#wine bottle totes

[ecosixpackrings]

6 Pack Wine Tote Bag

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[julieschulerart]

Wine Bottle Tote Bag.

[sixpackringsmumm]

Stylish Six Bottle Wine Tote – Mumm Products

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[rebeccccccaaa]

Poker Face!

_______________

Spencer Reid x Reader

:: It’s game night at Rossi’s, a little pasta al dente, poker chips from Emily’s place, and a little too much Italian red wine. Poker after hours becomes a new playing field when you and Spencer decide to finish your game of blackjack back in his place. ::

:: warnings :: smuttt! and super mushy gushy fluff, sex under the influence (both parties drank alcohol), strip poker (kinda you’re playing blackjack), afab!reader, no mention of contraceptives oops...

:: authors’ notes :: i didn’t realize until i finished the story that spencer probably has his own poker set, he’s literally from vegas; anyway thanks for all the love on my last fic too sweet, hope you guys enjoy this one just as much <3

WC~ 3.1 k

________________

“Ok, ok! That’s enough!” Emily shouted, swinging her glass around. 

“Careful, Prentiss. This carpet is fine Italian wool. Gifted from my first mother-in-law,” Rossi scolded, Hotch chuckling beside him. 

“You guys are relentless,” she continued.

“I can beat him, I know it!” you shouted, your eyes comically wide. 

“No shot, sweetheart. Reid is literally banned from every casino in Vegas, you think you can really beat him?” Derek commented.

“I may not be banned from Vegas casinos, but I never lose Blackjack,” you argued.

“Honey, you’ve lost eight games in a row!” JJ shouted, laughing and holding her stomach. 

“Nevermind that! I’m gonna beat you Reid, if it's the last thing I do,” you narrowed your eyes playfully at Spencer, who sat as dealer with a giant grin on his face.

“I hate to interrupt this incredibly captivating game of Blackjack, but I’m kicking you out. It's late and an old man’s got to get some rest,” Rossi interrupted, erupting a series of ‘Boo’s’ and groans. 

“Come on, come on. Call your DD’s, call your taxi cabs. Or if you want to stay, you can start washing the dishes,” he bargained. 

Suddenly, all at once, everyone stood up practically scrambling and giggling like kids to avoid cleaning up. Penelope, Emily, and Derek hopped into a cab and Hotch drove JJ home then himself considering he hadn't anything to drink that night. That left you and Spencer, lingering on the sidewalk nudging each other in a fit of giggles. 

“I assume you’re gonna take a cab?” he asked you.

“That’s the plan.”

“So we can share since I don’t live far from you. I’ll walk from your place,” he suggested. 

“Oh no, no. Look what I snatched when everyone started leaving,” you pulled out the briefcase of poker chips that Emily had brought for that night out of your tote, “We’re going to your place and finishing what we started.” 

“Oh boy, you have no idea how long it's gonna take. We’re gonna be up all night!” Spencer laughed, and you gasped. 

“You’re an asshole,” you shoved him, before calling a taxi.

You squeezed in the back of the cab, legs bumping against each other. You felt your skin light up, you’ve always felt a certain way about Spencer. I mean who wouldn’t? Well actually, not a lot of people. You always tried to hide the pangs of jealousy or your faces of reluctance whenever the women you were working with or interviewed on cases would flirt with him, unnecessarily albeit. This happened more often than you care to admit or notice. 

You walked into Spencer’s apartment, tossing your bag on the couch before falling to your knees and putting the briefcase on his coffee table. You opened it up and began shuffling the cards, quite intensely to make sure Spencer wasn’t going to cheat. You knew he wasn’t, his brain was too smart, but you did it for confidence instead. 

“Do you want anything to drink?” he asked from the kitchen.

“Whatcha you got?” you asked.

“I’ve got a couple of beers, probably a little old. Oh, I still have the bottle of wine that Rossi gave to us for the new year,” he told you.

“Oh! Bring the wine! We’ll drink the beers later,” you winked at him, “Let’s get the fucking party started.”

It was late into the night now. You lost count how many times you’d lost to Spencer already. Just a couple of hours passed, and the wine was almost finished. You and Spencer couldn’t stop laughing and wiggling around. As Spencer shuffled the deck, a request you made him do after every turn, you came up with a devilish idea. One that would definitely get you in trouble should the outcome be anything other than what you would hope. 

“Ooh,” you cooed, mischievously.

“What?” Spencer questioned.

“Oh, nothing, just had an idea,” you were smirking, or rather trying really hard not to burst into laughter. 

“This can’t be good,” he mumbled, shaking his head. 

“Why don’t we spice things up, shall we?”

“No, no way,” Spencer already knew what you were going to say. 

“Strip Poker!” 

“No!” he shouted, a big smile on his face contradicting his words.

“What, you scared? Scared that suddenly I’m starting to beat you and you’re gonna have to take all your clothes off?” you teased.

“No, I am a gentleman and I’m not gonna sit through watching you take all your clothes to prove a point,” he argued sassily.

“You are way too confident for your own good, Dr. Spencer Reid. You’re just chicken.”

“Ok, fine then. You dealer, or am I?” he asked, pouring the last bit of wine into your cup. 

“Why don’t you hit me this time,” you said. 

“You got it,” he responded, “Care to shuffle while I grab the beers?”

“Of course. About time we crack those open,” you smiled widely. 

Now sitting down, face to face. Staring intensely at each other for a moment, hints of mischief and amusement in both your eyes. As you shuffled the cards well, Spencer couldn’t help notice the way your eyes were practically sparkling in the warm light of his apartment. How soft your skin looked in the light too. He doesn’t know when it happened. If it happened just now, or maybe he’s always felt this way about you. 

Maybe it was those times where he felt a little more protective over you than the others on more brutal cases. The feeling of responsibility for you, to guide you, when you first join the team since you were the same age. Or maybe it was when you let him practically talk your ear off about peculiar facts regarding the case you had wrapped up. The small smile of your face knowing he thrived in these moments. The sweet giggle you let out when Morgan and Prentiss groaned knowing he would begin yet another tangent. 

Yeah, it was definitely then he realized how special you were and how much he wanted to keep you in his life; in more ways than one.

But in this moment, when you handed him the cards with the most devilish smirk on your face, Spencer felt a wave of avidity, longing for you more than he ever has before. He felt so conflicted about the game you were about to play. He respected you so much and yet craved to see you, to have you, in this very way for so long already. He didn’t know what to do. He dealt the cards however, entertaining the idea, and you tapped the table for cards before taking a big swig of your beer.

“Fuck,” you muttered under your breath, Spencer’s breath hitched. 

You took off your earrings first and Spencer quirked an eyebrow. 

“What? Were you expecting me to take off my shirt right away?”

“No,” he shrugged before giving you the deck to shuffle again. 

“I swear to-” you cursed, pulling off one of your rings this time.

Your shoes came off, then your socks. All your accessories were scattered on the table before you. The last game you stood up unbuttoning your pants. Spencer clenched his jaw, averting his eyes downward as you peeled your pants down your legs. It took quite literally everything in him to not drool over you. You sank back down to the ground, the bottom half of your body shielded by the table and Spencer looked back at you again. He dealt the cards. You asked for a card, and Spencer knew then you would lose. The probability was certain. When he hit Blackjack and you didn’t, Spencer gulped and you sighed in defeat. 

Staring boldly at Spencer, you disrobed your last garment that would give you some kind of modesty. Your bra is on full display with nothing else but your pair of underwear. You had a crucial decision to make if you ended up losing again and you were seriously considering that would be the case, the butterflies erupting violently in your belly. 

“We don’t have to keep going,” Spencer cleared his throat.

“And why would I do that?” Maybe it was the alcohol in your system that gave you this sudden courage, this seduction. You were starting to have fun seeing Spencer squirming on the couch, the bobbing of his Adam’s apple. You suddenly wanted to egg this round on as long as you can. 

“Ok, then,” he muttered, as he dealt the cards, slowly this time.

Spencer had a face down card, assuming it was a value of ten like always, and an eight. You had a seven and a three, you were fucked. You needed an ace and you’d hit blackjack, or you could build up; but that’s risky. Maybe Spencer can go over. You had a chance, you know it. Your chest was moving fast and shallow, but your face was stoic and firm. Spencer on the other hand was antsy; his eyes frantic and his leg bouncing. You knew he was staring at your chest. You planned to use it to your advantage. Was it fair game? Yeah, yeah it was. It wasn’t your fault he was distracted.

“Hit me,” you egged.

“You got it,” he responded. 

A five. Fuck. 

Spencer hit himself and he drew a seven. Those are bad cards. He most likely went over and you might actually finally beat him. 

“One more time, boy wonder,” you snapped. A six. A beautiful six of hearts. 

“I stand,” he mutters, probably knowing he lost. 

“Let’s see those cards, baby,” you teased.

“You first,” he told you, and placed your cards. 

“Blackjack, baby!” 

Spencer laid his cards revealing his seven and eight and underneath a nine, he busted; the cards of course. You won, you finally won. You jumped up in celebration, prancing in your undergarments around the room giggling and cheering. 

“I did it! I fucking did it! I beat the boy genius, fair and fucking square! You lose Spencer, loser!” you shouted taunting him and he couldn’t help the smile painted in his blushing face; he almost forgot you were prancing around almost naked in the middle of his apartment. 

“I- I was distracted,” he shuttered. 

“Damn right you were,” you joked, squeezing your breasts to flaunt them in his face. 

“It wasn’t fair game,” he bantered.

“It wasn’t fair game, my ass. I won and you lost, and you’re being a sore loser,” you mocked as you walked towards him like a panther, playfulness and seduction dripping from your tongue. 

Spencer took the moment you walked near and grabbed your wrist yanking you to stumble into his lap. You were shocked, surprised, a little turned on. You held onto his shoulders, your breathing a little quicker than before. You tried to convince yourself it was from the celebratory dance and not the growing bulge from Spencer that poked you from beneath. 

“I told you, I was distracted,” he told you, his hands finding a place at their hips. Fingers caressing delicately the hem of your underwear. 

“Blah, blah,” you whispered.

“Don’t give me that.”

“Now, Spence, I believe there is something you have to do, is there not?” you whispered.

“What’s that?” he bantered.

“You lost.”

“Right, unfairly I might add,” he joked.

“If all you’re gonna do is talk, then let me do the honors,” you told him. 

“Be my guest.”

Your fingers pulled gently at his tie he wore, pulling over his head and tossing it to the side on the floor. You started unbuttoning his shirt, Spencer staring with heavy eyes at you as you did so.

“I thought we were only taking off one item. We should play another round then if you want my shirt off,” he teased you, bringing his hands to gently hold your wrists.

“Like that’s gonna happen,” you rolled your eyes playfully. 

Spencer relaxed against the back of the couch as you unbutton his shirt all the way. You brought your lips down to kiss softly at his collarbones and his shoulder. Moving along his chest to kiss the other side. His hands moved slowly against your hips, fingers sliding between the fabric of your underwear and your skin. Your skin erupted in chills, a tingle running through your spine making your ears feel hot. You dragged your nose along his strong jawline before nipping your teeth playfully against his cheek. 

He brought his hands up, fingertips tracing your spine until he reached your bra. He skillfully unhooked it leaving you a bit breathless for just a second but a second too long. You could feel it, without even needing to look at him, to know he had such a teasing smile on his gorgeous face. You wanted nothing more than to kiss it off him. 

You shrugged your bra off, tossing behind him giving him a playful wink which made him chuckle. You brought his hands to your breasts as you pulled his head towards you by the back of his neck to kiss him feverishly. Something you both had wanted to do for quite some time now. You wiggled your hips a bit, feeling the prodding against your center, which made Spencer groan lowly in the kiss; his hands squeezing your breasts hard in discomfort. 

“Fuck, you’re gonna drive me insane,” he told you.

“Let me say hi to your little friend, Spence. Or do you want to play for that too?” you taunted him.

“God, no. I couldn’t wait a whole other hour for you to beat me again,” he bantered making you scoff and roll your eyes; his hands shot straight to his zipper to pull his pants down just enough for the both of you. 

You were practically itching to get your panties off. Standing up suddenly, both you and Spencer reached instinctively to pull them off you, his lips attaching themselves to your soft belly and hips. He freed himself from the constricting fabric of his pants and pulled you down, or rather yanked you to him. You couldn’t help the bubbly laugh that came from you making Spencer smile blissfully. 

You bite your lip as you reach between your bodies, lining Spencer up against you perfectly. The warmth radiating from you was driving him crazy. It took everything in him to not suddenly take control and rut his hips against you. You sank slowly down on his length, not so little, you thought yourself.

