#and i need to get up ridiculously early ON A SATURDAY just to do laundry

[exosmutfactory]

Six Phases 006 Pt 2

Originally posted by exo-stentialism

Who knew it nearly took 6 months to win your heart, and 6 phases for Baekhyun to lose his mind.

A/N: sorry not sorry 😇🚗💨🔥

[ contains: romance, fluff, angst, & smut ]

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3  P(1) P(2) | Part 4 P(1) P(2) | Part 5 P(1)  P(2) | Part 6 P(1)  P(2)✓ ----- P(3)   P(4) 

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Somehow, waking up early on Saturday mornings had become a routine since that weekend. Between the plague-like thoughts that disrupted my sleep and how Baekhyun cutely requested for breakfast the next morning, I dragged my tired body out of bed and quickly whipped up some bacon with scrambled eggs. He insisted that my cooking was the best before the flavor even settled fully onto his tongue, counteracting my every protest with flustering compliments. I recall accidentally telling him he was full of shit—it was only a simple meal, after all. What is that compared to the hundreds of fancy restaurants he has dined in?

"Your food tastes like home," He argued between pacifying whines, back-hugging me in a way that always weakens my defenses. I begrudgingly agreed after convincing him to have turkey bacon from time to time. Pork has its place, and I preferably don't enjoy the breakfast variety all too often.

It's ridiculous what lengths I would go for this infuriatingly attractive man. If my weekend to-do list full of breakfast, groceries, and laundry is anything to go by, I wouldn't oppose being considered as "whipped" for him. It is what it is, man.

Every Saturday I am up and running by the time the sunlight breaks over the horizon. Regardless of how late I end up sleeping the night before, my eyes automatically open between the hours of 6 and 7; ready to climb out of bed as quietly as possible. Thankfully Baekhyun is a heavy sleeper who is content with hugging my pillow to his chest while I sneak off to the kitchen.

The aches in my body become very apparent the moment my foot touches the carpeted floor of our bedroom, a familiar feeling—welcomed almost, though I'd never tell Baekhyun that. His ego when it comes to things like this is big enough as it is.

Suppressing a shiver at the wintry morning air, I reach for his discarded shirt from the night before, tsking quietly at the two buttons missing from the top of the material. I swear he's the most annoyingly endearing man I've ever met. There's no other explanation for why I'm already planning what time to sew the buttons back on, carefully picking them up from the floor and leaving them on top of our shared dresser.

Luckily the remaining buttons are enough to shield my shoulders from the cold of the large apartment; the bottom of the shirt brushing against the back of my thighs as I make my way out into the hallway, gently closing the door behind me. In times like these I am grateful for Baekhyun's habit of leaving his house-slippers right outside of our bedroom. I rarely use mine despite his constant chastising. Some things in life are better bare.

Slipping into the slippers with ease, a smile tugs at my lips while shuffling quietly down the hallway. I usually keep breakfast simple: scrambled eggs, a few strips of bacon—maybe a pancake or two on a particularly good morning. Today, however, I'm in the mood for something more. Omelets, cinnamon buns, and the little sausages Baekhyun has adored lately.

Checking on the buns in the small conventional oven on the counter, I whisk away at the raw eggs that will make up Baekhyun's omelet, smoothing out the yolk entirely. A light breeze and soft kiss pressed to my shoulder break me out of my concentration. I could recognize those pouty lips anywhere.

"You're up early," I murmur, leaning back against his chest. Tilting my head up, I smile at his cute sleepy expression.

"Mmm," He manages to capture my lips in an upside-down kiss that melts me to my very core, his warm fingers seeping through the fabric of my borrowed shirt. "What are you up to?"

"Breakfast," I breathe, cheeks warming as he pulls away, quickly checking on the sizzling frying pan in front of me before he can catch me admiring his bare torso. "I got the sausages you like, Bae."

"Bae?"

The top of my head nearly slams into the bottom of the cabinets as I freeze in my tracks, frying pan clutched in hand. Shit, did I say that out loud? My face might as well be 50 shades of red. "I—I mean-"

Baekhyun plants a kiss on my head that throws my every thought out the window. "I love you." He hums, hugging me warmly before walking to the dining table. The view of his bare back as he runs a hand through his sleep-tousled hair is way too captivating for six-thirty in the damn morning.

I put my attention back on the pan, hurriedly removing it from the burner to slide the sausages onto a tray. 30 more seconds and I would have burned the damn things had I not shaken myself back into focus. "Jenny and the gang are coming over today."

"Today?"

I raise a brow at his tone. The high-pitched inquiry of his voice at the mention of his friends is a little suspect. Who was the genius that bragged so much about my BBQ short ribs everyone ended up inviting themselves over to our apartment? Shouldn't he remember our plans for tonight?

"Yes?" I drag out, tilting my head, looking at him skeptically with a hand on my hip, raising my spatula. "Did you forget?"

His silent form sitting rigidly at the table is enough of an answer. "N-" I raise my other brow. "Erm—M-Maybe?"

"Uh-huh." If he wasn't so adorable after just waking up with his lips tutted in a confused pout, I would give him hell. "I bought groceries yesterday, so we're only missing the wine-"

"I'm on it." Baekhyun perks up in his chair as if douched in cold water, pulling his phone out of nowhere. "Hyerin," He murmurs groggily, fumbling clumsily for a couple of seconds and slapping it to his ear in his hurry. "I need a bottle of Dom Perignon by 6:30. Thank you." The call is over in the span of 10 seconds. He sets the device next to his glass of orange juice on the table, busying himself with gulping down half of its contents. It takes a while for him to notice my bewildered gaze. "What?" He mumbles; orange pulp on his pouty lips.

I narrow my eyes, lowering the grease-covered frying pan back to the stove. "Who was that?" And how the fuck you just ordering Dom Perignon as if it doesn't cost my entire education expenses? If you just bought the $50k edition, I swear, Byun Baekhyun—"My new secretary." He yawns, stretching his arms above his head with a soft, content smile. "Come here." He mumbles, opening them towards me, his sleepy brown orbs fluttering sluggishly. "I miss you."

For a moment I just stare at him. "I'm right here..." I mutter softly, growing more aware of his current state by the minute. Those dark circles are committing the worst crime by being on his precious face. Carefully sliding his omelet onto a plate followed by a few pieces of sausage, I can't help laughing a little to myself at the comparison of our meals. His omelet managed to come out better than the one I made for me, perfectly solid compared to my result of scrambled eggs. No matter what, he gets the very best from me—I'm taking the biggest cinnamon bun though. That delicious treat has my name written all over it, it's mine for the taking. Besides, I can risk a sugar-crash unlike Mr. 12 hour shifts over there. Noting his drowsy form nodding off at the table, I quickly reach over to start the coffeemaker.

The smile that lights up his face as I present his food to him makes up for the few seconds I burnt my hand earlier, trying my best not to burn our whole apartment down. Note to self: never daydream about eventful Friday nights while leaning over a hot stove. Had I been slower to react, I'd be nursing my hand back to health with a frazzled boyfriend refusing to let me so much as brush my teeth on my own—it gets overwhelming after the first day, trust me.

Settling down on his lap under the persuasive encouragements falling from his irresistible lips, I hold up a piece of sausage to shush his drowsy mumblings. As cute as he is, he needs his morning protein before he can wake up and function properly. Especially after working 60 hours two weeks in a row. I respect his enthusiasm as a semi-workaholic myself, but damn am I worried. What kind of crazily time-consuming clothing line is going on in his beautiful head this time?

Baekhyun finishes his juice while I pick at my food, lazily twirling his hair between my fingers. Some days I ask myself why I’m still here, why I still try, why I continue on in this relationship that has more blurred lines than direct answers about our future. To tell the truth... I never expected to fall in love again. I never saw this coming—never saw him coming, when my sole way of survival has been spotting things from miles away. How did it come to this? How the hell did this man sneak past all my defenses so easily?

Maybe it was the smile he shot my way the first time we met or the way we had danced that Friday night, his body seeming to match so perfectly with mine. His comforting presence and sweet, brown eyes that hold all the stars in the universe. The countless late nights he has spent looking after me when I caught the flu from a combination of lack of sleep, stress, and poor life choices. He's always been there—always been here with me, but why… Why isn’t it enough? What is missing? How can I strip this weight off my chest that suffocates me more by the day?

"Baby?" Baekhyun's warm voice caresses my ear, comforting arms tightening around me.

"What if it happens again?" Jenny's worried face flashes vividly in my mind.

The memories come pouring in, making my mouth go dry as a lump forms in my throat. It takes everything in me to drag my eyes up to meet Baekhyun's inquiring orbs, plastering on another smile. The gesture is easier to manage with every sweet kiss his soft pillows plant on my lips. His heart-fluttering touch distracts my hyperactive mind for a while.

"Damn, Riley." Chanyeol practically moans, the sampling spoon I had offered him left to dangle pre-cautiously between his fingers. "Had I known you could cook like this, I would have come soon—ah!"

"Yah," Baekhyun scowls as I take the last serving plate from the counter to the table with a bashful smile, passing the tall man clutching the back of his head. "That's my girlfriend you're talking about." He mutters, lowering his hand, voice deepening in an unfairly attractive manner. "Watch your mouth."

"Geez." The giant huffs, glaring at him under the veil of his blonde hair. "You'd think you two were married with that—okay, okay!"

"When you two are done." The over-the-top chirp of my voice catches their attention; both their eyes widening like guilty little kids caught with their hands in a cookie jar. "Dinner is ready."

"Don't let me eat it all." Jongdae drawls, throwing an arm over the back of Jenny's chair, looking at them lazily, his brown eyes glinting mischievously. "Remember what happened last time."

Baekhyun and Chanyeol scramble for their seats as if their asses have been set on fire; an unusually quiet Jongin follows behind them, carrying a plate I forgot all about.

"Thank you." I gasp, quickly making room for the forgotten dish. "Set it down here, please."

Jongin nods, setting down the plate of cucumber salad next to the servings of Bulgogi. "I'm sorry Kyungsoo couldn't make it." He mumbles, rubbing the back of his neck. "Something came up at the restaurant."

"It's alright. Wanna pack a to-go plate for him?" Tilting my head, I smile in understanding at the sheepish expression on his face. "If you think he'd like my food, anyway," I joke, resting my arm on the back of my chair as I continue to face him, relieved at the familiar hint of playfulness restored in his eyes.

"Oh he's going to love it," Chanyeol insists with a pleased hum, yelping at the smack Jenny lands on his sneaky hand.

"Where are your manners, Park?" She sighs, shaking her head, fiery red curls bouncing with the motion.

"Save some for the rest of us, asshole." Jongdae grumbles, subtly eyeing the cucumber salad.

Everyone's plate already has a soft taco shell, warm from a few seconds in the microwave. The toppings are placed on top of the two tables Baekhyun and I had to push together to accommodate our guests: fresh Korean lettuce, sour cream, and other ingredients that Jenny helped me choose—especially that bowl of melted nacho-cheese Jongin keeps taking glances at.

We all look towards Baekhyun once he settles in his seat. He leans forward to reach the middle of the table, bypassing the regular bulgogi for the one drenched in a home-made sauce, spooning some on my taco shell with a chaste kiss to my cheek. "Eat up, everyone," He murmurs sweetly, tired brown eyes twinkling.

Jongdae doesn't even fake-gag with Chanyeol and Jongin, he goes straight for the cucumber salad. The fresh smell wafts in the air amongst the various meat and spices, making Baekhyun's nose crinkle adorably. I carefully brush his freshly dyed hair out of his eyes, chuckling at the pout he shoots my way. "Did you really have to make cucumber salad, baby? Cucumber?"

"One man's trash is another man's treasure, Byun," Jongdae mutters, forgoing his personal bowl to grab the whole serving. No one says a word, we just share knowing smiles. And once Chanyeol pops the cork of the expensive Dom Perignon, the real party begins.

Endless tales of embarrassing high school cafeteria incidents spill forth from Jongdae's mouth as if shame has gone out of style. The details he shares at the expense of Chanyeol's seemingly innocent public image flying out the window right along with it.

"One second this guy looked like he was taking the biggest shit of his life, and the next thing I know, Lee Naeun from 5th period Physics is crawling out from under the table, wiping spulge from her lips. Like, Chanyeol, what the actual fuck bro? Couldn't you have taken your business to the 3rd floor Janitor's closet? I think I still have the key..."

If it wasn't for Baekhyun's quick hands, I would've sprayed a mouthful of wine across the entire table.

Unfortunately, Jongin had to head out right after dinner, promising to meet up again soon before hurrying to Kyungsoo's house, two plates clutched in hand. Chanyeol decided to stick around for longer to "let his two glasses of wine wear off"—this man has the metabolism of a beast, we know why he's really here. His reason is comfortably seated next to Jenny on our striped couch, sock-clad feet propped up on the coffee table.

"Dinner was nice," Jenny smiles, sipping leisurely at her water.

"More than nice." Chanyeol boosts from our leather recliner, raising his glass, tipping his head at me. "Your food damn near tops Kyungsoo's," He pauses, brown eyes widening. "Don't tell him I said that."

"No worries," I laugh softly, hiding in the safety of Baekhyun's shoulder. He shifts towards me, finishing his wine and setting the empty glass on the coffee table before wrapping an arm around my waist, brushing his lips against my forehead in a way that leaves my heart shaking. The white loveseat we're sitting on sinks further under our joined weight, and really, there's no place I'd rather be—except our king sized bed, that is. Baekhyun's firm grip on my bare thigh isn't helping my tipsy trance in the slightest. The universe knows I'd rather be getting drunk off of him right now.

"I'm going for a smoke," Jongdae mutters, rising from the couch. He leans down to Jenny for a kiss that leaves her beaming, going to retrieve his trench coat and shoes before slipping out of the door.

Good to see them doing well; I blink in surprise, smiling teasingly her way. I'm happy for her! It really is a pleasant surprise to see Jongdae stating their relationship in such a way; an immense improvement from their past encounters of Jenny nervously seeking affection and Jongdae down-right dodging it like his life depends on it. Public displays of affection are a sweet, straightforward way to say, "hey, this person means a lot to me," or, "back off, they're mine." Which personally sets me on romantic fire. Even if it's just holding hands, it can put me in high spirits—doing it with a certain, cheeky silver-haired man is just a bonus.

Jenny winks, fanning her cheeks that match the rosy shade of her hair before tuning in to Chanyeol's loud chatter.

Soft laughter rumbles in Baekhyun's chest as he engages in the conversation. His warm palm securely holds my hand when I slip my cold palm into his warm one. He presses a kiss to the back of it, pulling a silent giggle from my lips as he smiles at me with an arched brow, squeezing our intertwined fingers.

"Riley?"

I drag my eyes up to Jenny who's loosening her red curls by running her fingers through them. "Yeah?"

"Jongdae's not answering his cell," She murmurs with a worried frown. "Can you go check on him, please?"

And why can't you do it? — Or come with me for that matter? I raise a brow, getting up from the chair and Baekhyun's warmth with a silent sigh. "Okay. I'll be back." If I get kidnapped or spooked by some random asshole, she'll never hear the end of it. I really should ask Baekhyun to teach me a thing or two about hakipdo though.

Jenny beams, a peculiar twinkle in her eye, clasping my hand between hers. "Thank you!"

Uh-huh... I try not to eye her too warily.

"Take my coat, baby," Baekhyun murmurs, kissing the side of my wrist. "It's cold out."

"O-Okay." I clear my throat, pointedly avoiding the smug smiles of the other two in the room while walking over to the coat hanger.

Slipping on his brown, cinnamon-scented coat brings a giddy smile to lips—one I'm quick to hide in the soft fabric.

I slide on my boots before making my way to the elevator, not up for taking the 4 levels of stairs this late at night. Thankfully, that nosy neighbor down the hall isn't meeting me at the elevator tonight on one of his various late-night escapades. I've had enough awkward encounters with his lovers to last me a lifetime.

The lobby is empty except for a lone security guard who waves my way, face lit up in familiarity. Smiling back, I step out the crystal-clean glass doors of the building into the quiet night, quickly finding the man I'm looking for standing at the edge of the sidewalk. "Jongdae."

"Huh?" He looks over his shoulder, turning halfway at the sight of me, pulling a joint from his lips.

"You alright?" I pull Baekhyun's coat tighter around me, resisting the urge to shiver in the icy wind. "Jenny was looking for you."

"Looking for-" He chuckles, brown hair ruffling as he throws his head back in laughter. "Girl, please. I was instructed to come down here 5 minutes ago." He continues, inhaling deeply from the stick between his fingertips. "She ain't looking for me, she's looking for a way for them to chat privately and to make us talk..." He sighs, looking over at me. "I'm not exactly the best company for deep shit."

"O-kay then," I mumble, more than a little peeved, ready to turn on my heel in any direction other than stay here.

"Let's talk." He shrugs, exhaling smoke into the frosty air. I shoot him a wary look, barely taking a step in his direction. "I said let's talk, not have a screaming match." He mutters, rolling his eyes into the back of his head. "Why you all the way over there?" He follows my gaze to the stick between his fingers. "What? This?" He scoffs, smirking. "It's a joint, worst thing you'll get is the munchies."

Crinkling my nose, I take a couple more steps closer anyway, standing beside him, keeping a respectful distance between us.

"Listen." He sighs, taking another drag. "I know I've done some things that… I didn't necessarily have to do." He glances at me for a moment, and then faces the street lights. "Bros before hoes, you know?"

Yeah, I inwardly roll my eyes, focusing on a lonely snowflake evaporating before it reaches the ground. There's a lot to be said over people doing things that they didn't necessarily have to do. If I had a dime for every sleepless night I've had because of Jongdae's shameless mouth, I wouldn't be paying off my student loans anymore.

"Look." Jongdae takes one last drag, crushing the joint under his worn-out winter boots. "The way he is now is much better than the Baekhyun we knew back then." He nods a little to himself, meeting my gaze. "Still can't see why he decided to change his ways for you...but oh well." He mutters, lips quirking into a playful smirk at my small smile before facing the city lights again. Festival lamp-shaped snowflakes attached to the top of every streetlight beam against the dim backdrop of empty downtown buildings, prepared for the coming holidays. "You're alright for a best friend stealer."

A laugh escapes before I can slap my hands over my mouth, meeting his eye nervously only for us to both end up laughing; our amusement echoing loudly through the quiet night.

"Riley?" Jenny's confused voice peeps up, red curls rebelling against the hood of her fluffy white coat.

"Over here!" I cup my hand around my mouth, waving to get her attention.

She turns towards us, rounding the corner with quick strides. "There you are! I thought you got grabbed or something." She fusses, resting a hand on my arm, leaning closer to whisper in my ear, "Especially you. Baekhyun was two seconds from hunting you down with my head on his mantle."

"Jenny!" I snort, accepting her tight hug, my voice muffled in her puffy coat. "It kinda would be your fault though."

"I know!" She exclaims, viewing me from an arm's length away. "I was sweating out my hair."

"Baby?" That unmistakable honey voice calls. A head of fluffy silver locks and brown eyes peek around the building, catching light in the streetlights.

"Here, B," I soothe, chuckling as he speeds over to us, gathering me in his arms without hesitation.

"I thought I lost you," He mutters, hiding in my hair.

"She was gone for ten minutes," Jongdae deadpans.

"Ten minutes too long!" He pulls back to glare over at the brunet, hugging me to his chest with cheeks too rosy to be merely from a few moments out in the cold.

"Just how much of that wine did you drink?.." I narrow my eyes, cupping his flushed cheeks.

"Good thing you only bought one bottle," Jenny laughs nervously, slowly gravitating to shelter behind Jongdae's taller form.

"Enough to miss you." Baekhyun's breath leaves goosebumps on my chilled skin, his soft lips brushing my ear.

"Al-right, time to go before the lovebirds start mating." Jongdae grumbles, wrapping an arm around Jenny's beaming form. Their matching smirks have me scurrying to direct my tipsy boyfriend back towards our apartment.

"Uh—okay! See you guys next time!" I laugh to mask my burning face, gently pushing Baekhyun into the building.

"Goodnight! Don't do anything I wouldn't do," Jenny sing-songs, the smugness clear in her tone.

"Can't make any promises!" Baekhyun proclaims over his shoulder, much to my embarrassment. Thankfully he quiets down once we reach the elevator, but based on the wide eyed security guard, the damage has already been done.

Can the frozen ground just please open up and swallow me whole?

The view of this busy street differs from all the other times I've walked down it with Baekhyun by my side. Maybe because it's been almost 2 years since I've moved to this city, or that new boutique being set up at the end of the road. Whatever the case, the air is different—crisper, cleaner. Refreshing as I briskly walk to my destination, wanting to avoid being out in the cold as much as possible. The weather here is so much colder in the middle of December compared to how flowers were still budding around this time outside of my childhood home.

Humming a song that's been stuck in my head for days with my car keys spinning around my finger, I stroll into Privé Alliance's building, admiring the latest clothing line pictures hung up along the walls and waving to the new receptionist while making my way to the elevator. Many men and women in business attire are all over the place as per usual during the busiest months of the year. However, once I make it out of the crowd of chattering employees, the sight of a familiar face waiting in front of the elevator brings a smile to my face. "Kyungsoo!"

The short-haired man turns around. "Hello, Riley." He nods with a small smile as we step inside the open doors, pressing the buttons to the 5th and top floor. "Lunch date?"

"Hmm?.." Blinking a few times, I follow his gaze to the picnic basket clutched in my hand. "Oh! Yes." I chuckle, smoothing down my hair. "Sorry." Between nearly slipping on a patch of ice on the way over here and the pretty lights decorated all over the city, I've forgotten the reason I left our fridge in a disarray this morning. Who decided to store the sandwich meats at the back of the refrigerator? I know Baekhyun loves my home cooking, but damn, man, let me have a break too.

"It's alright." Kyungsoo chuckles, arching a brow. "Hopefully you can get him to relax."

"Relax? Coming from you!?" I gasp sarcastically, covering my mouth with wide eyes.

"Only because he's seconds away from firing half the 3rd floor." He mutters with a roll of his eyes, yet an apologetic smile forms on his face. "Sorry I couldn't make it to the gathering." He clears his throat while facing forward again, straightening his suit.

"It's alright," I smile, resisting the urge to chuckle at his flustered state, checking my outfit in the elevator's reflection. It may be a chilling 40 degrees—4 in celsius—but I can spare the warmth of my legs for a 2 minute walk from Privé's parking lot. No weather can tell me what I can and can't wear. If I want to rock a pencil skirt on the coldest day of the week, so be it! Plus, these two-inch heels couldn't be left behind. I can't show up at Baekhyun's workplace with the poor fashion choices I subject him to at home, so we're going, coolness over comfort.

"Life happens," I mumble, tucking rebellious locks of hair behind my ear. "I'm just glad you're doing okay." The smile that forms on his heart-shaped lips when I take a glance at him makes me beam back.

"I'll stop by sometime this week." He hums, black dress shoes tapping on the floor. "I just finished a new recipe."

"Recipe?" I blink, mildly intrigued, mentally running over the list of food I'm carrying for the 3rd time today.

"Fried ice cream cake," He smirks, nonchalantly checking his watch.

"Fried-" My jaw damn near drops to the floor. Fried? Fried!? The one ice cream Baekhyun banned me from attempting myself after burning my hand while frying fish a few days ago?! Which Baekhyun is half to blame, by the way—never sneak up on someone over a popping frying pan. It never ends well. Besides that, it also was the day I truly realized the stamina that man possesses. I have never seen someone react so quickly to shove my hand under ice-cold water in my life.

Searching for any cameras in the elevator, I step a little closer to the short-haired man, whispering discreetly behind my hand, "W-Will you bring me some?"

"The prettiest one," He promises, softly patting my shoulder, chuckling at the star-struck expression written all over my face. "This is me, I'm afraid."

"Huh?" I blink into focus, shocked to be on the 5th floor so soon. What the heck. What is it about elevator rides with Baekhyun and Kyungsoo that make them go by lightning-fast compared to the stifling, tension-filled ones with Jongdae? If you can read a room, it truly makes a difference. "Oh, don't let me keep you." I give a little wave, balancing the picnic basket on my forearm. "See you later!"

Kyungsoo nods, smiling with a wave of his own as the double doors close. It is at that moment that I freeze, recalling how Baekhyun mentioned he hired a new secretary a few weeks back. Well... shit—how do I explain why I'm arriving at his floor unannounced on a random Tuesday afternoon?

Do his employees even know we are dating?.. A small part of me doubts it. Why do I care? Oh, right—I fucking live with him!

By some miracle, no one is occupying the neatly arranged desk when the elevator opens on the top floor, saving me from the completely rushed explanation I have no idea how to even put into words. All that lies before me is an undisturbed walk to Baekhyun's office, the intimidating black door slightly ajar. I slip off my heels, rushing out of the elevator on sock-clad feet before the doors close. Baekhyun's businessman voice filters through the quiet air. He must be on the phone.

Shuffling as quietly as possible down the hallway, I peek into his office. My eyes quickly find his broad form leaning a hip against his executive desk, a phone pressed to his ear as he faces the floor-to-ceiling windows showcasing the heart of Seoul. Impeccably dressed in a wrinkle-free, white dress shirt with his sleeves rolled up. His black blazer thrown over the back of his chair. Like always, the splashes of color in every corner of the room have my lips curling up, but I have to muffle a small giggle at the sight of a thin pink measuring tape hanging around his neck.

I slowly inch closer, discarding my coat and setting down the basket in one of the leather chairs. Smoothing my flower-patterned, white button-down shirt, I silently approach him, gently covering his eyes once he ends the call. "Guess who~"

Baekhyun stiffens for a moment before swiftly turning around, wrapping his arms around me and lifting me up, setting me down on his desk. He cups my cheeks in his warm palms, crashing his lips to mine before I can make a sound. "Thank god, it's you." He breathes, warm fingers sliding into my hair.

"W-Well—hello to you too." I barely manage to get out between his feverous kisses, making a noise in surprise when he pulls me flush to his chest. "What is it?" I ask softly, noticing the bothered look on his face; carefully running my fingers through his styled hair as he hides in my neck. "Another long day?"

"You have no idea." He sighs, looking up at me. "I was 2 seconds away from losing it."

"Don't-" I pause, thinking about it. A few memories of last week flash through my mind. "Well, you are kind of hot when you're angry..." In the proper context.

Baekhyun perks up, exhausted brown eyes regaining their sparkle. "Really?"

I hum to appease his hopeful expression, yelping when he pulls me into his arms, not expecting to be carried up from the desk so suddenly.

"Come here," He murmurs, walking around to sit in his chair, setting me on his lap. "I need strength to get through these reports."

Gently playing with his hair to calm down my racing heart, I tilt my head, "Do you have time for a lunch break?"

Baekhyun hums distractedly, kissing my forehead, holding me closer to his firm chest. "We can order in a little later."

Kyungsoo's words come back to mind while I watch Baekhyun continue to click around his computer, brown eyes squinted and brows furrowing more by the minute. I inwardly cringe at the move I'm about to pull, but… Our sandwiches' lifespan is ticking away. Desperate times call for desperate measures.

"But…" I pout, resting my hands flat on his chest, widening my eyes for effect as his focused orbs shift to meet mine. "But I made it."

"Let's eat now then," Baekhyun smiles, his steady gaze flickering all over my person. I swear I just witnessed his pupils dilating right before my very eyes. "Give me 5 minutes."

My lips quirk up, "One-"

"I'll set a timer." He laughs, shaking his head, reaching for his phone between his bright screen laptop and desktop PC.

Smiling in victory, I stretch across the desk to retrieve the basket, peeking at his computer accidentally. "Holy shit, is that Melody Hudson?" I straighten up, focusing on the magazine cover opened up on a famous website. "The model?" My eyes widen in awe of her tall blonde form modeling a stunning royal blue summer dress; the color bringing out the blue in her shining eyes. I place the basket on a clear spot on Baekhyun's crowded desk before rubbing his stiff shoulders. He must still be tense from work. "She's so pretty."

Baekhyun hums, placing a hand on my cheek. His gentle caress coaxes my eyes back to his. "But you're beautiful," He whispers, resting his forehead on mine, brushing a thumb over my lips.

There's nowhere to hide the red hue that springs onto my face, making him chuckle as I quickly turn back to start taking out our food.

"Would you like to accompany me to a photoshoot?" The tentative tone of his voice has me raising a brow.

"Sure!" Handing him his sandwich, I press a kiss to his cheek, carefully unwrapping my homemade fries. "I'd love to see you work behind the scenes."

"Actually..."

I look at him, mid-bite of my toasted turkey sandwich.

"I'll be in the scenes," He drops, soft lips quirking a boyish grin.

My grip on my sandwich rips a hole in the middle while preventing it from falling out of my hands. "I…"—Behind the scenes witnessing Baekhyun modeling?? With his god-tier body and knee-weakening smirks that have me crumbling from beyond a screen alone? Hell to the mother fucking yes! "O-Okay."

Baekhyun's brown orbs twinkle knowingly, an amused smile forming on his lips as he presses them to mine. "Great."

It's impossible to mask my excitement while slipping into the passenger seat of Baekhyun's Audi. The beautiful red highlights around the black interior never fail to leave my jaw dropped in awe, fingertips tempted to graze over every surface. I'd like to think a person's dream car matches their owner, and there's no denying how devilishly divine my boyfriend looks settling into the driver's seat.

Baekhyun's simple, black button-down shirt and matching jeans have me inwardly salivating—I don't even have the slightest clue of why he's going to a photoshoot today. Privé? A cover for a magazine? Possibilities are endless, but not just anyone can request an hour of his time during one of the busiest months of the year.

"Are you ready?" Baekhyun glances over at me, his unstyled hair tucked under a Privé corduroy camel baseball cap that I haven't quite seen before.

"Yes," I beam at him, tilting my head curiously. "Is that hat new? I don't think I've seen it before."

Baekhyun smirks, brown eyes glinting mischievously as he straps on his seatbelt. "Maybe." He rests a hand on the steering wheel and the other on my thigh, backing out of his designated parking space. "Hold on tight, baby. You're in for a long ride."

