#every day he needs a home cooked meal like I’m his private chef or something ????

[liam-summers]

Sorry, I would rather eat flaming hot DOG shit than have another man live in my house ever again.

[karls-writing-space]

Yo! If it's not too much trouble, can I have Coffee and/or roseship tea from that lil' tea thingie you had reposted a bit ago with C!Tommy and C!Technoblade? They're my favorites and kinda comfort characters so I'd love to see you write for em 👉👈 [-DreamerAnon 👀]

Ayyyy! Hey, DreamerAnon!

Ofc you can have C!Tommy and C!Techno for that tea thing! (We share two comfort characters!)

Coming right up, mate!

— ☆ — ☆ — ☆ — ☆ — ☆ — ☆ — ☆ — ☆ — ☆ — ☆ — ☆ — ☆ — ☆ — ☆—

Tea Asks -

Coffee and Rosehip Tea for C!Tommy and C!Technoblade

— ☆ — ☆ — ☆ — ☆ — ☆ — ☆ — ☆ — ☆ — ☆ — ☆ — ☆ — ☆ — ☆ — ☆—

Tommy

Coffee - Do they get jealous easily? How do they show it?

Tommy does tend to get jealous quite easily, to be honest.

He tries not to let it show, though. Big Man over here doesn't want others - especially his S/O - to know that he gets jealous.

Honestly, he masks his jealousy pretty well. Tommy over here is pretty good at acting like he's not jealous in front of others.

He wouldn't really get jealous if you hung out with his friends every now and then. He trusts them, and he trusts you. So, it's kind of a win-win situation.

If you were hanging out with his friends more than him, or if you're hanging out with people he doesn't like, Tommy begins to get jealous.

He tries his best not to let others around him see him get jealous, but sometimes he can't help it.

When he has enough, he walks over to where his partner is and wraps an arm around their shoulders or torso. He would press a few kisses onto their face. He does show his partner random acts of affection in both public and private, so it wouldn't be all that noticeable if he was jealous.

The time his S/O would find out Tommy was jealous was when he tells them, which would be in the privacy of their homes,

Cue his S/O teasing Tommy and him getting all flustered and telling them to shut up [with no ill intent].

Rosehip Tea - How romantic are they? How do they show affection?

I view C!Tommy as a bit of a romantic guy. He definitely has had thoughts of meeting someone, going on dates, and the two showing affection toward one another.

He would be a physically affectionate person. He loves holding his S/O's hand out in public. He can be seen with an arm around his S/O's shoulders when he's sitting with them and their group of friends.

Tommy can be a little clingy when it comes to his lover, and he really hopes that they don't mind that.

Early-Morning cuddles are very much a thing. Tommy will tangle his arms and legs with his S/O's when they cuddle. Sleepy "Good morning, love"s and "I love you"s also occur during this time.

He and his S/O aren't going to be getting out of bed for a while.

That is unless they needed to get up for something.

If he's out somewhere in the morning, he writes little notes telling his S/O where he's at and then tells them that he loves them.

He likes playing/messing around with his significant other. Expect him to playfully roughhouse with his S/O at random times. He will be careful not to hurt them, and if he does, he will apologize.

Tommy tries all sorts of pick-up lines on his S/O. They're either rather cheesy, or really sweet.

"___, do you have a map?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"Because I just got lost in your eyes."

He loves to go on little adventures with his S/O. The two of you could be searching around caves and cliffs for a while, and then end the day sitting on a mountain stargazing and enjoying each other's company.

This guy tries to have candlelit dinners with his S/O whenever he can, but it either ends up with him almost burning the food or he forgets about the dinner date he had in mind.

When a dinner date does go as planned and doesn't get messed up, he plays Melohi in the background.

"It's for romance." He says as he leads his S/O to his dining room to eat.

He knows how to make basic meals - like Steak with vegetables at the side. He isn't a master-chef, but hey, at least he knows how to cook.

These dinner dates include him and his S/O joking around, complimenting one another, and of course, telling each other how much they love the other. He has this soft little loving smile on his face.

"I love you to the moon and back, ___. You're the best thing that's happened to me. Y'know that?"

"You... You complete me."

Hearing his S/O say that he loves him back, or compliments him makes Tommy smile grow as he blushes.

He loves having these moments with his S/O. It reminds him that he has someone who will love him unconditionally.

Technoblade

Coffee - Do they get jealous easily? How do they show it?

Like Tommy, it entirely depends on who his S/O hanging around.

If they're hanging out with Philza or Ranboo, he wouldn't feel jealous at all. He's quite happy that they're having fun with his friends. He'd also be quite relieved that they weren't hanging around people he thinks could hurt them, or that are his enemies.

On the other hand, if his lover is hanging around with other people that isn't Ranboo or Philza, he does get quite jealous.

When he's jealous, Techno won't say anything and will be a little annoyed. As time goes on, and they continue to hang around those other people, he will become more clingy and will want them to be around him more.

Technoblade will make up excuses to pull his lover away from those other people, and have them hang out with him for the remainder of the day. (with possible company from Phil and Ranboo.)

Would he admit that he was jealous?

Haha... no.

No, this will go to the grave with him.

Or, at least until his S/O figures out he was jealous and call him out for it. If they do point out he was jealous, he would deny it the first few times before giving in and admitting that he was indeed jealous. Piglin man would be blushing quite a bit as he admits it.

Rosehip Tea - How romantic are they? How do they show affection?

THE BLADEEEE

Techno isn't the most romantic person, to be honest.

He never really got time to settle down or really think about having a S/O.

That was until he met his S/O.

Then he tried to think of more romantic things to do with them that wasn't sparring.

He likes to cuddle his S/O while they read, or when he reads to them. The feeling of them in his arms is comforting to him.

He would read them stories about Greek mythology, or maybe would even read them The Art Of War. Probably would even leave his own comments on certain parts of the books he reads to his S/O - opinions, facts - anything he feels like adding.

Techno isn't very fond of PDA. He doesn't want his enemies to see him act as "weak", or to be an open spot for them to attack him or his S/O. He prefers to show affection in the privacy and safety of his or his lover's homes.

Very careful when cuddling his S/O. He doesn't want to accidentally crush them in his arms. His hugs are rather loose, but he still holds his lover close to his body.

His S/O is probably going to have to try and tell him that it's alright to give them tighter hugs.

Once he gets more comfortable with hugging his S/O, Technoblade will love having his lover in his arms. he thinks that they fit perfectly in them.

That and this guy is touch-starved as hell.

If he and his S/O share a bed, he would hold them while they sleep. He's really warm, and it feels nice to sleep close to him at night. He also holds them at night to convince himself that they're safe in his arms.

Hey, S/O! PLEASE play with his hair. Run your hands through it, ruffle it, style it - anything!

Techno will turn into a pile of mush because of this and will lean into his partner's touch. He loves the feeling of their fingers in his hair. It's very calming to him.

He won't take out the hairstyle they put in his hair until the end of the day. He loves any and all styles his S/O makes and will wear them with pride.

He tells his lover that he loves them as much as he can, and will complement and/or praise them when they do something that impresses him, or what he loves about them.

"Your smile is precious. Please smile some more."

"You brought home that many potatoes? That's... wow. I'm proud of you, ___"

"I love you, ___. I.... I can't believe that you're mine."

He will let his S/O wear his cape and crown! He thinks that they look great in his clothes, in general.

[genshin-obsessed]

Celebration | Zhongli x Reader

Happy birthday, Zhongli💖

Length: 1.5k words

Summary: It’s Zhongli birthday and you just found out. Now you have to plan a celebration for him!

Zhongli had never celebrated his birthday, he never felt there was a need to. To put it simply, Zhongli didn’t care about small things like birthdays, but he still valued life and the big picture. Though birthdays weren’t something important to him, he did value them to an extent.

The thing was, he didn’t care about them enough to celebrate his own. In fact, you didn’t even know that his birthday was today! That was, until you heard from the grapevine. Instead of being upset, you were excited to celebrate your boyfriend’s birthday.

The first thing you needed was a cake! Well… you could always bake one, but how well would that turn out considering the little time you had? So, you opted to buy a cake! Your friend Xiangling was a chef and she was also quite talented in making cakes- hopefully with normal ingredients.

Next, you would need a small place to set up the celebration. You still had yet to decide how many people you were inviting. But you were getting ahead of yourself. First, you needed to find Xiangling.

***

“Huh? A birthday cake for Zhongli? I mean I could, but it’ll take all day.” The chef informed you, making you frown. Well, it’s not her fault, you did come to her last minute.

