#he spends the rest of the shop insisting to push the trolley

[hungharrington]

https://twitter.com/crazyclipsonly/status/1734564257205789002?s=46&t=7bNIYySNK7hQ6YWwlVUrAw

JAAAAY this guy is Steve coded 🤭

HAHAHA not the pure excitement dissolving into disappointment…. i truly believe u could pavlov steve so easily by doing the same thing every time you blow him, give him a handjob, etc - like you always say, “alright there, handsome?” or touch the nape of his neck and he wouldn’t even REALISE he’s making associations until you do it at an inconvenient time— like when he’s trying to pick your apples for the week and you scratch lovingly at his neck and ask him if he’s alright handsome and steve’s suddenly like woah whATS HAPPENING?? WHY AM I POPPING A BONER RIGHT NOW??? his concerned face looking to you for help and well, you’re just giggling your wee heart out :) being like “wow, didn’t realise apples got you going babe” and he’s deadpan like “what have you done to me”

[countessviolet]

Family on Fire - Ch. 1 - Morning Commute

~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~

You would think with as much complaining Count Olaf did about the Baudelaires’ cooking that he would be more than happy to take the siblings grocery shopping. But the Count had not stopped groaning since Violet told him earlier that morning that a shopping trip was a necessary evil.

“You don’t have to come in,” Klaus suggested hopefully. If it were cooler out, he and his sisters would have simply walked or taken the trolley, but somehow, they once again found themselves escorted via Count Olaf’s coffin on wheels.

“No,” Olaf growled as he swerved into three parking spots. “You’ll spend all my hard-earned money on dumb things like toothpaste or vegetables.”

“Count Olaf, we’ve talked about this already, you cannot sustain your body and health on meat platters!” Klaus argued, grabbing their bags from the front.

Violet balanced Sunny as she dug her list from her hand-stitched pockets. “We’ll get all the nutrition we need as long as we stick to the list.”

Count Olaf snatched the list from Violet’s hand, frowning in disgust at the paper and shoving it back to her just as quickly. “Read it to me.”

Violet rolled her eyes and adjusted her bag as Klaus relieved her of Sunny and found them a cart.

“Milk, eggs, flour –”

“I don’t hear bacon, brisket or jerky,” Olaf bemoaned, violently giggling a gumball machine at the store’s entrance until several brightly colored balls shot out. Klaus reached out for one but Count Olaf blindly shoved the rest in his jacket pocket.

Violet proceeded to weigh several apples, calculating their cost as she continued to tame the restless count. “We still have stew meat in the freezer, and Justice Strauss brought over those mackerel last night, so that will get us through a few meals protein-wise.”

The count stared at his eldest ward uncomfortably. “Is...are you trying to starve me to death? That’s the thanks I get for taking you in?” His expression changed to solemn appreciation. “I’m impressed.”

“We’re on a budget, Count Olaf,” Klaus explained with less patience than his sister. A dark cloud fell over the count’s face at the mere mention that the Baudelaire fortune was still so far out of his grasp. He hit Klaus once for bringing it up, so Violet, well-versed in the Count’s change in mood, maneuvered the cart into his grasp. All Sunny had to do was flash Olaf her sharp teeth and the actor quickly pushed the cart as far out as he could as he stayed close to the other orphans.

Violet diagnosed that Count Olaf was a restless man not too long after she and her siblings moved in with him. A man-child, Klaus disagreed, with a drinking problem and unchecked ego, he would add. They agreed to disagree and further agreed to never deal with Count Olaf alone, but in the meantime compromised with how to deal with him together. With Klaus, it would be leaving him to his own devices and dealing with the consequences later. Violet elected to distract him in her line of sight. Sunny additionally acted as an extra set of eyes on Count Olaf, and she had her own method of dealing with their insufferable guardian.

The baby was humming. It was as annoying, more so than the pointless babbling only her siblings could understand. He snarled down at the youngest Baudelaire, wrinkling his nose as she squirmed in the cart’s seat and pointed a chubby hand at something.

“What is it, pipsqueak,” Olaf growled. He followed her insistent pointing to the meat section. Before him were gorgeous cuts of prime rib, coils of fresh sausages and rumps of roast, plump and juicy for the taking.

“Mmmm?” Sunny hummed, looking up at the count expectedly.

The Count looked back and forth at the baby and the meat section before grinning viciously.

“Not bad, orphan, not bad,” he said, sending a sharp look to his left and right before he eased the cart to the meat section.

Violet finished bagging grapes and cucumbers just in time to find Klaus returning with two boxes of crackers.

“Their one sale,” he said proudly. Violet grinned happily for him. It was hard to believe this time last year the siblings never had to step foot in a supermarket, never had to worry about things like budgeting or brand or weight comparisons. While their parents hadn’t spoiled Violet, Klaus or Sunny to the point of rottenness, the children had still wanted for nothing, and things like a full shopping cart or a second change of clothes were now a luxury. No doubt their time with the count had humbled the Baudelaires more than they were, despite what Olaf said or thought, and they learned how to make use of what they had and what they could get their hands on.

Violet did some quick calculations and smiled. “We have a little bit left over. Maybe we can tame Olaf with a pound of bacon.”

Klaus smirked at his sister’s rare zinger towards Count Olaf. Violet tended to keep her discontent with their situation quieter than he did, which had inadvertently caused her to become a sort of referee in the shared Count Olaf/Baudelaire household. He tried to be thoughtful of what an outburst with Olaf could mean for her, but the count of insufferable on a good day, downright intolerable on a bad one. It was better when it was just him and his sisters. He wished more than anything Mr. Poe would make up his mind about letting them access an allowance from Violet’s inheritance, enough to sate Olaf at least.

“Maybe we can convince him to take us to the library since we...”

Klaus trailed off just as he and his sister noticed their cart, and more importantly, their baby sister and the maniac she was watching, were gone.

The eldest Baudelaires shared a concerned look before calmly speeding through the store to find them.

“Sunny?” Klaus hissed in between aisles. If Olaf was in the parking lot trying to sell her again, he was going to throttle him!

“Sunny?” Violet whispered as she circled through the produce section, hoping her baby sister would be here with fresh, hard fruits and vegetables where she could get something crunchy to snack on.

“Sunny?” Klaus hissed as he darted up and down the aisles. He made a begrudged turn to the wine and spirits section where Violet too had stopped. She shook her head exhaustedly, looking around as if Olaf and Sunny would manifest through the multi-colored bottles.

“We should go to security and page them,” Klaus suggested. If anything happened to Sunny...

A crash just ahead paused the eldest Baudelaires next steps. A crash, or course, was not uncommon in a place like a grocery store, but Count Olaf was in the grocery store, which meant disaster was imminent, and that police were being called or were already on their way.

Violet and Klaus shot around to see the items on the shelves shaking as something from the other side of the aisle sped past.

“Stop you!” Someone yelled, and, to Klaus’ and Violet’s horror, Sunny’s familiar babble echoed back. And then –

“Quit whining brat and PUSH!” Count Olaf’s voice exploded through the aisle, brushing so close to the one next to it that the shelves began to tip.

Violet and Klaus dodged the chaos, running toward the tipping shelves and side-stepping frantic shoppers and finally came face to face with Count Olaf and the rickety shopping cart he was commanding. He was in the basket, the few items they had picked up crushed under his shoes and knees, creating a wet, slippery trail in his wake as—Sunny!—clung to the bottom of the basket, her small foot kicking with enough force to keep a sizable gap between them and what appeared to be store security and a slightly overweight man in a collared shirt. A manager perhaps?

The siblings looked at each other, mouths agape, and scattered. Violet dashed for the parking lot to find Olaf’s car. He didn’t lock the door, not like there was anything inside worth stealing anyway, but he had taken the keys. Violet tied her hair back, her hands somehow steady as she began unraveling wires from the dashboard, trying to remember was she tried to remember what she knew about electrical connections and cars. She glanced at the store, just able to see the cart whip back and forth through the wide front windows. Klaus was attempting to round up their wayward guardian and sister while also distracting security to give Sunny and Olaf a chance to escape store security. The automatic doors burst open as he, followed by the cart, an overturned Olaf and a stuttering Sunny clinging to the uneven wildly-spinning wheel.

Violet made eye-contact with Klaus just as the car roared to life, the cables and wires bobbing out like fresh intestines. The young inventor ripped the passenger door open, allowing Count Olaf to crash into the spacious back seat while Klaus rescued Sunny from the other side of the cart and flew into the seat with Violet. The eldest Baudelaire wasted no time slamming on the gas, miraculously swerving onto the road without hitting another vehicle.

“And don’t come back – ” the possible store manager yelled after them. Klaus sat up, Sunny clutched to his chest, mostly unharmed.

“That’s the third place we’ve been banned from this year,” he muttered, adjusting the rearview mirror and watching the cars behind them suspiciously.

“I don’t think the police are coming,” Violet said as she slowed to a safer speed, adjusting the seat enough for her to reach the pedals. “Sunny, are you okay?”

“Nope,” Sunny babbled. “That sucked.”

Violet nodded as she eased into the driveway of 667 Dark Avenue, taking Sunny as the three of them went to check on Olaf—who had remained suspiciously quiet in the back seat. Klaus opened the back seat, jumping out of the way as the count rolled out, landing spread-eagle on the weed-infested asphalt, groaning his grievances up to an unsympathetic crowd. He soon had no choice but to follow his lackluster wards into the house, frowning in dissatisfaction as Klaus questioned a confession out of the infant.

“Five-finger discount? Really, Olaf?” Klaus spat.

“We would have been fine if she let me replace her diaper bag contents with roast!” the count spewed back, making a face at the stupid nerd as he sauntered into the kitchen, pulling a bag of peas to ice his aching temple with. “And I was going to pay for some of it, thank you very much!”

Violet sighed, rubbing her eyes. She didn’t want to talk or think about the situation anymore. “I’m going to make dinner,” she said, grimacing as she picked up Sunny. “With something.”

“Oh!” the Count exclaimed, digging through his jacket pockets before he brought out a bloody package surrounded by styrofoam and plastic wrap.

“Steaks,” Klaus gasped, as dumbfounded as anyone would be after an afternoon of dodging supermarket security, hot-wiring ones own car, and causing a disturbance to save one’s morally damaged legal guardian, only to discover that the cause of all that trouble was a package of four flimsy, raw steaks that were very much out of budget.

Violet too shared an expression of shock as Count Olaf, smiling as giddily as a young boy who just caught his first fish, held up the steaks like a prize.

“Well, now that I’ve successfully provided for the family–”

Violet had a split second to judge where the four-pack of steaks would land before she launched across the foyer to catch it. She grimaced when the steaks squelched in her palms, the thin layer of plastic the only obstacle between her and the pungent cow blood threatening to ooze through the wrapping.

“I like mine medium rare," Olaf finished as he dropped the back of peas on Sunny's head, waving as he circled the stair banister. "Call me when dinner's ready, thanks!”

The Baudelaires watched as he strutted up the stairs, practically skipping. They shook their heads, too drained to feel anything by half-hearted acceptance, and turned their disgust to the steaks. The meat was warm, and starting to brown after being in Count Olaf’s coat pocket for the past hour.

“He can have mine,” Klaus grimaced.

“Same,” Sunny agreed, regretting her part in tampering with perfectly good food.

“Guess it’s salads all around.” Violet nodded, holding the pack of steaks as far away from her as she led her siblings to the kitchen.

The siblings once again prepared a sustainable meal for themselves and their wayward guardian, basking in the quiet Olaf’s absence afforded. By this point, the early summer sun has left behind splotches of colors as it set for the day and the crickets were starting their evening serenade.

As the Baudelaires set four plates at the grand table and Count Olaf’s footsteps disturbed the raptors above, a strange sense of peace set over the room. The siblings were not afraid of their home. They were together and clothed properly, and they managed to mend holes in the surrounding walls and the man within them. It was far from perfect, but it was theirs.

And it had been Olaf who had called them a family.

[needcake]

I would love to see you write engport being silly sappy idiots, all light hearted good times and being utterly stupid together

I am so sorry for taking so long to answer this! But to be quite honest this might have been the hardest prompt, I think I opened 20 new wips trying to write this one XD

--

Engport | PG | 2,2k

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Arthur wasn’t a bad cook.

The word Gabriel had come to associate with him in the kitchen when the mood to cook hit him and made him tie his apron behind his back and push up his sleeves wasn’t bad.

Perhaps overconfident, when he would throw him an insufferable smirk and shoo him from his kitchen, or adventurous, when he watched one too many cooking shows and insisted he must try some of those recipes even though most of them were well above his skill level, or even bold, when he decided, from the top of his head, to not follow any recipe and create his own.

But without a doubt the word Gabriel had come to associate with Arthur the most whenever he announced he would be one cooking was: careless. And since it always seemed to fall on him the duty to taste-proof his creations, Gabriel had eaten one too many expired ingredients and overly-salted meats, burnt cookies and undercooked pies, having to spend the rest of the night between the bed and the toilet shitting his insides, to want to willingly put himself through that again.

So in the morning when Arthur picked him up at the airport and announced, unusually chipper: “I’m cooking tonight, saw this great recipe on the telly last night, you’re going to love it, we just need to pick up a few things at the shop first.” Gabriel knew he only had a few hours to come up with an excuse to save himself, his stomach and his butthole from a night of flaming pain and regret.

-

“Blue cheese goes well with raisins, right?” Arthur asked, turning the package of cheese in his hand in the supermarket aisle, giving it great thought. He gripped the trolley’s handles a little harder, frowning at both.

“Does the recipe call for blue cheese and raisins?”

The blue cheese went into the trolley and Arthur shrugged, pulling him along as he moved further into the dairy section. “Recipes are sort of like suggestions, Port. No one actually follows recipes. I haven’t seen you follow a single recipe in ages.”

Gabriel opened his mouth. Thought better of it. Closed it again.

“Besides,” Arthur continued, grabbing a package of pre-made puff pastry, considering it, then putting it in the trolley with the blue cheese, the pickles, the raisins, the asparagus and the ham. “You have to always leave a little room for creativity and improvement, right?”

Gabriel sighed, hanging his head down. “Right.”

-

“Why don’t we take a left turn here and drive down to Devon. We could stop at a small town, hit a pub, make a night out of it,” he suggested, voice low and husky, hoarse from all the years spent smoking one cigarette after another, his hand drifting down between Arthur’s thighs while they were stuck in traffic.

Arthur’s eyebrows first shot up to his hairline, then a slight crimson blush flushed his skin. “Ahm,” Arthur stammered, eyes locked too long on his probing hand that he had to shake himself and focus back on the road before a terrible car crash made the motorway even more jammed than it was. “We can go there tomorrow. If that’s what you want to do.”

Gabriel squeezed the muscle of his inner thigh and Arthur sat up a little straighter, the crimson blush reaching his ears. “Why not today?” he insisted, “We have plenty of time.”

Arthur scoffed lightly, throwing him quick disbelieving glance. “It’s a long drive, Port. You’re only here ‘till Sunday afternoon, and I…” he said, doing a little fidgety shrug coupled with a roll of his eyes. “I was, you know, planning to cook. For you.”

A shot straight through his heart. Gabriel’s will faltered.

“If you want, that is,” Arthur added, looking his way. “Or we could just order something if you think my cooking’s too terrible.”

Gabriel tensed. Was this a way out or a test?

He smiled, ignoring the blaring klaxons going off in his head, and patted his thigh. “Not at all. I want to see what you came up with this time.”

Arthur smiled as well. “Good,” he sentenced looking back ahead. “Because I’m planning a full course meal. None of us is leaving the table until we’re stuffed full!”

He pressed his lips tightly and nodded.

His sphincter would just have to take one for the team.

-

By the time they reached Arthur’s London flat with his one suitcase and several shopping bags, it was well into the afternoon.

“Ah, shit,” Arthur mumbled to himself, checking his wristwatch for the nth time and dropping the bags on the counter “I’m going to have to skip the hors d'oeuvre and jump straight to the salad. If we hadn’t spent so much time in traffic—”

“It’s fine,” Gabriel tried once, but Arthur either didn’t hear or straight up ignored him, continuing his very long list of complaints while pacing around his kitchen pulling things from the cabinets and the fridge.

“It’s gotten worse, I’m telling you. I used to make the entire trip in 45 minutes. The other day I sent a very long and detailed letter to the Mayor of London about the congestion problems in the motorway, and you know what the man said?”

Gabriel opened his mouth to reply, but Arthur bulldozed over him, “I’ll tell him what he said! He said that there aren’t enough funds to fix it! Not enough funds! So I wrote him another – even longer! – letter, and you know what he said to that one?”

Gabriel gave up, rolled his eyes and placed his hands on his hips. “What?” he asked tiredly, watching Arthur pull out the most bizarre combination of ingredients from the shopping bags.

“He said he would look into it!”

“Isn’t that usually a good thing?” he asked, his frown deepening as Arthur pulled out a can of preserved cherries from the fridge along with chives, garlic, four cans of sardines, white wine vinegar, quail eggs and cocoa nibs.

“No of course it isn’t! That means he will absolutely not look into—what are you looking at?”

Gabriel turned to look at him as Arthur suddenly stopped talking, deer in the headlights. “Nothing.”

A frown fell heavy between Arthur’s eyebrows and his hands went straight to his hips. “Out with it.”

“What are those for?” he asked, pointing his chin at the cocoa nibs.

Arthur looked at the pack in his hands. Then put it away behind his back. “Nothing. It’s a surprise.”

“A surprise… what?” he asked, pulling Arthur by the waist, trying to reach behind him but Arthur just squirmed the pack away from him, the two of them doing a ridiculous dance in the middle of the kitchen. “Arthur, what the—just tell me—”

“If I tell you,” Arthur countered, trying to weasel away and stepping back until his butt hit the counter, “you won’t want to eat it,” he gasped, letting out short bursts of laughter whenever Gabriel tickled his sides.

“If you don’t tell me,” Gabriel laughed as well, pressing up against him, latching his mouth to Arthur’s neck and sneaking his hands up his jumper, any attempt to take the package from him forgotten in favor of a more straightforward strategy. “I really won’t want to eat it.”

