#for a second i though my kitchen was about to be overflowing with boiling water lol but it turned out fine!

[theflyingfeeling]

shout-out to me for making my first ever rice porridge with the new haudutuskattila I got for Christmas and it turned out kinda alright

[bontenten]

Bewitch

Pairings: Osamu x F!Reader x Atsumu; Miyacest WC: 7.4k Genre/Warnings: smut, fairytale retelling (Hansel and Gretel), magic au, dubcon/noncon, incest (miyacest), fear, knife, monster, bondage, snuff, vore, gore/blood, object insertion, body horror, a bit of size, tummy bulge, oral (m.receiving), anal (m. receiving), masturbation (f. & m.), voyeurism, arson...

Summary: The unexpected guests at your cottage have a mysterious past and hidden agenda. Will they allow you to accompany them on their journey?

Travelers are advised not to spend the night in the Dark Woods. It's said that beyond the last hiking trail, past a brook, lives an Evil Witch. That witch is vile and merciless; often, fools lost in the woods are never seen again. It's said that she must be over 800 years old, feeding off of the essences of children and young men unfortunate enough to cross her paths. It’s said that she even eats fellow witches. No one really knows. After all, no one who has seen her has lived to tell the tale.

It's been a few months since your teacher has left you to fend for yourself here in the woods—your first time alone during this apprenticeship. She said she had to attend a big conference with a whole bunch of other grand witches. You asked if you could tag along, but she insisted that you stay and watch the cottage. The lack of company is about to drive you insane so you often resort to conversing with yourself or the forest itself.

The soft moss muffles the sound of your footsteps as you begin the trek back home, a faint off-trail path away from the main road that no one else would usually notice. On any other day, you would just go home without a fuss, but loneliness makes people do some bizarre and odd things. For instance, the desperate longing for companionship leads to you dropping a not-so-hidden trail of fancy pebbles to inadvertently lead someone to your abode.

For most travelers, going off-trail is akin to a death sentence as any wrong turn might lure them into the forest's deadly maze. Not for you though, you know this place very well: every fallen tree, overturned log, the wanted signs nailed to the trunk...

Wait. A wanted sign?

You can make out from your distance that there are two heads on it, but the details are fuzzy, and the bounty looks smudged. Before you can get a closer look, you hear the birds caw in the trees, signaling the beginning of sunset. You pull your attention away from the poster and continue on to your way home.

The cottage is extremely cozy and warm. The windows are bejeweled and the door is solid wood. You live here comfortably with your teacher, after all, learning about the principles of magic and what it means to be a witch. It's much more than curses and spells, as your teacher would tell you, witches have character and a moral compass. Although there are certainly those who decide to experiment with the darker arts.

While you get a fire going in the huge furnace and boil some water on the stovetop, you hear two voices squabbling outside followed by three raps on the door. You're stunned by the noise, turning to face the shut door wondering if you were just dreaming about the noise. Is it? Visitors? No, you must have heard wrong.

"'Samu, I bet it's a farce, let's not." The voice sounds both tired and weary, almost out of breath.

"Let me just try again, I can smell a working kitchen in there, someone is definitely there," another voice insists. Three more knocking sounds. "Excuse me! Is the owner of the house available? My brother and I followed a path of colored stone and came upon your establishment...could you spare us some water? A bite of food?"

Two men, though they sound friendly. You're frozen in the kitchen, staring at the door that remains between you and the strangers.

"Is there someone home?" The second voice tries again. "Please, my brother is not feeling very well."

Your initial wariness for the stranger melts when you hear about the brother, which does not sound like a lie based on the raspy voice you first hear. A witch's character is fundamentally kind to all sentient beings, especially those in need. But you're still nervous, so you end up grabbing a metal ladle before carefully going to open the door. When you crack the door open, you see a pair of twins. Beautiful men, one blonde and one grey-haired. The former, with a quirky grin, although his eyes certainly look lackluster. But the other seems like he's at the right place, eyes peering past you into your home, fixated on your kitchen.

"I'm Osamu. And this," he gestures to his twin, "is my brother Atsumu. We're a bit lost, you see."

You nod your head in a casual greeting and introduce yourself as the resident apprentice at this cottage. As a good host should, you open the door to the weary guests preparing to welcome them in.

"Are we welcomed in?" Osamu asks, not moving from his spot. Atsumu isn’t budging either, arms crossed and only looking at you from the corner of his eye, waiting for your answer.

Without giving much thought you nod and open the door wider. "Both of you are most welcomed in."

"Then we thank you for your hospitality," Osamu says, taking a step inside, dragging his twin with him.

Words, especially spoken words carry power and hold intent. And a witch's words, no matter how careless they slip out, contain magic. Welcome, as you say. So welcome, they are.

You shut the door behind them and prepare to go give your first-ever guests some water. When you turn around, you notice Osamu already in the kitchen, the sleeves of his tunic rolled up past his elbows.

"Your food is about to burn. Heat's too high," he tells you, expertly taking control of the sizzling pots and pans. "I got it, don't worry."

Feeling flustered at the faint smell of scorching food, you hurry over to see if you can be of any assistance. "Let me help out."

"No, it's quite alright."

How can a host let her guests do all the work like that? And the first company in a while too! What an utter failure.

"How—" you try to argue back, but you're cut off by Atsumu tugging on your wrist, dragging you over to the sofa in the corner.

"Don't worry about him, he loves to cook." Atsumu brushes out the wisps of his bangs with a huff. "And actually quite good at it. Anything that goes through his hands...well, in short, all become part of his design."

Like his twin, Atsumu's frame is broad and huge, but there is a quality of emptiness of sorts. Osamu's shoulders are wide but there's more substance to it, whereas Atsumu's form seems contained. You can't help but use your learnings to see if you can figure out just what's off about Atsumu. He's slowly walking around the living room and studying the portraits hanging on the wall. He picks up a frame that is set above the fireplace and comments, "None of these are you. How come?"

"Oh, they're my teacher. I'm just a witch-in-training at the moment, so—"

"A witch?" Atsumu questions, clenching the frame tightly. His hands begin to shake, the glass under his thumb beginning to crack.

You did not expect Atsumu to display such a visceral reaction upon the mention of witches. After all, witches normally stayed far away from ordinary human society and when they do mix, it's often a role of healing. But the look that sparks in Atsumu's eyes, it's almost—feral.

"'Tsumu!" Osamu yells while stalking over quickly from the kitchen. He throws his arm around Atsumu's neck and drags him off into the shadows. You can't make out the muffled voices and deep growling noises that are coming from down the hall.

It's their private matter, so you go back to the kitchen. True enough, Osamu's hands are almost like magic. The bubbling pot of broth doesn't seem to be on the verge of overflowing, the onions caramelizing beautifully, filling the air with deliciousness.

Moments later, the twins come back. You notice that Osamu clothes are wrinkled from tugging Atsumu around, but at the very least, Atsumu is looking much better than before.

The three of you set the table for dinner. Osamu brings out the plates as though he knows the kitchen inside and out already. Atsumu comes emerging from the cellar with two bottles of fine wine that you didn't even know your teacher had stowed away. Surely, she wouldn't mind? With Osamu and Atsumu sitting to the left and right of you at the round table, it almost feels like a more familiar, cozier gathering between friends than a situation of a host and her guests.

They tell you that they have been traveling across the lands for a long time now, looking for a cure for Atsumu's illness. It reminds you of the hollow, repressed form you saw earlier and your curiosity gets the better of you. They don't tell you the nature of the malady, but what they do share is that they are looking for a witch to undo the curse on Atsumu, a result of dark witchcraft.

"I am a witch!" you exclaim, feeling your call to action at the moment. "Please, is there truly nothing for me to help to undo the spell?"

Osamu leans in close to you, and wipes a bit of sauce staining the corner of your lips with the pad of his thumb. He smiles. "We're looking for a very high-level witch. One day, maybe you'll get to the level of magic needed."

"You're too weak," Atsumu bluntly points out. You're sure Osamu means to say the same thing, but Atsumu's words are really sharp.

"I know," you sigh. "My teacher tells me that all the time. So, I'm really trying. I'm sure there's at least something I can do."

"I definitely think that. Don't be so hard on yourself," Osamu comforts. "Have you been living alone here for a long time?"

You feel two pairs of eyes glued onto you waiting for your answer. You smile reflexively before your eyes trail to the empty plate and carefully choose your words. "Yea. Just me and my teacher. She's a grand witch...maybe if you wait here for a few days, you can meet her when she comes back from her conference."

"We—"

"We'll be gone tomorrow!" Atsumu snaps, staring into Osamu's eyes.

Osamu doesn't pay any mind to Atsumu, and puts an extra piece of dessert onto your plate.

"We have a long way to go. Atsumu's condition isn't getting better, so we can't stop in one place for long."

It makes you a little sad, because you were hoping to spend some more time with the twins, both of whom you have grown fond of. Osamu and his gentleness. And even Atsumu, despite his quick remarks and outbursts, adds a particular spice to your mundane life.

"Maybe we'll bring you with us," Osamu comments lightly, "'Tsumu, wouldn't that be nice?"

"She'll just be dead weight," Atsumu retorts. You wonder if he absolutely hates you. Is that why he is always so against you being next to Osamu?

Osamu puts an arm around you and blows on the shell of your ear. It tickles and you can feel his body enveloping you. "But she's so sweet," he tells Atsumu and whispers into your ear, "Aren't you?"

You find your wandering gaze looking into his half-lidded grey eyes. His face is right next to you, lips just hovering barely five centimeters away. The overwhelming presence of him is undeniably alluring. Your breaths become shallow as your heart rate speeds up with desire.

"I'm exhausted! 'Samu you too. We're going to bed!" Atsumu drops the silverware onto his plate and stands up. He comes around the table, muttering curses under his breath. Atsumu grabs Osamu by the wrist and drags him off towards the guest bedroom you have shown them before.

You didn't quite catch Atsumu's angry mutters, but you hear "slut" and "harlot" thrown around a few times. Were they directed at you? No, you're not like that, you tell yourself. Atsumu must have been thinking that you are trying to seduce his twin. After you clear out the table, you decide to clear up any misunderstanding.

You tip-toe down the hall to the guest bedroom prepared to knock when you hear muffled sounds coming from inside. You carefully press your ears to the crevice of the door and clamp a hand around your mouth upon hearing the stream of moans.

"'Samu, 'Samu please, ah—"

That's Atsumu? Your eyes are wide and still trying to process the shock of what you're hearing. You tell yourself you shouldn't be here. You should not be listening to whatever is happening behind the closed door, but you can't help it. Hearing Atsumu's moans makes you want to squirm.

You slightly jump when you hear a slap, followed with a pleasured groan. The sound is so clean it feels as though the phantom hands are touching your own heated skin.

Osamu's chuckle nearly makes your knees weak.

"Don't get cocky, if it were any other day ngh—, any other day, I would be the one pushing you into the mattress."

Slap. "Shut up, cute 'Tsumu. I like you being so needy for me like this. What do you want from me? Tell me."

"Fuck me, 'Samu."

"With pleasure."

The wood creaks loudly and you tell yourself, you really need to get out as you back away and try to quickly walk down the hall back to your bedroom.

You throw the door open and lock the door behind you with a click. With your eyes closed, you try to steady your breath and the building heat in your core. It's quiet. There's no noise coming from their room. But they are twins! 

You remind yourself that a witch is all-accepting and kind. There are so many circumstances beyond your understanding, judgement is not a part of your nature. And if what they are performing is wrong, what should you say about yourself? You peel off your clothes and step out of the soaked panty that is proof of your lust.

Pillows are fluffed and covers are pulled over your body. You try to sleep, but each time you are about to drift, Atsumu's cries of pleasure come back into your head. Your hand trails down your navel until the fingertips trace over your clit. Gathering some slick from your cunt, you drag it across the sensitive bud.

You shudder from the touch as images, constructed in your fantasy, cloud your mind. You imagine Atsumu's hands spreading your legs apart and Osamu's teasing words next to your ear. He would tell you to open wide and shove his cock down your throat. You suck on three of your fingers until lips wrap over the knuckles, your saliva pooling from hunger. And slip your fingers into your cunt easily, curling them against the plush walls.

"F-fuck me," you moan into your pillow.

With pleasure.

You quiver, clit pulsating, and your pussy juice dripping into your palm. The wash from the high soon takes you into sleep. All throughout the night, you squirm and feel the phantom sensation of being watched. Not just observed, but studied, by two pairs of glinting hungry eyes. You can almost imagine them on either side of the bed, trapping you into the mattress no matter which way you turn.

A few times the weird feelings almost pull you awake, but you don't dare crack an eye open to confirm your suspicions until the morning light begins to filter through the windows, rousing you from sleep. The air is filled with fragrant herbs and the sizzle of delicious brunch from someone awake before you.

No doubt, it's Osamu, because who else can it be? Atsumu? Please. The twins....

You climb out of bed and stretch your neck on the way to the washroom. Your bedroom door is open, but it's too early to notice that detail.

"Morning!" Osamu greets you from the kitchen. You find a fresh mug of coffee shoved into your hands from him.

You mumble thanks and sip at the brew while watching Osamu fry the eggs. Osamu looks to be deep in thought, probably thinking about something pleasant from the faint smile ghosting on his face. You feel a pang of guilt from both listening to their private lives, and also the strange feelings that maybe they heard your private life too—it's all your paranoia talking.

"You're so talented," you blurt out, fisting the fabric of your long skirt.

"Thanks, but better not let 'Tsumu hear ya, he gets jealous super easily."

Even if Atsumu hears, it's fine. You really mean both of them. Both of the twins both seem super talented as a duo; like they've been out there and seen the world. Meanwhile, you're still stuck here, without company. Would it be possible...if they simply stayed?

Osamu senses the words that are stuck in your mouth and answers them for you. "We're gonna be leaving right after breakfast. There's still lots of ground to cover today," he explains, plating the pancake before preparing to ladle a spoonful of batter for the next one.

"Do you have to leave?" you ask, almost pleading.

"It's cozy here and comfortable. We enjoy your company too, but we have to go. Your teacher would hate us, immensely, and on top of that...let's just say, we're always on the run."

"You say it like you two are fugitives or something."

Osamu chuckles and leans closer to you, hot breath flaming your cheeks, or maybe it's just the heat from the stove. A teasing grin pulls his cheeks up slightly as your eyes flicker over to see his lips spell out, "Maybe. Scared?"

Embarrassed, you take a defensive step back, squeaking and bumping into another body.

"MORNING!" Atsumu announces behind you. He's in good spirits and he has his hands on your waist to steady you; he sniffs your hair and smiles before letting you go. "I smell something delicious."

"Breakfast is ready," Osamu says, plating the pancakes. "Hungry 'Tsumu?"

"Tch." Atsumu shoves past you and knees Osamu, mood doing a complete 180. You're almost left like a fly on the wall as you watch the scene unfold.

Osamu is quick to catch his balance while keeping watch on the stove. "Not awake yet?" Osamu grins and passes him a plate of pancakes, essentially telling him to shut up and eat. "Who shoved a stick up your ass? Go eat."

"Fuck you."

"Hm."

Atsumu grumbles but digs into his food anyway. Osamu catches your amused expression in the corner and explains, "It's always like that between us. It's our...way of showing how much we care."

"I know." It's sort of endearing, the banter between the two brothers. Even if the world turns against them, no matter what the odds are, at least Miya Osamu will have Miya Atsumu, and Atsumu will have Osamu. Perhaps it's exactly that sort of bond the two share that you're envious of. Body and soul. Because if only you could have just an ounce of that sort of familiarity with another. But you're just an outsider without an invitation to join in.

While you're mulling over your thoughts, you don't catch the darkening gazes being exchanged between the twins. At some point, Atsmu's plate is already emptied and the wooden table is cleared while you're still lost in your mind. Osamu is fiddling with the metal tea strainer, bobbing it up and down to brew a mug of tea. He threads a cotton string in and out like it's a plaything.

"Do you really want to be with us?" Osamu asks nonchalantly. "'Tsumu and I were talking about it. If you do, maybe we can work something out."

"I just..." You feel like this is your final chance to tell them that you don't want them to go. None of the going around circle hinting that you have been doing. This is the moment to just tell it to them. If you miss this chance, you feel like you won't have another. And even though a pit pulls at your inwards telling you to reconsider, you're brave. "I just want to be together with you all, and help you cure Atsumu. My teacher is so talented, I'm sure she'll have a remedy."

They grin.

Osamu is a great cook, he can do that. Atsumu sometimes seems lazy, but he's super strong and quick to help too. And you can pick up all sorts of other tasks in the area! Maybe because they're so helpful, your teacher will even let them stay once Atsumu is cured. Maybe they can learn magic too! You have heard of warlocks who are powerful with spells too. And you can already imagine, the three of you, like a team, eventually going out into the world to fight demons and monsters and—

"Open wide," a sultry voice sounds next to you. Backing away automatically, you find Atsumu standing right behind you.

"W-wait," your voice shakes, stuck in your throat. "What are—"

His fingers reach for your mouth, prying it open. Before you can voice your distaste, a warm, metal ball gets shoved into your mouth, the thin chain quickly tangles into your hair. The faint traces of tea seep out of its small holes down your tongue and throat, while some spill out the corner of your mouth like trails of drool down your jawline.

Osamu smiles and wipes the liquid away with his thumb, relishing in how your widening eyes gape at him in confusion.

"Being together," he answers the question you wanted to ask, "is what you want isn't it?" He takes a spool of kitchen twine and begins to secure the tea strainer in your mouth. The thin cotton threads wrap around your head over and over again, tightening the steel against your tongue.

You shake your head and try to take another step away from the man you're beginning to become wary of, but the strong grip of Atsumu's hands on your shoulder prevents you from squirming at all. His fingers dig into your flesh, and when you turn to look at him you catch a glint in his eyes, glowering down at you.

"No, no, no, behave," he taunts you, "listen to 'Samu. He'll make you feel real good, trust me."

With the gag in your mouth, all you can let out are weak, warbling gargles from the back of your throat. Why are you doing this? You weren't like this before? Loud snorts flare out your nostrils from the fear screaming through your body.

Osamu comes back with a paring knife, examining the edge under the sunlight filtering in through the stained glass. He presses the cool blade along your cheek, dragging with the dull edge just enough so the sharp end doesn't cut your skin. You feel your knees growing weak and if not for Atsumu's hold on you, you would sink into a shuddering heap on the floor.

"You know, I think you might be the best meal yet," Osamu compliments, blade trailing down to your collarbone. The tip of the knife toys with the first button, pressing tension on the x-cross stitching. Snap. The first button pops off, dropping onto the wooden floor and rolling away to an inconspicuous corner. "I'll prep you well."

Snap. Snap. Snap. Snap. The knife flicks again and all the buttons clatter on the floor before running away for refuge.

Atsumu has cleared the table already and you find yourself hoisted up and laid onto the surface like a slab of meat on a cutting board. The cold surface presses against the back of your shoulder and ass. Osamu ties your wrist together with a hemp rope and secures the other end around the table leg. He also secures your ankles to two other anchor points.

You're utterly exposed and ashamed at your body's display, mortified at how your body is reacting when you catch sight of Atsumu, his eyes dilated, looking at your slit that you know is drenched already. The rough texture of the rope presses painfully into your skin from how tight the bindings are. You can only let out gagged whines in complaint, chest rising up and down from the loud breaths.

"Can't do, love," Osamu chides, kissing the knot at your wrist, satisfied with the results. His fingertips trail down to cup your jaw and his thumb runs across the tea strainer. You close your eyes and groan at his touch. Osamu murmurs, "I won't let anything go to waste."

Atsumu is growing impatient at the sight of his twin treating you like the finest specimen ever. You're not the first one. You won't be the last one, but he still can't stand the sight of someone looking just like himself having first tastes while he's missing out himself. He wants to shove Osamu aside, but he knows that Osamu absolutely hates it when he ravages the meal when it's not ready.

Atsumu unzips his pants and lets his hardened, leaking cock spring free. You stare at Atsumu who is fixated on his own pleasure. His hand wraps around his cock and pumps the length up and down.

Osamu turns your head to look at himself instead. "Someone there is impatient, but let's not learn from him, okay? I want to take you slow, make sure you'll be ready. I don't want you stressed, you release too much cortisol and that toughens the meat."

Anything that goes through his hands...well, in short, all become part of his design.

His hand kneads your breast and toys with your nipple, circling and tugging on the tiny, erect bud.

"Relax," he whispers into your ear. "Just like you did last night."

You try to clamp your thighs shut from reflex. Immediately the resistance from the rope ties stop your movements. Osamu squeezes your thighs and pushes them apart once more.

"Right here isn't it, after hearing me fuck 'Tsumu..." Osamu's finger runs down the sides of your labia. "You just couldn't help touching yourself too huh?"

He knows. They know. You feel your cheeks burn at the realization.

"There's nothing embarrassing about it. If anyone should be, it should be us twins, " Osamu's fingers easily slip in, your pussy already dripping with arousal. "Oh woops, I shouldn't need to comfort you. You're clearly not shy."

Osamu's fingers are thick and long, able to reach far deeper than you ever can. Your tongue is still struggling against the gag while your saliva steeps the tea leaves trapped in the ball.

"Oi," Atsumu cuts in with annoyance. "I thought you said to not play with food. What the fuck are you doing, chef?"

Osamu stops his finger in you for a moment before dragging them out. You're trembling at the sudden emptiness and desire to fill the space immediately. The lack of stimulation is irritating and you are desperate.

Osamu walks up to Atsumu, bringing his drenched fingers covered in your slick to his lips for a taste. Before he can do so, Atsumu grabs Osamu's wrist and takes in those digits, sucking on them gingerly.

Osamu smiles and runs the other hand through Atsumu's hair.

"Patience is a virtue, 'Tsumu, I was just getting her fully prepared for you. I'm giving her all to you already, you couldn't even let me have a taste of her?"

Atsumu releases Osamu's fingers with a pop. "I never said I wasn't going to share," he mutters before pulling Osamu in for a kiss, passing the taste of you along their tongues.

Your body jostles as you finally get a visual matching what you heard last night. You feel your pussy leaking with more excitement, the arousal drips all the way down to your asshole. And the more you squirm, it's as though the rope ties become tighter and tighter, rubbing your skin raw. But even that pain is incomparable to the need to quell your fire.

Atsumu pulls away and presses one last kiss on Osamu's nose. "I always love what you serve, thank you 'Samu." Your heart rate rapidly speeds up as Atsumu comes towards you. He's positioned between your legs, both hands on your thighs, marveling at the display of your body. His hands feel hot.

Atsumu grins. "You probably didn't expect me to be the one taking you, huh?" He guides his cock to your entrance, the bulging tip prodding along your puffy lips. "Did you want Osamu to be the one fucking you?"

No? You want to argue, straining your head up slightly, but only tea-laced saliva drips out from the corners of your mouth.

"'Fuck me, 'Samu. Fuck me, please.' Is that what you heard? Is that what you wanted to say too?"

Your screams are muffled whimpers.

Osamu snorts off to the side, watching Atsumu do exactly what he accused Osamu earlier of: playing with his food. Hypocrite.

Atsumu glares at Osamu before turning his attention back to you. "You'll be begging for me, Atsumu, after I'm done with you."

He lines himself at your entrance and inches himself in, groaning at how your cunt is somehow just sucking him in. You're so warm and tight inside, wrapping perfectly around every part of him. He sits in you for a moment, just enjoying being blanketed by your muscles and chuckling how you tighten around him every now and then.

You whine, urging Atsumu to move a little.

"Okay, okay. Geez, and 'Samu says I'm impatient." Atsumu slowly draws his cock out and snaps his hips forward, the base of his balls slapping against your ass. He delights at how you squeeze your eyes shut and continues rocking into you at a comfortable pace.

Osamu enjoys standing off to the side for a while. He always liked watching Atsumu savor and delight the food he prepares. Atsumu always eats with such gusto. It should have always been that way, until the witch ruined everything. The curse, an experiment with the dark arts, should have never happened. Above all else, it should never have been on Atsumu. Osamu can only wonder if the reason they are subjected to this fate is because they are twins. Until a cure is found, Atsumu, his most beloved other, will have to replenish himself in this way.

A sharp pain rips through you and tears well up in your eyes. You feel Atsumu's cock suddenly begin to pulsate and grow in size. At first, you thought it was because you're clamping down on him too hard and will yourself to relax. But the cock, the thing, is certainly unnatural now. And between your tear-stained vision, you can just barely make out... Monster.

You begin to thrash wildly, head tossing side to side, back arched as much as you can in a futile escape attempt. Atsumu's claws rest on your hips while he pounds into you furiously. His groans, now deep growls, send vibrations that you can feel within your throbbing clit. You fear that you'll actually be ripped in half by the way Atsumu is thrusting into you. The engorged cockhead hits your cervix each time and his ball sack, even heavier, bowls and knocks against you.

Osamu unfolds his arms and comes over.

"It'll only hurt if you don't relax," he tells you, reaching out to press on your clit. "Just let him have his way."

"Go fuck her somewhere else," Atsumu snarls. His voice is warped and bellowing. Your mind is getting foggy as Osamu's fingers on your clit don't stop teasing the bud while having a petty talk with Atsumu. And Atsumu, ticked off by Osamu, picks up his speed.

"There we go, now that's beautiful," Osamu comments, taking his hand away and watching you unfurl in your pleasure. Your abused cunt is puffy when Atsumu pulls out, and you feel the thick liquid start to flow out when you take breaths.

"No, don't do that," Osamu chides, taking three fingers to gather the cum spilling out and stuffing it back in. "Better keep it all in. 'Tsumu isn't done with you yet."

Not yet? You can't even voice your thoughts except weakly shaking your head and moaning into the steel gag. In the moment, your stomach rumbles loudly.

"'Samu, she's hungry," Atsumu points out, rubbing your tummy. "You feed her and I'll stuff her."

Osamu ruffles Atsumu's long hair and gives his new, erected horns a teasing squeeze. Atsumu yelps at the touch. "'Samu!"

"Okay, okay," Osamu relents and stands next to your head. You see him take the paring knife again and slide the icy blade between the cotton ties and your hot cheek. A quick slice and you feel the pressure of the gag release. Osamu removes the tea strainer from your mouth and tosses it into the sink.

"Must have been so over-brewed, I apologize for that," he says. You know he doesn't mean it at all.

"Why?" you croak out. Your jaw and cheeks are sore from being held in position for so long. There's so many things you believe you can ask why about. Why they are prepping you like a meal, fucking you like a toy...Why Atsumu is the way he is. Why Osamu is not who you think he is either. Why you.

Despite Atsumu's grotesque figure, you're sure that you fear this twin more. Osamu's thoughts are so well-hidden behind his eyes; he never gives away what he's thinking or planning. You can only accept his decisions from the receiving end.

"Because of Atsumu," Osamu answers. Everything is for 'Tsumu. "I'll feed you."

Osamu cradles your head with both hands, his fingers tangled in your hair. He prods his cock against your lips. Feeling your resistance, he grips your hair tightly, painfully pulling on your scalp, and presses the tip of his cock to force your lips open. You nearly gag at the length entering your throat and your hands ball into tight fists. Your nose is buried in the base of his cock, pressing into his balls. Each breath you take is heavy with his musky, hot scent.

It's easy to focus on Osamu's cock fucking into your throat, leaving an unamused, monstrous twin off to the side preparing to turn your attention back to him by force.

Atsumu rubs himself against you, preparing to enter you again. You're sure that he has become even bigger. When the tip pushes through, your body attempts to fight the intrusion in self-preservation. The claws at your hips dig in and Atsumu all but pulls you onto his length like a sock. You scream around Osamu's cock, throat clenching around his thick length, and nearly black out from the stretch.

You never had anything this big in you before. Atsumu lifts you up slightly, his grasp becoming large enough to encircle around your whole waist. Your ankles are still tethered and tug on you, much to Atsumu's annoyance. He easily slices through the bondages with a sharp claw. Now free of restraints, Atsumu can cradle you more easily, finally pushing the last section into you. 

Crack!

You can’t cry while you're stuffed with Osamu’s cock, but tears stream endlessly from your eyes. You’re sure your pelvic floor is broken, completely forced apart in a futile attempt to accommodate Atsumu stuffing you beyond your physical capacity. Your hips give out as your two legs, bone out from their sockets, dangle grotesquely.

“Just focus on me,” Osamu wipes your tears away and continues to pump into you. But you cannot focus on the human object in your mouth when your whole lower half and inwards are broken, stretched or squashed.

"Hey look ‘Samu! It's bulging," Atsumu marvels at the imprint of his tip pushing your flesh out from the inside. “Look, my cock is saying ‘hello’.”

Atsumu excitement translates into messy thrusts, treating your body like a game. “Maybe I can even touch your dick through her!” 

Your whole body is numb, the brain shuts its pain signals off completely, and hormones pour through your bloodstream in overdrive. The broken climax spasms through your body like the last bits of a faltering system.

“Better hurry...she’s...she’s fading soon,” Osamu warns between his grunts. He clasps your head and spurts his seed into you. You mindlessly swallow every drop of him, letting the contents slowly flow down your throat. You can’t process anything nor recognize any of the murky images. Who are you? Where are you?

Your memory fades in and out as your eyesight drifts between black and white. You can’t do anything about how the monster is now on all fours over your body, unrecognizable as Atsumu. You don’t feel any fear towards this grotesque figure. You don’t register how his tongue licks your neck.

Your mouth is now empty but you can’t formulate syllables.

“I’m sorry,” you hear Osamu whisper before sharp fangs pierce into your jugular, digging in deeper and tearing a chunk out. Red sprays across your body in fast spurts, drenching Atsumu and covering Osamu. The teeth at your throat gnaw at the flesh, starved, tearing through the skin, fat, and tissues like a child crunching fruit. 