“That’s alright! I’ll take anything you can come up with.” You laughed nervously, making Xiangling shake her head.

“Don’t worry, I know you don’t have much to work with, but I know you can do it! I’ll make the food too! Have you decided how many people are going to be involved?” You sighed and shook your head, leaning on the counter behind you. You were preoccupied with other things to think of such details.

“I’m not sure yet. I mean, I haven’t even told Zhongli about me knowing of his birthday and setting all of this up.” Xiangling nodded with a knowing smile.

“Then, why not spend this day with him? Just the two of you. I’ll cook you up a nice meal, you two can spend the day together, and cut the cake at the end of the day!” That was actually a pretty good idea and maybe Zhongli would be more receptive if you, alone, were there to celebrate something he doesn’t consider important.

“Actually, that’s a great idea! I’ll do that! Thanks Xiangling, you’re amazing!” With that, you were out of there on the hunt for the next object on your list.

The location.

Zhongli’s place was nice and so was yours but you wanted somewhere else. Wangshu inn wouldn’t do, since it was a bit far and not as private as you wanted. Eventually, you decided on your own place. As simple as it was, it was the most convenient.

So, you quickly booked it back to your place and started setting it up. You didn’t have streamers or any sort of decorations so that was great, but you made due with what you could. The least you could do was have a clean house so that he would be just a little bit impressed. Not that you lived in a junk pile.

Once your house was clean and ready for Zhongli, you moved onto your last objective.

His present.

What could you get Zhongli? Sure, the man was always low on mora but there might be something he really liked. This seemed to be the hardest decision and you sat down on the couch to think about it.

What’s the one thing Zhongli really wanted? Food? Well that was already being made but no. Maybe money? No, Zhongli probably wouldn’t want your money. What about an object? Well, Zhongli didn’t seem to have any sentimental stuff nor did it seem like he was ready to stock up on some. Zhongli wasn’t attached to mundane items like that. So what? What could you possibly get your boyfriend that he would actually like?

The next two hours were spent thinking about that but you couldn’t come up with anything. Eventually, it was time to start setting up for dinner. Xiangling has arrived half an hour early with the food.

She insisted you let her set it up while you went to get Zhongli. This way, by the time everything was ready, Xiangling would slip away and the meal would still be warm enough to eat. Well, hopefully. She always had Guoba to set something on fire.

You agreed and quickly left, wanting to bring back your boyfriend as quickly as possible. The food was getting cold.

***

“Oh, (f/n). Hello, what brings you by?” Zhongli asked with a tilt of his head. You smiled and gave him a hug, which he happily returned.

“Are you busy? I need you to come with me.” Damn! You should’ve asked ahead of time in case he was. That could’ve ruined everything you’d done today and wasted all of Xiangling’ shard work. But Lady Luck must’ve been smiling down on you.

“Not at all, where are you taking me?” He asked with little resistance as you guided him away from his home and towards yours.

“You’ll see! I have a little surprise for you!” You said, cheerfully. Your attitude always brought him joy, a type he’d never experienced before. Zhongli cherished you and if he had to lose everything in the world to keep you, he’d do so in a heartbeat.

“Is that so? Well I look forward to seeing it.” Good, because you still had to tell him you found out about his birthday and chose to celebrate him without asking. Even though it was a kind gesture, there could have been negative memories tied to said event.

***

“A dinner?” Zhongli asked as he loomed at the table that was set so beautifully. You nodded and urged he sit down, which he did. You had told Xiangling about his favorite meal, which she was more than happy to make. You also hoped the cake was in the fridge or you’d be calling her back to ask where it was.

As dinner went on, you and Zhongli talked about anything and everything. You loved spending time with him, finding yourself always feeling safe and loved around him. Zhongli had a natural calming aura, so whenever you were anxious, you went to him and your stresses and anxiety would just melt away.

You and Zhongli had been together for well over three years now. Everyday with him was a gift and you treasured every last moment with him. Sure, there were days where you couldn’t see him, but the distance made your hearts grow fonder- as the saying went.

But it was time. You had to come clean and give him his cake, then confess you had no present for him.

“Everything ok, love?” You nodded before sighing.

“Look… I found out about your birthday. And that’s it’s today. This is our little celebration, I even have a cake! I… don’t know why you didn’t tell me, but I hope it was ok to do this.” Zhongli seemed stunned but the look soon melted into a soft smile.

“Oh? I’m sorry I didn’t, but I don’t find things such as birthday celebrations necessary. They’re rather menial to me. At least my own is. I appreciate you doing this, however. Thank you. It means a lot to me.”

“W-well I have one more confession.” You said as you stood up and walked to the kitchen. The entire time you prayed the cake was inside. To your relief it was and you wasted no time bringing it out to the table. Zhongli looked over before nodding approvingly.

“This was the confession? You made me a cake?”

“Well no. Actually, Xiangling made the cake. And the food. I was busy setting things up- no. I actually couldn’t come up with an idea for a present. Every birthday should have a present. Unfortunately, I don’t know what you really want no matter how hard I thought. So, I… I failed.” You mumbled, lowering your head. You didn’t expect it to bring down your spirits this much. You could always make it up to him later and you knew that. Sadly, you still felt hurt over your own decision.

Zhongli smiled, taking your face in his hands and tilting your head to look up at him. His thumb stoked your cheek before he leaned in and kissed your forehead.

“(F/n), your presence is my present. The fact that I got to spend tonight with you is more than enough for me. The only thing I could ever want in this world, I already have, and that is you. I cherish you more than anything so simply having you at my side is the greatest gift you could ever give me.”

Your lips curled into a smile and you sighed in relief. You leaned into his chest and he wrapped his arms around you, giving you a tight hug.

“I love you, Zhongli.”

“And I love you.” You looked up at him and leaned up to kiss his lips.

“Happy birthday.”

[blueskrugs]

5 Times You Posted about Him, and One Time He Posted about You | Chris Kreider

I sent an anon to @kreiderrider​ way back at the end of April for Chris’ birthday and still haven’t stopped thinking about it, so apparently I’m writing it now. also for @bobohtuzzo​ for our never-ending loop of being mean to each other with Chris gifs.

TL;DR: this is Taylor’s fault for making me a Kreider girl, and and both hers Bayan’s fault for encouraging and enabling me.

length: 2.8k words

You knew when you started dating Chris that he was not social media’s biggest fan. And that was fine. You were hardly an influencer yourself, and you were pretty sure you followed more dogs than people on Instagram. So the pictures you took of Chris– Chris being cute, Chris doing mundane things, Chris with his bitchface on– stayed firmly in a locked album on your phone.

Until one day when you were sitting on the couch, leaning against Chris while he read a book, flipping through Instagram stories on your phone. One of your friends from high school had posted a cute picture with her boyfriend, and you paused to look at it. Chris rested his chin on your shoulder to peer at your phone. 

“They’re cute,” he murmured, pressing a quick kiss to your shoulder. You hummed in agreement. “How come you never post about me?”

You twisted around to look at him. “First of all, how do you even know that I don’t? Second of all, you want nothing to do with any sort of social media.” 

Chris flicked your nose. “Mika tells me things. And I don’t hate social media, I just don’t really get the point of it. Who the fuck cares what I’m doing every second of the day, who I got lunch with, where I got lunch? Anyway, I don’t really mind if you post about me every once in a while. I don’t want you to feel like you have to hide our relationship just because I avoid Instagram like the plague.” Chris pressed a kiss to your forehead to punctuate his sentence. 

You settled back in against Chris, resuming your mindless scrolling, and looking forward to the first opportunity to show off your boyfriend. 

Chef Chris Chris loved to cook. Part of it came from his absolutely ridiculous diet, you knew, but he also enjoyed the quiet time that cooking gave him, a way to be productive without requiring a ton of energy. The kitchens in either of your apartments were often filled with the smell of something good, for lunches, for dinners on nights off, for a quick meal after a game. Chris rarely let you help him with anything, which was fine because you preferred to bake, and it let you watch him. 

There was something about watching Chris cook that you just adored. He would always end up so focused, a strange intensity in his eyes that resembled the look he sometimes got on the ice. But then you would say something– a stupid joke that you’d seen on the internet, a funny story from work, or a something ridiculous your dog had done that morning– and he would laugh, his eyes lighting up again, and his dimples showing. 

Tonight, Chris was standing over the stove making a risotto. You had begged him for it during a rare full weekend off at home for the Rangers, and he had finally conceded. One of your playlists was playing softly in the living room, and you were perched on a barstool at the island, your dog curled beneath your feet. You weren’t sure if he wanted to be close to you, or if he was just waiting for Chris to give him a piece of chicken. 

