#not italian myself but i live and breathe good pasta

[yakozy]

BACK IN EUROPE I HAVE RETURNED AAAAA

[put-me-through-the-wall]

Girl Next Door- Pt. 2

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x reader

Word count: 3k

Summary: Simon finally accept your offer for dinner. Did you mention you can cook?

A/N: I was a little slow on this but the idea of them getting close was stressing me out, okay? Also my MIL was in town and I couldn't get in the groove. All the support so far is amazing, thank you guys so much! If y'all like it there will be more to come. Warning: still slow burning

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Part I

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Simon sits across from you at your tiny dining table pressed against the wall of your cramped kitchen. You managed to lure him in with a fairly nice bottle of unopened scotch you found in the back of your cabinet that had potentially fallen into one of your own boxes when moving from your ex's house. 

He looks around your quaint little one bedroom apartment. It was a lot different than his own. The literal layout was the same. No extra rooms or walls but you’d done something different in here. The whole space had a cozy feeling to it. Every surface was decorated with useless gadgets and trinkets that he didn't understand the purpose of. Lots of blankets, pillows, soft things. You had music quietly playing through your TV speakers in the living room. A few lamps fill the dim room creating a subtle yellow glow that hits the high points of your face, softening your tired features.

"Do you think there's something wrong with me?" you suddenly blurt out.

"S'cuse me?" Simon asks, caught off guard by the question.

"Lately I've been feeling like there's something inside of me that attracts horrible guys. Like, is there a beacon coming out my head that says 'hey, come over here. I'm vulnerable and easy'."

Simon pauses, unsure how to respond. He watches your face closely. You're sad eyes looking to him for an answer he doesn't have. "I think you're...nice," but he has a feeling that's not what you wanted to hear.

"nice?" You let out a humorless laugh. "Maybe that's the problem. Nice must translate to doormat," You sigh and drop your head into your hands. 

Simon takes a sip of his drink. He's growing concerned this is entering too friendly territory. Then you pop your head back up.

"So, how much did you hear?"

"Not much"

"Yeah right," You toss him a coy smile. “Can I tell you what happened?”

“Sure,”

“Alright, so” you take a sip of your own drink and a deep breath before recounting your story. "I met him at work. He was really nice and offered to pick me up a coffee on his way in one day. I haven’t made any friends at work yet so it was nice just to chat over a coffee. Then we started having lunch together. Nothing serious just in the break room but it felt good to hear about something other than notes from my editor. I wasn’t looking for anything serious, I mean I moved here to focus on myself not continue dating more crappy guys. So of course he started texting me and he was really sweet. He complimented my outfits and thought all my jokes were hilarious apparently. I really wasn’t trying to get involved with this guy though. He said something about hearing I can cook and of course I said I do. It’s part of my job, duh. He’s giving my shit about it so I invited him over for dinner. I made this creamy potato gnocchi with Italian sausage that I got from that great butcher on the corner. I even hand rolled the gnocchi. I mean, who wouldn't kill for an authentic Italian meal?"

"He's sounds like some guy"

"Not really, I was testing out a new recipe for the column so, two birds one stone. Anyways, he comes up and we have some wine and listen to some music. It was going really well so far. Then I go to bring out a nice charcuterie board for an appetizer while the pasta finishes baking. While I'm bringing it to him I can see he's on his phone, texting someone and literally giggling. I walk up behind him and he is sexting. On my couch!" you throw you hands up incredulously. "Well, I thought he was. He’s looking at a picture of some girl bent over then I realize it’s me. He took a picture of my ass, while I was making him dinner. I couldn't fucking believe it. What kind of a scumbag does that to a woman preparing a fucking meal for him? Now, this is not something I'm proud of so let the record show this is very out of character for me but these were extraordinary circumstances. So, I dropped the fig chutney on his head. Right in his stupid quaffed hair. He jumps up and he's all mad and starts yelling and I'm yelling back. He calls me a crazy bitch then I call him a perv. After that he left." you conclude with a shrug.

"Wow" Simon responds, truly taken aback by the series of events. 

"Yeah, then you know the rest from there. I don't know what came over me. I guess after my last breakup I haven't felt very good about myself and this guy made me feel, I don't know- fun? That feels silly to say. I should’ve known better from a guy that works the celebrity gossip section. I probably looked like a big baby out there, how dramatic. I'm sorry about that, again."

"You don't need to apologize."

"After I moved here I thought things would be different. I thought guys in the city were classier I guess. Turns out all guys are the same. Just take what they want and go. Do you want another drink?" You point to his now empty glass. 

"Sure." You snag his cup and stand. He watches you walk over to the counter in your silky slip dress. The sleek fabric clings to your waist. Flaring around your hips and down your thighs. The warm light reflects on the shiny material, shifting with each step you take. It tightens perfectly about your waist and cinched with a neat little bow in the back. He wonders why you would wear a dress like that for this guy.

"So, do you date?" you question in a seemingly casual tone.

"No" 

"Yeah right," you laugh and look over your shoulder to see his stoney expression and your smile fades. "Oh, sorry, I just- I find that hard to believe."

"Why is that?" He tilts his head and you focus back on filling his glass. 

"It's just, you're a good looking guy. I would think you'd get plenty of female attention," You pivot back around and place the glass before him. You lean on the table with one hand and prop the other on your waist. 

"'M not interested," his gaze stays fixed on the brown liquid, grabbing it and taking another sip. He doesn't miss the way you deflated the slightest bit. 

"Maybe I should take a page out of your book, as in maybe swearing off men completely" The oven timer dings. "Oh! pasta!" You jump over and grab your oven mitts. You drop the oven door and slide out the sizzling dish. An aroma of cheese and basil fills the air. Your stomach audibly growls.

You pull down two plates from your cabinet. You serve up the steaming pasta, sprinkling parmesan and fresh chopped herbs for garnish. You proudly carry over the two dishes and place them carefully on the table. You place your hands on your hips while gazing down at the platter.

"This looks...great." Simon is truly taken aback by the incredible looking dish. 

"Wait, don't eat yet. Let me get a picture." You scamper into your living room, grabbing your phone off the coffee table and scurrying back. You hold your phone high above for a birds eye view. Simon scoots his chair back to avoid the gaze of the lens. The camera clicks with a flash. You examine the photo, seeming satisfied with the quality and finally taking a seat in your own chair. "It was okay if you were in the picture. I don't mind." 

"I do," he says simply. 

To anyone else, Simon comes off as rude or callous but you, you never seem to let his shortness affect you. You take his words and just keep going. You don't mind his lack of conversation. It seems you are totally satisfied with having someone there to listen. He was starting to think he didn't mind listening so much. 

"Oh," You shift uncomfortably in your chair. "Sorry then. Well, let me know what you think. Try to be detailed with your feelings about it if you can. You're my guinea pig and be honest. I don't want to put this out when it's garbage."

He proceeds to take a forkful in his mouth. He cannot control the groan that escapes his throat as the bold flavor hits his tongue. This is far cry from his usual take away food. He can't remember the last time he had a home cooked meal now that he thinks about it. 

"This is quite good." He grumbled between bites. Not caring to finish chewing before he's stabbing at the pasta on the plate once again. 

"Really? You don't need to be nice to spare my feelings. I don't mind criticism."

He shoves more in his mouth. "I’m serious"

"Thank you" You giggle watching him scarf down the still steaming hot meal. 

The two of you finish your respective plates without much more conversation to be had. On your last few bites you meet Simon's eyes as he reclines back in the creaky wooden chair, hands laying across his stomach. His head tips back with a satisfied grumble making a proud smile play across your lips. This may be the first time you've seen him express a true human emotion in your presence. 

"There's more if you want?"

"No, I'm stuffed." 

If you know one thing as a part time chef, food is the way to a man's heart. You knew if Simon tasted what you could make his ice exterior would melt away. You stand up and walk to the fridge. 

"Too stuffed for dessert?" you pull out a glass bowl filled with layers of custard, strawberries, cake, and whipped cream. "I made a traditional English trifle. Y'know for the holidays coming up and who doesn't love custard?" you shrug while carrying the bowl over to the table. You hurry back to the kitchen to grab two saucers and plate up the dessert.

"If I didn't know any better I'd say you're trying to butter me up." he comments, intently watching as you carefully slice through the layers. "What do you know about English food?" 

"Not much, which is why this is a special occasion. I can get some insight from a genuine Englishman," you slide the saucer to him. "Everything happens for a reason, I guess you were meant to be here tonight" you don’t realize how weird that comment is until it's already left your mouth. You suppress the feeling and internally cringe. You take a seat with your own plate and try a bite. "Hey, that's not too bad. I think Gordon Ramsey would be proud"

Simon actually chuckles when you compliment yourself making you giggle in return. This whole night is very different than you expected. Not that you were complaining.

Your leg bumps his underneath the narrow table. Your bare foot brushing up the edge of his pant leg for the briefest moment. A deep blush rises to your cheeks the second you realize it's his leg instead of the table's. 

"Oh, sorry!" you quickly draw your legs underneath your chair. Simon pauses his eating and meets your gaze. 

"S'alright," he slowly slides his long leg across the distance and nudges the shin of your tucked legs with the toe of his boot. "You scared?"

"What?" you allow your legs to relax, your calves sitting on either side of his outstretched leg. It felt natural, almost domestic. "You don't scare me." you're lying paired with an anxious laugh.

"No?" As he says this his foot shifts underneath the supports of your chair and yanks it forward causing your chair to skid a few inches across the tile, pressing you further into the table as you let you a surprised yelp. Hands brace against the edge of the table. Simon maintains his calm composure. "Are you sure?" he takes another bite of the fluffy dessert. 

You weren't sure if it was the liquor going to your head or the rush of adrenaline but you felt bold. You rest your cheek on your propped up hand, offering the most innocent eyes you can muster, as you delicately slide your foot along the smooth leather of his boot. Simon swallows and gently places his fork back on the table.

"What do you think of it?" you question in a hushed tone. your foot travels further up his ankle, dipping under his pant leg to feel his hot skin underneath. 

"It's sweet," He states simply but his words roll off his tongue smooth as butter. 

"Not too sweet?" You tilt your head the slightest bit.

"Hm," he hums in contemplation. Your eyes drift down to watch his hands grasp his drink. He grips the glass in his large palm. The rolled sleeves of his long sleeve reveal the muscles in his arm shifting when he raises the glass to his mouth. For the first time you notice a faint raised scar cutting through the outer corner of his lip and stopping just shy of the edge of his nose. He takes a long swig of the brown liquid, not quite finishing the drink. As he pulls back his lips glisten in the warm light. "Not bad when it's paired with a stiff drink," his tongue is quick to swipe across, collecting the residue. 

"I'll be sure to make a note of that." you smile sweetly. "Can I get you another drink?" You look down at the last sip coating the bottom of the glass. You make sure to flutter your lashes when you look back up at him. 

"Are you trying to get me drunk?" A smirk raises the corner of his mouth.

"No," you laugh. "Why, do you want me to?" 

He releases a deep gravelly laugh that makes your stomach stir. Then he glances at his watch and your stomach drops. 

"I need to get going." He mumbles. He pulls his leg away from yours and rises out of his chair. 

"Wait," you rush to stand, almost knocking your seat over in the process. "Can I- uh- get you a bit of pasta to go? There’s plenty left" Trying to think of any excuse to keep him here a moment longer. 

"S'okay, save it. Maybe I'll come by another time." He turns and steps out of your kitchen and into the hallway leading to your front door in only a few wide strides. 

"Are you sure?" You don't intend for your voice to come out as needy as it does. You follow on his heels like a lost puppy.

"I've got an early morning." Before he reaches the door he turns, seemingly surprised by how close you are to him. He looks down at your big round eyes. 

"Okay," you smile trying not to look defeated. "Well, you're welcome over anytime. I mean it, just knock and I'll probably be home. I'm gonna try writing at home more. Try to avoid that guy." You let out a halfhearted chuckle. "Maybe, you should get my number. Y'know, in case you want to check if I'm home."

"I'm alright, I'll just knock" His hand finds the doorknob. "Thanks for dinner, it was nice" Then he turns to go. Closing the door politely behind him. 

You rush to the peephole, watching his distorted figure step out of sight followed by the sound of his own door shutting. You rest your hot forehead against the cool wood grain of your door. 

You step back in the kitchen and begin putting away the leftovers. Piling the pasta into tupperware, rinsing the plates, collecting silverware. His glass remains in place with a sliver of scotch leftover. You hold the glass up in the light and see a faint smudge on its rim. You twist the cup around so your own mouth lines up with the imprint he left. You swallow the last bit slowly, savoring the way the sharp burn eases into a smooth, smoky aftertaste. You never liked scotch, but now you are starting to understand the meaning of an acquired taste.

The low atmospheric music is abruptly interrupted by an ad loudly cutting through the calm space. You rush into the living room to find the remote, hiding among the cushions and various throw pillows. Growing frustrated you end up walking over and manually hitting the power button. The silence that replaces it isn’t much better though. You step back and let your weak legs carry you until you collapse onto the comfort of your couch. The wine followed by the glass of scotch you polished off makes your head feel light but your limbs so heavy. You turn from your back to your side, realizing the used glass is still clutched in your hand. 

You reach across the gap and set it down on the coffee table with a thud. Your hand retreats back to rest under your head. You stare at it, taking in all the imperfections left on its reflective surface. Your eyes trace the rim once again looking for the smudge. On the corner you see the shadow of an impression peeking out underneath the red lipstick mark you have smeared over it. 

𝜗𝜚

Across the wall Simon falls back on his own couch. He looks around his dull apartment wondering what you have done differently to make your place look so welcoming. He never minded the minimal decorations he had. A photo frame with his team that his buddy gifted him and a couple of books always seemed like enough. After comparison though it just feels empty. 

He can hear you stomp across your floor. Footstep rushing from the kitchen until you're straight ahead. The sound of your TV turning off bathes the room in sudden silence. Only thing he can hear now is the rushing of his air conditioning unit. He considered your music annoying but now he couldn’t deny the way it added an unconscious energy to the small unit. Now sitting here, the cool tone of the overhead kitchen light illuminating into the living room he feels as though something is missing. Maybe a nice lamp would help. 

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@azkza @neurolept @contractedcriteria @hidden-treasures21 @sprokat @stark-red19

[potatogratins]

— first winter, then spring

꒰ summary ꒱ against the cold winter air, yuki ishikawa accidentally pulls a woman with him while running away from his fans. after an awkward interaction, they learn that they live in the same apartment complex. an unexpected relationship forms from hallway glances and cinema sessions.

꒰ genre ꒱ fluff ꒰ pairing ꒱ | ishikawa yuki/nameless female-identifying oc ꒰ w.c. ꒱ 7,924 ꒰ published ꒱ august 16, 2024

Conversations have always passed by me more than I probably realized. My eyes averted from the eyes of others, running away into the endless landscapes of vanilla-colored, semi-gloss-painted walls. There was something about the eyes that felt more vulgar than the parts we normally hid because, in retrospect, they are the most truthful parts of our body, more than our lips and hands. So when an outrageously tall and obviously strong Japanese man was looking straight at me in the eyes, there was something in me that knew that he knew who I was, even if I had nothing worth confessing about.

“I wanted to… thank you,” he said carefully.

Everything about this man was so meticulous.

“It’s no problem. You look like you needed helping,” I replied quickly.

He was, however, not so meticulous with his tracks.

 Just about twenty minutes ago, I began one of the most gut-wrenching runs in my life. This man, running from a small alleyway, tried to dash away from a swarm of what I would assume to be his loyal admirers. I happened to be in his way; instead of running right past me, he pulled me by the arm. It seemed that his running had preceded his thinking—it took him a minute or so to realize that he was dragging a woman along with him. The dry, cold winter air felt like a slap to the face every second I had to run with this man because now I had to help him–the both of us–get away from the crowd. 

Twenty minutes later, we’re in a hidden restaurant. There were no more screaming fans. All that there was were empty dining sets, niche Italian memorabilia, and bored employees. A confused set of customers would not stop them from moving on with their dull lives. The only thing missing was the plates of pasta, which this man insisted on paying on his behalf, that I wished would arrive faster to break any possible point of contact.

No, I don’t dislike him. In fact, he is a fascinating person—as all human beings are. But I would rather know about them from afar and not when they are trying to lock their eyes with yours every second you have to be with them. I’m more nervous about the idea of first meetings: the utter and complete awkwardness that renders a first meeting to stay a first meeting. I’m scared of saying anything that might make him run away—therefore, making me pay for the pasta.

An employee walked towards our table and as she was about to place the dishes on the table, my eyes looked at the food to his eyes.

Soft, but strong. Determined, but capable of surrendering. Cheerful behind such nonchalance. Flames that have never been extinguished. Nevermind the color of his eyes. At that moment, I knew who he was.

“We should eat,” he told me. I smiled. Yes, we should.

The near-ivory-colored pieces of pasta were fully consumed. There was happiness in my stomach. But I couldn’t uphold the proverb of “beggars can’t be choosers” because I was begging myself to stop eating these stupid cherry tomatoes. For me, tomatoes always tasted good processed, but disgusting in their raw form. It always perplexed me, but I guess that’s the magic of cooking.

“You don’t like the tomatoes?” he asked me.

“No, I don’t. I’m sorry,” I smiled bashfully.

He laughed, “Don’t be. I used to not like it a lot.”

“At least we have something in common.”

A few laughs. Then there was that excruciating silence. This began to feel more like a first date. We both took another set of deep breaths. We would be a fascinating pair to a set of psychologists.

���Why were they chasing after you?” I asked him. He tilted his head.

“Your fans, why were they?” I clarified.

He waved his hands and shook his head. “I… I don’t know.”

“You must be very popular for a reason.”

“I still don’t know why I’m very popular.”

“Well, you are quite handsome.”

He looked up at me quickly. Then he laughed loudly. I felt my cheeks grow as red as those cherry tomatoes.

“I’m just saying that you’re attractive. Nothing more, nothing less,” I explained as I put my hands up. He should know I’m not attracted to him, right? Fuck, he should know.

“I mean I play volleyball. I don’t think my uh… face… you know…”

It was clear to me that he underestimated the power of aestheticism. He didn’t realize how beautiful he was. Many men I have both understood and not simultaneously, but I know that not understanding how attractive you are was a good trait. Was it a case of humility? No, it was a matter of naivety for this man.

“I think it’s best to not know why you’re popular.”

“Why?” He raised his eyebrow.

“It makes you a better character. Just–don’t ask.”

He nodded slowly as he downed another piece of pasta. I turned away from him and checked the time: 9:37 PM. I felt my heart drop, then beat faster. My hands began to sweat, and my eyes and mouth widened, taking in the Italian restaurant dust.

He must have checked the time too because he had a more violent reaction to the time. He sighed, before looking at me and offered to take me home. I assumed he had a car in the parking lot waiting for him. Do you know what else is waiting for him?

“You don’t think your fans will be waiting by the parking lot?” I sighed, “It’s alright. I can book a taxi.”

I showed him my phone and pointed to the apartment complex on the map. He nodded slowly.

“Ahh, well I live there too,” he told me.

I felt my muscles pull my eyebrows. It was damn near impossible that we lived in the same place. That building wasn’t even tall. How could I not have bumped into him? That’s impossible. I’ve gone in and out of that complex many times for a variety of reasons. I should have all my hours covered: I left at two in the morning once to prepare for a road trip. Another at six in the morning to get ready to be a corporate slave. Seven in the morning when I was still taking up classes. All the hours leading up to twelve when I would oversleep and leave despite missing the acceptable hours to be late. Afternoon to return to my house. Night to buy food and do other shenanigans. How could I have possibly missed this man?

“Really? How come we’ve never bumped into each other?” I asked him.

“I moved a few months ago.”

There were then two of the greatest mysteries that arose: how have I never met this man and why did it take a Hollywood-like meet cute for us to meet? I would not try to attempt to solve them. I’ll leave it to the experts to tackle these critical questions.

The waitress walked up to us and told them that they were closing. It was right that we had to leave. Imagine having the most perfect day with no customers, then a pair arrives at the very last minute you could have chosen to close the restaurant. I would have comforted her and told her that I was just as ready to go home as she was.

We had to walk out of the tiny street and into a bigger road in order to find the taxi driver that the man had booked through his phone. For a few minutes, we stood there like idiots, but I was taking in the serenity of this silence. This was the quietest moment of my day.

When the taxi arrived, we sat in silence, sitting, again, like idiots. I turned my head to the window, watching the stores close as people walked by. What I always enjoyed about quiet rides was that you were able to observe people from afar and imagine the scenario they were going through before moving to the person behind them. You could think of the lives they were living until you were forced to push the thought away because you knew you would never see them again. We left the thought as it was.

I understood that it would not be the case with this man.

Though the trip was short, I began to feel groggy. We got into the tiny elevator, which could barely handle his height. I was curious to see the floor number he would press, but the thought was so shameful to me that I looked at the floor counter instead, seeing it go higher. When the elevator reached my floor, I turned to him, nodded, and left the elevator… a farewell that was guaranteed to be useless because he followed right behind me.

The man and I walked in the same direction for a few seconds before I turned to my door. I felt him tap my right shoulder.

“I cannot believe we never met,” he exclaimed.

“Our first meeting was certainly unique. Makes for a start of a good friendship, don’t you think?”

He smiled and held his hand out.

“Before I forget, my name is Yuki, by the way.”

The night proved to me that we were just both little idiots making their way into the world for the both of us could only nod and smile at each other. I shook his hand and told him my name.

“I hope you have a good sleep,” he said, and before I could say anything, he walked away. The window to chase after him began to close. When he got to his door, I looked away and went inside the apartment.

The following week, I began to look out the hallways to see if Yuki had come around. I was curious to know what happened to him since that night. What happened to his fans? Did he eventually get his car back? Did his teammates bring his stuff home for him on that day? However, I began to accept that this was just one of those moments where you meet someone once and never see them again.

“Hoy! Over here!”

My aunt called me from the other side of where I was trying to look for Yuki. She popped up with a son of one of our family friends, Charles, a mischievous tot at the age of five. He ran towards my legs. I picked him up and carried him while walking all the way to her.

“Charles wanted to pass by the playground, but I figured we could stop by to see how you were doing first.”

“Oh. Am I part of the play date?” I asked her. 

“You wanna come with us? I don’t mind if you do. Charles has been asking you for the past week, you know.”

“Looks like I’ll have to make up for the time lost then,” I looked at Charles and rubbed his nose. The three of us went to the elevator, and although elevator trips are short, there’s something about these that felt so excruciating. I thought to myself, “What if Yuki’s on the other side of the door? What should be my first greeting?” No, no, I’m not in love with him. People mistake general loneliness for romantic desperation. It’s just exciting to know someone who lives on the same floor as you. 

The elevator doors opened, and there was not even a human waiting on the other side.

How disappointing.

We walked our way to the playground, which was a lengthy walk for a tiny boy but much lengthier for the one carrying him. My aunt and I talked on the way, and before we even stepped foot on the edge of the playground, Charles signaled me to let him down. He ran straight to the swings. We looked at each other and sighed before sitting by one of the benches. We continued the conversation.

So, it was inevitable that I talked about Yuki.

“You don’t think he’s in love with you?”

“We’re just friends. We’re just acquaintances, neighbors who happen to be friendly with each other.”

“The way that you’re describing him just makes it sound like he’s in love with you…” she tapped her index finger on her chin before she said, “Or could it be possible that you described him that way because you’re the one who’s in love with him?”

The nerve!

“I’ve only talked to him for like an hour. I don’t know anything else about him, alright? He’s just… he seemed interesting to me,” and I hoped that explanation was enough for her.

“Alright, alright. I understand. It’s just different when it’s you.”

“Me? How?”

“Frankly, I've never seen you so invested in anyone”

I shook my head. She simply laughed, as she told me: 

“I’m just excited to see some developments in your life. You wanted some action after all, right?”

Most of the action in my life came in the form of a projector screen of a cinema. Films illustrated my biggest fears and desires, as well as situations we would never dream of going through. It’s one of the greatest man-made creations, and I am grateful for living in a time like this.

I watched a rerun of When Harry Met Sally, thankfully in its original dub but with Italian subtitles. I don’t think I would agree with the dubious morality of the film’s screenwriter, but the way she wrote her characters and of romances made you want to be whisked away by a heterosexual man, charmed by the most dramatic lines a man wouldn’t imagine saying in reality. Many romance films were never great critically, but they always seem so satisfying—especially when the man was written by a woman.

It was coincidental that this film was out again in the local cinema when I was at the crossroads of trying to figure out just why I was thinking of Yuki so much, even if I don’t think of him in that way. In summary, the film tried to answer the age-old question: Can a man and woman be friends?

The question just hurt my head, so I set it aside—in other words, ignored it.

As I walked home from the cinema, all I thought about was when Harry told Sally, “…When you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible.” I wanted something like that for myself. I kept repeating the ending scene, keeping my head down, until as I entered the elevator, bumped into the chest of a friend—er, acquaintance.

“Are you alright?” A familiar voice asked me, and when I looked up, Yuki was looking straight down at me. I realized the difference in height between the both of us. I could only nod slowly at him.

“Are you sure? You were staring at the floor.”

I nodded profusely, stepping to his right. I still kept my head low. Come the elevator ride, which, again, always took a thousand years. As we went up, I could feel his eyes poke my unattractive slouch. Wish I could die right now! 

“Did you come from work?” He asked me, attempting to make small talk

The elevator doors opened.

“Ah, no. I came from the cinema.” 

We both stepped out. Every second turned into an hour, and though it took less than a minute to get to our doors, we seemed to be walking at a snail’s pace.

“You like movies?” He asked me.

“I love them. I watch one every day.”

“Wow. Are you actually a famous actress?”

“No, no,” I laughed, “But I wanted to be a filmmaker once.”

“You should recommend me some movies. I’m sure you have good taste.”

I smiled, “Thank you. But tell me what kind of films you like first. It might be too boring or too cheesy for you.” 

“I’m not really sure what I like. I mean I watch anime. But I want to know what your favorite movie is.”

I stopped. “Why?”

“Why not? You are a very interesting person.”

For a moment, I looked at him. His entire face, not his eyes. I’m not brave enough to look at them. I scratched my head and faced the floor again. He tilted his head, and I believed that for a minute, we turned into idiots again, waiting for each other to respond. He raised his voice to say something but changed his mind. I did the same thing. Eventually, I was the one who broke the silence that formed between us:

“I’ll slip in a list of my favorite films under your door.”

I mustered the courage to look at his face.

I don’t know if he was smiling through his teeth, but I knew that he was smiling with his eyes, and it made all the difference. I suddenly gained the motivation to write up a good list for him. I just hoped that he had the time to go through each and every one of them.

I didn’t know what men liked, especially with someone like him who didn’t seem too enthusiastic about cinema to me. You wouldn’t want something too violent, crude, dreamy, or fast-paced. Most definitely not too philosophical. It’s not that I wanted to impress him, I just felt like I didn’t want him to switch on the television and spend an hour and a half watching a film he wouldn’t even enjoy at all.

“I watched all of them, by the way,” Yuki told me when we bumped into each other again in the hallway. I guess it was the power of the first meeting: you just kept on meeting them again.

“All of them? But those were twenty films!” I felt my eyes widen. With a sports career like his, would you even have time for anything else?