You can feel the droplets falling onto your face like fresh rain after a storm. You vaguely remember your teacher and her warning of strangers. She always reprimanded you and you wanted to make her proud. There will no longer be any chance of that now. You weren’t a good student, and only an utter failure.

Osamu waits for Atsumu to finish you off. Atsumu always gets messy at this point. Osamu tried to help Atsumu section his prey off by cutting and organizing the limbs and even attempted to debone the meal beforehand, but Atsumu has his preferences, and Osamu respects them. So, Osamu delegates cleaning duties to himself instead. 

You’re already beyond recognition when Osamu comes back with barrels of oil. All that is left is a kitchen stained with blood and a pile of bone with chewed connective tissue left. Atsumu sometimes eats the bones too, but not always.

“‘Tsumu, are you full now?” Osamu asks, reaching out to cradle his twin. Atsumu has now transformed back to the way he is supposed to be. Osamu threads his hand through Atsumu’s blonde hair and inhales his twin’s scent.

Atsumu doesn’t respond and tugs at Osamu’s collar, trailing down his arm to bring Osamu’s hand to his own cock.

Osamu grins and kisses the top of Atsumu’s head. “Do you want to fuck me ‘Tsumu? I know you like to, after your meals.”

Atsumu whines and nips at Osamu’s jaw, pushing the twin down on the blood-stained floor.

“Okay, okay.” Osamu unzips and pulls down his pants before crawling onto all fours.

Atsumu’s hand cups Osamu’s ass and pries the cheeks open before curiously fingering at the specimen plugging Osamu’s hole. Atsumu holds onto the base and turns the object, before laughing.

“‘Samu, what is this you have in your ass,” Atsumu teases. “I like this presentation.”

This time, Osamu is the one embarrassed. “Last meal, it hurt like hell. So...I wanted to prepare a little.”

“With an egg holder?” Atsumu cackles again, fiddling with the ceramic object. “Should’ve just told me ‘Samu, I could never bear to hurt you.”

Atsumu holds onto the base and slowly pulls the object out before tossing it aside. He smiles and teases Osamu’s enlarged hole that’s opening and closing around nothing. Gathering up some saliva, he spits onto Osamu’s asshole before lining his cock at the rim and slowly pushing in.

Along with the curse comes a near insatiable lust. Atsumu knows that if he doesn’t fulfill his need to fuck or be fucked, he will snap. He doesn’t really care who he kills during a frenzy of that sort, but it’s too risky to get Osamu caught up in the collateral.

The witch that wanted to create the perfect weapon, failed. She failed because she underestimated the twins’ bonds for each other. She failed because the twins discovered that witches excrete a very special hormone in their body after climax, and it is exactly that substance that is slowly curing Atsumu. With every witch eaten and absorbed, Atsumu is healing and gaining magical powers. He is even capable of passing those essences to Osamu. One day, everything will be the way it's supposed to be.

Osamu plays with a few strands of Atsumu’s hair. Atsumu’s softened cock still buried inside of him. Atsumu has his jaw resting on Osamu’s shoulder.

“You make me feel so good,” Atsumu sighs, enjoying the quiet moments after his high.

“And what about her?” Osamu asks, gesturing to the table where your remains are still at.

“She made me feel good too. The best one yet, but don’t be jealous.”

“Come on, let’s clean up and get out of here.”

After washing their bodies and changing into clean clothes, Atsumu and Osamu are ready to say goodbye to the cottage they have overstayed their welcomes at.

"Let's go 'Samu, we're already behind." Atsumu finishes dumping the last bucket of oil along the edges of the room.

The clamor of boots stride across the creaking wood. As though with the passing of its owner, the cottage itself has lost the will to live.

"Coming," Osamu calls back, walking past the makeshift funeral pyre for you. He notices a flash on the ground and bends down to pick up a button.

"'Samu! Get the fuck out or I'll burn ya down too!"

"Yea, yea."

Osamu drops the button into his shirt pocket and joins his twin outside. Atsumu strikes a matchstick and tosses the small flame into the cottage. Fire meets oil and spreads in an instance, engulfing the cottage in an angry blend of orange and red, devouring all contents and remains within. The smell of scorched wood reaches the twins who are looking at the sight from a distance.

"She was good," Atsumu comments, looking at his twin unsure about what Osamu's grey eyes are thinking about. Atsumu realizes that he didn't specify what good exactly means. But it doesn't seem like Osamu is paying much attention. Is Osamu thinking about you? Is he unhappy? Does he regret what happened to you? Although what's done is done already, if time can go back, would Osamu choose? You or Atsumu?

Osamu slips his hand into Atsumu's, erasing the unspoken worries away. He gently leads Atsumu onto the trail, leaving the burning cottage behind.

"Stop thinking such nonsense," Osamu mutters, squeezing Atsumu's hand. No matter what happens, Atsumu will always come first. His needs, his desires. That's what it means for Osamu to love Atsumu. Even though the rest of the world may not understand the relationship the twins share, calling it depraved and disgusting, it's still selfless on their part. What sin is there to honestly love? What sin is there to try and save his loved ones?

While Osamu admits to himself that he does feel a deep attraction to you and knows that Atsumu feels the same pull as well, there's nothing that can be done about Atsumu's condition. But it's not as though you are completely gone. Your essences and core are within both twins, being absorbed as one with their bodies and soul. You'll forever be with them in that way, even if you no longer have any sentient memory of it.

Osamu fiddles the button in his pocket; there's still a physical reminder of you in that tiny form.

It must be about a twenty-minute trek from the burning site. Although the flames are already far from eyesight, the scorching smell and embers still drift over. The twins pick up their pace, eager to exit the forest before nightfall and make it to the next destination. On the way, they pass by the tree trunk with a wanted poster.

"They never get my best angles!" Atsumu complains, ripping a wanted poster that is nailed to the tree trunk.

"It's not like you have a good angle, ‘Tsumu."

"Shut it, we look the same ‘Samu. You're just calling yourself ugly too!"

Osamu shrugs and continues his trek down the main trail. Atsumu huffs, tearing the parchment into indistinguishable pieces before throwing the shreds up into the air like confetti.

"Wait up!"

Osamu stops in his tracks. "Hurry up, loser. We still have a long way to go."

Atsumu takes a few wide strides and swings his arm around his twin's shoulder. Behind them, a very light drizzle falls from the sky.

[tobesolonely]

apartment 41

hi y’all! this is my very VERY late submission for @meetmeinfleetwood​ ‘s “To Lovers” challenge (thank u miss sadie for even still accepting this LOL) but here is some good ol fashioned strangers to lovers with the line, “will you stay the night?” . :D enjoy everyone!

warnings: mentions of alcohol, intoxication, smut :)

word count: ~5.2k

my ko-fi! thank you :)

There were many things you loved about living on your own. You loved that your apartment was always clean. You loved that at the end of a long day, you could come back and brood in peace. You loved walking around in nothing but your underwear without the fear of anyone seeing you. You did things when you wanted, how you wanted. As a self-proclaimed introvert, there was nothing you loved more than living by yourself.

However, during slightly inconvenient moments like these, you wished you had someone else in the apartment with you.

You swore you’d been trying to get your favorite jar of pasta sauce open for at least the past ten minutes. It had been a long day at work, and at the moment all you wanted to do was heat the entire jar of sauce, boil a bunch of pasta, and call it a night. You were growing beyond frustrated–– you even contemplated just breaking the jar open. Ultimately, you decided against it lest you be met with a mouthful of glass.

Feeling defeated, you pick up your phone in frustration and hurriedly punch in your father’s number. The phone rings twice before he answers. “Hello? What’s up, hun?”

“Dad, what should I do if I can’t get this jar open? Like, it’s seriously glued shut,” you set it down on the counter probably a little too hard considering it was a glass jar. “I’m so hungry.”

“Did you try running it under hot water?”

You did.

“Hm. Try getting a good grip on it with a dish towel or something?”

Of course, you did.

“Well, I’m not driving over there just to open a jar for you,” your dad pauses. “You have neighbors, don’t you? Why don’t you knock on one of their doors?”

“Isn’t that weird?”

“No weirder than asking to borrow a cup of sugar.”

You thank your dad for the suggestion and hang up with him shortly after. He was right. You just needed someone to quickly open the jar for you and then you’d be back in your apartment, secluded from society until the next morning when you went into work. Besides, you’d been in your apartment for roughly three months now and you didn’t have a relationship with any of your neighbors. You figured now was as good a time as any to at least meet the person who lived directly across from you.

You slide on your slippers and clear the few steps it takes to reach your neighbor’s door. A faded ‘41’ was on their door, and a cheeky mat that read, ‘Did you call first?’ was at your feet.

You tried racking your brain for any memory of what your neighbor may look like, but you were drawing a blank. You were more to yourself than you initially thought you were and made a silent vow to become more social from this point on. You situate the jar of pasta sauce under your arm before placing two firm knocks against the door. Moments later, the door is flung open and you’re met with the smell of something delicious cooking, and a handsome, tall man donning a dirty apron.

“Hi, is everything alright?” he has a concerned look on his face as he looks over the top of your head and into your apartment.

“I— This is a little embarrassing,” you mumble, feeling your body grow warm. “I live by myself and I’ve been trying to get this jar of pasta sauce open for at least twenty minutes and I can’t. Do you think you can?”

His mouth slowly turns upwards into a smile before finally nodding, reaching out his hand to grab the jar of pasta sauce from you. “It’s pasta night at your place too, hmm?” His tongue is poked out of the corner of his mouth as he focuses on the task at hand.

“Yeah,” you reply. “I’m just gonna heat up the entire jar of sauce, boil some spaghetti noodles, and call it a night.”

The pop! of the jar causes you to jump slightly. “That doesn’t sound like very good pasta.”

You retrieve the pasta sauce from him, quietly thanking him. “It gets the job done.”

Your neighbor hums in agreement. “‘M sure it does. If you ever wanna taste some really good pasta though, y’know where I’ll be.”

“I do,” you nod. “Well, thank you again. I’ll let you go back to making your pasta sauce that is just way better than mine.”

He lets out a loud laugh. “I appreciate it. It wasn’t any problem at all, I’m here most evenings if you ever need help opening anything else, uh…” He trails off.

“Y/N.”

“Y/N. Beautiful name. I’m Harry, by the way.”

You look down at the dirty hallway carpet, a wide smile on your face. “Thank you, Harry. It was nice to finally meet you, by the way.”

“You too. Have a good night.”

You give him one more smile before turning on your heels and walking back inside your apartment, gently shutting the door. You quickly look out the peephole and catch him just as he’s closing his door, a dimpled-grin on his face.

It was Friday night when you finally got the chance to speak with him again. You were sitting on your kitchen stool nursing a glass of wine and waiting for your frozen pizza to heat in the oven when you heard someone coming down the hallway. As you had been doing all week since your interaction with Harry, you set your glass of wine down and shuffle over to your peephole, eyes scanning the small amount of hallway that was visible.

Harry comes into view seconds later, four overflowing bags of groceries precariously balanced along the length of his arms.

“Fuck.” You hear him mutter to himself. He attempts to reach in his pocket for his keys but once he realizes he can’t do so without setting at least one bag of groceries down, he lets out a loud huff in what you assume to be annoyance. You scuttle to your shoe rack and slip your shoes on before quickly flinging your door open.

“Hi! Need help?”

Harry jumps and you both watch as the contents of the bag he was getting ready to set down spill at his feet. “Now I do,” he’s already picking his groceries off the floor. “You scared the shit out of me. Also, were you watching me?”

Your face grows warm. “I heard someone coming down the hallway so I wanted to see who it was.”

“Oh, really?” Harry questions, pausing to look up at you. “You came out of your place so quickly, felt like I was bein’ watched or something.”

You know he’s teasing you but you can’t help but feel a little embarrassed that he caught onto what you were doing so quickly. Instead of dignifying his statement with an answer, you bend down and begin helping him pick up his spilled groceries. His hand grazes yours lightly as you both reach for a can of black beans, now slightly dented. It lingers for a moment before he retracts it to retrieve a different item. A quick, side-eyed glance reveals that his cheeks are tinged red.

“What are you making for dinner?” You ask him, standing up and dusting off the knees of your leggings.

“Uh, veggie chili. S’one of my favorites–– hey, is something burning?”

Your eyes widen and you abruptly turn away from Harry without so much as a goodbye, hurrying toward your kitchen that was starting to grow foggy from smoke produced by your oven. You were so preoccupied with helping Harry gather up his spilled groceries that you had totally forgotten you had a frozen pizza in the oven and if the smell was any indication of its current state, it was most likely inedible at this point.

Reaching for the oven mitt you kept next to the knives on the counter, you open the oven and fan the smoke out of your face, holding back a gag from the burnt smell. Your fire alarm immediately goes off once you open the oven and Harry appears a second later, a concerned look on his face. He looks around for your smoke detector and once he sees it he stands on his tiptoes to turn it off. You set your now blackened pizza on top of the oven and turn on the microwave fan. Harry’s already opening windows around your apartment, fanning the air with a throw pillow from your couch.

“Thanks,” you mumble, a wave of embarrassment washing over your body. You feared that Harry probably thought you were the most incompetent person on this planet–– first, you couldn’t get a jar open, and now here you are nearly setting your apartment on fire. “Guess I should’ve set a timer, huh?”

“Yeah, ‘spose you should’ve,” he replies. “It’s okay, though. ‘M about to get started on dinner, you can join me? If you’d like, that is. Maybe you’ll have a new recipe so you can stop eatin’ all this frozen shit.”

“Leave my frozen foods out of this,” you playfully scold him, crossing your arms over your chest. “Thank you for the invite though, that would be great, actually. I’m gonna get this cleaned up and then I’ll be right over?”

“Sounds good,” he neatly situates your pillow back on the couch. “I’ll see you in a bit, Y/N. Door will be unlocked.”

Once Harry’s gone, you move into action, quickly tossing the pizza into the trashcan before running to your bathroom. You try to remember if you brushed your teeth earlier that day but you can’t, so you brush them again just to be safe. You hastily examine yourself in the mirror before deciding you weren’t going to do anything more, not wanting to come off as trying too hard. You were almost one hundred percent certain Harry was just being neighborly–– nothing indicated that he found you attractive, so you didn’t want to make it too obvious that you found him to be the most stunning man you’ve ever seen in your life.

Locking your door, you clear the distance from your welcome mat to his in five steps flat, and take a deep breath before letting yourself in.

It didn’t take long for you to realize that Harry had more skill in the kitchen than an everyday home-chef did. He all but floated around the room, chopping with ease and finesse. The two of you had settled into a comfortable silence as he worked and you watched. Billy Joel played softly over his Bluetooth speaker, and he’d occasionally stop what he was doing to take a sip of his wine and look over his shoulder at you, almost as if he was checking if you were still there because you were being so quiet.

Your head was starting to grow fuzzy as you finished your third glass of wine that night, so you make the (responsible) decision to cut yourself off for the night. “Can I have a glass of water?”

“Course y’can,” he replies quietly, not stopping what he was doing. “Give me just a second and I’ll get ya––”

“Oh, I can get it myself. Just tell me where the cups are.”

Harry stops chopping and turns completely to face you, an amused look on his face. “You’re plastered, aren’t ya?”

“No? Why do you think that?”

Harry laughs. “You can’t hear yourself stumblin’ over your words, but I can. Jus’ stay right there and I’ll get your water. You want ice?”

“How do you know how to cook so well?”

“Culinary school,” he responds coolly. “Ice?”

You’re not sure if you are as drunk as Harry says you are, but you were currently finding the fact that Harry went to culinary school the coolest thing ever. “A chef? No way! What kind of chef?”

“I’m a Sous Chef. Gonna give ya a bit of ice.”

“I can’t believe I live across from a chef! No wonder you were giving me shit for eating canned pasta sauce,” you take the glass of water from Harry’s outstretched hand, thanking him. “Even your water tastes better than mine!”

“I think you’re just pissed, Y/N,” Harry responds, eyes crinkled from smiling. “Do y’like cooked carrots?” Your nose wrinkles in response to Harry’s question and he mutters something about how he’ll leave them out before turning back towards the stove to check on his food.

“How old are you, Harry?”

“Just turned twenty-seven. Yourself?”

“I’m twenty-four!” You exclaim, a little too excited. “Where are you from?”

He turns to look at you, eyebrow raised. “England. What gave it away?”

“Your accent.”

He hums, a small smirk on his lips. “Where are you from?”

“I’m from here. Just moved back home from my college town but didn’t wanna move back in with my parents, so here I am.”

“No roommates, you said?”

“Nope,” you pop the ‘p’, taking a big gulp of water. “You don’t either, do you? I just realized I haven’t heard or seen anyone else since I’ve been here.”

“I do not. I had a roommate when I first moved in but he ended up gettin’ engaged and moving in with his fiancée, so it’s just me for now. I think I like livin’ on my own better, though.” You watch as Harry reaches into his cabinet and retrieves two bowls and starts spooning your dinner into them. He sets the bowl in front of you and hands you a spoon, nodding at you to try it.

You bring a spoonful up to your mouth, blowing a few times before shoving it into your mouth. Your eyes widen at the amazing flavor that fills your mouth, and your eyes diverge to his. “This is incredible!”

Harry looks down at his bowl of food, a shy grin on his face. “Thanks, Y/N. Glad you like it.” He grabs his glass of wine from behind him and moves around to the other side of the island to sit next to you.

“Are you a vegetarian?” You ask, mouth full.

“Somewhat. I’m a pescatarian,” he shovels a spoonful of the chili into his mouth. “More wine?”

“I better not,” you reply, mind still fuzzy from all you’ve drunk throughout the night. “This is seriously so good, Harry. You’re cute, you can cook, you’re nice… you’re like, a triple threat!”

“Callin’ me cute?”

“C’mon, you know you are,” you answer boldly. “I’m just stating the obvious.”

“Thank you, Y/N,” he takes a sip of wine. “You’re a pretty big looker yourself.”

“Are you flirting with me?”

“You flirted with me first.”

“So what if I did?”

Harry lets out a quiet scoff, going back to eating his food. After a moment he says, “I wouldn’t mind.” You smile to yourself and continue eating, bringing the bowl up to your lips and tipping your head back so you could get every last drop of Harry’s veggie chili. He gets up to get another helping of food as you get up to place your bowl in the sink, lifting your sleeves to wash it.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says as he brushes past you, going back to where he was previously seated. “I’ll clean up later. Do y’want some dessert?”

“I think I will take some more wine,” you grab the bottle from the center of the island along with your glass, pouring a generous amount. “This is good. Nothing like the cheap bottles I get from Target.”

“I’m glad you like it. Thought I’d pull this one out tonight, always pairs well with dishes like this…” He trails off. “Anyway, yeah. Glad y’like it.”

You and Harry finish off the bottle of wine no more than thirty minutes later, having by now situated yourselves on his couch. He turned something onto the television (you think it was Iron Chef), but neither one of you were paying any attention to it. Harry was asking about what you studied in college, how you like your current career and your favorite things to do in your free time. You were asking him about England, his family back home, and why he chose to go to culinary school.

He has a way about him that captivates you— just completely pulls you in— and you never want to stop listening to him speak. Harry leans close to you when you talk, almost as if you’re telling him a secret that he doesn’t want to miss out on.

“I think ‘m jus’ as drunk as you are now,” Harry whispers, letting out an adorable giggle. “Goin’ into work tomorrow is gonna be a proper pain.”

“No one told you to try and outdrink me!” You yell, tucking your knees under your bottom. “Now we’re both drunk, what good does that do?”

“Think it’s more fun this way, don’t you?” Harry lets out a little burp, his face flushing. “Wanna help me clean the kitchen?”

“What happened to cleaning it later?” You stand up from the couch, wobbling slightly before catching your balance.

“Well, I didn’t think we’d get drunk off our arses and sit here talkin’ til one in the mornin’, did you?” He stands up as well, his hand moving to rest on the small of your back as he scooches past you.

“There’s no way it’s that late,” you retort, checking the time on your phone. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to overextend my stay. I’ll help you clean this place up and then get going.”

Harry swats a hand in front of his face, shaking his head. “Overextend your stay? Of course y’didn’t, more than happy to have you here. Do you wanna wash or dry?”

“I’ll wash since I don’t know where anything goes.” You move to the sink and roll up your sleeves, moving the small number of dishes in the sink all to one side so you can fill the other side with water. Silence falls over you again as you clean the dishes from dinner and soon enough you’re done, drying your hands on your t-shirt.

“Thank you, Y/N. We make a good team, huh? Got that done quickly, didn’t we?” He folds the dishtowel in half neatly and hangs it over the handle of his oven.

“Yeah,” you yawn, slipping on your shoes that had been discarded earlier in the night by the door. “I’ll get out your hair and let you get to bed, then. Thank you for having me over and for cooking that delicious dinner, I enjoyed it. I owe you.”

“If it’s frozen food, don’t worry about it,” he jokes, moving to open the door for you. “If you want to cook me something, though…”

“How about I take you out for dinner? I stay out of the kitchen, and you’ll get something edible and halfway decent. A win-win?”

Harry laughs. “‘M lookin’ forward to it. Goodnight, Y/N.”

“I couldn’t decide between Italian or sushi but since you’re a pescetarian, I figured sushi was our best bet.”

Harry looks away from the menu and at you, clearing his throat before speaking. “That was really thoughtful. Surprised you remembered considering how loaded you were.”

“For the last time, I was not that drunk,” you defend yourself, gently kicking his calf from underneath the table. “By the end of the night, you had way more than me!”

“Maybe so,” he replies nonchalantly, looking back at the menu. “Let’s not forget who can handle their alcohol better, though.”

You let out an indignant hmph, and get to scouring the menu yourself. You didn’t eat sushi very often so you figured you’d probably just get whatever Harry got.

“Let’s do sake bombs.”

Harry raises an eyebrow. “Sake bombs? Are you tryin’ to get me drunk again?”

“They’re fun! Just one?”

Harry shakes his head at you and grins before waving over the waitress, asking her politely for two sake bombs. She comes back a few minutes later with the alcohol and chopsticks balanced precariously on a tray, setting them in front of you and Harry respectively.

The waitress stands back and says, “Ichi… ni… san… sake bomb!” The two of you pound the table until your shot glasses fall into the cup and then you throw your heads back, chugging down the cocktail. When you finally finish chugging your drink and look back up at Harry, he’s staring at his watch as if he’s been waiting for you to finish for ages.

“Oh, you’re finally done? I was startin’ to grow old,” he teases, taking a sip of his water. “Do you know what you wanna order?”

“You’re annoying,” you reply, narrowing your eyes at him. “But I’m gonna get whatever you get.”

“Really? You don’t have any preferences?”

You shake your head. “I don’t eat sushi very often so I honestly don’t know what I should get. I’ll try anything, though.”

“You really did pick this place just for me, didn’t you?” He has a teasing tone to his voice, but his gaze has softened.

“I told you I owed you, didn’t I?”

At this, Harry just gives you a small smirk and signals the waitress over once again to order for the both of you. While you wait for your food to come, you fall into easy conversation with Harry again. It seems like you can talk about anything under the sun with him–– no topic was off-limits, and nothing was awkward. He had to have been one of the most interesting people you’ve ever met in your life. He was well-traveled, knew several languages, and loved to sing and write music in his spare time. Although you felt your own life was rather boring in comparison to his, he made you feel just as accomplished and interesting as he was.

“That was good,” he tells you after you’ve both finished eating, wiping his mouth with his napkin and slouching in his chair slightly. “Think ‘m gonna need to unbutton my pants here in a second.”

“Me too,” you answer with a laugh, making eye contact with the waitress. You mouth, ‘check, please’ and she nods, reappearing at your table with the check. As you’re digging in your purse to pull out your wallet, Harry reaches over and grabs the check before you can even look at it. He reaches in his pants pocket for his wallet and slides his card in before you’ve even looked back up.

“What are you doing?” Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Did you forget that I’m the one that owes you?” He shrugs.

“You can make it up to me another way. Don’t worry about it,” his voice is low and gravelly. The waitress comes back to collect the check from Harry and after he receives his receipt, he reaches into his wallet to place a cash tip for her on the table. “Ready to get home?”

Home. You know he only worded it that way because you live directly across from him, but you would like going “home home” with Harry, at least for tonight. There was no denying the sexual tension between the two of you was electric–– anyone who was paying attention to the two of you could probably sense it. You wordlessly nod and follow Harry out of the restaurant, intertwining your fingers with his when he holds his hand back for you to grab.

He stands on the curb and expertly hauls a cab, opening the door and gesturing your in ahead of him. Harry’s hand moves to rest on your leg as he makes small-talk with the taxi driver, asking him if he was having a busy night and how much longer he thought he’d be out for. Harry pays the cab fare and wishes the driver a good rest of his night before all but dragging you out of the taxi.

“What’s got you in such a rush?” You ask Harry, a teasing

“Oh? Did I misread the situation? I thought–– this is embarrassing, never mind…” his tight grip loosens on your hand but you pull him back into you, laughing at how adorable he was.

“Harry! I’m joking, I know what’s going on,” you rub your thumb across the top of his. “I was just messing with you.” You see him visibly let out a sigh of relief.

“Don’t mess with me like that, Y/N!” You’re still standing outside of your apartment complex in the dark, as close to one another as you can be without completely melting into each other. He releases his hand from your tight grip and places it gently on your face instead. “Is it okay if I kiss you?”

“Please,” you reply breathlessly, standing on your toes. Harry cranes his neck to meet your lips and presses them to yours softly, pulling back only when the both of you are near gasping for air.

“Was that nice?” He asks, thumb caressing your face. Your noses are pressed together and you just nod, still too breathless to speak. “Maybe we can take this inside, then?”

Once inside Harry’s apartment, he nearly rips off the new shirt you bought specifically for your date with him, discarding it by his door.

“Careful with that,” you mutter, wrapping your arms around his neck. “I just got that today. Tag is still onnit.”

You feel Harry laugh into the side of your neck, walking your backward towards his couch. “I’ll cover the cost if it’s ruined then, how’s tha’?”

Harry sucks harshly on your neck, causing you to let out a low moan. “I guess that’s fine.”

“That’s fine?” Harry mocks you, guiding you onto the coach. You hum in agreement as you sink further down into the couch, letting out a sigh of bliss as he peppered kisses along your breast.

Your movements are needy— desperate. Neither one of you were trying to hide how badly you wanted to fuck the other. Harry smashing his lips onto yours once more, his breath warm and tongue salty from all the sushi he had earlier consumed. He attempts to pull his own shirt from his body while not breaking the kiss, and you let out a satisfied hum when he succeeds. Now you’re both shirtless and the only thing stopping you from fucking each other proper is being still fully clothed on your bottom halves.

“Can we get these off?” You ask, tugging at your own bottoms. Harry helps you pull down your tight jeans, struggling slightly to get them off your sweaty legs. Once your jeans are off your underwear follows immediately after, carelessly strewn around the room like the rest of your clothing.

“Y/N…” Harry hungrily takes the sight of your body in, eyes darkening with lust. “You might be the death of me, did ya know that?”

“I do now.”

He sucks on his index and middle fingers and lowers them down to your core, slipping them inside you with ease. You hadn’t realized how wet you were until Harry was knuckles deep, curling his fingers tantalizingly slow inside of you. “Do ya?”

You bite down hard on your lip, nodding at Harry’s rhetorical question. “Obviously.”

He flips the two of you over, so that you’re now straddling him and he’s laying below you. “Take what you want, then–– oh wait, condom?” You nod and move as Harry digs around in his pants, pulling out his wallet.

“Don’t tell me you’re one of those guys that keeps a condom in their wallet.”

He rips it open with his teeth in one swift motion and unbuckles his pants, giving himself a couple of quick strokes before sliding it on. “What if I am? Was quick and effective, wasn’t it?” He rests his hands on your hips and pulls you back on top of him, connecting his lips with yours again. “Now you can take what you want.”

Your hands move up to grip Harry’s shoulders as you slowly sink onto him, wincing at the stretch and burn an unfamiliar partner sometimes brings. You make eye contact with Harry as you take a moment to adjust to his size, noting how his grip on your hips gets even tighter.

“S’big,” you mutter, rolling your hips slightly. Below you, Harry squeezes his eyes shut. “So big.”

“Tell me how badly you want it.”

“You already know. Don’t feel like being teased.”

Harry juts his hips up to meet you slamming down onto him, groaning out loudly from the pleasure the added motion brings. At one point he situates himself so he’s sitting straight up, using his left hand as a support for him to rest back on while his right hand is tweaking at your nipples. He’s letting out a slew of curse words, letting you know it felt just as good for him as it did for you.

“Ridin’ m’cock so good,” he says under his breath, bringing the hand that was playing with your nipples to rest in between your legs. Whenever you slam back onto him you feel him not only deep in the pit of your stomach but also on your clit, bringing you maximum pleasure. “Don’t be so quiet, let me know when ‘m makin’ you feel good, love.”

“I’m already close,” you admit, feeling a bit embarrassed at how it took Harry doing next to nothing to work an orgasm out of you. Well, not literally–– but it felt like it. “Feel s’good inside me, you’re so big.”

Harry lets out a low moan from your words, throwing his head back in pleasure. It hits the arm of his couch with a quiet thump but his pace doesn’t falter in the slightest. “You’re gonna make me cum if ya keep strokin’ my ego like that.”

“You asked for it,” you reply, changing your move from riding to grinding as you were starting to grow fatigued. “I’m close.” You remove your hands from his shoulders and let them roam the expanse of your body, wanting nothing more than to receive maximum pleasure.

“Can feel ya squeezin’ ‘round me,” Harry says, taking his lip in between his teeth. “Know you’re about to come, pet.”

"Harry..." you warn, your movements growing more desperate and sloppy. You weren't normally a selfish lover but your head was so clouded from pleasure, all you could think about at the moment was your release. Harry leans his head back on the couch again and now uses his two free hands to bring you to orgasm–– one is rubbing circles on your clit and the other one is gripping at your breasts as you use your last bit of strength to swivel your hips on him.

