#Rome Cabs

[dprspace]

he is art.

ladies & gentlemen,

i present to you the one and only, dpr ian aka MITO.

[persephoneflouwers]

Oh to go back to April 2022 and listen to Through The Dark live at Louis’ show again

[italy-transfers]

Hiring Private Car service in Rome

Want to hire a private car service in Rome, here we will introduce one more facility of trained driver airport pick-up service for your convenience and comfort. Our drivers are well educated, trained, and have English speaking fluency. So, why are you holding yourself, come and take advantage of our services?

[starsjulia]

superhero girlfriend

leah williamson x pregnant reader

a/n : i’m in rome and im dying from the heat, so i decided to write something about it. also sorry for how short it is…

warnings : none! (for once) just fluff.

Leah and Y/N strolled through the ancient streets of Rome, the summer sun blazing overhead. The city was alive with history, every corner steeped in tales of emperors, poets, and artists. But right now, the only story Leah cared about was the one she was writing with Y/N—their last holiday as a family of two before their little one arrived.

Y/N rubbed her growing belly, feeling the baby kick gently. "I think she likes Rome," she laughed, looking up at Leah with eyes full of love.

Leah grinned, her hand finding its familiar place at the small of Y/N's back. "Or maybe she’s just excited about the gelato we're going to get later."

The couple had spent the day exploring the lesser-known parts of the city, venturing beyond the usual tourist spots. They had wandered down cobbled alleys, discovered quaint little cafés, and marveled at hidden fountains that seemed to spring up like secrets only locals knew.

But now, as the afternoon sun beat down relentlessly, Y/N started to feel the weight of the day. The heat was oppressive, and her feet ached from the hours of walking.

"Leah," Y/N said, her voice tinged with exhaustion, "I think I need to sit down for a bit."

Leah looked around, realizing they had wandered far from the main streets. The area was quiet, devoid of the usual hustle and bustle of the city. No taxis in sight, just the silent presence of old buildings standing guard over the narrow streets.

"Of course," Leah said softly, her concern evident. She scanned the area for a bench, but the nearest one was a good distance away. Not wanting Y/N to exert herself further, Leah made a quick decision.

Without a word, Leah bent down and gently scooped Y/N into her arms. Y/N let out a surprised laugh, wrapping her arms around Leah's neck as she was lifted off the ground.

"Leah! You don’t have to—" Y/N started, but Leah silenced her with a soft kiss on the forehead.

"I've got you, love," Leah said, her voice tender. "Just relax. I'll take care of everything."

Y/N smiled, her heart swelling with affection. It wasn’t just the romantic gesture that made her feel so loved, but the ease with which Leah did it—how natural it felt to be cared for by the woman she adored.

Leah began walking, her strides strong and sure, as she carried Y/N through the winding streets. Despite the heat, she felt a cool calm wash over her, knowing that she was doing everything she could to make Y/N comfortable. They passed by a few locals who smiled at the sight—a tall, athletic woman carrying her pregnant partner with such obvious care and love.

Y/N rested her head against Leah's shoulder, closing her eyes as she savored the moment. "You're my hero, you know that?" she murmured.

Leah chuckled, her breath warm against Y/N's temple. "I'm just doing what any superhero girlfriend would do."

Finally, they reached a main road where taxis were more frequent. Leah carefully set Y/N down on a bench in the shade before hailing a cab. She made sure Y/N was comfortable, fanning her lightly while they waited for the taxi to pull up.

Once they were settled in the backseat, Y/N leaned against Leah, feeling a sense of contentment wash over her. "Thank you for today," she whispered. "I know it wasn't easy."

Leah wrapped an arm around Y/N, pulling her close. "It was perfect," she replied. "And I wouldn't trade it for anything. Besides, it's our last adventure before we become three."

Y/N smiled, placing her hand over Leah's, where it rested on her belly. "I can't wait to see what the next chapter holds."

As the taxi drove them through the ancient streets, the city of Rome seemed to blur into the background. All that mattered was the love they shared, the new life they were about to welcome, and the knowledge that, no matter what, Leah would always be there to carry Y/N through anything life threw their way.

[sebastianswallows]

The English Client — Nineteen

— PAIRING: Tom Riddle x F!Reader

— SYNOPSIS: The year is 1952. Tom is working for Borgin and Burkes. He is sent to Rome to acquire three ancient books of magic by any means necessary. One in particular proves challenging to reach, and the only path forward is through a pretty, young bookseller. A foreigner like him, she lives alone, obsessed with her work... until Tom comes into her life.

— WARNINGS: angst, fluff, smut, dubcon, manipulative Tom, oral (f receiving), orgasm denial, light choking, hair pulling, penetrative sex, dirty talk, creampie, cuddles

— WORDCOUNT: 4.8k

— TAGLIST: @esolean @localravenclaw @slytherins-heir

I

“So, what did you think of it?” asked Tom.

They had a bit of champagne both during the intermission and after the opera was over and then decided to luxuriate in another cab ride to get home. She hadn’t said much since, although on her face Tom could read traces of exertion that he could not attribute to mere tiredness.

“It was… quite sad. And beautiful. And tragic, so tragic, oh I hate it. Thank you for taking me.”

Tom smiled brightly and placed a hand on her lap, feeling her leg beneath the silky dress. “How do you mean?” he asked.

She looked at him briefly from the corner of her eye with something that Tom recognised as suspicion.

“You bought tickets to it on purpose, didn’t you?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” he grinned.

She shifted her leg out of his grasp and looked away, out of the window. She’d been quiet all night and Tom had the growing sense she was upset with him. But that didn’t matter. What mattered was that she understood exactly what he wanted her to. The car stopped at her street. She got out while Tom leaned over to pay the fare — not with “real” money this time, he’d spent enough of that — before hurrying after her.

“May I come upstairs with you?” he asked.

“No.”

“Then come over to my flat.”

“No.”

“Please?”

Whether it was the tone of his voice or just that one magic word, her resolve faltered.

“On one condition,” she said with her arms crossed, her coat puffed up around her like an owl.

“Alright,” he said, stuffing his hands into his pockets smugly.

“Apologise to me.”

“For what?”

“For not calling me beautiful.”

Tom sighed and rolled his eyes.

“Any number of men there would’ve been only glad to,” she frowned, “and some would have, if you hadn’t scared them away.”

“Of course I had to ‘scare them away’. You’re mine.”

“Doesn’t sound like it to me.”

“Why does this matter so much?” he asked with a cocked brow. “It’s self-evident, you don’t need to hear it.”

“Then I don’t need to go home with you,” she said and turned around.

Tom sighed and gripped her arm and waist at once, pulling her into a smouldering rush of kisses between which he mumbled that yes, she was beautiful, he knew she was beautiful.

II

He didn’t really like the idea of her being in his home, but he invited her with a purpose tonight. The opera and this all tied together in his attempt to draw her into the idea of running off with him, of leaving everything behind, of trusting him… Tom threw her coat on top of his over the chair by the entrance, letting the garments entangle. He kissed her again, his lips slow and patient this time, and held both her hands to pull her further in. Her hands moved to his waist as he gripped her face, holding her still for him to keep on kissing while he pulled her backwards, through the open door, into his bedroom.

“I’m still —” she started, only for her complaint to be swallowed up by him, “— still angry with you.”

“Hmm… Why?” asked Tom, smiling against the corner of her mouth.

“Because you picked it on purpose, that’s why.”

He looked into her eyes. Only the light of quiet night reflected in them from the street outside and drank in her anger, her sadness, and her naked love for him.

“Tell me what made you think so,” he whispered, bringing one of her hands up to his lips.

“So you don’t deny it.”

“Tell me. I want to hear the accusations right out of your pretty mouth.”

Her fingers, tipped with claws, sunk into the sides of his suit and scraped against the velvet.

“It was a story of betrayal.”

“Yes,” he said, dipping toward the cup that held her breast.

“And love.”

“So true…”

“And the virtues of elopement.”

He trailed the tops of her soft flesh down to the valley between her breasts then tugged her dress a little lower, unpacking her like a gift. His other hand circled her waist, moving behind her as she spoke, searching for the place from which he could undo her.

“You’re missing one aspect which, as far as I’m concerned, was the most appealing,” he said with a little smile. He found the row of buttons that stretched along her spine and started playing with them. “It breaks my heart a little that you didn’t notice, in fact.”

She looked at him with doubt but indulged him. “What?”

“The scenery. The vastness, the swaths of green and grey, the vales of Scotland…”

Her head tilted back into a cheerful laugh and Tom took the opportunity to kiss her throat. She tasted sweet as she always did, her flesh warm and welcoming like the home he never had. Mellowed citric scent and dewy moss and powdered sugar, she was the most luxurious thing he’d ever allowed himself to have. He sucked the taste of everything about her deep into his mouth.

“I never took you for a mountain man,” she said, the purr of her voice sinking into his lips.

“You thought I prefer long walks on the beach?”

“No,” she giggled, “more of a swamp creature.”

“Insults now, I see…”

“Or something of a heartless desert.”

“I think you would enjoy Scotland,” he continued, moving his kisses down her neck while at her back he began unbuttoning her dress.

Her feet were steady but her hands shivered as she slinked his jacket off his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor.

“It has quite a special place in my heart,” said Tom.

“Why?”

“Why do I like it?” he mused, letting his lips play across her clavicles. “Because it’s wild, I suppose, and open, and still filled with secret places. And perhaps because that’s where I went to school.”

She hummed and rubbed her cheek against the top of his head. “You never mentioned that before… And here I thought you went somewhere warm with lush green fields.”

“Somewhere in the Midlands?” he chuckled. “There’s nothing mid about me, sweetheart.”

She laughed and hit his shoulder, shaking her head chastisingly.

“So you want to take me there?” she asked, pulling back to look at him.

“Why? Do you want to go?”

She levelled a slitted gaze his way but her lips were still smiling.

