#television above fireplace

[dailypolnareff]

Contemporary Living Room New York Large trendy open concept dark wood floor and brown floor living room photo with blue walls, a ribbon fireplace, a tile fireplace and a wall-mounted tv

[rmarts]

Contemporary Living Room New York Large trendy open concept dark wood floor and brown floor living room photo with blue walls, a ribbon fireplace, a tile fireplace and a wall-mounted tv

[michaeldirnt]

New York Contemporary Living Room

Living room - large contemporary open concept dark wood floor and brown floor living room idea with blue walls, a ribbon fireplace, a tile fireplace and a wall-mounted tv

[jamesmdavisson]

Library Open (Boston)

[alittleveggies]

Open in DC Metro

[twinmagics]

Open Living Room in Atlanta

[elise-rosy-unicorn]

Transitional Living Room in Chicago

[busbyway]

Eclectic Family Room

[sxgakookie]

Summary: Your husband, BTS’ Jung Kook, hasn’t been spending enough time at home with you or his daughter, Ji-ah. He decides to remind you both how important his girls are to him. Genre: Slight Angst (Ji-ah misses her dad), Fluff, Smut (idol!Jung Kook, dad!Jung Kook x Reader) Ratings/Warnings: Adults Only (Oral Sex [f receiving], shower sex, dirty talk, shower sex, orgasm [m+f]) Word Count: ~2.7k Author’s Note: I may make a Part 2 to follow this, if y’all like it! Just let me know if you’d like more from this little family! x

Jung Kook had never been as disappointed in himself as he was in that moment. 

A little after two in the morning, with the jingling of his keys, he opened up the locked door to find a dark living room, only lit by the large television still streaming cartoons at a low volume from above the unlit fireplace. He could see, as he kicked off his shoes next to the front door, two sleeping figures snuggled into each other on the large, sectional sofa. 

Jung Kook quietly walked over to see you, the love of his life and the mother of his daughter, sleeping uncomfortably on the couch. You looked absolutely exhausted, with your hair unbrushed and dark circles under your eyes. You were in the same pajamas he had left you in that morning, and resting in your arms, was his little girl. Ji-ah, who took after you in so many ways, was sleeping in your lap in almost the same position. Her head rested against your chest, and her small hands gripped onto the sleeves of your henley shirt. Her eyes fluttered as she was dreaming, and her small lips were parted.  

Jung Kook kneeled down next to the sofa and brushed a soft piece of hair from your face, admiring how even when completely burned out, you’re still so, incredibly beautiful. 

Your eyes fluttered under the warmth of his touch, letting out a soft hum as you leaned into his hand. 

“Honey?” You whispered. “Is that you?” 

“It’s me, baby. I’m home.” He whispered. “I’m going to take Ji-ah to her room, ok? Why don’t you go to our room and get some rest?” 

“Mm’kay.” You said, feeling the warmth of your daughter’s little body taken from your weak arms. 

Jung Kook walked down the hallway with Ji-ah snuggled into his arms. He tried to limit the harshness of his step, but his little girl had stirred awake anyways. 

“Appa?” She murmured, her tiny voice causing Jung Kook’s heart to warm. 

“Hi, princess.” He whispered. His tattooed hand ran up and down her little back, trying to coax her back to sleep. “Appa’s just taking you to your room, ok? So Umma can sleep.” 

“Umma was sleeping.” She pouted, correcting her Appa as she pressed her face into his neck. 

“I know, baby.” Jung Kook said gently. “But you need to sleep in your big girl bed by yourself tonight, ok?” 

She sighed, and Jung Kook held in a laugh. His baby definitely got her sass from her mother, but was too worn out to argue. 

When he reached her bedroom, he turned on the light to its dimmest setting, not wanting to overwhelm Ji-ah with a bright light. He walked past Barbie dolls, a play kitchen set, and a bookshelf of children’s books with a soft pink reading chair next to it. Scattered on the floor were tiny dresses from her dress up trunk; a white, wooden box that Ji-ah and Jung Kook had painted together one summer afternoon. His expertly painted butterflies and flowers sat side by side with her messy lines of purple and pink paint. 

Jung Kook settled her into her twin size bed, tucking her in and whispering an “I love you”, before kissing her hair. He turned to go to you, when her voice perked up. 

“Appa!” She wined, sitting up in her bed. 

“Yes, baby?” Jung Kook asked, crouching down to be eye level with the little girl. 

She became quiet. Ji-ah sat with a pout on her tiny lips, and she began to play with her blanket as a way to self-soothe. Jung Kook watched her face as she began to cry, tears running down her soft, squishy cheeks. 

“Why are you crying, princess?” Jung Kook asked, his heart dropping at the sight of his baby crying. 

She didn’t answer. Instead, she chose to make grabby hands towards him as she cried, shattering his heart. 

“Sweetie…” He cooed. Jung Kook somehow managed to make room for his big body in her twin bed, pulling her into his arms to comfort her. He wiped the tears from her cheek. “Shh, I’m right here. Can you tell Appa what’s wrong?” 

“Hurt.” She sniffles, wiping her own eyes with the back of her little hand. 

“Hurt?” Jung Kook asks, his brows furrowed as his protectiveness bubbled up. “Do your feelings hurt, or does your body hurt?” 

It was a question Jung Kook had heard you ask Ji-ah during one of her fits, teaching her to articulate her needs. 

“Feelings.” She murmured. 

“Can Appa know why your feelings are hurt?” Jung Kook asked gently, brushing her hair from her face soothingly. His mind went to a thousand terrible places, wanting to get rid of whatever could’ve hurt his little girl. “You know you can tell me anything, ok baby? Appa will make it better.” 

The answer, however, felt like a gut punch to Jung Kook. 

“Miss you.” She mumbled, moving in closer to the comfort of her Appa’s presence. 

Jung Kook instinctively wrapped his arms around her, as he held back his own tears. He knew he had been working way, way too much. He was increasingly coming home late, and leaving early in the morning. He had little to no time for either his daughter, or for you. It was something he felt guilty about, but he told himself that Ji-ah didn’t notice, and that he was doing good by making sure his family was provided for. 

But providing for his family meant more than just having food on the table. It meant that everyone sat together at the table. Ji-ah had noticed his empty chair after all, and now, she cried for his attention and told him her feelings were hurt. Jung Kook had never felt so angry with himself, holding her in his arms a little tighter. 

“I’m so sorry, baby.” He whispered. “Appa’s been gone a lot, haven’t I?” 

“Mhm.” She hummed, nodding her head against his chest. “Want you to play with me.” 

Jung Kook remembered playing with his daughter every day; letting her put clips in his dark hair during dress up time, color in his tattoo sleeve with a magic marker as if it were a coloring book, or doing cartoony voices as Ken to her Barbie, making Ji-ah light up the room with sweet giggles. (“That’s silly, Appa!”) 

She should never have to cry for his attention and for more play time together. Jung Kook knew that, and it made him feel painfully guilty for not prioritizing their time together. 

“Listen, baby.” Jung Kook said delicately, rubbing her back comfortingly as she quieted down from her cries. “I’ll be home more, so we can play together, ok? I’m sorry I hurt your feelings. Appa has been working very hard for you and Umma, but we’ll do lots of fun things together soon.” 

“Umma?” She sniffled, making Jung Kook coo. 

“With Umma.” He smiled warmly. “Can I tell you something, sweetie?” 

“A secret?” She whispered, with her big brown eyes sparkling as her gaze met his own. Jung Kook grinned at his little girl’s playfulness. 

“A secret.” Jung Kook confirmed. She giggled mischievously. “You and Umma, are my favorite girls in the entire world.” 

Ji-ah’s smile became wider and she kicked her little feet under the blanket. Jung Kook peppered little kisses all over he cheeks, making her break out in a fit of happy giggles. This was all he’s ever wanted; his little girl to feel safe, taken care of and happy in the security of his arms; to protect and provide for his girls. 

When Ji-ah finally settled down, Jung Kook whispered another “I love you” to her, and placed one more kiss to her dark hair. 

“Love you!” She responded, watching as Jung Kook turned off her ceiling light, flipped the switch on for her butterfly-shaped night light, and shut her door for the night. 

He walked into the now empty living room, and cleaned up a few pink sippy cups, plastic snack plates, and throw blankets that were tossed around. Jung Kook thought to how you must’ve felt during all those days when he was gone. Waking up to an empty bed, and going to bed alone, too. Cooking, cleaning, and being a mother to Ji-ah on your own for several months. 

You never complained. Never told him you felt sad, or alone, because you understood how time-intensive his work as an idol can be. But Jung Kook knew that was no reason to leave you completely alone, and although you understood and supported him, Jung Kook wanted you to know that he was there for you, too. 

He turned off the lights and went into the bedroom, where your exhausted form slept soundly. Jung Kook thought back to your appearance today; exhausted, dark circles under your eyes and pajamas that you just never had time to change out of. It broke his heart because you give so much of yourself for your daughter. 

Jung Kook went into the master bathroom attached to the bedroom to take a shower. He thought about how little time he’s spent with you, too. When was the last time he took you out on a real, proper date? When was the last time he cooked for you, something that he used to do all the time? When was the last time he took his time to really make love to you, not just a quickie during Ji-ah’s nap time or before she came home from daycare? 

He wanted to make you feel beautiful, needed and appreciated. Jung Kook stepped out of the shower, drying off his toned body with a white towel before putting on a fresh pair of boxers and pajama pants to finish his routine. He climbed into bed next to you, and pulled you in to him, holding you close in his arms. You were wearing a soft, large t-shirt that he knew to be his own. 

“I love you, baby.” He whispered, knowing you wouldn’t hear him in your sleep. “I’m so sorry I let you down.” 

The next morning, you woke up to tingling in between your legs. Your eyes were shut, but as you slowly came out of your sleep, you felt soft, wet kisses up your thighs. 

You hummed, and felt a nibble to your skin. 

“Shhh,” Jung Kook whispered, tucked under the sheets and nestled in between your thighs. “Just relax baby girl, let me take care of you.” 

“Koo…” You hummed. “I… I’m not pretty there right now, I haven’t shaved or-“ 

“You’re so beautiful.” He reassured you, continuing to kiss your skin. “So perfect and so sexy, just how you are. Relax for me, honey. Just wanna give your pretty pussy some love and attention, ok?” 

Jung Kook peppered soft kisses along your delicate folds, warming your pussy to his touch. It had been quite some time since he’s pleasured you like this, and he imagined that you were sensitive. Correctly, it seemed, because even with the slightest flick of his tongue to graze your opening, testing the waters, you whimpered. 

“Shhh, quiet, baby girl.” He whispered. “We can’t wake up Ji-ah… Wanted you for myself this morning.” 

You smiled at the warmth of his voice, and curled your toes as his tongue licked deeper and deeper into your most sensitive spots, drinking from your body. You began to grip the sheets as his tongue moved up, finding your sensitive clit and gave slow, pressured licks. 

“Oh, fuck…” You whispered, trying to contain yourself. Your hands gripped the pillows by your head. 

Jung Kook, buried under the blankets, couldn’t see you, much to his frustration. Without disconnecting his tongue to your delicate pearl, he lifted the blankets off of him, so he could watch your face as you gave into the pleasure he provided. 

He listened to your little whimpers, egging him on to continue. His own cock was hard and leaking in his pants, which he soothed only somewhat successfully by rutting into the mattress. Jung Kook wanted so badly to take you completely, but he had a plan. This morning was completely about you. 

He slid one finger into your opening, gently and lovingly working your body to take him again, watching your expression for signs of discomfort. Your pussy had always been small, needing to be stretched patiently, and Jung Kook was eager to please. Once his finger was completely in, he pulled out and pushed back in, repeating his movements with the continued roll of his wet tongue on your clit. 

“Jung Kook… fuck… please, baby…” You babbled in a quiet voice. 

Then another finger, stretching you a little more. His own length was pressing uncomfortably between his stomach and the mattress below, but Jung Kook focused his attention on you. He boldly sucked on your clit, making you cover your mouth to hold back a loud whine. 

“That’s it, baby girl.” He hummed, pressing a kiss to your sweet clit. Jung Kook curled his fingers just right, making you grip the pillows even harder somehow. “You like that, baby? Hm? You’re dripping wet. Wanna watch you cum for me.” 

“Jung Kook..” You chanted, moving a hand to find the dark locks of his hair and run your fingers through them. Jung Kook lowered himself back to your clit, finding the steady rhythm and pressure that he knew would break down the last of your walls. 

He knew he found the right combination, when your grip of his hair tightened. Jung Kook wrapped a strong arm around one of your thighs, just enough to keep you held down to the bed, so he could taste every last drop without having you squirm away from the intensity of the pleasure. Keeping you locked in place, he worked your body like breaking into a lock; the curl of his fingers, the pressure and rhythm of his tongue’s wet and gentle massage to your clit. Each movement worked together to unlock your climax, which came crashing onto the bed with shaking legs, curling toes, and pulling Jung Kook’s hair. 

He loved watching you come undone just for him. Jung Kook held your shaking legs, and slowly, steadily, brought you back down to earth. His licks became even more delicate, careful not to overstimulate you, but enough to drink you in. He slowly pulled his fingers out of the warmth of your opening, before crawling on top of your spent body. 

“Taste it?” He asked, raising his wet fingers to you. You looked at him with innocent eyes as you parted your lips, and let him slide in on your tongue. 

“You’re so fucking sexy.” He whispered, watching and feeling the way you sucked his fingers clean. 

He pulled his fingers out of your mouth, and kissed your lips lovingly. His kisses moved down, from your lips to your cheeks, then your jaw, and down your neck. 

“Fuck, you’re perfect.” He whispered. “You have no idea what you do to me, honey. So fucking beautiful.“

“Jung Kook.” You cooed and blushed, feeling him nibble and suck love marks into your neck. 

“Take a shower with me, before she wakes up.” He proposed. “I’m not ready to let you go just yet, baby.” 