Chris was stirring the risotto intently, his tongue poking out the corner of his mouth a little bit. You were already scrolling through your phone, so you couldn’t resist snapping a quick picture for your Instagram story, simply throwing an emoji of a chef in the corner.

You were checking the views on your story later that night and responding to the few people that had replied to it, when Chris saw your phone screen. 

“Hang on, gimme that,” he said, pausing the hockey game he was watching. “How did I not notice you take this?” He looked closer at your phone. “And how many fucking followers do you have, holy shit.”

You took your phone back, seeing that Brett Howden had asked why he didn’t get any dinner. “I got a bunch more after I started dating you,” you said. Chris looked concerned. “Don’t make that face, you dork. I don’t really care, and if I did, I could just make my account private.” 

Chris still looked a little alarmed at the number of people who had seen him cook dinner, but he turned back to the hockey game, anyway. 

Sing Us a Song There was a piano in Chris’ apartment. It was tucked away in the spare bedroom, and he avoided playing it when people were over, even when it was just the two of you. You had lamented that fact once, and Chris had said something about just wanting to spend all his time focused on you. You let it go, but that didn’t mean you weren’t dying to hear him play, especially since everyone who had could only compliment him.

It was nearly Christmas when you let yourself into Chris’ apartment with your spare key. The two of you had spent an entire weekend decorating, and the space was absolutely filled with Christmas spirit. You had been baking cookies, and you were dropping some off for Chris to bring home to Massachusetts and his family. You smiled as you heard the familiar chords of “Celebrate Me Home” echoing through the apartment. Your penchant for listening to Christmas music at all hours was beginning to rub off on Chris finally. You paused, though, when you realized that the voice drifting through the apartment was not Kenny Loggins, but Chris. 

You set the cookies and your purse down gently on a counter, kicking off your snow boots and quietly making your way through the apartment. You peered around the doorway of the spare bedroom. Chris’ back was to you, since the piano faced the windows looking out over the city, as he continued singing. You slipped your phone out of your coat pocket and began recording. You made sure to keep quiet as Chris began playing “The Christmas Song.” You stayed there for a minute longer before putting your phone away and walking into the room.

Chris jumped a little as you put your hand on his shoulder. “Your hands are freezing, Christ, Y/N. How long have you been here?”

You kissed his temple. “Sorry. Just came to drop off cookies and couldn’t resist listening to you for a while. I wish you’d sing for me more often.” Chris blushed all the way up to his ears. 

Later that night, back home and with a pie in the oven this time, you edited the videos you took a little bit and put them up on your Instagram story. You left it captionless.

Your DMs were soon filled with people commenting on how talented Chris was and begging for more videos of him. You screenshotted them all– maybe a little smugly– and sent them to Chris. All you got back was an emoji sticking its tongue out at you. 

Somewhere on a Beach There was absolutely nothing that you loved more than a good vacation. As the Rangers’ bye week approached, Chris was getting desperate to get out of the city, and you were looking forward to a week on a beach.

The Rangers won their last game before the break, and then the two of you were on a plane to Hawaii for some valuable time in the sun. Chris had found a rental with a private stretch of beach, and you both had bags full of books to read.

“Chris, you need to put on sunscreen!” you yelled as he walked across the sand, sunglasses perched on his nose and book in hand, on the first day. He had complained but let you cover him in sunscreen; he got burnt anyway. 

Mika made a crispy potato joke later that night in response to Chris’ whiny text. 

You got a couple good Instagram posts out of the vacation. One was simply pictures of you that you had made Chris take– “like a good Instagram boyfriend, babe” – plus a couple well-executed timer shots of both of you on the beach: sandy toes, sunburnt nose. The other was a small collection of photos you took of Chris throughout the week, in various positions in various chairs, all with a different book. Your favorite was the time you had caught him asleep on the beach, book still clutched precariously in his hand, mouth hanging open as he burned in the sun. I will never understand how he can read a book a day and still never run out of books, you had typed as a caption. 

Dog Lover Chris was sick. You were sure he had been fighting through shit for nearly two weeks but had been too stubborn to admit it, and he had finally hit a wall. You had caught him leaning heavily against the bathroom sink that morning, dizzy and nauseous, as he attempted to get ready for practice; it still took both you and Mika yelling at him, with more than one threat to call Quinn and/or his mother, before he agreed to stay home. 

You had forced him to at least eat a piece of toast before you let him collapse on the couch under most of the blankets you had in your apartment. You sent Mika a picture of Chris in his fever haze, zoned out while watching the morning news. 

You luckily had the day off, so you were able to stay close to your idiot boyfriend with a penchant for ignoring injury and illness. It started storming after you ate lunch, rain lashing against the windows and lightning lighting up the dark New York sky, shrouded with clouds. Chris was still slouched on one end of the couch, barely having moved all morning. You were sitting at the other end with a book, his feet in your lap and thumb idly rubbing circles on his ankle, having ignored Chris’ protests that you were going to get sick, too. 

Later, when you were making dinner, you peeked into your living room to check on Chris. He had thrown most of his blankets onto the floor, and he was sprawled out on his stomach, solidly asleep. Your dog had crawled up onto the couch with him and was laying protectively over Chris’ legs. You smiled at them before reaching for your phone to take a picture. 

First you sent it to Mika: “Sometimes I think he’s only dating me for my dog.” with an eye roll emoji. Mika laughed at that one. 

Then you posted it on your Instagram, this time with the caption everyone knows dog cuddles are the best medicine. Your replies were flooded with get-well wishes for Chris. 

Best Friends Everyone knew that Mika and Chris were pretty much inseparable, both on the ice and off of it. You and Irma had bonded over it one night, when what was supposed to be a nice double date devolved into Chris and Mika discussing the chances of various teams winning the Cup. It had only been November. 

You teased the two about their codependency, but honestly it was endearing. Mika ended up over for dinner more nights than not, and you texted him more than you texted your mom. Mika sometimes crashed movie nights at Chris’ apartment, and all three of you ended up in a tangled mess of limbs and blankets before the end of the night without fail. It was completely undeniable that Chris loved Mika, so it was inevitable that you loved Mika, too. 

The Rangers were having another outdoor practice in Central Park. You loved going to any practice, but the outdoor ones were especially fun to watch. It always seemed like half of New York showed up to watch, and the boys were always more energetic and idiotic than usual.

You hung around close to the boards behind one of the goals during practice. You got some good pictures of the boys warming up, including one particularly cute one of Artemi sticking his tongue out at you. As practice went on, you took more pictures as various Rangers sped past you. The best opportunity was when Chris scored a – frankly ridiculous, honestly – goal over Hank’s shoulder, set up perfectly by Mika. They slammed into the boards next to you in celebration, and you managed to snap a great angle of that smile Mika seemed to reserve specifically for Chris.

All of the WAGs and families were allowed onto the ice after practice ended. You carefully made your way over towards where Chris and Mika were lazily leaning against the boards near one of the benches, nearly running over tripping over Igor’s dog in the process when he ran in front of you, gleefully dragging a leash behind him. 

Chris was facing you, but he didn’t see you approach. You, however, could see the dorky grin he had aimed at Mika from where he was slouching against the wall. As you got closer, you took out your phone and snuck one more picture of the two of them.

You couldn’t resist posting those pictures of your boys. You made sure to tag Mika, adding on the caption someone tell me how I can get a boy to look at me the way Chris and Mika look at each other. 

Mika replied with an eye roll emoji and a blue heart. Irma replied with about five cry-laughing emojis. Chris just looked offended. 

His Turn Chris had managed to convince you to join him for a week in Connecticut, and you had managed to convince him to let you drive up. He grumbled about it all the way out of the city. 

You had your sunglasses on and your hair was loose around your shoulders. Chris’ phone was plugged into your aux, but he had turned on your own road trip playlist. (He complained about your taste in music most of the drive, too.) As you got closer to Connecticut, Chris rolled the windows down. Every once in a while, you glanced over at him, only to already find him watching you with a smile on his face, eyes crinkly and dimple showing. 

You were singing the words to a Taylor Swift song at the top of your lungs, laughing as the wind ripped the words from your throat and out the window, when Chris reached over and picked up your phone. You turned to look at him.

“Eyes on the road,” he scolded, still holding your now-unlocked phone. You raised an eyebrow but turned back to the highway in front of you. 