The pack of cocoa nibs went flying over his head, and just as Gabriel made a move to follow it, Arthur’s hands grabbed handfuls of his ass and kept him in place, mouth opening under his when he turned to kiss him.

Someone hummed, might have been him, and he angled his nose to kiss Arthur deeper, nudging him back until he hopped back up over the counter, his legs wrapping around his waist.

“On second thought,” Gabriel said, whispered, mumbled, his fingers finding the button of his pants and popping it open, dragging the zipper slowly down the bulge between his legs. “Ordering sounds good now,” he innocently suggested. If his ass had be an active participant, he would much rather it be with the fingers that were currently probing his behind than dying heroically into the night. “Or better yet, why don’t we forget about this whole thing and go straight to the bedroom? Isn’t that what you promised me?”

“To be fair,” Arthur laughed, diving out of his kisses and pulling his hands regrettably away from his ass to push him off, “I am about to blow you away,” he said with a smirk, hopping down the counter. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re trying to do,” he said, half jokingly and half accusatorily, straightening his clothes.

“Oh, yeah?” Gabriel went along, swiping his hair away from his eyes and leaning back against the counter where Arthur had left him disheveled and half-hard. “What am I doing?”

But Arthur just rolled his eyes at him with a smile and zipped up his pants, going to retrieve his pack of cocoa nibs from the other side of the kitchen with a shake of his head.

“I bought the conditioner you like. Why don’t you go take a shower and unpack? Dinner will be ready by the time you finish.”

Gabriel sighed again. He looked around the kitchen one last time, watching as Arthur opened the fridge, pulled out a package of ground beef that he sat beside the canned cherries and the retrieved cocoa nibs.

He turned away in resignation, glad that he at least remembered to pack a pair of sweatpants and extra underwear.

-

The smell that hit him once he stepped out of the bathroom was… good, actually.

Savory, garlic-y, but also sweet? He couldn’t describe it even if he tried.

In the small living room, Arthur had set up a table and two chairs, an album spinning lazily in the record player and the overhead lights dimmed to compose the atmosphere.

It almost made Gabriel feel bad. Here he was, dreading the worst, when in fact Arthur had gone out of his way to make him feel special.

He thanked him when Arthur pulled out a chair for him, graciously accepted the cloth napkin he placed on his thigh, sipped the wine he poured into his glass.

“You have to be honest with me, okay?” Arthur asked before disappearing into the kitchen to retrieve the first course. “You don’t have to eat it if you hate it.”

This, Gabriel knew, was definitely a test. One he had failed in the past and had rendered him a whole five months without sex. He smiled at him and Arthur smiled back.

In front of him he placed something Gabriel could only guess was a mix of nuts, dried fruits, blue cheese and – ah! – the cocoa nibs.

At the final battle, he gave his last defeated sigh. Armed with a fork, he dug in.

-

“Wow, you really liked it!” Arthur said, a note of astonishment in his voice, watching Gabriel clean the hollandaise from his plate with a piece of asparagus and lick his fork.

“This might be the best sauce I’ve ever had in my life,” he nodded enthusiastically, scrapping the bottom of his plate for the last few smears, stealing the last scrap of sauce from Arthur’s plate as well. “I don’t know how, but this time you really nailed it.”

When he looked up across the table, Arthur’s eyes were shinning in the low light, a small proud smile threatening to burst forth from his lips. He felt like a shitty boyfriend, doubting Arthur's skills, trying to divert him from his passions. He would make it up to him. The night was still young, they had plenty of time.

“I’m so glad you said that,” Arthur said, and Gabriel reached for his hand across the table. “I had read online that you’re not supposed store eggs in the freezer, but these came out perfectly. If I had listened, I’d have wasted a whole carton.”

Gabriel was in the middle of caressing his knuckles when he stopped, lifted his head slowly up.

“The eggs you used weren’t fresh?”

“Ahm,” Arthur stammered.

“Were there cracks in the shells?”

“Ahm.” Arthur had the decency to at least look distressed.

-

“Honestly, I think this might be a you problem, Port,” Arthur’s voice came muffled through the door while Gabriel’s soul abandoned his body via toilet. “I ate the same food as you and I feel perfectly fine!”

Gabriel moaned pitifully in pain. If he didn’t love him, he would kill him.

“Port, are you alright in there? Do you need me to run to the pharmacy? Do we need to go to the hospital? Do I need to get the secret service involved?”

He emerged from the bathroom, a rag in tatters rather than a man, and found Arthur posted worriedly at the door, ready to catch him when he fell into his arms and all thoughts of homicide left him along with his dignity.

“Just promise me you’ll cook me mince pie next time,” he pleaded, distantly feeling an arm around his waist guiding him to the bedroom, “Or a nice, simple pudding with some gravy.”

He felt a cool wet cloth cleaning his face, a blessed pillow under his head and sheets being pulled over his chest. Arthur chuckled somewhere above him, shushing him quiet before exhaustion pulled him under.

“Don’t be daft, Port, where would be the fun in that?”

[themonotonysyndrome]

REDACTED verse - Another day in Dahlia

Summary: When worlds collide, Aaron and Smartass has the ‘old, married couple’ moment when a wolf is loose in a hypermarket. 

-

Dahlia is lively today, the afternoon sunlight dazzling upon the city. Familiar faces, familiar sights and familiar roads are everywhere. 

And yet, the man who couldn’t stop bickering with his lover since the two of them stepped out of IKEA is a changing man living in this familiar city. 

Aaron likes to think that he retains his best qualities despite the passing of time. Firm, true and level-headed - traits that have served him well both in his personal and work life. Traits that have earned him recognition, achievements and praises. However, against a fiery soul housed within an infuriating yet gorgeous body, Aaron has never felt so breathless and helpless. 

And most importantly, lovestruck. 

Unstable and uncharacteristically hesitant, the pieces of himself that are held together with patience have been pulled apart by its seams. But they weren’t destroyed; no, they rearrange themselves into an amazing new form. Aaron isn’t quite yet certain what that new form brings, but already, he could feel himself grow into a man that wholly compliments his lover. 

Like a planet revolving around a beautiful, bright star. He can’t help but be drawn by the star’s gravity. 

There’s balance between them, despite their strong-willed personalities. They sooth the other when one burns too brightly, they offer guidance when the other is unsure. Balanced and happy, that’s what they are. 

There’s never emptiness when silence envelops them. Isn’t there a saying that whenever you’re with your loved one, silence is never oppressive? 

Although, to be fair, silence doesn’t last long whenever they’re together. Not when there’s always something to bicker, something to discuss and something to tease about. 

Case in point, the ugly as fuck lamp that Aaron fought tooth and nail to convince his partner not to buy. 

“Look, it’s not even your money; I was going to use mine for it!” 

“It’s not about the money, Smartass.” Aaron replies back with a roll of his eyes. They’re at the parking lot getting ready to head off to the hypermarket next. The two of them had spent four hours of furniture shopping at IKEA after his Smartass made an offhand comment last week about his couch being way too old and lumpy for gaming nights and movie marathons. 

But before either of them realise it, what was supposed to be a simple couch purchase turned into perusal of dining tables, desks and floor lamps. Aaron got them back on track when you excitedly pulled him towards that last part.

Aaron had never before questioned your taste in furniture before but at that point, he starts to draw the line at a red, human shaped floor lamp. It bows slightly with the most creepy smile he had ever seen on a statue before. 

“I just don’t want to have a heart attack everytime I wake up, alright? You wanted it in our bedroom, beside our bed and it’s creepy beyond all reason.” 

“It’s functional though.” 

“So were the other floor lamps.” Aaron easily pointed out. He opened the car door and waited, unamused, for you to get in. Unfortunately, judging by how your arms folded across your chest in a stubborn pose, his spitfire didn’t want to drop their conversation. 

“What if I put it in the living room?” You suggest instead, the familiar defiant spark made itself known. 

Aaron held himself back from groaning in despair. Why are you so hung up about that lamp!? “I don’t think it’ll fit with the… aesthetic of our house, OK?” He tried the tactical approach first, knowing that a straight up no would not pacify his partner at all. “How about this; we’ll go with your couch and desk and my preference for the dining table. There. Is that good enough for you, Your Highness?” 

You purse your lips, but the both of you know that you’re not so hung up about the floor lamp to drag this argument any further. Aaron wisely chooses not to comment how your lips slowly curve into a smile. 

“Fine. I’ll let you win this round - ”

“Oh my god - ”

“But in return, I’ll be taking over for lunch later.” 

Aaron immediately shut his mouth, surprise and secretly a little giddy that his Smartass had taken the initiative of making a meal for them. That lasted for about a split second before something dawn onto him. 

“You want free reign at the hypermarket later, right?” 

This time, you beam happily but say nothing as you finally slip inside of the Mercedes. And as usual, silence spoke louder than words. Aaron exhales loudly, not knowing whether to laugh or mutter a curse. Trust in his lover to have the final say, ultimately. 

But that’s one of the many reasons why he fell so hopelessly in love with you. 

-

The hypermarket is busy for a Saturday. Smartass pointed at the sales and promotions board display in big letters and numbers when the two of you entered the building, hand in hand. Ah, that makes sense. Children run about clutching snacks in their little hands to convince their exasperated parents into buying, worned out staff restock empty shelves and the scent of fresh produce and floor detergents clings in the air. A familiar sight. 

“How do you feel about crabs?” Smartass begins the conversation. Aaron doesn’t understand why you bother asking him when you’re already dragging him towards the cold, seafood area. Aisles of fresh fish of all kinds are clearly displayed for visitors, the more expensive kind are packaged and a few men are working behind the butcher service counter. 

“I can go for some crabs. It’s been a while anyway.” Aaron answered, grabbing a nearby stack of baskets for their grocery. He tried to recall the last time they had any seafood and his mind helpfully supplied a restaurant where they went to for dinner in March. 

He lets you gather your thoughts as you stare at the frozen crabs critically as if they were spreadsheets. “I’m thinking of rice with a side of buttery crab meats, Salmon sashimi, Shiitake soup and lotus root salad. Sounds good?” 

As soon as he invited his Smartass to permanently move in with him, you had totally taken over the kitchen. Apparently you weren’t terribly amused when he admitted that he’s not much of a cook but hey, he never once complained when you served the best homemade vegan burgers with a glare and a silent, “Go ahead. I dare you to say that they taste like shit. Make my day, Aaron.” 

So instead, after he cleaned their dishes, Aaron proceeded to throw his lover on their bed to thoroughly thank you for the meal. 

Four hours later, the flushed and surprised expression on your face was so worth it. 

But we’re getting off tangents here. 

“Sounds absolutely delicious.” Aaron replied and startled his Smartass with a sudden kiss on your cheek. “Now stop glaring at the crabs and pick some already. We have half of the ingredients back home and I’d rather not spend the rest of our remaining Saturday in the hypermarket. So let’s get to it.” 

Smartass hum in agreement and grab your own basket. Together, they made quick work of what they needed to buy. Not just for lunch, but for the upcoming weeks too. Crabs, Salmons, some meat and later pea sprouts, red cabbages and lotus root - the both of them are more inclined to healthy meals rather than take outs and it really helps that Smartass suggest preparing ingredients that they could cook for the rest of the week, given their busy work lives. Vegetable dishes are flexible and easy enough to cook into anything anyway. 

They moved on from the frozen, seafood aisles and the produce section to where the personal care products are. Aaron holds up his phone in between them so Smartass could check what’s next on the list. 

“Oh shit. I totally forgot that my shampoo and conditioners just ran out.” Smartass blurted. “Thanks for adding that into our grocery list.” 

Aaron scoffs. “You mentioned it twice during dinner last night - in between debating whether or not Game of Thrones is better than Lord of the Rings, mind you - so I can understand why you forgot” Colourful rows of shampoo bottles greeted them when they walk past a couple who’s pushing their trolley carts away from the shelves. He grabs your favourite brand and places them in his basket. “You’re brilliant, Smartass, but I can’t help pity that poor hamster living in your brain for having to run in its ball all day long.” 

You gasp, affronted, while Aaron laughs at the look on your face. Even smacking his arm did nothing to stop his laughter. “You’re too easy to rile up sometimes, you know that Smartass?” He smirks and grabs a toothpaste next. They’re running low on that too. In retaliation for his remark, Smartass sneakily pulled that toothpaste out when Aaron was checking his phone and chose the one with the strawberry flavour instead. 

When Aaron shot you an inquisitive look, you just smiled innocently and quickly distracted him by insisting that they need to get some snacks. 

“That reminds me, it’s not on the list but we have to buy ramune soda. Oh, and some potato chips too.” You pointed out as the two of you rounded away from a large family who stopped in between the body wash shelves and hair serums. “Have you noticed that we go through ramune sodas like crazy lately?” 

The snacks and beverage section is one of the highlights of this hypermarket, in Aaron’s humble opinion. Not only do they have an abundance of the local goods, they also have a wide selection of some really good imported snacks or as Aaon like to call it, your ultimate weakness.  

“Yeah but be honest, are you really going to stop your addiction anytime soon?” 

“What is this? Bully me day?”

“Hey, you’re the one who said it, not me, Smartass.” Aaron is quick to quip back and this time, you roll your eyes. Even if it’s true, it doesn’t mean that you have to like it. 

But that’s Aaron - his words always serve a meaning and come straight from the heart when it’s for the things that truly matter. It’s annoying and yet, it’s one of his best qualities. 

However, just as you were about to rebuke him, the two of you heard a passing conversation nearby the soda shelves. 

“ - not going to play bartender at home again, Angel. Why not? Alright then; let me jog your memory, hmm? The last time I left you alone in the kitchen for more than 3 hours, you came out carrying a tray with the embodiment of everything unholy on this planet separated into three shot glasses.” 

“It was just ramune soda mixed with rose syrup, grass jelly and vinegar!” 

“Asher had a stomach ache for a week, Angel.” 

“But Davey, how do you expect me to get better at it if you don’t let me practice? See? There’s a flaw in your plan!” 

“I’d rather we go to a bar the next time you’re in the mood to poison the both of us.” 

You didn’t mean to eavesdrop on their conversation but you couldn’t help snicker at the stranger’s very much put out and deadpan tone. It gives an implication that this isn’t the first time this ‘Angel’ did something as crazy as mix sodas with vinegar. Hell, even the man’s comment earned a soft chuckle from Aaron. 

“Sounds like he got quite a handful lover over there. Remind you of someone?” Aaron whispered. They couldn’t properly see the couple due to a stack of Dorito boxes in between them but you could spot a tall man wearing a pretty nice looking leather jacket and his partner beside him.

“If you’re implying that I’m unreasonably difficult - ”

“No, no. Just… hmm, passionately stubborn, I suppose.” Aaron nonchalantly replies with a smirk. He guffaws when you poke at his sides and spin around to the rows of ramune with a dramatic huff. Aaron easily follows suit with a fond smile. 

This section of the aisle is quiet unlike the previous ones that’ve been, Aaron noticed. The humming of the air conditioner above them and the crinkling of a plastic bag of chips in Smartass’ hand were the only sounds that broke the comfortable silence. Even the murmurs from the other couple melts into background noises the further Aaron and his walk away. 

That is, until a hair-raising snarl shattered the quietness. 

What’s worse, it sounded like a wolf. 

Aaron reacted instinctively. He opted for the defense - grabbing his Smartass’ free hand, pulling you close to him. His searching eyes are frantic while his mind is trying to make sense that a wolf is somehow in this hypermarket. Full of people. What the fuck!?

Smartass, however, opted for the offense. You grab the nearest glass bottle by the neck and were about to smash it against the metal shelf if it weren’t for Aaron’s quick thinking. He immediately grabs your wrist and shoots you an incredulous look. Silently judging your choices in life. 

‘You have a better idea on how to deal with a fucking wolf!?’ Smartass demanded in silence. Your expression is bewildered; as if you couldn’t believe that Aaron wouldn’t let you shank an unknown threat just around the corner. 

In return, Aaron pulls you closer to his body and glares out, ‘I’m not letting you throw yourself in front of a wolf!’

‘I’m protecting us!’ Smartass countered back, glaring just as heatedly. 

A sweet giggle suddenly interrupted their mental argument. Their hearts skip a beat in fear at the unknown. 

“Ok, ok. How about this, Davey: I'll let you dress me up when we go to the bar tomorrow. How’s that? Does that make my Wolf not jealous anymore?” The same voice they accidentally eavesdropped previously bargained in a teasing tone. 

Smartass and Aaron exchange a bewildered and confused glance. What the fuck did they just said? My Wolf? Was the realistic animal snarl came from the boyfriend!? He must’ve some serious vocal cords and throat to be able to make that sound!

Aaron exhales loudly while Smartass allows him to grab the glass bottle that you were still holding to put it back on the shelf. 

“I think I just lost five years of my life.” Aaron complains.

Smartass said nothing. Without even saying anything, you march to where the couple are. Aaron curses under his breath and quickly chases after you. 

The man in the black leather jacket and his partner glanced at his Smartass when you approached them with a practised smile. One that Aaron knew meant trouble. How could he not when he’s the receiving end of that smile more than he could count. 

When Smartass wants answers, you’ll do everything in your power to get it and Aaron is really not looking forward to wrangling his partner from starting a brawl in the middle of a damn hypermarket. 

“Hi there.” His Smartass began, your body language deceptively open and friendly. “Are you two alright?” 

“Eh?” The one standing beside the tall, frowning man replies with a blink. Upon closer inspection, Aaron realises that he and what looks to be the leader of a local gang are similar in built. 

“Can we help you?” The gang leader interjects. He’s frowning but he doesn’t appear angry. Just confused like his partner. Though he nodded in greeting when Aaron slid up beside Smartass. 

“Didn’t you hear that noise just now?” Smartass plays shock. “It sounded like someone released a wolf in the hypermarket!” 

The man in the leather jacket suddenly looked like he just sucked a lemon; his eyes are comically wide. Meanwhile, his partner’s eyes are equally as wide. Aaron detects a hint of realisation glint in their eyes. Now isn’t that interesting? 

