#a little late for christmas but I just saw this and it sparks joy

[skekheck]

From Laura Mann's instagram (@ lauramanns )

[fallenneziah]

Last day and I told myself if I didn't get something in I would die. So, here it is. @glitterypirateduck

Military Aviation Pilot Ghost x his unofficial official partner. Cw: Wearing his dog tags, dog tags tugging, Ghost in sweatpants, kitchen sex, make-up sex (of sorts), Ghost with a head injury, messy proposal talks, a little spat. Look, I saw a cool jet gif and my life changed.

A mile high in hopes.

Simon stood outside the runway, watching people walk around along the tarmac and wave signals to the watch towers around. It was getting late, the evening glow had set in and the wrap up for the day crew was soon.

He stood by the wall with his gear and flicked his cigarette ashes down into the ground and smearing them with his boot.

The phone rang several times before he picked up, pressing it to his ear with a little smirk when he heard your voice. "Well well,"

"You in the air yet?"

"I'm answerin' m'phone love. No, I'm not up yet." He looked back at the ground, furrowing his brow and digging the toe of his boot back into the cigarette smudge, lifting the last of the thing to his lips.

"You'll make it home earlier tonight, won't you?" You were currently curled up on the couch, waiting on some dumb re-runs that you weren't terribly interested in. Food cooked away in the slow cooker on the counter, the aroma filling your small apartment with warmth.

"Yeah, yeah I'll be home." He looked up as one of the crew workers came over to him and motioned his finger in a circle.

"Gotta go love, they're putting me up."

"Simon, a little longer."

"Love, I'll be home in an hour or two, just wait up for me, all right?"

You shifted in the blanket and slumped your head back against the couch. You sighed a little and finally relented. "Ok, but I'm not saving you dinner if you aren't home by the time I get to it."

Simon exhaled the last drag of his cigarette and smirked. "Deal." He stamped out the last of the smoke and ended the call. Shouting ensued across the grounds as Simon got his helmet and his mask.

The crew around him did laps of his jet and unhooked the wheels. Simon climbed in and set the windshield down over him. "Here we go, pretty girl." He rubbed the interior over, admiring the blinking lights and the gauges coming to life with light.

He looked down across the crew as the jet was rolled out of the hangar and positioned on the runway. He flicked the necessary switches and looked down at the others around him. Control tower coming in through his head gear.

"Takin' the missus to the mile high club, Riley?"

Simon chuckled, a twinkle sparking in his eye. "Already have."

He started up the engine with the all clear and eased the throttle. The wheels rolled and he strapped on his breathing mask. Before long he was catching speed and pulling the jet up into the air.

"There we go." He smiled, keeping his gaze focused on the sky in front of him until he had the jet leveled out. The air against his wings shredded in splitting white streaks as he set off.

Once he was relaxed he looked around and out at the vast world below. He chuckled deeply and eased on the speed just a tad more.

You sat there, sipping your water as you watched the only thing that was on this late, those dumb soap operas. At the least it was somewhat entertaining.

The street was filled with the golden light of Christmas as the two main characters found themselves outside of a large Christmas tree. "It's beautiful!" She exclaimed, joy written on her face and the breathless wonder of her first Christmas.

You watched intently as the man looked at her with love, before kneeling down and opening a small box. Your silence continues as you rubbed his bare ring finger with concentration.

"Julia.. my dear, sweet love," He gently took her hand. "Will you marry me??"

Her eyes widened, and in a panic she-

The commercial break blasted through the room and your stupor was broken to quickly grab the remote and turn it down.

"Fuck." You grumbled and rubbed your forehead. You pushed the blanket aside and headed to the kitchen to check the slow cooker. You sighed softly and stared through the steamy lid, and then the timer over the dial. Your gaze lingered into your hands, flexing your fingers slightly and examining your nails, then your knuckles.

Your hands came to your chest and you rubbed the finger quietly. You wished he would propose already, it had been years, and you couldn't understand the hold up.

You reached back and fiddled with the chain on your neck, pulling out his dog tags. He had served before, part of him had wanted to start out in the Marines but after a flight crash left him with head trauma, that wasn't as acceptable anymore.

The clock ticked by slowly while you waited. The commercial break finished and the woman in the soap opera embraced her boyfriend-now-fiance, giggling and smiling brightly.

By the time Simon got home it was late. Once again. You were half asleep on the couch in front of your half eaten plate of rice and chicken.

Simon slowly opened the door and closed it behind him. He took off his bike helmet and set it down on the shelf. Unzipping his boots and sliding out of them.

Your eyelids fluttered down briefly. You lifted your head and looked over to the door as Simon came in. "Simon..?"

He tilted his head as he stepped into the darkness of the living room. "Hey sweetheart." He leaned down and kissed your cheek before walking down the hallway. You sat up and checked your phone, seeing how late it was.

You frowned and pushed aside your food. You leaned against the door frame in the bedroom and watched him undress. He slid off his jacket and tugged his sweat soaked shirt off his body.

He flexed and grabbed out his sweatpants from the closet.

"You're home late." You said.

Simon shifted and looked back at you through the mirror. "I know love, I'm sorry. I tried to call."

You slid your phone from your pocket, checking the call history. "You're lying, Simon."

You walked into the room as Simon pulled off his belt, flicking the loop with one hand and flicking it, tugging the belt out from around his waist.

"M'not lying."

You felt yourself start to deflate. Mentally you were done with him. "When are you going to get your head out of the clouds?"

Simon sighed as he slipped into his sweatpants and scratched his stomach. "I'm on the ground, aren't I?"

"That isn't what I meant."

Simon passed you and headed to the kitchen. "Simon, would you look at me!"

"What." He paused and looked at you. "I'm looking at you. What do you want?"

"I want you to stop lying to me."

"I'm not lying, I just forgot ok??"

"You always fucking forget! You forget to come home, you forget to talk to me, you won't even marry me so maybe we can set some things straight!"

Simon was quiet for a moment. He sighed and leaned against the sink, staring at the wall.

"Y'know it's going to be the same answer every time.." He muttered.

"I know, but I don't like that answer. I want to be able to help you, I want to get you medication and take care of you until we're old, but you won't fucking marry me!"

"Maybe because I'm not ready-"

"Then when will you be!?"

"I don't know!" He snapped.

Silence befell both of you. You stepped back and rubbed your hands as Simon went for a glass of water and his medication.

After he took the pills he took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, ok? I'm just... I feel better when I'm up there."

You looked back up at him, your hands still nervously fidgeting. "So, you don't feel good, with me?"

"No, I'm not saying that. I'm not saying that at all. I love... You, I love hanging out with you. But I'm not in a good spot." He whispered a little.

"Then let me help you."

He swallowed thickly. "I can't..."

You shuffled over to him slowly. Simon watched you, his hand tightened on the edge of the sink. He leaned in closer, his other arm touching your hip. "M'gonna marry you.."

"You promise?"

He nodded, leaning down so his forehead touched yours. "I promise.. I'm gonna marry you." He rubbed his thumb against your hip.

You relaxed slightly and tilted your head up to capture his lips. Simon inhaled sharply and leaned toward you. Your hands wrapped around his neck and pulled him toward you.

"Make it up to me for coming home late."

He kissed you back and groaned softly into your mouth. He inhaled and slipped his tongue into your mouth, his hands roaming slowly to the hem of your shirt.

"I can do that..." He muttered through kisses. He back you up until you hit the counter. Your hands roamed across his neck, squeezing his pecs and groaning into the kisses.

Your tongues sloppily pressed together and tangled. He breathed in your scent and lifted your shirt up and tugged it up over your shoulders, breaking a trail of saliva to get it off.

You panted and kissed him again, your bodies colliding together and his hands moved back to unlatch your bra.

You groaned excitedly and leaned back to look into his eyes. "You know I love you?" He nodded breathlessly and ran his hand through your hair, tugging your head back gently and began to kiss your neck.

"Mmn, I love you too."

He grunted and tugged at your bottoms, yanking them down and leaving you in just your underwear.

"You're gorgeous.." He growled and leaned down, his tongue flicking out and licking over your collar bone.

You gasped and gripped his arms. You arched your back and ground into him, your hands roaming and grabbing at the muscles on his body.

He moaned softly and lifted you up onto the counter, spreading your legs apart and slipping his hands to the band of your underwear, slowly peeling them aside. You looked down, his forehead pressing against yours and his thumb pressed against your clit. You breathed out through your mouth and tangled your fingers in his hair. He hummed deeply and rubbing his thumb in firm circles over your clit while listening to your little gasps.

"Fuck…" He kissed your collar again and with his free hand he brought one of your breasts to his mouth. He swirled his tongue around the bud of your nipple and gave it a little tug. Fire sparked in your chest, the air in your lungs seemingly snatched from you before you could think.

Your hands squeezed his hair, and your hips jerked against his hand. He moaned and kissed the valley between your breasts. "Mm, good girl.." He murmured, and pulled his hand away to push down his sweatpants. His cock sprang free and he wrapped his arms around your thighs to pull you closer to the edge, and the tip of his cock brushed against your labia.

You panted softly and reached down, grasping the base of his cock and pushing him into your heat. "Oh- fuck." He groaned and his brows furrowed. "Wastin' no time…" He breathed out heavily and slid into your warm cunt. The thick warm walls contracted around his cock, welcoming him deeper. He stretched you out, his hand returning to your clit to continue pressure on it.

You gasped and rocked your hips, your legs wrapping around his waist. He panted and pressed his forehead against yours, starting a fast pace. His balls smacked against your ass, his tip bumped into your spongey core and your eyes rolled back into your head.

You cried out, the pleasure washing over you and gripping him closer. You never wanted to let him go. His smell washed over you and took you under like a massive wave you couldn't bring yourself to fight. It was like slowly drowning, losing everything so long as he had his arms around you.

"God.. oh god-" You moaned, his lips meeting yours for another kiss. "Simon.." You breathed, and he grunted, his hips thrust faster, his free hand reached up and wrapped around your throat. Your head tilted back and you gasped for air as his thumb and forefinger pressed into the columns under your jaw, making it harder to get oxygen. Your cunt started to drip soaking wet with each thrust. His cock sliding deep pelvis against pelvis, and the pull out. It barely gave your walls a moment before he was sliding back in at a forceful speed.

He watched the fluttering expression on your face and it made his stomach twist in the best way possible. His gaze zoned on your soft lips before gazing down at your cunt taking him so well.

"Simon-!" You choked. His hand shifted down your neck and wrapped the chain of his old dog tags around his knuckles to tug you closer.

"Mine." He groaned, and his thrusts got harder. The sound of wet squelches and skin against skin echoing in the apartment. Your legs tightened around his waist and you gasped as he hit your g-spot over and over. Your walls contracted around him and you let out a cry. Your back arched and you clenched up tightly, a rush of warmth flowing down from your belly.

"Fuck, fuck-!" You gasped and dug your nails into his back. Simon grimaced and tugged you closer. He pulled you off the counter and held you tightly in his arms, locking his arms around you.

You moaned loudly as you came. Feeling his body against you and his ragged breath against your face made your heart pound. He loved you. You shuddered and came hard on his cock, whining when he tugged you closer.

He fucked you through your orgasm, whispering sweet nothings against your ear. Your eyelids fluttered closed, and he kissed you roughly. Your tongue met his halfway. You panted against his lips, and his tongue licked yours, sucking on it.

His own orgasm was building, his balls tightening and his tip dripping precum. He held onto you, slowly shifting you along his cock until his grip relaxed, focused on kissing you. You desperately kissed him, inhaling his smell and chasing the butterflies that filled your stomach every time he gave your body attention. A feeling only his touch could reward you with.

Simon groaned against your mouth and slid his cock out of your cunt. You attempted to move away but Simon gently grabbed you again to keep you close. He caressed your hip and stroked his cock, cumming cross your abdomen.

You panted, looking up at him and then his hand working the last of his orgasm out. "Mm…" You leaned into his body, nuzzling his shoulder.

"Love you."

He panted softly and brushed some of your hair away to kiss your shoulder. "Love you too, sweetheart.."

He smiled tiredly, and looked around. "Let's go to bed."

He helped you and kissed the side of your face, walking to the bathroom to wash up. Using a warm wash cloth against your skin, and then following you to the bedroom. You both laid down and you curled up close to his chest. His arms wrapped around you and nuzzled the top of your head with a gentle kiss.

"I know I forget a lot now… But I promise that your needs and wants will not be."

That made tears start in your eyes. You curled up closer and squeezed him tightly. He smiled a little and rubbed your back. When he was ready, he would marry you. He didn't want to keep you waiting, he just needed some time, and the money. And he would make you Mrs. Riley.

[harryhandstan]

prompt: harry wakes up early on starbucks cup release days and surprises you by buying all the ones he thinks you’ll like. he’s usually able to escape the paps but this time they catch him and he ends up having to explain it in his next interview and gets all shy and can’t stop blushing.

a/n: hello all!! first I want to apologize for my 4 month long writing absence. life just has not been kind to me lately and unfortunately zapped a lot of my creativity energy, but I’m happy to have something done now! hopefully I can continue and keep a more consistent schedule for the remainder of this year!

immense thank you’s are owed to my kind friends @tobesolonely and @meetmymouth for the encouragement to find my creative spark for writing again and for being amazing betas! and to @taintedwonder for the lovely idea! @theharriediaries​ was so sweet to beta for me as well!!

word count: 2.1k

writing tag | masterlist | tiktok inspo 

Harry was usually smarter than this. He had a schedule, a plan, a way to get in and out pretty quickly without being seen. 

But today, he’d lingered too long at the mugs, curious if you’d want one of those as well. Your go-to was iced coffee, even year round in the winter you would prefer something cold over anything warm. He was thinking though, of the nights you were stressed and wanted a cup of soothing tea before bed, or those slower mornings where you don’t have to rush and a mug of coffee fits nicely in your hand while he admires you from across the kitchen table.

By the time he’s decided that yes, you do need this mug with the pastel rainbow print to add to your collection, along with a few of the other cups he thinks you’ll adore and a fresh bag of your favorite flavor of coffee, there’s already a small crowd of people forming in the lobby of the coffee shop and he hopes that he can get through them without being recognized as usual; prays that it’s only the regulars filing in for an early morning fix of caffeine before they rush off to start their day.

The barista thankfully is quick, skillfully giving him his total before rushing off to make the drinks he ordered for the two of you as well. He sees the way her eyes keep darting to him though, knows after years of experience that she knows who he is and is trying to work up the courage to say something to him or ask for a photo. He almost considers offering, she’s been so nice not to draw any attention to him, maybe something discreet could be pulled off. 

In the end he chooses not to, not wanting to assume that’s why she keeps looking over at him. It could be that he still has the hood of his sweatshirt tucked over his beanie or the fact that he’s now walking out of the shop with a small handful of the brown shopping bags with the familiar green logo imprinted on the front.

He breathes a sigh of relief when he makes it back to his car without anyone stopping him. He’s so distracted by securing the bags in the backseat he fails to hear the small clicks of the camera not too far away.

There’s a small comfort in the quietness of your shared apartment when he returns. While he loves coming home to the sound of you dancing around the kitchen making breakfast, his favorite is getting to wake you up himself. There’s a sweet softness in the way the side of your face rests against your pillow, mouth parted slightly and a gentle snore vibrating through your chest. It never fails to make him smile. He cherished the way you inhale faintly, stretching your limbs before blinking a few times, adjusting to the new day you’re waking up to. If he was there, already awake, your eyes always found him before anything else.

This morning is no different, except for the confusion on your face when you find him sitting on the edge of the bed instead of snuggled next to you. 

“You’re up to something, I can tell.”  You’re propped up enough now to accept the coffee he’s holding out for you. You take a few small sips, sighing and letting your head fall back against the headboard as you savor the taste.

“M’that easy to read, huh?” He chuckles, his hand on your thigh now, warming your skin even through the blanket, “Well..would you like your surprise here or will you be joining me in the kitchen while I make you breakfast?”

“Oh I get a surprise and breakfast today? What’s the occasion? Little early for my birthday, H.” 

“Don’t need an occasion to spoil my girl, do I?”

“I guess not.” 

You shrug, trying not to let the guilt bubble up enough to where it flashes across your face. One of his loudest love languages had always been gift giving, a quality about him you thought was wonderful, but still had a hard time accepting. You had to be careful about mentioning things you may want around Harry, he would use any excuse to treat you.

He’s rambling off his reasoning already as he leads you into the kitchen and settles you in one of the tall chairs next to the counter. He always ends his explanation with “I know you told me not to, but…” followed up by what you’re sure to him sounds like a very logical justification for why you need/deserve whatever he was gifting you. There’s nothing out of the ordinary of your regular kitchen set up this morning though, so you do what you normally do when he announces a surprise for you; let him take the lead, not wanting to take away from his excitement. 

“So..surprise or breakfast first?” He stands on the other side of the counter now, his hoodie and beanie discarded, wearing a t-shirt you were sure you bought for yourself but he seems to have laid claim to.

“Breakfast, please. If you don’t mind.” 

“‘Course not. Any requests, baby?”

Your heart flutters for a moment, just as it does each time he uses that particular term of affection for you. He’s already opened the refrigerator, scanning over options for what he could make for the two of you. You recover long enough to tell him no, that whatever he wants to make would be fine, sitting back and enjoying the view as he cracks a few eggs into a bowl.

You don’t even notice that you’re staring until he turns and catches your eye, “What? Did I get a shell in the eggs or something?”

You giggle as he even picks up the clear bowl of eggs that he’s already scrambled and seasoned, even going so far as to swirl his finger through the liquid to double check before you can stop him.

“No, it’s just..I can’t get over the fact that you’re making breakfast for me while wearing my t-shirt.”

“S’it yours?” He glances down at it, “Thought it was mine, sorry..”

There’s a smirk on his face as he turns back to the stove, and you know just by seeing that he knows you don’t mind; you love seeing him in your clothes as much as he adores seeing you in his.  

It’s not long before he’s presenting you with a plate, sitting next to you with his own plate in front of him. When you don’t immediately dig in, he leans over to inspect the food, worried that maybe he’d overdone the eggs or your toast was slightly more brown than you liked. 

So when you say, “You’ve forgotten something very important, haven’t you?” he panics, thinking maybe he should’ve taken the time to include fruit to balance the meal. You take pity on him, not making him wait too long before you lean in and he instantly softens, realizing what you’re asking for. 

He meets you the rest of the way, lips soft against yours, the taste of the coffee you’ve both had lingering for a moment before he pulls away, “Very important. How could I ever have forgotten?”

When you’ve both finished eating, he downs the last of his coffee and stacks your now empty plates to take to the sink, pecking your forehead with another quick kiss, “Alright, close your eyes. Count to 20.”

You begin to count off in your head, and you hear his voice, a bit further away, “Out loud, angel.”

There’s a rustling of bags getting closer as you count, and you can even hear a few clinks as they come closer. You can feel him moving around you, positioning things perfectly for when you open your eyes. 

He’s still behind you when you finish counting, hands squeezing your shoulders to urge you to open your eyes. When you do, you immediately recognize the bags and know exactly what he’s done.

“Oh no. Absolutely not. This is too much, Harry. I let you spoil me with little things here and there, but I cannot accept this.”

Sitting in front of you are..you stop to count them now; 1, 2, 3, 4..6 bags from Starbucks. You know from experience that each one of them contains 2 cups or mugs. You’re sure at least one of them also includes your favorite roast of coffee. He had done this before around Christmas time, when you’d mentioned how adorable a few of the ones from the holiday collection had been, not thinking that he would go back later without you and buy all the ones you’d touched or admired.  

He ignores your refusal, “You can take back any you don’t like. Go on,” He peeks inside one of the bags closest to him and then pushes it closer to you, “Start with this one.”

“Harry, really..”

“Don’t think, just open. If you really won’t accept any of them then I’ll take ‘em back and buy you something from somewhere else.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.” You try your best to look serious, but you can’t stop the smile from spreading across your face, “Thank you, H.”

You finally go through most of the bags, offering oohs and ahhs and even a few squeals of joy at certain ones. 

“I think I got all the ones you’d pick for yourself. Saw you eyeing one or two the other day and the others I just guessed.”

He had done very well in choosing for you, even going so far as to get the two of you a matching pair of the kind that changed colors with the temperature. 

“For our smoothies.” He explains when you give him a particularly soft look at the idea of matching with him. 

“Also got us a matching set of these,” He skips to the last bag, too eager to wait for you to open it yourself, revealing the mug he’d taken the extra time to select, “For our Sunday morning tea. Or if you change your mind and ever want a hot coffee.”

All you can do is repeat the same expression of gratitude as before you had opened them, “Thank you again, H. I love them all, really. No more though, alright? We’re running out of cabinet space. Did you go to our regular spot or a different one so you wouldn’t be recognized?” 

“Different one. Can’t believe I wasn’t spotted though. Must’ve been too early for the paps to be out and about.”

“Or maybe you aren’t as interesting as you think you are, babe. Harry Styles coming out of a Starbucks is old news now.” 

His eyebrows shoot up in mock surprise, “Oh is it now?”

“Mhmm. You’re just plain boring now, H.” You shrug, peeling at the price tag on the bottom of one of the cups, avoiding his gaze; knowing if you look at him you’ll break into a fit of laughter. 

He’s impossibly calm, just like he is before any interview he does. 

You sit across the room from where he’s currently getting his hair done. The stylist was nervous, understandably so, her hands unsure at first. It only takes a few moments of being near Harry; working his quiet, delicate magic of putting anyone he’s near at ease. By the time his hair is finished he’s pulled a few laughs from her and she leaves the room with a big beaming smile and a wave to the both of you.

Now that you’re alone again, he beckons you closer and tugs you down to sit in his lap, despite your protests of the possibility of wrinkling his incredibly expensive suit. 

“Don’t care,” He leans up to press a kiss to your neck, keeping his face tucked there in your warmth, “Just want you close for a moment.”

Normally you would run your fingers through his hair, but you don’t dare do that now, hand drifting to the side of his face instead, “Not nervous are you, H?”

He lets you gently push him back enough to see his face again, “Never. Just happy to have you here with me, that’s all.”   

It’s not until he’s in front of the audience, presented with the evidence of just a few days before, displayed on a screen for all to see. He had been caught, despite his confidence of getting away. He falters for only a beat, head down in hopes to hide the blush spreading high along his cheeks. He finds you in the crowd, sending a bright smile your way before he shrugs, turning his attention back to the host.

“What can I say? My sunshine likes her coffee.” 

//

tag list: @harrysblackcoat​, @summertime-pills​ 

thank you for reading!! as always likes, rbs, and feedback is welcome and appreciated!!