The song changed again, this time to a Queen song, and you laughed again. Chris started singing along with you, and you forgot that he had been taking a picture of you. 

Later that night, long after the sun set, you got a notification that you had been tagged in a new Instagram post, by @2kreids0. You squinted at your phone screen, confused. You were sitting out on the porch under the stars, and Chris had gone in for dessert (something still stupidly healthy– “It’s the offseason, Kreider!” you had protested) only a couple minutes before.

Still frowning a little, you tapped on the notification. A picture of yourself, with the sun in your face and hair blowing out the window, laughing, eyes bright underneath your sunglasses, filled your screen. It could only have been taken by Chris in your car earlier. You looked at the Instagram handle again.

“Hey, babe?” you called as Chris stepped back outside, trying to balance two bowls and two glasses of wine. He looked up at you. “Did you make an Instagram?” Chris blushed. You looked back at the picture, this time reading the caption below it: I’ll drive anywhere with you, just to hear you sing your favorite songs. 

Chris had moved to stand next to you, still blushing to the tips of his ears. “I might have.” You laughed, taking your glass of wine from Chris’ hand and pulling him down for a kiss. 

“I thought you didn’t see the point?” you asked.

Chris shrugged. “I didn’t. Then you started posting pictures of me all the time, and I started to understand why people share the things they love for everyone to see.” 

“You’re a sap, Kreider,” you said, all fondness. You smiled at him from behind the rim of your wine glass as he took another picture of you. “Is this what I’m like?” you asked. Chris let out a surprised laugh. 

The next morning you were tagged again by Chris. You rolled your eyes. When you opened the notification, you saw the picture from the night before, but there was also a second one, one you didn’t know Chris had taken. It was of you, of course, but you were glaring at something on your phone over your coffee mug, glasses on and hair a mess. This time he had captioned it get you a girl who can do both. 

“Christopher!” You were already beginning to regret showing him exactly how to work Instagram the night before. As you heard Chris laughing his way down the stairs, though, you thought that you could really get used to it, even if Chris probably had some revenge posts in store for you. 

[phoenix-downer]

White Day Surprise

2026 words. Contains spoilers for Melody of Memory. SoKai. Romance, Angst, Fluff, Pining, Mutual Pining, White Day, Pi Day, Baking, and most importantly, Pie. 

Successor to this story I wrote for Christmas and this story I wrote for Valentine’s Day. 

Sora wanted to do something special for Kairi for White Day. She’d gone out of her way to make Valentine’s Day special, so it was only right he returned the favor. Back home, that meant giving her a gift that was, uh twice? three times? the value of the original. But her letter was priceless, and those chocolates were special too, so he was at a loss as to what to do.

He paced back and forth in this place that looked like the Final World. He couldn’t give her a gift right now. Couldn’t tell her how he felt yet (not with words anyway) because she wanted him to wait till they met again. So what was he supposed to do?

Something that involved taking control of her body was all he had. His face flushed. No, not like that. Putting this whole body-sharing thing into words always made it sound worse than it actually was. He always waited till he had permission and immediately ceded control the moment she asked him to.

He plopped onto the watery ground that somehow didn’t ever get him wet and scoured his brain for ideas. What would he do if this was a normal White Day, if he was fully back in the Realm of Light with his own body at his disposal?

“Take her on a date. Maybe to the Bistro. Or I could cook or bake her something myself using the stuff Little Chef taught me.” He perked up. “That’s it! I’ll make something for her. I’ll just need to write down the ingredients so she can get them and then ask her for control when it’s time to actually make the stuff.”

He made a mental list about what he’d need for the recipe and then patiently waited. Something told him Kairi would be reaching out to him soon.

Sure enough, he eventually heard her voice.

“Sora? Want to take over for a bit?”

He followed her voice, chased it, pursued it till he was in her body. She was in her room on the Land of Departure, lying on her bed, and sunlight was streaming through the window. Must be morning, and she probably just woke up.

Hey, Kairi, he signed. Happy White Day.

“Happy White Day to you too.”

Desk, he gestured.

“You want to write something?”

He nodded.

“Okay. You can take control.”

He gently got her up out of bed and walked her body to the desk. She had a little diary for the two of them to write to each other now, and he opened it and grabbed a pen.

Ingredients List

Butter

Sugar

Whipped Cream

Coconut Chips or Shavings

Coconut Milk

He was about to write another ingredient when she interrupted.

“You want to bake me something for White Day, don’t you? You’re the sweetest.”

He smiled and continued, listing off the rest of the ingredients. When everything looked good, he added, Can you get these for me?

“Of course. We should have most of the stuff around the castle except for the coconut-related things. But I can buy them for you, okay? Or bop back to Destiny Islands real quickly if need be.”

Please do. I know it’s not much, but I wanted to thank you for your Valentine’s gift.

“Leave it to you to figure out a way to make it work. I assume you’ll want to do the baking yourself too, right?”

Yeah. I’d do it in my own body if I could. Make you a five course meal. When I get back, okay? This’ll have to do for now.

“This is more than enough.”

Talk to you soon.

He had to let go of the connection for now because he sensed danger. Curse the stupid monsters in Quadratum who kept pulling him back to their (un)reality. If he missed making Kairi’s gift for her on the appropriate day, these monsters were gonna regret they ever crossed him.

“Riku, where are you?” he grumbled as he fought them off. He knew Riku was somewhere in this reality, they just kept missing each other. It didn’t help that Sora’s heart was jumping all over the place, getting pulled more and more towards Kairi, while his body was stuck here. Glued to this place because abusing the Power of Waking meant it had been banished from the Realm of Light and couldn’t return.

As the last monster disappeared in a puff of smoke, he sighed and wiped his forehead. He was more convinced than ever that his heart’s connection to Kairi was growing stronger by the day. What would it take to get his body out of here too?

“Stupid body,” he said as he scowled at it. “Keeping me trapped here.” He let his Keyblade disappear and slunk towards a private alley. “Kairi won’t want a boyfriend without a body forever.” He sat on a box of crates and cast a barrier around himself to buy some time. “And I don’t wanna be without a body either. I don’t want my options to be body-less in the Realm of Light or trapped here forever.”

Sighing, he closed his eyes, imagining himself back in the Final World-esque place. Thankfully, he was able to will his heart back to Kairi pretty quickly. She was in the castle’s kitchen now, and all of the ingredients he’d asked for were dutifully set out.

Sorry I kept you waiting, he scrawled on the diary she’d left out. Had some monsters show up.

“Monsters? Sora, is it safe for you to be here?”

It is now. Trust me, if my body’s in danger, it lets me know.

“If you’re sure,” she finally said, and he could hear the worry in her voice. “I’ve put you in enough danger before as it is.”

Don’t I get to be the judge of that?

“Sorry, considering your current predicament and how you got there… No. You’re reckless when it comes to your own life if it means keeping me safe.”

Maybe, but I was the one who put myself in danger. Not you. And can you blame me? I wasn’t about to abandon you, with your heart in pieces and at Xehanort’s mercy. You would’ve done the same for me. You did, in fact. You refused to let me die like I was supposed to at the Keyblade Graveyard.

“That was different,” she said tersely. “I didn’t have to die to keep you alive.”

I didn’t either. I’m not dead. My body’s just—

“Cut off from the Realm of Light. How is that all that different from being dead?”

Sora felt like sighing. Kairi… We’re wasting what precious little time we have together fighting. I would gladly fight with you all day if I could, but I’d like to make you the gift I promised.

She hung her head, shoulders slumping. “Sorry, I’m making this about me and my guilt again, and when you’re in such a precarious situation, too.”

It’s okay. Sometimes I think you got the harder end of the bargain, watching me disappear, feeling all alone and abandoned.

“You didn’t abandon me. You came to my aid when I needed you most. And you’re the one who’s cut off from me, from everyone. You have it worse by far.”

Sora was about to write something when Kairi continued. “But today you’re gonna literally walk me through this recipe and we’re gonna have fun, okay? You need this, you need to relax and unwind and have some fun.”

Yeah. And there’s no person I’d rather spend time with than you.

She giggled, and his heart felt warm, hearing her giggle.

“Okay, Master Chef, teach me your ways,” she said, and with that she let him take over. He led her through mixing and chopping and cutting and stirring, and she was ever the attentive student. It had been so long since he’d gotten to bake anything. Since he’d gotten to unwind and have fun like this.

“So we’re making a pie, huh?” she said as he prepared the crust. “Don’t tell me… Coconut cream pie? That’s one of my favorites. And it’s the perfect dessert for White Day. Pi Day, too.”