“I watched all of them while stretching… or eating… or when I was bored,” he said as he walked towards me with a wide smile on his face.

“Did you enjoy any of them?”

“I liked all of them. Where do you watch them?”

Maybe I was too mean to his eyes. They were never meant to intimidate or to investigate other people but to comfort them. I now realized that he simply wanted to pay attention to me, which is perfect because I am, quite frankly, without attention. A few circuits in my brain exploded before I could give him a well-thought-out response.

“I watch them in the cinema just a few streets away. Or I watch them online.”

“There’s a cinema nearby?”

“Yes, it’s a fifteen-minute walk there. And it’s the perfect distance: fifteen minutes to the cinema to gather your expectations for the film you’re going to watch, and fifteen minutes from the cinema to ponder on what you just watched.”

“I never thought of walking that way. It’s an exercise for the body,  but I never thought it could be an exercise for the mind.”

“Well, Yuki, when you hate the idea of walking but have to endure it just to see something that could make you feel happy, you’d have to think of other ways to make walking enjoyable.”

“But why would you waste fifteen minutes just to see if you could feel happy?”

“It’s more than just the trip that could have brought me unhappiness. It could be a burnt egg during breakfast or a boss’ scolding in the afternoon. If I felt angry, sad, or both for more than twelve hours but watched a film that was an hour and thirty minutes long and had an extra fifteen minutes to myself just thinking about that film and how good it was, then at least I could say that the day was lived through well.”

For a minute, Yuki froze and stared at me. He then looked away from my eyes and nodded slowly, as if he had just processed what I just said. He laughed–no, giggled–and scratched the back of his head. It must have been a nervous reaction. Or maybe I was trying to read him a little too much.

“What’s your job?” he suddenly asked me.

“My job?”

“I-If you don’t mind, you know, me asking?”

“Oh, way different from the movies, for sure. I just work at a tiny office building thirty minutes away. Nothing too important.”

“You don’t make movies?”

“It’s just not practical. I hate my job, but at least it pays my film tickets.”

We both awkwardly laughed. My damn humor.

“Uh–Can I watchsome of the movieswith you sometime?” He asked me with a pace much faster than how he usually spoke.

“Of course.”

“But not all the time, I’m busy with training and games… of course…”

“It’s no problem. Just… tell me if you want to come with me. I go to the cinema on the weekends. I always leave at around six.”

“Okay. I’ll see you… next time.”

“See you around, Yuki.”

We exchanged our friendliest of smiles before Yuki walked to the door of his unit. For some reason, I didn’t want time to stop. I let out a loud sigh. As  I opened the door, I instinctively turned my head towards his direction.

He was looking at me.

“Goodnight,” I told him.

His smile was much weaker. Even if the only responsibility that was entrusted to his hands was to open the door of his unit, he seemed clumsy with it. Quite unusual for his character–even if all I really knew about him was based on limited interactions. He seemed to be in a trance; he shook his head and entered his home.

He didn’t greet me back.

Weeks had passed since we had a major interaction. There and then, we would greet each other a few times, but it wasn’t anything of importance for me to tell. Each and every greeting was filled with a pinch of half-crooked smiles and a teaspoon of inevitable awkwardness. In my case, I always seemed to enjoy our dishes of interactions but with a dash of overthinking. Did he hate me? I could never really tell with him, as the thoughts are always diminished every time he asks for my wellbeing.

“I hope the movie isn’t too long this time,” my aunt told me.

“I searched on the internet. It’s two hours and thirty minutes long,” I replied.

She sighed and told me, “Nothing I could do to stop you from your movie watching. Just text me if you’ll be home a little beyond 9:30. You know me.”

“Sorry for making you worry that one time.”

“It’s alright. I just don’t want your mom scolding me. You know how she is. Run along.”

I greeted her goodbye, as she turned her head to the television screen and watched a K-Drama that seemed to be all the craze these days. As much as I used to enjoy shows, I could never really commit to one, which is why I love films so much: it would only take one sitting for you to finish a story. As I waited for the elevator, a door opened, and a figure began to approach me. As I was about to turn to them, the elevator doors opened.

“Are you going to the cinema today?”

Ah, Yuki.

“Yes, I am,” I replied cheerfully. We both went on the elevator.

“What are you watching tonight?”

“Cinema Paradiso. It’s an old film–I think it’s older than me. It’s one of my favorite films, it was why I loved watching films in the first place.”

“You didn’t recommend that to me,” he pouted.

I was surprised by his memory. “It was a sappy film. I didn’t know if you’d like it. But it’s an Italian film, so you might be interested after all.”

“Then is it okay if we watch it together?”

When the elevators opened, I walked out first, and jumped up and down to his request as he walked out after me. I led the way to the cinema, which, of course, took fifteen minutes to get there. He was inquisitive, asking questions about other movies I watched and Italian cinema in particular–considering where we were and what we were going to watch after all.

“Do you still go to the cinema even if it rains? Orrrr if it’s too cold?”

“Yeah. But sometimes I get stuck at the cinema cause I’d forget to bring an umbrella.”

He looked at my hands.

“I hope we don’t get stuck tonight,” he said with a smile.

"I think we should be asking more important questions," I began to tease him.

"Like what?"

"Your fans."

He scoffed

"Oh, don't worry about them. It was just that one time. They don't know where I live anyway."

We eventually got to the cinema, which was, as usual, barely occupied. I never really knew if they were the same people visiting–you could never tell who was who in the dark, and I never bothered to search for familiar faces when the lights went up. We sat in the center because, to me, it was never too near nor too far.

The entire time, we sat in silence, with a few laughs in between. Being the emotional person that I was, I sniffled–the tears dried thanks to the handkerchief Yuki had brought. Most of the time, he was still, but I hoped that he was taking the entire film in. In the middle of the film, there were a set of scenes that embarked, full of longing and yearning, caused greatly by something that was difficult to attain for the film’s couple: love.

It was around this time I could feel Yuki squirm a little, whether it was because it made him uncomfortable or thinking of someone else, I could never really tell. In the corner of my eye, I could feel him turn to me, then to the screen, and to me again. When I finally decided to confront him, I picked up a piece of popcorn from the bucket and showed it to him, like a child putting out their favorite toy to everyone.

He thanked me. I had expected him to pick it from my fingers, but he ate it straight away instead. The pressure and touch of his lips were minimal but it was enough to at least make me identify that they were… soft. Besides the projector, one of the greatest benefits of the movie houses was that many of our facial expressions were concealed–something that I am grateful for hiding my red face. I placed the popcorn bucket between us and he graciously got some more, to which I hoped that he had forgotten what had just transpired minutes ago.

When the film ended, my eyes were puffy. Yuki, though I would say less generous with his emotions (or maybe he was uncomfortable with me?), had a few tears in his eyes. I pulled out the handkerchief he had just lent me and dabbed the corners of his eyes. It was a little difficult to reach out to him, not because of his height, but because I was trying to contemplate what was the socially acceptable distance between us. When his tears had finally dried, I stared into the credits.

“Let’s stay here for a while,” I told him, “I always watch the credits till the very end.”

When the credits were done, we left the cinema in silence. We stood side by side. Normally, if I were with a friend, I would have started babbling about the events of the film. Now, I found myself saying absolutely nothing. Not at all what I intended, because Yuki is also my friend, right?

“Now I understand why you go there every weekend. It was a nice movie. The atmosphere is quiet and the seats are good, even for someone as tall as me,” he turned to me and placed his palm on my head, as if to mock my height. I laughed at him and playfully slapped his arm.

“There’s something about that cinema that feels magical, don’t you think? That’s why I enjoy watching with a larger projector screen than a phone screen at times.”

“It’s much better when you watch it with someone.”

“It is! Sometimes when the film’s funny, it’s great to crack jokes with them.”

“You go with other people? Who else?”

“Oh, just my aunt. Or sometimes with a couple of friends.”

“No boyfriend?”

I paused. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to have one.

“No, I don’t have one. I’m too cowardly to ask anyone out.”

The air grew harsher, and so did the snowfall. I placed my hands in my jacket, placing my arms as close to my torso as if to shake off the cold temperature. It’s only a temporary remedy. My teeth began to chatter—so much for coming from a place that has never snowed. Yuki watched me freeze to death, with his clothes looking much warmer than mine,

“May I?” Yuki placed his hand in front of me.

I didn’t know what he was referring to, but I could only say “Yes.”

We stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, facing each other. He took my hands, using them to pull me a little bit closer. He warmed my hands by blowing into them with his breath and rubbing them with his own hands. For a moment, I looked at him and for the first time since our first meeting, I could never conjure up any hypothesis that could explain this behavior.

“I feel much warmer now,” I whispered to him. The travel of his eyes from my hands to my eyes was slower, more hesitant.

“Are you sure?” he asked me, still holding onto my hands. I let my hands slip away from his slowly.

“We’re almost there to the apartment. I’ll be alright now,” I answered.

The rest of the way back home was filled with silence and emotions I was yet to identify.

When we got back, we both stopped in front of my apartment. I was back to normalcy. I couldn’t look into his eyes.

“I enjoyed it–” I started.

“Are you going again next week?” He asked me immediately.

“Of course. Why?”

“Is it okay if… I went with you–”

“Of course it is–”

“I just want to be your friend.”

Silence.

“I don’t bite, Yuki… I’ve always wanted to know you more anyway. Don’t be a stranger.”

He smiled softly, and I felt my stomach flipping.

Again, I am not interested in him that way. It’s just the feeling of not talking to people a lot, I promise.

“Well then. I’ll see you next week,” he told me. He patted my head and walked towards his apartment.

In the next month or so, Yuki found his way into my life. I wasn’t complaining. It wasn’t that I didn’t have any friends, but I never had a friend as engaging as him.

Do friendships also have honeymoon phases?

Forgive me, allow me to retract my previous question.

There were times when we would walk to and from the cinema talking about the film we were about to or just watched, discussing the philosophy of the film and our lives. On other days, we didn’t talk about the film at all–we talked about ourselves and what we went through from the week before the shenanigans with my coworkers and my boss or with Yuki and his teammates. Sometimes, I would confide in him my loneliness and he in me his deepest fears. Though my usual travel time from or to the cinema consistently took fifteen minutes, we would sometimes delay it by five minutes… ten… fifteen… because we spent so much time talking to each other that we never really realized how slow we both walked.

But there were times when we would just walk in complete silence. We didn’t hurry to get back to the apartment either. We walked with a certain rhythm and pace, and somehow, I enjoyed that the most. The most important sound in a film was never really the music or effects that would play, but silence. It amplifies the richness of the scene and more so the action of us walking without speaking to each other. 

It was also this silence that made me hear the beating of my heart, that I am most certainly in love with him. Romantically interested. Admired. Liked. Fascinated. Intrigued. And I knew that this was a dangerous path, knowing his quirks and the time spent between us, I knew that there was no door for me to walk in and take a hold of his heart. 

I think I’ve seen this film before.

So I decided to guard my emotions, and not do anything about it. I valued his thoughts, and to a greater extent, our friendship. I couldn't tell how honest he’s been to his other friends, but I am not open to the idea of him losing a friend he could talk to just because she’s in love with him. I’ve dealt with enough heartbreak; I’ve mourned more of the friendships lost than the romantic relationship that could have been.

These feelings would pass, as all things have.

One particular night, we had just watched The Moon Has Risen, a Japanese film made in the 50s by Kinuyo Tanaka. Yuki was thrilled to see a film from his homeland, much more a film that he had never heard of. He told me that he was never fond of romance but was willing to give this film a shot since I told him that I loved that film so much–which led him to jokingly say that I was much more cultured than he was because I knew more Japanese films than he did.

But before we even got to the gates, he stopped me.

“I have something to tell you…” he trailed off. I raised my eyebrows. I have now seen his nervous state: his sweaty hands, his avoidant eyes, and much softer voice. Whatever he was willing to say, I knew that both of us were not going to be the same when we went through that gate.

“I’ll be gone,” he simply said. It was short and plain.

“For how long?” I asked.

“When spring comes, I–I’ll be moving somewhere else in the city. Then I’ll leave the country in a few months, then return next winter.”

In other words, he’s leaving. We were never to meet again.

“Oh. It’s a shame,” was all I could say. Short. Plain.

Spring was visiting in two weeks or so.

“Yes, it is,” he told me, “It’s more of a shame that we won’t have time together anymore.”

“Just when I started to get to know you…”

“I know. I mean we can uh… talk on the phone.”

I simply nodded.

“Are you upset with me?” He asked bluntly.

“No, I could never be.”

“I learned so much from you. Not just because of the films we watched. I am seeing my life in another way because of the things you would tell me. And I love you–I mean I–You’re a good friend, for that. You are a good person. Even if I know you have a hard time talking to people. You make an effort. I like it.”

Though spring was about to enter our small world, the air felt colder.

Colder than all the times we traveled to and from the cinema. 

I’m not allowed to be upset. He chose this career, and it demands him to do all sorts of things. That path was set in stone for him long before we had met. But there’s a part of me that wants to damn the stars–Was there no other way we could meet? I agreed to keep a distance and to not make a move, and now I won’t be able to admire him from that reasonable distance. The volleyball games were always there, sure, but I won’t be able to hear his every thought—an "exchangeless" currency that I now realize had a rarity I hadn’t hoarded enough. Still, I could not allow selfishness to overcome my feelings, after he had just called me a good person.

“Didn’t I tell you that our meeting was a sign of a good friendship? Distance won’t take away the times we had together, even if it was just for a season. I’ll always be here–and so will the cinema–if you ever decide to pass by,” I told him as I felt my throat dry and sting, “You’re dear to me, nothing will ever change that. So let’s not be sad.”

Yuki took the deepest breath and quickly looked down at his feet. He shook his head before looking up at me. He smiled at me, which I quickly caught faltering before he was able to put his smile back up again.

There were many things that I could say–more that were worth shouting. If silences could bring about a new layer of comfort between people, it could also incite fear: the fear that the ending will inevitably come. Though my hands were freezing, I wanted to say something just so we wouldn’t have to go back inside and return to our apartments and distance ourselves and move on with our lives. Or say something that could change the trajectory of our lives together.

But a coward was what I was. The good minutes of silence between us was a terrible signal that we had to go home, and that we did. The elevator ride, for once, moved in its natural time; it did not slow. Our steps out of the elevator were slow and hesitant, but time still passed quickly. When we got to my apartment, he told me, “I’ll be packing up. I think I’ll be done by next week.”

“Alright.”

“I might pass by your apartment before I leave.”

I took those words to heart. Too much, I believe.

Because he never visited me before left.

The seasons change, and so do we.

Spring has passed, and so has summer and fall. Winter is about to end.

My aunt was disappointed when she learned that Yuki had left, knowing that my life had returned to normalcy.

“Why didn’t you confess to him!?” She asked, shaking me violently, “Do you know how long your mom–Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for this!? I can’t let my niece be bitchless!”

“Yuki’s a really famous volleyball player, you know that? I don’t think he has time for someone like me.”

“Pfft–for someone like you. If he tolerated you like you said he did, he wouldn’t go out in the freezing weather every weekend to watch movies with you.”

“Hey–I didn’t say tolerating! I said he was a good friend. Good friends enjoy the company of other people.”

“Nah, nah… I’ve played the love game for so long. He’s in love with you. I know it, I know it.”

“Whatever suits you.”

I never bothered to ask Yuki about why he wanted to go to my apartment and what he wanted to say in the first place. He probably meant to give some biscuits and some parting gifts. But it probably expired, and he was too embarrassed to send in anything. Or so I believed. My aunt told me he was probably going to profess his love, but I don’t think that was the case. It would be uncharacteristic of him.

We still keep in touch. But I’m not much of a social media person, so I’m much less enthusiastic. I know it’s still him talking, but I would rather see him behind the screen, speaking to me. I want to see his lips move, and oh, see his infinite smile. I want to reach his head and ruffle his silly hair, as much as I used to make fun of it for looking so burnt.

He was around the area now and then, which could have been an opportunity for him to visit, but somehow, we never got the chance. He could probably be in the area right now for all we know, walking right under my very nose. I’ll find out sooner or later on Instagram.

Now, here I am, sitting by the window, eating a bowl of near-expired yogurt. It’s past one in the afternoon on a weekend, so I’m taking in my time watching the people pass by. When you’re lonely and boyfriend-less (Or, as my aunt likes to say, “Yuki-less”), you resort to doing ridiculous things such as this. Though I could have visited the cinema around this time, I decided to go against it–I am reminded too much of our time together.

Then there’s a knock on the door. Another. Afterwards, it becomes faster and faster, until I lazily stand up and open the door.

“There’s a doorbell—”

Yuki appears before me, with his hands ready to knock on the door once more. My eyes widen as much as his–which is funny because he should be expecting me by the door–and our cheeks redden. There’s a beat before either of us gets to talk.

“–You know…” I trail off.

“Hello,” he greets me.

“Hi. What brings you here?”

“I just wanted to see you.”

No other particular reason?

“Well, it’s nice seeing you again, Yuki. Come on in,” I sigh. I lead him to the dining set, where we both sit across from each other.

“Before I say anything, I wanted to say that I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For saying that I wanted to visit you one last time and not visiting you anyway.”

I raise my eyebrows, stretching my arms. I look at my surroundings before I could really look into his eyes, “I have no problem with that. I know you’re busy–”

“I wasn’t busy–”

“You don’t have to lie–”

“I didn’t visit because I was afraid.”

Beat.

“Yuki… I know humans hate goodbyes. It’s only natural.”

“No, you don’t understand–let me explain. I wanted to come to your apartment before I left because I wanted to tell you what I felt.”

“About what?”

“About you. I–I–”

He lightly combs his messy hair. He looks around the apartment as if to look for something that could calm him down. Then he looks at me, before avoiding my face altogether. He takes in a deep breath… one… two… three… before he continues talking:

“I liked you–no, don’t interrupt me–I like you. Before we met, uhhh I passed by you when I was unpacking my things. Your voice was so loud that I could hear everything. But the way you said it… interested me. And I like people who talk a lot. But I couldn’t find a way to… talk to you…” He pauses, everything becoming a calculation to him, before continuing, “…And I didn’t mean our first meeting to go like that. But when I was running away, and I saw you, I had this… feeling… this… what do you call it… instinct… to pull you with me.”

He then tells me, “The reason why I didn’t want to talk to you after so many months was because I thought you were angry at me. Your responses are much shorter than how you spoke in real life. And I thought I messed up.”

He takes in a sharp breath, “I remember everything since when we first met. The days when you would tie your hair… and the days you do not. The outfits that you wore. But what I remember the most was the things you would tell me. It would be hard for me to not like someone whose eyes would go big and their hands would move around every time they talk about something that they loved. You’re just… full of… love.”

I did not know he was capable of doing this, nor was he withholding such emotions for so long.

I stood up and sat beside him. Months had passed when I had overcome the fear of looking into his eyes, but I fear that it’s all returned. I cannot look at him.

I say to him, with my head down, “Thank you for telling me all that.”

“Is that…”

“...I… feel just about the same way too.”

“You do?”

“Of course–do you not believe me? I haven’t gone to the cinema that much since you’ve left. And to think I’ve gone to the cinema for nearly every week of my entire life before you came along.”

“You like me? Why?”

I laugh at him and pinch his cheeks. “Do I need a reason to like you? I like you for who you are. And I’m sure you know who you are. Every bit of yourself–I admire it.”

He looks at me, and he nods at every word. He looks to the side as if to process everything, and then he looks at me again. He wants to say something, a syllable coming out of his lips, but nothing keeps coming out. He sighs over and over, before looking at me straight into my eyes.

So when his voice fails himself, all that is left is the language of touch. He puts his arms out first and reaches out to me. Slowly… inch by inch… Then an embrace. He covers my body with his large hands, as the words he wanted to put out are finally clear to me: the roughness of his hands translates to the command of his voice, the pressing of his fingers the depth of his words, and the more his skin is stuck with the rest of me, the more I could identify the unspoken sentences.

He breaks our hug to take a good look at me, capturing a photo only his memory can take, each shot separated by the blinking of his desperate eyes. Then he kisses me. 

To say “I admire you” too platonic, “I love you” too strong. The best I can do was to look into his eyes. To look into the eye of another was to become vulnerable, but to look into his eyes was a moment of submission and power in a gentleness I could not feel from any other person but him. He sees me, I see him—to the both of us, these meant more. He pats my hair to an unfamiliar beat. Immediately after, he places his hand on my forehead horizontally and slowly slides it down, closing my eyes. He kisses my left eyelid then my right. 

“Did you take some inspiration from Amélie?” I ask him.

“I was starting to like more romantic movies because I could learn a bit from them,” he laughs.

“Aren’t you an adorable idiot.”

“It took both of us a year to say what we wanted to say. I think it’s something we should work on–we’re both idiots, after all.”

We both laugh as we look out into the window.

The snow had already fallen, spreading out on the streets like fallen flowers. They’ve melted as they always eventually did. Winter has come and gone. Now comes spring, and our story begins to bloom with it.

[terras-domain]

(Thanks)Giving Season

Characters: Kang Seul-gi (Seulgi), Male Husband (Reader), Husband's Brother

Tags: Cheating, Cuckold, Kitchen Sex, Blowjob, Watching, Caught, Condom, Rough Sex, Forced Submission, Thanksgiving, Cum in Pussy, Abs, Cum Eating

Words: 2941

Author's Note: Hi Hiiiii terra here!!! Been a while since I posted, sorry for that. Hope you all had a good Thanksgiving. Personally I don't celebrate it but I hope to those who did, you guys enjoy it <33 As the tags show it's gonna be a cuckold smut so if it's not your thing, oh well. Enjoy <33

Reader's POV

Thanksgiving. Not the best holiday to be honest, never understood the hype behind it but at least now I have a day off from work to spend some time with my wife, Seulgi. Work has been brutal for me so our time together is precious to me. Opening the front door with a smile to greet her that I'm home, only for me that smile to slowly fade away. "Oh hi, honey!" Seulgi smiled, waving at me as I see her talking to a guest. "Oh hey lil' bro, long time no see hm?" My brother, a person who I haven't seen in years actually. I actually don't bond well with my family in general, which is why my personal time is mostly dedicated to my wife Seulgi. "Hey...what're you doing here?" I asked, an eyebrow lifted as I start to make myself at ease, putting my stuff down and joining my wife and my brother around the living room.

"Awww don't be too cold, lil' bro. Just wanted to see my family for Thanksgiving you know." He gave a big grin, a face that makes me feel so annoyed for some reason, always been all my life. "Now now boys. Let's not be like that, okay? We need to get things done for Thanksgiving" My breath got stuck through my throat. She's right, it's not like I have much time to spend with Seulgi, and I'm not gonna waste the time I get now by arguing with this dumbass. She had planned to cook something special for tonight, so she brought us both to the kitchen, showing the turkey she planned on roasting, only to find it rotten. "Oh fuck! Nooo that fucking butcher lied to me." Now with no turkey, we can't have the so called Thanksgiving spirit. My big brother can't drive, which means there's only one thing I can do now. "I'll go buy you a new one hun. Don't worry about it" Seulgi's eyes sparkled and hugged me tight, euphoric as now her problem has a solution. "Awww thank you sweetheart. I love you." A kiss on the lips I received from my loving wife, followed by her warm smile that just melts my heart. I got myself ready, grabbing my keys and look back to my wife and wave. "I love you Seulgi. And take care of my wife okay?" I looked to my big brother, I don't really like him but I'm sure family still care for each other. "Oh no worries lil bro. Your wife's safe with me."

Seulgi's POV

I'm glad my husband is around to help me with the turkey. It was silly of me to not realize it was rotting. Oh well, I just have to start prepping food for now. My husband is a big fan of Italian food so I thought making him some fettuccine alfredo might make him happy. Dropping the pasta to boil them while I prepare the sauce was pretty much light work for me, I'm used to working alone in the kitchen since my husband isn't often in the house anyways. I checked around and notice my brother-in-law looking deep into my eyes, sometimes shifting to my cooking elsewhere. "Smells good Seulgi. My brother must be happy to have you." His low voice echoes the kitchen. I didn't know how to respond to that but only smile awkwardly, what a weird thing to say I thought. "Oh come on beautiful. Don't be shy. Live a little we're family right? Nothing wrong with a little compliment, especially if it's for a pretty woman like you~" he kept on going with his praises and weird antics, which start to make me get goosebumps. His footsteps felt heavy but firm, slowly inching closer to me as he started to lean towards me, looking at the pot of fettuccini I'm preparing followed by a sniff, trying to smell the food, or so I thought. His face was closer to my hair than it was to my cooking which made me feel a little uncomfortable and insecure as the thoughts in my head start to turn into a reality. He's groping me!

With his hands reaching under my apron and gripping my chest through shielded by the cloth of my clothes, it was hard to push him away since he's so big and muscular. "W-wait. Please don't do this, your brother won't like this." I mumbled, squirming a bit as I'm overpowered, my whole body held tight as my brother-in-law completely gropes me for his pleasure. "Oh no worries beautiful. Your husband ain't doing shit on me. Now let me see how good you feel." His wide grin send shivers down my spine, but when he started to pull my face for a kiss, I felt unreal. My whole life I've only had intimate relationships with my husband so this felt so bad, but not like my brother-in-law cares about it.

"Mmmh Seulgi. You're quite the curvy babe aren't you?" He chuckled, now biting my lips as he has full control over me. I can't escape and just let him use me, hoping my husband can come just in time to save me from this creep. His hard bulge is pressing on my ass cheeks and it's disgusting, having another man than my own husband using me for pleasure. After a few minutes of making out, he pulled out and gave a big grin. "Well time for the real thing bitch. Get down there." My in law now guides me to be on my knees, facing his stifling bulge before he pulled his pants off, showing his erection pointing straight at me. It's huge. Bigger than anything I've ever seen, it made me nervous since I know what's next.

"Well what're you waiting for hoe? Get to it." His thick length started slapping on my face, making me whimper in inferiority. My husband did tell me how much of an asshole he is, and how violent he can be, so I have no other choice. My mouth slowly opened up as I slowly accepted his cock, taking it in inch by inch. It felt so wrong, the way is thick meat makes me choke just by putting the tip in, the way his hands rub on my cheeks and how I'm actually cheating on my husband right now. "Good girl Seulgi. Just need a little bit of...enthusiasm." As he kept his dominant persona going, his wishes are all coming to a reality as he uses me as he please. His hands are on the back of my head, plunging his cock inside as he thrust his hips back and forth. It hurts. My husband isn't as big nor as rough as his brother so this is all new to me. "ghhhh GAAAAK-!" My mouth just kept on making weird noises and choking sounds as he continues his barrages of mouth fucking on my throat, drilling my mouth and using me as a sex object.

Reader's POV

Phew! That took a while. turkey secured, and it's fresh from the oven. Too bad traffic isn't really on my side today, man why does life hate me so much. But all that complaining will soon end as I reached home, excited to see my wife. Creaking the door open I was greeted by nothing by a strange noise, a woman who sounded like she was choking over something. I went to explore my own home, looking for the source of the odd sound as I reached the kitchen. Just like the turkey, my heart fell. Seeing my wife sucking on my brother's cock, bobbing her head back and forth just made me feel sick. "Oh, you're finally here lil bro. Gimme a sec!" He grunted as he pulled out, stroking his 8-inch length while looking down at Seulgi. "Open your mouth, beauty, I wanna cum on that face." He ordered, which my wife seems to obey despite taking a few seconds to follow. I can hear a few sobs coming from her. is it shame, is it resent, or is it just the aftereffect from a rough face fucking she just went through. Regardless, it seems my brother enjoyed my wife a lot when he unloaded his load all on her face, splattering everywhere from her forehead to her chin.