[generallybarzy]

under twinkling lights.

an: christmas in april? sorry this took so long.. but here’s a little bit of established relationship and soft cute Christmas smut! Its been too long since we had something so sweet and smutty about our fav cute ass couple. It’s all sweet and soft and cute and then it gets filthy... the perfect dynamic, i want what they have. i was only inspired to finish this because of barzys hatty tonight haha, he deserves everything. I didn’t really spell check this yet, just needed to post finally!! Personally, I think its the hottest thing I've ever wrote. Lemme know!!! 💕

tagging: @softboybarzal​ @fallinallincurls​ @matbaerzal​ @npatrickz​ @canadianheaters​ @selenophileangel​ @deleausvp​ @colecaufields​ @hockeyhughes11​ @nazdaddy​ @barzysreputation​ @comphybiscuit​ @aboveaveragehockeyboys​ @ifiwasshawnmendesidslapmyself​ @petey-patty​ @starswin​ @heatherawoowoo​ ​

word count: 6.5k

You never believed you’d find someone to spend your life with. If anyone told you your holidays would one day be spent cuddling up with your boyfriend of almost two years in the apartment that you had just moved into together earlier that month, you would have told them they were wrong. Flat out wrong. Things as beautiful and destined as that only happened in movies, and you certainly weren’t lucky enough to get something like that. But, now, here you were.

And here was Mat.

Even after two years with Mat, there was still nothing better than spending the evening cuddled up with him on the couch. No matter how many fancy, expensive dinner dates he took you on at upscale restaurants in the city or how many helicopter rides you took together out in B.C. when he was showing you his home, or how much you loved hanging out with his friends and his family and his teammates, nothing was better than cuddles at home. As much time you spent together, you still felt as giddy and comfortable and safe and at-peace as that first time with him. Things didn't simmer down, that spark didn't fade away after a bit like you feared they would. But they became more subtle. You no longer had to ask him to come to the couch to cuddle, you no longer worried that maybe he wouldn't want to. It was a habit, at this point, to fall into his arms at the end of the day just the same as he did with you. You were each other’s safe havens, the place you laid your head to rest. You loved each other, and there was no place you’d rather be than together.

You’d spent the evening baking cookies, decorating the new tree, and wrapping his family member's Christmas gifts- a book his mom had been wanting, along with some of the cookies you'd made and various at-home spa items; hockey memorabilia and classic jerseys for his dad; and some new pieces of technology and the latest eye shadow palette that his sister had been wanting, along with some stupid jokes gifts that he wrapped in duct tape like the annoying older brother he was. Now, after the sunset bared its last light over the horizon and through your window, you lay together in bliss, with the tree twinkling its colorful lights across the room as you and Mat snuggled on the couch under a fluffy blanket, and everything felt right. 

"I don't know why we went through all that work to decorate the tree if we're not even spending Christmas here." Mat grumbled playfully, his head on your chest, partially hidden under the blanket. 

"Well," your face glowed in a smile as you remembered the flight out to Vancouver you had in a few days. Spending holidays with his family was always your favorite. Your family wasn’t the best, and it wasn’t too healthy to spend your holidays with them, but you always had Mat and his family. They were so welcoming, so kind, and for as many years now as you’d gone as Mat’s girlfriend, they had accepted you like family. "Because this is our home, Mat. It'd be wrong not to decorate it for the first time." 

"I don't need a tree for this to feel like home." 

“Aww, baby.”

“It’s true.” He pushed himself up onto his hands and knees above you on the couch, bringing his face level with yours. His warm breath hit your lips as he brushed his nose against yours, eyes slipping shut and grinning. “I love you. Always.”

“I love you always too.” 

"I'm so glad you're here. I'm so happy we live together, finally." 

"I'm glad we live together, too." 

Mat snuggled down into your neck, the locks of dark hair that had been growing out lately tickling your face. You reached up to brush them aside and curl your hand around the back of his head, cupping his head against you tenderly . His hair was getting so nice and long, and you knew he’d have to cut it soon, per the team's guidelines, but god, you were gonna cherish it now. 

"I actually have something for you, Maty."

"A Christmas present?" 

"Well, an early Christmas present." You smiled at the excited look on his boyish face as he leaned back, the lights from the tree highlighting the sparkle in his eye. "You can't open it at your parent's house, so we're gonna do it here instead."

"What is it?" 

"Try to figure it out." 

He sat up then, his eyes scanning the room for anything that might seem out of the ordinary, anything that might be hidden. He was looking for his present, and you had to hold back a laugh at the sight. 

"Maty…" 

"No, no, I'll find it."

"Babe…"

"I got this."

"Let me give you a hint, at least." You sat up with him and took his hand in yours and cupped it against your cheek, turning your head to the side to kiss his fingers. He smiled at the touch, melting back into you and tracing his thumb across your skin. 

"Alright, gimme the hint."

You pushed his hand down the smooth skin of your neck, the swell of your breasts, down the curve of your waist, and to the hem of his hoodie that swallowed you up. "It's right in front of you, baby." 

"For real?" The joy in his eyes was the same you saw the first time you told him you were ready to take that step, almost two years ago now. No matter how many times you were together, he was always just as excited.

“You say that as if we’ve never done this before.”

“It always feels like the first time.” 

You glowed and let go of his hand to reach up and cup his face between both of you. His words came so simply and without hesitation that you knew he was sincere. “Aw, Mat…”

“I’m serious.” 

“You’re so sweet tonight.”

“Maybe I just really want to lay some love on you.” He hitched his hands under your thighs and tugged you close, lying you back against the couch once again. His hands slid up the soft skin of your tummy and waist, dipping under your shirt momentarily, and causing your breath to hitch in your throat- his hands always managed to do that to you- as you breathed out the words against his lips. 

“Maybe I’m gonna let you.” 

With one last grin, his face dipped down to yours, locking your lips together in a familiar, electric dance. Soft, gentle lips moving against yours had never felt as good as with any other boyfriends as they do with Mat. His touch was intoxicating, made your mind wander and your heart race flushed your skin and shocked you to the core. Ever since the very first time his hand grazed against yours when he reached out to hold it for the first time, to the first time your bodies connected in passion under the covers, it felt the same. Like fire. Even two years later, he drove you insane, and all you wanted, and frequently achieved, was to drive him insane as well. In the best way possible. Mat broke apart from your lips momentarily to slip the hoodie over your head, revealing his gift. “Fuck…”

Right there, in front of his eyes, your breasts were covered only by a lacy crimson fabric, held together behind a pretty red bow. With each heavy breath of anticipation, your chest was heaving softly before his eyes, and he found himself hypnotized by the gentle rise and fall. 

“You like it?"

“Holy shit, you’re hot.” 

“So are you.” 

His eyes were wide, warm, and gentle, looking over you. He dragged his gaze away from your chest even though you could tell how hard it was, and shook his head. “Not as much as you.”

"Mmm", you took the liberty of taking his hands from where they had frozen beside you and placing them, big and warm, over your chest. "Go ahead, baby." 

"No, no, I wanna savor this first."

His mouth dipped down, soft hair tickling your neck as he nibbled at your chest, laying little love bites and kisses along the tender skin. He cupped your boobs and squeezed them around his face, humming in content. You couldn’t help but laugh as he buried his face against you, and you could feel his grin break out against your skin. “Having fun, baby?”

“Oh my god, yes. You’re gorgeous. So soft.” 

“Mmhm.” You sighed into his touch as he kissed his way back up your chest.

“Baby.” He spoke softly to get your attention, and your eyes opened lazily to see him, biting his lip and holding the delicate ribbon between two fingers. “Can I?”

“Please.” He gave a gentle tug, and with one last heave of your chest, the lacy bralette fell open, revealing one of Mat’s favorite parts of your body. 

“Fucking Christ.” 

“Bub, you can’t be swearing like that so close to Christmas.” 

“How do you expect me not to when you’re…. God, just so perfect…” You saw the way his eyes glazed over mid-sentence in the colorful lights of the tree, the way his jaw went slack as you arched your chest up towards him. He reached out, slowly, as if worried you were going to disappear if he moved too quickly, and when the large, rough hands curled around the side of your waist and slid up and down, you felt goosebumps pop up along your skin. 

“Your fingers are cold.”  

“But you love it.” He ran the pad of his thumb over your nipples, watching as they pebbled under his touch in the cold air. “So do I.” 

“Warm me up?”

“Always.”

He dipped his head down, his mouth hot and wet along the peaks and valleys of your chest, down your stomach.

His fingers traveled over the familiar layout of your body, colored in soft golden and red and green in the dancing Christmas lights, tracing each recognizable landmark with specific care- every memorized freckle and birthmark he had kissed since your first night together and every dimple in your skin that he cherished, every spot that had his fingerprints imprinted onto like memory foam after so many nights spent holding you tight with everything in him, as if you'd slip away. As if you'd want to. With each inch his hands followed, he found more, there was always more territory to be marked down, jotted down in his brain for future reference. He was always finding something new. Something more to use against you, to use against you in the best way possible, to push you further and further to that blissful end goal.

He made his way down, down, down, until his breath was hot over your lace-covered core, his hand gripping your hips tightly. Mat smiled as your hands found his hair, curling your fingers through a fistful of the dark locks before releasing and smoothing it back into place again. Mat's favorite thing about going down on you, besides the way it pleasured you, was the way your hands felt on his head, massaging and grabbing and twisting and pulling. It was heaven to him, letting you guide him around like that. 

“Can I take them off?” 

“Hmm.” As much as you wanted him to ravage you right there, with those soft, sultry eyes he was giving you, he was wearing far too many clothes. “You first.” 

Mat didn't say anything else before stripping out of his dark crew neck sweater and jumping up off the couch to kick his gray sweats down. His smile was contagious as your gaze dropped from his face, down his bare chest and the little chain you’d gotten him for your anniversary, down towards the tent in his boxers with a silly, excited grin. He laughed. "Not tired of seeing me yet?" 

"Never."

"You sure you’re not getting bored of my dick yet?"

"No, baby. Definitely not.” You grinned, the thought of spending the rest of your life with him bouncing around your mind. “Why? Are you getting bored of me?"

"No way." Mat leaned down to lace your fingers together and lock lips. "How could I?"

"How could I get tired of you, Maty?"

Mat hummed. He loved this little play, the little banter, the back and forth. He'd loved it since you first started dating, and he always would. He knew you loved him endlessly, but he played along. "I'm just a hockey player."

"No, you're my hockey player. My boyfriend. My pretty, pretty baby."

Mat settled back down between your legs with a warm smile. "Yeah, I am. So can I take these off now?" He hooked his fingers in the waistband of your panties. "C'mon, I know how much you love my tongue."

Your thighs squeezed around him at the words. “Fuck, please.”

“Anything for my baby.” 

You lifted your hips for him as he tugged the lacy fabric down your thighs with nimble fingers, stopping momentarily after they were off to just look at you. He let out a sigh, his eyes finding yours again with a soft look as you squirmed a bit beneath him- not because you were shy, no, you were long past that point in your relationship, but because you just needed him to do anything to you. Mat had spent the past two years helping you love and appreciate your body, and this, right here in this moment, was the perfect showcase of how much he helped- as he was gazing down at your naked body and the only thing you felt was just the absolute need and desire for his body to move against yours and his warmth to cover you up. No nerves. Only love, and need. 

“Shit, you’re gorgeous.” 

“I know.” 

The lack of hesitation in your reply had Mat bending over you and laughing. “That’s your response?”

“Yeah! I mean, you let me know. You make me feel so confident.”

“Mmhm, good, babygirl.” He scooted back down to lay his head against the soft, naked inside of your thigh gazing up at you through his eyelashes. “I always wanna make you feel good. Physically and mentally.” He turned to lay open-mouthed kisses against your thighs, and any thought of response you may have had dissolved completely as you leaned back and waited for him to do his magic. His hand reached up to cup your heat, just feeling you against his palm for a moment before swiping a long finger through your fold, smiling and raising his eyebrows at you. “Oh? Already so wet for me?” 

“Always, baby. You should know this by now.”

“Yeah?” He dipped his fingers at your opening teasingly and his head dipped down to connect his lips with your clit, kissing it gently and watching you squirm. “Ugh, I could fuck you right now if I was in a rush. But you know the foreplay is my favorite part.”

“I know. And you’re so good.” 

“Good.” 

He went silent then, his tongue wide and wet, licking a long stripe along your slick and gathering the wetness at your clit, giving it soft, kitten licks and wet kisses. He listened intently for every soft sigh that left your lips- music to his ears- and felt every tug on his hair when he flicked his tongue in small circles around that spot like he knew you loved. And the best part was that he knew. You didn’t understand how couples could get tired of each other after years. You didn’t understand how the excitement could flicker away or how they could get tired of each other’s bodies or minds. Never in your relationship with Mat have you felt as excited as now, two years in. The thought that he knew your body inside and out, maybe even better than you did, was just so overwhelming in the best possible way, and the longer you lay there, with Mat’s mouth on you, you couldn’t stop thinking that this is your man.   

Mat was lying flat against the long couch, his face between your thighs and his hands holding your legs open for him. His dark hair was a wild mess, and you could see the gentle movements of his lower back and ass and the back of his thighs illuminated golden in the lights, rolling lazily against the couch cushion- covered by a blanket, of course- to provide any friction for his sadly untouched cock. 

You hadn’t even noticed the noises dripping from your lips until Mat pulled back, and the lack of feeling his mouth against your core had you whining for him.

“Fuck, I’ll never get over you.” 

“Mmmmat.” You hummed his name, dragging out the “M” in the way you knew he loved.  

“Yeah, baby?” 

“Please keep touching me.” 

He sat up, between your thighs, knees digging into the couch, and his bare thighs and torso on display for you. You loved him, all of him, and all of his body. His legs, his abdomen, his chest, his arms… all of it was amazing. Perfect to look at and perfect to touch, to grab, to dig your nails into as he railed you. To ground yourself with. “Baby, you know I love eating you out. But I just gotta see you right now. And talk to you.” His big hand slid up the inside of your thigh, and your breath caught in your throat when he started rubbing soft, small circles against your clit. “So this position will have to do, okay? I promise I’ll spend all day before our flight eating your pussy.”

“I’ll remember that.” 

“I hope so. God, this fucking thing. Could eat it for days.” He pushed a single finger inside you, slow and steady, but enough to make you clench around him. His fingers were so much better than yours, just a little longer and a little thicker in a way that had you squirming for more. “So fucking tight and wet. So hot. I’m so lucky to have you.” His free hand left your hip, leaving nothing but cold, empty fingerprints on your skin, and rubbed against the bulge in his dark boxers. You could see how much he was aching, and you were determined to make it better. 

“Mat, c’mere.” 

“I’m knuckles deep in your pussy, babe, how much closer do you want me?” You laughed at him, rolling your hip down against said finger. How he could be so funny and sexy at the same time was beyond you.

“Lie down with me. I wanna touch you.” You held your arms out for him and scooted to the side, and he obliged quickly, lying on his side between you and the back of the couch and hooking your left leg over his right thigh. His hand dipped back down between your thighs, pressing into you before you could even catch your breath, feeling exhilarated at the much more intimate position. “Oh, fuck, Mat.” You reached out to him, willing and eager to reciprocate the feeling. He drew in a sharp breath at the way your hand rubbed over the thick bulge in his boxers, pulling the waistband down just enough to release him from his cotton prison.  

His cock jumped up against his lower belly, stiff and pink and needy for you and only you. Your hand, your mouth, and you could tell by the way Mat’s fingers paused inside you that he was anticipating the moment your fingers wrapped around his length. “Oh, that feels so good. Always does, baby.” And then, as you worked your hand against him, he pumped his long fingers inside you, bringing his other thumb to rub mercilessly at your clit. But still, even with the way he was fucking you on his hand, the most intense part of this moment was the way he held your gaze; the lust, the need, the twinkle of amusement in his hazel eyes at the sheer amazement that he got to do this with you; and the love- the pure, unadulterated love that soaked from his skin to yours, in every touch, in ever moment spent together, every kiss, and every time you laid together, bare and vulnerable, in the heat of passion, under the twinkling lights or in the dark, safe haven of your home to show each other how much you loved each other. His warm eyes glittered in the light, reflecting the gold and green and red lights from the Christmas tree that illuminated the room, and the city lights outside the window of your apartment lit up his body and highlighted every muscle. Your apartment, the one you own together, and the one you knew you were going to make countless memories in. His eyes glittered with love, with the question of “can you believe we still make each other feel so good?” and with the statement “I want to kiss you so bad right now”. Your hand pumped his length, pulling a soft moan from his lips, one that you had used to have to work so hard to hear. “I want to hear you, baby” You had used to say, practically begging him to let himself go as he bit his lip to hold back the moans. It had taken a bit of encouragement, but now he never held back with the sounds that left his pretty mouth. You lay there, vulnerable and exposed to each other, staring into each other’s eyes as with hands between each other's thighs, cheeks pink and hearts full of love as you helped each other climb to that climax. 

You broke eye contact first, laughing breathlessly and feeling your cheeks go hot under his gaze. Despite the lack of shame you felt in front of him, he could still get you so flustered and giggly. 

“What’s so funny, beautiful?” He asked between shaky breaths. 

“You’re so beautiful, Mat. Those moans are so pretty. I can’t believe it.”

“Yeah?” He smiled with another laugh. “I can feel how wet you are. It’s crazy.” He slipped the tip of a third finger into you, your hole aching and pulsing around them already. “Oh, fuck, I love your moans too.” And you could tell he did, as his hips jerked helplessly up into your hand. “Faster, baby.” 

“Only if you kiss me.” 

Without hesitation, he leaned over and his lips locked onto yours, needy and begging but oh, so willing to go slow and passionate. The hand that had been teasing your clit came up to grab at you face, squeezing a tit on the way up, and you reached a free hand out to tangle in his dark hair as you leaned in and continued to jerk him in your hand- up and down, and up and down, twisting around the head just like he liked. “I love you.” He whispered against your lips, breaking apart for only a moment to look down at you one more time in awe. “I love you so fucking much.” 

“I love you, Mat.” 

“Fuck, I love you.” His lips crashed back against yours again, his fingers plunging deeper inside you as he kissed his promise into your lips, the promise that he was there and he’d always be there. He was yours. And you were his. Simply that. The heel of his palm rubbed against your clit as he curled his fingers inside of you, hitting that wonderful spot and making fireworks twinkle behind your eyes. He groaned into your mouth as your hand curved over the head of his cock, palms getting slick with his pre-cum, and stroked back down to cup his balls gently. He let out a breathy laugh at the tender feeling. 

“Baby, look at me.” You cupped his cheeks between your hands and pulled him back when you began to feel your peak rising. He whined when your hand left his cock, aching and hard, and his fingers halted inside of you, cupping his palm against your heat.

“Oh, baby,” His eyes locked on you, making a show of how they were scanning up and down your body. “I’m looking.”

“I need you inside, right now.”

His bottom lip was sucked between his teeth and his eyes nearly rolled back in his head at the words. Even after so long, he still couldn’t handle hearing those words. His eyes fluttered shut. “Fuck, say less.” He rolled over you to sit upright on the couch, finally pushing his boxers all the way down his thighs and onto the floor. He gripped his cock in his hands and slid between your thighs, bending down over you to kiss your lips. “How do you want it?”

“Just like this.” Your hands fell to his hips and pulled him close. 

“Yeah?”

“Wanna see your face. Maybe it’s basic, but I love this position.”

“Yeah. It’s simple, but so intimate. I like it too.” He paused and leaned back for a moment, looking down at his sweatpants on the floor for something. “Shit, ugh, I don’t have a condom here, hold on-” 

“No, no, no.” Before Mat could run off to the bedside drawer, you grabbed his hands in yours, pulling him back to you. His eyes went soft and cautious for a few moments. 

“No? Babe, shouldn’t we…” 

“We’ve had conversations about this, right? About doing it without?” Mat nodded, a little smile beginning to pull on his lips. “I’m still on the pill, and I know I remembered to take all of them recently, so we’re still pretty safe, if you want.” 

“Fuck, I want.” He settled back down between your knees. “Are you sure?”

“A hundred percent.” 

“Alright.” Mat chuckled in boyish excitement. He reached a hand down between your bodies to adjust himself, nudging the blunt head of his cock against your clit and rubbing his pre-cum along your slit, lining up with your tight entrance and sending sparks through your body. “God, my God, I can’t wait to come inside you. Feel you around me completely. See my cum on you.” One last time, he bent his body down over yours, his weight warm and heavy, the metal of his chain cool between your chests, and pressed his mouth to yours, breathing in your warmth. One of your hands curled around his waist, slid to the small of his back, just like he always did to you, and the other cupped the back of his neck, fingers curling into the hairs and playing with the chain around his neck and pulling him in closer to your face. He broke away slightly with a sigh against your lips, his forehead bumping against yours and his nose nudging yours in a familiar gesture. He didn’t need to say the words anymore, because his quiet affections were ones that you’ve known for a long time. 

His question was loud and clear, and your answer was just as obvious. 

Mat brought a forearm down next to your head to steady himself, stroking the pad of his thumb against your warm cheek as his hips finally pushed against yours. Hands tightened their grips on each other’s bodies, sliding across hot skin slicked with sweat, and a euphony of moans mingled together in the air at the initial feeling of finally being connected in such a primal way again. His hips were flush against your own, and the weight of his thick cock inside of you was heavy and intoxicating; you could feel his tight abdomen expanding and contracting with every heavy breath and shudder through his body. He let out a long string of moans, his head dipping down to nibble at your throat, and fuck, did you know what he meant. You were connected, everywhere- heart, skin, and mind. “Fuck, oh my God, baby, hot as ever.” 

“Oh, Maty…” 

“I’m gonna give you so much love, beautiful.”

“Please.” 

The first withdrawal of his hips from yours was painstakingly slow, and all you wanted was for him to plunge back in again and again and again. And he intended to do that, in time. Mat loved to take his time, but it didn’t take him long to fulfill his promise, sliding back against you, his cock hard and aching inside your wet cunt. He found a steady, easy pace rolling his hips into yours, each stroke like electricity through your body, long and languid, taking his time to draw your pleasure out, taking the time to feel your body around him. His knee dug into the couch hard, steadying himself and getting more traction so he could pull closer to your body, snapping his hips against yours with slaps that had you both gasping for air. 

“Oh fuck…” 

“Feels so good, Mat.”

“You’re fucking amazing.” He let out another high-pitched whine and arched your leg over his hip. “More?”

“More, faster, please baby.” 