“Oh jeez, I feel like I could come already,” you gasped, the pressure building in the pit of your stomach felt already overwhelming. Maybe it was the fact you hadn’t had sex in years. You felt starved of this kind of touch, this kind of intimacy. The kind of feeling of Spencer’s cold fingertips touching and gliding across your skin like you were glass. Yeah, that was the feeling you didn’t know you needed, you didn’t realize you craved so much until this very moment. 

“I’m a bit embarrassed to admit the same,” he chuckled breathlessly, “If you don’t start moving, I’m not gonna be able to hold myself back any longer.”

You took this as the green light to start rocking your hips back and forth. One hand resting against his cheek and the other stabilizing yourself against the frame of the couch. Spencer’s hands rocked with you, his way of helping and understanding the rhythm you were going. He started, with gaining confidence, to buck his hips into you and that’s when the pleasure began to build. You panted heavily above him, moans every now and then escaping your mouth to echo against the walls of Spencer’s small apartment. 

“Shit. You feel so good,” he breathed out, “I thought I’d last longer.”

“Please, please don’t come yet,” you begged; bringing your forehead to his. You could see his skin becoming shiny with sweat, his cheeks flush with redness. Spencer, determined to make you come before him, or at the very least with him, reached between your thighs rubbing fast and swift circles against your clit. Your hips jerked with pleasure and Spencer’s name dripped from your lips like honey. 

“Oh, that’s it,” Spencer whispered. His free hand came up and pulled you in a passionate and sloppy kiss. His tongue entwined with your and you moaned wildly as did he. His brain was fuzzy, not that your’s wasn’t also, with the sounds of sex, the rhythm of your hips, the warmth of your slick soaking his fingers. 

“I’m close, fuck I’m so close, Spence,” you whined.

“Let go, sweetheart.”

“Ngh!” you moaned loudly. You dipped your head forward resting your forehead in the crook of his neck. Your bodies were so close, your bare chests pressed against each other. You both could feel the other’s breath and slowly you began to match each other’s erratic rhythm the closer you got to your climaxes. You messily pressed your lips against Spencer’s one last time before the wave of electrifying pleasure overcame you. 

When you came down from your high, all you could feel and hear in that moment was Spencer. His soft pants brushing your ear, his arms cradling you close, his subtle leg shaking from what you assume was him also coming with you. 

“That was really good,” you giggled.

“It really was,” he agreed.

“I’m gonna tell everyone about this,” you whispered wickedly. 

“What?” Spencer questioned fearfully. 

“I beat you in Blackjack,” you reminded him, making him laugh loudly. 

“Give it a rest you would?” he sighed. 

“No way. I’m gonna tell everyone. And everyone’s gonna tease you because I beat you fair and square. Unless, you wanna admit that my boobs were distracting you from your card counting tricks,” you teased.

“Alright, you won fair and square,” he smiled blissfully at you, his eyes soft and gentle in the warm light.

You giggled sweetly bringing him in a tender kiss, definitely not for the last time that night. Your bodies were entwined for the rest of the night until the tepid sunrays peaked meekly through the curtains of Spencer’s bedroom window. The two of you sharing giggles between the sheets with his arms embracing you the way they had been all night. Needless to say, blackjack continues to be your favorite poker game. Especially now more than ever. 

[scealaiscoite]

⋆˚࿔ one hundred paired prompts 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

¹⁾ a pot of fresh coffee and split knuckles

²⁾ orange peels and a car battery

³⁾ sand dunes and leather boots

⁴⁾ a printer and a knife

⁵⁾ incense and handcuffs

⁶⁾ a crushed velvet sofa and a video camera

⁷⁾ stale cigarettes and cotton candy

⁸⁾ loose change and headlights

⁹⁾ grey hairs and a gold belt buckle

¹⁰⁾ burnt coffee and grass stains

¹¹⁾ cherry cola and blue jeans

¹²⁾ chipped green nail polish and an empty dinner table

¹³⁾ a stack of paperwork and metal music

¹⁴⁾ a patchwork quilt and sweet tea

¹⁵⁾ a hockey sweater and a two-seater sofa

¹⁶⁾ perfume oil and rolled up shirtsleeves

¹⁷⁾ fallen leaves and guilt

¹⁸⁾ radio channels and a birthday card

¹⁹⁾ ravens and meadowsweet

²⁰⁾ apologies and bitter red wine

²¹⁾ library books and pouring rain

²²⁾ a breathalyser and popcorn

²³⁾ princess plasters and iodine

²⁴⁾ a tote bag with one broken strap and a winding staircase

²⁵⁾ a parasol and a tumbler of straight whiskey

²⁶⁾ fresh honey and a cult

²⁷⁾ wisdom teeth and blue eyes

²⁸⁾ sour cherries and a stolen hoodie

²⁹⁾ the flu and a heatwave

³⁰⁾ a boonie hat and a sunset

³¹⁾ vanilla perfume and a kitchen counter

³²⁾ a buffalo skull and a leather armchair

³³⁾ a throw pillow and a doorway

³⁴⁾ pink fluffy handcuffs and an unexpected guest

³⁶⁾ a package and a divorce

³⁷⁾ a stripper pole and a hangover

³⁸⁾ familiar cologne and a black eye

³⁹⁾ a lit candle and a snowstorm

⁴⁰⁾ an unsealed letter and a fallen pine tree

⁴¹⁾ headlights and footprints

⁴²⁾ a blocked number and traffic lights

⁴³⁾ a racesuit and a countdown

⁴⁴⁾ a butcher’s apron and a phonecall

⁴⁵⁾ battered comic books and a broken window

⁴⁶⁾ cold floorboards and a roommate

⁴⁷⁾ smooth vermouth and gold rings

⁴⁸⁾ a lip piercing and a rough hand

⁴⁹⁾ someone’s spare room and an eclipse

⁵⁰⁾ a game of mahjong and bad jazz music

⁵¹⁾ a jigsaw puzzle and a mortuary

⁵²⁾ a broke-up sidewalk and a knitted scarf

⁵³⁾ a poundshop wig and broken glass

⁵⁴⁾ a bunk bed and a crush

⁵⁵⁾ a red ink tattoo and a dinner gone cold

⁵⁶⁾ a warm palm and a flannel shirt

⁵⁷⁾ fresh basil and a half-empty bottle of arrack

⁵⁸⁾ a nightclub bathroom and smeared eyeliner

⁵⁹⁾ a busted lip and strawberry icecream

⁶⁰⁾ a floral-patterned dress and a looming balcony

⁶¹⁾ peach pits and a pressed shirt collar

⁶²⁾ a white mercedes and cheap perfume

⁶³⁾ a fwb and a housekey

⁶⁴⁾ a blue sarong and a fingertip tracing over a scar

⁶⁵⁾ a sauna room and a terse exchange

⁶⁶⁾ fried plantains and a briefcase

⁶⁷⁾ dried lavender and a tiled bathtub

⁶⁸⁾ a hotel room and a bouquet of lilies

⁶⁹⁾ sweet mango lassi and a suitcase

⁷⁰⁾ orange streetlights and a nightmare

⁷¹⁾ a crucifix and a thigh tattoo

⁷²⁾ a palm tattoo and the thrum of a heartbeat

⁷³⁾ a champagne room and a police siren

⁷⁴⁾ blue nitrile gloves and a hickey

⁷⁵⁾ a double-wide trailer and shotgun shells

⁷⁶⁾ stitches and pyjama shorts

⁷⁷⁾ karaoke and a snowdrift

⁷⁸⁾ an older man and a twin bed

⁷⁹⁾ chinese takeout and a graveyard

⁸⁰⁾ wet clothes and ambulance sirens

⁸¹⁾ carbolic soap and a creaking staircase

⁸²⁾ an undercover assignment and wrung hands

⁸³⁾ the back seat of a limousine and bustling night streets

⁸⁴⁾ a steamed-up bathroom and cold floorboards

⁸⁵⁾ a grand prix and a breakup

⁸⁶⁾ a third place trophy and a picture frame

⁸⁷⁾ the last slice of birthday cake and crossed legs

⁸⁸⁾ squashed raspberries and heated cheeks

⁸⁹⁾ pink lipgloss and brass knuckles

⁹⁰⁾ a ghost mask and a late visit

⁹¹⁾ loose bullets and slashed tires

⁹²⁾ a tactical belt and patterned bedsheets

⁹³⁾ a goaltender’s stick and a lonely walk home

⁹⁴⁾ a dog bed and a migraine

⁹⁵⁾ lit billboards and a floor-length gown

⁹⁶⁾ a divebar negroni and a game of pool

⁹⁷⁾ olive trees at harvest time and divorce papers

⁹⁸⁾ a caviar bump and vanilla coke

⁹⁹⁾ a whale tail and pantsuit

¹⁰⁰⁾ legs thrown into a lap and calloused hands

[disgustingtwitches]

A Rose in Harlem

Simon Riley is an enigma—a brooding, complex man with a shadowed past that he can’t escape. You’re just an ordinary person until he claws his way into your life and you can't help but give in to him. The only problem is that you try to keep things casual, while Simon's never been one to settle for that.

Long live the rose that grew from concrete, when no one else ever cared.

Masterlist

PART 3

(He longs to be) Close to you

***

You freeze, heart pounding, the moment shattered. Who the fuck is that? You think to yourself, panic creeping in. Another knock then a familiar, playful voice from the other side of the door.

“Bitch! I know you're home!”

“Oh my God. Ishta.”

You completely forgot about your little watch party with her. This can't be happening now. Of course it's happening right now.

“Hm, that a girlfriend I don't know about?”

Simon murmurs, nuzzling his face to your neck.

“You need to go.”

Your voice is low, urgent, but it only seems to amuse him. His hands wrap around your waist, pumping his hips upwards, rubbing himself against your soaked underwear.

“What, you're kicking me out? Just like that?”

He nips at your neck, making you yeep. He tightens his hold, long arms locking you in.

You tense, trying to wiggle from him but him and his stupidly defined arms aren't budging.

“I'm serious; you need to leave, now.”

You twist in his arms, your anxiety growing as Ishta's knocking gets louder. She's never been patient.

You can feel his lips curve into a smile.

“You're tense, should relax a bit.”

“Relax?! Oh my God, I'm gonna kill you.”

You snap in a hushed tone, yanking yourself free (well, more like he finally relents and lets you go). You tug your shorts up while he follows suit, much more leisurely than you. He quips while letting you drag him towards the fire escape,

“Can't believe I'm the other woman, thought I was special, angel.”

“You're not making this easy.”

“Mistresses rarely do.”

Simon smirks, while you pull him to the window. Ishta knocks again, louder this time.

“Stop jerking off, the ice cream is melting!”

Simon snickers and you push him through the window onto the fire escape. His large frame steps out, stretching out while he turns to you.

“What? No kiss goodbye?”

“Simon!”

He doesn't budge until you lean out the window, planting a quick, chaste kiss on his scared lips. His hand cups the back of your neck, practically shoving his tongue down your throat, before you wrench yourself away.

“Bye.”

The words come out harsher than you mean while you shut the window, watching him slip into his place, not trusting him to sneak back into yours.

Ishta's voice whines from behind your front door. You smooth out your clothes, pasting a sheepish, wide smile. You take a deep breath before opening your door.

“Hey girl! Sorry I-”

“Was jerking off thinking about your neighbor? I know girl. Get that nut in friend.”

She empties her tote, sets some wine bottles down and grabs two cups from the kitchen before bending to sit on the couch. You wince watching her try to sit where his bare ass was.

“Oh! No don't-”

She looks at you curiously, frozen mid-squat— your brain scrambling to find something remotely plausible.

“I spilled tuna juice there earlier.”

She narrows her eyes at you, searching your face. She must be satisfied with what she sees because she shrugs and moves to the other side.

“Can't smell fishy. Got a date later.”

She pops open a bottle, pouring a generous amount into each cup. You grab the one she offers and take a seat on the arm of the couch.

“A date, huh? Is it that finance guy from last month?”

She rolls her eyes, turning on the TV.

“Oh God, no. He was so fucking annoying, trust fund baby.”

You laugh a little, grateful for her not pressing you on the couch thing.

“So who's the lucky guy?”

She waves her hand vaguely, her attention already on the TV, looking for a show.

“Met him at the park. He was jogging—shirtless, obviously—and tripped over his own fucking shoelaces. Adorable. Total himbo vibes.”

You raise an eyebrow, smiling into your glass.

“Thought you liked nerds.”

“That's the thing,”

She turned to you, grinning like a fool.

“Ok so, we were talking about showers,”

“Naturally.”

“Naturally. Anyways, he starts going on about different hypotheses of 'the shower curtain effect' with this dumbass smile on his face. I'm trying not to stare at his tits and just ask him if he wants drinks before I start drooling. Obviously, he says yes, and here we are!”

She finishes her glass and helps herself to another. You lean closer to her.