Seulgi's face turned away, looking very shy and scared. "Honey..." I tried to approach her, wanting to know what's going on when my she stopped me in my tracks. "I'm sorry baby. He...he made me do this." She sobbed, looking down to the floor as cum dripped down her face. I had a dead stare to my brother, my face inclining so our eyes exchange eye contact. In those few seconds, memories of how much my brother overpower me in any way came back. How he's physically, mentally and even academically superior to me, which makes him so much better than me. I want to confront, I want him to pay. But with what has happened my whole life, it may be best to just give in, I don't have a choice. I could only walk towards Seulgi, holding her tight and give her a gentle soft kiss. "I love you, Seulgi." the kiss ended, interrupted by the after taste of my brother's semen on my lips. After that I just wiped my wife's face with a clean cloth before walking away cowardly. I need to take my mind off of this, and staying in the kitchen won't help me. I took one last look at my brother, sighing. "She's yours." A defeated frown sticked to my face face as the words flew out of my mouth, and my feet drags across the room.

My words seem to influence my brother for some reason. As soon as I sat on the couch, I couldn't distract myself no matter what is on the TV. My mind still wanders in the kitchen where my brother shreds my wife's clothes off, completely taking advantage of the situation where both me and Seulgi are mentally lost. I could hear banging noises coming from the sink, making my lewd mind imagine how Seulgi looked getting fucked by another man, it made me hard. My penis pitching a tent from my imaginations running wild from the voices that both Seulgi and my brother make aroused me and made me touch myself while fully clothed. A pathetic loser touching himself through his pants while his wife gets fucked rough that is me. Soon I can see the pair walking out of the kitchen both half naked. Seulgi seems to have less resistance towards my brother and just embraces him now. "I'm sorry honey." i stared at the floor, ashamed of my incompetence. Seulgi didn't reply with a single word, instead her facial expression is more than enough to show the disgust she had towards me for giving in too easily.

Seems like they weren't done. No, seems like they were just getting started. My brother sat next to me on the couch, butt-naked while Seulgi climbed up on him, riding his bigger cock as her tight pussy gapes open for her. "Nghhhh ahhh~! Yeah daddy, fuck me, fuck my tight little pussy!" Seulgi's moans and words were like a knife to me, humiliating me as I just looked at my unintended tent, with nobody but myself to please it. I could only resist so much. The bounces Seulgi made, the sheer size of my brother destroying my wife's vagina, the way I was completely ignored. It was degrading me, but at the same time turning me on more, I eventually gave in to my urges and started jacking off, stroking at the site of live porn acted by my wife and my brother. And they both seem to ignore me, it's as if I'm not even there and they just fucked like they've been doing it together for years. "Nghhh fuck Seulgi you little bitch! You love this cock huh? You love it more than you love your husband's? My cock is better than my brother's isn't it?" The questions he asked showed how they both can see me, I'm not invisible, at least not literally. "Nghhh~ yes daddy. Daddy's cock is just too good. My husband feels like a shrimp compared to yours daddy." That single line from my own wife broke me, made me lose myself as I screamed while rubbing my shaft so fast and uncontrollably. It made me cum, splashing drops of dilute cum on my pants. It made me huff and puff for some reason. I've had sex quite some time with Seulgi, but none of them drained me as much as this. I felt like I could pass out, so I retreated and moved to my bedroom to find clarity.

When I thought being alone in the bedroom was enough, it wasn't. My brother crashed in with Seulgi, holding her in his arms carrying like newly weds. They were making out which made me slightly irritated. Again they ignored my existence and just jump on the bed, forcing me to lay on just a small fraction of the mattress. Their make out session broke up and Seulgi now traced back to my brother's long hard shaft. I could've sworn he came a few times already and yet he's still rock solid and raring for more. Seulgi's pretty mouth enveloped his cock, slowly lowering her head before moving back up, and a slow cycle continues as she sucked my brother's cock. What's worse is how I can see our wedding rind on Seulgi's hand, shining to me while her fingers wrap around my brother's shaft. My wife's head game kept on as she went faster after a while, only for my brother to stop her and lift her face up. They made out, making me feel uncomfortable yet so turned on before changed positions, Seulgi's pussy directly above my face.

"I'll fill you up, bitch-" My brother grunted as a tight smack echoes the room, leaving a red handprint on Seulgi's ass. It made Seulgi scream out a submissive moan too and a drop of cum dripped down her pussy and onto my face. It seems like they didn't want to waste any time and went straight to business, with their two bodies connecting, my brother's cock penetrating my wife's pussy and I got the best, or worst view to see it happening. "Ngaaah~! Aaaaah aahhh yessss~!" Seulgi's moans became vocal, the opposite of her behaviour a while back. She's just lost in lust, just like me it seems. "Harder daddy pleaseeee~" She plead, her head twisting back to face my brother acting like it's only them in the room and I'm nowhere in the scene. "Fuucckkk shut the fuck up slut. I didn't tell you can order me around." With a rough yank on her her, Seulgi's moans became only louder. With precum from both of their private parts leaking on me, I couldn't have felt more humiliated, but somehow I'm happy. It made me feel content to listen to my wife's sweet and loud moans, even if it's not from me.

"Mmmh~ Daddy's cock is getting bigger in me oh god!" Her pussy bulges as she finished her sentence. He's about to cum, isn't he, I thought. "Nghhh yeaahhh...fuck I'm gonna fucking fill you up Seulgi!" He grunted, digging his nails into her hips as my brother starts to buckle his hips harder until eventually he came, bursting inside my wife. There's so much cum inside it was up to a point where the cum from the pair drips down on me, covering my face with cum. It was embarassing, having them cum on me in my bed in this manner and cuck me. After all that, Seulgi finally looked at me. "Do you want to cum baby?" Her words are still as sweet as ever, but her expressions sure seemed cold, of course I'd say yes. I was so eager to put my cock in her until she stopped me, handing me over an S size condom.

Of course, it was a bit too tight for me but I don't feel much physical pain. I ended up finally getting to fuck my wife, despite only by wearing a small condom. My thrusts were clear to be ineffective, as Seulgi's fake moans just makes me so humiliated and degraded. "Fuuuck hunny! It feels so good!" I screamed, getting closer to my climax despite only being a few thrusts in. "Mhm, okay sure. Cum then baby" Her replies seem to be short and uninteresting. It just fuels up my self-degradation which made me cum so much sperm in the condom, filling it up. "Aaaaah, nghhhh~" My whimpers were so weak, it sounded like I could faint any moment. But my wife wouldn't let me yet, not after being a coward and not standing up for his wife. She pulled off the condom from my cock and spilt it on her stomach, making her abs more defined. "Eat it" She ordered, and I had no choice but to oblige. Licking and cleaning my wife's fit body, cleaning her abs from my worthless cum felt both horrible and amazing at the same time, most probably because of how fucked my mind is at this point. I felt defeated and lay on my back beside Seulgi, before hearing her whisper. "I love you honey~" followed by a sweet giggle before my brother joins back in bed with her. Sure she still says she loves me, but for some reason I believe she loves his cock more.

[butididntpourthewhiskeys]

D O P A M I N E 

Chapter I 

“There’s a side to you, that no one really gets out there. And I’m glad they don’t. Because that way, I can still have you all to myself somehow.”

April 13, 2032 

She closes her eyes momentarily, sort of forces herself to take this moment in properly. For once. She moves her head to the left, her eyes wandering down the majestic hills of the city of Portofino. The sound of an old Vespa driving down the serpentine streets far, far away. The warmth of April sun kisses her skin, almost a bit too strong for her taste, right here, right now on this beautiful Friday morning. Not a single cloud in the sky. The full bliss of the mediterranian sun kissing her warm skin. She smiles slowly, not sure whether it’s her soul tingling her chest and making her break into this facial expression or whether it’s just the sun on her face, forcing her to twinkle her eyes together. But in this moment, everything is okay. She closes her eyes again, takes a deep breath to soak it all in. The nervousness in this moment. The tingling feeling in her belly that is truly a mixture of nervousness and excitement. The fears, and also the happiness that comes with it. The gratefulness, she was taught by life. The awareness of the fact that some things can’t be controlled. Sometimes, for the better. Sometimes for the worse. 

Within a few moments, she can already hear his bare footsteps over the checkered tiles, making his way back to the rustic breakfast table she’s sat at here outside. The sound of a porcelain mug touching the marble stone table. Taylor opens her eyes, knowing very well that who she will find with her eyes will instantly bring this feeling of Peace back onto her chest. He shields his face from the sun, moves on his chair a few inches away to ensure that he can have his breakfast in peace, without the sun tingling his eyes that much. He should’ve grabbed his sunnies before stepping outside. She can read his mind like a book.

Tayor just sits there, reaches for the coffee mug he just placed in front of her and takes a first sip. God, she loves this coffee. He got it at the farmer’s market at the Mercato Del Giovedi last week. Hazelnut and Vanilla aroma. He’s explained the process of how to make the perfect Italian espresso to her for half the day when she commented how great the coffee was, that he placed next to her in bed that morning. A little ritual he knows she can’t live without anymore. The sound of an espresso cup being placed next to her bed after a long night of getting no sleep again, and walking the corridors back and forth from room to room, trying to soothe and carrying the weight of a little insomniac - the little boy version of herself and him. The smell of coffee and the feeling of gentle kisses being placed on her temple, followed by his firm and familiar hand on her arm and the whispers of i love you’s in the air. Mornings with him. 

She knows he loves roaming around the various Italian market on weekends in the area. His love for trying new foods and then forcing her to eat whatever new fruit he just got, or whatever new coffee-making technique some Nonna at the local coffee shop has taught him is one of the things that simply ‘came with age’ as she teases him so often. But all of that teasing is just her way of avoiding to say these words that everyone has on the tip of their tongues. Those words that are easier to say than any other. He’s happy. He’s not just found her, but also a new love for life and a sense of curiosity and belonging that he maybe craved for thirty years of life. 

Life, before her. 

Still, she’s convinced he talked her into buying this house in the hills of Portofino, just to have best access to coffee, lots of it, fresh italian ice-cream and authentic Pasta alla Vongole, right by his doorstep.

“We should invite Suki and James tonight as well. To celebrate. I’m having a good feeling about this.” he says, placing his coffee mug in front of him again, smirking over to her side of the table. His phone still in his hand, he carefully places it next to his plate. His eyes are a little puffy, after all it’s been a long night again. But the happiness in his face is undeniable. And she hates it. She hates his premature excitement that will most likely just result in disappointment again. Taylor takes a deep breath, just brushes a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. He can tell she didn’t like that comment, but he won’t ever change when it comes to this. He won’t ever swallow down the fact that he just knows. He knows it will work out. It has worked out before, and it will work out again. And he knows her well enough to know that whatever optimism and calmness she lacks, he’s here to balance it out for her. That’s why he’s here. To be for her, what she’s been for him for so long.

“First of all, it will be the same result as every time. Heard it from me first.” she says, raises her hand as if she’s going to win this one with him. Even though there’s no winning in this. She knows so much better. He just leans back sitting in his chair, the warm tiles under his bare feet. He knows where this is going, crosses his arms over his tattoos and patiently waits for her to finish her speech.

“Second, I would certainly not tell anyone else but my mother tonight. If I would even tell her, to be honest. Probably not. Which is also irrelevant since it’s definitely not going to be…”

“What’s with all this scowling, grumpy cat?” 

In the process of taking a slice of melon from the big plate he placed in front of her, she just stops for a second. Looks at him with the face he enjoys more than anything. She’s half mad, half smirking, her bangs still all over the place, as always in the mornings. She hates it when he doesn’t properly react to her dramatic statements, and instead just focuses on making her crack a smile. She hates it, but she can’t live without it either. He knows that as well as everything else about her. 

“Grumpy cat died years ago. The internet knows.” she says trying to act smart, and starts eating her breakfast.

“Pretty morbid. Wow. Didn’t know this side to you until now. A bit scary but I like it.” he teases in a thick accent, and she just gives him one last provoking look before cutting the slice of melon in half with her knife. He smiles his cheekiest smile, just sitting across her in the shade. She knows him for so long, and these mundane conversations are as familiar to her as the feeling of home she gets when hugging her mom or listening to new music with her dad in the car. Yet he still gets her somehow. Yet he still has the ability to challenge her mind completely and in each conversation. 

“I just hate that you’re getting your hopes up, when..” 

She doesn’t have to finish her sentence, already witnesses him moving his chair to sit closer to her. It’s his way of shutting her up. His arms immediately open up, and almost like a reflex, she just melts into these, feels his arms wrap around her from both sides. The most familiar smell in the world in her nose. His big hands holding her so tight over her white tank top that she’s slept in last night. She closes her eyes, her small hands clawing a bit more into his skin over his t-shirt than she usually does. Her nose in his shirt. His lips on her ear. Her small fingers digging into his tattooed skin. 

“No matter what, it’ll be fine, baby.” 

He half mumbles, half kisses her gently in his dark voice, slowly, right over her ear on the spot between her bangs and her temple. She nods, as a natural reaction to him, both eyes still closed. She doesn’t know why, but he’s the only person she believes when he says something like this. Because she knows where it comes from. Because he knows what ‘things not being fine’ is actually like. Not like most people.

Still pressed against his torso, she opens her eyes, not moving a bit. The warm breeze of Italy’s morning air in her face. She’s safe here, in his arms. She’s finally where she was always meant to be. 

“I know. I know.” she replies slowly, believes what she says for once, sitting on one of these balcony chairs and being fully sunken into him. 

Within a matter of seconds however, the peaceful quiet is over. The big balcony door opens a second time today. Taylor feels him slowly pulling back, ending the hug as Andrea already stands there in the door frame. A little blonde curly-head next to her, who is almost unable to reach Andrea’s hand with this massive height difference between them. Still confidently, he makes his way across the patio door, taking one step after the other, not even stumbling a little bit this time. With a proud smile on her face, Andrea looks at the couple that just ended their hug. She can feel that something is in the air between these two. 

“Sorry to interrupt, but someone woke up from their nap and protested for mom and dad.”

Taylor feels another wave of warmth on her chest, but this time, it’s not the sun lighting her up from the sky. It’s his eyes. These tiny green eyes in the smiling face of this little human. The reason that everything makes sense again. The reason, everything had to happen exactly the way it did. 

Even before she can react, the curly-haired man next to her seems to have the exact same reaction as her. As loving and happy as always when he interacts with his son, it takes less than a few seconds before he’s picked up the little boy on his green socks, gently throwing the little child up in the air, then picking him up and stealing his chubby cheeks what feels like a million kisses. These little giggles in her ears have the potential to heal her entire soul right there. Andrea notices. She smiles at these two boys, just like Taylor does. 

“Mate, it’s almost eleven thirty. Are you a teenager now? Sleeping until noon? Like dad?” he asks his son while standing there with him in his arms, right in front of two of the most important women in his life. Andrea laughs at this comment already, but Taylor still sits there, just looks at her boys with a smile. Marlowe seems to be busy again touching Matty’s tattoos on his arms with his tiny fingers. One of the greatest fascinations this little boy has when being in his dad’s arms. He doesn’t understand yet why his dad has these little drawings under his skin, and everyone else doesn’t. 

“Well, if you’re up all night entertaining your parents, then you’ll also sleep until noon I guess.” she says, clearly mocking her little baby on his arms. The tall man in his boxers just laughs at his son on his arm, who looks less interested in these words by his mom than anything else. He seems to have enjoyed the action with his dad from before though. Just points with his finger to the air again. He loves the lemon trees in their yard. Every morning, the two of them go take a look at these trees. He will never forget the little face he made when Taylor gave him a tiny slice of lemon to try. A face for the books. Priceless.

“Mamma..” he suddenly mumbles, his tiny grabby hands pointing to the blonde woman on the chair in front of the breakfast table. It takes less than five seconds and he passes his baby to Taylor, who immediately reaches with her hands across the small body and places him right on her lap. One hand on his chubby warm thigh, the other pressing the little curly head onto her chest. It feels like a reflex, almost. The most natural movement, that only a mother will understand. And Marlowe’s reaction tells her the same. He gets quiet all of the sudden, seems to have returned to his place of safety and comfort. The arms of his mother. His home. 

“Do you want to try some melon, honey?” she asks after pressing a kiss onto his head from up where she is. She can feel him reaching for the fruit on her plate, and she patiently hands him a tiny slice. The little boy looks a bit confused at the fruit in his hand, then slowly moves it to his mouth. He touches the sweet fruit with his tiny tongue once. Taylor just watches him carefully, just like Matty does. He’s already laughing at his face. He’s never tried this type of a cantaloupe before. 

“I think he likes it.” Andrea says with a smile on her face. Taylor moves her head down, trying to see any type of reaction in Marlowe’s face. He doesn’t look as disgusted as yesterday when she gave him broccoli for the first time. It seems to be pleasant enough for him to continue sucking on the fruit the way he does. With sticky hands she holds the fruit against his mouth again, feeding him carefully to not ruin the little white trousers that Andrea has put him in this morning. 

“Do you want some breakfast, Andrea? I can also make you the coffee from yesterday you liked…” Matty says, a hand on her mother’s arm. She loves how close they are, just how close they’ve become in the past years, quietly focuses her gaze on the small creature on her lap. Unreal how much she loves just every single movement this little human makes. Just quietly sits there, on her lap, eating his watermelon with a smacking sound and drooling all over her hands again. 

“Oh I’m good, honey.” Andrea answers him, “I was actually going to take him for a walk by the beach before Scott gets here.” 

“When does Dad arrive again?” she asks, her head looking up to her mother. Just when she was about to answer is when Marlowe starts shaking his head dramatically. 

“What? You don’t like it?” Taylor asks him confused and he just shakes his head enthusiastically. The man standing next to Andrea just breaths out amusedly at his son.

“But you just had half of it?” 

Marlowe shakes his head again, so much that he could almost fall off her lap. If he’s got one thing from his mother, it’s the dramatic way of giving answers.

“No.” 

“Okay, okay.” 

“Let me get you a napkin.” Matty mumbles, disappears inside the villa again. Taylor just looks at her son, manages to reach for his sticky hands right before he was about to touch his tiny shirt. Andrea laughs at the two of them. This little boy needs less than three minutes to turn the entire table into a mess. 

“When did he fall asleep last night?” 

Taylor sighs, holding his tiny sticky hands in hers, before kissing his head again a few times, patiently waiting for her husband to get back with some kitchen paper. 

“Around four in the morning.” 

Andrea sighs. “This little night owl.” 

Just in this moment, the brown-haired man with the dark brown curls, just like his son but with some grey hair in between, approaches his wife and hands her the kitchen paper. She begins drying the little hands, then thankfully smiles at her mother who takes the boy from her lap again, so that Taylor can clean her own hands too. Sticky hands and eye bags. A normal morning in their house nowadays. 

“Are you going to the beach with grandma?” Taylor says excitedly, and Marlowe smiles. She laughs gently at her happy baby. 

“Did you use the sunscreen in his room? We also have the little hat from…” 

Andrea smiles at her grandson’ father, who’s standing right in front of her, his big hands securely holding these tiny feet he made. 

“I’ve raised two children, Matty. I’ve got it all under control.” 

Taylor just continues drinking her coffee, has to smirk at her mother lecturing him. He tends to be a little control freak when it comes to Marlowe sometimes. His worst fear constantly being that anything happens to him, or Taylor. A fear that grew in his chest through fatherhood. Maybe it’s because he knows how easy it is to make a mistake that can impact your entire life. Maybe it’s because the moment Marlowe opened his eyes, he knew he’s got a reason to be better.

“Mom, I have a meeting at eleven, and..” Taylor turns her head to look at her husband, “When are you leaving again?” 

With a sigh escaping his mouth, he puts down his coffee mug one more time this morning, then takes another look at his phone on the table next to him. 

“I’m leaving for the airport around 1.” 

Andrea nods. 

“So you can still say goodbye to your dad when we get back, Marly!” The blonde grandmother whispers into her grandson’s ear. The little boy doesn’t really seem to understand. “Just one night without daddy. Just one.” she adds in a cooing voice, but Marlowe doesn’t seem to really care, is busy moving his little chubby legs on her arms.

“Let me open the gate for you guys..” the grown curly-head says, signaling Taylor to remain seated. She still gets up once, mumbles a little ‘have fun with grandma, baby’ into these chubby cheeks, then watches the three of them disappear inside the house again. She takes a few steps onto the balcony rail, just stands there in the shade for a few moments. Her hands on the cold metal, her bare feet on the sun-warmed tiles. She’s still nervous at the thought of before. Secretly wishes he would finally come back now, so they have clarity for once. 

Taylor notices how she starts biting her lip again. She needs to stop doing that whenever her anxieties creep up again. 

Within a few moments, she suddenly feels a different sensation. Two hands hugging her from behind. One hand that lands on her bare stomach under her tank top. The other one gently wrapped around her torso. She moves her head to the side to face him, but he’s faster, already presses a few gentle kisses onto her side. She turns around, was just about to ask him to go take the test from the bathroom sink when she sees what he’s holding in his hand. For a second, she feels her throat tightening. Only then she realizes that he didn’t look at the result either yet. Right in the palm of his closed hand, he holds the pregnancy test. And he’s as nervous as she is. Taylor feels the metal railing in her back. His still empty hand steady on her naked skin. 

“Did you..?” 

“I didn’t. Let’s do this together, love.” 

Taylor nods, and he can feel her anxiety in his throat. She looks terrified, and he knows why. After two miscarriages, a dozen shots of hormones in the mornings and sheer disappointment month after month, this isn’t as joyful anymore as it used to be. 

“It’s negative. I know it. I feel it..” 

“Shush.” he says, a grin on his lips again. She just sighs. 

“Okay, you take a look and just…tell me.” she says, her arms crossed now. Her palms are sweaty. Her heart beats to her throat. She just looks at the forty year old with a worrisome face. He strokes the skin on her bare arm once, gives her one last reassuring look, before he then takes a look at the test in his hand. She doesn’t even look at it. Only looks at his face. He’s quiet for a second, then looks back at her face. 

“It’s negative.” 

She doesn’t say anything, just nods. She knew it. She knew that this was her last attempt at having another baby. She never thought it would haunt her this much. The fact that it’s over. That Marlowe will most likely have to grow up without a sibling. That she will never experience this miracle again, with the love of her life. She just swallows, nods again and again. Her arms still crossed. Matty immediately takes a few steps back, then places the little plastic test on the table next to him just to make sure he has both his hands free. Free to wrap them around the blonde woman as tight as humanly possible. And so they stand there. Barefoot on the warm balcony floor, her hands around his back, his holding her head as tightly to his chest as he can. It’s almost as if he would try to squeeze the sadness out of her. His arm stroking her back up and down, just like he did years ago when she got off stage, only to learn that one of the most influential people in her life has passed away. Just like he did back then, when she was in her twenties and crying over some guy who broke her heart not once, but twice. 

Matty moves his hand, strokes her hair to the side, then presses a long and gentle kiss onto her head. 

“We’ll just keep trying, baby. It’s gonna work out.” he whispers, his accent thicker than usual, and slowly lets go to be able to take a good look at her. She doesn’t look into his eyes, just looks down and nods slowly. She doesn’t believe him, and he knows. 

“At least we have one baby. Some people don’t have any…”

“Hey, look at me.” 

He places both hands on her cheeks, forces her to look at him. She’s scared, and he knows that look too well. 

“Marly will have a sibling. And we will have another baby. I promise.” he takes a pause. A warm breeze blowing her hair to the side. 

“Believe me?” 

She nods. Not sure if she just did to make him happy, or in order to make herself believe that he’s right. He comes closer to her, kisses her lips gently. For the first time, today. She tastes like the sweet melon she had a few moments ago. His fingertips touching the ends of her bangs. 

“I love you.” 

Taylor smiles, just nods when he automatically gets closer again to kiss her forehead, right above the messed up bangs once. They fall into another hug, Taylor doesn’t say anything else. He hates feeling her pain. He hates this so much. 

“You told me yesterday that you and Jack wanted to work on some stuff next week. How about I try to reschedule my session in London next week, and we all fly out to New York and I work from home with our little buddy? And you can take the week to work with Jack in the studio. What do you think?”

She smiles. He knows her so so well. So well, that he knows that the only thing soothing her now is work. Music. The thing she considers the first love of her life. Taylor nods, her hands touching his stubbly cheek once. Never did she think they’d get to this point. Never did she think he’d be the only thing she ever got right in this life.

“It’s fine. You don’t have to..” 

“Hey, no big deal. I can reschedule easily. So..” 

“Matt..”

He looks at her awaiting a reaction. She never calls him by his actual name. Both their eyes meet and he gets the same goosebumps as he did fifteen years ago, for the very first time. 

“What if..” she stops. She fears saying these words. He feels it right away. She still stands there, back against the balcony railing, hair as curly as always in this humidity, her hands this time on his arms. 

“What?” 

She sighs. One look into his eyes is enough to know that there’s nothing she can’t tell him. 

“What if we will only ever have one baby? What if it doesn’t…? What do we do, if..” 

“You want to know what we do if it’s only you, Marly and me?” she looks at him with big eyes, seems to genuinely want an answer from him. But all she gets is the most honest look that a human can carry. Mixed with his kind eyes, that hug her soul from within. His eyes have the ability to tell her so much, without him using a single word. He worships her. He will never not love her, because she really did change his life. She did change him, pulled him out of the darkest dark just with being who she is.

“Then it’s us three. Taking on the world. Like the three musketeers.” 

She looks into his face, their foreheads touching already. She nods slowly. She likes that thought. She likes the safety that comes with it. The first time in her life that it’s not a boyfriend, a partner, or just her lover standing in front of her and saying these loving words to her. It hits different, because it’s him. Not someone she met and fell for, a bad decision that led to another backdoor romance and that ended in sobbing cries and trust issues on end. It’s someone who utterly, completely, and unmistakably knows her. Her, her baggage, her past, and everything in between. And so does she. She’s seen him at his lowest, and still chose to see the best in him. Always.

His hand reaches for hers and they intertwine them carefully. She doesn’t say anything else, just appreciates his face that gets closer to her head again. These familiar lips that land on her forehead again, and the smell in her nose that truly feels like home in her heart. She’s glad that her mother is out for a walk with Marly. She needs this moment with him alone. She needed it more than she thought, after being apart for a week. 

“We’ll be just fine, baby. If I know one thing about us, it’s that we’ll be just fine. Because there’s nothing..” he whispers, then takes a pause that makes her almost emotional. She doesn’t know why, but something in her tells her that she better soak this moment in. Soak it in, hold onto it, never let it go, and stick with it forever. Her hands hold onto him even tighter. They haven’t moved in minutes.

“There’s nothing that could ever come between us, baby.”