His hips slapped against yours with a groan, his big hands holding behind your knees and opening you wide for him. He leaned back to take a good look at you, at the scene in front of him, trying to take in every image he possibly could. Because these were the best moments. Not only the sex- god, but the sex was good- but just being together, being close, being intimate and so so close, yet only craving to become closer and closer. “God, you’re so hot, babe. So tight, so wet, all for me, right?” When you couldn’t answer, too overwhelmed with the way he was pounding against you, he took it as a sign to keep running his mouth. God, you loved to listen to him talk. “So wet, all for me. Getting all turned on over this big cock inside you, yeah?” You nodded your head enthusiastically, pulling his body closer to yours. He followed without hesitation, down and down until your bodies were glued together and he was just pushing against you, his hips driving yours into the couch cushions. “All fucked up for my cock, are you? Fucking beautiful.” 

“It’s so good, Maty, baby, so big, fills me up so good.”

“I love you. I love you, (Y/N).”

“Oh my God, Maty, I love you.” 

His mouth locked onto yours, sealing your lips together and swallowing your moans down. Dark locks of his hair shielded your face and tickled your cheeks, and as soon as he inched away to take a deep, shaky breath, your eyes opened up. He steadied himself on strong arms, framing your face, his veins prominent, and you curled a small hand as far around his thick bicep as you could, watching in awe as his head jerked back, throwing his long hair off his forehead and squeezing his eyes shut as he concentrated on pounding against your dripping cunt. 

Slowly, his body peeled back off of yours, away, away, and he brought himself up to his knees in front of you. You let your eyes roll slip the long length of his torso, decorated with glittering reflections of gold and red and green, shining off the sheen of his sweat, and you looked from his thick neck, covered in your love-bites, down his chest, down the hard muscles of his abdomen and tummy, and down the V of his hips to the small patch of prickles that rubbed against your clit with every thrust. His thighs were spread open with your legs wrapped ever so gently around his hips, and his cock was stilled, aching inside of you. He shifted around on the couch momentarily, readjusting his knees on the cushions. “Ya know, we’d be a lot more comfortable in our bed than out here.” 

“But it’s so pretty out here. All the pretty twinkly lights on you…” 

“On me?” He laughed, “Look at yourself, babe. I’m fucking lucky.” 

His big hands traced down your cheeks, squeezed down your chest, curled down the curve of your waist and hips, before finally wrapping around the backs of your thighs and pulling you closer, hoisting your legs up, up, and over his shoulders and spreading you wide open in front of him. 

“Ooh, Mat…” You giggled a bit as he easily positioned you in the way he wanted, smirking down at you wickedly and rubbing his thumbs up and down the wet slick of your pussy. 

“Gonna make you fuckin’ come, babe, my god… you want that?”

“Yeah, yeah, please, Maty.” 

“Just a little bit longer, ‘kay?” He rolled his hips against yours again, starting up that steady pace again. His hands held your thighs open, lifting your legs up the length of his torso and locking them over his shoulders, and he never failed to make you seem tiny compared to him. You watched, mesmerized, as his abdomen tensed and hardened and spasmed as he tried to keep himself under control. 

“Please.”

“Little… longer.” 

With one more low moan, your boyfriend bent closer to you, his chain dangling in your face tauntingly as he got back to pounding away at you, heavy balls slapping against your ass with every erratic movement, his thrusts getting sloppier and sloppier and his breaths getting deeper. He was so goddamn close to that edge. He could tell you were getting there, too. You’d been on the edge ever since he started pounding you, but now, you were only a few feather light touches away from falling over that edge. And Mat was ready for it, he could barely hold his own seems together, he could barely think about anything except how rock hard he was and how your tits were bouncing so perfectly in rhythm with his hips, the way your eyes were rolling back and the way his cock felt inside you, fully covered in your slick, both your lower halves sticky messes. He was ready to fall apart completely, and ready to help you reach your own. “You look so fucking good taking my dick like this, babygirl. It’s so big, isn’t it? But you just take it so good, yeah? My good, good girl with her perfect fucking pussy, taking that cock so well.” He reached his fingers down to roll his thumb lazily against your clit, ever so gently, but enough to make you fall apart. Your eyes rolled back as you gasped out for him. 

“Please, M- Maaaat…” 

“Oh, you- you want it, don’t you?” Mat’s words were getting shaky, his sentences choppy. He was so close, so close his mind couldn’t comprehend anything beyond just fucking letting go. “Want your boyfriend’s hot cum filling you up, just flooding that- ugh, that tight little cunt, yeah? My balls emptied inside you? You want that nut so bad, you’re so desperate for it, huh? Tell me, baby. Tell me how you want the love of your life to just… fucking f- flood your pussy.”

“I want it, Mat, I want you to cum, baby.” 

His thrusts became erratic, his hand leaving bruises on your thigh and his thumb absolutely torturing your swollen, sensitive clit. He was getting desperate, too. “Where? Where do you want my big fucking load?”

“Cum inside, fuck, fuck, please, Maty-”

“Ohh, gonna fucking nut inside you, babygirl-”  

“I’m gonna cuuuum, Mat…” 

“Ohhhh, fuuuuuck, oh, oh (Y/N)...!” Mat let out a long, strangled moan, his voice shaking and whiny and breathless in exasperation. His hips stuttered and his thighs trembled beneath him as he nearly collapsed onto you, absolutely flooding your aching, spasming hole with his cum. Your mind went fuzzy and white when you finally felt his stitches come loose, and he finally emptied all of himself- all his hot, gooey warmth- inside of your throbbing cunt. And flood, he did. It felt like the thick ropes of cum were never ending, filling you to the brim, until finally, he was done, his eyes squeezed shut and hair falling into his eyes above you.

Forming sentences would be a miracle at this point, but you reached up to curl a finger around Mat’s chain and yank him down to your face, ushering him to collapse against your body. And he did, eyes glancing open for a moment and lips locking with yours, always thankful to be able to fall onto you after a hard day, after absolutely spending himself. He groaned against your lips and buried his face against your neck, panting against your skin and kissing your neck and breathing in your scent as your hand found it’s rightful place at the back of his neck.  After a few moments of stillness, he reached down lazily and let his cock slip out of you, both of you whining and the loss of contact, and you felt a familiar wetness on your tummy as his cum dribbled down the head of his spent cock to fall on your warm skin. 

You were silent, panting for a few minutes, just letting your heartbeats steady back to normal and your heads to recover from the dizzying orgasms. Then, a breathless chuckle vibrated through Mat’s chest and into you. “Merry fucking Christmas to us, right?” 

“I think that was the hottest thing we’ve ever done, Mat.” Mat hummed in agreement, squeezing you between his arms. “Now you see why we couldn’t do this at your parent’s place?”

“I mean… what’s stopping us?” 

“Mat, I know for a fact you can’t keep quiet enough to fuck in your parent’s house.”

“Says the one who was just screaming my name.”

“As if you weren’t moaning mine just as loud.”

“Hmm.” Mat laughed again at the banter, the playful back and forth, and rolled to the side, his back to the back of the couch, and pulled you against his side. “How do you feel, anyway? About… me coming inside? Still feel good about it? Wasn’t too much?”

“No way. I really… really enjoyed that. Everything about that. A lot.” 

“Mm, that’s good. So did I.” 

“But… I kiiiiiinda feel like we should clean up. It’s starting to feel… sticky, like, everywhere. And not a good sticky.” 

“Yeah, how about we take a bath together? A nice warm bath in the lights of the pretty Christmas lights you love so much? How’s that sound?”

“Sounds like heaven, Mat.”

So Mat scooped you up in his arms, his own legs weak and shaky after an unbelievable orgasm, and he pressed kisses against your cheeks as he carried you through your brand new home, lit in the pretty pinks and gold of the Christmas lights, stopping before the bathroom door only momentarily to ponder on the beginning of the rest of his forever with you. This truly might be the beginning of the best years of his life. The beginning of an even more serious relationship with you. He felt your fingers playing with the chain that still hung around his neck, the one the guys teased him about the charm on the end, but the one he always wore for you, and he glanced down, his eyes warm and contemplative as he searched yours. This. This was eternal love.

“I love you, babe. Always.” His heart felt dipped in syrup when you smiled up at him with that soul melting look. Yep. You’re it for me.

“I love you, bubs. Always.”

[awindylife-writes]

Voyage of the Damned Part 3

Relationships: the Doctor x reader, Astrid x reader (platonic), Astrid x Doctor (platonic)

Summary: Voyage of the Damned rewrite. The Doctor and you find yourselves on the Titanic, space edition. You meet Astrid and get ready for a wonderful day, but then a meteor shower hits the ship and it starts falling towards Earth.

Author's notes: There was a number of things l didn't like about this Christmas special so again, l rewrote it.

Warnings: a ship crashes, multiple mentions of dearth bc a lot of people die, Astrid dies

"It's for the Doctor!" Astrid yelled at Midshipman Frame over the comms. She needed to teleport NOW. "Y/n and him are down on deck thirty-one, alone, against all the Host and Gods know what else and they're doing it for us!" Silence on the other end. "It's time we did something for them," she ended her speech with a finallity.

A moment passed and she feared she'd failed.

But then, "Giving you power," came through the comms.

~

"Only one person could have the power and the money to hide themselves on board like that. And l should know, 'cause..." the Doctor trailed off. You stared at the strange compartment you had found on deck thirty-one.

"My name is Max," a voice finished for him. A strange machine with a head in it came through the smoke.

"Who the hell are you?" it demaned.

"I'm y/n, and this is the Doctor," you pointed at your friend with false cheerfulness, "Hello!" you wiggled your fingers in greeting.

~

"You wreck the ship and the board find their shares halved in value." The Doctor was spelling out Capricorn's plan.

"But that's not enough," you interjected. From what you've learned about them, mad billionares who were losing all their money didn't do things half-way.

"Oh yes,"  the Doctor went on. "'Cause if a Max Capricorn ship hits the Earth, it destroys an entire planet. Outrage back home!" he growled. "Scandal! The buisness is wiped out!"

The billionare's head nodded. "And? The whole board is thrown in jail, for mass murder!" His eyes shone with revenge.

"While you sit here, safe in the- what's it called?" you turned to the Doctor.

"Impact camber," he filled in.

"I have men," Capricorn gloated now, "waiting to retreave me from the ruins. And enough off-world accounts to retire me to the beaches of Enhaxico Two where the ladies, so l'm told, are very fond of... metal."

You were going to puke.

"So that's the plan," the Doctor growled in rage. "A retirement plan. Two thousand people on this ship, six billion underneath us, all of them slaughtered and why? Because Max Capricorn is a loser."

"I never lose," the billionare's head scowled in threat and your voice immediately rang out, mocking, "You can't even sink the Titanic!"

"Oh but l can, pretty girl!" he laughed. "I can cancel the engines, from here!" Red lights and alarms were suddenly flaring everywhere before you could spit in his face.

The Doctor yelled behind you, "You can't do this!"

"Host, hold them!" Caprocorn ordered in turn and began the Gloat 2.0. "Not so clever now, are you? Shame we couldn't work together, you two are rather good. All that banter and yet not a word wasted." The head sighed. "Time for me to... retire."

Ugh, you thought as you furiously tried to get free. That pun alone would be enough to kill a buisness.

"The Titanic is falling, the sky will burn, let the Christmas inferno commence!" Capricorn yelled in victory and called his minions. "Kill them!"

The robots brought up their halos and went for the Doctor's neck.

"NO!" You fought with everything you had but you were late, you'd be too late!

"MISTER CAPRICORN!" a voice you knew cut through your fear.

And it ignited terror. It was Astrid, sitting in a forklift. "I resign," she told the head and drove forward, ful throttle.

"NO!" the Doctor and you screamed, "ASTRID STOP!" "ASTRID DON'T!"

She didn't listen and rammed into the life support system, but its engine was too strong. They were equal and couldn't move each other.

You bit, kicked and screamed, anything to get free.

But then she caught your eyes with hers and everything stopped. There was an eternity in her face. She looked at the Doctor too but you still stared at her.

Then she turned away and stepped on it. The life support lifted and she drove on.

There was no sound. The world was mute as you watched Astrid go over.

You were suddenly at the edge, looking at her disappear into the fire. Someone was screaming. Someone was screaming and you wanted to calm them, help them.

Then you realized it was your own voice.

The world came back into focus. The ship was falling apart and the Doctor was silent at your side. He was staring at the spot where Astrid had disappeared. His face was pale and his eyes blank. You laid your tears aside and took his hand.

"We need to go," you told him, your voice wet with tears. He didn't move.

"Doctor, we need to go,"  you told him again calmly. You thought that was why he looked at you suddenly, and then stood up.

He rewired a Host with lightning speed. It took you each under one arm and off you went.

When you broke through the ceiling of the bridge, you were still in one piece. Arms you had used to shield your head were a bit bloody and you were sure there were at least two splinters in them. You don't look the gift horse in the mouth, even though you would prefer a different Christmas miracle.

"What's your first name?" the Doctor asked the injured Midshipman Frame.

He answered in confusion, "Alonzo."

"You're kidding," the Doctor breathed as a shocked smile spread on his face. You didn't know. You just didn't know anymore. You were drowing in the emptiness inside you but his name was Alonzo.

"Allons-y, Alonzo!" the Doctor yelled and you held on tight. You didn't scream. You didn't even open your mouth. There was nothing anymore.

The Doctor whoohooed when he managed to right the course of the ship and you were just there. Were you there? Astrid wasn't. And that was what mattered in the end.

~

"TELEPORT!" the Doctor yelled and it didn't matter. "Y/N, SHE WAS WEARING A TELEPORT BRACELET!!!"

That woke you up. You ran faster than ever before, to the main deck where the teleport was.

"Brixton, sonic," the Doctor demanded from the billionare and caught it as it was thrown. "Mister Copper, the teleports, have they got an emergency setting??"

"I don't know, they should have?"

"She fell, Mister Copper, she fell!" the Doctor told him while pulling apart the machine like a madman. "What's the emergency code?"

The billionare interjected, "What the hell are you doing?"

"We can bring her back!" you yelled with everything in you.

The historian explained, "If a passenger has an accident on shore leave, their molecules are automatically suspended so they're in stasis, so if you just trigger the shift..."

"THERE!!!" the Doctor screamed and flicked the switch.

And there was your Astrid.

"Falling..." You could hear her voice!

"Only halfway there, come on!" The Doctor wasn't finished with the teleporter.

"I keep falling!" She was scared. Your friend was scared and you wanted nothing but to calm her. You carefully walked up to her and took hold of her hand. It felt like holding warm smoke.

There were tears on your cheeks already, again.

"If l can find the molecule grid, boost the restoration matrix and-" The computer snapped and threw sparks. "NO-NO-NO-NO-NO!!" the Doctor screamed in desparation, "need more phase containment-"

You sobbed, but you knew what was coming. You just looked at your Astrid Pith, into her crystal blue eyes and sushed her. "Hey, hey Astrid, it's alright. It's me, it's y/n, remember? You're alright. l've got you," you promised with a voice as soft as sunlight.

She didn't look as scared as before. Then, so slowly you thought you were imagining it, she looked at you.

"Let her go," you could hear the historian and you sobbed again.

But then Astrid's voice cut through. "Stop me falling?" she asked and you nodded. You found her gaze with yours and promised her, "Anything."

"She's just atoms," you heard Mister Copper from behind you. "An echo with a ghost of consciousness."

"She's stardust," you concluded as your voice broke. "You hear that Astrid?" you asked, still looking into her blue eyes."You're stardust."

She didn't seem to hear, so you did the only thing you could think of.

"There's an old tradition," you told her and softly kissed her cheek. Then you kissed the other, and then her forehead.

"You dreamt of traveling," the Doctor came to stand beside you. You were still sobbing when you pulled away from her and you didn't try to stop. There was no one there you needed to save face for.

"Now you can travel forever," you told her. You knew what the Doctor would do, and your eyes didn't leave hers for a moment.

You heard him soothe her, "You're not falling Astrid."

"You're flying," you both said in one voice.

You watched as she floated away, through the window into the universe.

Then you turned to the Doctor and buried your face in his chest as you both cried.

~

"I transferred all my shares to Max Capricorn's rivals. It's made me rich," the billionare Brixton admitted, disbelieving.

You were empty, and you were tired. That was the only reason why you didn't tear this man limb from limb. Astrid was dead.

"Mister Copper," the Doctor's voice woke you up. "I think, you deserve one of these."

You turned around and saw him holding a teleport bracelet out to the historian. Then, after the latter took it, he slipped one on your wrist. He took your hand and suddenly you were standing in the snow.

~

"But l can have a house, and a garden and-" You couldn't help but smile a little. At least Mister Copper would be alright.

The Doctor yelled after him, "Where are you going?"

"I have no idea!" the man replied in joy.

"Well, we don't either," your alien smiled gently at you and you tried to smile back, you really did. He looked at you, his brown eyes full of sorrow, and pulled you to him. You held onto him tightly as he hugged you.

"But! Y/N!" the historian yelled and you turned in his direction.

"I won't forget her," he promised you. You were tired, so so tired, so you just nodded. "Thank you," you told Mister Copper for her. "We won't either."

"We won't," the Doctor assured you softly, just to be sure.

Then he opened the TARDIS door and stepped into your home after you. You walked up the way and then stood in front of the controls, lost.

The Doctor walked up behind you and decided he would do anything, anything to keep away the blank look in your eyes. He turned to you and pulled you to him again. You let him, your movements sluggish and dazed.

"I've got you," he assured you. "I've got you, y/n. You aren't alone, and you aren't lost. You've got me." And that was enough. You sobbed into his chest, you didn't know for which time today.

But this was different. This was yours, and you clung to the Doctor as everything in you came to the surface.

His tears joined yours. He'd lost Astrid too, and he hated seeing you in pain. He slowly brought both of you down to kneel when you were too tired to stand.

And that was it. That was what you needed and that was what you had. You would be alright. In time, you would be alright.

[dreaming-about-fanfictions]

Choose Me Instead II Draco Malfoy x Reader II Chapter 15 of 27: Fireworks

Summary: Pretending to be in a relationship with Draco Malfoy to get back at your ex might have not been the smartest idea you ever had. Especially during your last year of Hogwarts where you should be focusing on exams and your future plans. However, you were just pretending. There was no way in hell you could actually catch feelings for someone like Malfoy. … Right?

CHOOSE ME INSTEAD MASTERLIST

A/N: I was feeling sick for the past few days that’s why this chapter is a little late. Love you all so much for your amazing feedback and support! I hope you’ll like the chapter! <33

Words: 4.1k Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Reader, post-war Warnings: none

Whispers in a dark room, soft touches, kisses all over your bodies; a laugh so bright and full of life, it made his heart ache. Clothes on the floor, candles lit on the nightstand, your perfume lingering in the air. The way, he ran his fingers through your air; the sound of your heartbeat underneath your skin.

Draco’s mind kept wandering back to the moments in the hotel room. Every fiber of his body wanted to go back, wanted to feel close to you again. He hadn’t realized how starved he was for human connection until your lips found his.

“Draco!”

Draco flinched and almost dropped his knife, when his mother called his name sharply. Narzissa Malfoy sat across the table, sending him a warning look.

“I’m sorry, Mother,” he mumbled. “I was …”

“Dreaming,” she finished his sentence. “You’ve been distracted all day, Draco. It’s impolite to our guests.”

“Oh, don’t worry, Narzissa,” Mrs. Greengrass chirped. “Astoria is just as quiet today. Who can blame them, really? They don’t care about our gossip.” When she laughed, Draco noticed that her eyes grew so small, they were hardly visible anymore. It made him wonder where her daughters got their beauty from. It certainly didn’t come from their mother.

He looked to his side where Astoria absently stared at her table. She had barely touched the food yet. Something seemed to bother her.

Narzissa had invited Mrs. Greengrass and Astoria for lunch today. “Just to catch up,” she had said to her son. However, he knew that wasn’t the full truth. His mother was worried. Very worried.

In the beginning, she had believed dating a Gryffindor was just an excuse for Draco. A way to postpone the engagement a little longer. Those games happened more often than anyone would like to admit but she knew quite a few similar stories. However, after the holidays and after seeing him for the first time since the school year started – she had noticed something. A change in him. Small and tiny, like a daisy trying to grow in the cracks of old pavement, but it was there. And it kept on growing.

Draco had smiled when he came home – and when Narzissa asked him about you, there was a spark in his eyes and happiness in his voice. It left her wondering if the whole relationship thing wasn’t an excuse after all.

Narzissa wanted Draco to be happy, of course. He was her only son, her pride and joy, the love of her life. He had to endure so much pain and suffering in his young life and a lot of it was undoubtedly caused by her husband and herself. A fact that broke her heart and filled her with guilt, every time she looked at Draco. So what kind of mother would she be if she didn’t wish for Draco to find his way back to life and for him to be with someone who offered him the peace and stability he so desperately craved?

However … she was still a Malfoy – and a Black. And your family? Despite being Purebloods and also quite comfortable in their ways of living, they were different. She had experienced this first hand when they came to the Manor two years ago, demanding to know the whereabouts of their other daughter. No, after the scene that unfolded that afternoon, Narzissa highly doubted that a union of their families would bring anything other than chaos. It would be as if Draco tried to marry into the Weasley family. Not at all suitable for a man from his background.

But a marriage with a Greengrass? In Narzissas mind, it would be truly perfect. They had so many similarities – growing up in the same circles, living in the same Hogwarts house, sharing friends and values. Perfect, Narzissa had thought when Mrs. Greengrass asked her about a potential engagement between their children. And in a very self-centered way, she also realized that this would get her family back their former reputation. It would mean money and status and another chance at the life she had lost after the war. Draco just needed to marry Astoria. It wasn’t too much to ask. After all, Narzissa didn’t love Lucius when they got engaged – the feelings grew over time. Surely, it would be the same for Draco and she was certain that he would be happy with Astoria. There was nothing wrong with arranged marriages – they were practiced among pureblood families for centuries. So why break that tradition now, in a moment, where the Malfoys needed it the most?

When Draco came home after Christmas and spoke about you, Narzissa knew instantly that it was time to act. He didn’t realize it yet, but Narzissa saw it – if she didn’t put a stop to it now, Draco would soon know that his feelings succeeded the ones of a teenage crush. Under no circumstances could he find out, that what he felt – under all the confusion – was love. Luckily (at least for her in this exact moment), her son was an expert at swallowing down his true feelings and pushing others away. So there was still hope for Narzissa. He simply needed to spend more time with Astoria to realize that the future of his family was more important than you.

As a start, she had invited Mrs. Greengrass and Astoria over for lunch. Afterwards, Narzissa planned on going on a long walk with Mrs. Greengrass, leaving their children alone together. Now, she looked at the faces of the two of them, bored and distracted, and decided that maybe sooner would be better than later.