The morning before Ji-ah woke up was peaceful, and deeply intimate. You couldn’t stand to not help your husband with his aching cock, letting the hot shower water steam up the bathroom to cover the lewd scene, where Jung Kook pressed your naked body into the tile wall of the large shower and sunk his length deep into your pussy. The running water gave cover to the grunts, whimpers, and the dirty but loving words that followed. With stuttered curses and deep, breathy moans against your neck, Jung Kook spilled into you. It was the first time he had been truly intimate with you in so long, and his body must’ve craved your body’s warmth, desperately releasing everything he had deep into you. 

When you exited the shower, you both got dressed in comfortable clothes just in time, as Ji-ah’s little feet could be heard tapping against the hardwood floors of the home. 

“Stay here.” He murmured, hugging you from behind in the warm bathroom, placing a kiss to you cheek. “Take your time getting ready, ok? No rush. I’ll take care of her.” 

“You sure?” You asked, as you were so used to being the first one to go to her. 

“Definitely.” He smiled, thinking back to his promise to the little girl. 

[1980shorrorfilm]

every road i know

click here. resources for palestine, congo, sudan, and other countries.

pairing…ellie williams x gn!reader

in which…ellie thought it was time to solidify your relationship. she might have been wrong.

before you read…inspired by the strangers, minus the killing n stuff. modern day fic. angst with comfort <3

the autumn night is silent, besides the occasional creak of the old miller’s cabin settling into its nighttime routine. you listen to the wind whistling outside, through the tall pines surrounding the small wooden home. 

it’s a lonely town, the nearest house a few miles down the road, something vastly different from your shared apartment in the city. 

ellie started bringing you here after joel had let it collect endless dust and cobwebs, the woman cleaning it all up for you. whenever life got too busy, chaotic, or hard, this way your getaway. peace. just you and her and the nature that surrounded you.

now, it feels as though it’s purgatory. 

the fireplace flickers softly, its glow dancing on the wooden walls, but the warmth couldn’t seem to comfort you. not right now. ellie sits in front of the flames, her silhouette outlined by the orange gentle light.

she has yet to utter a single word to you. the car ride here was silent. even the radio on mute, because ellie couldn’t find the simple strength to turn it up.

the moment is replaying in her mind, over and over, the sad smile you had given her burned into her memory. the thing she’s had anxiety about for the past month. proposing, to you.

the dark velvet box holding the special ring, now lying on the coffee table beside her. a stark reminder of the event.

you’re sat on the couch, chewing your lip, a rose petal in your hand. it’s soft, you find yourself stroking the smooth flower. they cover, nearly, the whole cabin. ellie had thrown the petals around before you had arrived together, trying to make it appear as romantic as possible. 

it’s not her strong suit, her appreciation toward you shown in much different ways than typical lovey-dovey things you see on television, but tonight it felt right. long candles garnish whatever surface she could put them on, yellow and smelling like vanilla. they’re not lit. 

she assumed she’d spark them when you came back from the long day you had. one that started with your favorite breakfast, ellie waking up extra early to make it as perfect as she could. and she did, you made sure to compliment her repeatedly.

then she took you downtown, viewing places you rarely visited, spending more time admiring you than the other pretty views. what occupied most of your time, was going to a museum she took you to on your first date, reminiscing on how awkward you two were compared to now.

she swears that’s her favorite place, and not just because she’s a nerd, because she now associates it with you. 

ellie had took you out to dinner, to your favorite restaurant, hardly eating and claiming she just wasn’t hungry. that was a lie, she just didn’t think she could keep food down. her nerves were washing over her, multiplying when you had finished, and you took a walk near the river, beneath the red trees that blew softly above you.

you had felt her pause in place, holding her warm hand, and you thought maybe the tie had come undone on her sneakers. she had washed them the day prior until her fingers pruned, you found it odd for ellie but didn’t say anything. but that wasn’t the problem. she stared at you like she saw a ghost, and it worried you.

you almost thought this was the end, she was about to tell you those four dreaded words. we need to break up. oh, the idea terrorizes you. that, however, also wasn’t it.

she had whispered inaudible words to herself, then mumbling ‘okay, okay, okay.’

you thought the woman was breaking before you, concern in your eyes, holding her hand tight. then she gulped, trying to get out the rehearsed words that seemed to vanish the longer she stood in your presence. 

how much you mean to her. from the very moment you two got paired up for a project that she insisted she’d do all the work for, but you fought back, finding yourself in her bedroom the entire week, the girl studying you more than the work laid out before her.

she found herself by your side all the time afterward.

she needed to be by your side. 

she doesn’t know how she lived before you, and if she could live without you— no, insisting she could not live with you. she simply wouldn’t have the will. waking up to a bed you didn’t occupy, not hearing your genuine laughter to her most idiotic jokes, not being able to hold you when you experienced the hardest day of your life.

she couldn’t have that. she needs this…you and her, to last forever. so, she asked those four words that you weren’t prepared for. will you marry me?

to which, you didn’t say yes.

you couldn’t. you love ellie, more than you could ever put into words, you swear on your life that you do, and it didn’t at all reflect your feelings for her. you were just…paralyzed. by fear, uncertainty, and the weight of expectations that you couldn’t hold up to for her. every single insecurity, hitting you at once, in the worst moment it possibly could.

you had said her name in a weak whisper, and ellie gulped, realizing what was happening. a tear slipped from your eye, that she quickly wiped away, reassuring you it was okay. that you’re okay. putting you before her, a habit of hers. bits of her broken heart being blown away in the cool wind that hits you, while she cradles yours. 

you walked to the car together in silence, a suffocating fog. a silence that seemed to last forever.

the tension between you two is almost palpable, both of your minds are currently a whirlwind of heavy emotions. a gentle crackle of the fire and ellie shifting in place, makes you finally turn your attention to her. “ellie,” you say her name softly, voice strained as you finally break the unbearable quiet. “can we talk?”

her gaze remains on the fiery flames, her shoulders tense. “we don’t have to,” she replies quietly, “i get it.”

“i don’t think you do,” you lowly say, heart aching at the mere thought of all the negativity running through her precious head, doubts about herself and your relationship. that’s the last thing you could ever want.

ellie swallows thickly, “it doesn’t matter.”

you watch her get up, turning her back to you as she leaves the room. your eyes trail her to the kitchen before you follow her. she doesn’t glance at you as you lean against the nearby counter, watching her grab an expensive champagne bottle. 

you assume she bought it just for tonight, she wouldn’t drink it any other time. she won’t even touch a glass of wine. she pops it open, pouring it into one of the two glasses beside it. “i don’t…” you begin to say as she hovers over the other glass, ellie nodding in response. you’re afraid if you drink it you’ll throw up all the nerves inside your system. 

“i got your favorite ice cream…if you want that instead,” ellie mentions, tapping her finger on the glass, “went to like…3 different stores. couldn’t find the brand you like.”

she ends the sentence with an attempt at a laugh, finding it so silly now. all the effort, for what? humiliation? pity? she sips on the disgusting drink like it would make her feel better. the only other thing that helps her in trying times, is you; and that’s not exactly possible in this scenario.

“do you…” she pauses, staring at the liquid as she swirls it around, “do you want this…us?”

“of course i do,” you answer her without hesitation, taking a step closer to her, but still out of reach. “it’s not that, ellie,” you tell her, trying to figure out how to inform her it’s you and not her, without sounding like a poor cliche overused excuse. 

“it’s just…we’re young…im scared you’re making a mistake,” your voice wavers near the end, ashamed to admit such a thing, that you are her mistake. ellie looks at you like you just spit in her face. she doesn’t know how to interpret the comment, she slightly feels insulted that you would think that she’s making a ‘mistake.’ 

this isn’t putting a shirt on inside out. this isn’t forgetting to turn the light off when you leave a room. it’s not tripping over your step. it’s her committing herself to you, after five beautiful years attached to you, something she wants hundreds more years of, if that were possible. nothing about that is a mistake.

you’re the love of her life. cementing that is not a fucking mistake. 

“is that how you feel?” she flips the script, putting the spotlight on you, feeling like you’re burning beneath it at the accusation. “what?” you whisper, “n-no…no ellie.”

you can’t read her expression, she’s swallowing the rest of her drink, blankly staring ahead. 

she ignores your response, “i’ll drive us home in the morning. you should get some sleep.”

she turns away, placing her glass carefully in the sink, resting there for a moment. your eyes are boring into the back of her head as if you could read the thoughts inside it. so many bad thoughts. 

you push yourself forward, taking a few quiet steps to her. you plant your feet behind her, wrapping your arms around her body. her breathing is slow, her figure painfully stiff, hugging a tree and not your person. so solid despite the endless embraces where she would melt into you.

you murmur her name, holding her tighter. 

ellie can’t resist you.

her hands reach for yours, resting against the center of her torso. her fingers brush against you softly, her breath hitching slightly, before letting out a sigh she’s held in for hours. 

just for this moment, the tension settles beneath the old floorboards of the cabin, giving you air to breathe instead of holding in. your hug is so tender, ellie could be lured to sleep by it. and her body is so warm, you’d rather die than pull away.

you wish it could last forever, and the hours prior could be forgotten. 

then her phone rings from her back pocket, vibrating against you, and she shifts. you let go, biting your lip, watching her fish the device out. joel. assumingly calling to congratulate her. ellie wishes she never told him, because fuck, this is going to be awkward. 

“i uh…should take this,” she whispers, not sparing you a glance when she walks away. you hear the front door open, then shut. you can’t help but walk back into the living room, standing before the window and peeking at ellie, who sat on the porch steps. 

you can’t see her face, her head down, a glow from a cigarette, and grey smoke surrounding her figure. it’s clearly not a happy conversation, there was no sugarcoating what had happened. it pains you. 

you turn back around, following the rose petals that scattered the floor, all the way down the hall, and stopping at the bathroom. you open the door, turning the light on, eyes falling on the several small candles on the edges of the bathtub. red, grey, and purple, they decorated the space. 

ellie really tried to make tonight special.

you stand idly, taking a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, staring at yourself with shame. a dog with its tail tucked between its legs, knowing it did something so drastic, that the only person they love, finds it hard to look at them. 

you quickly turn away. 

you run the bath and wait, tugging your top and pants off, kicking them to the side. you strip naked when it fills up completely, steam radiating from the water. you step in, adjusting to the high temperature, before sinking into it. it almost burns you, but not in a way that you mind. you just don’t care right now. 

ellie is the only thing on your mind. you wonder if she’s talking about you, openly questioning where your relationship lies, if she thinks it’s even going to last after today. 

before you know it, a single tear is falling down your face.

you hug your knees, turning your head and laying your cheek against them. you stare out the open bathroom door, to the wood paneled wall, a framed photo of a deer hung on it.

you forget to blink, spacing out, not noticing the creaking of the front door or the floor. not until ellie is within your view, pausing in the doorway, looking down at you. you’re crying to yourself.

her expression softens, not saying anything when she joins you, kneeling beside the bathtub and touching your face. her thumbs wipe the salty tears from beneath your eyes, but they don’t stop. 

“i’m scared, ellie,” you say just above a whisper, ellie only hears you because of how quiet the cabin is. besides the repetitive dripping from the sink. “i’m gonna fail you…” you continue, your voice now giving up on you, “scared’m gonna ruin this…ruin us…you’re so good, ellie— i just —i couldn’t say yes.”

you choke into a sob, her green eyes now glistening with unshed tears. “oh baby,” she says so softly, giving you the time to process your emotions, to let the tears fall while she holds you. 

“i can’t…” she stops, gulping and sighing, “i can’t change what you think…but i can promise you that nothing could ever change my mind about you.”

her grip on you is firm, reaffirming, as she continues to speak, “we can wait…i’m willing to wait forever for you. i will show you no matter what happens, i will still love you— i will always love you. i just needed…need you to know that.”

very faintly, your lips twitch upwards slightly, ellie mirroring you the moment she notices. “you’re enough for me,” she says, “just you. that’s all i want.”

ellie is, unfortunately, right; it doesn’t change the tainted mindset you have. that, however, has nothing to do with her. you don’t doubt the things she tells you, you’ve never felt more love from someone in your whole life, and you know for a fact that you never will.

and that’s why it brings you relief, to listen to her, understanding her point of view rather than your own, and the cruel demon on your shoulder whispering harsh words into your ear. 

ellie williams is the angel. 

it’s not the first time she’s eased the anxiety taunting you, and it will not be the last. she will always be there, rain or shine, you pushing her away or letting her in. she truly means what she says. you’re enough for her. and soon, you will accept that for yourself.

“i really want to hug you right now.”

ellie chuckles, a lightness in the air as she gets up, grabbing a beige towel. you stand, letting her wrap it around you, shivering at the coolness in the air. not caring about the water droplets still coating your body, ellie’s arms are quickly around you, her palm on the back of your head, cradling it gently.

you instantly feel warm again, at peace.

after the moment of serenity ends, ellie is leading you to the bedroom. she grabs your pajamas from your still-packed bag, letting you put them on while she does the same. your eyes fall on her pale back, watching her throw a white tee on, looking away when she turns her head at you. 

“was thinking about leaving at 8…wanna beat the traffic,” she says, hoping the statement doesn’t go back to making things awkward. just in case, she adds, “can stop at that pancake place you love.”

you can’t ignore the glum undertones of the suggestion, but you still give her a smile, barely modding your head.

you sit in bed, ellie exiting the room to turn off every light in the lonely cabin, leaving you with your thoughts. you hate it. thinking about how happy the two of you were coming here, compared to you leaving. you don’t even want to leave. you want to shut out the rest of the world, but more importantly, your mind.

how differently things would be right now, if you could just do that.

your eyes meet hers when she enters the room again, and you debate what you’re about to ask her. you can’t help it. “can i see it?”

“hm?” “the ring.”

ellie looks at you, freezing for a moment, stuttering, “y-yea…sure.”

again, she exits the room, grabbing the velvet small box on the table, the one she avoided even sparing a glance at just a minute ago. then she jogs back, scratching the back of her neck. she’s nervous as she approaches you, placing it in your open hands, like it’s a baby. 

it’s the first time you’re getting a decent look at it, having been unable to observe it during the moment, and it’s beautiful. it’s simple, yet the green sapphire is so elegant, resembling the way ellie’s eyes look beneath the sun. you smile at it. 