She buries her face once more in his arms, breathes him in. It’s been so many times in her life, when she said those words to people she now considers strangers. It’s been so many times in her life, when she’s heard those words, begging, wishing for them to come true, only to find that they were the reflection of a moment in time. But with him, right here, it feels like a lifetime. He steals her cheek one last kiss, then slowly ends the hug with her. 

“Let me get you some of the cornetto di chociolate I got yesterday. You need it. You deserve it.” he says, his horrible Italian pronounciaton already making her laugh. In his grey boxers, the white shirt he slept in and his curly hair in all directions he smiles at her one last time, then leaves the patio. 

_______________

“What does the little duckie say?” she asks, both hands with a firm grip around the tiny torso. She moves her legs up and down in the pool, enjoys the warmth of the summer sun on her skin whilst getting the perfect refreshment by splashing her legs into the pool. The little curly-haired boy on her lap, learning forward with fascination on his face, just splashing his tiny hands on top of the water in the pool. She can’t help but laugh, because the little floating duck that Matty got him last month doesn’t seem to interest him at all anymore. Instead, he’s all about making the refreshing water splash as much as possible with his small hands. And Taylor lets him. It was smart of her to change into her bikini before sitting by the pool with this little rascal. 

“Is that so fun?” she says, already laughing at her son. He stops for a second, looks up at his mom then. Drops of water running down his chubby cheek. Taylor steals the little man a big kiss. The little blue hat he wears makes his chubby face even cuter than she thought was possible. 

“Are you tired, honey?” she says to him quietly, can see his eyes getting a bit smaller and his tiny body losing some of his balance. A clear sign that someone’s in need of a nap. Taylor adjusts him on her arms, slowly and carefully gets up from the poolside where she was just sitting at and makes her way back to one of the sun beds. She moves her sunglasses from her eyes to the top of her head, then reaches for one of the towels that she wraps the little boy on her arms in. He doesn’t seem too impressed by Taylor drying his little arms, just patiently remains on her arm. He then slowly places his head on her shoulder. She knew he was exhausted. A mother’s intuition is never wrong.

“I know. Let’s take a nap, baby. I need one, too.” she whispers, her hand already protectively on his little head, her lips pressing the most gentle kisses onto the little head. She carefully sits down on the sun bed, happy that she’s now in the shade, right under the big umbrella. It really has gotten hot in the midday sun, hot but also gloomy. A type of weather they barely have whenever they stay in their Italian home. The sky’s grey already and she almost feels like it’s starting to rain soon. She’s even more thankful to be sitting here under the big umbrella that shields the both of them from the few drops of rain that are now visible in the pool. Her son chose the perfect timing for his little afternoon nap. Taylor slowly leans back, adjusts the baby on her chest. He already fights sleep, and Taylor is glad. She could need a nap herself after last night. She carefully wraps the towel around herself, making sure the little wet body is covered. Both hands around the tiny body over the towel, her lips whispering sweet nothings into the little damp head full of curly hair, gently kissing him to sleep. 

It takes less than five minutes and the most heartwarming baby snores are audible in her ears. His snores, and the soft rain on the umbrella above her. There’s nothing as refreshing as the light rain in the hot midday sun. She smiles silently, both hands still around the little body, her lips still glued to his head. Unbelievable how much peace she’s found on this crazy journey called motherhood. Unbelievable that she’s found this peace with the person she least expected it with. 

Taylor’s head falls back, her arms still wrapped around her baby while she allows herself to closer her eyes, too. 

Peace. 

Finally. 

The patio door opens and she hears a few pairs of feet on the green grass of her garden. A little confused, she opens her eyes first, then lifts her head and turns to where the sound comes from. And then, everything speeds up. Everything speeds up, but slows down at the same time. The rain has stopped, even though a dark grey layer of clouds now fills the sky. She can see her parents walking towards her. Tears in her father’s eyes. Andrea’s sobs in her ears now. Tree walks right next to them, and a stranger too. She doesn’t know what has happened, but the only thing she feels herself doing is holding onto the little sleepy bundle in her arms even tighter than before. Almost as if she knew. The next thing she perceives is her father carefully reaching for the sleeping baby in her arms. She hates to let go, but feels her stomach dropping by the look into her mother’s eyes. He gently takes the warm baby from her chest, leaving her cold and alone. She catches one last look of her father carrying the little boy inside, then turns her head back to her crying mother, not knowing yet that this will be one of the moment changing her life forever. She hears her crying words. She feels Tree’s and her hands holding hers, frantically. Almost as if they would want to try to keep her from falling over, right here. She hears her mother’s words but then again, they won’t reach her mind. There’s been an accident. The doctors have tried everything they can. He’s been brought to the hospital, but it doesn’t look good. She’s so sorry. She’s so so sorry. 

Taylor still doesn’t seem to comprehend, still sits right there on the same sun bed she’s just watched her child fall asleep on. Holding him in her arms, thanking god for bringing peace into her life. She still doesn’t understand, feels two set of hands caressing her from both sides. Destroyed and crying faces staring into hers. She doesn’t understand. It’s impossible. They can’t be talking about him. Him. Her everything. The blonde woman looks from Tree, back to her mother, then to the stranger next to them, right by their poolside. She shakes her head, feels the realization of these news sink into her bones. She feels sick all of the sudden, a wave of sharp pain erupting in her chest and spreading throughout her entire body. She starts shaking, her heartbeat rising instantly. She shakes her head again and again, unable to accept whatever has just been said to her. Andrea gets up, starts hugging her daughter, but she still just shakes her head. Shakes her head again and again until sharp cries slowly escape her mouth. Sharp cries that turn into desperate screams that echo through the entire house, up until the front yard, down the hills of Portofino and right to the rest of the world…

To be continued.

[ashbrat488]

Foul Play - Chapter 6

Millicent gazed out of the car window, her curiosity piqued as Ben brought the vehicle to a stop. He squeezed her thigh affectionately before stepping out of the car without a word, making his way around to her side to offer a helping hand. She accepted his gesture with a small smile, appreciating his chivalry as he winked at her before closing the car door.

Carrying a bag and a picnic basket, Ben led Millicent towards a spacious grassy area. She admired the breathtaking view of the city skyline, unable to contain her excitement. "What a great view!" she exclaimed, her eyes sparkling.

"I agree," Ben replied, pulling out a bottle of wine from the basket as he settled down on the blanket he had spread out.

Millicent joined him, "smooth," she teases at his smoothness, and he playfully shrugged in response. As they sat together, he offered her a container of pasta and a glass of wine, which she gladly accepted.

"So, tell me about you being the Dean's daughter..."

With a small shrug, she proceeded to share her story. "Well, apparently my mother did a semester in England during college and met my father. She only discovered she was pregnant after returning home. It was a topic she avoided discussing. So, when I turned 16, I decided to do one of those ancestry tests and ended up matching with him as a potential parent. He allowed me to come live with him after my mother passed away, despite our limited interactions," Millicent explained, a touch of vulnerability in her voice.

Ben's expression turned sympathetic as he reached over to tuck a stray strand of her red hair behind her ear. "Hey, I didn't know. I'm sorry," he said genuinely.

"Thanks," Millicent responded with a warm smile, briefly leaning into his comforting touch before returning her focus to the food. "This is good. You make it?"

"No," he laughs. "Ordered from my favorite Italian restaurant. I planned on lying to you about me making it but decided not to."

She couldn't help but giggle when Ben admitted that he had considered pretending he made the food himself but opted for honesty instead. "I appreciate your honesty."

As the sun began its descent, casting a golden glow over the cityscape, Millicent and Ben engaged in conversation, their connection deepening with each passing moment. Eventually, Ben's gaze turned tender as he cupped Millicent's cheek in his hand. Seeking her permission, he asked, "can I kiss you?"

Swallowing nervously, Millicent scooted closer to him and nodded, granting her consent. A soft smile graced her lips as he leaned in, initiating a gentle kiss. The kiss grew more passionate, and as the intensity increased, his hand ventured to her waist while she cautiously weaved her fingers into his hair. However, when his hand began to move higher, she pushed him back gently, creating a necessary distance between them.

Initially, Ben hesitated, gripping her thigh as his thumb grazed her panties before Millicent placed both her hands on his chest, pushing him back harder. "Sorry," he whispered, his breath slightly ragged.

Millicent nodded in understanding, nudging him back as she sat up, pulling her skirt down. "It's okay. I just... I'm not ready for anything more than that," Millicent admitted, her voice tinged with vulnerability. "I like you, but I'd like to get to know you better before taking things further."

Ben chuckled, his hand running gently along her arm as he reassured her. "Of course. Don't worry about it. Why don't I take you home? It's getting late."

"Sure," Millicent agreed, standing up to help him tidy up their picnic spot. As they settled back into the car, she fastened her seat belt and turned to face him, his eyes focused on the road ahead. An inkling of concern crept into her mind at the new tense energy, prompting her to ask, "did I do something to upset you?"

Ben groaned, shaking his head, and gently placed his hand on her thigh. "God, no. I'm sorry, Milly. I'm just upset with myself for pushing you. It's not you. I'd still like to see you again... if you're interested?"

A grin spread across Millicent's face, a sense of relief washing over her. "I'd like that," she replied, her voice filled with genuine enthusiasm. She held his hand tightly as he smiled back at her before refocusing on the road.

As they reached the front of her house, Millicent turned toward Ben. "Thanks for tonight, Ben. I had a nice time."

"Me too," he offers, moving to get out of the car before she stops him.

"I'll be fine. You don't have to walk me to the door. Besides, I don't want my father to bother us..."

Ben laughs as her small blush under the lamppost's soft glow. "Of course. I understand," he said, his playful tone evident. "Not ready for that, yet. Can I at least kiss you goodnight?"

Millicent giggled, leaning towards him as he closed the distance between them for a tender kiss. He teased her with a fleeting touch of his tongue, nibbling on her lip before pulling away. "See you on Monday."

"Goodnight, Milly," Ben bid her farewell before she turned and made her way inside the quiet house.

"Mill?"

Millicent paused with a sigh at the top of the stairs as her father, Darren, opened the door to his room, leaning against the doorjamb. The soft light of his bedside lamp cast a warm glow on him. "I'm home, Dad."

"Did you have a nice time? Are you going to tell me who you went out with?" Darren inquired, pulling his glasses from his face to clean them on his shirt. He had been working hard over the past few years to strike a balance between being a supportive father and respecting Millicent's independence.

Millicent sighed, observing her father's efforts, which she appreciated. "It was just a first date. If I decide to continue seeing him, I promise I'll let you know. Deal?"

"Deal," he replied with a smile. "Goodnight, love."

"Night, Dad," Millicent chuckled, turning away and heading towards her bedroom. She flicked on the light, causing the room to fill with a warm glow. After closing the door, she tossed her bag onto the chair in the corner and dropped her jacket onto another chair, kicking off her shoes. However, her actions were interrupted by a light knocking on the window.

Approaching cautiously as the knocking persisted, Millicent's heart raced in her chest. She pulled back the curtain, revealing Henry's face outside her window. "Oh my god," she muttered to herself, swiftly opening the window. "What the fuck are you doing here?!"

"Can I come in?" Henry asked, attempting to climb in through the window, but Millicent pushed his hands away, almost causing him to lose his balance. "Hey!"

"No! What do you think you're doing here?" Millicent repeated, lowering her voice and crossing her arms over her chest as she glanced out the window. "How did you get up here? And how did you know which room was mine?"

Rolling his eyes and sighing in annoyance, Henry replied, "I noticed which light turned on and climbed up the trellis. Are you okay?"

"Why wouldn't I be okay?!" Millicent snapped, frustration evident in her voice. "Because I went out with Ben? I can take care of myself, thank you very much. Don't ever come here like this again. I don't care how jealous you are of me being with someone else!"

"It's not like that! I was worried, that's all! He's a creep!" Henry insisted, his voice filled with concern.

"You're the only one being a creep here!" Millicent shook her head, pushing his shoulder forcefully, causing him to lose his grip and fall to the ground with a thud and a grunt. She winced slightly as she watched him lying there for a moment. "Are you okay?" she asked, relieved when he finally stood up and gave her a thumbs-up. "Then fuck off!" Millicent declared, frustration and exasperation evident in her voice.

Henry groaned, his hand on his ribs as he heard her slam the window shut. He walked away from the house, suddenly realizing that he had likely worsened their friendship. With each step forward that Millicent had allowed him, he had managed to mess things up and take two steps back.

Chapter 7

[andreafmn]

Running In Circles - Chapter 3

Word Count: 1,854

Characters: Female Reader Rossi Character, Aaron Hotchner, David Rossi, Derek Morgan, Spencer Reid, Jennifer “JJ”Jareau, Emily Prentiss, Penelope Garcia

Story Description: (Y/N) Rossi is following in her father’s footsteps by joining the BAU team as a profiler. The girl genius knew almost everything but she could have never predicted falling for Aaron Hotchner, her boss and her father’s friend. in their world mutual feelings are not enough to push them together. Will all the adversities and obstacles they face pull them together or push them apart forever?

*DISCLAIMER* I do not own in any way Criminal Minds, all credits of the pre-established characters, script, and storyline belong to Jeff Davis and CBS Network. The only thing I own is Arden Rossi, any upcoming characters, and her storyline, as well as her effects in the others’ story line.

Chapter: 3/?

A/N: This is a short one. Just fully domestic fluff and it makes me very happy, but letting ya’ll know this happiness will be kinda short lived. If you enjoy my writing I’ll also be posting them in AO3 and Wattpad along with other stories (I also hope to start taking requests if ya’ll want) Hope you enjoy and all constructive criticism is encouraged.

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Chapter 3

“Okay, buddy, let’s see.” I looked at the instructions in my hands from the fort kit I had purchased. It seemed simple enough and something Jack would enjoy inmmensly. “Let’s do this.”

“Yeah!” Jack exclaimed. Hotch laughed from the kitchen, insisting he had to at least cook some dinner. In the oven were the batch of brownies I had put in 10 minutes ago. It took about 30 minutes to finish the fort and the look on Jack’s face was priceless. Then he spent 10 minutes perusing my movie collection until he finally landed on Toy Story, once again. 

“Well, dinner’s ready,” Hotch announced, bringing a tray with three plates of spaghetti to the fort.

“Daddy, daddy! Look at the fort!” Jack jumped up and down. It was a simple square base, big enough for three people and a triangle top. We covered it with thin sheets and hung wire twinkle lights on the top. Jack had run to my linen closet and gotten a thick comforter to lay on the floor, as well as most of the pillow that laid on my couch. He also arranged a couple of his plush toys in there to keep us company, as he put it. 

“I see it, buddy. It looks great!” Hotch smiled brightly. “Now, what do we say?”

“Thank you, (Y/N)!”

“No problem, little man,” I smiled. “How about you invite your dad inside so we can eat some spaghetti?”

“Yes! Come on, dad!”

Hotch sat down next to me and passed a plate to Jack and me, putting a napkin on his son’s collar. The small kid smiled at his dad and dug into his plate without another thought, the sound of the movie filling in the background. 

“You know,” I mused. “It was pretty bold of you to cook spaghetti for an Italian.”

“Right,” he chuckled. “Well, I hope it’s good.”

I smiled and took a bite of the noodles. Hotch stared expectantly to see if he passed the Italian test. I chewed slowly, dragging the process along, until finally giving him a thumbs up. Hotch sighed and smiled before digging into his own plate.

After finishing the pasta, I took the three plates to the kitchen and served three plates of brownie with ice cream for me and the Hotchner duo. When those plates were empty, Jack laid his head on my lap and his feet on his dad’s and watched the movie. An hour and a half later, the blonde boy was softly snoring and peacefully sleeping.

“Looks like the little man ran out of juice,” I said as I ran my hand through his soft hair. “I think we should take him up to the guest room.”

Hotch softly placed his hand under Jack’s arms and carried him up the stairs to the first door on the right, careful not to wake the tired child. I pulled the sheets away and Hotch laid the kid on the bed. I left the room to let Hotch change Jack into his pajamas and went downstairs to clean up and pack away the fort for Jack to take home.

“Thank you, (Y/N),” I jumped at the sound of Hotch’s voice and he laughed. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.”

“It’s okay, and don’t mention it.” I sat down next to him on the island. “Whatever you need, seriously, I’m here.”

He smiled and engulfed me in a hug; time slowed down. For a moment, just for a moment, it was only us. There was no hurting, no unspoken emotions, nothing. I breathed in his scent and took in the warmth coming from the closeness of his body to mine. He relaxed into me and let himself be human for a change. 

All good things come to an end.

“Well, it’s getting late,” I said breaking the hug and clearing my throat. “Um, there’s towels in the guest bedroom closet and extra blankets just in case it gets too cold during the night.”

“Great, I’ll see you in the morning, then. Good night, (y/n).”

“Good night, Hotch.” I smiled and waited for his figure to disappear in the stairs before opening the doors leading to my backyard. I breathed in deeply and tried to easy my heartbeat.

“What are you doing, (Y/N)?” I whispered to myself.

I spent the night tossing and turning, trying my best to not think that the man I liked was sleeping just a hallway away. Before I knew it, the sun was peeking in through my bedroom window, announcing that I had wasted a whole night of sleep inside my head. 

So, I got up and went downstairs to work on breakfast. Eggs, bacon, pancakes, toast, the works. I put a pot of coffee to brew and took out some toppings for the pancakes. As I was finishing with the bacon, I heard tiny feet running down the staircase.

“Morning, (Y/N)!” Jack exclaimed, hugging my waist since it was as high as he could reach. 

“Hey, little man,” I said ruffling his hair. “Wanna help me set the table?”

He nodded and grabbed the forks I was holding, placing them rapidly next to the three plates that were already on the round table.

“Jack, where’s dad?” I questioned.

“He’s still sleeping.” He shrugged.

“I have an idea, little man. How about we wake him up with some silly string?”

“What’s silly string?” My mouth dropped. I headed to the hallway closet and took out two cans of silly string.

“This, buddy, is silly string,” I presented the can. “You press the button here down and string comes out.”

“Like this?” Jack asked as a string of green plastic was expelled from the can. He shrieked gleefully and his excitement grew as he saw the grin on my face.

“Just like that, bud. Let’s go wake up dad.” 

He nodded excitedly and we walked up the stairs quietly. Once we reached the door, I turned the doorknob slowly and instructed Jack to go jump on the bed to surprise his dad. He smiled at me and when the door was completely open, he ran up to the bed and jumped.

When Hotch’s eyes shot open, Jack and I pressed the cans and shot silly string all over Hotch.

“Good morning, daddy!” Jack screamed as he flung the can around. Definitely a mess I’d have to clean later but very worth it at the moment.

“Morning, Jack!” The older man said as he brought his kid down tickling him slightly. “Is it safe to assume this was your idea, (Y/N)?”

“Yes, sir. It is,” I responded between laughs. “We have a very strict protocol in this household when it comes to wake up calls.” 

“That’s a very effective wake up call.” Hotch smiled.

“Well, now that we’re all up, we can eat some breakfast,” I said. “There’s some chocolate chip pancakes for you, little man.”

“Yes!” He excitedly left the room and ran downstairs.

“And there’s coffee, too.” I smiled and Hotch got up to join us downstairs.

“(Y/N), thank you.” Hotch said as he stood on the doorstep ready to go home. “This is exactly what Jack and I needed, and I have no idea how I’ll ever be able to make it up to you.”

“Hotch, there’s absolutely no need.” I laid a hand on his arm, giving it a squeeze for reassurance. “I meant it when I said I’d always be here for you both. Whatever it is you need.”

Hotch smiled and left with an ‘I’ll see you at work’, and a Jack frantically waving from the backseat.

And that’s how our sleepovers started. Most of the times we had days off Hotch would come over and we’d build a fort with Jack and watch movies or played games. On hot days, we’d play around in the pool. Sometimes with the squad, but more often than not, just the three of us. If ever he needed it, I would take care of Jack so he could have a day to himself. These nights were happening so often, I transformed one of the guest rooms into a room for Jack. Hotch started leaving some of Jack’s clothes and toys. My house started becoming a second home for the Hotchner boys.

Slowly we grew closer and closer as friends, even if I wanted more. His friendship was too important for me to lose what we already had.

Back at work, it was business as usual. The team was none the wiser, but they could see that our relationship had gotten closer. JJ would always give me a smirk when she saw us hugging in his office, Derek would wiggle his eyebrows at me, and Penelope would silently squeal and flail her arms whenever she saw us in proximity.

Today was no different. Reid, Emily, Derek, and I were in the briefing room each stirring their wanted sugars and creams into the coffees I had brought in the morning. Reid quickly examining the box of donuts I had also brought along to pick the best one.

“Come on, baby girl,” Derek chuckled. “What’s going on between you and the boss man?”

“Well, Derek, if you must know,” I played along. The trio closed in as I pretended to look around for any eavesdropping ears. “Absolutely nothing. We’re just friends.”

“Come on, (Y/N),” Emily responded annoyed. “There has to be something. Friends don’t look at each other the way you both do.”

“My dearest Emily, I’m serious. I’ve just tried to be there for him in these very difficult times.” I sipped my coffee. “And I very much enjoy Jack’s company.”

“You know,” Spencer chimed in. “Oxytocin and dopamine, which are often referred to as the love hormones, affect pupil size. The brain gets a surge of these chemicals when you’re sexually or romantically attracted to someone. This boost of hormones causes pupils to dilate. So, really, if we wanted to know if something was happening all we have to do is pay attention to their eyes.”

“Thank you, Spence.” I laughed. “Now I’m gonna have to use sunglasses everywhere.”

“So that means there is something to look out for!” Emily chirped.

“No,” I cleared my throat. “It means that I don’t want to be stared at all the time by profilers, thank you very much.”

“Whatever you say, (Y/N), whatever you say.” Emily laughed.

After that, playful side eyes and nudges were implemented to our daily routine. They’d smirk whenever Hotch praised me and stared whenever he was even remotely close to me. At first it was funny, but it made me extremely nervous to think that Hotch could catch on. Although, it had been a couple of months with this behavior and thankfully, the unit chief had yet to figure it out, as oblivious to our teammates’ behavior as he was to my feelings for him.

Our friendship continued to flourish and strengthen as I pushed my feelings down in an effort to forget about them. It did not do me any good but, if this was the only way to keep him close, I would endure it.

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Tag: @ssamorganhotchner

[ragingbookdragon]

History In the Making PT. 2

Jason Todd x M!Reader

Word Count: 1.6K Warnings: None

Author's Note: It's about the set-up! Enjoy! -Thorne

**********************************************************************

Jason leaned up against the brick wall of the bar, half nervous and ready to bolt, the other half bored. What a unique combination of feelings. He thought to himself, wondering how he let the man from last night talk him into a date the night after. Roy certainly hadn’t been a ‘good ole country boy’, but Jason knew from some stupid songs that country split across the U.S.

What bothered him even more was that for some reason, the man’s demeanor and dress didn’t bother him. Which was odd because if Jason had saw anyone else in faded denim jeans, a button-down work shirt, and a pair of steel toed work boots, he’d have laughed hysterically.

Low and behold though, he was enamored by (Y/N) the second he stepped between Jason at the bar, even more so when he’d gently, but firmly pushed him back down into his seat and asked Jason to let him handle the disturbance. Not many people would’ve done that. Most in fact, would have turned the other cheek and let it happen, but not him.

“Jason.”

He looked up from his phone and smiled at (Y/N) coming towards him. “Hey (Y/N). For a moment, I was worried you weren’t gonna show.”

(Y/N) shook his head. “Sorry, my schedule this mornin’ got messed up and I’ve been runnin’ a little late.” He offered Jason an apologetic look. “I hope my tardiness hasn’t put you off.”

Jason chuckled. “Man, you’ve gotta give the gentle-manliness a rest sometime.”

“So, givin’ this to you isn’t wanted right now?” he questioned, holding up a single red rose and Jason’s eyes widened. “Too early for romantic gestures?”

He took the flower and smelled it, feeling a flush creep up his cheeks. “No, it’s…I forgot that guys are typically the ones who give flowers.” He couldn’t help but smile. “It’s different to be on the receiving end.” The second the words left his mouth, (Y/N) cocked a brow and he spluttered, “T-that’s not what I meant! I just meant that I’ve never been given flowers before and—I’m going to stop digging myself in deeper.” he muttered and (Y/N) chuckled lowly.

“No, please keep diggin’. It’s amusing.”

Jason glared at him though it wasn’t as fierce as it could’ve been. “Jerk.”

(Y/N) winked and shoved his hands in the pockets of his corduroy jacket. “Wanna get going? Isaia closes the store around nine-thirty.”

“Yeah, lead the way.” Jason replied, keeping in step with him as they turned the corner of the end of the street.

“Now, I do have to warn you that this place looks like a hole in the wall, but it’s the greatest pizza you’ll ever eat in your life.”

“Is it made by an authentic Italian man whose grandfather came to the Americas in the twenties and has been running this shop since then?”

“Well aren’t you right on the money,” he teased and nodded. “Tony’s family came to New Jersey in nineteen-twenty-one and opened the shop a few years later. They make pizza, pasta, anything and everything Italian cuisine.” He groaned. “It’s the greatest food you’ll ever eat if you’re never able to get to Italy.”

(Y/N) made a turn down a particularly dark alley and Jason couldn’t help but feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand up when he followed, watching as he stopped at a door on the side of the building and pulled it open.

Immediately, he was hit by the mouthwatering scent of fresh garlic and bread and his stomach rumbled as he inhaled deeply. “Holy crap.” He breathed and (Y/N)’s face broke in a smile.

“Told you.” He gestured to the building. “After you.”

Jason stepped through the doors and was met by an older woman who looked him up and down with a curious expression until he felt (Y/N) behind him peering over his shoulder, and then she smiled. “Mio caro!” she greeted, pulling him into a hug, and Jason almost laughed at how (Y/N) practically towered over her. “It’s so good to see you!”

He laughed. “It’s good to see you as well, Signora Matteo. How’ve you been?”

Pulling away, she waved. “Isaia has driving me up the wall!”

“So, no different than normal?” he teased, shying away when she whacked his stomach.

“Asino,” she hissed, then glanced at Jason. “Who is this (Y/N)? Is he your amore?”

(Y/N) sighed. “You gonna ask that for every guy I bring here?”

She scowled. “You never bring anyone here! How am I supposed to know!” whacking him, she said, “Go! Siediti al tuo tavolo!”

He obeyed, though he was still chuckling when he sat down, Jason taking the seat across from him. “You seem to get along with them well,” he remarked and (Y/N) nodded.

“When I first got up here in Gotham, I didn’t really know anybody. Isaia and Gabriella were kind enough to let me hang around and fix up any problems they had with machines here.”

“You’re a mechanic?” Jason asked.

“Handyman is probably the better term,” he replied. “I went to an applied technology school right outta high school and learned mechanical maintenance electrical and instrumentation.” (Y/N) cleared his throat. “My papa used to run a garage when I was a kid too, so I helped out ‘round there.”

Jason hummed. “So, you’re just an all-round knower of machines, huh?”

He smiled. “I try to pick up skills where I can. Helps with the resume.” Nodding at him, he inquired, “What do you do for a living?”

“I travel a lot. Freelancing work.”

(Y/N) could understand that Jason was being cagey with his answer, but he let it go, not wanting to dig where he wouldn’t get. “Do you work for a secular company or multiple?”