I blink, having no clue what kind of ride he means. When it comes to Baekhyun, you never know what you're getting yourself into, but you never really have to worry about it either. If I hadn't known him for a few years, I would have bugged him to tell me where we're going for the entire ride. But with a few years under our belt—and some long months spent sharing a close-knitted home—I can comfortably sit back and relax for the whole journey, because there is no Baekhyun without one.

•••

The parking lot outside of the building is relatively calm, with only a few staff members bringing in materials from their cars. Inside of the place, however, is a complete madhouse. Everyone is speed-walking to various rooms and popping up from behind every corner. Not a drop of silence in the heavily populated area.

"There's our man of the hour!" A tall, aged man steps forward to shake Baekhyun's hand, carefully cradling a camera strapped around his neck. "So glad you could make it. I hope we are not taking up too much of your time?" He inquires, pushing glasses further up his nose, glancing over at me.

"Oh no, of course not!" Baekhyun shakes his head, shifting closer to wrap an arm around my waist. "I invited my girlfriend to accompany me today." He clears his throat, reddening cheeks caught under the harsh spotlights. "I hope you don't mind."

"No, not at all," The man reassures, gesturing towards a staff member who quickly brings over a grey single-seat sofa. "The more the merrier. Here you go, Madam. Is the chair to your liking?"

"Yes, thank you," I smile, trying not to stutter, brushing my fingertips over Baekhyun's warm palm before taking a seat. He shoots me a little bashful grin as the photographer whisks him away, a team of stylists directing him to a chair on the opposite side of the room. It's amusing to see so many people fussing over his hair, pulling out hairspray, and presenting him with simple yet sexy articles of clothing.

A few other models are walking around in the same attire, giving off a cool vibe of the newest clothing line, but when Baekhyun steps out of a dressing room…

Holy shit.

No, seriously holy shit!

Baekhyun walks into the room, standing against a wall as stylists comb his hair over to the left side of his face, using sprites of hairspray to tuck the right side behind his ear. As if he doesn't look dangerous enough adorning a leather jacket, a black shirt with white scribbles I can barely make out from this distance, and camel pants with unique, black low-platinum shoes.

The staff directs him over to the area with a gray backdrop, lights and cameras focused all over the place. Baekhyun practically glides over there, oozing with that stunning Ceo confidence. At a closer look, I can make out the pretty image of open and outstretched hands in the white lines at the bottom of his shirt. The intriguing detail has my full attention until I feel a persistent stare.

I lift my eyes higher to meet Baekhyun's dark brown orbs—from me sitting in the back of the room or getting into character; I have no idea. Suddenly my red knitted sweater is a bit too warm despite not being in front of any bright lights. Just when I think it can't get any worse, the photographer announces that it's time to begin.

If I had known what I agreed to the other day, I would have been more prepared—or so I'd like to think. I mean, how does one prepare their feelings for watching their unfairly attractive, multi-millionaire boyfriend pose for the camera as if moments away from sweeping them off of their feet!? And not in a sweet way either. Nah, ain't nothing innocent about the lethal expression swirling within his dark brown orbs. Especially while they are pointed right at me.

The hairstyle they gave him just makes my situation worse. How am I supposed to sit still with this man gazing so intensely into the "camera"? Is this really the same drowsy Baekhyun who I have to wake up every Sunday morning? Where did his tiredness go? There ain't nothing exhausted about the way he is staring at me! And when they bring out a chair for him to sit on… No. Hell no. That's it.

Draping my sweater over the back of my chair has his covered lips curling up at the corners, I just fucking know it.

After a few more camera flashes, the stylists are back with a new outfit in tow, gesturing for Baekhyun to change. However, right as he is turning down the short hallway leading to the dressing room, someone comes rushing into the building.

"I'm so sorry I'm late!" A petite woman with a French accent flies into the hall. "Traffic was-" She skids to a halt, staring at Baekhyun as if she's seen a ghost, her brown wavy hair mid-loop of making a bun. For a long moment, nobody says a word, and then she's on the move, crossing the short distance within two furious strides.

Her slap echoes across the tall walls.

"To think I waited for you." She grits out between heated spews of French. Her gray eyes brimmed with tears shoot daggers into Baekhyun's wide-eyed ones. "To think I held onto the fact that maybe you actually cared." Her whole body shakes as staff members rush over to restrain her, calling her name over her loud obscenities in an attempt to calm her down, trying to pull her away from him before she can jump him. It takes three men to drag her back out of the building. A woman from the small crowd quickly follows, dropping a blue clipboard in her haste. We hear her panicked voice a split second before the door slams shut behind them.

I don't know when or how it happens, but I'm already on the other side of the room, reaching out for a stunned Baekhyun being fussed over by stylists. "Baekhyun?" My eyes flicker all over his shock-stricken face once they move out of the way for me. A lump forms in my throat at the look in his eyes. "B," I tentatively place my hand over his frozen one on his cheek, the red handprint visible between his fingers. "Baekhyun!"

He flinches, shaky pupils focusing on me. "Y-Yes?"

"Are you okay?" Emotions grip at my throat, making it hard to speak while my eyes keep shifting between his alarmed ones and his steadily bruising cheek. I take the ice pack a staff member hands over without a word, gently brushing his hand away to hold it to his face. "Come here."

Baekhyun silently follows me to the dressing room, seemingly in a daze as stylists vacate the room, closing the door on their way out. I lead him over to a swivel chair in front of a white vanity table, letting him settle before speaking. "What was that?"

"What was what?" He mumbles, breaking my heart at the sight of him pressing ice to his swelling cheek.

"You know what I'm talking about." Crossing my arms, I continue staring him down. "Who was that woman, Baekhyun? Why did she hit you?"

"I'll tell you later, baby." He avoids my eye and his reflection in the mirror, getting up from the chair. "Let's wrap this photoshoot up, hmm? Then we'll go home-"

Stumbling to reach the door before he does, I block his escape, looking into his conflicted eyes. "I'm not letting you leave this room until you answer me."

His lips twitch, "Baby-"

I cross my arms despite my racing heart, my stomach twisting in an ignored warning. "I need answers-"

"For fuck's sake, Riley!" He thunders, startling me so much I slam the back of my head on the doorframe. "Out of my fucking way."

I step aside without another word, turning my head away as he storms out of the room. The slamming door left in his wake has my heart jumping into my throat. Anxiety grips at my chest like a vice, making it hard to breathe. I latch onto a Privé clothing rack, holding onto it for stability.

Baekhyun's tone on the other side of the door is much calmer while talking to one of the staff. I wait for a few minutes, resting against the clothing rack until his voice drifts away; the loud taps of his shoes fading into the distance. No matter how far away he is—most likely continuing on with the photoshoot by the faint clicks of a camera echoing around the quiet building—I don't… I can't; I won't go back out there to watch him. No, not after that. I'm sure everyone in the vicinity heard what just happened.

Slipping out of the room, I gasp when I bump into someone else, my heart beating so hard it hurts to breathe. Could this day get any worse? Seriously? "I'm so sorry."

"You're fine," The same staff member I heard minutes ago with Baekhyun shakes her head, smiling in sympathy. "Tough morning, huh?"

I can only manage a deep exhale, nodding, "I guess you could say that, u-um—" I'm losing the battle against the sting steadily building behind my eyes. "Do you know where the bathroom is by any chance?"

"Just around the corner," She nods, pointing farther down the hallway. "First door on your left."

"Thank you," I breathe, hurrying down the hall. Before I can pass by her, however, I notice her angrily marking out a name with a black sharpie from the same blue clipboard that clattered to the floor earlier.

Nicole. The woman they dragged out earlier…

With tears finally breaking free from my sore eyes, I couldn't have reached the bathroom fast enough.

To my relief, the room is empty. Nothing but painfully bright lights and the porcelain floors to witness my current state. I walk up to the sinks with a shaky sigh, splattering cold water on my face. My reflection isn't a pretty sight to behold when I look into the mirror, bracing my hands on the countertop as I take in the streaks of mascara running down my face. The one day I decide to wear a non-fool-proof kind and this is what I get?

Sighing, I turn to lean my back against the counter, crossing my arms. The photoshoot is back in full swing with all the compliments the photographer is showering Baekhyun in. It's pretty pathetic of me to hide out in this ice-cold bathroom, but I rather shiver for a few minutes than face him right now. Something about the way he reacted earlier... To that woman, to me—doesn't feel right. Maybe I pushed him too far? I just… Do I not have the right to know who just slapped the hell out of my boyfriend? Hell yeah, I'll admit I want to know who she is because he's mine and she was acting as if she was waiting forever for him to recuperate her feelings, but it's not just about that. No—Nah. The deer in headlights expression on his face as her hand collided with his cheek will not leave my mind.

Whatever it is, whatever just transpired in front of me; something is off and I rather be out the line of fire while trying to figure it out.

"To think I waited for you" For what? For when? With the way things are going, I might never know the answer.

The lack of chatter filtering through the echoing walls of the room catches my attention. I tentatively peek out of the bathroom, stepping back into the hallway at the uncharacteristically quiet state of the building. Is the shoot over already? Pushing past my dimly lit surroundings, I head back to the dressing room, hesitantly standing in the open doorway. I'm confused to not find Baekhyun there, or in the main area when I poke my head over the edge of the short hallway.

"Excuse me?" I approach the nearest stylist, moving out the way of another one clumsily carrying out articles of clothing. "Have you seen Baekhyun?"

She shakes her head with a pop of her minty gum, giving me a solemn look. "Last I saw of him, he was on his way to the men's room on the other side of the building."

"Ah..." Dread fills my stomach, and something tells me that I rather not find out why. "Thank you," I murmur in passing, quickly making my way back out of the room, speeding down to the opposite hallway. The possibility that I got left behind in an unfamiliar part of the city twists my stomach into knots until I round the corner. I stumble to a halt, sucking in a breath. My heart breaks at the sight—and then the rage kicks in.

Baekhyun's broad form in his partially unbuttoned black shirt braces himself against the wall, looming over a model. Her hand is in his hair and their lips interlocked in an intimate kiss. The sight has my blood boiling—nah, it's turning into fucking lava.

"Wow." I bark out a laugh, loud and hollow, positively seething as he jumps back from her as if burned. "If you were going to cheat, you could have at least had the decency to do it behind my back." The smirk that forms on my lips is the worst kind, the ugliest kind, the kind that has fear flickering in Baekhyun's wide brown eyes. "Or was this your intention all along?"

"R-Riley-" He stares like a deer in headlights, hurrying over to me, smearing her red lipstick over his lips in his haste to rub it off with the back of his hand. "Baby, please keep it down. I can explain-"

"Nah," I shake my head, looking at him in disdain. Just the sight of him right now has me heating up with anger. I'm seeing red as the model smirks at me from over his shoulder. That bitch. "This is explanation enough." I spin on my heel before I do something I won't regret in the slightest, just for his sake.

Baekhyun's dress shoes tapping frantically behind me as I storm back into the main hall.

"Riley, baby." His grip on my wrist throws me over the edge. "Please-"

"What were you doing, huh?" A snarl forms on my face as I whirl back around, meeting his pleading eyes. "Gonna show her your failed attempts at lasting for longer than a minute?"

Everyone in the room pauses. The photographer almost drops his prized camera.

Baekhyun's face grows progressively red, and if it wasn't for the rage burning in my own veins, I'd be concerned about the vibrant hue going up to his ears right now. Just like his mishap a few days ago that would normally be insignificant, it was his grave mistake. The key that I used to fuel the fire to the flame in the most torturous of ways... Have I hit a nerve, Hyunnie?

His grip tightens on my wrist. "We," He barely gets out in an angered growl of his own, "Are leav-"

"Get your filthy-" I hiss, snatching my wrist out of his grasp, "Paws off of me." I grab my sweater on my way out, exiting the building without looking back. The bite of the cold wintry air is a relief for my heated skin. "I'm not going anywhere with you."

"I drove." He says through clenched teeth, hot on my heels.

"And I'm walking." I bite back, walking past the car as he climbs into the driver's seat.

"Riley!" Baekhyun bellows, putting the Audi in gear and slowly following me out of the parking lot. "Get in the fucking car!"

I cross my arms, scoffing out a laugh. It doesn't matter where the hell I am, I'm not getting back in that car with him. Bringing me all the way out here just to pull that shit. He can kiss my ass. I knew I shouldn't have gotten in that car with him. If I had taken my own four-seat beauty that I left back at home, I'd be halfway on the way to Jenny's by now.

Baekhyun continues to follow behind me, honking obnoxiously, attracting unwanted attention from bystanders that whisper amongst themselves. Some of them pull out their phones. What a spectacle we would make for the front cover of magazines, endlessly entertainment for all their peering eyes. Pausing for a moment to weigh my options, I step towards the Audi with a sigh, climbing in without a word to the fuming man next to me.

Baekhyun drives on, clutching onto the steering wheel with both hands. His grip is so tight his knuckles turn white. I direct my gaze out of the passenger window, avoiding him at all costs within the confines of the car. The long ride home and walk up to our apartment does nothing to ease my rage. Anger continues to thump angrily in my veins as the past two hours replay in my mind.

Baekhyun unlocks the door and holds it open for me. I walk into the apartment with a scoff, moving to tug off my boots only for my back to meet the wall, the front door closing with a startling slam.

"What was that?" Baekhyun glares at me, fire burning bright in his brown orbs. He can't exactly tower over me, but by his mannerism, he doesn't need any extra height to get his point across.

"What was that?" I mumble, peeling off my shoes, ducking under his arm to cross the other side of the room. The longer I stay in these warm clothes, the more I die from the uncomfortable heat.

"No, what the actual fuck, Riley?" He shakes his head, long strands of silver hair dangling in his fury-filled eyes. "You know exactly what I'm talking about."

"Fine." I retort, rolling my eyes and looking at him, "Who was that woman then?"

His nostrils flare. "Really?" He bites out, laughing in disbelief. "Is that really important right now?"

I cross the room in three strides, tilting my chin up to stand nose to nose with him. "It is to me if you haven't fucking noticed."

"Oh, I'm so sorry." He scoffs, stepping back. A cruel smile curls on his lips. "What should I do? I haven't paid Riley enough attention." All traces of humor leave his features, his minty breath washing over my cheeks. Baekhyun leans in again, his voice lowering into an angered growl. "Maybe if you weren't wetting yourself over me all morning, you'd figure it out."

I grind my teeth. "Who. Was. She?"

"For fuck-" Baekhyun reels back, his brown eyes rolling so hard into the back of his head a flicker of worry sparks in my chest before those dark orbs land on me again. "An ex-fling," he grits out. "Why does it matter?"

My hands fall limply to my sides. "Why didn't you tell me she would be there?" I ask. My voice is much quieter while I search his eyes for answers.

"What?" He scoffs, raising a brow. "How was I supposed to know she would be there?"

"Her name was on the roster-"

"I-" He shakes his head, pulling harshly on his hair. "What? Do you expect me to know the names of the women I've slept with?" A smirk quirks at his pink lips, his brown eyes so dark that his pupils have vanished in their mahogany depths. "Do you think I've kept some journal? " He purrs, grinning in delight when I shuffle uncomfortably on my feet. "Are you really that insecure?"

I stiffen. A bolt of something sinister shoots down my spine. Did this fucker just—

"Me?" I point to myself with wide eyes, laughing incredulously. "Me?.... You know, that's real fucking rich coming from you." I sneer, roughly tugging off my annoying turtleneck. What was once a reliable piece of clothing ends up torn in my fit of rage. I fling it out of my sight. Baekhyun's words loop over and over in my head. Even though I don't show it—they cut me. Deep. On a touchy subject. In a part of me I thought had died 2 years ago. He damn well knows it hurts when it's mentioned in such a menacing manner, and he still did it. For what? His weak stamina in wake of his long hours at work is suddenly the equivalent to the root of my trust issues?

My fingers curl so tightly into a fist, I can feel my nails pierce the skin. "You're one to talk." It's easier this way; keeping my back turned to him so I can mask the tears brimming my eyes. Who does he think he is? Who is he, period? How is this the same adoring man that was pursuing me the summer we met?.... It takes all my effort not to bolt for the front door—not to let my nose run or tears to stream down my face. No. I won't cry over him again. I won't let him win. Not like this.

Firm in my resolve, I take a deep breath before turning to him again. "You're not so confident, Mr. Big Shot..." My words falter at the sight of him ripping his shirt open, black buttons clattering all over the floor. "What-"

Baekhyun has me backed against the wall before I can utter another word. "Did you enjoy yourself?" He demands, holding my chin between his thumb and index finger. He peers down into my eyes; the familiar look held in his dark orbs has me quivering on the inside—and it isn't from fear. "Hmm? Did you enjoy embarrassing me earlier? Did you have your fun?"

I quickly recover. "Not my fault you don't know how to keep it in your pants."

"You wish you were in my pants." He grits out, lips curling mockingly.

There are so many things I want to throw up in his handsome face right now. So many little secrets and observations I've made over the past year that would make him falter—make him kneel. But today...

Today.

I choose violence.

Tangling my fingers in his hair, I yank on his delicate locks without remorse, pulling him into a brutal kiss of tongue and teeth. Baekhyun grunts in surprise, pressing me harder against the wall. The harsh clash of our mouths only seems to egg him on. The stinging bite he leaves on my bottom lip is nearly enough to break the skin. I don't know how long we stand there; my hands in his hair and his palms sliding down my back. There's no telling where he ends or I begin until the lack of air sinks in. His breathless puffs for air erupt goosebumps on my skin.

"Are we really doing this?" He pants, pulling away to brush his hair back. His eyes are more familiar to me now, softened by his calmer state, intense from the lust felt in his every touch.

I pause my exploration of his firm chest, arching a brow at him with a mocking grin. "Think you can last longer than a minute this time?"

Baekhyun clenches his jaw and steps away. For a moment, I worry if I pushed him too far until his lips crash back to mine. "Jump," He mutters gruffly, his grip near bruising on my ass.

"And if I don't..." The look in his eyes as he drags his dark brown eyes up to mine shuts me up entirely.

Baekhyun slowly leans closer, brushing his lips against the shell of my ear. "I'll fuck you against the goddamn window." The serious expression on his face combined with the threat is damn near intimidating—and I hate how aroused it leaves me.

Baekhyun hoists me up and walks to our room with quick strides, relentlessly keeping his lips glued to mine. He pushes open the door before dropping me unceremoniously onto the mattress. His lips are back on mine before I can chastise him for the mini heart attack, his impatient hands tug at the rest of my clothes. I let him pull off my pants and hurriedly move to unclip my bra in the meantime before his rough actions can rip the expensive fabric.

Baekhyun freezes above me, brown eyes transfixed on my matching red lacy set. It may be winter, but that doesn't mean I can't dress up nicely underneath endless layers of flannel and wool. Although, when I think about what happened not too long ago... Warmth fills my cheeks and I know I'm blushing way too hard to have done this countless times with him.

"Ah." Baekhyun tsks, stopping me from covering my chest. "Take it off." He breathes, soft lips brushing over my neck. "Let me see these tits bounce for me."

My eyes widen at his crude words, a gasp escapes my parted lips when he sucks harshly on a sensitive spot on my neck, pulling down the straps of my bra at a snail's pace. The poor clothing is tossed over his shoulder without a care in the world.

I'm no stranger to Baekhyun's habit of leaving pink and red hues on my skin, but today is different—today it feels like he has something to prove by trapping my skin between his teeth, marking me as his. He doesn't stop at my neck; his restless mouth ventures lower, painting my collarbones and chest with the shape of his lips.

I grit my teeth as he reaches my breasts, determined not to let him win me over so easily. It doesn't matter how much I want to melt under his warm hands mapping out the contours of my waist or tremble in anticipation at his breath fanning over my sensitive nipples. No matter what, I will not crumble... until he does first, at least.

Yeah—easier said than done with the way he's tugging my nipple with his teeth, roughly rolling the other between his fingers. It's all fun and games until his grip tightens on my hip, his pelvis grinding mercilessly against me. A move that has my back arching clear off of the mattress. He just presses me back down to the bed, continuing to alternate between each breast, pulling away minutes later with a wet pop of his lips. He's relentless in using every weak spot of mine. As if he knows what I'm trying to do.

"Not today, baby," He murmurs to my squirming form, chuckling in my ear. I can't help but bite my lip, breath caught in my throat when his hand slides down my body. His large palm covers my clothed core entirely. If it were any other day, I'd be flustered over how true his words from earlier were; the evidence of my previous admiring and current state of euphoria clear as day to his greedy hand, tugging at my last piece of clothing.

My heart races in the realization that I'm lying under him, almost completely bare, as he remains fully clothed besides the ripped shirt clinging to his broad shoulders.

"Ah," Baekhyun smacks my hands away, flashing a grin full of devious intentions. "Don't worry your pretty little head."

He's yanking my underwear down before I can get a word in, tossing them carelessly off the bed and spreading my thighs as far as they'll go.

"Always so ready for me," He muses, spreading my folds apart with his thumbs. I stop breathing entirely when he leans down, spitting onto my pussy. "Your hungry cunt has been waiting all morning for me, hmm?"

My lack of response doesn't bother him in the slightest as he meets my eye, sliding two of his long fingers into my core so suddenly I shout, grabbing his wrist. Baekhyun just pries my fingers off of him before interlocking them with his freehand, bracing our joined hands above my head. My eyes roll back at the burn of the unexpected intrusion. It's a dull, persistent ache while he shoves his fingers deeper into my cunt. He curls them up in a way that has me shaking at the seams, tugging at his silver locks as he brings me dangerously close to the edge. Right when I'm nearing my high, he pulls his fingers out, nonchalantly sucking on them while fiddling with his belt.

I gulp, relaxing back against the sheets. I can't even be mad at this point. Our argument ended the moment I started that fiery-filled kiss, but—

Baekhyun's belt clatters to the floor and his brown eyes have never looked so fierce—so carnal, I wonder if he plans to eat me alive. What I don't expect is for him to crawl further up the bed like an actual predator hunting his prey to hover over me again; his gaze not straying from mine for a second. The warmth of his body encloses me; it's second nature to relax under him when we're like this—when we're touching the tip of the iceberg before diving headfirst into the chilly depths of our lust. Sex with Baekhyun isn't like playing with fire; it's handling dry ice with bare hands.

And being in love with him is one of the most intense and excruciating experiences of my life.

We spend so much time eye-fucking each other that I'm not prepared for the bruising kiss he pulls me into, sliding his cock into my core without a warning.

"Ah—B-Baek!"

"Hmm?" He humors, his low voice filled with lust. "Now she speaks."

"Baekhyun." I gasp when he spreads my thighs wider; the pull from the unfamiliar stretch adds to his incessant pounding—his hips seeming to snap a mile a minute. Oh, please—please don't let both of us have muscle strain tomorrow morning. I swear I've never seen him move this fast for anything. Ever. Baekhyun, what the fuck? Have you started back up on your late-night visits to the gym or something? He's reaching depths he hasn't quite reached before, hitting a spot inside my core that makes me want to cringe away and slam myself onto his cock at the same time.

I yelp out when he tilts my hips at a different angle, not meaning to scratch his back so hard in my hurry to cling onto him. Baekhyun just groans, slamming rougher into me in retaliation, his teeth firmly bite down onto my shoulder.

"Baekhyun! what the—ah—fuck!?" I nearly shriek, appalled and aroused.

Baekhyun smirks, sliding a hand down to press his thumb on my clit. "What's the matter, baby?"

"B-" I can't even say his name without stammering, shaking under him when he slows down to roll his entire body against mine. The only thing I'm capable of at this point is gripping his shoulders, throwing my head back with a loud moan. I always thought of myself as not being a fan of sweat or having any strange, warm liquids touching me, but Baekhyun... Fucking Baekhyun. His sweaty chest brushing over my nipples is making me lose my damn mind—if I was feeling any more horny and adventurous, I'd lick the salty sweat off of his neck.

"Come on." Baekhyun pants with a satisfied grin. Sweat continues to drip from his honey-toned skin, sticking silver locks to his forehead. "Tell me."

The fucker, he knows exactly what's up. It's written all over his face. A part of me doesn't want to beg—my rational side. The one chastising me for falling into bed with him again in the first place. But I don't know how much longer I can take his teasing antics, so despite my stubbornness—despite the heart aching memories creeping up on me in such an intimate moment; I press my body to his.

"Fuck me like you mean it." I pant, yanking harshly on his hair, smirking at his pained hiss until his hips undulate in a new direction. The constant stimulation on my most sensitive spots has my high sneaking up on me so quickly, I don't have time to warn him.

"Bae—!"

Baekhyun's lips crash to mine, swallowing my cry of his name as I fall over that blissful edge. His cock is the only thing on my mind amongst the ringing in my ears—in the minute-long paradise where nothing else matters but our frantic hearts racing as one.

Baekhyun lets out a telling grunt before a burst of warmth fills me up. The remains of his release drip down my thighs with his erratic, shaky thrusts. He doesn't even pull out when he's done. He just leans tiredly over me, coaxing my lips into a lazy kiss. "You're the only one for me." He whispers as if sharing the biggest secret, all rosy-cheeked and wide-eyed.

Beautiful; there's no other way to describe him—in general, in this moment. Nothing compares to his mocha brown eyes that shine brighter than a million stars when his steady gaze sets on me. Nothing compares to the safety of his warm embrace that surrounds me. Nothing could come close to the way he drives me crazy in every single way. Love. Lust. Doesn't matter. If it's with him—for him, it's...

...

Is it worth it?

The emptiness I feel when he gently pulls himself from me triggers every painful memory imaginable: my birthday, the party, our summer fight, his ex, that phone call, his photoshoot...

Baekhyun collapses beside me on the bed, completely oblivious to the war going on in my head. He wraps his arms around my waist, pulling me close to his beating heart.

I wait for him to fall asleep, brushing damp silver locks of hair out of his eyes as his breathing slows. He looks so peaceful like that, so innocent while his face relaxes with sleep. So... So welcoming, like home.

Tears stream down my cheeks, blurring my vision of his twitching brows and pouted lips. I hope he's happy; I hope he got what he wanted.

Carefully sliding out from under his loving hold, I quietly get dressed, collect my duffle bag, and slip out of the room, holding onto the doorknob for dear life. His quiet mumbles drift through the crack of the door, tossing and turning as if already aware of my absence. I have to cover my mouth to contain my sobs.

I love him—I really do, but I...

I can't do this.

I can't take this anymore. If he won't open up to me; if he thinks I'm... I'm unworthy of knowing his past—hell, fuck that. Apparently caring too much leads to being left behind, if that encounter this morning is anything to go by.

My laughter just ends in more sobs, the salty taste of tears on my tongue more bitter with the realization that once again, I've lost.

But at what cost?

The ache in my chest and between my legs is an answer within itself—the last push I need to retrieve my car keys from the counter.

If he wants to be that way, Baekhyun... Baekhyun can do whatever the fuck he wants. What's the difference between me and all the others? What use am I? Is it because I learned how to cook? Clean? I wonder how many of those late nights at work are actually spent bent over his sketchpad. Am I his personal little stay-at-home trophy? Does it feel good to show me around important events? After today, I might as well hang up the thought of ever stepping into his world again. No one wants a possessive girlfriend in their corner of the wrestler ring. No one needs a jealous, nosy, demanding burden weighing them down. And I have my high standards as well.

I can—and will not—be one of those girls.

Not even for him.

•⇔♦ •⇔♦ •⇔♦ •⇔♦ •⇔♦ •⇔♦ •

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3  P(1) P(2) | Part 4 P(1) P(2) | Part 5 P(1)  P(2) | Part 6 Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3  P(1) P(2) | Part 4 P(1) P(2) | Part 5 P(1)  P(2) | Part 6 P(1)  P(2)✓ ----- P(3)   P(4)

A/N: I can feel the pitchforks on the rise, l-listen (<.<) just trust me on this, not all is lost.... Or is it?  😇 I’ll try to finish the next part as soon as I can. *cracks fingers* let’s see what this troubled couple gets up to next.

[nazyalenskyism]

Let’s Get Married 1

Summary: A Zoyalai modern AU with fake dating in latter parts.

Ao3: Let’s Get Married

Excerpt: He raised a brow, easing back in his chair, “can I help you?”

“What’s this?” Genya exclaimed without any preamble, grabbing a paper off the top of the stack in David’s hands and slapping it onto his desk.

“Paper, I assume, darling Genya.”

“I mean what’s on the paper,” she snapped, “it says you’re married.”

“That sounds great. See you at noon tomorrow. Yes, Madraya I know how to get to the Palm Court. Yes, I promise I won’t be late. Okay, I’ll see you soon.” Nikolai gently placed the receiver into the cradle before dropping his head into his hands. He was lucky that it was a Friday evening, the firm was empty which meant no one was around to witness this. He was nestled away in his favourite hidden corner in the law library which was the perfect place to get his work done, though he wondered how productive he would be now that he had to create a game plan for the following day. He was practiced in making sure his mother didn’t spill any secrets which was often the result of wanting to spite his father and one too many drinks, but no matter how good he thought he was his mother always managed to surprise him. And then there was the matter of his brother and father. He wanted nothing more than for them to burn with their continual mistakes, but he couldn’t. Whether it was out of some strange sense of loyalty to people who only made his life more difficult or to protect his mother who always stood silent at their sides when they tormented him, he didn’t know.

The only thing he did know was that he was about 15 hours away from another lunch with his mother and her gossiping group of friends where his father would decide not to show up at the last minute because Vasily wanted to go golfing in the Hamptons where they would undoubtedly spend the rest of the weekend philandering. Another weekend where his mother pretended she didn’t know what was happening, deciding to drop as much money as she could manage, just to irritate her husband. Then it would be Monday again, where Nikolai was left to pick up the pieces from the damage that his family caused, wishing that he could close his eyes and disappear off the face of the Earth for just a second if it meant he could be left without responsibility over people who didn’t care about him.

“What are you doing?” From between the shelves stepped out another lawyer, not just any other lawyer, it was Zoya. Zoya Nazyalensky was a talented lawyer who had joined the firm a few years after he had, right out of law school. She was skilled, hardworking, and an expert in making the most egotistical men shrink by simply raising her brow. They had worked a few cases together over their time at the firm, but more often than not, they had their separate cases that they chose to work on together. Most days they could be found in each others’ offices, working silently for hours with only occasional requests for advice or lunch orders. Despite all the time they spent working together, Nikolai, who considered himself something of an expert when it came to others’ feelings, had no idea if Zoya actually liked him or if she simply put up with him because he was the least terrible person at work. He always welcomed her company though.