The pie took a long time to make, but spending that time with Kairi was worth it. He’d spend every moment with her if he could. When at last the pie was chilling in the fridge, she sat at the table so he could write notes to her. His signing was still a work in progress.

Pie should be ready now, he wrote presently.

“Do you want me to eat it while you’re still here? It feels a little rude when you can’t.”

He didn’t like the twinge of melancholy in her voice.

I don’t mind. In fact I kinda want to know what you think.

“Okay,” she said and went to the fridge to grab the pie. It looked amazing with its crispy crust, its creamy filling coated with whipped cream shaped into perfect swirls, and its coconut shavings artfully sprinkled on top. He’d really outdone himself, and he couldn’t wait for her to taste it.

You’ll have to tell me how it is, he scribbled when she was seated at the table once more. She nodded and lifted a forkful of pie to her mouth.

Oh, yum. This pie was creamy and delicious and brought back memories of all the times he’d eaten his mom’s coconut cream pie back home—

Hold on. Hold on. He could taste the pie? How was that even possible?!

“Oh this is amazing,” Kairi cooed as she brought another forkful to her mouth. “Creamy and coconut-y and—”

“Sora?”

Ven was standing in the doorway of the kitchen, his mouth hanging open.

“You can see him?” Kairi squeaked, dropping the fork. “That’s never happened before!”

Sora froze. Ven could see him? How?

“Yeah,” Ven said, taking long strides towards them. “It’s like he’s kind of translucent, and I can still see you through him, but yeah, I can see him.”

Ven? Sora tried to say, but no sound came out.

“Do you think—Is his connection to the Realm of Light getting stronger?” Kairi asked, her voice so full of hope Sora could practically feel her heart soaring.

“Yeah, I think it must be,” Ven said. “Hang on, lemme get Terra and Aqua.” He paused for a moment to squeeze Kairi’s hand, and Sora’s felt a little warmer. “Be back in a second.”

The taste of the pie, the warmth of Ven’s hand… He wasn’t imagining this stuff, was he?

Kairi, diary, he signed, and she let him take control so he could write.

I could taste the pie. I felt Ven’s hand when he squeezed yours.

“That’s great, Sora! I think your body is trying to follow your heart back to the Realm of Light.”

Was it possible? He wanted it to be possible. He wanted to come home.

“Here, let me eat more of that pie, you must be starving.”

Please, he signed.

Kairi lifted the fork to her lips again when he felt a strong tugging on his heart.

“No,” she cried in frustration. “You can’t leave yet!”

Be back soon, he signed sadly. His heart was getting pulled back with a vengeance now, which meant he needed to protect his body. Happy White Day, Kairi.

“Happy White Day, Sora,” she said, and with that, he was back in Quadratum. Oh, great, more monsters had found him, and it was raining now too. He groaned and summoned his Keyblade. He’d much rather be eating coconut cream pie with Kairi in the Land of Departure’s warm and bright castle kitchen.

He was so close to finding a way home. Right on the edge. If he’d just had a little more time, he could’ve done it. Still, he was grateful for the moments he and Kairi had shared today. Making the pie and then tasting it together. He was more determined than ever to make it home to her. If he succeeded, then he and Kairi could spend as much time together as they wanted.

For that, he’d keep on fighting, however long it took.

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

A/N: This fic is dedicated to the lovely @angel-with-a-pipette​ for coming up with the idea of Sora baking something for Kairi when I was trying to think of a follow-up to the Valentine's fic I wrote. Thank you again for all your help and input!

And Happy White Day and Happy Pi Day to you all! Thank you for reading!

[jihyuncompass]

Firsts

This was very self indulgent and I had way too much fun writing this, I hope you like it as much as I do. 

Mysme Week 2020 Day Three ( @mysmeweek2020 )

Firsts

Jumin Han x MC 

Word Count: 2.6K

Summary: If seeing your boyfriend in your small apartment was strange, it was nothing like seeing your boyfriend in the convenience store.

“Jumin are you sure?” Your fiance sat opposite of you. Halfway through your dinner at Jumin’s home he had asked to see where you live. Despite the fact you had been dating for a few months and were already engaged he had never been to your apartment before. It had always been more comfortable to just spend time at his Penthouse, but now he seemed to be curious.

“Yes I’m sure.” He took a careful sip of wine. Jumin did almost everything that way, careful, methodical. Thought out specifically so he doesn’t make a single mistake in his actions. You looked down at your plate and then back at Jumin, who was still looking at you.

Taking courage you ask “But why? My place isn’t that special.” Jumin raised an eyebrow. Setting down his glass on the table his expression showed a sort of softness. Something he only showed you, seeing his warmth in his eyes your heart rate went up. 

“It’s special to me, because it’s your home. I want to see where it is you go when I’m not with you. I believe that the home is an extension of oneself, I want to see that part of you.” Just like his expression his voice had this fondness to it. Taking a deep breath in and watching him for just a little longer you gave in. 

“Alright, how about you come over tomorrow night? I could cook dinner for the two of us?” You suggested. Jumin, seeming pleased with the suggestion, reached his hand over the table to hold yours. His thumb running circles across your skin you held his hand, thinking about tomorrow. 

-----

Your apartment has never looked better, you’re convinced it’s cleaner than when you moved in. Every surface is scrubbed, washed, swept, mopped, and organized. Your heart beat out of your chest while you jumped around your tiny kitchen getting everything ready. After spending an hour looking at online recipes and an hour and a half around the grocery store to get everything you finally were able to get to cooking. There was no way you could ever compete with Jumin’s private chef but you were determined to do the very best you could for him. 

Looking over the recipe pages you had laid out in front of you, silently you went through all the ingredients one last time to make sure you had everything, mentally checking off every item. You had the meat, potatoes, vegetables, seasonings. Grinning to yourself you were proud that you hadn’t missed anything. 

Cooking was going well, you had decided that steak would be a good idea for dinner. You knew your fiance’s love of a good steak so you hoped it would be a good choice. Each element you made sure was prepared properly to make sure everything was as perfect as possible. 

That is until it came to making the mashed potatoes to have as a side, you realized after you finished cooking the potatoes that you didn’t have any milk to mix in. 

“How am I out of milk?” You loudly groaned to yourself. Running your hand through your head you looked at the clock on the stove. Jumin was going to be here any minute now and there was no way you would have the time to go to the store at this point. 

The sharp knock on the door made you jump. Your eyes went between the door and the fridge where the milk should be. You stepped away from the counter and went to the door. Standing in front of the door, and taking a deep breath to calm your nerves you smoothed out your clothes and got yourself ready. 

Jumin stood on the other side of the door, as usual he looked perfect. Likely coming straight from the office he was still wearing his work clothes. He greeted you with a little smile which you matched with a big one. 

“You look lovely today my dear.” He stepped forward to give a short chaste kiss. Your face blushed bright red like it did every time he kissed you. Stepping aside you motioned for him to come in. 

Watching Jumin Han step into your apartment was like a clashing of worlds. Witnessing your boyfriend, the future CEO of a massive corporation and one of the richest men in the country standing in your tiny one bedroom apartment felt completely off. He took in the apartment taking in everything in sight.  

Standing next to him you motioned around the apartment. “Would you like the tour?” Jumin nodded turning towards you.

“I would. I want to see everything.” Your face flushed a brighter red. Clapping your hands together you motioned to the living room right in front. “This is the living room, where I do most of the living.” You joked, letting him watch for a few moments you shifted on your feet to take him to the kitchen. 

“This is my kitchen. It’s pretty small but it gets the job done.” Jumin nodded, he looked at the food you were preparing on the counter. He stepped toward the counter to look at the ingredients you left there. “Oh I’m not done with dinner yet, so don’t mind this mess.” 

“It looks good.” Jumin said. “Are you cooking steak?” 

“Trying too.” You shrugged. “It probably isn’t going to be as good as you're used to but I know how much you like steak so I wanted to give it a try.” You rubbed your hands together while you watched him look over everything. 

“I have no doubts that it will be excellent.” He told you. “I’m looking forward to eating what you’ve prepared.” You smiled, some of the anxiety in your chest dissolving. 

“I’m excited for you to try it. Do you want to see the bedroom?” You saw the way his eyebrow raised at you, his expression changing. Rolling your eyes you added on. “God Jumin not like that.” He gave a short laugh that made you smile just the tiniest bit. 

Jumin stepped out of your way, his smile still present. “Show the way.” You walked past him, motioning for him to follow you.