He nodded. “Both. Though I work for Wayne Enterprises a lot.”

“No kidding!” he exclaimed. “I ran into Mister Wayne this morning!”

Jason blinked. He hadn’t been expecting his father to run into (Y/N) anytime soon. Not in this big city. “Really now? What happened?”

“Oh, he had some car trouble. A bad spark plug and a ruined belt.” He handed Jason the menu. “Gave him an address for an older man I worked for a year or so ago that’ll fix him up in no time.” He smiled. “Mister Wayne was a wonderful man to meet. He was absolutely polite the entire time and even tipped me for taking time to look at his car.”

“How much?” Jason knew Bruce probably gave him at least two hundred.

“Two hundred dollars.” He shook his head. “I tried to give him the money back, but he just wouldn’t hear it and insisted I keep it. Even asked me for one of my business cards.”

“You’ve got business cards?”

(Y/N) shot him a look. “You don’t?”

“Touché,” Jason retorted with a grin and Gabriella came back over with two wine glasses and a bottle of Pinot Grigio.

She poured the glasses half full and said, “I put in your order already. It’ll be ready soon.” And she was off again, leaving (Y/N) amused and Jason rather confused.

“Does she do that often?”

“What? Bring your wine and tell you she ordered for you?” (Y/N) smirked. “Only for the customers she likes.” He grabbed the wine stem and raised it to his nose, inhaling deeply. “If I had to take a guess, she probably put in an order for margherita pizza. Pinot Grigio pairs well with that pizza.”

“You know wine?” Jason raised the wine glass to his nose and smelled before tasting it. “It’s dry. But good.”

“It’s surprising that a southern man knows wine, but how do you know wine, Jason?”

He chuckled setting the glass down. “My dad is…influential with big cities. I grew up attending galas.”

“Are you and him close?”

“Not…as much as we probably could be.”

(Y/N) nodded with a knowing look in his eyes. “I know what you mean.”

“Telling me the fruity southern man has daddy issues?” Jason quipped.

He barked a laugh. “Oh, the biggest.” He shot Jason a glance. “Something tells me you got ‘em too.”

“Ah, we all wish our relationships with our fathers could be perfect, huh?”

“Cheers,” (Y/N) agreed, raising his wine glass to clink it with Jason’s.

***

“And I told Tucker that he could either get out and push or we’d be stuck in the mud until his daddy came with a chain and his truck.” Jason buried his face in his hands and laughed, bending over the railing and (Y/N) watched him with a grin of his own on his lips. “Ah, you should’ve seen the two of us when we got back to his mama’s house. Covered head to toe in mud and chiggers.” He shook his head. “I took three showers that night.”

Jason turned his head and looked at him, tears in his eyes. “How many ticks did you get?”

(Y/N) groaned, pressing his forehead into Jason’s shoulder. “So many in so many unsavory places.” The two of them fell back into laughter, practically falling into each other as they did.

A few moments later, they were staring out at the water, the moon high in the sky. “I had fun tonight, Jason.” He said quietly. “A lot of fun.” Taking a leap of faith, he reached over and took Jason’s hand. “I’d like to do it again…if you wanna.”

Jason gazed at their hands, silent for some time, then he nodded. “…Yeah…I’d like to do this again too.” He glanced at (Y/N). “Say…next Friday morning? Brunch?”

(Y/N) smiled. “That sounds wonderful.”

[samingtonwilson]

Mac and Cheese

Summary: Bucky takes the last box of frozen mac and cheese, takes your phone, and makes you fall in love with him. The audacity of that man.

Prompt: “This has been a very bad week and you just grabbed the last box of my favorite comfort food at the supermarket” 

Pairing: bucky x reader

a/n: i wrote this and was fully done formatting it and everything, like, 6 months ago. i didn’t post it because it’s approx. 82% nonsense but i figured why not post it now when it’s still 82% nonsense but im struggling to finish everything else. so taal, long time vegan, writes a story about mac and cheese and, listen, idk what this fic is either. can i write a fic without adding sam to it? no.

Mac and cheese. That’s all you want. Disgusting, frozen, usually-quite-mushy-if-not-microwaved-correctly mac and fucking cheese. 

The kind with the layer of cheese on top. The kind with that real elbow pasta, not rotini or penne or seashell pasta— real macaroni. The kind you try to only eat one serving size of before you eat everything in the package. The kind you always gravitate to when your eyes are stained red, swollen, and too proud to be anything other than dry.

You take the subway. You switch lines. You endure the smell of the F train during rush hour when you aren’t sure where your thigh ends and the thigh of the woman sitting beside you begins. All for that one Trader Joe’s, out of many, in Brooklyn the hipsters abandon before six because the coffee shop next door closes at five.

Your feet ache in your boots and you’re pretty sure a rock has somehow lodged itself between your toes, it’s starting to rain and you have no umbrella, you don’t think your throat has ever felt so parched. 

But you tuck your phone into your back pocket and march into that store with the hideous overhead lighting that makes your skin look like it hasn’t seen a bottle of toner in days like you’re Hades, the box of mac and cheese is Persephone, and Trader Joe’s is Mount Olympus.

You aren’t planning on smiling at anyone in greeting. You aren’t planning on making eye contact with anyone. You aren’t even planning on waiting politely behind whoever is inevitably idly standing in front of the pasta section of the frozen aisle— you’re going to say, “Excuse me.” Like the badass, New Yorker, on-the-verge-of-tears bitch you are and you’re going to toss that mac and cheese into your basket like you’re Steph Curry at the NBA Finals.

Lines are long when you walk in, cashiers bored-looking and tired. The produce section is a jungle of stay at home fathers and people who make their own pressed juice, the salad display a mess of college students trying to eat healthy. 

Your eyes accidentally meet those of a toddler who is slyly plucking a grape from a bag he had no intention of spending his allowance on and you smile.

You hold your basket like a designer handbag and dilly-dally only for a moment to pick up some yogurt for breakfast tomorrow. 

And some inauthentic babka because there’s no way in hell you’re going to endure Zabar’s after this. 

And a package of olive oil popcorn, a bottle of three dollar chardonnay, and string cheese. 

But that’s it. Self-control.

You feel the chill of the frozen aisle before you step into it. You feel the magnetic pull of that box with only one step in its direction. You stop for just a second to grab the mini mango and cream pops.

You almost roll your eyes to yourself when you see that someone is indeed standing right in front of the frozen selection of pasta. He’s staring at two boxes— a red one in his gloved left hand and the one in his right hand green.

As you grow closer you notice behind his curtain of dark hair that his eyebrows are knit together and he’s frowning at a decision he must be forcing himself to make. 

Sophie’s Choice, but involving mediocre excuses for Italian food and no Nazis— hopefully. Because who really knows these days?

He wears a forest green hoodie under a black leather jacket, black jeans tight around thick thighs. Boots, too. You think you might swoon.

And you wait behind him. You tap your foot, shift your weight, and chew on your bottom lip. You don’t say anything.

He looks over his shoulder when you curse under your breath and set the heavy basket at your feet. He’s apologetic— and handsome— by the looks of it, blue eyes slightly widened and lips downturned. “Shit,” he says as he takes a few steps to the right. “I’m sorry.”

You shrug. You kick your basket with the toe of your boot until it lightly smacks against the bottom of the freezer. “No problem. It’s a big decision.”

His eyes lift from the boxes and he smiles. “Biggest one I’ve gotten to make in a while.”

Setting your hands atop the cold metal railing, you stare down into the freezer. You see farfalle with roasted tomatoes, rigatoni with pesto, ricotta and spinach ravioli, roasted vegetable lasagna, cauliflower gnocchi, chicken parm, and… an empty space. 

You tilt your head.

You lean away and crouch to read the description cards, looking for the bubble letters to tell you where on Earth your saving grace is. When you spot the card, you stand again. The indicated space is empty, your heart is empty, your will to live is—

A box of organic pesto tortellini is tossed back into the freezer and you look up. Your eyes might lose their prideful dryness at any moment, even in public next to that handsome stranger with the nice jacket and,

the box of mac and cheese.

You gasp audibly and leap backwards. You point at the box in his left hand.

With an expression of panic, he holds his hands— and the box— up in innocence. “It’s okay. I’m not—”

“What the fuck is that?” you shout to gain the attention of customers you don’t even perceive, waggling your finger at the box. Your wide-eyed stare, and bared teeth, and messy hair must be terrifying. You hope they are.

He looks down at his hand. An eyebrow lifts. And, confusedly, he asks, “The box?”

“Yes, the fucking box!”

“It’s mac and—” he meets your gaze again. You’re wearing your anger like armor. But you aren’t scared. Bucky thinks he might never have felt such relief at a woman’s anger. “It’s mac and cheese.”

You shake your head. Wildly. Your neck hurts. “It’s the last box of mac and cheese!”

He glances at the box, then back at you. He jabs his thumb over his shoulder. “They might have some in the back—”

You shake your head again. A hint of devastation cracks your voice as you say, “It’s Monday night. Trader Joe’s restocks Tuesday night. This is usually all they have left.”

“I—” He pauses. “Is this shit really that good—”

“No, it’s not but that’s not the point!” you’re shouting again. And crying. Oh, God, you’re crying. In public. “The point is my building is going co-op!”

He tilts his head. “Your building is—”

“And I have to buy my apartment if I want to keep it! And they don’t give raises at my job to women unless they’re willing to suck something I won’t say in front of that kid right there,” you nod toward a little girl in a pink raincoat with her pin straight black hair in pigtails who stares at you in bewilderment. You sniffle. “So I quit. And I’m proud of myself for it. Because I have integrity, and I have self-respect, and I have no gag reflex, so the rejection should kill my boss dead.”

He cracks a small smile when you let out a short, watery, pathetic laugh. Easily, he holds the box out to you. “I hope your boss is dead, too.”

You laugh again and don’t hesitate before taking the box. You wipe your cheeks with your sleeve. “Thank you. You’re nice.”

“Not a popular opinion, but one I’ll certainly take.” He’s smiling and it’s warm. “Sorry— about all that.”

“You’re apologizing to me? I just screamed at you in the Trader Joe’s freezer aisle over mac and cheese.”

He shakes his head and picks up his own basket when you grab yours. “Your building’s going co-op and your boss deserves to burn in hell. You should get all the mac and cheese you want.”

You reach into the freezer for that green box of tortellini he’d thrown in, tossing it into his basket with a smile. Steph Curry at the NBA Finals. “Still. I’m sorry for yelling and I hope the tortellini doesn’t suck too bad.”

“It’s frozen pasta. My expectations are low.”

You hum a laugh and walk past him to the crowded lines at the registers. “As they should be.”

It’s when you’re lost in the sea of customers and Bucky is deciding between frozen palak paneer and frozen lamb vindaloo with basmati rice that he feels a tug at the hem of his jacket. 

He looks away from the green and orange boxes, lowering his gaze to meet curious almond-shaped eyes beneath blunt black bangs. He smiles and she returns it. “Yes?”

She reveals her right hand, which she had hidden behind her pink raincoat, and holds a phone up to Bucky as far as her arm will let her.

“Is that your phone?”

She shakes her head and giggles. Loud, happy, and squeaky. “Yelling lady dropped her phone.”

Bucky’s eyebrows knit together until a woman, much closer to his height, steps behind the little girl. She takes the phone the girl holds out and offers it to Bucky when he straightens his posture. Her smile looks like the little girl’s. “We figured you would have a good chance at getting it back to her.”

He takes the phone and nods his thanks. Pressing the power button reveals a picture of you and a dog, a large, fluffy dog with its pink tongue hanging low. You’re smiling brightly and, oddly, it seems like the dog is, too.

—

“So you just took her phone? Didn’t even ask an employee to keep it there in case she came back for it?”

Bucky, watching the tray of pasta rotate in the microwave, scowls. “I would’ve if I’d known that was an option. And stop eating my fuckin’ chips.”

Sam tosses back another handful of kettle-cooked barbecue potato chips in defiance so the obnoxious crunching echoes through the kitchen. He smiles sarcastically when Bucky snatches the bag and rolls it up. Half is already gone. “You come up with how you’re gonna get it back to her?”

“Thinkin’ about asking Pepper to post a picture of it like it’s a missing child to that ‘Tweeter’ nonsense,” Bucky replies dryly. He’s glaring at Sam as he leans his hip against the counter. “You and I both know I haven’t come up with shit.”

Sam snorts and is smiling in amusement, deep brown eyes alight. Bucky hates the sight. “Tweeter. You’re so fuckin’ old.”

It’s been hours since Bucky took the phone from who he learned is little Vivienne and her mother, and he is no closer to getting it back to you. 

He’d tried looking for you at the store but there were too many people for a Trader Joe’s that Yelp claimed was the least busy in New York for that to yield results. So he returned to the Tower. He thought about asking Tony to look into the doohickey but figured an invasion of privacy should be the last resort.

He pulls the tray from the microwave with nimble vibranium fingers and sniffs the pasta before setting it down on the counter. He removes a bowl from one of the cabinets and dumps the steaming pasta in it, a sprinkle of freshly grated parmesan from a tub he’d bought— also at Trader Joe’s— a finishing touch.

“She’s cute,” Sam says when the screen lights up with an incoming text notification.

Bucky spins his fork between his fingers as he walks around the counter to sit on the barstool beside Sam’s. He glances at the phone as well. “Very cute,” he agrees. “She had a shitty day. Something about her apartment goin’ co-op. Whatever the hell that means.”

Sam frowns. “Means she’s gotta buy the place. And with New York real estate prices right now,” he shakes his head with a sigh. “She better have a well-paying job.”

“Quit that today, too.” Bucky takes a bite of the pasta and hisses as it burns his tongue. “Boss is a creep that asked for some action in exchange for a raise.”

“Jesus. Poor girl.”

The tortellini isn’t great. It’s a little bland, a bit too dry, and there isn’t enough filling— but it’s better than Bucky had expected. He takes another bite. “Yeah. And I took the last box of mac and cheese. Which is what she went to the store for.”

“I’m surprised your head wasn’t chopped off.”

Bucky smiles. “She yelled— a lot. Was crying, too, ‘til she said something and made herself laugh.”

Sam then begins teasing Bucky juvenilely for having a crush until both men are laughing and shoving one another to see who falls off their stool first, Sam only relenting when Bucky hands the potato chips to him again as a peace offering.

The bowl is in the sink and the chips are down to just crumbs when a loud ringtone— an instrumental version of an R&B song Bucky recognizes from Sam’s many plays of the original— shocks the two of them.

It’s from an unknown number and Bucky is unsure if he should pick up until Sam swipes answer and puts the call on speakerphone. “Hello?”

A sigh. Bucky doesn’t know if it’s one of relief or frustration. “I’m hoping whoever this is found my phone and didn’t steal it.”  

Sam shoves Bucky’s shoulder with a toothy grin and Bucky rolls his eyes. “The little girl you almost traumatized in the freezer aisle found it and gave it to me.”

Another sigh— the relief in this one is obvious— and you’re laughing. “It’s you— tortellini dude. Must’ve fallen when I crouched down.”

“Seems like it, yeah.”

“So are you gonna ask for my address or do I have to schlep over to Avengers Tower?”

Bucky and Sam exchange a look. “Avengers Tower?”

“You weren’t exactly in disguise— I realized who you are the minute I left the store. Would’ve recognized you right away but I was in my own head and you aren’t my favorite Avenger.”

Bucky smiles. “Yeah? And who is?”

“Falcon.”

Immediately, the phone is taken from Bucky’s hand. “Hi, baby, you’ve got Falcon.”

A gasp, a pause, then you laugh. Audibly stunned laughter. “You guys actually hang out with each other? That’s cute.”

Before Sam can reply, Bucky flicks his forehead— in reply to which Sam elbows Bucky’s ribs— and takes the phone back. “I can bring your phone to you whenever you’re free.”

“Awesome. I’m unemployed now so any time tomorrow is fine.”

You tell him your address before hanging up and he wishes you a good night. Your laughter is the last thing he hears before three beeps signify the end of the call.

—

Bucky takes the subway. He switches lines to the F train. He tries not to mind the overpowering smell of stale B.O. and deli meat leftover from rush hour, the skittering steps of a rat across the floor in the adjacent empty car. He ignores those who stare at him intensely enough to burn the fabric right off his skin. All for that one apartment in SoHo.

He thinks the gash below his ribs might still be leaking as the warm, moist subway station air blows past him. He can feel that cluster of bruises above his knee— the one from the pipe the hostile operative had ripped off the rickety walls of a nearly destroyed Hydra base— every time he takes a step, more so as he climbs the stairs.

He knows he must be quite a sight with combat boots and tac pants worn and dusty, a simple bomber jacket thrown over a ripped, sliced, stained compression tank. His mind is blank, his eyes shadowy, the ghost of something terrible lurking behind blue and grey. 

Posture stiff and muscles cold, steps crisp despite the ache, he follows the familiar path and manages to form the thought of turning around. Not bringing this all to a threshold— or, more accurately, a windowsill— he’s only crossed three or four times. He’s too weak, though.

It takes one rap of his knuckles against the third-story window for a lamp to flicker on, gauzy drapes pushed aside. You smile as he lifts the window open, stepping aside as he enters the apartment with careful grace. He feels less guilty when he sees that your bed is still made and your hair isn’t the tangled mess it usually is when he bursts in at a late hour.

“I have a door.”

“Okay, show-off.”

It’s when he steps into the light of the standing lamp in the room’s corner that your quiet laughter gives way to a soft gasp. 

He doesn’t like the widening of your eyes or the way you gently lift the right side of his jacket, fingers light against the torn fabric. But you laugh again, and it shakes in nervousness. “You know I’m not a doctor, right? Or a nurse? Or even a pharmacist with high self-efficacy?”

He nods and, despite himself, there’s a smile pulling at a corner of his lips. His eyes brighten a little. “It’ll heal itself.”

“Confidence. I like that in a burglar.”

Before he can take a step further into your bedroom, you click your tongue against the roof of your mouth and point at his feet. “Boots.”

He kicks them off with a sigh and a groan when the shifting of his knee sends a tremor up his leg. His jacket is tossed aside as well, and he catches the black t-shirt you throw to him. You’d washed it, folded it, and put it in your closet. 

Just a little more brightness. “You owe me mac and cheese.”

“Oh, I owe you mac and cheese? We’re really holding onto shit from four months ago?”

He nods again and pulls his tank off, withholding a wince.

Eyebrow raised, you cross your arms over your chest. You’re giving him a narrow look but, because you’re clearly struggling against a smile, it’s one of his favorites of the expressions you’ve ever offered him. 

You give him a towel next— pastel blue. “Shower and then we’ll see about me owing you something.”

He wants to say thank you, do more than smile. 

But he knows if he so much as opens his mouth while you’re looking at him the way you are, he’ll tell you he’s fallen in love with you over the last four months, that maybe he’s been in love since you screamed at him in the freezer section of Trade Joe’s. 

He’ll go to say thank you, but the words of a Byron poem he’d learned to impress a girl in his English class more than eighty years ago will come pouring out or he’ll simply kiss you like he wishes he could on the nights he can’t sleep or during the missions he can just barely endure. 

He’ll go to say thank you, and then tell you with no clarity whatsoever that you’re what he finds comfort in when he’s had a hard day. That the disgusting, mushy, nothing-compared-to-fresh mac and cheese is just an excuse.

But he just smiles. And nods. And takes a shower.

His hair is still wet as he stands across from you at the kitchen counter. There’s a bowl of steaming pasta between you, a spoon in his hand and a fork in yours. “You’re dripping onto the counter.”

With a cocking of his eyebrow, he shakes his head and you sputter a laugh, shoving his shoulder. “Bucky!”

He laughs then, fully and happily, as he reaches over to wipe the drops from your cheeks and forehead. You only smile back, the gleaming of your eyes making him feel warm all over.

“This shit’s terrible, by the way,” he says after a minute of staring.

You shrug a shoulder. “Told you.”

“And you fought me for it. Publicly.”

You shrug again and laugh. You lean your elbows atop the counter to match his relaxed posture, dragging a noodle through a particularly large puddle of melted cheese. 

Looking up, your nose nearly bumps Bucky’s and you hope he doesn’t hear your breath stall. You try to smile. “Makes me feel better when I need to fill that hole in my heart.”

“With cholesterol?” he jokes.

“Yes. It’s excellent. It’s like spackle.” As he laughs and you roll your eyes, you push off the counter to stand straight. “I’m glad you’re back.”

“Yeah?”

You hum. “I’m seeing an apartment I want tomorrow and need the rent lowered. And you’re the Winter Soldier.”

He considers that for a moment and you burst into laughter just as his eyes narrow into a fond glare. “You want me to scare them into lowering the rent?”

“Don’t think of it as you scaring them,” you begin, rounding the counter to stand next to him, hip leant against the marble, “think of it as you being an amazing friend and helping me.” A moment later you add, “By scaring them.”

He chuckles and shakes his head. He glances at the bowl to avoid the risk of staring at you for too long. “Fine.”

You grin. “You really take no convincing.”

A snort and he meets your gaze. “Only when it comes to you. I’m afraid you’ll start crying again.”

“So I could ask you for anything and you’d probably say yes?”

He shrugs a bit, then nods. Who is he kidding? You could ask for his right arm and he’d give it to you.

“Okay. Go on a date with me then.”

There’s a pause— in the conversation, in his chest. “A what?”

“A date. It’s like dinner, or coffee, or a movie, or something.” You grin when he takes half a step in your direction and his hands grip onto the counter at either side of you. “It’s this thing people do when they like each other.”

Something much more than like is in the sparkling of your eyes and the tilt of your head. Something that might match exactly what’s in his eyes whenever he’s around you. His insides burn at the thought.

“I know what a date is.”

“They had those back in your day?”

He nods and leans forward. “Not from the Stone Ages.”

Your lips brush lightly against his, hand set on his chest to feel the rapid beating beneath. You smile and he thinks he might melt. “Could’ve fooled me with that hair.”

Laughing, he presses his lips to yours a little harder.

—

Apartment littered with unpacked boxes, misplaced books, and askew furniture, you sit on top of the counter where Bucky works. He’s twirling a knife through his metal fingers, arranging sprigs of chives on the cutting board with the flesh ones. 

He smiles when he catches you staring at the pan cooling on the stove. “S’not done yet.”

You sigh. Loudly, heavily. “You took it out of the oven. That means it’s done.”

“It needs to cool for a few minutes or you’ll burn off your taste buds. You want to burn off your taste buds?”

“You want to burn off your taste buds?” you repeat in a high-pitched, taunting voice. You’re scowling and, somehow, look to be on the verge of snatching the knife from him to stab it through his chest. “Maybe I do.”

Less than a minute later, you groan and add, “I don’t care how good you are in bed. I’m about ten seconds from dumping you.”

Swiftly, he chops the chives and turns around to sprinkle a bit into the baking dish. “You know, most people would say thank you.”

“Most people don’t have to wait an hour while their boyfriend attempts to make mac and cheese when there’s a perfectly good box in the freezer that would take four minutes.”

“It’s worth it.”

In all honesty, he doesn’t know if it’s worth it. 

He’d asked Sam for a recipe and did his best to follow it despite the autocorrect which had changed “gruyere” to “grape year.” But he trusts it since Sam generally knows what he’s doing in the kitchen. Unlike Steve who had continuously attempted to chime in with useless suggestions such as, “Maybe don’t add the paprika.”

“Just trust me,” he urges as if replying to the growling of your stomach which has interrupted his search for the plates he could’ve sworn he’d unpacked. He’s crouched and searching the lower cabinets as he adds, “You’ll fall in love with me after you try it.” 

“Who says I haven’t already?” 

He stops searching.

He peeks his head above the edge of the counter and, his eyes wide, he sees you pulling two plates from a box placed on the small nook table. Your smile is small and a bit sheepish— the latter something he’d never seen from you. 

“You never took them out,” you tell him, the clatter of ceramic on the wooden surface loud when you set the plates down. As you approach and he stands to his full height, you sigh and roll your eyes at the look he gives you. “Yes, I love you. It can’t be that shocking.”

“It isn’t.” 

“Someone should tell your face that.”

Chuckling over the heavy thumps in his chest, he leans forward to kiss you but pauses just to say, “I love you, too, by the way.” 

When an empty dish sits between the two of you, Bucky’s stomach warm and full of over three-quarters of it, you stand from the table and walk to the freezer. 

Shooting a smile over your shoulder, you grab the familiar red box and toss it into the stainless steel trash can. Steph Curry at the NBA Finals. “I’m never eating that shit again.”

[thepencilnerd]

Pasta and Dinner Parties

"Edamame," Theo says.

"The fuck did you just call me?" Blaise’s face contorted quicker than a shifting boggart.

Another eye roll. “The pasta, it’s made from edamame.” Theo pronounces it with a certain twinge of pomposity that would have Percy Weasley reeling. Too many syllables. Vowels too lengthy. “Type of soybean, I reckon.” 

"IT'S NOT PASTA!" Blaise’s roar shook the walls of the foyer.

Pansy snorts into her mug. “I don’t know about you, but I think this dinner will go swimmingly.”

Draco and Hermione have reached a domestic milestone. They've finally decided to move in together. Draco invites her over for dinner, but what would a little Slytherin hospitality be without some sugar and spice?

Rated M for language and discussions of heavy topics in future chapters

Full fic + updates on AO3

"Luna sent a box of these over, wonderful isn't she?" If lovesick eyes had a picture to accompany the definition, Theodore Nott’s face would be front and center. In his left hand, he held an empty cardboard carton with a sticky note adhered to the front flap. 

Simmer for 10 minutes with a sprig of rosemary and a teaspoon of salt. Keeps away the balfspracks. 

Blaise rubs his eyes. It’s half-past five and he’s already had it with Theo. Had it. Patience wore down to the bone. Basta. Finite incantatem. In all honesty, he’d gladly throw himself in front of a flying—

A shorter figure crept up from behind. Wrapping her arms around his waist, she gives her boyfriend a peck on the cheek, which seems to loosen the wrinkles settling over his forehead. 

"Ladies," Pansy jests, mediating the arguments between the two as always. "I'm sure there's more than enough pasta to go around." 

"Not pasta," Blaise muttered. He tried to concentrate on the lingering warmth Pansy’s lips left on his face. The poor bloke sounded like he was about to hurl.  

At this, Theo rolled his eyes and waved dismissively. “Yes, yes, yes, you can flaunt your Italian heritage some other time, now let me work my culinary magic!” 

Blaise takes a deep breath. High blood pressure, he remembered Pansy saying. Need to stay calm. "Mate, I love you, I really do, but if you don't tell me what those green things swimming about in my favorite crockpot are, you have another thing coming."

"You used a crockpot to boil pasta?" Pansy’s head popped up from behind Blaise’s shoulder. Her nose wrinkled like she’d caught a whiff of something foul. 

“Not pasta.” Blaise was a broken record.

Draco groaned from the living room. The headache from earlier evolved into a full-blown migraine by the time lunch was over. His eyeballs were absolutely throbbing. He jammed the heels of his hands into his eye sockets as if it would relieve any of the aching. To no avail. 

"Granger's coming over in half an hour and we’ve yet to transfigure a dining table." He verbalized his misery in as simple terms as he could. Sitting on the living room couch, he calculated the farthest distance from the kitchen and found himself just a few feet away. Problem with having a small flat. He couldn't find it in himself to raise his voice. Not with the demon baby currently going stir-crazy with a gavel in his skull. 