“How about,” she turned to Mrs. Greengrass, “we go for a walk and let these two catch up.”

Draco frowned. “We’re not done eating yet. Isn’t there des –”

„It’s alright, I’m not that hungry,” Mrs. Greengrass interrupted him. She had picked up on Narzissas undertone. The two women stood up, gracefully as always, and smiled at their children.

“You spent the whole morning talking about how you looked forward to this lunch, mum,” Astoria pointed out, barely hiding her annoyance.

Her mother laughed. “Nonsense, honey.” She put her hand to her daughter’s cheek. “Have fun, you two.”

When the door fell shut behind their mothers, Draco snorted and shook his head. Astoria stayed quiet. Her eyes were back on the plate. She still hadn’t touched the food.

“You don’t like it?”, Draco asked.

“Would you be offended if I said no?”, she asked dryly.

“Slighty,” he raised an eyebrow, “mainly because I know from first-hand experience that our house elves cook better than yours.”

“Right,” she scoffed. “Because for everything the Greengrasses have to offer, you find something better.”

Draco stopped his fork right in front of his mouth. Lowering it, he turned to look at her. “That took a conversational left turn.”

The black-haired woman simply stared at her plate, clenching her teeth.

Draco sighed. He sensed where this was going. “Just say it, Astoria.”

Finally, she reacted. With a little too much force, she slammed her fork down. “I said it,” she tried to keep her voice calm and steady. “Time and time again. Quite frankly, I’m tired of repeating myself.”

“Is this about Y/N again?”

“No!”, she spat. All gone was the attempt of acting calm. “Not everything is about that –”

“Careful,” Draco warned her and leaned back against the chair.

She raised her hand but then took a deep breath. “Not everything is about her.”

He waited for Astoria to keep talking – but she didn’t. Oh, how tired he was of having the same discussions with her all over again. “Then what’s your problem today?”

“You’re an asshole,” she snarled.

He shrugged. It was probably true.

Astoria shifted in her seat and for the first time, since they had sat down to eat, did she look at him. He saw the anger and frustration in her eyes.

“Why don’t you want to marry me?”, she asked.

The question – and the confidence she asked it with – took him off guard. Draco frowned. “What?”

She rolled her eyes. “It’s clear that you don’t. I’m asking you why.”

Because I don’t want to end up like my parents, was the first thought that popped in his head. It surprised him. He loved his parents and had spent most of his life looking up to them – but the thought of entering the same lives as they did over twenty years ago … It scared him. A young marriage to someone he didn’t love, being surrounded by people like them, raising kids in an environment as hateful and strict as the one he grew up in … He didn’t want that.

It wouldn’t be that way with you.

He swallowed at the new thought, wondering where it came from. Well, obviously, spending so much time with you in a literal “What if?”-scenario, would give him all sorts of ideas. Yet, he couldn’t help but think that whoever you chose to spend a life with – you’d be different. The family you started would be different. Your house would be filled with love and laughter and you’d adore and support your family no matter what. He just knew.

As if Astoria had read his mind, she suddenly asked: “What can she offer you that I can’t?”

Everything. And nothing at all.

Draco was irritated at the wording. “Offer me?”

“Yes,” she nodded. “What can she and her family offer you –”

“She doesn’t offer me anything,” he clarified. “Neither does her family. She or you are not something I can buy.”

Astoria groaned and threw her head back. “Oh, Merlin, don’t go all Gryffindor-feminist on me. You know what I mean.”

He did. But he wasn’t keen on explaining to the young Greengrass why he preferred to spend his time with a Gryffindor over her. “I’m not planning on marrying her anytime soon, Astoria,” he said instead, a lot softer now.

“Great,” the sarcasm was dripping from Astorias voice. “Then we can get engaged.”

Draco let out a long breath. “No.”

She crossed her hands in front of her chest. “Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to,” he burst out. Merlin, why couldn’t she just leave him alone?!

“Why not?”

He wiped his hand over his eyes, suddenly feeling tired and exhausted. “Because I don’t have feelings for you.”

There was a brief moment of silence in which Astoria simply looked at him. Then suddenly the corners of her mouth began to twitch. Before he knew what was happening, she started laughing. It was loud and shrill. “Oh, Draco, that’s adorable,” she managed to get out. “Do you think I have feelings for you?”

Confused, he blinked.

The smile on her face vanished. “You know damn well that marriages in our circles are rarely about feelings.”

Draco shrugged. “Well, they should be.”

“What happened to you, Malfoy? Seriously.”

Again, there was this awkward pause between the two Slytherins. Resentment and frustration hung in the air and Draco wished for his mother to come back right this moment. Looking at Astoria however, a girl so proud and ambitious most of the time, another thought entered his mind. He had wondered about this a few times already.

“I don’t get it,” Draco began. “There are probably dozens of men who would love to marry you. Hell, even Blaise or Theo would say yes to an engagement. Why are you so set on marrying me? Especially if there are no feelings involved?”

Her eyes flickered away. She shifted uncomfortably. “We grew up together, I think you’d be a good fit.”

Draco scoffed. “Yeah, right, and Jesus was a muggle.” He didn’t believe her one bit. “Spill it, Astoria. All I have done for the past months is embarrassing you. Why do you want to marry me so badly?”

She pressed her lips together.

“Are your parents forcing you?”, he continued. “I honestly doubt that your father is thrilled about having me as his son-in-law.”

Astoria rolled her eyes at him. “They’re not.”

“Then what is it?”

Silence. She wouldn’t look at him but this behavior only sparked his curiosity even more.

When she spoke again, her voice was unusually quiet. Almost timid. “I just don’t know what you see in her. She’s not like us.”

That’s exactly it, Draco thought. He didn’t say it though. Instead, he leaned forward and reached for her hand. He stroked over it in a calming manner with his thumb. “Astoria, we’ve been friends for so long now. Just tell me –”

Quickly, she pulled away. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

 ***

New Year’s Eve …

Draco stood in front of the huge windows, overlooking the dark gardens of the Greengrass estate. It smelled heavily of flowers from all over the world in the greenhouse. The scent would have probably given him a headache if he hadn’t already finished a glass of firewhiskey. In the distance, he could see the lights coming from the big mansion. He saw silhouettes of the guests and wondered if they were really having a good time or if they were just pretending. Like he was.

After returning from the walk, Mrs. Greengrass had announced that Narzissa and Draco needed to join them for the night to celebrate the New Year together. He saw how it hurt his mothers pride to be invited so last minute, however, she accepted with a smile. And now they were here. It wasn’t a big party, just a few of their closest friends. Still, too many people for Dracos taste and so he hid in here.

Looking out at the window, he wondered what you were doing tonight. Since getting back, neither of you had sent a letter. Two nights in the hotel, memories that caused shivers to run down his spine, and a promise that it would mean nothing. It left him unsure of what to do next. How were you spending the night? Were you at a party? Getting drunk with friends, maybe even sharing a kiss with someone when the clock turned twelve?

He gritted his teeth at the though. Stop it, Draco reminded himself. Stop getting attached. You’re not dating, she’s free to do as she pleases.

“We used to play Hide and Seek here,” a voice interrupted his thoughts. “With Daphne. Remember?”

Astoria. He didn’t need to turn around to recognize her voice. “I do,” he nodded, still looking out in the gardens. “You were so bad at it.”

She chuckled. “I know.”

Draco glanced at her. They hadn’t spoken since the lunch earlier today and he had suspected her to still be upset. When she smiled at him however, the smell of wine hit him. Well, this explained her mood.

“I loved this place,” Draco said, knowing it was best not to address her drunken state. He raised the glass of firewhiskey to his lips.

“I know. You fucked Daphne in here.”

The words caused him to choke on his drink. He coughed heavily when he felt the burning liquid running down his throat. With red cheeks and tears in his eyes from the sudden reaction of his body, he turned to face her.

Astoria wasn’t fazed at all. “Didn’t you?”, her voice cheery.

Draco stared at her.

“She told me,” Astoria continued. “Summer before your sixth year.”

“Why are we talking about this?”, he finally asked, brows furrowed in confusion.

She shrugged. “Just popped into my head when I saw you standing here.”

She said it so nonchalantly and looked out of the window – it confused Draco even more. Truthfully, he was also a little shocked by her choice of words. He never heard her talk like that. Never. Draco shook his head and took another sip of his drink.

“What did you see in her?”, she asked innocently.

“In your sister?”

“Yes,” Astoria nodded.

He shook his head again. “Astoria, you’re drunk.”

“No, tell me,” she demanded with more force now and looked at him. Her cheeks were rosy and the hair messy as if she had spent the last hour dancing.

“Nothing, I –,” Draco groaned. “It was a summer fling. We barely dated.”

“But what did you see in her?”, Astoria repeated herself. “You choose everyone but me.”

Oh.

Here we go again. She looked at Draco and for the first time, he noticed something. Maybe it was a product of the alcohol or maybe it was truly because of him: she was hurt. Gone was all the pride and anger. Only sadness and a hint of desperation was left in those jade-green eyes, as she stared up at him.

Because of me?, Draco wondered. Was he the reason for her pain?

Astoria blinked and again, something changed. As if she tried to put on a mask, a smile appeared on her face. “Maybe you could see something in me if we just …” She made a step towards him. Draco backed away. Behind him were only the windows though.

“You’re drunk,” he stated again.

She giggled. “I’m just a little tipsy. It’s okay though …” Another step forward and suddenly she stumbled. Out of instinct, Draco put his arm around her waist to keep her from falling to the ground. She leaned against him now, pressing her petite body against his. He crinkled his nose when the smell of wine hit him again.

“Astoria … don’t,” he said softly.

She reached for the button on his shirt, clumsily trying to open it. Draco tensed up and she stopped. “Why not?”, she asked, tilting her head. In a sick way, it reminded him of the way you would look at him. The difference was, however, that he liked it when you did it.

He released his grip from her and carefully tried to get free of her fumbling hands. “Don’t, no, I can’t deal with this,” he mumbled and successfully took a step to the side.

Seeing her like this, it was a picture of misery. She cleared her throat, her hands shaking slightly. Draco wondered if she suppressed tears and the thought filled him with guilt. It made him choke up. So much guilt for so many things … he didn’t have room in his heart for anymore. He needed to get out of the greenhouse, he wanted to go home. No, not home. To Hogwarts. To you.

He reached for his tie. It was hard for him to breathe all of the sudden. Those fucking flowers, there was no air left for him. When he stumbled backwards, trying to get to the door, Astoria laughed. “Right because you can fuck everyone but me.”

“I ...”, Draco swallowed and right in this moment fireworks went off. Midnight. Outside, the sky was filled with bright colors. Red, orange, yellow, green. It was too much, too loud.

“Happy fucking New Year, Malfoy.”

 ***

“How much can you possibly fit in this book?”, Blaise asked.

Draco looked up at his question. “It’s not my first one.”

“Oh,” his friend made. “I thought it was a magic book or something.”

Draco shook his head before turning his attention back to the pages, filling them with what happened over the holidays. All the little details, he didn’t want to forget a single day. Well, except for the 31st of December maybe.

Draco, Blaise and Theo were currently sitting in a small section in the Hogwarts Express. They would reach Hogsmeade any minute now. It was snowing heavily outside, making Scotlands landscape resemble the one of a fairytale.

Draco was looking forward to returning to school. At home, he felt like he couldn’t breathe most of the time. Too many memories were left in the walls of the Mansion and seemed to haunt him whenever he wandered the now empty halls. If he were honest with himself, there was one more reason though. You. He’d see you again. For the first time since Christmas.

“I thought about starting one of those,” Theo suddenly admitted.

Draco looked up again, only slightly annoyed at the disturbance. He raised his eyebrows. “You were.”

His friend nodded.

“Why?”, Blaise asked.

Theo shrugged. “Seemed like a good idea. Besides, maybe it helps me get out of the therapy sessions.” He looked at Draco and added with a lot of sarcasm: “Thank your girlfriend for that, by the way.”

Draco rolled his eyes.

Blaise chuckled. “So, they’ve gotten to you.”

Theo nodded.

“It’s not that bad,” Draco said and added when he was met with doubting glances: “Just talk about what she wants and it’ll be over sooner than later.”

“Yeah, that’s the problem,” Theo replied. “What does she want to talk about with me?! I’m fine.”

“Are you?”, Draco asked but it was overheard when Blaise loudly announced: “Maybe she wants to talk about your messed up father.”

“Huh,” Theo made at that statement. He looked out of the window. Draco watched him and just before he could say something else, the train arrived in Hogsmeade. Theo got up abruptly, before they even stopped. “Well, anyways. Let’s go.”

“Hit a nerve there,” Blaise said quietly when Theo stepped out of their section.

Draco shrugged. He truly couldn’t tell how his friend felt. It wasn’t something they talked about, thanks to their Death Eater upbringing. Feelings were something you dealt with yourself and didn’t burden others with. However, he guessed that Theo wasn’t as happy as he pretended to be.

It was freezing cold outside. Thick snowflakes and an icy wind hit his face and Draco was mad at himself for forgetting to get out his scarf from his suitcase. They could hardly see anything and when someone hit them with a snowball, Blaise lost it and hexed a first grader.

“Missed detention so much?”, Draco snarled.

“He deserved it,” his friend replied and ignored the angry shouts of the first graders friends.

They arrived the carriages after what felt like an eternity. Did they magically lengthen the way to them? When Draco climbed inside, he sighed in relief. They were warm and cozy.

“Thank Merlin,” he mumbled and got out his wand to dry off the snow.

Theo and Blaise followed inside. Their eyes flickered only briefly to the Thestrals in front of the carriage. It had been quite a surprise for most of the students to come back in the beginning of the school year and see that the carriages weren’t driving by themselves after all.

Just when Draco made himself a little more comfortable and waited for the Thestrals to start making their way towards the castle, the door opened another time.

“Can I ride with you?”

You. Draco froze when he saw you, smiling at him nervously. You looked adorable in your Gryffindor attire – the hat pulled down over your ears, the red scarf tightly thrown around your neck. Adorable?!, he asked himself. What the hell, Draco.

“Sure,” Theo answered when Draco didn’t reply and changed his seat so that you could sit next to him.

“Thanks!” You climbed inside, lips trembling slightly from the cold outside. Just like he did, moments earlier, you sighed when you realized it was warm inside. You got rid of your hat and gloves, before looking at Draco again. “Hi.”

When Draco saw the smile on your face, it felt like a weight was lifted off his shoulders. It wasn’t awkward between the two of you. Nothing had changed. It would just be like the night never happened. “Hi,” he said.

“Nah, come on, Draco, don’t be shy,” Blaise rolled his eyes and Theo grinned. “Is that how you greet your girlfriend after a week apart?”

“Shut up,” he shot at them.

Looking back at you, there was a challenging look on your face. You had raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to act. He hadn’t expected it. However, he knew what you were thinking. He should probably kiss you. Just for the sake of keeping this charade alive.

Carefully, Draco leaned forward. Just a quick kiss, he thought. He closed his eyes and then his lips met yours.

Fireworks.

The only description, he thought was fitting. Your lips touched only for a few seconds and yet something happened. A wave of memories hit him when he breathed in the smell of your shampoo. Suddenly, he was back in that hotel room and it was only the two of you. Almost out of instinct, he raised his hand to your cheeks and the once innocent kiss changed. He felt your hand gripping his shoulder tightly as you leaned in, desperate to get more.

It was Blaise who ended the kiss – with a click of his tongue, followed by a disgusted: “Okay, by Merlin, get a room, you two.”

***

A/N: My looooves, please bare with me. I know this is such a slow burn :D I Hope you still like it! I promise you, the pretending will end some day! <33

CHAPTER 16

Choose Me Instead Masterlist HP Masterlist Tag List:  @writerdee1701, @youareinllve, @sjmahoney, @detroitobsessed, @takura-rin, @jadam268, @wynterwind, @mina672, @renaissance-confiance, @harpoon999, @doitforthevine67, @rinasrights, @flowerpowerpixie, @gold-flowing, @starkssnarks, @bookcornerkins, @harpersmariano, @markedsweetly, @iraniq, @pointlesscoconut, @hvrcruxes, @pillowjj, @idkatee, @jungjxxhyun,   @magicwithaknife, @graystherapy, @sophia-gwendolyn, @nxstalgicnxbxdy, @sunsetsofanemoia, @s4dthrills, @tommy-holland, @lordfxxker, @streetfighterrichie, @awaken-the-sirens, @destiels-assbutt13, @pockitparks, @just-addicted-to-bangtan, @cuddlykoala101, @zpandaqueen, @marvelpeters, @natsiboo, @jjjmaybank, @justmesadgirl, @books-and-tings, @slytherinprincedracom, @katiaw2, @saintkore, @nctnight, @lifestragedy, @obxmxybxnk, @spideydobik , @ladylizzieofdarbyshire, @aspiring-ginger, @dracomalfoyswifey, @jpow345, @realistic-breadstick, @h-annahayy, @abbs-is-tired, @alwaysbeanunknownfan, @niallsarmveinstho, @is-this-a-febreze-commercial, @acciowilltolive, @spideysmcu, @sexytholland, @faangirl101, @donttellany1iusetumbler, @mendesmuffinsss, @lilxnvm, @kill-the-teen-memories, @darkusangelus, @p0gue420, @itsbebeyyy, @hesaidimcrazy, @jenniweaslee, @hpxpjo, @brisbubble, @xomaymay, @shitnstuffillregret, @serialkillme, @angel-tears15, @panicattheeverywherekid, @obsssedwithjustaboutanything, @africana , @disgraceisonfire, @nobleking, @tashii-blr, @ddaeing, @randogirlo-fando-main, @sadgirlnumber92899, @captivateing, @bitchyegirl, @smiithys, @ninipoo1, @intheawks, @cherrylita, @nothanksnyla, @calpal-4ever, @dracosathenaeum, @belsandthings, @lifeasdreamgirl , @kiwi-sloan, @xdmx, @lexi-ravenclawdracomalfoy, @kvyenxay, @live-awkward, @babebenhardy, @bitchysweets-blog, @cravingmusic, @frau-moon, @ohissandhalasta, @noravirginia1994, @broken-but-beautiful-cassie​, @lil-black-heart​, @obsssedwithjustaboutanything​, @vminenthusiastt​, @dracos-slut​, @ohbabycal​, @saucysuazo​, @fuzzzwald​, @matsuno-nadeshiko​, @amber-arsenault​ , @virtuallawyergardenbailiff, @loveableasshole​, @thehippyprepster​, @spideycures​, @echpr​, @shiningstar-byulxx​, @profoundmoneyprofessoralmond, @twinklebug2282​, @bloodiedroses​, @klthmef​, @ostorian​ ,  @bi-chai-tea​, @maddieisnotok​, @amandaluvssupernatural​, @makeoutwithstiles​, @kelly182001, @holyranchgoopjudge,  @i-am-addicted-to-tea​, @tenclouds​, @lovingdracomalfoy​, @lannaax​, @dr-bitch-bby​, @lunardragon616, @fallinallinmendes​, @suckerforparker​, @runninglownad​, @piercinghorizons​, @dosicas​, @sarashuu, @yanaaaaaaa​, @desertdwellerwitch, @bittersweetthoughts–ofinsanity, @akzer300500​, @bbeautyybbx, @hoseokslily​, @dracofeltonmalfoy​, @emilianamason​, @tothemoonwithclifford​, @gcldreinhart​ ,  @piercinghorizons​, @angelofthorr​, @k-k0129​, @musicalmuffindog1410​, @andydre4m​, @mxl-foyrecs​, @seeinorange​, @vlgsqd​ , @strivingforelegance

Tell me, if you want to be added to my tag list <3

[caxsthetic]

Fine Line

Suna Rintarou & F!Reader

A Whisper: Hey, Rinrin. Why would you do that to me after I gave you everything? Why did you still steal the only thing that I want?

Ep. ⇚ Through Suna’s Eyes ⇛ Akagi’s 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *. GRAND MASTERLIST .* :☆ﾟ. ───

"Rise and shine, Rinrin!"

He groaned and immediately buried his head under the pillow, trying to muffle your cheery voice as he was sure the sun was not even up yet. Your footsteps could be heard as they came to a stop right beside his bed. "Come on, Rin..." Not again. "I prepared a gift for you under the fireplace!"

Christmas morning was always like this. Your strength somehow could wreck the lock of his door, thus becoming one of the reasons why he would never want to have any physical fights with you (not that you ever get angry at him anyway).

"What time is it?"

"Five o'clock."

You chuckled a little, knowing for certain how your brother despised mornings. He always slept late at night, usually playing video games with his online friends. Though you would make sure that he at least got enough sleep, especially when there was morning practice for his volleyball club.

"Ngh, why do you always wake me up at this hour every Christmas?" He groaned, voice a little bit muffled as he kept his face buried in the sheet. "I hate you sometimes."

No, I do not.

"Can't you leave? I don't like how you barge in my room."

No, stay. I enjoy your presence so much.

"Just go back to sleep."

No, no. Don't go back to sleep, stay. Wake me up like you always did.

Beep! Beep! Beep!

He groaned and immediately buried his head under the pillow, trying to muffle the sound of his alarm clock. He hated it, how every morning only reminded him of the fact that you were not here anymore.

When the two of you still lived together, you would knock at his door every morning — gently because you knew how it could make him feel dizzy if he woke up startled. Though it was a different case every Christmas morning. Because when the hallowed day came, you wanted nothing more than to spend as much time as you could with the whole family.

His hand mindlessly searched for the alarm clock. Clicking the button on top of it so the annoying sound would stop. And now it was silence, engulfing him as he was sleeping there all alone — still waiting for his phone to ring.

Ten seconds, thirty, sixty. It had been a minute and yet his phone screen didn't lit up, not even once for he was hoping that someone sent him a message. Not just some random person though, he was waiting for one particular name to pop out; yours.

Every morning since the two of you parted ways, you never forgot to call him, or if not — maybe leave a message. It was your routine, one of your habits as you just wanted to make sure he eats a proper meal, that he slept well and kept himself hydrated.

You never once skipped a day, not even when you were exhausted after working so hard to help your fiancé expand Onigiri Miya.

But there was no message or phone call from you, not anymore. And the first morning he woke up without any of your greetings around ten months ago, he knew that deep down — you found out what he had done.

He pulled his pillow off from his head, staring into the ceiling as he waited for the sun to peek behind the curtain. The temperature was freezing, and he wanted to just curl up in bed all day long, accompanied by the heater that was enough to help him cope with the brutal weather.