“What are you doing here so late?”

She raised a brow before crossing the space and sinking into the couch cushions next to him. “I could ask you the same thing. In fact, I just did.”

“I’m putting some things together before the weekend.”

“Was your phone call that bad?”

Nikolai wanted to wince, “you heard that?”

“You were on speaker.”

“Saints, as if I needed that broadcast to the entire firm.”

“Oh, there’s no one here. You and I are the only ones left,” she said as she pulled off her high heels and curled her legs onto the couch.

“You haven’t answered my question, why are you still here?”

“You first.”

He sighed, she’d already heard the entirety of his conversation with his mother, it’s not like he could ruin her image of him further. “The sooner I go home, the sooner the reality of tomorrow will hit me.”

“Is getting tea with your mother really that bad?” she asked almost hesitantly.

Nikolai threw his head back, “I love my mother, but these luncheons usually involve my father ditching at the last minute to go and break his wedding vows, while my mother pretends she doesn’t know what’s happening

“And you have to go?”

“Someone has to make sure she gets home in one piece, and I trust her friends as far as they can throw me.”

“Isn’t the saying that you trust them as far as you can throw them?”

“I excel at everything I do, naturally but they can’t say the same.”

“Ah, I see.”

They sat in silence for a moment before she spoke again, her tone hushed as if speaking any louder would shatter the calm. “Is that why you don’t work for your father?”

Nikolai exhaled, “that’s a part of it.” His father was C.E.O of Ravkan Industries, and unlike his brother, Nikolai hadn’t joined the family business right out of highschool. Make no mistake, he wanted to be a part of the company, he knew he needed to be a part of it to spare the world of further misguided leadership from his family. It pained him, but they were the worst thing to happen to the company, and he often feared that he was the only person who could stop the trainwreck that was his family from derailing.

She nodded, “I know a thing or two about bad families.” Her legs had been drawn up to her chest, and she rested her head against her knees, eyes trained on him, “I can’t speak about anyone else, but your brother is definitely a jackass.”

“You’re right, I’m sure everyone who’s ever met him agrees. Speaking of which, when did you?”

“I came to your office a few weeks ago looking for you. He was waiting for you, gave me a sleazy once-over and asked me out. He got offended when I said no, and I told him that I didn’t date men who look like the Walmart versions of their younger brothers.”

Nikolai shook his head in amusement, “I’m surprised I haven’t heard him complaining about that. You must have really wounded his ego.”

“What,” Zoya said, fixing him with the withering glare she dished out when someone was being incompetent, “like it’s hard?”

“Ooh,” Nikolai groaned, rubbing a hand over his chest, “glad I’ve never been on the receiving end of one of those.”

She gave him a small smile, picking at a loose thread at her sleeve, “how do you usually spend your Saturdays when you’re not cleaning up their messes?”

“Go on a run, get pastries and coffee from the bakery across the street, read a book with my cat, catch up on some shows…”

“That sounds…. surprisingly pleasant.”

“ What did you think I got up to?”

“I don’t know… peach picking or something?”

“Aren’t you allergic to peaches?”

Zoya looked startled for a second, “yeah, how did you know that?”

“That time that we helped Genya with her groceries because she broke her leg? You weren’t paying attention and grabbed them, 10 minutes later you got hives.”

The look she gave him was intense and assessing, had he said something wrong? As much as he liked to think he knew how everyone operated, Zoya Nazyalensky was a bit of an enigma to him still. “What about you? What are you doing tomorrow?” he said in an attempt to maintain the conversation.

“I’ll go on a run with my dog, get breakfast, do some work, get some flowers and do my laundry. The usual.”

“Have you ever had lunch at the Palm Court?”

“No, but my aunt took me to the champagne bar when I graduated,” her smile was small, “it was the nicest night I’ve ever had.”

“I can’t promise that tomorrow will be anything less than a disaster, but would you like to accompany me to lunch?”

Zoya fiddled with the chain around her neck, fingers running over the seams of the locket, as if she was contemplating opening it. “Would it be proper?”

“You said it yourself, you have nothing else to do tomorrow morning, you’ll get a ridiculously expensive and delicious lunch for free.”

“But wouldn’t I be intruding?”

“My father’s going to cancel at the last minute, remember?”

“And what if he doesn’t?”

“He will. He always does, and he is nothing if not a creature of habit.” His phone rang at that exact moment, “like clockwork,” he murmured. “Hello.”

“Tell your mother that I can’t make lunch tomorrow, Vasya and I are going golfing.” The line cut before Nikolai could reply, not that he’d been planning on it.

“So, Nazyalensky, are we on for afternoon tea then?”

She sighed, “fine. But it better be as tasty as you’re saying it is.”

“It’s absolutely heavenly. The Dom Pérignon really brings out the subtle undertones in the Pistachio Dacquoise Cake. And the Devonshire cream is absolutely to die for.”

“I didn’t understand half of that.”

“Don’t worry, after the first time, you’ll be begging that we go back.”

She raised a brow, “is that a challenge, Lantsov?”

He grinned, “when is it not?”

“This is a pity lunch, I’m not going because I actually care about you.”

Nikolai nodded understandingly, “of course, of course. This is strictly a pity invite too, since this brunch will definitely be more entertaining than a Saturday spent at home.”

“Great. So we’re on the same page then,” her smile was sharp and Nikolai felt his blood rush at the sight. Maybe tomorrow would be bearable.

***

“Anything I need to know before we go in?” Zoya crossed her arms over her chest, staring up at the façade of the infamous hotel the following morning, suppressing the urge to run home. Was she nervous? For what? To meet Nikolai’s mother? No, that couldn’t be it. She was nervous to lose her bet with him, that was it. He had called her early this morning to make sure that the terms of the bet were solidified, if she fell in love with any of the food, she had to accompany him to any future lunches, whenever he asked. If she won, he had to accompany her to any errands she wanted. She had thought about making him assemble all of her IKEA furniture for the foreseeable future on the way here and had nearly bumped into him while she daydreamed about him carrying her groceries every week.

“If a question doesn’t feel like a trap, then it is one. If it feels like it’s a trap, then it’s definitely a trap. If it feels like someone is fishing for a response, then that’s a trap.”

“So, everything is a trap?”

“Exactly!”

“And you do this every month?”

“More like every two weeks.”

“Saints,” she swore, “and you don’t get sick of the food or company?”

“Well, they do let a little bit too much slide about their husbands’ schedules, most of them are on the board of my father’s company, and if I can get on their good sides they might vote for me over Vasily to take over one day.”

“You’re always playing the long game, aren’t you?”

Nikolai raised a brow, “and you’re not? We both know your ‘favourite hangout spots’ are coincidentally the same places where you can poach clients from Fjerdan Holdings.”

“Wait,” Zoya frowned, ignoring him completely. “If your father and Vasily are both skipping, who else did you invite? I'm taking your father’s place and what about Vasily’s?”

“I’m honoured you think I’d be invited in the first place.”

“You’re not invited?”

“Only when Vasily cancels, which is every time.”

“They really don’t invite you to family lunches?”

“I’m something of a problem child to them.”

“Nikolai,” she said and he could feel her gaze on him, “are you sure about this?”

“Yes, Zoya. I’m sure.”

“Let’s get moving then, we’re about to be late.”

“Ruthless as always,” Nikolai sighed, pushing open the door.

“Punctual, as always,” Zoya retorted, following him through the lobby, “you should take a lesson or two from me on showing up on time.”

“Never heard of fashionably late, Nazyalensky?”

“That’s just an excuse people with no dress sense use to justify their inability to choose a functional outfit.”

“Ruthless.”

“Honest.”

***

“Kolya!”A blonde woman dressed in beige exclaimed, beckoning him over before pulling him down into a hug . Zoya looked down at her pale blue dress, was she too colourful for brunch? But no, Nikolai’s dress shirt was the same colour as her dress, surely that meant that it was okay. She’d forgotten the ultra-rich nature of Nikolai’s family and the way that high society acted. Sure she made good money at work, but this world, the world of her clients, was something else. She’d grown up eating lunchables when she’d lived with her parents, while she suspected that he had never eaten anything that wasn’t prepared by a gourmet chef before he went to university.

“Madraya, this is my friend, Zoya,” he said, pulling away, “she’s the one I told you would be joining us this morning.”

“Thank you for having me,” she smiled, trying to put on her most charming persona, The Nikolai, as she liked to call it.

Nikolai’s mother shook her hand enthusiastically, “Zoya, this is Svetlana, Kolya’s auntie. Please! Sit, sit.” The other woman assessed her slowly from head to toe and Zoya shot her a cool glance, a challenge, to which Svetlana turned away from. Off to a great start.

Zoya reached to pull out her chair, faltering when she felt someone else’s on top of hers. “Your jacket,” Nikolai whispered, “I can take it.”

She stared at him. What? She went rigid as Nikolai helped her out of her coat, the warmth of his fingers brushing against her skin, making her thoughts freeze too.

“You alright, Nazyalensky?” he murmured in her ear as he pulled her chair out for her. “You should stop staring, it’s rude.”

She rolled her eyes at him, whatever spell had fallen over her was broken now, “thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he winked in return, but she could see the surprise on his face. Did he really think she was so ruthless that she had no manners?

“So Kolya, tell us about how you and Zoya met!”

***

Lunch was rather mild, and nowhere near as horrific as Nikolai has mentioned. In fact, it was pleasant, certainly much more enjoyable than any meal she’d had with her own mother. Nikolai’s mother cared for him in her own vapid way, and once Nikolai had reiterated that Zoya was not his girlfriend, Svetlana had thawed considerably, both of the women asking her about her clothes, work, and life. The lies came easily, they always did when it came to her family. She wasn’t embarrassed by her past but she saw no value in mentioning the people who had conceived her but had done nothing more than that. Zoya was also not in the mood to be pitted by these women, and she spun them a web of what they wanted to hear. A girl from a rich family who grew up doing all of the things they had.

She told them details from trips she had always dreamt of taking with her aunt but that they’d never been able to afford, easily replying to their inquiries of, “oh, I love Paris! When you went, did you eat at the cafe 3 blocks east of the Louvre? With the 100 year old bakery? It’s a must!” with an exact order of their most deep-menu items. Zoya smiled as they tittered on about the delicacies, as if an evening dining there didn’t cost more than what a month’s worth of groceries had cost as a child. To them her weekends were spent at tennis practice at the local country club instead of split between doing homework, working at her aunt's cafe and in the mail room at the law firm across the street to earn a little money. She didn’t say this explicitly of course, but she didn’t deny it either when they acted like she shared their experiences.

She’d never spoken to Nikolai about her past, nothing beyond the fact that she was raised by her aunt and that she had a younger cousin. He’d never asked, not out of a lack of interest in her, she knew that— but out of understanding that she didn’t particularly care to share that information. In the world in which she now found herself, anyone that deviated from the norm was looked down upon and she refused to be a source of entertainment for them.

The conversation quickly turned away from her however, with a few carefully timed lines from Nikolai. He brought up childhood memories of his own that made everyone laugh, recounting his numerous hijinks through the years. He told stories about the more interesting cases he and Zoya had worked on recently, his flow pausing naturally to let her throw in her own banter as well. She learned of the multiple times Nikolai had nearly burnt their beach house down, how he once “accidentally” lured a hoard of sheep to chase his brother when they were visiting Scotland, and how he was the youngest in his highschool graduating class, finishing at 15 before going to university, and then sailing around the world for a year.

As enjoyable as seeing Nikolai’s nose scrunch when his mother recounted a particularly adorable story was, by the time the desserts rolled around, Zoya felt fatigued. How did Nikolai do this all the time? When he wasn’t charming his family he was charming clients, coworkers, whoever he needed to. She had enjoyed the afternoon a lot more than she had anticipated, especially the food which was heavenly, like he’d said. But in the end she was adamant not to admit defeat to Nikolai even if it meant more meals like this. She would rather stab herself with the salad fork than admit he was right— or was that the dessert fork? Why were there so many forks? She was granted a bit of a reprieve when the ladies saw another group of their friends and decided to go chat with them at their table. Then it was just her and Nikolai, who had gone unusually quiet and was staring at her empty plate quite critically. “What’s wrong?”

***

Nikolai had been right, inviting Zoya to lunch had been a great idea, he couldn’t recall the last time he’d genuinely enjoyed one of these lunches. She had been brilliant, with the way that she handled all of their questions and discussed topics that interested them, the way that she’d chimed in at the perfect moments in his stories to add a little detail that made the anecdote even better. Everything had gone better than he could’ve imagined, except for the fact that it looked like he might be losing their bet, and after today, he didn’t think he would hate these lunches if Zoya were attending them with him.

Af first he’d been genuinely worried that she wasn’t enjoying herself since her reaction to the food had been muted, but the longer he watched her the more he was able to figure out exactly what was going on. He knew she wasn’t touching the desert tower because she knew that it would be her downfall. Most of the sweets were exactly of her taste and she was desperate not to lose to him. What had she intended on making him do if he lost that she was fighting so hard to win?

“Try it,” Nikolai mumbled, pointing at the tea tower, “it’s delicious.”

Zoya rolled her eyes, “you’ve said that about everything so far.”

“I’m serious, Nazyalensky. You’re going to love this.”

“I’m going to love it, or you’re convinced I should love it so that you win?”

Nikolai pulled a face, “why can’t it be both? Come on, it’s a dark chocolate cherry custard, that’s pretty much all of your favourite foods.”

Zoya peered at the dessert as if she was holding herself back, “it does look slightly edible…”

Saints, she would do anything to beat him, wouldn’t she? Nikolai smothered his grin, holding out a spoonful of the custard to her, “you know you want to try it.”

She let out an exasperated breath, taking the bite. Her eyelashes fluttered as she tasted it and she turned to him, scowling, “damnit, that’s so good.”

��I won’t say I told you so, Zo,” he laughed, as she smacked his shoulder with one hand, the other wielding a spoon that was digging into the custard on his plate. She hated that nickname.

“Well, Nik, or should I say Nikky? Or Niko? Or Nikola? Or--”

“Ah, that’s enough, dear,” Nikolai groaned, he definitely had worse nicknames.

“Whatever you say, Kolya.”

“Who would’ve guessed that brunch Zoya was a gloater?” His tone was teasing as he leaned in, brushing the bottom of her lip with his thumb to get rid of a chocolate smudge. “I certainly figured you were the modest type,” he trailed off, realizing what he’d done.

“Me and gloat don’t belong in the same sentence,” Zoya said, but her voice was low and her eyes were trained on his fingers. Nikolai repressed the urge to sit on his hands or flee from the table, but she said nothing and neither did he.

“Kolya, sweetheart, be a dear and wait for your father’s card.” His mother was back. Nikolai shot out of his seat, walking over to her. “We’ll be down the street at Svetlana’s daughter’s boutique. Zoya, hon, are you coming with us?”

“Oh, I’ll just wait with Nikolai,” Zoya smiled.

“Of course, dear.” His mother then pulled him aside, “you should bring your girlfriend around more often. It’s been so long since you’ve brought someone home.”

Nikolai looked at her, bewildered, “girlfriend? Zoya’s not my girlfriend. We’re just friends. Not even friends, coworkers is probably a better descriptor for our fully platonic relationship.” Was he rambling? He felt like he was rambling.

Instead of replying his mother simply patted his cheek with an infuriatingly knowing look before she followed her friends out of the dining room. Nikolai shook his head out, walking back to Zoya as they waited.

“ ‘Not even friends?’I have to admit, that’s probably the best thing I’ve ever heard come out of your mouth,” Zoya said, tossing her hair over her shoulder.

“I was just taken aback,” Nikolai protested, “of course we’re friends, okay,” he said, raising his hands in surrender at her pointed glare, “I consider us friends at least, I don’t invite strangers to the brunch from hell.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” she scoffed, flicking a piece of lint from his lapel absently. “The food was good, and they were nice enough.”

“Oh, they’re not nice at all,” he laughed, turning to take the card from the approaching waiter, “you just knew how to handle them.”

“I suppose I’ve spent enough time with clients like them to know how to act,” she frowned, “I didn’t really have to think about it.”

“That makes you a perfect fit in their social circle,” he winked, holding the door open for her, “you’re clever enough to outsmart them all, they can’t get anything from you unless you want them to have it.”

“I thought being clever was your brand?”

“I’m okay with having a worthy companion in that bracket.” Nikolai jested, surprised when she slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow as they began their way down the street. She probably just needed to keep her balance, he couldn’t imagine navigating the cobblestone path in the high heels she was wearing. He couldn’t recall her ever wearing anything but heels, now that he thought about it. Perhaps she would require further assistance walking in the future, he didn’t think he would mind that.

“But really,” she said, tilting her head up to look at him, “you’ve never thought about us?”

Nikolai turned away for a second, unsure of what exactly to say, and when he turned back to her, she was already looking away. “I can’t say I have. To be fair, I didn’t think you liked me until yesterday, or that you considered us friends until today.”

“Of course we’re friends,” she scowled, punching his bicep with her free hand, “we’ve been friends for years, you dolt. You think I waste my free time on people I can’t be bothered to tolerate?”

“Oh.”

Zoya rolled her eyes, “yes, oh. I always knew I was smarter than you but this is pathetic on your part, Lantsov. What did you think when I gave you that scarf for Christmas?”

“I thought you were just being nice?”

She groaned, “take that back. I’ve never been nice a day in my life.”

They walked in silence for a few minutes before she spoke, “you really didn’t think, ‘hey, we do our work together at the office, we have the same friends, and I’m the only person in the office that Zoya hasn’t threatened to throw out the 29th floor window? so maybe that means something?’”

“You threatened to throw me out the second floor window 3 days into working at the firm.”

“Exactly!” she nodded, “you would probably survive that fall. That was essentially me telling you I didn’t hate you that much.”

“You work in mysterious ways, Nazyalensky.”

“Hold on,” Zoya put out a hand to stop him, “your collar is up.” She stepped towards him, fingers brushing his neck as she folded the fabric, her gaze intent upon him.

“If it weren’t for my newfound knowledge that you consider us friends, I would think you were considering strangling me.” Nikolai laughed, feeling her pause in her movements.

“That can certainly be arranged,” she teased, smoothing out the lapels of his coat, her hands resting on his chest for a second. Her eyes met his and she looked away quickly towards the boutique, freezing when she saw the occupants staring out the window at them. “Why are they looking at us like that?” Zoya murmured.

“I think that Svetlana thought she could get me to marry her daughter.”

“Aren’t you all about love, is it really that bad of an idea? She owns a boutique, that’s pretty cool.” She stepped back, shoving her hands into her own coat pockets, and Nikolai instantly regretted opening his mouth.

“I’m not really her type.”

“I thought you were ‘everyone’s type?’”

“Am I?” Zoya turned away from his gaze, and he thought he saw her face flush. “She dated Tamar a few years back, and then she was with my sister for a few months, but I doubt her mother knows if she’s dating anyone right now.”

“Wait, wait, wait. You have a sister?”

“That’s a story for another time,” Nikolai grinned. “It may cost you another lunch date.”

“If they have food as good as today’s, every Saturday is yours.”

Nikolai smiled as Zoya waltzed into the boutique, an elegant but disruptive storm in his life. She hadn’t flinched when he’d called it a date, hadn’t hesitated when he’d asked her to accompany him again, hadn’t protested at the fact that he’d won the bet. Despite all the good that had come out of the day, he felt something gnawing at his chest, ‘what, you’ve never thought about us?” and he doubted it would ever leave his head now. ‘Whatever’ Nikolai thought, trailing after her. It wasn’t like even if he wanted to, they would ever be together. There was no use in worrying over something that would never happen.

[jobean12-blog]

Top Shelf: Chapter 3: Sweet Anticipation

Pairing: Bucky x reader

Word Count: 1,965

Summary: You and Bucky continue getting to know each other and every day you fall a little harder...

Author’s Note: Thank you all for coming on this journey with me. Happy to see you’re enjoying it! It’s a sloooowwww burn but I promise things will move along soon. There is a bunch of texting between the reader and Bucky in this chapter so I put those in italics. I tend to use a ton of emojis when I text so it happened in the story as well haha :) Thank you for reading! Much love❤❤❤

Warnings: fluffy softness, small amount of angst, light flirting, but mostly the fluffy sweet stuff! :)

Previous Chapters: 

Chapter 1: Enchantment

Chapter 2: Cookie Crumble 

You’re still smiling as you finish folding the laundry, your thoughts never far from Bucky and his soft smile. The ding of your phone pulls you from your latest daydream, your smile only widening when you read the text, ‘you know what would make this tea even better…. A COOKIE.’ Bucky’s text is followed by a picture of him holding up his mug, complete with a ridiculously cute disgruntled face.

‘O m g, you are so dramatic! Don’t you have any other cookies?’ You send your reply along with a kissy face emoji to ensure he knows your tone is playful. His answer is almost instant, “I don’t….and someone ATE ALL THE COOKIES I HAD.’ He promptly sends a third text with two kissy faces, clearly playing along.

Curling up on the couch and giggling like a teenager you continue to tease each other over text, easily falling into a conversation about food and your love for baking. When you finally look up from your phone you realize it’s been almost two hours and the sun has set. Your apartment is dark other than the small light in the kitchen. ‘As much as I would love to talk to you all night, I have to go shower and get my stuff ready for the work week 😊.’

Bucky’s response comes a little slower this time, ‘good thinking, that went fast 🙂 and I wish we could talk all night too.’ Your heart does a little flip at his last text and your mind is foggy as you try to come up with a good response. He beats you to it. ‘Enjoy your shower and sweet dreams 😍. Feeling your cheeks heat you quickly reply, ‘thanks, you too, goodnight 😘’.

Putting down your phone you practically float into the bathroom, twirling around like Cinderella after the ball. It’s only when you do one last twirl, this time into the doorframe, that you effectively break yourself out of the spell. You let out a string of curses, rubbing your shoulder but thinking with a smile, I can’t wait to tell Bucky about this.

Monday morning hits you hard, thoughts of Bucky keeping you awake for too long and your alarm going off way too early. The minute your eyes open you want to grab your phone to text him but when you go to do so you find he once again beat you to it, ‘morning y/n, hope you have a great day.’ The smile you’re wearing for the rest of the morning is borderline obnoxious, but you could care less as you two continue to text throughout the workday.

You notice that he’s much less shy over text. His use of emoji’s and sweet endearments makes it easy to flirt. The week goes by surprisingly quickly. You talk to Bucky every day, getting to know each other more and more. It isn’t until Thursday rolls around that you get the idea to bake him some of your awesome chocolate chip cookies. It’s also a perfect excuse to stop by the bookshop Friday after work.

After rushing home to wash up and change you pack a big tin of the cookies and head out. The day is beautiful and warm, and you can’t help your smile as you walk to the bookshop. Peeking through the large front windows you see Bucky behind the counter cashing out a customer. His chocolate brown hair falls in front of his face and your fingers itch to tuck it back behind his ear.

He looks up just at that moment, locking eyes with you as you stare. Giving you a sideways smirk, he says goodbye to the customer and walks around the counter as you enter the shop. Before you have a chance to think about how to greet him, he wraps his arms around you and gives you a big squeeze, pulling away to place a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth.

Momentarily stunned you stand there with your mouth slightly agape, trying to find the strength to speak. “Are those cookies?!?” Bucky cheers, grabbing the tin and your hand as he drags you back toward the reading nook. “They are! I made my famous chocolate chip cookies I was telling you about. I made you a whole batch, so you know, you have some for tea and coffee,” you finish with a smirk.

He turns to you with a huge grin, “thank you, I can’t wait to taste them.” Those last words come out in a deeper tone, his eyes darting to your lips as he watches you intently. Clearing his throat, he quickly adds, “want me to make some tea?” You give him a nod, smiling as you watch him walk away, the blush he was trying to hide giving him away all too easily.

You watch as he takes the first bite, his eyes closing as he makes approving sounds. “Wow, y/n. Listen, don’t tell Sarah but these are the best chocolate chip cookies ever. It’s a good thing you made me so many.” He pops the last bite into his mouth, reaching into the tin to grab another, “want a bite?” “I may or may not have eaten a couple for breakfast this morning but one more won’t hurt.” Before you can reach to grab your own, he lifts one to your lips, “here.”

Taking a bite and chewing slowly, you try to keep your composure, wanting nothing more than to crawl into his lap and kiss him. “You have a little something here,” he says, reaching up to brush his thumb over the corner of your mouth. “Again!? Really? It seems I can’t eat cookies without making a mess when you’re around,” you laugh, dipping your head to try and hide your own blush. “Actually, no. You didn’t. Your lips just look so soft and I…”

The sound of the bell over the door and someone frantically yelling for Bucky has you both jumping up and running to the front. A tall blonde with wide blue eyes yells, “Buck, there you are. Listen, I….” he turns to you, “oh hey, sorry to bust in like this, I’m Steve,” he says holding out his hand. Bucky finally speaks, “Steve, this is y/n.” Steve’s whole face lights up and he pulls you into a hug, “y/n! I’ve been hearing about you all week, so nice to meet you.”

With a wide smile you hug Steve back, “nice to meet you too Steve! Bucky shared some of your moms amazing cookies with me the other day, which I’m sure he told you about…” You give Bucky a look, knowing full well he told Steve you ate all the cookies. “Well yea, he may have mentioned that you ate all of them,” he chuckles.

“Good thing I made more; they aren’t your moms’ recipe, but Bucky seems to like them.” Your eyes catch Bucky’s and you give him a sly grin, “in fact, Bucky said they…” Bucky cuts you off before you can finish the sentence, “Steve, why did you come in here yelling for me, what’s up?” Steve gives you a lopsided grin, but it turns to a frown as he looks at Bucky.

“It’s grandma, she fell and she’s at the hospital. She’s ok! So, stay calm but I knew you would want to get over there asap.” Bucky moves with determined speed to grab his belongings, “what!?! What happened, are you sure she’s ok? Steve runs a hand through his hair, “she’s ok, Buck, I promise, but she in pain. I didn’t get a ton of info; I just came here first.”

Bucky turns to you, his eyes wide with fear, “I’m so sorry y/n, I have to go. I promise I’ll text you as soon as I can.” Steve gives you one last smile before heading to the door, “I’m sorry we have to run off like this but I’m sure I’ll be seeing you again.” Bucky runs over and pulls you in for a tight hug. “Everything will be ok, Bucky,” you whisper in his ear, kissing his cheek, “I’ll talk to you soon.”

You head out in front of Steve as Bucky shuts the lights and puts the “closed for emergency” sign on the door. With one more wave you watch as the two of them jog down the street to hail a cab, hoping more than anything that his grandma is ok.

The rest of the afternoon drags as you wait for any word from Bucky, your stomach in knots. It’s not until you sit down with your takeout that you get a text from him. ‘Hey doll, so grandma is ok. She fell going up the steps to her apartment building and hit her knee and hand hard. Nothing is broken, thankfully but she’s pretty banged up, so they just want to keep her overnight to monitor her.’

You let out a loud sigh, typing your reply quickly, ‘oh thank goodness she’s ok, I’m so happy to hear it isn’t too bad. Please tell her hello for me and I hope she feels better.’ He answers right away, ‘thanks, me too, sorry to run out on you like that, talk about bad timing 😉. And she says, thank you, she’ll be home in no time and ready to cook us dinner.’

You’re still reeling from his ‘bad timing’ comment, hoping above all hope that you aren’t reading too much into this and he likes you as much as you like him. ‘Tell me about it! And really, it’s nothing to be sorry for, I’m just so glad she’s ok and dinner sounds amazing!’ He sends you back a single heart, sending your own into a frenzy. ‘Have a good night and text me if you need anything, I’ll check in tomorrow 💕.’

‘Thanks doll 😘.’ You put your phone down and try to finish your dinner but find it difficult with the butterflies in your stomach. Picking up your phone again you dial your best friend, hoping some girl talk will help. You spend the next hour on the phone with Nat, telling her all about Bucky in between squeals and giggles.

Saturday morning you wake to a text from Bucky, ‘morning beautiful, grandma had a great night and is coming home soon! Also, I was wondering what you were doing for lunch today, I would love to take you out.’ Flying out of bed you call Nat, talking a mile a minute as you fill her in. “I mean, we have our girl’s day so I have to tell him no, but we can just reschedule,” you squeal into the phone as you pace your apartment.

After solidifying your plans with Nat, you text Bucky back, ‘that’s the best news, I’m so happy! I would love to go to lunch with you, but I have plans with my best friend for the day, can I take a rain check?’ You try not to freak out while you wait, worried he is going to back off.

‘That sounds fun and I completely understand, what about tomorrow? We can hang at the bookstore before closing then go to dinner from there if you want.’ Doing a little dance, you type back, ‘sounds perfect, can’t wait! 😍.’ His text bubbles pop up right away, ‘me either, I’m gonna get back to the hospital to get grandma and get her home but I’ll text you later ❤.’

You spend the rest of the day riding your high, your excitement over your day with Nat and date with Bucky keeping you energized. “So, there is this bar that recently opened on the lower East side, want to go tonight? We can go shopping, buy new outfits and have some fun!” Smiling at her through your mouthful of food you give her a high five, “yesssss!”

Once you’re dressed and ready to go you text Nat a picture, ‘all set, I’ll grab a cab and head to you.’ Her reply makes you laugh out loud, ‘too bad you aren’t seeing Bucky tonight, you look HOT🔥 .’ You consider sending Bucky the picture but before you can make a decision another text from Nat comes through, ‘do not send that picture to Bucky unless you want to torture his life 😉 😇😏.’