“i…can’t return it…if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“i’m not,” you tell her, “it’s gorgeous, ellie.”

you don’t want to give it back to her. it feels…so right, in your possession, that you can’t help but nervously slide it down your finger. there’s a bittersweet smile on your face at how perfect it is. how when you look at it, ellie is the first thing to come to your mind. 

your lover, for eternity. your lover that swears to you, that your need for her is as mutual as her need for you, no matter the circumstances, it is permanent. that your worries are just that. worries— self-doubt, and bitter thoughts about yourself, that are only present in the moment. they won't last forever. not like you and her.

with hesitance, you take it off, avoiding her gaze when you give it back to her. “i’ll be ready,” you promise, your finger oddly feeling so lonely despite only wearing it for a minute. “i will…i will be,” you find yourself mumbling, ellie getting closer and grabbing your hands.

“hey, i meant what i said,” her thumbs stroke your skin, reminding you once more, “i can wait forever for you.”

and she means it.

[kaleldobrev]

I Want Them To Hear

Pairing: Soldier Boy (Ben) x Fem!Reader

Summary: Ben wants to make sure Hughie knows what it actually sounds like when the two of you have sex. In other words, Ben makes damn sure Hughie gets yet another night of no sleep because of the two of you.

Original Prompt: Requested by @k-slla | I loved your last post (poor, poor Hughie 😂). I would love to read a sequel, where SB& reader DO keep everyone up, for other reasons 😏 (if you're up to it 😊) x Kerly

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: Cursing (23x), Smut (Oral - M&F receiving, Fingering, Unprotected Sex - P in V), Implied p*rn watching, Hughie getting scarred for life (again), Semi-Public sex (living room)

Authors Note: Before you read this make sure you read A Simple Misunderstanding first | I think 23 curse words is a new record for curse words for me (21 out of them are the same too) | I had a lot of fun writing this so I hope you all enjoy it! | 18+ only please | MDNI | If you want to request something, just send me a message! | If you liked this, don’t forget to like & reblog. I really appreciate it! Feedback is always welcome ♡

You looked over at the clock that was above the fireplace in the living room, and it was almost midnight, and you weren’t the least bit surprised that you weren’t even tired. Although you didn’t have a good sleep schedule before you joined the Boys (as you were a full-time college student when you joined the group), your sleep schedule somehow became even more jacked when you joined; something you didn’t think was even remotely possible. You had found yourself going to sleep at three, four, sometimes five in the morning, or not even going to sleep at all – a constant flow of energy drinks and coffee to keep you going.

The last couple of days though were unusually uneventful, verging on normal, like there wasn’t some kind of revenge war going on. The closest thing that had been kind of eventful was Hughie’s outburst this morning over breakfast, accusing you and Ben of having sex which kept him up – something that actually didn’t happen between you and Ben even though it was something that you did want to happen last night. Due to his little outburst though, the rest of the day was filled with a consistent flow of jokes (mainly at your best friend’s expense) that seemed to put everyone in a great mood (except Hughie of course). In a way, you did feel bad for him, but at the same time, his outburst this morning was unnecessary.

Your legs were currently in Ben’s lap, one of his arms draped over them as his other hand was lying on the arm of the couch with a remote in hand; the only source of light in the room coming from the television. As Ben flipped through channel after channel, you couldn’t help but stare at him as the shadows on his face changed with every single flip trying to find something to watch. “How is there so many channels and nothing to watch?” He asked, not even looking at you.

You shrugged your shoulders and he turned to face you. “I found plenty of things I’d watch. It’s not my fault you’re picky.”

He rolled his eyes. “I’m not picky. TV just sucks now.” He began, and you already knew where this conversation was going. It was about to turn into a ‘back in my day’ rant that you had heard practically every single day since you had met him. “Back in my day, TV was actually good.” Before you could interject he continued. “We didn’t have stupid reality shows about people who are famous for nothing.” You couldn’t help but agree with him on that one. “There’s 400 channels and only two of them are watchable.”

“And which channels does the almighty Soldier Boy deem watchable?” You asked, emphasizing the nickname.

“ESPN and TCM.” He answered without hesitation. You simply just rolled your eyes.

“Of course those would be the only two channels.” You mumbled, even though you knew he could hear you; there was no use in mumbling around him. “I love ESPN and TCM too, but there are other channels that are watchable Ben. How about FoodNetwork and HGTV?”

Ben scoffed. “Sometimes they’re watchable.”

“Okay. How about…” You thought for a moment, trying to think of a channel that Ben would possibly enjoy; then it hit you, causing a smirk to form on your face. “How about Skinamax?”

He looked at you with a confused expression. “What the fuck is Skinamax?” You let out a slight laugh, causing him to raise a brow. “What?”

“You don’t know what Skinamax is?” You asked. “Honestly, I’m slightly surprised.” You held out your hand. “Hand me the remote and I’ll show you.”

“Why can’t you just fucking tell me?” He asked, his facial expression annoyed.

“Because Ben, it’d be more fun to show you.” Your lips turned into a smirk. “Don’t you trust me?”

Again, your response earned yet another eyeroll from him. Of course I fucking trust you, he thought. What kind of stupid question is that? “Fine.” He said, handing you the remote.

“Okay, and why couldn’t you of just told me it was just fucking porn?” He asked, his tone sounding a little annoyed with you.

“Because, I thought it would be much more fun to show you.” You turned away from the television and looked at him. “You’ve watched porn before though right? Like, I’m assuming you have cause well…you’re…well you.”

He looked at you briefly before looking back at the screen again. “Have you watched porn before?” He mumbled, mocking your tone. “Of course I fucking have.” He said, a tad louder and a bit more annoyed sounding. He turned back to face you. “Who hasn’t watched porn before?”

You shrugged. “Fair point.” You said. “You know…” you began, as you started inching your way closer to him. “As much as I’d love to continue watching this…interesting movie. There is something I’d much rather be doing.”

He smirked, his full attention on you now. “And what’s that Sweetheart?”

“Well, you did make me a promise this morning.” Your voice was low, your hand inching closer to the hem of his pants.

“I made you a lot of promises this morning.” His voice was low, but not nearly as low as yours.

“But there was one in particular.” Your fingers started slipping into the waistband of his pants as you maintained complete eye contact with him.

“You going to tell me or is it more fun to show me?” He asked, your hand made contact with his cock and you gently wrapped your hand around him. Ben slightly groaned at the contact.

You couldn’t help but smirk. “I think you know the answer.” You whispered.

Without a second to waste, he pulled his sweats down giving you slightly better access as you started moving your hand up and down. You went slow, knowing that it was killing him inside with the pace that you were going at. As he was about to open up his mouth to protest the slow pace, your head went down and you started sucking him off; a slight taste of pre-cum on your tongue. Your hand and mouth started going in tandem with each other; no longer focused on his face, but focusing on what you were doing. “Fuck,” he groaned, and he threw his head back into the couch, enjoying the feeling of your mouth and hands wrapped around him, a feeling that he’d wanted since the moment he laid his eyes on you – despite him knowing how much you hated him at first.

You released him with a pop for a moment; your hand still going. But the loss of your mouth on him caused him to open his eye to look at you. “Ben, you need to be quiet. I don’t want the whole house to hear.” You stated.

Your words gave Ben an idea, and a smirk grew on his face. “Princess, I want them to hear.”

“You…you want them to hear?” Your voice a whisper. “Why?”

“Cause I want your little friend to know what it actually sounds like when the two of us fuck.” His words made you audibly gulp, and you barely even knew how to respond. Weirdly, the thought turned you on.

“Okay.” Your reply hesitant. Despite the slight hesitation, you wrapped your lips around his cock again; your mouth and hand working in tandem again.

As you worked, the sounds that were coming out of Ben’s mouth weren’t remotely quiet; a mixture of groaning and moaning. His hand gripped your hair slightly, pulling at it gently, messing it up. Between him basically playing with your hair as you blew him, and the sounds that he was making; it encouraged you to pick up the pace a little, and you yourself felt yourself starting to get increasingly more wet. “God, your fucking mouth.” He groaned. He bucked up a little, and when he did that he let himself go; releasing himself into your mouth and down your throat. You usually weren’t a swallower but for him, you made the exception.

Once you helped him ride out his orgasm, you released him with a pop; the two of you making eye contact again. “Lay down Princess,” he demanded, “and spread those legs of yours,” he grinned.

“Yes Sir.” You said, probably a little bit too loud.

The nickname you gave him just made him grin even wider, slightly more evil looking. “Can’t wait to wreck this pussy of yours.” He said, completely pulling your shorts down in one swift movement. He eyed your bare pussy for a moment before smirking up at you, cocking a brow. “Went commando today uh?” You bit your bottom lip, nodding. “Sweetheart, if I would have known, I would have fucked you on the kitchen table this morning just to prove a point.”

“Be-” before you could speak, his point finger started to slowly dip inside of you. “Fuck.” You moaned, slightly whispering.

“You’re fucking soaked Princess.” He said, smugness in his voice. “All this just from blowing me uh?” He added a second finger as they both started going into you a bit deeper, a slight curve to them.

“Y-yes.” You moaned out; his two fingers starting to move slowly in and out of you, a similar pace you had done earlier on him.

“So, tell me this Sweetheart. Are you generally just a cock slut, or are you just a slut for my cock?”

The pace of his fingers started to pick up gingerly; no words were forming in your brain to even respond to his question. He was barely doing anything to you, and you were slightly embarrassed by the way your body was reacting to his touch, but at the same time, he actually knew what he was doing – hitting you in all the right spots. “Just…Fuck…Just for yours.”

“Just for mine what?” He added a third finger, curling them inside of you. All you could do was moan; verging on the sound of pornographic. “Need you to use your words Princess. I know how much you like to talk, don’t hold back on me now.”

“Fuck me…” you mumbled, feeling a heat rising in your cheeks. “I’m only a slut for your cock Ben.”

He clicked his tongue a few times, seeming unsatisfied with your answer. “I’m sorry, but I didn’t quite hear you.” The smugness in his voice returned, knowing that he could hear you. You knew what he really meant: your friends couldn’t hear you.

With a small groan, you spoke just a tad louder, hoping it would be loud enough to satisfy him. “I’m only a slut for you cock Ben.”

He grinned. “There it is.” He sounded so proud of himself.

“Ben I’m about to –” you came, not even finishing your sentence, your orgasm practically exploding out of you. Despite the amount of times you’ve had sex, this was the first time you could actually say that you had a mind-blowing orgasm. He continued to move his fingers in and out of you rapidly as you rid out your orgasm.

“Fucking beautiful,” he praised. “I’ll never get fucking tired of seeing a woman cum.”

As soon as you came down from your high, he removed his fingers from you, licking them clean; and you already hated the feeling of not having his fingers inside of you. “Fuck.” You breathed out, your chest rising up and down as you tried catching your breath.

Ben chuckled. “You good there Sweetheart?” He sounded amused.

“Yeah…So…Good…” your voice trailed off.

“Good, cause I’m not done with you just yet.” Before you had the chance to respond, he pulled you by your ankles, sliding you across the couch. Pulling you into his lap, both of your hands rested on his chest, slight heat radiating from it, which strangely felt good against your palms.

Your legs were spread open wide enough that you were able to straddle him; your knees on either side of his thighs resting on the couch. Without any kind of direction from him, you grabbed the hem of your shirt and lifted it over your head, tossing it to the side, leaving you completely naked; you felt even more vulnerable somehow than you did before. You leaned in, your hands on either side of his face now and kissed him; his hands automatically gripping your hips. Based on the tightness of the grip you knew you’d have bruises, and honestly – you couldn’t care less, you wanted him to leave marks.

The both of you moaned into the kiss, and you started rocking your hips gently, trying to obtain some kind of friction. He smirked against your lips. “Someone’s a little needy.” He teased. “You just came Sweetheart.”

“Yeah but…” You kissed his neck, and leaned in close to his ear, “that was on your fingers, not on your cock.”

“And you say I have the dirty mouth.” He laughed a little, removing his hands from your hips. You sat back on his thighs as he took one of his hands and wrapped it around himself, pumping it in his hand a few times. “Going to fill that pussy right up.”

“Please.” Your tone slightly begging.

“So cute when you beg.” He said, his tip teasing your entrance. “You ready for me Sweetheart?” You nodded and placed your hands on his shoulders, almost as if you were bracing yourself. As he started pushing himself inside of you, you let out a long moan, shutting your eyes. “Fucking love your moans.” He complicated, as he watched your face slightly contort. “Taking me so well too.” He chuckled. “Really are a cock slut uh?”

“Only for you.” You breathed, his cock almost fully inside of you.

“Damn right only for me.” His voice sounded slightly possessive; and the tone turned you on more than you thought it would, and he felt you clench around him. “You like that uh?” You nodded in response. “Good.”

As you started moving your hips, Ben started placing kisses between your breasts, every so often taking one of your nipples into his mouth. The noises you were making were pornographic sounding again; no words really escaping your lips, just moans. Your hand gripped the back of his head, clutching at his hair. “Ben,” you moaned, shutting your eyes as you continued to rock your hips.

He attached his lips to your neck now, slightly nipping and sucking on the skin. Not only were there going to be marks on your hips, there were going to be marks on your neck now too. “Mine,” you heard him mumble; but you weren’t entirely sure if you heard him properly.

You opened your eyes and looked at him, and he removed his lips from your neck. “You heard me,” his voice possessive again. “You’re mine now.” He said. You weren’t sure if this was bedroom talk or he actually did mean that you were his, and his alone. Either way, you loved the sound of being his – despite the slight alpha/misogynistic undertone to it.

“All yours.” You agreed. He took two of his fingers and started rubbing your clit, trying to get you closer and closer to the edge. You felt the pressure start to build, and you were insanely close to coming again. “I’m so close.”

“Can’t wait to cum inside of you Princess.” His fingers started picking up the pace, and his hip movements were starting to get erratic – he was close too.

“Fuck.” You mumbled, your own movements matching his erratic ones. “I’m about to –” as you started to cum, his lips latched onto yours, and you moaned into his mouth.