“So what's the plan? Drinks, talk about nerdy shit, and then stumble into his place and ogle at his star wars figurines?”

“First off all,”

She raises a finger.

“He’s an artist, so get it right. And secondly, he's Scottish. So like, the accent makes everything hotter.”

You hum curiously.

“My apologies, I clearly underestimated his international flare.”

“You did. Also, you're welcome for letting you live vicariously through me, by the way.”

She flips her hair over her shoulder.

“Oh, oohh my goodness. Thank you for your graciousness.”

You say in mock appreciation, hand over your heart. Her eyes twinkle when she winks at you.

“Freely granted, my dear. I'll text you all the juicy details.”

“Lucky me.”

You say dryly, swirling your wine glass. Ishta lightly hits your knee.

“Look at us. You got your English guy, I got my Scottish one. Just gotta snatch up an Irish and Welsh one, and we've got a whole set!”

“Please be serious, girl. Also, he's not ‘my guy’, he's just a neighbor.”

“Uh-huh, keep telling yourself that. We'll see how long that lasts.”

***

You've been more moody lately. From Ishta unintentionally cock-blocking you, to work being particularly demanding, and finally, Simon terrorizing you relentlessly.

Ever since ‘the incident’ he's been on you like white on rice. He'll stop you in the mornings in the foyer and casually talk about how he came to the thought of you last night or stand behind you in the elevator and grind up against you, laxly apologizing.

“Sorry. It's just such a tight fit here, right angel?”

You silently thank God Simon has the sense to pull these stunts when no one else is around to witness his brand of debauchery (he doesn't, you just got lucky no one's there when he pulls that shit).

You're barely holding onto your patience. Every word he says, every deliberate touch grates on your nerves. He has you on edge, dangling by a thread. A simple nudge could send you tumbling— yet he never quite gives it. Instead, he leaves you like this, toeing the line.

Waiting. Waiting on you to make the jump.

It kind of surprises you, given the whole…incident. You expected him to follow you into your apartment one day and finally consummate whatever twisted, simmering thing you had going on. But he didn't. Seemed to enjoy making you squirm.

***

You could almost forget about him during the day. Almost. Work has been a circus lately, thanks to your boss—the museum curator who seems to thrive on chaos. She’s brilliant, yes, but she’s also impossible. Barking orders, demanding perfection, treating every missed detail like a personal betrayal. You spend your mornings running errands and your afternoons fielding phone calls from artists who need their egos stroked. The only moment of reprieve is when you’re in the gallery itself, away from the madness, the artwork pulling you into a quiet, timeless space.

But even that doesn’t last. Today, you spent hours installing a new piece—a massive, fragile sculpture—and as soon as it was in place, she decided it needed to be moved six inches to the left. Six inches. By the time you got home, your nerves were frayed, your patience long gone.

He’d been waiting in the lobby when you arrived, as if he knew you’d had a long day. His presence suffocating, his voice a low murmur in your ear as he stood too close, his hand brushing your hip when you reached for the elevator button.

“You look tense, angel.”

“Simon, please.”

“‘Please?’ Wow, must've been really bad today.”

He chuckles to himself, like he's so fucking funny.

You rub your eyes, the tired dryness a reminder of the day you'd had. He sees this as an invitation to step behind you and wrap his arms around you. Large frame towering over you, long arms sliding around you.

“Not in the mood for this today, Simon.”

You mutter, void of its usual bite.

You don't even have the energy to push him away when he plants a kiss on the side of your neck, softer than the last time his lips touched your skin.

“So sweet when you're tired out. Wonder if you're like this after-”

The elevator dings and you pull away, pushing his head off your shoulder and trudging to your place. At this point, you're too drained to care about his games, too tired to rise to the bait.

If he wasn't going to stop playing, wasn't going to do anything but pussyfoot around, you had better things to do—like collapse on your bed and sleep for 12 hours straight.

You reach your door and fumble with your keys, cursing under your breath when they decide now is the perfect time to be elusive in your bag.

“Need help?”

You don’t jump. You’re too used to that voice coming from behind you, low and amused. His words echo in your head more than you’d like to admit these days.

“No.”

You say, sharp enough to bite through the air as you finally fish the keys out and shove one into the lock.

It sticks. Of course, it sticks.

He says something you ignore while he leans against the side of the doorframe, watching you struggle. Your head lands on the door with a soft thud, forehead pressing against the cool metal.

“You’ve been quiet tonight. Not like you to let me have the last word.”

“I’m too tired for this.”

“For what?”

“For your bullshit.”

You spit, jiggling the key rougher than necessary.

Simon hums, entertained.

“There she is. Was worried I lost you for a minute.”

The key refuses to turn. Between him looking over your shoulder and the fucking door mocking you, your patience starts to shred, gossamer-thin.

When the door finally opens, you turn to him.

“Do you ever shut up?”

He shrugs.

“Not when I’m having this much fun.”

“You call this fun?”

“Watching you fight with a door? Yeah, a little bit. Had my money on the door though, unfortunately.”

You swear his grin is almost audible under that mask.

Your eyes narrow, heated.

“Don't you have somewhere else to be?”

He doesn't miss a beat.

“No, actually. Not tonight.”

“Of course not, when do you ever?”

You mutter, yanking your keys out of the lock.

“Just keeping the schedule free for you, love.”

“Free to annoy me?”

“Something like that.”

Your eyes drift from his face down to his arms crossed over his chest. His compression shirt doesn't help, the material stretching in a way that feels obscene.

Then while he watches you stare, he flexes subtly.

It pulls a laugh out of you, the sound slipping out before you can help it,

“Whore.”

He pulls his mask down, showing off his own smile. His canines sharp and slightly crooked, but somehow it makes him more attractive. Like he doesn't just accept his imperfections, but wears them proudly, fully aware of their charm.

“Just for you, angel.”

“Your persistence is coming off pathetic.”

You huff half-hearted, crossing your arms.

“Doesn't seem to bother you much.”

Simon goads. You think this is the happiest you've ever seen him.

“It does.”

You lick your teeth, feigning irritation. He mirrors the movement, finishing it off with a smile that makes your face hot.

“Go on then,”

His voice drops lower, thick and languid, molasses poured slow on a hot day.

“Tell me how you really feel.”

It's quiet for a moment. He tilts his head, eyes glinting and the edge you've been teetering on crumbles underneath you, all reservations and restraint gone. You grip the strings of his hoodie and pull him down to your face.

“You're insufferable.”

“Yes.”

“A tease.”

“Mhm.”

“Worst neighbor I've ever had.”

“Ouch.”

He says, though his tone is anything but wounded. If anything, it sounds downright gleeful.

“Makes me wanna do awful things to you.”

You say in a hushed tone, a newfound energy pumping through your veins. The space between you grows smaller as you tug him even closer, his hands instinctively finding your waist, steadying both of you.

“Yeah,”

His voice is low, molten. A scorching heat that flows from his mouth down your chest and stomach.

“Probably use those pretty little hands, leave marks. Bruises I'd feel every time I breathe.”

You twirl the strings around your fingers, leading him into your place. It feels like tugging on a leash tied to a dangerous dog— wild and unpredictable, tethered to you and you only. He catches the door before it slams shut, closing it without looking, dark eyes honed in on you. Makes your stomach do flips.

“You'd like that, wouldn't you?”

His silence is answer enough, a smirk playing on his face. You muse, shoving him toward the couch with a playful push,

“Maybe I'd keep it simple, knife to the heart. If I could find it.”

He spreads out on the cushions, pulling you to him, making you straddle one of his thick thighs.

“Sounds painful, tell me more.”

“Maybe I'd tie you up. Make you beg for your life.”

When you say that, he groans— an honest-to-god groan and his grip on your hips tightens.

“It’d be hard, getting through all that muscle and bone,”

He grabs your wrist, making you press two fingers on the hard, fast pulse right under his jaw.

“Be quicker and easier to hit it right here. Faster way to go out.”

You cock your head to the side, biting back a moan feeling the beat of the vein under his skin go impossibly fast when you hum.

“Think I'm gonna go easy on you?”

His response is instant, almost desperate if you thought he was capable of that emotion.

“I hope to God not.”

He wraps himself around you, pressing you up against his solid frame like he's trying to meld his body to yours.

***

He's been at this for long, too long. He hasn't even taken off either of your pants, all too happy to have you grinding your pants against his denim. It's got you so pent up, you're half crazed, panting in the crook of his neck and mumbling pleas for relief.

“Want you, Simon.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He shakes his head and you groan in frustration.

“Been a real brat lately, can't reward that kind of behavior.”

“Pleasepleaseplease-”

“Sound so pretty, begging for me.”

You're trying anything at this point. Anything but ripping his clothes off. Or yours.

“Don't you wanna feel good too?”

Your tone is so dulcet, it's almost too sweet in your mouth, words dripping with a carefully calculated innocence. You play with the waistband of his jeans, before you can get too far he takes hold of your wrist.

“I know what you're trying to do.”

There's a pause while you pull back to look at him, a sheepish smile on your face.

“Is it working?”

��Hmm…”

“Simon!”

You huff, almost whiny. He relents, only a little, bouncing you on his thigh once before forcing your hips to grind down harder on him. It makes you lean into him again, he presses a soft kiss on your temple, the kind of gesture that feels almost like he's mocking you with a false sense of soothing. As if he feels bad for you—his touch gentle but somehow condescending.

“Poor thing, could've gotten it sooner if you wanted to. Closed mouths don't get fed, you know?”

He sounds amused, lips still brushing against your temple. Your mouth finds its way to his neck, he lulls his head back, giving you more access to it. It's sweet, tender, starting at his collarbone and moving up slowly until you get to the artery he made you press up against earlier. The moment your teeth press up against it, he comes undone.

“Gaggin’ for it that bad?”

The sound of his belt clicking makes you downright giddy, you lick his neck, feeling his heartbeat under your tongue.

“Mhm…”

He grabs your hand to shove it down his pants and your brain goes static for a moment.

“Had me waiting all this time, and now you want it?”

It's growled into your ear, something about the way it's almost spat out, mean—it sends jolts of electricity between your legs.

“C'mon, show me how much you missed it.”

Your face heats up at his words and he lets out an entertained huff.

“He missed you too, ya know.”

A breathless giggle escapes you when he flexes, making his dick jump in your hands. You pull him out of his pants, eyes going wide. You've felt how big he was before, but seeing it was a whole different thing. Made it all real. Something about the way his pink tip peeked out made you laugh a little, a fleeting thought of him blushing everywhere, even on his dick.

“What?”

He furrows his brows a little, curious.

The truth tumbles out of you before you can stop it. You think you've made a mistake until you see him. His face is unreadable at first, and you brace for some sharp quip or a look of annoyance.

But instead, Simon’s reaction is… different. His ears go pink first, followed by a deep flush creeping up his neck. You want to laugh again but he creeps a hand up your spine to the back of your neck, guiding you into light kisses. You still manage to slip out a few giggles in-between, a smile creeping up across his face. It's such a warm moment, you almost forget about holding him until he twitches in your hands.

“Got the prettiest laugh.”

“Is there anything that you don't think is pretty about me?”

You ask, teasing him.

“No.”

His answer is quick, unwavering, and so serious that it makes your breath catch. You search his face, expecting the usual smirk or a sly remark, but there’s nothing there but honesty. He clears his throat, the faintest flicker of vulnerability flashing in his eyes before he tries to mask it.

“Right, let's get these off.”

He guides you off him so you can stand, he shimmies your pants and underwear off. Once you kick off the fabric pooled around your feet he leans forward, breath hot on your mons.

“Missed her.”

He says so quietly, almost to himself.

“Your pretty girl?”

You run a hand over his buzz cut, and he grips the sides of your bare thighs.

“Yeah…my pretty girl.”

A wet kiss on your most sensitive spot makes your legs tense up. He traces slow, indulgent circles, like this was more for him than you. The tension in your body mounting with every flick of his tongue.

He goes on like this until your knees almost give way from a quick, hard suck. He holds you up with a strong grip under the crease of your ass.

“Think you can stand on your own for a minute, love?”

You’re far past the point of throwing a smart remark his way, your body humming with the tension he’s left simmering under your skin. Instead, you nod quickly, eagerly.

“So good for me, angel. How'd I get so lucky, hm?”

It’s less a question and more an indulgence, the kind of thing he says to soak in the moment while he shoves his pants down to his thighs. When he pulls you towards him, guiding you to settle on his lap, just brushing his tip over your slick entrance, you follow without hesitation—soft, pliant, docile.

“Such a sweet thing. Only for me, right?”

Before you get to answer, he drags your hips down, pushing himself inside you. The stretch borders on discomfort—not just because it's been a while, but because he's thicker than anyone you've ever had before.