Well, Smartass thought so too. You pressed on. “You heard it too right? Damn near give me a heart attack! I wonder if the nearby staff also heard it - ”

“It’s probably the ventilation system or something.” The gang leader quickly replied, his expression oddly shifted to neutral. Beside him, his partner opens their mouth to say something but he quickly presses his palm over it. They throw a pointed look at him but he resolutely ignores it. “Anyway, good luck with your grocery shopping.” 

Aaron watches him grab his partner by the hand and gently drag them away. It was only when they’re out of sight that they started furiously chatting. 

“Wow, Davey, your slip up was even worse than Asher’s!” 

“We’re so not telling him about this, Angel.” 

“...Does this mean I can tell Babe instead?” 

“Wha - No, that wasn’t an invitation to tell his Mate!” 

Aaron turns to Smartass who just shrugs. Neither of them could figure out what just happened. He’s just glad that you let them escape. 

“Maybe they have some really kinky roleplaying thing going on.” Smartass guessed, wiggling your eyebrows suggestively. 

Aaron runs his palm down his face in exasperation. “I don’t give a shit, Smartass. Can we please just finish up our grocery shopping already? I’m starting to get hungry.” 

“Alright, alright. We just have to grab a few more things and then we can pay.” Smartass assured him and off they continued on their way. 

Though neither of them still couldn’t help but wonder how the hell that man managed to sound like a wolf so accurately. 

Kinky roleplay or not. 

-

I’m tentatively planning to make this into a mini series including the rest of the non-empowered characters with their lovers. I’m already writing for Oliver and Baby so we’ll see how that goes! 

[oxiosa]

brarg 25

25. Do you want it on your back or would you like to be on your stomach?

Luciano is not sure what he was thinking when he agreed to this.

Well, that’s actually an understatement; he clearly wasn’t thinking. Spending most of his time surrounded by crazy tattoo artists who use their own bodies as sketchbooks has clouded his judgment. There is otherwise no explanation as to why he has agreed to Martín’s stupid bet.

The wager was simple enough; Argentina and Brazil had a friendly match, which as always didn’t held very friendly spirits among fans at all. If Argentina lost the match, Martín would have to add to his numerous collection a tattoo related to Luciano’s homeland. If Brazil lost, then Luciano would have to get a tattoo related to Martín’s.

Brazil had had a last minute defeat, and now Luciano has to honour his word and get a permanent tattoo related to fucking Argentina of all places. As if Martín’s goading after the match weren’t enough.

Martín had given him a few days to think it over, and last night Luciano had finally showed him the design he had chosen. Martín had made a few adjustments, but had approved of it with a smile and the promise to work on it the very next evening.

Luciano closes the flower shop for the day - Dona Délia has started to entrust him with more and more responsibilities as she slowly lets him take charge of the shop, much to Luciano’s pride. He walks the few steps than separate him from the parlour, and stands in front of its door for a moment. He takes a deep breath and goes inside with the reluctant step of a man about to meet his doom.

Julio spares a quick glance from his phone when the door chimes, lets out a little huff and turns back his attention down once he checks it is only Luciano. His manners are better when it comes to clients, but Luciano is no client so he doesn’t bother to greet him.

“Hi, Lu!” Daniel calls for him, waving from his station.

“Hey, Dani,” Luciano waves back, but his attention is soon claimed by Martín when he all but rushes to him and greets him with a sweet kiss.

“Get a room,” Julio grunts.

“Sorry, are we getting close to your bedtime hour, Julito?” Martín snaps back, to which Julio answers with a long string of curses at him.

Daniel joins them with a smile and a backpack hanging on one shoulder. He has even more piercing than when Luciano first meet him, as impossible as that sounds.

“Let’s go?” he nods to Julio.

Julio snaps his mouth shut, and nods eagerly with a blush as he picks his own backpack and trails after Daniel. Luciano raises an eyebrow at Martín.

“Don’t give me that look, Julio wishes,” Martín replies with a roll of his eye.

Right. Luciano looks around, and then turns back to Martín.

“Sebas?”

“Already gone for the day,” Martín answers, and a slow smile spreads across his lips.

Which means they have the parlour to themselves.

Martín makes sure to turn the little “OPEN” sign on the door to “CLOSED”, shuts the door and then guides Luciano to his station. As Martín gets the machine ready, Luciano spares a glance around.

Martín’s station is surprisingly neat and organised. Luciano smiles fondly at the pictures over a cabinet; there are photos of Martín’s family, of Sebas and Dani (pictures old enough in which neither have tattoos nor piercing), but there also are a couple of photos of Luciano and the puppy they adopted no more than an year ago. He gazes towards Martín’s wall, the one covered with more pictures and sketches of tattoos Martín has worked on, a proud display of his work. Two particularly pictured stand from the rest, hanged and framed behind glass side by side while the rest is simple paper pinned to the wall – two identical floral tattoos, one on a dark forearm, the other on a fair ribcage. The sight warms Luciano’s insides, eases back his initial apprehension.

“So,” Martín prods as he slips his latex gloves on with an unnecessary snap. “Do you want it on your back or would you like to be on your stomach?”

“No sex pun intended, I’m sure,” Luciano rolls his eyes at him.

Martín snorts.

“So, where?” he insists.

As simple answer, Luciano takes his shirt off and lowers the waistband of his pants and underwear dangerously low to exposes his hipbone.

“Here.”

Martín nods in approbation and gets to work. He makes a stencil and places it over Luciano’s hipbone, rubs and presses at it. He removes it, but the drawing remains on Luciano’s skin.

“Go check it out,” he asks.

Luciano stands in front of the full-body mirror resting against the wall, and peers at his reflection.

A little elegant sun stares back at him from his hip. It looks surprisingly nice, Luciano must admit. It s innocuous enough, the sun could mean anything. It could mean Luciano likes hot weathers, or the beach, or summer, which he does. Only Martín would know the true reason behind the tattoo. And Sebastián. And Daniel. And Julio. Oh, and Miguel. Surely Manuel too. Well, basically anyone Martín talks to, but well. It could be worse. Knowing Martín, it could be much muchworse.

Luciano is lucky he is getting away with so little.

“Like it?” Martín asks.

Luciano nods. Martín takes a sit on his stool, gesture Luciano to join him on the tattoo bed. Luciano lays down, crosses his arms behind his head and stares at the ceiling.

“Take a deep breathe,” Martín says as he turns the tattoo machine on in a loud buzz. “And here we go…”

That’s all the warning he gets before he feels the tiny needles breaking into his skin. The initial pain makes him grimace, but after a moment he can relax as his body gets used to it.

“You’re lucky I’m not forcing you to get the actual Sun of May,” Martín comments as he works. “Only because I don’t want a national symbol judging me every time we fuck.”

“Oh, but I do get to have Maradona creepily starting at my ass, uh?” Luciano answers back, raising his head to frown disapprovingly at Martín.

Martín raises the machine gun and gives him a very flat very unimpressed look.

“Do you want me to tattoo the Sun of May on you?” he asks.

Luciano decides it is wiser to shut it – at least while Martín holds the tattoo machine.

Martín continues working in quiet, familiar silence. It is not the first time Luciano is under Martín’s expert hands, and he suspects it won’t be the last either. He lays there, lets Martín work as he stares at the ceiling. To the constant stabbing and buzzing eventually lead him to shut his brain off and zone out.

He is brought back to reality in a little gasp and a full body twitch when Martín’s hand casually cups the front of his pants.

“Hold still,” Martín chides sternly, keeping his focus on his work.

Luciano can’t help to side eye him with a little scepticism - he shoots a glance at the hand innocently resting between his legs, but he ultimately obeys. After all, the many tiny needles are stilling stabbing permanent ink into his flesh. They go back to their still quiet, before Martín’s hand gives the bulge in the front of Luciano’s pants a gentle squeeze and he starts lazily rubbing at it, trailing up and down.

Luciano sighs, and can’t help the cheeky smile spreading on his lips. He closes his eyes as his cock twitches with interest and a familiar warmth blooms in his lower belly. The pleasure and pain, so close in location and so far in the spectrum, mix in a very interesting cocktail he wouldn’t think possible. He grows harder and harder under Martín’s palm, but the buzzing of the tattoo machine reminds him to remain still as Martín continues working on his tattoo.

He acknowledges the elephant in the room by the time his cock is obscenely and unmistakably tenting his pants under Martín’s hand.

“Do you usually treat your clients this way?” he says, trying to go for casual.

“Now that’s some idea,” Martín replies as a twin smile curls his lips. He keep on working, doesn’t bother to look up. “’New service, tattoo with happy ending’. That’d definitely make the parlour more popular.”

Luciano knows Martín is messing with him, and still can’t help the possessive twinge of jealousy stabbing at his side, sharper than the needling on his skin.

“I’m sure Sebastián would love that,” he grumbles back.

“It can be my little secret way to earn juicy tips,” Martín teases.

Luciano does glare at him this time, and Martín has the gall to look up and give him a highly amused smile. He turns the machine off, leaves it on his tattoo trolley and, giving Luciano’s erection one last squeeze, he stands.

Luciano can’t help to raise half of his body on his elbows too peer down.

“You done?” he asks.

“Not quite yet,” Martín answers, takes Luciano by the neck and kisses him.

It has very little finesse, straight to the point – it is wet and open and hot, and Martín pushes his tongue inside Luciano’s mouth to feel what is his favourite piercing Luciano has gotten so far. As they kiss, Martín’s free hand slides inside Luciano’s underwear, pushes the waistband down and lets Luciano’s erection spring free. Martín takes him in his hand, and Luciano groans despite the unfamiliar strange feeling of his latex glove on him. Martín closes his hand around him, and Luciano fucks into it. Pre-cum makes the slide of his cock into Martín’s tight fist smooth and easy, but he is not sure how he feels about the artificial texture of the latex, about the lack of skin contact. He has little time to decide as Martín insistent tugging pushes him closer and closer to orgasm, until Luciano closes his fist around Martín’s arm and comes with a moan in his gloved hand.

Martín gives him one last peck on the lips and pulls away. Luciano lets him go, tries to catch his breath as he watches him walk to one of his cabinets and open a drawer. Luciano gives Martín’s wide handsome back one last appreciative look before remembering the tattoo. He peers down at the finished work, right next to his exposed softening spent cock.

As all of Martín’s works, it’s very nice, with clean elegant dark lines. A delicate reference that will go unnoticed.

Martín is back soon, sits back on his stool with a tissue box and a tube of ointment and bandages. He holds the tissue box up for Luciano, who accepts it with a nod of thanks and cleans the cum off his skin and tucks himself back inside his underwear. Meanwhile, Martín gently rubs the ointment over Luciano’s new tattoo and proceeds to bandage it.

“Remove the bandage after 24 hours,” he recites mechanically, as Luciano has heard him do a hundred times before. “Wash it with cool water and antimicrobial soap, pat-dry it gently and apply a layer of antibacterial ointment twice a day. No tight clothes, no hot showers, no sun for about 2 weeks.”

Luciano has to snort.

“You live with me,” he points out.

“So what? I have to be the one taking care of it?” Martín smirks as he finishes patching him up.

“Well, yes,” Luciano replies. “You’re the expert here, and I’m your boyfriend.”

Martín gives him an inelegant snort. He runs his thumb gently and fondly over the bandage, and gives Luciano one last quick. Luciano catches him by the arm, doesn’t let him get away, and tries to deepen the kiss. Martín indulges in, and only pulls away and stands back when Luciano reaches for his belt. He takes Luciano’s hand in his and entwines their fingers together to raise them to his face and place an apologetic kiss on Luciano’s knuckles with a clear message; not now.

So Luciano lets him go, and Martín slides out of reach with a soft fond smile.

Luciano sits up and puts his shirt back on. He watches Martín move around his working station in a well-practiced routine; he takes off his soiled gloves and throws them away, cleans his station and puts everything away, leaving the space clean and neat for another day of work next morning.

Once he is done, they head out.

“Can’t wait for the rematch,” Luciano comments as Martín closes the parlour’s front door.

Martín hums in agreement. Once the door is locked and secured, he slips the keys inside his pocket and curls his arm around Luciano’s shoulder. He pulls him close and they walk away, back home.

“Maybe I can convince you to get a Messi tattoo next,” Martín says with a dramatic dreamy sigh.

Luciano elbows him.

“You should be the one thinking what to get when Brazil wins next match,” he replies.

“I could get ‘7-1’ as tramp stand…” Martín hums thoughtfully.

“I will dump your stupid ass, Martín,” Luciano threatens darkly.

Martin laughs, tugs him closer and lowers his head to kiss his hair.

“Sure thing, sunshine,” he smiles down at him with a bright happy glint in his eyes.

Luciano doesn’t have it in him to complain; he guesses he has earned the nickname, after all.

[sleephyjhs]

You’re Their Assigned Wife (REACTION)

all members are included under the ‘keep reading’ link

notes: this is based off the k-reality ‘we got married’ where a male and female idol spent time as a ‘married’ couple, i’m sure y’all know it

rules | m.list | requested by @agapeew

KSJ

One of your mid-week tasks to complete with Seokjin was to make some traditional kimchi, and before you had started, you were already excited. Actually, you found it quite coincidental that this would be assigned to you. When the cameras were off, Seokjin had led a bored atmosphere into an in-depth conversation about food. You learnt quickly that it was just one of his better traits; always feeling the need to lighten the mood.

To spread the added seasonings evenly, you’d poured the masses of chopped vegetables into a larger bowl of the floor. He slid his hands into plastic gloves and used all the strength of his arms to begin to churn the contents. As Seokjin began to act as a human whisk, you added additional ingredients to enhance the seasoning you’d already added. Picking up two chopsticks, you selected a small radish slice and fed it to him, “How is it?”

His playful moaning and emphasised nodding earned a chuckle from you. However as you were laughing at his honest reaction, you noticed his face begin to fall and almost twist in agitation. You watched as his arms begin to slow in their process, and so reached for the box of gloves to help him out, “You don’t need to worry, I’m okay!”

You frowned and swatted the air to make him remove his hands, “It’s fine, let me have a go.” He retracted his hand from the bowl and you plunged yours in their place. As you continued to stir, you looked up habitually to see Seokjin smiling, seemingly adoring you, “What?”

Seokjin’s smile softened as you picked up on his diverted attention, “You’re just... sweet,” you puffed a strand of hair away from your eyes, and watched it continue to fall back down as you pondered on his words. The rustling of his glove led to an uncovered hand reaching out for your face. As you paused in your churning, Seokjin pushed the loose hair behind your ear and admired your blushing cheeks, “There you go. Shall I have a turn now?”

MYG

As mildly introverted people, it had taken a little more than a few hours to fully open yourself to Yoongi’s company, more particularly to make any conversation you shared less awkward. After reverting back to childhood memories and a mutual love of the same films, Yoongi was quickly warming up to your presence.

It was strange to have to fake romance with another idol, especially with so many cameras. Kindling chemistry made your task much easier. Several days into your ‘marriage’, it was clearly time to shop for food items and other essentials, and as hesitant as he seemed, you were determined to make shopping as enjoyable for Yoongi as you could.

Without asking, he offered to push the trolley around the store and followed you diligently as you conferred on what to buy. At the very end of your journey, you spotted a large pack of bottled water that would easily have been enough for the rest of your time together. You shuffled and leaned down to the bottom shelf where the pack sat and slivered your fingers underneath to lift it, “Do you want some help with that?”

“Nope,” you grunted, struggling to lift it any further than a centimetre from the shelf. It was heavier than you’d anticipated, “actually, yeah.”

You grunted as Yoongi came to your rescue. He pulled up on the plastic packaging and aided you in placing it in the trolley, “Move your fingers,” he said. You looked at him strangely, and he smiled at your knitted brows, “they’ll get crushed! Move them!”

He jokingly scolded you, prompting you to tease a pout, “Don’t look at me like that!” He smiled, dodging your eye contact, “I’m only looking out for you.”

JHS

To wind down one evening, you made a joint effort to create a mini campfire in the yard. A small firepit, wood blocks and marshmallows was just enough to make a winter evening in the countryside more enjoyable.

On the backyard sofa, you reclined next to Hoseok. A blanket draped over your legs, but that along with the fire wasn’t enough to warm you up, “Are you cold? Here, take my jacket.” Hoseok offered, unzipping his branded winter coat.

You leaned away from him, rejecting his offer, “No way. It’s below freezing, keep it on. Could we share? Instead?” You nodded towards the blankets that kicked over both of your laps, and began to divide them more equally over you.

“Come a bit closer,” Hobi insisted, lifting his corner of the fabric to invite you under. You smirked at his natural generosity, and it wasn’t until he met your eyes that he noticed, “or morph into an iceberg if you’d like. Really, let me keep you warm.”

To add performance for the hidden cameras in the garden, you rested your head slowly on his shoulder. Hoseok, without much pause, slung his arm around you and shuffled his hand against your thick cardigan, “Comfy enough?”

You nodded in satisfaction, “Perfect!”

KNJ

For a segment in an episode, you and Namjoon had chosen face masks as an activity to complete. As a self-proclaimed skin care fanatic, you were more than excited to pamper the man who had quickly become a close friend of yours.

To emphasise the couple chemistry, Namjoon sat opposite you, crouched onto a small wooden stool identical to yours. His chestnut hair was pushed back, tucked away under a bright yellow headband, exposing his tanned forehead to your silicon brush, “Let me know if it tickles too much.”

Your prewarning was met with a dimpled smile as you started to spread the cleansing mixture across his risen cheeks. Rose pink clay pleasingly matched his dark eyes that could only focus on you. As you carefully distributed the face pack over his skin, you couldn’t help but grin at his widened eyes that followed yours so diligently, “You know, the more you look at me like that, the more I’ll have to believe you have a thing for me.”

Namjoon giggled softly, looking away from you for the first time since you’d begun, “What if I did?”