Opening the door to your bedroom Jumin stepped in first to look around. Your bed took up most of the space in the room, which by comparison made Jumin look giant and a little out of place. He was quiet but you saw the smile that crossed his face when he noticed the photo of the two of you on the nightstand. 

“Your home is beautiful.” He said walking back to stand in front of you. 

“It’s okay.” You shrugged. “It’s no penthouse.” 

“No, but this place has you in it.” His hand brushed across your cheek, his fingers curling under your chin to bring you into a kiss. Slowly you leaned forward to put your arms around his neck. Feeling his lips pressed against yours still never failed in making you feel like you were on cloud nine. His free arm landed on your lower back to bring you chest to chest with him. He moved away from your lips to focus on your jaw, leaving short, soft kisses across your chin and moving up towards your ear. 

“Jumin-” You whispered. He stopped and pulled away, still holding you in his arms. 

“I apologize, I think I’m getting a little carried away. You’re just so intoxicating I can’t help but get excited.” Leaning forward you kissed his cheek. 

“We can get back to this a little later.” You suggested with a coy smile. “But let’s eat first.” Despite your desire to stay right there you moved out of his embrace to lead him back into the kitchen. At this point you remembered your milk dilemma. At this point you didn’t really have a choice. Looking back to Jumin you would have to confess your mistake. 

“So this is very embarrassing but just before you got here I realized I forgot an ingredient for dinner. I just need to run to the convenience store but it’ll only be a minute.” 

“If it would help I could call someone to pick it up for us?” Jumin offered. You raised your hands up while you shook your head. 

“There’s no need for that, there’s a convenience store at the end of the block that I can get it from. It’ll be ten minutes tops. I can just do it.” 

“Then allow me to join you, it wouldn’t be safe for you to walk alone at this time in the evening.” Jumin said walking towards the door. You caught up with him quickly stopping once you were right next to him. “Besides,” He continued. “I’ve never been to a convenience store before. Assistant- sorry, Jaehee often got her meals from them and I’ve always been curious about them.” You reached down to slip your shoes on as Jumin did the same. 

“Well then.” You said after grabbing your set of keys. “Let’s go.” 

----

If seeing your boyfriend in your small apartment was strange, it was nothing like seeing your boyfriend in the convenience store. He looked out of place with his tailored suit and striped shirt, being lit by the too-bright fluorescents. He looked around the small building with his usual observant look. Not saying much he followed you around to the back wall lined with cold drinks and ice cream. 

“This place seems to carry a large variety of items for such a small establishment.” Jumin noted. Pulling a gallon of milk out you shrugged. 

Holding the gallon up to your chest you faced him. “I mean it is a convenience store, it’s meant to have a little bit of everything.” You closed the door to the cooler while balancing the milk in your arm. “Okay, I’ve got what I needed, let’s check out and get back.” Heading back the same way you came moving through the thin aisles of the convenience store. 

Jumin followed close behind you, still keeping quiet as he took in everything. Shooting a glance back at him you saw him stop and stare at the snack and candy aisle. You turned on your heel cocking your head as you watched him. 

“I’ve never seen so many different varieties of candy in one place.” Looking at the dozens of different brands of sweets and junk food, an idea popped into your head. You stood in front of the aisle and set the gallon of milk down by your feet. 

“Have you ever tried any of these before?” Jumin looked over the varieties again. 

“No, I’ve seen some of these things before but I’ve never eaten any of them.” Reaching past him you grabbed a package of your favorite candy. Jumin looked over and noticed your expression. “Darling?” You shot him a wicked smile.

Waving towards the rest of the candy you told him your idea. “Grab whatever looks good to you, as much as you want.” A shocked expression crossed his features. He didn’t seem to quite understand what you were telling him. 

“Are you sure?” 

“I’m sure, it’ll be fun.” He still hesitated, to encourage him you grabbed a chocolate bar off the shelf and handed it to him. “Go crazy Jumin. Whatever looks good to you.” 

After some encouragement the two of you ended up with your arms full of candy, the two of you had even moved onto the next aisle to grab some of the other savory snacks they had for sale. Once you reached the checkout counter the two of you could barely hold onto everything you’d chosen. The bored looking nineteen year old checker eyed you both strangely as he scanned all of the sweets and the gallon of milk. 

You carried the milk while Jumin carried the bag of snacks. You held Jumin’s free hand with yours, you couldn’t fight the silly smile that kept growing on your face. 

From then on dinner was smooth sailing, you managed to cook both the steaks to the medium rare that you both liked. The mashed potatoes were quickly finished after getting your last ingredient. You cooked the vegetables maybe slightly too long but in the grand scheme of things it didn’t really matter. While you cooked Jumin went through each one of the snacks you got, reading over each of the labels. 

----

“Alright.” You started. The two of you had finished your dinner not too long ago, and now you had set out all of the snacks on the dining table. You both thought it would be fun to review and rate each one. Jumin being the methodical businessman he was, had created a rubric for rating each one. Considerations would be taken for taste, texture, price, and memorability of each one. Each item would get a score from you and from him, and then one total score decided together between the two of you. He’d drawn out a record sheet on a few sheets of paper that was set in front of him. “Where should we start?” 

In total it took about two hours to finish your rating. After tasting each one and giving individual scores you both spent several minutes debating your combined score, arguing the best and worst qualities. Throughout the whole process you couldn't stop smiling, seeing just how seriously Jumin was taking all of this made it even better. You had seen him at work before, but this was different. Jumin wasn’t smiling but you could hear in his voice how excited he was. 

You leaned back against your chair, your hand resting on your stomach. “Okay, I’m glad we didn’t get anything else because I don’t think I can eat a single bite of anything else.” Leaning your head on Jumin’s shoulder you looked at the now filled record sheet. “So who’s the winner?” You asked him, he grabbed the original chocolate bar you had given him at the store. “Wow really?” Jumin pointed to its spot on the sheet. 

“Yes, this one ranked the best. It’s a simple chocolate bar but the quality is there. It’s sweet without being too much. It also is the best when considering the price.” You nodded against his shoulder. 

“This was fun.” You said, moving your head to look him in the eyes. “Thank you for humoring me.” 

“It was very enjoyable, I can’t say my nutritionist is going to be very pleased but I think it was worth it.” Jumin pushed aside the record sheet. Reaching for you, Jumin pulled you onto his lap. His hands resting on your hips you leaned into him. “Thank you for dinner my love.” 

“Thank you for coming over.” You kissed his temple, resting your forehead against his. “I love you Jumin.” You could practically feel Jumin’s smile. 

“I love you more.” He closed the gap between the two of you, this kiss was gentle and affectionate and left you with a warm feeling in your stomach. “Now, if I recall. We had something we wanted to come back to after we ate.” Jumin was giving you a dark look that he only gave you, his fingers drawing figure eights on your hip. 

You smiled and let out a little laugh. “Even after all that food you still have the energy?” 

“Is that a no then?” 

“No,” You leaned for a short teasing kiss. “Let’s get back to it.” 

[echo-three-one]

A Forgotten Memory

An Alex x OC fic

Apparently, this is the eighth chapter!

Link to the first one here (for the new readers if there are any)

This one's the longest so far!

Reviews and Comments appreciated. It fuels me to keep on writing. Enjoy!

VIII - Samantha

Samantha felt that she lived for a year inside her dream realm. She was aware that this was all a dream because it wasn't possible that Connor was alive, but then again it pains to see how she's fooling herself with fake memories.

Certain moments while she's walking along the beachside with Connor, he would immediately dissappear, and would never come back until a few more days in her dream. She wondered what time it was outside but all she knew was she kept living the same tragic day again and again and again. She found a loophole though, she prevented him from taking that yacht but would find himself a different situation where he ends up dead. It felt like she was meant to feel extreme sadness from loss.

This wasn't what her captors wanted from her. They wanted 'something she accidentally saw on her father's drawer'. Then it dawned on her, those were numbers and dots separating them, almost like an IP Address. Just as she tried recalling it, thanks to the drug flowing in her bloodstream, the numbers began to slowly melt as a faint smell of cheese wafted around her. With one soft gasp, she found herself awake.

Thick oak trees covered the windows as she turns around the room. She's in a log cabin, but fancier. She slowly ripped her dextrose as she quietly made her way down to the living room. She knows where she is, TV taught her that only the evil people could afford expensive things. Grabbing a medicine tray beside her bed, she slowly descended the stairs, readying herself as she attempted to beat her abductor with an aluminum tray.