Tom looked into her eyes as his fingers finished unbuttoning her dress, as he pushed it down her body, as it fell around her feet... When he cupped her waist he could feel her tense through the opaline shift she had beneath. His hands travelled a little higher to her ribs, her breasts, her neck, feeling all those little details that he couldn’t see. With a gentle caress of either side of her face, he unhooked her earrings and let them fall among the folds of her discarded dress. His fingers went upward further to her hair and there he played in its curls until he found the pins that held it all together. She clung to his stiff white shirt, pulling it taut around his torso. Her lips were caught somewhere between a smile and a plaintive, frightened frown.

“You’ll let me?” he asked in a whisper as if he wanted to keep their most intimate exchanges secret even from the shadows in the room.

“Let you what?”

Tom smiled, his fingers playing in her hair, loosening it further until it fell messy and free in a cascade around her shoulders. Without answering her he fell to his knees. There were many things he saw her as, depending on her uses, but in small moments like this when the world was far and all the doors and windows locked he could see her as a person, even if he knew she was a muggle. She could be an enviously lovely thing to behold. Troubled, besotted, clueless, pure… Oh, how he wished she was a witch. And how he dreaded the inevitable moment — which was perhaps the only thing his mother taught him — when she’d learn he was a wizard, more real and terrifying than pretenders like the Baron and his friends, and left him. The only choice he had, the only real choice, was to leave her first. But he could not do it before convincing her to help him get the book, and with her his only ally, he was trapped in this illusion of a choice.

Tom resented being trapped.

She looked down at him with eyes that smouldered in the dark. Tom leaned forward and planted a kiss over her tummy and felt it tighten underneath.

“Tell me, Tom,” she commanded, which should have had less of an effect with her voice trembling. “Let you do what?”

“Let me do everything,” he said, looking up into her eyes as he rested his lips above her womb. His bowtie bobbed as he swallowed the knot in his throat. He needed to play her right tonight, to make her feel desired, wanted, hunted, make her believe she was the thing he was really after.

Tom lowered his face to nuzzle the sweet-smelling flesh, the perfume that lingered on her clothes and the hints of evening sweat that dripped beneath. His hands played around her hips and he pulled the slip a little higher, inching it up her thighs to reveal her. With a smile, he nibbled at her flesh, moving his attentions lower and lower. She stood above him, breathless, and threaded her hands through his hair to tangle there and hold him. With a chuckle, Tom opened his mouth and slid his tongue out to taste the sweet edge of her lips still wrapped in silk and lace. Her hips canted toward him even as she wavered on her feet, moaning low and pleasured. With his thumbs, he eased her panties lower and pulled her flesh apart. He felt her fingers fist into his hair and pull, messing up the curls that he had spent an hour taming. He traced her opening and dragged his tongue across it, gathering her slick and licking upward until his tongue met her clit and curled to hold it. He pressed his lips to it, kissing it at first then suckling it, coaxing the shy button out to meet the warm wetness of his mouth.

“Tom!” she gasped, and he felt her thighs tense around his face, “I can’t… I can’t…”

“Shut up,” he growled into her folds. “You can. Stop denying me everything.”

She mewled but let him drink his fill. Tom hugged her legs to steady her, and to the tune of her plaintive moans, he buried his face in her softest flesh and sipped from the cup of her pleasure. After a few more suckling kisses her clit pebbled on his tongue, and as he flicked it up and down he couldn’t help but grin at how loudly she moaned.

“You’re good with your mouth in so many ways,” she giggled distractedly, her head falling back in a daze.

“And I certainly know which of your lips I prefer,” he said with a smirk. “Ow!” She’d gripped his hair harder and pulled in revenge. “If only you knew who you were dealing with,” Tom mumbled.

“A brat and an upstart,” she smirked, petting his curls and easing his face back between her legs once more.

He smirked and placed soft kisses on her throbbing hole, teasing wetness out of her just loud and messily enough that she could hear. As if caught in a storm she wavered on unsteady legs but Tom held her, wrapped his arms around her legs, and held her bottom in his hands as he drank her. She was hot against his mouth and swollen, and Tom worked the pleasure out of her as if he couldn’t get enough. And then he stopped. She was shaking on her feet when he stood up. She clung to him while he rubbed up and down her arms, waiting until she caught her breath. Her lips, beautiful and bitten bloody, were parted with her gasps and standing close to her as he was he could even hear how fast her heart was beating. His own just about matched its pace, but Tom was far better at pretending to be calm.

“Why did you stop?” she complained. “I was so close —”

“You told me you couldn’t go through with it, didn’t you?” he asked with a cocked brow.

She whimpered, too dazed to be angry, but her hands, warm and deceitfully soft, travelled to his throat. She was so different during these intimate moments when she reached her peak by his fingers or his tongue or got close enough to taste the heights her heart could reach before it all came crashing down. Here, alone with him, she was neither afraid nor tired and focused on work, but vaporous and clear like a moonlight beam across a lake with quiet sighs and wounded moans and sweet fragrance in the air. Tom’s hands of their own will held her gently by the shoulders and pulled her close into a hug that was as comforting as it was possessive. He closed his eyes and smiled at the feeling of her clinging to him, her heart still thundering, her breathing stilted. He loved these signs of how much she was his…

“Sit down on the bed,” he whispered with a kiss to the shell of her ear.

“If I do, what then?”

“That’s up to you and how bratty you get.”

Her hands fisted in his shirt but after what he’d done to her she didn’t have the strength to deny him anymore. She untangled her feet from the pool of the dress on the floor and stepped back but stopped with a sudden gasp.

“Ow! Damn it…”

She’d stepped on her earring. Tom cursed silently and lifted her quickly in his arms to carry her to bed. Sapless and smiling she leaned back on her elbows to look at him while Tom undid his cuffs.

“What?” he asked.

“You’re just so beautiful,” she said. Her voice had steadied but her eyes still had that mellow, sultry look to them. “Not just handsome the way men sometimes are, but truly beautiful…”

He tried to smile but something in him faltered. “I’ve never really appreciated that,” he admitted with a shrug as he threw the cufflinks back onto her dress.

“That’s a shame. I wish it brought you as much happiness as it does me. Just the sight of you can make me smile for hours…”

Tom paused as his fingers were loosening his bowtie. He’d been confronted by such flattery before, some far better worded and ardent, and whenever he had something to gain he responded in kind. But for some reason, he couldn’t get himself to do it now. No more than he could do it earlier that evening… He did think her beautiful, somewhere underneath the layers of his resentment of her muggle blood, but the knowledge was tainted by too much for him to say so. Not even the prospect of her aiding him get the Delomelanicon could sway him. He finished pulling loose the tie and threw it behind him then kneeled on the bed beside her. With his free hand, he trailed a path up her leg and pushed it gently to the side, forcing her to hold him between her thighs.

“Still dripping for me, are you?” he grinned as his fingers reached her core again. He smiled as he rested his head on her chest.

“I can’t believe you, Tom,” she sighed, pretending to be tired. “First you toy with me, then you ask for more...”

“Didn’t I tell you to stop denying me everything?” he whispered, closing his teeth around the curve of her clavicle.

He eased a finger gently through her folds, gathering her slick, then pushed it up into her tight warm hole. Her back arched as she gasped, writhing beneath him. Tom bent to close his lips around her nipple while with his free hand, he gripped her waist and pushed her higher on the bed to rest atop the pillows. His bed was even smaller than her own, the mattress harder, the pillow far less soft, but she didn’t seem to mind or notice. His finger slowed and curled inside her, pulling from her a long, low wail and snake-like squirming.

“Do you like that, sweetheart?”

“‘s good,” she whispered, the hint of a smile pulling at her lips.

“Oooh… So all that soreness is gone, is it?”

“You’re horrible, Tom,” she purred and spread her legs a little wider.

He chuckled and nibbled at her ear. “What’s so good then? Tell me…”

“You,” she sighed, canting her hips into his gentle thrusts. “Your flesh… inside me…”

He let himself lay just a bit more heavily atop her while he peppered kisses up and down her throat and back to her puckered nipples. He added another finger inside of her and moved them at a slow and soothing pace while he settled himself atop her. He straddled her thigh and rubbed himself against it, cock straining at his trousers. He moved from one breast to the other while the hand between her legs pressed deeper, fingers flexing against that spongy spot that made her sound like she was crying. With a twitch of her whole body as if something tried to pull her up out of her flesh she shivered in a sudden orgasm.

“Aaah! Tom!”

“I’m right here,” he whispered, lips hovering over her skin. “I have you. You can let go, I have you…”

She covered her mouth with a shaky hand but it did little to muffle her whining. Her whole body arched as if she was ready to snap while Tom gently worked her through it.

“What is it, sweetheart, hmm? It’s good, isn’t it?”

She bit her lip and nodded in a drunk, disjointed way. He smirked and kissed her, coming up to cover her with his whole body.

“You feel so good,” she murmured, chest heaving as pleasure slowly left her behind, sated, happy, in his arms.

“And you,” he whispered as he shifted quietly, “are so sweet.”

“What are you doing?” she asked, watching him from lazy slitted eyes, her head lolling on her shoulder.

He undid his shirt as quickly as he could and unbuttoned his trousers next, slowly and methodically taking everything off and throwing it down to the floor.

“You’re not already tired are you?” he smirked. “I have you now,” he whispered, leaning down to nibble at her neck, “if only for a little while. And I intend to take you.”

He kissed every inch of her skin he could reach while he worked the slip off her and sighed with satisfaction when their bodies brushed their nakedness together. With slow and careful movements he eased her legs around his hips and covered her again, kissing her lips in the dark as he brought his cock up to her centre. He swallowed her gasp when he entered her. She huffed petulantly and turned her head away, and all around him Tom could feel her body closing up. He brought a hand up to grab her arms and pulled them away from him pinning them down by the wrist together while the other gripped her neck. He felt her moan beneath his palm, felt her legs go lax around him, and like a flower plucked in just the right way she opened up beneath him.