@aesthetical-bucky @book-dragon-13 @irishflutiegirl​ @throwmyheartawayagain​ @amandatar-06​ @nd1998sc​ @captainchrisstan​ @vherriepie​ @godofplumsandthunder​ @fire-flv​ @jamesbarnesappreciationclub​ @eurynome827​ @flyawaybay @hiddles-rose​ @hailmary-yramliah​ @ikaris-whore​ @itsunclebucky​ @jhangelface0523​ @jewelofwinter​ @jewels2876​ @loricameback​ @littledarlinhavefaithinme​ @littleredstarfish​ @marvelgirl7​ @mushyjellybeans​ @marvelandotherfandomimagines​ @nano--raptor​ @randomfandompenguin​ @sallycanwait68​ @softpeachbarnes​ @when-the-hell-is-bucky​ 

[obscureoperations]

I’m not the collar anon but Martin is cute and putting him in nice cute lingerie as a way to show him that he’s cute and yours🥺🥺🥺🥺 play into his praise kink and his want to be owned by you. Maybe you even chooses what he wears and dresses him. Only you two know that he’s wearing some cute panties and bra under his clothes and once in a while you’ll brush against him to hear him subtly whimper. (If this isn’t your thing that’s fine lol, I’m just going off)

Hah! Go tf off anon! Say it with your whole chest.. I know I did...I'll admit, I never woulda came up with this concept myself. Guess thats why I like hearing your random ideas. This went on longer than I thought it would and Im operating on a questionable ammount of sleep. Oops. Nsfw but nothing too graphic...

At times you couldn’t believe this was actually a thing, the fact that he went through this “ritual”just for you. In the beginning, you told yourself you were just joking, that you only wanted to see his reaction. You couldn’t deny the flicker of excitement once he started to undress fully in front of you. No more shutting the blinds, flicking the lights off-- diving beneath the covers before anything ensued. You always made it a habit of telling him just how beautiful he was. How lucky you were to have him. He would look at you as if you were insane. The truth of the matter was you wanted him completely. You were overjoyed just to have him in your life. He never believed it-- any of it. When you first stated in simple words, just how much he meant to you-- you were sure that he might faint. 

“ So you actually like me.. y/n… I mean really like me?”

One of the things you loved about Martin was the fact that he always tried so endlessly to please you. Always by your side in an instant, the moment he detected any form of distress.When it came to “the sexy stuff” His receptiveness seemed to intensify-- his only goal was to make sure you would go. 

You always made sure to praise him. You let him know how good he could make you feel. Moans and whimpers pale in comparison to your words. “ You’re so good for me.. Martin.” “just like that…” “Baby please…’' You couldn't ask for a better student. So when the two of you laid together on a lazy Saturday night, you were completely thrown. His fingers fluttering beneath your shorts. Resting against the hem of your panties. It was one of your fancier pairs, black satin full of lace. It wasn’t like anything you wore everyday, Laundry was due and you needed something. It was the first thing that fell out of your drawer.

He seemed to be fascinated by the fabric, the way it clung to your skin. “Here...take these off.” 

“Take what off?!” You whisper, already fumbling with his belt. 

“These…” he whispers, sliding your jeans down your waist, fingers playing over the silky fabric.

He seemed mesmerized for a moment at the way the material clung to your skin, he began experimentally tugging at the fabric. Teasing you, briefly with his hand before returning his attention to the elastic. You were always beautiful to him but something was different, his desire for you seemed to intensify. The sheer lace material provides a barrier to where he wants you most. He could already feel heat rise to his face.

“Martin, I'm sure they would look so much better on you….”

His eyes snap to your face,  were already laughing--arms crossing over your eyes.

“What” He whispers as he moves to shift your leg, already teasing you through the fabric. 

Your teeth dig into your bottom lip, suppressing a moan-- you couldn’t believe that he already managed to get you that worked up. He leans in burying his face at the crook of your neck, increasing the motion of his hand. “Tell me…” he whispers, noting how the sheer fabric was practically soaked, his teeth digs into the flesh of your shoulder

“ You jus-- ohh “ 

“Would you like that?” The speed of his hand increases-- finally sending you careening over the edge.

“Ye-yess”

“If I wore yours?”