He questioned his level of sobriety when he agreed to this.

Meeting Hermione Granger’s parents had been less stressful than this. 

Introducing her to his mother was a Christmas tree full of Christmas presents compared to this. 

Sitting in a train compartment with 2nd-year Hufflepuffs sounded more bearable than this. 

Why, oh why, did he have to open his big mouth that night? 

“Seems proper that I’d at least get to share dinner with them before we move in together,” Hermione shrugged. Her hair was still damp from her—their—shower. Stray curls escaped, framing the curves of her face. Draco loved how her sheets always smelled like her soap. The scent of her shampoo was reserved for the pillowcases. 

“Come over for dinner,” he suggested. Quite impulsively, really. “Allow me to treat you to an evening of... Slytherin hospitality.” Draco’s trademark grin served him well. Resting on his side, Draco was propped up on one elbow with no shirt and sheet draped over his bottom half. She wanted to believe he was wearing briefs underneath. He looked absolutely wicked. 

Hermione scowled tentatively but surrendered with a smile. Her chest rose before she let out a sigh. “Well, I’d be lying if I said I’d experienced an inkling of that before.” Mirth graced her tone. 

The embers from the fireplace bounced off of her bare skin like rays of summer sun; warm and welcoming. Draco’s fingers fondled the strap of her bra, the only thing she was wearing, and earned a breathy giggle from her. Tugging the lace down, he sat up and started pressing a trail of kisses along her skin. Goosebumps erupted where his lips traced her flesh. The bath had stained her skin; she tasted of rosewater and honey. 

Hermione let out a hmph and tried to focus on the book she was holding. She developed a knack for knowing when he craved attention. Whenever Draco came over, he turned into a literal child. Always nagging and begging for her every time he got the chance. If she wasn’t superglued to his side, Hermione would bet a million galleons he’d throw a fit. 

“Turn around and face me instead. I don’t fancy being smothered by your hair while we sleep.” 

“How do you turn on the stove?”

“Granger, help me fix the antenna!” 

“Could you take a look at this spot on the back of my head? I might be balding.” 

“Granger, I think I nicked myself on the aluminium.” 

“If you weren’t wearing so many clothes, we’d probably warm up faster. Becoming a pair of popsicles isn’t exactly on my bucket list.” 

This time around, his demands were very clear. 

“Pay attention to me.” 

Hermione’s eyes shot up from her book. Shock painted her features like a splash of cold water. 

She blinks once. Twice. Three times for good measure. And then, her lips break into a blinding smile, pearly whites and all. The corners of her eyes curl into half-moons and her whole body shakes with glee. 

Sweet Merlin, he was fucked. 

Setting her book down on the nightstand, Hermione sits up straight and looks at Draco expectantly. He sits unmoved beside her. Staring. Admiring. Waiting. The cheeky grin that etches into her face is one Draco would give the world to see every day. 

Draco leans back against the headboard and stretches his legs out towards the foot of the bed. Scooting closer to her, she flips her leg over his awaiting lap. She’s straddling him in the span of two seconds. The feel of her bare flesh against his is utter bliss. 

Her arms wrap around his neck like a koala bear and her head nestles into the crook of his neck. Despite lathering him in her soap, he still smelled like Draco. All these years of dating and she still couldn’t put her finger on the bevy of aromas. 

Draco mirrors her actions like a reflection, one and the same. His arms make her feel so incredibly small when encased in them. Like a bear cub. Or a kangaroo in a pouch. Maybe mammals would be an appropriate term to generalize how warm and safe she felt in his embrace, but it wasn’t the most attractive or poetic—

“I thought we finished showering earlier,” he sighs into her hair. “Why is there steam coming off your head?”

She blows a puff of air into his neck and he jolts at the sensation. Ticklish. Draco knew that secret would die with Hermione and she was honored to keep it. Unless it served her in times of duress. 

“I was just thinking about how safe I am when I’m with you.” The tip of her nose brushes against the junction above his throat and feels his heartbeat, delicate but strong. 

Da-dum.

Da-dum.

Da-dum.

Pulling back, he slides his left hand along her cheek and she leans into it like second nature. Hermione raises her right hand and cradles it over his. The way it pales in proportion almost makes him break into laughter. When she presses open-mouthed kisses down his bare wrist, Draco resists the urge to take her right then and there. It’s too perfect of a moment to ruin. Not tonight. 

She’s even more tender when her lips reach his scar. The marred flesh that takes him back to his inescapable past. A reminder of everything wrong he’s been taught since childhood; everything bad in this world; everything wrong he’s done throughout his entire life. 

But more importantly, it’s a symbol of how much good was left in this dismal world. 

It’s a battle scar that reminds him that he lived.

Something that motivates him to keep trying. 

A reminder of how despite being swallowed by the darkness that plagued the world, he chose to hold onto light. 

A reminder of how above everything, he chose Hermione and Hermione chose him. 

He takes a moment to look at her, really look at her, and melts. 

Hermione is a vision actualized. He sees the dreams and aspirations swirl about her irises in flickers. Roaming freely and always there when you needed them. He wants to bask in them. Relish in them. In her. For as long as she’ll keep him, no matter how infinitely small or finitely large. He’d burn through galaxies if it meant seeing her happy and safe. Anything and everything he could provide for her was his to offer. She need only ask. 

Draco Malfoy was wholly and irrevocably head over heels for Hermione Granger.

Magic and might, save him. 

No really, save him.

What the bloody hell was that infernal yapping? 

"I, for one, thought it would be better to go to an Italian restaurant, but Blaise here," Theo quipped. “—wanted to dish out his non-existent cooking skills,” He paused to stir the pot. “At least Luna was kind enough to—”

Blaise stomped his foot on the kitchen tiles. Miracle they hadn’t cracked yet. There was no point in trying to hide his tantrum. “Just because my ancestors were Italian doesn’t mean I’m a master chef!” He narrows his eyes. “Honestly Theo—” The words die in his throat when Theo fishes out a noodle from the pot. Maybe it’s just his eyes playing tricks on him but he swears it flipping wiggles. “What in Merlin’s great magical kingdom is that abomination and why the ever-loving fuck is it green?” 

Pansy gave his cheek a pat. “Colorful, Blaise. Truly” 

"Edamame," Theo says. 

"The fuck did you just call me?" Blaise’s face contorted quicker than a shifting boggart.

Another eye roll. “The pasta, it’s made from edamame.” Theo pronounces it with a certain twinge of pomposity that would have Percy Weasley reeling. Too many syllables. Vowels too lengthy. “Type of soybean, I reckon.” 

"IT'S NOT PASTA!" Blaise’s roar shook the walls of the foyer. 

Pansy snorts into her mug. “I don’t know about you, but I think this dinner will go swimmingly.” 

A crash echoes from the kitchen and Theo lets out a screech that rivals grindylows. 

Pansy takes a long, calm sip. Likely pumpkin juice. Draco wouldn’t be surprised if it were laced with some pre-appetizer spirits. How she managed to deal with Tweedle-dee and Tweedle-dum was beyond him. Hell, he needed some right about now. At least to dial down the nerves. Not to mention the spike in blood pressure provoked by his flatmates. 

The remaining minutes pass like clockwork and before he knows it, the front door dings. Never has a bell sounded more menacing than now. Why is he so nervous? She’s met them a few times before and they’ve definitely shared rounds of drinks. No doubt, gone to Diagon Alley with Parkinson, Lovegood, and Weasley. The tolerable one. 

Did he clean his room? 

Theo promised to dust right after tea but the bloke was delusional about everything except Lovegood. A bit poetic, not that Draco ever cared to admit it. 

Pansy and Blaise stopped by the market yesterday and restocked the pantries and fridge. 

And then Luna dropped off her bag of goodies this morning. 

“She’s early.” Theo stuck his head out from the kitchen. Why was he covered in flour? 

So many questions. Draco didn’t even care to know the answers to half of them. 

“She’s always early when she’s excited.” 

The three stooges stand shell shocked and stare at Pansy. They just stare. 

She blinks like an owl and shakes her head. “Honestly, are you three just going to stand there or is someone’s boyfriend going to get the door?” 

Draco’s brain registers the words too late for his liking. He’s dead sober but his brain is all fuzzy. Just as she’s about to knock for a second round, Draco’s feet propel him to the door so fast a whip of apparition cracks. 

The door clicks open to reveal a dazzling frame. Hermione Granger is, to say the least, an unreal figment of everything good in the world. War heroine, member of the Order of the Phoenix, magical, academic, and practical genius, pure in mind and soul, and his girlfriend. His girlfriend. His. Donning a pair of black leggings and a flowing cream blouse, she’s bundled in a beige trench coat and blush pink scarf. Dark mahogany brown ankle boots boost her height by a few centimeters. Draco still overshadows her by a good head or two. Nevertheless, it’s a thoughtful effort. She’s holding a bouquet of flowers and a bottle of wine. 

“Hello—woah!’ 

Draco’s arms are around her instantly and she’s brought into the house. His broad shoulders envelop her into a cloaked embrace that lets his scent wash over her. He never wants to let go. 

Initially surprised at the abrupt shift in balance, Hermione relaxes into his hold within seconds. He still smells like her soap and Draco and… smoking?

“Blaise!” a female voice shrieks. “Don’t just stand there Theo, do something!” 

A cloud of smoke—contained by a bubble charm, thanks to Pansy—swirls above the stovetop, large and foreboding. The source? A deep green crockpot placed on one of the burners.

Wait. Why is a crockpot on the burner? Hermione wonders.

“I told you we needed to salt the water and add the rosemary! Now you’ve got balfspracks all over the bloody place!” Theo’s voice changed from panic to mockery. He turned his nose upright and growled in a nasal tone. “‘Oh, salt is acceptable, but rosemary? Unacceptable. A disgrace to all cuisine Italian. May as well—’”

Draco pinches the bridge of his nose. By the end of the day, he’d probably have to ask Hermione to heal his bruises. “Bloody hell…” 

“Oh, it’s my fault now, is it?” Hermione realizes Blaise’s name suits him very well. Almost too well. In any other life, he might have been sorted into Gryffindor with that fiery temperament. “Next time we have a guest over, we’re ordering take-out. From Hogsmeade!” 

“Someone help me get rid of this burnt pot of—whatever the hell pasta Theo was making,” Pansy gags while trying to contain the swelling bubble. The scent is overwhelming. Something between seaweed and polyjuice. Perhaps a vile mixture of the two. 

“EDAMAME!” 

“NOT PASTA!” 

Draco can’t tell whether he wants to burst into laughter or cry. Maybe he’ll do both. Hermione was there to wipe away the snot or tears, regardless of whichever it would end up being. 

Giving him a chase kiss, Hermione placed the gifts in his hands and made her way to the lounge. Draco was going to kill them. He was going to kill them dead.

She pulled out her want and raised it towards the giant orb of smoke, confidence igniting her eyes. Her wand moved as if it were on its own, guided purely by magic and intent with an undeniable essence of Granger. She draws a broad circle that covers the entire room and summons the wisps of smoke like a magnet. The ashy tendrils of burnt food claw their way out of the floorboards and ceiling cracks, latching on for as long as they can before they’re drawn out Aiming towards the ajar door, the coils of smoke and singe are thrown out the entrance with a deafening gust. 

A single strand of hair falls out of her ponytail. 

She blows it out of her eyes with a single, deliberate puff. 

The corner of her lip quirks upwards the slightest. 

It’s so fast you’d miss it if you blinked. 

If Draco wasn’t so overcome with the urge to skin his friends, he’d dive in there right now and kiss her numb. 

The flat has returned to an atmosphere of calm. 

“Fucking finally,” Draco mutters out loud. Not intentionally but he doesn’t regret it one bit. 

Pansy, Theo, and Blaise resemble owls; wide eyes, unmoving bodies, twitching necks that swivel side to side. 

Theo breaks the silence with something along the lines of a chortle. “Welcome to our humble abode, Granger.” 

“Pleasure to have you here,” Blaise adds. His hands are still clenched around Theo’s shirt collar. 

Pansy is still trying to catch her breath having inhaled a hefty amount of the fumes. Blaise and Theo had probably tumbled around the living room enough to avoid the thick of it. Still, she refuses to let it impede on her hostess abilities. 

“Hermione!” Pansy coughs. “Why don’t you and Draco check out upstairs while—” she pauses to glare daggers at the two boys covered in God knows what, “—we deal with the mess down here.” 

Hermione draws out the excess smoke from Pansy’s clothes and hair with a swish of her wand. The next thing she does makes the three boys’ jaws unhinge. They bring each other into a warm hug and laughter rings in the air.

“It’s good to see you too, Pans,” Hermione breathes. Draco was definitely going to have a fit over this later.

Hermione gives Theo and Blaise a shy wave. Hopefully, they’d understand. In any other instance, she’d be more than happy to rid their clothes of the stench. They wouldn’t even have to ask. But this was Pansy Parkinson and if Hermione knew Pansy Parkinson, she knew that the Slytherin would want to drag on punishment as long as possible before even thinking of succumbing to forgiveness. 

Hermione Granger’s stubbornness coupled with her Gryffindor loyalty? 

She’ll be damned if she lets either waver when surrounded by friends. 

Draco clears his throat forcefully and offers his arm. “Upstairs then, shall we?” 

Hermione loops her arm through his and grins. It’s contagious and Draco already feels his anger ebb into affection. 

She speaks almost as lightheartedly as the wand movement for a levitation charm. "We shall." 

[voiceless-terror]

prompt request: JMart angst/hurt/comfort "you're not broken" + "i love you, no matter what your brain tells you"

Hey there friend! As requested, here is your prompt. I made it into a sort of season one/two au where Jon and Martin have already been dating. Hope you like! It can be a stand alone piece, but it is also the second in a series, the first of which is here: The Art of Conversation

“I was thinking…”

“As you do.”

Jon fixed Martin with a scowl. “Perhaps we could- that is, if you want-wouldyouliketospendthenightatmine?” 

“You’ll have to try again, love. Didn’t quite catch that.”

Jon sighed in the face of Martin’s open fondness as they strolled down the street, making their way back from lunch. Martin brought a happiness to his life that he never thought possible- a companionship built on mutual respect and love. He enjoyed every night he spent in Martin’s cozy flat, curled up on the couch drinking tea and talking about everything and nothing at all. That’s not to say they didn’t have their troubles- Martin was rather inexperienced with intimate relationships, and Jon didn’t have the greatest track record when it came to communication. But Martin held his hand the night he stuttered out his asexuality, patient and loving and kind. Jon wasn’t ashamed of who he was, never had been- but he knew that for others it was considered a deal breaker. He’d heard stories. But Martin nodded, thanked him for trusting him with his boundaries, and let him curl back into his side, as if it changed nothing.

If he could handle that, than why, for fuck’s sake, was he so worried about having Martin over?

His flat wasn’t that bad. In actuality, it was quite a bit bigger than Martin’s. He wasn’t dirty, he usually kept up with chores, kept it relatively tidy.

But there was something so intimate about it- there was a reason he never hosted any events. Martin saw glimpses of it when he picked him up for things, but he’d never actually been inside. It was just so...barren. Void of anything Jon-like. Sure, it housed his possessions, his favorite books, his grandmother’s salvageable furniture. But it was a peek into his mind that he didn’t like others seeing. What if the way he lived was wrong? What if he didn’t have the right things? Like the little things that Martin had- a proper strainer for loose-leaf tea, little jars of spices for cooking, a towel-rack instead of a plastic hook on the wall. A nice bed frame and headboard, a worn but cozy duvet. In comparison, Jon lived like a freshly-graduated college student. He should have his shit together by now, right?

But every time he thought of making it a bit more homey and lived-in, his mind blanked. Where were the lists of all the things you need to make a home yours? What would look best on the walls? And what if he bought all of those things and it just looked awkward, like puzzle pieces forced in the wrong place? So he kept his mismatched furniture and odd little piles of books. It’s easier to stick with what you know.

But it was about time he had Martin over- the man had accepted him in every possible way, this couldn’t be the thing that would make or break their relationship. That didn’t make it any easier, though.

“Would you like,” he started again, taking a deeper breath. “To spend the night at mine on Saturday?” That would give him enough time to prepare, it was only Wednesday. “I could- I dunno, fix dinner, we could watch that movie you wanted to see? Or whatever, really. I don’t mind.”

Martin beamed a bright, shining smile that always made Jon’s heart flutter when it was aimed his way. “I’d love that, Jon! I’ll bring over some wine, we’ll make a night of it.” His arm wound around Jon’s waist, bringing him closer. “Fix you an omelette in the morning.”

“With the green peppers?”

“Of course. Oh! We could go for a morning stroll; you’ve got that lovely park by your house, yeah?”

“Mhm.” It was nice seeing Martin so excited. His anxiety eased, though he still felt the need to qualify. “It’s- well, it’s not the nicest place, but I keep it clean and-”

“Jon,” Martin’s elbow nudged his side, and he bent down to give him a quick peck on the cheek. “Any place is nice if it’s got you in it.”

“Sap,” Jon rolled his eyes even as his face flushed red. 

He could probably do this. Right?

______

Wrong. Wrong wrong wrong.

Jon was twitchy and nervous the rest of the week, his mind spiraling as he considered every situation, even the most ridiculous. Martin’s not going to care if your flat is ugly. Martin’s going to take one look inside and suggest going back to his. Martin will like your cooking. It’s perfectly serviceable. Martin’s going to spit it out and-

“You alright there, boss?”

Jon jumped at the sound of Tim’s voice, almost dropping the mug he’d been preparing to wash. “Christ, Tim! Announce yourself next time, please.”

“That was me announcing myself,” he hopped up on the counter, giving him an easy smile. “What’s going on? You’ve been in your head all week.”

“I have not.”

“You asked me about the Ling statement twice today. It’s Friday. I finished researching it on Monday.”

Well then.

Jon sighed, putting the mug in the sink and turning to face Tim’s friendly concern. “It’s- hm. I’m having Martin at mine tomorrow, and- well, I’m a bit nervous.”

“Aw, that’s sweet.” Jon dodged the condescending pat to the back. “Seriously, that’s adorable. What’s there to be nervous about? You’ve been dating for three months, and pining for much more besides that.”

Jon’s hands gripped the counter with a renewed force. “I just want everything to be okay. I want him to think I’m a fully-functional human being, not someone who panics over having his boyfriend over. We’re always at his place, he’s always cooking for me. He deserves- he deserves everything.”

Tim hopped off the counter, face suddenly serious. “Jon, you’re quite literally Martin’s everything. It’s sickening with you two, honestly. You’ll be fine.” He threw an arm around his shoulder and Jon allowed it, just this once. “Now, what’re you cooking?”

“Well, there’s this pasta dish he loves at the Italian place on Third,” Jon began, his hands fidgeting nervously. “But it’s a bit...difficult to cook. I found a few recipes and I think I can recreate it, it’s just going to take some time and I’ve never worked with some of the ingredients and I might not have the right dishes for it and I don’t want to just substitute things-”

Tim cut off his rant. “That all sounds really lovely, but why don’t you just stick with something you know? That penne you brought to Sasha’s potluck last year- now that was good. And Martin liked it, right?”

“Well, yes,” Jon bristled. “But you think I can’t do it? It’s just a recipe, I should be able to follow basic instructions, I’m not stupid-”

“I didn’t say that, Jon,” Tim grabbed his shoulders and steered him into a seat. “I just think if you’re already this nervous about having him over, maybe you should minimize the stress, yeah? Lighten the load.”

“I can’t,” Jon argued. “I already bought all of the ingredients- I can’t just let them go to waste. I can do this.”

“Well, that’s the spirit!” Tim put a hand on his shoulder as Jon slumped over, leaning into the table. “Look, it’ll go over fine. Stop worrying. Martin will love whatever you make because you made it, alright? And if you need help, just give me a call. I’m not so bad in the kitchen myself, y’know.”

“Tim, you once set the toaster oven on fire because you left a cheese toastie in there for two hours.”

“Fuck’s sake, you set an oven on fire one time and no one lets you forget it-” 

_______

The day arrives without much fanfare, besides a text from both Sasha and Tim declaring that “he had this!” and to “relax, it’ll go great!” Tim wasn’t very good at keeping secrets.

And of course, a text from Martin.

Looking forward to tonight :) Love you!

He straightens up his apartment and then un-straightens it when it looks too clean. He moves furniture to make it more centered, he studies the recipe a couple more times so when four o’clock hits he’ll be ready to start cooking. It’ll be on the table by six, right when Martin’s supposed to arrive. And everything will be fine. Everything will be fine.

But his books look wrong today. Messy, ugly, no sort of order. There are little piles and big piles. Even the ones on the bookshelf look bad somehow. He’s got authors and genres all mixed up. It looks stupid, laughable. Jon’s got to fix this.

He starts unloading them one by one, first in alphabetical order then later by genre, because that makes more sense, right? He switches them back to alphabetical after much consideration- that’s the easier one, of course. But then he gets online, sees all of these nice color-coded displays and wouldn’t that look nice on his bookshelf? He grabs the older, leather-bound books he keeps in his bedroom and brings them out to the sitting area. Now these should be displayed, these look nice. But then there’s no room left over and he’s surrounded by paperbacks he couldn’t find room for and Christ the place is a mess-

And then the doorbell rings.

Fuck. Fuck!

Of course Martin would get here early. Martin always shows up at least fifteen minutes early, but two hours is kind of pushing it. Maybe he wanted to surprise Jon with something, Martin’s very kind like that. Jon opens the door, hands shaking.

Martin’s standing there, looking flustered and harried. “Sorry I’m late!” he begins, giving Jon a kiss on the cheek and a quick hug. Late? “The trains were running slow again and I practically sprinted down the street- hope I didn’t mess up your plans, love!”

Jon looks down at his phone, dumbfounded. It’s six thirty. 

It’s six thirty and there’s no dinner on the table. It’s six thirty and his living room’s a mess, books everywhere. It’s six thirty and Martin’s going to be so, so disappointed.

“Jon? Is everything alright?” He can barely make out Martin’s voice as his head swims; his arms wrap around his torso and dig into his body and all he can mumble is apologies.

“Sorry- I’m- fuck, I’m so stupid, I’m-”

“Hey, hey,” Martin’s voice immediately goes into that low, soothing tone that he uses whenever Jon’s upset. Whenever Jon makes everything about him when it should be about Martin for once. “None of that, now. Let’s go sit down, yeah?’ Martin immediately sets down his bag and his- oh God, he’s brought flowers and now Jon’s crying and everything’s wrong.

Martin’s steering him over to the couch with infinite care sits beside him, putting a hand on his knee and the other on his cheek, wiping his tears. It’s a gesture Jon loves but doesn’t deserve today. “It’s alright love, don’t cry. I’m here.”

“You’re- you’re here and I didn’t - I didn’t fix anything and nothing’s right, I’m so sorry-” Jon is well aware his words are barely intelligible, but that hardly matters now. Not five seconds in and he’s already ruined the night with his stupid, broken brain that just can’t fucking focus.

“You’re not broken, Jon,” He must have said the words aloud because now Martin’s got his face in his hands and is trying to make eye contact with him. “Don’t say that about yourself. You know it’s not true.”

“But it is,” Martin has to see that. What grown man can’t keep a schedule? What kind of adult loses three hours to a failed attempt at organizing books? Martin’s going to realize how messed up he is and he’s going to leave and Jon’s going to be alone again. “You- you deserve so much more than someone who can’t e-even make you dinner, can’t do one simple thing-”

“Jon, don’t- don’t say things like that. I know what I deserve, alright?” Martin pulls Jon to his chest and the pressure is good, stabilizing. “I love you, no matter what that brain of yours tells you. Okay?” He can only nod as the words bring on a fresh round of tears and he buries his face in Martin’s jumper.

It feels like hours before he calms down under Martin’s soothing hands and warm voice. He reluctantly pulls away to look the man in the eye. He deserves an apology that isn’t a breakdown. “I’m- I’m really sorry, though,” he sniffs, trying to keep his emotions in check. “It’s just- you’re always cooking for me and doing nice things and I wanted to pay you back.”

Martin’s brow furrows and Jon’s afraid he’s said the wrong words. “It’s not about paying me back, Jon. I cook for you because I want to, not because I have to. I like- well, it’s nice to finally have someone who appreciates it.”

Jon’s aware of Martin’s tempestuous relationship with his mother- he’s never brought Jon along on his visits, though he says that’s more to spare Jon than it is any judgment on their relationship. “She’s absolutely horrid sometimes, Jon. You don’t deserve that,” he said.

“Well, neither do you, Martin.” Jon never liked seeing Martin cry, though he insisted these were happy tears.

“You’ve got a lot of ingredients over there,” Martin murmurs, casting an appreciative eye over at the counter. “What were you planning on making?”

He pulls up the recipe on his phone, reluctantly handing it over to Martin. “I don’t think it would’ve turned out well, but I know how much you loved it when we-”

“When we went there on our first date,” Martin finishes. His eyes are watering- is he crying? “I’m sorry, it’s just- that’s so thoughtful, I think that might be the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

“Martin,” Jon says incredulously as he winds his arms around the man’s neck. “I didn’t even make it.”

“It’s the thought that counts, Jon!” His voice is nasally and tight. 

“Don’t- don’t cry Martin-”

“I can’t help it!”

“You’re going to make me cry again-” Martin chuckles at this and leans back on the couch, taking Jon with him in a mess of tears and laughter.  “What a pair we make.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way, love. Maybe we can make it together, yeah? Bond n’ all that.”

“That sounds nice,” Jon’s response is muffled by Martin’s jumper. “Would require getting up, though.”

“We’ve got some time. This couch is heavenly- you’ve been holding out on me, Sims.”

Later that night, after a few mishaps but an all-around good dinner, he’s back on the couch and back in Martin’s arms. He runs his fingers through Jon’s hair, a touch that quiets his brain for the first time all week. 

As it turns out, the only thing his flat was missing was someone to share it with.

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27354958

Next in Series:

My Dearest

The Weight of Love

[didsomeonesaydaddydraco]

What true love feels like - final part | Tom Felton imagine

I’M NOT CRYING, YOU ARE! Just kidding, I’m sobbing like a kid who’s candy was taken away. Excuse me for the grammar mistakes, I could barely see through my tears, writing this. But here it is, the final part for the mini series. I really hope you guys liked it. Thank you so much for the support! 

Word count: 4275

Pairing: Tom Felton x Reader

Note: For the best readen experience, I suggest you to listen the song Everyday I love you by Boyzone (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6QQQKJJBJOY) I’ll let you know when to start playing it!

Tag list:  @abrunettefangirlnerd ; @youknowiloveyou-so; @the-girl-who-drew; @thescaletknight2014; @lil5sosbetch; @pipppaaaaalouisee; @mysticskeletonfireherring

You can find the previous chapters right here:

Part 1      Part 2      Part 3      Part 4

*Tom’s POV*

Sometimes you meet someone, and it’s so clear that the two of you, on some level belong together. As lovers, or as friends, or as family, or as something entirely different. You just work, whether you understand one another or you’re in love or you’re partners in crime. You meet these people throughout your life, out of nowhere, under the strangest circumstances, and they help you feel alive. I don’t know if that made me believe in coincidence, or fate, or sheet blind love, but it definitely made me believe in something. And it was true love.