“I’m right there with you.” He said, coming closely after you. The kiss deepened as the two of you rid out your orgasms; his fingers working lazily on your clit.

“Holy shit.” You said, essentially collapsing onto him. Your forehead rested on his shoulder as your chests were pressed up against each other; his arms wrapped around your lower back, his clock still buried inside of you.

“You alright there Sweetheart?” He asked, kissing the top of your head.

“Yeah just…” you started breathing a little heavy again. “Don’t have your stamina.” You laughed a little. “I’ll be okay.”

“Good. Cause I can’t have you dyin’ on me.” His tone was joking, but you knew that he would be devastated if anything were to ever happen to you. Because over the course of time he had known you, he had grown to deeply care about you; and it was something that surprised the both of you – hell, it even surprised the rest of the group.

"What the fuck!" You and Ben both turned and saw Hughie standing in the doorway of the living room; his facial expression looked as though he was about to blow a gasket.

Ben rolled his eyes out of annoyance. "Do you mind?" You gently lifted yourself off of him, grabbing a nearby blanket and quickly covered yourself and Ben, although the damage was probably already done.

"Yes! Matter of fact I do mind! This is the second night in a row that I woke up because of the two of you!" He yelled; and you could of sworn you saw a vain bulging from his neck. He was pissed.

Ben laughed, amused by Hughie's reaction. "Now you know what it actually sounds like when the two of us fuck. Should of kept your mouth shut this morning kid." He grinned, and gave him a wink.

"Seriously? You guys were loud because of what I said this morning?" Hughie's voice was now annoyed. Ben simply just shrugged at his question. "You are such an asshole."

Ben shrugged again. "Worse has been said."

“Hughie I –” you began, but Ben cut you off.

"But, I can promise you this," he got up from the couch, pulling up his pants in the process as he made his way toward Hughie. He placed a hand on his shoulder, looking him directly in the eyes, grinning. "You better get used to not fucking sleeping cause your friend has one hell of a pussy and mouth on her." You didn't need to see his face to know the absolute pleasure he had saying that to your best friend.

Tag List: @jackles010378 @syrma-sensei @k-slla @zombie-freak If you'd like to be added to a tag list, let me know!

[honeylullaby]

“For he would be thinking of love..”

(Rivals) Declan O’Hara x Reader

Suggestion by a sweet anon 🫶🏽 / Declan takes a break from his work to show you how much he loves you…

18+ FANFIC / Soft Declan for once! Reader character aged at 26. Short Work. Hopefully you enjoy 🩷

The heavens had opened atop Rutshire, unleashing icy precipitation and blustering winds, that rattled the windows of The Priory, and made the already bitter night seem glacial. These were the perfect nights to spend curled in Declan’s office, fireplace roaring —crimson tendrils dancing their passionate jig amongst charcoal embers — and the dusty blue chenille sofa comforting you like a warm hug. “You okay, my love?” Your husband asked, pushing the office door open with his foot and carrying two steaming mugs of hot chocolate with slightly shaking hands. “Mhm hmm.” You respond sleepily, face pressed against the fabric of the sofa. Wandering Aengus, your silver British shorthair cat, purred slumberously and leaped up from the hardwood floor and onto the spare space on the sofa, nestling into a ball beside you. Placing the hot chocolates down at his desk, Declan sat amongst a mountain of books, and began to scrawl in his notepad, brows furrowed in concentration.

Slinking away from the sofa, you padded over to his desk and draped your arms around Declan’s neck, nuzzling your mouth into the crook of his shoulder. Unwavering from his writing, Declan planted a litter of soft kisses along your forearm and smiled tenderly. “Yeats?” You ask, voice muffled against his skin. “Yes. I’m really making progress,” He began. Declan’s biography of Yeats, his favourite poet, had been a long time in the making, and you would be ever so proud of him upon completion. “It shouldn’t be long until I’m finished, love. And then ya’ have my full attention, I promise.” He huffed, lighting a cigarette and taking a drag. “Oh, Dec. Don’t worry about that. I know how much this means to you.” You tutted, and removed your wrap of his neck, bounding back to the sofa and collapsing onto the plush fabric, causing only a slight stir from Aengus.

Your unfaltering support of Declan’s career — whether writing or television — was absolutely bewildering to him. Despite only being married for just over six months, you had spent countless nights in bed, the space beside you empty as he drank himself in a hole whilst working, and you hadn’t complained once. It took a few moments to notice that Declan was no longer writing, but staring at you, eyes ablaze with extraordinary adoration. “Oh, love is the crooked thing. There is nobody wise enough to find out all that is in it,” He began to recite.

“For he would be thinking of love ‘til the stars had run away and the shadows eaten the moon.” You interjected, finishing his quote. Declan rose from his seat, not for one moment breaking his eye contact and stood above you. “Down, Aengus.” You whisper to your cat, who obliges lazily and pads out of the room. “I will be thinkin’ of loving you until the earth implodes.” The Irishman speaks under his breath, gently sitting beside you and raking a loose curl behind your ear. “Declan..” You murmur, lip trembling as his face inched towards yours. Before you could speak another word, he kissed you tenderly, taking great care in caressing your skin.

Pulling away only to catch his breath, your husband rose to his feet and leant downwards, scooping you into his arms and beaming with joy as a jubilant cackle escaped your mouth. “What are you doing?” You chortle and allow your limbs to melt into his hold. “Takin’ you to bed, Mrs O’Hara. Ya’ve waited long enough, but tonight, ya’ get me all to yourself.” He replied, and began to haul you upstairs. Wandering Aengus lethargically returned to his warm spot on the sofa.

[pjmmania]

Spirits Bright - PJM

A Park Family Christmas Oneshot

*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*

Genre: JiminxReader, IdolAU, Fluff, Christmas

Author’s Note: I thought I'd make a one-shot for the holiday season. No warnings, just good old-fashioned family stuff with you and Jimin. Enjoy the read and Merry Christmas!

*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*

Your four-year-old snuggled up to you, her fleece red and green pajamas adding to her warmth.

Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer was playing on the mounted television, right above a fireplace that wasn't aglow. As your daughter told you earlier that evening with a concerned look on her sweet little face, you couldn't light a fire tonight. Otherwise, Santa wouldn't be able to come down the chimney.

Little Mina was drowsy, her body becoming gradually more limp against you. Though she was watching the movie, her tell of falling asleep was showing. She had a self-soothing habit left over from infancy of taking her ear lobe and rubbing it between her fingers, pulling on it gently. You and your husband thought it was still as adorable as it was when she was six months old.

Any other night, you would have taken her up to bed at this point, but you promised her that she’d be able to see her father first. And you knew he’d want to be the one to tuck her in on this Christmas Eve, especially after not being home for a couple weeks. Jimin had been in Paris, doing some promotional engagements. A long stint like this was never easy for your little family, but at least it ensured that he’d be able to spend ample time at home for the holiday and the weeks after.

Lovingly, you rubbed her back, keeping your other hand on your belly. As she focused on the animated characters on the screen, your gaze fell on the three stockings hanging off the mantle. One red, one green, and one white - all embroidered with your names. You considered the spacing between them, and how you would need to adjust their placement next year. Come next Christmas, there would be a fourth stocking. A new little Park was six months along in your womb.

“Mommy?”

Her voice was so tiny and exhausted.

“Yes, baby?”

Mina didn’t turn her head away from the screen, “Will Daddy be home soon?”

She wasn’t looking at you, so you permitted a gushing pout to form on your face. Their bond was so strong that she was fighting sleep for him, and you knew that he was in his car right now, rushing to get home to you both. You could only pray that he obeyed traffic laws on the way to your apartment.

“He’ll be here any minute, don’t you worry,” you told her without a hint of doubt in your tone, “You have to be ready. He’s going to give you the biggest hug in the world.”

“He has to go to bed too, and you Mommy,” she said, “Or Santa won’t come, right?”

You laughed a bit, “That’s right. We all have to be asleep if we want Santa to come and leave presents under the tree. So we will finish the movie with Daddy and then we will all go to bed, okay?”

The sound of Jimin’s key entering the latch in the door couldn’t have come at a better time. When you gasped with excitement, your daughter sat up from your lap. Every paternally-inherited feature on her face was alert and joyful, as if she hadn’t just been falling into slumber.

The two of you had your eyes trained on the door to the right. You were craning your neck backward and caught a glimpse of him as he came through, black suitcase in his hand.

Mina was looking at you with a beam, her lips parted for an instant until she heard her father’s call.

“Where are my beautiful girls?”

She leapt off the couch and took off towards the door, “Daddy!”

As a mother, even though you were happy to see her so overjoyed, one of your chief concerns was making sure she didn’t slip and fall in her socks on the wooden floor, “Careful!”

The little girl barely heard you, far too eager to be in Jimin’s arms.

Then he saw her round the corner into the entry hallway, in her cute Christmas pajamas. A plump, smiling face that looked exactly like his was fast approaching, swelling his heart. Though he was exhausted from a day of travel and a couple weeks of work, Jimin’s expression became one of pure elation.

Mina squealed again once she saw him, “Daddy!”

The sound of her high-pitched voice moved him more than any music could. His precious baby girl, somehow appearing bigger than she was when he departed mere weeks ago.

He set his suitcase down before crouching to meet her, arms opening wide, “Hi, little miss!”

Your heart warmed as you heard him use his go-to nickname for her. You paused the movie and got up to greet your husband. You found the two of them in a snuggle, right in the middle of the hallway. His arms totally enveloped her, bringing her to his chest. He looked as if he'd never dream of letting her go, placing kiss after kiss in her black hair.

You chose to say nothing and let them stay in this moment.

"I missed you Daddy." your daughter said, her voice muffled in his black sweatshirt.

Jimin’s voice was nearly at a whisper, her words and the way she said them nearly breaking him, "I missed you more, princess.”

When he opened his eyes, Jimin saw you standing a short distance away. Grinning, he took hold of the four-year-old's waist and lifted her up as he stood. Mina's arms looped around his neck as she let her chin rest on his shoulder, enjoying her father's familiar scent.

Your husband gave you a sweet, long kiss, "Hi, you. And hi, baby.”

He placed a free hand on your bump. You smiled against his lips, "Welcome home. Have you eaten?"

The look he gave you was one of gratitude. You were the most nurturing wife and mother he could have ever hoped for.

"I ate on the plane, but thank you." he said.

"I don't like it when you go on planes," Mina interjected with a random comment, "But I like it when they bring you home."

You put your hand on her back and gave it a few rubs. Jimin turned his head to kiss her cheek, "Do you want to know what I saw when I was all the way up in the sky, Mina?"

The curious child lifted her head, "What?"

"I looked out the window and I saw Santa's sleigh."

You feigned a surprised response for her sake, while her reaction was completely real and excited.

"Really Daddy?!" she giggled.

Jimin tapped her nose once with his index finger, "Really. He's on his way with all the reindeer. Did you and Mommy leave him some milk and cookies?"

She nodded eagerly.

"We sure did," you added, "And we even put out some carrots for the reindeer, didn't we?"

"Yeah!”

Your husband chuckled and the three of you started towards the living room, “Well that’s very thoughtful of you. I bet all that flying is making them tired. Have you been a good girl while I’ve been gone?”

He glanced at you when he asked that question, directing it more at you than her.

“I’ve been very good.” the child vouched for herself.

You’d reached the couch in the living room. With a smile, you decided to affirm, “I’d say you have. No mean words, no complaining before bed time. And you helped me wipe the counters we folded some towels together.”

“And cook!”

Your husband grinned, glad to learn of her good behavior, “That’s my girl.”

You laughed. There was a story of Mina accidentally spilling a sack of flour all over the place that you’d have to share with him later. It was a harmless accident, one you remembered fondly along with the image of her face coated in a white dusting.

Jimin set her down on the couch and kicked off his shoes, more than ready to relax and spend what was left of Christmas Eve with his family. The living room looked beautiful, all lit up from the twinkle of the tree and the trimmings of red and gold.

When he finally sat down, your daughter climbed right into his lap and cuddled close, seemingly ready to resume the movie, as you told her you would. You scooted closer to them and pulled a warm chenille blanket over all three of you.

Soon, Mina began to play with her ear lobe again, sinking back into her sleepiness. The jubilation and excitement from reuniting with her father was dying down. She experienced what she had stayed awake for, and now her body was depleted of energy. By the time the movie ended, she was almost completely under.

He was looking down at her, lightly pushing some hair out of her face, “You getting sleepy, little miss?”

She shook her head ever so slightly, eyes closed. You knew your daughter’s heart - all she wanted was to stay with him. But she wasn’t even playing with her ear now, indicating that she was about to pass out at any moment.

There was no need to try to coax her to go to bed. You could have taken her then and there, but you wanted to give them both some more time snuggling. All of Mina’s complaints over the last two weeks were echoing in your mind, asking you where her Daddy was and when he’d be home. Now he was here with her, and you couldn’t look forward to separating them.

A few minutes later, she was out.

You smiled at her for a second, before getting up from the couch to straighten up a little bit.

“Baby, take her,” Jimin whispered, “Whatever it is, I got it.”

From behind the couch, you bent forward and kissed his forehead as he tilted it back, “No, enjoy a couple more minutes with her. I’m just tidying up.”

After folding some blankets and wiping down the counters in the kitchen, you turned off all lights that weren’t in the living room. When you returned to the pair in the couch, Jimin hadn’t moved an inch.

With a content sigh, you sat back down with them, but wouldn’t sit all the way back and relax. It was time to get your little girl to her room.

Your husband saw the look you were giving him and chuckled, although careful to keep his voice down, “I know she needs to be put in bed but I don’t want to let her go yet. I just got back.”

You smirked and whispered in reply, “We can tuck her in together.”

“Do we have to?”

You widened your eyes a little so he paid close attention, “Yes, because Santa has to come and put all the presents under the tree.”

He sighed, “I wish Santa could come later though. I missed holding her.”

“I know,” you said, “But you can hold her tomorrow. Plus your wife has been waiting patiently for her turn.”