He sits back admiring his handiwork, you were panting, arms crossed over your face. A fine sheen of sweat covers your skin. His attention remained in that tiny scrap of fabric, unsure why the wheels were already spinning in his mind. 

~~~~~~~~~

He was always so nervous, hesitant to leave the bathroom-- even after you tap on the door asking if he was okay. His eyes would linger at his reflection, overanalyzing every imaginary flaw. His slight figure-- to slight in his opinion shivers as a breeze flows in through the window. His skin breaks out in goosebumps,, he wraps his arms around himself lightly. 

He looked ridiculous, you would surely laugh at him. He wondered briefly if this was all an elaborate prank. The midnight blue fabric clung to his skin, hipbones pronounced--jutting forward sharply. The sheerness of the material left next to nothing to the imagination, he began to blush profusely, noting how he was already slightly on. This had to be about the third occasion  he agreed to modeling for you, and yet it always felt like the very first. Heartbeat hammering against his ribs, he swore he could feel your gaze as it moved over him. Fidgeting, slightly unsure what to do with his hands. “Martin… come here” In an instant, he would relax in your embrace as your fingers weave through his hair. “So pretty…” The words alone caused a warmth to bloom in his chest, he needed to hear more. “Am I?” He whispers as you lead him to the bed. He takes his place kneeling in front of you. 

It was decidedly different than when he was in town, the silken fabric caressing his skin. You always knew when he might need the slight boost, a subtle reminder of who he belonged to. 

You used to always lend him youus, assuring him he could pick out whichever garment he liked. They were just so pretty, he didn’t even know you had that many pairs. He was used to you wearing nothing at all or even boxers in the winter. They seemed to suit you perfectly, he had no idea why you didn't wear them more often. He didn’t bother to ask, that only meant more options for him right? One day, when the two of you were out and about, you gingerly pulled him into a lingerie shop. His face reddens immediately, as his gaze lands on a scantily clad mannequin. The entire shop smelled strongly of vanilla and something vaguely floral. Elevator music droned on in the background, his eyes move over the various displays of silky lace. Frills straps and garters. His head starts to swim “ Y/n… what are we doing in here?” He whispers, but not before a petite blond emerges from the back.

“Oh sweet! Newlyweds… am I right?”

“No” “Yes!” You pull him close, urging him to play along.

“Perfect, well I just want to let you guys know that we have a special! Every three apparel items you purchase, you have a choice at either a fifty percent off novel, perfume, or private item of your choice.” Her well practiced spiel was almost overly saccharine, but it was clear that she actually liked her job. She hovered close by, offering suggestions and ad ons. But her presence only seemed to make Martin more nervous. After a few moments, you can feel his hand tug at the hem of your shirt. “Can we leave?!”  “Hang on..” 

“Excuse me…” Your eyes move to her shiny name badge “Kelly… we appreciate all your help, but…my husband here is a bit embarrassed to be in here… Catholic family…” You offer with a shrug. Martin averts his gaze to the floor, he just wants her to leave. “Oh, absolutely, Im sorry! If you need anything just yell.” She lets her eyes move to Martin who suddenly seemed wildly interested in his shoes-- before looking over to you. She shot you a wink, mouthing the word “cute” with an approving nod.

The two of you moved to the corner of the shop, with his arm wrapped snugly around your own. He refused to leave your side as he surveyed the counters. “Y/n… can we just pick something and leave? What if someone sees us in here?” “Don’t be silly Martin, we’re on the other side of town-- besides we’re not here for me ...we’re here for you!”

“What?” 

“Pick something, anything you like!” 

Some of the color re-emerged on his face, but he couldn't deny the flicker of excitement. He could pick out anything? He had the choice in what he would wear for you? There were just so many options-- he began to feel a bit dizzy. “Oh… “

As the two of you made your way over to the check out, he hastily shoved the items in your hand. With his gaze pointed back towards his shoes, he couldn’t wait to get back home. “Alright, you guys find everything okay?” “Yes.. perfect, thank you!” You offer chipperly. “Great! Oh, well look at this you’ve got three items, would you like to take up that fifty percent off sale?” You had almost completely forgotten about that. You can feel him cling to you that much tighter, it was clear that he wanted to leave. “Martin?”  He quickly grabs a book titled “The erogenous zones” tossing it on the counter. “Good, choice!” 

The walk back to the train station was brief, all the while he still hovered close. You could tell he was a bit more relaxed now, but he was definitely in a way. He would act so “sweet” to you sometimes, clinging to your side, waiting for the slightest command. You could practically feel the anticipation oozing off of him as you take your places at the stop. The wheels were already spinning in your head. Martin already told you that Cuda would be meeting with some of the men from church around seven thirty. They would have dinner early, and then he would be free to leave. He could hardly contain his excitement.

[twoblueheartslocked]

Mini Para: December Flashback.

Rating: R.

Pairing: Seblaine.

Sebastian: @colorsicantsee

Blaine: @twoblueheartslocked

Time: Four years before the events of ( Hold On To The Memories, They Will Hold On To You ) Events taking place in December of Blaine’s Senior Year and Sebastian’s Junior Year. Blaine (17) Seb(16).

Location: Sebastian’s House. Westerville, Ohio

Info: A glimpse into the month of December ending with Blaine spending the night with Sebastian.

Warnings(PLEASE READ THIS): This para includes non graphic descriptions of sexual situations between minors.  We’ve kept it as YA as possible. We are in NO way trying to spotlight sex between teens, we just wanted to show how natural and comfortable they are together and the progression of their relationship. There will be absolutely no smut written until they’re adults. If anyone feels we’ve taken it too far please let us know and we will fix it.

Extra Warnings: (This RP is not Kurt Hummel friendly. You’ve all been warned.)

Notes: Some canon events remain in place while others have been changed. Some things may even be out of order. You can consider this sort of canon divergent AU. A few changes are that Blaine’s parents are different from the show (His mother is Filipina), he didn’t cheat on Kurt or date Dave and Sebastian is younger than Blaine. Feel free to send a message if you have any questions!

Blaine’s POV:

Blaine squeezed his mother tightly as she and his father said their goodbyes to him on Saturday morning, two days after Christmas. They were leaving for a weekend belated Christmas and early New Year’s party that his father’s work friend had invited them to and wouldn’t be back until tomorrow evening sometime. Blaine tried his hardest to keep his excitement in check as he waved their SUV off, the light snowfall clinging to his dark hair as he stood there, waiting for them to turn off at the end of the street. He couldn’t believe his absolute luck, he’d been stressing since his stolen moments in his bedroom with Sebastian on Thanksgiving over how he was going to come up with a lie to tell his parents when a week and half ago his dad had announced that he and his mom would be gone for a whole night and it just so happened to be the weekend that Sebastian’s parents would be out as well. He was ecstatic to spend some real alone time with his guy. Ecstatic and so nervous he thought he might throw up or giggle himself into a mad happy fit over it all.

The two of them had already celebrated their Christmas together, exchanging small gifts at Blaine’s house and precisely placed mistletoe kisses against a snowy backdrop that had been so romantic that when Blaine voiced just how romantic he thought it was Sebastian had rolled his eyes, feigning annoyance but then had surprised him by grinning down at Blaine like he was the most important person in the world and pulling him into his arms and kissing him again just to make it all that more romantic for Blaine. He smiled at the memory as he made his way back into his house so he could properly pack for his overnight stay at Seb’s house.

He’d left his small duffle bag empty and tucked away under his bed so that his parents wouldn’t catch onto what he was going to do. He felt a little pang of guilt knowing that they wouldn’t really approve of him spending the night alone over there no matter how fond of Sebastian they’d grown.  But the guilt was short lived as he packed a change of clothes, a pair of pajamas and a few toiletries into his bag- he couldn’t help it, he’d been waiting weeks, probably subconsciously even longer, for this night.

Before he zipped the bag up he made his way over to his nightstand, his fingers twitching nervously as he pulled a newly purchased three pack of condoms out of their hiding place. He was afraid that if he thought about it too much he’d leave them behind. He wasn’t even sure if it would happen, he had a feeling they were on the same page, that Sebastian wanted him just as much as he did, but his nerves always seemed to get the better of him and he was torn. Without looking at them too hard he quickly shoved them into his bag along with a small bottle of lube, tucking them under his clothing, but not before his eyes could catch on the ridiculously bold XXL on the slim package.

The letters seemed to leer up at him and made him feel self conscious and overly embarrassed. He knew he needed them, he’d learned the hard way how uncomfortable the smaller size was for him the few times he’d used them, but it didn’t make him feel any less full of himself. Would Sebastian think he was stupid for getting that kind? Was he being full of himself? He forced himself not to think about it too hard, his hands moving on their own accord to zip his bag up as if that meant he couldn’t still change his mind. He pulled out his phone and opened up the text log between him and Seb- a smile passing over his lips as he read the last text from him. -Can't wait to see you, killer.  Blaine quickly typed out his own message, his fingers a little shaky at the prospect of getting to spend the whole day and night over at Seb’s house with absolutely zero supervision or interruptions. -You’re in luck, they've left. I’m on my way, okay?

Seb had sent back the words- Hurry! But also be safe. And that was really all the prompting Blaine needed. He made sure the house was locked down and left the television on in his living room in a half hearted attempt to throw his neighbors off, they didn’t tend to pay much attention to what he did, but it would be his luck they’d pay attention now and call his parents back or something. Or that was just his nerves talking again. He slung the bag across his chest, hoping it looked more like he were going to go study than like he were spending the night somewhere and got into his SUV, his vehicle seemingly taking him in the direction of Sebastian’s house like it was following an invisible line that connected the two of them so surly. Before he knew it he was there, parked in the long driveway and feeling small as he knocked on the door, his fingers clutching the strap of his back as if it could keep him grounded. Seb’s for Blaine only smile was brilliant as he opened the door to greet him and it took Blaine a second to find his voice.

“Hey you.”

Sebastian’s POV:

Sebastian was buzzing with energy. He woke up early, drank a bunch of coffee with his dad’s sugar free french vanilla creamer and ate four pieces of peanut butter toast. He sat on his mother’s bed and helped her pick out her outfits for the trip and packed her bag. Thomas hadn’t noticed Sebastian’s surge of helpfulness and burst of jittery energy but Sabine had. “You seem eager today, Sebastian.”  She stood by the car as Thomas and the maid packed the hatchback trunk of the SUV and she had a knowing glint to her green eyes. “Just here to help, Mom. Have a safe trip.” Sebastian grinned and leaned down to give her a kiss on the forehead before he walked backwards into a house that was basically all his. Sure, the maid and the cook would be around but, he and Blaine pretty much had the place to themselves.

He made sure to ask the cook to pick up hot cocoa and pizza ingredients from the store so that they could make themselves a meal, cleaned his room himself (fresh sheets and no dirty laundry anywhere!) stole a few cigarettes (sorry Mom) and bought some condoms from the convenience store he often  passed on his way home. Sebastian took a long, detailed shower and picked out a dark green hoodie and his favorite Dalton LaCrosse sweatpants to wear.  He gave himself a once over in the mirror and smiled to himself. He was positive that they were on the same line, same chapter, same book because they always were. Seb never got this anxious excitement for anybody but the other boy. He had been daydreaming about this night for weeks and his veins were buzzing and his stomach kept jumping. Sebastian shot Blaine a few quick texts and stared at the clock on his phone, he couldn’t wait for him to arrive and he couldn’t sit still.

He was already standing by the door when Blaine had knocked because he had stood by an upstairs window and watched the snow fall as he waited for his car to pull up. Sebastian basically leaped down the stairs  and could have tackled Blaine into the snow right then and there. There he stood, on his porch with his cheeks red and little snowflakes perched on a few curls that started to escape their perfect styling.

“Hey B.” Sebastian smiled before he could catch himself and stood back for the other to step inside. “Do you want to eat first or, hear me out, I found my old sled in the garage the other day. We could go to the hill and try it out.”

Blaine’s POV:

Blaine couldn’t fight the smile that fought its way onto his lips as he listened to Sebastian speak. He could picture them already, sledding down the hill at the end of Seb’s street- cheeks numb from the cold and from laughing and all at once the idea was something he wanted more than anything he’d ever wanted before. He took his bag from over his body and sat in neatly at the end of the kitchen counter next to an assortment of instant hot chocolate and marshmallows so that he could take it up to Sebastian’s room later on.

His stomach  gave a little flip at the thought, and he wondered when they’d find themselves up there. Would they cuddle on the sofa and watch movies in their pajamas first like this was their home and this was a normal night? Or would they get overly excited and fumble clumsily up the stairs, lips and limbs tangled in two hours? He personally hoped that they took their time, he wanted this day and night to last, he’d been here five minutes and already the thought of leaving was making him feel a silly bit of sadness.

“I would absolutely love to go sledding with you, Seb. I haven’t done that since I was a kid!” He laughed, and reached out for Seb’s hands, taking them into his before pressing a kiss to them. He hoped his lips weren’t too cold. “And then after that we can come back in and I’ll make you the best cup of instant hot cocoa you’ve ever had on top of the best pizza, no second best pizza- the first would be the one I made on your birthday, you’ve ever had and we can warm up.” He pulled Sebastian closer using their linked fingers and wrapped his arms around his neck, his fingers toying with his hairline.

“I promise to keep you warm if you get too cold.  We can do whatever you want, you’ve got me all night long. I’m completely yours.” His smile turned a little shy, his nerves catching up to him before tip toeing up and stealing a kiss from Sebastian’s lips, his fingers scraping lightly through his hair. He let his eyes slip shut as he deepened it just a bit, as if promising Sebastian that he’d keep him warm and that he wasn’t going anywhere. When he said he was his for the rest of the night, he hoped Sebastian knew that he meant so much longer than that. He meant always.

Sebastian’s POV:

Sebastian’s heart fluttered when Blaine tipped up on the tips of his toes to press a kiss to his lips. His stomach flipped in a way that was almost uncomfortable, the sort of dip that happens when you drive down  a hill too fast and gravity catches up before you’ve even realized you were flying down a slope. He had goosebumps all over his arms and legs and a promise that hung tight in the air between the two of them. Seb smiled and felt a thrill run up and down his spine. “I’m a lucky guy.”

“I’m gonna hold you to that.” Sebastian clasped onto Blaine’s hand and pulled him up the stairs. The two of them bundled up in scarves and gloves and earmuffs that his mother kept tidy in a tote in the upstairs linen closet. He wrapped a fluffy hunter green scarf around Blaine’s neck and toyed with the frayed ends for a moment, “I’m all yours,too. For the record.”  He smiled his toothy grin that he kept reserved for the other boy and gave him a quick kiss before troping down the stairs, the two of them laughing all the way to the garage and down to the end of his street.

Sebastian sat down first on the bright orange sled and tapped the plastic in between his legs with a gloved hand, “You get to steer.”  The two of them flew, just barely missed a tree and landed in a heap of laughter at the bottom of the hill. They slid down the hill successfully a few more times before they crashed and rolled into the snow with red cheeks and frozen puffs of amusement as they wrestled playfully and kissed as snowflakes drifted around them.  Sebastian threw the first snowball in a not so serious snowball fight that ended in more kissing and laughing. They decided to head back to the house when Sebastian’s glove started to freeze and his body shook with cold tremors.

“Don’t forget that you promised me the best hot cocoa ever and, you know I think I still need some more warming up.”

Blaine’s POV:

Blaine’s skin prickled all over at Sebastian’s words. He wanted to follow up with how lucky he was too, wanted to tell Sebastian that he meant the world to him and tell him just how incredible being with him felt- but Seb was already pulling him the stairs and making Blaine feel like he could do anything by telling him that he was all his, too. Blaine felt an odd sense of belonging as Seb wrapped his green scarf around him. Sure, it had been washed since the last time it had been worn, but there the ghost of Sebastian’s winter scent still clung to the fluff like a kiss. Wearing Seb’s things made Blaine feel like he belonged there, like this life was meant for him. He found he couldn’t stop beaming as they made their way outside hand in hand.

And each slide down the hill, each press of Sebastian’s body pressed against his back as he tried to steer and they flew past glittering trees made Blaine smile bigger and bigger until his face hurt from doing so. The cold adding to his pleasurable discomfort as they kissed in the snow, Seb’s lips tasting like snow and a lingering of forbidden smoke that was absolutely driving Blaine wild. It felt like he was in a book or a movie and again he didn’t want any of it to end.

As they made their way back into Seb’s house, the fireplace roared and warmed his chilled bones instantly. Blaine wasn’t sure who had turned it on, probably one of Sabine’s elusive staff, but it felt magical and Blaine wanted to pull Sebastian in front of it and snuggle into him there. But, he promised he’d make him the best cup of cocoa he’d ever had and he meant to do just that. He made his way through the kitchen, Sebastian’s words about warming him up making his heart flip a little.

“I did promise, didn’t I?” He pulled Seb close and wrapped his arms around him before running his hands up and down his back in an attempt, his lips finding his neck, the pulsepoint spot Seb loved so much and pressing an assortment of kisses there before pulling back. “Better?” He grinned up at the other boy, “There’s more where those came from later, I promise that too.”  He winked and forced himself to pull away before he got too carried away in exploring the gorgeous expanse that was Sebastian’s neck. He didn’t want to rush the day and doing that would for sure rush things.

He cleared his throat and made his way around the Smythe family kitchen like he’d done a dozen times before gathering ingredients for the perfect cup of instant. “Right, so the best cup of instant hot cocoa ever.” He placed a pan on the stove and then put the water in and set it to heat before he pulled down two large mugs and filled them with the powder. He went to the fridge and pulled out the whole milk and set it next to the mugs. He then added the boiled water into the mix and tossed in a few marshmallows. “The key is to add milk to make it creamier and to mix in the bigger marshmallows and just keep adding them as they melt. It’s super sweet but my mom used to make it like this when I was a kid and it’s my favorite. Here, try it. He handed Sebastian his mug and watched as he blew on the liquid before taking a drink. The other boy's smile was all Blaine needed to know he’d done a good job.

The day went on way too fast for Blaine's liking between sips of cocoa in front of the fire and giggling about their sledding mishaps and Blaine pretending not to like the smoke on Seb’s lips that Seb totally saw through- and before he knew it it was evening and they were cuddled up down in their basement, cozy in warm sweats on Seb’s sofa, half eaten plates of Blaine’s homemade pizza discarded to the side so they could kiss each other properly as the sounds of the movie Gremlins (Which kinda scared Sebastian) played in the background. Blaine, needing air, finally pulled back enough to look down at Seb from his spot half on top of him and hovering above him, his leg pushed up and over Seb’s body, his guys cheeks flushed from the earlier cold and from their kissing. He looked fucking gorgeous and Blaine blurted it before he could stop himself. His voice was soft and almost in awe.

“You’re beautiful...”

Sebastian’s POV:

Sebastian sighed and pressed his hands into Blaine’s hips when he felt his lips on his sensitive neck. He laughed , loud and bright though his skin still felt hot from the kisses but Blaine had winked and it seemed like they had switched personalities for a split second. It felt like a perfect moment, the sort of memory that Seb wished he could wrap up and keep close because it was pure and so specifically them.

He watched Blaine make himself at home which gave him a special sort of warm satisfaction. The other boy knew where the pans were, knew the correct cabinet to find mugs. Seb liked to see it, Hunter wasn’t even this familiar with the Smythe house. It felt like Blaine was always meant to whisk into the kitchen and sing and laugh and bake pies and make pizza and hot cocoa. It was the most alive the house had felt to Seb in a long time.

Blaine had set a giant mug of frothy hot chocolate in front of him. “Looks perfect.” He leaned forward and let the steam drift over his cold face for a moment before he blew on it and took a sip. Sebastian smiled and took another drink because of course Blaine could make instant hot cocoa taste like it came from a coffee shop.

The next few hours were a blur of pizza, some weird 80s movie Blaine had picked (the only redeeming quality to Sebastian was the lead actor who was sort of cute.), and kissing until their lips began to hurt and their cheeks were red. Blaine sort of hovered over him, the noise of little gremlins screaming on the tv as he blurted out You’re beautiful and Sebastian blinked a few times, a slow smile spread over his face. He looked up into the other’s big, golden eyes and realized that nobody else had ever called him beautiful before and he felt a satisfied shiver spread its way all over his body. Sebastian didn’t think any words could suffice so he leaned up and kissed Blaine all soft and slow and suddenly it felt like pressure in the room changed. It was the feeling of jumping into the deep end of a pool, sudden and intense, lungs burning and legs kicking to break the surface. The rush of running full speed down the track, every tendon screaming for release. The thrill  of swinging so high on a swing set that it lifted off the ground dangerously with every pump.  His body felt hot and his hands trembled as they knotted in the neck of Blaine’s shirt, his hips ached, he moaned despite himself.

“I think that you should take me upstairs.”

Blaine’s POV:

A shiver and a tingle spread throughout the lower half of Blaine’s body at the sound of Sebastian’s moan and the tone in his voice. All at once he was overwhelmed with want and a desire he’d truly never felt for anyone else before. Every crush or person before seemed like a little insignificant when it came to the way he felt about Sebastian and I love you threatened to surge forward again but Blaine pushed it down and back into his chest next to his heart in favor of giving the other boy a wide eyed nod as he scooted off of him gently and reached down to help Seb up with him. He knew what this meant, he knew what Sebastian wanted and he wanted nothing more than to give it to him. He wasn’t quite sure how he was going to manage to get them both of two sets of stairs without stumbling.

His hands were shaking as he pulled Seb’s shirt up and over his head once they’d managed to make it into his bedroom. His fingers tentatively explored each little freckle, wanting to count them like the stars in the sky. He leaned down and pressed a kiss into a few of them, trying to show Sebastian that he loved how he looked, wanting to get this right, wanting Sebsatian to know that Blaine loved him and his body without saying it outloud. He reluctantly pulled away from Sebastian, his skin instantly missing the contact as he quickly rummaged around in his bag for the small pack of condoms and small bottle of lube he brought and sat them down on the bedside table before moving back to Sebastian and pressing a kiss to his lips to hide his growing blush.

The queen sized bed seemed too large yet inviting as he pressed Sebastian down and into the sheets before crawling up between his legs, his excitement apparent as he pushed his hips against the boy beneath him, his fingers fumbling with the the hem of Sebastian’s sweats and boxers for a moment before managing to push them down and to the ground. Blaine bit his lip as their bare skin touched before ducking his head and kissing Seb so slowly and gently that he thought he’d float away from how fucking good it felt to him. After what felt like hours, kissing and touching like that he finally pulled his head back to look down into green eyes, his voice a nervous whisper.

“ I-...Are you sure this is what you want?”

Sebastian’s POV:

Sebastian laughed a little, he had to.  Of course Blaine would ask even as he was flushed and panting underneath him with desperate hands and hips. He loved that about him-his sweet demeanor and how naturally charming and polite he was. God, it made him even crazier for him, that fucking concerned look in his amber eyes and the thoughtful furrow of his eye brows.

“More than anything.”

It all happened so fast. Such a cliche of a thought but it was true. It was all a tangle of hands and mouths and names whispered into hot skin. Sebastian felt satisfied and complete as Blaine pulled him close under his heavy bedspread. His body felt spent and tired and he was sure he could sleep solidly for 12 hours if he let himself but all he wanted to do was trace  his long fingers over Blaine’s torso as he listened  to his heart beat beat beat under his head. Sebastian kept catching himself smiling anytime Blaine spoke or touched him and he wondered if they could live in his bedroom forever, in this little wonderful moment like a snow globe.  He was always mystified by the way Blaine flipped his world upside down and brought all of his feelings to the surface and made him daydream  and laugh and smile and want to be nice. Seb was terrified to put a label on the way he felt but he couldn’t deny it any longer, he loved the kid.  

Sebastian took a deep breath and leaned up on his elbow so he could see the other boy’s face, “Wish you didn’t have to leave in the morning.”

Blaine’s POV:

Blaine lay there with Sebastian’s head on his chest, his fingers tracing his freckles, the ones he could reach, across his shoulder. The world felt still and the world felt like it belonged to them and Blaine wanted nothing more than to freeze this moment and save it for bad days. Sebastian felt like he belonged here in his arms, and he wondered, not for the first time, how he’d gone so long denying himself this comfort. Blaine swallowed hard, his chest aching and swelling and he was so afraid that if he spoke he’d ruin the moment.

He was so afraid that if he told Sebastian how he felt that Seb would stiffen and maybe ask him to leave and things would be awkward and stressed and while he thought that maybe they were on the same page, on the off chance that Seb turned him away, Blaine thought that might kill him. So he held onto him tightly and whispered to him that he’d  come back over tomorrow night. Told Seb that he just needed to be home when his parents got home so he wouldn't be in trouble. And when they drifted off to sleep together, Blaine was wrapped tightly around the taller boy, his face pressed against the back of his neck, and his arms locked around him as if he’d always fit in that space between Blaine’s arms.

And when he forced himself to leave the next day Blaine made sure to kiss Sebastian extra sweet and long so that he’d know that the night had meant everything to him. That the whole thing, not just the sex, was important and to show Sebastian that he was the reason Blaine felt the happiest he’d ever felt in his whole life. I love you hung silently in the air between them as he stepped out into the December wind and Blaine made a promise to himself that when he came back over tonight he’d tell Sebastian how he felt. So what if it had only been a few months? Who made the rules that you could only fall in love after years? Blaine knew how he felt and he needed Sebastian to know too. He had to have faith that Sebastian would accept it, maybe even say it back. How incredible would that be? How good would that feel?

He was all smiles, his heart singing louder than his voice as he straightened up his house for his mom and dad, his earphones blashing away so loudly he almost missed his phone ringing from his bedroom. And as he raced to pick it up thinking it might be his reason for smiling. That Sebastian’s slow, comforting voice might be on the other end- 

He’d come to wish that he had missed it.

/fin.

[tickle-fic-chick]

Sensitive Scotts || A One Tree Hill Tickle Fic

Author’s Note: I’ve been wanting to write a One Tree Hill fic for some time. While I know very few people who have seen the show, or will care very much about this particular fic, I was still pumped to write it. Hope you guys enjoy it!

It had started off as a normal weekend for the young adults. Nathan and Haley had invited Lucas over for the day. Karen was out of town and Peyton was helping Brooke with a project, leaving his schedule relatively clear. The first half of the day was spent simply talking, the couple telling Lucas about their anniversary plans. They had saved up enough money to spend a weekend in Charleston, far from the drama and struggles of Tree Hill. Lucas congratulated them, knowing how much they deserved a getaway. Their relationship had more ups and downs than any other; they deserved a chance to just be happy. The conversation eventually devolved into a debate between the two brothers, sparked by a single comment from Haley. 

“You should have seen him, Lucas! He’s more ticklish than you!” Haley giggled, earning a playful glare from her husband and a blush from her friend. She had been recounting how she had woken Nathan up that morning, attacking his torso until the ticklish youth had agreed to get up. “You’re cruel. Why do I have to get up so early? It’s a Saturday!” He groaned. “Because, we had a ton of laundry to do and I was not washing your smelly uniform alone!” Haley replied, rolling her eyes. Lucas chuckled, shaking his head at their banter. “Come on Nathan, we all know you like being woken up that way.” He smirked. Nathan’s glare was directed at him now, his arms crossed. “Oh, shut up! You’re the most ticklish person in the world and we all know how much you love it!”

The blonde’s blush grew as he got to his feet. “Really? Because I could’ve sworn you were more ticklish than me.” He shot back, stalking towards his dark haired sibling. “Don’t you dare!” Nathan scrambled over the back of the couch, trying to put some distance between Lucas and himself. His half-brother was closing in, a mischievous smirk now stretched across his face. All the while, his wife watched on with amusement. “You two are ridiculous.” She chuckled. Lucas lunged forward, sending Nathan toppling to the floor in surprise. Lucas quickly scrambled over the back of the couch, knowing that if he didn’t move fast Nathan could quickly get the upper hand. “Wait, hold on! Lucas, I swear to-” The brunette was cut off as Lucas pinned him to the floor, digging into his armpits. Nathan burst into giggles, shaking his head as he struggled in the other’s hold.

“Luhuhuhuhuhuhucus! Cut it ohohohohout!” He snickered, trying to free his trapped wrists. “What’s wrong, little brother? I thought I was the most ticklish person in the world? Were you lying?” Lucas teased, smirking down at Nathan as his fingers scribbled across the sensitive torso. “Yohohohohohou suhuhuhuhuhuck!” Nathan retorted, trying to glare as another wave of giggles hit him. Haley grinned, watching as two of her favorite people tumbled around on the floor like children. It made her so happy they finally got along, especially after such a rocky start. “Hey Lucus, go for the ribs.” She instructed, earning a betrayed look from her husband. “Haley! Why wohohohould yohohohou-NOHOHOHOHOHOHO!” He shrieked as Lucus dug into his ribs, sending him into gales of laughter. “Whatever you say, Hales.” Lucas replied, smirk morphing into a full-on grin.

The younger Scott was dying, he was certain of it. Lucas was extremely good at tickling, no doubt because of the years of tickling he had faced at the hands of Karen and his friends. While Nathan had been tickled before meeting Lucas, it had been a lot less frequently. Their father was not the affectionate type, that was for sure. He had drilled it into Nathan’s head that being ticklish was for girls and he needed to grow out of it; that it was something to be ashamed of. The thing was that, like Lucas, Nathan actually enjoyed being tickled. He just rarely received them, aside form brief pokes in the locker room. That all changed when he had met Haley. She had opened him up, both to people and emotions, and he suddenly found himself happier than he had ever been.

Nathan managed to jerk one of his hands free, the appendage instantly shooting out and latching onto Lucas’ side. The blonde shrieked in surprise, temporarily stopping his attack on Nathan. That was all the other needed to turn the tide, quickly rolling Lucas over and pinning him instead. “Now, let’s see how you handle a taste of your own medicine.” He smirked. Lucas’ eyes widened, a plea instantly rising in his throat. “N-Nathan wait!” He called before descending into hysterics. Nathan went straight for the kill, digging into his brother’s belly and tickling ruthlessly. “No waiting now, big brother! You messed with the bull, now you get the horns!” The brunette replied, glancing up at Haley. She seemed to be enjoying the whole ordeal just as much as he was. His fingers sought out every ticklish spot they could, driving more laughter from the ticklish blonde. 

“What do you think Haley, who’s the more ticklish Scott?” Nathan asked, chuckling as Lucas let out a loud squeal. He had found the other’s navel, a known sweet spot. His wife giggled, shaking her head in exasperation. “I don’t know! You’re both ticklish dorks.” Nathan rolled his eyes, turning his attention back to his brother. The other’s cheeks were pink from laughter and embarrassment, eyes squinted shut. “PLEHEHEHEASE! NAHAHAHATHAN!” He called. Nathan couldn’t hold back a laugh of his own, showing his brother brother mercy. “Alright, alright! Calm down, big guy.” He helped Lucas sit up, the remaining giggles slowly fizzling away. “Y-Yohohou know, Nathan, there’s one Scott we forgot about.” Nathan instantly understood what he meant.

They both looked at Haley and her heart dropped. Uh oh...

[rhythmsectionbros]

#dealor!week2019

friday prompt: bad weather

1015 words / PG / early 70′s... i suck at summaries. Fluff i guess :P

It’s after one am. It’s after one am and it’s raining. It’s after one am and it’s raining and John isn’t back yet.

He left London on wednesday to spend a couple of days with his mother to celebrate her birthday, and planned to be back on saturday evening, car-pooling with one of his classmates from Leicester.

Nope. Roger doesn’t worry. It’s just that it’s late and he can’t seem to concentrate on the crossword puzzle in his lap. He doesn’t worry when he throws the magazine to the side and stands up. He just wants to stretch his sore muscles a bit as he walks to the windows, and he’s only enjoying the view of raindrops traveling down the large window and doesn’t check the street for any sign of John. 

The young bassist said that he might crash at Fred' & Rog's flat when he will be back, his own place way too far from the street his classmate will drop him off.

Yeah, no... Roger is not worried. At all.

A sigh.

He can repeat that thought as often as he wants, the truth stays the same.

Roger is, in fact, definitely worried. 

The blond man sits down on the couch again, tired and worn out, the long rainy days and a lingering cold taking over him… but he can’t go to sleep, with John out there only God knows where. So he sits in the dimly lit room and waits and worries and overthinks. If something happens, he would call, find a station or a pub? A kind soul ready to help this sweet little boy, right? Unless... he is unable to call or to speak or... Fuck! Without Freddie' or Brian's presence to change his mind (both cowardly abandonned the drummer with his cold to roams the clubs in search of 'love'), Roger is starting to imagine the worst.

Freddie's cat is asleep and Roger doesn’t know for how long he can withstand the urge to follow its example when he hears a noise in the landing. The front door opens, and Roger is on his feet in an instant, charging into the brightly lit hall. His eyes need a moment to adjust, and then he’s too surprised to do anything, but to stare.

“What... the fuck happened?!” He finally asks, John in front of him soaking the floor with his dripping clothes.

“Rain,” John mumbles, exhausted.

“It’s not more than five meters from the street to the door!” Roger takes the luggage out of John’s hand and sets tit down on the floor. “You couldn’t possibly look like that. What happened?”

“Car broke down. ‘walked 3 hours...”

“What the fuck?” Roger takes a step closer and doesn’t comment when John makes his way into the flat, his steps small and shaky, and still carries the rest of his bags . “Deaks, you could have called a cab,” Roger adds. “You could have called me!”

“You’re sick.”

The blonde man rolls his eyes. “I’ve got a cold, it’s not the end of the world.”

“...'sounded like it today morning when I called you guys.”

Silently, Roger joined John in the living and puts a palm on his low-back. “Take that off, or you will get a cold too.” Without a second thought, he strips John out of his soaked jacket and lets it fall to their feet on the floor. “Sorry.”

“ 's okay.” He speaks so low Roger barely hears him over the rain outside.

Now he has to get this uncharacteristically subdued John into dry clothes. “Look at you Deaky...” he laughs, “Let’s get you into something warm.” And the drummer leads him to his bedroom and his wardrobe, for all the clothes in John's bags are as soaked as their owner.

John doesn’t react (and no, Roger’s not worried by that neither. At all!), but follows him and sits down on the edge of his bed, staring off into the distance. Roger vanishes for a second and comes back with a white fluffy towel and stands in front of John. In silence, John takes it and rubs his long hair dry.

The rain still hits the window of Roger’s bedroom, and when the drummer grabs the largest hoodie he owns, he starts to hum gently the song he is working on. John seems to relax, or at least, to not care as his shoulders sagged, and the bassist peels off his transparent shirt from his own skin.

“About your...?” Roger said, pointing at John’s pants with a ridiculous grin.

“ ‘can handle them myself.” His jeans are heavy with water, and John drops it onto the towel on the floor, now only wearing his white boxers. “ ‘m not taking that off.”

“I hope so! I don’t want my bed to be soiled.”  

Roger still hums when he picks the bassist’s clothes off the floor to place them in the laundry basket, and carefully wraps John into the hoodie. It’s two sizes too big for the blonde man, so he assumes it would be comfy enough for his companion. And by looking at John snuggling into it, it seems.

Roger doesn’t want to, but he can’t help it, he has to ask.

“Why didn’t you try to call? In a pub maybe?”

“’just rain. I didn’t want to bother people.”

Roger stares at John incredulously --and yet, this answer is so John. Without a word, he guides him under the covers of his bed and John sighs against the pillow, which still carries the faint trace of something floral.

His grey eyes start to close. “And you? You don’t sleep?”

John is the one who needs warmth and comfort, so Roger will have to find some time and place later on the couch. “It’s okay,” he whispers and turns off the lamp by his bed. “You can stay here Deaky...”

John is breathing softly and quickly falls asleep. Roger would hate to disturb, but his hand find easily the cheek of the young bassist to tuck a lock of hair behind his ear.

“...as long as you want.”

[misha-moose-dean-burger-lover]

Movie Night (ft. Cas's t-shirt)

THANK YOU for the ask, Dear Anon! I'm very flattered that you enjoyed the last one, and hope this meets your expectations! I WISH I could tag you in this, but you're on anon so.. Anyways, I went for Tuesday movie night idea, and clubbed it with a 'cute t-shirt prompt' I received and it got long AF but please leave a comment if you read and like!

*

"Ahh," Dean let out a perfect sound of exhaustion meeting the plush comfort of his couch. "It's finally Tuesday."

Sam snorted from the side, because his relationship with tuesdays had been kind of a love-hate. Not that Dean ever took him seriously - he doesn't blame his brother, really, because he wouldn't believe Dean either if he told him 'a piano crushed you to death' or any of those other ridiculous ways in which he'd died.