You're coming undone not ten seconds later, loudly moaning out the man's name who laid under you. You don't slow your movements, knowing he was right behind you.

"Y/N, fuck, 'm gonna come-" he lets out a low, guttural moan, coming immediately after announcing it.

The sounds of you trying to steady your breathing are the only sounds that fills the room as you both come down from your respective highs. Harry runs his hands along your bare body, eyes hooded from the orgasm that just wracked his body. As you’re beginning to uncurl yourself from Harry, he grabs your hand, pulling you back down.

“Will you stay the night?”

You didn’t know what sleeping with Harry meant for your relationship going forward, but you were glad you knocked on Apartment 41. 

[mcu1shots]

could you please make me a tony xplus size reader story and getting proposed to but telling him no because she's insecure about her body and him seeing it? it would mean alot im in a dark spot right now.

Of course! Here you go, I hope you enjoy and feel better soon!

Notes/Warnings: insecurity, self doubt, mentions of being a playboy, implications of body negativity, fluff, angst, Plus Sized!Reader

Word Count: 2,351

Nothing More Perfect (Tony Stark x Reader)

Of all the things you had heard about Tony Stark you had never imagined him to be quite the way that he was. He had always presented himself as the playboy billionaire, hosting large parties and being seen with many women. It was always all over the front page of every gossip magazine who Tony’s woman of the week was, it almost had become a game at one point of which celebrity or model would be the next one to fall to his charms. But everything changed a short time ago after the attack on New York.

Everyone had seen how Tony flew directly into the portal that led to… well, perhaps only the man himself knew the answer to that. Ever since then he had become… different. Parties hosted in his honour were still as rowdy as ever, but the inventor himself was barely there for a few minutes, enough time to enjoy a couple of the drinks being served, before he disappeared for the evening. Gossip columnists no doubt mourned for the stories that they used to have from him, for no longer did he have his classic ‘woman of the week’ but he was barely seen to be forming connections with anyone. That is, until someone sent in a picture of Tony with a woman.

That woman was you. It had been around two years ago now when the press found out about you, and all it had taken was someone’s untimely photo of him kissing you goodnight in the hallway of your apartment complex. Before that you had always been very careful not to tell anyone but your close friends about your relationship but, Tony being Tony, insisted that he had to kiss you one last time before your night together ended. And who were you to try to resist that?

The gossip columnists, no doubt bitter from the stories that they had been starved from for so long, had a field day writing about you and Tony, you found paparazzi at your work and it was hard to escape the articles. You remember Tony clearly telling you “everything they’re saying is just for the story” as he urged you to never pick up a magazine or read a single article, even going as far as to suggest blocking results from anything that would come up on your computer or phone.

And for a while you were successful in ignoring anything that the press said about you. You listened to Tony’s suggestion and turned a blind eye to any article about your boyfriend just in case it mentioned you in any way. You were struggling enough with self image without the words of journalists all fighting to get the most clicks on a story, Tony was helping you through everything and you didn’t want to jeopardize that in any way.

Things went well after that, you ignored anything that you saw about you and Tony’s relationship. And since the press already knew about you, you were free to have a normal relationship. Well, as normal as it could be when you’re dating a famous billionaire and superhero. Anytime you did something in public there was the risk of the press writing about it, but Tony’s nonchalance about the entire affair rubbed off on you and you allowed yourself to turn a blind eye.

Well, most of the time.

Sometimes, when Tony was away and you were left to your own devices for a while, it was hard not to go on social media and glance at the headlines that were advertised all over your feed, some of the articles seemed kinder than others, and some just seemed to be going for that dramatic effect. Those were the hardest ones to see, those were the ones that unraveled all of the work you had put into loving yourself. And you tried not to read them, you really did, but sometimes you weren’t all that successful.

Tonight was one of those nights, Tony had some Avengers meeting and would be away for a few days. He had invited you to come with him but you had declined, you always felt out of place in those meetings, surrounded by heroes more perfect than you could ever be. Captain America was genetically modified for perfection, Black Widow was trained from infancy to reach that level of perfection, and Tony had built himself into a perfect hero with his iron man suit. It was hard not to feel self conscious around all of that.

Though perhaps you should have gone with him, as you sat in the bedroom you and Tony shared at his Malibu estate. The window was open, allowing the warm night breeze to flow through. It was a beautiful evening, you should have been outside enjoying yourself, perhaps sitting on the beach and watching the stars, but instead you were sitting on the bed looking at your laptop, staring at one of the not-so-nice articles that had popped up on your screen. You hadn’t even clicked into it, but the title and thumbnail was enough to fill you with a wave of insecurity.

You had to force yourself to tear your eyes away from it and put the device on the edge of the bed. You swung your legs off of the side and stood, stretching out your arms and allowing a deep sigh to escape from your lungs. You should have taken his advice to block out those articles from appearing, but it was too late for that now. You rubbed a hand along your face, feeling more emotionally tired than anything else, and decided you needed some water and a bit of a walk around the house to clear your mind.

So that’s exactly what you did, after shaking out your legs which had started to fall asleep from how you had positioned yourself on the bed, you headed downstairs to get some lemon water from the kitchen. However you were confused when you heard the soft sound of music coming from the living room. Wondering if you had forgotten to turn something off, you changed your path and headed there instead.

And there was Tony, a piece of paper in his left hand and a small box in the other. He seemed to be reading over a speech of some kind which was unusual to you as you had never known him to actually prepare a speech in advance, usually able to come up with something magnificent on the spot, even with cameras and microphones pointed at him. His eyeline raised and caught on you as you stood at the edge of the room and he quickly shoved the paper into his pocket and got on one knee, opening the box.

“Y/N,” he paused to remember the words he had just been rereading for what felt like the hundredth time, and yet seeing you illuminated by the dim lighting of the moon and the stars that filtered in through the large windows, he forgot it all. “I had a whole speech prepared for this, of how I love you so much and all of that sappy stuff. But, it all boils down to the question of… will you marry me?”

You were stunned into silence as you watched him, the seconds seemed to tick by as he waited for your response, a grin still placed upon his face. But you weren’t in the best mindset right now, the image of that headline and thumbnail plastered in your mind. What were you supposed to say? You knew what he wanted you to say, he wouldn’t have asked the question if he wanted you to decline, but how could you say yes? How could you ever be good enough for the Tony Stark?

Your silence and stillness was broken as you took a step back, shaking your head. You couldn’t bring yourself to say the word ‘no’ but by the way the inventor’s face fell you knew he got the message. “I’m sorry, Tony…”

You turned on your heels and rushed back up the stairs, unable to look at him any longer. Unable to offer him an explanation as you weren’t sure you could even get the words out. Tears rolled down your face as your mind was flooded with thoughts you hadn’t dared to allow for a long time. But your insecurity was like a bucket of water, catching drips of self doubt. That bucket had slowly been filling up over the past two years but the last drop that had been placed by that stupid article was what caused it to overflow, your tears were only proof of that.

Tony had to admit that wasn’t the reaction he had been expecting from you, not in the slightest. He had been expecting tears, of course, but one of joy as you proclaimed that you loved him too and would be delighted to marry him. He shoved the box into his pocket and followed after you, he would accept your denial of his proposal but he couldn’t leave you to be upset on your own, what kind of man would that make him?

He followed you up to the bedroom that you both shared but you had locked yourself in the ensuite bathroom before he could stop you. “Y/N, hey, come on, love, talk to me,” he begged, knocking on the door. But he received no response from you. He sighed and ran a hand over his face, trying to think of if he had done something wrong. Then he saw it, the laptop still placed on the bottom of the bed, screen glowing in the darkness of the room. He paused, looking at the door and considering what he should do. But he figured that you wouldn’t be opening it any time soon and so he stepped away to see what you were looking at. Immediately he knew why you were so upset, seeing the headline and the image plastered across the width of your screen, a pop-up ad for one of those gossip companies that existed only in the depths of the internet. He knew about your struggles with confidence and self worth, and he was able to use his genius mind to put two and two together.

He closed the tab on the screen and then closed the laptop, not wanting you to see that again. He walked over to the bathroom door and knocked softly. “Y/N, my love, I know what the world says about you sometimes, how cruel they can be,” he began, resting his hand against the door, his face inches away from it and his eyes closed. “But as I close my eyes and I think of perfection, all I see is you, every part of you, no exceptions. My entire career I’ve tried to make something perfect but never would I be able to make anything that could compare to the perfection of you. We don’t have to get married, but please, please, come out here so I can hold you. I love you, Y/N, all of you. I wouldn’t change a thing.”

There was a pause, that agonizing silence as Tony tried to figure out if you believed him or if you could even hear him, there was a chance you were tuning him out and he truly was just talking to a door. But then he heard the click of the lock and stepped back as the door opened to reveal his beauty.

“How can you say that, Tony?” You asked, your voice shaking as you wiped tears from your face, your eyes were red from crying and you sniffled.

Tony lay his hand on your cheek, wiping away a stray tear with his thumb and smiling softly at you, it was the kind of smile that seemed to be reserved for you and only you. It wasn’t some cocky grin or a smartass smirk, it was just… Tony. “Because I mean it, my love. Because, whatever I do, I will never find or make anything as perfect as you.”

You shook your head and closed your eyes, finding yourself unable to look at him, unable to face him. A shaking sigh fell past your lips as you exhaled and tried to think of how to articulate your thoughts to him. “The rest of the world doesn’t seem to agree with you, Stark,” you pointed out in a quiet tone.

Tony chuckled and stepped towards you, pressing a tender kiss onto your forehead. “Maybe not, but I do pride myself on being the smartest man in the world. They don’t call me a genius for nothing, you know.”

And there he was, the Tony that you knew so well. The confidence that he had in himself, that he had in you. And a smile slowly came onto your lips and you nodded a bit at his words. “Then… yes.” You told him, opening your eyes to look up at him.

For a moment he looked confused, an eyebrow raised. “Yes?” He repeated, asking for clarification on what exactly you were agreeing to.

“I’ll marry you, Tony Stark,” you said, leaning into the warmth of his hand and reaching out with your own to hold his free one, giving it a gentle squeeze.

And his smile grew, one that was bright and warm and reserved only for the two of you at that moment. “See what I mean? Perfect. I love you, Y/N Stark.” He said, tilting up your face and pressing a soft, chaste kiss onto your lips.

“I love you too, Tony Y/L/N.” You countered as you looked up at him, your red eyes now filled with love and happiness instead of doubt and despair.

Tony chuckled at your response. “Touché.”

You simply nodded and pulled him closer. “Now, kiss me properly this time?” You asked sweetly, pulling him close to you.

A grin passed his face and he nodded, leaning towards you. Before your lips met in a kiss he spoke, keeping his tone soft and his warm breath fanned across your face, “As you wish, my perfect fiancée.”

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Twelve Months - Good Omens fanfic

Happy 31st Anniversary of Good Omens! :D

To celebrate this momentous occasion, I have posted a slightly-sad, slightly-sweet Wake the Snake fic on AO3, because our demon has been napping for a whole Twelve Months, and sometimes Angel gets a little lonely!

Thank you all for another fantastic year in this fandom!

--

Twelve months.

Aziraphale pushed open the door to Crowley’s flat, a simple shopping bag tucked under his arm.

The lights were still off, the curtains drawn in the awful empty room he called a study. Nothing had changed.

He passed through the enormous, rotating section of wall and into the solarium. This was still bright—many of the plants flourishing despite being unattended so long, despite clearly not having enough water. A few had started flowering. They waved their branches at him as he entered, perking up eagerly.

The angel waved back, but first he peeked into Crowley’s bedroom.

He was still where Aziraphale had left him, on his last visit a month before. Bright red hair spilled across black pillows, grown into a stringy mop. Duvet pulled up to his messily-bearded chin. One hand curled up beside him on the bed.

Still asleep.

With a sigh, Aziraphale crossed over to the plants, who greeted him excitedly, unfurling their newest leaves, a few vines hanging down to brush his face.

“Hello, my lovelies. How are you all doing? Look at you, grown at least a foot since I saw you, I’m sure. And you! What beautiful pink buds. Very impressive.”

He didn’t think Crowley would approve of how he spoke to the plants, but the poor things had been so distraught on his first visit, straining to keep upright, trying to hide their yellowing leaves. So much healthier now, much happier for just a bit of attention. He picked up the watering can and gave them all a quick splash. He didn’t know how much water each needed, but it didn’t seem to matter.

“You keep it up, dears. I’ll be back before you know it.”

Picking up his shopping bag again, Aziraphale headed down the hall to the kitchen. The kettle sat on the island where he’d left it, and he quickly refilled it and set it to boil. While he waited, he pulled his latest creations from the bag: a small pumpkin spice cake from a recipe he’d been perfecting since fall, a lemon coconut cake, and a few apple cinnamon muffins.

Two plates—a muffin for each, a slice of the coconut cake for himself and the pumpkin spice for Crowley.[1] The rest went into the refrigerator, where they would never go bad or stale.

Aziraphale put the plates onto a tray, along with forks and napkins. Next he found two mugs and pulled the little tin of his second-favorite tea out of the bag just as the kettle boiled.

For himself, a teaspoon of the expertly blended leaves, steeped for exactly three minutes, resulting in a pale brown tea with a slightly spicy aroma. For Crowley, he dropped a tea bag into boiling water and let it sit until it was almost black.[2]

He carried the tray back to the solarium and selected a bright red-and-gold tulip that was nearly vibrating in its eagerness to be noticed. A moment to assure the other plants that they were still doing fabulously—particularly a self-conscious little succulent that had rather drooped over the winter but was making a fine recovery—and he once more headed into Crowley’s bedroom.

Crowley had rolled over, and now sprawled on his back, sleeping soundly. He’d apparently kicked a bit, too, as the blanket had slid down past his stomach. Aziraphale smiled as he set the tray on the chair he’d brought in some months ago and got to work.

“It’s wonderful to see you again, dear,” he started cheerfully, carefully rearranging the objects on the little bedside table. “I have a few things for you again, I hope you don’t mind.” Just enough space to slide the mug and the little plate. Perfect.

“I received a package from Tadfield again. Everyone wrote a note and then gathered them all together, really quite clever. They’re all doing well, if a bit bored.” The table was nearly overflowing with little items now, brought in by Aziraphale to cheer the place up. Framed pictures of their human friends, quarantining with their families, clustered in one corner so tightly you could hardly see them anymore.

He pulled the latest out of the shopping bag. “Anathema has started a garden,” he explained, pausing to show the photograph to Crowley’s sleeping form. It showed the witch, kneeling outside her little cottage, working on growing several rows of herbs. “I got the impression she was off to a rough start, but she hopes to send us some mint in the next package. Although Newt warned me not to expect too much, as they’d already forgotten which patch is mint and which is oregano.” He set the picture with the others, and slid the potted tulip alongside it. “I’m sure she could use some advice from you, when you’re ready to share.”

“Nnnnh.” Aziraphale spun eagerly, but no, just Crowley shifting in his sleep again, rolling onto his side.

The angel paused to pull the duvet back up to Crowley’s chin, tugging it straight and smoothing a hand down his back. In a way, his friend was nearly unrecognizable, with that hair and ridiculous beard, but in another way looked the same as ever. That was always Crowley’s way, of course, constantly changing yet somehow always the same.

He lingered, taking in the shape of that face, leaning close, lips hovering above his cheekbone—

Aziraphale pulled back, quickly digging into his bag again. “Oh! Ah, the, um, the children have been making projects for their art class. This past month was sculpture, and they sent us some. Look!” He pulled out four little figures of oven-baked clay. “Ah, young Wensleydale has made a very clever model of a train car. Brian’s is…abstract.” He turned the next a few different ways. “And Pepper’s is, ah, either a very complex symbolic representation of the Patriarchy, or…a troll, I think.” They just fit on the edge of the table, all in a line, a very mismatched tableau. The fourth, on the end, was the best, in Aziraphale’s opinion. “Adam made a little Dog, and it’s very well done, don’t you think?” The canine figure posed with one leg raised and head cocked, ready to play, but the shadow it cast was just a little too large, too ominous, for such a small creature.

With a sigh, Aziraphale shifted the row this way and that. “I sent a letter to Warlock, over in America, but haven’t heard back since Christmas. I believe they’re very busy with something. Politics. You know how it is.” When the Dowlings had left England, they’d planned to return for a visit the following summer. A global pandemic had had other ideas.

“In any case, that just leaves Tracy and Shadwell. I understand he’s decided to hate the concept of literacy this month, so no word on how his war with the squirrels is going. And Tracy has declared she will spend the summer making a fairy garden. I thought her sketches looked very promising, and she promised to send us an update in June. I’m sure you’ll find it charming.”

“Hrrrrm.” Crowley sank under the duvet, nestling down a little deeper. Aziraphale smiled, settling into the chair with his plate and mug.

“Things are loosening up again,” he explained, taking a bite of cake. Delicious, if he said so himself. Sharp and not too sweet. “People are getting vaccinated, shops opening up. It’s really a lovely breath of fresh air, at least when you’re not wearing a mask.” A long sip from his mug, then he held it, fingers tapping. “It’s been nice walking through the park again, just in time for the baby ducks. And that record shop at the corner, they’ve had some wonderful new additions. Which reminds me.”

Putting aside his mug, Aziraphale dug through the bag again and pulled out a handful of square plastic cases. “They had a whole shipment of those little records the Bentley likes. Modern music. I picked out the ones with the rudest names. I’m sure you’ll enjoy them.” He pulled out the first disc and placed it atop Crowley’s phone. The device blinked in confusion a few times, then obediently copied all the music.

“Of course, it’s not all good news.” He stacked the rest of the discs atop the phone and returned to his tea. “Reopening means the customers are coming back. Yesterday, this one individual spent almost an hour browsing the same three shelves. And then he tried to make off with one of my books.” Another long sip. “Granted, he offered to pay, but still. What sort of establishment does he think I’m running?”

Aziraphale paused, waiting for Crowley to respond, not that he ever did. The demon’s eyelids moved a little, but no more.

Sighing, Aziraphale turned to his muffin. “You know, many times in the last year, I’ve wished you were there. Particularly during reopening phases. You could have posed as a customer, and then I’d be able to tell people I was at the capacity limit. Oh, and the people who would call to try and buy my rarest books. Collectors, or so they claimed, but then they just turn around and sell to anyone for twice the price! I’m sure you’d have some biting things to say about such people.” He smiled at Crowley’s sleeping face. “I’ve missed that, and your jokes. Rather more than I expected to.”

When his plate and tea were finished, Aziraphale set them on the floor and reached again into the bag. “Now, I have been attempting to teach my computer how to use the internet. I think it’s going quite well. Adam and his friends gave me a ‘homework assignment’ to find articles on recent news events, and I made the most wonderful discovery. Did you know that humans now share their news through humorous pictures? I printed out my favorites to show you.”[3]

He flicked through a few. “Ah, to start with, a few months ago there was this American politician with amusing mittens who showed up everywhere for a few days. It was extremely droll.” He leaned closer, holding them up for Crowley to see. “Ah, a few more from America. The murder hornets arrived, though by that point everyone had forgotten them. The election became increasingly confusing, and it all ended in a parking lot. For a little while everything was ‘This-or-That Total Landscaping,’ and before that everything was cake.” He showed a few extremely clever illusions. “I did try to make my own, but couldn’t manage it without miracles, which I felt was cheating.”

Really, leaning like this was starting to strain his back. Aziraphale shifted to sit on the edge of the bed, the better to share his pictures. “Ahhh. Also for a time everyone’s calendars were stuck on ‘March.’ And then earlier this year, a group of people learned how the stock market works, but sadly not how to spell it. The whole situation seemed very much like the sort of thing you’d be involved in. And…Oh, this angel from a television show was sent to Hell for…reasons.” He glanced at the shape beside him. Crowley had curled in slightly, pressing against Aziraphale’s back. “Yes. Various reasons. And then this musician, I suppose, went on his own. Both had many people extraordinarily upset.”

The next few images would really tickle Crowley, if he could actually see them. “The biggest news is that a large ship got stuck sideways in that canal in Egypt. Stopped half the world’s shipping for a few days while they dug it out! I’m sure you would have liked that very much. Exactly your sort of trouble. The humans were all very excited.”

The final photo was another of the ship, an image Aziraphale had made himself, printing out a blank version and writing on it in felt-tip pen. The hull of the enormous ship was labeled, “An eternity putting up with the tedious bureaucracy and frequently conflicting commands of my superiors until I begin to doubt my own judgement and sanity,”[4] while the small digger working steadily beside it was “Crowley.”

Aziraphale watched the demon beside him, not really expecting a reaction, certainly not getting one. He reached over, brushing brilliant hair back from Crowley’s forehead. “I think you’d have had rather a lot of fun last year. Or perhaps you’d have been upset you could only watch from a distance. Or…”

He’d leaned much closer than he’d intended, hovering just above Crowley’s forehead.

“Well!” Aziraphale stumbled to his feet. “I suppose that’s just about everything.” He picked up the tray from where he’d rested it on the floor, starting to re-load it with everything he’d brought in. Crowley’s cake and tea sat untouched, as always, but Aziraphale wouldn’t dream of skipping them. “We’re all very optimistic for the summer. Two months and everything should be just…just tickety-boo. Perhaps we can go for that picnic soon, if…yes…”

They’d made such plans for 2020. All the things they would do now they were free. Plans, and other thoughts carried in their minds, possibilities that would play out in their own time. Not too fast, just a slow, steady exploration of everything they could be…

“Well. Pleasant as that idea is, best not to—to plan too much, as the previous year made fools of us all. I just…” He turned away from the tray and watched Crowley sleep, hands clasped before him. “I miss you terribly. And I wish…very much…”

He picked up his shopping bag. One item still inside. The same one he’d been carrying for months, trying to find the courage to bring it out.

With a shaking hand, he reached in and drew forth a soft hand-made doll. He’d spent much of the winter on it. Simple white cotton for the head and body, wooly curls for the hair, and stiff white lace for the wings. Dressed in waistcoat and bowtie made from Aziraphale’s favorite tartan.

He still wasn’t sure why he brought it. He’d stitched several little toys, particularly a lovely black-and-red serpent with gold button eyes that had watched him from the sofa since November. But this, for reasons he couldn’t articulate, this one was for Crowley.

“I, ah…” He shuffled closer, doll clutched in both hands. “I made, um…” Back to the edge of the bed, one hand fumbling across the duvet. “…thought you might like…”

Crowley’s face stood out in stark contrast to the pillow, pale skin and bright hair. Aziraphale wanted to drink it in, memorize every detail, to hold him over until next month. The curve of his nose, the sharp angle of his cheekbones. His lashes flickering as his eyes moved. His lips, pursed ever so slightly…

“Bless it, Angel, are you going to kiss me or not?”

Aziraphale gasped, pulling back from the bright gaze of slit-pupil eyes. “You—you’re awake!”

“Nnnh. Half.” Crowley shifted, head moving across the pillow, eyes threatening to shut again. “Wouldn’t miss your visit.” One hand reached out, plucked the doll from Aziraphale’s unresisting fingers. “For me?”

The angel nodded. “If…if…you like it…or I could—I could just…”

Without a word, Crowley pulled the doll under the duvet and curled up, tucking it under his chin, a faint smile on his lips.

“If you were awake you—you should have said something! I’ve been going—going off like a fool all this—oh!” Aziraphale could feel his face turning hot as he recalled a few times his tongue had been a bit too loose for propriety.

“Mmmmmh.” The golden eyes were shut again.

“Crowley?” No response. “Crowley!” Aziraphale scowled. “Anthony J. Crowley, if you’ve fallen asleep again, I swear, I’ll—”

He’d do what? The angel fumed, but what could he really threaten? To stay away? Never.

“Alright then, I suppose I’ll see you in June. I’ve had several new requests for extremely rare manuscripts and I need to go pen some responses reprimanding these vultures for their cheek. I can—”

“You can stay.”

He spun around. Crowley had one eye barely cracked open. Gently, he pulled back the duvet, showing there was just enough space for Aziraphale beside him.

“I…I couldn’t.” But he stepped forward, not back. “I have business tomorrow, things to—”

“Just tonight then.”

His fingers brushed the mattress and pulled back as if burned. “You—you don’t really mean this, you’re just talking in your sleep.”

“Nah.” Crowley settled the doll by his pillow, making space. “Why else would I give you my key?”

“I…to…water the plants?”

“They take care of themselves.” Crowley held open his arms, eyes shut once more. “I missed you, too.”

Well. What could he say to that?

Aziraphale took off his shoes and slid into bed, into Crowley's arms. They wrapped around him gently as Crowley wriggled closer. “Mmmm. Y’r softer than the doll.”

“Oh.” He’d been called soft many times, generally as a way to imply he was a failure as an angel. But just this once, it made him feel rather pleased. “Soft is good?”

“Verrrry good.” Crowley twisted a bit, trying to find a comfortable way to rest his long limbs, and finally settled curled up against Aziraphale’s chest, tucked below the angel’s chin with a leg hooked over his knees.

The angel smiled. “And you’re…you’re noodlier than a stuffed snake. Err…”

A chuckle, just a stirring of breath across his throat. “Can’t wait to hear the story behind that.” Crowley nuzzled against his shoulder with a sigh. “Good night, Angel.”

Aziraphale swept the brilliant hair back again and bent down, pressing his lips to Crowley’s forehead. A soft, gentle kiss that made his friend smile a little more broadly. “Good night, my dear.”

Crowley drifted off again, burrowing close, as the angel continued to gently tease the back of his hair. Perhaps, he thought, perhaps tomorrow's work wasn't so very urgent. Perhaps a bit of rest would do him good. And perhaps...

Well. Don't plan too much. But for the first time, Aziraphale felt a bit of optimism about the coming summer and its possibilities.

“Sleep well, Crowley.”

[1] Crowley had invented pumpkin spice, and Aziraphale assumed he must like it. In truth, Crowley despised it, and regretted every autumn how it took over the entire world. He missed apple cider season. [2] Aziraphale had suspected since the early 1950s that Crowley secretly took his tea with several lumps of sugar, but would continue to pretend he didn’t know until Crowley confessed. Considering current circumstances, that was unlikely to be any time soon. [3] Aziraphale’s fax machine, revived after over three decades of disuse, had been somewhat confused to be asked to perform any task at all, much less to print memes onto photo paper with perfectly balanced color; but like the plants and Crowley’s phone, it couldn’t stand to disappoint the angel. [4] It was possible he hadn’t quite mastered this new form of communication.

[pretendingboyfriends]

Warnings: smut babayyyy

Word count: 2.7k+

Summary: A quiet evening in Italy with Harry.

On an Evening in Roma - Dean Martin

The coral hue of the setting sun seeps through the open doorway leading to the terrace, casting a similarly colored shadow onto the tile floor as the two of you move around the kitchen. A warm breeze drifts through the room causing the curtains framing the door to flutter daintily and the scent of the homemade bread to waft throughout the house, setting a soft and romantic mood for the evening. 

You leisurely pour a second glass of wine for Harry and yourself before you begin crafting your meal, the warm buzz of impending intoxication lulling the both of you peacefully along with the soft jazz you have playing quietly in the background. You both have aprons tied around your waists to prevent your clothes from being splattered with flour or wine, aware of your tendencies for clumsiness.

“Can you crack the eggs into a bowl for me, darling?” You request, nudging the small carton of eggs towards Harry as you scoop the right amount of flour from the bag and onto the clean counter. 

“Mhm,” He hums happily, “How many?” 

“Two is fine.” You smile, shaping the flour into a decently large pile before pressing your fingers into the middle to make a well for the eggs and sprinkling a little bit of salt into it. 

Harry quickly cracks the two eggs into a small bowl and sets the bowl on the counter besides you. “Okay, now what?” 

“Now, we pour the eggs into the middle of the well I’ve created in the flour, like this,” You start, reaching for the bowl of eggs as Harry watches intently, pouring them carefully into the well. “And then we knead it with our hands, like this.” You finish, burying your fingers into the flour, kneading slowly and carefully as Harry rolls up the sleeves of his button up. 

“Can I just-” He mutters, walking behind you slowly and wrapping his arms around you, placing his hands over yours as he rests his chin on your shoulder to watch what he’s doing. “That’s better.” 

You snicker girlishly at him, shaking your head as you continue to knead with his hands over yours. “You’re an absolute idiot.” 

“Mmm, yeah, but you love me.” He hums through a chuckle, nudging his hips against you playfully. 

The two of you knead the flour and egg mixture into a malleable dough, making sure to add flour when needed. Harry’s playful attempts to flick flour into your face has a smile glued to both of your faces as you giggle and scold him for getting into your hair, though truthfully, you don’t mind.

Once the dough is thoroughly mixed, you form it into a ball and wrap it tightly with cling wrap to let it rest.

“Now, after we let the dough rest for 15 minutes, we flatten the dough out with a rolling pin,” You announce, slipping from your place between Harry and the countertop to find a rolling pin. “And then, after that, we cut it into the noodles.”

Harry wiggles his eyebrows excitedly, taking his half empty wine glass from the counter and downing the rest of the liquid as he watches you. “What kind of sauce are we having?” 

You pull a wooden rolling pin from a drawer, mumbling a small “aha!” before setting it on the counter. “I was thinking alfredo, if that’s alright with you. It’s simple and doesn’t take long at all.”

“Sounds amazing,” He hums, stepping towards you to curl an arm around your waist and press your body against his. He leans down for a moment to capture your lips between his and your hands come to rest on his chest. Your lips meld together languidly for a few passing moments as he presses you into the counter and trails his lips down your jaw to your neck. You can’t help but whimper from the plush warmth of his lips, sponging along your skin. 

“Salad!” You exclaim suddenly.

Harry frowns, pulling his face from your neck, “That’s what you’re thinkin’ about right now? M’doing some of my best work over here and all you can think about is salad?” 