“You’re getting wetter,” he grinned, pressing deeper into her soft embrace. “Do you like this, hmm? You enjoy not having a choice?”

She bit her lip and looked up at him dizzily. Her hair was a tangled mess and there was a dusting of colour on her cheeks — shyness, or anger perhaps — but her eyes were glazed with pleasure. Tom let his weight down onto her and pressed his feet against the bed to reach further into her until he felt his tip press right against the end of her.

“Tom, please,” she whispered, “I don’t want any more…”

“But I do, I want everything. You know I always do. I thought you’d understand,” he whispered, pushing a little deeper, stuffing her full. She whined and arched her nack, her naked breasts rubbing up against his chest. Tom shivered and nuzzled her cheek and swallowed back his moans. “You’ve never gotten what you thought you should have, did you?” he hissed against her blushing skin. “Not even as a child… Especially as a child.”

She didn’t like that, but there was nothing she could do about it except try to bite his neck. Tom moved away from her attempt and laughed, his hips jolting hard enough to make her gasp and forget what she was doing. It took hardly any of his strength to hold her down, even though he wasn’t exactly built like a Quidditch player. And, to a certain extent, he thought she wanted to be held like that. To be pressed down and covered, every part of her body touched somehow from the sweaty grip around her wrists to her legs around his waist, her sweet insides forced to open on his cock, her heart beating next to his.

“Why say something like that?” she breathed through bitter tears.

“I’ve given you a lot of pleasure tonight. And now I’ll give you a bit of pain as well… Give you that bit of everything that nobody’s cared to give you before, hmm?”

Her body jerked in little struggles but he pacified her with his thrusts. He angled his hips back, then forth, and pushed languidly up into her in a steady, soothing rhythm as if rocking her to sleep. It took everything from Tom to keep his noises down, to not moan too loudly at the intensity of the feeling. Her head fell back into the pillows, into the soft crown of her hair, and her breathing stuttered with muted sobs. He kissed her cheek, her jaw, her neck, and finally let go of her wrists to trace a hot path down her body again. He cupped her breast and played with it, plucking at her nipple until he felt it harden again, then held still for his hand to slip between the two of them, searching for that spot of hers he knew so well.

“Aaah! You t-tease…”

“Is this better?” he smiled, pressing slowly in and settling deep while he flicked her clit.

“M-maybe… mmm…”

He chuckled and licked across her lips, lapping them until they opened. All around him he could feel her melting, her body losing its fight, playing to the tune he set. She looked dazed in the half-light, drunk on him and floating, half in the world of the living, half elsewhere in her head… His hips began a steady pumping in and out of her, skin against soft skin, their most fragile parts dragging wetly against one another, pulsing hot and steady like their hearts. He reached up to hold her head, fingers threading through her hair as his hips kept their hungry pace, moving hard and deep, chasing immortality inside her body. With a sigh, Tom closed his eyes and breathed her, filling up his senses with the hot slick of her skin, the softness of her lingering perfume, and her sparse sweet breaths of ecstasy. Her arms came up to rest around Tom’s shoulders, pulling him in closer as if she hadn’t fought him at every step that night. He nibbled at her ear and angled his hips sharper, shoving into her as if to punish but managing only to please. His body rocked her own beneath him, swaying as if in a dance.

“Oooh… Tom!,” she moaned, voice muffled by his flesh.

“Yes, yes, I have you… Fuck, oh fuck, I —”

He didn’t know what he wanted to say, but he felt it. Every part of him was focused on her, and was happy, and felt like it belonged.

“Tom,” she whispered, her back arching in a way that made her tighten impossibly around him. “Tom… inside me, please…”

“That’s dangerous, my love,” he grinned — although he knew there wasn’t any real risk so long as he remembered to cast the spell once they were done.

“Please…” she whimpered, wrapping a leg around his waist to pull him closer.

He kissed her cheek in submission and gripped her hip to hold her still. Her channel clung to him and he felt his cock being sucked on until he could barely move.

“Oh f— there you go, darling,” he moaned, his body trembling with a lick of flame crawling all over his skin.

“Tom,” she gasped, “I’m close… touch me more, please…”

He obeyed. Tom removed his sweaty palm from her hip and brought it to her clit again. “Is this where you want it?”

“Yes! There, right there…”

He flicked her nub the way she liked it, in that playful and punishing way that always made her cum, while he started pumping her with all he had until she started shaking. She whined and clung to him, nails digging into his back, her body arching, and around his cock he felt her cloying drips of pleasure leaking out.

“That’s it, good girl,” he groaned, teeth braced against her neck, fist growing tighter in her hair.

To the sound of his name whispered by her on and on, his hips shoved his cock in her until a fire burst beneath his skin and his sac pulsed. His mouth was restless at her neck, her chest, laying fast and heavy kisses on her hardened nipples. He soothed himself with suckling just as her core did when it pulled his seed out of him in greedy little clenches. He pressed deep, to the very end of her, and stopped there. Her voice sounded broken and lost but her body took him, took every drop he spilt right at the entrance to her womb.

“Tom,” she cried, her body trembling, muscles going soft.

He kept sucking on her nipple as he finally finished spilling, nibbling it a little harder than he should. He could feel his cum pooling all around her cervix, around the head of his cock, covering him in his own hot and sticky mess then slowly dripping out to dirty both their thighs. He shivered at the feeling.

Everything felt even better now than the first time they’d made love, and if Tom were thinking clearly, he’d be worried. It was close, too close to how he’d felt when his soul was splitting… Only this time it wasn’t to bind his soul onto an object, but to cleave it together with her own.

“Oh, no… please, don’t stop, don’t, I haven’t —”

“Stay tight like that for me,” he breathed. “Just like that… Forever…”

She dug her nails into his skin, not really listening. Her heart was high up with her airy moans until her pulse had settled and her core closed up around him, yearning silently for more. Her panting breaths ruffled his hair, tickled his ear, cooled his sweat. Tom nearly giggled. He pulled himself up but stayed inside her and was almost too afraid to look — too afraid of what it would mean to feel as if he was in love with her. He could barely see her through the dark but he knew that she was at her most beautiful just then. He was still dizzy with her, the sight and the sound and the taste, and the feeling of her rushed through his body as if she had slipped into his blood. Her eyes were closed and tears were beading at the corners. Tom kissed her tears away, kissed her lips, and brushed the hair off of her forehead. Then, with a low groan that was almost a purr, he gently pulled himself out of her body and fell to the side.

“N-no, not yet,” she whined, reaching for him lazily.

She was already starting to shiver as her body cooled. Tom smiled and manoeuvred her into his embrace, pulling her leg over his hips before bending to drag the duvet over them from where it lay bundled up at the edge. There would hardly be enough space in his bed for both of them to sleep if they weren’t somewhat laying one on top of the other, but this suited him just fine.

“Is this close enough, my little brat?”

“Close enough.”

Tom chuckled, and right above his heart he felt her smiling.

[johnwickb1tsch]

Young!John Wick x Model!Reader Imagine

Imagine you are the love of John Wick's life...

You meet in Paris when he’s a young man. You spend a mind-blowing night together, and watch the sun rise from Sacré-Coeur. He disappears, and you’re devastated because no one has ever made you feel that way, and you’re certain you’ll never see him again. But throughout the years he keeps finding you as you travel for work. He kisses you silly in the Gamla Stan of Stockholm, makes you cum on his fingers in a dark club in London, and when he leaves you utterly wrecked in Rome you know that you’re in love with this man. You don’t know exactly what he does for a living, but you’re not stupid. You’ve memorized every inch of his body, and you notice as his collection of scars multiplies over the years. You are half convinced he's a spy, but then there are the tattoos...ominous as they are captivating, they suggest membership in a darker world than the shadows of international espionage. You cannot reconcile it. How can this sweet man, this man who makes you laugh, who brings you joy and such exquisite pleasure, be a part of such a violent occupation? When you finally get up the courage to ask him he just shakes his head, and says it’s better you don’t know before kissing you in that way that utterly scrambles your brain cells.

-It all started in Paris with a broken heel... You nearly fell into traffic, but a strong arm around your waist snatched you back from death.

You hid against his chest for a long moment, even though he was a total stranger, because he felt so safe. You were in Paris for your first Fashion Week—and you were so lost. It’s the 1990s, a dark age in which we didn’t have handheld computers to pleasantly tell us where to go, and we used archaic documents to find our way known as paper maps...And you’d left yours in your hotel accidentally.  

You look up to see kind brown eyes fixed down on you. “Are you alright?” You hate to think it, but you are so relieved to hear an American accent. You have been yelled at no less than three times in French that day, and even if you totally deserved it, you're a bit gun shy now.

“Yes. Thank you. Jesus, I...” You look at the traffic barreling by at breakneck speed, a chill running down your spine. “Thank you,” you say again. You look up at him, really look at him, and realize you're in the arms of the most handsome man you've ever seen—and you work in fashion. 

“You're welcome.” 

He seems as taken by you as you are by him, and for a stretch of long moments you just stand there staring at each other like moon-eyed idiots. He looks down, suddenly shy. It's totally endearing. “Sorry,” he apologizes, releasing you slowly. You teeter on your broken heel, and you can tell he is ready to grab you again if he has to. This protectiveness makes a surprising warmth bloom in your heart.

“Do you...need help getting somewhere?” he asks. You wonder if it’s that obvious you’re lost. Usually you'd be wary of that question from a stranger. You've dealt with so many creeps throughout your life. But somehow you sense that he’s sincere. 

“I guess I'd better get back to my hotel.” 

Sebastiano was going to kill you. You broke a $600 pair of heels...well maybe Gucci should have made them better, the lazy bastards. 

“Can I get you a cab?” 

With your broken heel, you guess you’re not hoofing it back. “Sure.” He hails one down, and you’re delighted when he climbs in with you, speaking to the driver in perfect French, bless him.