"If you like movie nights that much," Jack added, from the side - he was settled in one of the big chairs, looking more like a kid than he usually did. "Why don't we watch movies on other nights, too?"

Sam leaped to answer, ever ready to squeeze in a lesson for the nephilim. Good values needed to be a part of the upbringing. Children need to be taught by example. "There's an analogy we can use for this, Jack. Say, uh, Dean loves his birthday very much." Dean frowned at his brother. "Because of the pie, and the gifts, and all the beer." Dean shrugged. "So, he wishes on his birthday candles that everyday be his birthday!" Sam paused, and Dean wondered why he spoke as if he was talking to a kid, and not the strongest 2-year-old ever. "But, what happens then, is that he keeps growing a year older on each birthday - that is, everyday!"

Jack looked alarmed. "That's - bad."

"Yeah, because then I'd grow to be 60 in like a month and die." Dean added, in a deadpan.

"It won't take you thirty years to get to sixty." Sam reminded him.

"Shut up, Sam." Dean scowled and turned back to Jack. "Listen, kid, this isn't about all the good movies in the world getting finished too soon, if we watch 'em everyday. It's more about the attitude."

Jack nodded.

"Like, uh," Dean swallowed. "Like our dad always taught me and Sammy, hunters need to live a disciplined life. Can't just start watching a movie whenever, because that'll make your head feel like you're giving it permission to do crap, just like that, without a routine. That's never good for a hunter - even less so, he'd say, for the sons of an ex-Marine. Messes your head up, and takes away your ability to fixate on your decisions." Dean paused. "It's not like I've not watched movies on a Saturday because I wanted to, but the old man made sense - it's just, a routine is better to stick to."

"That sounds like a horrible amount of behavioral psychology to associate to an activity as trivial as watching a movie." Came a new voice, as Cas stood in the doorframe, his head just slightly tilted as his eyes looked straight at Dean.

Dean's exhale was caught in his lungs, and he blinked, staring at Cas with a chest full of air, and still feeling like he'd sink instead of buoyant. Cas was no longer in the trenchcoat and pants - he wore grey pyjamas which fit snug over his thighs, and a t-shirt which had to be new, because holy fucking shit.

He'd have noticed the angel walking around their bunker, wearing a black AC/DC shirt like that - simple, to someone else, perhaps - yet the way it fit over his biceps, widened his shoulders a bit more, and gave an elevated look to his chest because of the smooth descent to a toned abdomen - rendered Dean incapable of looking away. Complete with his hair sticking up at odd angles, hints of a stubble and inspecting eyes focussed on Dean, he looked like the stuff of Dean's (guilty, oh so guilty) dreams.

"H-hey, Cas." Dean cleared his throat, shifting on the larger couch to make space for him. He waved his hand dismissively to disregard all that he'd just said. "Forget about that, it was crap - come sit down." He suggested, breathlessly.

"Look who finally joined us," Sam addressed, in a normal voice and not even bothering to look up again - making Dean wonder why he didn't get all caught up in Cas's t-shirt, like Dean just had. He was unfairly attractive - but not just to Dean, right?

"I'm sorry," Cas replied, as he sat down next to Dean. Not a single part of them touched, since they were on opposite edges of a large couch Dean originally got for Sam and him - but there was still a tingling under Dean's skin, which had to be Cas's fault. "I couldn't find any socks." He turned to Dean, suddenly smiled, and tugged his pyjama up a little to show him the socks he wore. A pair of fucking novelty socks, they were - but Dean found himself grinning mindlessly, as Cas crossed his legs under him, and the visual was taken away from him.

"Of course, you couldn't." Sam inputted. "Dean hasn't been doing the laundry lately."

"Why am I the only one supposed to do it?" Dean threw back, and Sam didn't say anything to it.

"Nevermind." Cas declared. "I found socks, unwashed though they may be. Let us start." He referred to the movie.

Jack had fell silent for a moment, and he spoke up again. "Yeah! What are we watching today?"

At the same time that Sam opened his mouth - probably to drag Dean on how they better not watch something they'd just watched - Dean spoke up. "We're watching The Fellowship of The Ring, today."

"We just watched that on literally the third Tuesday of March -" Sam complained.

"Listen." Dean threw back. "Don't shove your crazy awesome memory with movies and dates, in my face - 'cause my brain forgot the movie already."

"Forgot? You probably can quote it line by line, Dean." Sam frowned. "But I guess you're not satisfied until you flawlessly recite it in your sleep, like Lost Boys."

Dean flashed his best shit-eating grin, and if that's what he was gonna do, he wasn't gonna agree with Sam. "Well, it's what we're watching, Sammy. Deal with it."

Sam narrowed his eyes. "What about Jack? Or Cas? Why don't you ask them if they want to watch Lord of the Rings again?"

"I do." Jack announced, brightly. "I like Frodo and Samwise Gamgee." Sam rolled his eyes. "But, I could also watch something else. I trust Sam's recommendations, after Harry Potter." He added, faithfully.

"Careful, buddy, Sammy's raising your son to be a nerd." Dean muttered to Cas, and he nodded, as if it was a line that needed to be answered with a nod.

Sam grinned like it was victory handed to him on a platter. "He said he could watch something else, Dean."

"What about Cas?" Dean turned to him, rotating in his seat. "Whadd'ya wanna watch, buddy?"

Cas pursed his lips, as if in deep thought. The deciding element. The one who'd tip the scales in the favor of one of the Winchesters.

"It's not Sophie's Choice," Sam grumbled sourly, as if he already knew what Cas would choose.

"Let him think!" Dean shushed his brother.

"I have reached a decision." Cas informed everyone, looking solemnly at the TV, instead of their faces. "We shall watch The Fellowship Of The Ring, tonight." He turned to Sam. "And if there's no hunts and we're at the bunker tomorrow too, Sam's choice shall prevail - that is, if Dean agrees to go against John's sayings and watch a movie on a Wednesday."

"That's fair." Jack grinned.

Dean beamed at Cas, with his little smile and his goddamn t-shirt, which was gonna drive Dean crazy in due time, he was sure. "See, Sam?" He ignored the comment on his father, because it was rare stilted humor, and in a perfect deadpan.

Sam muttered something under his breath which sounded a little bit like 'profound bond' for some reason, and rolled his eyes in defeated agreement, as Dean began to look for the movie.

"Whatever," Sam substituted, not looking up from his phone as the opening credits began to play. "The three of you can rewatch the entire LOTR series if you want, I'll just leave you to it." He shrugged.

"Hey!" Dean was annoyed. This was family movie night. Sam was supposed to be a part of it too. "Lord of the Rings is right up your alley, nerd. Why're you bitch-facing so hard tonight?"

"Well," Sam chewed on his lip. "It's very long, and I wanted to get to bed for an early night."

Dean narrowed his eyes, and hit pause on the remote just as the elves began to narrate. "Why?"

"No reason." Sam stalled. There was an almost familiar edge to his voice and -

Suddenly, it all made sense to Dean. The dots connected in his head, and Sam's reluctance to watch a three hours long movie was suddenly reasoned.

"Why, Sam?" Cas repeated, intrigued. "Are you alright? Do you not feel well?"

"He feels fine. I know," Dean cut in. "He's got a date." Sam's eyes widened before he vigorously shook his head in denial. "Some virtual crap, I bet, because you don't like to get laid, and an actual date may've involved that - but whatever is your idea of a fun time, hey, I'm not judging."

"It's not a date!" He declared.

"Then it's something like it." Dean shrugged, getting surer, with Sam's panicked expression. He knew his brother well enough to read through this cover. "Tell me Sammy, is this a video call with some chick you met online on those awful sites?"

"Dude, no." Sam balked. "I'm on no such awful site to meet chicks."

"Sure, you're not." Dean narrowed his eyes. "Then, who? Because clearly I'm right about the rest of it."

"It's," Sam looked like he didn't wanna continue, would like nothing better than to not finish the sentence. But with Cas joining in on the stare, he let out a subdued, "Uh, Rowena."

There was a stillness in the room. Dean and Cas slowly exchanged a look, and Sam flushed. "Who?"

"We know her, Dean!" Jack corrected, promptly.

"Not like Sam does," Dean shot at his brother, who looked flustered as crap, and it was all Dean had ever wanted from this conversation.

"Dean!" Sam looked grossed out, while it should've been them. He was the one dating a three hundred years old witch. "We're gonna discuss -"

"- if you're about to tell me you'll discuss a case, I swear to call you on your bullshit by calling Rowena right away." Dean challenged, definitely.

"I -" Sam pursed his lips. "I don't need to have this conversation with you, jerk."

"What about the rest of us?" Cas asked, and there was a smirk playing on his lips, which made him all the more attractive.

"None of you." Sam declared, standing up, looking offended. "You are literally infants! Don't breathe a word of this to anyone, Dean, or I'll - whatever, just watch your frigging movie, I'm out of here."

"If you're gonna do stuff, use headphones!" Dean waited until Sam was far enough to not hit Dean for it and yelled after him, as the latter marched out of the room, embarrassed. It was his duty as the older brother to make that happen, so no issues there. He turned back to Cas, grinning at him - and Jack, of course.

"The rest of us are here without the intention of leaving halfway to call a chick, right?" Dean asked, though it was a pretty stupid question for Jack - and if the answer were yes for Cas, he'd have a major-ass freak out right there.

"Right." Cas confirmed, for some reason; his voice rich and gravelly, and Dean's attention was once again taken by Cas's t-shirt - now that his kid brother was sufficiently out of the picture. True, Jack was still there, but that's a different issue. Dean had to hold a reputation in front of Sam, that he could control his senses in the presence of Cas, and that he could rein it in, and that he could do a lot of things which he was very far from, in reality.

"Me too." Jack announced, brightly, and Dean rolled his eyes.

"Jack, you're two." Cas informed him, and Dean had to stifle a snort at the very notion. Nevertheless, he toned down the weird, made himself comfortable in the couch - maybe shifting a little towards the middle, and let out a small, content sigh, for the second time this evening.

He hit play.

*

“Why do we keep making the same mistake?” Dean groaned, his head falling back on the sofa. Once again, like every tuesday ever - they’d forgotten to get food before they sat to watch the movie. Now, around half an hour in, it was all Dean could think about. But getting up seemed like an awful chore.

Cas nodded his head in agreement, grave and earnest. “It’s because we don’t learn our lesson.”

“Dean, do you want to learn said lesson tonight, by not eating?” Jack asked.

“No.” Dean glared at him. “I may be around Mr. No-Food, and Little-to-no-food, but it isn’t wearing off on me.” They’d not paused the movie to have this discussion, so he kept his eyes on the screen as he spoke. “As a human, I have a few simple needs. Such as beer and something like popcorn to chew as I watch a classic with my - I mean, with you guys.”

“Okay." Cas shuffled in his seat, beginning to stand up. Dean frowned instantly, and pulled him down, gripping his wrist. Cas easily succumbed, and was back on the couch with a surprised little bounce - looking at Dean, confused. "What? I'll get you the beer and popcorn, so that you don't have to get up. I can obviously see you don't want to."

Aww, Dean's brain melted.

"Nope." He said, out loud, popping the 'p'. "You don't need to do that. I'll go."

"I volunteer, Dean. It's not about need," Cas protested. "And you enjoy this movie more than I do."

"Sure, but I've watched it a helluva lot more too." Dean raised his eyebrows, and Cas smiled a little, one of those smiles that he reserved for Dean, and made his insides flutter.

"We could just pause it." Jack suggested, not looking away from the TV yet, for the entirety of the conversation.

"No, you keep watching, there's no need," Dean excused, standing up himself, smiling in spite of himself. Cas looked at him, and not at the screen.

"Dean," And that wonderful voice of his swept over Dean's brain and made the puddle vaporize or some shit.

"Yeah, Cas?"

"I could keep telling you what's happening, while you're in the kitchen." Cas proposed, breaking into a wider smile, all crinkly and toothy.

"Aww, Cas," Dean couldn't stop himself in time, staring blindly at Cas's face and short-circuiting in his head. And instantly cleared his throat, and added in a more composed tone. "Okay, you do that. Thanks, I guess."

Dean wondered, as he walked into the kitchen and went looking for the bacon he'd made earlier, what was up with him tonight. He was usually able to hold his tongue in front of Cas - he was usually able to look away from him, even though it took some persuasion. But there was something today, that had taken away his brain-to-mouth-and-eyes filter.

Must be the new shirt.

Dean knocked, obnoxiously loud, at Sam's door before barging in with a plate of bacon and a beer. He saw Sam fast asleep, on his front, and did not know where to go with that, so he left the table at his bedside in case he was going to wake up and resume his midnight call or something.

Then he took the rest of the food and two beers and went back to the movie room.

All through his venture, Cas had kept yelling updates through the door. "Merry and Pippin just hugged Frodo!", "And now, Frodo just met Bilbo again!", "Arwen is speaking with Frodo now!" This had made Dean grin so hard, that he almost dropped the dishes. Damn, Cas was awesome.

As Dean handed him a beer, and put the plate of bacon between them on the couch, Cas whispered to him. "And Arwen just kissed Aragorn, son of Arathorn."

And Dean stared at Cas, his blue, blue eyes and his eyebrows pinched together in concentration, and his crinkled nose - and his goddamn voice, and his way of speaking, and how he just said the words 'Aragorn, son of Arathorn' like an entire fucking dork, and how adorable it was that he'd been doing a live-commentary for Dean, and just - he was almost overpowered by a desire to kiss the perfect little smile tugging at his lips, and palm the stubble-covered cheeks, and maybe, if Jack weren't here, pull that gorgeous fucking t-shirt over his head, because it was distracting.

Dean was instantly taken aback by his own stream of thoughts. He was clearly going crazy.

He could bet it was the fault of the shirt.

*

Okay, but at this moment, Dean needs the remote.

And it's not just because the remote is on the other side, next to Cas, and Dean's brain instantly launches into a scene in his head, when Dean asks for the remote and Cas is too comfortable (he's already holding onto a large cushion like it's a blanket) to move, and he tells Dean to take it himself - and then Dean will have to lean over Cas to get it, and there'll be a moment where he's almost on top of him, and they'll happen to look at each other, and Cas's eyes will flit down to Dean's lips as Dean adjusts himself to reach the remote, on Cas's lap, and maybe Cas says something like -

That's enough.

Dean doesn't need the remote so that something like that plays out in reality. He only needs the remote to lower the volume, because Jack is asleep and he'll wake up otherwise in the war scene and noise that'll follow.

But this way or that, he can see the said scene happening.

Maybe there's a part of him which wants it to happen exactly how it happened in his head.

Maybe it will.

So, with more energy than the sentence needed, he says, "Cas! I need the remote!"

And Cas turns his head to look at Dean, an incomprehensible expression.

But instead of saying a variation of, 'take it yourself' like he was really, really supposed to -

He picks up the remote with his left hand and hands it to Dean simply.

Dean stares at it for a moment, everything forgotten, especially the reason why he needed the remote in the first place. And then he kicks himself for being a goddamn teenage girl about this, and plays off the disappointment with a 'thank you' in the manliest voice he can conjure, and he's pretty sure it makes up for the kind-of-but-not-really pornography he'd been dreaming up. Sam's irritating voice nags in his head, you're confusing reality with porn again.

Of course, Dean is too lost thinking and staring at Cas sideways when he's sure Cas can't see him - to remember to lower the volume, and Jack wakes up with a jolt at the Uruk-Hai screeching at Gimli the dwarf.

*

Jack's going off to his room. The movie isn't finished yet, but he's been dosing off throughout and Dean can't tolerate the insult to the Classic, so he tells him to just go off to sleep. It's been a long day.

"Will you both watch it whole?" Jack asks groggily, before leaving and Dean looks enquiringly at Cas. He only has to turn his head a little, because Cas is much closer to him now. They've both gravitated towards the middle.

"Of course." Cas answers. "Unless Dean needs to sleep." Dean shakes his head confidently, and Jack nods.

"Okay, goodnight dads." He mutters, at least it sounds like it, and Dean would've lost it if Cas's slight weight leaning on his arm weren't grounding him to his current location instead of somewhere panicky in his head.

"Goodnight, Jack." Dean lets out, and he's aware it doesn't sound as constipated as he thought it would, and he's proud of it.

"Dean." Cas speaks up, a moment later. "I think we should turn off the lights."

"What?" Dean blinks, mildly.

"I know neither of us will want to get up later." Cas justifies. "So we might as well do it now."

"Can't you," Dean grumbles. "Can't you use your mojo to push the switch, or..?"

Cas sighs. Then blinks, and the entire room goes dark. Cas's eyes open, and they're gleaming like blue halos of light in the suddenly dark room - and Dean can still make out his face, in the light of it. It's all hard lines and small smiles, from the little he sees. "I need to remember I can do these things, don't I?" He mumbles.

"Yeah, our human incapabilities are wearing off on ya." Dean tells him and they start looking at the screen again.

"You're not incapable if you have to stand up to turn off the lights." Cas replies, and Dean just hums in response.

A little later, Cas speaks again, and he sounds happier almost. "Dean."

"Uh-huh?" Dean looks away from Gandalf on the screen, to look at the angel.

"Did you notice Jack kept falling asleep?"

Dean pauses. "Oh." He smiles too, it coming over him all of a sudden. "Yeah."

"That means," Cas's tone is bright, and Dean can hear his smile. "He's enough human to fall asleep in the middle of a movie, again."

"Human incapabilities strike again," Dean teases, and Cas chuckles audibly and it's a really, really good moment. Although yeah, it's a bit too domestic for Dean to be perfectly at calm - Cas and he are sitting in the dark, watching a movie they've watched so many times before, discussing the progress of the nephilim they've been raising (with Sam, of course) and Dean has his hand around Cas's seat - in what he now feels guilty on realizing is the oldest trick in every guy's playbook. They're both more in the middle of the couch than not, and the beers have been drained to the last drop. One of them doesn't sleep, the other won't - and then there's Cas's perfect t-shirt, which shall drive Dean to madness each time he sees it, and beyond.

*

Slowly, the arm which is on the couch, falls on Cas's shoulder - and it's a rather rapid course from there to it being slung around Cas, with Cas tucked under it and leaning into Dean so that it's comfortable.

It's not that Cas's head is on Dean's chest, or not even that his fingers are playing with the fabric of Cas's shirt - its just that they're so close to doing that, and somehow Dean can't pull back this time.

Like, he suddenly realizes, he's been doing forever.

It's again, a good thing that he pretty much knows LOTR scene by scene, and in spite of almost completely being distracted by everything Cas, he answers all trivial questions Cas mumbles at him in that deep, deep baritone - and there's a heat pooling in Dean's insides, and he can't quite place if its the spot behind his ribs, or further south.

Both sounds most appropriate.

*

Dean is not proud of this, but he fell asleep.

It's not that he didn't finish the movie, because he did - he remembers the last scene (or it could be from a previous watching that he recalls it) but it's just that he fell asleep right there. Next to Cas.

No, not even next to him. Pretty much wrapped around him. And somehow that's - not so wild, after all. It kinda feels awesome. Its not even morning yet, so he has more hours.

He wakes up with his hair tickling his breath and coughs mildly when he realizes that he'd buried his nose in Cas's hair - and his lips on his head, apparently. He straightens, but is sure to not make much movement - because Cas doesn't sleep like they do, he rather drifts off to a sorta-catatonic state but stays very much awake and alert. He doesn't want to wake Cas up, because the angel looks so comfortable, nestled on Dean's chest - that it somehow invokes a feeling of pride in him.

And love.

And that's that. The not-freaking-out segment of this story abruptly comes to an end, and Dean clenches his fist to stop himself from beginning to tremble.

He ends up with a fistful of that goddamn shirt which Dean blames for everything in that night, and Cas stirring awake, and straightening. The weight rested on Dean's abdomen is lost, and it feels weird and colder.

"It's seven minutes to four. Ante Meridiem." Cas announces, in a voice which is roughened by lack of use.

"You should go back to sleep." Dean begs, because Cas doesn't need to see Dean get anxious about the whole pile of feelings he's beginning to feel crushed under.

"Dean." Cas says, in that voice, and straightens some more. He's at Dean's height again, and their noses are inches apart, and Cas looks worried about him. "Dean?" He repeats, and he's concerned, and he's perfect, and his voice is something else, and the way he looks at him is something else like Dean is worthy of all his attention somehow - and the emotions are brimming and he doesn't know what to do with them until he -

He jerks himself ahead, and grabs Cas's shirt for good measures, pressing his lips against Cas's.

It's a moment of bravery, it's a moment of impulse, and it's a moment of utter stupidity because Cas doesn't react -

Until he does, and he kisses back, and he's excited and into it and Dean's taken aback by his vigor and in awe of his own hands which are grappling at Cas's t-shirt for friction as he moans into Cas's mouth.

"I blame the t-shirt," He whines, when they pull away, to look at each other better. And he does.

Of course, he's not an idiot (except for the many times that he is). But what he definitely isn't, is dense enough to not realize that this had been over ten years in the making.

These urges were familiar, and suppressed each time - the sudden feelings were overpowering, except he'd learn to deal with them tactfully, by crushing them with every means possible.

But what had changed today and he'd actually acted on it instead of swallowing it, had to be the tee. It fit like magic, and it perfectly showcased his lean, muscled chest - and gave a peak of his collarbones, and if he stretched, his obliques - and it was as black as his hair in the dark, and ah, it had to be the shirt.

Because otherwise, he didn't know what it could be, that had made tonight - today - this.

Cas still had his hand on Dean's bicep. "This one?" He looks down at himself. "I got it from your closet months ago."

"What -"

"And, you blame it?" He repeats.

"No," Dean shakes his head, anxiously, truthfully as he captures his lips in a kiss again. Slotting in place against each other, and as loving as they were passionate - he had had no idea that kissing Cas would be this amazing. "I love it. I'm gonna need you to keep wearing it. On Thanksgiving, I'm gonna be thankful for it."

Cas laughs against Dean's lips, and says something which is lost in the bliss of the moment.

Nevermind. He has all the moments after this, to listen to him. But he only has this one, at the end of a Tuesday movie night, to enjoy their first kiss (he's pretty sure all the short, little kisses just make up one major kiss). So he does.

*

Edit: Thank you for reading! Would like to tag @iamcharliebradburylevelperfect @awkward-penguin-in-a-trenchcoat @all-or-nothing-baby @styggtroll @notyoursweetbaboo @moderatelypanickedbisexual @but-for-the-gods-three-days and @emmii4 ! If you don't wanna be tagged, I'll remove you from the list, just ask! Have an awesome day!

[mskathywriteswords]

Cupcakes at Midnight - Chapter 2

No warnings this chapter.

I look at myself in the mirror, wondering where all the years have gone. It feels like last week I was a blushing bride, and yesterday I was picking up the pieces from a failed marriage. But it's been over a decade.

My phone is in the kitchen, I left it there purposely so that I wouldn't obsess over looking at it every five seconds.

Instead, I go through my regular nighttime routine, taking my time with each step. The normalcy of it comforts me. I can pretend that I'm not freaking out on the inside. I scoop the cat litter and refill his water as he meows, begging like he's never been fed before.

I walk back and look at the cupcakes. The cinnamon crunch is gone, of course, but the other three still intrigue me. I've never even heard of some of the flavor combinations Ava's made for me. But I want to try them.

The thought of putting them in my mouth makes me blush, which is ridiculous because surely I'm a grownup who can think dirty things without a childish reaction. I close my eyes and slide my tongue across the silky frosting. The tang of raspberry rises up and makes my mouth water even more. I'm about to dive in to the cake part of the cupcake when I notice my phone lighting up and buzzing.

Ivy must be late night texting me, maybe she's fighting with Matt again. I swear, I don't know if those two will make it to their actual wedding.

But there is a tinge of hope that it's not Ivy.

After debating forcing myself to wait longer to check, I pick the phone up and click the button on the side so I can preview the message.

It's from her.

What if she texted back to ask me to stop texting?

That would be dumb, since she's the one that gave me her number, right?

What if she says it was all a mistake and that note was meant for Ivy? That would make sense; Ivy is gorgeous and statuesque, and ... not me.

But she didn't give Ivy the box of cupcakes, did she?

I drive myself crazy with what-ifs, so I just open the text.

I'm so happy to hear from you. What are you up to tonight? Hope it's not too late to text

I start to tap out a reply, then delete it. Maybe I should wait until tomorrow to reply? Then I realize her message was blue, meaning she'd see the three dots if she happened to be looking at her phone.

And either way, even if it was only going to be a friendship, did I really want to wait and play games? Wasn't I done with all of that?

Another exciting Friday night, wrapped up in a blanket on the couch watching Netflix, very much enjoying these cupcakes. Thank you again. And no, not too late to text - I use the quiet functions once I go to sleep, so you're good to text me anytime

I smile, hoping I'm coming across as genuinely as I feel. When I see the three dots pop up on her side of the screen, my smile grows.

What's on your current to-binge list? Glad you're enjoying the cupcakes. Thank you for inspiring them

Thank god she's a text-in-complete-words person.

Before I walk back to the couch, I pour myself another cup of tea and eye the last two cupcakes. How many cupcakes was too many in one night? I shrug and grab the orange-swirled one.

Well, right now I'm in the middle of Derry Girls. Still have to catch up on Handmaid's on Hulu, but that won't be until after I get through a few (probably boring) documentaries.

Instead of clicking the phone off, I set it on the arm of the couch, face up, so I can see if she replies again. Maybe my TV choices would make her realize how utterly snooze-y my life is.

OMG, which epi of HT are you on? Haven't seen DG, good?

We exchange texts for a few hours, discussing different movies and tv series, finding common likes and dislikes. By the time I yawn for the first time, finally acknowledging how tired I am, I realize it's past 3 am.

Holy shit, I have to get to bed soon. Will you be around tomorrow?

Jane from five years ago would have thought it was being very forward of me to ask, but right-now Jane is enjoying the conversation and ready for more from life.

I will. Any chance we could continue this conversation in person?

I tap out my reply before I even have time to think it through or be too self-conscious.

Absolutely

Awesome. Let's play it by ear, but I'll see you tomorrow, J

The temptation to leave it there gets over-ruled by my giddy, smooshy feelings.

Goodnight. Sweet dreams

That's the last reply in the series, and I set my phone on the nightstand, long ago having moved to bed to charge my phone. I roll to my side and think about what tomorrow will bring. Cat curls up at my feet and makes his displeasure that we're all still awake very well known. My eyes can barely stay open, but my brain is a freight train of excitement.

The next morning, I debate what "too early" to text would be. I don't want to seem overly eager, but I don't want to intentionally withhold a message just to play some weird unwritten rule game.

I get my laundry done, sweep the kitchen, and putter as much as I can, until finally around mid-day, my phone chirps. Cat looks up at me, ever-annoyed that his nap has been interrupted.

Beer, pizza, and extraordinarily dark dystopian future tv watching?

I shake my head and laugh.

What could make for a better Saturday night?

I can think of a few things. For now, it sounds pretty good, right? Wanna meet at your place? Is that too weird / too soon?

Was that a date? Meeting at my place to watch tv?

Sure, not too soon at all. What time?

We make plans for a few hours later, and I'm still unsure if it's a date, but I decide it doesn't matter. I want more fun in my life, so even if we just hang out and get to know each other better, wasn't that the point?

When the doorbell rings, I practically jump out of the chair. I open the door, and Ava looks like she's just come from some punk band concert that would be way too cool for me to even consider. I laugh to myself.

"Hey, come in."

Her hands are full, but she makes her way past me, finding the kitchen immediately.

"I wasn't sure what pizza toppings you like? I don't know how we didn't discuss that. But I went with half cheese, half pepperoni, just to be safe. Sound okay?"

She smiles and a part of me wants to melt at how genuine it is.

"Yeah, sounds great. I'll just grab plates. Do you need a fork and knife?"

The look on her face is absolutely fucking priceless.

"A fork and knife? For what?"

"Oh man, Ivy is so funny, she had me convinced for a while that everyone eats pizza with a fork and knife. Thank god it's just her. I was starting to question everything about my twenties."

"No way. Pizza is a single hand, no utensil kind of food. That's part of what makes it so perfect. I wasn't sure what kind of beer you drink, so I just got something generic."

We open our cans and take them, the pizza, and a roll of paper towels to the coffee table. Between bites, we talk about the season of the show and how we each think it's going; we make predictions on where it might end up. Then finally, when the pizza is gone and we're left with just awkward silence, we put the show on.

I can see Ava looking around my apartment as we watch, maybe trying to learn things about my life? Her eyes are on a particular frame over my fireplace.

"That's my niece, Hailey," I say, smiling.

We're sitting across the couch from each other; not too far, but not too close. Cat was always between us, annoyingly adorable as ever.

"Do you have any siblings?"

She smiles. "Nope. Only child."

"Does that get lonely? I bet it was glorious growing up. No one to fight with for the TV remote, or what kind of pizza to have."

Ava shrugs and smiles, then turns her attention back to the TV. Her body had been angled toward mine, but she shifts, and then scoots closer. Horrible things happen on the show in front of us, but right in the room? She laces her fingers through mine and my whole body warms.

Is this what it's supposed to feel like?

A few hours, laughs, and cupcakes later, the sun has set and we're several episodes into another series. I'm surprised when Ava gets up, yawning. Her arms go over her head as she stretches, and I swear I almost die when I see a sliver of her skin between her shirt and pants.

"I open the bakery in a few hours. I'm sorry, I'm terrible company right now. I probably haven't said ten words in the last hour."

"No need to apologize," I say, standing and touching her arm. "You've been great company. I feel bad I've been keeping you. You were up so late last night, too. All my fault." I laugh, trying to downplay my disappointment that the night is ending.

"Mutual blame," she says, smiling and tugging my arm. It could be a friendly gesture, the hug, but I can't help but hope it's the beginning of something more than a friendship.

[inkstaineddaughter]

Soft Drop

Chapter 8: Not Losing a Daughter

Charlie/Reader

Fluff, implied past smut, light angst

3k words

You and Charlie can still risk lunch together, at least. As long as it’s not too early in the day or late enough to rouse suspicion. You also avoid ordering anything too sexy, like a French Dip or cherry pie. And you’re careful to not so much as brush a finger against his for fear that his touch would reveal your whole heart to everyone in the café. Who this guy? Hell no! I’ve known him forever, he’s like my big brother! This thing is entirely, 100 % platonic.

Charlie sighs into his clam chowder. He’s going to taste so fishy later, but you decide to let it go and pick your battles. “I feel like, with all this moving in and things changing as rapidly as they are, I think maybe we ought to talk to your parents?” he asks. “Soon?” The thought of talking to someone and saying everything out loud, is harrowing. Especially your parents. They’ve always been supportive of your choices, no matter how ridiculous they seemed. They’ve allowed you freedom to discover things on your own and always welcomed you back with open arms when things went awry. But you’re sure that even spin adultery into a learning opportunity. And will you get the A-Word out of your head? It’s not even true, really. Stop beating yourself up.

             “No, you’re totally right,” you agree. Parents? What parents? You never had any parents. No parents and that is not your boyfriend tight there. With the bowl of soup and the big brown eyes. Shit. “That’s going to be one hell of an interesting conversation though, isn’t it?” Ideally, you’d like to remain the Other Woman until the very last divorce detail is settled, then surprise your mom and dad with a flashy reveal. God, you’re so fucking in denial.

             “Your dad?” Charlie asks, gesturing with his spoon. “He’s not the ask-for-permission type, is he?” You snort a nose full of iced tea as you laugh mid-swallow. “Oh, hell no!” you cough. “We are too progressive for that.” Your dad would not be pleased at Charlie for asking a question like that. How dare you besmirch my strong, independent daughter’s honor?!  And though it won’t ever happen, you do like the fantasy scenario of your dad slapping Charlie in the face with a glove and challenging him to a duel over it. “Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Real-World Charlie says as he passes you a napkin so you can wipe your eyes.

             “Yeah, but Dad likes you!” And that part is, at least true. Even back in school, while you kept a steady stream of drama geeks coming through the house, Charlie and your dad always seemed to find something to connect over. Maybe it was because he was so mature. A wise and worldly graduate student.  And your mom? Well, she automatically became everyone’s mom, regardless of maturity. And you never said anything then and probably still wouldn’t bring it up, but you suspect that Charlie secretly enjoyed being taken care of.  

             “Yeah, well everybody likes you until you’re fucking their daughter,” Charlie mumbles as he glances over your shoulder and signals the waiter for the check. And you sigh. Really, who doesn’t live together and have sex on every single piece of furniture before their married? Or before they’re divorced?

             It’s a miracle how quickly schedules can be coordinated enough for everyone to be in the same place at the same time. Even so, you’re already hoarding newspapers and bidding farewell to a few of your more repellant articles of clothing (It’s your gym shirt! From high school!). The idea of co-habitation is absolutely intoxicating. But by Saturday afternoon, everything looks normal. Just bringing your frazzled, mid-divorce BFF over to Mom and Dad’s for lunch. And it really is all about the high neck blouse this season.  

 You arrive at your parents’ door with the customary bottle of wine. It didn’t seem like all that long ago that you would show up at their door with the offering of your dirty laundry. The Greeting Ritual continues with cheek kisses, hugs and handshakes. “How have you been?” your dad asks Charlie after one of those manly handshake-hugs where they try to knock each other’s vertebrae loose with the back pats. “One day at a time, you know?” Charlie responds. It’s a vague answer. A cop-out answer. Kind of like ‘Living the Dream’. No one even knows what The Dream actually is. Also, according to your dad, the wine is a ‘good year”. No one is really sure what that means either.  

             The subject of divorce follows you down the hall into the family room. Somehow, it makes you feel left out, makes you linger in the doorway like you’re watching your best friend from school and your best friend from music camp meet each other and bond without you. Your mom nods sympathetically. “Divorces have the power to cause so much damage, they really do. Especially with kids involved.”

             “You let us know if you need anything, all right?” Your dad settles back into his favorite spot on the sofa and pats the cushion next to him. Charlie hesitates and you meet his eye from across the room and duck your head. That way, no one can see you press your lips together and fight the giggle rising in your throat. He did say ‘anything’. Maybe asking for his daughter’s hand might be the right strategy after all.  

             “Drink, Charlie?” your mom asks as she breezes past you on her way to the kitchen.

             “Scotch?”

             “Rocks?”

             “You know me too well.” Charlie smiles fondly at her and you curse yourself for thinking that this would be awkward and awful. Your mom stops beside you and taps your arm. But you’re too engrossed in the conversation happening between Charlie and your dad to respond. It sounds like it might be important.

             “You still into Ken Burns?” your dad asks. Charlie nods as your mom taps you even harder. “(Y/N), come and help me in the kitchen for a minute.”

             “What an antiquated and sexist thing to say!” you hiss, but you follow her anyway. Behind you, you can hear Charlie and your dad continue their conversation. “1981,” your dad sounds almost offended. “A New Yorker, born and bred and never seen a documentary about the Brooklyn Bridge! Unbelievable!”

             In the kitchen, Charlie’s laughter is muted and your mom has already poured the scotch and uncorked the bottle of wine. She pushes the glass across the counter at you and fixes you with a patented penetrating Mom Stare. You feel a bit like a teenager again, like Y/N, did you sneak out of the house/raid the liquor cabinet/order a pay-per-view movie? You’re ready to confess anything when she asks, “Is Charlie all right? Really?”

Simultaneous relief and affection for your mom make you weak. Even if her interrogation skills are on point with you, she’s still “Everyone’s Mom” just like she always was, watching out for you and all your friends.

             “He’s okay,” you sigh, watching the ice cubes float and bump into each other in Charlie’s Scotch.  “Just… he’s just really stressed out. I admit, I have, like, zero experience with divorces, but this whole thing just seems like a complete circus. Like a circus on fire.” Your mom chuckles softly as she passes a glass of wine to you. “Welcome to being a real grownup, dear heart,” she says and holds up her own glass. “It’s weird and it’s messy and very seldom does any of it make sense.” She’s about to find out how “real” of a grownup you’ve become. Cheers!  

             The Ritual resumes as you eat and you and your three most loved people in the world are reduced to making small talk. You parents question you about work, sleep and vegetables. You compliment them both on dinner and your mom congratulates Charlie on the play. Your dad tells you that you have excellent taste in wine and you say thank you. Who’s turn is it next? Truth or Dare, Charlie? I dare you to eat my pussy after we get home tonight.    

             You fold your napkin in your lap and clear your throat. Should you tap your fork on your glass? That’s what people do, right? They’re all turning their eyes toward you anyway and you halfway expect somebody to pass you a mic. Dammit. You swallow a (rather large) sip of wine and continue.  “Okay, so, a thing happened,” you say. Well that sounded stupid. What thing?  The Russian Revolution? The Beatles at Shea Stadium? You peeing your pants at school in kindergarten? Both Charlie and your parents are giving you confused and concerned looks.

             “A reasonably sized thing,” you elaborate. Across the table, Charlie’s brows shoot up at your choice of words and you stumble. Size, right. Like his dick. Maybe if you just grabbed him by the collar and kissed the fuck out of him, Mom and Dad would get the message. Oh, you’re going to need more wine for this. “We,” you continue and pause again. You set your glass back down on the table. “We” sounds too accusatory and you feel like you should take more of the blame for this announcement. “I mean, I…” Shit! You’ve already blown it. It’s done. Seizing up your glass, you down the rest of your wine in two gulps. “Charlie and I have been sleeping together for the last, what?” You glance over at him for confirmation. “Six weeks?”