“Well, we need something to go with the pasta and bread and we have that vinaigrette that we still haven’t tried.” You reply, patting his cheek with your hand before you wiggle from his grasp. Harry watches you with a pout on his lips, making you roll your eyes at him as you take a container of lettuce from the fridge.  

Minutes later, the two of you are back working on the pasta, a pot filled with water is put aside as you slice the rolled dough into fettuccine pasta. Harry watches as you cut into the dough, creating almost perfectly measured strips, all dusted lightly with flour to prevent them from sticking to the counter. 

“Can you turn the stove on to let the water boil? I’m almost done with the noodles.” You hum, glancing up at him. He quickly complies, smacking a kiss to your cheek before sliding over to the stove and turning the dial to high. “Oh and salt the water, too. Helps it boil faster.” You add, sliding the salt shaker towards him. 

Once the noodles are boiling and the bread is cooling on the counter, you and Harry pour yourselves some more wine and begin swaying to the sound of Dean Martin crooning in Italian. His arms are loosely wound around your waist, one hand grasping his wine glass. You have one arm draped over his shoulders, the other grasps your own wine glass, allowing you to sip it at your leisure.

“Quite like this,” Harry purrs, eyes focused on yours. “Havin’ you all to myself for awhile. S’nice.” 

You smile, bringing your hand up to tangle your fingers into the curls at the base of his neck. “It is nice.”

He leans down, pressing his lips to yours gently, continuing to sway the two of you side to side. His lips taste strongly of red wine as he licks into your mouth, a low grunt vibrating from the back of his throat. Your fingers tug at the curled tendrils of his hair as you adjust your grip on the wine glass, careful not to spill or drop it. 

Suddenly, the hissing of water overflowing onto the hot stove causes your face to separate from Harry’s with a quiet smack as you whip your head to the side to see the water from the noodles spilling over the side of the pot. 

“Shit,” You mutter under your breath, unwrapping yourself from him quickly to turn the heat down and fan at the bubbles with an oven mit. The water and bubbles calm to a simmer and you sigh in relief, stirring the noodles slowly. 

“Everything good?” Harry asks, leaning over your shoulder to watch you stir. 

“Yeah,” You breathe through a sigh, “I think they’re done anyways.” 

Eventually, you’re serving the noodles onto two plates as Harry tosses the salad and slices the bread. You slice a few small pieces of butter onto the steaming noodles before grating parmesan cheese over them generously and stepping back to admire your work. 

“Looks delicious,” Harry smiles, slicing a few pieces of bread from the loaf. 

Once everything is finished, you bring the food to the terrace, placing all of it on the small, round table to set up for the evening. Both of you discard your flour dusted aprons to reveal your cream, silk slip dress that reached to mid thigh and Harry’s white button up with a lavender sweater vest layered on top of it, paired with his brown, flared trousers. As always, he looks like a dream.

You sit across from each other and enjoy one another’s company as you eat, the sun slowly setting as you lounge. Harry endlessly moans over how delectable everything is and you giggle at him, nearly kicking them under the table every time he makes a sound. 

After both of you clean your plates completely, you finish off the bottle of wine, splitting the remainder of the liquid between the two of you before migrating to the metal railing of the terrace. Harry’s arm is wrapped around your waist tightly, pressing you into his side as you gaze out into the quiet street.  

“Lovely view,” He says from beside you and you nod, glancing at him to find him staring directly at you. 

You roll your eyes, taking a sip from your wine glass and muttering “Wanker” under your breath before turning your attention back to the actual view in front of you. He chuckles to himself quietly, easily dragging you around to his front so that he can wrap both arms around you from behind. His lips drop to your shoulder, softly trailing along your skin and leaving goosebumps in their wake. You can still hear the music playing in the house, Etta James’ “A Sunday Kind Of Love” drifting from the small speaker on the kitchen counter to the small terrace where the two of you sway.  

You stay like that for awhile, drinking in the perfect weather and enjoying one another’s company until the sun goes down and the only sources of light are the street lights below and the soft light coming from the kitchen. By this time the tune of Yes’ “Yesterday and Today” is playing, the soft piano nearly lulling you to sleep in Harry’s arms.

“S’gotten dark,” He hums into your neck.

“So it has.” You reply, opening your eyes for the first time in what seems like hours.

“Think we should head in?”

You grunt quietly in response, allowing Harry to unwrap himself from you and lead you to the doorway. The sudden prospect of what’s about to come causes both of you to become giddy with excitement. The alcohol coursing through your veins heightening your emotions immensely. 

The two of you stumble back into the house from the terrace, tripping over one another’s feet as you giggle drunkenly. Neither of you bother to shut the door behind you, leaving it wide open for anyone to hear or see into your house.

 Harry falls back onto the couch, gazing longingly at you as you stand above him. His hands dropping to the backs over your bare thighs and tugging you forward to straddle him. You snort loudly and press your nose into his cheek as you wrap your arms wrap around his neck. 

“Dinner was nice,” He mumbles, pressing hot kisses to your neck. You hum in agreement, clutching the curls at the base of his neck as his lips move. “Think I’m ready for dessert now.”

You chuckle softly, rolling your hips into his, “What kind of dessert were you thinking?”

He pulls his face from the crevice of your neck, his hands sliding to grip your waist and push you against his growing bulge as he gazes up at you with lust blown pupils. “The kind where you ride me right here on the couch.”

The delicious feeling of Harry’s bulge pressed directly against your clit mixed with the sexy rasp of his words causes a quiet whimper to pass through your lips. You lean forward, capturing his lips between yours fervently as you grind your hips against his slowly over and over. 

“How’s that sound, baby?” He asks, pulling away for a moment to gaze up at you. 

“Sounds good, s’good, just- please,” You slur, desperately pulling him back in for kisses. He chuckles drunkenly against your lips and slides his hands up your thighs beneath your dress, bunching the fabric around your waist so that he can easily grasp your ass and press you into him. You whimper a little louder this time, fingers tangled into your lover’s mop of curls as he works you up. 

Harry’s fingers find the waistband of your thong and he helps you tug them down your legs  before dropping them onto the couch cushion beside him. Your hands start to fumble with the button of his slacks, fingers working loosely due to your intoxicated brain. 

Finally, his trousers are off and kicked to the side along with his briefs and you’re stroking him slowly as his lips brush against your clavicle. He’s discernibly hard already, rutting his hips up against your hand despairingly. You push yourself up onto your knees above him, holding him right against your entrance before slowly sliding down onto him. Once you’re fully seated in his lap, you gasp out a moan, pressing your forehead to his as he breathes out his own guttural moan. 

“So fuckin’ tight,” He mutters under his breath, hips jutting up into you subconsciously. 

The thin strap of your dress slides off your shoulder as you begin to move on top of him, the movement causing your braless breasts to nearly spill out of the fabric. Harry leans forward, pressing hot, wet kisses to the swell of your breasts as you move, both of you whining breathlessly. 

“Mm, Harry,” You gasp after he thrusts up into you harshly, his tip brushing directly against your g spot and causing your legs to quiver violently. 

“That’s the spot, hm?” He growls, wrapping his arms tighter around you to aid him in thrusting against the same spot over and over as you bounce against him. You nod weakly at his venereal question, hiding your face in his neck and pressing your chest flush against his. 

Your tepid, clammy bodies slide against each other with every girate of your hips, fingers tangled between locks of hair, tugging and combing at the tendrils. Neither of you are fully undressed, Harry's vest and button up crumpled up over his belly button, both straps of your silk dress barely holding on to your shoulders, but you’re both so entrapped with each other that neither of you care. 

“Fuck,” you whimper, biting into his shoulder. “You’re so big, H. Always feel so good.” 

He grunts, pushing up into you harder and silently requesting a kiss from you by moving his head to nudge against yours. You move your head to kiss him, haphazardly taking his bottom lip between yours. His tongue slowly works its way into your mouth as you kiss, hands pressing into your ass cheeks to push you onto him deeper. You move back against him harder, chasing your imminent release no matter how much your thighs burn and ache with your constant movements. 

“I’m gonna cum,” You breathe into his mouth, his arms immediately tightening around your waist to pull you into him and thrust upwards harshly. 

His hand slips between the two of you, thumb quickly gliding over your slippery clit. “Shit- c’mon, cum for me, baby.” 

You toss your head back onto your shoulders, Harry’s lips immediately stamping into the column of your throat as you gasp and your thighs tighten around his waist. You cry out as the knot snaps and warmth spreads across your body from within, Harry continuing to fuck into you from beneath you. 

“That’s it, good girl.” He mutters into your throat, perspiration building at his hairline as he chases his own orgasm and brings your body down into his. 

Moments later he grunts into your skin, cum spilling into you thickly. Your hips roll into him slowly, coaxing everything out of him as his head falls against the back of the couch. Your fingers slip into his sweaty curls, gently and soothingly stroking his scalp whilst the two of you catch your breath. Leaning forward, you press gentle kisses to his face and he mumbles under his breath, “So fuckin’ good to me,” 

The playlist you put on is finally repeating itself after sifting through nearly 2 hours of songs. The door to the terrace is still wide open, curtains quivering slightly from the steady breeze. Harry finally regains his strength and rolls the two of you over so that you’re lying back against the couch cushions, hips still pressed together as he hovers above you. He presses a few kisses to your neck and face before he pushes up onto his knees and pulls out of you. 

He steps away for a moment to grab a damp washcloth for you to clean up with and returns with a clean pair of boxers on and a t-shirt for you to wear (along with the washcloth, of course). He helps wipe the stickiness from the inside of your thighs before waiting for you to change into his t-shirt.

Once you’re both (for the most part) cleaned up, you pitter into the kitchen to grab a small container of gelato from the freezer.  “Up for some real dessert?”

-

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OK HEY!! i kinda just wrote this bc i saw a tik tok of a couple making pasta and wanted to write something similar so here ya go <3 don’t forget to reblog and send me asks!!!<33333

[goldentournesol]

Double Whammy

(Spencer Reid x Reader)

The one where Reader gets a nasty cold and is on her period at the same time, so Spencer takes care of her.

Length: 2.6k

A/N: thank you for the request @itsmyblogandillreblogifiwantto​ ! I enjoyed writing this one, IT’S SO FLUFFY! 

masterlist

Sometimes, the stars align and something favorable happens. Other times, the stars want nothing to do with each other and every possible thing that less than favorable happens. Unfortunately, the latter had been Y/N’s case for the past two days. She’d been fighting off a nasty, terrible cold. She didn’t get sick often, but when she did, it felt like her body’s main goal was to punish her for not being careful enough rather than heal itself. Her bones ached and her nose was blocked in a way that made her feel as though she’d never breathe properly again. On top of all that, her uterus made sure to be as unforgiving as possible as the dreaded time of the month rolled around. She could barely keep her eyes open as her body fought through the exhaustion that came with the double-whammy.

It was around 4 in the afternoon and Y/N had barely left the bed at all. She wished for some type of relief from her cramps but it just wasn’t coming. Her migraine wasn’t helping her out either. She couldn’t even remember the last time she had any water to drink. 

“Hello?” She croaked into the phone with a heavy cough. It came as a surprise to her that she even managed to let out a single word, although it sounded more like ‘bellow’ than ‘hello’.

“Y/N! How are you feeling today, my love?” Spencer’s chipper voice boomed through the speaker. 

“Not much better to be honest.” She murmured into the phone which was laying on the pillow that Spencer slept on, barely able to keep her puffy eyes open.  He heard her blow her nose and she uttered a small apology, knowing that must not have been pleasant to hear over the phone. He felt his heart twist in his chest, knowing she was feeling so under the weather and not be able to make her feel better.

He was currently on a case somewhere in the deserts of California. She hadn’t caught the cold yet when he left. She knew that he would have stayed with her if she’d caught it before he left, which would have made her feel like the biggest burden there was and she also knew that her boyfriend wasn’t the type to take no for an answer.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart. But, I have great news. We closed the case, I’m getting on the jet now. I should be home in no time.” He says softly and she can feel a small smile fighting its way onto her face.

“That’s great, Spence…” she trailed off, losing more energy by the second, “Get home safe, love you.” 

“Love you more.” Spencer hung up and felt his shoulders drop in defeat before making his way back to his team as they climbed onto the jet. The guilt he felt for leaving her alone was overwhelming. He should be there for her, making her feel better. He knew she hated asking for help, but he couldn’t help but wonder if she’d taken care of herself at all. He guessed he’d find out soon enough.

It felt wrong walking in and finding their apartment void of any light or sound. Usually, there was some sort of noise or light coming from either a TV or a phone. He quietly made his way over to the bedroom and heard her snores. He sighed in relief, knowing she was at least resting. Spencer made his way over to the kitchen and figured she must have been starving. There was no evidence of any food or drink anywhere. He wondered when the last time she ingested something was. 

He made a quick call to Rossi, unsure of his cooking skills. He checked the fridge and pantry for the necessary ingredients and attempted to make chicken noodle soup with whatever they had available. He yawned as he cut up the vegetables, but quickly fought the sleep to continue cooking. He heard her soft snores stop and he peeked his head into the dark room again.

“Spence?” She managed to say softly, the thick covers muffling her voice. 

“Hey, sweetheart. I’m here.” He smiled as he approached their bed and turned on the lamp by their bedside. She winced at the sudden brightness and he quickly tried to block the light with his body to provide her eyes with some relief. 

“How are you feeling?” He asked softly as he took a seat at the edge of the bed. He took in her puffy eyes and red nose and wondered how she could still look so cute. Her bottom lip jutted out slightly and shook her head.

“I feel like absolute shit.” She mumbled and his heart dropped in his chest.

“Have you had anything to eat...or drink?” He bit his lip, already knowing the answer. She shook her head again softly, almost guilty. 

“Alright, I’m making you some soup. I think a hot shower will make you feel a lot better, Y/N/N. Come on, out of bed.” he tried to coax her with his hands. She only peered back at him over the duvet with tired eyes and small hands that wrapped around the edge of the duvet, Spencer found himself reveling in her adorable appearance and feeling bad about ruining her comfort, but he knew she probably stayed in bed all day. Spencer raised his eyebrows at her when she didn’t move. He smiled with relief when she didn’t fight him as he gently pulled back the covers from over her. 

“Come here, baby.” He motioned for her to come closer into his embrace. She slowly wrapped her arms around him and he lifted her out of bed, her legs locking behind his waist. He heard her sniffle into his neck as he carried her to the bathroom, he didn’t know whether she was crying or if it was just from the cold. He was too good to her, she didn’t know what she did to deserve such a compassionate partner, but she thanked the universe for allowing her to have him. Perhaps a tear or two managed to slip out of her eyes and into Spencer’s hair. Spencer turned his head slightly to press a kiss to her temple, murmuring into her hair, “I’ve got you, sweetheart.” He set her down as gently as he could and began to run the hot water.

“Okay, this should be perfect for decongesting your nasal pathways and loosening up the phlegm--” he stopped himself, knowing her head was probably pounding, “The soup should be ready by the time you finish your shower. If you need anything, I’ll be right outside.” He squeezed her shoulders and she sent him a tearful smile. 

As he closed the bathroom door, he took notice of a red patch of blood on the bed sheet on the mattress. He hastily checked his phone for the date and realized that her monthly visitor would be in fact--visiting. Spencer’s heart wrenched yet again as he could only imagine how horrible she really felt at the moment. He didn’t hesitate to change the sheets and clean the mattress of any remnants before neatly restoring order to the bed. He wanted to make sure she was taken care of, especially since he’d been away for so long. 

Somehow, he’d lost track of the pot that was currently boiling over the stove. He rushed to it, thankfully catching the pot right before it overflowed. He brought a spoon up to his lips and immediately winced at the lack of flavor. Spencer added some salt and continued to stir as he heard soft footsteps behind him. Y/N hugged his waist from behind silently and smushed her face against his back. Spencer smiled widely as he took the soup off the heat and swiveled around to wrap his arms around her. She noticed that he’d changed the sheets and made the bed and she honestly thought she was about to cry again.

“I missed you.” She mumbled into his shirt. Spencer kissed the top of her head and rubbed her back.

“I missed you way more. I’m so sorry for being away while you’ve been--” He began to apologize but was interrupted by her frantically shaking her head.

“No, no, no. Don’t apologize. I’m just glad you’re back.” The words barely made it past her lips, her voice hoarse. She lifted her head from his chest to gaze at him and they both adoringly stared at each other for a bit too long. He reluctantly pulled away from the embrace to ladle some soup into a bowl while it was still hot. He made himself a bowl as well since he hadn’t had any dinner. She sighed heavily as she sat at the kitchen table.

“What’s wrong?” Spencer asked, setting the two bowls down.

“I...I don’t feel like eating.” She pouted again, Spencer knew this was the cold talking. 

“I don’t think you want to hear me list the benefits of soup when you have a cold.” Spencer teased, even though he knew she loved his info-dumps. She rolled her eyes playfully, smiling at him. “Besides, you haven’t eaten or drank anything in...judging by the color of your tongue and lips, around 16 hours. You need something in your system so you can take some medication to make you feel better, sweetheart.” He said as he hungrily spooned soup into his mouth. It really wasn’t that good, but it’d do the job.

She nodded, giving in and taking her first spoonful of soup. She giggled right after it.

“I know it’s not that good.” Spencer laughed.

“I didn’t say that!” She laughed back at him. She was happy to finally get out of the rut she was in and who would be able to do that better than Spencer? “Honestly, Spencer, it’s pretty good.”

“If you say so.” He grinned and took her hand over the table. They sipped their soup in a comfortable silence and she even got up to ladle a second helping of soup. It was the first thing she’d eaten in a while and her stomach appreciated the warmth.

“Do you need me to get you anything from the store?” he asked later as he put both their dishes away. He brought her some medicine for her cold and a cup of water, motioning for her to take them. He also made sure to make her some chamomile tea to help ease the cramps.

She nodded sheepishly, taking the medicine, “Chocolate.”

He laughed, fully expecting the response. “Alright, how about you set up a movie and drink your tea? I won’t take long.” He pressed a firm kiss to her forehead and walked towards the door.

“Spencer!” She called after him, sniffling again and wiping at her nose.

“Yeah?” He called back, slipping on his shoes.

“I also need pads!” She reminded him and he laughed.

“Okay, anything else?”

“Yes! I love you.”

“I love you, too.” He grinned as he made his way to the store.

She grabbed her cup of tea and plopped down onto the couch, setting up a movie that wouldn’t agitate her headache. As Spencer promised, he was back quickly. He changed into something comfortable and made his way over to the couch with her chocolate in his hand. She smiled gratefully as she unwrapped it and devoured half of it. Spencer could only watch with adoration.

“How is it?” he asked, watching her lick the corner of her lips, trying to get all the chocolate she possibly could.

“It’s the best thing I’ve had all day, Spence.” She threw herself in his arms, her head resting soundly on his chest, “Besides this, of course.” Spencer smiled as wide as he could as he rubbed her back. She pulled her head off his chest to stare at him in wonder.

“I will never get over how lucky I am to have you.” She whispered softly and Spencer resisted the tears threatening to rise in his eyes. He just sent her a watery smile and shook his head in disbelief, not trusting his words. He had no idea where he would even begin to describe how lucky he felt to have her. She placed a soft hand on the side of his neck to pull his cheek closer to kiss it, she would have kissed his lips but she didn’t want him to get sick. Her fingers threaded through his hair as she admired him. At this point, the movie was long forgotten, she wasn’t even sure she wanted to watch it.

“Hm, it’s getting long.” She twirled a piece around her fingers. Spencer nodded as he stared back at her.

“Do you...want to braid it?” He asked tentatively, instantly noticing how her face beamed at the idea. She’d always asked him if she could braid it for him but he always refused. But looking at her now, he’d let her do anything she wanted, especially if it meant making her feel better.

“Really?! You mean it? You’re not just offering because you pity me?” She squeaked excitedly.

“Well...that’s only part of it.” He laughed and rolled his eyes. She gasped and got up to walk to their bedroom to get a comb and some hair ties. This was the most energized she’d been since Spencer had seen her and he wasn’t about to deny that seeing her excited made it worth whatever was about to happen.

“Okay, you’re gonna have to sit on the floor. You’re too tall for me.” She said as she took her seat on the couch. Spencer moved to the floor and sat down between her legs. Her fingers threaded through his mop of curls and he instantly relaxed at her touch. She began to gently comb through his tangles, careful not to hurt him. He really didn’t mind, it brought him inexplicable peace, especially after a long day.

“Are you gonna fall asleep on me now?” She teased as she noticed his closed eyes and the way his head felt heavier against her hands.

“Mmm, I might.” He hummed.

She giggled and separated his hair into four sections, French braiding each one. It was nice to have a distraction. The only thing keeping Spencer’s head propped up was her knee and she thought he genuinely fell asleep until he felt the absence of her fingers in his hair.

“Are you done?” He asked quietly, his hand coming up to feel the braids. He took it as a yes when she didn’t smack his hand away. “Y/N, they feel so cool. I have to see.” He got up from his spot with a grunt and went into the bathroom to check himself out.

“I don’t think it suits me.” He laughed, unconvinced at his appearance. He brushed his teeth while he was at it. She laughed and shook her head in response, getting ready for bed as well.

“I personally think you look great! You should sleep with them in and we can see what your hair will look like in the morning.” She tried to reason with him, she just really didn’t want him to take them out so soon. He shook his head at her once again and turned the TV off with a huge yawn.

“Come on, Spence, let’s get in bed.” She grabbed his hand and took him to the bed. They instinctively wrapped their arms around one another.

Spencer whispered in her ear, “Are you feeling any better, sweetheart?”

She nodded against him, “Thank you, Spencer. I love you so much.” He smiled.

“I love you, more. Goodnight, Y/N.” She was already out like a light before she could respond.

[greenygreenland]

If I Were You Pt. 3: Fives x Reader

 ‘-Uhmmm yes and thank you for the request??? -Of kriffing COURSE I’ll do a pt 3! -I love asks, they make my day so thank you so much!! -the beginning is inspired by something that actually happened to me today (but it’s greatly exaggerated in this. promise.)

PREVIOUS PART

WARNINGS: MENTIONS OF DEATH, ABUSE, HOSPITALIZATION.

The first thing that hits your nose is a sharp scent, like toast that’s been overcooked. You frown to yourself, dropping your pencil on the dining table as Fives follows your gaze. “What’s that smell?” you inquire. He shoots up from the couch, darting into the kitchen with a low hiss. “Maker!” 

You frown. That can’t be good. “Fives, did you put something in the toaster?” You don’t get an answer straight away, and maybe it’s better that way. When it’s silent for too long, you get up from your seat, ignoring the screeching of your chair against the wooden floorboards. “Fives, don’t tell me you--”

Everything you assumed you’d see would have been so much better. Burnt toast. Water boiling over the sides of a pot. Overcooked ramen that’s too soggy to swallow. The bright flames licking at your stove and overflowing to the L-shaped counters is so much worse. How did this happen?, you wonder to yourself. Just what had Fives been up to while you were studying for an exam? 

He’s suddenly shouting at you to do something as he fans the fire. It grows in size and he’s screaming, but it’s hard to hear him over pounding in your head. That’s when you hear the smoke detector. That familiar beep beep beep beep sound that always went off unconventionally. You never guessed it could have been right, not until now. 

The words finally fall from your mouth: “Call 911!” 

“What’s the number?!” Fives cries. You speed past him, whipping out your phone and turning on the sink. The numbers displayed on the screen flash before your eyes, and as Fives dumps water over the hot flames, you calmly speak into your phone. It’s as if you’ve been trained for this, for a life-or-death situation that would most definitely break you in the long run. 

You were already broke as it was, paying for bills on your own and the college debt that left you waist-deep in nothing. After your mum had been hospitalised due to her condition, you’ve been on your own, with only Fives as that little bit of domestic support. He couldn’t work, not when he didn’t have a passport, proof of his citizenship, or really of his existence as a whole. 

After all, he was technically still a ‘fictional character’.

When the fire department arrive, you and Fives already have the fire out. It was a miracle that the fire hadn’t spread to the rest of your home, but still a complete loss for your poor stove and toaster. 

“I’m sorry...” 

You turn to Fives and cup his cheek. His eyes are downcast as you run your fingers against his smooth skin. He feels guilty, that much you can tell, but you can’t blame him. You simply don’t have the strength to when you are oh so tired. “I bet it was a malfunction in the machinery.” you quietly answer. “It’s not your fault, love.” 

He meets your gaze with doe-like eyes that remind you just how young he is on the inside. “But I--”

You shut him down with a peck on the lips and link your hands in his. When the firemen are done inspecting the house for any possible flames you might’ve missed, you walk back inside and give your mum a ring. She doesn’t care much about the house. It’s all you and Fives that matters, just as any parent should think. You’re grateful she isn’t angry, and more so that she tells you insurance will cover everything just fine. 

The next week go smoothly. You pass your test with flying colours, your mum’s health is as stable as ever, and the house recovers with the help of insurance. The only issue you have left is the aching pain in your chest. 

Whenever you pass that stupid TV, all broken with the cracks and dark memories, it hurts. You know it shouldn’t when your father is locked away in jail, but it does, for what could have been. If your father weren’t such a jerk, then maybe you could have what you see on TV. The family where the father comes home with the mother after work, and they greet their children with smiles and hugs and kisses and ‘I love you’s that you’ll never be able to hear. 

Fives isn’t blind to the pain you carry. He sees it as clear as day, yet it’s almost impossible for him to make it go away. The most he can ever do is ease it, no matter how hard he tries. 

Today you’re wrapped in his arms on the couch with a Spotify playlist in the background blaring through a small speaker. It’s quiet, save for the faint melody of a song you never cared to learn the name of. 

“I’m sorry,” you suddenly say. Fives perks up at the solemn tone in your voice and brings you closer to his chest. “What are you sorry for?” You glance at the broken TV, then the empty house with a long sigh. “This.” You say it as if ‘this’ explains everything. It doesn’t, and Fives knits his brows together. 

“If anyone should be sorry, it’s me.” he says. “I can’t work, I don’t have an education. It’s not like I can join the military either when I’m not even supposed to exist here.” He rests his head on top of yours and your shoulders slump. “I wish I could help you more.” By ‘more’ you know he means ‘soothe the pain in your heart’. You don’t say anything though, and that’s because you’re still tired. 

You lean against his chest and close your eyes. His heartbeat is your bacta today. It helps to ease your mind knowing that he’s here every step of the way. He won’t leave you. Never.

Beep! Beep!

Your eyes snap open and you sit up. Fives hands you your vibrating phone, his secure arm still around your shoulders. You tap on the screen and place the speaker to your ear. “Hello?”

“Is this (Y/f/n)?”

“Yes.”

“You were the only contact on the list, so I thought it would be fitting to call. I’m really sorry, but (M/f/n) has passed at eleven fifty-two P.M. I’m sorry for your--” 

The phone slips out of your hands. You can’t bear to hear the rest because it hurts too much. After being on your own with the bills, the money, college--everything, it’s like a smack to the face, the final breaking point that sends you over the edge. 

Fives doesn’t need to hear your voice to know what happened. He’s seen that face too many times to count that it’s ingrained in his mind like the very tattoo on his forehead. Your eyes well and you practically throw your arms around him. “Fives...Fives...” 

“It’s okay.” he gently says. “I’m still here.” He is all you have left with your parents gone. You’ve been thrown into this wayside world, where nothing is perfect and nothing goes right, but Fives is here. He’s still here. 

You don’t remember closing your eyes, or falling asleep against Fives’s chest, but when you open your eyes, all that sticks is fear. The staple screeches of blaster fire and charges blare in your ears as you rake yourself off the dark ground. You aren’t wearing your PJs, but a nice pair of Jedi robes you were sure you hadn’t ever seen in your life. 

The bodies at your feet make you feel sick, and not because the lifeless corpses aren’t moving, but because you can practically feel the absence of warmth they were supposed to exude. 

“GET DOWN!”

Arms are around you again, and as dirt and grass and branches of odd plants fly past by, you tumble to the ground in a heap. It’s hard to see through the dark haze the planet provided, but you know it's Fives who saved you. That much you can tell by the pressure of his grip and the shake of his breath. He hauls you somewhere off to the side, a little further away from the front lines as his brothers barrel past him. 

“(Y/n).” He grips your shoulders. Hard. You stare up at his frantic eyes, bewildered, and frankly, scared. You could have died, or worse, ended up a mangled mess as you died a slow, painful death. “Where--what--we were just--?”

“I don’t know.” he says. “But I guess you’re a Jedi.” His gaze falls on the lightsaber swinging from your belt. “Can you...?” You unclip the cool metal that feels so right in your hands. It’s not too light, and not too heavy, as if it were tailored for you and only you. 

The mesmerising (colour) light of your saber shines upon your face as you thumb it on. Fives sends you a reassuring nod as he throws on his bucket and whips out a blaster. “You’re a fast learner, you can do this Cyar’ika." You take one glance at the explosions to your left and nearly freeze. You’re a fast learner? You can do this cyar’ika? What kind of nonsense was Fives spewing? 

Learning how to cook was different from fighting for your kriffing life. 

Fives doesn’t give you much time to think as you swing around you lightsaber. You’re running on pure muscle memory now, from all the times you had to run in gym, all the times you played around with your plastic lightsaber. Who knew any of that would come in handy? 

It’s a miracle you’re even able to block the incoming blaster bolts, as if you had done this for years and not five seconds. 

“(Y/n)!” 

Your shoulders tense. That wasn’t Fives, it was Anakin Skywalker. He blocks a few blaster bolts and motions for you to come to him. You do, slicing a droid down its middle like it were warm butter. “(Y/n),” Anakin says again, “where were you? I’ve been looking for you for the past fifteen minutes!”

“Uh...I...”

Anakin glances at the confused look on your face and you feel like you’ve just disappointed him. A frown bursts onto his face like he’s just seen the galaxy’s worst disappointment: you. “What’s wrong? Did you hit your head?” He doesn’t give you time to answer. He already knows you have no idea what’s going on, as if an invisible tie connected your thoughts to his. 