Nevertheless, it was not enough to melt the ice that had been built inside his heart.

No matter how much he wanted to stay at his apartment and never leave the bed, he already promised his parents to pay a visit today. He remembered how his father begged him to spend Christmas with them, telling him that he was still their son, no matter how much of a wrongdoer he had become.

No matter if it was because of him — the family would never be completed anymore.

"Open up!" You really couldn't contain the giddiness that was bubbling inside your heart as you handed the brunette a gift box. "Come on, Rinrin!"

The two adults laughed at how joyous you always looked around your older sibling, a sharp contrast when it compared to him that still had sleepy eyes and yawning here and there. His fingers gently unwrapped the gift, so slow as he wanted to see how your face contorted in those moments.

It was amusing, the way you bit your lip as both of your hands gripped on your pyjamas. Your eyes flickered back and forth between the box in his hand and his drowsy face since you needed to know if you got him the right present or not.

And he loved it, to see your eyes sparkle with joy as he too, had the same sparks inside his green pupils since he couldn't believe what he saw.

"Holy fuck—"

"Language, Rintarou."

"Sorry, mom."

He was too shocked to say anything. You gave him things that he had wanted for a long time, one that he never thought a high school student like you could even afford.

"You did not just buy me a console." A sentence finally escaped his lips. "(Y/n), you are crazy. You can use the money for yourself. Why did you waste it—"

"Hey, it's not a waste!" You flicked his forehead, not too harsh yet enough for him to shut up. "Seeing you smile is a rare thing, you know that?" He raised one of his eyebrows, didn't understand the correlation between his sentence and your response. "And well, don't you realise something?"

"Huh? What?"

Shaking your head, your lips shaped into a pleasant smile as you still held his gaze.

"You are smiling, Rinrin." You whispered softly, chuckling a little as he could only gape at you with a dumbfounded look on his face. "Even now as you stare at me with that dummy expression, you smile."

Both of your parents really tried to hold down their squeal and tears. To see such a bond that connected you and your brother, a beautiful link of siblings. "And for you to smile, for you to be happy, is one of the things that I want to make sure you will always have."

His grip on the steering wheel tightened, knuckles turned to white as he collected himself. Fifteen minutes had passed since he parked his car in front of his parent's house. The house where he grew up, his childhood house became home since both adults always welcomed their children with open arms.

Green orbs fell to the courtyard where you usually attacked him with a snowball. The twins used to follow through, shouting and declaring war to you and him. And the Suna residence — officially became the place where everyone spent Christmas together.

He didn't know what to expect if he knocked on that door. You were there last year, preparing the food and dragged him to taste all of the cuisines that you made. He would always say that it tasted good, perfect even, and each compliment was not a lie since you were indeed a blessing at the household.

Last year you gave him a new sports shoe, a pair that was not even out yet on the market. Though with how well connected you were as a businesswoman, it was an easy thing to get, and you love to do extra things for him without another thought.

Last year you opened up the door, wearing a comfortable sweatshirt that he knew it belonged to your fiancé. You didn't wait for another second to pass before engulfing him in a tight hug, whispering how much you missed his presence.

Last year you were laughing with him, joking around as the two of you circled the fireplace. You sat on Osamu's lap, listening intently to every word that he said, ignoring how handsy the black-haired man was as you focused yourself on him.

Last year you were there, gentle orbs gazing at him with fondness, breathing in air and so much alive.

That was the difference, one huge aspect that deviated the last Christmas and the current.

Yet he was here once again, staring into the wooden surface of the front door. He lifted his hand, taking a deep breath before he curled his fingers before his knuckles made contact with the old wood.

He caught a familiar voice shouting from inside the house. Always so loving, always so strong. And the second the door opened, he was greeted by another gaze that always made him feel so loved.

"Oh, dear, how long have you been outside?!"

His mother grabbed his wrist and pulled him inside, closing the door in an instance. He wasn't given a chance to say anything as her fingers gently dusted the snow that covered his coat. She muttered something under her breath, he didn't know what the words were, yet he was pretty sure it would be about how worried he made her feel right now.

"Mom, I am fine." He muttered softly, eyes watering as he couldn't believe that his mother still cared for him. The affection that he got was endless — either from you or from the whole family. And the way it was still the same as how it used to, he knew that deep down he did not deserve to feel such fondness. "Do you need help with anything?"

Her gentle touch helped him take his coat off, hanging it on the wall before facing him once again.

"Well, your father is in the kitchen. Maybe you can ask him instead while this old woman set up the fireplace and arrange the dining table."

"You're still not that good at cooking, mom?"

"Oh, shush now, you lanky beanpole!"

He chuckled a little as his mother held her chin up in dramatic annoyance and strode towards the living room with so much force, stomping the ground. As much as she tried to look like she was angry at him, he knew that she was not. And right now as he walked through the house, feeling so much love dancing in the air, he almost forgot about the things that he did. Almost.

"Hey, son." His father waved at him the second he popped inside the kitchen. "You were awfully late, did something halt you?" He didn't answer, still thinking about a proper answer and washed his hand first, knowing how strict the old man was when it came to hygiene.

"I fell asleep." It was a decent answer, at least one that was actually believable knowing how it was mundane to him. "And I forgot to set the alarm on my phone, sorry, dad." But he was his son, the old man could know when the brunette was lying or not.

"Ah, that's fine." But he let it slide, knowing the reason was probably circling around you. "The food was all done, just help me put it on the bowl and plate, kid."

Rintarou nodded and grabbed the necessities from the cupboard, setting it down on the kitchen island to make it easier for his father to arrange the food. His green orbs eyed how effortlessly the older man moved to make sure everything organized neatly.

It was always a mesmerising sight to see, felt the same for every year that went by. The room was so serene, as he could see you laugh around the kitchen, helping you and his father as your existence was enough to brighten the whole room that you walked into.

"Have you talked to your mother?"

"Yes, for a few seconds."

"I see."

Silence engulfed the room once again. And if it was not because of the classical music that played in the background, this house would be so quiet. "And did she talk about anything weird? Did she mention—"

"Why are you guys taking so long?" Both of the men jolted when the familiar voice boomed throughout the kitchen. "I already finished with the dining table, but it wouldn't be complete if you guys just hang around here, whispering to each other."

His mother folded both hands in front of her chest, the same orbs that very much similar to you pierced his soul. He gulped down, wanting to explain anything to make her calm down. But before he could part his lips, a sweet chuckle slipped from her lips. "Oh, my dear, I am just joking!"

Both men immediately let out a sigh, relieved that turned out she was just playing around with them. Rintarou and his father immediately brought out the food to the dining table, his mother followed behind.

"Oh, and Rintarou," The older woman called him out right after he was done setting the food down. "Can you call (Y/n) to come downstairs, dear?"

Both men looked at each other with worry when the words rolled down her tongue. Swallowing a huge lump, the older Suna had his hands on her arms, ups and down as he tried to calm her down. And Rintarou could do nothing but to watch his parents with confusion written on his face.

"Honey, my beautiful wife."

She turned her head to the side, raising one of her eyebrows when her husband looked at him with grief and distress.

"What? Why did you look at me like that?"

"(Y/n) is not with us anymore."

The room suddenly felt so cold, as if there was no heater there when the couple gazed at each other with a look that showed nothing but remorse.

"No, I saw her a few minutes ago. What do you mean? Did she leave?" Her fine line became more visible as she scrunched up her forehead. "How dare that little rascal leaves without telling me anything? Bet she's snogging somewhere with that silver-haired young boy Osamu."

"Honey, please."

Rintarou could feel himself trembling as his eyes still locked to his parents. His father looked so calm, yet he knew that something was torturing them. "Our little (Y/n) is not with us anymore, honey. We attended her funeral two weeks ago." Something that his father wanted to tell him before.

His mother parted her lips, wanting to deny the sentence. She tried to form any logic or reality that her mind could construct. Her orbs started to glimmer, but not with affection like how it used to. It coated with tears, little by little forming at the corner of her eyes.

"N-no, don't lie to me." She freed herself from her husband's embrace. "(Y/n) is just spending time with her boyfriend at the Miya residence. She will come back." Her legs brought her body in front of her son, smiling up to him with her usual genuine smile. "Right, Rintarou?"

He didn't know how to answer that. He didn't want to believe what was unfolding in front of him. She looked at him with pleading eyes, as if begging him to say yes, that you were safe and sound outside, perhaps in the arms of Miya Osamu.

But he couldn't lie, he couldn't lie anymore after doing that for months behind your back.

"No, mom." He muttered under his breath, voice wavered. "(Y/n), she, she died." And he could feel his heart broke all over again when his mother took a step backwards, away from him. "M-mom? I am sor—"

"N-No, I swear it was all just a nightmare." Her voice coated with distress. "You are still in Inarizaki, right? Come on, dear. Call your sister, just invite Osamu and Atsumu. Invite the whole family! After all, I know that they would be our family too."

She kept rambling, on and on as she tried to close her eyes from reality. "(Y/n) will get married to Osamu, I can see it. And I really approved their relationship, they are meant for each other." She giggled softly, tracing the plate on the table. "They are so in love, and they become the best version of themselves when they are together."

"Mom, I—"

"So, why?" Her eyes penetrated on his face, deep inside his soul. "Why did you do that, Rintarou?" Gaze that filled with disappointment and disbelief. "Why did you destroy the love that was meant to last forever?"

Because I love him too. He wanted to say that, he wanted to justify what he had done. But as he stood there, as he realised all the damage that he had done, he wished he never slept with the man that was supposed to be yours.

He looked down, biting his lips as he couldn't handle the fact that he made his mother like this. He had hurt not just one person, he didn't just hurt you and tore your life apart, no. But he too, holding his parent's heart in his hand, and the only thing that he did at the end — was to ruin the love that flows on the entire family.

Receiving no answer she hastily grabbed the empty plate on the table, throwing it towards his direction before his father could even stop her. "I don't want to see you, you are not Rintarou!" The older man grabbed both of her arms, securing her as he whispered sweet nothings to calm her down. "No! No! I want her back, I want my son back too."

She wailed, a painful cry packed the room that was supposed to be filled with laughter. Yet he couldn't look away, as the impact of what he did unfurled in front of him.

He should have run, evading all the harsh words that were being thrown towards him. But he didn't, he stood still as his mother screamed at the top of her lungs with tears streaming down her face. His father could only bite his lip, as there was nothing else that he could do.

"You are not my son! You are not!"

Rintarou didn't move an inch, as he soaked all the rage and pain that his mother — who always loved him from before he was even born — wanted him to feel.

"Give me back my son, you monster!"

He could feel it seep into his soul. The impact of your death to her, how she was now nothing but a broken woman. And he didn't even retaliate, he hugged all the rage and sorrow like an old friend.

"Give me back my daughter!"

Because he deserved — every pain and wrath that this world gave to him.

Tagged Lovelies:

@muffins-puffins​ @quirksandbreaths @vlovers-world @blacckdiamondposts @atsunflower @hihiq @the-fandom-ness @murasakibaraa @verbluehte @simp4tsukkii @ladyalicevii @evermorehaikyuu @clowninfortodoroki @koutaroulovebot @fitriiaw @mistypoison @aquariarose @greenleaf-fantasy @t-amajiki @kuraomi @haikyuuwithadashofart @starbybokuto @shiningstar-byulxx @nerdyphantomlady @raequii @akasuns @sugawsites @macaronnv @spicyfoodboi @killuaking​ + @yoitsseulgi @hhwanggu​ttu

[gryffindors-weasley]

Rekindled

Draco Malfoy x Reader

Summary: Draco has many hidden passions, but there’s one he loves more than all the rest.

Warnings: post war Draco, fluff

Despite being so outwardly confident for most of his life, Draco Malfoy is a fairly closed off person. He quickly found that keeping the things he truly revels in to himself is the safest place for them to be. Because if anyone had found out the true joys and interests the head Slytherin held, he certainly would be vulnerable to some choice remarks from his peers.

The only person to have ever known such secrets is you. He didn’t know what it was about you. Even before your friendship had flourished into something romantic, he found himself to be more open, knowing you wouldn’t poke fun like others might. Maybe there wasn’t one specific thing, he thought, maybe it was everything about you.

One of those well kept secrets, and perhaps the one he held onto most dearly, was his affinity for the piano. He took a liking to the elegant instrument at the young age of eleven upon hearing his mother play so effortlessly, as if her fingers were merely floating over the keys. But he only saw her play just once and never again after that.

Naturally, he became interested, taking a moment to press every key from left to right just to hear the pitch each of them produced. And from there he’d begun to teach himself, only ever stopping when his father scolded him for being too loud. Over time it seemed as though he mastered it.

However, the passion for it rapidly dwindled in his sixth year when more pressing matters came to the forefront of his mind, remaining there for a long while. So it sat in its rightful spot in the Manor’s study to collect dust.

Now, it had been eight years since he’d last played, or even looked at it for that matter.

You’d just signed off on your very first home, a small house on the outskirts of town. Built from slabs of stone on the outside, all varying hues of slates and lighter grays, one never the same shape as another. Wildflowers dotted randomly about the unmowed lawn and maroon colored shutters surround every old window, paint worn around the edges of the wood. Though with a simple twitch of his fingers the color was changed to a golden yellow. A single chimney stack adorned the left hand side of the roof, sending puffs of charred smoke into the sky. All encased by a short and slightly rusted wrought iron fence, the numbers of your address permanently inscribed in the metal. It was yours and it was home, just the right fit for the two of you.

Once fully furnished with books lining shelves and tea mugs stacked in cupboards, it was quickly realized that this would likely be your home for as long as it’d have you both. But one thing was missing, something his mother had been in agreeance with the moment you mentioned it to her. So she set out to make it happen unbeknownst to Draco.

You woke that Sunday morning, a delicate patter of rain washing over the house as droplets trickled down the arched windows of the bedroom. The spot next to you had been empty for some time, no longer warm but you had felt a whisper of a kiss pressed to your forehead earlier. That’s not what had woken you up, though, what had woken you was the gentle sound of an unknown song filling the entirety of the first floor, emanating up the stairs.

Pulling yourself from the mismatched blankets draped over the bed you wrap your arms around yourself, following the melody until you reached your beau. He sat on the sleek wooden bench in his plaid pajama pants, back to you. And there it sat, the familiar ebony colored piano in the once vacant corner of your living room. It had been freshly polished for such an occasion, seeming as though it belonged in that very spot from the moment it’d been crafted. It added something special you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

He wasn’t aware of your presence just yet and you smiled softly, the muscles of his shoulders flexing under his pale skin as he played, his hair an absolute mess. And after a few fleeting moments you padded over to him, filling the empty space on the bench. His cheeks flush a pale pink, traveling to the very tips of his ears upon having an audience. But he soon settled, slender fingers dancing over ivory keys with a practiced ease. Keys that were slightly worn from his use as a child.

It was almost as if he’d never stopped playing for all those years, the soft smile gracing his face wordlessly telling you just how much it meant. But he knew that there weren’t words for how grateful he was, there couldn’t possibly be. It’s as if you’ve sparked up a flame within him that hasn’t been lit for years, a missing piece of him put into place. You always seemed to do that to him.

Minutes pass and he’s slowly stopped, releasing a contented sigh as his eyes bounce over every inch of the beauteous structure. “How’d you manage this, love?”

He was breathless, running his hand through his hair and down his cheek.

“With a little elbow grease and a whole lot of magic,” You smile, reaching up to brush a few strands of platinum out of his eyes. “Call it a housewarming gift, if you will.”

He laughs softly, the warm glow of the fireplace giving way to the tears beginning to gloss over his gray eyes. The look of adoration on his face was something you’d never forget, not for as long as your memory will allow. He leans in and kisses you softly, and another with more vigor, the lingering taste of his morning tea still on his lips as his fingers splay across your cheek.

No matter how hard he tries, his smile cannot be contained as he parts from you, feeling like a kid on Christmas Day. “You always manage to light up my life. You enchant me, darling.”

Now it was your turn to blush, cheeks flooding with heat as you bite back your ever growing smile. “There’s one more thing, Draco.”

He raises a brow in silent questioning, as if beckoning for you to go on. Though he thought, how could there possibly be more? You’ve just bestowed upon him one of the most precious gifts he had ever received in his twenty-four years of living, and yet there’s more? He almost couldn’t comprehend your level of generosity, leaving him to wonder how he had gotten quite so lucky.

You reached forward and grasped the edge of the smooth wood, pulling the curved cover out to rest over the keys. There it was. Engraved with a gentle precision were three elegantly curled letters, D.L.M. His eyes widened slightly as his fingers brushed over it almost in disbelief, glancing to you and back to it.

“I was unsure of the placement at first, I thought maybe it should have gone up here but—”

You’re cut short by a firm kiss, one that uncaged butterflies in your stomach like it was the very first time. You were sure the color in your cheeks deepened by that point as his hands tug you closer. When he pulls away, he doesn’t stray far, forehead rested on yours as the tip of his nose presses against yours gently.

“It’s perfect,” he whispers with an awestruck laugh, a quiver in his soft tone as he fights to conceal his emotions, “it’s absolutely perfect.”

After years and years it was his, finally his. And it was to reside in that very corner to be played for many early mornings and late nights to come.

[kissme-hs]

More hearts {c.e.}

Hii lovelies! This one is based off the two songs ;more hearts than mine by Ingrid Andress and match in the rain by Alec Benjamin. I’ve been thinking about this one for a while now so here it is. Let me know what you think lol sorry if this is shit, feedback is very much appreciated :)

Pairing: Fem! Reader x Chris Evans

Warning: Angst

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“I can’t do this anymore”

Those words didn’t amuse you when Chris said them with a heavy heart. Teary red eyes and tumbling words as he sat on the couch where you stood near the wooden window sill staring into the oblivious of falling rain. Though it was dark outside, you enjoyed the sound of pattering rain—where your boyfriend cried his own tears of sadness.

You felt numb for few seconds. Your mind fathomed what he uttered but it took a while for your heart to figure out that it was really happening. After 3 years of being together with each other through the thick and thin, sorrows and happiness it was time you go your way and he goes his. You’d still consider kind of him to break it to you in such a fragile way, making sure first that your heart is strong enough to endure the ache of your now—ending relationship.

Finally breaking in through the barrier of strong emotions, a tear rolled down your cheek as you quickly wiped it away with your palm crossing your hands over your chest. It hurt, it hurt more than you thought it’d when the love started fading away.

You could tell he tried, so did you. Every morning you’d wake up with a heavy chest knowing you have to go through the day with the person who’s heart stopped beating for you long ago. It wasn’t that he was cheating, but sometimes there isn’t a need of other person for one to fall out of love.

The kisses he placed on your forehead which once felt warm now were completely cold. He was pushing himself to save your dying relationship, but he couldn’t do it. There were two bodies in the house but only one present–each night you’d say I love you’s and turn away from each other to fall asleep. Well aware of the truth that neither of you meant what you said anymore, you’d let silent tears hit the soft pillow until the soreness of your eyes drifts you away in deep slumber of sleep.

He on the other side felt you slipping away through his fingers. The dead look in your eyes gave him the hint that the time was up, but he pretended you’re both still strong anyway. He wasn’t willing to believe that this was the end, he didn’t want to give up on the relation he has built you through tears and smiles over the years.

But his intuitions told him it’s too late. You were long gone.

Your heart crumbled every day with the screaming memories you created in the same house where you now lived with a heavy heart. The laughter and joy were nowhere to be found, he’d work in his office everyday to keep himself busy and you’d do the same. Reading, writing, doing anything that’d keep you off from feeling the everyday growing ache in your chest.

Watching him grow distant was the worst pain you ever went through.

However.

You’ll be fine, but how will you tell your mother? Who loved Chris very much like her own son. She falls in love faster than you, and the second you introduced Chris to your family she instantly wrapped her arms around his welcoming him with a warm heart to your strong family.

Every Christmas she’d send you homemade cookies and hand knitted sweaters but ever since you brought Chris home, she made sure to send one for him. And now won’t she be heartbroken? She’s not going to have one more to knit sweater for. Your mother always told you how Chris filled the spot she always craved for having a son—and now she’d watch him go away with you.

She’d wait patiently for your arrival with Chris’s favorite meal ready every time you visit her but now, not anymore.

“You complete our family son.” She smiled when Chris took the heavy pot of stew from her hand helping her set the table while you and your sister were out with your dad grabbing a few stuff for the house.

He volunteered that he’d stay and help your mother—loving her the same he loved his own mother.

“Thanks ma” he replied placing a kiss on her forehead. His heart swelling with the adoration he developed for you and your family and how not only he loved you unconditionally but those four members you called home.

And your dad. He always checked the car tires before you both hit the road, saying he just wanted to make sure that his daughter goes hime safely—lying not caring about Chris. But everyone knew he wasn’t fooling anyone.

Your dad loved Chris. He’d always go fishing with him and talk about sports and politics. Though he was proud of having two amazing girls, he wished he had a son to go fishing with, fix house with, whom he could go golfing with. And when you brought Chris home that Friday evening, you saw him smile. Unlike the fake one he gave your other boyfriends but the one that showed you how proud he was.

“So you like whiskey or rum?”

“I’d take whiskey sir”

“Call me dad” making your head turn from the couch where you sat watching television with your mother your eyes picked tears. Never he has welcomed a man so lovingly before. You knew it was real when you father loved him as if he was his own child.

Oh how could you break your old man’s heart? He’d pour you whiskey over ice and lie that he never liked him, but deep down you know he’d miss him too. He’d miss watching football with him, arguing over politics, fixing the deck.

He’d miss caring for his son that now he lost.

Last came your younger sister. Oh how she loved embarrassing Chris and having little snickering arguments with him. She’d disagree with him just to see him getting frustrated and then would laugh about it later. But never once he minded it. He cared for you sister just like he did for his.

For her too, he completed your little family with the craving of older brother. Though you never let anyone touch her, she always wondered what it’d be like to have a protective brother. And Chris never failed to annoy her either, he loved how her face would get all scrunched up as she’d get irritated like a typical teenager that she was and would huff and puff until he brings out the present he got for her.

“So you know I told you I like this guy at school right?” She said mouth full of fruits as she sits beside Chris on a Sunday morning telling her all the ‘gossips’ she’d say. And being a 39 year old man he’d listen to her babbling nothing like but as if he was a teenager himself.

“Yeah?”

“Well he asked me out” she smiled wiggling her eyebrows at him. Chris let out a laugh before ruffling her hair.

“Funny of someone to like you”

“Hey!!”

“Just kidding, tell him if he breaks your heart, I’ll beat the shit outta him” he raised his eyebrow winking at your sister before tossing a piece of cantaloupe from her bowl and popping in his mouth.