You looked down at your lap, flattered at his response. If you’d learnt anything about Namjoon in the past few days, it was that his tone of voice changed when his sincerity was meant to be heard, “Well then, that’s something for us to discuss when there isn’t a camera across the room.”

PJM

It had been a while since you’d spent so long away from your dorm and your members; you couldn’t help but feel slightly homesick. The kind of homesick that kept you up at night was the worst. To stop you from stirring around in the sheets and waking Jimin, you hung your legs over the side of the bed and stared into the blackness.

“Everything alright over there?” A sudden, raspy groan startled you. Jimin had followed you in sitting up in his place, rubbing his eyes that were still adjusting to the darkness.

“Hmm? Yeah, just a little homesick. I didn’t mean to wake you up.” You whispered, wrapping the duvet over your legs. The night camera should’ve stopped filming a few hours ago, but Jimin and you still weren’t close enough to be completely open around one another.

Jimin’s fluffly morning cheeks fell at your confession, “Can I help at all? I really hate to see you down.” He spoke softly, and yet you knew he meant what he said. For someone you’d known for less than a week, his compassion was surprising but sweet.

You stuttered, looking for any way to tell the time. Midnight was far behind you, and the summer sun was yet to rise, “Don’t worry about the time. Whatever I can do to make things better for you, I will.”

KTH

Filming such a programme in autumn had its benefits in what activities it made available. In addition to it being your favourite season, you’d learnt that Taehyung grew up in a similar setting to you. Daegu suburbs hid many roads that led to farms and orchards, where both you and Taehyung had spent many hours picking harvestables and chasing younger siblings.

As the director had learned of this shared memory, she organised an opportunity for you to recreate your childhood together. An apple and pear orchard waited on the outskirts of Seoul for you, “If they’re big enough, I can make you an apple pie?” Your promise to Taehyung had spawned a determination to make the most of a chance you hadn’t had in years.

After your basket was near enough full with apples, you’d spent your remaining minutes searching for larger ones to pluck. The perfect green apple hung just a bit too high for your grasp, and watching your struggle, Taehyung approached you from behind, “Need a lift?”

As you nodded, Taehyung squatted to wrap his arms around your legs and raise you up to the branch where you were able to take the apple that had caught your eye. Placing you back on your feet was less successful as you stumbled upon meeting the ground. A small shriek led to his hand catching your back , securing your balance. A heavy sigh of relief hooked a smile, “You didn’t think I’d let you fall, did you? I’d never let you get hurt when you’re with me.”

JJK

When your time together with Jungkook was coming to an end, you chose to spend a night at a karaoke bar. As you both owned the title of main vocalist in your groups, friendly competition couldn’t be missed.

To make it fair, you agreed on the same ballad to see who could score higher, and your winning score of 96 was enough to induce all of the excuses from Jungkook, “I let you win to ease you into the competition! Good luck in the next round.”

Many different verses and choruses later, and the tie between you was clear. To finish the hour you’d paid for, Jungkook suggested a ballad duet. You took the red lyrics and he took the green. The enchanting mixture of melodies coated the room with a romantic aura; you couldn’t help but switch between the lyrics and Jungkook’s eyes.

“That was really... something.” A shy grin closed the music as you returned your microphone to it’s slot. From award shows and concerts you’d attended before, you knew well that his vocals were stunning. But if you knew that yours could match so well with his, you would have suggested a karaoke much, much sooner.

“It really was. Maybe we could slip into a studio sometime? I heard you write songs.” How he’d heard that was unknown to you, but you were more than glad that he did.

^ hey! i remember you sending this before tumblr deleted all my asks, thank you for resending! i love this sm omg

[commanderawkward]

Heartache (Dabi x reader/ Bakugou x reader)

This is for @savnofilter, I saw the post about wanting an angst fic based on the song slow dancing in the dark by JOJI and I decided to give it a shot. This is my first time trying to write this sort of stuff and it was written on my phone so my apologies in advance 😅

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Don't want a friend (just me)

I want my life in two (my life in two)

Just one more night

Waiting to get there

Waiting for you (all night)

I'm done fighting all night (waiting for you)

Glancing at your watch for the 4th time that night you sighed, avoiding the sympathetic glance the waiter had given you. Paying the bill for the bottle of wine you had downed you grabbed what was left and stubbled out the door of the restaurant. Glancing around the busy street you caught your reflection in the restaurant window, the makeup you had spent a lot of time doing was now ruined as tears littered your cheeks, your perfectly curled hair had now lost their curl and your body ached in the tight fitting dress and heels Dabi once adored on you. Taking another swig from the bottle of wine in your hand you stubbled down the street in search of the nearest pub hoping to drown your sorrows.

When I'm around slow dancing in the dark

Don't follow me, you'll end up in my arms

You have made up your mind

I don't need no more signs

Can you?

Can you?

"(Y/N)? Is that you? What are you doing here?"

Turning around from your place on the barstool you came face to face with your dark haired boyfriend. Glancing behind him you noticed he was accompanied by his league of villain friends. Frowning you grabbed your purse and made a beeline for the door.

"(Y/N)! Where the fuck are you going?" You heard him hiss as he grabbed your wrist and turned you to look at him. It was only under the light of the street lamps that he noticed your smudged mascara and red puffy eyes. "Hey, what happened? Did some asshole hurt you? Why the fuck are you crying?" He spoke as he grabbed you by the shoulders and leaned down to your level, eyebrows furrowed.

"You forgot about me" you said choking back tears, you were never good at keeping your emotions at bay when drunk. Suddenly Dabi felt a pang of guilt as he remembered about the date you had been planning for the past week. "Fuck! Was that tonight? I'm sorry I got caught up with all this shit happening with the league and-"

"I don't want your fucking excuses Dabi! This is the third time this month, I'm sick of being stood up, I'm sick of not seeing for days on end without any type of contact, I'm sick of being the only one trying to make this work!" You sobbed, breaking out of his grip you wiped your tears away. "I was so fucking stupid, I should have noticed the signs earlier. It's over Dabi..."

Give me reasons we should be complete

You should be with him, I can't compete

You looked at me like I was someone else, oh well

It had been two weeks since you last saw Dabi. Two weeks since you stumbled into a cab and watched his shocked face as you drove away. In two weeks he hadn't tried contacting you and you knew it was over for good.

"All I'm saying is that guy is a total asshole! He didn't deserve you! Look, I know you don't want to think about it right now but I really think you should put yourself back out there. I have a friend I can set you up with! He's a bit of a hothead but he'll warm up to you quickly I'm sure of it!" Mina exclaimed hugging a pillow to her chest. She was spending the night at your apartment for your regular girls night. You let out a deep sigh "Mina... I really don't know if I'm ready-" " Too bad, I may or may not have already set up a date for the two of you tomorrow." She said with a cheeky grin, cutting you off mid sentence.

"I-... You know what? Fuck it, when's the date and what's his name?" You responded. Dabi had made it clear he didn't want anything to do with you, screw him! You deserved to find someone who actually appreciated you. Mina squealed and shoved her phone in your face "his name is Bakugou Katsuki, I went to school with him. I'll text him and let you know you said yes!". Glancing at the man in the picture you had to admit, this Bakugou guy was pretty attractive but a part of you couldn't help the sinking feeling as the thought of Dabi still lingered in the back of your mind.

Looking in the mirror you admired your outfit, today was your date with Bakugou and you had opted for a simple white sundress and tan sandals. Mina had insisted she did your makeup and straightened your hair. "You look smoking girl! Bakugou is going to love you!" Mina told you admiring her work, "shit- you should get going or you'll be late, I'll lock up". Looking at your watch you gasped, grabbing your keys and your purse before you ran out the door while shouting a quick thank you to Mina.

Stepping out of your car you looked at the cafe nervously, it had been awhile since you had been on a real date. Walking inside you glanced around the room looking for your date. A sudden hand on your shoulder made you jump as you let out a squeak in surprise. "(Y/N) right? Mina's friend?" You heard a deep voice ask you. Turning around you came face to face with the blonde boy you recognised as Bakugou. "Uh- yes that's me, im sorry if Mina forced you into this" you said followed by an awkward laugh. "Tsk... she's been trying to set me up with extras since highschool but I've never seen her as determined about it until she mentioned you" he grumbled, taking his hand off your shoulder and shoving it in his pocket. You studied his face and noticed the faint blush that covered his cheeks and noticed the tips of his ears had turned red. "Should we grab a booth and order?" You said offering him a small smile.

As Bakugou went to order for the both of you, you sat patiently, peering out the window of the cafe. Suddenly you felt your heart drop to your stomach as your eyes met a familiar pair of turquoise ones. It was the first time you had seen Dabi since your fight. Your thoughts were interrupted as Bakugou returned with two milkshakes and you offered him a smile trying to shake of the feeling in your gut.

From the outside Dabi stood there frozen as he observed you with another man. He hadn't expected you to move on so quickly and the thought of you with another man left a sour taste in his mouth. The way you looked at him made his stomach drop, it was as though he was a stranger to you. It was probably for the best, he told himself. He was a villain and you deserved so much more than him. He would never be able to give you the life you always wanted and he had to accept you were no longer his. He glanced at your small frame through the cafe window before catching up with Twice and Toga with a strong pang in his chest.

When you gotta run

Just hear my voice in you (my voice in you)

Shutting me out of you (shutting me out of you)

Doing so great (so great, so great)

You

Looking at your shopping list you pushed your trolley around the small grocery store. It had been 3 months since you started dating Bakugou and things were going surprisingly well. Chewing on your lower lip in thought you scanned through the aisles trying to locate the hot sauce Bakugou had asked you to pick up for him. Finally after an almost shameful amount of time searching for it you were able to find it. "(Y/N)...?" You heard a painfully familiar voice question. Turning around, you locked eyes with your ex as his attention turned to the bottle of hot sauce in your hand. "Interesting pick, I thought you always hated spicy food" Dabi mumbled, eyes flicking back to your face. "I- well it's not for me it's for my boyfriend" you stuttered, it felt like your heart was in your throat as shock run through your veins at the sight of him. Dabi's eyes suddenly seemed dull as his expression darkened at the use of the word 'boyfriend'. "Must be doing great then I take it Doll?" Dabi hummed. Your heart tightened at his nickname for you. "Yeah things are good, great I mean... Well I should get going but it was good seeing you Dabi, I hope you're doing well too" you muttered, glancing at him one last time before scurrying off to the checkouts without bothering to grab the rest of your list.

Used to be the one (used to be the one)

To hold you when you fall

Yeah, yeah, yeah (when you fall, when you fall)

I don't fuck with your tone (I don't fuck with your tone)

I don't wanna go home (I don't wanna go home)

Can it be one night?

Can you?

Can you?

"Ready to order babe?"

Peering over the menu, your gaze met Bakugou's. Tonight was your two year anniversary and he had taken you out to dinner at one of the most expensive restaurants in town. Smiling sheepishly your eyes raked the menu again "If I'm being completely honest I'm not even sure what half this stuff is" you said a little embarrassed. Picking a dish you recognised on the menu you both chatted as you waited for your meal. "I was going to wait until after dinner but fuck it" Bakugou said and he stood up and kneeled beside your seat. "(Y/N) I know we've only been dating two years but they've been the best two years of my life. I- fuck, you know I'm bad at expressing my feeling but what I'm trying to say is will you marry me?" Bakugou stuttered, cheeks as red as his best friends hair as he looked up at you nervously. Too shocked to answer him with words, you nodded, letting him slide the diamond ring on your finger as you jumped from your seat to embrace him.

Dabi stood there in shock as he watched the love of his life become engaged to another man at the same restaurant he had meant to have met her all those nights ago. Kicking over a nearby trash can he screamed, letting his emotions out in the empty street. Dabi had spent countless nights unable to dream of anything else but your beautiful face, it haunted him. Seeing you now engaged filled him with rage and sorrow knowing he drove you into another man's arms. Not wanting to go home he dragged himself to a bar and ordered a few shots of whatever would make him forget tonight. Feeling the burning sensation run down his throat he finally broke down at the realisation that soon you would be slow dancing at your wedding while he danced in the dark wishing it was him.

Give me reasons we should be complete

You should be with him, I can't compete

Dark

You looked at me like I was someone else, oh well

Can't you see?

I don't wanna slow dance (I don't want to slow dance)

In the dark

Dark

In the dark

Dark

[syntaxeme]

Sugar is Sweet (and So Are You) ch.3

[First Chapter] [Next Chapter (coming soon!)] [Read on AO3] [Support me on Ko-fi] Rating: T Summary: Plagued by jealousy toward the men Angel sleeps with, Alastor comes up with a plan to keep Angel from having to work the streets. He wasn’t planning on becoming an actual client, but having Angel all to himself might prove too sweet to give up–for as long as he can afford it, that is.

— — —

Niffty was as apt and eager a sous chef as one could hope for, not only happy to follow directions to a T but intent on keeping their workspace neat at the same time. Concentrating on cooking had the desired effect of keeping Alastor too busy to fret over Angel’s absence (or anything else regarding him), and it wasn’t until around 7, as he was finishing up his cooking, that he was forcibly reminded of those concerns.

“Mm, it smells amazing in here,” Angel called as he entered the room, and Alastor had to force himself not to look back at him. Niffty had already gone off to set things up in the second floor ballroom, so they were alone in the kitchen. “Whatcha makin’?”

“Etouffee and rice. Blackened snapper filets. Maque choux.” He indicated each dish on the stove and counter respectively. “Though that has tasso in it, so someone who isn’t comfortable eating pork should probably avoid it.” It was still somewhat amusing that Angel eschewed pork products purely because he had a pet pig, while Alastor himself had never been squeamish about meat from any source. To each his own, he supposed.

“Shit, you musta been at it for hours, then.” The spider came over to lean against the counter at his side and leaned toward the pan of etouffee Alastor was stirring with a wooden spoon, opening his mouth expectantly. “Aah…”

The Radio Demon’s eyes narrowed, and instead of complying, he used his free hand to push Angel’s chin upward and close his mouth again. “You’ll be able to try it when everyone else does. Assuming you didn’t have dinner while you were out.”

“Aw, c’mon, I don’t get any special treatment? Are ya mad at me or somethin’?”

“Where have you been?” Alastor asked, ignoring the question, then added, “If you don’t mind my asking.”

“Ooh, you are mad. Ya gonna punish me?” Angel purred. When he saw that Alastor’s expression was utterly devoid of amusement, he sighed and shook his head. “Take a better look at me and see if ya can’t guess.” Posing against the edge of the counter, he ran one hand through his hair (which Alastor now noticed had been styled and formed into loose curls) and used the lower pair to smooth the magenta dress he was wearing (a daring halter number that covered his chest but bared his shoulders—not a familiar part of his existing wardrobe). His nails were painted to match, and the shoes looked new as well.

“You went…shopping?”

“Among other things. Just a little self-care day, a little pampering. Because I deserve it. Don’t I, Daddy?” he concluded with a playful smirk that said there was only one correct answer.

“I suppose.” Alastor wasn’t sure what it was about that new title Angel had given him that flustered him so. It wasn’t any sort of disconcerting Freudian paraphilia, he was sure. Maybe it was the way Angel said it, as an indication of familiarity and the role he’d been cast in this relationship. An admission of authority. It made him feel…powerful. Powerful in a way he wasn’t used to feeling.

“What’d you think, I was runnin’ off to meet some other guy?” Angel asked, hitting the nail exactly on the head. “Why should I when you already said you’re takin’ care of me? I wouldn’t’ve figured you were the kinda guy to get jealous that easily, but it’s sweet you wanna keep me to yourself.”

You have no idea. “And the woman you were with?” the Radio Demon prompted, finally deciding that his etouffee was ready to be served and taking it off the heat. As he was arranging the various dishes on a catering trolley to take them upstairs, he continued, “The one who pulled you out of your meeting with Charlie for all this?”

“She’s my manager. Or she was, I guess. I told her about this”—Angel gestured between the two of them—“earlier, and she wanted the details. Then I was already out, I had some cash to burn, and I figured I should show ya what you’re payin’ for here.” As Alastor was rolling his sleeves back down and readjusting his cuffs, Angel stepped in close to drape his arms over the Radio Demon’s shoulders. He also caught Alastor’s hands to pull them around his own waist, drawing their bodies close together and demanding his attention. “So, you like? Or should I be tryin’ harder?” If he tried much harder, Alastor’s poor heart was likely to give out from overexertion.

“You do look nice, cher,” he confessed, allowing his hands to rest tentatively on Angel’s back and forcibly withholding his full opinion on the subject—that he enjoyed the idea of Angel getting dolled up to impress him, that he loved knowing his support had bought the spider a few hours’ indulgence, that he was terribly tempted to blow off the dinner he was supposed to be serving and spend the time alone with Angel instead.

“Look all ya want, honey.” As he leaned in for a kiss, the tension in Alastor’s body only heightened, but he forced himself not to retreat (or maybe he was so deer-in-headlights frozen that he couldn’t have fled if he’d wanted to). As much as he wanted what Angel was offering, he was equally afraid of embarrassing himself with his inexperience.

“Alastor, do you need—oh!” Just as he’d gathered his courage and tilted his head upward to meet Angel’s lips, Niffty’s voice rang through the kitchen. He reflexively stepped back at the sound, breaking the spider’s hold on him and leaving about two feet’s distance between them.

“What was that, dear?” he asked, unsure whether the smile he flashed her was intended to intimidate or reassure. It made little difference, as she was pointedly avoiding looking at him, her cheeks flushed.

“Uh, everything’s ready upstairs. I came to see if you need any help taking stuff up.”

“No. Thank you. Go on ahead and we’ll be up shortly.” She wasn’t eager to argue and zipped out of the room as quickly as she’d appeared, leaving Alastor to clear his throat awkwardly as he swept his jacket back on.

“Why does it bother you if the others know?” Angel asked, strolling along behind Alastor as he pushed the trolley out of the kitchen and toward the elevator. He didn’t seem offended, just curious, likely because he himself had no issue about being open with his sexual dealings.

“I don’t know that it bothers me, per se. But whatever goes on between you and me is none of their affair.” Especially Charlie.