Following the scent of melted cheese, she tiptoed across the living room to the kitchen, a man was standing behind the sink. Athletic build and arms sprawled with tattooes. He pretty much looked like Alex, but this one reeks evil.

The loud clang of aluminum rang as she hit her abductor square on the head, knocking him down temporarily dazed. Her eyes slowly opened to reveal Alex, who's rubbing his head and wincing in pain.

"Oh my God, I'm so sorry, Alex. I thought I was still held captive!" She quickly assisted him up and grabbed a bottle of cold water for his head.

Alex was too hurt and surprised to talk but as soon as their eyes met, it almost felt like he wasn't hit by a medicine tray just now.

"You're awake!" was all he said as he hugged her tight. Then he realized, he wasn't supposed to do that. Samantha just sat beside him by the kitchen floor, confused. He immediately let go of his arms and pretended to be still dazed. He was just too overwhelmed to see her okay.

"Is your head okay?" She asked, with an expressionless face. Alex nodded.

"Nothing major. I just need ice maybe."

"Got it." Samantha quickly stood up and opened the fridge. Her warm cheeks couldn't feel the cold breeze. She was blushing hard and staring blankly at the contents of the fridge.

"I think we don't have ice. A cold water bottle would be fine." Alex commented as Samantha snapped back to reality. She remembered she had an injured person to tend to. Quickly grabbing the bottle, she plopped herself beside Alex who groggily found his way to the sofa.

The bump was slightly obvious and Samantha can't help but laugh at him. It was a funny mistake but what matters is that she finally saw him again.

"Where are we?" she asked, tilting her head and looking at Alex trying not to laugh.

"CIA Safehouse 110197" Alex mouthed.

"Which is... where?"

"Classified. Even I don't know where we are." he lied.

"And where are the others?"

"It's actually just you and me." he replied, looking down, his eyes rolled trying to see her reaction. Samantha rolled her eyes somewhere else evading to meet his gaze.

"Great. Guess I have to tend to my mistakes." She quickly got up and went up to the bedroom. Alex simply sat there waiting for her to come back.

"This house is complete. There's actually a medicine box by the bathroom sink!" She exclaimed in excitement as she set her kit and prepared the gauze.

"You'd be surprised on what you can find by the sofas." Alex chuckled and immediately winced in pain as Samantha placed a plaster by his bump.

"You could've said something!" he complained, Samantha just laughed.

"I always wanted to be a doctor..." she said.

"Why didn't you?" Alex shifted his seat and placed the water bottle by the table.

"I can't be a professional doctor while on a fake identity, Alex. You probably knew by now that I'm uh.. redacted? You did scan me when the CIA was here right?" She smirked, making Alex amused and clueless was a beautiful view. If only she had her camera, she'd take a photo of it and pin it by the fridge back at home.

"Yeah. That's right." was all he could say.

Samantha placed her hand by the back rest of the sofa and raised her leg comfortably to the sofa. She was still wearing Alex's clothes from the other night and all Alex could think of is why?

"I'm Samantha Coleman."

"Coleman as in..."

"Yes. The daughter of the Head of National Defense, Richard Coleman."

Alex froze in amazement and the puzzle pieces finally make sense. What's missing now is why they're after her and what's with the memory serum.

"So um... any idea on what they want?" Alex asked, his eyes felt intense and curious. Something Samantha can't help but stare at.

"I guess it's a childhood memory... Of my father's office. They're looking for an IP address... Does it ring any bells?" Samantha explained, her hands fiddled on the sofa's fabric, squeezing it and rubbing her thumbs against it.

"No. But I could relay it to those assigned to the case. It could help a lot." Alex's hands slowly trailed to hers, squeezing it a little bit.

"Thanks for cooperating, Samantha. What you just did may save the lives of those missing." A soft smile escaped his lips. Samantha froze in shock. Maybe it's the sincerity of his face, maybe it's the feel of his hand on hers, maybe it's her heart racing so fast. She wasn't sure why she found herself unable to move or speak.

Awkward silence filled the room, neither one of them moved an inch. The crickets outside sounded louder as the silence grew between them. Then burnt toast filled the air.

They both snapped out of whatever trance they were making, eyes quickly diverted away as Alex removed his hand above hers.

"Oh Crap! The toast!" The CIA agent hurriedly rushed by the kitchen and turned off the oven toaster, showing a very burnt piece of bread.

"You're not supposed to put it on an oven, Alex" Samantha giggled as she assisted him. They quickly became cook and assistant as Alex started to learn something from the expert, whereas Samantha proudly taught him how to make basic breakfast specialties.

"How come you didn't know how to cook?" Samantha asked, pouring oil to the pan.

"We don't usually prepare meals." Alex replied rapidly whisking the eggs, Samantha looked worried that he might break the bowl.

"So what do you eat?"

"Energy bars, ready to eat meals, beef jerky, chicken. You know, the simple stuff but filled with essential nutrients." Alex proudly replied.

"Boooring! You know you should try some of life's greatest meals sometime."

"Someday."

***

Samantha became very comfortable around Alex. Despite her judging him at first glance, she actually enjoyed his company. Over the course of the day, they found themselves mostly talking about every possible thing, leaving an impression that he's really good with people.

It felt warm and fuzzy that the idea of them being alone in one roof felt appropriate. She almost wished they'd end up like this forever, but that meant the criminals are still out there. She wanted to be selfish just for once as she literally gave up her life just to blend in. Would it kill for her to have a good time?

Nighttime came and they settled for barbeque, something Alex claimed he's good at. Samantha watched him from a safe distance as he showed off his cooking skills at her.

He was wearing a "Kiss the Chef" apron over his black tank top and camo pants, a sight admirable for her. She found herself a cozy silk spaghetti strap nightgown from CIA's supply box. She just looked at him from the moment he unboxed a dusty grill box until he assembled it fully, asking him questions about his work to which he answers with certain confidentality.

"You hungry?" He asked teasingly as he placed the meat on the grill letting it sizzle as it puffed smoke toward him.

She wanted to say she's hungry, but not for food. But it felt inappropriate, she knew he's with her because it's his job to, but she couldn't help but feel needed. Especially that she spent the last eighteen hours of her life mourning about sad memories.

"So, silence means yes?" Alex tilted his head to meet her gaze. It's that stare once again.

"Uh yeah. Impress me Mr. Chef!" She cheered as they continue talking while they prepare dinner.

As the meat started to become tender, so did their conversation. They slowly diverted the topic to something private.

"Have you been into any relationships before?" Samantha finally asked the question she's dying to ask him. Alex's movements became cautious and his eyes slowly looked at her. He could tell that she's really curious and excited about the question as shown by her widening pupils.

"Yeah. Here and there. They don't last long as I always had to move when reassigned." He replied eating a mouthful of steak.

"So where would you be after all this is over."

"Wherever they'll send me."

"Are you happy with it? Being sent here and there?"

"As long as I could save the world." He smiled. A smile so genuine, Samantha slightly felt goosebumps.

"Cool." She replied, wiping her face with a napkin.

"Thanks for the meal, Mr. Chef. I'll go take a shower and sleep." She stood up, her voice almost felt sad.

"Samantha, wait! Did I say something wrong?" Alex quickly grabbed her hand before she could walk away.

"No. You said everything that I need to know."

Tears start falling out of her eyes, Alex noticed this and wiped it off with his thumbs lifting her chin up to meet his face. She couldn't stare at him, not with those sad eyes.

"Look, I know what you feel, because I feel it too, from the moment our eyes met..." Samantha looked at him.

"...But I can't risk it enough because I know I'll hurt you... I can't show affection to you because after all of this is over I have to leave." Alex stared at her, his words stung more than that needle from yesterday.

"But, you already made an impact in my life. It doesn't matter if we go too far..."

"I can handle the hurt... but you've already lost a lot. I can't let myself be the reason for it." Alex closed his eyes and rested his forehead against hers.

She knew this would happen. Hence the questioning earlier, she wanted to make sure she's right about her suspicions. She was right to resist his charms the moment they met, but then again she took the risk and fell for him. A choice she willingly took.

"I've mourned the loss of my boyfriend for three years. What's a few more for you?" she breathed, almost cracking as she held back a sob. Alex nervously stared at her. She was willing to take the risk of getting hurt, all for s short moment with him.

Alex did the math. If she's true to her words it's a win-win. No more pretending, they'd both be happy and they both accept the impending end as soon as this was all over. What's holding him back is the end of both their promises, but it didn't matter when he let his heart decide for once.