He chuckled warmly, “Well I couldn’t possibly disappoint my Mrs., so let’s go.”

As he rose from the couch, he used his core strength to ensure Mina didn’t jostle. He held in one arm, keeping one hand free for you. Fingers intertwined with yours, you both headed into her bedroom. Her big girl bed was waiting for her, with flannel sheets in her favorite color, purple.

Jimin took the utmost care when laying her down. His technique had been perfected when she was a tiny thing, in those days where she had to be put in her crib with such stealth - otherwise she’d wake up and resume crying.

Once she was comfortably on the bed, she turned on her side naturally. You pulled up her covers, tucking them around her without pulling your eyes from her angelic face.

Then you leaned further down to kiss her cheek, “Goodnight, sweet girl. I love you.”

Your husband did the same, “Sleep tight, little miss. Daddy loves you too.”

Mindful of the softness of your steps, the two of you exited the darkened room and closed her door quietly.

Now, to play the important role of Santa Claus.

You kept your voice quiet, “Presents are in our closet, behind your suit rack.”

Jimin held in a laugh. He’d grown to love doing this over the past couple years, where the girl had come to understand the concept of Santa and look forward to it. Her enthusiasm had renewed his own love for Christmas, as there was no greater joy than seeing the look on her face in the morning.

It was fun for both of you to sneak around with the gifts, tiptoeing from your bedroom to the living room. Together, you knelt at the base of the glowing tree and placed the wrapped boxes and bags underneath. As a parent, you cared about the positioning of the gifts, wanting the scene the following morning to be nothing short of magical for your child.

As you moved things around, Jimin went over to the fireplace to stuff some smaller things in Mina’s stocking.

The whole process only took a few minutes. When the stage was all set for a delightful holiday morning, Jimin helped you stand up.

“One more thing we have to do,” he grinned, “Hungry?”

You raised your brows with a sly smile, “I do have a sweet tooth these days.”

The two of you were soon munching on the cookies and carrots on the couch. You rested your head on his shoulder, finally feeling relaxed.

“Thank you.” he muttered as he exhaled, putting his arm around you.

With a mouth full of cookie, you furrowed your brows, “For what?”

Jimin’s plump lips pressed into your temple, “For all you do as a wife and mother, making sure our family has a good Christmas in spite of my work schedule. You’ve basically been putting on the holiday all by yourself until now. Can’t be easy with our four-year-old ball of energy and another in your belly. I don’t know how you do it.”

You smiled softly, “I’ve been fine, I promise. She really was well-behaved. If anything, this one has given me more trouble, making me pee nonstop, always wiggling around.”

As if on cue, the baby kicked your side. You put your hand on your belly, “Like right now.”

Jimin’s palm dashed to the same spot of your abdomen, eager to feel the movements. What felt like a jab to you translated as a tap against his hand, spreading his smile wider.

“Hello, little man,” he chuckled, “Daddy missed you. Have you been making trouble for your Mommy? Hm?”

“He’s been dancing, I think,” you remarked as you bit into a carrot, “Way more active than Mina ever was, which is funny considering how rambunctious she is now.”

“Then maybe he will mellow out once he joins us out here. Be the opposite of her.” you husband pushed a tuft of dark hair out of his face.

You laughed lightly, “Not a chance. His big sister is going to teach him her ways. We will have our work cut out for us.”

“She’s been getting more excited to meet him,” he concurred, “I think it was hard for her to understand at first, but now that you’re showing and she can feel him move, it’s more real to her.”

You hummed in agreement, “She told me last week that she wants to name him Frosty.”

Jimin threw his head back in laughter, covering his mouth so he wouldn’t spit out the contents. You put your finger to your lips and shushed him, reminding him that there was a sleeping child.

“Sorry, sorry,” he whispered, “That’s just so adorable. She’s really gotten into the Christmas spirit, huh?”

You nodded, “Big time, and I love it. She’s entering those peak years where it’s all so wondrous.”

His smiled faded ever so slightly, “I know. I will make sure I don’t miss as much holiday time in the years ahead. I want to be there for the cookie baking, hot chocolate, movies, everything. Not to mention, we will have two next year.”

He rubbed your belly, both of you imagining your lives at this time the following year. Mina would be five, and this baby boy would be a few months shy of a year old.

The expression on his face became more serious as his deep brown eyes found yours, “There’s no way I’m leaving you for that long to manage both of them. I’m so-”

“Don’t,” you put your hand on his cheek, your face kind and soft, “Don’t say you’re sorry, Jimin. You were gone for just two weeks. That’s the longest you’ve been away in a while, and you didn’t miss the actual holiday.”

“I know,” he said, smiling somewhat sadly, “And I remember us talking about this stuff before we started trying for Mina. We knew things like this would happen.”

“Exactly,” you grinned softly before giving him a kiss on his cheek, “We are making the very most of our circumstances. Your career offers our family so many blessings that other families don’t have, but it does come with some downsides. This is a downside and we’re handling it the best we can. At the end of it all, I still say we are extremely fortunate.”

“We are,” he sighed, “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. It just gets harder and harder to leave you both, especially in your condition.”

It was tough to see him full of regret. You wanted him to feel like the amazing husband and father that he was.

“Then we can try to adjust your schedule going forward. But this is Christmas, Jimin. It’s about family, and we are together now. That’s all we need to think about.”

He was silent for a moment, but your words seemed to subdue any negative feelings entrenched within him. He kissed you more deeply than he could have in front of Mina.

“How did I manage to find myself the perfect bride?”

You giggled lightly, “Luck of the draw, I suppose. I love you.”

“I love you more, baby.”

You cuddled on the couch for a while longer, before the weight of the day came crashing down on both of you. He was exhausted from traveling, and you were wiped from another hectic day of motherhood.

Jimin made sure that the empty cookie plate and glass were set back by the fireplace. You switched off the tree lights and the lamps in the living room, and then you headed into your bedroom together.

You were using a pregnancy pillow for hip and back support, and to keep you from turning in your sleep. Jimin spooned you, the scent of your hair products acting as a soothing tonic for him. Slowly and absentmindedly, he rubbed circles on your bump.

“And to all a good night.” he mumbled.

Nearly asleep, you chuckled, “Goodnight, Jiminie.”

You awoke to your alarm at six. You knew Mina would wake up earlier than normal due to her excitement, so you wanted to be ready.

To your surprise, your husband was already out of bed. Typically after getting home from a longer trip, he slept in up to the point where you’d have your daughter come and wake him up, sitting on his torso and laughing at his light snoring.

After brushing your teeth, you padded out of your room and into the hallway, where you could pick up on the faint sound of the coffee maker brewing. Walking to the kitchen, you passed through the living room, where the tree was already lit up and a fire was cracking in the fireplace.

You paused to take in the perfectly merry scene. It looked like the quintessential Christmas morning.

You heard his hoarse morning voice behind you, “Merry Christmas, baby.”

When you turned around, you doing your husband holding two mugs of coffee. You trusted that he’d made yours decaf.

Jimin came up to you and gave you a quick kiss, handing you one of the mugs, “For you.”

“Merry Christmas,” you pecked his lips again, “And thank you.”

The two of you sat on the couch together to catch a moment of peace before the festivities began. Just as the night before, you laid your head on his shoulder.

“How did you sleep?” he asked you, “I remember before I left that it was getting tricky.”

You hummed, “Pretty good, actually. I think your son was sleeping. Not many kicks. I did have a little bit of heartburn, but miraculously I didn’t get up to pee.”

Jimin couldn’t help but chuckle, not because it was funny, but because he was totally in awe of you. He set his mug down on the side table next to the couch before leaning to press his lips on your belly.

“What a nice present you gave Mommy, little man. A night of decent sleep.”

You giggled, placing your hand in his black hair, “It’s a Christmas Miracle. And speaking of presents…”

You took another sip of your decade before hoisting yourself off the cushion, putting your mug on the coffee table. You took a few steps over to the tree and retrieved the gift you got for your husband. It was a small box, wrapped in a classic green paper with a red and white bow.

You hadn’t noticed, but your man already had your gift next to him. It must have been there before you ever sat down. You returned to his hide and handed it to him, “You first.”

Jimin sat up a little more, keeping the box in his lap as he pulled off the bow and tore away the paper. By the brand name on the box, he instantly knew what item it was, but could have never anticipated the detailing of the gift within.

He was beaming as he took the platinum watch, with a deep blue dial. Right away, he caught something unique about it. There were four different gemstones along the bezel, giving it a pop of color.

“Our family’s birthstones,” you explained, “Here’s mine, there’s the opal for you, the peridot for Mina, and the aquamarine for our boy. I just thought when you travel, you might like to wear something that keeps us all together.”

Unexpectedly, he became choked up, rubbing his fingers on his bottom lip. He loved the thought behind it, of taking his family with him wherever he went.

He cast his arm around you and pressed a long kiss on your temple, trying not to cry, “Thank you, baby. This means the world to me.”

You scooted closer to him, linking your arms together, “You mean the world to us, no matter where you are. We are always united as a family.”

Jimin chuckled, lightening his own mood, “Just wait until I show the guys. They will be dropping hints to their wives to get them the same thing.”

You giggled too.

Then he placed it back in the box with care before setting it on the coffee table. He reached to the side table to grab the gift he’d gotten for you. It was a flat, rectangular shape, wrapped in red and white.

When he handed it to you, it became apparent that this was a folder of some kind. You unwrapped it gently, not wanting to tear whatever was hiding beneath.

It was a yellow business envelope with gold prongs sealing it at the top. You pinched the prongs together, freeing the flap to be lifted. Your face expressed your confusion thoroughly, but your husband knew you were going to love this.

You pulled out a packet of papers that were stapled together. Honestly, it looked like a headache to have to read, but that wasn’t the part you needed to focus on.

Then you read the top line, which told you what kind of document this was.

“A land title?” you asked.

Jimin nodded, pursing his lips together in anticipation for you to finally know, “Yes, a land title.”

You laughed, though you were terribly perplexed, “Why do we need a plot of land?”

“Because I’m going to build you a house.”

Your hands and the papers dropped into your lap as you looked at him with astonishment. Speechless, your mouth was slightly agape. It was as if you short-circuited.

You looked back and forth between him and the title papers a couple times, unable to get a word out. Jimin was quite satisfied with your reaction.

“W-What?” you finally got out, a smile growing on your face.

He chuckled at how cute you looked, “I know we’ve enjoyed our time here in this apartment, but it’s time we had a place that’s truly our own. I want you to have the home of your dreams, where our kids can have a yard to play in and multiple floors to run around and wreak havoc.”

Then he put his hand on your bump, “Plus, the Parks are growing in number. And I know he isn’t our last one. Best to have enough space for them all, right?”

You were grinning ear to ear as you practically pounced on him. The title papers fell off the couch as you kissed his face repeatedly, “This is amazing, Jiminie! Thank you so much!”

His laughter rang out, “You’re welcome.”

When you pulled away, he could see the tears of joy brimming in your eyes.

“I-I can’t believe it,” you beamed, “Our very own home!”

“You deserve it, baby. You and our children. Plus, I thought with more space, I’d be able to put in a home studio or something. Do more work at home. I think it’s exactly what we need.”

The two of you ended up snuggling on the couch for a while, daydreaming out loud about all the possibilities. You laid on your back and your husband on his side, propping his head up with his elbow. He was perfectly content just listening to you think of ideas for your new home. Throughout, he kept his hand on your belly so he could feel his son’s hiccups, focusing on your smile as you talked about how you’d design the master bedroom.

Life was pure in this moment, only to be improved by the sound of Mina’s door opening.

You had told her not to come out until you came to get her, but it appeared your effort was futile. She was just enthused, and you weren’t about to make a fuss over it. You quickly sat up, as did Jimin.

“Let me bring her in,” he grinned, “You stay.”

You nodded, watching him get up to go meet your little girl in the hallway, before she marched herself into the living room. You got out your phone to record the two of them when they came back in.

Mina was slowly making her way towards the living room, as if she was trying to do it without getting caught. She knew that she was technically disobeying her mother’s instructions. When Jimin saw her, she froze.

He laughed, “Are you sneaking out of your room, little miss?”

She nodded.

He went to swoop her up in an instant, erasing any fear of retribution from her mind. She belted out a sweet giggle, receiving two kisses on her cheek.

“I snuck out early this morning too,” he smiled, “And I think you will love what you find in the living room.”

Her eyes were wide and thrilled, “Did Santa come, Daddy?”

“Why don’t we go find out together, hm?”

He set her down and held her tiny hand, leading her into the living room. You got it all on video, but watched her reaction directly, rather than through your phone screen.

Her short legs sprung up and down a few times, her face bright with unbridled joy. Jimin was looking down at her, treasuring every bit of it.

She pointed to the gathering of presents under the tree, “Mommy look! Santa came!”

You matched her level of excitement, “I see, baby! Did he eat the cookies?”

She bounded away from her father to verify what you’d said. She bent down in her pajamas to inspect the plate before jumping back up, “He did eat the cookies!”

You and your husband laughed as she ran into your arms, too giddy to contain herself. You hugged her tightly, “Merry Christmas, my love.”

As you held her, Jimin went and took a seat next to the tree. Wanting his wife to remain comfy on the couch, he assumed the role of gift-passer, ready to begin a beautiful family experience. Embracing your daughter, you opened your eyes to find him looking at you. His smile was gentle and subconscious, containing all the adoration in the world. You mirrored this same expression, knowing that your future was as bright as your spirits that morning.

Then he clapped his hands once, calling Mina over, "Alright, little miss. Let's see what Santa brought."

[sombrashe]

content afab!reader, chubby!reader, josh and reader are in an established relationship, cunnilingus

note(s) until dawn is actually a game about a polycule falling out | sam is just kinda there but both josh and reader thinks shes fine af

Josh’s voice is soft as he calls up to Sam. You’re spread out on the sectional couch listening to their short conversation as Josh tends to the fireplace in front of you. The television above drones on quietly in the background. Stretching you blink slowly at him, Sam’s response coming back after a short pause.

“I’m going to take a quick shower before we head out.”