“Where are we headed?” You give him the name of your hotel, and he repeats it the way it’s supposed to be said. Oh. No wonder the previous drivers gave you such contemptuous looks… You took Spanish in high school, ok? You can read French but have zero experience speaking it.

When you arrive at the hotel your savior thrusts a wad of Francs through the window before you have a chance to even open your purse, and helps you out of the cab. You are totally leaning against his arm more than you have to. You can feel the hard curve of his bicep beneath the fine fabric of his suit, and it makes you a little giddy. Only once you’re safe in the lobby does he seem willing to release you, though somehow your hand has ended up in his, and you find you don’t really want to let go. “Are you doing anything later?” you ask boldly, before he can disappear back into the bustle of Paris and you’ll never find him again.

He pays you a melancholy smile that squeezes your heart for some reason. “Unfortunately, I have to work,” he says. You make a pouty face that draws his attention to your lips. The intensity in those dark eyes is thrilling. “Maybe if I finish early…I could join you?”

You know you grin like an idiot at this suggestion. “I’ll be at the Versace afterparty. I could…have your name put on the list?”

This seems to amuse him for some reason, his mouth twisting in a smirk. “I can find you,” he says, and your heart flutters. In fact, when he presses his lips to your knuckles, your heart attempts to flutter right out of your chest.

He turns to go but you call, “Wait!” He pauses. “What’s your name?”

The smile he pays you is heart stopping. “Jardani,” he answers quietly. “But everyone calls me John.” You bite your lip, nodding, very pleased with this new bit of information, sensing that maybe he’s told you something just for you. “I hope I get to see you later.”

He nods too, touching your cheek lightly. “You will.”

It sounds like a promise.

-You should be beside yourself with excitement because you’re walking your first runway in Paris, and this could be the moment that makes or breaks your career, but the real reason for your nerves is the hope that you’ll see him again.

-The show goes great. You kill it. Sebastiano, your friend and the designer you’d modeled for, can hardly contain himself. But you find you’re just watching the clock ticking down the seconds until later.  

-John does find you later. You have a drink, and you dance, and from the adoring way he looks at you, you feel brave enough to ask if he wants to go someplace quieter. You go for a little walk, and even though it’s the wee hours of the morning you feel perfectly safe with this man. He kisses you on the Pont Alexandre, his hands in your hair, and your fingers curl in the lapels of his jacket to hold him to you. You ask if he wants to go back to your hotel, and he agrees. This man looks at you like you are something irreplaceably precious, and you don’t know how you’ll let him go.

-He is strong. In your hotel room he picks you up by your thighs and presses you into the wall, kissing you senseless before carrying you to the bed. His hands are calloused, but he’s so gentle with you. He touches you like you were made for him, like he was born knowing how to make you see stars. He claims you with his hands and his mouth and his big, beautiful cock deep inside you, and you know you’ll never be the same after this. You’ve been disappointed so many times that you almost don’t know how to handle an encounter going this well.

-When he stirs in the blue light of pre-dawn your arms tighten around him. You’re not even awake yet, but you don’t want him to leave. He kisses you behind the ear and you practically purr. “Want to see the second most beautiful sight in Paris?”

“Yes,” you agree.

“Bring your camera.” You’d told him about your interest in photography. Maybe modeling was paying the bills, but you’d actually majored in fine art, and minored in literature. Naturally, your interests make for shit at paying bills.  

Sleepily you get dressed. It takes a little longer than usual because you can’t stop kissing each other between pulling on garments. Soft, slow kisses that curl your toes. You sense deep down that every one of them is infused with apology, and goodbye. It breaks your heart, but greedily you’ll take every second with him you can get.He takes you to Sacré-Coeur in the heart of Montmartre, the very roof of Paris. You sit on the steps and watch the sun rise over the city, fiery oranges and pinks painting the sky and rendering the buildings aglow. It truly is beautiful, but you don’t lift your lens to try to capture it. You sit with your arm linked with his, and experience this moment with him as fully as you can. You want to remember everything.

“You didn’t take a picture,” he teases once the sun has cheerfully risen above the horizon.

You pull out the camera and frame him in your lens, his sleepy smile and bed-mussed hair. You feel something shift in your heart as your finger depresses the button. Click. You’re not sure if it’s the camera in your hand, or something settling into place in your heart that has always belonged there.

“Now I have the first most beautiful sight in Paris,” you say.

He laughs at that. “I meant that was you,” he insists, lacing his fingers with yours, kissing the back of your hand. He takes you to breakfast, and you enjoy dark coffee and delectably crafted pastries with your legs tangled together under the table. Afterwards he takes you back to your hotel, and in the gilt-appointed lobby somehow you know what’s coming.

“I have to go,” he says sadly. You actually believe his regret isn’t an act.

You nod, leaning into his large hand on your cheek.

“I’ll never forget you, y/n.”

A shuddering sigh escapes you, and you close your eyes. You are not going to cry.

“Likewise, I promise you.”

You don’t exchange any further information. You know that if it was possible to see him again, he would have offered it to you. There is something mysterious about this man. Something almost…forbidden, and a part of you knows that the little time you stole together was a precious gift.

He kisses you one last time, a passionate, soul-rending thing that leaves you utterly weak in the knees. He says nothing more, pressing his forehead to yours one final time before turning to go. You watch his tall, dark form exit the hotel into the Paris morning, and you know he’s taking a piece of your heart with him as he goes.   

-------------------------------------------------------------------

tbc because goddamn this got long...

part deux >>

[wambsgansshoelaces]

Turmoil; Chapter 8

Roman Roy x Reader

a/n: I need him biblically

let me know your thoughts x

Word Count: 3.289k

You got one lazy day. That was it before you had to throw yourself back into work. You and Roman both stand at your bathroom sink, his head tucked into the crook of your neck. You press a light kiss to his forehead, and surprisingly, he doesn’t run off after the fact. He winces, but he stays.

“Connor’s bank statements should be handed to you when you walk in today,” he murmurs.

“You’re a godsend.”

“I know, right?” He takes you by the chin and presses an obnoxiously sloppy kiss to your cheek. “Kendall and I are looking into that politician thing today. Maybe we can go out to dinner today?”

“You’d better show up today,” you warn. He playfully pinches your hip.

“I promise.” He moves away, pulling his shirt off and disappearing into the closet. “If I don’t, put a bullet through my head.”

You roll your eyes, smiling. “Rome?”

“Mm.”

“What’re you gonna do with that… thing with Marcia?”

“We wait until we can use it,” he calls back. “Thank god it’s on your phone and not mine.” You sigh. You both manage to get dressed and feed yourselves breakfast, and Roman hails you a cab and sees you off with a hesitant kiss to your lips.

You steel yourself as you stare up at the building containing your firm. You love your job- just not what you were doing with it now.

Before entering your office, you subtly slip a jewelry box onto your assistant’s desk. You’d gotten her a necklace and set of earrings while abroad as a thank-you for fighting Connor off with a stick. Roman was right, too. You give her the box and she slides you a manila file with a grin on her face, mouthing ‘thank you’.

You settle into your desk chair, leafing through the papers. It’s normal the first ten years, but starting another ten, his spending became erratic, and lo and behold, he stopped paying his taxes. You wonder how Connor has made it this far in life without getting killed by someone.

You can piece together the puzzle pretty easily. Connor thinks he’s too high and mighty to be taxed, he stopped paying them, the interest racked up an outrageous amount, and now he’s committing fraud to get money to pay everything off.

You take a moment to think.

If Logan bailed Connor out before, would he do it again?

You think you want to find out.

You could catch Logan with his pants down. You were closer to a solution to get him out of your- and Roman, and Kendall, and Shiv’s -life. You were lucky that he was the vote that would’ve won him the vote of no confidence- if he’d legally won, he would’ve dropped the guillotine on you and ousted the fact that you’d kept Connor innocent from fraud. Since he hadn’t, and he’d stayed, if he’d tried ruining your image, he’d look like a child throwing a tantrum.

Satisfied with your mental acrobatics, you toss the file into a lockable compartment of your desk. While you wanted nothing more than to serve Connor right that second, you knew taking him and Logan down at the same time would be much more satisfying. So you decide you’ll wait.

You make a small list on a post-it note of what you have so far. Kendall and Roman had begun to investigate Logan’s suspicious activity around the failed politician, Greg and Roman had gotten you the finances, you’d found more than one hard piece of evidence that Connor was lying on the suit. You also have the issue with Marcia, which you don’t really want to think about. Ever.

If you wait long enough, you think you’ll be able to find your way out of this mess.

Having gotten yourself into a good mood, you decide to pick up some pro-bono cases from junior associates in the bullpen to lighten their load. You spend the rest of your day doing paperwork, but you don’t mind.

You’re in your office for so long you eventually need to flick on your desk lamp. You’re not feeling as tired as you usually would at this point, and you’re thankful for it. When your phone rings, and you find Roman on the other end, you pick it up with a smile.

“Asshole. Why do you work so late?”

“Aw, I miss you too, Roman.” You jot something down in the margins of one of your documents. “Besides, it’s only dark out because it’s winter.”

“Are you almost done? I made a reservation for six.”

You glance over at your watch, sitting on the inside of your wrist. Five-thirty.

“Can you come get me?”

“Yeah, yeah. Hey, we have stuff to talk about. Involving my big, happy, functional family.”

“We do,” you muse. “I thought this was a date.”

“It is, swear. I just have to tell you because I’m a good fiance.”

You laugh. “Whatever you say. Call when you’re here.”

“I’m already outside, bitch.”

“You’re so romantic.”

You clean up in your office, bid your assistant goodbye(even though you’d given her permission to leave ages ago), and find him parked in front of the complex.

“You drive? How many people have you hit?” you ask, climbing into the passenger seat. He rolls his eyes at you, waiting until you buckle your seat belt to pull away.

“Only two old ladies and their dog that looked like Kendall.”