But who will bring her chocolates like last time when she’ll go through another heartbreak as a part of growing up? Who’ll teach her how to drive a motorcycle even though she’s quite young for that? Chris could’ve, but not anymore.

Closing your eyes your, you let your tears fall—not bothering to hold them back this time. You’ve been keeping your emotions locked up from a long time, maybe now it was the time you it go. Let go of the heaviness off your chest, it’s time to breath again.

You walked over to where he sat and gave his back a gentle rub.

Lifting his head from his head he looked in your eyes. For the first time in three months he saw emotions, he saw the fear and guilt and sorrow and pain you carried along you. The eyes which once were full of colours and spark now dead and dull. He was defeated. He couldn’t save you.

Running your fingers through his hair you let out a sniff, trying your best to pass him a broken smile.

“We’ll be fine” you whispered pulling him closer, without any hesitation he wrapped his arms around his waist hiding his head in your crook. His salty tears wetting your skin but you couldn’t care less as you rested your cheek on his back letting yours damp the cotton material of his t-shirt.

Chris was a man with the biggest heart. His kindness and generosity made even the most unworthy fall in love. How could they not. He was never selfish or greedy, or even thought of himself as “I”. Being a child amongst four he was taught to carry the family out of self love, as ‘we’. And to put those he loved, above all and the rest.

He gave you the happiness of your life, he made you smile when no one could. He came in your life bringing the light of joy and enlightened your dark space in heart—which felt it could never love again with radiating warmness. He gave your family the love no one could, he loved them selflessly just like he was taught.

Though he’d miss the warm stew and a mom who always sent hand knitted sweater, those Sunday morning golf games and a dad who’d lie how he never cared about him, the glimpse of a teenager’s life and a sister who loved to snicker around laughing at his blushed face but he won’t deny he’d miss you the most of all.

The woman who taught him the meaning of true love. The woman who stood with him through the rain storms and brightest sunshine. Who never doubted his will and everyday was the encouragement of being a better man. The lady who will always hold the only place of lover in his heart as long as it beats, he doubts he’d ever be able to place his heart in other’s hand like he placed it in yours without any second thought.

And today, he didn’t only break your heart.

But his and the hearts of other three that were once his family.

If we break up I’ll be fine,

But you’ll be breaking more hearts than mine.

[leiakenobi]

Title: Inhale, Exhale Fandom: Inside Llewyn Davis Pairing: Llewyn Davis/Reader Rating: Teen (warning for some fairly heavy discussion of mental health) Word Count: 1.8k Summary: Llewyn doesn’t like Valentine’s Day, and he won’t tell you why.

A/N: Happy Valentine’s Day to @be-the-spark-flyboy, who I got matched up with in @sergeantkane’s Oscar fandom Valentine’s fic exchange! You described Llewyn melting when you touch his hair, and this concept actually came to me almost immediately. Pretty dang heavy on the hurt part of hurt/comfort, but I hope the fic brings you some joy. I had an absolute blast writing for you. Also posted to AO3 here!

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Llewyn doesn’t like Valentine’s Day, and he won’t tell you why.

Frankly, you should have realized sooner. It first came up around three months into your relationship, when he asked whether you’d seen a film, and you told him that you saw it on Valentine’s Day with an old boyfriend. He soured at once, but you explained it away—you probably shouldn’t have mentioned an ex on a date. What a bad, bad idea.

Then again, around seven months in. December began, winter was setting in in earnest, and you lamented the fact that the season made Manhattan feel so dreary. “At least we have Christmas and New Year’s to help keep up the cheer. And then obviously Valentine’s Day.”

Again—Llewyn tensed. This time, you assumed it was that he still felt a little strange about commitment. It had been a while since he had much of a serious relationship, you knew.

But January eases into February, and you flip over your kitchen calendar. Llewyn’s in the shower and you call out, “We should probably make a reservation soon.”

“For what, sweetheart?” His voice echoes around the walls of the bathroom and carries out to you. It’s warm and rich and God do you love him.

“Valentine’s Day, babe. Most of the good places will be full before we know it.”

Silence. Long stretch of silence. You’d been in the middle of preparing your breakfast, but you find yourself standing still, straining to listen. As though maybe he’s just replying very, very quietly. (Absurd.)

“Can we talk about this when I get out?” he calls at last.

You hesitate. “Okay.”

What follows is the longest ten minutes of your life, during which Llewyn finishes up his shower. When he comes to join you in the kitchen, he’s clad only in pants; he pulls on an undershirt after sitting down across from you at the kitchen table. “You’ve hardly touched your breakfast,” he remarks, looking down at the food in front of you with concern.

“Not really hungry,” you murmur. How were you supposed to eat while wondering why the hell he doesn’t want to celebrate Valentine’s Day with you?

It seems to hit him, then, how his reaction has come off, because his eyes widen, and he grabs your hands from the tabletop and clutches them tight. “Shit, I’m sorry, babe. I promise it’s not about you, or anything to do with us. I’d take you out to a nice dinner and spoil you rotten any day of the week, I really would. Just…” His brow furrows, and he licks his lips as he hesitates over his next words. “I’m not really a fan of Valentine’s Day. What if we just had a quiet night in on the 14th? And then we could go out some other night.”

From his soft, cautious tone, you can tell that he knows his request might not thrill you. And, well, he’s right; you feel almost certain that there’s something he’s not saying, and it’s taking everything in you to not run through some rough possibilities…

Most of which end in – please God no – “break-up.”

But you pull yourself back from that whirlpool of dangerous speculation, and you swallow, and you nod. “Sure, babe. If you want a quiet night, I want that too.”

You tell yourself it’s not a lie, and to some degree, it’s not—but you want him to want a special night out as much as you do. You want him to tell you why he doesn’t.

Llewyn laces your fingers together, his eyes searching your face. There’s so much love and affection there—how could this be about doubting your relationship? Surely he wouldn’t look at you that way if he were thinking of ending things. “Pick the place, and I’ll make it happen. Just not on Valentine’s Day.”

So you pick a place, and he presses gentle kisses to your forehead, your cheeks, your lips, before getting up to finish his morning routine.

Neither of you mention the holiday for several days after that. You try not to even think about it, and for the most part, you manage, except for a gutting moment when your co-workers ask if you and Llewyn have any Valentine’s Day plans and you have to smile and light-heartedly say, “We decided to do a quiet night.”

A chorus of, “Oh.” Unable to conceal their surprise and disappointment. Oh, they didn’t realize that… Llewyn was cheap? A bad boyfriend? That things had soured between you? No doubt several options run through their heads, although they’re gracious enough not to express any of them to you.

It hurts.

You try not to let it.

You go out for dinner the weekend before Valentine’s Day, and Llewyn is… beautiful, and tender, and warm. He takes you to a Broadway play afterward, and he can’t stop grumbling about the incidental music as you take the subway home.

It should feel perfect, and you tell yourself it does.

On the 14th, you wake up to Llewyn curled around you. He holds you tight, his fingers splayed across your stomach and his face buried in your hair. And when you try to get up, he pulls you close again. “Not yet,” he whispers. “Please.”

You close your eyes and lean into him, linking your fingers with his. He presses sporadic kisses to the crown of your head, and you feel so damn safe.

Finally, he lets you get up.

“Do you want the shower first?” you ask him.

“No, you go ahead. I’ll be up in a bit.”

He’s not. He’s dozing when you get out of the shower, and still after you’ve prepared and eaten your breakfast.

You hesitate in the doorway, looking over him, before crossing the room to sit on the bed. You trace your fingers through his hair, watching him blink slowly to look up at you. His eyes crinkle softly. “Are you feeling alright?” you whisper.

“Sure I am,” he whispers back. “Just tired.”

“Are you sure? Because I can call in a sick day if you wanted me to stay home and look after you.”

Llewyn scoffs, rolling his eyes at you. “Go to work. I’m getting up soon, I promise.”

You give him a slow nod. “Call me if you change your mind?”

“I won’t change my mind.” With a stern look from you, he sighs and grabs for your hand, pulling you down to kiss you gently. “But if I do, I’ll call you.”

So you nod, kiss him once more, and leave.

What is it that you’re missing, here? You puzzle over it on the subway, and then at work, thinking about how close he held you. How counter-intuitive his tenderness seemed when he’d balked at the idea of making anything romantic out of the holiday.

You clear out for lunch, and you’re about halfway to your favorite diner when you decide to redirect your course and rush down the nearest entrance to the train.

This is ridiculous. Llewyn doesn’t do this—maybe he’s not always the most forthcoming person in the world, but you can’t remember another time when he’s been needlessly opaque. So you should be up-front about the fact that he’s both confused and worried you. Because honestly, you still can’t shake the feeling that something was wrong this morning.

Your apartment is quiet when you ease the door open. You don’t go home for lunch often – too many meals-turned-quickies that made you get back to work late – but you’re used to the place being filled with music by now.

Either Llewyn, practicing in the living room, or playing records and whistling along while he does food prep.

Now, though, the silence is eerie.

“Llewyn?”

He doesn’t answer.

Check the living room—not there. Kitchen and bathroom—same.

It is very clear, from the moment you return to the doorway of your bedroom, that Llewyn hasn’t moved since you left. He’s lying on his stomach, cradling his pillow under his head with one arm while his other arm is outstretched.

Reaching out for where you should be.

“Baby,” you breathe. You retrace the same path that you made earlier, stepping into the room, settling on the edge of the bed. Your hand smooths over his head, and as you tenderly card through his curls, he begins to stir.

He makes a muffled mmf noise into his pillow and scoots closer to you, pulls you closer—his outstretched hand finds your waist, holding you tight while his head settles against your thigh. “What’re you doin’ home?” Voice creaky from sleep.

“Needed to talk to you,” you tell him gently. Your fingers winding around his hair absent-mindedly. “I think it’s time we talk about Valentine’s Day, don’t you? Whatever’s got you like this.”

Llewyn doesn’t say anything for a long, long time. Maybe you’d have thought that he’d drifted off to sleep again, but his thumb is tracing circles over your hip.

“Mike died on Valentine’s Day, babe.”

Oh.

Your stomach drops at his words, because shit, you should’ve known. Here you’d been overthinking his reticence to celebrate a stupid holiday and it hadn’t even occurred to you…

“Five years ago,” he offers up, too. “I didn’t… Last year was better. Even the year before that was okay. I felt weird about doing something extravagant, but I didn’t expect to hurt so much today.”

“I don’t know if that’s how it works,” you whisper. “Doesn’t it just… come back sometimes?”

“Not like this.” And you know what he means—you’re both remembering nights when he got listless, threw on If We Had Wings and poured you both a large drink. Hell, even the time you had to run up to Yonkers for the day to meet a client, and he decided to come with you… only to get a glimpse of the George Washington Bridge on the drive home.

He’d blanched and gone near-silent for the rest of the night.

Yes, the hurt comes back sometimes, but not like this. Not this bad.

Pressing a soft kiss to your thigh, he says, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I really didn’t think I’d feel this way right now.”

“God, please don’t apologize.” You might laugh if it weren’t so damn serious. As it is, you just climb into bed in earnest, kicking your shoes off and tucking yourself under the covers with him, still fully clothed. “I was scared this was about me, babe. But Mike…” Mike, whom he almost never talks about without a drink in him, even now. “I get why you didn’t tell me.” Softer, as you curl yourself around him: “I’m glad you told me now, though.”

Llewyn exhales shakily. Maybe a laugh? Almost? “Never about you, sweetheart. You’re exactly what I needed today.”

“Then you’ve got me,” you whisper. “Anything you want, I’m here.”

He swallows and blinks at you. “Just want you to hold me, babe. Please.”

You take in a long, slow breath, and you nod.

Llewyn buries his face in your neck, and the two of you exhale almost as one.

[pinknerdpanda]

The Diner

Word Count: 3,623 (decidedly NOT a drabble...it got out of control and I won’t apologize.) Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Warnings: Angst, Theft, Fluff Beta’d By: @princessmisery666​ - thank you my love

A/N: This was requested (kind of?) by my amazing and wonderful Name Twin @amanda-teaches. I hope you like this babe! (And I promise I’m working on the other still) I know these are called “Merry Manda’s Christmas Drabbles” and literally NONE of them are Drabbles...but I’m lazy and haven’t changed it in the 4 years I’ve been doing these. So...Sorry? (I’m not, actually. I’m not even sorry a little bit.)

The bitter chill of winter air cut through the leather of Bucky’s jacket as he stepped out of the car. He’d briefly considered taking his bike for the evening but had thought better of it. Though now, he was grateful he’d spared himself that torture. Shivering, he wondered if getting out on this frigid night was even worth it at all. 

“Fuckin’ hate the cold,” he muttered, the words crystallizing in the air as he shoved the keys into his pocket and began making his way to the door. 

After Steve went back in time to return the stones - and himself - to their proper place, Bucky felt lost. He’d known Steve’s intentions - even supported them. Didn’t mean it didn’t hurt like hell.

He and Sam had gotten along better than Bucky would have guessed at the jump. They’d actually grown code enough, Bucky might even go as far as to call Sam a friend. Sure, they still had their moments of friction, but overall they worked well together. Sam was a damn hard worker and made him laugh, despite the obvious pain Bucky saw in his eyes. He missed Steve too. Whether they admitted it or not to themselves - certainly not out loud - they needed each other. 

But sometimes Bucky just needed some time to himself. 

That was how he’d wound up here the first time six months ago. It had been Steve’s birthday and even though Sam had invited him along to go see his old friend, he’d declined. He hadn’t been ready for the reminder of what kind of life he’d missed out on. So instead, he’d chosen to go for a drive with no real destination in mind. Not long into the trip however, he’d gotten hungry and stopped at the first place he saw. 

The diner was small; cramped and slightly dingy, with scuffed linoleum floors and cracked booth seats. The menus felt sticky and none of the dishes matched, but the coffee was perfect. Hot, dark and slightly burnt; just how he liked it.

If anyone had recognized him that first day, they didn’t say anything. He was used to his fair share of open stares and the odd murmuring of worried voices wherever he went. But not here. Here, he was just Bucky - cup of coffee, no cream.

Bucky fell in love with the place immediately and it soon became his little home away from home. A place of refuge he could escape to when things got too heavy or his thoughts got too loud. Or, like tonight, when he just really, really wanted some of that amazingly shitty diner coffee.

The cold air that enveloped Bucky sloughed off as the diner door shut behind him, quickly replaced by the warm scent of coffee and whatever Mel was frying in the kitchen. He’d been there less than a second and he could already feel himself begin to relax. 

A quick scan of the space showed no signs of anything out of the ordinary. Well - not really. A few weeks back, someone had decorated the counter top with a small, fiber-optic Christmas tree and a Santa figure that looked nearly as old as the place itself. Meager as it may be, it made the place feel festive. 

The old jukebox in the corner - usually churning out songs by Chuck Berry, Elvis and The Temptations - hummed holiday tunes and voices that made him remember Christmases long since past. Before the war, before HYDRA, before the snap...when he was just a charming blue eyed kid from Brooklyn, looking out for his sisters and his annoyingly stubborn best friend. Bing Crosby's soothing timbre always brought back fond memories of his ma's cooking and the squeals of delight from the girls when they woke Christmas morning.

His moment of reverie was broken, however, by the sound of another familiar voice. 

“Hey Bucky. Merry Christmas!” Y/n smiled and Bucky briefly thought of the prospect of making new Christmas memories to settle alongside those from so long ago.

Y/n followed him with a steaming pot of coffee as he took his seat at his usual booth. She filled the cup to the very brim before leaning against the back of the seat opposite of him.

“Merry Christmas, y/n.” Bucky wrapped both hands around the chipped porcelain mug. “I figured you’d have the night off, bein’ the holidays and all.”

In all the months he’d been coming here, he’d only ever seen her face bright and full of joy. She was sweet and kind and always made a point to have a chat with him about anything and nothing when she had a moment to spare. If he was being honest, part of the pull he felt toward this place was because there was a good chance he’d get to bask in her glow, if only for an hour or two.

But now, the smile on her face drew tight and the light in her eyes dimmed. In an instant, Bucky was filled with a pang of regret. Before he could find the words to apologize, her features melted back into place. He wondered if the cheeriness she tended to exude was simply a mask that he’d failed to recognize. 

“Girl’s gotta make a buck somehow, right? Just the coffee tonight?”

Bucky paused, the cup halfway to his lips as he thought about it. 

“Actually, I think I’m craving pie.”

Y/n nodded approvingly. “Well lucky for you, we have lots to choose from. Pick your poison.” 

Savoring the delicious burn of the first sip of liquid gold, Bucky smacked his lips and tipped his head to one side. “How about you surprise me? Bring two slices of your favorite?”

“Coming right up!”

Bucky watched as y/n made her way behind the counter, setting the pot back on the warmer and moving to the fridge where they kept their pies. Propping a fist on one hip, y/n pursed her lips as she surveyed the options before her.

Bing's voice filled the comfortable silence as he crooned "White Christmas".

“Heya, Buck!” Mel’s voice drew his attention and he turned to find the greying head of the diner’s owner peeking out of the kitchen window. "Merry Christmas!"

“Merry Christmas yourself, Mel. Surprised you’re even open tonight.” 

“Everybody’s gotta eat, even on Christmas Eve.” Mel grinned. “Besides, who else is gonna let your ugly mug drink all their coffee for a buck and a half?”

Bucky scoffed and shook his head. “You oughta be grateful I even come in and pay for this sludge, Mel. I could just stay home and drink my own damn coffee.”

“And yet here you are,” Mel quipped back, his gaze flicking to y/n as she approached Bucky’s table with two slices of pie. Mel winked at Bucky before disappearing into the kitchen.

Bucky’s face flushed at the not so subtle implication. And yet, here I am, Bucky thought as y/n set the plate in front of him.

“Chocolate cream pie, huh?” Bucky quirked an eyebrow at her. “I woulda pegged you for a cherry kinda gal.” 

“Guess you woulda been wrong then, Sarge.” Y/n shrugged, a smug smile on her lips. “Enjoy!”

Y/n turned to head back to the counter, but Bucky caught her wrist gently. As she turned around, a spark of something between fear and confusion flashed across her face.

“Now where are you going?” Bucky let go of her wrist and motioned at the seat across from him as he continued. “Thought we were gonna have some pie?”

Confusion won over as she narrowed her eyes at him. “You’re gonna have some pie. I gotta get back to work.”

Bucky gestured around the nearly empty diner, his eyes wide with feigned innocence. Only one other table was occupied - a young couple, too giggly and twitterpated to notice anything other than each other. “I dunno. Looks to me like there’s not much work to be done at the moment. And besides, you really think I could eat all this by myself?”

Y/n planted her fist on her hip again and rolled her eyes. “Something tells me you definitely could.”

Gasping in mock offense, Bucky pressed his hand to his heart. “Even the notion! And on Christmas Eve, no less…”

Scoffing, y/n held up her hands in surrender. “Alright, fine. Let me go get a cup of coffee and I’ll join you. But only because it’s Christmas.” Y/n shook her head warily as she walked back behind the counter.

He didn't even try to fight the pleased smile from his lips as he tapped the side of the mug with a vibranium finger. “Maybe just bring the pot?” Bucky called before draining the last of his cup.

A dull thunk against the warped tabletop nearly startled him and he looked up to find y/n already settled across from him, the coffee pot between them.

“Already ahead of you, Bucky.”

Bucky grinned and nudged a napkin wrapped fork in her direction as y/n poured a cup of coffee for herself and refilled his. 

“So…” he began, unfurling his fork and immediately scooping up a large bite of pie and jamming it into his mouth.

Y/n’s eyebrow quirked and she paused, fork poised midair as she responded - “So?” - before copying his action, albeit with a slightly smaller bite. 

“That’s some damn fine pie.” Bucky licked his lips and hummed in delight as he took another bite. “So, what’s the story?”

Y/n set her fork down and wiped her napkin over her mouth. Bracing her elbows on the table and wrapping her hands around her coffee, she tipped her head to one side.

“What’s what story?”

Bucky at least had the manners to swallow before taking a drink and leveling a measured gaze at her.

“Earlier, your face dropped when I mentioned you working tonight. What’s that about?”

Perhaps at some point in Bucky’s long, long life he’d have danced around the question. But lately he found himself growing more and more blunt. Why not just cut right to the chase without all the benign pleasantries?

Y/n blinked and cleared her throat. “I...uh...I don’t know what you mean.” She smiled at him, though her lips seemed forcibly stretched around her teeth.

Leaning forward, Bucky shook a gunmetal grey finger at her. “Nope. Not gonna cut it. Something’s bothering you, and I wanna help. If you’ll let me.” He sat back, running a hand through his recently shortened locks. “God knows you’ve listened to enough of my bullshit to last a lifetime.”

Tentative fingers wrapped around her fork as she began swirling the tines through the whipped cream of her mostly-uneaten pie. Bucky watched as she distracted herself with the sugary concoction. 

“It’s,” she cleared her throat, gaze still trailing the swirls made with her fork. “It’s my brother. He got himself in trouble with some pretty brutal bookies. He came around last week asking for cash; I guess he’s in pretty deep. I gave him the little bit of savings I had, but I guess it wasn’t enough.” 

Bucky’s body went rigid and he felt the anger building in his veins. He was thankful her gaze was still downcast, because he imagined the look in his eyes was pretty dark. 

Y/n swallowed, setting her fork down with a soft ‘clink’ against the plate. “I came home from work a few days ago and he’d come in and stolen anything he thought he could get some money out of. I dunno; guess he pawned it or something.”

Small whirs and barely audible clicks of metal on metal filled the silence between them as Bucky’s fist clenched nearly as tight as his jaw. He knew she probably didn’t hear it, but to his heightened senses, it sounded like a blaring siren. Schooling his features and relaxing as best he could, he took an extra moment to level the tone of his voice.

“Your brother robbed you to pay off some bookies?” 

Y/n eyes shot up, meeting his and widening suddenly as realization struck her. “Shit, I didn’t...please don’t…” She sucked in a shaky breath.

Bucky placed a hand over hers, surprising himself for a second before shaking his head. “Hey, hey. It’s ok.”

Hanging her head, she sighed. “Sometimes I forget who you are. You’re just Bucky, to me. I shouldn’t have said anything. I didn’t mean to put you in any kind of awkward situation being an Avenger and all…”

Her rambling died as Bucky’s hand tightened around hers reassuringly. 

“I think knowing I’m ‘just Bucky’ here is one of my favorite things about coming here,” he offered her a lopsided grin as she met his gaze through watery lashes. “I’m just worried about you. You didn’t do anything wrong, darlin’.”