I spent the last two weeks with sitting by my phone, waiting for her to call or text me. I even went to see her at the lake house, but I could never make myself to get out of my car and knock on the door. I knew her better than that. She had to be alone and away from everyone and everything. So, even if it literally killed me, not hearing from her, I was more than willing to mop around my house and wait. Why? Because I deep down in my heart I knew that I was waiting for something great.

So when I opened my door in the middle of the night, and saw her standing there, I knew it was worth it. She was there. Smiling slightly and shyly at me, like it was the first time we met each other. And in a way it was the first time. The first time before a new chapter. A whole new adventure.

If it were up to me, I’d have married her right there. I’d have started my life with her. We’d have gone out and buy that piece of land I wanted so badly, built our dream house. We’d have had sex, cuddled by the fireplace and eat breakfast together in the morning. Go to work, and rush to get home just we could see each other. Eventually have a dozen of babies, and fight over whose parents we were naming them after. Buy another dog, so Willow wouldn’t feel alone. Celebrate our 10 years anniversary. Get in those bad fights, but make up after a day or so. Continue to surprise each other, watch the sunset from our front porch every now and then. Watch out babies graduate and start their lives. Retire. Meet our grandchildren. Hold each other every night and never forget the love that started this all. If it were up to me, I would have started that adventure with her right then.

I couldn’t say a word. I just kept looking and her beautiful face. Admiring how amazingly good she looked without any makeup on. She was a woman who wasn’t afraid to show her imperfections. And I loved that fact that I could be by her side through that long and painful journey. The journey where she learnt to finally love herself. Truly.

“So you chose me?” I finally asked the dumbest question ever. She was standing right in front of me. But I had to hear her saying it. I needed to.

“Yeah, you. It will always be you, don’t you get it? If I had the choice between you and a million things I’ve always wanted, I would choose you every single time” she said slowly, so I could fully understand her. And in that moment, I was the happiest man on Earth.

There’s a moment between a glance and a kiss. Where the world stops for the briefest of times. And the only thing between us is anticipation of her lips on mine. A moment so intense it hands in the air as it pulls us closer. A moment, so perfect that when it comes to and end we realize it’s only just the beginning. So I grabbed her by the neck and kissed her. Just kissed her so deep she forgot whose air she was breathing. Her kissed melted me like no one else ever had and I just wanted her to know how much I loved her.

“Come on in” I smiled at her after our lips finally parted “I wasn’t the only one who missed you”

I took her hand in mine and pulled her in the house. Willow was already sitting by the bottom of the stairs, patiently waiting to finally be able to see our guest. When I stepped out of her way and she saw Y/N kneeling down and calling out her name, she wasted to time and ran into her arms.

“Hey, girl” Y/N tried to keep Willow away from her face, but my doggie was too happy to finally see her again. She licked her face and hands and jumped on her. I didn’t blame her. I wanted to keep kissing and hugging her. But I knew she needed to talk to me, so I made my way to the kitchen and started to prepare our cups of tea, and gave them time to enjoy each other company for a while.

“I see you kept that terrible painting” she said from behind me. I look at her above my shoulders to see her pointing to the honestly terrible painting on the wall. I chuckled at the memory of her being blindfolded, sitting in front of the canvas and holding the brush in her hand, waiting for me to give her the instructions. We painted it on our little weekend getaway in Rome. Aaron was away for almost a month, so we could do anything we wanted. I remember how stressed she had been because of her final thesis, so after she turned it in, I surprised her with that little trip.

“Tom, wait” she laughed behind me as she tried to catch up. We just had a romantic candle light dinner at the small local restaurant. Beside us, there was only two other couple, enjoying the delicious Italian pasta with a bottle of amazing wine next to the scented candles and the red and white tablecloth. We already had a bottle of wine, but we drank one more after dessert as well. After we paid, I had a great idea, I was just hoping I could find the right shop still open to buy the equipment.

“Hurry up, baby” I called after her “We don’t have much time and I’m sure it’s going to be raining in a couple of minutes”

I told her to wait for me outside of the shop and quickly bought everything I need for my plan. I had always wanted to do this with someone, but never had the chance to do it. I wanted to do it with someone who I knew was going to enjoy it. And I knew for sure Y/N was type who liked the most unexpected and cliché things.

I grabbed her hand and basically dragged her with me. I was full with energy and the night was still young. There were a lot of things in my mind. Like my little plan, maybe another bottle of wine, and sweet love making with her in the candle lit living room.

“Alright, Felton” she stopped in front of me when we entered our rented flat “Tell me what you have in mind!”

“Go and put on a shirt you don’t mind ruining” I smiled at her and put down the bag on the kitchen counter. She just shook her head and turned around to go and get changed. I couldn’t keep my hand to myself, so softly and teasingly slapped her ass. I respected her. I loved her. But I was a man and she was the most beautiful and the hottest woman I had ever met. So there were times when I couldn’t control the wide caveman in me. But she knew me better, so these things were never offensive in her eyes.

She came back a couple of minutes later in one of my old shirts she had stolen from me like a month ago. She liked to hang out in it, play with Willow in it. I didn’t mind, it was an old shirt and I barley wore it anymore. But it looked amazing in her.

“So?” she wrapped her arms around my waist and stood on her tiptoes to kiss my lips shortly.

“Sit down, darling” I nodded to the chair and picked up her scarf from her bag “Do you trust me?”

“Of course” she said without hesitation. She sat down and waited. I carefully blindfolded her and poured paint on the palette for her “Why is it if you have something in mind, it always comes with something messy?”

“I just love to make a mess” I laughed and placed a brush in her hand “Believe me, you’re going to love this”

I stood behind her and bend down a little so my mouth was the same level as her ears. I kissed the soft skin behind her ear, and I could hear her breathing quickening. This was amazing.

“Take the brush and dug it in paint” I whispered slowly, letting my breath tickling her skin. She slowly breathed out and obeyed my command. She held the brush, ready to paint, only waiting for my next instruction “Good girl”

“Now, touch the canvas with it gently and paint a straight line from down to up” I put one of my hands on her bare thigh and squeezed it gently. She did as she was asked.

“Hmmm” I stroked her skin “Now, dug in the paint again” my fingers were dancing on her inner thigh “And paint dots on the rhythm of my fingers on your skin”

“And now, paint a circle” I told her. She almost dropped the brush when I started kissing her neck. A smirked to myself, knowing very well that she was close to lose it and turn around to kiss me. She almost did, but I stopped her “Ah no no no, baby girl. Where’s the circle?”

“Tom” she moaned as my fingers went further up on her thigh. I bit on her neck to show her who was in control “Fuck” she whispered my painted the circle nonetheless.

It went like this for a bit more. Me, teasing her and giving her the instructions, and her, trying her very best to not show everything of the table and push me against it.

“It’s terrible” I said when I looked at the final picture. There was no concept at all. Just random colours and random lines, dots and circles. But we made it. I put a little paint on my finger and left my fingerprint at the bottom right corner. I took Y/N’s finger and did the same, right next to mine.

“Do you want to take a look, baby girl?” I whispered in her ear, and that was the last straw. She tore the scarf and throw it away, not giving a damn if it landed in paint or not. She turned around and crashed her lips on mine. This kiss wasn’t gentle at all. It was wild, eager and passionate. When she finally looked me in the eye after the kiss, I could tell we were thinking about the same thing. Her eyes were dark from lust, and there was the dangerous flame in them that I loved so much. She only glanced at the painting for a brief moment.

“It really is terrible” she said and stood in front of me “But now, take me to the bedroom”

“You don’t have to ask me twice” I smiled at her and picked up. Her legs were wrapped around me, and I was sure she could feel everything. We made love for the first time that night. And it was the most amazing night. Little did I know, it was the first out of a lot more.

“It happens that I like it a tiny bit” I winked at her and handed her a cup of tea “I reckon you’d like to talk about a few things, right?”

“Yeah, I think we should” she nodded and went to the living room, Willow following her right away. Y/N sat down, and she immediately laid down by her feet. I joined my girls on the sofa and waited.

“I had a lot of time to think. And I talked to my brother a lot about these feelings that were building up in me” she started and never broke eye contact “I told him everything. About you and me…”

I took a sharp breath. Definitely not how I wanted to be introduced to her family.

“He took it quite well. All he wanted to know if you made me happy and treated my right” she smiled at me “When I assured him that you were literally treating me like a princess, he wished us nothing bet the best. Also, he said something very thoughtful. When I was telling him about how long I had been searching for someone who loved him, and someone I could love, he told me that love is not something you go out and look for. Love finds you, and when it does, ready or not, it’ll be the best thing to ever happen to you”

It was true. The best love is unexpected. You don’t just pick someone and cross your fingers it’ll work. You meet them by fate and it’s an instant connection, and the chemistry share is way above your head. You just talk and notice the way their lips curve when they smile or the colour of their eyes and all at once you know you’re either lucky or screwed. In our case, we were both. We met at the wrong time, but still. We made it work. Not in the most respectful and fair way, but we didn’t let go.

“But you’re still scared” I took her shaking hand in my and squeezed it to calm her down. She didn’t have anything to be afraid it. It was me, who she was talking to, after all “It’s okay. I’m scared too, and I don’t know why. Maybe I’m scared because you mean more to me than any other person. You are everything I think about, everything I need and everything I want.”

“So, what now?” she scooted closer to me, and rested her head on my shoulder. I kissed the top of her head and hugged her tight. I wanted her to know I wasn’t going anywhere. I was there for the long run.

“I think it’s finally our time” I tilted her head up by her chin and kissed her slowly. Yes, it was our time. And I was going to make every second of it worth it.

 < 3 years later >

*Y/N’s POV*

When I was a little kid, I loved going to weddings. God knows how many times I was asked to be a flower girl or a bridesmaid. All the decoration, the music, the spirit of true love mesmerized me, and I often find myself imagining my own wedding. I still remember the beautiful white and blush pink decoration with the fairy lights and roses all around the huge mansion. The beautiful ball gown wedding dress, made for me. But this time, everything was different. The huge, modern chalet which we rented for the reception was decorated with deep dark green and silver decoration, and the candles in the black wrought iron holders give and edgy but romantic feeling to the whole decoration.

From the room, which was assigned to be the dressing room for my flower girls, bridesmaids and I had the best view at the backyard. The chairs were covered with silver chair skirts, tied around with a beautiful, dark green ribbon. The trees were so colourful, due to the season, and fairy lights decorated them. Candles were already lit, and followed the way from the back porch’s staircase to the wedding arch, which was made out of evergreens and fairy lights. Everything was perfect.

“How are you feeling, darling?” my Mum asked me from the armchair. I looked at myself in the mirror, and admired the dress I was wearing. It was a simple bright white satin wedding dress, which hugged my body like a waterfall. The straps were made of small diamond-like crystals and fall down on my back, like they were the back of my dress. It was simple, but I felt like I was the most beautiful woman in the whole world.

“Like I want to run down the aisle and finally marry him” I smiled at her. This time, there were no bad feelings, I was shaking from fear. I was sure I was about to make the best decision. I played with my silver bracelet. The single teardrop shaped pearl wasn’t lonely anymore. There were other charms from the places we visited in the last couple of years.

“I’ll go and get your Dad than” Mum kissed my cheek and left me to find my Dad.

I took a deep breath and looked outside again. Family and friends were already sitting, and my flower girls and bridesmaid were waiting by the aisle to walk down before me. I could see a familiar dirty blond hair, talking with his best man and friends near the altar. For so long I thought marriage wasn’t for me. Even when I was with Aaron. But I realized it was for me. And it was with that man, with the most mesmerizing blue eyes and bright smile. With that man, who was the most beautiful person I had even met in my entire life. Sometimes I just looked at him and thought how lucky I was that he was mine.

“Let’s get you married” my Dad said as he entered the room with the biggest smile on his face “No cold feet?”

“No cold feel” I answered and laced my hand with his.

*start the song now*

The first accords started to play when the musicians saw me and Dad arriving. Suddenly, all eyes were on me, and I could feel myself getting emotional, tears blurring my vision. The sun was just setting, and the lights of the trees and the little path made out of candles made the whole scene look magical.

But the most magical part was the man who was waiting for me at the end of the aisle. We were looking at each other, not caring about our families and friends around us. I only see him. He, in his pitch black suit with the silver tie witch complemented his bright blue eyes. He had the most beautiful smile on his face, and I had to stop myself from running up to him and kiss him. Nothing was stopping us now.

We were halfway down when I could see it. He was crying and smiling at the same time. Damn, I was the luckiest girl in the world.

“Take care of my little girl” I tried so hard to stop myself from crying, but when my Dad placed my hand in my soon to be husband’s, I could help but let a few tears escape.

The ceremony was beautiful. The speech the registrar said was true, emotional and a little bit funny, but the whole time I was lost in the most beautiful eyes. I couldn’t look away. I didn’t want to. I was looking at my future.

“Ladies and gentleman” the registrar spoke “It’s time for this two beautiful and in love people to take their vows.

Tom’s niece stepped closer and handed him my ring, which he almost dropped because his hand was shaking so much. I chuckled and whispered a tiny ‘I love you’ to calm him down. He cleared his throat and looked back at me. We immediately get lost in each other’s eyes.

“I, Thomas Andrew, take you, Y/N Y/M/N to be my friend, my lover, the mother of my children and my wife. I will be yours in times of plenty and in times of want, in times of sickness and in times of health, and in times of joy and in times of sorrow, in times of failure and in times of triumph. I promise to cherish and respect you, to care and protect you, to comfort and encourage you, and stay with you, for all eternity” he smiled at me “I’d love nothing more than to stumble through life with you”

He slowly slipped the ring on my finger and gently kissed my hand, before wiping away a few of his tears. I took his ring from our niece and kissed the top of her head before she returned to her father’s side with a huge smile.

“I, Y/N Y/M, take you Thomas Andrew, to be my husband, my partner in life and my one true love. I will cherish out union and love you more each day than I did the day before. I will trust you and respect you, laugh with you and cry with you, loving you faithfully through good times and bad, regardless of the obstacles we may face together. I give you my hand, my heart and my love, from this day forward for as long as we both shall live.” I winked at him and said the last line of my vow “I’d love nothing more than to stumble through life with you”

I slipped the ring on his finger and from that moment, that wasn’t power on Earth that could have stopped me from crying. I didn’t care how ugly I looked crying or if my makeup was a mess. I was his wife. And he was my husband.

“Y/N and Tom” the registrar smiled at us “You came here today to affirm your love for one another and formally acknowledge that which your hearts already knew…”

Tom and I both chuckled, thinking about how our love started.

“That your lives are meant to be shared as one, that you are stronger together than you are apart, and that, for all your days yet to come, you wish to share together all life’s joys and challenges, committed one to the other”

She took a breath and with true joy in his voice he continued.

“I now pronounce you Husband and Wife! You can now kiss the bride”

He didn’t waste a second. Tom picked me up and kissed me passionately. He didn’t have to say anything. Everything was in our first kiss as husband and wife. And it was the sweetest kiss we had ever shared.

***

We were standing on the porch, watching our friends and now shared family having the time of their lives. Drinking, eating, dancing, bonding and laughing. It was perfect. Just the way we imagined our wedding. We spent almost a year planning it, Tom helping with everything, sometimes being even more excited than me. He never skipped a meeting with our wedding planner. He was really there for me. And he was the one who planned our honeymoon. No matter how many times I asked, or how I tried to trick him to tell me where we were going, he kept it as a secret. Always saying it was a gift.

“You’re still not telling me, right?” I looked up at him. We had been standing there for quite a while now, just hugging each other, staring into each other’s eyes and sharing sweet kisses as a married couple.

“Nope” he kissed my forehead and pulled me even closer. I could feel and hear his heart beating against his chest.

“I have a gift for you too” I pulled away and stepped into to house to grab the little silver envelope from my bag. My hands were shaking and I was terrified to give it to him. But also, I was excited “There’s one thing you have been wanting for so long. And I’ve been holding this is my dresser for a few weeks now, so excuse me for not giving you the latest one, but I really hope you’re going to love it.”

He took the envelope from me and opened it gently. He slowly pulled out the small, black and white picture with a red hear shaped sticker on the middle of it, framing the bean sized dot.

“Is that…?” his blue eyes were filled with tears “Are you? Are we having a…?

“A baby?” I asked with tears in my eyes too “Yeah, we are. I’m pregnant”

“I’m going to be a Dad” he yelled and picked me up for the second time today. He twirled around with me and showered my face with kisses. I was sobbing like a little baby. He was so happy. I knew how badly he wanted to be a father, and his dream was finally coming true.

“Never in a million years did I think I’d find someone so utterly and completely perfect, someone who would make me happier than I ever dreamed I could be. Someone that would touch my life so profoundly and just give me a whole new reason to breathe. But then I found you and realized that everything I anticipated you to be doesn’t even compare who you are.” he held my face in his hands. The amount of love I felt for that man was almost unbearable. I smiled at him and kissed him softly. I knew that no matter what was waiting for us, we were going to be okay because we had each other. He taught me so many things. He helped me to love myself. But most importantly, with him by my side, I could finally tell what true love felt like.

[icelily17]

Date Night (A KimxRon fic)

Alrighty, here’s a little writing exercise for myself! This prompt was from @gothicthundra and I’m very grateful to everyone else for suggested prompts! I’ll get to them hopefully soon. Put under a read more for space purposes haha, this is set during Season 4 just so I can start on familiar ground. I really, really hope I didn’t butcher the characters....

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“You think you’re all that, Kim Possible!! But you’re nooooooot!!!!” Dr. Drakken yelled out angrily as he flew away with Shego in his hovercar, once again defeated. Kim Possible, teen superhero, stood up and dusted herself off after a job well done. “Okay, Drakken, whatever you say,” she said sarcastically.

“Y’know, how many times is he going to say that line?” Ron Stoppable came up behind her, picking a piece of dirt off her shoulder that she missed. Her best friend-turned-boyfriend crossed his arms, “You’d think that after the first couple of hundred times his butt was kicked, he’d come up with something else”.

“Well, at least Drakken didn’t get his hands on that chromium gem to power whatever his newest hairbrained scheme, AND we got it done before dinnertime!” Kim looked at her watch, “Perfect!”

“Yeah! We can stop at Bueno Nacho on the way home!” Ron exclaimed. Rufus came out of his pocket and ran up Ron’s shoulder and squeaked “Mmm, dinner! Hungry!”

Kim smiled and took out the Kimmunicator, “Sorry, I have some AP English homework I have to do tonight. Wade?” She called, and within seconds their friend blipped on the screen, “Can you get us a ride back to Middleton?”

“Hey guys, didja get Drakken before he got the goods?” Wade asked, already typing away looking for a contact. “Yeah, the chromium gem is safe and sound in the lab,” she assured. “Cool, you’re ride’s on it’s way!” Wade gave a thumbs up, to which Kim gave her thanks and put the Kimmunicator away.

 “English homework? On a Friday night? But I thought Friday night was our night!” Ron said, continuing their conversation.

“Not officially!”

“Aw man, that rips,” Ron moaned, “I was hoping we’d be able to spend some time together.” Kim raised her eyebrow, “Ron, all we ever do is spend time together.”

“Yeah, I know, but I meant something along the lines of a date. Maybe a movie, maybe we could have watched the newest episode of Agony County, grab a pizza....you know,” Ron rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. It was something he felt he could never get used to, talking about going on dates with Kim; it was like a never-ending dream, being her boyfriend. Kim smiled affectionately and grabbed his hand, “Sorry, but I really want to get a headstart on this homework. You know you can still come over?”

“Nah, I dont want to distract you if you’re working. I’ll just head home and play some Zombie Mayhem 2. What about tomorrow? I can take you out to dinner, we could go to a movie or take a stroll around town?” They began walking downhill to their rendezvous point. Kim put her finger to her chin as she thought, “Hmm....tomorrow’s looking pretty free, dinner and a walk sound great.”

“Coolness! Pick you up at 7?”

“It’s a date,” Kim giggled.

--THE NEXT DAY--

“Monique, I don’t have a clue what I should wear!” Kim wailed into her phone, shoving her clothes aside in her closet. She picked up a blue flowy long-sleeve shirt and held it up to herself in front of her mirror.

“Girl, it’s a date. You said he’s taking you out to dinner?” Her other best friend asked. “Yeah, but I dont know where, I dont want to be too over-dressed,” Kim said.

“If it’s Bueno Nacho, then it’s most likely over-dressed,” Monique deadpanned. “No, I don’t think it’s Bueno Nacho this time, he sounded like he really wanted to make this a real date,” the redhead mused, holding up a forest green long-sleeved shirt that had cut-outs on the shoulders to herself. She smiled and put it on the bed, returning to her closet for a pair of pants.

“Well, good on him! Look Kim, it’s Ron, you have nothing to worry about! It’s not like you haven’t known each other your whole lives,” Monique pointed out. Kim took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She had to admit Monique had a point. She had nothing to worry about, she knew that as long as she was with Ron she was going to have a good time. She glanced up on her dresser mirror and saw the pictures she and Ron had taken in a photobooth a few years ago, and smiled at the familiar flutters in her gut she felt when she looked at him.

“You’re right, Monique...not to sound too dramatic, but it’s just that it’s a little weird to think about going on a date with Ron. I mean, a real date as boyfriend and girlfriend, not the stuff we usually do. But in a good way! It’s just...”

“New?” Monique offered. Kim smiled, “Yea, new. But I like it.” She pulled out a pair of dark jeans, a pair of black boots with a small heel and a necklace, “Alright, outfit picked, not too casual, but not too dressy. So not the drama, thanks Monique!”

“No problem Kim. TTYL, spill the deets on Monday!” her friend said her goodbyes and hung up. Kim got ready, put on the slightest bit of makeup, hoping her father wouldn’t notice but felt it was necessary. This was a date, she wasn’t an animal, and she wanted to look nice for Ron. She sprayed a little perfume, then went downstairs and sat on the sofa where her little brothers were watching some cartoon she didn’t care about, and her mother was reading a book.

“All ready for your date Kimmie? When’s Ron coming over?” Dr. Ann Possible glanced up, looking at her daughter. Kim took the fact she didn’t say anything about her makeup meant she looked fine by her parents’ standards and opened her mouth to answer--

“Kim’s going on a daaaaaaate!” Jim taunted. “Ew, cootie alert!” Tim followed, and both boys laughed. “Shut it, Tweebs!” Kim hissed. “Boys,” their mother warned, and the twins just grinned and turned back to their show. “Ron said he’d pick me up at 7. It’s just to dinner and a walk, nothing too fancy,” Kim told her mom. Mrs. Possible smiled and turned a page, “Well that’s nice, I hope you two have a good time.”

“Where’s Dad? Working late again?”

“Ah, you know your father when there’s a new project at work, he’ll probably be gone later than you will. Which by the way, not too late okay?” Mrs. Possible looked up sternly. “I know Mom, 10 o’ clock,” Kim rolled her eyes good-naturedly. Her mother smiled, “Let’s make it 10;30. It’s Saturday, and it’s Ron, it’s not like he’s a stranger.”

Kim gasped, “Really? Oh thank you Mom!”

Mrs. Possible chuckled and pat her daughter on the hand, “Of course Kimmie, and if your father has anything to say he can talk to me about it.” She returned to her book again, and at that moment the doorbell rang.

Kim answered the door to Ron in a nice button-down short-sleeved red plaid shirt with a darker red t-shirt underneath, a pair of light blue jeans and sneakers. Kim was grateful that he had decided not to wear his usual jersey and so didn’t say anything except “Wow, look at you!” To which Ron giggled nervously and produced a bouquet of lilies. Kim smiled and took them happily.

“Good evening mademoiselle, and may I say you look very enchanting this evening,” He lifted an eyebrow in a flirty way. Kim laughed into her hand, then went inside to put the bouquet in a vase. He followed her inside and waved, “Hey Dr. P!”

“Hello Ron! Have Kim home by 10:30, okay?”

“You got it!” He called back as Kim dragged him out of the house. They walked down the walkway to where his scooter was parked and Ron handed her a helmet. “So where are we headed, Mr. Romantic?” Kim asked as she put it on and climbed on the back of the scooter.

“There’s this Italian place downtown I thought we could check out, DiPaolo’s,” He revved up the scooter, Kim grabbed his waist and they left. “Is that okay?”

“I could go for pasta,” Kim said, resting her head on his back. “At least it’s not Bueno Nacho.” Ron smiled as his tummy turned slightly and they rode in silence. 

At the restaurant they initially sat in uncomfortable silence as they realized this was their first real, fancy-ish not-naco-and-a-movie date since becoming a couple and didn’t know what to do. Ron glanced at the menu and was glad his father lent him some money--not too expensive but not quite cheap either. He glanced up at Kim and could swear he was looking at an angel. She looked beautiful (well I mean not that she isn’t all the time but WOW) and he was once again wondering how he was so lucky to have been the one Kim chose to be with. He smiled affectionately, and when Kim caught his eye she smiled back shyly.

“Hey KP, this is so...well, I mean...I just...” he began, but sputtered nervously. Great, not how he wanted to start, real smooth Stoppable. But Kim put her hand on his, to which he looked up and saw her still smiling and shaking her head.

“Oh Ron, look...if it makes you feel better, I’m nervous too.”

“You? But you’re never nervous!”

“I am when it comes to cute boys,” she said slyly. Ron giggled and rubbed the back of his neck, “Haha, yeah...but I didn’t want to be nervous. I mean, we shouldn’t be, right? I mean, it’s us.” 

Kim leaned back in her seat, “You’re right...it is us, but this is something I guess we never really expected. Still, I’m glad it happened, and I’m glad you’re here with me.” Ron smiled and took her hand again, “Yeah?”

“Of course. Here’s an idea: let’s just pretend this is just another hangout at Bueno Nacho, and we’ll go from there one step at a time, okay?” She squeezed his hand.

“Yeah!” Just then the waiter came up and asked “What can I get you to drink?” with his notepad and pen poised. Kim ordered a water with lemon, and when the waiter turned to Ron, he studied the menu for a minute before looking at the waiter. “I’ll have a coco-moo....I mean, ah.....iced tea! Yeah, iced tea please, heh heh,” he chuckled nervously. The waiter and Kim raised an eyebrow, exchanged a glance, and the waiter walked away to get their drinks.

“Coco-moo?” Kim inquired. Ron shrugged a shoulder, “I heard it somewhere once, can’t remember. Anyway,” he said, clearly trying to move on, “did you finish your English paper?”

The rest of dinner went easily, and neither of the teens could believe they were even nervous to begin with. When they got past the initial awkwardness, it was like everything was as it had always been, just with more handholding and kisses and neither of them were complaining about that.

Afterwards, they rode Ron’s scooter to the park and just walked hand in hand. They stopped at a familiar, graffiti covered wall and sat on the bench nearby. “Hey, remember when you were hit with Drakken’s weird plant and were going to disappear every time you got embarrassed?” Ron asked.

Kim rolled her eyes, “How could I forget? They followed me on my date with Josh Mankey and tried to embarrass me themselves! Not to mention the embarrassment ninjas and the Tweebs...did you know they set up a projector and showed embarrassing pictures of me here on this wall?”