“Sure, I guess, but it still seems kinda shitty to hafta act different just because someone else is around.” When Alastor didn’t answer right away, Angel quickly went on, “I mean, at the end of the day, it’s whatever you want. Just knowin’ you, I woulda figured you wouldn’t care what anybody else thought of it.”

When they got to the ballroom, true to Charlie’s word, everyone was gathered already, hovering around the handful of tables scattered throughout the room and sipping cocktails (provided by Husk, who had set up a sort of half bar by the door). Luckily, Alastor’s cooking experience in life had given him plenty of experience with serving large groups, so this was nothing he couldn’t handle. “Sorry to keep everyone waiting; I’m sure you’re all starved by now!”

“Nope, you’re just in time.” Charlie sidled up to him as he was setting out the dishes along the banquet tables lining the far wall. “I can’t blame you if you got a little distracted.” She nodded heavily toward Angel, who had been crowded by a few of their female patrons all ooh-ing and aah-ing over his outfit.

“What, this old thing?” he purred, posing deliberately and beaming from the attention. His smile was one of the first things the Radio Demon had come to admire about him, and knowing he himself had caused it was even more satisfying. Angel was beautiful; there was no denying that. So why, Alastor wondered, should he even bother trying?

“Yes, maybe I was,” he agreed with Charlie’s statement as he finished up setting out the spread. He ignored her wide eyes and delighted grin as he swept the trolley to one side and gestured to the table with a flourish. “Well, here we are! There should be plenty for everyone, so don’t be shy.”

Dinner didn’t go exactly the way he’d expected. He and Angel shared a table with Charlie, Vaggie, Niffty, and Husk, and although the conversation was the sort typical of the group, he couldn’t help feeling Angel was paying him more attention than usual. Of course, ever since the hotel’s opening, the two had developed a certain chemistry, a sort of quick-fire volley of snarky comments and clever comebacks, but it felt softer on this particular evening. Different. And Alastor found he didn’t mind it.

He still hesitated and drew away when Angel got overtly affectionate—stroking lightly along his hand, leaning close to speak into his ear, playfully toying with his hair—but it was more for his own comfort than out of concern about what anyone else might think. Angel was right in saying that their opinions shouldn’t matter, and if it meant Alastor didn’t have to deliberately maintain his distance, he didn’t mind dealing with their curious glances and whispers.

When everyone had eaten their fill, the other patrons dispersed gradually until only the hotel’s staff was left in the ballroom, chatting long past dark. Husk was the first one to retire, followed soon by Vaggie gently leading a somewhat tipsy Charlie toward the doors as well.

“Wait, wait,” Charlie insisted, “shouldn’t we help clean up?”

“Nope!” Niffty answered cheerfully, waving her onward. “I’ll take care of it, don’t worry!” In fact, she was already up and starting to gather plates, apparently no less energetic after dinner and drinks—or at least not enough to keep her from happily working.

“I suppose we’ll leave you to it, then,” Alastor agreed, getting to his feet as well. Angel followed along without prompting.

“Y’know,” he started as they took the stairs to the third floor, where Alastor’s room was located, “you’re a pretty good cook, Al. But I think that meal was missin’ somethin’.”

“Oh? What’s that?” The notion was actually a bit insulting.

“Don’t get me wrong; you make a helluva dinner. But”—he caught Alastor’s hand as they reached the door labeled 313—“now I’m in the mood for somethin’ sweet. So what’s for dessert?”

In literal terms, Alastor had never cared much for overly sweet things. Somehow, he got the feeling Angel wasn’t talking about beignets. He froze up for a moment, having failed to consider this aspect of the evening. Of course, it was only logical that Angel’s newly affectionate attitude toward him would include an offer like this, based on his usual interactions with clients.

“I hadn’t thought about it,” he answered. “I’m typically not much for sweets.”

Angel hesitated, tilting his head to one side, then his expression changed. Pouting slightly, he ran a hand through his hair to loosen his curls a little more. “But you can make an exception for me, right? I’ll get so cold up in my room all by myself, Daddy,” he whined, batting his eyes, looking strangely smaller and more fragile than usual. Raising Alastor’s hand up to his cheek and nuzzling against it, he suggested, “Lemme sleep here with you instead.”

Alastor didn’t respond right away. Although he wanted to believe that Angel had a genuine desire to be near him, something about this proposition felt artificial, almost like a game, like he was putting on an act for Alastor’s benefit. And if that was the case, he had no interest in it. He wanted Angel’s genuine self, the confident, assertive, clever individual he’d come to know and enjoy, not whatever persona he put on to please his clients.

“If you want to be here, cher, then by all means, stay. If you’re offering purely for my benefit, however, you can go back to your own room,” he said plainly, and Angel frowned.

“I dunno what that means,” he sighed, crossing both pairs of arms. Even in his irritation, he seemed more like himself, which was an improvement. “D’you not get how this works? You’re takin’ care of me, so I’ll take care of you. I don’t like to welch on a deal, but you gotta tell me what ya want if I’m gonna do it.” The prospect of being ‘taken care of’ by Angel, even if not in the way he had in mind, was immensely appealing. But only if there was a good reason behind it.

“I just did. I’m paying for your time so that you can choose what to do with it. If you’d like to stay, that’s fine. In fact, I think I would like you to,” he confessed, his gaze lingering somewhere around Angel’s right shoulder so their eyes wouldn’t meet. “But if you see this as a professional obligation, if you’re only doing it because I’m paying you, let me say that you have no need to. I don’t want you to make it a chore to be around me.”

The sound Angel let out was sort of a laugh, sort of a scoff, sort of dismissive and uncomfortable at the same time. “C’mon, Al, we both know what this is; ya don’t hafta feel guilty about it. You paid already, so whatever ya want from me is yours fair and square. This is what I do. It ain’t a big deal.”

Yes, that’s what I was afraid of. Refusing to let his smile slip or otherwise betray how much the statement bothered him, Alastor instead answered, “Good night, Angel.”

The spider stood by in silence while Alastor turned to unlock the room and step inside, but when he tried to shut the door, Angel caught it with two hands to stop him. With a note of something almost like guilt in his voice, he conceded very quietly, “I wanna stay.”

Although it was difficult to believe given the sadness on his face, Alastor found himself a bit shaken by seeing Angel so uncomfortable. Continuing to argue just wasn’t worth upsetting him more. So he took a step back out of the doorway and motioned for Angel to come inside, gesturing absently at the lamp in the corner so it flickered to life and bathed the room in dim red light.

Angel shivered as he crossed the threshold, lending some credence to his excuse of being cold, and his gait was noticeably less self-assured than usual as he made his way across the room to Alastor’s bed. Another moment’s hesitation, and he gestured to the bed. “Can I…?”

“Of course.” Alastor concentrated on shrugging out of his coat and removing his shoes and tie as Angel sat on the bed and toed his own shoes off, then crawled onto the mattress on all fours, coming over to meet Alastor where he stood at the other side.

Sitting up on his knees, sliding the edge of his dress up slightly, he asked, “You wanna help me outta this?”

Oh. Somehow, Alastor had failed to realize that in allowing Angel to stay the night, he was agreeing to something more than just enjoying his company. But at this point, it seemed too late to change his mind.

It took a moment for him to compose himself enough to form a response. “If you like.” His hands came to rest on Angel’s hips, only shaking slightly, and slid slowly downward to the skirt’s hemline, where he froze up again. Angel must have noticed his hesitation, as he tried to smooth the process by leaning in for a kiss. It was quick and soft, as if inviting Alastor to take more if he wanted. And he did.

Since this was something he felt much more comfortable exploring, he focused all his attention on it, capturing Angel’s lips with his own more firmly this time. It felt surprisingly natural to slip his tongue into the spider’s mouth, and the breathless moan Angel let out only encouraged him further. He did have a taste, Alastor found, but it wasn’t actually sweet. Enjoyable nevertheless. Every aspect of this experience was so foreign and fascinating, from the softness of Angel’s chest pressed against his to the heat of his mouth to his hands grasping at Alastor’s shoulders. He tried to pull away at least two separate times before Alastor realized that he should let go. As Angel was catching his breath, the Radio Demon realized he’d been so absorbed in the kiss that he hadn’t noticed deft hands unbuttoning his shirt, and he hastened to close it up again.

“Are you gonna…get in bed with me or what?” Angel managed, collapsing to sit and still panting softly, open-mouthed. The position he was in, long legs folded against the bed, forced his skirt even higher up his thighs. Alastor was utterly beside himself, torn in a way he’d never been before.

He had no idea what he wanted out of this moment. No, that was wrong; the problem was that he had entirely too many ideas. Part of him wanted to pin Angel to the bed and keep his mouth thoroughly occupied for the next hour. Part of him wanted to tear that dress off him and explore every inch of bare skin with his eyes, his hands, his lips. Part of him wanted to pretend he had no anxiety about this matter and spend the rest of the night satisfying his many curiosities about how it might feel to share that kind of intimacy with Angel.

Yet another very loud part was insisting that all the other parts were insane, that allowing anyone that close was asking for trouble, and that the best recourse was simply to throw the spider out, lock the door, and pretend none of this had ever happened. His mind was giving so many imperative all at once that it was impossible to choose which to act on.

“Al?” When Angel’s hand found his arm, he was so high-strung that he immediately jerked away from the touch, reeling back a step or two and struggling to get a hold of himself before he said or did anything he’d regret. Worst of all, Angel looked confused, guilty, even worried about him. “You okay?”

“Yes. No. I—” He let out an entirely mirthless laugh, simply because he didn’t know what else to do with himself. “I’m sorry. You…maybe you should…go.” It was stupid of him to have expected that he could change his stripes, so to speak, that easily. He knew what he was. He knew it didn’t lend itself well to affection of any sort. No one should be forced to put up with that, especially not one of the few people Alastor genuinely cared for.

“Go? But I thought… I mean, did I do somethin’ wrong?” Angel asked, shifting to sit on the edge of the bed but mercifully not making any move to touch him. “I dunno what happened.”

“Nothing. It’s not you.” There he was, making an absolute fool of himself, just as he’d feared. But at the same time, it wasn’t right to make Angel feel as if he were in the wrong. It took all Alastor’s effort to force himself to keep smiling as he continued, “I’m sorry, cher. I’ve never…done this before.”

“What, paid for sex?” Angel laughed, and although it didn’t seem ridiculing, it didn’t help, either. When Alastor didn’t respond, he quickly sobered and realized: “Oh, y’mean you’ve never…at all? Uh, shit, I just figured—hey, it’s fine, though! I been with virgins before; it ain’t a big deal. We can take it slow if ya want.” Somehow, although they were probably meant to be reassuring, the words did nothing to ease Alastor’s anxiety.

“That’s probably for the best.” It wasn’t that he didn’t want to try. Eventually. He was always interested in a new experience, and he did want to be close to Angel. But this evening had already made it quite clear that he had some mental blocks to work around before anything like that would be possible. “I don’t mean to make this difficult for you. I’m sure you were expecting—”

“Alastor.” Angel leaned his head down to catch the Radio Demon’s gaze (which was directed toward the floor), and although his smile was much softer than the wicked grin he usually wore, it still felt genuine. “It’s fine. You’re payin’ for my time and my company, but it’s up to you what you wanna do with it. If ya wanna fuck me, I’m up for it. If ya wanna kiss me again and then see where it goes, I’m fine with that too. If ya just want me to sleep here, I can.” After a moment’s hesitation and with somewhat dampened enthusiasm, he added, “Hell, if ya want me to leave ya alone and go to my own room—”

“I don’t,” Alastor answered quickly, “want that.”

Angel seemed pleased with the concession. “Point is, it’s up to you. Whatever you pick is fine by me. So don’t worry too much about what I ‘expect.’ I’d rather be here with you than off at some shithole motel with a john I can’t trust.”

Meaning he trusts me? That notion made Alastor feel a million times better about the night, all awkwardness and uncertainty included. At the same time, Angel’s assurance that he was in control of their interaction was an immense comfort in itself. Maybe these feelings—comfort, control, confidence—were what he was actually paying for.

Feeling at least somewhat steadier now, he seated himself on the bed next to Angel and leaned in to kiss his cheek, causing his slight smile to widen into something more playful. ‘Something sweet’ indeed. “I do want you to stay the night, ma sucrette. And I wouldn’t say no to more of those kisses.”

“Sucrette? What’s that?”

Tilting Angel’s chin upward and running a thumb lightly across his lips, Alastor replied, “Why, it’s you, sweetness.”

It may have been a trick of the light, but it certainly looked like Angel was blushing as they settled into bed.

Charming.

He moved close under the covers to put himself in Alastor’s arms, and after a moment of figuring out how their bodies fit together in an embrace, there was another kiss. And another. Knowing he wasn’t expected to go any further made it easier for Alastor to relax and enjoy their nearness for what it was. And there was no shortage of things to enjoy about it. He looked forward to discovering and further exploring each one in the days to come.

[flowerspecial]

Grocery Shopping with Changkyun

Wow we all love a domestic boyfriend, it can make anyone go soft. Domestic Changkyun is next level soft. I feel like Changkyun would love doing all domestic types of things with his significant other. His favourite thing to do with you would without a doubt be grocery shopping with you. It’s Saturday morning and you'd collect all of your reusable bags (save the turtles people) and head out to the local supermarket. When you arrive at the supermarket Changkyun would insist on pushing the trolley, wanting to be the epitome of cute soft boyfriend. For the most part, Changkyun would be quite well restricted. His body is his image so he knows that he needs to fuel himself with the best food available. However, we all know that Changkyun can be a big baby so he wants some treats. You'd try your best to not let him put the chocolate and cake in the trolley, but as you walk off to go and find some food for yourself, you didn’t notice Changkyun hide the sweets under the pasta. Changkyun felt like it would be a nice surprise at the checkout. Also you and Changkyun are still young, so you know you are both messing around as you wander around. You'd be making stupid little puns out of the names of brands, and you'd definitely do that thing where you jump on the trolley and ride it. Of course though Changkyun is a romantic, so he will buy a couple of bouquets of flowers for you. When it comes to the checkout, you'd have a little contest with each other to see how quick you can pack your stuff. Changkyun would even nudge you with his hip to try and throw you off. The cashier person would find you both parts endearing and annoying. Changkyun would insist on paying for the shopping, but this is the 21st century, so you'd insist on at least going half on it. Grocery shopping would truly be one of Changkyun’s favourite things to do with you, he'd love playing house. It reminds him that he one day wants to play house for real with you. It reminds him that he wants to spend the rest of his life with you.

[alitheamateur]

The Grind- Chapter 26

“You sure about this place, babe? How come you don’t just wanna grab some coffee from The Grind and go back to crash on the couch at home?” I asked as Colton pulled open my passenger side door to walk hand-in-hand with me down the sidewalk.

Luckily, I cautioned Tia’s persistent advice at dinner last night, and limited myself to only three glasses of wine, and one measly shot of Patron. So, Colton’s 7 a.m. feisty bite to the exposed skin of my cheek under the sheet as my wake-up call, wasn’t ruined with a blistering hangover. He was adamant about taking me to some diner he’d heard about from one of the guys at the bike shop to try their German potato pancakes that he was just so certain I’d love, and I was a sucker for a languid, sweatpants breakfast date every now and then. 

“It’ll be fine, Livvy. Let’s enjoy some good grub, then I promise we’ll squeeze in a nap before we head to the gym later. Deal?”

He kissed the fingers that were interlocked with his own, then smiled mischievously as we slipped inside, escaping the rustling winds of the morning. We didn’t stop at the ‘wait to be seated sign’, instead Colt scanned the room, peeping over the full booths and tables around the room.

“C’mon, I see an empty table over here, babe.” he pointed, tugging me not so gently to the left of the hostess stand.

“Colton, we have to wai-,” I started to argue with his bullish, bizarre behavior, but before I could state my objections, reality slapped me across the face.

Seated with their backs to us, both sipping on a black cup of the house blend, were two Indiana natives, very far from home. Mom turned around to investigate the bustling approach over her shoulder, and stood to push herself from the seat with an unsure smile.

“Wh-..how did you guys get here? What’s going on?” I babbled wrapping a halfhearted, confused embrace around her neck, searching for an explanation from someone in the party of 3.

“It was all sweet, Colton, Liv honey. He arranged the whole thing. He insisted we come.” mom confessed, admiring Colton with a look of appreciation.

“I wanted ‘em here to see you fight, baby. And to see the house and everythin’. They got here yesterday afternoon, and I got them all set up at Westin, and ate dinner with the both of ‘em last night to get familiar.”

The pieces started to connect then. Why Tia was so snarky with keeping me away from the bottle, why Colton was so incessant about dragging me out of the house before 9 a.m. this morning, and why there was a button-down dress shirt discarded into the hamper when I did laundry after a late return home last night. I internally tipped a hat to his successful undercover moonlighting, though.

“Kid wouldn’t take a dime from us, either. Paid for the tickets, a ride from the airport, and our room, too. Seems we owe this one, sweetheart.” I heard dad say as I took one of the empty seats across the table from he and mom.

Their visit may not have been on my terms, or my timing, but I did feel complete having them here. Although there was a suitcase of nerves that landed on that plane along with their arrival to Pittsburgh, it just felt, right. The four of us, together, all in one place had me swelling with a sense of gladness and completion, all courtesy of the mysterious man in blue seated to my right.

“I can’t believe you did all this, Ritter. I expect a play-by-play when we get home, ya’ big box of lies.” I leaned to kiss him sincerely.

“I’m pretty impressed with myself to tell the truth.”

The meal consisted of bacon all around, mom whining about the cold temperature, those potato cakes Colton was correct about me losing my mind over, and a general calm, steady flow of conversation. I was impressed at how normal, and interested Tony and Liz seemed to be the entire time. Dad never brought up a single utterance of basketball, and mom pounded me with questions about my match, and what it would be like. I felt a connection so genuine that had been minuscule for so many years, and I knew Colton played a tremendous role in the healing psychological wounds.