“Oh, well, do you need any help? Maybe with your hair?”

The last comment is a mumble and you scoff making your way over to the minx. When he finally notices your presence you lightly smack his chest with the back of your hand. He feigns hurt with a well-placed hand over his wounded heart.

“What, you want me to go up there and ask her to join us?”

His eyelids widen for a moment before relaxing.

“Really?”

“As if, like you’d be able to focus”

Honestly, Sam is gorgeous and you wouldn't mind her joining your personal soiree. Unfortunately for you, Josh gets distracted easily and your last threesome ended with you unsatisfied after he got overwhelmed. Dancing your fingers over his shoulder blade you take in the heat dancing in the air. Pulling yourself away you plop back down onto the couch and bounce a little as you settle in. Dragging a blanket over your lap you feel the fluffiness beneath your fingertips. The loft feels nice and cozy especially with the autumn chill settling over the city. Making his way over to your spot he crouches in front of you with a wolfish grin. Pulling the blanket slowly off your legs you watch him with thin lips. Keeping your protests to yourself as you assess exactly what his plan is. Finally, he leaves the blanket in a pile on the floor next to him. With gentle hands on your knees, he starts slowly pushing them apart so he can watch your dress slide up your thighs.

“Joshua Washington I didn't spend hours getting ready just for you to undo it all with this spiked libido.”

He gives you a simple chuckle and kisses the inside of your plush thigh. Huffing you shift to give him better access. He licks a stripe from his spot against your skin to your lace bottoms. A cute black thong he bought you for your anniversary months ago. Something you didn't have a chance to wear until now. And he absolutely loved it. He gives you a little growl as he creates a wet spot right against your clothed pussy. You want to argue with him, claim if he does this you’ll have to take a shower and you three will be late for dinner. A weekly occurrence, something Josh would rather die than miss. You know better. He won’t leave a mark that you don’t beg him to. Once his spit soaks through you're panting like a dog in heat. Something something he has you wrapped around his finger. Whatever quote Emily scoffs at you every time you have to hang up because he's grinding against your full ass. You couldn't care less, especially when he starts hitting that sweet spot deep in you. Hooking his thumbs into the legs of the lace you raise your hips to allow him easier removal of the infuriating fabric. Once he pulls them down around your ankles he claps his hands together excitement glowing in his brilliant irises.

“Here’s Joshy”

“Did you just quote Psycho at my vagina?”

He immediately looks at you genuinely appalled.

“You're not being serious.”

“You know I can never sit through those old movies, they have such long intros.”

“I really don’t know if we can continue. Psycho. God”

“Josh, I’m sorry I got Psycho and The Shining mixed up. If it’s any consolation I was thinking of the 1960 version and not that Bates Motel shit I know you hate.”

He takes a moment to think it over before responding. A long moment too and it has you shifting.

“You saved yourself with that.”

He taps his pointer finger against your knee during his response. Diving forward his tongue easily finds your clit. Surprise and pleasure flood your veins at the same time and it leaves you lightheaded. Gripping a fistful of dark hair at the back of his head you press him closer to your core. Forcing two fingers beneath his chin he slips them inside your soaked core. Wiggling them he’s limited in the amount of room he has to thrust. Focusing on using the tips of his fingers he slightly moves them in and out while pressing hard against that spongy part inside of you.

“Oh~ Josh, fuck.”

“I got you, babe.”

His voice is muffled but you hear him clear as a bell. Huffing you weakly grind yourself against his face feeling his prominent nose press against the fat of your lower stomach. Letting your head fall back against the back of the couch you relish in the moment. Pleasure floods your abdomen and you can feel it tighten as you get closer to release. He alternates between short licks and hard sucks. Something that works in his favor as the coil in your abdomen finally snaps and you flood his chin and fingers in your essence. Panting you leave your eyes closed for a few moments as you attempt to catch your breath. Pulling out of you with a slick pop you nearly jump out of your skin as something pops against your chest. Blinking, you see Sam handing Josh a towel for his soaked limbs. Looking down you take the fresh pair of underwear in your hands and slip it around your ankles. Grabbing the towel out of the air as Josh tosses it to you you take a moment to clean yourself up before pulling the dark blue thong up your legs and settling it snugly against you. Fixing your dress you give Sam an apologetic smile.

“Hope you two worked up an appetite.”

[pfhwrittes]

price doesn't understand how people can relax at home. how can he? when home to him is always the ticking of the clock above the fireplace and china cups rattling on saucers.

home is sitting on hard backed chairs to save the upholstery on the sofa for guests that never arrive.

home is being scrutinised for flaws at every turn.

home is the silence of a room being broken by the pages being turned in the times and a low scoff at the headlines.

home is the way his mum sneaks a sip of sherry in the kitchen and the way his father runs a fingertip over a spotless side table and huffs about the state of the house.

home is where dinner is served at 5.30pm exactly and television is for mindless fools.

[flurry-of-stars]

𝒯𝒽𝑒𝓈𝑒 𝐻𝑜𝓁𝓁𝑜𝓌 𝐻𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓈- 𝕴𝕴

⋆｡°✩𝓟𝓻𝓮𝓿𝓲𝓸𝓾𝓼𝓵𝔂⋆｡°✩ 𝕺𝖛𝖊𝖗𝖛𝖎𝖊𝖜 - 𝕻𝖆𝖗𝖙 𝕴

⋆｡°✩𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝕴𝖓𝖉𝖊𝖝 ⋆｡°✩ Fluff. 𝒲𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉: 7.8k (A/N:  I genuinely was not expecting such a huge response to the first part of this fic. Literally, all the comments and tags have made my week ♡♡♡ ) ⋆｡°✩𝕿𝖗𝖆𝖓𝖘𝖑𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓𝖘 𝖆𝖙 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖊𝖓𝖉⋆｡°✩

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵ An elegant melody fills your ears, your body trembling in response as the tune tickles your brain in a way nothing else can. Your shoulders seem to relax as each precisely, passionately played note soothes you down to the depths of your soul. The purrs of the old tabby on the other side of the table seem to grow louder, making the table tremble softly as he sleeps. You close your eyes for a moment, laying your head back, gold and black ballpoint pen gently laid on the dining table as you take the time to appreciate the song echoing through the small cottage fully, the scent of peppermint tea and the variety of flowers in the nearby vase teases your sense of smell. But something was missing from the melody. Of course, you were no musical expert. In your personal opinion, the cello was played immaculately. Elegantly. If allowed, you would sit here all day, warm cup of tea in hand listening to it being played. You can picture yourself lying in the grass, listening to the rustling branches overhead as the wind carries the melody. But something was missing. And for the life of you, you couldn’t put your finger on what that something was. Your eyes flutter open as you hear the piece coming to a graceful end. Scooting out of your chair, you head through the cozy candlelit cottage, and down towards the living room. There was no television. No radio or game consoles. A fireplace crackles nearby, warming the room up to a pleasant degree.

There are dustless spots on the mantle where it looks like a few picture frames or other treasured items once sat, along with an old Russian Orthodox cross hanging above said fireplace. An antique piano is against the wall, closest to the archway leading into the room. There’s a window seat to your right, but the curtains are drawn today. The author sits in the middle of the room on a padded, upholstered cello chair, facing the entry way. The fire crackles to his right, illuminating his figure in a warm yellow hue, the deep mahogany sheen of his cello reflecting the soft glow as he draws out the last note, pleasantly tickling your brain once more. You carefully step into the room, waiting for him to finish. His eyes are closed, his long lashes gently resting against his pale cheeks, shadowing his already dark-rimmed eyes. You offer a very gentle applause, his eyes slowly opening to gaze up at you through his long lashes. You notice a strong emotion in his eyes for a moment, but it’s gone too soon for you to recognize what emotion it could have been, hidden beneath his strands of raven hair. “That was beautiful,” you compliment, standing a few feet from Fyodor. He turns his body, gently propping his cello up on the stand to his left as you speak, “How long have you been playing the cello?” You notice Fyodor clenching his jaw momentarily as he looks away, a flicker of uncertainty filling your heart. Then, in a surprisingly soft voice, “Since I was six. I wanted to play the cello as soon as I could.” Your eyes widen a little, “You did?” Fyodor still doesn’t meet your gaze, his eyes never leaving that of the cello at his side. He holds his bow as he nods softly, his voice much softer than you’re used to hearing from him, “I had a lot of time to dedicate to it as a child...” His fingers touch his bow softly and when he finally turns to look back at you, you see the warm nostalgia in his eyes. For a moment, it almost seems he wants to say something more.

But like a candle being puffed out, it’s gone in a millisecond. He gives you a stern look, his voice returning to that serious tone you’re used to, “Did you finish translating the chapters I gave you yet?” “Ah, I’m halfway done with chapter five…” Just like the second chapter, his writing had begun going on a long tangent again. It was already spanning on twenty translated pages, with many more left to go. On the positive, at least it was the male lead’s mother rambling on this time. That was some form of improvement, right? “I just needed to rest my wrist for a little while, carpal tunnel and all.” You held your wrist as if to demonstrate your point. Fyodor eyes you suspiciously but eventually, he huffs softly, “Very well then. But do not slack off too much. We have a deadline to meet.” You’re momentarily surprised. You’re almost tempted to ask why he allowed you to rest but out of fear of losing your break, you bite your lower lip, silencing yourself. Your gaze turns away from his as he focuses on tuning his cello. That’s when your eyes fall on the dusty white door against the far wall, almost hidden in the corner by the shadows cast by the looming fireplace and Fyodor along with his cello, only revealed now by him turning his body to the side. You could see the dust etched into the crevasses, in the complex door engraving that resembled a floral design. It is stunning that someone carved something so intricate and beautiful into a door. You chew the inside of your cheek as you squirm from foot to foot; that door looked important. Tucked away in the darkness like that, like a hidden treasure. You can feel the door practically calling to you, singing like a siren, begging you to just take a peek inside. Or maybe you were just overworked. 

But it tickled that child-like curiosity in the back of your mind. You could feel a part of you practically giddy at the thought of what could be hiding inside that door. 

What hidden secrets could it hold within? Was it filled from floor to roof with all of Fyodor’s other novels Vivian had told you about? Was it full of all his royalties from his previous books? What if it was the door to another world, full of wizards and dragons and–!

You shake your head, an amused huff leaving you; you were letting your imagination run too wild today. Maybe you shouldn’t have reread all those fantasy novels over the weekend. You sigh, walking towards the grand piano. Sliding out the dusty bench from beneath and patting away a fine layer of dust, you sit down, hoping to strike up some form of conversation with Fyodor. Your mind reels back to what Vivian had said.

He's been through a lot recently. 

You stare at Fyodor as he tweaks the strings of his cello carefully, tuning it without sparing you a glance. And as you do so, you begin to take him in fully. The way his large cloak practically devours his lithe form. He looks so fragile. His pale complexion. He's as pale as you imagined a vampire would be.

His eyes look more tired than usual, the dark circles seeming to have darkened further this past week. You wondered if he was taking care of himself. Was he eating right? Sleeping well? 

You had seen the Russian brew many pots of tea with nothing but the utmost of care and witnessed him enjoying each cup he drank. But you couldn't recall ever seeing him eat anything. ….He must be eating something, right? 

“What do you like to eat?” You blurt out suddenly. Fyodor blinks, looking back at you with narrowed, confused eyes. You sit up straight, thinking of an excuse surprisingly fast, “Sorry, I feel a bit peckish but I'm unsure what I feel like so…” 

You gaze at the cream-coloured floral patterned wallpaper, grimacing, a wave of embarrassment flooding through you. You can still feel Fyodor's eyes on you as if he was trying to peer into your being and pull out the true intentions behind your words.

Maybe you should just go back to–

“There is some fresh fruit in the refrigerator,” Fyodor's voice makes you look up. He's turned away again, back to fiddling with the strings of his cello, “If that does not suffice, there should be half a loaf of bread and some cheese you can have.” 

Maybe it was just because you were so used to Fyodor scowling and scolding you, but even this simple gesture felt really pleasant. You nod, standing up and straightening out the folds of your embroidered skirt.

“Ah…thank you,” you take a few seconds to compose yourself. The carpet muffles your footsteps as you move out of the living room, and back towards the kitchen.

The old tabby is sitting up, licking his paws as you step into the small, open-plan kitchen. He looks up at you, fading blue eyes cautious but fascinated as you move towards the one item in this entire cottage that couldn't be any less Fyodor if it tried.

The pastel pink fridge. It looks fairly new too, possibly only a year old. It was an anomaly amongst the smell of old books and the soft burning of candles. Even Fyodor’s work phone looked like it needed a senior’s discount card. But maybe there was more to Fyodor than you first thought.

Maybe he was the type of guy who loved cats and pastel pink. Perhaps he had an all-pink outfit that he was just dying to show off to you. You giggle softly at the thought, images of your stern boss dressed all in pink, scolding you for not completing your translating making you almost burst out laughing. As you open the fridge, your amusement quickly dies. 

It's almost barren. Considering your fridge is only home to a two-day-old Chinese takeaway box, a half-eaten block of cheese you found on special and some bottles of water, that’s saying something. The bright red apples catch your eye first. There's also a tub of margarine, an almost empty bottle of milk, a punnet of blackberries and not a half, but a quarter loaf of bread and a few slices of cheese. Now you seriously had your doubts that Fyodor was eating much. This looked like it wouldn’t feed a mouse, let alone a grown man. But this would make do for the moment. Taking out the last of the bread, margarine and cheese, you make two simple cheese sandwiches. Placing them on a plate, you move on to washing a pair of apples and some blackberries. Once you’ve sliced the apples and added them and a few washed blackberries to the plate, you serve them in the middle of the table, moving Fyodor’s draft and your translations into the leather bag he usually kept them in. You refill both teacups with the still-warm peppermint tea before calling out, “Mr. Dostoyevsky, can you come here for a moment please?” As you sit at your place at the table, you listen to the sound of Fyodor’s footsteps as he approaches, his steps surprisingly light on the wood floor of the hallway and kitchen. His tired eyes lift in surprise as he takes in the sight before him. His gaze turns cautious, “What is this?” “It’s lunch,” you offer him a small smile, picking up your warm cup of tea. The tabby cat purrs, brushing against Fyodor’s arm the moment he steps close to the table. “I figured since I’m eating, I’d make you something too.” Fyodor scoffs, his eyes narrowing. His jaw clenches tightly, as though he is holding back the words he wants to say. You hear him inhale through his nose, his eyes closing for a moment. Then, he opens them, shaking his head. His Russian accent comes through much thicker as he mumbles, “You didn't need to do this.”