It's all so overwhelming— his voice, his touch, his body—all glut and heavy with want. The weight of it crashes over you, leaving you dizzy, untethered. Every word he speaks seeps into your skin, warm and lingering, while his hands, firm yet reverent, treat you like something both fragile and fiercely desired.

When he slides you down more, you tense up. Thighs flexing, clenching around him. It draws a curse from him,

“Fuck…yeah, only for me.”

The moment is so much softer than you imagined it to be—aside from him trying to lick the inside of your mouth. It's coos and words of encouragement,

“Look at you, taking it like a big girl,”

“Bet you needed this as much as I did,”

Big, rough hands gliding up and down your body, squeezing gently. Slow, deep strokes sink into you until you're a shaking mess, arms wrapped around him, clinging onto him like he's your lifeline, mumbling nonsense into his neck. He's taking full advantage of the moment, of course, his voice low and dripping with amusement as he watches you come undone for him.

"Gonna be like this all the time now, pet?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Only like this for me, yeah?”

“Mhm.”

You whisper, the words spilling out as easily as your control.

“No one else gets to touch you like this, huh?”

“Uhn-uh.”

Your lips brushing against his neck, your heartbeat hammering against his chest, sweat slick against the skin.

And it goes on like this, making empty promises with the devil. Signing yourself away with no hesitation, no second thoughts. Because he kisses you so tenderly it makes you flutter everywhere. Because the way he lifts you up just to buck his hips up into you makes your brain leak out of your ears. Because here, pressed against him, drowning in his voice and touch, there's nowhere else you'd rather be.

He hits that spot that makes your nerves taught. You're a string wound up too tight, his name spilling from your mouth again and again, each time more ragged, a little more whiny and desperate, until it finally snaps. You shatter, the force knocking the air from your lungs while he throws his head back, your name leaking out like it's the only word he knows. You're overstimulated, thighs burning and shaking while he ruts into you. You're pushing him with flimsy arms, whining about how ‘it's too much’. That only seems to egg him on, though, spurring him to murmur filth between honeyed kisses,

“Gonna ruin you for anyone else,”

“Split you apart everyday and you'll fucking thank me for it, won't you?”

He doesn't even look for an answer from you, more than happy to bask in the mess he made of you. A few more strokes has him choking mid-sentence, sinking so deep inside you think he might've been serious about splitting you apart.

It's quiet for a moment, save for the heavy breaths shared between the two of you

“You with me, angel?”

He sighs, his lips press against the skin right over your heart. He lingers, sucking softly, the kind of pressure that's going to leave the skin tender for days—a reminder of him.

You nod, barely able to find your voice, but he waits-patient, his hands wrapping around yours.

"Yeah…”

You finally manage, squeezing a hand that completely engulfs yours, brushing against it with your thumb.

"Good,"

He whispers, his lips brushing against yours again.

"That's all I need.”

And in the back of your mind, as his touch lingers, there's a small fleeting thought:

Oh, you're fucked.

prev | next

[meazalykov]

sickness

kika nazareth x reader

summary: embarrassing yourself in front of your lover is not how you pictured your first night-in

warnings: food poisoning, vomit!!, possible emetophobia trigger, comfort

you’re in your apartment, setting up for movie night. 

the living room is cozy, and the soft glow of string lights hung across the walls creates a warm, intimate space. the midcentury modern style of your place makes everything feel neat for tonight. 

kika is coming over soon, and it’s only been two weeks since you both became official. you can’t help but feel a flutter of excitement mixed with nerves every time you think about her. 

the both of you have been playing together at barcelona for a while now, but this new chapter between the two of you still feels so fresh.

you’ve just finished arranging the sushi you ordered—a spread of different rolls and sashimi, all kika’s favorites—on the coffee table in front of the couch. 

you’re not the biggest fan of sushi, but you got yourself some california rolls, figuring it was the safest choice. you’re not too worried about it. tonight is about making kika happy, and you’re more than okay with that.

just as you lay the blankets on the couch, there’s a knock at the door. your heart skips a beat. it’s her.

you open the door to see kika standing there in her pajamas, a filled tote bag, a pair of loose sweatpants and a comfy t-shirt, hair slightly tousled as if she’s just rolled out of bed. 

she’s got a shy but warm smile on her face as she holds up a bottle of wine.

“thought this might be nice with the sushi,” she says, stepping inside. the moment she’s through the door, she wraps her arms around you, pulling you into a hug that instantly makes you feel like you’re home.

you laugh softly, squeezing her back. “you read my mind.”

kika pulls away just enough to look at you, her eyes twinkling. “i missed this. missed you.”

you smile, your heart swelling. “i missed you too. it's nice to finally get some time alone. between training and games, it’s like we never have a moment by ourselves.”

“well, we do now,” she says, her voice soft but filled with affection. she glances over at the coffee table and her eyes light up when she sees the sushi. 

“oh my– y/n…this is a lot don’t you think?”

you nod, suddenly feeling a bit self-conscious. “it is, but i know it’s your favorite.”

kika’s smile falters slightly as she looks back at you. “but you don’t really like sushi, do you? i don’t want you to feel like you have to eat it just for me.”

you shrug, trying to brush it off. “it’s fine, really. i got california rolls. i can handle those.”

she hesitates, her brows furrowing with concern, but eventually she lets it go, her smile returning. “okay, if you’re sure.”

you both settle on the couch, the sushi laid out in front of you, and kika picks the movie. it’s halloween season, so you go for something on-theme but not too scary—something you can both enjoy without losing sleep later. 

as the movie starts, you curl up into kika’s side, her arm around your shoulders, and everything feels perfect. the ambient lighting sets the mood, and you’re grateful that there’s no training tomorrow. it means you can fully enjoy this time with her, no interruptions, no alarms to wake up early.

you both dig into the sushi, kika happily eating her favorites while you cautiously nibble on your california rolls. 

for a while, everything feels great. you’re laughing together, making playful comments about the movie, and you can’t help but feel how easy it all is with her. how natural.

but then, as the movie goes on, you start to feel…off.

you’re nestled into kika’s side, the movie playing softly in the background. her arm is draped around you, fingers absentmindedly tracing small patterns on your arm. the ambiance in the room feels perfect—the dim lighting, the cozy couch, the quiet intimacy of just being together. everything feels right.

but then, a subtle discomfort blooms in your stomach. it’s nothing major at first, just a slight unease, like maybe you ate too fast or didn’t drink enough water. 

you shift in your seat, trying to adjust, hoping the feeling will pass. kika’s fingers keep moving on your arm, her body warm and relaxed next to yours, and you try to focus on that, on the ease of being with her.

still, the discomfort doesn’t go away.

instead, it grows. your stomach feels heavier, the sushi you ate sitting like a rock. you swallow hard, hoping it’s just a passing sensation, but each passing second makes the nausea more real, more pressing. your heart starts to race, the panic creeping in faster than you can control it.

you’re not just uncomfortable now—you’re scared.

it’s sudden, like a switch flipping inside of you. the fear of being sick, of throwing up right here, in front of kika, crashes over you. you can feel your chest tighten, your breath quicken. the last thing you want to do is throw up. 

the memories from when you were a kid flash in your mind—how helpless you felt, how terrified you were every time it happened. that fear has never left you, and now it’s rising like a tidal wave.

your muscles tense involuntarily, and you can feel your body starting to revolt. the room feels too warm, your skin prickling with anxiety, and all you can think about is the inevitable. 

your throat tightens, a warning. it’s coming, and there’s nothing you can do to stop it.

you glance at kika out of the corner of your eye. she’s so calm, so content, her attention still on the movie. she’s enjoying this—enjoying being with you—and the last thing you want to do is ruin that. you don’t want to alarm her, don’t want to spoil the rare moment of peace you have together. 

the nausea is growing unbearable, and you know you can’t stay here. not like this.

you shift again, trying to find a position that might ease the discomfort, but it only makes things worse. your stomach lurches violently, and a cold sweat breaks out across your skin. the fear hits you hard, your mind racing with thoughts of what’s about to happen. 

the thought of throwing up makes your heart pound in your chest, your body trembling with dread.

"shit," you whisper under your breath, a faint, desperate sound that kika doesn’t hear.

you can feel the bile rising, and suddenly, you know you can’t hold it back any longer. you shoot up from the couch, your hand instinctively covering your mouth as if that will somehow stop what’s coming.

“y/n?” kika’s voice is full of concern, but you don’t have time to explain. you’re already halfway down the hall, panic driving your feet as you run toward your bedroom and into the bathroom.

the entire time, your mind is spinning, fear gripping you like a vice. what if this ruins everything? what if kika is grossed out by this, by you? what if she doesn’t want to be with someone who gets like this?

however, the nausea is too overwhelming, drowning out all other thoughts. your only focus now is making it to the bathroom before it’s too late. you stumble through the doorway, collapsing to your knees in front of the toilet just as your body gives in.

you retch, your body convulsing as the sushi comes back up, and with it, all the panic you’ve been trying to suppress. tears blur your vision, and the fear of being sick, of throwing up, grips you so tightly it feels like you’re suffocating. 

the taste, the sound, the feeling of your stomach turning inside out—it’s everything you dreaded, and it’s happening now.

throwback to when you were a kid, how you’d cry for hours every time you got sick. the fear, the helplessness—it’s all flooding back now, and you’re doing your best to keep it together but your body has other plans.

your breath hitches, and panic sets in as you realize this isn’t something you can just ride out. the nausea is overwhelming now.

“y/n, are you okay?” kika’s panicked voice cuts as she reaches you in the bathroom. 

you gag, your body trembling as you cry– tears streaming down your face as you clutch the toilet bowl, feeling like your entire body is betraying you. 

your chest heaves, your throat burns, and the panic sets in deeper, choking you with fear.

kika is right behind you in an instant. she kneels down next to you, gently pulling your hair back and out of your face. her soft hand rubs soothing circles on your back, and even though you’re in the middle of a full-blown panic, you can hear her soft voice.

“shh, it’s okay, i’ve got you. just breathe, y/n. it’s going to be okay.”

you shake your head, your body still convulsing as more of the sushi comes up. it feels like your entire body is revolting, and the more you throw up, the more you panic. 

you hate this. you hate feeling like this. it’s all too much, and you’re scared, so scared.

“i’m so sorry,” you manage to choke out between sobs, your voice trembling with fear and exhaustion. “i didn’t want this to happen, i should’ve—”

“y/n, don’t,” kika interrupts gently, her voice firm but kind. 

“you don’t need to apologize. i’m here, okay? i’m not going anywhere.”

you continue to cry, your body spent and weak as you finish throwing up. all you can do is collapse onto the cool tile of the bathroom floor, your head resting on the soft bathroom mat. 

kika stays with you the entire time, never leaving your side. she’s calm, collected, even though you feel like a complete mess.

after a moment, she stands up. “i’ll be right back,” she says softly, and before you can protest, she’s out the door.

you’re left alone for a few moments, the silence of the bathroom settling around you. your body is trembling, your head spinning with the aftershocks of panic, and all you can think about is how humiliating this must be. 

kika had to see all of that. you just threw up in front of her, cried like a child, and now you’re lying on the bathroom floor because you don’t even have the energy to move.

what if this is too much for her? what if she’s grossed out? it’s so early in your relationship, and already she’s seeing you at your worst. is this going to be the thing that pushes her away? you start to spiral again, your mind racing with insecurities. 

before you can dwell too much on it, kika returns. she has a small pile of things in her arms—a bottle of water, some medicine, a warm rag, and a banana. she kneels back down beside you, her eyes filled with nothing but concern.

“here,” she says gently, placing the rag on your forehead and offering you the water. 

“small sips, okay? you need to rehydrate.”

you take the water gratefully, your hands still shaky as you bring it to your lips. kika watches you closely, her expression soft and caring.

“i’m so sorry,” you mumble again, your voice hoarse from the vomiting and crying. 

“i didn’t mean to ruin the night.”

kika shakes her head firmly, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. 

“you didn’t ruin anything, y/n. don’t even think that.”

you take another sip of water, your eyes avoiding hers. “but i should’ve known. i shouldn’t have eaten the sushi. i just wanted to—”

“y/n,” she cuts you off again, her voice gentle but insistent. “it’s not your fault. we can always get something else next time, okay? it doesn’t matter. what matters is that you’re feeling better.”

you glance up at her as your head lays on her thigh, your eyes wide with worry. 

“are you grossed out?”

kika pauses for a moment, then gives you a small, reassuring smile. “no, i’m not grossed out. honestly, i was more scared than anything.”

you blink, surprised. “scared?”

she nods, her hand resting on your arm, giving it a gentle squeeze. “yeah. i hate seeing you like that. i just wanted to help.”

you feel a wave of relief wash over you, though the embarrassment still lingers. 

kika smiles softly, leaning in to kiss your forehead. you didn’t respond to her due to your lack of energy, but its like she knows what you’re thinking. 