“You guys should come by the house and spend the afternoon with us. All my stuff is moved in, and it doesn’t look like a construction site anymore. Mom, we could swing by the food market to get what you need for gran’s jambalaya for dinner, too!”

My inner, overly-eager, rambunctious childlike manner took me over, and I instantly began bulleting out an itinerary of events. I’d have to take mom to meet Andrew, and she would die over the Americana at The Grind. And dad, maybe Colton and I could take him to the trolley museum and a PNC park tour in the next couple of days.

“Livvy, we’ve got to try and get to the gym for a few hours today. It’s down to crunch time, babe,” Colt reminded me with apologetic tone. “But, we can check them out their room, and settle ‘em in at the house first, okay?”

Of course, the gym. This week wouldn’t be one of family dinners and touristy adventures with the fight countdown fuse burning low. And now, I had even more work to do down at Temple Fitness with my parents in attendance. The weight of potentially letting Colton, Tia, and the rest of my corner down was sickening enough, now add the weight of Tony and Elizabeth and you’ve got one wound tight Liv. Perfectionism is a weakness not all can relate to, and of that they should be eternally thankful. I failed my Warrior teammates and the rest of my small-town not so many years ago, and that disappointment in itself nearly disconnected me entirely. I may have grown and evolved in many ways since relocating to the Pittsburgh, but the will to please my loved ones was a quality I would undoubtedly live with until my final breath.

“You do whatever needs to be done today, sweetheart. I know these next few days are crucial, so don’t mind us. We’ll take whatever time you can give us.” my mom pats my hand from across the table, and shot and thoughtful smirk.

“We’re just happy to be here, Livvy. You’ve got a good one there.” My dad’s opinion of the man I loved was never considered to be a worry I had, but in that moment, I couldn’t have been more prideful in how truly wonderful Colton had been to them, and to me for organizing this little surprise.

 After dragging my parents’ belongings up the front steps of our home, and leaving them the keys to my car in case they got the pangs to explore around a bit, Colton and myself dutifully reported for in for a session down to the gym. The last couple days I had been studying up on a submission move I really wanted to try out. The Omoplata essentially was a move to apply unbearable stress on the arm of your opponent, inevitably resulting in a tap out. Tia, nor Colton had introduced me to the technique, but it was one I had stumbled upon doing some research on my own one afternoon during some down time at the Pilot office. Having never actually seen it done in reality, I only had internet tutorials, and other martial arts circuit fights that had been posted online to educate myself.

Upon trucking into the somewhat crowded parking lot, and settling my duffle into a locker down the hall from the ring room, Tia had called to say something had soured in her stomach, and she wouldn’t be making it in to train with us today unless I wanted to mop up her throw-up. Naturally, I insisted she stay in and recover, leaving me in the hands of Colt.

“Grab the rope, let’s warm up for 10 minutes after you stretch, babe.” my handsome trainer instructed as he downed the settlings of a pre-workout drink at the bottom of his cup.

“Did you remember to tell dad about the construction on Liberty bridge in case they decide to venture out of the house?” My voice vibrated as I bounced with the whip-like jump rope.

“Yep, as we were walkin’ out the front door, Liv. Don’t worry, ‘ight? They’ll be fine. I gotta say though, I wasn’t expectin’ ya’ to be so thrilled about ‘em being here.”

I was fairly flabbergasted myself in that matter, but I had no explanation for my nervous excitement. I guess, maybe it was the common cliché of not knowing how much you in fact needed something, until you had it.

“Thank you, handsome. I really am glad you did all that. Although, I’m a little concerned with all the unsuspected sneaking around you were able to get away with.” I smirked, dropping the braided rope to adjust the tightness of my messy bun.

“It nearly got the best ‘a me lying to you like that, but it was for good reason, at least. Except, them being at the house every night for the next few days may turn out to be a little problem. Seein’ as their daughter can’t keep her greedy little hands off me & all…” he teased unnlacing his trainers to pull of his socks before we moved into the ring. He was knelt on one knee just a foot or two behind where I stood, then inched over in that crouched position to friskily bite the pert cheek of my backside, and grabbed a handful of the other.

I’d never get tired of those stout, mitt-like hands of his touching my body, and I let my head drop backward a bit to sigh into his touch. If by some unfortunate event, things between us happen to fall to pieces again, no man would ever live up to the bar set by the infamous Colton Ritter.  

“I can manage a little self-control, you animal. Let’s make a bet on who caves in first, shall we?” I said, stepping over the middle rope of the mat.

“You better be careful playin’ with fire girl. You may get burned.”

 We had bounced around, grappling and rolling for nearly an hour already, with just a couple rushed breaks for water, and I still hadn’t built up the courage to try the move I had been so eager to crack at. I welcomed the respect that Colton had to never half-ass me when we did train one-on-one, however always extremely careful to make sure I was never harmed in any way. His insights, and words of wisdom related to the cage were something I considered to be a matchless gift, and I loved him eternally for offering it up.

Just as I was about to weigh the Omoplata to be the impossible, especially considering my mock opponent at the current time, Colton let down a wall, and broke his own most crucial ‘golden rule’ of fighting. He attempted to tangle me, but instead, mistakenly gave me his back, awarding me the perfect moment to pounce. I pinched his shoulder between the bones of my knees, then swung one leg hurriedly over his head. Colton’s arm was trapped between the center of my limbs, essentially hooked around my left thigh as I crossed my ankles. I flattened his chest and face to the mat with speed I didn’t know I had, and swung my legs to the side, easing into a squat with his helpless arm still locked in. The stretching pressure of his muscle grew the higher I raised, and defeated, Colton yelped out with a tap.

Instantly releasing, I tumbled to my back, and laid to rest with exasperating breaths. Executing the technique on an individual with such a powerful strength, was equally as exhausting on the attacker as the victim, and I could feel my blood tingling, and rushing through my veins like the Colorado rapids.

“I sure as hell don’t fuckin’ remember teachin’ you that, 2-1,” my captor said still face planted onto the canvas, almost cackling. “But you pulled it off with damn near perfection. I’m impressed, baby!”

“That one is just a little something I picked up on my own. Coach…” I replied, mounting his back to massage his shirtless shoulders.

Colton flipped, doing a 180 to now laying on his back, with me still atop him with a sweaty, rosy face.

“Oh, so she thinks she can pin me now, huh? Don’t get too comfortable up there, Elliott. You know I don’t do bottom.”

TAGS: @torialeysha @eap1935 @littleluna98 @mollybegger-blog

[porkchop-ao3]

I’m always here for FC Rick. Maybe what he does with female reader when the band isn’t touring and they’re taking time off?

This was a nice request… Thank you :)

-

I stared down at Rick as he slept. Face down, snores muffled by the pillow, he was completely naked aside from the leather choker around his neck that seemed ever present. I let my eyes roll down the ridges in his spine as it curved nicely down to his cute little ass. I smiled fondly, weirdly endeared by the pale, round cheeks that were so innocently exposed to me. The temptation to put my hands on him was real, but the last thing I wanted to do was wake him up. He needed his sleep, the poor guy.

He’d just finished a tour, covering twelve planets over eight Galaxy’s, and I knew it would’ve been months since he’d had a real chance to rest. Between the shows, the wild parties, the practice sessions and full on days of exploring each planet with me, he barely managed to get three hours a night. It didn’t help that he was spoon fed drugs and alcohol the entire time he was on tour, and despite what the bags under his eyes said he insisted he was never too tired to give me a good rogering. At this point his body was completely spent. It always was after his tours. That was why it had become a sort of tradition that he booked a week, sometimes more, in the swankiest hotel he could find on whatever alien planet we were on. He’d spend the time sleeping, and when he’d had enough of that he’d spend the rest of the time recuperating. We’d lounge around the hotel all day; watching TV, indulging in room service, and having lots and lots of laid back make out sessions.

Nothing was forced or took effort, the two of us made sure of that. We rarely left the room, unless the hotel had a pool or a hot tub somewhere; then we made sure to take advantage of it. While he was on tour, Rick was almost constantly surrounded by people, whether it be his band mates, his fans, or the people running the establishments they played at, it was tough for him to get a moment to himself. Sometimes I even felt bad about him having to spend time with me, when I knew he could use just a few hours of solitude. Of course Rick had scoffed at this, telling me I was being ridiculous. It made me feel better for a while, but I still gave him his space on the first couple of days after his tour. I only woke him up every now and then to get some food into him, other than that, I left him to it, often exploring the nearby area on my own.

We were on day three of our ‘vacation’, and Rick had been sleeping for the past fourteen hours. It was midday, and I knew he’d be waking up soon enough feeling hungry, so I went ahead and ordered some room service. Being on an alien planet, none of the food was familiar, and it was usually hit or miss as to whether what you received was palatable or not. But Rick and I had found a few solid options over the past couple of days, so I ordered those and wrapped up in the deep red silk kimono that Rick had bought for me about three tours ago. It was about the closest thing I got to ‘dressed’ on these occasions, it was a sort of unspoken rule that being naked was comfortable and was the most appropriate state to be in when one was recuperating. Plus it made sex a lot more convenient, with none of those pesky clothes to get in the way.

The food came quickly, and I opened the door to receive it from the scaly red humanoid who delivered it. I thanked them in English, and it seemed they understood, before I closed the door and wheeled the fancy trolley over to the bed. Rick stirred, probably smelling his late breakfast arriving. The food was all sweet in nature, and I assumed it was all made with unfamiliar fruit, native to this planet. There was something close to pastry incorporated into some of the dishes, others were gelatinous, some cold, some hot. They were all desert-like, and very yummy.

“Hey.” I said softly, taking a seat on the bed next to Rick as he opened his eyes, blinking up at me. He rubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes, rolling onto his back.

“Mmm, food.” He mumbled, breathing in through his nose as he sat up. He leaned over to me, planting a kiss on the side of my head. “You’re an angel.” He told me, chuckling. He scooted to the edge of the bed and tucked into the food, munching away quietly for a while. I picked up one of the pastry items, since it looked too good to resist.

“Are you awake now?” I asked him. My question wasn’t literal, of course he was awake. But Rick knew what I was getting at.

“Y-yeah. I think I can grace you w-with my consciousness for a while.” He smirked. “That tour was a rough one, ho-how long have we been here for?” He asked, licking a blob of fruity goo from the corner of his mouth.

“This is the third day.” I told him. The days often blended together for him, since he slept for around eighty percent of the time.

“The th-third? Oh man. Sorry, y-you must’ve been bored shitless.” he said, and I laughed in response, shaking my head.

“I can have fun without you, you know.” I teased, polishing off the pastry and licking my fingers. He raised a brow at me and spun to face me, bringing one leg up onto the bed and hooking it behind me, scooting himself closer.

“Is-is that so?” He asked, and I nodded my head. “So what have you been doing?”

“I went for a walk around the city yesterday, looked in some of the shops. I didn’t buy anything; the clothes here are… very strange.” I snorted. The fashion on this planet was exactly how old sci-fi films interpreted futuristic fashion; everything was either metallic silver or transparent. “There’s a nice park down the road, it has a pond with all sorts of weird fish in it. I spoke to an alien there who knew English.”

“What did’ya talk about?” He asked with a mouthful of food.

“Mostly about earth. They don’t get many human visitors here, do they?” I said, and Rick shook his head, a laugh escaping him.

“Nowhere does. You and I are the only hu-humans with the ability to travel to different planets and di-dimensions.” He reminded me and I nodded my head, glancing over at the buffet.

“Oh yeah. I forget I’m dating the smartest human being in existence, sometimes.” I smirked. Rick hummed in approval, his chest puffing out slightly at the flattery. “So I’ve got you all to myself for the next few days, hmm?”

“If-if you want me.” He confirmed. I hooked two fingers in the ring on his choker, and urged him close to me. I pressed a kiss to his lips, he tasted sugary and sweet, and I ran my tongue over his bottom lip out of instinct. He chuckled and pulled away slightly, denying me access. “You’re gonna want me t-to brush my teeth. It’s been th-three days.” He told me, and I let him go, dropping down onto my back, sinking into the puffy cushions beneath me.

“Like I care. I’ve put my tongue in worse places.” I said, and he gave a deep laugh.

“True. B-but even I think my mouth tastes like shit.” He said, stuffing his face a little more before disappearing to the bathroom. I closed my eyes and waited, planting my hands behind my head as I relaxed into the impossible softness of the bed. I didn’t know what the hell these aliens used to stuff their mattresses, but humans were sleeping on goddamn rocks back at home.

I didn’t hear Rick return, but I felt his hands tug on the tie around my waist that was keeping my kimono together; he parted the silk, exposing my body to him. I hummed pleasantly as he pressed his face into my stomach, dragging his nose and his lips up my body, planting wet kisses on my skin. His thumbs rubbed circles on my hip bones, and he crawled up my body, kissing my nipples one by one before moving his attention up to my neck. I pushed my fingers into his hair, staring up at the ceiling as he showered me with affection. His tongue drew dainty patterns up to my ear, and he took a moment to suck on my earlobe. He then nibbled on the shell of my ear, before moving his lips to my face. I stared at his closed eyes as he dotted my face with kisses, before finally giving me what I needed and connecting our lips.

His kiss was slow and passionate, his lips moving with mine almost like a dance. If I had to pick a genre, it would be the tango. I trailed my hands up his back, tangling my fingers in his hair as he nipped at my lip, soothing me quickly after with a gentle sweep of his tongue. I coaxed his tongue into my mouth, continuing that dance in the warmth of our mouths. He moaned and wrapped his arm around my shoulders, rolling onto his back and pulling me on top of him. There was no urgency in our movements, no burning need to advance the situation, we simply enjoyed the kiss as it was.

Rick fiddled with the tie of my kimono, running his fingers down the strip of silk before holding onto my waist. It was my turn to explore his body with my mouth, and I broke the kiss to press my lips underneath his jaw, feeling the prickly brush of his stubble. I secretly loved it when he went a few days without shaving; a stubble really suited him. I grazed my teeth over his neck, hooking my fingers once again in the ring on his choker, giving little tugs. My lips followed the planes of his body down to his chest, and I let my hand continue the journey on down to his abdomen, feeling the subtle muscle tone there, and how it contracted when my touch stooped low. I straightened up, looking down at his eyes; they were glazed over with adoration, and it made my heart swell.

His hands moved to cup my breasts and he sat up to bury his face there, nipping and sucking on the soft flesh. I gave breathy moan, reaching my hand down to where his cock lay against his hip, half hard. I stroked him gently, hearing his breath become laboured as I worked him to his full length. Once he was there, I pushed him onto his back by his shoulders, adjusting my position so I could grind my pussy up and down his hard length. He pushed his hips up into me, exhaling with a hiss and a grunt. I played with my breasts above him, giving him a show as I coated his erection with my own lubrication. He reached out to thumb my clitoris, stroking it in quick circles.

I was a panting mess by the time he gripped my hips and rolled me off of him. He guided me to lay on my side, my back to him, and he brought a hand behind my knee, lifting it up so he could slide his cock between my legs. He entered me from behind, and quickly began rocking into me. I whimpered and leaned my head back against his shoulder, holding onto the sheets below me for support. He kissed my neck as he thrust into me, reaching his hand down to work my clit again.

His pace quickened, and so did my heart rate, I could do no more than gasp and pant and take it. Rick murmured unintelligibly into my ear, and I could only manage to pick up the occasional word. “Beautiful… so good, I’m gonna… I love… baby.”

His other hand snaked underneath me and could just about reach my breast, he pawed at me, squeezing and pinching my nipple, gently rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. The stimulation that simply surrounded me was becoming too much, and I could feel my end draw closer. Rick seemed to sense this, and fucked me harder, the bed rocking with the force of it, the rhythmic slapping of skin on skin sounding out across the otherwise quiet room. The two of us became more vocal, Rick’s heavy breaths and deep grunts were a constant, along with my breathy sighs and pathetic sounding little mewls.

“Cum for me. I know y-you’re close.” Rick whispered into my ear. “Mmm, I can feel it with how tight and wet you are. I’m gonna nut so fuckin’ hard. Are you ready baby?” He purred, and I shook violently, my muscles coiled as I teetered on the edge. “Unng, fuck, p-please…” he suddenly wailed, sounding desperately aroused, and those words finally pushed me off that edge.

“Fuck! Mmm, fu-” I gasped, squeezing my eyes shut as he fucked me through each intense wave of my orgasm. Rick laughed in delight behind me, but it was cut in half by a sharp intake of breath. I opened my eyes in time for him to pull out of me, rub his cock against my slit a few times before I had the pleasure of watching him shoot his load between my legs. It spurted across the mattress at an impressive distance, and he bit down on my shoulder to stop the slew of curses that usually poured from his mouth during orgasm, instead all I heard was a broken wail and heavy, shaky breaths. It sure was a beautiful thing to witness, and I moaned in appreciation.

With a pleased sigh, he rolled onto his back, pulling me with him so my head was laying on his chest and his arm was draped around my waist. I laid there being gently rocked by the heavy rise and fall of his chest, and placed my hand over his. Neither of us said a word, not feeling the need to fill the silence. Rick planted a kiss on the top of my head, and I knew right then that I’d found a keeper.

[niall-is-my-dream]

The Bucket List - Chapter Nineteen

Your shopping list was irrelevant now you were going to L.A. on Tuesday. You would only need a few groceries to last you the two days. At Niall's insistence he had accompanied you to the supermarket, even pushing the trolley. 

"Are you around for dinner the next few nights?" You asked. 

"Yes, if that's ok?" He asked.

"Of course, I'm just trying to decide what I need to buy." 

He came over to where you were standing and placed his arm around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulder for a second, before leaving a kiss across your bare skin.

"How about I cook tonight and you cook tomorrow?" He suggested seeing you deep in thought.

"Ok, that sounds good." 

You both added things to the trolley and then made your way to the check out, it was a busy Sunday morning and the place was packed. The checkout girl was only about 18 and you knew she recognised him straight away. He may have been wearing a cap to try and slightly disguise himself but his beautiful blue eyes and thick Irish accent gave him away straight away.