             “About that,” Charlie shrugs, following your lead and throwing caution to the wind. Your dad leans forward and frowns, resting his chin on his hands. You recognize it immediately as his “Physiatrist Pose”. Lord help you now, this is it.

             “Goodness!” your mom says after swallowing half of her own drink. “When I asked you if he was all right, that wasn’t quite what I meant.” And you’re a thirteen-year-old girl again whining, Mooooom, you’re emBARrassing me!

             But your attention turns immediately back to your dad. “Why?” he asks. A simple question, but one with so many explanations and excuses and little lies and apologies that can be woven into the answer. When Dad asks questions like these, they’re never mocking or angry. Just honest and open. But always expecting an honest answer in return.

              You hesitate and glance in Charlie’s direction because who else is going to help you when Mom and Dad have you on the rack? He’s frowning slightly, but still maintaining eye contact with all three of you. As you watch, he sets his glass down and tucks a stray lock of hair behind his ear.              

             “Because I love him,” you blurt out. “I don’t know if I always have, God that sounds so stupid, or just if recent developments sort of made it happen.” Your dad is looking more sympathetic now and less like the objective medical professional and Charlie is looking only at you. “And it’s awful?” you go on. “I know that it’s awful to fall in love with someone who’s married and not even have the decency to wait for a divorce.”

             “People out there have done so much worse.” Your mom motions for you to hand her your empty glass and she refills it. “Lots of grey areas when it comes to issues of morality, my girl. And ‘Awful’ is always a relative term.” You smile gratefully at her. Suddenly, you can’t wait to strut down Broadway, wearing your scarlet A and you know you’ll rock that shit because you’re a grown ass woman who can fuck any guy she wants.  

             But the voice of your dad brings you back to earth.  He sits back in his chair and says, “You’ll have to forgive me for this, Charlie, because it really is a ridiculous question, but just what exactly are your intentions with my daughter?” Instead of bristling at the question, which you honestly expected, Charlie continues to look thoughtful. “It’s not a ridiculous question at all,” he shrugs. “I think it’s a totally valid question, especially considering the circumstances here. And I completely understand it.”  He glances back at you, smiles slightly and turns his attention back to your dad.

             “My son”, Charlie continues, “Now, granted he’s only eight, so there is quite a difference. But it scares the hell out of me to think that one day he’ll go out into the world and the rest of the world won’t love him as much as I do.” Are his eyes getting teary? You can’t tell from where you’re sitting. Tears are fucking pay dirt for your dad. A man who’s in touch with his emotions? He loves nothing more.

             Charlie continues. “I’d rather just keep him away from all of it, never let him experience anything that could hurt him. But of course, it doesn’t work that way.” Your dad nods knowingly at this statement and suddenly it’s just a chat, father to father. Only wanting what’s best for their children. You watch your dad and Charlie settle on common ground and meet in the middle. You realize how much your hand is shaking and carefully set down your glass.

             “As far as my intentions with (Y/N), I intend to love her. I already love her. And I intend to do everything I can to show her how much she is loved.” You know you should be watching your dad right now, scanning his face and body language for clues. Is he angry? Are his arms folded? Does he have a single glove in his hand? But even in the dining room where you grew up, the hallowed site of Thanksgiving dinners, birthday cakes and algebra homework, Charlie is the most familiar thing in the room. And you can’t tear your eyes away from him.

             “But I don’t want to spoil her and give her everything she wants, either.” Didn’t you warn him not to put you on a pedestal? And didn’t he tell you that he didn’t want you that far away? All that wine must be going to your brain, because this might be the part where you actually pass out. Charlie is frowning now, trying to find the right words for both you and your dad. “I want to work together with her,” he continues. “Create things with her and solve problems together. I intend to cherish her, absolutely, and always, always support her. But I’m not let her get away with shit either.” He looks from your dad to you and smiles. “Just like she’s always done for me.”

             Motherfucker, he’s going to make you cry too. In front of your parents. Your dad finally turns to look at you and you know he’s still expecting an honest response.  “I’m going to marry him,” you blurt. It’s one part defiant, one part simpering Disney Princess, but Daddy I LOVE him!

             Your mom coughs and splutters on her wine. “M-marry?!” she chokes. “Is it a little soon? Just a bit?”

             “Not right away!” you argue. “Jesus, Mother! Not like, before the ink on the divorce papers is dry, but eventually. Why not?” Why not watch him sign papers on the 3rd floor, fuck him in the elevator on the way up and have the Justice of the Peace marry you on the 7th floor?

             “Is this the first you’ve heard of this?” Dad cocks his head in Charlie’s direction with a playful smile. The camaraderie between them holding up still.

             Charlie scoffs and frowns. “No, of course not. I asked her. Last week sometime.”

             “Saturday,” you whisper. Then louder.  “It was Saturday, remember? We went to dinner that night.”  You can tell from the way he looks at you that Charlie absolutely remembers. But your parents do not need to be privy to the all the events of that night: fingering in the cab, fingering in the hotel room, sex on the bed, sex in the shower, Charlie’s tongue in your cunt. Nope, just dinner.

             Your mom scrunches up her face and shrugs. “Well, it would definitely be frowned upon in polite society.”

             “Considered adultery,” your dad adds and you deflate. Fuck you, A-Word! Charlie shakes his head, looking down at his napkin. “I admit, Mr. (L/N) the timing is not ideal.”

             “But polite society never had a place in this house.” And now your eyes are totally tearing up as you smile at your mom. She’s so great. “Speaking of houses,” you sniff and dab at your eyes. “I’m moving in with him. I gave notice yesterday.” And this might be the point where you push things too far. Your dad does an honest-to-God facepalm and Mom’s eyes are as big as Grandma’s Noritake china.

             “Is it…?” she asks. “Is it a great idea? Now? Ummmm. Jumping in a little soon.” You’re the impulsive, emotional one. But Charlie, older and wiser, a responsible father for God’s sake! He should be discouraging this! Well, fuck that. Time to bring out the princess again. But this time, she’s not a naive and insufferable twit. This time, she’s a real grown-up. Wearing a high-neck blouse instead of her frilly princess dress.

             And you explain to them, in detail, about offsetting the cost of Charlie’s court expenses, about the trial moving and all the strain it’s going to cause. Henry.  And, really, this isn’t just you impetuously throwing yourself onto some guy’s dick. It’s Charlie! Look at him! Sitting there at the table in his cardigan and his hair is so pretty and yes, it really is as soft as it looks! “Guys look,” you say to Mom and Dad. “This is something that we’ve given so much thought to! We’ve done the homework, made lists and crunched numbers.”

             “It makes sense,” Charlie adds. “It really does.”  

             “Plus,” you reach for your refilled wine glass and shrug. “I’m not exactly asking permission, here.” Jesus Christ, that came out sounding a lot nastier than you had intended and you splutter an apology. If the bratty princess’s parents don’t punish her, then her betrothed just may have to bend her over his own knee. That might be something that warrants further investigation. But it will have to wait until later. “I don’t have anything to hide from you guys,” you tell your mom and dad. “You deserve better than that. But this is what it is.” And they’re still there.    

             In the end, all Mom and Dad do is offer tentative congratulations and support you, and Charlie now too, with unconditional love. “Family is family,” your dad says firmly, sounding much more like a mob boss than a child psychiatrist. Of course, they also offer to help you pack and move. Since a crew of burly stagehands has also been recruited to help, it should be easy work now.

      And when you stand by the front door getting ready to leave, Charlie holds out your jacket for you and your mom touches his cheek. “Take care of yourself now too,” she reminds him. Still everyone’s mom.

[i-write-fanfics-to-procrastinate]

Kyoru: Paint

@mautrino It is finished. 

Anyways, I didn’t edit this or reread this at all lol --because I wanted to share the fluff asap. :)

Kyoru Oneshot: Paint

What time is it? Tohru stretched, rolling over to glance at her alarm clock. Why hadn’t it gone off? Did Kyo shut it off again before he fell asleep? A sticky note was slapped on the top of the little clock, thick marker in familiar messy scrawl: It’s Saturday. Sleep in, for once. Tohru shook her head with a smile. Her husband was going to be the death of her. She could through a sliver between her thick curtains. The sun was shining bright. It was pretty late in the morning. What were they going to do for breakfast?

          “Mama, are you awake?” Little feet pressed against her side. Tohru turned to see their oldest daughter stretched across Kyo’s side of the bed. Aiko was only five. She still had chubby cheeks, little fingers, and little feet that—when she refused to go to bed—Kyo would tickle until she laughed so hard tears formed at the corners of her big brown eyes.

          “I’m awake,” Tohru smiled, reaching out to brush her fingers through Aiko’s short-cropped auburn hair. “Where’s Kishi?”

          “With daddy,” Aiko said.

          “Did you eat breakfast already?”

          “Mmhmm!” Aiko nodded matter-of-factly, and then sat up. “Daddy made breakfast.”

          “Tsk, everyone knows Daddy can’t cook,” Tohru huffed, slipping out of bed. “What did you have? Ice cream? You know you need nutritious meals to keep you strong.”

          “Daddy said just once is okay every once in a while!” Aiko said, hopping off the bed. Tohru narrowed her eyes. They had ice cream didn’t they? Tohru slipped a light bathrobe on over her nightgown and followed Aiko out into the living area. “Daddy!!!” Aiko shouted, “Mama’s awake!”

          “Aiko,” Tohru heard her husband’s voice from the kitchen, “Did you get dressed?” Aiko didn’t respond, she glanced over at Tohru with wide eyes. Tohru sighed.

          “Go get dressed, Princess,” she said. Aiko giggled as she dashed back towards her bedroom, barefoot tapping across hardwood floor. Tohru let out a happy sigh and turned the corner into the kitchen—

          “W-what is going on here?” She gasped, freezing where she stood. Kyo had apparently spread newspaper out across the entire floor, and their two-year-old son—Kishi—was covered in paint. Every color imaginable was spread across the newspaper. Several handprints were pressed against the refrigerator, and Kyo’s arms, shirt, and face had suffered several attacks as well.

          “Uhhh…” Kyo smiled up at her guiltily. “Finger painting?”

          Tohru bit her lip, trying to suppress a laugh. As confused as she had been moments ago, the scene before her was hilarious. And Kyo looked adorable. Tohru sighed, kneeling down next to him, being careful not to get her nightgown in the paint.

          “You’ve created a masterpiece, Kishi,” she said, “But we are going to have to give you a bath later.” She couldn’t even see the orange under all the blue paint that was drying his hair into spikes. Kyo let out a laugh.

          “I don’t know, Kitten, he looks kind of good as a paint monster.”

          Tohru tapped her finger in some green paint and then booped his nose, “Speak for yourself, Kitten.” For a moment Kyo’s cheeks turned bright red, just like they always did when she called him that. Tohru could even see his blush under their son’s numerous handprints. And then that wild, mischievous look of determination crossed his face and he was on his feet in a second.

          “I think it’s time Mama joined the fun, Kishi!” He beamed, reaching out to grab Tohru’s hand.

          Tohru shrieked, dodging his grasp, and burst into laughter, “Eh! Kyo! Ah! I don’t want paint all over my clothes—!” Kyo took a bounding step forward, managed to grab Tohru’s waist, but slipped on paint, and they both stumbled backward—falling with a thud onto the mess of newspaper and finger paint.

          “Ow…” Kyo groaned, rubbing the back of his head. Tohru slowly looked up, pressed close against his chest, and when their eyes met, she burst out laughing.

          “I’m sorry Kyo! If you weren’t covered in paint before you certainly are now.” She leaned over to kiss him, smearing paint across her own cheeks and chin. Kyo laughed.

          “So are you,” he murmured, brushing his thumb over her nose. “Cute.” They were interrupted by Aiko’s laughter from the doorway, and only a moment later Kishi joined in with squealing giggles. Tohru rolled off of her husband to face their children. Aiko was dressed, her pants on backward, and two different colored socks on.

          “You both look silly!” She giggled.

          “Silly!” Kishi repeated, pointing at Kyo.

          “Yeah, we’re pretty ridiculous, aren’t we?” Kyo shrugged.

          “Let’s get cleaned up,” Tohru shook her head with a smile, “And then we can make a real breakfast.” She glanced at Kyo pointedly.

          “Hey!” Kyo narrowed his eyes at Aiko as he pulled himself to his feet, “That was our secret.”

          “Come on, Kyo,” Tohru said, lifting Kishi up onto her hip and entwining her fingers with Kyo’s. “Let me help you wash the paint out of your hair.”

          They spread multicolored footprints across the hardwood floor to the bathroom, where Tohru drew a bath for Kishi. The two-year-old was happy enough to play in the shallow water while Tohru ran her fingers through Kyo’s hair under the faucet. He came up sopping wet, but still smiling, leaning in to steal another kiss.

          “Kyo,” Tohru murmured against his lips.

          “Hmm?”

          “You’re a good father,” she whispered.

          Kyo’s expression grew serious, “I try… But you’re a wonderful mother. And it’s hard to beat that.”

          Tohru glanced over at Kishi in the bathtub. The bathwater was turning gray from all the colors mixing together. “What if I told you…” she paused, “What if I told you that soon we’ll have one more little person for you to get all covered in finger paint?”

          “Are you…?” Kyo breathed, eyes wide, “Are you...?”

          “Shh!” Tohru laughed, pressing a finger to his lips, “I’m still early along but—”

          “Tohru!” He threw his arms around her and lifted her up off her feet.

          “Kyo!” She squeaked, “You’re going to crush me!”

          “Sorry! I…” he beamed down at her and stole another kiss. “Three kids. And it’s crazy already. What will three be like?” Then his eyes darkened with realization. “Less sleep.”

          “More whole,” Tohru said, and the smile returned to Kyo’s lips.

          “Yeah. More whole. I like that.”

          “Now come on,” Tohru said, “I’ll have to do laundry, so lets get these clothes off!”

They came out of the bathroom, clean and ready to clean up all the newspaper only to find Aiko covered in paint in the living room. Kyo’s hair stood on end. “What. Are. You. Doing?”

          “I wanted to paint flowers on the wall here,” she said matter-of-factly. “Don’t they look pretty?”

[let-it-raines]

I'm going to follow the "it's the time for giving" motto of that annon and give you my love and admiration, because you and your writing always brighten my day. Also, could I ask for a CS fic where someone walks by a street musician every day in her way to work and she always bring him coffe and something to eat because she thinks he's poor and could use some help, but actually he's like a super star and just plays in the street for fun? 😘

Hi, Anon! Thanks so much for your kind words! They brighten my day, and I really appreciate you and want to give you all of my love and admiration! I love this idea, and I really hope you like this prompt answer!

She’s not exactly sure how it started, but she stops by The Bean (yeah, she knows it’s a cheesy name for a coffee shop but it’s better and cheaper than Starbucks) and buys two cups of coffee five days a week. One is black, the bitter smell of the hot liquid invading her senses, while the other is full of sugar and milk, really more of a latte than anything. But she’s never been a fan of coffee alone. She likes when it’s mixed in with sweets, and she can get her sugar and caffeine fix all at once.

If she has to walk a few extra blocks to burn it off, it’s worth it.

So she buys two cups, walks out of The Bean, and makes her way to the office, her heels tucked away in her purse while her feet are clothed in white tennis shoes to walk the New York streets. She looks like every movie cliché of a New Yorker, but she doesn’t care. She’s not crazy enough to wear heels while walking (and walking and walking) through crowds to get to work.

The sounds of horns honking, people talking, tires screeching, and buildings being repaired with the loudest drills imaginable fill her ears for a few blocks until things start to get quieter and calmer, Manhattan someone feeling a little peaceful. And like every morning, she hears a guitar being expertly plucked and a melodic voice singing along to a song from at least half a century ago, and she smiles at the familiar, wonderful sound.

The source of the music comes into sight when she turns the corner and passes the thirty-third street subway station. She could have swiped her metro card and ridden here, sure, but she’s got to work off the latte (and maybe the pizza she ate last night). Plus, she likes watching the people, tourists mixed with locals, and all of the different cultures being combined. She’s not saying New York City is the greatest city in the world, but it’s got to come close with the way it’s like walking through different countries and cultures all in one day.

Today’s apparently a Frank Sinatra day for her favorite street performer, a fitting choice for New York City, and she can already feel herself humming along as she gets closer and closer to him. Today he’s got on an old Yankees cap, the blue edges fraying on the side, as well as his usual jeans with worn out holes in the knees and his trusty black leather jacket that he must take expert care of for the condition it’s in. He smiles when he sees her, nodding his head in acknowledgment, but not stopping his playing. He’s really brilliant, could probably be somebody if he wasn’t a street musician in an area where it’s mostly poor recent graduates and curry restaurants, but life isn’t fair and sometimes the talented don’t get their big break.

When she checks her watch, she realizes she doesn’t have time to stay and listen or chat, as they sometimes do, so she carefully places his black coffee down next to his guitar case, flashes him a smile, and is then off to work.

And so goes nearly every morning of her life.

Tuesday he sings the songs of Elvis. She gives him his coffee.

Wednesday it’s the Beatles, his one voice somehow capturing some of the magic of all of theirs. She gives him his coffee.

Thursday it’s Bing Crosby. She gives him his coffee.

Friday he jams out to the Backstreet Boys. She gives him his coffee and a tip for making her laugh before eight in the morning on a Friday after a long week of work.

Her weekend passes as normal, time spent doing laundry, buying groceries, cleaning, and going out with her friends on Saturday night, and on Monday, she buys her two cups of coffee and makes her way to work. She gets to Murray Hill, expecting to see her musical coffee acquaintance, but he’s not there.

And he’s not there on Tuesday or Wednesday or for the next two weeks. After week one, she stops buying the coffee, having to tell her regular barista she doesn’t need it. She gets a pitying look, something she does not appreciate it, and she carries that awful feeling in her gut on her way to work and every time she takes a sip of her own coffee. It’s ridiculous how one little change in her day can affect her so much, but she’s a woman of routine. She likes doing the same thing at the same time, and her British street singer not being there is throwing her off in the mornings.

She wonders if maybe he got a job, something that takes up his mornings. She doesn’t really know what he did to begin with, if he even had a job. She’s always kind of assumed he didn’t have one or maybe he worked gigs at night along with his street performances. He’s a nice looking guy, stunning blue eyes and a neatly trimmed beard that covers a defined jaw, and his hair is always cleanly cut. So he definitely spends time on his appearance and has the funds to do so, but she doesn’t know many people who have well-paying jobs and spend their mornings performing on the streets.

He’s a mystery, one she thinks about far too much on her strolls to and from work, and as the days pass, she wonders where her Mystery Musical Man has gone off to.

But then one day, music blaring in her headphones, she’s walking her same path, one coffee cup in her hand, and she sees him strumming along on his guitar. She’s a little early this morning, so even though she doesn’t have his coffee, she stops and listens to him playing a majorly stripped down version of We Are the Champions.

There’s no one else around, everyone looking past the street performer, so when it’s over, she throws some cash into the guitar case and flashes him a smile before opening her mouth. “Where have you been?”

He quirks an eyebrow, the thick black brow practically reaching his hairline, before he flashes his perfectly white teeth and eyes her coffee mug. “Did you miss me?”

She shrugs, not really sure how to carry on this conversation with a man who is a stranger but also not. “I guess so. I didn’t – I stopped buying your coffee. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, love,” he insists, “I wasn’t around. Wouldn’t want you to waste your money, but I did miss you and your coffee.”

“Yeah?”

“Absolutely. They don’t make black coffee in LA, and they don’t have pretty lasses bring it to you.”

That throws her for multiple reasons, but it’s mostly because he admitted to being in LA…and maybe a little bit that he called her pretty, but she’s going to harbor that secret inside and pretend her cheeks don’t heat. But seriously. What the hell was he doing in LA? Is she even allowed to ask? Is that taking a step too far?

“What a pity,” she says instead of everything she wants to say. “I wonder how you survived.”

“The hardest few weeks of my life honestly. I didn’t think I was going to make it.”She barks out a laugh before talking to him for a few more minutes, only leaving when she absolutely has to get to the office, and while her life feels a little more settled having him back, she’s also full of every question imaginable.

Mostly, what the hell does he do? Why was he in LA for weeks? Why does he perform in such a calm spot when there are better out there? And what is his name?

The next day she buys two cups of coffee, the barista giving her another pitying smile, and she walks her usual walk, dropping the steaming cup off every day. They talk a little more than they used to, but it’s never about anything serious, and she still doesn’t have any answers to any of her questions. If anything, the man is more of a mystery than he was at the beginning, and she doesn’t know what to do with herself.

He’s between songs when she walks up, his guitar resting on his back, and so she hands him his cup instead of placing it on the ground.

“Thank you, love.”

“Yeah, no problem.” She doesn’t know what else to say, the awkwardness somehow filling the entirety of Manhattan. But like the smooth talker she is, she blurts out her next words. “What’s your name?”

He’s in the middle of sipping on his coffee when she asks, so she impatiently watches him drink the liquid, his throat bobbing, and it takes a hell of a lot of restraint to hold herself back from just running away.

“Killian,” he finally answers, flashing her a smile. “And you?”

“Do you not have a last name?”

“I do. I just didn’t think you’d care.”

“I care. I’m Emma Swan if that helps.”

“Jones then. Killian Jones.”

Her lips twitch, laughter practically bubbling below the surface. “Did you phrase it that way so you could say your name like James Bond?”

“I guess you’ll never know.”

So now she knows Mystery Musical Man’s name, but she doesn’t think she’s ever going to call him anything else in her head. That’s what she’s called him for months now, and it’s hard to change things. But now he calls her Swan every morning, and it makes her smile. Of course, it’s only after a few weeks that she realizes he likely knew her name because it was on all of the coffee cups. But she kind of finds it endearing that he never used her name without her permission.

It starts with an exchange of coffee, and the floodgates open when there’s an exchange of names. Every day is nearly the same, but when she hands him his coffee, he calls her Swan and makes an extra effort to interact with her. Sometimes he even messes with lyrics, changing the names around to fit hers, and it brightens her day so that work doesn’t seem so dreary. As the days pass, they talk more and more. She wakes up earlier to buy their coffee so she can get to Murray Hill faster, and they talk until she absolutely has to go to work, his musical stylings lessening as they get caught up in talking to each other, learning a bit more about the other.

She tells him she’s in family law, and he tells her he’s a musician. She doesn’t quite understand that, really wanting to know what he does outside of performing on the street, but he never says more. If he doesn’t want to share, that’s perfectly fine. The only reason she’s sharing things about herself is because this is a man she talks to for fifteen minutes a day and who likely will move his spot somewhere else more populated to make more money.

But he never moves. He’s always there, and if he’s not going to be, he tells her the day before. All of the changes become part of her routine, and she becomes quite fond of her daily chats with Mystery Musical Man Killian Jones.

And then one day everything changes.

There’s a monsoon raging through New York, water hitting you no matter how bundled up you are in your rain boots and coats and umbrellas. The streets are as full of water as they are of people, and as much as she logically knows there’s no way Killian’s going to be performing today, she still stops in The Bean and goes to buy her coffee.

“Hey, Hannah, can I get the usual?”

“Uh, the guy in the gray beanie over there,” she points to the corner of the shop where there’s a man bundled up in plaid and jeans with the aforementioned beanie on, “he already bought your orders. Is that the boyfriend you’ve been buying coffee for all this time?”

“No boyfriend,” she answers automatically, still staring at the man to see if it’s Killian. She can’t tell from this angle. “But I’m gonna go see who this guy is.”

She nods to Hannah before walking away and walking toward the man in the corner. He’s pretty well hidden, which she finds suspicious until she gets a good look at his profile and can tell that it’s Killian. Her tense shoulders relax, and she sighs in relief before unceremoniously plopping down in the seat across from him.

“So you stalking me now?” she jokes as blue eyes look up to meet her. “Because I’ve got to say, I’m not sure the coffee I bring you every morning is worth all of the hassle.”

His hand reaches up to scratch behind his ear while his eyes crinkle as he gives her a lopsided grin. “I’m not stalking you. I, well, I can’t perform in all of this rain, and I still needed my coffee fix.”

“How’d you even figure out it was this store? You know this is a chain, right?”

He shrugs. “Google, some powers of deduction, and a whole lot of luck.”“Well color me impressed Mystery Musical Man.”

Killian barks out a laugh, loud enough that people turn to look at him. “I’m sorry. What did you just call me?”

Heat rises in her cheeks while the rain pours down outside. She’s dramatic, but she kind of wishes she could run away with the rain right now. “Um, nothing.”

“No, no,” Killian teases, leaning over the table and waggling his eyebrows while flashing her another smile, amusement stretched across all of his features, “you called me Mystery Musical Man. Swan, I didn’t know you had a nickname for me.”

“Yeah, well, I went a few months not knowing who you were. What was I supposed to do?”

“Ask me my name.”

“I did…eventually.” He smiles before sliding her coffee over to her, and she accepts it before taking a sip, the liquid cool enough that she knows he’s been here awhile. “So, um, can I ask you a question? And you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

“Sure, love, but I can’t think of anything I wouldn’t tell you unless you’re about to ask me some deep, personal secret like if I’ve ever dyed my hair.”

She snorts into her drink, shaking her head back and forth. “No, no. I’d never ask such a deeply personal question, but I do, um, what the hell is it that you do for a living?”

His brows furrow, and he clicks his teeth. “Didn’t we talk about this already? I’m a musician.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, but do you do anything else besides performing before eight in the morning? I know this is rude, but I’m just…curious.”

“Tis not rude. What someone does for a living is basic conversation. But seriously, no. I’m a musician, and I do play more than the mornings. That’s honestly just for fun.”

“So where do you play? I’d love to come see you.” He raises his eyebrows, salaciously smirking at her in a way that makes her cheeks heat again. Is she just going to word vomit everything today? “To see you play. I’d love to see you play.”

“I know what you meant, love. I, um, I haven’t had many gigs lately, but I am playing next Friday night if you’d like to come.”

“Really? Where?”

Killian’s jaw ticks and his eyes look up at the ceiling like he’s trying to figure out what to say. Has she pushed too far? Is she making him uncomfortable? But then again, he told her he’d like for her to come.

“Tell you what, love, I’m going to get you some tickets for you and a friend, and the address will be on them. Does that work for you?”

“It makes you seem like the definition of Mystery Musical Man.”

“Yeah, well, that’s apparently who I am.”

They talk a little more before he walks with her to work, bypassing his regular playing spot and taking her right to the office. She doesn’t know what to say when they’re leaving, but Killian figures that out for her, leaning in and brushing a kiss against her cheek that lights her entire body on fire.

“So how exactly did you score these tickets?” Ruby questions as they walk into Madison Square Garden, people milling around in every direction and making it difficult to find their seats.

“You know the street performer who I bring coffee to?”

“Your Mystery Musical Man?”

“That’s the one.”

“Shit,” Ruby whistles as they find their way into a roped off section, only a few other people in their seats there. “He got you these? How?”

She shrugs, leaning closer to Ruby as the opening act for the White Sails sets up. “I’ve got no clue. He said that he’s performing, and I about flipped out when he gave me the tickets this morning and saw where they were. But I don’t know who the White Sails are, and honestly, I think he’s probably a guitarist for their opening act or something.”

“Do you think he was asking you on a date when he gave you these? Are you sure he’s even performing?”

“He told me to bring a friend so no, and he definitely said he was performing.”

“Huh. Curious. But hey, we get a free night out, so let’s go with it.”

The opening act is pretty good, someone she’s also never heard of, but that’s pretty much par for the course tonight. And Killian is most definitely not up there, so her confusion continues to grow while she tries to figure out what’s going on. Maybe she should have been more direct in her questioning. She’s never that wishy washy at work or with anyone else, but she never wanted to accidentally insult Killian in questioning his job when he may not have one. But he can get her nice seats to a concert in Madison Square Garden, so now she’s really confused.

And she also really wishes he was here so she could talk to him. She barely got to this morning, and they weren’t able to talk about the cliffhanger on The Good Place last night.

The opening act eventually finishes, and instruments on the stage are interchanged before several men, each of them in head to toe black, walk out on stage to the sound of cheers and wolf whistles.

And that’s when she sees him, front and center holding a different guitar with his hair bare of a baseball cap and a presence that’s totally different than the one he usually has while they’re talking on the street.

“Holy shit.”

“I know, right?” Ruby agrees, yelling over the crowd into her ear, “they’re hot.”

“No, Rubes, that’s him.”

“That’s who?”

“The singer, the guy up front.” She points up to him as he fiddles with the tuning of his guitars, “that’s Mystery Musical Man.”

“Holy shit.”

“Hello, everybody,” he begins, the familiar voice booming through the microphone, “I’m so glad you all can be here tonight. I know it’s been awhile since we performed, but it took a bit to get some inspiration for our new songs, though I finally found some lately. So I thank you for being patient with us. I’m Killian Jones, and we are The White Sails.”

Yeah, she needs to sit down or be pinched (or punched really) because all of the coffee has obviously destroyed her brain cells.

She and Ruby make their way backstage after what is a frankly incredible show, and while her brain managed to chill itself out about halfway through the concert, she’s still freaking out because she just doesn’t understand. Why would someone who performs in Madison Square Garden also perform on the sidewalk in Murray Hill? He said it was just for fun but still. And why does no one but her really notice him? Sometimes there’s a crowd, but it just…it doesn’t make any sense.

And she’s still waiting to wake up from whatever kind of dream this is.

But then Killian walks out of a backroom in a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt with a smile on his face entirely focused on her. He steps toward her, his hand scratching behind his ear, before he’s standing directly in front of her.

She doesn’t know what to say, so she blurts out the first thing that comes to mind. “I’m sorry I didn’t buy you a coffee.”

He shrugs while he laughs, his lips ticking up on one side. “That’s okay, love. I think maybe you can have a pass this time.” He leans forward and wraps his arms around her, embracing her. “Did you have a good time?”

“Yeah, yeah,” she pulls back, nodding her head and smiling, “that was incredible. You’re incredible. I’m just entirely confused.”

Ruby coughs behind her, and she’s brought out of her confusion and disbelief and a little bit (a lot) of a crush that’s been developing for weeks now. “And this is Ruby Lucas.”

“Nice to meet you, Mystery Musical Man. I came with to make sure my girl wasn’t going to get murdered tonight.”

“Totally understandable,” Killian laughs, shaking Ruby’s hand. “That’s why there were two tickets. To prevent the murder, you know?”

“I’m sorry,” she interrupts, shaking her head back and forth, “I just have a lot of questions.”

“Well, Swan, maybe I have some answers. Do you – ” he looks behind him where someone is calling his name “ – can you and Ruby wait here while I do a bit of quick business?”

“Sure. That’s fine.”

Killian jogs off, running over to whoever was calling him, and she and Ruby sit down on a bench behind them. Ruby fiddles with her phone while Emma tries to think through everything, connecting the nice, normal guy she’s come to really like with the man she saw up on stage commanding thousands of people with his voice. He’s still Killian, that much she knows, and when he said he was a musician, he definitely wasn’t lying. She kind of just thought he performed in bars.

“So according to Wikipedia, your new boyfriend is thirty-four, is from London, and he’s been playing the guitar since he was twelve.”

“I knew all of that, and he’s not my boyfriend.”

“He’s going to be.”

“Ruby.”

“Listen, Ems,” Ruby commands, hitting her in the shoulder, “out of the kindness of your heart you have been buying this man coffee and talking to him every day for months because you thought he was a struggling artist and really appreciated him as a musician and as a person. You like him. He likes you. What he does for a living doesn’t matter. It’s cool as hell, don’t lie to yourself, but it doesn’t matter to you, does it?”

“Not at all.”

“Then I say you take life as it comes to you, and you should go for what you want.”

So she does.

As soon as Killian comes back into view, she walks toward him with a purpose in her step, and before he can say anything, she wraps her arms around his neck and kisses him. He takes a moment to kiss her back, but when he does, it’s soft and slow, his lips caressing hers while his hands thread into his hair and hers do the same. His whiskers are rough against her chin, and right before she pulls back, he growls, something that nearly makes her keep going as if she doesn’t need air.

But she does, would die without it, and pulls back, putting some space between their lips while their foreheads rest together.

“So the whole being in a band thing really did it for you, huh?”

“No,” she promises, quickly brushing her lips against his again, “I don’t care about that. It’s awesome, but I don’t care.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. All I really want is to buy you a coffee.”

Killian laughs against her lips, the vibrations moving through her. “You know what, Swan? I think I can buy this time.”

She and Killian go get coffee two days later. Killian buys despite her protests, but that’s okay. She buys the next time they go. And it goes on like that for weeks and then months and eventually years. As time goes on, they stop going out to buy coffee. Instead they get their caffeine fixes in their home, and she has several White Sails albums dedicated to her that she listens to on her way to work. It’s not quite the same as getting a live performance right outside the office, but she thinks she may like it better this way.

Actually, she knows that she does. She can get a live performance at home.

[scribblescrabblebabble]

RoyEd Week 2k19 Day 6!

Title: Seven(?) Days

Rating: T+

Relationships: Roy Mustang/ Edward Elric; Gracia Hughes/Maes Hughes

Chapter: Day 6- Wait for me

Cross- Posted on AO3 and Fanfic.net links- AO3   fanfic.net

Best quality reading will be through the links, not on Tumblr itself because I’m too lazy to do italics and shit right now. For @royedweek2019 ‘s RoyEd Week!

This is a prompt from day 5, but lets ignore that hehehe.... Hughes lives! AU

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

A long time ago, Trisha Elric had told her sons that, “Good will come to those who wait,”. It was a common phrase, and she had meant this to mean more on the lines of “wait your turn” and “don’t skip in line” and that sort of thing.

Ed mused on his mother’s advice. He noted wryly that waiting hadn’t done her much good at all- it probably did her a whole world of bad, in fact. He never understood why she waited so dutifully. Never, that is, until now. As he looked upon his garden that Friday evening, the alchemist realized that he, unexpectedly, took after his mother in this way.

----~----

Ed awoke on Saturday two hours after he fell asleep; his alarm for 6:00 had yet to ring. Even in his sleep Ed had been restless, as the blankets were twisted at the bottom of the bed, and his pillow lay a few feet from his dresser across the room. In an attempt to calm his nerves, Ed took a long shower and, unable to find a second towel, called Winry with his hair dripping all over the office rug.

As he waited for his sister-in-law to answer, Ed looked out upon the back yard in the office window, dewy and colorful in the early spring sunrise. Maybe he’d pick a few of the flowers to spruce up the house a little bit- was that too cheesy?

Winry’s tired voice greeted him at last, “Hello?”

“Heya Win.” Ed replied, followed by what he guessed to be a sigh.

“Edward, the sun is barely up! What could you possibly need from me? If it’s an emergency I’m sure there are people who live closer to you to call.”

He chuckled a little guiltily, “Sorry Win, ‘M just trying to kill some time until 10:00. I’m too jittery to get anything productive done.”

Winry gasped, “Oh, is today the day?”

Ed nodded, knowing she couldn’t see, “It’s the day.”

            --~--

The past two years had been a long string of going to work at the lab or in the office with Team Mustang, reading the paper, and anxiously awaiting the rare phone call from Al or Roy. To both of their credit, they called whenever possible, but Al was very busy with his teaching job and helping Winry with their young daughter, and Roy…

Roy was never around phones much, Ed guessed.

The blonde currently slouched in his office chair, doodling on a spare sheet of paper in lieu of alphabetizing the sources for his latest compilation of research. Riza looked at him reproachfully from her own desk across the room until he sighed and got back to work, balling up the spare paper and throwing it into the bin. Even then, it took him a minute to focus enough to actually comprehend the words he was trying to sort.

‘Abrams, Addison, Anderson, Amaryllis… wait no, m before n… shit this is dull, I need to get out of here.’ He pushed himself up and muttered about an early lunch break before he strode out of the large room. He looked disdainfully at the coffee machine, before deciding a quick stop by a café would do him better than the bitter crap in the office.

He hadn’t been sleeping well, even worse than he usually tended to, and it was only partially because of the workload regarding his research.

Outside, the air smelt of rain, and Ed regretted not taking an umbrella or something with him when he left (Riza would give him an earful if he came back dripping all over the freshly polished floors). The old coffee shop stood in a quaint corner, rather out of place in the midst of military office buildings, yet wholly welcomed by the lot. Ed knew the barista, Louise, well, and when he walked in she smiled, “Morning, Major! Usual?”