“y/n, it doesn’t matter if we’ve been together for two weeks or two years. if you’re not feeling well, i’m going to take care of you. that’s what this is, right? being there for each other. you’d do the same for me.”

you nod slowly, the weight of her words sinking in. she’s right. you would do the same for her without hesitation.

kika adjusts herself so that you can lay your head on her thigh more comfortably. she strokes your hair softly, her fingers running through the strands in a soothing rhythm. 

“just relax, okay? you’re going to be fine.”

you close your eyes, focusing on the warmth of her touch, the gentle way she’s taking care of you. it helps calm the lingering panic, helps you feel grounded again. 

you don’t have the energy to move to the bed, and honestly, you’re too comfortable here, with kika by your side.

she hands you the banana, breaking off small pieces and encouraging you to eat. “just a little bit,” she says, her tone light and encouraging. “it’ll help settle your stomach.”

you take a few bites, slowly, and she makes sure you take your medicine too, watching over you like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“thank you,” you whisper, feeling a mixture of exhaustion and gratitude. “i’m sorry this happened.”

kika shakes her head again, her thumb brushing against your cheek. “stop apologizing, y/n. i’m glad i’m here with you, okay? we’ll have plenty of other movie nights. i just want you to feel better.”

you nod, feeling a bit more at ease now, though the embarrassment still lingers at the edges of your mind.

the night didn’t go how you planned, but somehow, it feels like it brought you both closer. there’s a kind of intimacy in this moment, in the vulnerability, and you can feel how much she cares about you.

masterlist

[teddy06writes]

Thanksgiving Special Day Two - BAU (Unit)

Platonic!BAU (Unit) x gn!reader

Trigger Warnings: None

Summary: You spend your first friendsgiving with your colleagues from the BAU

You stood awkwardly on Rossi's front step, struggling to balance the pie dishes in your hands. When footsteps began crunching up the driveway behind you, you nearly jumped out of your skin.

"Oh good! We're not the only ones who are early!" Emily laughed.

"Is that pie?!" Penelope squealed, bounding up the steps and pulling you into a hug, plucking one of the dishes from your hands.

"Uh yeah- I made apple and pumpkin both, because I wasn't sure what all everyone would want."

"Smells delish!"

Finally, the front door swung open and Rossi appeared, ushering you all in, "Welcome, welcome! I was just about to start getting the table set- what do we have here... (y/l/n) is that pie?"

"Apple, and Garcia has the pumpkin." You grinned.

"You can set that right on the island," He motioned to the granite countertop before turning to Emily, "And what's this?"

Emily held up the bottles in her hands, "Merlot, and that Cab we tried last month."

Rossi grinned, patting her shoulder, "Good kid."

"Oh my god that turkey smells incredible!" Penelope gushed.

"I just checked it, it should be done in twenty minutes or so."

Emily chuckled, "Well you better put us to work until then."

Rossi began to direct the three of you in laying out sets of plates and silverware, and before you knew it Spencer, Morgan and JJ were crowding into the house, carrying various dishes full of sides. Hotch appeared last, toting a basket of dinner rolls that were quickly added to the nearly over flowing table.

Wine was being poured, and someone had found Rossi's stereo and put on some jazzy album as you all crowded around the table.

At the head of the table, Rossi raised his glass, "Alright, before we dig in, I just want to say, I'm so grateful that you all could come and spend this Thanksgiving with me once again. And, I'd like to toast to our newcomer, (y/l/n), it's been a pleasure to have you join the team."

You grinned, "I'm very grateful to be here. And that your all not nearly as scary as you seemed that first day when I walked into the bullpen."

That earned you a round of laughter, choursed by the sound of clinking glasses.

[vividxpages]

7 and fluff pls!!! Love ur blog <3

a/n: love youu, hope you enjoy :* !

vivid's little autumn writing: If you want, you can now send me a number (or two combined!) from this list of visual prompts and I'll write a little drabble (fluffy and/or smutty, you decide) for it.🧸 you can suggest them until the end of October!

🍂

You watched your boyfriend with a grin as he juggled two full tote bags hanging over his shoulder, one paper bag in his hand and searched for the keys somewhere buried in the back pockets of his jeans.

“Jace, let me at least take one bag, okay?” You laughed as he danced just out of your reach, but not fast enough for you to not fish the keys out of his pocket and victoriously jam them into the lock to your little apartment.

“There’s three bottles of wine in there, I don’t want your shoulder to hurt later.” Jace said self-explanatory and held the door open for you, the leaves of the leek peeking out from the bag tickling his chin.

Ever since you had moved into your own little apartment with Jacaerys, the two of you had become obsessed with the weekly farmer’s market happening just outside of your door. You now frequently went there on the weekends, walking arm in arm past the little booths offering fresh goods and little snacks to buy. In a way, it felt like the two of you already were married and so far, the thought that this was now your life with your love by your side, had not really sunken in yet.

Since the two of you liked to cook together, a hobby now having become particularly cozy in the cold season, you often picked out fresh vegetables for a soup or sauce, creating your own little menu you would later relish together on the couch while a movie played.

But this weekend, it was Jace’s turn to host the weekly family dinner and the two of you were certainly eager – and rather nervous -  to cook for his parents and brothers, for the first time since you had moved together and made a home.

You followed him into the kitchen, casually kissing the back of his neck as he unpacked your groceries and laid them out on the kitchen counter in front of you. There were big and round oxheart tomatoes, a net of golden potatoes and various colorful paprikas, accompanied by a fresh baguette and a few boxes of herbs and spices. Over the food, the bottles of wine towered, making you smile.

“I still think two would’ve been enough.” You said teasingly and leaned your head on his shoulder, Jace’s arm naturally sneaking around your waist and pulling you closer.

“I know, but mom drinks white and dad drinks red, so…” He smiled at you, good-heartedly. “I’m not taking any chances tonight.”

You frowned at him. “And the third one?”

“That’s for us later when everyone is gone.” He mumbled promisingly and pecked your temple, his hand briefly sliding lower and over your bum as a pleasant tingle went through you. You looked at him lovingly, your heart melting at your loving boyfriend as if it was the first day…

“Should we start cutting the vegetables and heat the pot and the pan?” You asked him under your breath, your hand running through his hair as he leaned into your touch.

He hummed in agreement, chasing your lips with his own before you organized your purchases and got to work together. The kitchen, unlike the rest of the apartment, was rather tiny, but you liked being close to Jace like this. You never had trouble navigating where the other was, effortlessly falling into a familiar rhythm with each other as you washed the veggies and cut little pieces for the other one to enjoy in between.

When everything was done for now and you still had a little time before Jace’s family would arrive, he cut a few pieces of the baguette for you and sprinkled a couple of roasted tomatoes and herbs over it as a final touch. You hummed happily as you munched on the fresh bruschetta, sitting on the countertop while Jace stood between your thighs and ate his own.

Later this evening, Jace and you sat side by side at the head of the table, surrounded by his siblings and parents. You could not hide your proud blush as everyone enjoyed the hearty stew you had made, Rhaenyra and Harwin having spoken a toast to their son and his lovely girlfriend and the future you built together in your new home.

You gladly refilled their bowls and nearly suffocated at the happiness you felt rushing through you when Jace pulled you to sit on his knees and wound his arms around you, a content smile on his face as his family chatted with each other around him.

“I think we’re good hosts, wouldn’t you agree?” You whispered underneath your breath, your belly warm from the meal you had cooked together.

Jace kissed your cheek, in love and happy and so, so glad to have you by his side. “The best.”

[ecosixpackrings]

Wine Bottle Gift Bags: From Simple to Luxurious Options – Everything You Need to Know

When it comes to gifting wine, the presentation can be just as important as the bottle. Wine bottle gift bags are a perfect way to elevate your gift, adding a touch of elegance and thoughtfulness. From simple to luxurious options, here’s everything you need to know about picking the right wine bottle gift bag.

Simple and Elegant

For those who prefer a minimalist approach, simple wine bottle gift bags are an excellent choice. These bags are usually made from materials like kraft paper or lightweight fabric. They are easy to use, affordable, and add a touch of elegance without being overly flashy.

Reusable and Eco-Friendly

Eco-conscious givers can opt for reusable wine bottle gift bags. Made from materials like jute, or recycled fabric, these bags not only look great but also promote sustainability. Reusable bags can be used multiple times, reducing waste and offering eco-friendly gifting solutions.

Personalized Touches

Personalized wine bottle gift bags take gifting to the next level. These bags can be customized with names, dates, or special messages, adding a unique and thoughtful touch to your gift. Whether you are celebrating a birthday, wedding, anniversary, or any special day, a personalized gift bag shows that you’ve put extra thought into your present, making it even more meaningful.

Luxurious Options

For those special occasions when you want to make a statement, luxurious wine bottle gift bags are the way to go. Usually, these bags come in materials like velvet, patterned paper, cardboard, or leather, offering an elegant & sophisticated touch to your gift presentation. They are ideal for weddings, corporate gifts, or any event where you want to impress.

Features

When choosing wine bottle gift bags, consider practical features like handles, drawstrings, or padding. Handles make it easier to carry the wine, while drawstrings provide a secure closure. Padded bags provide extra protection to the bottle, ensuring it reaches safely at its destination. These practical features enhance the functionality of the gift bag, making it more convenient for both the giver & the recipient.

Whether you are opting for a simple bag or a luxurious option, wine bottle gift bags enhance the gifting experience. They protect your bottle, improve its presentation, and offer convenience. With so many options available, you can find the perfect wine bottle gift bag for any occasion.

[julieschulerart]

Wine/water bottle tote bag. https://jschulerart.etsy.com/listing/1517039160

[iwas-princess]

hihihi can I plzpkzplzpkz have iwaizumi hajime w a oikawas little sister!reader

iwaizumi hajime • my pride and joy

genre: fluff/suggestive

“babe, should we bring the watermelon or beer?” hajime called from the kitchen. his eyes were fixated on the brand new bottle of wine in his hands as he read the label curiously, a crease forming between his brows and a frown on his lips giving away his current emotion.

“um, i think kawa is going to bring the watermelons.” you answered as you entered the room after getting ready in the bedroom. “wait, no- matsukawa is.”

“so beer it is.” he sighed before settling the bottle into the open tote bag on the counter, his attention having yet to travel on you ever since you walked in.

“sorry.” you apologetically mumbled, watching his back muscles contort briefly when he set the wine down.

your prideful older brother, toru, was hosting a celebratory cookout in honor of his departure to argentina next week, gathering everyone he had ever met in his luxurious backyard this evening.

you were already practically sick that he would be so far away from you for a pretty large period of time, and this crowded get together didn’t help calm your nerves. if you weren’t dating his best friend, you easily could have gotten away with not attending and rescheduling with him in the morning to go out for lunch instead. but, iwaizumi persisted that you both go, reasoning that it would ‘matter more in the future’ and ‘you’re his favorite person, you have to go’. it was pathetic how well you listened to him, you decided.

his breath hitched as he turned around and caught sight of you, suddenly feeling anxious for the following few hours with you and two hundred other people. hajime always knew you were gorgeous, even as a child, but it never failed to take his breath away at how well you cleaned up.

“hey, sexy.” he mumbled under his breath before cockily leaning against the marble counter and shamelessly checking you out.

your cheeks heated at his attention, his predatory gaze and sly smirk making your sundress feel suddenly tight. you knew it was one of his favorites, but had faith that he would try to keep it together just for today— even at home. but, obviously you were too hopeful because now he’s practically drooling on his shirt.

“haji, wait until we get home before you start flirting. you’re only going to work yourself up with no relief.”

he groaned like a angsty teenager, throwing his head back dramatically at your denial. he understood why, of course, given that you both were staying at oikawa’s until the later when party had ended, but he still found himself slightly disappointed. it would be hours until you arrived home, hours of other people gawking at you while trying to hide from hajime’s view to avoid getting killed and he really wasn’t in the mood to watch you cry as he and toru argued over a ruined party.

since childhood, iwaizumi had been scarily protective of you, even more so than your own brother. everyone was terrified of him when it came to you, and even though you were hot, they all knew better than to pay you any mind. any more than a quick ‘hi’ would send them home battered and sulking, and absolutely no one planned on that fate tonight.

but, he was sure someone would try to tempt him with the way that dress hugged your curves.

“oh, stop acting like a child. you’ll get your fix on the car ride home— if you’re good.” you placed a quick kiss to his jaw for reassurance as you left the room once more, heading to the bathroom to finish your makeup.

good, he’ll be indeed.