She fumbled a couple of times while trying to scan all your items and tried not to make eye contact with Niall who was packing the shopping. You reached for your purse to pay for the shopping, giving Niall a don't fucking dare try to pay look.  He smirked at you and placed the last of the bags in the trolley. You thanked the checkout girl and headed towards the exit.

"I like the way people swoon over you." You whispered. "Even more when I think about how I was the one with your cock in my mouth an hour ago."

"Jesus Annie." He whispered back. "Going to get fucking hard again just thinking about it."

You smirked as you unlocked your car and you both put the bags in the boot.

You got in the drivers seat while Niall went and put the trolley back. He kissed you full on and hard as soon as the door closed.

"Fucking love it when you talk dirty to me." He moaned. 

"I know you do." You moaned back.

"Hey shall we go to the pub this afternoon and see your Mam and Pops?" He asked as you headed home.

"Yeah I need to, might not get another chance before Tuesday night. Text Willie and see if him and katie can come to."

Willie and Katie didn't turn down an offer of an afternoon in the pub garden that afternoon and said they'd meet you there as they were at Katie's parents for lunch.

You'd gone back to yours and unpacked the shopping, Niall had got some more washing in the machine while you smiled as you transferred the wet load to the clothes airer and placed it on the balcony to dry. Something very satisfying about seeing your clothes together like that, even if it had initially freaked out Niall. You ate a quick lunch before heading to the pub. 

You walked in the pub and spotted your Pops behind the bar pulling a pint.

"Hey Pops!" You said as he finished serving the customer. You went behind the bar giving him a massive hug as he kissed the top of your head. 

"Baby girl, you have a good trip?" He reached out to shake Niall's hand as he stood by the edge of the bar. 

"Was great thanks Pops, where's Mam?"

"Out the back collecting glasses." He replied. "Niall son, was she well behaved or a pain in the backside?!" He laughed.

"She was ok, think I'll keep her!" He laughed back.

"Hey you cheeky Shit!" You said hitting his arm.

"Language Annie." Your Pops said. "You've a mouth like your mothers!"

"Pops I'm 29, I can say Shit!" You laughed.

"Not 29 for long." he replied. "Your Mam is already talking about what you might want for your birthday."

"Its like a month away! She's not planning a party or anything is she?" You asked, a worried look on your face.

"God no! She knows you'd hate that. Just wanted to get you something special for your 30th!"

"Oh god 30, I'm so fucking old!" You said frowning.

"Ha! Don't worry love I'm old to!" He laughed and he turned to pull you both a couple of pints of Guinness.

"Right, lets sit outside." You said. "Pops, Katie and Willie are coming down in a bit will you tell them we are out back please?"

"Of course baby girl"

You made your way out into the beer garden and found yourself a free table, it wasn't as busy as you thought it would be. You saw your Mam over the other side chatting to some customers. 

"I'm not ok with turning 30 this year." You said as you sat down. 

"Ha! Really? I quite like being a toy boy!" He whispered squeezing your thigh.

"Ni! I cannot believe you just said that you cheeky fucker!"

Just then your Mam appeared and Niall released your thigh, placing his hands on the table. 

"Hey sweetheart." She said as she leaned in to kiss you and then Niall. "Why is this beautiful boy a cheeky fucker then?"

"Just taking the piss out of my age!"

"Ha! Oh yes! The big 3-0! How old are you Niall?"

"I'm turning 24 five days after Annie's 30th birthday." 

"Ooohhh younger man!" she laughed, Niall joined in. "Right I'll leave you both to it. We need to catch up this week and you can tell me about your trip."

"Mam, Niall has asked me to go to L.A. with him on Tuesday for ten days. So can we catch up after? Also do you think Pop's will mind if i miss golf?"

"Of course not sweetheart. You got interviews to do?" She said turning to Niall.

"Yeah, just a few things to finish up and then my tour starts end of the month."

"That's so good Niall, I'm so pleased for you. Just don't take my baby girl away too much." She said squeezing his shoulder. 

"I won't." He replied smiling.

"Good!" She said smiling "Right best get on, your Pops will be wondering where I am! Be sure to say goodbye before you go young lady!"

"Of course Mam."

"So where are you for your birthday this year?" You asked taking a sip of your pint.

"Japan." He said waiting for your reaction. "Was thinking about seeing if you wanted to come with me actually?"

"To Japan?" You said raising your eyebrows.

"Well Australia and then Japan. We are going on the 5th september, be back the 16th. I mean if you want to spend your birthday here, I don't mind."

"I'd like to be with you for our birthdays, but only if it's ok, I know you're busy on tour."

"Well I'm planning on doing some sightseeing whilst I'm away and I'd love for you to be with me." He whispered to you, taking your hands in his.

"I'd love to." You whispered back running your thumbs over his knuckles.

He leaned in and kissed softly on the lips. "Love you Annie."

"Love you to."

"Ahem! We interrupting you two?" Katie said.

"Ha! No sit down!" Niall said laughing.

"How was your trip?" Willie asked.

"Great thanks, Niall actually sat still for some of it!" 

"Really??!!! You actually relaxed?" Willie laughed.

"I'm not that bad!" 

"So, Katie and I wanted to talk to you both about something." Willie said.

"Oh what's that then!" Niall said smirking as if he knew what they were going to say. Then Katie raised her left hand and there sat a beautiful ring on her finger.

"Oh my fucking God! Is that what i think it is??!!!" You almost screamed out, everyone in the pub garden looking at you.

"It is!" Katie replied. You jumped up out your seat and embraced them both. 

"Oh my God! That's so exciting! Did you know about this Niall?!" You said asked looking at him.

"Maybe!"

"Can't believe you kept it to yourself!" You replied. 

"Well I've been sworn to secrecy for the last month!"

You sat yourself back down still holding Kate's hand admiring her ring. "Oh guys I'm so excited for you." You said.

You remembered back to your conversation with Katie just over a week ago while you had been away where she had spoken about hoping to ask Willie to move in with her and how she thought he would say he wasn't ready and yet he'd been planning this.

"Tell me everything about the proposal!" You asked as you let go of her hand, you were so giddy with excitement you nearly fell off your chair. 

Katie launched into her story about how they'd gone for a picnic in the park yesterday and he'd hidden the ring in its box amongst the food and she'd found it while she'd unpacked. He by then was on one knee asking her to marry him.

"How romantic, didn't know you had it in you?!" You said smiling at Willie.

"I had help picking the ring and planning the proposal thankfully." He replied gesturing to Niall.

"Well, it sounds like it was perfect. I'm so happy for you both. I'm going to get some bubbly to celebrate." You said as you jumped up from your seat and raced inside.

Chapter Twenty

https://niall-is-my-dream.tumblr.com/post/168821484118/the-bucket-list-chapter-twenty

[inkdrinkershadowsinger]

Thoughts/Background on Sorcerer’s Stone

Just Some Thoughts on movie one. Please, let me know your thoughts. Suggestions on how better to spend my time will also be appreciated....lol 

Ready. Here we go. 

Pivet Drive. Do you think that owl there was sent by Dumbledore to tell Professor McGonagall that he was on his way? Or is it just an ordinary, non-magical owl? Do they have owls in England? Is that a stupid question?

Another owl? And the singular street lamp a la Narnia.

Dumbledore looks so unnatural here. They are literally in what is one of the most ordinary places detailed in the books, and we know the importance of dressing for Muggles, but he doesn’t here. Maybe because this is the eve of Halloween? They just know that they will get away with wearing whatever here. Or are they disillusioned somehow?

Cookie cutter house. Cookie cutter lawn. Cookie cutter cars.

The deluminator makes it first appearance in the series. We won’t see it again until book seven. Rowling truly is a genius at this.

One light is left on behind Dumbledore’s head. So, the deluminator in the seventh book obviously leads Ron back to Harry and Hermione. Maybe the deluminator does more than take and give back light. Maybe the deluminator truly does act as a light guiding it’s owner to the place where it most needs to go. Ron really needed to get back to his friends, and that night, Dumbledore needed to be directed to where Harry, in canon, would be the safest. And with the blood wards, that was with Petunia at number 4.

It seems like Professor McGonagall is a bit of a gossip here. I bet she gives all the lowdown on everything to Sprout, Flitwick, and Poppy.

Sirius’ bike!!!! That is a sick bike!

Hagrid is the only person among the three who look appropriately soft here regarding Harry.

Harry is in a blanket that looks hand woven. Who do we think did that?

Just right on the doorstep? Not even a basket? Dang!

Okay, so the same handwriting that is on the envelope laid on Harry is the same script that is used for the Hogwarts letters. So, we can theorize that the headmaster addresses all the envelopes. So then, Dumbledore really did know about Harry’s treatment and where he slept each night?

Petunia here unlatches a latch on Harry’s cupboard door.

It looks like there are several cans of paint beside Harry here. It’s cramped. At least he has a blanket and pillow. He has a light which is good, and that looks like a glass of water behind him.

Dudley is such a little fucker. That carpeting is also soooo nineties.

He calls him cousin here which I can’t decide if that is him being patronizing, you know, with the subsequent pushing and shoving. Or if Dudley really is just too young to truly realize how Harry is being treated here. He knows that it is fun and funny to mess with Harry, but does he truly realize the scope of his actions? We do see some redemption in seven though which does show some redemption.

I also love the headcanon that Dudley eventually had a witch for a daughter.

I wonder how many breakfasts young Harry has burned either accidentally or because Vernon was running late for work and he wanted to spite him. Though young Harry admittedly doesn’t seem to be evil, I bet he could have a naughty streak.

Look at all those huge, gaudy wrapped presents. Still, Dudley in front of a literal collage and shrine to Dudley has a bitch fit.

Harry is over this shit.

Why is Vernon threatening Harry here? What all has Harry done to this point to all of them that he is being threatened like this? I remember the bits of accidental magic mentioned in the book, but this seems a little extreme to me. I need a fanfiction where Harry knew about magic all along, and just insisted on messing with the Dursleys the whole time. Grey!Harry would be acceptable. Dark!Harry preferred.

I saw on Buzzfeed I think, that someone pointed out that the school group leaving the Reptile part of the zoo are wearing all green. Green like Slytherins who are leaving the reptile house when their house is literally represented by a snake. Nice tidbit, if that was intentional.

“Make it move!” is a good line here. Dudley trying to force a creature to go against its nature when they are trying to get Harry to turn against his own nature.

Petunia like nicks Dudley on the chin here, like, “Oh, my darling baby.”

Harry’s monologue here about lying there day after day while people press their faces in on you echoes his life in the cupboard, and that really infuriates me in a way that watching and hearing this the first time didn’t.

Harry is so polite, and since the Dursley’s don’t speak to him, and probably don’t stress the the differences between reality and fiction, that Harry is like legit okay with a snake just randomly seeming to understand him. When kids are young they have trouble with differentiating fact and fiction especially when it comes to things on tv and in media. We know that Harry had a hard knock life, but in that cupboard all he had was his imagination to really entertain himself. I think that imagination is what allowed him to be so okay with finding out about magic the way that he did.

That is a big flipping snake.

Petunia is freaked out. Vernon is automatically suspicious. I’m telling you Harry has pulled some stuff back in the day.

This scene of Petunia ushering a almost cataonic Dudley into the hosue echoes the one in the fifth film when she is ushering him out after the dementor attack.

Petunia is cooking here.

They have got that wicker furniture in the back yard. Like every other house in the nineties.

Three birds. Three letters.

Harry has toys that are knights. Which later in the film they play chess where Ron makes the big move on a knight.

The rest of the family always looks so pristine and put together while Harry is wearing the same clothes that they went to the zoo in.

The anguish here on the Dursley’s faces is just insane to me.

Dark and stormy island near a dark and stormy island???

Hagrid literally wasn’t going to wait a minute longer to get to Harry. He literally got to him when the clock turned 12:00 on the date of his birth. Someone had to have been watching Harry because why else would Hagrid have been there right on the dot?

And Hagrid is super angry here with the Dursleys. Maybe he tried to watch the family weeks prior to this, but then noticed that something wasn’t quite right. They, at Hogwarts, must have known that Harry wasn’t being treated right, and that the Dursley’s were reluctant to let him go. That’s why Hagrid was able to track him down, and take him right away.

Hagrid knows what’s up. I’m telling you.

They have got to have reports of accidental magic as well, right? I need details on this Rowling, details.

He’s had his name down since he was born? Because of the prophecy? What if Harry had been a squib? Fanfiction writers, I will also be needing this story. Harry is still the chosen one, but is a squib.

In the sixth movie, Harry mentions that he never side along apparated before. How did Hagrid get him off the island? A boat? It couldn’t have been a portkey with Harry’s complete confusion when dealing with one in GOF. Was it the motorcycle again? Or a broom? Maybe Harry got an advanced flying lesson? Or advanced experience with riding on a broom? That would make the flying lesson and his ease with a broom make more sense. Am I reading too much into this? Yes, yes I am.

The cauldron on the sign becomes clear as they get closer. I never noticed that before.

Everyone in this movie looks like they are from the eighteenth century.

Quirrel won’t touch Harry because of the blood protection from Lily.

The literal entrance to Diagon Alley is tapping around clearly missing bricks in a circle? Can we not have more intensive security measures installed please.

We see Madam Malkins, and the emporium.

That witch in the background of the broom shop is stylin’.

For a building as secure as Gringotts, that construction is wonky.

Are goblins considered beasts or beings? I know that one classififed being refused status, but I can’t remember if it was the goblins or not, not wanting to be recognized by the Ministry.

These vaults are sick looking. They are underground, completely secure. You have to ride a track to get to them. The vaults are secured with a key, but that seems to be the least measure of security.

Stalagmites are hanging from the ceiling. I suppose that it is meant to look ancient and earthy.

Diagon Alley does really look cramped in close together.

Ollivanders looks very tidy. I bet Ollivander rides that ladder around all day.

I wonder at Ollivander’s cataloguing system. He seems to be one of those people who live in a mess, but who know where everything is in said mess.

Why is it so dark in the Leaky? Get some lights, Tom.

Hagrid can literally take him all the way to King’s Cross, but can’t take the practically Muggle born to the actual barrier?

Then Hagrid vanishes? It’s a wonder Harry doesn’t think that he is having a mental breakdown right now.

This director really must love red headed actors. The mother and the baby, and then the Weasley’s right after.

I always thought that a magical train would look a little more magical on the inside, but those views are pretty spectacular.

They have literally bought like fifty bucks of candy. I wonder how overpriced that trolley candy really is???

Ron, can’t you be happy for your friend. So, at any point in time your collection of cards can just be empty places where wizards are supposed to be because they are just wandering around from card to card? Seems like a rip off, give me the candy any day and be done with it.

Holy Cricket!!!! Lol I love Hermione. She’s such a nerd.

Ron has yellow and red gummys sticking out of his mouth. Gryffindor all the way.

The people holding the doors must be prefects.

The arriving by boat is so iconic. The first view of the castle is beautiful. Rowling was a classics major right? In Greek mythology, you take a ride with the ferryman to get to the underworld. This feels so reminiscent of this because really, they are sacrificing one life for another.

Y’all see that one kid jumping up the stairs? Who is that? Seamus?

How on Earth did Trevor get there? I mean, for real? Be glad McGonagall didn’t squish you.

Look at that maliciousness in Tom Felton’s baby eyes.

I love Mrs. Norris.

Watch what you say Ronald.

I wonder if the sorting hat feels pressure to place kids where they need to go? It had to have some sort of consciousness right? Does it keep Dumbledore up at night thinking, man I really should have put that Susan Bones in Ravenclaw, but she did seem to be more comfortable with the puffs, and I think she is getting on. Or that Lebold boy might not be getting teased as much as if I put him in Gryffindor. It’s all my fault.

What are the animals that are holding up the fire along the wall? Phoenixes? Does that change with the headmaster as well? Does all of Hogwarts get a redo when they change headmasters? Like they change the currency in England with the new monarch? Though, maybe they aren’t phoenixes. They kind of look like winged werewolves or something like that.

Wasn’t the bloody baron all morose and depressed? Not a laughing pirate?

Hogwarts looks absolutely bloody giant? Like if you aren’t in shape after a few weeks you just aren’t going to class plain and simple. That explains all that extravagant food.

The Gryffindor common room seems huge sometimes, and in others it seems quite small, but it is stunning, and I want to go there so badly.

All of the boys here have their clothes laid out for the following day. Who did that? The house elves? I like to think that maybe Dean or Harry started it, and the rest of the boys took notice, and was like yeah, that might be a good idea….lol

Do you all see Radcliffe’s feet here? They are huge. He’s supposed to be eleven?!

McGonagall ain’t taking no shit.

Snape is one of those teachers who are a total hard ass in class because they think that works best for classroom management, and he definitely, wrongly, makes an example out of someone immediately to let the other kids know that he will not be taken for fool.

I like the potions room in the later movies. This one is really light, and airy, but I like the dark, sort of cluttered room in the later films.

There is a cauldron heating in the back of the room.

At least, they are eating healthy at the Gryffindor table. Look at that fruit.

I love that all the kids are so used to this. But you are telling me that there isn’t at least one Muggleborn huddling in fear as things are legitimately falling from the sky? Unrealistic.

Madam Hooch is hot. Look at those eyes.

I love the castle that they used for this. I’ve heard that they filmed on location at a real castle in Britian.

Neville looks so nervous. It is a testament to how Augusta sort of sheltered him in the books that he didn’t get the obvious training in all things magical that Draco and some others had even though he, too, is a pureblood.

Okay, so, not once did Hooch think to cast a spell on Neville to keep him from falling to his death. I mean, what the fuck? Poor Neville.

Draco “knew” that Harry probably wouldn’t be able to challenge him at that height. That’s why he does it.

McGonagall’s office looks very delicate for such a badass.

Harry is amazed at his own talent.

McGonagall is debating seriously about whether she is impressed or infuriated. She makes her mind up quickly though, you can see it in her eyes.

McGonagall walks like an Aries. Like she’s got some place to be right then.

Why is he holding a lizard and talking about vampires? Is there a connection that I have missed here?