“I wanted to.” You say quickly once more without stopping to think. Your teacup clinks against the saucer as you place it down, backtracking quickly as Fyodor looks at you with a raised brow, one hand patting the top of the tabby’s head absentmindedly. “What I mean is I figured you would be hungry soon as well. So I figured why not kill two birds with one stone?” Once again, Fyodor stares at you as if trying to pull the truth from your eyes. You begin to shift, feeling a little uncomfortable under his gaze before he sighs. He moves towards the table, the legs of his chair squeaking against the floor as he pulls it out, sitting down, “Thank you.” You smile softly, an ember of warmth flickering in your heart as you watch the author nibble away at an apple slice. It may not be an extremely nutritious meal, but at least he was eating something. You could feel your shoulders relaxing, “You’re welcome.” ︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵ “What about something like this?” Trixie spins around, showing off the beautiful emerald green dress she's selected for you. It’s short with a thin ribbon around the waist. Her smile is wide and bright as she twirls around a little, showing off the way the fabric sways, causing her teal jacket tied around her waist to sway with her movements, “I think it would look cute on you!” “Mmm,” you hum, clutching your coat tighter around your body. An earworm of a pop song is playing quietly over the speakers of the shopping centre. A few other customers around you, all going about their day as you eye the dress presented to you.  Although the dress was cute, its price made you hesitate: "I'm just browsing today. Maybe next time when I get paid." "But think about it!" Trixie insists as she follows you towards the sweaters that you've been eyeing, which are half-price - what a steal. She sways the dress once again and says, "This dress, along with that little black coat I have at home, would look great on you. A little bow here and there, and you'd look absolutely darling!" You chuckle softly, smiling at Trixie's excitement. She was a fashion connoisseur, always encouraging you to splurge a little if you could. “I do think it would be an adorable outfit,” you begin to reply, that dangling price tag and those frightened numbers printed on it preventing you from agreeing. You shake your head, resisting temptation. You pull yourself away before your resistance crumbles any further, “But I need to spend my money on something else this fortnight.” Trixie pouts, frowning a little before she puts the dress back. Her smile quickly returns as you gather a few of the reduced sweaters you had been eyeing since walking in. As you approach the cash register to pay, Trixie questions, "Is it wise to spend all your money on Mr. Grumpy after only knowing him for a week?" You let out a chuckle at the nickname. "Mr Grumpy". It certainly suited him well, given how often he scowled and scolded you. As you pay for your items, you respond, "Maybe it's true that he comes across as a grump sometimes, but if I cook for him, I can also cook for myself. It's a win-win situation." You thank the cashier, grabbing your bag as you and Trixie leave the boutique. As you and Trixie walk through the crowded mall, she reminds you that you don't know what he likes. It's a typical busy weekend, so you both have to navigate around other customers and head towards the food court for lunch. You can't help but worry about the possibility of the groceries going to waste if he doesn't like what you serve him. You frown, your eyes trailing down to the cold white tiles beneath your ankle-high boots. That was something you were very nervous about. Especially since you lived on a diet of microwave meals and fast food. You attempted to bring up the discussion about his preferred foods again when you finished translating the fifth chapter. He had given you a side glance, telling you not to bother him while he was writing.

The next day, you both were back outside, despite how cold it was beginning to get. Throughout the period, Fyodor was engrossed in working on the drafts for the upcoming chapters. You could still hear the sound of his pen scratching on the paper in your mind.

Meanwhile, you struggled to translate with trembling hands and chattering teeth, yearning for the comfort of his cottage. You felt like he’d done that just to stop you from asking again. As you slowly look up, preparing to scan the food court to decide what to get, your eyes catch the bold letters of a familiar bookstore. You gasp, your eyes twinkling a little, and a smile breaks onto your face as you nudge Trixie. "Hey, you didn't tell me they opened a larger store." Trixie gives you a playful side-eye, “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to spend your entire first paycheck on books. I thought I’d convince you to get a cute outfit first, some make-up or shoes for your new job–” She follows you as you begin making your way towards the store, an excited hop in your step. You hear her give an amused sigh as trails behind you, mumbling, “--But I guess we can say au revoir to your pay now.” "I just want to take a quick look," you insist, feeling irresistibly drawn to the store despite knowing how much money you've spent there before. You start walking faster, leaving Trixie trailing behind, until you finally step inside. The various smells and sights overwhelm you, sending waves of nostalgia through your body. It’s a lot busier compared to the smaller store you typically go to closer to your apartment. A few children are running around and playing between the isles as their mother tries to draw their attention in with a book, flipping between colourful pages as she tries to catch their eyes. You notice a small group of young women in one section, holding books and debating which ones they should get quite loudly as they flip through each book, fanning the pages with their fingers. Meanwhile, there's an older gentleman near the back who's struggling to read the blurb on the back of the book he's tugged off the shelf. He's patting his pockets for his glasses. You can hear more people between the other isles and for a moment, murmuring and giggling. Some even excitedly discuss the books they’ve found. You’re almost tempted to come back later. But the moment the smell of new books hits your nose, along with a hint of a coffee-inspired fragrance from the oil diffuser, you’re drawn back in. Maybe Trixie was right to not bring you here. You could already hear your debit card screaming for mercy in your purse. Speaking of, she sighs as she catches up to you, looking around with a click of her tongue. “Look at that. Books. Almost as many as you still have stored at my place.” She teases, making you nudge her with a grin. "I'm just here to browse," you insist, but your best friend gives you a sceptical glance. You scoff and reach into your bag, pulling out your purse and handing it to her with a smug smile to prove your point. She pockets it, but she still doesn’t seem to believe you, “I give it five minutes.” You scoff again, shaking your head as you begin to move about the store. You slip between other customers, making sure to not disturb anyone as your eyes scan every shelf, every book, new and old alike. This is like your own little piece of heaven on earth. Your own perfect paradise. Though your eyes do linger on the latest releases just a little longer. You move closer to the nearby bookshelf, your heart aching the moment your hands glide over one book in particular.

It looks like a short story for children, judging from the pastel sky and the cartoon unicorn on the cover. The stars in the unicorn’s mane glimmer faintly. On the front of the book there is a sticker that informs potential buyers that every dollar from each sale will be donated to a foundation for abused children. You are about to open the book when--

“You said you weren’t purchasing anything,” Trixie playfully comments, causing you to jerk your hand back as though the book had burnt you. She gives you a playful grin as you shrug. “There’s nothing wrong with admiring the covers!” You insist, grinning back at her as you slide into the next aisle, placing your hand over your aching heart.

As you round the corner, you were expecting to find the Young Adult section right ahead of you. However, to your surprise, you walked straight into the non-fiction aisle instead.

There were all sorts of books on display, from true crime to language books to history books. Although you have dabbled with non-fiction just as much as you have with fiction, you still have a preference for the latter. As you walk the aisle, you scan the shelves, keeping an eye out for any interesting covers when one does catch your eye. You’re passing by the cookbooks when you see a book with the title ‘Classic Russian Meals.’ At once, your promise is tossed out the window as you grab the cookbook, flipping through it swiftly. This…yes, this could be just what you need! Triumphantly, Trixie tells you "I knew you'd cave, bookworm." You plead with her, your eyebrows furrowed. “I have to make an exception for this.” You reply, closing the book and holding it tight to your chest. Trixie’s look becomes more curious as she listens to you. “This cookbook is just what I need." Trixie gives you an unsure look, but you know she’s never been able to resist your pleading. She sighs, reaching into her bag and passing you back your purse.

You grin widely as you hurry away to get in line to pay for it. She joins you a few moments later while you scan through the pages until it’s your turn. You hand the book to the owner, who smiles warmly and asks if you'd like a bag. "That will be $90," she says. You are taken aback as you hear the price. Ninety dollars? It's more than what you had budgeted for. You feel disappointed and disheartened as you realize that you won't be able to buy the book. It could have been a great boon to have, but unfortunately, you have to pass on it. You apologize and inform the seller, "I'm sorry but I can't afford--" Suddenly, a hand with freshly manicured and painted teal nails brushes past you as Trixie places her debit card on the reader. A small green tick appears on the tiny screen as she beams brightly, grabbing the heavy cookbook and passing it over to you.  “No bag today, thank you.” You hold onto your new cookbook tightly as she leads you out of the store. You look up at her with gratitude, and say, "Trix, thank you so much for doing this for me. You really didn't have to." You give the book a tight hug, a warm smile on your face, although you feel a little guilty. Trix waves her hand dismissively, smiling kindly at you. She warmly replies, "You know you're like a sister to me." Then, she grins mischievously and adds, "And who knows, if you master that cookbook, maybe the words on the back of the book will come true~" You frown as you flip the book over to read the blurb. You scan each paragraph until you find it. It’s right at the bottom in bold, white letters, “The perfect gift for any wife!” You can’t help but grin in amusement as you teasingly bump your hip against Trixie’s. “Oh, ha ha. Very funny, Trix.”

She giggles and nudges you back. Her voice is playfully mischievous as she replies, “What? I happen to think Mrs. Grumpy suits you~" ︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵

There was one problem with your entire plan. You hadn’t taken into account transporting all of these groceries to Fyodor’s cottage. It was close to sundown when you caught the bus that would take you from the mall to the bus stop closest to the woods where Fyodor’s cottage was located. During the initial bus trip, you noticed that some people were giving you odd stares. Some young children who were below the age of four approached you to see if you had any sweets to share. Additionally, an older woman started to badger you about why you didn't take your husband along with you and ended up lecturing you about your lack of spouse. The bus driver sends you a worried glance as you leave the bus carrying an entire fortnight’s worth of groceries for two and a very thick, heavy cookbook, the heavy scent of diesel causing you to cough and shake as you begin your trek to the cottage. You hoist them along the familiar forest path you’ve taken many times now as the birds seem to stop singing the moment you enter. Perhaps even the little sparrows and drongos were shocked to witness you heaving several bags of shopping along by yourself. The trees rustle, causing a cascade of orange leaves to shower upon you. You felt like the tree was supporting you in your struggle. Or maybe it was mocking you. Either way, a few leaves weren’t going to get these bags to Fyodor’s. As you continue on your way, you catch a glimpse of the orange tabby cat as it disappears over the old, rickety fence and up a small flight of cobblestone steps, brushing against the legs of an old, heavy-set woman. “Oh, dear!” Her voice is thick with a heavy Russian accent. It’s thicker than Fyodor’s. She turns her head back inside of her home, calling out to someone else in Russian. A few moments later, a balding older man appears by her side. You’re a little surprised as they approach the rickety fence separating their small cottage from the cobblestone path, warm smiles on their aged faces, though the woman looks a bit more concerned for you. “What are you doing? You shouldn’t be dragging all this uphill by yourself dearie.” She looks towards her husband as she fixes her glasses, nodding, “Dima, help her, will you? Where are you going with all these bags?”

You shift a little awkwardly, smiling politely as the elderly gentleman with a greying beard approaches you, preparing to take a few bags off your hands. You appreciate the help but you didn’t want to strain this poor old man with your heavy bags. So you give him the lighter bags, “Oh thank you so much, you didn’t have to,” you reply gratefully, handing over a few bags before adding, “To the heart of the forest. You know, that little cottage near the lake.” The elderly woman gasps in delight. “You’re taking them to Fedyka? Oh isn’t that lovely, Dima?” Her hazel eyes gleam with the joy of a mother hearing that her child has made a friend. Her husband, Dmitry, gives a huff of approval. He doesn’t seem like a very talkative man. She clasps her hands together, smiling widely at you. “I hope he isn’t making you do all the cooking dearie. You make sure he helps out a little okay?” Your smile relaxes a little as you giggle, fixing your grip on the last shopping bags you’re holding while clutching the cookbook closer to your chest, “Yes ma’am–” “Oh sweetheart, there’s no need for that,” she gives a hearty laugh as she straightens out her apron over the top of her dress, giving you a polite nod, “You can just call me Olya dearie. Now you tell Fedyka to come and pay us a visit! You can both come along! We would be more than happy to have you, wouldn’t we Mitya?” “Yes Olya.” Dmitry finally responds. He turns his light blue eyes towards you, nodding softly with a smile, “It would be lovely to have both of you around.” You squirm in place, smiling politely. While you were a translator and you knew how to translate written Russian, you still couldn’t understand it very well when it was spoken. More so, you still struggled to understand people whose accents were a bit thicker, like Dmitry’s. You give a small smile and nod, “Thank you.”

Suddenly, Olga looks at the sunset sky, then back to you two, “We’ll work something out. Now you two best be on your way; it’s almost nightfall. Take good care of her and Fedyka, won’t you darling?” You give a very polite bow as you continue on your path, Dmitry at your side. You smile happily as you hear the birds around you starting to sing again as they fly for their nests for the evening. Fyodor didn't mention his sweet neighbors. Dmitry was friendly but hard to understand when wound up, his accent coming through much heavier the more passionate he got. As you proceed along the cobblestone path, dusted with what was likely one of the last batches of Autumn leaves, he talks to you. A grin on his face is vibrant, despite his age. His voice is slightly raspy as he speaks poetically to you about the nature surrounding you both. You offer smiles and polite nods, not daring to mention that you have no idea what he’s saying outside of a few words here and there. He turned out to be more talkative than you initially expected. Passing through the white archway, you notice a pair of doves on the outdoor table, cooing loudly yet beautifully to one another. A bonded pair, it seemed.

Your heart warms at the sight as yours and Dmitry’s approach sends them fleeing the scene, white feathers standing out boldly against the vivid kaleidoscope of warm colors draped beautifully overhead. You approach the cottage door, placing the groceries you’re carrying down to rasp your knuckles against the wood delicately. You wait a few seconds, expecting Fyodor to open the door.