—

the party was chaotic, just as you and hajime had suspected. your brother’s two acer backyard was filled with far more people than he had claimed he invited, and the many conversations overlapped each other loudly.

it was gorgeous though, the decorators sure outdid themselves with the many yards of fairy lights that hung over everyone’s heads and the floral arrangements took all of the guest’s breath away as they entered. drinks were in each hand, the variety being either a wine glass or a beer bottle, most picking the former.

tonight, you and iwaizumi chose to stay near the gazebo where oikawa and his fiancé stood as they greeted all of the guests and old friends of his with large smiles on their faces. most old high school teammates would make their way over to you two next, itching to catch up with the former ace and his girlfriend— his captain’s baby sister.

all of sejioh remembers the infamous oikawa y/n, the girl who was very off limits but everyone wanted, especially her brother’s teammates. it had been a common locker room joke that she would marry one of them someday, and they would gush about how great of a wife she’d be. iwaizumi would often find himself in a good amount of trouble afterward for getting physical with whoever would bring it up, or take of too far, and you had never loved him more than when you heard all of those stories.

“i just can’t believe that you were her pick.” an old teammate shook his head in disbelief as he downed his wine. “i mean, don’t get me wrong, iwa, i’m not surprised you were in love with her, especially after all of those punches i got back then, but wow. i’m just shocked she chose you and not hanamakki. they were good friends there for a while, y’know?”

you could practically feeling the anger fuming off of your boyfriend as your arms linked with him, his tan skin feeling clammy and heated against yours. his face was slightly red, tinted with light frustration from his old friend’s tipsy ramble. it was his second glass, and he had been talking both of your ears off for an hour now about ‘the good old days’. you wouldn’t have minded if hajime hadn’t felt so stiff and hot with each word the man spoke.

“yeah, well, i guess i was more her type than makki.” he shrugged, trying his best to come off as unbothered. “right, babe?”

you nodded, flashing a tight smile at his forced tone.

the flex of his arm as it suddenly tucked you closer to him caused a wave of need to flash through you, his possessiveness and strength making him even more attractive tonight.

you glanced at his face, but soon regretted it once you found that you couldn’t take your eyes off of him. he was a hunk, his face flushed slightly out of aggravation and lips in a very forced smile, as if he was trying his best not to frown angrily. you’ve always thought his hotheaded nature was attractive but tonight, it had done something entirely different to you.

you didn’t feel the insatiable need to tear his clothes off, or makeout with him in the bathroom until you both got caught— you felt proud.

proud that you had been lucky enough to find someone so obsessed with you that the mention of your ‘choice’ had him fuming and tightly trapping your arm in his.

also, so very proud that he was trying his best to appear far more positive than he actually felt, an accomplishment that he had never been able to achieve. but for you, he did.

and you had never felt so perfect for him than now.

“yep, definitely my type.”

[imaginesandbandfiction]

Attention

An Outer Banks Imagine

Pairing: JJ Maybank x Reader

Masterlist

A/N: Based on this ask. It's short but I'm working on a smutty part 2 if anyone is interested ;)

“C’mon, Y/N, please?” Your best friend Sarah begs, pouting at you from across your bedroom.

“A Pogue party, though? Really?” You wrinkle your nose. Neutral territory boneyard parties were one thing, but the thought of crossing over to the other side of the island to drink shitty beer gave you the ick. Sarah widens her brown, puppy-dog eyes and gets up from your vanity to flop down on your bed next to you.

“Pretty please? Just this once, and if you hate it I’ll never bother you again.” You knew that was a lie, but you also didn’t have anything better to do, so you shrugged and sighed.

“Fine. But we’re bringing our own booze.” Sarah drowns you in squeals and flailing limbs, and you shove her off, giggling.

An hour later, you’re dressed and ready; properly fizzed up thanks to the bottle of Moet and Chandon you grabbed from the wine cellar in the basement.

When Sarah’s boyfriend pulls into the driveway, you put a stopper in the bottle and tuck it into your tote bag.

John B’s nice; you’ve met him a few times through Sarah, and you have to admit that he’s one charming motherfucker. He keeps you entertained with stories of his friends’ antics on the drive back to his house. You’ve heard about them from Sarah, but you don’t know much about them save for Kiara, who you used to go to school with, so it helps to give you an idea of what to expect from the night.

“Aaaaand this is JJ,” Sarah says, gesturing to the tall blonde boy on the right with a red solo cup in one hand and a lit joint in the other.

“Wassup, baby?” He says, slurring his words together a little bit. Sarah winces and turns to you. Her frown contains a thousand apologies.

“No, sorry, apparently, this is drunk, horny JJ.”

You feel your cheeks heat up—from embarrassment, yes. But also? He’s so fucking hot with that lazy, half-up-half-down grin. His lips are plush and pink except for the purple-black bruising tucked into the corner of his mouth, like he’d dodged a punch and almost got away with it.

“Drunk, horny JJ at your service.” JJ sticks the joint into his smirk and holds his now free hand out to you for a shake. You roll your eyes but take it anyway. He tightens his hand around yours, blue eyes glinting in the flickering firelight for one, two, three seconds before he ducks his head and brings your knuckles to his lips. “If there’s anything I can help you with, please let me know.”

“Ohhhkay, and Drunk, Horny JJ needs water. John B, will you take JJ inside and get him a glass?” Sarah turns her boyfriend and JJ lets your arm drop to your side, winking at you before he turns around to follow his friend.

Sarah’s apologies are wasted on you because the heat from your cheeks has migrated south and you’re too busy thinking about swallowing that smug smile to process what she’s saying.

[harrywavycurly]

Where We Started Part 15: Red or White?

Masterlist: Here

CW: None

Tag List: @fairytale07 @blckburd @indierockgirrl @styleswithaseaview

A/N: Harry is nervous and so are you but then it all goes pretty smoothly after Harry gets out his index card, this series has been so fun and dramatic so thanks for sticking around and also hope you enjoyed finally learning how y’all met! ✨

Harry makes it to your house in record time, he usually takes a good fifteen minutes to walk from his front gate to your front door but today he was using his key to unlock your door in less than ten. He used his time in the fresh air to clear his mind and help him relax a bit, it helped a little but the moment he walked into your house and slipped off his shoes he felt the nerves begin to make a reappearance in his tummy because he knows the next time he’s at this front door things will be different he’s just not sure how.

“Why are you just standing by my front door like a dead plant?” Your voice snaps him from his thoughts as he turns and looks at you. You have a teasing smirk on your face and your arms are crossed over your chest as you stare at him. Harry turns his head to look at the spot where you previously had the plant Ryan gifted you sitting by your front door, and he raises an eyebrow when he sees the spot is now empty not even the obnoxiously fake looking plant there anymore.

“Speaking of dead plants where is the fake one?” He asks as you turn and head towards your kitchen, he follows you with the tote bag in hand that has the two bottles of wine he brought from his house.

“I got rid of it.” Is all you say as you lean against the counter that’s furthest away from where Harry is standing in your kitchen, Harry just nods as he places his bag down and grabs the red wine out of the tote.

“Red or white first?” He holds the bottle of red wine up and then fishes out the white wine from his tote and holds it in his other hand. He notices how nervous you look as you mess with your hands and chew on your bottom lip all while your eyes bounce from bottle to bottle a few times before finally looking him in the eyes.

“I told Ryan I couldn’t be his girlfriend.” Harry nearly drops both bottles of wine at your sudden confession. He feels his mouth go dry and his hands become sweaty, he slowly places the bottles on your counter and swallows thickly before he motions towards the red wine.

“Red it is then.” You just nod as Harry turns on his heels to head towards the drawer you keep your wine opener in while you grab two glasses from your cabinet and place them next to the bottle. The two of you remain silent as Harry opens the bottle and pours you each a glass, you give him a small smile when he hands you your glass before heading into your living room.

“So-”

“Can you sit down please?” Harry stops you from saying anything else as he places his wine glass on your coffee table so he can stay standing in front of the couch. You just do as he asks and sit down on your couch and get comfortable as you watch him take an index card out of the back pocket of his jeans.

“What’s that?” He looks from the card to you and he just clears his throat and stands up a little straighter ignoring your question. “Harry what is that?” You ask again as you lean over and place your glass on the coffee table.

“It’s to help me with my thoughts.” He explains as he looks down at the card in his hands, the first thing he sees written down makes the corners of his mouth twitch upwards. “You remember when we met?” You smile and nod at his question as you lean back into the cushion of your couch to get comfortable and place your hands in your lap.

“Yes it was 2016 and you tried to steal my luggage at LAX.” Harry rolls his eyes at your answer because it’s only partially true. “And before you try to deny it let me remind you that you literally walked off with my duffle bag in your hands.” You add making Harry just shake his head as a small grin takes over his face.

“That doesn’t mean I wanted to steal it that just means we have the same taste in luggage.” He argues making you just playfully glare at him. “Besides as soon as you said it was yours and opened it up and I saw it was filled with books and sweatshirts I knew it wasn’t mine so I gave it back.” You laugh as the memory replays in your head, Harry’s face was priceless in that moment with his wide eyes and reddened cheeks because he was truly embarrassed that he grabbed the wrong duffle bag and here you were opening it up for him to see inside of it as if the two of you weren’t standing in the middle of a busy airport with the added stress of a few people stopping to take his photo.

“Thank god I didn’t open yours up since we both know you carry weird things with you when you’re traveling.” You tease making Harry’s face get warm as he looks away from you so he can glance down at the card still in his hands. The next thing he reads makes his heart feel like it’s going to beat out of his chest as he takes a deep breath and slowly releases it in an attempt to calm his nerves before his eyes go from the card back to you.

“I called Shawn to tell him he can’t marry you when you’re fifty and that if he tries to he will have to deal with me.” Harry watches your mouth slightly drop and your eyes go a bit wide. “I mean really if you want the whole truth of it I told him he can’t marry you at any age because honestly you wouldn’t do well in Canada it gets cold there and you hate the feeling of snow when it makes your mittens all wet and you wouldn’t know anyone there besides him and that would make you miserable because you enjoy being social and I know he’s a nice guy but how well do you really know him? He could be a secret serial killer for all we know like one of those that they end up making a Netflix documentary about and I just can’t have you all the way in Canada married to Shawn Mendes while I’m all the way over here in California madly in love with you and stuck being married to Niall Horan of all people.” Harry knows he went off script the moment he brought up your hatred for the feeling of snow on your mittens and he knows he sort of went on a rambling spree but the point is he got it all off his chest and by the time he’s done speaking he feels lighter.

“You say stuck being married to Niall as if that would be such a bad thing?” Harry raises an eyebrow at you as you stand up from your spot on the couch and place your hands on your hips, a feeling of confusion overtakes him as he thinks maybe you didn’t catch his admission of love. “You’d be lucky to have him.” The way your mouth fights to hide the playful smile that slowly forms on your face tells him you’re messing with him making him let out a huff and roll his eyes at your statement.

“You have been hanging out with him too much it’s starting to rot your brain.” He mumbles as he watches you step around your coffee table so you’re now standing just a few feet from him. “Did you uh hear me say I’m madly in love with you? Or are you just wanting to ignore it? Because it’s fine if you want to act like I never said it-"

“I know you love me Harry you’ve actually told me once already.” Harry’s mouth drops open and the index card falls from his hand as his arms slowly drop down to his sides. “Remember that night a few months ago when you called me for a scary movie marathon and you got too spooked after watching when a stranger calls that you made us switch to Disney movies and you drank about half a bottle of tequila because you kept trying to make margaritas without looking up a recipe?” Harry’s mind flips through memories as you’re talking trying his hardest to find any scraps of evidence from that night and he feels the color drain from his face when all he can remember is falling asleep on his couch and waking up the next day.

“I just remember falling asleep on the couch and then waking up in bed but with my feet on my pillow and my head hanging off the end.” You just laugh and nod your head because yeah that’s exactly how he ended up after you finally were able to pry him off the couch and help him get down the hall into his bedroom.

“Well before you fell asleep on the couch you kinda told me that you were in love with me and that I just had no idea and I didn’t think too much of it at first but the way you were looking at me was different than all the other times you’ve told me you love me and I just knew you meant it.” Harry looks down at his feet as he brings a hand up to rub at the back of his neck, he lets out a deep sigh before he looks up at you just to find you’re already looking at him with a reassuring smile on your face. “I don’t know how long you’ve felt this way about me but at least from this moment on you won’t have to worry if I feel the same or not.” You reach out and grab Harry’s hand and give it a squeeze making the hand he had on the back of his neck fall to his side.

“Because I’m in love with you too.” You admit with a smile and before he can stop himself Harry has his free hand cupping the side of your face as he takes a small step closer to you closing the gap between the two of you. His eyes are staring into yours and the slight nod of your head gives him the go ahead he was looking for, you close your eyes as Harry leans in and places a kiss to your lips that feels as if it was years in the making. You drop his hand so you can place it at the back of his neck pulling him in closer to you as his free hand lands on your hip, a grin takes over Harry’s face as he pulls away and rests his forehead against yours.