You snort. “How was work?”

“Glorious. Felt like a superhero fucking shitting on my dad like that.”

“Go on.”

”We did some digging, found a few paper trails. I didn’t know the old man was stupid. Kendall thinks we’re on track to find people that have the ability to testimony.”

“If you even have an inkling that someone could, send them to me. Like immediately. We can’t have them blab to the wrong people. I can legally keep them safe from Logan if they disclose to the firm.”

“You’re the boss.” He honks at the car that missed the green light in front of you. “Fucking dick.”

“Of course you have road rage.”

“I don’t have road rage.”

You sit in comfortable silence the rest of the way, interrupted by the occasional expletive from Roman at bad drivers. He’s surprisingly level-headed behind the wheel, keeping calm regardless of the ‘idiots around him’.

At the restaurant, you take the inside of his elbow as you walk. He flexes his arm, trying to suppress a grin, setting his hand on his stomach. You can tell, despite his slowly dissipating disdain for your physical affection towards him, he fucking loved showing you off in public.

He’d warm up to you eventually. You didn’t want to force him into anything you didn’t want, so most of the time, you let him initiate physical contact. And even though neither of you ever spoke about it, you got the feeling that he appreciated it immensely.

You both sit in a secluded corner of the restaurant, and his legs press up against yours from his seat across from you.

“You should tell me more about yourself,” you begin, setting your head in your hands, balancing your elbows on the table.

“What is there to say?” Roman mirrors your pose.

“I dunno. What’s your favorite color, Romulus?”

“Green. The color of money. Next.”

“Oh, that’s so bullshit.” You lean back, laughing. He pushes off his elbows, instead crossing his arms over his chest. “Your favorite show?”

“I don’t watch television, Miss Attorney-at-Law. Eat, sleep, corporate fucking, repeat.”

“That’s kind of vile.” You take a sip of the water at your hand. “We should watch garbage reality TV together. You’d enjoy it.”

“Why watch on a screen when it’s my real life?”

“You boring piece of shit.”

Roman takes your hand from across the table, hooking your fingers together. “That I am.”

“What about movies? Or are you allergic to rainbows, fun, and joy?”

“Oh no, my throat’s itching,” he says sarcastically, pouting. “I don’t have time for any of that. And when I do, it feels… weird. I never was into movies or TV shows or video games when I was younger. I was always on eggshells with Dad, so…”

You give his hand an encouraging squeeze. “So… we can do all of that stuff together after we give ourselves a week off of work.”

“We just got back from Norway…”

“Roman. You’re really saying you’re not going to give yourself a week off for shits and gigs?”

He has trouble pushing down his smile. “Of course I will. You know me so well already.”

“We should do it after we serve your dad the papers. So he has to wait even longer to go to court.”

“Oh, Y/N, you’re evil. So perfect for me.”

You both laugh.

You both begin your meals, Roman surprisingly attentive the entire time. You both ask questions, answer them, and giggle like schoolchildren.

By the end of it, his chair is pulled all the way around the table, sitting next to yours as he tries to explain a business venture.

“So if pervs won’t disappear completely,” he says, gesturing with his hands, dead serious, “we appeal to the ones who like feet. Because who’s going to fucking know they’re your feet if they one, haven’t bought them, and two, inspect your toes in real life?”

You can’t help the ugly laugh that rips from your stomach. “Why have you thought about this in so much depth?”

“It’s infallible.”

”I didn’t know you knew what that word meant.”

He taps the side of his temple. “I’m learning. From you, specifically. Kendall’s fucking dumb.”

Back at home, Roman’s reclined into you, his head set lopsidedly on your shoulder. He scrolls through his phone absentmindedly, glancing up at you every so often, as if making sure you’re still there. You catch his eyes, and you both smile at each other.

Without thinking, you give him a peck on the lips. He lets you.

“It was hard,” he says quietly. “But it’s getting easier.”

“And so goes life.” You let your head rest on top of his. “I think you’re doing great.”

He’s quiet for a long moment. “Thanks.”

He hums, satisfied, when your nails begin raking through his hair. You stay like that, for a long while. His eyes flutter shut, his breathing regulating as time passes. You think he’s asleep when his phone rings, loud and obnoxious.

“I’m going to fuckin’ kill whoever’s calling,” he mutters, shifting so that his head is in your lap. You see Connor’s name. “I’m putting him on speaker.”

He does, and starts the conversation with, “What is it, asshole?”

“Hey, Rome. I know it’s a little late, but your fiance hasn’t been returning my calls. Or texts.”

“She thinks you’re ugly. Not interested. Stop trying.”

“Roman.”

“Just being honest.”

“Well, be serious. We need to hurry things along. I’m starting to go into the red.”

“What the fuck are you buying? Oh, wait, your gir-”

“Shut the fuck up. That douchebag of an accountant. He’s doing some shady shit, I know it.”

“Or, shocker, you need to stop spending money. Batshit crazy idea, man.”

“You’re giving me financial advice? Remember when you spend twenty grand on a watch in high school and then lost it the day of?”

“At least I had the twenty thousand to spend.”

You have to suppress a laugh.

“This isn’t what I called for. Just forward the word, okay? I don’t want Willa to have to miss anything important at the theater.”

”What’s that have to do with my girl?”

“She can speed up proceedings.”

Roman looks up at you, and you shrug. You could, but you definitely wouldn’t. Not for Connor. “Yeah, come back later.”

“Nice talking to you, too.”

☾𖤓

The next time you’re at Waystar, it’s a ‘family’ meeting in Kendall’s office. You sit on the couch, Shiv sunken into the seat next to you.

“I say you take that nasty-ass video straight to Marcia and get the good shit from her,” Shiv says. “No beating around the bush. Surely she’ll spill.”

“You’re certainly free to do that. I can’t keep it on my phone anymore- I’m prone to vomiting,” you respond.

“Anyone know about that prick from the party? The one balding in all the weird spots?” Roman asks, leaning against the wall.

“What, Peirce? That’s the dick that was sucking the life out of Dad’s bank account. He was taking money pretending to be paying taxes.”

You turn and glance at Roman. “He’s actually not that stupid, is he?” you ask incredulously.

“I feel like we’re saying that a lot,” he mutters back. “You know that that guy is Con’s accountant now? And he has literally no money left?”

“He’s never been the brightest,” Shiv says without hesitation. “I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“How can he miss that, though?” Kendall asks, dragging a hand over his face.

“Desperate times,” Roman supplies.

“His firm name’s Thompson & Thompson, right?” you ask.

“Fucking banger name,” Shiv says. “Unfortunately, yes.”

“They have a consultation with me tomorrow. I don’t think it’s anything good, given Connor’s recent history.”

“Lock them out,” is all Roman says.

“This is all such a headache,” Kendall mutters. “Has anyone heard from Dad recently?”

“Surprisingly, no. He’s been suspiciously quiet,” Shiv replies. “You think he’s in the hospital again?"

“Wouldn’t he say something?” you ask.

“I guess not,” Shiv says. “Makes him look weak. Someone will notice, anyway. We’re in the States, we’ll know where he is soon enough.”

“He’s scheming,” Kendall states. “He’s trying to find a loophole back into the company.”

“He wishes,” you retort. “Vote of no confidence. Can’t come back on without making a big deal about it.”

“What if he wants that? He could use it to distract us,” Shiv suggests.

“But from what?” Kendall asks, staring at his feet, boring a hole through the floor.

“You’re overthinking it,” Roman clarifies. “What does he have that he can do right now?”

“God, I don’t even want to know.” You push yourself to your feet. “I’d better head out.”

Kendall grunts a goodbye, Shiv gives you a hug. Roman walks you, and as soon as you turn the corner and nobody’s around, he takes your hand in his.

“Is this what having a crush feels like?” he asks as you wait for the elevator.

“What do you mean?”

“I never stop thinking about you. I get all giddy talking to you- just looking at you. I’m always trying to make you laugh, smile. And look at your fucking face. I don’t need to keep telling you how fucking pretty you are.”

“Hm, maybe you do,” you say, grinning.

“But really.” He lets go of your hand in the elevator, instead winding an arm around your waist and pulling you flush against him. “Is this how normal people feel? All… sappy and shit?”

“I guess. I don’t think I can be considered normal, either.”

“Why not?”

“I’m into you, aren’t I?”

“Asshole. I take back what I said. You’re repulsive,” he says, lips on your jaw. When you’re in the lobby, he tells you, “Call me when you’re done,” and leaves you with a squeeze of your shoulder.

At your firm, you give your assistant a wave, gather some files, and head to a conference room. Peirce is there, waiting for you.

“Mr. Thompson,” you say politely, ignoring his outstretched hand. You wouldn’t touch him with a ten foot pole. “Please tell me tax fraud isn’t why you asked to see me and refused to disclose why over the phone.” You both take your seats.

“I’m afraid it is. Rather, not that I committed it, because I wouldn’t be here if I did.” He takes his handkerchief and wipes away a bit of sweat from his chin. He’s a horrible liar. “Rather, some accusations that are being made. I was wondering if anything could be done. And since you’re already handling my client…”

You have to refrain from rolling your eyes at him. “If you can prove it, we can sue for defamation. That’s really it.”

Peirce straightens. “I can prove it, actually. Tax returns, receipts.”

While you don’t take cases you don’t want to(Peirce makes you want to vomit), you know that this could lead to something useful. So you tell him, “Have them faxed by tomorrow,” and he’s on his feet, thanking you profusely as you push past him.

To your surprise, however, he follows you to your office. “Can I help you?” you ask, miffed.

“I just, ah, thought that since I was here, I’d check on how my client’s suit was going.”

“It’s going,” is all you say back. “Last time I checked, I’m the J.D. between the two of us. I can handle my business like a big girl, while it disappoints me to say that you can’t do the same.” You gesture in the direction of the exit. “If you would.”

“Are you sure I can’t just-”

“Quite sure.”