But of course he knew, he was a Jedi. 

Suddenly, his eyes widen. He nearly drops his lightsaber as he tackles you to the ground, panting, silently begging for time to be on his side. At first, you can’t feel anything, but as soon as your arm twitches, it’s there: a burn and sharp pain like you’ve never felt before. Anakin’s lips move, but you can’t hear a word that comes out of his mouth. 

You want to cry, to gasp out in pain, but it’s too much, and you black out. 

Pain. That’s the first thing you feel as you sit up with a low hiss. “Glad you’re awake Commander.” Your eyes are wide as you meet Kix’s comforting smile. Although you sense a flicker of joy, there’s a heavy weight on his shoulders you understand. He’s stressed, but not just about your condition, but his brothers’ and everyone else his heart could reach. He was a healer, just as you were supposed to be. 

“You took a nasty hit there, but you’ll be good as new.” he said. “Give it a few weeks or so.” You ripped your gaze from his and took in the sights of the hazy planet. After being thrust into the mayhem, you finally realise just where in the galaxy you were. “Kix, this is Umbara, right?” you inquire. He knits his brows together and you just know he’s beyond concerned for your health. 

“Yeah,” he slowly replies, “why?” You shrug, but he clearly doesn’t want to let you off the hook. Not when you’re needed on the battlefield for a campaign you know will go south. “No reason.” 

“I swear if you have amnesia...” He trails off and meets your eyes, as if searching for a sign to reassure him that he wouldn’t have another thing thrown on his plate. “Commander, if I may ask, do you remember what our mission is?” 

“To...capture the Umbaran base not too far from here?” 

Kix frowns. He’s disturbed, as if you told a gory horror story. For a second, you wonder why, but then it hits you like a rock in the face. Anakin saved you, and the orders you relayed just now hadn’t been announced until after his departure, when Krell arrived right after. “Wait, no--I mean--Kix, I can explain. Fives and I, we’re--” You try to sit up, but he forces you to sit back against a tree trunk. 

“I think you should sit down for a little.” he said. “Just...give it a minute Commander. Maybe you’re in shock.��� 

“If you don’t mind me asking, where’s Fives?” Your open-ness with Kix surprises you, but you blame it on how many times you’ve re-watched the Clone Wars on Disney Plus as a distraction from your piling college debt. He frowns again just like before. “Fives? I haven’t seen him since--”

“(Y/n)!” 

Oh that voice. You could spot that even among his own brothers. “Fives!” you exclaim. He’s already at your side, staring at the bandage covering the wound on your shoulder. “How is it?” he inquires. You shrug. “I thought it would be worse, but it’s okay.” You’re fighting hard to keep from wincing and Fives can see it. “Kix did an outstanding job.” You nod towards the medic, who remains in his spot wide-eyed. 

Kix knows something is wrong. Since when were you and Fives so close? Let alone so...touchy? 

“Cyar’ika, you’re really bad at hiding that you’re in pain. I can see it.”

Kix’s jaw goes slack. Oh no. Oh no, no, no, no, no. He doesn’t say anything as Fives grasps your hand in his because he’s still processing everything. When had you both been in a relationship? When had this even happened? What did he have for breakfast this morning? His memory is all hazy and he knows something isn’t right. 

“Fives,” he slowly begins, “when...” Kix can’t bear to finish the sentence. If anyone found out, he could be court-martialled or even wiped of his memory or executed. He couldn’t let that happen to his brother. Not after Echo. Not after all the suffering he endured. 

Fives suddenly releases your hand. His expression goes blank as he meets Kix’s gaze. “Please, you can’t tell anyone.” There’s a graveness in his voice that matches the solemn tone of the planet, as if he’s expecting a lurking enemy around the bend. Kix wants to say more. He wants to lecture Fives and his Commander about how dangerous this predicament was, but he can’t. 

Not when they were looking at him like that. Like their lives depended on it.

“Alright.” he finally says. “I promise.” 

When Kix gives the ‘okay’ sign for (Y/n) to get up, she follows Fives out from behind the cover of the trees. Kix eyes the closeness of their hands, the way their shoulders seem to brush every now and then, and the whispers lost to the wind. 

“I can’t believe this...” he mumbles to himself. He rips his gaze away from his friends and walks over to check on the wounded.

You aren’t sure what to do as you pass a few members of the 501st. Some salute you while others continue their tasks. Everything you thought you knew about this arc suddenly goes down the drain. What was going on? Did Anakin already leave? Who were you to these men? To this world? 

“(Y/n)!” 

Anakin jogs over to your side, placing a hand on your uninjured shoulder comfortingly. He furrows his brows as you knit your own as a subtle sign of confusion. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” he says. “Kix told me you’d be fine. He said it was just a graze.” Anakin pauses for a moment and frowns. “What’s wrong? I sense your confusion.” 

Wonderful. He senses your confusion. 

“I...” You glance at Fives, but he’s just as clueless as you. Anakin’s hand leaves your shoulder and wraps around a lightsaber on his belt. He hands the beautiful hilt to you, that frown still plastered on his lips. “You know, if anything is wrong, you can always tell me. I’m your master, I’m supposed to help you.”

Wait, what? 

“It’s kind of my job.” 

You almost have the urge to smile, but that last bit about him being your master just hits you in the wrong way. Did that mean you stole Ahsoka’s role? It’s suddenly hard to look Anakin in the eye. Even though he was trying to make you feel better, it only made you feel worse. 

Anakin’s lips twitch upward into a reassuring smile and he breaks from your side. “By the way, we move out in the next fifteen minutes.” 

The next hour is a complete hell of blaster fire, grenades, and death. You’ve never fought one day in your life, and a part of you wishes you hadn’t. What you know will haunt you forever are the screams of those who fight a war they never had a say in. 

After a group of Y-wing bombers swoop in as assistance, Krell comes planetside. He’s taller in real life and much more intimidating than the screen could ever capture. A lingering coldness seems to sink in your bones as he waltzes out of the gunship. You glance at Anakin, but he’s already greeting Krell with a grateful look on his face you just want to slap away. 

“Master Krell,” he says. “Thanks for the air support.” Krell inclines his head respectfully. “Indeed General. The locals have proven to be more resourceful than we anticipated.” Something inside you tells you to stay alert. It might have been the Force, but you can’t tell. Krell’s very presence seemed to cloud your mind and you could only assume this was the power of the Dark Side. 

It was so much worse than described in the books or movies and shows. The sensation left you feeling cold and overwhelmed with fear you’ve never felt before. It seemed today, you were learning more than your puny brain could handle.

Anakin raises a brow at Krell. “But that’s not the reason for your visit.” Krell shakes his head. “No. The Council has ordered you back to Coruscant, effective immediately.” Anakin’s brows shoot upward. You can feel the surprise and blatant worry without having to see his face. “What?” he exclaims. “Wh-why?”

Krell crosses his arms across his chest. “I’m afraid a request has been made by the Supreme Chancellor and the council obliged. That is all they would tell me.” You purse your lips together and glance at Anakin, who in turn glances at you. “Well I can’t just leave my men and my padawan.”

“I’ll be taking over in the interim.” answers Krell. His tone comes out rather pushy, like he’s practically itching to take charge and put the 501st to death. The mere thought of what would happen after Anakin’s leave makes you shrink back. It’s a silent plea to your master not to go, but as everyone around here knows, orders are orders, even if they’re questionable. 

Rex glances at you and then Anakin’s troubled expression. “Don’t worry about a thing, Sir.” he dutifully says. “We’ll have the city under Republic control by the time you’re back.” Anakin takes it upon himself to introduce the Captain to Krell, who in turn gives a simple ‘good to hear that’ and wishes Skywalker well. 

Anakin turns to you and offers a comforting smile. For a moment, it makes the cold recede into warmth and love and light. “I know you’ll do fine.” He pats your shoulder in a silent telling to relax. “Master Krell, know that my padawan is more than capable both on and off the battlefield.”

“Of course.” You can’t tell if he’s sneering or not. His face is practically glued in a never ending scowl. “I will keep that in mind.” Anakin gives you one last nod and marches off to the gunship. You watch as it soars away, further and further until it’s hidden beneath the thick fog of the planet. 

Rex makes his way over to Krell’s side. He says something, but you aren’t paying attention--well, until Krell speaks. 

“I find it very interesting, Captain,” he begins, “that you are able to recognise the value of honour for a clone.” Your eyes widen. Oh the nerve. 

“Stand at attention when I address you.” Krell adds. Rex’s shoulders stiffen and it takes all your willpower not to scream. You glance at the other boys silently watching the exchange with bated breath. They followed Rex’s display, keeping their shoulders back and heads tilted at a perfect ninety-degree angle. You frown to yourself as Krell looks down upon your men. “With all due respect Master Krell--” 

He glances at you like you’re nothing more than the dirt beneath his feet. “No respect is due when you are interrupting me, Padawan (L/n). It would do you well to know where your place stands.” You open your mouth to say something, but Krell is already talking again. “Have all platoons ready to move out immediately.” He marches somewhere far from your sights and you really don’t care where in the galaxy he’s going as long as it’s away from you. “That is all.”

Fives sends you a look that you can’t even begin to explain. You sigh and it takes all your willpower not to say something snarky. Krell’s appearance was expected along with his terrible display of violence, but it wouldn’t have ever occurred to either of you that you’d be here to see it.

“He’s more of a jerk than I thought...” you whisper to yourself. Rex knits how brows together. He looks like he wants to chime in, but the swift flash of conflict in his heart tells him otherwise. It just wasn’t what a soldier was supposed to do. You were no soldier though, much less a Jedi Padawan at that. 

Why should that matter? If you were here, on Umbara where all the wrongs could never be fixed by the rights, then you couldn’t think about not knowing what to do. Here, you were someone, not a nobody struggling through college or scraping by with whatever dollars you could spare. Here, you had people who relied on you to lead them to victory. To another day. 

These men, these boys--they were bound to suffer a fate they had no say in because of the chips, because of Palpatine, because of all the corruption you saw on screen. Now, all this was more than a show. You were in it with living, breathing people. You wouldn’t let them down. 

“Rex.” You turn to face him and lower your voice. Even if you’ve never spoke to him, interacted with him, or even looked him in the eyes like you do now, you speak to him like a friend, as if you’ve known him for all the years the war raged on. 

“I don’t trust Master Krell.” you quietly begin. “I know you’ve heard good things about his...accomplishments, but that doesn’t mean we can follow him blindly into battle. If something’s up with his tactics, I won’t hesitate to change them. I’m not very good at that though, so I’m relying on you to help me.” 

He doesn’t even hesitate to nod. “Yes, Sir. You have my word.” His trust and loyalty to you outranks the amount he’d give to Krell on every single level possible. It’s something you thought you’d never see--devotion to a single cause, a single person, in the face of battle. The only other person you had seen such loyalty in is Fives, but now, you’re beginning to understand the pattern, or rather, culture. 

You heave in a deep breath and break from his intense gaze. “Thank you Rex, I really...I really appreciate it.” He seems to understand your unease and puts it upon himself to round up the platoons. “Alright boys!” he shouts. “You heard the Commander! Come on, let’s get a move on!”

Good man, that Rex.

--- 

Marching. That is what you’ve been doing for the past five hours, and if you remember correctly, you’ll be at it for another ten. It was a miracle you weren’t as worn as you could have been, but you guessed it was because of Fives’s energy. It kept you in step, in line with the rest of your men.

“So I say to her, baby you--”

Cue a long line of sighs and groans. “What is with you vod?” inquires Jesse. “You’re not charming Hardcase.” Kix bumps shoulders with Jesse. “Neither are you. Your cheesy jokes scare people away.” Hardcase sends Kix a funny look. “Not like you’re any better Mr. Pretty Boy, you don’t even carry lotion on you.” 

Hardcase, Jesse and Fives burst into a tough fit of giggles. Kix goes silent for a moment, heaving in a sharp breath before actually laughing. You gape at him. It’s impossible to even begin imagining the stress he’s under after seeing so many of his brothers die in his arms. He’s a medic, but with that comes a responsibility greater than holding up the sky. 

“You’re right about that.” Kix admits with another chuckle. “But at least I can read five textbooks in my spare time without getting bored.” Fives rolls his eyes and you almost smile. “Like that’s anything to brag about. Our Commander here can probably read ten.” You glance at Fives, who you can just tell is grinning madly under that bucket. “No I can’t.”

“Uh, yeah you can.” he sassily replies. “Throw a few reports on top of it and a due date, too. She’s amazing.” You glance at Kix, sensing his curiosity that seems to bloom as soon as your eyes meet his. Hardcase and Jesse are quick to catch on, glancing between you and Fives like it were a tennis match. 

“Hmm... Something’s not right here.” Jesse comments, peering at Fives. You want to glare at your boyfriend, but how can you stay mad at him? He’s absolutely right about you and you know it. 

Kix sends you both a look that clearly says, ‘are you gonna tell them?’. Now you glance at Fives, who then glances at you, which finally makes you turn to Kix and then the two curious boys. Jesse suddenly stumbles over a rock, not because he’s clumsy, but because he’s shocked. 

Oh no.

“Not to be intrusive, but are you...?” Jesse tapped the air, as if connecting the dots. “No way. No way. Does anyone, you know, know?” Everyone eyes Rex, who’s only a couple meters up front. As if written in a book, Rex turns to look over his shoulder, his gaze so happening to zero on you and Fives. 

“Why are you such a loud mouth Jesse?!” Fives whisper-screamed. You face-palm. “That wouldn’t have happened in the first place if we had, I don’t know, whispered?”

“How was I supposed to know? I didn’t think I was actually--”

“Quiet back there.” Rex’s steady voice orders. He slows his pace to match your own, tilting his line of view towards the group of rigid boys. “If you keep that up, you’ll find out a lot faster that not everyone is good at keeping secrets.” And with that, he nods your way, picking up the pace to settle back in his old spot.

Hardcase looks between his brothers and you. “I still don’t get it.” 

You smile at him weakly. It’s all you can muster. Fives’s hand brushes yours; a silent sign of comfort. You look up at him, and even with that bucket, you know he’s smiling like you put all the stars up in the sky. All you know in that moment is if you were him, and he were you, neither of you would survive. 

The galaxy is big, but the universe is wide.

DON’T FORGET TO REBLOG (so this can reach more people!) TIP JAR

[sleep-i-ness]

Love At First Coffee (Vanya Hargreeves x reader)

Summary: Y/N is a struggling flautist, trying to make ends meet, but when a violinist catches her eyes, life doesn’t seem quite so difficult.

Request: No

TUA Taglist: @neymarlionelmessi7​

Beep beep beep. Y/N groaned, stretching out languidly as she patted her bedside table. Her fingers found nothing but the worn wooden surface. Blearily rubbing her eyes, she pushed herself up onto one elbow. The alarm was incessant. Where on earth was that phone?

The bitter smell of coffee filled the kitchen as she poured the boiling water into her chipped mug.  A lethargic ache had settled into her bones; the haphazard pile of unopened letters mounting her dread the more she looked at the mess. A quick glance at the plastic clock ticking merrily away warned her she was on the verge of being late if she did not leave now.

Y/N slung the straps of her flute case and tattered leather satchel over her shoulder, her crumpled sheet music clutched in one hand. The lock of her apartment was always such a fiddle and she stuffed the sheet music in her satchel, wincing as it creased even further. She yanked the door shut, leaning backwards to align the lock as she twisted the key.

With a huff, she blew the strands of hair that had fallen over her eyes during her tussle with the door. Her path was a familiar one; down the hallway over the scuffed tiles, where she’d have to wait for the creaky elevator to haul itself up to her, and then out onto the street. Past the rowdy bar that never seemed to shut and the hot dog street vendor to the bus stop, littered with chewing gum and graffiti. Then, depending on whether she had the time to waste on the agonizingly slow journey, it was either onto the grimy bus, nodding to the leering driver, or straight past, a brisk walk of about 20 minutes to the concert hall.

Today was not going in her favor. Y/N sighed as it pulled away from the stop. No need to make a choice now. The walk into the more central and less dodgy area of town was usually quite unpleasant; the streets were still reeling from the nighttime activities. She wrinkled her nose as the putrid scent of rotting garbage filled the air, a dumpster nearby overflowing with ripped trash bags. 

Keeping her head down, she hurried through the streets, neatly sidestepping the ‘businessmen’ on their flip phones and the gossiping ladies, one hand always clamping their handbags shut. A rush of balmy air burst through the vent as she passed over it, the warm stench of urine and cooking garbage wafting upwards. Left, then a right, then straight on past two crossroads and lines of honking traffic and foul-mouthed drivers, swearing at the day for daring to begin. Wait for the lights to turn red, cross over and continue down the road until you reach the performers door.

The Icarus Theatre. Y/N would have liked to be one of those performers who gushed on about how their performance center was ‘like a second home’, but that was cheesy and frankly unrealistic. Her dreams of being a world-famous flautist had been crushed the moment she’d received her first lot of bills and realized how naïve she truly was. The joy in performing in an orchestra was short-lived as every day felt like a struggle to scrape together enough money to keep herself out of debt and prove her parents wrong. That was enough to dampen anyone’s spirits.

Every hour she didn’t have a rehearsal, she was booked chockful with students of all ages and genders who turned up with a passion for the flute. Or their parents were forcing them to go. Either way she got paid and hoped that maybe she was imbuing someone with a new appreciation for classical music.

“Morning, Will.”

The principal piccoloist was already sat in his seat, absorbed in conversation with Lucy, one of the second violins. He glanced over and raised a slender hand in acknowledgment. Will was always punctual and smartly attired, wearing crisply ironed shirts and smart blazers, free of lint. Y/N was sharply aware of the contrast between them, her shirt creased and half-untucked and her hair escaping from its bun.

She flipped open the latches on her case; there was a trick to it, you needed to open both at once while opening the lid at the same time. Her prize and joy, her baby lay inside. The first time she had ever saved up enough money to buy herself something worthwhile, she had bought a professional flute. Before then, she’d been using her aunt’s old flute from the 60s, a battered old thing that was lucky to even still be able to play.

The murmur died down as Lorin Toscanini, the conductor, stepped onto the raised podium and raised his baton. Y/N slipped into her seat next to Will, who raised an eyebrow at the creased sheets she deposited onto her stand.

“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. Today we need to fix the timing on the opening sequence. Remember this is iconic and it needs to be perfect. Second violins, I hope you have improved since yesterday.” The nasally tone of Toscanini grated on Y/N’s nerves, especially so early in the morning when she would much rather be in bed.

Y/N raised her flute to her lower lip, watching the baton as it swayed in time with the music. Down, left, right, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine. The violins and cellos came in in unison on the downbeat, bows drawing across the string in harmony. The harmonies in perfect time caused shivers to run up and down her spine as the bows swayed mournfully across the vibrating strings in unison.

Okay. 4, 5, 6, 7, 8-

“Stop, stop,” Toscanini cried out, baton smacking against the stand. All instruments were immediately lowered, as a sign of deference. Something about stroking his highly inflated ego. “Someone in the clarinets is playing a B natural instead of a B flat. Now remember, we want to create a sense of tension, so the dynamics start off at piano and then we reach mezzo forte. But this isn’t the most dramatic section; we are building up to that. So, at bar 4 we need an audible diminuendo. Like tiptoeing... From the top!”

There was something so magical about playing in an orchestra when it all slotted into place. You stopped being an individual person and instead became immersed in a group movement of sound and emotion, compelling the listener to be draw in with you. The different melodic lines weave together into one, playing off each other to create a final piece.

It was an almost addictive sensation. The feeling of being swept away and losing sense of oneself in the bigger picture of a whole was something Y/N craved when she wasn’t playing. Music restored a part of herself that she sometimes didn’t realize she was missing. It lifted her away from the mortal world, to a place where the music and the notes were the only thing that mattered.

Y/N’s eye fell upon one of the first violins, newly promoted, her brown hair pulled back tightly in a low ponytail. The woman’s brow was furrowed as her fingers danced over the neck of the guitar, swaying gently with the music. Momentarily transfixed, Y/N’s mind turned foggy as she lost count, all thoughts focused on the violinist.

The piece drew to its climax, as if a great beast had climbed to its hind legs and roared. A mounting rush of notes as each musician lost themselves in the crescendo, furiously playing. Cascading melodies toppled over each other, nimble fingers tumbling up scales and bow strokes timed impeccably.

E, G, A!

An audible sigh of satisfaction echoed round the room as the piece ended without any pauses for tinkering; the joy of a composition well played shared throughout all the players.

“Beautiful, just beautiful. I think we’ll call that a day, there. Our next rehearsal is at one on Wednesday, now do not be late.”

Now that the piece had ended, Y/N glanced over to the violinist she had spotted earlier. While Y/N quietly packed her instrument away, the woman prepared to slip out, unnoticed. Should she…?

“Hey,” Y/N flagged down the women, fingertips brushing the cuffs of her dark shirt. “I’m Y/N, I noticed you playing. It was beautiful! You recently got moved up from fourth chair to third, right?”

“Yeah,” the woman seemed flustered by the attention, a faint blush dusting her cheeks. “I’m Vanya, it’s nice to meet you.”

Y/N pulled her slipping straps back onto her shoulder as she grinned at Vanya from beneath the curls threatening to fall in her face. “Pretty name. Say, are you busy now? I know an excellent little coffee shop across the road.”

Vanya flushed as she murmured some expression of gratitude. She hesitated, carefully switching her phone on and off again before sliding it back in her pocket when no notifications showed up. “I’m free for a couple of hours. I have to teach lessons from 3 though.”

The coffee shop was quaint and always quiet; since a Starbucks had opened only a few doors down, business had slowly dried up until only a few regulars and those who were opposed to coffee from chain shops came along. Vanya fidgeted with the strap of her violin case, her eyes darting around the shop’s wooden and gold furnishings.

“Hey Marjorie, I’ll have a cappuccino and a chocolate éclair. Vanya, what do you want?”

“Oh, you don’t need to order for me, I can pay for myself.” Vanya’s eyes widened as she protested profusely.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, leaning nonchalantly against the bar, “I asked you to come with me for coffee, there’s no way that I am going to be so rude as to make my guest pay for her order. So?”

“I’ll have a mocha, thanks.”

Y/N soon joined Vanya where she was sitting, tucked away in a booth in the corner.

“One mocha, milady.” God, she sounded like one of those ‘nice guys’ in the Instagram DMs.

“Thanks,” Vanya laughed, and Y/N decided she quite liked hearing that sound and that she was definitely going to try and hear it more often. Especially, she wanted to see the way Vanya’s eyes crinkled as she tried to stifle her giggles and how her hand flew up to try and cover her face.

“So, tell me about yourself,” Y/N propped up her head on one hand as she sipped at her cappuccino, blowing softly on the frothy layer.

“Umm, I don’t know what there is to say, I’m a pretty boring person.”

Y/N could not believe that. There was something so hypnotizingly attractive about Vanya; a quiet sort of pretty that crept up on you when you were least expecting it and stole your breath away. Someone like that could never be boring, every inch of her whispered of a tale to be told.

“Have you got any siblings? Pets?”

Vanya’s brow furrowed almost imperceptibly before she smoothed her features out, as if to imply Y/N should know something. “Yeah, I have a sister and 3 brothers.”

“Wow, 3 brothers. That must have been a nightmare!”

“Yeah, I was kind of the black sheep of the family. But I haven’t spoken to them in years; we just ended up drifting,” Vanya’s tone appeared nonchalant, but a nervous hand gave her away as she massaged her neck. “It was my fault basically.”

“No that’s ridiculous. The only real excuse for cutting you off is if you killed someone or put someone in danger, and no offence, you don’t seem particularly capable of either of those things,”-Vanya pulled a face-“in a good way!”

“I don’t know, I feel like I deserved it.”

Y/N tore the éclair in half, messily coating her fingers in chocolate as she pressed her fingertips into the half-melted layer on top. “For you. Because fuck shitty families. Who needs them, am I right?”

Vanya giggled and raised her half in response, touching them together to make a toast. “Amen!”

There was a lull in conversation as attention was redirected to eating the intoxicatingly good pastries.

“What about you?” Vanya mumbled; mouth full. There was a tiny dot of cream on the left corner of her mouth and Y/N stared, transfixed as her tongue darted out to dab it away.

“Oh, me. Well, the whole struggling artist career path was not one my parents had hoped I would go down. In comparison to my banker brother, I’m a bit of a disappointment and they make sure to let me know.”

Christmas this year had been a nightmare. It was full of meaningful looks from her parents as her brother prattled on about his new promotion, or the last exotic trip he went on, or the wonderful restaurants near his place of work on Wall Street. She didn’t know what they expected her to do; just suddenly become a high-profile surgeon?

Vanya placed her hand over Y/N’s, looking earnestly into her eyes. “You’re not a disappointment. Fuck what they think.”

Y/N cracked a half-hearted smile at the sentiment of Vanya’s sentence, although there was a certain strangeness to hearing her say ‘fuck’. A hot sensation prickled the back of her neck as Vanya kept her hand where it was, her gaze never wavering as she seemingly searched for something in Y/N’s eyes.

“Well, now we’ve got the family trauma out the way, what do you like to do for fun?” Y/N said, every muscle relaxing as Vanya moved her hand to pick up her mug. She hadn’t realized how tense she was, nervousness laced into every tendon.

“Well, my life seems to be taken up with violin, but I enjoy writing. And I can cook.” Vanya paused to think about what she was saying. “Somewhat.”

“Somewhat?” Y/N laughed, trapping her lower lip between her teeth as she awaited Vanya’s response.

“I’m not about to be out here claiming that I’m world-class standard. However, I do make a mean cottage pie which you will have to try someday.”

Someday. That was promising. Y/N smiled sweetly, nodding fervently. “I’d like that very much.”

Y/N took a sip of her cappuccino, recoiling as the tip of her tongue was scalding by the still piping hot coffee. Vanya took one look at her and grinned.

“You’ve got something there,” she said, tapping the tip of her nose.

“Where?” Y/N rubbed her nose.

“No, wait, up a bit- to the right, no, left, umm-”

“Would you mind just getting it for me?” Y/N interrupted her, and Vanya froze.

“Yeah, uh,” she leant across the table, thumb extended as she brushed the callused pad gently across Y/N’s skin. “There. All gone.”

“Thanks.”

They shared a soft smile.

The walk back to Y/N’s apartment was swelteringly sticky, especially in the noon sun. However, today felt different. Buoyed along on a cloud of joy, she practically skipped over the cracks in the sidewalk and past the piled trash bags. Her mind swooped over the fields of possibilities, whirling thoughts on a tangent of their own. The storm in her mind had cleared to allow a small shaft of sunlight through to shine on the choppy waves below, great dark clouds parting with hope.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket.

Hi Y/N, it’s Vanya.

Y/N could barely contain the gleeful grin as she read the message, pressing her phone to her chest.

Hey Vanya, it was really nice to have coffee with you today. We should do something like that again.

Barely a couple minutes had passed when her phone emitted the telltale ding, alerting her to a new incoming message.

Absolutely. Don’t think I’ve forgotten that you promised to try my cottage pie.

Y/N tapped out a quick response, finger hovering over the send button as she reread it.

It’s a date.

[cat-brodsky]

Turkish coffee: beginner edition

(A cezve. Picture from Wikimedia commons, by Eaeeae)

I’ve been brewing and drinking Turkish coffee for most of my life. I’m biased and I’ll gladly admit that.

Turkish coffee is a method of preparation, not a specific cultivar. The coffee is unfiltered and prepared on a stove (or in hot sand, but that isn’t an option for the average beginner) using a cezve.

How about a tl;dr first?

Sure.

grind your coffee beans finely

put the powder into a cezve, along with sugar and spices if using any, then fill with water

stir before brewing, not during

put the cezve on low heat and keep a close eye on it

do not let the water boil

when foam starts rising, give the cezve a gentle nudge to make sure it rises properly

as soon as the foam rises to the lip, the coffee is done

An overly detailed explanation to follow.

Picking a cezve

A cezve is a small pot with a narrow “neck” and a long handle. A cezve is often called an ibrik, but that’s not entirely correct - an ibrik is, simply, a pitcher.

Cezves are traditionally made out of copper or brass, but modern ones might also be glass, metal, or ceramic. Depending on where you live, you might have some trouble finding a cezve - check your local Middle Eastern store or try to thrift one.

Size: pick the size you need, no more and no less. You should always fill your cezve up to the “neck” to make sure your coffee brews properly, and that means you can’t make one cup of coffee in a cezve that makes two or more cups.

Shape: a wider bottom and a narrow neck. A wide bottom is important for proper heating. A narrow neck ensures that crema (foam) forms properly, which prevents coffee from boiling. A cezve without any narrowing is no good.

Material: ideally copper or brass. Copper has high heat conductivity, which means it heats faster and evenly, but also cools down fast. Ceramic or clay cezves release heat slowly, which results in carryover heating, and that means your coffee is prone to boiling over once it’s off the heat. Stainless steel is a compromise.

Important: copper is an excellent material for cookware, but copper salts are toxic. All copper cookware should have an internal coating, typically of tin. Do not use your copper goods if the coating is damaged.

Handle: should be long enough that you can hold the cezve safely, should never heat up while you’re brewing, and shouldn’t be so heavy that it can tip the cezve over.

If you own a cezve, take care of it. Avoid using metal utensils on the inside, especially if your cezve is copper. Don’t use it for anything but coffee - because of the narrow neck, the inside is very difficult to clean. You don’t need to use dish soap, just rinse it out the best you can. An invisible layer of coffee oils building up on the inside is normal.

     Ideally, you will also have a grinder. Turkish coffee begins with a very fine grind, finer than espresso or french press, so store-bought coffee will most likely be ground too coarsely. In addition, the beans lose flavour quite fast after grinding, so the fresher the grind the better - a few hours in advance is fine, right before brewing is ideal. (Experiment with that. You may prefer one or the other.)