Ron winced, “Oof, that’s harsh. Embarrassment ninjas?” Kim nodded, “Yeah, but then you came through and got me out of it just in time.” Ron shrugged, “Well I wasn’t going to just let you disappear. Although, I was surprised you weren’t in your room, Wade and I had to track you down.”

Kim looked away sheepishly, “Yea...I’m sorry about that...” Ron waved his hand and gave his goofy smile, “Hey no big, KP. Everything turned out fine and the Ron-Man saved the day!” Ron tried not to think about how he had felt when he saw Kim out with Mankey, risking her life just for a date. He remembered giving her a thumbs up when she looked at him in gratitude, because like Mankey or not (which he absolutely did not) he was going to support his best friend.

But that didn’t stop the pang he had felt in his chest that night.

“You know, I think that might have been the first time I noticed I liked you,” Ron said thoughtfully. “What?” Kim asked, looking at him. He winced, “Did I say that out loud?”

“Yea, but what do you mean? When I was on my date with Josh?” She asked. She was surprised he had liked her for that long, and a little pleased.

“Yea. I know I didn’t like him but I wasn’t going to let that get in the way of you dating him if you had wanted that. But seeing you there, all happy on your date, I was....”

“Jellin’?”

“What?”

“Sorry, I mean jealous?”

“Yeah, I guess so. I had never really thought about it, about you, that way up until then. But I still didn’t think about it up until the end of last year. And I didn’t know what you thought of me, you know?” The blonde put his hands together and twiddled his thumbs.

Kim faced him, “Ron, why didn’t you say anything?” Ron shrugged, “I didn’t want to risk our friendship.” Kim understood, she had wrestled with the thought for years on her end. She smiled and put a hand on his cheek, “Well let me be the first to say that I like you, Ron Stoppable, and I am very glad that you are my boyfriend. I wouldn’t trade you for anything in the world.”

They smiled at each other and leaned in for a tender kiss. They remained that way, in a sweet embrace for some time before they had to come up for some air. Ron leaned back and looked at her through half-lidded eyes. Her cheeks were red and there was a sparkle in her eye; he felt his heart swell and once again thanked the universe for making him the luckiest man in the world.

“I love you, KP.”

Kim’s eyes turned bright as she felt herself warm up from head to toe; she felt an almost weightless-ness as her chest swelled tight. She could burst out of happiness, and nothing could ruin this moment for her--not even Shego.

She threw her arms around his neck and captured his lips once again, and they could feel each other smiling into it. As they pulled away, Kim let out a sigh, “Best date ever.”

Ron laughed, “Boo-yah! I still got the way with the ladies!” Kim just smiled at her goofball. She looked at her watch: 10:15. “Well, we better head back home. Let’s go, Romeo.”

The drove back to the Possible house; Kim was slightly relieved to see that her mother had been right and Mr. Possible was still working. No pesky questions, no matter how well-meaning her dad was. They both got off, since Ron was going to walk her to the door--he knew the basic boyfriend rules.

“So you wanna come over and watch the latest Agony County episode tomorrow? I taped it,” Kim asked, her hand on the door. “You got it! Order a pizza?” Ron asked. 

“Psshh-yeah! Isn’t that the tradition?”

“Bon diggity, I’ll bring the popcorn and soda,” Ron said excitedly. “Well, ‘night KP!” 

Kim leaned in and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Goodnight Ron. Tonight was perfect. See you tomorrow!”

Ron waited until she went inside before he walked back to his scooter and walked it into the garage of his house next door. He went up to his room, smiling so hard he thought his face was going to break in half. When he walked in, Rufus looked up from the video game he was playing and squeaked at him as if to ask how it went.

“Rufus, buddy, your main man Ron’s still got the moves,” Ron said, then sighed happily as he flopped on his bed. Rufus squealed happily and ran next to him.

“I was wrong Rufus. Love isn’t complicated...it’s great!”

[queenofthefullmoon]

An exhaustive list of Dark Souls 3 bosses I would or would not date

Iudex/Champion Gundyr

We’re starting off this list with a strong yes. Our boy Gundyr has had a hard, difficult life, and he deserves some good company. He’s tall, strong, and I trust him to protect us as we set a lovely camp site outside of the fire link shrine.

Vordt of the Boreal Valley

Vordt is big and he is feral which are truly the only two qualities I look for in a man. Together we’d be unstoppable. I mean, think about how easy it would be to go around with him: just climb on his back and let the rodeo begin, baby. This argument alone should be enough to convince you that Vordt is a suitable boyfriend, but here’s another one: if you get too hot in the summer, worry fucking not for your gigantic man can hold his equally gigantic hammer over you and cover you with snow like an italian man covering his pasta with parmesan.

Cursed Rotted Greatwood

Now while I’m certain it would be a perfect partner for some people, the Cursed Rotted Greatwood isn’t for me. For one, I am not fan of curses, or rot, or weird sticky balls, or strange orange acid, or pale white and slightly viscous hands bursting through a living tree. Secondly, I feel like the crowd of Hollows who group up around the tree would be a big impediment to our intimacy, and I’m not ready to be the mother of 20 Hollows.

Crystal Sage

No offense but you’d be an idiot for not wanting to date the Crystal Sage. All wrapped up in one package, you get a super competent sorcerer bf, who wears the coolest hat in the galaxy and an equally cool cape, and who overall looks like the upgraded version of a plague doctor. In addition to that he also has a pretty rapier so you can both engage in some sparring (which we all know is the most romantic couple activity).

Deacons of the Deep

Probably one of the worst options on the list, they’re all crusty, rotting men moaning around a biggass coffin. There are many technical questions. If I dated a deacon, would I have to date all of them? Can we go out on dates or are they obligated to stay next to the coffin at all times? Can I even date them at all?? Not that I would, because I have standards. The only pro to entering this relationship(s?) would be that I’d probably get one of their robes for free, but the cons are so numerous that I’d rather buy it myself.

Abyss Watchers

Let’s be real and honest even if it hurts. Would I date an Abyss Watcher? Yes. Maybe I’d even date two. However, would an Abyss Watcher date me? No, because they’re all in love with Artorias, and I can’t blame them for that.

Old Demon King

At first I considered dating the Old Demon King like a Russian Instagram model dates an old, rich American man: with a great deal of fake love but above all great patience in order to be the only person on the will. But then I thought about it more, and what does the Old Demon King have to offer, really? A big firework show that will leave him exhausted like the old creature he is, and maybe some pyromancies. Truly, it is not worth it, especially since I’d have to take residence where he lives, in a big old room filled with the corpses of his kin.

High Lord Wolnir

I’ve got nothing against Wolnir personally, but I have no interest in skeletons, nor in his army of skeleton children. As stated above I’m not ready to be a mother. I feel like if we got in an argument and he sighed, he would poison me with his awful breath and I would die a horrible death. Also, living on the brink of the Abyss doesn’t appeal to me that much. However I would like Wolnir to be a good friend I can talk jewelry with because let’s be honest, the man (skeleton?) is blinged the fuck out even in death and I respect that.

Yhorm the Giant

Yes, I would date Yhorm. He was nothing but a sweet, misunderstood giant who always tried to get people to trust him and he convinced me. I would put my life in his big hands. Think of the possibilities. Just like with Vordt he could carry you everywhere but in a less reckless way if you prefer proper manners. You’d never have to worry about not seeing anything at a concert. Also, may I add that waiting for you to show up while sitting on his biggass throne is an absolute power move? Yhorm is a Lord of Cinder, but above all, a Lord of this heart.

Pontiff Sulyvahn

Would I date him because of his appealing aesthetic? Yes. Would I date him for anything else? No. Sulyvahn is absolutely terrifying, completely unhinged in the most frightening way, which is that he doesn’t look bat shit crazy. I could be thinking that everything is going well in our relationship then suddenly he’d lock me in a dungeon then would feed me to his weird friend because I put a fork in the knife drawer. He could pretend to propose and give me a weird fucked up ring with his eye in it and the next thing I know I’d be running in a field on all fours. I don’t trust like that.

Aldritch, Devourer of Gods

I’m so sad about Aldritch because literally everything about him is completely unappealing, unacceptable, unnatural, unholy, abhorrent, but he has the delicate and beautiful face of Gwyndolin. While our lovely Gwyndolin looks gorgeous as ever it doesn’t make up for the fact that Aldritch devoured people and probably wouldn’t find love to be a good reason to not eat his partner. The only reason I can find to have a friendship (not even a romantic relationship) with him is if you really like experimenting with cooking and you really, really need someone to taste your inventions.

Dancer of the Boreal Valley

I feel attraction, which means that just like any other being who feels attraction, I would date the Dancer. She is beautiful, graceful, a bit feral, and would not hesitate to put a flaming knife to my throat, which is the description of my dream woman. Imagine walking the streets with her, trying to hold her hand while it dangles 3 feet above you and she insists on holding her sword, actually, so she might slay anyone who tries to approach you, which she communicates through icy breaths and murmurs. The date of a lifetime.

Oceiros, the Consumed King

Another awful choice on this list, Oceiros is RABID and also, as far as we know, still a married man. You really want to date a man that hasn’t even gone through his divorce but already looks like this? Me neither. I’m already not big on dragon fucking but the fact that he’s all viscous and has weird growths all over him is not helping. Also, he has children, and we know how I feel about that — although, given how he treats them, he probably won’t have kids very soon (too far?).

Ancient Wyvern

So I’ve stated that I’m not very big on dragon fucking. With that said, do I think the wyvern is sexy and beautiful? Absolutely so. You’re probably like « Blue you’re sending mixed signals, are you gonna date the lizard or not? » and to that I say, date? Perhaps not. I would however like to form a lifelong bond with this wonderful force of nature and fight by its side, live a long and fulfilling life travelling along with it, only to die at the same time atop the tallest mountain in the world, where our skeletons will be discovers hundreds of years in the future by brave explorers, who will confirm that the legendary songs that were written about us were in fact not just a myth.

Nameless King

You’ve just read what I said about the wyvern. I feel like the Nameless King really understands me and would respect me for that. We could bond over our love of dragons and other flying scaly beasts and perhaps share some chaste kisses while soaring the sky on our companions. It’s nice to date someone who loves pets as much as you. I feel like he would be a fun guy to hang around in general, maybe he’d let you braid his hair or try on his crown. He can arrange personalized fireworks shows for you with his lightning powers. I don’t think you’d ever be bored around him.  

Dragonslayer Armor

Dating an empty suit of armor has never bothered me (see: ds2 Ruin Sentinels), however I have beef with the dragonslayer armor. Is it a beautiful armor? Perhaps a bit worn off, but the reply remains affirmative. However, it is controlled by Pilgrim Butterflies, which basically means I’m dating one to multiple of these things in the shape of an armor, and I’ve gotta confess that I’m not down for that.

Lorian Older Prince and Lothric Younger Prince

Here comes the delicate moment where we have to make a choice without offending anyone. I personally, speaking for myself, in my own opinion, would rather date Lorian. Reason: he is big, strong, and a bit rabid, which I’ve made very clear is my type. I don’t dislike Lothric, but I feel like we’d be better off as best friends who have a really snarky group chat where we shit talk the entire kingdom. That’s pretty good because if I even just slightly disliked Lothric I’m pretty sure Lorian would sense it and would not hesitate to murder me on sight.

Champion’s Gravetender and Champion Greatwolf

Well the full name is just a formality here, I’m not completely insane so I don’t want to date this rabid wolf. I feel like the Champion’s Gravetender is just a normal dude who’s a bit in over his head and it’s not his fault but he just seems a bit boring compared to all my other options. Instead of a date I think he’d be more of an awkward flirt I had when I was bored and then I came to my senses but didn’t know how to disengage, but in the end it worked out because he was more interested in his work anyway.

Sister Friede and Father Ariandel

Again a choice has to be made and I will have to be predictable and say I’d date Elfriede. Just like Dancer she’s what the woman of my dreams is made of. She’s graceful and could easily take my life and I think it’s awfully sexy of her to be like that. I think I’d be accepted into the family pretty easily, which is important since Father Ariandel cares about Friede so much. I’d go visit him sometimes, play chess with him, bring him his flail, normal interactions with your girlfriend’s dad.

Soul of Cinder

I’m gonna be a tiny bit freaky here and say I’d date the Soul of Cinder. Dating it is just like opening a Kinder Surprise egg, you never know what you’re gonna get (sorry Americans for excluding you here). That makes life exciting and doesn’t let routine stall your relationship. Every day you can wake up with the question « What weapon will my darling walk around with today? The flaming sword, or the sorcery staff? » and be surprised by the answer. Truly ideal, but I understand it’s not for the faint of heart.

Demon Prince

I’m gonna go with a maaaaaaybeeeee? leaning towards no. I mean yes, the Demon Prince is a weird fleshy flaming demon, and that may be a bit gross, but I’ve gotta admit I admire his style, the drama of it all. The care he puts into his entrance, the attitude in his moves. If we don’t date I’d at least want to be friends so he can teach me his ways.

Darkeater Midir

I have very intense and contradictory feelings towards Midir. In one hand, holy shit, absolutely epic dragon, the spirit of companionship is growing in me. On the other hand, this beast is RABID and pretending I could tame him is foolish, and pretentious. I guess in the end the answer remains that I don’t date dragons, I just want to adopt them as my extremely exotic pets.

Halflight, Spear of the Church

Yeah I’d date Halflight, I know it’s the easy answer but look at him. I mean shit he’s walking around like a little thotty with his shirt open and you mean to tell me I’m not supposed to wanna date him because he looks pretty much like a regular dude? My boy Halflight WANTS me to date him or else he would not show up with his tiddies out to a sword fight, which as an activity already has enough erotic implications on its own.

Slave Knight Gael

I’m gonna say it unashamedly and I’ll say it again: I would date Gael. He’s been nothing but helpful and when he tries to attack you it’s to help his little lady that he’s adopted as his niece. We love a chaotic parental figure. Maybe he’s a tad bit old and dirty but there’s nothing a good bath can’t fix and I’m sure he’d appreciate having someone taking care of him for once. Again, he’s got that slightly unhinged quality to him that makes him delightful. When I walk around with my partner I want us to instill both fear and fascination in people which we would be able to accomplish perfectly well.

Dark Souls 1: Remastered date list // Dark Souls 2: Scholar of the First Sin date list

[notesinrealform]

my personal style signifier is probably that i always wear jeans. most notably my baggy levis jeans that are as comfortable as sweatpants. what so many people (including myself) love about denim is that it can be dressed down or up. 

a place i cant wait to go back is paris. its my all time favorite cities. theres something so magical about walking the streets of paris and every street having a historic story. its weird to say but the city makes me feel sexy and hot and no city has made me feel like that. i cant wait to just wander around the seine and drink 40 moscow mules.

my style icon is a mix of the 90s it-girls (gywenth paltrow, kate moss e.t,c) and the new it-girls including bella hadid and paloma elsser. but im also inspired by the ultimate french gals such as jane birken. so basically i cant choose for shit so those are my style icon(s). 

the last thing i bought and loved was an afghan coat from vinted. i have too many afghan coats for my own good and i never wear them out but they are so satisfying to have. 

there are two books I’ve read in the past year that I’d recommend: the silent patient by alex michaeldies is a thriller and a page turner. the plot twist is insane. and i would also recommed the nanny by leila slimani. both deal with crimes and im a sucker for true crime so naturally those are the books i gravitate most towards.

i have a huge collection of jackets. vintage thrifted jackets to be exact. theres something so amazing about seeing a nice jacket with an ever nicer price-tag. i have about 25 jackets and the number is only growing. is that braggy to say? 

in my fridge you’ll find everything that doesn’t belong to me because i have a shared kitchen. so bascially the biggest vain of my existence is not having my own kitchen. but give me three months and then ill give you a proper answer to this question. 

ive just rediscoverd headphones. i think ive rediscovered it along with the rest of the tiktok girlies. but i live in cold amsterdam so headphones serve as two purposes; music and earmuffs. 

the last item i added to my wardrobe was my moms old burgundy leather jacket. i love stealing my moms clothes because i like saying “oh yeah it was my moms old jacket.” she has the best vintage leather jacket collection. she would always get them at a store in ethiopia that exclusively sold leather goods. 

i could never do without mints and eucalyptus oil. these two things purify my body and rehydrate me. i always have mints in my bag, not because im scared to have bad breath but because i just fucking love mints. also sniffing eucalyptus oil is the reason ive made it this far in life. 

an indulgence i could never forgo is pasta. when i telll you i have a sexual attraction to pasta i mean it. its just soooooo good. my favorite pasta is carbonara but then theres also a simple cacio e pepe and i also love spaghetti al limone and i wont say no to a bolognese. my favorite restaurant for pasta is in berlin and its called piazza bra. they change their pasta menu everyday and its written in italian so its the real deaaal.  

an object i would never part with is a ring that i bought with my mom in ethiopia. its real silver and has a pink spot in the middle. its the longest piece of jewellery ive owned without losing. ive had it since 2019 and i plan to keep it that way. 

i never leave the house without my phone. that might be an annoying gen-z answer but i pay my  whole life with apple pay so no phone means no food for the day. 

an artist id love to collect is probably david hockeny. i went to his exhibition in brussels late last year and his art just puts a smile on your face. its so vibrant and the addition of all the color is just so fun. he had this one painting that was of two guys sitting by the pool in miami and it gave me all the gianni-versace-miami-beach-art-house-90s feel. 

i get my best ideas when im fed and hydrated. thats maybe a boring answer but when my body is well then so is my mind. more times than not im starving in my dorm and the only thing i think about is my next meal. so i can really only get a good idea when im fed. 

the best souvenir ive brought home recently is the essential oils i bought in trinidad. its definitely not a classical souvenir but it makes me happy. i also had a fun time roaming the caribbean store filled with essential oils so its a worthy mention. 

my favourite app is probably vogue-runway. its only my favourite app as of two weeks ago but i love staying up to date with all the fashion week looks. they have an option to save your favorite look to certain boards a la pinterest and so ive just been organizing looks ill never be able to afford. 

ok bye xx

[svu-ncis-criminalminds]

Auction Part 2

Rafael x reader, part two of Auction

Rafael didn’t waste any time. You had told him to text you, so once you were out of the Lyft he pulled his phone out and immediately found your name as the driver pulled away. 

Let me know that you got in safely. Thank you again for coming tonight, goodnight y/n. He was thankful you answered back at all let alone seconds later. 

I’m safe. Goodnight Rafael. It was a simple exchange, and to anyone else it would have seemed like nothing but Rafael Barba did not send goodnight texts to just anyone, and he hoped you understood that. 

Your next exchange was the next day in the late afternoon. Rafael was trying not to overthink this but it was hard when you were the only thing he was thinking about. Too early of a text seemed desperate. However, waiting until the evening? Entering bootycall territory and also not a good idea. So he settled on 4pm. Seemed like a good time to him.

Hey, y/n. 

Rafael, hey! No more Mr. Barba, he noticed with a smirk. He liked that. 

How’s your day off going? Rafael found himself biting on his nail in anticipation and he had to put his phone down to take a few deep breaths. He shouldn’t be this worked up over a single text message but Rafael didn’t want to mess this up, and he’d been out of the game for longer then he cared to admit. A few minutes past and Barba has to remind himself that you very well could be busy and he shouldn’t be acting like this. He was getting ready to work himself up when the phone vibrated face down on the table, he snatched it up immediately. 

Today’s my day off? I haven’t noticed, haha. I’ve been running errands. How are you? Not too hungover I hope. Rafael read it three times before leaning back on his sofa to try and think of a reply. He wanted to come off casual, but also interested. He felt like he was drafting a court document. He typed something out before backspacing the entire thing. He tried again. 

You should be relaxing, what errands have you run? He sent that before adding in a second text. I’m alright, I can hold my champagne pretty well. It’s a learned talent. He sent it and got up off his sofa to pace. He hoped his joke got across over text. God, you had Rafael joking now? 

I’m not you counselor, I don’t put on my silk slippers and robe and put my feet up on my day off ;-) I went grocery shopping and to the bank and the dry cleaner. Really important hard tasks. Learned huh? I guess you have plenty of practice. Rafael smiled. You were one of the only people to ever sass him back and he loved it when you did. From your first day, where you snapped back at him he knew you were a match for him. 

You wound me. Sounds like a boring day, I’ve been enjoying my slippers and robe mostly. Lounging in my most tailored suit. 

Sadly, I don’t think you’re joking. Rafael took a deep breath. He was gonna ask you out, and he would find out if you were serious last night or just being polite. 

Are you free at all this week? I’d like to take you out to dinner. 

I’d like that a lot, Rafael. How about Thursday after work? Rafael let out a long breath and smiled to himself. 

I look forward to it. 

------

You stopped in the bathroom down the hall from Rafael’s office to check your hair and makeup. You had changed at the squad room before going to meet Rafael at his office for your date. He offered to come to you but you declined, you weren’t sure you were ready for the entire squad to see you going out on a date with your prosecutor. You didn’t want anyone to think differently of you. And you told him that, trying not to start this relationship on lies or excuses, and Rafael more than understood. You thought about that as you walked down the hallway, giving his door a little warning knock before letting yourself into the office. 

Rafael looked as handsome as always, sitting behind his desk, wearing an expensive and well tailored suit. 

“Y/N, hello.” He greeted with a smile, standing up from behind his desk and coming to you. He dipped his head down and gave you a kiss on the cheek, mirroring your action the weekend before. You smiled and he pulled back offering you his arm as you left the office. “You look beautiful, as always.” 

“Thank you, you look handsome. I like this suit.” You pinched the material and he chuckled. 

“Thank you, you’ve got good taste, this is one of my finer ones.” He led you downstairs by your arm, most of the other lawyers already gone from the day. He got to the Lyft and once again opened the door for you, helping you get in. 

“You’re such the gentleman, why don’t I get this treatment at the squad.” You teased. 

“You wouldn’t even let me pick you up there.” Rafael replied, getting in on the other side, your face waived slightly and he turned slightly red. “I don’t mind, it was a joke.” You nodded.

“I’m sorry, it’s just... very early?” He nodded.

“I’m with you, I do like my private life private.” Good. You agreed. When you got to the restaurant Rafael picked out. you got out of the car before he could reach your door, causing him to scowl at you playfully. “I thought you liked it,” 

“You were too slow, come on I’m cold and hungry.” Rafael placed a hand on the small of your back as he guided you inside to the warm and intimate little restaurant. He kept it there while you waited to talk to the hostess, and he kept it there as he led you to your table. The spot on the back where his hand rested burned. Once you sat, you took off your coat and Rafael got to really look at you in your black cocktail dress. 

“You look beautiful.” You smiled and blushed, ducking your head slightly. 

“And you already said that.” Rafael grinned cheekily at you from across the table. 

“Yes well it was worth repeating,” You opened your menu and chewed on your bottom lip at you thought. “Do you drink wine?” Rafael asked and you looked up nodding.

“Of course,” 

“Red or white,” You considered the question.

“Definitely white, I’ve always preferred it.” Rafael nodded and considered your response as he looked over the menu. 

“I am a red man myself, especially for Italian, it goes better with pasta and red meats. But we can go white, I can get fish.” You rolled your eyes. Of course he needs to match his wine with his dinner. 

“We can get red, Raf.” His head snapped up at the use of the new nickname and for a moment you were worried he didn’t like it. But then his smile said otherwise. 

“You like white.”

“You’re impossibly stubborn, you know that?” You both laughed again. The waitress came up to your table with a smile.

“Can I get you started with drinks?” Before Rafael could say anything you snatched the wine menu from him, showing it to the waitress. 

“What red do you suggest?” 

“Oh, the Sangiovese.” You nodded and turned to Rafael smiling sweetly as he looked at you shaking his head fondly. 

“The Sangiovese, is that the one you wanted, dear?” You asked and he tried hard not to crack another smile. 

“That will be fine, thank you.” The waitress told you she’d be back with the wine and to take appetizer orders in a few minutes and you both thanked her. 

“I’m impossibly stubborn?” He asked incredulously. “You’re just plain impossible woman. I could have had fish.” You laughed, rolling your eyes.

“You’re ridiculous! I could have had fish.” You mocked him slightly, “You can have white wine and pasta, you would live through it Rafael.” 

“No, y/n, I promise you, once you know the difference you wouldn’t be able to do it.” 

“Are you saying I’m not a wine expert?” 

“Yes darling that’s exactly what I am saying.” He smirked. You wanted to kiss that smirk off his cocky lips. The night was still young. The rest of dinner was beyond pleasant. You talked about everything, even work. It was nice to be on a date where you didn’t have to pretend like the hours you worked weren’t ridiculous or that you didn��t see the horrors of the world in and out. Rafael already knew it all, he was there with you. The food was delicious, the wine was good even if it was red. And the company was wonderful. By the end you were full, happy, and properly tipsy.

“Are you cold?” Rafael asked as you stood outside of the restaurant, waiting for your Lyft.

“Freezing,”

“Do you want my coat?” He asked, beginning to try and shrug his suit jacket off. 

“No,” You shook your head, “It wouldn’t even fit over my coat, just... here, come here.”

You shuffled up to him, slipped your arms around his waist in a hug before resting your head on his chest right under his chin. Rafael was surprised but only briefly before he happily joined the embrace. He held you close to him, channeling all his warmth towards you, and he was disappointed when he saw the car pull up for you. 

“Come on,” He murmured, dropping a kiss onto the top of your head before moving you towards the Lyft, he pushed you in, “scoot over,” And dropped down in the seat next to you, keeping an arm firmly around you. You cuddled during the drive to your apartment, talking about nothing important. When you arrived you felt disappointed immediately. Rafael took his chance, leaning in close before pausing giving you a chance to pull away if it wasn’t what you wanted. But it was. 

You leaned in the rest of the way and kissed him slowly on the lips. Neither of you tried to deepen it, you just kissed chastely a few more times before you pulled back smiling. 

“Goodnight, Raf.” 

“Goodnight, y/n.” You got out of the car and before the door shut Rafael took your hand. “Text me when you get in safe, please.” 

“Of course.” You got in safe, up to your apartment with the door locked. You kicked off your heels and tossed yourself on your sofa before pulling your cell phone out from your purse. You texted Rafael first. 

Safe and sound.

Good. Tonight was wonderful, y/n. And I’d like to see you again if you’re alright with that. He was asking you on another date already? You smiled. You were happy he wasn’t playing games, maybe this is what you needed. 

I would love that. You sent the text and went to check your other missed messages. One of them was from an unknown number, You almost deleted it without reading it but decided at the last second to open it. 

/Hey, Y/N. It’s Oliver from the auction./ You frowned slightly, trying to decide if it was too late to respond.

Hello Oliver. You responded and he answered immediately.

/How’s it going?/ You sighed and ran a hand over your face thinking. You didn’t want to continue this conversation, but you didn’t want to be rude and completely blow the man off so you bit the bullet. 

It’s alright. Listen, I know I gave you my number when you asked but I am sorry but I’m officially not looking for anything. You hit send and went to your bedroom to get changed into pajamas. When you got back to your phone you had two texts waiting for you. The first one was from Oliver.

/Good! Rafael, I hope. Have a goodnight y/n./ You smiled. He was a decent man, just not your man. The other text was from Rafael.

I just wanted to tell you again how good of a time I had tonight. Goodnight yn. You smiled to yourself and replied.

Me too, goodnight Rafael.