Hermione is trying hard to get in on this study group. She sits on the outskirts of the group though, and the others don’t acknowledge her leaving. Hmmm…..

It always sounds like she says, “You will make a fool of yourself.” Like dang, Hermione, that’s cold.

James Potter was a chaser not a seeker. That is my headcanon. Details are important people.

I wonder where all of the portraits in Hogwarts came from. It couldn’t have merely been old Headmaster’s. Are they all sentient? Were they all based off of real people or are some of them creations from someone’s consciousness? And who paints these amazing portraits anyway? And who charms them?

I know that the third floor corridor or whatever is forbidden this year, but that is far more dust and webbing then could have accumulated in a year. Unless, all of those spiders in Chamber of Secrets decided to camp out in this one section for maximum creep.

Mrs. Norris has powers. Fight me.

So the flames here are motion activated? And yet, no one can spell them to tell a professor or someone if someone has been where they aren’t supposed to be?

And that door was protected by alohomora? Wards, anyone? No. Okay.

And three eleven year old children fought back a giant three headed dog?

And on that note, it took them encountering a troll together not just the three headed dog for these three to become friends?

Wood is Hogwart’s Hottie every year. I think this is a universally acknowledged fact.

You are a keeper, Wood. Damn straight.

Love Wood. Can I just rewrite that over and over again until this scene is over.

Of course not, because the snitch is hidden in a little Hogwart’s emblazoned secret cubbie.

I’m so glad that Flitwick decided to change up that hair. He had a glow up for sure in the next few films.

Behind Ron and Hermione, Dean looks about ready to give up. “I knew this was all fake.” He looks DONE!

Poor Seamus.

Flitwick intentionally leaves Seamus’ face because Seamus set approximately three more fires that class, and he was frankly, to busy trying to clear the smoke out of the room.

I love that Neville is a little gossip in this movie. Ronald told me to tell you that……

No one is looking at Quirrel with any level of seriousness here.

Tom Felton’s scared face!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

See, this scene would have played out quite differently had they not been Gryffindor’s. Gryffindor’s run head first into trouble all the time. Would a Hufflepuff had shoved their wand up a troll’s nose? A Ravenclaw? No.

They have skylights in the bathroom. Hogwart’s bathrooms are more finely decorated than my house.

Snape barely deems Harry with a look.

Quirrel is bipolar.

Snape is so weird. That was less sneering and more mortifying.

Look at those Seeker refluxes.

Harry says he never gets mail. Make me sob, why don’t you.

Wood is in love.

Lovely reminiscing here about blacking out and coma. No one gives pep talks like Oliver Wood.

I love the colors of the pitch. I love that they are protected from the wind or sun from above.

Hooch’s referee robes are white and black striped. I never noticed that before.

Why is Filch in the middle of the Gryffindors? Is he supervising them? Is that the house that he thought he would go into is he had gotten his letter? We never really learned a lot about Filch’s history, but I think it would really be interesting to learn about him. Filch was just seen with the Gryffindors and then he was seen again with the Slytherins. Editing mistake.

Hermione, also, shows her Gryffindor here by immediately lighting her problem on fire.

Snape is missing from this shot. They got their equilibrium back quickly, like random fires just erupt at the teacher’s booth all the time during Quidditch.

Hermione is like, “Did I do it or not?”

Draco is demoralized.

Snape is back in scene.

Whatever Hermione says, Hagrid. She speaks for us now.

Hermione is heartbroken that she cannot fulfil her new role.

Beautiful shot of Hagrid in the snow. I love that Hogwart’s goes all out for Christmas.

Does those pieces just reassemble when they get put back in the box? Do they get a recuperation period?

Hermione is a shit starter.

Harry doesn’t have that kid thing where they are up at like four a.m. on Christmas because he is so used to not getting anything.

The incredulity in Harry’s voice when he says, “I’ve got presents?” kills me.

Behind Harry as he tries the cloak on for the first time is a stag on the tapestry.

When exactly is one able to enter the restricted section? Fourth year or above? What are the rules?

That book scared me. A man in a book, prepping for introduction to movie two? Maybe

When does Filch sleep? Why is he on guard?

So, if Snape doesn’t know exactly who Quirrell is then he knows that something is fishy about him. Does he think that he is trying to hurt Harry or does he think that he is after the stone for malignant reasons?

Again, what is with the security in this school?

Harry’s heart is so pure.

Harry, in the mirror, is smiling when real Harry isn’t. I’ve never noticed that, and that would be one thing that Harry would desire. He would want to not only be with his mum and dad, but he would want to believe that he would be happy with them.

“Most desperate desires of our hearts.”

Dumbledore really had to hide that thing because he probably really wanted to hide it from himself. Maybe he saw himself in Harry.

The guy at the table with the crew is not having a good day.

Ron is like, “Stop shaming me, woman. I’m more of a physical being.”

Hagrid was cooking or preparing for a dragon’s birth, hence the apron.

Hermione is dwarfed by that chair.

McGonagall was just grading papers, taking some tea, and bam! She has to deal with trouble makers.

Draco is like, “That did not work out like I thought it was going to.”

My headcanon is that Filch loves to wind the newbies up. It is probably the only line of defense that he has against those magical pricks. Like, a nefarious Santa Claus.

I love the idea of Hagrid just telling everyone that he misses Norbert even Filch. When one person leaves the Staff Room, Hagrid launches onto someone else. Poor Flitwick has it the worse. Filch is a surprisingly good listener because he could imagine what it would be like if someone took Mrs. Norris away. But enough is enough me.

The upper Slytherin years take pleasure in telling the firsties all sorts of tales about what is in the forest.

What is adult supervision in this world?

This looks like the same clearing that is used in the seventh movie when Harry walks to his death.

Quirrell picks the day outfits, Voldemort picks the night ones.

Firenze!! I know there wasn’t a lot of time in the movies to introduce the creature element, but it would have been cool to see him again later on in the movies like he was in the books.

The fireplace here looks open, like you can see it from both sides, which is a departure from movie four.

Hermione, Harry knows zero of the answers to any of the questions that you may or may not pose. Please, understand this.

Everyone in this movie looks young. It is like there are very few upper years that have been shown. The majority of people are the same age as the main cast, but in the later movies there are characters, even background characters that look a bit older. Maybe this was a directorial choice.

Hagrid is playing the theme song.

Hagrid’s hut is also in a different location for this first movie. I love the location that they chose for the third film for Hagrid’s hut. Sheltered and a little wild, close to the forest.

“Lie to me again, Granger.”

No wonder Snape doesn’t like Harry. He’s probably like, “Why is this mother f-ing kid staring at me like that all the time?”

The frog is not going to listen to you, Ronald!

I love that Neville and Trevor are just chilling there in the middle of the night in the common room.

Their textbooks rhyme? Education at its finest. Everything in every textbook ever should rhyme.

Everything is high in this room, even after they have fallen through a trap door, and then further down after the first trap. And when they are in the key room, moonlight is filtering in.

The doors are shutting behind the trio, locking them in. The whole thing here might have featured as one elaborate trap. Okay, so you managed to get through all of the trials, but good luck getting back out sort of thing.

They are literal chess pieces here, and in a lot of fanfiction they realize that they are check pieces in Dumbledore’s or Voldemort’s plans. They are the players, in the end, that change everything.

Harry shows a lot of logic here. While Hermione, in that Gryffindor spirit of loyalty, wants to rush right to Ron’s side, but Harry shows surprising restraint here.

They appreciate each other’s strengths, and that is friendship my friends.

The room looks like a sacrificial chamber. Why does this chamber exist? What was the original purpose of it? Was it created merely for the purpose of hiding the mirror and the stone? Or was it there when the founder’s build Hogwarts? And if so, why?

Quirrell’s voice is so changed here. It freaks me out.

If Quirrell knew that Snape was trying to save Harry why then is Voldemort so eager to welcome him back into the fold? What excuse did Snape give for that?

The stone representing life for Voldemort and for Quirrell, maybe freedom from Voldemort or perhaps the praise of his master?

Just how dependent is Voldemort on Quirrell, and vice versa?

The crumpling of Quirrell’s body has always disturbed me.

Harry has some Get Well cards on his bedside table. Some candy. That wrapper there looks like the Marauder’s Map.

This hospital is beautiful with the open windows that let the light in, but then in Half Blood Prince it is foreboding in the same way that it is pleasant and calming now.

The moving portrait on the wall features a nurse. Pompfrey has all the second opinions that she needs.

They also sell the Bertie Botts at Walmart now near the check out. I tasted one that literally tasted like how trash smells so, I don’t know that I would recommend them.

All right? In Britian slang means, “How are you?” Like people walk down the street, and how in America you say, “How are you?” They say, “All right?” Interesting tidbit.

These hats should have made a comeback, that’s all I’m saying. Formal occasion wizarding hats.

They look so cheerful over at the Slytherin table. I almost can’t stand the looks on their little sad faces at the end of this movie.

Snape is like, “Now, what the fuck?”

Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle never got over this shit, I’m telling you.

And literally, no one really knows what happened to the three of them, for all they know Dumbledore is literally making this shit up. Furthermore, if everyone did know what happened, and they told their parents, how did attendance not drop dramatically the following year?

How much math did Jo Rowling have to run for this to be legit?

It looks like everyone throws their hat for Gryffindor, but dang, y’all lost too.

Slytherin knows what’s up.

Harry gives Hagrid a hug. I love their relationship. I wish that it had developed a little more, and that they were solidly like tight friends or mentor/mentee relationship.

Lily and James……. I cry because I love them.

“I’m not going home, not really.” Hogwarts is Harry’s home, and honestly, same.

The students are hanging out the window of the train here, too, because some of them must feel the same way about their homes as they do about Hogwarts.

[ebookwriterblog-blog]

Relationships: Negotiation and Talking!

Episode 37: Perhaps the alert reader may consider the subject of ‘talking’ to be rather limited and possibly make a better fit as part of a section involving ‘communication’ rather than ‘negotiation’. The subject could also be considered substantially different to that of ‘conversation’ as described earlier. However, the surprise comes when a few weeks into a relationship the all-conquering male has moved in with his female, and then the matter of ‘talking negotiation’ comes into play.

For our Harry, the first time the subject will be raised, literally ‘out of the blue’, will be when Kylie’s Mum comes round and Harry walks through the door after a hard session at work. He will not only have spent the day calming badly served and irate customers, he will also have been worrying about how he is going to pay all the bills this month for the apartment, Kylies car (needing two new tyres), two mobile phone contracts and a dinner out at a very expensive restaurant, arranged by Kylie’s Mum for Kylie’s Dad’s birthday ... now ominously only five days away.

Kylie has been at home for the past week after losing her job at the local estate agents office due to a downturn in business. She will obviously be planning to find another, to ‘help with the bills’, but Kylies Mum reckons she should ‘have a rest’ for a short while ... and not ‘rush into anything’ just yet. The poor beleaguered Harry pushes his way through the front door and in the living room sits Kylie and her Mum with Neighbours on the TV and the sound turned down enough for them both to hold a loud and animated conversation. No one looks at Harry as he shuffles in and dumps his briefcase by the side of the sofa. The exchange goes something like this:

H: ‘Good evening Luv’

K: ‘Don’t dump your briefcase down there dear. I’ve told you before. You know how bad my Mums eyesight is without her glasses ... she could easily fall over it’

H: ‘Oh ... alright then, but anyway ... good evening dear’

(He bends down to kiss his Kylie on the cheek and she moves  her head away to make it as difficult as possible while still engaged in full, deep and meaningful conversation with her mother.)

K: ‘Can’t you see dear ... I’m talking to my Mum. Please don’t interrupt when I’m talking to my Mum!’

H: ‘I’m sorry Luv. So when do you think I will be able to talk to you? I’ve just come in from work and ...’

K: ‘I’ve told you dear ... when I’ve finished talking to my Mum ... we haven’t seen one another for ages Luv and there’s so much to catch up on’

H: ‘But darling, you saw your Mum yesterday ... and the day before and ...’

K: ‘Oh ... so we’re counting now are we?’

H: ‘No dear ... it’s not that, it’s just I’ve had a pretty rotten day and I thought I might be able to share some of it with you ... that’s all’

(A withering look passes his way from Kylies Mum. She nods her head at Kylie as some sort of secret sign to ... give it to him!)

K: ‘Well if you’re counting, we might as well find a time for you to talk to me and a time when I can talk to my Mum ... without being interrupted!’

(Kylie’s Mum nods her head and offers out a wry smile as confirmation and approval, not only of the words spoken but also the forthright and suitably sarcastic delivery. Harry is rather taken aback. Kylie has not spoken to him like this before.)

H: ‘Well, nobody told me when you moved in I would have to negotiate for any of your time dear. But, if you are so engaged with your mother right now, I’d better get off and make myself a cup of tea ... as it looks as if that’s the only way I’m going to get one tonight!’

K: ‘You are selfish you are! Do you know that? Selfish is what selfish does ... that’s what my Dad says ... and my Dad has lived a lot longer than you and knows a selfish act when he sees one!’

(An irate and slightly confused Harry shouts back from the kitchen)

H: ‘What the hell’s your damn Dad got to do with anything ... all I asked was for you to bloody well say hello when I walk through the damn door ...’

(Kylies Mum pat’s her daughters hand comfortingly as she tut, tut’s away quietly to herself in realisation that the ‘S’ word has been used ... and it’s only a few weeks into the live-in relationship.)

Kylies Mum: ‘Never mind dear ... I think I did tell you that all men are selfish, but with a bit of firmness, a certain degree of negotiation and the proper management of Sunday morning promises, you can soon knock them into shape’

Talking is of course an essential part of the harmonisation process required for two people, of any gender, to live successfully together. However, as far as the young male is concerned, sometimes the words being formed in the brain are not necessarily the words that eventually come out of the mouth when talking to a partner of the opposite sex. An active appendage will have a say in most matters and a particular say in any negotiations regarding Sunday morning recreational activities.

There are various ways to handle the process of ‘talking’. Some people have the knack of being able to confidently talk ‘to’ other people. Others, who are often less confident, talk ‘at’ people and a few simply talk ‘down’ to just about everybody.

To some, the act of talking can often be exhausting. This untreatable and sometimes debilitating condition is normally only found in males. Our Kylie, for example, will have an amazing natural ability to shake off any possible onset of talkaphobia. She will not retreat from any opportunity to show how little it actually affects her by regularly holding substantial practice marathons with other Kylies, female relations and a naturally attentive and well practised mother.

Talking for an hour or more, focused on one simple subject, such as the price of tights in Marks and Sparks compared to Liddles, is a breeze for someone trained by an active, correctly certificated Mum who once came second in the ‘Talk For England Olympics’ of 1952.

All examples of talking, as demonstrated by our Kylie, whether on the phone, on Skype or face to face outside Asda’s, have one thing in common, and for the sensitive and caring Harry, it is a giveaway. After about half an hour of non-stop talking on some nonsense subject matter or other, our Kylie will say ‘Well, I really must go now!’ ... and that’s a sign there is at least another hour to go yet. The patient, but time conscious Harry will take this as a sign to set his watch and go finish what they both came to do. He has possibly an hour or more to complete the shopping in comfort, without his choices being questioned, and can also stroll tantalisingly to the car with six bags in the trolley, passing Kylie ... who is still talking ... on the way through the car park. She will be torn between shouting at a confidently smiling Harry passing quickly by to advise him he has all the wrong brands ... and just carrying on talking. The talking wins every time and Harry will be able to claim a small victory in a shopping trip completed with minimal fuss and pressure and leaving time for a swift one down the Pub. He will obviously receive a substantial ear-banging when they both get home, ending with a seething Kylie ringing her Mum to tell her all about it ... and ask if she should take back the brands she doesn’t want? But savouring his small victory will keep a smile on Harry’s face and as soon as Kylie starts to talk to her Mum on the phone, Harry knows he will have enough time to slip off in the direction of the George and Dragon for a lunchtime session.

Accepting the fact that most people are talked ‘to, ‘at’ or ‘down to’, there is one more very important ‘talking’ style practiced more or less exclusively by women. This is the ‘talk over’ scenario, where wanting to get a particular point across, the determined female will insist on ‘talking over’ her conversational adversary and refuse to stop talking until she is ready ... no matter what the other person is trying to say. Our Kylie will be a confirmed practitioner of the ‘talking over’ or perhaps more aptly described ‘verbal bullying’ style of communication within the household, cruelly cutting off any chance of a differing viewpoint being heard. Here is an example with the point at which Kylie talks over Harry shown in italics.

K: ‘I’ve told you before ... the reason the electric bill is so high is the time you spend in the shower ... using all that hot water. It doesn’t grow on trees you know!’

H: ‘I think is more likely dear ... the ... err ... number of times the washing machine and dryer are on in a day that might have something to do with it’

K: ‘Don’t you even mention my washing machine. It’s you who creates all the dirty clothes in this house ... not me!’

H: But look dear, this kind of bill hitting the table every month is much more than we have budgeted for and ...’

K: ‘If you tell me we haven’t budgeted for electricity bills then whose fault is that? You’re the genius with a spreadsheet my love, in fact that’s how you earn a damn living ... so are you telling me you haven’t worked it all out properly?’

H: ‘Of course I’ve worked it out properly Luv, it’s just that this is such a big difference from before you moved in and ...’

K: ‘Well perhaps you need to check and see what the bill was before I moved in Luv, and then check and see what your clothes smelt like then. Perhaps if you didn’t spend so much time down the Pub dear, your brain might be working a lot better and the figures in your spreadsheet will be a bit more accurate!’

H: ‘It’s nothing to do with the Pub dear ... I only go there now and again ... when you let me ...’

K: ‘Nothing to do with the Pub? If I let you, you’d be there every bloody day and night. You are just selfish you are. Kylie at the hairdressers says she can recognise it in anyone after only a few minutes ... and when she first met you there were alarm bells ringing all over the damn place. Selfish ... that’s what you are and now you’re being selfish with the damned electricity. You wait ‘till I tell my Mum!’

H: ‘Yes dear’

Not much luck again there then!