“So you’re not marrying Shawn when you’re fifty?” He asks making you laugh as you mess with the hair at the back of his neck while he runs his thumb over your cheek.

“I actually never asked Shawn to be in a marriage pact.” Harry leans back and raises an eyebrow at you making you let out a sigh as your hand goes from his neck to his shoulder so you can give it a little squeeze. “I uh well I used him as a last ditch effort to make you tell me how you felt because I’ve been just trying to see if you remembered telling me you loved me and the Ryan thing backfired because you turned into an-”

“The Ryan thing? So you just dated him to try and what? Make me jealous?” You roll your eyes at the smirk that takes over Harry’s face as the hand on your hip gives you a little playful pinch.

“I did like him he was a nice guy but yeah I kinda hoped me taking someone seriously would make you want to tell me you loved me or at least bring it up but then you turned into an asshole and it just didn’t go well so I had to bring out the big guns.” You explain making Harry laugh and shake his head, he can’t believe that this whole time he’s been worried about you not wanting to even be friends with him because of Ryan, while you’ve really just been trying to get him to say he loves you so you could tell him you felt the same.

“The big guns? You mean Shawn?” You just nod and Harry can’t help but feel slightly bad for his phone call he made earlier in the week to the Canadian, he’s going to have to apologize to him eventually.

“Yes because I know how you feel about him so I just knew me telling you there was even a chance of him marrying me that you’d tell me how you felt but nope. So then I had to call Niall and tell him everything and ask for advice on what to do.” Harry shouldn’t be surprised you told Niall but he can’t help but roll his eyes at the mention of his bestfriend’s name.

“If he had gotten you a ring I would’ve dropped to my knees in that closet and begged you not to marry him at fifty and just marry me now instead.” You chuckle at how serious you know he’s being. You just smile and lean into Harry’s hand that’s still on your face.

“You’re so dramatic.” You tease making Harry just shrug because it’s true, but both of you already know that.

“Yeah but that’s why you love me.” He states mater-of factly as he leans down so he can brush his nose against yours. “Can you say it again? Please?” He whispers making you smile as his hold on your hip tightens.

“I love you.” You feel him smile against your lips before he presses a soft kiss to them.

“I love you too.” His eyes are glossy when he pulls away from you. “I can’t believe we are standing here kissing in the middle of your living room.” He drops his hand from your face so he can grab your hand and interlock his fingers with yours.

“We’ve come such a long way haven’t we?” You ask as Harry brings your hand up to his lips so he can place a kiss to your knuckles. Harry just nods because it’s true, the two of you have come a long way from where you started as two strangers in the middle of LAX all those years ago to standing in your living room as two bestfriends who have just admitted to being in love with each other.

[khaleesiofalicante]

“I took the liberty of preparing some questions for us to discuss,” Alec informs the other man. “To make this conversation easier.”

“And I brought wine,” Magnus summons a bottle of Pinot Grigio from his tote bag. “Two kinds of people in the world, huh?”

“We don’t have to use it,” Alec points out, looking at some of the things he wrote down earlier. Jesus, what was he thinking? “I don’t want this to get too clinical.”

“I don’t mind,” Magnus shrugs as he pours the wine into two glasses. "Go ahead."

“Okay,” Alec nods a little uncertainly and looks at his questions again. “Do you wanna start with the hard ones or the easy ones?”

Magnus looks up at that, his lips curling into an amused smile, as he hands Alec his glass. “Did you categorize them, Alexander?”

“No,” Alec is quick to defy him, carefully hiding the colour-coded sections on the piece of paper. “Answer my question, please.”

“Hard ones,” Magnus replies, settling on the settee, his legs crossing gracefully, as he takes a sip from his glass. “Might as well get those over with.”

“Right,” Alec clears his throat, putting the glass away, and decides to get to it. “What happens to our marriage when your father dies?”

“Good lord,” Magnus laughs in surprise. 

“I mean, if you’re getting married to appease your father, then what happens he, erm, you know?” Alec makes a vague gesture with his tongue. 

“He is not that old, you know,” Magnus hums into his glass. “It’s not as if he is going to drop dead a week after we're married.”

“God, I hope not,” Alec groans. “A wedding and a funeral? I don’t have the energy for that.”

Magnus smiles at that, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He simply takes another sip of his wine, a longer one this time. “Do you mind if we circle back to this one later?”

“Oh, okay,” Alec says a little dumbly. Maybe this wasn’t a great first question. “Should I ask an easy one?”

“How about a medium one?” Magnus suggests. “The ones you seem to have highlighted in…yellow, I presume?”

Alec tries not to scowl at that and looks at his questions. The ones that are indeed highlighted in yellow. “Whose place will we be staying at after we get married?”

“Mine. Next question.”

“What, we’re not even gonna discuss that one?” Alec frowns. 

“Should we?”

“I mean, you haven’t even seen my apartment,” Alec points out, a little offended on behalf of his half-decent living space. 

“I don’t need to,” Magnus shrugs. “I’ve seen mine.”

“Mine is closer to work, you know,” Alec grumbles. 

“And mine has a clawfoot bathtub,” Magnus notes. “Next question.”

“Fine,” Alec replies, even though he feels the need to argue.

He doesn’t know why. Magnus’ apartment is objectively better than his own.

His eyes fall on one of the red questions, one that he underlined a couple of times. He wonders if he should ask it now or save it for later.

He looks up to see Magnus refilling his glass. Never mind, he should probably ask it while the other man is still sober. “I’ve got another hard one.”

“Hit me,” Magnus nods. 

“What about sex?” Alec asks. 

Only Fools Rush In: Tuesdays are for Teasing

[coff33andb00ks]

Recipe for the Perfect Christmas 5/12

One part small town girl coming home from the big city. One part handsome stranger. Five parts lifelong friends (don't forget to include their partners). One part stubborn father. A dash of Christmas spirit. Pairing: Oscar Piastri x ofc (with appearances from Mark Webber. Lando Norris, Carlos Sainz, Esteban Ocon, Pato O'Ward, and George Russell) wc: 3,764 warnings: suggestive language, brief mentions of miscarriage soundtrack: spotify ⋆❆⋆ apple music nav: One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine | Ten | Eleven | Twelve

Susie and Esteban's great room was warm and inviting as always, and Natalie spent a few minutes admiring the newer décor and photos while Lando helped settle Maddie on one of the couches.

"You'll call me if you feel any pain?" he asked worriedly.

"Of course, babe," Maddie promised him.

"No wine."

Maddie sighed. "I don't even like wine."

"Still." Lando tucked a blanket over her and leaned to kiss her. "Have fun. I love you."

"Love you too."

Natalie joined in the chorus of 'Awww' that rang out from Susie, Sasha, Amira, and Lilli. Giggling when Lando straightened up, his cheeks red, she followed Susie into the kitchen to get the wine, grabbing a cold water from the fridge for Maddie.

"Did you send the kids off with Estie?" Sasha asked once they were all settled in the great room.

"They're staying the night at Grandma's," Susie explained, plucking some olives off the charcuterie board.

"Operation Third Child is underway," Amira said in a stage whisper.

Natalie nearly choked on her wine, laughing when Susie threw a cushion at Amira.

"We're thinking about it!"

"You've been practicing since Michael was born," Sasha teased.

"I didn't want three. But… Thankfully we can afford another. And Estie loves kids—"

"Almost as much as he loves horses," Natalie finished with a grin.

Susie turned to Maddie. "How are the babies?" she asked, obviously ready for a change in subject. Her beloved corgi, Rusty, jumped up onto the couch, tucking himself at Maddie's side.

Maddie exhaled harshly, sagging back with a dramatic groan. "I feel like I've been pregnant for ten years."

"Is the bed rest terrible?" Amira asked with a frown.

"It's not so bad, really. I can be up to take a shower or move to the couch. I take a lot of naps and watch a lot of YouTube and read a lot of books." She held up the small tote bag she'd brought with her. "I taught myself how to knit. It's just boring. And Lando's always fussing over me. Worried that I'll go into early labor if I sneeze too hard."

"Bless him, he just wants you and the babies to be okay," Lilli said gently.

Maddie smiled. "Yeah, I know. But really the only downside to sneezing too hard is sometimes I pee on myself."

Pouring herself more wine, Natalie made a face as Susie and Maddie began discussing pregnancy side effects. Next to her, Sasha's expression grew horrified as constipation and hemorrhoids were brought up. Natalie noticed she hadn't touched her wine and tipped her head thoughtfully. She knew that her friend and Carlos had been trying. There had been false positives, a devastating miscarriage, and as far as she knew they'd stopped trying for the time being.

"We adopted a cat," Sasha blurted when there was a pause in the conversation. She still looked a little pale, and picked up a cracker to munch on. "Carlos surprised me with her this afternoon."

They all oohed and ahhed at the pictures of the gray cat, who Sasha had named Yoko. Sasha smiled at her phone screen then set her phone down.

"We're not telling anyone. Don't want to jinx it or anything," she mumbled. "But we're pregnant. Due late July."

They crowed their congratulations, Susie hurrying to the kitchen to get a bottle of sparkling cider to celebrate.

God, she'd missed this. The love and laughter and support of her girls. It didn't matter that more than half of them were married and having children. They'd always be her girls. Sipping her sparkling cider, she couldn't help but smile, remembering the sleepovers they'd had as children, then as teens. Between the six of them there had been so much laughter and so many tears. Leaning against Sasha, she congratulated her again.

"What about you and George?" Maddie asked Lilli.

"No babies," Lilli laughed. "We're thinking of getting a cat. And we're renovating the bookshop after the new year."

"You should ask that new guy – Oscar? – to help you out. Have y'all seen the old Alonso place?" Maddie shifted, reaching for her water. "Lando drove me by on the way here and it looks amazing."

"He helped Estie and Pato put in the new stable door," Susie put in, standing from the couch when the doorbell rang. "That's the pizza, I'll get it."

"I'll tell George to ask Oscar. We've had some contractors in to give us an estimate and they all seem to think we have millions lying around," Lilli snorted. "But I've heard he's not staying around once he finishes the house?"

"Really? Carlos showed him Mr. Wright's house," Sasha said.

Four pairs of eyes turned to Natalie.

"Don't look at me," she said, holding up her hands. "I barely know the guy."

"You were dancing in the snow with him," Amira said, arching an eyebrow.

"Not with him – how do you even know about that?"

"Lilli told me."

"Sasha told me."

"It was cute," Sasha said with a grin. "I saw you when me and Carlos were leaving yesterday."

"We weren't dancing together, though – He gave me a ride home last week in the rain and we had this conversation about dancing in the rain and then Pierre called and ruined it. Then yesterday it was snowing and I just—" Natalie cut off abruptly, realizing the mood in the room had soured at the mention of her former fiancé.

"Ugh, Pierre." Susie set the pizza boxes on the coffee table.

"That prick," Maddie muttered. "Has he bothered you anymore?"

"He was bothering you?" Amira looked ready to fight.

"Carlos has a friend that lives in the same building. If I bribe him with good wine, he can arrange an accident," Sasha offered.

Lilli swirled her wine in her glass. "There's a hog farm off Route 22…"

They all dissolved into laughter at that, Natalie shaking her head as she began serving the pizza. "I deleted his number and blocked him."

"Good for you," Susie said proudly.

"Dad called him an absolute cunt," Natalie sighed. "I used to be upset that they didn't like each other, but… Maybe sometimes dads do know better."

"Is Mark having his knee replacement soon?" Amira asked. "Pato said Franco and Ollie were asked to work more hours."

Natalie nodded, biting into her pizza. "He meets with the surgeon tomorrow afternoon, and as long as his tests go alright he'll be having surgery the first week of January."

"Thank God," Lilli murmured. "And you're staying a while, right?"

"I guess so. I'm getting a crash course in running a bakery over the next few weeks. But knowing Dad, he'll be FaceTiming me from the operating room to remind me how many times to fold croissant dough."

"Mm, croissants," Maddie sighed.

Grinning, Natalie made a mental note to take Maddie a few fresh croissants the next day.

"But you're okay aren't you? With the breakup?" Sasha inquired gently.

"I guess. The longer I go the more I realize what an absolute asshole he is. He even called Dad today."

Her friends groaned in unison.

"Dad hung up on him."

"Good for Mark."

"Yeah fuck that guy."

"Not literally."

"She already did that."

"Ooo that's what you need, to get fucked properly!"

"Nah, she needs a cat."

"I have a cat. Trust me, I still felt better after getting properly fucked."

"Sex isn't the answer to everything."

"Maybe not but it's a damned good start!"

"I hope the baby horse likes me."

"Horsey."

"Mister Estie said he'd walk me around the corral."

"Me walk."

"Mama says I can take riding lessons."