“But-”

“But nothing. Take no for an answer and go before I have you removed.”

Dismayed, Peirce shuffles off.

“And tell Connor to get off my fucking ass,” you say under your breath, heading into your office. You drop your notepad, pickingup your cell and dialing Roman.

He picks up on the first ring. “What’d the weasel do?”

“Was creepy. He said he’s being accused of tax fraud and that he can prove it.”

He scoffs. “He’s going to send you a ‘get out of jail free’ card from a Monopoly game. Does he really expect anybody to buy it?”

“If he’s still in business, people have before.”

He sighs on the other end. “Come home.”

“I have some paperwork to do. Then I’ll hail a cab or something.”

“Boo fucking hoo. I want to see you.”

“You saw me an hour ago.”

“I want to see you again.” Roman pauses. “Pretty please?”

“You can wait another hour. I believe in you.”

“Aw, come on. I’m warming up to you and everything.”

You laugh. “I appreciate that, Rome,” you say sincerely. “But-”

“I’ll do your laundry for a month if you just bring the paperwork home.”

You take a moment to consider it. “You know how to work a laundry machine?”

“I’m going to murder you. Come home so I can stab you.”

☾𖤓

The minute you’re home, he pulls you into bed with him and curls up against you.

“You okay?” you murmur.

“Peachy,” he says into your shoulder. “Shiv talked to Marcia. It worked.”

“At least that bullshit was worth something.” You shudder. “Why are you going to bed so early?” He’s dressed entirely in pajamas, his shirt a soft cotton that clings to every muscle in just the right way.

“Early day. Stockholder drama.”

“I thought Kendall did that.”

“He does. I’m going because I know they’re going to fight.” You feel him smile into your skin. “Hey, Y/N?”

“Mm?”

“Never mind. I’m not so good with words.”

Roman’s hand finds your chin, bringing your mouth to his. When your lips meet, his hand slips up your jaw and buries in your hair. You kiss back fervently, and he matches your vigor. He kisses you like he needs your taste to breathe.

Your hand finds the fabric of his shirt and glides across the panels of his chest, and he groans into your mouth. You feel the soft, oddly satisfying scrape of his stubble against your face. He pulls away only to dot kisses on the corners of your mouth, then unevenly again on your lips.

“I think what I meant was good night,” he says cheekily.

“Jackass,” you murmur giddily into his lips. “Fuck you, Roman.”

[hotchs-big-hands]

today I’m thinking about trying to see what it takes hotch to be pushed over the edge. Like if the two of you are pining for one another and there’s tension but he’s trying to be professional, how far do you have to go for him to snap and just fucking take you like he wants to?

you start as anyone does by laughing at his jokes and leaving lingering touches on his arm, but that man has an iron clad resolve and it takes you MULTIPLE nights out with the team to get flirty enough with a stranger in front of him for something inside of him to give out and he drags you by the arm out of the bar and into a cab home where he mercilessly makes out with you the whole way, teasing you as much as he’s comfortable doing buzzed in front of a stranger. When you guys reach his house he’s pushing you up against the door, you guys barely make it to the couch before you have him take you right on the floor. The bed be damned, you guys have forever to try that. He needs you NOW. NOW. He’s so big and so dark, his eyes are searching yours after he’s ripped the buttons on your clothes open. Nothing but animalistic need. You broke him. He hopes you’re happy now that you’ve gotten what you wanted. Can you handle it? Can you handle all of him because he’s refusing to give you any less. (Possessive hotch awoop)

OH MY LAWD ROME IM 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫YAWSSSSSSSS THIS IS HOT AS FUCKKKKKK

THat man is SOOOOOOOOO fucking possessive over you and he'll fuck you like he means it. You've got a lotttttt to make up for flirting with so many people in front of him...

He all but tears your underwear APART and, briefly asking if you're okay with this, will spank you sharply and almost cruelly. Growling into your ear that you're fucking his and the only person who you should be flirting with is him. He can see your arousal, sneering at you if this was caused by that stranger. And you'll whine and whimper that it's all him! Only he makes you feel this way!

"You'll have to fucking prove it to me, you fucking slut." He spits, manhandling you to kneel in front of him. He commands you to take him out of his pants, to take his cock down your pretty throat and prove you're his and his alone. And if you touch yourself? He'll nudge you with his leg, telling you only good little pets get to touch themselves.

But he'll pull your mouth off his cock soon enough though, he doesn't wanna cum down your throat (this time). He'll claim that slutty little hole of yours instead. You're fucking his. And he'll make you wail over and over,

"I'm yours! I'm fucking yours! I'm yours, Aaron!" What bliss 🤤🤤🤤🤤

[zmediaoutlet]

Straight shot down I-29, Sioux Falls to Carthage. Should be about seven hours unless the girls have to stop and pee every fifty miles. “That means you, too,” Dean says. Sam shoves his shoulder but just enough so Dean sways, grinning, and Sam rolls his eyes and settles back against the cab, stretching his legs out long on the truck bed. He hands the bottle back over to Dean, too, so he’s not that annoyed. Bodes well for Dean’s chances, later.

Freezing out. Dean’s wishing they’d brought out a blanket for more than one reason. One of those nights where there are about a billion stars overhead, the moon just a tiny sickle-slice low in the sky, and Bobby’s place out far enough from town that there’s nothing to get in the way of the view. He tips his head back against the truck’s window, blows out so it purls foggy over their heads. A shooting star, streaking fast across the east. They both snort.

Dean takes a drink off the bottle and hands it back to Sam, and Sam takes it but doesn’t drink, only sets it on top of his thigh. Dean lets his knees spread, knocks one into Sam’s. Wants to pull Sam down to the cold metal and crawl over him and actually get to some good ol’ defiance of looming death, but on the other hand if he does that then he doesn’t get to look forward to it, anymore. He licks the inside of his cheek, thinking it through. Thinking also that he’s kinda tipsy. Won’t be the first time he’s driven hungover to almost certain tragedy. Maybe it’ll be the last but he’s feeling optimistic, kind of. Sort of. Against the cripplingly awful odds.

“You know,” Sam says, “Carthage is where Hannibal was from.”

Dean squints at the stars. “The f-f-f-fava beans and chianti?”

Sam huffs, lets his shoulder sink down against Dean’s. Warm all the way along his side. “The general. Led that doomed march on Rome. Drove his elephants over the Alps. Half the army died.”

Elephants in the snow. Dean pictures it. Soldiers cutting out pieces of flesh to try to keep going. Stumbling, freezing. Leaving their friends behind. He turns his head and finds Sam looking not at the stars but at his hands. Only one of the junkyard lights on, back by the house, so Dean’s really only got the rime of gold on his dumb swoopy nose and his crumpled forehead to go on. “Messed up,” he says, light. “Should’ve used snowmobiles. Better turning radius than elephants, for one thing.”

Sam doesn’t laugh. “How are we gonna win,” he says, finally.

Like Dean hasn’t been thinking the same thing, on a terrified constant loop screaming from his cramped guts to his hindbrain. He’d thought Hell was bad. Even the word crawls in this frozen awful way up his throat and makes him want to just lay down, give up. Apocalypse. And worse, though the idea of worse than that should be impossible, that the hands meant to wreak it, that are allegedly destined to force their way into cracks in the earth and just tear the whole thing to jagged bleeding pieces, are right here beside him, holding that shitty plastic bottle of drugstore hooch.

Dean reaches over, takes it. Sam lets him. Dean takes a big gulp that burns going down, and then sets the bottle tucked into the back corner of the truck bed where hopefully they won’t knock it over, and then takes Sam by one wrist and pulls and Sam—resists, for a second that makes all the horror in Dean leap up straight to the surface in his skin—before he lets Dean bring him in, sliding down together on the slick cold metal, Sam’s hand sliding up his side under his jacket and shirt and shirt and landing freezing somewhere around his ribs, this light hold that makes Dean shiver all over. Dean nudges his nose under Sam’s jaw, breathes there in that way he’s known for too long makes Sam shiver, too. Sam does, and presses his closed mouth to Dean’s temple. They’re going to fuck, one way or another, because this is a last night on earth unlike any other they’ve had—and Dean can feel it already, getting a wet hand around Sam’s cock and maybe sucking it, getting Sam to grab his head in those huge hands and getting that taste heavy under his tongue and that ache in his jaw that he’s always not-so-secretly liked, from how he’ll stretch after and Sam will smile at him, and he’ll say shut up and Sam won’t say anything, and how that’s just—maybe never going to happen again, if they screw this up. If tomorrow goes how it could so, so easily go. If Lucifer—

Sam’s hand slides over his stomach, down. “I want,” he says, and doesn’t specify. Dean gets it. Wants a honeymoon suite and a case of bourbon and a week to sink into every single inch of his brother. Sam’s hand cups his whole crotch, squeezes, and Dean pushes into it, balls dumbly waking and his dick swelling, stupid and ignorant of the circumstances. “I—”

“Yeah,” Dean says, to everything. He pushes Sam down to his back and rises over him, Sam’s hands sliding urgent to his hips, his body blocking Sam from the cold stars.

[copperbadge]

Thanks for sharing! I prefer traveling solo for the same reasons you do! :) Do you happen to know any websites or tricks for doing it cheaply? All the budget traveling sites I see package their deals per person based on double occupancy rooms as the default, so being a single traveler typically doubles the price. :/ Hope you have yourself an awesome trip!

Well, I started traveling on my own before the bulk of the internet existed, so I've always just homebrewed it. I don't think I've ever done a package tour. I know people who have, and really enjoyed it as a struggle-free way to see the world, but I tend to have specific and unusual goals. I do know that there is a whole culture of couchsurfing -- I knew someone who belonged to a couchsurfing website and traveled Europe that way for very cheap -- but I've never investigated it.