Coffee enthusiasts usually recommend you buy a burr grinder - they’re right, but not all burr grinders can grind finely enough. If you’re on a budget, look for a hand grinder.

Key points:

use the freshest beans you can use

grind very finely, preferably right before brewing

water quality is important - use filtered or pre-boiled water, if possible

don’t let the water boil

try to be as consistent as possible - same amount of coffee and water, same temperature, same preparation time, same grind size, et cetera

adjust things one at a time so you can learn the effect they have

Best practices

This isn’t a recipe as much as it is a set of guidelines to follow. I’m going to do my best to explain why I do things this way. You might disagree, and that’s okay. Experiment with things. See what tastes good.

Turkish coffee is quite strong, but it doesn’t have to be quite bitter - excessive bitterness is a sign that you over-brewed, or worse, boiled your coffee.

Roast: pretty much any, not too dark and not too light.

Grind size: fine. Powder, but not dust. Experiment with it; the darker your roast, the coarser you should grind. If your grinder is terrible, you’ll want to throw out the stray bigger bean pieces - they don’t make for a good drinking experience.

The reason why is that darker roasts are less sweet, less fruity. The grind size influences extraction - the finer the grind, the more you get out of your beans - but over-extracting the coffee makes it unpleasantly bitter.

Cultivar: again, pretty much any. You don’t have to buy a specific “Turkish” blend - that’s not a thing. I’d probably suggest arabica over robusta, unless you really want your coffee to pack a punch.

Keep in mind that lighter roasts have more caffeine than dark roasts. Bitterness does not equal strength.

Grind your beans, then put an appropriate amount of coffee powder into your cezve. I put in one heaping teaspoon per small cup. (Again, this is a guideline. Adjust to taste.) If you want to add sugar or spices, add them now. Make sure they’re evenly mixed with coffee.

The reason why is that Turkish coffee is unfiltered. If you stir the sugar in after brewing, you’re going to disturb the grounds and end up having to wait for them to settle again.

Then add water, filling up to the “neck” of the cezve. If your cezve does not have a neck, you’re holding a saucepan. (If you’re making do with a saucepan, fill up to about an inch from the top).

In some online guides, you’ll see people putting water first and then adding coffee. I haven’t had good results with this method. Depending on what your cezve is shaped like, the powder might just not dissolve properly and this means you’re getting weak coffee with a layer of burnt grinds on top.

I give the cezve a swirl like you would to a lab flask to make sure the coffee is mixed in with water. If you need to give it a stir, a wooden utensil is preferable to make sure you don’t scratch the inner coating.

Wait, which temperature water should you use?

...I don’t know.

I usually use room temperature water. While testing things for this guide, though, I brewed several cezves starting out with warm water. The results were very different from each other. Starting with warm water means shorter extraction time, means less bitter but less complex flavour, so... I think the “right” water temperature will depend on the beans you're using. Start with room temperature water and adjust from there.

Professional brewers say two and a half minutes brewing time per (small) cezve is the proverbial gold standard, so the water temperature should facilitate that. I don’t feel like getting obsessed with exact numbers, though.

Anyway. If you have a gas stove, put a cezve on low heat (high heat makes coffee very likely to boil, which is quite bad for the taste). If you have an electric stove, making coffee will be tougher, because electric stoves don’t keep consistent heat - they heat and cool in cycles. Try putting it on high heat and adjusting the temperature by removing the cezve from the stove as needed.

Now stay in the kitchen and watch your coffee like a hawk. Yes, that needs to be specified. Turkish coffee overflows suddenly and explosively, and if you get distracted for a second, you can end up having to clean your stove.

If your coffee does overflow, that’s okay - it happens to everyone. Don’t try to clean it up immediately, let it cool first.

So ideally what’s going to happen is your coffee will start forming a head of foam - you’ll see it appear in the neck of the cezve and then begin to rise, slow at first and fast as temperature rises. At this stage, you might want to give the cezve a gentle nudge to make sure the foam can rise freely. (What might happen otherwise is that it overflows suddenly.) Don’t stir it, though. The foam prevents the water from boiling and some volatile compounds from evaporating - in short, it makes your coffee better, so you don’t want to disrupt it.

When the foam starts rising, the coffee is very close to being done, so get ready to take it off the heat. It’s done when the foam reaches the rim of the cezve.

Again, some online guides will advise you to do the following: after taking the coffee off the heat, let the foam go down, then put it on the heat again, repeating this cycle two or three times. In my opinion, that’s unnecessary. It doesn’t improve the taste or let more foam form.

Professionals actually advise you to use a chilled cup to pour your coffee in to make sure the coffee doesn’t overbrew. If you do that, be careful that your cup doesn’t crack from the sudden change in temperature - don’t use glass.

You’re going to want to wait some time to let the coffee cool down and let the grounds settle to the bottom of the cup. For that reason, don’t drink the entire cup - coffee grounds do not taste good. I like the mouthfeel of unfiltered coffee, but if you don’t, you can certainly put it through a fine strainer or even a paper filter.

Tradition says that the foam (if this were espresso, it’d be called crema) is a vital part of coffee experience, therefore, pour a little in each cup first to make sure it’s evenly distributed among the drinkers.

Serve in any way you like - I’m not going to tell you how to best enjoy your coffee, because that’s definitely a matter of preference.

some philosophy

some people can get obsessive in their quest for the perfect cup. i’m certainly one of them, or else i wouldn’t have written this guide. but coffee, no matter how delicious, is a means to an end, not the end goal.

sure, you may want to serve your friends the perfect cup, but if you care more about the coffee you’re drinking than about the conversation you’re having, then you’re doing something wrong.

Coffee grounds divination

If you can see the coffee grounds at the bottom of an empty cup, then your coffee was delicious.

If you can’t see the coffee grounds in an empty cup, then you might have drank them.

If there are tea leaves at the bottom of a cup, then you weren’t drinking coffee.

Dorm room coffee (part 3) coming 32nd of October. I’m going to talk about which poisons go well with coffee and how to dispose of the body of that roommate who used a metal fork on your best non-stick pan.

[burnedbyshoto]

Todocutie and his fem s/o getting in to an argument (he had a long bad day at work and wasnt in the mood :O “i need a drink to deal with you”

have a sleepover with me! prompt list here!

todoroki shouto x f!reader

“i need a drink to deal with you”

warnings: angst

a/n: this made me sadddddd i love angsty shit with shouto.... i love you anime boyfriend

You knew that Shouto had a rough, long, and bad day at work. So in preparation for him coming home, you attempted to get things ready for him. Everything was perfect sailing, the chores were done, the trash was taken out, and you were currently making dinner for him.

You didn’t want this day to become worse for him, so that meant that you were going to be on top of your A-Game. You hustled around the kitchen, making sure to get as much of the dinner completed before he got there. You weren’t the best at making cold soba, but you had hoped that the act of making Shouto his favorite food was going to make his day better.

Everything was going well up until he got home, and then suddenly the broth you were using to make noddles overflowed. Water got everywhere as you shrieked, trying to contain the boiling liquid. Shouto then had to help you clean up the liquid even before he got to say hello.

Then when you went to go get the vegetables as a side dish, Shouto happened to be walking beside you, and three of the vegetables smashed onto him. Ruining his hero uniform. 

The trash bag also ripped when Shouto went to throw away the empty boxes from the groceries you were using right now. 

But it settled down, and although Shouto refused to tell you what happened at work. So now, Shouto was grabbing the two of you drinks for dinner as you prepared the plates.

“Where’s my strawberry milk?”

“I... I forgot to pick up strawberry milk...” You recall as Shouto was looking in the refrigerator for his favorite drink, and you heard a loud groan coming from him “It wasn’t on the list!”

“It was on the list.” Shouto snaps as he closes the fridge, turning to look at you. “I know because I wrote it on there, underneath the eggs.”

“I can go get some tomorrow!” You smile, trying not to let Shouto’s sour personality inflict any problems that could be solved by him simply getting some more rest tonight. 

“That doesn’t really help me out right now, though. Does it?” Shouto asks, his eyes tired, and annoyed as they focused in on you. 

You cough, shifting in your seat as you tried to keep yourself from acting too hurt. “I know you’ve had a bad day, love, but--!”

“Oh, I had a bad day? Really?” Shouto mocks, and you blink slowly. Was he okay?

“W-Well, I’m assuming so...”

“Why because I immediately came into you making a mess in my apartment? That you don’t work yet couldn’t even get me the one thing I asked for? Why on earth do you think I’m having a bad day?” Shouto asks, his eyes squinted, but his tone is steely cold.

“I was just trying to help, Shouto.” Your tone now matching his, and your eyes narrow, “Stop being an ass about it.”

Now, this sets the two of you off, and now you and Shouto are yelling at each other. Senseless words are tossed out, and frustrations at the world are unleashed on each other. You’re crying as you argue, the two of you now centimeters apart as you both claim the other one isn’t listening. 

“You can’t expect me to believe that the house was spotless before I walked in, and then immediately becoming a disaster the second I enter!” Shouto snaps, his finger pinching the bridge of his nose as you stare at him, finally at a loss of words. “God, do you hear yourself? I need a drink to deal with you...”

You’re not sure what to say to those words as you stare dumbfoundedly at the man you could not recognize at this moment. Silent tears roll down your face as you turn and walk out, shoving off the hands the immediately stretched out to keep you from leaving. “Just f-fuck off, Shouto.” Your voice trembles as you shut and lock the bedroom door

[athingthatwantsvirginia]

The Infamous Jethro Tull Incident

PART THIRTY-THREE OF THE DO YOU SEE HER FACE? SERIES

Pairing: Jess Mariano x Original Character (Ella Stevens)

Warnings: discussions of anxiety/panic attacks please read with caution, plentiful pop culture references, allergies

Word Count: 6.9K

Summary: Visiting Stars Hollow once again, Ella and Jess help Luke with his custody battle and see the Spring Fling.

A/N: The descriptions of panic attacks in this chapter and in this fic are based on research and my own experiences. Everyone is different. If you need to talk, I am always here. I just felt Gilmore Girls always kind of ignored Jess’s trauma, and the after-effects it would have had on him. 

Though Chris and Matthew had invited them out, neither Jess nor Ella had any desire to eat at some fancy restaurant on a Sunday night. It was under the guise of a celebration over the monthly Zine including an interview with someone who had once interned for Dave Eggers. Not that it was a small feat, but both Ella and Jess knew it was simply just an excuse for Chris and Matthew to go on an expensive double date. Often, the two called them frugal. And they called the two of them unnecessarily hedonistic. Whatever the case, Ella was glad to have the apartment for the night. Two days into spring break, and she was still only just bouncing back from the mid-semester exhaustion.

She sat cross-legged in her pajamas on the couch, sketching, as the water on the stove began to boil. Once again, she was attempting dinner. Spaghetti, something simple, she’d told Jess earlier in the evening. She could totally manage it. She still couldn’t understand why her baking skills were never able to travel over into cooking territory. Just as she finished the lines around the eyes, the phone on the counter began ringing. Putting her sketchbook to the side, she rushed up to the counter and saw it was Jess’s cellphone alight with a number.

“Jess Mariano’s phone,” she said as she opened the phone, hoping to answer in time.

“Ella?” the voice came through the receiver.

“Luke?” she asked.

“Yeah, it’s me.”

A smile came to her lips. “Hey, boss! How are you?”

Luke cleared his throat, hesitating a minute. “Oh, well I…”

“Jess is in the shower, but I can get him if you really need to talk,” she cut in, growing worried. Not only because she noticed the water on the stove was boiling over and hissing on the oven. She dashed over to the stove.

“No, that’s okay. I have no desire to speak to him while he’s any degree of naked,” Luke said gruffly.

Ella uttered a chuckle and she stirred the pot to lessen the overflow. “Well, that makes one of us.”

Only a heavy sigh came from the other side of the phone.

“Sorry, sorry,” she said. As she broke the spaghetti in half, balancing the phone between her ear and her shoulder, several noodles flew across the kitchen. A few landed on the burner and started to smoke instantly. “Fuck!”

“What?” Luke asked, suddenly alarmed.

Growling under her breath in frustration, she sweeped the noodles from the burner with a damp kitchen towel. “Nothing, sorry. The spaghetti caught on fire but it’s fine now.”

“Why are you trying to make spaghetti? You can hardly make toast,” Luke groaned knowingly.

She rolled her eyes. “I’m broadening my horizons, alright? But that doesn’t matter. What’s going on?”

“Well, uh...you know April?”

“The name rings a bell, yes.”

“Well, Anna wants to move her to New Mexico,” Luke said, voice emotionless. “And I’m trying to get joint custody. The lawyer uh...he said Jess, or you, might be a good character reference. The trial, or whatever we should call it, is on Tuesday. If you can’t get here, that’s fine. They’re speeding up the process because they’re moving away so soon. You could just put it in writing, but I don’t know if it would get here in the mail. So, if you can’t, I completely-”

“Luke,” she interjected.

“Yeah?”

“We’ll be there,” Ella said with finality. “What time is the hearing?”

“Eight,” he answered.

Nodding, she stirred the spaghetti. Furrowing her brows, she considered the time. “Could we maybe stay over tomorrow night? Then, we can all go to the courthouse.”

“Really? Is Jess okay with that?” he asked.

“Jess won’t hear of anything else, I promise. The Zine just came out. The other guys will understand. We’ll call it a family emergency. And I’m on my spring break. It’s fine, boss,” Ella reassured him, face flushed over the steaming pot.

“Are you sure? I mean, only if you’re sure-”

She sighed again, a long exhale through her nose. “Luke, I’m sure. Just hang in there. We’ll be there tomorrow. I’ll bring you some of this spaghetti, if you want.”

“I think I’ll pass,” he said flatly.

“Noted.”

There was a long pause. “Ella?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

A sad smile ghosted over her face. “Don’t mention it.”

“Hey, it’s the Spring Fling, too. In case you guys need something to do tomorrow night,” Luke added, shifting the conversation away from emotions.

A pang of nostalgia hit her, and she could smell the greasy food. “Oh, well, I was on the fence about coming up there before. But the Spring Fling? There’s the thing to seal the deal.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Luke grumbled, unamused by her sarcasm.

“Alright. Well, I gotta focus on this spaghetti, for the sake of public safety. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” she said, brows furrowed in concern.

“Yeah. Okay, Ella. See you tomorrow.”

“Bye, Luke.”

“Bye.”

Hanging up the phone, Ella flipped it closed and set it back on the counter. Waiting for the spaghetti to finish boiling, she tried to hum but couldn’t bring herself to. A knot sat in her stomach. She knew how much Luke loved April; she had seen it even through the few months she’d witnessed them together. And she knew how much April loved Luke. She wondered over how the girl would feel, if she were not allowed to see Luke ever again. Not exactly like her own mother’s death, but Ella could certainly sympathize.

She was too deep in thought to hear Jess emerge from the bathroom, hair damp and still dripping slightly.

“Is something burning?” he asked, coming up next to her.

She jumped slightly and then huffed out a breath when he smirked at her surprise. “For just a second, it was. But, now, everything is under control.”

“Whatever you say, Stevens,” he teased, brown eyes twinkling.

Pursing her lips, she finally took her eyes away from the water. “We have to go to Stars Hollow tomorrow.”

“What? Why?” he asked, his brow crinkling.

She bit the inside of her cheek. “Luke is trying to get joint custody of April. The hearing is on Tuesday morning and he wants us to testify as references.”

“Huh,” Jess deadpanned, nodding slightly.

“If we get there tomorrow, we can make sure he doesn’t completely melt down during the dinner shift and then ride with him to the courthouse. Is that alright with you? If you can’t come, I could just-”

“Woah, Stevens. I’ll go. Obviously, I’ll go. Not like Matthew can’t babysit Chris all on his own for a couple days. He’s been doing it pretty much his whole life,” Jess said, pressing a kiss of reassurance to her cheek.

“Good. Just...making sure.” She bit at her thumbnail for a moment, nodding. “What if...what if he loses her?”

“I don’t know,” Jess said, shaking his head. “But, at least we can try to help. Here’s hoping it’s not too A Few Good Men.”

“There’s the bright side, Mr. Sunshine,” she said, smiling weakly.

Jess smirked a tiny smirk, then grabbed the wooden spoon as the pot began boiling over, spaghetti spilling onto the glass top, once again.

.   .   .

Misty March air seeped in through the cracked Station Wagon windows, the afternoon sun warming up the early spring day. Pollen and dust were stagnant in the air, flowers beginning to bloom in the Connecticut countryside. Television, “Marquee Moon,” played on the radio, Jess’s arm draped over Ella’s headrest. Hydrangeas were blooming, blue and purple and pink, on the sides of the road as they crossed over the edge of town into Stars Hollow.

As soon as they passed over the border, Ella’s eyes began to itch, and she started sneezing into the crook of her elbow.

“Jeez, Stevens. Bless you,” Jess said, eyebrows raised. “Are you getting a cold?”

“I don’t know,” she sighed, sniffling and blinking the irritated shine from her eyes. “Maybe it’ll make me more sympathetic to the judge.”

“There’s one way to win a case,” he chuckled.

“Hey, who am I to look down on a shortcut?” she said, shrugging lightly as she took the turn down Main Street.

As they reached town center, their eyes widened. Parking was one of the chief worries to pop into Ella’s mind, but not the only one. Hay was stacked up every which way, forming a maze. Stray straws littered the empty spaces, bales piled ten feet high and taking up space on every single street. Hitting the brakes, Ella came to a stop on the edge of the strip, next to the bookstore.

“What the hell is this?” Jess asked, flabbergasted.

Shaking her head, Ella was at a loss for words. Then, it dawned on her, and she groaned in frustration. “I forgot to tell you. Luke said it’s the Spring Fling this week. I guess now that means a hay bale maze?”

“Ugh,” Jess grunted, rolling his eyes. “The last time I was at this thing, Taylor almost called the cops on me because of my Jethro Tull t-shirt.”

She chuckled as she turned around, headed for the small parking lot with the dumpsters behind Luke’s. “Well, only time will tell what this year will bring.” Sneezing again, she sighed.

“Besides hay fever, that is,” Jess added, teasing, tucking a strand of hair which had fallen loose behind her ear again.

“We’re doing this for Luke, we’re doing this for Luke,” she muttered under her breath, feeling a headache already forming behind her eyes.

.   .   .

She felt transported to the past as they entered Luke’s through the back door, leading into the stock room. It still smelled of tomatoes, dirt, pine; an odd mixture but not unwelcome. The room dark and dank, Ella took Jess’s hand and led him carefully through the random crates and boxes. In his other hand, he held their old duffel, containing both of their only business-appropriate clothes. Apparently, she would be wearing the pencil skirt again much sooner than she had hoped. Jess could already hear Luke ranting before they got to the main room, flashbacks to the consequences of stealing gnomes and baseballs and dry erasers.

Lane passed by the stock room door and caught sight of them out of the corner of her eye. A panic filled her eyes and, immediately, she approached them, a dirty dish bin held in just one hand.

“He’s on the warpath, guys,” she began, retreating into the dim room and glancing over her shoulder anxiously.

“Well, hello to you too, Lane,” Ella smirked.

Lane’s face morphed into a delicate, rushed smile. “Right, sorry, sorry. How’s one of America’s most historical cities?”

Jess shrugged. “Historic.”

“Wow, your vocabulary had really grown since I last saw you,” Lane said, feigning amazement.

A crash sounded, followed by a yell, from out in the main room. The door slammed and Ella couldn’t mistake the sound of a fearful yelp from some customer.

“I think we can continue this love fest later,” Ella suggested, gesturing to the main room.

“Agreed,” Lane said, turning on her heel.

Jess and Ella followed her out of the stock room, finding the counter almost completely empty of customers. The tables were dotted with just a few customers, staring down silently at their plates, faces drawn in fear. Boots trodding heavily on the tiled floor, Luke was making his way back from the door to the kitchen. Caesar was nowhere in sight, and a thin cloud of smoke was billowing through the kitchen window. The front windows were a view of nothing but giant walls of hay. Nothing boded well. Ella glanced at Jess doubtfully, and he only gave a slight shake of his head in response.

“Can I get you guys something?” Lane asked, returning to the space behind the counter.

“No, I think I’d rather not risk it,” Jess said, taking a stool, placing the duffel on the floor next to him.

Ella hopped onto the seat next to him. “Says Mr. I-Live-On-The-Edge.”

“Even I have my limits,” he replied.

“I’m fine, too. Thanks Lane,” Ella told her friend.

A couple steaming plates appeared from the kitchen window, burgers blackened and fries soggy. Lane looked at them suspiciously, but placed them in front of Kirk, who sat on Jess’s other side. Kirk grinned and nodded emphatically.

“The gourmet experiments keep on coming,” he exclaimed, digging in with a fork and knife instead of his hands.

Ella’s brow crinkled. “Kirk, that’s-”

“Don’t,” Lane warned. “It’s...not worth it.”

Perking his head up from his food, Kirk craned his neck to see the two of them. “Oh. You’re back. I’ve missed your pies, Ella. I hope Luke has rhubarb.”

“Kirk, we’re not...moving back here. We’re only gonna be here until tomorrow,” she said, head tilted in confusion.

He narrowed his eyes, then turned to stare closely at Jess, who leaned back against Ella slightly. “You just had to take her to Philadelphia with you.”

Jess was about to respond, before Ella jumped in again, tone vehement.

“Excuse me, Kirk, but I moved to Philadelphia on my own to go to grad school. Jess just happened to be there.”

“The hand of fate, huh?” Kirk asked, unphased. “What a beautiful thing.”

Jess snickered, eyeing Ella to gauge a response. Instead of retaliating, her jaw tensed and she turned her head to the kitchen window.

“Luke, we’re here!”

Raising his eyebrows, Luke reappeared from the kitchen. His sleeves were rolled up messily, his shirt splashed with grease. He didn’t look as though he’d been careful in the kitchen. A black baseball cap sat backwards on his head, the one he’d been wearing since he and Lorelai broke off their engagement. But Ella had heard, through her weekly phone calls with Lane, Lorelai and Christopher had divorced, breaking up once again. The constant romantic whiplash was beginning to make Ella dizzy.

“Oh. Hey, guys. How was the drive?” Luke asked.

“Well, I don’t know about Eleanor, but that huge ball of twine gets more interesting every time I pass it,” Jess deadpanned, arms crossed over his t-shirt, elbows on the counter.

Ella smiled thinly. “Jess is thrilled about the Spring Fling, if you couldn’t tell.”

“Yeah, I might’ve guessed. I mean, who could forget that Jethro Tull incident?” Luke replied.

She was about to respond, but instead Ella buried her nose in her sleeve again and sneezed.

“Bless you,” Jess said.

She sneezed again.

“Bless you,” he repeated, smirking.

A moment more, and she sneezed a third time.

“And one more for good measure,” Jess continued, increasingly smug. “Bless you.”

Luke furrowed his brows at Ella. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“The hay doesn’t agree with Rudolph,” Jess chimed in, smoothing a hand over Ella’s back.

Blinking the wateriness from her eyes again, she shot Jess a look. “Bite me.”

“Just like old times,” Luke grumbled, going over to the register when two meek customers came up to pay.

Catching her breath, Ella got down from the stool again. “I’m gonna go to Doose’s. Try to get something to handle this new reindeer look I’ve got going for me.”

“You want me to go with you?” Jess asked, almost hopefully.

“As much as I would love that, cutie, I think your existence would probably be a catalyst for Taylor’s flashbacks. I’ll be back in like ten minutes. I think you’ll survive.”

“That’s debatable,” he said.

She turned away and sneezed into her elbow yet again, growling under her breath in annoyance.

“Debatable for me and you both,” he added, smirking once more.

Flipping him off, she made her way to the front door, preparing to brave the wall of hay which was about to meet her eye-to-eye.

.   .   .

“Don’t touch!” Ella exclaimed, exchanging a flathead screwdriver for a phillip’s head on the counter next to her.

“Do you see me touching anything?” Jess shot back, rounding the counter to make his way to the dish pit.

She snorted a bitter laugh. “You were getting too close. I think you just coming in this register’s dance space would be enough to break it more.”

“If you make one more Dirty Dancing reference-”

“Need I remind you of the shower head?” she continued, ignoring his complaints.

He sighed heavily.

“Oh, please, remind him of the shower head,” Luke piped up from where he was wiping off the red tables.

“In January, the shower was leaking,” Ella began, straightening up from her spot tinkering with the cash register drawer.

“C’mon, Elle,” Jess moaned from the dish pit.

“Jess, both Luke and I are privy to the swan attack. This is far less humiliating, I promise.”

“Fine,” he said, turning the boiling hot tap back on. Only a few more mugs and he would finally be finished. He was careful to avoid any stray kitchen knives.

“The shower was leaking. I had class, but I said I would fix it when I got home. Because, somehow, Chris, Matthew, and Jess are all completely devoid of home improvement skills,” Ella said. “Jess tried, which was so sweet of him. But then the entire shower head and the faucet ended up coming off the wall. It took me four hours to get them back on.”

“Hence the register dance space,” Luke replied, biting back laughter.

“Exactly.”

“Hey, I fixed that toaster out there!” Jess shouted over the sound of the water.

“And it only took you six years to admit it,” Ella said.

“Shut up,” Jess retorted.

“There’s the charm,” she mocked. She pushed the small gold button, and the register drawer popped out silently. A bright smile crossed her face. “This might be the first time this hasn’t sounded like Janet Leigh since I started working here.”

She wondered in the back of her mind why Luke hadn’t fixed the cash register sooner. It was antique; maybe he thought a screeching drawer just came with the territory. Or, maybe it was because nearly every single repair he had done in the past few years was on either the Gilmore house or the Dragonfly Inn.

“I told you guys you didn’t have to work,” Luke said, rolling his eyes guiltily. He began flipping the chairs up onto the tables, stuffing his damp rag into his apron.

“For the last time, we wanted to!” Jess called from the back, wiping his hands on a stained dish towel as he finished up with the mugs.

“Well, you’ve done enough. I can finish closing. Go see the Spring Fling.” Luke came over and took the screwdrivers from Ella’s hand, putting them back in his toolbox and shutting it with a snap! before she could protest.

“Oh, yes, it’s bound to get wild out there in the hay bale maze,” Ella quipped, going to grab her coat from the rack with Jess following behind.

“You’re tellin’ me. Just go see it. Taylor certainly spent enough on it.” Luke went back to the tables, upturning the chairs rhythmically, as he had for so many nights and so many years, wearing the same thing.

“We’ll be back before midnight,” Ella said, shrugging on her leather jacket and tugging her long hair, half-up, half-down, out from beneath the collar.

“And, now that we’re grown up, we can go get involved with as many ritual cults as we want while we’re out,” Jess added, grabbing Ella’s hand.

“Don’t mention that in the deposition tomorrow,” Luke warned.

“It’s good you said something. Otherwise, I definitely would have mentioned it,” Jess shot back smugly.

As they emerged into the evening, the stars were just beginning to appear, Luke having closed up early at around eight o’clock. Ella looked around, trying to see any other way into the maze besides the opening just in front of Luke’s. She’d thought about popping into her old house, surprising Fiona and Adam after school. But, she’d gotten busy with the dinner shift and could see no physical way to get there in the dim light of the twinkly strings somewhere beyond the maze.

“How the hell do they pay for stuff like this?” Jess asked as they began strolling through the maze.

“Beats me,” Ella replied, shaking her head. “This place makes no economic sense. I stopped guessing a long time ago, my friend.”

He hummed, eyes roaming over the seemingly endless yellow straw. “Tax fraud, you think?”

“I wouldn’t put it past Taylor,” Ella said, smirking.

“Oh, now how could you accuse a sweet old man like that of such a crime?” he asked, feigning shock.

She shrugged, grinning. “Since he conveniently ‘lost’ the money for the bridge renovations and we had to start the whole fundraiser over again.”

“Y’know I was the one who took that money, right?” Jess asked, thinking back to his first two weeks in Stars Hollow.

“No, I meant the first time. I was like eleven,” she explained, feeling a pleasant night time breeze ghost through her hair.

“What?” Jess chirped. “It happened before?”

“Yeah, and Taylor kept saying someone stole it. But I had a sneaking suspicion it was an inside job.”

Breathing deeply, she could smell nothing but the hay. It seemed odd, considering the Spring Fling usually had booths with caramel apples and popcorn and all other sorts of junk. But, she was also just glad she could breathe through her nose again with the help of the allergy medicine she’d picked up at Doose’s, though her eyes were still a bit itchy.

“How very Watergate.”

“I’m telling you,” Ella insisted, only half-joking, “Taylor could be an evil genius for all we know.”

“It would explain a lot,” Jess agreed, nodding. They’d taken many turns, and he figured they must be nearing the end. The carnival in town square was what he remembered as the main event.

“Yes, all the sweater vests would be perfect for establishing a mild-mannered cover,” she continued, speaking with her free hand.

“Well, with that logic, Chris is also an evil mastermind,” Jess pointed out.

Ella pursed her lips in thought for a moment. “I think Chris is probably more of a Jekyll and Hyde situation.”

“I just love how much faith you have in humanity,” he smiled, pressing a kiss to her hair.

She laughed, and was about to retort, when they turned a corner and she almost ran straight into Lorelai. Her stomach did a quick flip, and her hand tightened slightly on Jess’s. But then, her old instincts kicked in, and she plastered a small, polite smile on her lips. On Lorelai’s right side, Rory stood hand-in-hand with some blonde guy.

“Oh, hey!” Lorelai greeted them brightly, looking between them. “I didn’t know you were in town.”

“Only for today and tomorrow. Just taking care of some stuff, y’know?” Ella said, unsure of whether Lorelai would be aware of the custody battle. Then, she turned to Rory. “What about you guys?”

“Visiting. We just had to come down for the Spring Fling,” Rory explained. She turned to the man at her side, gesturing between him and the two of them. “This is my boyfriend, Logan.”