"Horsey!"

The second utterance of the word was more of a squeal, and Oscar smiled indulgently as he turned onto the winding driveway leading to the farmhouse. On either side were pastures, the one on the right having four horses, all of which were standing close to each other. Majestic heads turned to watch as he slowly drove by, and Lucas's excitement reached new levels when one broke from the pack and began trotting along the fence line.

It had been Esteban's idea for him to bring Grace and Lucas out to the house to see the new foal. Oscar had been grateful for the invitation, having started to run out of fun things to entertain them with while Max was busy at the bank going over property details. Turning at the end of the drive and into the little parking area, he parked and turned off the engine.

"Okay, guys, what are the rules?" he asked, checking the time on his phone.

"Be good," Grace said while unbuckling the straps of Michael's car seat.

"And?"

"No asking for a pony."

"One more."

Grace sighed. "Mister Estie might be cute but I can't tell him so. I don't know why. Isn't it nice to tell someone they're cute?"

"Not if they're married," Oscar said, biting back a chuckle.

"Can I tell Michael that he's cute?"

"I guess."

"Too bad he eats boogers," the girl mourned, turning around on the seat to stare out the rear window.

"What?" Oscar asked in horror.

"All boys eat boogers."

"No we don't!"

"Mama said so!" Grace pulled her face from the glass. "Mama doesn't lie!"

"She just doesn't want you to – Not all boys – Put your jacket on," he groaned, opening the door. "I'll talk to your mother later."

"That means Mama's in trouble," Grace whispered to her brother.

"Mommy?" Lucas pouted.

"Don't worry, Lucas." Oscar motioned for Grace to climb out, then waved for Lucas to do the same. Catching the boy before he could dive out of the truck, he set him on the ground, then reached to grab Grace's sleeve before she could dart to the fence to touch the black horse staring at her. "What did I tell you about running off?"

"To not to," she sighed. "I wasn't – Mister Estie!"

"Hey!" Esteban greeted, starting to grin as he strode across the yard.

"Is Michael here?"

"He's on the way. He went with Susie and Hannah to get some cookies from the bakery."

"Cookie?" Lucas hurried to Esteban and stared up at him. "Me cookie?"

"Cookies for everybody." Esteban grinned down at him and lightly tousled his hair. "C'mon, let's go see the baby."

The man looked tired, but it was what Oscar thought of as a happy tired. It was similar to how Max had looked after the births of his kids. He knew that, to Esteban and Susie, the horses were just an extension of their family, and they were undoubtedly experiencing the euphoric exhaustion of a newborn. He walked along to the stable, half-listening as Esteban pointed out things to the kids, who seemed on the brink of breaking into full speed so they could reach the stable to see the foal.

Grace talked rapidly, asking questions then starting another before Esteban could get his full answer out. When they entered the stable she lowered her voice to a reverent tone, keeping close to Esteban's side as he led them to the end stall.

"Listen, her mama's sometimes nervous, okay? Just keep your voices down and she'll be fine." Esteban said gently. Metal scraped as he unlatched the upper half of the stall door. He swung it open and clicked his tongue gently, grinning when there was an answering whicker. "Hey, Bonny, baby, you got some visitors."

Shaking his head, Oscar could only grin while Esteban sweet-talked the horse, whose head poked out. After a few moments Esteban opened the bottom half and squatted down. Bonny investigated the back of his head, snuffling at his hair, then turned away with a disinterested snort. Oscar knew the instant the foal came forward, because Michael gave a small squeal and Grace cooed.

"Daddy!" a voice called from the door of the stable. Oscar turned and saw Michael running towards them, Susie and Hannah following him at a slower place. "Grace!"

"Son, keep it down," Esteban said, motioning for Grace and Lucas to step closer.

"What's her name?" Grace asked, giving the foal's nose a tentative rub.

"We—"

"Natalie," Michael announced, thrusting a bag of carrot sticks at his father. "For Bonny."

"We're not naming her Nat—"

"Natalie," the boy said.

"She needs a name that reflects her lineage, not—"

"Babe," Susie said as she approached. "Let it go."

"Her name is Chicory,” Esteban insisted.

"Natalie is a nice name," Grace said, tipping her head back to look up at Bonny.

"Nattie," Lucas agreed.

"Couldn't we name her Natalie Chicory, Daddy?" Hannah asked.

Esteban groaned and looked at Oscar. "Help me out here, man."

"My vote wouldn't sway the majority."

The man shook his head with a sigh. "We'll think about it."

"My daddy says that all the time." Grace accepted a carrot stick from Esteban and held it up to Bonny. "It means yes."

"It doesn't always mean yes," Esteban told her, waiting until Grace had fed another carrot stick to the horse before lifting Lucas so he could do the same.

"Yes it does." Grace returned her attention to the foal.

"No, it doesn't."

"Are you coming to the bazaar tonight, Oscar?" Susie asked while her husband and Grace continued their repetitive disagreement.

"Yeah, probably. Do you have a booth?"

Susie laughed softly. “No. I'll probably help Natalie out. She's doing the bakery booth."

Oscar frowned. He and Natalie had made tentative plans to stroll through the bazaar together. "Mark's not gonna be there?"

"I just saw her at the bakery. His knee's hurting so bad he's going to take some painkillers and lie down." Susie sighed. "I can't wait for him to get the replacement. Esteban's uncle had one last year and he was back to normal within weeks. Wasn't he, babe?"

"Steve was never normal," Esteban snorted, overseeing Lucas as he fed the last of the carrot sticks to Bonny.

"You know what I mean." Susie stepped close to her husband, and while he flashed her a grin she moved to love on Bonny, who whickered softly in appreciation, dipping her head to rest it on Susie's shoulder.

Esteban sighed, flashing Oscar a disgruntled look. "Sometimes I don't know if she married me for me or my horses."

"Definitely the horses," Susie said. "Isn’t that right, Bonny Lass?"

Grace tugged on Esteban's arm and gazed up at him adoringly. "I'd marry you, Mister Estie."

"Grace."

"What?" She blinked her big brown eyes at Oscar. "I didn't tell him he's cute!"

"She thinks I'm cute," Esteban told his wife, smirking. "You've got competition, baby."

"I'll be sure and tell Eve, she'll have your balls for breakfast."

Laughing, Oscar reached for Lucas when he made a move to step into the stall. After a round of goodbyes and thank-yous to the foal and Bonny, Esteban closed the door and led them to the corral, where two horses were saddled and waiting. He watched, a little anxiously, as the kids were lifted into the saddles.

"They'll be fine," Susie promised, joining him at the fence while Esteban swung Michael up into the saddle with Lucas. "Esteban's an excellent teacher."

"I know."

"The girls are on Chaps. She's one of our beginner horses. If Esteban's in front of her, she'll follow him anywhere. She's gentle and sweet. Esteban rescued her from being euthanized ten years ago, and she's the perfect horse for a child to learn on." Susie's face glowed with love, and Oscar wasn't sure if it was for the horses or her husband. "The boys are on Merry Legs. He's a senior we rescued from an abandoned farm the year before Lucas was born. We don't know his history, but he's excellent with kids. He won't move until Esteban tells him to."

"I trust you both," Oscar promised, pulling out his phone to get a few pictures. "Eve and Max trust you, too, or they'd have said I couldn't bring them out."

"Speaking of Max…" Susie turned to face him, nearly blocking his view of the kids. "What business is he buying?"

"Who said he's buying a business?"

"Esteban."

"Then ask Esteban?" he suggested, eyes on the screen of his phone.

"He doesn't have a clue. You've been around him enough to know that unless it involves horses or food or whiskey he doesn't pay attention."

Oscar chuckled, because she was right. "He pays attention to you and the kids."

"Of course he does, we're the second loves of his life."

"What's his first?"

Susie gestured behind her. "Take a guess."

"I'm sure if he had to choose…" Lifting his eyebrows when she snorted, he grinned and resumed taking pictures. "I concede to your more intimate knowledge of him."

"Anyway, what business is Max buying?"

Oscar shook his head. "Not my business."

"You're his friend."

"Yep."

"And you're really not gonna tell me." She looked almost offended.

"Ask him?"

"Is he coming to the bazaar tonight?"

"Yeah. He and Eve just got to town a couple hours ago." Oscar watched Esteban lead the horses in a slow circle around the corral. "But he probably won't tell you."

Susie sighed and turned to lean against the fence again. "I thought you were open and easygoing."

"Hardly."

"I'm easygoing and open."

"You're a bulldog."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"You know how in old cartoons a dog would bite someone in the ass and not let go?"

She gaped at him, made a startled sound, then folded her arms over her chest. "And to think I'm trying to push you and Natalie together."

"I appreciate that, Susie, but we're doing just fine without your interference," he said without thinking, looking to his phone when it buzzed with an incoming message. Smiling at the sight of Natalie's name, he opened it, smile fading as he read her words about her father. The last line made his smile disappear.

I'm worried because he never lets the pain get the better of him.

"Have you asked her out?" He barely noticed the excited interest in the woman's voice.

"I'm working on it," he muttered. Life, it seemed, had other plans. He tried to think of comforting words that wouldn't sound unoriginal. Finally he settled on a question.

Do you need anything? I'm free.

"How are you working on it?"

Lifting his head, he squinted at Susie. "Huh?"

"You said you're working on asking her out. What, exactly, do you have planned?"

"Nothing yet."

She huffed with annoyance, waving to the kids as they circled by them. "What are you waiting for?"

"Her to be ready," he said, glancing down at his phone to see a message from Natalie appear on the screen.

I can't think of anything. Unless you want to bring Penny by for a visit? He loves her. He just laid down, though, so it probably wouldn't be a fun visit for her.

Two seconds later another message appeared.

Tell me he's going to be okay.

Oscar sighed. "Excuse me a minute," he said to Susie, stepping away from the fence. A chill wind swept through, making him shiver in his jacket and think of more snow. There was little evidence of the snow the previous weekend, save for bits here and there, where there was no sunshine to melt it. Calling Natalie, he brought the phone to his ear, eyes on Lucas and Grace as they were led around and around.

"Oscar?" Natalie sounded surprised.

"He's gonna be okay," he said without greeting.

"I know," she sighed.

"Did he take something?"

"He did, complaining a little about how he doesn't like drugs. That's how I know it's bad." Her voice sounded small. She sounded scared and worried. "I need to get to the bakery and load up the stuff for the bazaar but I don't want to leave him just yet."

"I'll do it," he offered.

"Really?"

"Of course. What time can the booth be set up?"

"Ollie and Franco are down at the green now getting the decorations up. I'm supposed to meet them in two hours to start setting everything out."

"I'm out at Esteban and Susie's with the kids," he said, looking on as the horses stopped near Susie. She helped them down, and Grace immediately scrambled over the fence and began running to him, her exuberance shining on her face. "I'll probably be here for another hour or so, then I'll come over, okay?"

"I really appreciate it, Oscar."

"I don't mind."

"I know," she whispered. "I've got to call Franco and Ollie and let them know."

"It's gonna work out," he assured her, holding up a finger before Grace could start squealing about her ride. "I'll be there in a little bit. And I'll bring Penny."

"Thank you."

Ending the call, he pushed his phone into his pocket, listening when the girl began to enthuse over her first horse ride. They walked back to Susie, Michael, Hannah, and Lucas, who had started asking about cookies, and he followed everyone into the old farmhouse that seemed to radiate warmth and love as soon as he stepped inside. There was cocoa for the kids, coffee for he and Susie, and Esteban when he joined them a few moments later, and an assortment of cookies. He had originally planned to enjoy a leisurely visit, mainly because Eve had mentioned she wanted a nap but also because he knew the kids liked Michael and Hannah, but as soon as he'd finished his coffee he began to encourage them to finish their snack so they could head back to town.

"Eat and leave?" Esteban asked, squatting to tie Lucas’s shoe.

"Sorry," Oscar sighed, holding Grace's jacket so she could push her arms into the sleeves. "I'm going to help Natalie out."

"You asked her out yet?"

"Did Susie put you up to that?"

"No." He stood, pushing his glasses up further on his nose. "I figured it out on my own, since I heard you were dancing in the snow last weekend."

"This town is full of spies," Oscar muttered. “Besides, she danced, I was just there.”

"Pie?" Lucas looked around hopefully. "Mis'er Estie, pie?"

"Do you think about anything but sweets, kid?" Esteban asked, laughing.

"Mommy an' Daddy," the boy said. When Grace cleared her throat he grinned. "Grace."

"You danced in the snow?" Grace asked Oscar. "With Miss Natalie?"

"Nattie pie!"

"We're going to get pies from Natalie now," Oscar told him, ignoring Grace's question. "Pies and cookies and brownies and gingerbread people…"

"Cookies!"

"Don't let him loose around them, there won't be any to sell," Esteban warned.