Usually when I'm going somewhere I have an idea of something I want to see, so that's where I start -- where's the zoo/museum/restaurant I want to visit? Can I stay near there cheaply? If not, where can I stay within transit access? Once I have housing sorted I look at what else is around where I'm staying and the places I already want to go, and I build an agenda from there.

The only site I use for direct tourism research (as opposed to like, Google Maps or local transit sites) is Atlas Obscura, which has an index by region of cool stuff to do. I look at Atlas Obscura to see if there's anything I shouldn't miss, and I also often google stuff like "[region] local foods" or "[region] art museums" or whatnot. Because I don't like driving, I study public transit in the area using Maps, although lately I don't worry as much about that as long as the area I'm traveling to has cabs/rideshare.

The first time I visited Boston, when I was 19, I had heard about the Great Molasses Flood, and I'd read that the best place to see where it happened is from Copp's Hill Burial Ground on top of a hill in the North End. That also sounded cool, and I scheduled a day to start at Copp's Hill and follow the Freedom Trail south afterward (this also ultimately involved me nearly getting arrested for breaking into a cemetery, but I got away). Following the Freedom Trail led me to some unexpected sights too, like the Holocaust Memorial north of Fanieul Hall. I derailed a portion of my morning to explore that, which was fine, I didn't really need to see the entire Freedom Trail and I picked it back up again later.

So for me solo travel is equal parts "Well, I know what I want to see" and the serendipity of discovery. There are a couple of days on the Europe trip where I have at least some free time for resting or rambling as I see fit. Meanwhile, I'm going in search of weird old bakeries and crepes and frites and Carciofi alla Giudia and the random Irish pub in Rome and an occult bookstore Neil Gaiman recommended near the British Museum -- but who knows what I'm actually going to find?

(Hopefully treasure. I'm going mudlarking on the Thames one morning.)

[missmagooglie]

The conversations that happen on the way back to the firehouse are always wildest after sex-related calls.

Hen will admit that their newest probie does occasionally exhibit the obnoxious habit of speaking as though his whole entire twenty five years on this earth have given him ample time to become an expert on absolutely everything, but things don’t get weird until Chim tries to bait him by saying, “Well how would you know, Buck? Not like you’ve ever had a dick in your mouth.”

The probie’s shocked and offended face is entirely predictable and, admittedly, hilarious. Hen cracks open her water bottle and prepares to tune out whatever well meaning but ignorant and at least mildly offensive assertion of his heterosexuality is about to spew from this boy’s mouth.

She is not prepared for him to hotly retort, “Of course I’ve sucked cock. I’m not homophobic!”

Hen promptly chokes, water pouring down her chin as she coughs and sputters all over the cab. 

“Shit, Hen, are you ok?” the probie asks her, thumping her back in a way that he should know as a trained EMT does not actually help in this situation.

“Fine,” Hen wheezes, waving him off as she gets her breath back. “I’m just. Gonna need you to run that back for me a little.”

Probie gives her that confused head tilt that she refuses to find adorable. The kid is a capable enough firefighter when he’s not running off half-cocked to try some big damn hero stunt, but he is a Chad of the highest degree. Hen does not and will not like him as a person.

“What? Oh, the blowjob thing?” He says with eyes that are way too wide and earnest for someone casually talking about oral sex. “It was no big deal, really. It was ages ago.”

Hen holds one finger up at him and takes a few deep breaths just to make sure she’s not going to cough any more, then says, “I am going to need to know who convinced you that there was a dick-sucking requirement for being an LGBT ally.”

Hen is genuinely worried the kid is going to hurt himself if he keeps thinking this hard.

“Oh,” he says, frowning with concentration. “Well, I guess it was more like in that specific situation than, like, in general.”

“Buckaroo, you’ve gotta know we’re gonna ask,” Chim says, leaning forward eagerly to hear whatever absolute mess of a story is about to come out of Buck’s mouth.

Buck manages to look surprised at Chim’s sudden interest. “There’s not, like, some big story. I was in Vegas, some friends invited me to Pride and I’m always up for a good party. We wind up at a club, this guy asks me if I want to blow him, and, you know, what was I supposed to do? Say no?”

Hen glances at Chim, who looks just as dumbfounded as she feels. 

“Uh, yes?” Chim says. “I mean, obviously if you're bisexual or heteroflexible or whatever we aren't gonna judge, man. But most people who aren't attracted to men won't suck a cock just cuz some guy asked.”

Buck shrugs. “I wasn’t gonna leave the poor guy hanging just because I’m not gay. I was in a gay club during Pride. He had every reason to assume I swung that way. When in Italy or whatever, you know?”

“Rome,” Hen croaks. “The expression is ‘When in Rome’.” 

Buck looks at her with his confused puppy face. “Isn’t that in Italy?”

“Sure,” Chim says, cutting in smoothly before Hen blows a gasket at the sheer absurdity of this boy. “But the expression’s about the Roman Empire, not the city.”

“You mean Ancient Rome?” Buck says, “Wasn’t that more than, like, 200 years ago?”

That’s it. That’s the final crack in Hen’s sanity. “Two HUNDRED? Bobby, pull over. I need to kill your probie.”

“For what?” Buck squawks as Bobby sighs heavily.

“General ignorance of the world!” Hen snaps. “I don’t know how you’ve survived this long, but it ends today!”

“Hen, not again,” Bobby says, dry as a bone. The captain mostly keeps to himself, but every now and then he’ll offer a peek into a delightfully twisted sense of humor. “It’s getting hard to cover up this many of them going ‘mysteriously missing’.”

The indignant noise that comes out of the probie's mouth makes all the brain damage she’s sustained from this conversation worth it.

At least until Chimney decides he's still curious and asks, "So were you any good?"

"Well, it was my first time doing it and I was pretty drunk," the probie hedges, before proudly adding, "but, I can shotgun a beer in under four seconds so opening my throat like that was kinda second nature."

"Please stop talking," Hen begs. "Just, close your mouth and never open it again."

He pouts at her. He actually pouts. "What about when I need to eat?" he asks.

"Don't. Speak." Hen repeats. "If I never hear another word about your sexual exploits, it will be too soon."

The probie mimes zipping his lips and throwing away the key. "No more sex talk at the fire station," he says. "I promise."

He absolutely does not keep that promise.

Unfortunately, Hen ends up growing fond of him anyway.

[wehear4u]

Taxi Cab Vampire Weekend

Rome to Ken

[oro-e-diamanti]

Puppet Masterlist

Content | Fluff

Word count | 1.6k

Epilogue

The bag was heavy on your shoulder and in constant danger of slipping as you wrestled with the box of supplies in one hand and your sewing machine in the other. You really should have asked for help. Taken a cab. Even the bus would have been better at this point. But no, your stubborn ass insisted you’d be fine walking home on your own.

At least the weather wasn’t punishing you for it. No rain and a mild late January sun made it as bearable as possible, under the circumstances. But you’d be lying if you weren’t counting down the minutes until you made it back to your tiny Rome apartment.

However, when you turned around the last corner, sweet relief almost in sight, you almost dropped your bearings upon spotting three very familiar figures lingering in front of your door. Had you been any less burdened with literal baggage you would have jumped on them immediately, but for now, you were forced to show your excitement only in the beaming smile on your face and the increased speed at which you walked, suddenly feeling your energy renewing. You hadn't seen most of them since New Year's, almost a month ago now, both their hectic schedule and your university examinations at fault.

Ethan was the first one to spot you, immediately rushing over and taking the box off your hands, Damiano following suit to grab the sewing machine. You sent him a look that clearly said careful but he simply sent a wink back. It was fair enough, you thought, they were the ones who had bought it for you. You hoped he knew you would absolutely make them buy another one if Damiano left so much as a new scratch on it though.

Vic lazily tagged behind, waiting for the men to get out of the way before enveloping you in a hug. You only noticed she was holding a gorgeous bouquet of flowers when it almost got crushed between you.

“You get prettier every time I see you,” she flirted, leaving a kiss on your cheek. From the corner of your eye, you could see Damiano preparing to make a silly comment but one pointed look of yours shut him down.

“What's the flowers for?” you asked as you took them from her.

“You finishing your first semester!” Ethan beamed. “And we heard with amazing grades and feedback too.”

“There's also a chance we just wanted to get drunk with you,” Damaino added, holding up a bottle of liquor.

Vic groaned, probably because Damiano was always extremely talented at ruining moments like these, but you simply giggled, fishing your keys from your bag and opening the door to the house. You were impatient to get up the two flights of stairs and into your flat, but Ethan had other plans. Seeing him place the box on the steps, you were about to ask what he was doing, but as soon as the door had shut behind the four of you, he had you pressed up against the wall, hungry lips attaching to yours.

You fell into the passion easily, enjoying the feeling of his hard body against yours, the way his soft hair tickled your skin. You had missed this, so much more than you would have admitted in words.

“Oh come on, at least wait until we’re at her place, you greedy bastard!” Vic complained but you could hear the smile in her voice. With a giggle, you pushed Ethan away, gesturing for him to get back to the task at hand - meaning the box, not you - and started rushing up the stairs.

“By the way,” Damiano threw in as he ascended after you, “we have no idea where Thomas is. We tried texting and calling him to come along but he’s probably in a sleep coma.”

And no one could be bothered to deal with that, you finished in your head with a smile. You couldn’t blame them. Sleepy Thomas when you had the time to spend the day in bed was a dream come true. Tired Thomas when you needed to get going was akin to a nightmare. You were sure he would turn up sooner or later - whenever he wound up checking his phone.

You unlocked the door to your apartment, two rooms, tiny, but your own. You dropped your bag into a corner, the only one that wasn’t full of mismatched furniture or stacks of things that had no permanent place. Damiano carefully placed the bottle and the sewing machine on your dining table and you silently thanked him for being so gentle with it, before dragging him towards you and kissing him. He was talented, you’d always enjoyed that about him, but it was the love that shone through that made you feel your knees weakening.

