of etc. Maybe a little annoying at times but whatever. 'you have yours over there and we have ours over here' is the name of the game.

The frustrating thing is when people with this history act like they have any sort authority on these things. And especially the frequent (Especially American) 'Bull in a China shop' moments you get where people then base their entire personality around stereotypes and come here and act like they belong. And just. There is sometimes this deep unawareness with especially Americans that they are foreigners here. Of course with Americans the cultural imperialism plays into the frustration here but I see it even with my cousin who grew up in Aotearoa and who also just. I mean both of her parents are German, a lot of their friends are and they've visited almost every year she's been alive and yet, when she says she wants to study here all I can think is 'Girl you will have the biggest culture shock of your life' and her parents literally barely have Kiwi citizenship.

And it might also be from the European side an attempt to remove oneself from colonialism, though I don't think that's the case. There is a huge cultural divide, especially between continental Europe and the Anglosphere. But mostly I mean culture is a living breathing thing that people have to actively participate in to be a part of it. And wherever in Europe your roots may lie, by nature of living on the other side of the world you cannot participate in those traditions and you will be part of a different culture. Like my culture to me is Easter Fires just as much as getting a Döner after a long night out and getting fresh bread rolls from a bakery on a Sunday morning and not being able to go shopping on a Sunday and terrible terrible Apres-Ski music (that I must admit I indulge in sometimes) and the stellar parody dubs of 2010 German Youtube and hearing church bells, and the architecture and the language omg the language, the beautiful poems, having to suffer through Faust in school, the supermarkets, the way towns work here, the way winter smells, the way my grandfather talks and the way my great-grand aunt talks, the forests, the mountains, the fields, not going to the Oktoberfest, not because I don't have the means to but because growing up I was taught to despise it and all things Munich with it, good Brezen, amazing lentil stew (from the can of course), the list goes on and on and on. And some of these are really specific to me and some are more general. And like if you want to connect with your roots, I'm genuinely happy for you, have fun! But for our hypothetical German American, whatever sits at the heart of German and European culture (bread and a certain grumpiness seem to be a big component of both) it will probably never be truly hers. Even if she were to move here. And that's fine. I mean. Idk which post you saw bc there actually were two where I left comments like that in the tags, but one of them listed a lot of examples of what culture can be and of why the 'haha white people have no culture' thing is inaccurate. Maybe it's just that it's hard to see sometimes when your culture is so squarely the majority you never ever have to think about it. Idk. I look around me and even between the regions I've lived in there are such stark cultural differences. Culture can be the songs you sing for children to fall asleep, what the most prominent mode of transport is, where you go to eat, what you eat, what you cook, whether you cook at all, whether you go to church, whether there are crosses hanging everywhere despite rarely anyone ever going to church, what you wear, especially outside of traditional clothing. Maybe at the core of this discomfort I expressed in those tags is also the big question of 'why are you looking here for guidance? You are so different.'

[woso-dreamzzz]

Shirt Swap

Pernille Harder x Child!Reader

Aitana Bonmatí x Hardersson!Reader

Part of The Big Adventures Universe

Summary: Inspired by the fact that Aitana waited twenty minutes to exchange shirts with Pernille

There's a small girl in the mixed area, waiting by the doors of the Denmark side.

You wouldn't describe her as little because you're little but small seems suitable.

You watch her as she lingers by the door. She's dressed in the Spain kit and she looks a little anxious.

Momma let you go and get snacks from the vending machine so long as you came straight back, which you did, but you still find yourself staring at this little girl by the door.

You've got a packet of skildpadder in your hand. You've missed skildpadder so you're glad the vending machine had it.

The girl is still by your door so you huff and approach - adults are so weird sometimes.

"Hi."

She jolts in shock, looking down at you. "Hola."

You frown. You don't speak Spanish. Danish, yes. Swedish, yes. English when you absolutely have to and German when you want to annoy Morsa. So, you say again," Hi."

You blink up at her as she crouches in front of you. Finally, she says," Hello."

You grin. "Want one?" Because Morsa says it's good to share.