“Oh, hi,” Ella said, shaking Logan’s hand.

“It’s a pleasure,” he grinned slyly, one dimple on his left cheek. “Strong handshake.”

“That’s what I’m famous for,” she replied. “I’m Ella.” Tilting her head to Jess, she broke hands with Logan. “And that’s Jess.”

“Hey,” Jess said shortly, also shaking Logan’s hand.

Logan’s smile didn’t even falter in the wake of Jess’s tight demeanor. “Nice to meet you, Jess.”

“So, how about this hay bale maze? Gives you Labyrinth vibes, doesn’t it?” Lorelai asked, smiling warmly.

“Yeah. All that’s missing is Bowie,” Ella agreed, nodding.

Intertwining their fingers again, Jess leaned into Ella’s side slightly against the chilly spring breeze.

“I wouldn’t mind seeing him in that costume,” Lorelai continued.

“Agreed,” Rory chimed in.

It occurred to Ella how long it had been since they had seen each other. Rory’s hair was longer and straighter, with side bangs and a redder tone. And her clothes seemed different, as well. Kate Spade and Coach and other brands Ella couldn’t have named. As far as first impressions went, she couldn’t quite figure out Logan. His smirk seemed constant, but not genuine like Jess’s. It wasn’t endearing, as though he were about to laugh at a private joke. Instead, it was almost smarmy. She wondered in the back of her mind what he was trying to sell her. Seeing Lorelai, though, was welcome. Images of movie nights and sleepovers and quiet afternoons reading flashed across her memory. Ella could recognize Lorelai just fine in the memories; Rory was not as easy.

“Not sure it’s worth it for how long we’ve been wandering around, though,” Lorelai added. Ella could see new, blonde-ish highlights in her hair. A pang of guilt hit her; with as much Lorelai had done for her, she should’ve checked in more. Even if she and Luke were still, inexplicably, on the outs.

Jess furrowed his brows. “What? I thought we were near the end.”

“Far from it,” Rory said.

“What about the caramel apple stand and stuff?” Ella asked.

“The budget wouldn’t allow it. Not after Taylor bought all the hay in Connecticut,” Lorelai said, gesturing to the maze around them. “This is it.”

Ella scoffed, shaking her head. “I’ll say it again. Evil mastermind.”

“What?” Logan asked, laughing.

Before she could answer, Ella’s nose began to tickle and she caught another sneeze in the crook of her elbow.

“Gesundheit!” Lorelai exclaimed.

“Well,” Jess began, looking between Ella and the other three, “we should probably start making our way to the other side. Seems like sneezy’s allergy medicine is wearing off.”

“Anyone who starts naming the other six dwarves will be in grave danger,” Ella warned, sniffling and blinking harshly.

They bid each other goodbye and were about to part ways when Rory suddenly spun around and called Ella’s name.

“Yeah?” Ella asked.

“Do you wanna maybe...go to lunch at Weston’s tomorrow? If you’re still gonna be in town,” Rory offered, her voice soft and hopeful. Her blue eyes were large in the moonlight.

Ella blew out a breath, considering it for only a moment. “Sure. Meet you at noon, alright?”

Rory nodded, and was soon whisked away again by Lorelai and Logan. They turned a corner and were masked by the hay.

.   .   .

She had never been to the Hartford courthouse, and it shocked her how much the place smelled like a dentist’s office. Chilly and plasticy and devoid of all human feeling. Painted in white with mahogany accents and bright lights, the building had supposedly been standing since before the Salem witch trials. Or so the plaque on the front of the red brick structure read. The minute hand on her watch ticked on silently, as nine o’clock rolled around. Ella had tried sketching, but couldn’t keep her focus on the portrait of her grandmother surrounded by sunflowers. Jess was halfway through a worn Bukowski volume, scribbling penciled notes in the margins, despite the faded writing already there. Ella’s head rested gently on his shoulder, dozing. Neither of them had slept especially well, nervous over the deposition. And neither of them were willing to take Luke’s bed again, and had squeezed onto the old brown couch. They considered the old twin bed, but decided falling off wasn’t worth it.

Ella was nearly asleep, her sketchbook shut and stuffed into her purse next to her, when she felt Jess shifting beneath her. His form tightened, and his breathing had become labored. Immediately, Ella’s eyes shot open, as she recognized the noise. She turned to find the novel shaking in his hands, his eyes wide and watery as his breathing began to pick up.

“Whoa, Jess, hey,” she began calmly, taking the book from his hands and placing it absently on the bench behind her. She faced him fully and reached out, but then hesitated. “Can I touch you?”

He swallowed dryly, trying to fight the tears blurring his vision. One second, he had been underlining a sentence; the next, his entire being became rigid and his heart was pounding. Not long after, he felt his throat tightening. Harsh shivers rolled through his body. He simply couldn’t control his erratic breathing.

Then, his eyes flitted to her face, the crease between her brows, and he nodded slightly.

“Okay,” she replied. Grabbing his wrist with a gentle hand, she brought his palm to her chest, the fabric of her blouse soft beneath his fingers. “Just breathe with me, cutie. Everything will be fine.”

“Pretty optimistic, Stevens,” he grumbled breathlessly, raising a doubtful eyebrow.

“Desperate times, Mariano. C’mon, just breathe with me,” she said softly, breathing in a long breath through her nose, exhaling out her mouth.

Beneath his hand, he could feel the rise and fall of her chest. Though he felt a little silly, he focused on the earnestness in her face. A few pedestrians passed by them, tossing uncertain glances their way, but Ella paid them absolutely no mind. She only focused on Jess. His cheeks were flushed as he ran his free hand over his mouth, nodding at her again as he finally began to mimic her breaths. Air hitching in his throat, he had to try more than a few times to steady himself.

“Good job, James Dean,” she smiled, watching him eventually begin to relax. His cheeks were glistening in the fluorescent light, and she wiped them dry with her thumb. “You okay? I can find you some water.”

“I’m pretty sure all they have here is burnt coffee,” he said, voice still uneven. The stench of stale coffee permeating the air in the whole building only added to the dentist office vibe.

She gave a breathy chuckle. “Hey, anything’s possible. My powers of persuasion are pretty strong.”

“I’m fine,” he insisted, averting his eyes from her. His cheeks burned hotly.

“Hey,” she said, tone serious once again, as she placed a hand on the back of his neck, “are you sure? If you can’t do the deposition, you can just write something down. I’m sure I could just go in.”

“No, I’m fine,” he said, eyes widening emphatically. “Don’t worry, Daria.”

“Impossible,” Ella said, dropping her hand from his neck and intertwining their fingers instead.

Jess cleared his throat. She saw his eyes flicker nervously over to the door of the room Luke had disappeared into over an hour earlier. Jess almost raised a hand to run through his hair, but then stopped as he remembered they were supposed to look professional in front of the lawyers. He felt fidgety and anxious.

“You’ll do fine, cutie,” she told him.

He faced her again, trying to force a confident smirk on his face. But he couldn’t bring himself to. “I know, just...like you said. What if he loses her? Or if-”

“‘You’ll never get anywhere if you go about what-iffing like that,’” she interjected.

He stared at her curiously for a moment before he ventured a guess. “Chuck Palahniuk?”

“Roald Dahl,” she answered.

“Huh,” he chirped indifferently.

Her eyes lingered on his distracted expression, watching his gaze be drawn again to the door to the deposition. He pursed his lips, a wistful, guarded look.

“Jess,” she started warily, her voice a sigh, “did you ever think about seeing someone? I mean, is this only the second time-”

“Can we please not talk about this, Doctor Laura?” he snapped quietly. Not unkindly, simply impatient. Ella hadn’t previously realized just how nervous he was for the deposition, considering how neutrally he’d reacted when she’d first told him about it.

She sighed again through her nose, jaw tensing. But she reminded herself where they were, and who they were. She told herself not to push too hard, not to worry about him getting scared and running off again. But still, a familiar fear threatened to rise in her throat. She swallowed thickly, then gave a slow nod. She pressed a quick kiss to the back of his hand and disentangled their fingers.

“Okay, James Dean,” she said flatly, handing him back his book. “To be continued.”

“Thank you,” he replied, flashing her a weak, half-hearted smile.

She tried to quiet the uneasiness whispering in her mind.

.   .   .

Weston’s looked much the same. The outdoor tables were adorned with vases of gerber daisies, fluttering in the light breeze. Bright sunlight warmed up the afternoon. Rory came back to the table with a tall coffee in one hand and a tea in the other. A tin of pound cake sat in between them on the frilly lace tablecloth, two forks beside it. Back in her plain purple dress and leather jacket, Ella felt more comfortable. And the judge had, thankfully, ruled in favor of Luke. Ella’s heart was alight with joy at just the thought of the verdict.

But an odd sense of deja-vu filled her. After Saturdays swimming in the Stars Hollow Community Pool, she and her father would come to the bakery, sunburnt and exhausted. She would get an apple tart and he would get a slice of chocolate satin pie. Just the two of them while her mother and brothers were at home playing board games. It had been their place, a father and a daughter, before everything fell apart. Her mind wandered to Jake for only a moment, wondering where he was and what he was doing. She wondered if he ever remembered their post-pool bakery visits, sitting outside with towels wrapped around them, damp bathing suits sticking to their bodies.

But then Taylor rode by, in the front seat on a bus of tourists, blasting his words through a megaphone. She snapped out of it. Offering a grateful smile to Rory, she took a sip of her tea. “Really, Rory, you didn’t have to get my tea.”

Rory waved a dismissive hand as she sat down. “It’s fine, Ella. Consider it making up for those last few birthdays when I wasn’t there to force presents on you.”

Ella smirked through a chuckle. “Okay. Thank you.”

“So,” Rory began, leaning in, conspiratory. “Tell me everything.”

“Well,” Ella said, shrugging and glancing over to her left. She forgot that her vision of the lush green square would be obscured by the wall of dry yellow hay. Having dosed up again on allergy medicine, she was glad to soon be leaving. She snickered under her breath, then turned back to Rory. She had a small smile on her pink lips. For a moment, Ella saw her as she had when they were teenagers. Bookish and shy, similar to Jess in a lot of ways. “I’m pretty busy with grad school. My students are all so fucking smart though, so it’s honestly not all that hard getting things to stick with them.”

“Yeah, Lane told me you graduated early,” Rory nodded along, almost jealous.

“Just took a bunch of summer classes and stuff. Luke gave me so much time to study. I wouldn’t have been able to do it otherwise,” Ella shrugged, spinning the tea mug around as she spoke.

“And how’s living with Jess? Above the publishing company, right? Is it Truncheon? I can’t remember. It seems like so long since Luke told me about it,” Rory said, giggling through her words.

Ella’s smile widened. “Yeah, Truncheon. They sell books and local art. Even some of mine, actually. But we live with Chris and Matthew, Jess’s partners, above the store. They’re...interesting. Matthew can do these crazy, Good Will Hunting math problems in his head. And Chris has, like, forty Red Bulls worth of energy everyday, but he hardly ever drinks caffeine. He just has a natural, endless supply. Kinda reminds me of your mom.”

“Sounds eventful,” Rory chimed in.

“That it is. But...it’s really fun. The city...it’s so lively. Everyday I walk outside and it’s a whole new place,” Ella said, blushing slightly at the sentimental words as she spoke them. But it was true. Returning to Stars Hollow always reminded her how much she enjoyed Philly. “But, what about you? Let’s hear about this Logan character.”

“Oh,” Rory began, looking down at her drink. “He’s good. We’re good. He’s really smart and we have a lot in common. And he’s really well-traveled. We’re great. He’s great.”

Eyes widening marginally, suspiciously, Ella nodded at Rory’s babbling. “So, you’re great, I hear. Alright. He makes you happy?”

“He does,” Rory answered, taking a sip of her coffee. Then, after a moment of pause: “It’s just…”

“What’s up, Ror?” Ella asked softly, furrowing her brows. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

Rory finally met her eyes again. “It’s just...I got offered this job at a newspaper in Rhode Island. And it’s solid and steady. My mom thinks I should take it.”

“That’s awesome, Rory! You’re gonna be at the Washington Post before we know it!” Ella exclaimed.

Rory offered her a weak smile. “Yeah, but, I also applied for this big scholarship. Only like five people get it every year. But it could be huge, and Logan thinks I could go for it. But, he also just lost about a million dollars and quit his job at his father’s company.”

“Hm,” Ella hummed, trying to keep her face expressionless as Rory continued. They were nowhere near close enough anymore for Ella to criticize her boyfriend.

“And then, the other day, I found this ring...”

“Oh, fuck,” Ella said, leaning back in her chair.

“Yeah,” Rory sighed. “And I have no idea what to do. I don’t know when he’s gonna ask me, if he’s gonna ask me, if he’s gonna want to follow me to Rhode Island, and...I mean, do you wanna spend the rest of your life with Jess?”

Taken aback by the question, Ella bit the inside of her cheek and paused. “Um...I...I hardly believed in love before I met Jess. Sometimes change doesn’t happen all at once. But...I mean...I would always rather be with him than not with him. If that means I want to spend the rest of my life with him…then, yeah. I do.”

Rory tucked her hair behind both her ears, shrugging. “I guess it’s not the same type of thing. I mean, you’ve been the Catherine to his Heathcliff forever.”

“Nothing’s perfect, though, Ror,” Ella said. She thought back to a few hours earlier in the courthouse, Jess’s stony expression. She could practically see the scowl he was sporting back the diner, where she’d find him after Weston’s to drive back home. “I mean, marrying someone doesn’t solve everything. Living together doesn’t solve everything. Jess and I argue. We fight.”

“Yeah, I think we all remember what it was like when you two worked at the diner together,” Rory scoffed nostalgically.

Ella snorted a laugh. “Believe me, I know. Jess and I don’t love each other because it’s easy. We don’t communicate the best sometimes. He’s not the chattiest, if you remember. And I’m not the most flexible. He turns the heat up in the apartment way too high. And, sometimes, I swear he’s got the worst taste. But we promised each other a long time ago we would always try for each other. That’s all it is. We try for each other.”

“You sound like a Nicholas Sparks novel,” Rory said, giggling once more.

“I do not!” Ella exclaimed, a blush creeping further up her skin.

“Oh, really?” Rory asked doubtfully. “Tell me what you love about him, then. Tell me the little details about the man who melted the icy Ella Stevens.”

Ella snorted again, shaking her head. “It wasn’t some sexist Taming of the Shrew situation. He’s just...he’s my best friend. That’s it.”

“Come on, you have to get back to Philly soon, don’t you? Humor me for the sake of this advice session,” Rory continued.

Rolling her eyes and groaning dramatically, Ella shifted in her seat and sighed. “Fine. For old time’s sake, Rory. He...he’s such a good writer. He writes like nothing I’ve ever read before. It’s thoughtful and deep and...I don’t know. He does that thing where he bites his lip when he’s nervous. And he’s probably the biggest romantic I’ve ever met. I used to think it was absurd, but now it’s just cute. He rubs circles on my back sometimes, for no reason. He just…always likes to be touching. And, as much as that man loves words, it’s the actions. He doesn’t need to say something for me to know...I guess. He’ll show me instead. Does that make sense?”

After a moment of gaping, Rory burst out in laughter. “I knew it was serious. I didn’t know it was a Tennyson poem.”

“Alright, alright, enough,” Ella grumbled in embarrassment. “The point is: do you want to be with Logan for the rest of your life?”

Rory’s face fell slightly, and she could only manage a non-committal shrug.

As the breeze blew past them again, and Ella watched Rory’s expression falter, she felt her stomach fill with nerves. She hadn’t realized it before, quite how committed she was. When she imagined her life, Jess was always there. It wasn’t even a question. She didn’t know exactly when she’d decided he would be a permanent fixture, if he wanted. But apparently she had. And no matter how frustrated she was with his refusal to talk about his panic attacks, or the anxiety which had been following him for, perhaps, years, it didn’t matter. It had been a tough trip for him. She just wanted to get back to him, to make sure he was alright. To see if he was feeling better.

[all-things-skam]

Jens’ season | Chapter two

Sunday, January 12th

Going to lunch with Robbe and Sander was Jens' worst idea to date. The two were still in the honeymoon phase of their relationship and constantly making heart eyes at each other across the table, completely ignoring Jens.

When Jens made it to the café, Robbe was wearing what appeared to be one of Sander's tee shirts - it was way too big to belong to Robbe - and the older boy was all over Robbe, clinging onto and kissing him, making it even clearer to Jens that he was third-wheeling the couple's lunch date.

Sometimes, Jens missed being in a relationship.

Single life was good too, though. No need to explain yourself and share your whereabouts all the time, or return calls and messages under five minutes. Freedom felt too good for Jens to give up celibacy.

The waiter brought over their orders, awkwardly clearing his throat as he slid Robbe’s plate in front of him. By the look on Robbe’s face, it was clear that he was uncomfortable. Sander didn’t seem to care, still whispering into Robbe’s ear and kissing his cheek.

If Jens hadn’t been so used to their behavior, he would’ve felt uncomfortable too.

‘’Did you finish editing the vlog?’’ Robbe asked, breaking the silence.

‘’Is it the one where Moyo cracks his pants?’’ Sander demanded, a sly grin creeping across his lips.

Jens nodded. ‘’Yeah, that’s the one.’’ He paused, taking a bite of his grilled sandwich, chasing it down with a fry.. ‘’Sander, did Robbe tell you about the hot pepper he ate? Poor guy was crying.’’ Jens made a dramatic frown, pretending to feel sorry for his best friend. Robbe chucked a piece of bread at him.

‘’Shut up.’’ Robbe narrowed his eyes. ‘’I wasn’t crying…’’

Okay, he wasn’t ‘tears streaming down his face crying’, but there were real tears pooling in Robbe’s eyes from how spicy the pepper was and Jens had the proof on tape. He couldn’t argue with that.

‘’Aw,’’ Sander cooed teasingly. ‘’Couldn’t handle the spice, uh?’’

''I'd like to see you try and taste it! It was fucking hot, okay?''

The blond scoffed. ''Robbe, your tolerance is less than impressive. You can't handle hot Cheetos. They’re not even that spicy!''

‘’They make my lips feel tingly. I hate it.’’

Sander leaned closer to his boyfriend, lowering his voice. ‘’I can name something else that makes your lips feel all tingly…’’ He had this smug look on his face as Robbe pinched his thigh, a silent warning.

The bell resonated across the café as a new customer walked in, causing Jens to lift his eyes from his plate, needing a distraction from the intimate exchange happening in front of him. He didn’t mind them acting like that, there are just some things Jens would rather not hear or know about his best friend.

The customer’s back was facing Jens, but he recognized the curly fringe and denim jacket.

Hands stuffed inside his pockets, Lucas, glanced at the menu over the counter, uncertain. He looked around, searching for nothing in particular and smiled, face lighting up when seeing a familiar face inside the café.

Jens raised his hand and waved him over, offering a helping hand to the new kid. Or, that’s what he told himself.

Lucas walked over to Jens’s table, smiling bright. ‘’Hi.’’

‘’Wanna join us?’’

‘’I don’t want to intrude…’’ Lucas glanced at Robbe and Sander.

Jens shook his head. ‘’You’re not,’’ he assured him. ’’I already feel like a third wheel. If you join us, I won’t have to talk to myself for the rest of lunch.’’

‘’Okay.’’ Lucas sat down next to Jens, his presence going unacknowledged by the couple in front of them. He brushed his knee against Jens’, causing a warmth in his stomach that seemed to spread throughout his body. ‘’Lucas,’’ he introduced himself, shaking Robbe and Sander’s hands. ‘’So, what’s good here? Last time, I ordered a ham and cheese sandwich and it was less than tasty.’’ Lucas grimaced at the memories. ‘’I’ll take some of your recommendations, if you don’t mind.’’

‘’It depends what you’re in the mood for,’’ Sander said, detaching himself from Robbe a bit, playing connaisseur. ‘’Personally, I wouldn’t recommend the croques. Not crunchy enough and burnt on one side most of the time. They serve them good-side-up thinking you won’t notice.’’

‘’So, no croques, I take it?’’

Sander grinned. ‘’No croques. Coffee’s good though.’’

‘’Noted.’’ He stole a fry from Jens’s plate.

‘’Those are mine!’’

Lucas shrugged, happily eating his fry. ‘’I take it you don’t share your food. You have plenty. Selfish much, uh?’’ He cocked an eyebrow, giving Jens a judgemental look.

The latter rolled his eyes. ‘’So? Are the fries good?’’

‘’They’re alright, I guess. But, I’m gonna order cake. I’m more of a sweet tooth.’’

.

Monday, January 113th

Noises were coming from the kitchen when Jens came home from school. He frowned and removed his shoes and jacket, leaving the latter with his backpack in the entrance. He'd take them upstairs later.

His dad's shoes weren't on the small carpet which meant he wasn't home - again.

Jens headed down the hallway, seeing his mom, still in her work uniform, pulling out a box of pasta from the pantry and frantically moving around the kitchen.

''Mom?''

At her son's voice, the brunette woman snapped her head around, flashing him a quick smile. ''You're home early.''

''Yeah, Mr. Montez let us out before the bell so I got to catch an earlier bus,'' the teenager explained. ''Need a hand?''

''That would be very helpful.''

Jens moved to the stove, pulling out a pot and filled it with water. He didn't know what his mom was cooking, but judging by the pastas on the counter top, she was going to need to boil them.

Jens hoped for his dad's sake that his job interview wasn't a lie. His mom was exhausted from taking extra shifts all the time. Someone else needed to bring money home.

Christmas had been less festive than usual. The smaller amount of money in the Stoffels' pockets was reflected in Christmas dinner and handful of presents under the tree. Jens had to renounce the new skateboard he wanted, his parents being on a tighter budget. He was sad, but his old skateboard still worked fine.

Waiting for the water to boil, Jens voiced the question that had been nagging him for the past few weeks. ''Why didn’t you say anything? About dad losing his job?''

Fenna stopped chopping the vegetables, going still for a few seconds. She let out a shaky breath and turned to her son, ready to address his concerns. ''Because we didn’t want to worry you, or Lotte. You know how prideful your dad is; he was embarrassed to tell his kids that he lost his job. He's forty-six. Losing your job at that age is difficult to take in, Jens. He tried to negotiate getting his job back, but his boss was firm with his decision.''

Jens let his head fall and his eyes close. He knew this was a difficult subject for both his parents, yet he brought it up. ‘’I’m sorry, Mom.’’

His mom shook her head. She was so grateful to have a son like Jens. So caring and empathetic. But, this wasn't his fault. Nothing concerning his father's job loss was. ‘’It’s not your fault. It happens.’’ She pulled a pan from the cupboard and set it beside the cooking pasta. ''What time is it?’’

‘’Almost four,’’ Jens responded, checking the time on his phone.

‘’Crap. I have to get going. They need a nurse to fill-in for the night and I couldn't afford to decline. That's why I was preparing dinner a bit early. Guess I didn't judge my time very well… I also have to pick up your sister from school and drop her here and-''

''Mom? Mom!'' His sharp tone cut through her increasingly panicked one. ''Put everything down. I can make dinner. Pastas are easy to make, right?''

‘’And Lotte-’’

''I’m sure Ines’ mom will take Lotte home with them if you ask. She lives two blocks from here,’’ Jens suggested, solving another problem on his mom’s checklist.

She grabbed her jacket, bag, and keys, listing the rest of the dinner’s recipe to him. Jens nodded along without really hearing her, knowing he could just wing it. Like he said, pasta are relatively simple to make.

“Got it,’’ Jens assured her, confidently. ‘’Just go, Mom. We’ll be fine, I promise.''

Fenna sighed. “Okay, okay I’m leaving. I love you Jens. Take good care of your sister while I’m gone.”

Love you too, Jens thought, hearing the front door close after she left the kitchen. He turned back to the stove and his eyes widened in surprise at the boiling water overflowing from the pot. He quickly grabbed at the burner knob, flipping it to low while trying to avoid the scalding water.

.

Tuesday, January 14th

It was the first time that Jana came over since they broke up. She hadn't sat on Jens's bed in over a year, somehow, everything still felt familiar. Nothing had changed. The sheets were the same, Jens' clothes still sitting in an overflowing pile on the desk chair by the door. Even his electric guitar was in its same spot.

Jana smiled, looking around the bedroom. ''I missed this.''

Jens furrowed his eyebrows, confused. ''Missed what? My dirty clothes?'' He scooted higher on his bed, propping himself up against his pillows, and chuckled.

''No, idiot.'' She shook her head, holding back from chucking a pillow at him. ''Coming over, being here...with you. It's been so long.''

Two years.

Jens remembered the last time she was there. He was playing Fortnite with Robbe - and Moyo online. She came over, uninvited and without warning, and told Jens some bullshit story about forgetting her phone at Luka’s. This was where their relationship started to go downhill.

‘’Would you change anything about our past, if you could?’’ Jana asked, breaking the silence. She was sitting crossed legged, facing Jens.

Her question, although relatively simple, made Jens think twice before responding.

Although it was tempting to say yes, Jens shook his head. He wouldn’t lie, there were decisions and actions he wasn’t proud of, but his past led them to where he was today. If he made even the slightest change, everything would have been different. And, not to sound cocky, but he was pretty proud of the person he’d become.

‘’If I say yes, we wouldn’t be the same people we are now. Our mistakes and decision makes who we are, who we became,’’ Jens responded, insightfully. ‘’So, no. I wouldn’t change a thing.’’

‘‘I see your point, but I’d still tempt my fate to make a couple changes.”

‘’I still feel bad for dating you behind her back and while you two were still together. I was ultimate friendship betrayal.’’ She looked down, thinking about how much pain it had caused her best friend. Poor Britt had luck with the cheater boyfriends... ‘’I should’ve kissed you before her.’’

Jens snickered a laugh, unable to believe her. ‘’How would you have done that? You were way too shy and always hiding in Britt’s shadow.’’

Jana raised her eyebrows. ‘’Oh yeah? Remind me who kissed you first at the Christmas party?’’

She uncrossed her legs and crawled over to Jens, passing one leg over his waist, straddling him, and pressed her lips to his in a gentle kiss. Jens’s tongue slipped between her parted lips, his hands finding the back of Jana’s sweater while Jana’s slid under his, kneading at his toned stomach.

The door opened, interrupting the teenagers.

‘’Jens, can you help me with-’’ The brunette girl stopped dead in her tracks, frowning when seeing a familiar face on her brother’s bed...on top of Jens. ‘’Jana?’’ There was uncertainty in her voice mixed with excitement.

The latter quickly removed herself from Jens’ lap, slightly embarrassed, and sat next to him instead. This was awkward… ''Hi, Lotte.’’ Jana grinned at the little girl. ‘’Haven’t seen you in so long. You’ve gotten so big.’’

Although things were going well between them, there was still factors that made Jens not want to get back together with his ex. And, as much as Lotte liked Jana, he didn't want to let her in too much. She was sad when Jens announced that Jana and him were over; it was best if she wasn’t too involved. He also didn't see himself explaining their relationship status to his eight years old sister.

Sitting up, Jens broke the interaction. ''Lotte, please leave us alone, will you? Go play with your dolls or something.'' He fixed his shirt so it wasn’t exposing his stomach anymore.

Unlike Jana, Jens didn’t only have his parents to worry about when making out with someone in his bedroom. He also had a little sister that didn’t understand the importance of knocking before walking into a room - nor the concept of privacy.

Lotte frowned. ‘’But, you said you’d help me with my multiplication…’’

‘’I’ll help you later. When Jana goes home, okay?’’

.

Wednesday, January 15th

It was almost 10pm when Jens descended to the kitchen to get a drink. He was working on a History assignment with Robbe via Facetime and it was taking them so long. History was neither of the boys’ forte.

The house was quiet since it was so late at night. The lights illuminating the staircase were dimmed, just bright enough to prevent someone from tripping on a misplaced shoe or stray sock.

Almost on the ground floor, Jens saw a light in the living room, coming from a small lamp. Jens frowned. He got closer and saw his mother's sleeping figure in the armchair. A sad smile formed on his lips. She must've fallen asleep there on accident, judging by the abandoned book laying open on her lap.

‘’Mom,’’ Jens said, gently shaking her awake on the armchair.

He felt bad for waking her, knowing that she needed rest after working all those long shifts at the hospital, but her neck would hurt later if she stayed there.

‘’Mom,’’ he tried again.

This time, her eyes fluttered open, slowly waking. She squinted her eyes in the light of the lamp. ‘’Jens?’’ She looked around, realizing that she fell asleep in the living room. ‘’How long was I out for?’’

‘’I don’t know, I just came down. I figured you’d be more comfortable in your bed.’’

Fenna smiled and nodded. ‘’Good idea. I have to be up early tomorrow.’’

‘’I thought Thursday was your off day?’’

‘’It is. But the bills are piling up and your dad....’’ She sighed, looking away.

Jens took a seat on the couch next to the armchair. ‘’I take it his job interview didn’t go well.’’

‘’I don’t know what to do anymore. Taxes are coming and I can’t take more shifts. I come home exhausted from double shifts and still, it isn't enough.’’ Fenna sighed, dropping her head in her hands in both despair and exhaustion. ‘’I knew it would be difficult to make ends meet when your dad lost his job, but I didn’t plan on neglecting you and your sister so much. We barely spend time together anymore, I miss it. I feel bad…’’

‘’We do spend time together, we cooked dinner on Monday.’’

His mom gave him a look. ‘’Chatting about our day over peeling carrots isn’t what I call spending time with my kids.’’

Jens shrugged, laughing. ‘’It still counts for me.’’

‘’I’m not sure your sister would say the same.’’

‘’You’re doing all you can, Mom.’’

.

Thursday, January 16th

The boys were playing Fortnite in Jens' bedroom, yelling at the TV at each wrong move. They had ordered pizza, the almost-empty boxes resting on the dresser with drinks surrounding them.