“Okay, enough of that,” Vic decided as she roughly pulled you away from Damiano and into her lap on the dining room chair. You briefly panicked about it not being sturdy enough to hold both of your weights, but as soon as her hands traveled underneath your shirt and her mouth found yours, you decided it was worth the risk. She was soft and lovely under all her dominance in a way that never failed to make you melt.

“Well, now you’re truly on the way to killing the flowers,” Damiano remarked. You separated from Vic just to see him pick the abandoned bouquet up from the floor where she had dropped it.

“Aw, we can’t have that,” you cooed, getting up from your seat under protest and grabbing the flowers from him. You started rummaging through your kitchen cabinets, trying to find anything that could convincingly be used as a vase, as the conversation carried on without you.

You’d missed them terribly, more than you would ever admit to them out loud. Their sheer presence elevated your mood in a way nothing else could. The last months had been a rollercoaster trying to navigate the world with the new rules that had been put upon you, but you hadn’t regretted your choice for a single second. Not being able to touch the others in public the way you often craved to do had been a learning curve, but you had simply poured it onto Thomas instead, who happily held your hand and kissed your head at any opportunity, strangers around you be damned.

Plus, you knew all rules were off as soon as the door shut behind you and you were alone with the loves of your life. You treasured those times beyond belief, always craving more, craving their bodies and their minds in any way possible. The way they let the excitement course through your veins while letting you feel relaxation like never before, all at the same time. You’d never tire of it, you were sure.

“So, when did you last see your boyfriend,” Damiano mocked, pulling you out of your thoughts.

“Which one?” you replied with a smile, knowing full well he meant Thomas, considering the other two were currently in the room with you.

“The pretty one,” Vic commented and you could see in Damiano’s fake-shocked face and the way that Ethan rolled his eyes that there was a quibble about to start, but then you accidentally distracted yourself by remembering you did, in fact, have a vase that you’d been gifted ages ago that was rotting away in your bedroom.

Moving past the others, still clutching the bouquet, you walked over to your closed bedroom door, opening it with much more force than necessary. You were about to breeze into the room when your eyes fell onto your bed and your whole body stopped.

“Oh, I’ve seen him,” you called out to the others. “Just now, actually.”

Thomas was on your bed, kneeling on your bed, in all his naked glory. Well, not quite, a collar and a harness decorating his body in beautiful red, matching the tiny red satin underwear perfectly. His head was bowed, even now that you had entered the room and he was sure to hear the turmoil behind you as the others tried to catch a look at whatever had made you halt in your tracks.

You were amazed at the way Thomas didn’t seem tempted to look up. Proud, even. You’d been playing this way for a while now, without the others and he had taken it on better than you could have ever dreamed. Even now, in this unexpected situation, with three additional pairs of eyes on him, he didn’t falter.

You wondered how long he had been kneeling there for, utterly submissive, a present waiting for you to get home. He’d probably had the same idea as the others - a little celebration in the eyes of you finishing your semester. Only, his gift to you had a much different quality to it.

“You know, I also would have offered sex at some point tonight, but it seems you’ve got that covered,” Vic grinned with a knowing smile on her face. You simply gave her a wink as you turned around and caught her eye, before stepping further into the room and toward Thomas.

Your hand gently petted his hair, along his face, briefly resting on his shoulder, before you hooked your finger into the silver ring on his collar, jerking him ever so slightly forward with it. He finally looked up at you, knowing he was finally allowed, eyes wide and loving. You smiled at him, a soft touch to his cheek.

“Oh, I’m sure he won’t mind some company,” you said to the others as they filtered into the room behind you. “Will you, puppet?”

***

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[candiedspit]

NOTES ON BEING AN ANGEL

Drifting in through the open window are the sounds of a city on the gilded perch of the fresh, brisk promise of a New Year. (How fond we are of promises). I hear the golden pitches of trumpeting cabs, barking salesmen, a baseball game underway in the park, bicycles gunning through the naked streets, madmen mumbling truths beneath their salted breath. 

All of this disgusting, glorious world. It is enough to break your heart. 

I am a young thing, all body and mind. A clear glass of water for a mind. How the rush of images lace the abyss of my brain. How the images leap at me like starved fish. I wish I knew what it was to be held. I did, once. I was held in Rome beneath the pretty awnings, the misted rain which fell as though embarrassed at the realization of touch. I was beautiful, then. Alone, all those hours in the studio pacing, beaming, thinking thoughts which left me panting like a dog coming in from the heat. I peered into the lens as though it could love me. How the minutes felt like years. How lived I felt upon returning. As though I were a veteran with war pushed into my sights, as though I knew the sounds of detonation overhead. 

I know nothing. I know myself as well as I know anything at all; my thin ankles and teacup pupils and the veil of hair which hangs from my skull. I have mastered the art of Francesca. (Francesca wants too much). And how fearful the world is of girls who know themselves. How the world flinches at a girl in her skin. 

Nobody is home. All around me, silence falls like a thousand hefty anchors. I am laying on the cold with my back pressed against the polished hardwood. The scent of a candle burning in the kitchen. Oak and vanilla. I attempt to fall into the blue glare of the television but the headlines resound and everything else reminds me of the piercing needle in my soul. I burn. 

Perhaps I was foolish to believe I could have what I want. I have seen everything. I have swallowed twenty-two swords in my lifetime. One for each year. I know the loneliness of Dahmer, the love of poets. I have killed the horse of dreams. I have ruined it all. I was beautiful in Rome. 

But I am not to be seen. That much is clear. I am a thing to be scared into corners. I am a leviathan. 

It is getting late. Outside, the snow is piled on the corners of shops. 

I undress. Though it doesn’t feel as though I am losing anything by doing so. 

I stand on the ledge. I give you one last chance. But nothing calls and nothing comes. The world is an open window; the world is undeserving. I open the window with my hands. 

And fling myself into frame; into focus.

[asortafairytale]

i logged into the empty facebook account i used to use to sell shit the other day and one of my suggested people i follow was my cousin so i was like okay, let me stalk him, see what he is up to

dude is fucking rich as hell??????? he got rich as hell????? he's living in a restored historical home and posted a pic of his fancy ass inground pool getting…repaved….or something…..for the summer (i don't know what you do with inground pools I'M NOT RICH) and all these check-ins at places in italy and a video of him singing with the cab driver in rome like get out of here

[jordanandegypt]

Zürich, Switzerland

Tuesday, Sept 10, 2024

Greetings All.  We are in Zurich trying to change our body clocks by 6 hours.  Easier said than done.  We flew yesterday from Detroit to Amsterdam and the idea is to sleep the night away as we transverse the Atlantic - but both Mark and I got maybe 2 - 2.5 hours of sleep during our 7 hour flight.  We left Detroit at 6:30 PM and arrived 7 hours later in Amsterdam at 8:30 AM their time. - but at 1:30 AM our time.  We had a short layover (1 hr and 25 minutes) but in Amsterdam this is JUST enough time to get to your next flight - so we got to the gate and boarded.  The flight from Amsterdam to Zürich is only an hour and while I may have slept on that flight it was not more than 20 minutes.

We got a pretty pricey cab from the airport to our hotel - but we could not face figuring out public transportation as tired as we were.  Sadly - our hotel room was not ready.  We opted for a leisurely lunch in which Mark had cold spicy melon soup and I have garam marsala butter chicken - both delicious - but really all we wanted was a bed to stretch out on.  (Don’t worry I will not tell you everything we eat!!) After lunch we got the news that our room still wasn’t ready and I did something I have NEVER done - feel asleep in a chair in the lobby of the hotel.  But by 3:30 we were in our hotel and we opted for naps - until 5:00.  Hopefully bedtime will come easily...

Enough about us…. Let’s get to our adventure...

The theme for this trip is “OLD STUFF.”  We will start with "real old" and work our way to "OMG WAY WAY OLD."  We, in the US, get so excited when we see a structure from the late 1600s  or early 1700s - but that is a joke in this part of the world - kinda a “baby building.”  

So let’s start with Zürich Switzerland - our current “home."

From what we have seen, Zürich is a beautiful city surrounded by the foothills of the Alps mountains located at the northern end of Lake Zürich and built on Limmat River (pronounced “Limit” that flows from Lake Zürich.  This city has a history going back centuries. 

The town was founded by the Romans a bit over 2,000 years ago. Recent excavations show evidence of settlement even before that -  over 6,400 years ago. 

We explored the old city from about 5:30 to 9:00 - or 17:30 to 21:00 - as any citizen of the world would say - with a a few exceptions - like us.

Surprises:  There are no “walk/don’t walk” signs - pedestrians just have the right of way - PERIOD!

There is graffiti everywhere - I was shocked!

EVERYONE smokes!  Or it seems that way.  DISGUSTING!

I went to buy our 24 hour pass for public transportation and was told to just keep in with us.  If asked we would have to show it - but there is no check in - check out system.  Trust, my friends.

Things we expected:  Public transportation options would be numerous and easy to use and very clean.

People would be helpful and kind

Things would be EXPENSIVE.

We took the tram to old town and at one point saw this:

While we were listening to  this:  

Kind of eye and ear candy.

I think I forgot to say what the Swiss flag looked like - so here you go…

We ate dinner at an outdoor cafe - late - (when in Rome, so they say) and it was outstanding.  Mark had cold roast beef with horseradish sauce and I had “Rösti” with smoked salmon, onions, capers and a dill sauce.  OMG!!!

Rösti is shredded potatoes fried in butter and made into a mound.  You can get lots of different kinds of “Rösti’ and I highly recommend it.  Split with someone  - it is huge.  (It will be breakfast for us tomorrow.)

Tomorrow - we will explore more than the transportation system.  I’m going to bed. It is 22:00 here and I'm hoping to wake up for the first - and maybe only - presidential debate - which would be 3:00 AM here. If I do - I'll watch it live. If I don't - I will be more rested when I watch it later Either way - we are in Zürich rooting for Kamala!!

CIAO!  (Yes - they say that here too)