She looks at the packet in your hand, biting her lip as she glances back at the closed door and the even further away door of the locker room. "What is it?" Her accent is thick and rough but she's speaking English so at least you can understand her.

"Skildpadder," You say in awe," It's...er...chocolate and cream and caramel. It's very good." You open the packet and offer one to her. "My Momma and Morsa don't let me have them a lot but Momma let me get something from the vending machine."

The girl takes it. "Thank you. My name is Aitana."

"I'm y/n!" You grin and eat your own bite of chocolatey goodness. "Why are you waiting outside?"

Aitana's cheeks blush red and instead she fixes your Harder jersey from where it's gone askew. She notices the name on your back. "Do you like Pernille Harder?"

You frown. You're not sure what kind of question that is but you answer it anyway. "Uh-huh!"

Aitana smiles and says to you in barely a whisper. "She's my absolute favourite," She says," I look up to her a lot. I...I would like to swap my jersey for hers."

You nod along. It makes sense. Momma is one of the best in the world - you know that because she's got two trophies that say so - but Aitana seems pretty cool and you can't imagine someone as cool as Aitana wanting one of Momma's jerseys - the same as all the other ones you wear to bed.

You flick the thought away through because you give Aitana another skildpadder for being honest because that's what Morsa does for you and you take her hand.

She doesn't put up much for a fight as you walk her through the door and into the changing room. Lots of your aunties are changing and crying out words in Danish for you to come and cuddle them to console them after their loss but you ignore them all.

Instead, you go straight for Momma, dropping Aitana's hand to slam into her.

"Momma!" You cry in laughter as she lifts you easily onto her hip.

"Princesse! Did you get what you wanted?"

"Uh-huh!" You hold up your chosen snack triumphantly. You look back at Aitana, whose eyes dart between you and Momma in shock. "This is my new friend Aitana. She was waiting outside. She wants one of your shirts."

Momma places you back on the ground and walks closer to Aitana.

"You want to exchange shirts?"

Aitana nods. "Er...Por favor?"

Momma strips her shirt from her body and passes it to Aitana, who takes it after a moment of shock. Aitana repeats to gesture until they're both standing shirtless in the middle of the locker room.

"Do you mind if I give your shirt to y/n?" Momma asks as you creep towards them, standing at her side. "She's got quite the collection of shirts from the greatest players in the world."

You nod. "I have Frido's, who plays with Morsa sometimes. And Viv and Daan and Jill for when they play for the Netherlands. And...And...Oh! And Caro from when Momma and I were at Wolfsburg. And Leah from Arsenal! She says she will get me a Keira Walsh shirt because she is friends with her!" You list off your other jerseys and Aitana nods along, although you're talking so quickly you're not entirely sure she's fully keeping up with you.

"Aitana plays with Frido and Keira in Barcelona," Momma tells you and instantly you gasp.

Aitana is very cool.

You give her another skildpadder.

Aitana takes the shirt she gave to Momma and places it on you.

You smile. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." She looks up at Momma and looks down again, blushing. "I...er...I didn't realise she was yours when we met."

"We keep her face out of the media most of the time," Pernille says as she watches you scamper off to Rikkie to brag about your new Bonmatí shirt. "But yes, she's mine and Magda's."

"She's very sweet."

"Yeah, she is."

There's silence for a moment and then," It's kind of inflating my ego a bit to know that someone like you wants my shirt."

"I appreciate the way you play," Aitana says, unable to make eye contact," And your dedication. You...er, what is the word? You are an idol of mine."

Pernille smiles softly and they both watch you munch on your skildpadder as the rest of the Danish team fuss over you.

"You must have made a good impression on her. She loves skildpadder. I'm surprised she's shared it. You've made her day, giving her the shirt."

Aitana's face reddens more with the amount of compliments she's being given. "I..." She takes out her phone and opens the notes app. "If you give me your address, I...I can get her the Keira jersey she wants. And if she's collecting world class players, I do not think Alexia or Patri will mind giving theirs up either."