But he doesn’t. Huh. That’s odd. You look around, listening out for any movement when you hear an upset cat for a heartbeat. You gasp quietly. It must be the tabby. So, you knock a second time. Maybe Fyodor had just been wrapped up in his writing and didn’t hear you the first time. Maybe he even fell asleep on his draft. He did look quite exhausted when you were last here. You shift from foot to foot as you chew the inside of your cheek. You were starting to worry now. This wasn’t like Fyodor at all. You considered the possibility that he had gone somewhere. Fyodor seems like a homebody but surely there are people he visits from time to time? Or maybe he goes on walks to get ideas for his novels? You consider asking Dmitry if he knows where Fyodor could have gotten to, but you’re worried about stressing the elderly man. Nor do you want to let on that you have no idea where he could be.

You consider calling his phone but knowing him, it’s likely still sitting in his drawer on silent after Vivian called on Friday. “It’s a needless distraction.” You’re getting close to trying to find a back entrance. Or maybe trying to break in through a window. But as they say, the third times the charm right? You lift your hand, your knuckles rasping against the wood once, twice and then, the door finally opens with a loud creak. Your eyes widen in surprise; Fyodor looks like death. His bloodshot eyes turn up, meeting your gaze as you stand before him, hands clutching tight back around the bags of groceries. His arm seemed to hang by his side like it was weighted down by bricks, his hand barely keeping its grip on the door knob. It’s been a day. How does he keep looking worse and worse? He almost seemed to be leaning against the door frame as his messy hair clings to his face, his typically distant eyes look at you apathetically as they slowly scan you and Dmitry by your side.

His eyes seem to widen faintly at the sight of the elderly man with you. His lips turn upwards in a small smile that seems to lack energy, “My, my. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

His dark eyes penetrate your gaze as you look up, offering a half-hearted smile as you lift the shopping bags off the ground, making them rustle faintly. “Your fridge was empty when I was here Friday, so I figured I’d fix that for you Mr Grumpy–” The name leaves your lips before you can stop it. “Mr. Grumpy…?” Fyodor repeats your words slowly as if taking the time to digest them. You freeze in place, clutching the shopping bags tighter as your heart drops. You swallow roughly as you try to think of a good response. You can’t tell how Fyodor feels about you calling him that as his brow quirks curiously but his eyes remain blank. You wanted to find a hole and bury yourself in it. You seemed to love testing fate and risking your employment, it seemed. Suddenly, a raspy chuckle comes from your right. Blinking in surprise, you turn towards Dmitry, noticing the amused grin on his face. His light blue eyes fill with amusement as he speaks to Fyodor in a warm tone, “Mr Grumpy! That name suits you when you go around scowling all the time, Fedyka! But my, it’s been too long since I’ve seen you. Not since–” “It has been a while yes,” Fyodor gently interrupts the older man as the tabby cat curls between Fyodor’s legs, stepping out of the cottage with an old meow. Dmitry chuckles, placing the shopping bags he’s holding down as he crouches, scratching the cat’s chin. "Итак, Господин Толстой наконец-то добрался до дома, не так ли ?" He scratches behind the tabby cat’s ear and under his chin as he speaks to him, scratching the elderly cat’s greying chin fur, "Уже давно пора. Я уверен, Федька скучал по тебе" You pause, frowning a little as your mind reels, trying to understand at least some of the words Dmitry had said. You purse your lips and slowly look towards Fyodor, a curious look in your eyes. “The cat’s name is Tolstoy?” You ask. Fyodor gives a muffled chuckle, a near-praising look in his bloodshot eyes. "That's correct," he confirms with a nod, his lips curling up into a small smirk. "You seem to be getting better at understanding spoken Russian. Maybe if you keep it up, we'll soon be able to have full conversations in Russian instead of English."

Your brow raises; did Fyodor just tease you? His smirk grows as he steps out of the cottage, walking closer to you, “Allow me.”

He reaches out, taking a few of the bags you’re holding. You slide the handles for a few of the bags into his fingertips when he suddenly murmurs, “--Experience the flavours of Russian cuisine–” You gasp, quickly pulling back. A small chuckle escapes Fyodor’s lips, his smirk growing. Though it doesn’t stretch as wide as you’re use to, “A Russian cookbook, hm? Now why would you have that Огонёк​?”

You step back, holding the book to your chest like it was the most valuable treasure you owned. You could feel heat rising to your cheeks. Your secret surprise had been foiled. Dmitry chuckles again, replying for you, “You know what they say. The best way to a man’s heart is through his stomach! That’s how my Olya hooked me!” Fyodor chuckles, turning his gaze towards Dmitry. There’s a look of familiarity and a twinkle of warmth every time his gaze crosses the old man’s, “I believe she is just trying to make sure I don’t expire before I can finish my novel.”

Dmitry laughs a little harder at Fyodor’s words, a chilly breeze brushing past the three of you. Tolstoy gives a small, upset sounding mewl as he scurries back inside. Fyodor watches him as he steps aside, allowing access to his cottage to you and Dmitry, “Come. The wind is beginning to pick up. And I do believe it is time for dinner.”

You allow Dmitry to enter first before following behind him. You hear Fyodor almost whisper behind you in a tired tone, "You couldn’t have chosen better timing if you tried, Огонёк." ✩

“Are you certain you know what you’re doing?” “Yes.” Your response comes quite quickly. Fyodor gives a huff of amusement as he finishes tucking the last of the groceries away in the fridge. He knows you’re lying. Not just by the way your nose is scrunched up or by your annoyed tone. But because you’re holding the knife backwards. You're attempting to cut into a carrot with the dull side of the knife. He finds it amusing but fascinating. He closes the fridge door as he approaches you, watching as the knife slides off the sides of the carrot as you huff in annoyance. “Are you certain?” He asks again, his voice calm and curious, despite the amusement in his eyes. He reaches out, gingerly grasping the knife’s black handle. You look up at him, a look of stubborn annoyance on your face that reads ‘I can do it.’ He turns the blade around, the sharp end now facing the carrot as he places it back into your hand. His hand slowly curls around yours as he nods, his voice serious, “Curl in the fingers on your other hand or you risk not just cutting the carrot.” He watches as you do so before gently guiding your hand, his cold fingers wrapping around your warm hand, the blade slicing cleanly through the carrot with his guidance, removing the top. He guides you twice more before pulling back, satisfied that you can handle it from here. He moves back towards the pink carnation teapot, filling it with boiling water from the kettle, and dropping the tea infusion cage inside.

He turns his head faintly. He can hear Dmitry talking to Tolstoy in the living room along with the papers of his draft being shuffled and likely read, he assumed. He turns his gaze back to you. You were more observant than Fyodor had first predicted. That was good. For the sake of his novel at least. But he worried how far your observant eye had led you. Did you really just notice the lack of food in his fridge, or did you also take in the way he held himself like his body was forcefully being dragged down by invisible hands?

Did you notice how sloppy his handwriting was? How weakly he was holding his pen? Did you see the ink blots on the pages where he had held the pen too long?

He narrows his eyes, watching as you scoop up the carrot chunks, dropping them into the broth boiling on the stove top before you speak up, “That’s the carrots done. Now the chicken.” Fyodor continues to observe you as you go about slicing the chicken next, tossing the chunks into a small bowl. Although the pieces are much too thick, he doesn’t mention it. He would help correct the mistake soon. Instead, he asks in a serious voice, “Were you not taught the basics of cooking as a child?” He sees you bite the inside of your cheek. You’d taken offence to his question. Perhaps he should have worded it differently.

You’re quiet until you finish slicing the first chicken breast, “I was taught how to make instant noodles and coffee.” You reply, grabbing the next chicken breast. He watches the knife glide through it as you speak, “My father was normally far too busy to cook. So we lived on takeaway and instant noodles most of the time.” Fyodor blinks. You had no experience cooking? And yet you had gone out of your way, purchasing a cookbook and the ingredients just to feed him? He goes silent, processing this information. You were strange. A puzzle he couldn't decipher. He feels a sensation rising in his chest, that familiar warmth flickering in his heart, like a lighter trying to ignite but unable to get the full spark. “Let’s focus on making your first home-cooked meal edible then,” Fyodor replies as he steps closer to you. He slides open the cutlery drawer, grabbing a second knife to slice the chicken chunks into smaller, bite-sized pieces. He nods at you, “Make the rest of the pieces smaller too.” He sees you nod as you go about correcting your mistake, making the pieces more bite-sized and manageable. Once he’s sure you have that under control, he begins working on the onion. Cutting off the root and peeling the skin back, he begins cutting the onion when he hears your question, “What about you? You seem to know what you’re doing so I assume—” “Yes, I was taught how to cook growing up,” he replies softly but quickly, interrupting you, the sound of his knife tapping against the cutting board filling the silent spaces in between, “Mother and I always cooked together, from the moment I was old enough to help her.”

He feels a wave of nostalgia rushing through his tired body before it coils around his heart like a string of barbed wire, cutting so deeply into his heart he almost winces physically. He breathes in, deeply but silently as he keeps cutting the onion, sliding the pieces into a container nearby. He notices you finishing up with the chicken pieces before you pause, hands pressed against the countertop as you mumble, your tone sounding melancholic. “That sounds nice.” Silence seemed to fall over the room as you double-checked the cookbook, adding the necessary herbs and spices into the broth as he stepped back, giving you space to work. He knows you have to make mistakes to learn from them, but he feels a tug in his chest to guide you. He gives a silent huff before turning his attention to the teapot. Right. He’d almost forgotten to serve Dmitry some tea. After checking over your progress one last time, he gathers the hot pot of steaming black tea, along with two teacups on an antique silver tray before he heads for the living room. Dmitry is sitting on the window seat, near where Fyodor had set up a fold-out table to work on his novel for the afternoon. The last rays of the setting sun illuminate the older man’s form as he gives Fyodor a warm, fatherly smile. He puts Fyodor’s draft to the side so he can place the tray down on the table, “I apologise for the delay, my assistant needed me. Will you be joining us for dinner, Mitya?” “I would love to,” he replies while Fyodor begins filling the cups. “But I have a meal waiting for me at home. My Olya too.” He chuckles as he lifts the teacup, taking a slow sip. Fyodor turns, grabbing the upholstered chair from nearby.

He sits across from the elderly gentleman as a raspy chuckle rolls off his tongue. “I was starting to think we wouldn’t get the chance to sit like this again.” He looks up at Fyodor, teacup clinking against it’s saucer as he places it back down, his light blue eyes carefully looking Fyodor over for a few moments, his brow furrowing with worry, “But my, you’re looking a little worse for wear. Has your manuscript been keeping you that busy?” “You could say that,” Fyodor replies, sipping gently on his tea. The warm liquid soothes his aching body as he sighs softly, holding the teacup carefully. Dmitry keeps a close eye on the younger man, a look of sympathy on his face.

Fyodor knew he was starting to put the pieces together. The true reason for his exhaustion. Dmitry was a smart man after all. But rather than pressing, Dmitry nods towards the archway, his smile growing a little, “I have to say, Olya and I were surprised when we saw that young lady. I thought you would never need an assistant?” Fyodor scoffs slightly when he's reminded of his previous statement, causing Dmitry to chuckle. “This is a different situation.” He takes another sip of his tea before speaking once more. “She is merely here to help translate the book for an international audience. Nothing more.”

“But you’re writing a romance novel, yes? Haven’t you thought about asking for a woman’s opinion on love and romance? It may prove beneficial to your novel.” “No.” His reply is short and blunt as his teacup finds it’s place back on it’s saucer. “Because she is here just to help with translations. I do not need any help when it comes to writing my novel.”

He sits back, getting comfortable as Tolstoy begins circling his feet. “I have written enough novels to know what I am doing.” “Ah but our Fedyka has never been in love, has he?” His smile grows softer, his eyes glowing with warmth. “Writing about love is no easy task. Not when it is such a complex emotion. Writing the words is one thing, but experiencing it is something entirely different.” “Then I should come to you and Olya for help, shouldn’t I?” There’s a pause. Then, Dmitry starts to chuckle. He rises slowly from his chair, using the wall nearby for support as he stands, grinning in amusement at Fyodor. “I thought you knew what you were doing, Fedyka?”

A huff of amusement leaves Fyodor as he smiles faintly. Giving one last hearty laugh, Dmitry reaches over, patting Fyodor on the shoulder. “Don’t give the girl too much trouble, you hear?” He gives his shoulder a squeeze before he takes his leave. Fyodor stays in his seat, watching as Dmitry leaves, a hum on his lips. Tolstoy leaps onto his lap, purring, his hand instantly moving to scratch the cat’s chin. He hums quietly, eyes narrowing slightly as he dwells on Dmitry’s words, his eyes transfixed on the honey-coloured liquid in his cup. A complex emotion, huh... “Hey.” Your voice shakes him from his thoughts. He looks up at you, standing in the archway of the living room with a smile that causes that flicker of warmth to glow in his heart once more, “I need a hand with the soup. Um...do you mind?” He pauses. Then he offers a faint smile in return as he stands. Tolstoy gives an annoyed mewl as Fyodor walks towards you, following you towards the kitchen.

He was a little worried about how your first homecooked meal was turning out but a part of him had some faith in you. You just needed a helping hand.

𝓛𝓲𝓴𝓮𝓼 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝕽𝖊𝖇𝖑𝖔𝖌𝖘 𝖆𝖗𝖊 𝖛𝖊𝖗𝖞 𝖆𝖕𝖕𝖗𝖊𝖈𝖎𝖆𝖙𝖊𝖉 ♡ © 𝐹𝓁𝓊𝓇𝓇𝓎𝑜𝒻𝒮𝓉𝒶𝓇𝓈-𝟤𝟢𝟤𝟦

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⋆｡°✩𝕿𝖗𝖆𝖓𝖘𝖑𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓𝖘⋆｡°✩ * Огонёк: Little Light * "So, Mister Tolstoy has finally made it home, hasn't he? It's long overdue. I'm sure Fedyka missed you." Dividers: @/saradika