With his mom still at work and his dad out with Lotte at her weekly dance class, the teenager took full advantage of their absence by inviting his friends over to play video games. It’d been a while since they all met to hang out, one of them always busy with their significant other - mostly Robbe.

Moyo was really good, kicking Aaron's ass every time. It was amusing to watch him lose and rake his brain for the dumbest excuses, trying to justify his loss. Sore loser. Robbe's skills had decreased, now more keen on spending time with Sander than playing video games. He's in love, could you blame him?

'Game over' flashed across the screen, lettingAaron know he’d died. He gasped, shocked by his friend's betrayal. ''What the fuck, bro? We're on the same team!''

Jens shrugged, eyes focused on the screen. ''You were slowing me down.''

''I was covering for you and you shot me. Fucking traitor...''

''Covering for me? I almost got killed twice because of you.''

Aaron bickered back, defending himself again, but Jens wasn’t listening; this made Moyo laugh. If Robbe’s nose wouldn’t have been glued to his phone, he would’ve laughed too.

It was good to have everyone together again and not have to think of a video idea or film for the vlog channel. They love doing vlogs, but hanging out and playing Fortnite was nice too. A distraction and some fun with his friends was exactly what Jens needed right now. It was nice to take a break and not have to think about his problems for a couple of hours. Jens could always count on the boys to turn some of his worries into laughter.

Even though Jens was trying his best to distract himself, his family’s problems were still in the back of his mind. Amidst the laughter, his mom's exhausted face from constant worry and overworking herself flashed across his mind.

Jens wished he could help - more than he already did - take some worries off her shoulders, but the balance in his bank account wasn’t even in the double digits. He thought about getting a job, but it would complicate things since his shifts would be on the weekend and after school and he wouldn't be able to help with Lotte as much. His parents needed that help.

Minutes later, Jens died and it was time to switch players. He handed his controller to Moyo. Aaron’s went to Robbe, but the latter’s phone rang before they could start the game.

Robbe frowned and apologized. ‘’It’s my mom. I have to answer.’’ He stood, leaving Jens’ room to talk somewhere quiet and private.

Aaron stood too, putting his controller on the bed. ‘’I’m gonna go pee. The beer is starting to hit me. Don’t cheat while I’m gone,’’ he said, warning Jens and Moyo.

“Says the cheater himself,” Moyo retorted with a snort while standing up to get another drink - a can of coke, this time. It was a school night and Moyo doubted his mom would let it slide if he came home drunk on a Thursday. He opened the drink and sat back on the bed, sighing, still feeling full from the pizza slices he ate earlier. ''That last one was a mistake.''

Beside him, Jens let out a short laugh.

Fidgeting with his hands, he glanced out of his bedroom door, checking if they boys were out of sight. He had meant to ask Moyo something and, with Robbe on the phone and Aaron in the bathroom, it was the perfect time. It was nothing embarrassing, Jens just didn't want Robbe to overhear his question and think too much or Aaron to be all up in his business.

''Can I have your weed guy's number?''

Moyo raised his eyebrows, surprised by Jens' question. ''What for?'' He took a sip of his coke. ''I can bring you a couple grams tomorrow if you want. I don't mind.''

Jens shook his head. ''Erm, no. I want to buy some for myself. It's not fair for you to pay for everyone's weed.''

Moyo shot him a skeptical look but shared his dealer's number.

.

Friday, January 17th

Jens was getting ready for tonight’s party, trying to fix his hair - that one piece was so annoying - before meeting the boys at Robbe’s. His backpack was ready for the night, filled with beers and a bottle of cheap vodka. It tasted awful, but it did a good job at getting you drunk.

Slipping on his red hoodie, Jens grabbed his phone to check the time when a notification caught his attention.

vanderheijden.lucas is now following you

He opened the notification and smiled. Lucas. As in the new boy Lucas? The Dutch boy with the beautiful eyes and the cocky grin?

A peek at his feed told Jens that Lucas was a selfie person. His bright blue eyes stood out on some of these shots. Like, wow. There were pictures of his friends, too. One of the two had longer hair and mild-toned skin, and the other had a shorter haircut.

As Jens scrolled down Lucas’s pictures, he noticed a red ‘1’ on the paper plane icon in the right corner of his phone, signalling a new DM. Raising his eyebrows, Jens clicked on it.

vanderheijden.lucas Hi

jensrolt Hi 😊

vanderheijden.lucas I found your Instagram. Hope you don’t mind!

jensrolt I would’ve made it private if I did...and I’m always looking for more fans

jensrolt Are you coming tonight?

vanderheijden.lucas I’m assuming it’s a party you’re asking about, but I’m in Utrecht…

Jens raised his eyebrows.

A part of him was hoping to see Lucas tonight, but now he was a bit disappointed. The brunet’s flirty wink from last Friday was floating in the back of Jens' mind, just like the feeling in his stomach when their knees brushed under the table at the café. Jens didn’t know what it all meant, but he was curious to see what Lucas would do next.

jensrolt What’s in Utrecht?

Lucas was from the Netherlands, Jens knew that, but why was he going back? Was he visiting the boy he saw in the pics, the one with dark hair and mid-toned skin? They seemed pretty close - a bit too close forJens’ taste. He almost clicked on the guy’s face to see if he was tagged, but realized how stalker-ish that was.

That didn’t stop him from staring at Lucas’ beautiful blue eyes. They seemed brighter in every new pic. His scrolling was interrupted when a notification popped up at the top of his screen: a new message from vanderheijden.lucas.

vanderheijden.lucas I’m visiting my mom. It’s her weekend. The joy of having divorced parents…

Lucas’ sarcasm made Jens laugh, his lips curling into a smile.

vanderheijden.lucas I’ll be there next friday though. If there’s a party

jensrolt There’s ALWAYS a party

vanderheijden.lucas Save me a drink? 😉

Eyebrows pulled, Jens brought his phone closer to his face. A winky emoji?

Before he could analyse the message further, Jens’ phone flashed with Robbe’s name.

Shit. The pre-game. He’d totally forgotten about that.

‘’I’m on my way,’’ he told his best friend, hanging up and bolting out of his bedroom.

[harlot-of-oblivion]

Fairies May Cry

Vergil finds his very pretty pixie in great peril and must save her once more.

Chapter 13: Pretty Boy to the Rescue!

Vergil walks into the shop and instantly notices that the shop seems...different. The first thing that tips him off that something isn’t quite right is the silence. The jukebox is oddly enough not blaring music, which leads to the second thing: Dante is not there to greet him from his usual spot behind the desk. In fact, he is nowhere to be seen around the shop, which would not be alarming if it was anyone but his little brother.

A quick trip to his room reveals the third and final thing that seems off: the odd absence of his feisty pixie and their flirtatious banter as they zoom all around his head. Now this is strange, he thought while searching the usual hiding spots such as the pile of flowers and the trinket box. When he finds no sign of his small capricious companion he heads back downstairs, intending to look through Dante’s desk and his pile of lecherous magazines. But before he can make it to the desk his keen sense of hearing picks up a shuffling sound from the kitchen.

Vergil readies the Yamato as he slowly stalks towards the kitchen door. He listens for a moment before slowly swinging the door wide open. Besides the usual cluster of dishes piled up high in the sink and the waste bin overflowing with greasy trash, everything seems to be in order. He spots a stray fork by the freezer and shakes his head as he reaches down to pick it up off the floor. He gives pause when he hears the shuffling noise again. His head snaps over to the freezer, squinting at it suspiciously as he leans in closer…another shuffle along with a tiny whine has him ripping open the freezer door.

Cold air puffs against his face as he beholds the most bewildering sight he has ever seen: all the cartons of Dante’s precious strawberry ice cream, which he notes are completely empty, surrounding the very pretty pixie he is searching for. You are lying prone, clutching your tiny tummy, and shivering while your fairy light shines dark blue.

“Peaseblossom?” he immediately calls out as he reaches out and gently prods your tiny body with his index finger.

You flinch at the sound of his voice. “P-p-pretty B-boy?” you stutter, tiny tears leaking from your eyes as you turn to look up at him.

Vergil quickly snaps into action and scoops you up carefully into his hands. You whimper and clutch your stomach tighter as he sets you down on the counter. “Did you really eat the entirety of my brother’s ice cream?” he questions, already aware of the truth as he pulls out a light blue hand towel from a nearby drawer.

“Uh huh,” you manage to answer before a small sob bursts from your mouth.

“Foolishness,” he scolds you softly while he places the hand towel in the microwave and sets it to run just long enough to get warm.

“But but but…the snow was so tasty!” you whine back, fairy light blinking in distress.

Vergil sighs and shakes his head. “We’ll discuss this later,” he informs you while filling up a kettle with a couple cups of water. The microwave beeps as he puts the kettle on the stove to boil. He checks the temperature of the hand towel before spreading it out on the counter next to your trembling body. “Right now, you need to warm up while I make you some tea to ease the pain,” he explains, gently moving you over to one corner of the warm towel.

You sigh in relief as Vergil carefully wraps you up in the warm fluffy towel, fairy light slowly shifting from dark blue to light purple. He makes sure you are bundled up snuggly before heading to a cupboard for a teacup and saucer. The kettle begins whistling as he fills a tea ball strainer with some chamomile and ginger tea. He swiftly removes it from the heat and pours the boiling hot water into the teacup, dipping the small strainer in the water a few times before picking it up by the saucer.

Vergil grabs his very pretty bundle of pixie and heads straight back to his room. He sets the teacup on the bedside table and lets it steep for a while as he ponders how exactly you are going to drink the soothing tea. His eyes flicker over your trinket box and he recalls that you once boasted about finding a “fairy cup” …which is just a very decorative silver thimble.

It only takes a couple of minutes for him to get situated on the bed, cradling a pretty sick pixie in one hand while holding a thimble in the other. He reaches down to the bedside table and fills the little thimble up with a small amount of tea. “Drink this,” he instructs, bringing your fairy cup up to your small lips, “this should help alleviate your stomachache.”

You stare up at him with teary eyes as you take a sip of the tea. “It tastes like flowers,” you murmur, small voice full of quiet wonder. He smiles softly at your words as he gently encourages you to drink every drop of soothing tea from the thimble. You comply without much fuss, only complaining a few times about the spicy ginger. Your eyes slowly begin to droop the more tea you swallow, and by the time you gulp all of it down you are fast asleep, purple fairy light glowing a shade darker as it pulses gently with every small breath you take.

Vergil sets the thimble next to the teacup before standing up from the bed, careful not to disturb you as he walks over to his bookcase. An ache of unease that he did not notice before leaves his body when he hears the soft chiming of your small snores. He picks out a book and sits back down on the bed, not knowing how long a pixie nap lasts or why he still insists on holding you close to his chest instead of placing you down to rest on your flowers.

He is sure of one thing though: you are going get a stern lecture as soon as you wake up.

My Ao3

My Master List

Read Chapter 14

Tagging: @bettybattaglia @drusoona @exsultry @vergilsangel 🌺🧚🏻‍♀️🌺

[seongwhy]

first of all thanks for your tumblr

i have a request please !! ateez with their love interest making the first move. It could be so sweet or hot... idk can't wait to read

THANK YOU ♥

@panda-tchi thank you!!! I'm so sorry it took long, i made a post about my absence, but I didnt knwo if you meant you wanted ateez making the first move or their love interest... so Im gonna do both !!! they'll be in parts so heres the first part

ateez making the first move on their love interest

hongjoong

ok so in my head hongjoong is like,, rlly shy and cute and b aby!!!!

and so he wouldn't do anything unless he was absolutely sure abt it

he would be flustered walking you to your door and flustered when he grabbed your hand

but youd look at him and smile and hed know everything's going good

but with his cheeks red and his teeth showing hed move the hand that isnt holding yours to move your hair behind you ear

and hed step closer to yours

istg itd be like a cheesy ass drama

hed lean in to you and close his eyes rlly tight and his lips puckered and youd be like :')) what a cutie

but then youd lean into him and itd be a perfect harmony of sweetness and kisses

and hed pull away after kissing you with his face beet red and be like '...that was awesome' and youd laugh and hed go redder

I literally ugh I want this

hed say goodnight but wont let go of your hand :((( youd have to tell him

hed walk away giggling to himself and once he got home hed be so happy omg hed text you right away

'tonight was so fun.. see you again soon?'

seonghwa

seonghwa,,,, baby

yall would be driving home from the date

and hed be driving and hed slip his right hand on your thigh !!! like the slick God he is !!!!

and youd be like.... oh shit

and when you look at him hed be smirking but still looking at the road bc hes a ~responsible driver~

but in his head hed be like 'is this ok???? what am.i doing AA'

then when he reached your place hed stop you from getting out so he could open the door for you gentleman style

hed give you his hand to get out, and then bring it around his waist

o m gee hed wrap his arm around your waist too

then at your door he would even say anything hed just grab you face and kiss you

and youd be ●-● for three seconds before smiling and leaning into it

and you can feel him smile too

then when you guys pull away bc of lack of breath he kisses your nose and your cheek and your hand

and tells you it was a pleasure and you'll see him tomorrow at lunch or smth

and he pecks you again and gives you the cutest smile and walks away giving you a few more looks as he goes

but

you yell at him to stop

and you invite him inside

what is he gonna do ?? say no ?

yunho

ok so I see you and yunho being rlly good friends

and you're at his place/the dorm and you're making ramen together

and all the boys are playing video games or in their rooms or smth so it's just you two in the kitchen cooking it up yknow what I mean

and you're laughing at sum dumb thing he said

and then he just looks at you

and watches you with your pretty smile and your pretty face and your pretty hair and you look so pretty

and he just cant help but move closer to you

and then you stop laughing and look at him like ???

and he just grabs your waist and pulls you in

then he takes a deep breathe and does what hes been wanting to do for a while now

and kisses you

he kisses you like his life depended on it this guy cant hold back

you're so into it you both cant hear or think or breathe anything but each other

but then you hear a 'yah!!!!' and you step away from yunho to see an angry but cheeky seonghwa looking at you two and the overflowing boiling water on the stove

and you and yunho jump and go read and move to clean and both mumble an 'I'm sorry' to seonghwa

he walks away chuckling

and you two look at each other wide eyes and red faces and laugh

ah,,, such kids man

yeosang

you and yeosang are going on a lil brunch picnic date

so u had to wake up early (a lil too early for you but dont tell him dat) to make sure your morning hair was tamed and your eyebags were covered

though yeosang wouldnt have cared what you looked like tbh

but when you answered your doorbell in the prettiest outfit hes ever seen, be wasnt complaining

he maybe took too long staring at you bc you had to clear your throat to get him to stop

he looked up at you, trying his best not to look flustered and he clears his throat too, sticking his hand out for you to hold on to

you smile at him and take his hand and step down your front steps

as hes waiting for you to step down the last one, he grabs onto your other hand and pulls (take a shot everytime i use that word in this post) you into him

he kisses you lightly

then whispers 'you look really pretty'

winks at you

and starts walking

you're standing at the end of your steps and gape at him

he looks back at you

'aren't you coming?'

san

ok dis precious lil baby boi

hes nervous and hes masking it w confidence and jokes

but you can read right through them

but you're not gonna tell him that

hes walking you to the park where you'll sit and play with the doggos that walk by and he has some sandwiches in his bag (your favourite)

and you're talking and he asks you you're favourite color to which you answer and he stops

and you stop, confused

so you grab his arm and ask 'are u ok?'

and he looks at you and grabs your shoulders and says 'that's my favourite too'

and you're like ,,, ok cool wow let's keep going i wanna see he dogs

but he just looks at you and says nothing

and so u turn and walk with your arm in your hand to pull him along

but he just grabs it and pulls you into him

and kisses you !!!!! and you kiss back !!!

and then you part from him

and say 'all because you like purple too?'

and he laughs and smiles and hooks his arm into yours and starts walking again with a lil more pep in his step (if that's even possible)

mingi

mango!!! my babie

mingi takes u on a lil arcade date

he tries his best to let you win every game you play

until it gets to one of those racecar games where he just loses himself in and therefore cannot lose to anyone

and when he wins he cheers and claps

until he looks over and sees you pouting that you not only lost to him, but got last place as well

he immediately stops cheering and pouts too

he starts making hand hearts and he grabs your hands and plays with them claps them together and boops your nose

he does everything until he sees you smile

and once you smile he does too

and he kisses your forehead and then your cheek and then he leans towards your lips, still smiling

and he kisses you

it's short but cute !! and lovely and keeps you wanting more

but he opens the curtain of the game thing and walks over to your side and grabs your hand

'c'mon, you can beat me in the next one'

wooyoung

wooyoungie !!! takes you to an amusement park!!!!

yall have gone on all the rides, have tried every fair food you could and now the sun is starting to set (I think yall know where this is going)

theres only one thing you two havent done yet

and that's the ferris wheel !!!!

you two are sitting up there and you're gaping at the view in front of you

but though you thought the view was pretty ... he thought you were prettier sorry

and hes staring at you wishing youd just turn to face him so he kiss your pretty mouth

and then you do

so then he does

and you gasp!!! but melt into him

you put your hands in his hair

and he puts his on your face

and yall are kissing until you have to get off or pay for another ride

and he pays for another ride

but then you eventually get off and you eventually get home

and once hes home he doesnt hesitate to text you

and then hes hyungsik in that scene from strong girl bong-soon

and yeosangs telling him to stfu and go to bed

jongho

plz this lil man can barely keep it together when he sees you

and he finally gets you alone?? what does he do with himself

apparently nothing. bc hes just sitting there

his hyungs know he likes you and you being wooyoungs bestie, you're chilling in the dorm

and the hyungs leave bc '... I have to .. nap' 'right!! and i have to ... go to the store !! we have no more ramen and you know the kids,, they need their ramen' and 'oh gosh, would you look at the time!! I've gotta take a shower!!'

and one by one it's just the two of you on the couch

and he freezes

I mean, you're just slouched down on your phone

but you look so... so pretty

and lovely

and like he could just kiss you

and now hes staring.

and now you've realized

and hes blushing and his throat is dry

'I.. uh . sorry do u want some water? I'm gonna go get some water'

without waiting for an answer he kinda just walks away mumbling 'so dumb. so dumb! damn u hyungs'

when he gets to the kitchen he pours himself some water and take a sip

be turns around and you're there !! oh no

jongho decides he doesnt give a f u ck. yolo. hes no pussy boi

and he just steps in and he pulls u in

and he kisses you

and he thanks God you kiss back

and now hes blushing. again

you kiss his neck to tease him and he turns redder

you back up and laugh

'I was wondering when you were gonna do that'

hes so happy he almost cries

thanks wooyoung!!!!

[antiadvil]

Night In

summary: Phil feels bad after a five second fight with his boyfriend. He is extra soft to make up for it.

rating: PG13

wc: 2k

notes: for @filisaceaf​ (go read her YOI au it’s good)

read under the cut or on ao3

Dan’s nail polish was chipped. It wasn’t really something Phil would normally notice, but he had been making an effort to notice those things more, and he guessed it was paying off.

“Your nail polish is chipped,” he said.

“Your nail polish is chipped,” Dan immediately shot back, even though Phil was not currently wearing nail polish and, in fact, had never worn nail polish in his life.

“I’m not wearing nail polish,” Phil said mildly.

“Yeah, so shut up about mine,” Dan said.

“I didn’t mean it in, like, a bad way,” Phil reasoned. “I just- noticed, that’s all.”

“Why’d you have to notice so critically?”

“I wasn’t!” Phil insisted. “Really, it’s fine. I just noticed.”

Dan looked at Phil warily. “Good,” he finally said.

“Good,” Phil said, relieved.

It wasn’t a bad fight- by a lot of standards, it wouldn’t even be considered a fight. But Phil felt bad, so he was determined to find a way to make it up to Dan that night. When they cuddled on the couch while watching anime, Phil held him extra tight. He got up to get the remote so Dan wouldn’t have to. He kissed him just a little harder than usual.

If Dan noticed anything, he didn’t say anything, just gave into Phil’s gentle ministrations. He was tired, Phil knew. They both were.

“How about we just stay in tonight?” Phil asked, tracing a pattern on Dan’s shoulder, as if they didn’t stay in almost every night.

Dan nodded. “Takeout?”

“I thought we might try to cook something. Have a date night kind of thing. You know.”

Dan laughed. “You know how we are at cooking.”

“It’ll be fun,” Phil persuaded. “We can’t eat takeout for the rest of our lives.”

“Bet,” Dan said.

Phil rolled his eyes. “I think we have the stuff for spaghetti.”

“Fine,” Dan said.

Phil stood up from their couch, regretfully untangling his limbs from Dan’s. “Coming?”

Dan pouted, reaching for Phil. “Come back.”

“Come with me,” Phil said.

Dan gave Phil his best puppy dog eyes.

Phil tried really hard to resist. He shut his eyes so he wouldn’t have to see Dan’s pleading face, but Dan wrapped his arms around Phil and tugged him closer.

“Someone’s needy today,” Phil said, but he let Dan pull him in, let him hug his arms around Phil’s waist and rest his head on Phil’s stomach. He stroked Dan’s hair, hugging him back as best he could from his current position, before pulling Dan up. “Get up, we can cuddle and cook at the same time.”

They’ve attempted that before, and it never ended well. But there’s a first time for everything.

Dan grumbled but stood, padding sleepily into the kitchen after Phil. Phil started hunting through their cupboards for a pot. “Can you grab the noodles?”

Dan grumbled some more, but came back from their pantry with a box of angel hair noodles. “Here,” he said, putting them on the counter by the stove. “Anything else?”

Phil had found a pot, filled it with water, and put it on the stove. “Not yet,” he said. “Just waiting for the pot to boil.”

“Perfect,” Dan said, pushing Phil back against the counter and kissing him.

“Ow,” Phil muttered as his back hit the hard, granite counter.

Dan giggled, grabbing Phil by the hips and boosting him up to the kitchen counter before stepping between his legs. “Better?” he murmured.

“Better,” Phil said breathlessly, tugging him closer and wrapping his legs around Dan’s waist before kissing him. He was interrupted by a hissing sound from the oven.

“Fuck,” Dan said.

“Homophobic,” Phil agreed, regretfully pushing Dan off. He had filled the pot with too much water, and it was starting to overflow as it boiled. “Well, I guess it’s ready for the pasta,” he said.

“Probably,” Dan agreed.

Phil removed a completely arbitrary amount of angel hair spaghetti from the box and dumped it into the pot. “Fuck,” he said. “Do we have any spoons?”

Dan opened their silverware drawer and handed Phil a metal spoon.

Phil looked at Dan.

“What?” Dan said. “It’s a spoon.”

“Dan, you idiot,” Phil said, grabbing a wooden spoon from the same drawer. “You can’t use a metal spoon to stir something in a metal pot.”

Dan blinked. “Oh, that’s why you wanted a spoon?”

“We need to cook more.”

“Or,” Dan suggested. “We could just cook less and then it wouldn’t matter that I don’t know how.”

Phil rolled his eyes, stirring the noodles. “Can you set a timer?”

“How long?”

Phil shrugged. “Check the box.”

Dan checked. “Five minutes,” he said, pulling out his phone to set a timer.

Phil checked the time. That meant dinner should be on their table by seven, which was a very normal time to eat. He was proud of himself.

“Timer set,” Dan said, and immediately went to stand behind Phil. He tugged at Phil’s waist, trying to turn him around.

Phil resisted. “I have to stir the noodles,” he insisted.

Dan sighed, wrapping his arms around Phil’s waist and resting his head on Phil’s shoulder. “I wanna make out though,” he said. Phil could hear the pout in his voice.

“Me too,” Phil admitted, “But if I burn this spaghetti I will never live it down.”

Dan’s hand slipped under his shirt. “I’m the only other person here. I’m not going to judge you.”

“But I’d have to wake up every day and look myself in the mirror and say to myself, ‘I let spaghetti burn because I was too busy making out with my boyfriend to pay attention to it,’ and I don’t think I can live like that.”

“You’re forgetting important information. Your boyfriend is very hot.”

“He is,” Phil agreed.

“Also,” Dan said, turning his head to nip at Phil’s neck. “You could just not look in the mirror.”

Phil laughed, trying to ignore the shudder Dan’s touch sent through his body. “How would I get myself ready?”

“I’d just tell you if it looked good or not.”

Phil laughed again. “Because you’re so reliable about that?”

“Are you insulting my sense of fashion?” If Phil didn’t know Dan so well, he’d say Dan was actually hurt.

“Yes,” Phil deadpanned.

“Oy,” Dan said, stepping back from Phil.

Phil scooped a bit of pasta out of the pot and stared at it. “It looks like it’s done,” he said.

Dan checked the timer. “It only has like thirty seconds left.”

“Perfect,” Phil said. “Can you get me a strainer?”

“Fine,” Dan said, as if Phil had asked him to cut off his own hand to feed to a starving child.

“I appreciate your sacrifice,” Phil said.

Dan returned a few moments later, stomping his feet just the tiniest bit. “It isn’t even possible to burn pasta,” Dan muttered, handing Phil his strainer.

Phil smirked. “Oh, really?” he said. “Because I seem to remember-”

“Oh my god,” Dan said. “That was one time. It wasn’t even your microwave I fucked up.”

Phil laughed. “I’m just saying-”

“Well, stop saying,” Dan said, pouting.

“No,” Phil said. “Go get the spaghetti sauce.”

He was done setting the table by the time Dan got back. Dan sat down across from him, struggling with the spaghetti sauce for a bit before finally wrenching it open. “There you go,” he said.

Phil handed a serving spoon to Dan, who started to scoop the sauce from the can onto their plates. “I’m proud of us,” he said. “We cooked an entire meal.”

“I cooked an entire meal,” Phil said. “You tried to make out with me while I cooked an entire meal.”

Dan blushed. “Hey.”

“Am I wrong?”

Dan looked slightly wounded. “I helped,” he said. “I got you the spoon and the strainer, Phil, I opened the spaghetti sauce.”

Phil just rolled his eyes.

After their meal, Dan started to clean up their plates, but Phil stood up. “I’ll be right back,” he said. He ducked inside their bathroom, opening the cabinet and looking at their bottles of nail polish. His eyes skipped past the black and glittery gold Dan normally went for. He grabbed a bottle of blue, for no reason other than it was bright and pretty and if Phil was going to paint his nails they were going to be bright and pretty, goddamnit. He also grabbed a pack of nail polish remover wipes so Dan could take off his old black polish before repainting, and then he headed back to their kitchen.

“Here you go,” he said, handing the wipes to Dan.

Dan looked up in surprise. “Nail polish?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Phil said. “I thought we could paint our nails together.”

“You never paint your nails,” Dan said.

“Well, there’s a first time for everything,” Phil said.

Dan shrugged. “Okay, then.” He led Phil to their living room, sat down, and patted the seat on the sofa next to him. “I’ll do you first.”

Phil smirked.

Dan rolled his eyes. “Shut up, rat.” He unscrewed the cap of the nail polish, took Phil’s hand in his, and started painting with slow, careful strokes. When he was finished, he gingerly set Phil’s hand down. “Don’t touch anything,” he said, picking up Phil’s other hand.

“I would never,” Phil said.

Dan just rolled his eyes. “I mean it,” he said. “I don’t want you to get it all over the place.”

“I won’t,” Phil insisted.

“Uh huh,” Dan said, sitting back, his work done. “The polish shouldn’t take too long to dry. Just give it a few minutes.” A smirk tugged at the corners of his lips. “What should we do in the meantime?”

“Put on a show or something,” Phil suggested.

“I think I’d rather not,” Dan breathed, surging forward, kissing Phil, sliding his hands into his hair.

“Hey,” Phil whined when Dan pulled away, “Not fair.”

Dan leaned back in, kissing him harder. “Why not?” he whispered.

Phil pressed his hands firmly into his jeans, doing his best not to move them. “Wanna touch you,” he said, pouting. “Please.”

Dan sat back. “Give me your hands,” he said. Phil did. Dan poked at Phil’s nails until he was satisfied that they were dry. “There,” Dan said, satisfied. He handed Phil the bottle of nail polish. “Your turn.”

Phil sputtered.

“What?” Dan asked innocently.

“I hate you,” Phil said quietly.

“I know,” Dan said. “Now paint my nails.” He was already wiping them down to remove the black polish. He finished scarily quickly.

Phil did his best, painting them and then trying to wipe off the excess globs of nail polish that were running down Dan’s fingers. It was difficult when Dan couldn’t stop laughing no matter how hard he tried to stay still, body shaking, hands curling around Phil’s.

“You’re so fucking bad at this,” he said, still shaking. “Oh my god, Phil-”

“Shut up,” Phil said, also giggling. “I’m trying, okay?”

“Try harder,” Dan said.

“Harder?” Phil smirked.

Dan stared at him.

Phil smirked.

“If my nails weren’t still wet I’d fucking slap you,” Dan said.

“To be fair,” Phil said, “I’m not sure why you won’t. Are you worried that you’ll mess them up?”

“I still have hope,” Dan said, snatching the bottle of nail polish away from Phil. He wiped his nails down with a tissue and started painting them again, using quick, broad strokes. He finished in a fraction of the time it had taken Phil, and when he finished, he blew on them in satisfaction. “There we go.”

They still weren’t perfect- Dan had gotten a few bits of paint on his fingers, and he’d missed a spot or two- but Phil had to admit they looked a lot better than they had when he tried. “There we go,” he repeated.

“Oh, shut up,” Dan said fondly. “You didn’t do anything.”

Phil pouted. “I did some things.”

Dan snorted. “Like what?”

“I got the nail polish out.”

Dan rolled his eyes.

“I made dinner.”

“I helped,” Dan insisted.

“You distracted me.”

“You liked it.”

Phil rolled his eyes. “Maybe.”

Dan wiggled his eyebrows. “Maybe? Just maybe?”

“Just maybe,” Phil confirmed.

“So you don’t want me to do it again?” Dan’s eyes glimmered with mischief.

Phil groaned. “Shut up.”

Dan smirked. “Make me.”

So Phil did.