Releasing his hand, she sunk back into the faded pleather booth and wrapped her cardigan around herself.

“I know. I’m fine. Really.” She picked at an invisible thread on her sleeve. “I mean I can do without a TV or a computer, but he took all the presents I bought for the kids down at the rec center. I’d been saving all year to be able to do something nice for them.”

Bucky’s face flushed with renewed anger. How in the hell did someone so kind and generous and wonderful as y/n wind up with such an asshole for a brother?

“Excuse me, miss?”

Y/n looked as caught off guard as Bucky felt when the young couple from the other table called for her. They seemed hesitant to even disrupt the obviously tense situation. 

“I’m so sorry to bother you, but we’re gonna miss our train if we don’t leave soon.” 

“Oh no, no, no. You’re no bother.” Y/n sniffed and pasted on a smile as she slid out of the booth and met them at the counter. “I’m sorry I didn’t check on you sooner.”

Their conversation faded into the background as Bucky’s head buzzed with all the ways he wanted to make y/n’s brother pay for hurting her so badly. A voice in the back of his head - one that sounded entirely too much like Steve’s star-spangled-ass for his liking - told him to calm down. It was obvious y/n loved her brother, and anything Bucky’s scrambled mind could come up with to deal with him would definitely end up hurting her more. 

So, rather than plotting revenge, Bucky pulled out his phone instead. He began clicking away furiously and got so lost in his mission, he missed the sound of y/n’s footsteps as she neared. The feeling of a warm hand against his shoulder made him jump, the device thumping to the table, narrowly missing his now-cooled cup of coffee.

“At ease, Sarge. It’s just me.” Y/n chuckled and patted his shoulder. “I didn’t think it was even possible to scare you.”

Bucky’s face twisted in smug defiance. “It’s not. I was just distracted, that’s all.” He snorted in derision. 

“Uh-huh.” Y/n’s lips pursed, clearly trying to fight a smile. Bucky wished she wouldn’t; he’d give just about anything to see her face light up again. “Well, I’ve gotta go clear their table and start getting things shut down for the night. I just wanted to thank you for listening to me and for always being so...well...you.”

The sound of Bucky’s heartbeat roared in his ears as she leaned down and pressed a chaste kiss against his cheek. 

“Merry Christmas, Bucky.”

----

A loud, almost violent-sounding banging on the front door woke Bucky up with a jerk. He scowled, eyes squinted against the faint golden rays of morning sun peeking through his curtains. The clock on his nightstand seemed to mock him with bright, bold, red numbers declaring the time to be 6:48 am.

The banging started again, somehow more violently. Muttering curses under his breath - mostly aimed at Sam for deciding to spend the holiday with his family down south, thereby leaving him to deal with whoever was currently trying to break down the front door - Bucky stumbled out of bed.

Another rapid series of knocks came to an abrupt stop as Bucky swung the door open. The venomous glare melted from his face as soon as his eyes met y/n’s.

“Y/n? What are you…”

His confused mumbling was cut off as y/n pushed inside and began pacing the length of the living room. She looked upset; angry even. Which Bucky could understand, at some level, as he, too, was none too pleased with being conscious at this god-forsaken hour. He watched her silent pacing with a sleepy sort of curiosity, expecting her to either start yelling or crying at any second. When a minute or so passed and she’d done neither, he tried again.

“Y/n? What’s wrong?”

The pacing stopped suddenly as she whirled to face him. The fire burning in her eyes was slightly off putting and not something he was used to seeing from her.

“What’s wrong?!” She stalked towards him. “What’s wrong is that I was woken this morning by a burly man named Carl - who smelled of cheese and tequila and told me he had a load of packages waiting for me in his truck. I was seconds away from calling the cops when he told me that it had all been paid for by someone named J. Barnes.”

Bucky’s head fell forward, a funny heat creeping up his face. A particular plank of flooring had suddenly become incredibly interesting.

Y/n scoffed. “I was confused at first, because I don’t know any J. Barnes, right? Except I do, don’t I James.” 

The sound of his given name fell from her lips in a sort of disdainful disbelief that made Bucky’s head snap up. 

“Y/n listen…”

“How did you even know where I lived? Are you some type of creepy stalker customer? I never asked for...I didn’t…” y/n huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. “I didn’t tell you that story so I could be seen as some charity case!”

Bucky held his hands up and took a slow step towards her. When she didn’t step back, he continued to approach her cautiously.

“First off, I know you didn’t. I didn’t mean for it to come across that way. I was only trying to help.” He now stood only a foot away, and made no move to come closer as he continued. “I’m not a stalker, either. I only had EDITH look you up and send the address straight to the delivery company. I specifically told her not to give it to me.”

“Who the hell is Edith?”

Bucky sighed, “It’s not a who, it’s a what. It’s Stark’s AI. The narcissistic bastard called it EDITH - ‘Even Dead, I’m The Hero’.” Bucky rolled his eyes, though he couldn’t help the twinge of pain at the thought of Tony. One of Bucky’s biggest regrets was not being able to make peace with the man before he sacrificed himself against Thanos.

Y/n frowned, opening and closing her mouth a few times. Bucky took a chance and stepped forward, placing his hands gently on her elbows.

“I’m sorry, I swear I was just trying to help. When you said your brother stole all the gifts you’d bought for the kids at the rec center, it made me think of my sisters. There were a few Christmases when my ma couldn’t afford presents and it broke my heart for them. I was just a kid back then and I couldn’t do anything to help, but now I have the means and I just...I just want to help.” 

Without warning, Bucky found himself engulfed in y/n’s arms. Her face was warm against his bare chest and he blushed, just now realizing he hadn’t bothered to put a shirt on. He pushed aside his own discomfort and wrapped his arms around her, squeezing tighter when he felt her body begin to convulse with silent sobs.

They stayed that way for...well, Bucky wasn’t sure. It could have been a minute; it could have been an hour. But eventually, her tears subsided and she pulled back, wiping her face and not meeting his gaze.

“Thank you, Bucky” Her voice was so quiet when she spoke, Bucky wondered if he’d only been able to hear it because of his enhanced hearing. “But I can’t accept it. It’s too much, I can’t ask you…”

“You didn’t. I wanted to. For you and for those kids. Every kid deserves a present at Christmas.”

Y/n shook her head, eyes still glossy, though her lips curved in a sweet smile. 

“You’re too precious for this world, you know that Sarge?” She sucked in a deep breath. “Ok, fine, but on one condition.”

Bucky frowned. “Condition?”

“Yes. You have to help me deliver them.” Y/n crossed her arms again, a challenging glint in her gaze. “But you should probably put a shirt on first.”

Bucky cringed. “Yeah, sorry about that.”

“Don’t be.” Y/n’s eyes widened as though she hadn’t meant to speak the words out loud. 

Bucky fought the urge to make a smug remark and chose instead to ignore it and save her from any further embarrassment. Though he did catalogue that to contemplate later.

“Alright. Let me get changed and then we can get going.”

Bucky smiled and started toward his room, but stopped to face y/n again.

“Oh and y/n?”

Y/n looked at him and Bucky pretended not to notice the way her eyes trailed over his bare torso before she met his eyes.

“Hm?”

“Merry Christmas.”

Like what you see? Want more? My SPN Masterlist is here, and MCU is here. Thanks for reading! :)

A/N 2: I am using my new and improved taglist. If you want to be added, Send me an ask with the list you’d like to be on. Weirdos are for everything, Heroes is MCU and Hunters is for SPN.

Weirdos: 

@hannahindie​ @amanda-teaches​ @ellen-reincarnated1967​ @feelmyroarrrr​ @masksandtruths​ @princessmisery666​  @jamielea81​ @foxyjwls007​ @becs-bunker​ @super100012​ @shy-violet-soul​ @emoryhemsworth​ @impandagrl​ @donnaintx​

Heroes:

@arrowsandmixtapes​ @bethbabybaby​

[nurseofren]

Merry Christmas, Kylo Ren

Relationship: Kylo Ren x Reader

Words: 800

Summary: Kylo Ren does arts and crafts and makes you cry.

Tags: Fluff from beginning to end, a little angst to garnish (of course). Since this is for someone, I stuck to the holiday they celebrate; I respect all religions and celebrations during this season.

ST Rambles: This was inspired by a conversation I had with @elmidol this afternoon. In a way, I suppose it accompanies her gift. I hope you enjoy this <33

Kylo Ren had labored over the small craft for hours. He needed the gesture to be perfect, for it was a gift for his dearest. Anything he would construct with his own two hands would be of the highest quality, only that much more when it was entirely meant for you.

Nothing he could buy or have retrieved from far off planets would ever mean what he needed it to; this gift would be a tangible reminder – aside from his existence – of how much he cared for you, how much he adored you. How much he loved you.

Away on long trips and busied with duties, he was acutely aware of how inadequate he felt when compared to how often you gave him everything he needed or wanted; you did this simply by accepting him, seeing him for what he was and never growing impatient with him. The need to do the same for you was what sparked the late night-endeavor of his.

He had arrived to find you asleep in his sheets, tucked into multitudes of blankets, clinging to his pillow as your nose burrowed into threads that smelled of him. You were always there. You would always be there. Waiting for him. For him. Always.

When it came time to present his craft, the card dwarfed in his gloved hand, he approached you from behind. Your meeting had just ended and your employees all filed out, staring up with wide eyes at the helmeted man striding past them.

You had never made him nervous, but now he swore he could feel every chamber of his heart contract in rhythm; sweat beaded at his hidden brow, his hands clammy beneath the black leather. With a tight jaw, he reached for your shoulder, a gentle touch that had you leaning into him.

There it was, his favorite sight – your almost childlike smile beaming up at him. You greeted him with the light placement of your hands on his chest, his finding your back and enrobing you with safety and peace. Though you would always deny that you could grant him those same things, you always did; he knew it may be a different safety for him, but it lived in your arms, grew from every touch you granted him. Just as he was yours, you were his.

And although he understood that, he found himself holding his breath when you ran your finger under the envelope’s seal. There was a certain measure of curiosity that bloomed at your cheeks; he found the hesitancy in your actions endearing – how slowly you pulled the card from its confines, how you ran your fingers along each edge as you examined his handiwork. The corner of his mouth tightened, the strings of his heart following suit when he saw tears spark in the eyes he called home.

Kylo’s hand flung to yours but all you did was catch his thumb and cling to him, the card flipped open to the sprawl of his delicate script, your bleary eyes shaking with happiness with every beautiful word he had written for you. When a tear fled down your cheek, you jumped to keep it from your gift. Nothing would blight this treasure you held, not even the joy it gave you.

You finished reading, savoring his signature under your thumb, closing the card and running the pads of your fingers over the smooth stationery. He watched you, breathless for far too long, not knowing what had gone wrong. He worried you had noticed the uneven cut of the inner matting, or if something was wrong with the measurements, or-

You pulled him back to the present by unlocking his helmet, the hydraulics’ release all your doing when you pressed them down and lifted the apparatus from him. Not soon enough could you have brushed your fingers through his hair and led his lips to yours.

There was a heat in his cheeks that you had never felt, a dampness at his nape that reminded you of the reason you loved him: he was human. He was human and he sought your approval. He was human, and he cherished you.

His forehead rested on yours when you left the kiss, his thumbs brushing the tips of your ears. You sobbed out a thank you and he felt his chest swell with warmth. His eyes closed in relief; he had pleased you. He’d done nothing wrong. Once again you had proven his.

You sniffled, and the sight of your bright smile revealed his snaggletooth grin. He was always beautiful, but you were enamored every time he allowed you witness to his unbridled happiness.

“Merry Christmas, Kylo,” you whispered.

Kylo stroked your ears once more; he then cupped the back of your neck and pulled you into him.

Just as he was yours, you were his.

[quasieli]

top six: fictional characters that give you gender envy, flowers, little things that make you happy and d&d moments :D

Ooh lotsa questions!

Gender Envy:

1) Bow from She-Ra (2018). Something about buff athletic dude who wears crop tops and is soft as hell is very Gender to me.

2) Vax from Critical Role. Pretty boy, kinda goth rogue? That’s sexy as hell and I wish that was me. 

3) In a wildly different idea of gender envy, I’ve been thinking about it lately and @quantum-lesbian’s character in the Frostmaiden game I’m in with them, Ambrose, is Big Gender. Beautiful non-binary drow with a starry and kinda witchy aesthetic that dresses super grandly and ostentatiously no matter the occasion? Yes please.

4) Pete from The Unsleeping City, specifically season two. I adore season one Pete but season two Pete that works in a queer bookshop and has a teapot arcane focus, is artsy and is unapologetically a trans man who doesn’t give a shit about gender roles? Sign me the fuck up.  

5) Beau from Critical Role. Buff GNC lesbian mixed with academia, but like academia from the prospective of a grad student with ADHD trying to learn everything about their special interests? A+, I love her and I’m jealous. 

6) I’m gonna cheat a lil bit for this last one. I know the prompt is fictional characters, but Julia Lepetit and Jacob Andrews in their Hitman streams? Simultaneously both of them were Gender for me. Jacob esp felt like that for me, which is weird cause dresses can make me dysphoric, but I am also slightly envious of the Dude in a Dress type of gender presentation. 

Can you tell that I’m a confused trans masc enby

Gonna put it under the cut from here cause oof, there’s still a lot more.

Flowers:

1) Big slut for Sunflowers, always have been, always will be.

2) Fun fact, my dad’s family used to own a flower shop (in like the 70s, so I never got to see it :(), and one of their big things was hydrangeas. My dad has always loved them and now I love the snowballs too!  

3) A recent favorite, the Baker’s Globe Mallow. It’s a type of flower that only grows from the soils of forests that have been affected by wildfires. It’s a simple little flower but I love the idea of something beautiful rising from the ashes after tragedy. A little dramatic, but I’m queer, ofc I’m dramatic.

4) Roses are another important flower to my family (Rose was a family name for a couple generations), and ya know, they’re a classic. 

5) There’s this beautiful magnolia tree in front of my house that blooms with the most beautiful white and pink flowers every spring, and it’s one of my favorite things to see every year. 

6) There’s so many different types of Lillies and they’re all very pretty, but the Purple Stargazer is prob my favorite.

Little Things That Make Me Happy:

1) My cat, Maddie. She may be a cranky girl at times, but she is also very sweet and will always be my baby (even though she is 12). 

2) Not a little thing really, but my best friend. Just getting a sweet/silly text from her or the two of us chilling in a room, sitting in a comfortable silence because we just like being together, nothing better. 

3) Baking, esp if I’m doing it for others. I’m not much of a sweets person myself, a little treat every once in a while type person, but I love baking. It’s a very relaxing process for me, even when it can sometimes get stressful, but seeing people enjoying something I made, especially something that brought me great joy to make, is simply the best. 

4) In the same sorta vein, crafting and other art, but that’s a bit more personal. I love making things for others, but art, particularly drawing, is something I do more for me. It’s such a great feeling when you can get into a really good art mood and just sink yourself into a project. I love it.

5) My plush toys. Yes, I am a 23 year old, no I will not stop loving my plushies. I just got a few new friends, which I made a post about recently, and they such good cuddle buddies. However, there is one king amongst them all. I have this old, beat up christmas puppy beanie baby, on his tag named Jingle Pup, but I just call him Jingle. I had one version of him since I was like 6, but he currently lives on a shelf cause he is very beaten up and fragile, but his “brother”, who I got when I was 8, is still in kinda good shape and is currently chilling on my chest as I type this lol.

6) Again, not a little thing, but it’s important to mention; D&D. The game itself is such a joy, but truly the best part of it is the people. I love creating stories and memories with people through this weird little game. Truly one of my favorite things to do.

D&D Moments:

These are all gonna be personal moments, rather than anything from actual play shows/podcasts. RC is Reforged Campaign, where I play Saube, and FM is Frostmaiden, where I play Sparks.

1) RC - Meeting Mahety, Saube’s girlfriend. We met her way back in session 12 and we are now up to like session 73. Saube saw her and was immediately big heart eyes at her but also felt a bit awkward and shy. So, being a game a dice, I decided to roll. 10 or higher, Saube would talk to her, 9 or lower, she’d stay put. I rolled a 17, 17 is now a lucky number for me. I love Mahety and I’d die for her. 

2) FM - This was an insane fight that should not have been so crazy, but in a fairly early session, my group went up against an angry druid and her awakened animals. So much batshit stuff happened in that fight, and we unfortunately lost our bread loving bard (RIP Agneyis), but one of my favorite combat turns happened in this fight. Our artificer, Omaren, has a robe of useful items and one of the patches on it creates a large pit. Thinking quickly, Omaren tore off the patch, slid it under one of the dire wolves we were fighting and created a looney tunes style pit under it, allowing us to take it out easily via pot shots. Such a clutch move and such a funny visual, especially because the dire wolf kept failing the checks to get out of the pit.  

3) RC - Saube’s Zebrith (I will never remember how this actually spelled RIP). So, for context, Saube ended up with a death curse (long story) that mechanically meant they had disadvantage on any death saving throws. Scary as hell, need to get that fixed! So, Saube and their party had to be smuggled into another country to talk with some religious leaders of a goddess known as The First, the goddess of death. They were told that Saube would have to go through the aforementioned ritual, which included her soul leaving her body for a short period of time. During this ritual, her friends had to call back to her, to say things that would bring her back to her body and I still cry thinking about that game. That ritual was not only important for Saube bodily, but spiritually as well. After that ritual, Saube officially became a cleric of The First! 

4) A real sappy one, RC - Saube meeting all of her friends. Anyone who follows along with the rantings on my blog probably knows how important this game is to me. I met this random group of strangers on tumblr and formed a D&D party with them and now, a year and a half later, I honestly think it’s one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. I know that sounds silly and dramatic but not only has this game brought me so much joy and comfort, but I also gained a group of really amazing friends who have been nothing but amazing since day one. As much as Saube knows she can depend on SICL, I know I can depend on my group of weirdos lol. We both love our friends very much and even though we’ve all been through some crazy shit, we wouldn’t change it for the world.    

5) RC - Just playing Saube in general. I really didn’t intend for it to be this way, but Saube is very much a reflection of myself. She is the first long term character I have ever played and so much of me is in her. I try not to treat D&D like therapy, because that’s unfair to my DM and fellow party members, but playing Saube has allowed me to work through some of my own problems, especially social anxiety, in a lot safer of an environment. It isn’t so much that I’m asking this game to help me fix my life, but playing out these scenarios that, in the real world, would make me anxious or make me freak out, I can stop, take a moment to breathe and work out these issues in a way that makes sense to me. Playing her has led me to understanding myself a bit better, as well, and that’s truly such a wonderfully unexpected gift from this whole experience. 

6) Lastly, a silly one: RC - Getting a crit 6. The last session of this game got real interesting. Saube’s party ended up in the ethereal plane and magic got real fucky there. So, any time any of us tried to cast a spell, we’d roll a d20, not look at the result, and then try to guess what number rolled. The closer to the number, the better the result. A few times, a few people managed to get within like 3 or 4 of their roll, but oh the power I felt when I rolled a 6 (on Saube’s die!) and guessed it correctly! So, not only did the spell (Bless) work, but it worked super well. So instead of getting +1d4 to attack rolls and saving throws, Saube and two other party members got +2d4 to attacks, saving throws and skill checks. So powerful I broke the rules of D&D lmao. 

[lady-divine-writes]

Ineffable Holiday 2020 - “A Wonderful Christmas Timey-Wimey” (Rated PG13)

Summary: Crowley isn't feeling the holidays this year, which Aziraphale thinks is par for the course, what with him being a demon and all. With only a few days left until Christmas, Crowley runs into a girl who may change that for him.

A girl who mistakes him for The Tenth Doctor. (1945 words)

Notes: Written for the Ineffable Holiday 2020 prompt 'shopping'.

Read on AO3.

“Must you pick out every present for the toy appeal yourself?” Crowley asks, rearranging items on the shelf, replacing a few of the more popular toys with jars of pickled fish, tins of olives, and tubes of fungal foot cream. "This is so dull!"

"It would be less dull if you helped instead of complained."

"Mrr ... ngk ... urgh ..."

"You'd be brightening someone else's day," Aziraphale says to persuade him.

"Not really my department," Crowley replies. "You could always do what other shops do and put a donation bin inside your door.”

“Inside my door?” Aziraphale utters a disgusted noise. “You expect me to invite people into my shop on purpose!?”

“It would be for the good of mankind,” Crowley teases. "Well, child-kind, more accurately."

“I am not going to dignify that heinous suggestion with a remark,” Aziraphale mutters, walking to the opposite side of his trolley to escape his husband’s asinine ideas. 

"I still don't see why you need to do this yourself. I don't think braving a crowd of the entitled to buy useless junk for kids is going to earn you brownie points with Heaven."

“Buying presents is fun, Crowley, no matter who they're for! It gets me into the holiday spirit!”

“Not me. I’m not feeling Christmas this year.”

Aziraphale looks up and considers his gloomy husband. He'd thought this mopey affectation was simply per the norm. He didn't realize his husband was honestly feeling blue. “Have you felt the Christmas spirit any other year?”

Crowley shrugs. “Once or twice. It’s become such a vulgar holiday, hasn’t it? The commercialization, the greed, the false charity - such a far cry from the days when generous humans would leave presents anonymously on the steps of their needy neighbors. Nowadays, with social media, everything’s such a show. Look what I gave! Look who I helped! Look how compassionate I am!” Crowley grimaces. “Despicable.”

“I would imagine, as a demon, you would take pride in the change,” Aziraphale says icily.

“’m not that kind of demon, angel.”

“You’ve got a few days yet. Maybe you’ll come across something that will fill you with Christmas joy.”

“Doubt it.” Crowley goes back to the ruination of the shelves, snarling when his husband manages to set things to rights behind his back. He's preparing to remove the word not from the boxes marked batteries not included when he gets the distinct feeling that someone is stalking them. He stands straight and peeks down the aisle, eyes darting left and right behind his glasses so as not to be too obvious. Once he confirms his suspicions, he comes up behind Aziraphale and whispers, “Do you ever get the feeling you’re being watched?”

“All the time,” Aziraphale says nonchalantly. “Because we are. The Almighty sees all, remember?”

Crowley rolls his eyes. What a frickin’ angel thing to say? “We’re not alone.” 

“Exactly! Didn’t you hear what I just …?”

Crowley steps in front of his husband, grabs Aziraphale’s head, and tilts it to the side. Aziraphale’s gaze follows. From around the end of the aisle, Aziraphale spots a pair of stunning green eyes, set in a face surrounded by a blonde bob, disappear into the doll aisle.

“What the …? Oh, dear …” 

"Wot? Wot's wrong?"