“Please.” Ed sighed, giving her a wad of cash, insisting she keep the change because he was too lazy to try and count it out, and sitting at a small two-person table towards the back of the building. He hadn’t brought any work with him, so while he waited, the alchemist kind of dazed out, just letting the ambiance of the little shop clam his nerves a bit.

A familiar female voice interrupted his tranquil state, “Edward?” He looked up in surprise, coming face-to-face with Rose’s friendly smile. He moved to stand and greet the young woman, but she motioned for him to remain seated, and took the chair across from him.

“Rose, what brings you to Central?” Ed asked curiously.

“Winry asked me to come drop off some parts with clients she has over here. And to check up on you, of course.” The Leorian responded, “Speaking of which, Edward, you look absolutely tragic!”

Ed was about to retort, but Louise came to the table with his usual coffee and sandwich. He thanked her, and took a large bite of his food before continuing where he was interrupted, “I do not look tragic, Rose, you’re being dramatic.”

“Did you sleep at all last night?”

“Uhh…”

Ed knew Rose wasn’t nagging just to be annoying, as the evident worry in her eyes was practically palpable. He only assumed everyone else back in Resembool would have the same expression if they saw him like this. This thought sent an arrow of guilt into his stomach, but he suppressed it quickly, changing the topic of their conversation, “Well, they say the war’s dying down a bit in the east. Some Ishvallan insurgent groups and all of the Southeastern front are still neck-in-neck, but that’s a good sign, right?”

Rose gave him a very unimpressed look, knowing full well what he was doing. She took to bait, however, to appease him, “Yeah, I heard the Fürher’s been trying to start peace negotiations, futile as it may seem. Have they begun sending soldiers home yet?”

Ed nodded with a small frown, “Hawkeye said they’re releasing some who have families and stuff to tend to at home: pregnant wives, senile grandparents, and the like. Just means the non-priority soldiers’ll have to stay out longer.”

Rose frowned as well, “Not necessarily. If there’s less conflict, then they don’t need as much workforce out there, you know?”

“I guess.” He sighed.  

Rose rolled her eyes, “I know what this is about, Edward. He’ll be back soon.”

“What, did he tell you? ‘Cuz the certainly didn’t tell me.”

Rose looked cross, “He’s fighting! Not getting any response is better than a letter saying he’s dead! Do you really think digging a pity hole is going to help the situation?”

Ed looked at her angrily, then his expression dropped as he saw then emotion on her own face. He remembered the Rose of eight years previous, broken in the midst of a war, yet not fallen prey to self-pity. Sure, she had been manipulated by Dante, but everything she did was for a good greater than herself. Settling in Resembool, even, was for her son to be happy, and she took her present with such grace it was ridiculous.

Ed looked to his plate and quietly admitted, “It’s just… stressful, not knowing. God, I wish I knew how he’s doing, Rose.”

She smiled, “I know, it’s the worst. But you know what?”

“What?” Ed asked around another bite of this lunch.

“When you do find out, it’ll be worth the wait.” She stood up, “I’ve got to deliver these parts, but I’ll swing by your place tonight. We can make some dinner or something, okay?”

Ed smiled at her, “That sounds great. I’ll see ya then.”

“See ya!” She turned out the door. Ed sat at the table, alone again. Now, however, the thought of returning to his list of names wasn’t so daunting, especially with the promise of Rose’s divine cooking in his future. He took his time finishing the sandwich, and took his to-go cup of coffee back to the office with him.

Riza was the first to acknowledge Ed as he walked in, placing his cup on his desk and making as if to sit down. She held a little orange envelope out to Ed from her desk, and Ed quickly took the telegram. Seeign Riza’s small smile, he had an inkling who it could be from.

“Excuse me.” He muttered, taking the envelope into the long-closed room to his right, Roy’s private office. He pushed down the sadness at the empty desk and lack of paper heaps set out to be avoided, sitting hard on one of the large office chairs, hands shaking a bit as he opened up the folded paper. A smaller slip of paper came out, and Ed read the words greedily.

‘Coming home Oct 16, 10:00. Central West Station.

I have a surprise. Love you more than I can say.

-Roy’

 --~--

After Winry hung up, stating that Trisha had awoken and needed ‘Mama time’, Ed was at a loss for what to do. He trudged back to the bedroom and changed into his day clothes (no point in pretending he may go back to nap). He threw his old clothes into the laundry basket and decided, on a whim, to change out the bedsheets and throw the old ones in with his dirty clothes. That started, Ed began obsessively cleaning the house- once the laundry was piled up, a table looked dusty, then the oven needed a wipe down, and he had to cook his own breakfast so there would be dishes, and so on, until before he knew it, the clock struck 7:00 and the phone rang.

Ed threw down the dish rag, seemingly broken from his mindless work trance, and retreated back to the office to answer it. This time, Gracia’s voice greeted him.

“Edward? How’re you doing?”

Ed sighed, but it came out as more of an exasperated laugh, “Just barely keeping it together, I guess! Trying to find something to do until I can go down to the station.”

Gracia laughed as well, sounding just as tired as he felt, “I understand the feeling. Elicia and I’ve been up for hours!”

“Have you talked to Maes?” He hoped he didn’t sound too desperate, but that hope was fairly fleeting.

“Not for about two weeks, but I haven’t heard from anyone else about him so that’s a plus, yeah?”

Ed didn’t want to tell Gracia that to him it absolutely wasn’t a plus, so he just hummed in agreement, “Roy hasn’t called or anything since the telegram. I guess we’ll see what that means today.”

“have you thought about what that surprise could be?”

“Yeah, probably too much.” Ed laughed a bit, “It’s making me even more anxious, somehow.”

Gracia laughed lightly, “Hey, so I called to ask if you wanted me to bring some lunch to the station for you. I’m already bringing some for Elicia so it’s not a big deal.”

“No thanks, I can’t eat right now.” Ed politely refused. Gracia seemed to understand, for she didn’t push the matter.

They talked lightly until Gracia hung up (something about an oven or something like that). The blonde stood in the study, anxious and with nothing to do for the next three hours.

--~--

Ed watched the tracks obsessively. He knew he’d definitely know when the train came to view, but he’d grown so anxious and excited he couldn’t do much more than sit and stare. Gracia sat beside him, reading the paper with Elicia working through a novel beside her. She seemed very composed and must make Ed look like an absolute wreck in comparison. Her day dress looked very clean and neat, whereas Ed had barely the patience to bother fully buttoning his own shirt.

Elicia noticed the train first, dropping her book and standing quickly, “Mom, Ed, I heard a whistle!” The eleven-year-old bounced excitedly as the train slowly screeched into the station. Ed felt his nerves burn deep in his abdomen, and he almost felt sick as he stood with the woman and girl, watching the train cars take far too long to slow down. Inside the train, every window was filled with blue-capped soldiers, their faces practically pressed to the glass, much like small children, in search of their loved ones. Several groups in front of Ed jumped and waved, their husbands or wives or whatever identified out of the many faces in the vehicle.

Finally, the train stopped, and the soldiers were let off one-by-one, each saluting their superiors at the doors before they were set free to find their families. Ed anxiously stood about the growing crowd of soldiers.

Hughes was the first out of the two, happily saluting his superior and running straight to Gracia, having seen her already from inside the train. HE managed to lift and spin both Gracia and Elicia at one time, an all-around bubble of joy. Seeing Ed, he shot the blonde a broad, knowing smile. After three more men, Ed finally, finally, spotted Roy. He boarded off the train, saluted, and scanned the crowd hopefully.

His eyes found Ed the moment the blonde’s feet began to move and was thusly prepared for Ed’s weight as he ran full-force into Roy’s arms. They didn’t talk for a short time, too busy trying to get each other as close as possible, as if to make up for the lost time. Then, Ed leaned back to look over the other, checking for injury.

Roy laughed, and it sounded pretty close to perfect, “I’m not hurt, Ed.”

Ed laughed too, finding his emotions burst out with his smile, “I had to make sure, you haven’t really contacted me aside from a single telegram in-“

He fell quiet, as suddenly Roy’s mouth was in the way and he was too busy kissing him back to continue his protest. “I’m sorry,” he murmured as they parted.

Ed sighed for dramatic effect, “I think I can excuse it this one time. Besides, I believe there was a surprise I was promised?”

Roy’s smile brightened, if that was possible, and he quickly looked to the superior officer at the door and back to Ed, “Of course! They should be off of the train soon; had to have a double check.”

“They?” Ed repeated, confused. Roy just smiled and took Ed’s hand, leading them to the door of the train. Looking back, Ed could spot Maes with a devilishly gleeful look, Elicia jumping around excitedly, and Gracia looking at he and Roy with a hand over her mouth. “Roy, what’s going on?” Ed asked.

They reached the doors as the superior officer helped out the last of the ensemble, two very shaken looking Ishvallan children, a boy and a girl. If Ed had to chance a guess, he’d peg them at around two or three years old. They looked around, helplessly confused, and Ed realized with a sinking feeling in his gut that their parents weren’t with them. They didn’t have anyone to meet at this station. Except…

They noticed Roy, and walked quickly in a beeline to him. As they reached the couple, the children seemed to realize that Roy had a companion and slowed shyly. The older man chuckled and squatted down to be eye-level with the two, “Molly, Gregory, this is Ed. He’s my husband.” He looked up at Ed, motioning for Ed to join him on the ground. He did, and the children seemed to look at him curiously. Roy continued, “Ed, this is Molly, and this is Gregory. Their parents asked me to… to take good care of them.” The blonde’s heart stung at the visible pain in Roy’s eye from a memory he was sure to learn of later.

He also saw a bit of uncertainty in his husband’s face. He realized that he’s been awfully non-responsive to the two so far, and Roy was essentially bringing kids into the complicated equation of their relationship. Smiling, Ed squeezed Roy’s hand affirmatively.

“Molly and Greg? Well, this is a surprise!” Roy’s grin lost it’s callous edge, seeing Ed’s positivity, and he pulled the both of them up to their original standing position.

Ed turned to the little kids, “We’ll make sure to take great care of you. I’m not very good at doing things halfway.”

Molly nodded and replied, “kay,”.

“You alk-mee too?” Gregory asked, hiding a bit behind his sister.

“A-alchemy? Yeah, I’m an alchemist.”

Roy muttered, “Greg’s blown away by alchemy. Thinks it’s the coolest thing he’s ever seen.”

Ed grinned broadly, “Well, that’s good! Cuz you’re gonna be around a lot of alchemy, right?”

The little boy’s eye sparkled, “Ya!”

Roy proffered the hand not already taken by Ed, which Molly took gladly. Greg was hand-in-hand with Molly as Roy led the little pack towards the Hughes’s, Gracia looking like she might cry, and Elicia already running to give her Uncle Roy a big welcome hug.

Ed looked back at the two kids- technically his two kids. ‘Oh, fuck I’ve got kids!’ he thought, finding himself increasingly excited about the prospect. Plus, if these kids already thought alchemy was awesome, what could possibly go wrong?

[notyourmotherscopingmechanisms]

Water Bottles, Getting Rid of Stuff, and Social Media Goodbyes.

Hi, all.

This is it! Welcome to the first post on this experimental foray into talking about my brain, intentionally, and with a purpose in mind.

The post that led you here (from facebook, instagram, or twitter, if I got my shit together) mentioned that this post would be about the first few things I’ve done since the New Year to try and wrangle my life back into some sense of order, so I’m just gonna jump right into that. 

1) I bought a planner.

A real, actual physical paper, honest-to-god planner. 

This in and of itself is not much of a shock. I’ve bought a lot of planners in my lifetime, always excited to finally be one of those women—capable, powerful, every moment of their day accounted for in perfect handwriting—and reader, I am absolutely garbage at using them. 

So I bought another one. Makes sense, right?

I’ll tell you why: I think I finally figured out why I’m bad at using them. 

Every planner I’ve bought in the past has been one or both of these things: a month/week/day view, or an electronic planner (for my iPad.) These...did not work. The use cycle would usually go something like this: Overjoyed with my new beautiful book, I would spend an hour or two dutifully filling out the “month” views with absolutely everything I knew about at the time, and then I’d manage to use it for about a week before I realized I’d been forgetting to write in the “week” portion of the planner. This immediately triggers the guilt—I failed, I wasted part of such a nice book, what was the point, why did I even start....you get the idea. Of course, this is all ridiculous. The book never changed...but now it makes me sad to look at, and angry at myself every time I remember it. I can’t stand to use it anymore, because every time I pick it up, it’s a reminder that, according to me, I suck. So I put it away, and vow to never again buy a planner, or to do better next time. (I wouldn't.) 

Then, I read a post a few months ago that my dad sent me (I’ll have to look up the link later and edit this post to add it) that boiled down to something along the lines of “stop trying to do your tasks the way “normal” people do their tasks.” If you have a hard time getting your laundry sorted out because the hamper’s hard to get to, take the lid off the hamper. If making a sandwich is too much work, just eat the parts, no sandwich required. Shit like that. I sat with myself for a few weeks and said to myself, brain, how can I remove obstacles that don’t even seem like obstacles in order to make things less hard?

And then I learned the secret. 

Did you know they make planners that are ONLY a month view?

There’s another secret to this process, by the way—but it applies to a lot more than just planners. Through a bit of soul searching (and by a bit, I mean a lot of grumbling about what a materialistic, vain, optics-centered magpie I am at heart) I figured out that I’m at least 80% more likely to successfully use something if it’s pretty. If I love the way it looks, I am excited to be around it. I am delighted to use it. I am sad when it isn’t nearby. So, the month-view-only planner I bought is also covered in small flowers and made from beautiful low-tooth paper that feels good to write on. I also downloaded many, many, many beautiful habit trackers, goal planning pages, and other freebies from bloomplanners.com (they made my work calendar.) Highly recommend. 

2) I bought a water bottle.

I am probably the most dehydrated person you know personally at basically all times. I’ve literally gone to the ER with medical issues that, while genuine, were all exacerbated by massive dehydration. It’s not just that I hate the taste of water (even though I do) but also that I just...straight up do not remember to drink. Ever. And when I do remember to drink, I never remember how much I’ve had, what’s left to go, any of that crap. 

“But they make apps to remind you!” 

“You can log every time you drink!”

YES, CORRECT, but also may I remind you of the above “remove obstacles from my brain” epiphany from three paragraphs ago: if there’s more than two steps (realistically, more than ONE step) to getting from “I drank water” to “I drank this much water, and now have this much left to go to not die” 

I won’t do it. 

So, I bought myself one of these bad boys. #notanad 

The Hidrate Spark is a “smart” bottle that connects to my iPhone and my AppleWatch. Its connected app will remind me through the watch, as well as via pretty glowing lights on the bottle itself, numerous times a day that I need to drink. When I drink out of the bottle, a sensor will record how much I drank, and immediately log that info into my Health App on my phone. The app automatically uses the humidity and temperature at your location, your weight, your height, and real-time activity data from your watch or phone to update how much your water goal is in realtime. 

Notice how nowhere in that description in there is there anything I have to do to track my intake and hit my goal besides fill out my info in the app once, fill up the bottle, and drink out of it? Yeah, me too.

I’ve avoided buying this bottle for over a year, because it’s a $60 water bottle, and I have twenty water bottles already, and it’s “techie” and “unnecessary” and “silly” and “excessive” and all those other things people say about smart tech, but goddamnit, and ER bill costs more than $60 and I’ve been there four fucking times for this problem. I talked to my fitness director (I work for a YMCA, so, health and fitness woo) a couple friends, and my doctor about it, and everyone agreed it was a good decision, so I did it. I can’t say if it’ll work or not yet because I don’t HAVE it yet, but I promise to keep everyone apprised. 

Also, it’s pretty. 

3) I deleted an ass ton of people off my social media. 

I’ve never cared much about my numbers when it comes to social media, I’m not in it for those, but I have the same problem with my friends lists as I do with my real life: I add without thought and then people I never talk to, never see, never will see, and don’t have an effect on my life...take up space. I’m very happy for all of them, and I hope they have wonderful lives, but I don't need all of them front and center at all times. Plus, after the year I had last year, a lot of people needed to be let go from my life for my sanity and theirs. 

So, on January 2nd, I deleted 160 people from my Facebook friends list, and blocked 7. I thought it would stress me out more—I’m not about the numbers, but I always worry someone will take offense, or be upset. But once I did it, I felt literally, physically, lighter. It hasn’t had any measurable impact yet besides that initial weight-is-lifted feeling, but I know it’s a step in the right direction for my eventual journey towards weaning off a lot of social media platforms. (Did you know facebook is the actual face of evil in the internet age, and we’re all trapped beyond belief?)

4) I cleaned, or cleaned out, everything (and I mean everything) in my house.

This is the biggie! This is it! The goodwill pile is literally taking up every inch of available space in my car! 

(This is also one of those “Ooh, it’s embarrassing, I can’t talk about it” moments I mentioned in the original post. Whelp, here I am, talking about it! Cower in fear! Hide in your homes! Real Talk is coming!)

The Marie Kondo bug that bit all of us last year got me in tandem with a few months of violent living situation upheaval. As a result, I tried to go through my belongings with every moving day I went through, and use those hell experiences as motivation to just. Get. Rid. Of. My. Shit. I’d already started on this task a few years ago, but it’s difficult to describe how much....stuff I’d managed to collect in 18-19 years. It doesn’t take much past the first time you and one friend, or just you, have to move everything you own in a single day to go “oh my god I am never doing that again.” But, I know I’ll have to move again, and even if I didn’t...my stuff was stressing me out. The obvious solution was, and is, “have less stuff.” 

I go through my wardrobe once a month now and try to get rid of at least three things. If you’ve known me since high school or just after, you might remember the absolutely astonishing size of my wardrobe. I mean, truly ridiculous. I achieved my goal early last summer of “all my clothing must fit inside a single closet” and began extending that to the rest of my life with a general rule of replacing the thought “I need more storage” with the thought “I need less stuff.” Obviously, there are some things that really do need better or different storage, and I’m recognizing that, but I can’t actually describe how much better I feel with...literally probably 70% less stuff than I used to own. 

This is an ongoing process in every part of my life, and with the habits I’ve learned and the very particular anxieties that I have (I can’t get rid of this, I might need it one day/that person was so nice to give it to me/someone might get angry if I goodwill it) continuing towards a minimalist outlook will be a path I am on for literally the rest of my life. But it’s a good path—a worthy one—and I’m so absurdly relieved that I’m finally walking on it, regardless of how many stumbles, stops, and starts there might be. 

The bonus part of having less stuff is that it’s suddenly way easier to clean your house; which is what I spent all of Saturday and part of Sunday (today) doing. My combined to-do lists* numbered around 72 items, all-told, and I accomplished almost all of them—everything from sweeping/mopping/vaccuming to moving all the appliances in my kitchen out of their spots and cleaning the sides of them. All the laundry got did. All the shelves got dusted. The tub got scrubbed. The fridge got cleared out. My closet got organized. Even my bed got a facelift in the form of a new duvet cover and some swanky king size pillows. We. Cleaned. Everything. 

And damn does it feel good to have a clean space. It’s so. Much. Easier.  To keep tidied up when I’m annoyed at myself for ruining the room with clutter, or setting something down and not putting it away.* When you have less stuff, everything suddenly has a place...and when it all starts out in that place, it’s way easier to put it back and keep that momentum going.

*/**There is a flip side of this feeling, which is my anxiety this summer beginning to express itself as certain tendencies towards OCD behaviors, but I won’t go into that here. It’ll come up soon enough, but it will need to be another post about that topic specifically and what I did/am doing to work through it. Another post will be about my “listing” and how it works/doesn’t work for me, because these are tandem issues.

I’m sure there’s more than these, but I’m going to stop here.

Mostly because one of my other goals for 2020 is to do better at setting, and sticking to, a routine. (Hey, another post!) That routine involves me being in bed by 11:30PM every day, and awake by 9:30...and it’s 10:44. So for now, goodnight, and I hope this didn’t bore anyone to absolute tears. Even if it did...that’s okay, because this is as much for me as it is for anyone else. 

See ya!

[365daysofsasuhina]

[ 365 Days of SasuHina || Day One Hundred Fifty: Far From Home ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata ] [ SasuHina ] [ Verse: Best Years of Your Life ] [ AO3 Link ]

The worst part about his job? The business trips.

It doesn’t matter how fancy the hotel, how grand the destination, how appealing the attractions of the local area while he’s there.

Because all Sasuke can think about while he’s gone is what he left behind.

He’s only been married for six months now. But that doesn’t mean he misses Hinata any less ardently whenever his father sends him out on these escapades. At least Fugaku gave him some leeway when they were first married: two months without a single excursion from his new wife.

But...work is work, and he couldn’t avoid them forever.

Itachi, of course, is much in the same boat. Fugaku keeps him just as busy, if not more so given his lined up future role as CEO after their father. Add in the fact he’s already got a child, and he’s run ragged...and just as homesick whenever he’s far from home.

This time, they have a rare duo outing. From their home city of Nagoya, they’re to fly to Los Angeles for a new trade deal Fugaku’s got planned. It must be a massive one if he’s sending both brothers.

Packing up his suitcase the day before, Sasuke does his best to look at the bright side. If this deal goes through, both he and his brother have been promised a rather sizeable bonus. Something Sasuke can’t really say no to. After all, the pair are doing their best to save up to leave their (admittedly very nice) apartment for something a bit more…homey. An actual house, to be exact.

Because eventually, they’d like to have a kid or two. Granted, not for a couple of years yet (or so they plan), but it’s never a bad thing to put some money away in the rainy day fund.

...not that either Uchiha brother is underpaid by any means. But, semantics.

Happening to be home from work herself, Hinata’s been helping out with preparations: mostly in regards to making sure all the laundry was done that morning for him to cram into the space he’s allotted in his suitcase. Also helping to round up all his tech he’ll need: laptops, thumb drives, cell phones, and a ridiculous amount of cables and cords. He’s got a rather important presentation to give, after all.

Hence having five copies of it.

Hey, he’s a guy that likes to be prepared.

He even gave one to Itachi to hang onto.

“Okay, here’s the last of it.”

Turning from his position alongside the bed where he’s perched his gear, Sasuke sees Hinata haul in the laundry basket full of newly-folded clothes. “Thanks.”

“I think I might make some lunch - anything sound good?”

“Just something light - I don’t want to risk having an upset stomach on a flight that long.”

Smiling behind a hand, Hinata nods, retreating to do just that.

As she goes, Sasuke’s movements slow, watching her go. He’s going to be gone for nearly two weeks. Granted, most overseas trips are on the longer side. They try to cover more during their opportunity to meet in person, after all. But that means even longer without being home. Without home-cooked meals, a warm body to sleep next to, company to relax with.

Sure, he loves his brother...but his brother’s not a wife. Besides, Fugaku went overboard and got them each their own room.

He’s the type to flaunt.

Mood a bit melancholy, Sasuke finishes up the clothes portion of his packing and decides to save all his gadgets for later. For now, he wants to soak up some wife time before they call it a night. His flight is in the morning, so this is really his last chance until he gets back.

Juggling a few things in the apartment’s kitchen, Hinata glances up at the movement, giving a soft smile. “Taking a break?”

“More like procrastinating.”

Sympathy tinges her expression. “I’m sure it will go quickly.”

“They never go quickly.”

Hinata’s expression then falls to a flat pout. “...I’m trying to be optimistic!”

“I know. And I love that about you.” Coming up behind her, Sasuke just...plunks his chin atop the crown of her head, leaning ever so slightly as she works at the stove. “You’re the sunshine to my clouds.”

That earns him a soft snort. “And you’re the cheese to my crackers - w-what was that line?”

“Me being out of sorts because I’m going to miss you so badly.”

“At least you get to see your brother for a while, right? You two never have any time, since you’re both so busy…”

“...I guess.” In truth, they’ll likely have little downtime to enjoy that time together. But he’s already being a sourpuss, so...he’ll leave that part out. For Hinata’s sake.

They indulge in lunch before Sasuke gets back to packing, making sure he’s got every doodad and thingamabob he’ll need to make this trip work in the tech department. By early afternoon he’s pretty sure he’s got everything stuffed into the case, and he leaves it by the door for a quick exit tomorrow morning.

But for now...it’s lounging time.

They pop in a movie to waste a bit of time, snuggled up on the couch and mostly just zoning out. Or...Sasuke is. Hinata actually looks pretty invested. But she’s always been rather easy to entertain. Which is good. Because Sasuke often lacks a sense of humor that’s not flat and dry, so even he can still make her laugh.

A miracle, really.

By the time the movie ends, it’s time for dinner, which they prepare together now that Sasuke isn’t otherwise preoccupied. Instead, he handles the more mundane parts (the ones Hinata trusts him with) while she does...pretty much everything else.

It’s not that he’s a bad cook, he just...has an aptitude for fire. Even when...there shouldn’t be any fire. Which is why he’s not allowed near anything remotely warm.

Even the microwave is an iffy subject.

From there, Sasuke decides to double check his stuff. Because he will not be happy if he gets all the way to Los Angeles and realizes something is missing. A cord, sure - he can buy a new one. Same with clothes. But some things are rather irreplaceable.

Watching from the couch, curled up with a mug of tea, Hinata lets herself be amused. “Got it all?” she calls once he zips the bag closed for what probably won’t be the last time.

“Think so.”

“It’s a wonder you ever manage to leave for these t-trips with all your fussing,” she can’t help but tease, leaning her head on his shoulder innocently as he plops beside her.

“Not sure my father would consider that an acceptable excuse for missing a flight.”

“Probably not.”

Hinata then starts up knitting, Sasuke leafing through a magazine. He hates how...idle they get when they’re just waiting for him to leave. It feels like they should be doing...more. But what more is there to do?

Besides, well...the obvious. But he’s a little stressed for that. At least, he tells himself, they’re spending time together. Besides, neither of them are particularly...active. In the sense they don’t need to be doing something to enjoy themselves. Companionable quiet is their specialty.

So maybe this is the best way to spend his evening.

“...think we should get to bed? Don’t want to be groggy at the airport.”

“Yeah...I guess so.” He doesn’t want to sleep - sleeping will bring tomorrow all the faster! But in the end he has little choice - there’s no way in hell he’s pulling an all nighter.

Once they’re tucked into bed, he latches onto her with a sigh. “...I hate this.”

A hand brushes his hair consolingly. “I know...me too.” But this is what his job entails. It’s either suck it up, or probably lose speaking privileges with his father if he quits. “You can call me any time.”

“Time zones, Hinata.”

“I don’t care. Any time means any time. If I don’t answer, just...text me instead. I’ll write back when I can, o-okay?”

A nod against her hair.

“...I’m turning out the light now.”

“Okay.”

“You need to sleep now.”

Silence. And then, “...okay.”

Once it’s dark, she shimmies in his grip to give his brow a kiss. “...wake me before you go. I want to see you off.”

“Will do.” Returning the gesture, he holds it a long moment, as though to make it easier to recall once he’s alone. “...night, ‘nata.”

“Goodnight, Sasuke.”

                                                           .oOo.

     An entry this early? What witchcraft is this?! xD ("early" being a very relative term, given it's still after midnight lol)      Admittedly, I've been feeling rather burnt out lately...but that's probably mostly because I have another big project going on: I'm hosting a ship week here on Tumblr! One focusing on OCs paired with canons, lol - and I'm not only hosting, but also participating, so I've been TRYING to get mine done in advanced. It starts Saturday, and I have 3/7 entries done...whoops. But at least 4 is halfway done. Might poke at it a bit more tonight.      BUT ANYWAY, if you notice things are a bit...shorter or seem a bit more rushed for the next ten days or so, that's probably why! Sorry ;;;      As for this piece, it's Sauce being a lil prematurely homesick in modern. Not connected to any other pieces, just...random fluff, lol - I think he's the sort to be lowkey clingy. At least Hinata doesn't mind x3      Anywho, that's all from me tonight! Thanks for reading~

[twistednuns]

December 2019

Maxim calling out of the blue, inviting me to the Mine concert later that month.

Stumbling upon great inspiration for plant-based buddha bowls.

@shitgothssay memes.

Zotter salted caramel chocolate.

Finding out about the fact that you can just add the letter A to some words to transform them into adjectives. Like aglitter or aglow and aglisten.

Ayurvedic Kapha tea with some black tea, honey and milk. Sonnentor Gute Laune tea. Green tea with toasted coconut.

Isana shower oil. Works wonders for dry skin. Such a smooth and creamy texture. Great for shaving, too.

Winning the pub quiz - again! I played with Maggie, Dennis, Daniel and Steffen (Team name: Three geese in a trenchcoat) and we won 178€. However, the best thing about this was when I finally solved the anagram after thinking about it for 10 minutes. It was Greta Thunberg! Winning is lovely, of course, but solving the anagram is already a personal win for me each time.

Tuesdays. Coming home early, sleeping it off.

Being super rested after a nap, cooking a huge pot of veggie stew and my ratatouille signature recipe, even preparing a batch of butter bean hummus and salad dressing. Listening to folk music, singing along, even dancing at some point. Standing there, peeling the potatos… Happy moment.

Signature manicure. Always. This time: bluish iridescent lilac with the obligatory black dot.

A personal realisation. I’ve been massively out of touch with myself. I’ve stopped journaling, stopped doing things for myself because they’re beneficial and not because they’re convenient and numb everything. And why is that a good thing? Well, only being at this point and realising what’s wrong with me makes it possible to do something against it. To come up a self-care plan. To make myself feel better.

Semi-deleting Facebook.

Spending time with Manu for the first time in three months. Watching a documentary about black holes and a cheesy Christmas movie. Ordering south Indian food, cuddling up in bed. Sometimes I don’t know why I keep isolation myself. Being around people can be really lovely and soothing if you can be yourself around them. It’s just that I often feel the presence of other living beings drains my energy.

The best massage I ever had. From now on I’ll always request Yaya as my massage therapist. She is SICK. Strong, merciless, forces me into weird poses and makes my back crack.

Also: the chocolate-filled mint hard candy they hand out at the massage studio. I used to hate mint-infused chocolate but somehow I think these are delicious. Perfect after-torture-treat.

Persimmons. Obsessed.

My eye colour in artificial light. A dark moss green with caramel-coloured speckles and a dark rim.

The National playing a 2-hour-long concert and including some of my favourite songs from the High Violet album. Fangirling with Anika.

The smell of cold. You know, that whiff of cool air you get when you’re sniffing a jacket that’s been hanging on the balcony for a few hours to air out.

Learning more about Claire Saffitz from this article - she likes arts and crafts, is a homebody and has degrees in history and literature! She basically enrolled in culinary school because she was bored after graduation. She’s an enigma of a quirky kind. Not brilliant and scattered, but determined and aimless. Not brave and rebellious, but anxious and creative. She hates change yet pursues it, wants order but trades in chaos. She’s loved because she hates stuff; performs well because she can’t perform. And above all, she’s aggressively regular—and something about this makes the crowd go wild.

Fresh laundry smell on my blankets and pillows. And my new gravity blanket. It weighs 11kg which feels crazy heavy when you carry it but the weight evenly distributes over the body when you’re lying down. Apparently the pressure triggers the release of stress hormones. So far I’m sleeping like a baby and I don’t seem to wake up or move much at night.

Stephanie Madewell. I love everything she writes, her blog is such a godsend of beautiful, important, eclectic ideas. One thing I especially like are her imaginary outfits.

Princess Margaret’s limerick contest with President Lyndon B. Johnson in The Crown. Pure comedy. “There was a young lady from Dallas / who used a dynamite stick as a phallus / they found her vagina in North Carolina / and her asshole in Buckingham Palace.”

Little pieces of string in the corners of a duvet cover. It’s the first time I’ve seen those. So practical for big blankets!

Mental health days. I needed this. So much. Mornings in bed, reading for hours. Drinking a whole pot of tea.

Partner yoga. Chanting the closing mantra together.

Making vegan energy balls for my brother. I adapted the recipe and made my own versions so I ended up with a batch of pistachio/cherry and mango/sesame.

Freaking out whenever I see a cute cat. Damn, I really need to spend more time with animals. My highlight: breakfast in bed, watching a video of an adorable cat giving birth. I cried. Yup.

Going swimming for the first time in, man, I don’t even know. Forever. I didn’t swim for a long time, maybe half an hour, but muscle memory kicked in immediately. Water is totally my element. And, as if it had been destiny: I chose the day they cut the hanging plants in the main hall and the guy gave me a variety of five different cuttings to take home!! He made me a very happy girl.

The ink blue sky right after sunset. / The morning after the full moon in Gemini (the moon still bright and huge, visible in the bluish-grey Western sky). / When the sun suddenly comes out after a very dark and gloomy morning.

Buying a new phone. The old one was broken beyond repair. I even got a nice cork protective case. How could I ever live without an uncracked screen? The battery now actually lasts for more than a day. Nice.

Odd bits of knowledge: A galanthophile is an enthusiastic collector and identifier of snowdrop (Galanthus) species and cultivars. (Wikipedia) // Scientists theorize the Universe might have cracks in it: long thin boundaries that formed as space cooled after the Big Bang. 95 billion lightyears long and a few femtometers thin, these wrinkles in space-time would hold enough energy to bend light and destroy entire planets. (PHD comics) // the word to bloviate (German meaning: schwafeln, langatmig vortragen) // In Japan we have three rituals: HANAMI, TSUKIMI, and YUKIMI. HANAMI is watching the flowers. TSUKIMI is watching the moon, YUKIMI is watching the snow. It’s a beautiful tradition when you invite people to watch with you. I remember them all. (Yoko Ono) // In linguistics, prosody is concerned with those elements of speech that are not individual phonetic segments (vowels and consonants) but are properties of syllables and larger units of speech, including linguistic functions such as intonation, tone, stress, and rhythm. Such elements are known as suprasegmentals. Prosody may reflect various features of the speaker or the utterance: the emotional state of the speaker; the form of the utterance (statement, question, or command); the presence of irony or sarcasm; emphasis, contrast, and focus. It may otherwise reflect other elements of language that may not be encoded by grammar or by choice of vocabulary. (Wikipedia) //

I know I mention this a lot but the first olfactory whiff of a freshly cut open passion fruit is one of the best smells I know.

When my breakfast tastes like a candy bar. Which it immediately does whenever I add almond butter and cocoa nibs to porridge.

Yoga at home on a sunny Saturday afternoon. I’m often too lazy to get out my yoga mat but whenever I do afterwards I’m always so glad I practiced. Also: going to yoga class despite being extremely stressed out. It actually helped me silence some of these tormenting thoughts in my head.

Cutting my own hair. It’s kinda ridiculous and layered but I love the new bounce.

Michael Nyman - Musique à grande vitesse x // feels like it makes my pulse quicker, it’s urging and forceful.

My adventures in psychedelia - an article about the therapeutic effect of psychoactive drugs. I’m going to get Michael Pollan’s book about the topic from the library next week. So interesting.

People who are still writing letters.

My pupils. I realised that some of them have become very fine people. Open, compassionate, motivated, interested, bright, polite. Like the students who attended our first school magazine meeting in their spare time - on the last school day before the Christmas holidays - and had all these amazing ideas. Victor, being able to hold a conversation like an adult. Marks cuddling that dog in front of the supermarket. My tenth-graders being really reasonable, managable, easy to talk to.

Liza Weil’s role as Shy Baldwin’s bass player in The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel. It took me three episodes to recognize her.

A little embroidery set. I love keeping my hands busy when I’m watching movies.

Making vegan walnut lebkuchen and a very good batch of crisp bread in one go.

Roast apples with candied almonds and marzipan for Christmas dinner. Some buckwheat chocolate cookies. Actually helping out my mum in the kitchen.

Sitting at the piano with my brother, singing tunes from our childhood series, Disney songs, pop songs… We both had sore throats afterwards.

Visiting Sash’s parents over Christmas. Her mum cooked a pretty great lunch and we played board games.

Learning how to make a monkey fist knot.

Finding a new spot I like in my apartment. The chair right next to the window at the kitchen table. It’s nice and warm because you can sit beside the heater and while you have breakfast or browse through a cookbook you can see what’s going on outside.

Seeing the incredible gobelins at Kunsthalle / Fäden der Moderne exhibition. I loved the Le Corbusier ones.

Visiting Manu at his parents' place. Playing board games together, his mum feeding me with parsley potatoes and a weird _bird's milk_ dessert. Lying on the sofa, watching old movies. It's weirdly nice to be part of a normal family dynamic once in a while.

Andre saving my New Year’s Eve at the very last minute. Out of the blue he suggested a trip to Czech Republic right after midnight the day before. I was like… okay, let’s do this! So I met up with him and three people I had never met before in Regensburg and we drove to Český Krumlov, checked into our fancy hotel and walked down to the city centre. Czech food for dinner, a band playing at the city square. We climbed up to the castle for the turn of the year. This must have been the first year that started out with a proper New Year’s kiss. Afterwards we went to a weird music bar and - apparently - one of the best clubs in the country. I had a lot of fun. Even though getting Andre home was quite a challenge.