Aziraphale chuckles. "It looks like we have company.”

Crowley turns to see a woman headed their way, spurred on by a girl pushing her in their direction. The woman waves sheepishly. “Hello. I am so sorry to bother you.”

Aziraphale smiles. “It’s quite alright. Is there something we can do for you?”

“Kind of.” The woman glances sternly behind her when the girl gives her a shove. “My name is Sheila. This …” She jabs a thumb over her shoulder at the child they have yet to see completely “… is my little sister Freya.”

“Hello, Freya.” Aziraphale tries to maneuver around Sheila’s body to get a good look at the girl. He catches a glimpse, but Freya moves too quickly out of view for Aziraphale to get more than that. But from what he can see, she isn’t paying attention to him.

She’s focused on Crowley.

“She’s shy,” Sheila says. “But she asked me to come talk to you because she thinks …” Aziraphale hears the girl whisper, something only her sister can understand, and Sheila sighs. “I’m so very sorry, but she thinks that you …” She gestures to Crowley “… are … The Doctor.”

Crowley’s eyes go wide. “Doctor?” he repeats, confounded since, in all his long years on this planet, to his recollection, no one has ever mistaken him for a doctor. An undertaker, definitely. A forensic investigator, once or twice. A rockstar and, on occasion, an actor. But not a doctor. 

With a sudden spark, it hits him. 

Not a doctor. 

The Doctor. 

“Wait - Doctor. You mean like … Doctor Who, The Doctor?”

Freya giggles. Sheila’s cheeks turn pink. “The Tenth Doctor specifically, yeah. Again, I’m really sorry about this, but, uh …” Aziraphale reaches into his pocket and produces a handkerchief when Sheila chokes up “… our mum's just passed, and our dad's underway. He’s not going to be home in time for the holidays." She sniffles. "I'm afraid we've been suffering from a severe lack of cheer lately.”

“So it seems,” Aziraphale says sympathetically.

“And I thought that maybe if you didn’t mind … I mean, I know you don’t know us from Adam, but …”

While Sheila talks to Aziraphale, Crowley gets down on one knee to get a better look at Freya. She’s the most erratically dressed child he’s ever seen. But kids can get away with that, can’t they? She’s wearing oversized trousers, a floor-length coat, a shirt with a rainbow across the front, braces …

Oh, gee, he thinks. She’s dressed like The Thirteenth Doctor.

Freya sneaks a peek, lower lip sucked so far between her teeth, he can see every freckle on her chin.

He smiles and gives her a wink.

“Figured me out, did ya?”

Both Aziraphale and Sheila go silent when they hear Freya gasp.

“It is you!” Freya says, eyes so wide they start to compete with every other feature on her face. “My sis said it probably wasn’t you, but I knew it was! I just knew it!”

“It’s me,” Crowley says, not entirely sure where he goes from here. “But you can’t tell anyone you saw me, okay?”

“Oh, don’t worry …” Freya motions zipping her lips together “… I won’t say anything to anyone! I promise!” She leans forward and whispers, “Where’s your TARDIS? I didn’t notice a police box outside.”

“And she looks,” Sheila says. “She really looks. Every time we leave the house.”

“Oh, uh, you know what? I got it fixed,” he says, quickly culling from one of the few pieces of Doctor Who trivia he knows. “The chameleon circuit? It's good as new.”

“It is?” Freya’s eyes light up as if she's hearing the most important news of her young life.

“It looks just like a regular old car now.”

“Really?”

“Yup. A big black car.”

“Wicked!”

Aziraphale doesn’t hear everything Crowley says to Freya, but that doesn’t concern him. Crowley has always been aces at dealing with children. And as Freya’s eyes become wider and her smile spreads, Aziraphale can’t help smiling himself. Crowley is a demon with a vivid imagination, and he’s using it to weave this girl a tale of wondrous, supernatural antics, which includes traveling through time with a man he calls his companion (whom Aziraphale realizes, with a flick of Freya’s eyes upward, is supposed to be him) as they attempt to save Christmas from …

“The Weeping Angels?” Freya looks about her, a mixture of anxiety and excitement turning her cheeks red. “I read that comic! About how you and Thirteen went up against them to save Earth! Are they back?”

“No. Even worse."

Freya's mouth forms a tiny 'o'. "The Master?” 

"Yes." Crowley echos her gravitas to make it appear he understands the dangers of being pursued by such a villain. "Hence my disguise, which you saw through brilliantly. Well done!"

“Oh, I could tell it was a disguise from a mile away!” she proclaims with the modesty of a child who has gotten one over on the adults.

“How?” 

“The hair! You’re ginger! But, between you and me, I’d tone it down.”

“You would?” Crowley says in a way that makes Aziraphale snicker, falling somewhere between engaging and offended.

“Oh, yes!” she says. “It’s a bit on the bright side. It’s a dead giveaway that it's fake.”

Crowley nods, fighting to keep his cool. It would do him no good to start bickering with a child over whether or not a fictional character should wear their hair his color. “Noted.”

Sheila watches Crowley interact with her sister, sees her smile for the first time in weeks.

Sheds a tear when Freya tells Crowley that he is, without a doubt, her favorite Doctor, and that when she sees him on the telly or reads about him in the comics, it makes her feel less sad and alone.

“Okay, Freya,” Sheila says, wiping her eyes with the cuff of her shirt. “I think it’s time for us to let these gentlemen get back to their business.”

“She means the mission,” Freya corrects for her.

“That’s right,” Crowley says. “But you know what? We’ll bump into each other again. Another time.”

“Yes,” Freya says in awe. “We will. Another time.”

Sheila takes her sister’s hand, but the girl breaks free and throws herself into Crowley’s arms, squeezing him tight. “Thank you, Doctor!”

It takes Crowley a second, but he wraps his arms around Freya’s thin body and squeezes back. “You’re welcome.”

“Come on, Freya,” Sheila says in a wobbly voice. “Let's go home.”

“Goodbye, Doctor! Goodbye, Doctor's Companion!”

"Goodbye, Miss Freya," Aziraphale says, amused to be relegated to the title of Doctor's Companion. His name must not be necessary, he muses, since she never asked it.

Freya takes her sister’s hand and pulls her from the aisle, telling her all the things Crowley had said about his and Aziraphale’s mission to save Christmas.

Crowley watches Freya and Sheila round the corner, the girl pausing a moment to give them one final wave before she skips out of sight. 

But Crowley doesn’t look away.

He stares thoughtfully after her, doesn’t snap out of it until Aziraphale puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Are you all right, my dear?”

“Yeah. Yes. Of course,” Crowley says, slowly falling back to Earth. 

"Shall we get going, too?"

"No," Crowley says in a distant voice. His eyes travel from the end of the aisle to Aziraphale's hand on his shoulder, down to the trolley half full of toys. With a hiccup, he picks up where they left off before Sheila and Freya stopped by, and Crowley became The Doctor. "No! You're nowhere near done! Wot? Were you only planning on helping five kids? Pfft!" Crowley clears his throat. "Would you mind if I, uh, picked out a few things, too? For the appeal?"

Aziraphale looks at him strangely. "You want to shop for toys?"

"You’ve only chosen the boring ones! The educational slop! No kid is gonna want half this stuff! I think that, maybe, you don’t have the knack.”

Aziraphale crosses his arms over his chest. “I don't have the knack?”

“Yes.”

“For buying toys?”

“Again, yes.”

Aziraphale grins. “Are you asking to help me brighten someone else's day?”

Crowley's cheeks go pale. “No! Maybe. Don’t look at me like that. You’re just buying toys. It’s not astrophysics. Look, turn down the halo, or I’m going home!”

[perseusjackson-jasongrace]

Hey! How are you? Hope you are doing well!

I read your jealous!percy fanfiction and OH MY GODS is it possible to be in love with a fanfiction because I really was!!

Can I request for a part two??

Please feel free to ignore this if you are busy or cannot do it right now!

I just wanted to say that I really do adore you and your content!!!

Thank you!!!

When I tell you I sat in my room and cried when I saw this ask?!? Thank you so much for your lovely words angel💖🥺they really do mean the world! And I’m so so so happy you enjoy the mess I put out☀️

Your wish is my command so here is Part 2 of the Jealous! Percy fic. There is no jelly Perc in this one but there's enough fluff you may have a cavity after all this sweet👀

Please enjoy!

Masterlist

Percy puts the final bauble on the Christmas tree and stands back to admire his work. The tree glitters brightly, a combination of tinsel and the soft yellow lights wrapping around the branches. The low melody of Christmas music comes from the small radio sitting on the bookshelf and the coco steaming on his coffee table looks more than inviting. He figures if he, and his band of misfit daddy and/or mommy issue group of friends, couldn't go home for Christmas he would do his best to bring the festivities here. The one person he really wants here is going to California for the holidays, something he hasn't done in years, and although Percy is disappointed he knows his friends will make the most of the time anyway.

He collapses onto his couch, staring at his hard work and takes a small sip from the steaming mug. His laptop is silently playing some Christmas movie or the other and the mountain of notebooks and pens on the table shake precariously. A small collection of weathered envelopes sits to one side; cards for his friends. They had promised no gifts, as they do every year, and instead sought to make the cheesiest, funniest, most tear worthy cards. There were different categories and if you won you got to pick the holiday games or what happens to the losers.

A single knock at his door pulls a frown onto his face. He considers ignoring it, mostly because he wasn't expecting anyone, but it starts back up a moment later and he resigns to a baseball bat and a cautious glance. He eases the door open and bursts out laughing as he sees who's behind it.

"What?" His unexpected guest gives him a wide eyed look, "Did I forget pants or something?"

"I thought you were a really polite murderer."

"What?" Confusion is etched so perfectly across that beautiful face Percy can't help but laugh again.

"Come in my love," He moves out the way and let's his boyfriend pass.

Just as he closes the door again Jason Grace pulls him by the wrist and crashes their bodies together.

"I missed you," The blonde breathes, and he has to hide the shiver that races up his spine at those husky words.

"We saw each other two days ago?"

"Maybe I'm an addict."

"Please kiss me. Right now."

And those blue eyes glitter with joy as their lips meet. It is soft and patient and full of sweet wonder. Jason threads his hands through those black curls and slants his head slightly, trying to get closer, if that were even possible. Percy swipes his tongue across the blonde's lip and his mouth parts in a little gasp. Their kiss deepens, turns to languid exploring and content passion.

When they break apart they are out of breath and the smiles taking over their faces make the sun look dim.

"Missed me that much huh?"

"More," A golden hand strokes his flushed cheek.

"What are you doing here?" He leans into the hand, looks up, into that adoring gaze, "I thought you were going to Cali to be with your father?"

"He has a last minute work trip," The blonde rolls his eyes, "I'd rather spend the holidays with you anyway."

"Well the gang is coming over tomorrow but we have tonight and every day after that all to ourselves."

"Who knew we'd be here?" Jason sighs, laying one of Percy's hands against his thundering heart.

"Not me," He giggles, "I thought I'd be spending my Christmas pretending I haven't been pining over you and maybe drinking unhealthy amounts of coco."

His boyfriend scrunches his nose, "Why do you even like the stuff? It tastes like bitter bean water."

"I think you're talking about coffee," His green eyes sparkle with amusement.

"Ugh don't even get me started on that stuff. Tea is the only valid hot beverage." The blonde huffs as they stow his stuff in the bedroom and flop down on the couch.

"You are such an old man," He shakes his head, rubbing a thumb over his palm.

"What time is everyone else coming tomorrow? And who is?"

"They'll be here between eleven and one because I told them ten. And it's Frank, Haze, Leo, and Reyna. Everyone else is with their families."

Jason snuggles into him, hair tickling his neck as he rests against his shoulders. A muffled yawn escapes him and Percy's heart clenches for the gentleness of the situation.

"You want some tea?"

"No," He yawns again, "I'll need to pee every five seconds in the night."

He laughs, and his boyfriend whips his body up, eyes wide with horror, "Sorry that was probably too much information."

"Are you kidding I’ve seen you throw up your guts because of food poisoning. That was hilarious."

"Shut up," Jason mumbles, golden cheeks heating, "We don't talk about that."

"I think it's the only time I've ever seen you look disheveled."

He shudders, laying his head back on Percy's shoulder, "I never went to feel like that again. I swear I was dying."

They settle into the quiet, the hum of the radiator and the low music still playing from the radio washing over them. Jason intertwines their fingers, tracing patterns against the back of his boyfriend's beautiful brown skin. And that's how they fall asleep, slowly and indulgent. As if they can hang up time on a hook and take it down when they need it next.

When Percy's alarm starts playing the next morning he groans loudly and stretches out. His boyfriend mumbles something and snuggles further into his side. He strokes a hand through those sunlight strands and drops a kiss on his forehead.

"I have to get everything ready, my love."

"Don't leave," He garbles, "You warm."

"I promise I'll be back. Why don't you go sleep in the room. You'll be more comfortable there"

"Want you," His voice is raspy with sleep and Percy has to stop himself from yanking his boyfriend by the hoodie and planting a passion fueled kiss on his lips.

"If I don't set up we'll never be ready by the time the gang comes."

Jason simply holds his arms up, blue eyes unfocused and gives him a lopsided smile. With a sigh that hides his amused affection he loops his arms under the blonde's, wrapping them around his back, and grabs his legs.

"You ready my love?"

A nod, and fumbling kiss into his neck is the reply. And then Percy is lifting up his boyfriend and carrying him through the apartment and into his room.

"Mhmm," Jason hums onto his skin, "Smells like you."

"You like it?"

"Smells good," He bobs his head as he snuggles into the duvet, "Like ocean and rain."

Percy just smiles and brushes his lips across the blonde's gently, "Sleep."

As he turns to walk away Jason catches his wrist and tugs him back.

"Stay," His blue eyes are wide with pleading, "Please."

"But i—" He starts, and then he's falling onto the bed and wrapping his arm around his boyfriend, "We are going to be so late."

Jason kisses his cheek, his nose, his other cheek, before finally reaching his lips.

"Iss okay," He's already falling back asleep.

Their breathing slows, and they find each other once more, in a land as perfect as this one.

***

"Well good morning lover boys," A delighted voice squeals.

Percy moans, muttering something unintelligible and buries himself into the sheets.

"I take it nobody has ordered our Christmas feast or started on the Eggnog Nogfest?" Another voice giggles.

"Go, sleep, warm." He tries to form a coherent thought.

"If y'all don't get your asses up right now I'm pouring ice water on both of you." A husky growl comes from right over them.

Ocean eyes blink open as he struggles to bring the room into focus.

A scary, bright-eyed Reyna is glaring at them and Leo is leaning against the door frame, mirth swimming in his expression.

"Finally," Hazel laughs, "So can we get this party started?"

"Ugh," Percy groans, "What time is it?"

"Half twelve. We let ourselves in after knocking at your door so long your neighbor came to tell you off for having sex in the kitchen."

"What?" He isn't awake enough for Leo's explanations.

"Cause you know banging against the wall?" His friend prompts but Percy just waves him off and rubs at his eyes, nudging Jason to get up.

"So when's lunch?"

Frank steps into the room with a reassuring smile, "On the way. I just ordered."

"Are we having Christmas in here then?" He asks.

"Sounds like a plan to me," Reyna shrugs.

And before Percy can protest Leo is catapulting onto the bed and Hazel is flopping over their legs.

"Wow Jase," She pokes at the blonde, "You bony shins are really comfortable against my spine."

"Who asked you to collapse onto my bones?" He grumbles, trying to wake himself up.

"Who asked you to be sleeping on Christmas morning?" She shoots back cheekily.

"Touchè." He grins, moving over to make her comfortable.

"Well," Percy looks at his friends, eyes shining, "What are you two waiting for? Get on here!"

Reyna and Frank shake their heads, like the parents they were so rightfully labeled, but happiness sparks in their eyes and they dive under the covers.

"So who wants to play Go Fish or Forfeit?" Leo smiles gleefully.

A shout of excitement goes up and they all shuffle into a circle, the blue-threaded black silk duvet being tucked around them. He grabs the double pack of cards he keeps at his nightstand and distributes seven per person.

"Everyone know the rules?" He asks.

They all nod. So the Christmas festivities begin.

And there in that room, on that bed, Percy and his friends know what warmth feels like, and the glittering in their eyes can only mean love.

[dameronology]

circles

this isn’t fan fiction -- it’s just something i wrote out of boredom bc i was in my feels and want to have a lil catharsis 

The break-up was hard.

Expected, yes. A long time coming, even more so. But easy? No. Not in the slightest. 

It had been building up slowly but surely for the better part of two years, seeping into the little cracks in their foundations and steadily making them deeper. What had started as minor annoyances and tolerable grievances had blown into unbearable pain, suffocating what little they had left until it had withered away and died completely. The hardest part, perhaps, was that it didn’t make sense. They had worked so well at one point - taken random getaway breaks on weekends just because, went for spontaneous drives at 3AM just to listen to the Killers’ new album for the twentieth time, got drunk and gave each other the most ridiculous hand poked tattoos. Everything that had made them so good existed solely under the joy of their heyday, basking in the glow of how easy it had been to be so young and stupid. 

Nothing had mattered. There hadn’t been a single worry in the world. No pressure to settle down, no pressure to be an adult just yet or to take anything too seriously. The fact they were completely different people is what had made it so good, so fun. The perfect balance of vulnerability and stupidity; fragility and naivety. She’d existed solely for him and he lived entirely for her; the centre of one another’s orbit, gravitating around one another in circles, toing and froing in the best way possible. 

That was the problem: circles. 

Months turned into years, and soon their young adulthood stretched into their mid twenties, early thirties. The issue of their difference was easily ignored by domestic routine; working long hours, focusing on promotions, paying off their college debt. They found a nice house on the outskirts of Philadelphia - two bedrooms and a big garden. He had said the second room was perfect for kids, and she’d commented on what a perfect home office it would have made. They’d laughed it off. That was something they’d become good at it; making a joke out of red flags, passing them off as if they were tiny quirks. 

That was the beginning of the circles. Waking up early, working all day, coming home late. Having a date night every Saturday with less-than-stellar sex, because that’s what Cosmopolitan had promised would keep the spark alive. Every other one of their friends had broken up with their respective college partner; some had gotten married, some had kids, some had gotten divorced, some had gone to prison. Meanwhile, they’d stayed entirely the same. What was it he’d said about it? We’ve just matured. 

It was on the way home from his dad’s 60th birthday party that he’d brought up the idea of a future. Not just a future, but the future. Marriage, kids, mortgages, all the long term stuff that should have been expected when you’d been in a relationship as long as they had. What had it been? Ten years, maybe. It wasn’t unfair of him to expect it from her, or at least to see it reasonable that they have the conversation. She’d nervously laughed it off, making a joke about how their five-year-old rescue dog was close enough. He’d smiled at her terrible joke, before dropping the conversation entirely. 

Circles, again. 

A cycle of him broaching a subject of the future, and her making a bad joke to dodge it. Everyone around them was upsizing houses and getting married - or remarried - and having their second, third, fourth child. The world around them was going at a thousand miles an hour and yet, she refused to take her foot off the brake. Nothing about them had changed. She saw it as a good thing. He couldn’t stand it. 

That was the beginning of their descent. They’d both realised that they were too different to possibly keep their worlds intertwined; whilst they’d once gravitated towards each other, they now polarised. The issue laid in the difference between knowing things were bad and admitting things were bad. Their relationship was so familiar - so constant and steady. It had become a comfort blanket for them both. They’d made a habit of holding onto the promises they’d made as twenty-somethings, perhaps forgetting that the people who had those pledges all those years ago weren’t the same ones who were trying so hard to keep them. 

It had taken a pregnancy scare for them to realise it. When there was only one line in the window of the test, she’d been relieved. He’d been gutted. Their simultaneous sigh of relief and we can try again next month was a testament to the bigger picture; a testament to the different things they so desperately wanted. A career woman and a family man, together only because of their love for another. There came a point where they had to ask themselves if it was enough, if their feelings were enough common ground to justify staying together.

They could have compromised. Instead of the three kids he wanted, they could have had one. She could have worked less and he could have stayed at home with their hypothetical children. Isn’t what relationships were about? Compromise. But, that probably applied to what colour you painted the kitchen, or whose parents you went to for Christmas. Not fundamental things like how many kids you had, or where you lived, or things that you needed to be happy. 

That was probably the bit that hurt the most. She needed a high-pressure job and career satisfaction to be happy. He needed a domestic life and kids of his own. There was nothing wrong either of those things, but there was something missing from their respective lists: each other. 

The break-up itself wasn’t the hardest part, nor was telling their families or cancelling the holiday they had booked for the following year. The grief and shock didn’t truly hit them until they were packing their respective belongings.

Stood on opposite sides of the bedroom, metres feelings like miles. The air between them was thick with tension; unanswered questions and what-ifs. What if we just tried a little harder and what if this was supposed to be it? All questions that neither of them dared answer, for fear of going back on the decision. The trepidation of leaving behind what they’d thought was going to be forever was already swallowing them whole; eating them alive and consuming their entire beings with memories of lost laughter and sweet memories. They were packing up the bedroom that they’d shared for almost a decade, stripping the four walls of bittersweet conversations and forced destiny. 

They took the photos off the walls. Ones of them in Paris, ones of them in New York, ones of them in London; all younger, past versions of themselves, before the glow in their eyes had been dimmed by the revelation of dull reality. False promises of domestic bliss that lead to false hopes of happiness; a sad reminder of a better time, when they hadn’t realised that forever would never quite come to fruition . All gone now. All laid to rest, surrounded by bubble wrap and forced into a storage unit downtown that they’d half-heartedly agreed to go halves on. 

The house was sold quickly - something the estate agent had told them was lucky. Nothing about the situation felt lucky, but having the weight of the shared property off their shoulders took the burden off of everything a little. The extra money was good too. She moved back to the city and invested in a loft, whilst he purchased an almost-identical house to their old one, just a few streets away. She had a balcony and he had a backyard. 

A few more years went by, and they both got what they wanted. She made partner at her firm and started to earn triple figures, reaping the rewards of her hard work and playing in the big leagues. He found a nice, simple woman and got married, eventually having three kids, all with chubby cheeks and toothy smiles. Letting go of another had been the best thing they’d ever done; their relationship had tied them down, forced them to give up what they wanted because staying was easier than going.

Almost six years to the day that they broke up, they passed one another in the street. She was just leaving a meeting, and he’d taken his family into the city to watch a game. It was on Fifth Street, not far away from the first apartment they rented together. Their eyes met - strange eyes, but ones they each remembered so vividly - and they smiled. Nothing was said. Nothing had to be said. They were whey they needed to be.