He licked his lips as he slowly kissed her. It was awkward at first but as soon as they both felt comfortable, it felt relieving. Each moan signified the supressed feelings they had toward each other since day one. Each clash of tongue meant hope after years of mourning. It was a kiss that lasted longer than they could remember.

[havethetimeofyourstyles]

Love Me Please?

Thank you to @habiba012 for requesting this!

Please feel free to request anything if you have anything in mind!

Harry has always been a private person.

Ever since he was put into a band and was practically in the spotlight for so many years; having people make him out to be someone he’s not and having people use him for something that’s other than his love. People have cheated on him, used him, and willingly broke his heart.

So when another person yet again, breaks his heart, he’s disappointed, but not surprised. It’s kind of like he knew it was coming. He hurts a lot and he hurts deeply that no one can love him. Sure, he has thousands, if not, millions of fans who love him dearly, but they don’t know him personally.

There’s so many people who would voluntarily give him their love and heart, yet he still feels unloved.

He’s a private person, but he’s also a romantic.

Harry is a sucker for a good rom-com. He wants the giddiness and the everything leading up to a ‘happily ever after.’ He simply just wants to feel and be happy with someone he’s proud to say that he’s in love with. But he also knows not to get his hopes up as his hopes have been buried deep under after the few girls who buried it for him.

He just wants someone to love him.

Harry means well when he says he writes through personal experience. He’s always been the type of songwriter to write something honest, something people can relate to. Honesty is perhaps his favorite trait. In everything he does, says, and writes.

“I just left your bedroom, give me some morphine. Is there any more to do?” Harry wants his pain to be gone. He’d rather feel numb then in pain.

“Gotta get better, gotta get better. And maybe we’ll work it out.” He feels as if he’s not enough, that he needs to work on himself to make things right with someone.

“Maybe one day you’ll call me and tell me that you’re sorry too.” They hurt him. He apologized and they didn’t.

He needs honesty in songs to have me sign and feeling to them. Every little thing, he wants to be honest about, like a simple tattoo for a fan.

“Do you mind writing something I can get tattooed please?” The fan says with bright eyes.

“Sure, what do you want me to write?”

“Anything you want! At this point I would get anything tattooed.”

He thinks for a minute as he holds the paper and pen. He furrows his eyebrows and looks around for something he potentially could write.

“Ah.” He stars to write and the girl is so happy as she sees her idol write up her next tattoo. “Here ya go. Sorry if my handwriting is messy, but don’t feel like you have to get it if you want.” He hands the paper and pen back to her. She squeals and thanks him, giving him a big squeeze.

Harry proceeds to get ready for his show, thinking about the tattoo he’s written. It wasn’t that hard, wasn’t it? The thought brings tears to his eyes, but he quickly thinks about something else before he’s a sobbing mess.

“Love me, please?”

He’s not sure how what to believe yet or how he got lucky.

A few months after he’s written that tattoo for his fan, that’s all he thought about. With how emotional and raw it sounds, that’s constantly what’s been going through his mind (also because he thinks it’ll be a great song title). He just wants someone to love him. Love him for himself and what’s he’s like as a person. Not what he works as, how much money he makes, and all the other benefits of being a rockstar.

Then you came around.

After four months of “love me, please?” Anne introduced you to Harry. She met you at your restaurant, a week after opening as she complimented your delicious food and lovely scenery of a restaurant. You were so flattered and humble about that moment. Anne later took her friends, asking one of the waiters if they can bring you round to their table, which you gladly said yes to. You were surprised to see that it was the same lady from just a week before, but nonetheless, happy since she’s a very sweet and kind person. Few weeks later, she then took her daughter, which you also met. And lastly, she took her son.

Her son that you were so incredibly fond of.

He seemed very shy at first, congratulating you on the opening and the amazing food. You shyly thanked him and told them to enjoy the rest of their evening, to which you quickly walked back to the kitchen to contain your shaky hands and stuttering words.

That definitely was not the last time you were going to see him.

You bumped into him in a vintage shop as you were holding two hangers of band tees. You immediately saw him, wearing round sunglasses and a beanie with a grey “Treat People With Kindness” sweater and black athletic shorts. You don’t know any other person who can rock a basic outfit; assumingely just after working out too.

You don’t know if you should go up to him, seeming that he’s only met you once for a brief moment. But he recognizes you from across the shop, his eyes brighten, and he waves at you.

Then things really hit it off from there. After that reunion, he asked you out to get some coffee, which then led to exchanging numbers, to him asking you out on a date, to the second date, the first kiss, to more dates, and more dates, shyly asking you to be his girlfriend, first time together, arguments, laughter, tears, opening up, ‘I love you’s’, more kisses and more sex in between, more dates, everything you and him could ever think of.

And with just a little more than a year and a half later, asking you to officially move in with him.

In all honesty, you’ve already moved in half of your closet without both of you even knowing and you rarely leave his place, only leaving to get even more clothes, just to leave there. And Harry does not mind at all, he loves seeing the other half of his closet being occupied.

You both fall into a routine just after a month of you officially moving in. You finally know his whole place from ceiling to floor and you’re pretty satisfied about that.

He loves having you be there 24/7. He never really gets tired of it. He feels as if he can finally feel at piece with the whole idea of love, and he’s never been happier. He feels himself falling even more in love with you every single day. It scares him. It scares the shit out of him. It’s so different from the other people that he’s dated. It’s definitely not something he’s used to, even after a year of being together, he feels as if he doesn’t deserve your love.

The first time he feels himself falling deeper is when he wakes up to an empty bed to only find you plating breakfast.

Your a chef, a damn good one at that, so he loves seeing you in action. He loves when you fold your beautiful lips in when plating food, showing how concentrating you are.

He decides to make himself known when you place the two plates and mugs on the table. With the smell of fresh brewed coffee and fresh French toast it was hard to resist hiding out.

And when he takes a bite, he feels deep appreciation through her food.

The second time he feels himself falling deeper is when he sees you picking out his outfit for the day.

Harry is an early bird, but you’re an even earlier bird, always have been. So when you wake up an hour when Harry’s due to wake, you find yourself in the closet picking and creating new outfits for him. It’s something you love to do since he has such a variety of beautiful clothing. Some days he’ll wake up and find you in the closet, eyes brighten as you let out an ‘ooh’ when you come up with an idea for an outfit. It’s something he’s so fond about; when he sees your creative and fashionable side.

The third time he feels himself falling deeper is when he runs out of his favorite body scrub.

He makes a trip to the store, finding out that they ran of stock, which leads him to going to another two stores to which he’s let down and walks out empty handed.

And when you both are having a home cooked meal, taking about your days, he disappointingly points out that he went to three stores to only find out that none of them have his favorite body scrub, and then later finding out that they discontinued selling it in all three of them. You tell him that it’s okay and that he can always find something that smells similar to it, to which he agrees.

But it’s then, just two days after, when you get home you find Harry sitting on the couch, reading a book.

“Hi, love.” You say as you lock up behind you.

“Hi, baby. How are you?” He gets up and greets you with a kiss.

“I’m doing okay, exhausted. I’m gonna take a shower and then I’ll cook dinner.” You brush some of the hair that’s fallen on his face as he looks down at you.

“Don’t worry about dinner, I already made something.” You smile in appreciation.

“Aww, thank you. Really appreciate it, I can’t wait.”

“No need to thank me, baby. I don’t expect you to do all the work in this house. We’re equal doing work, okay? Simple cleaning, cooking, and laundry, I can easily do.”

“That means a lot, Harry. I’m gonna go shower and then we can have your delicious food.” You give him one more kiss and walk to the bedroom.

“Want me to join you?” He asks as he looks down at your hips as you walk away from him.

“If you do, we’re never going to eat and I’m starving! Just wait until I’m done.” You yell out from the bedroom. He laughs, sitting back down on the couch as he waits for you.

Once you’re done and feeling fresh, you go back downstairs and join him. You see the table already set, so you just sit down and enjoy the delicious food in front of you with your favorite person.

You both talk about your day, the book he’s reading, and the music you both listened to today. All in all, dinners always took about an hour and a half. Half an hour of eating and talking a bit, and the rest talking about everything and anything that comes to mind.

You get up from your seat and grab his plate and his. You lean down to kiss his forehead, “Thank you for dinner, love.”

“No problem, babe. I’m gonna go up and take a shower now.” You nod and give him a smile, and see him walk up the stairs.

Not even 10 minutes have passed into tidying up the kitchen when you hear footsteps slowly coming right back down. You smile to yourself and look up, finding Harry slowly walking down the stairs. You expected smiles and that devilishly, handsome smirk, but you’re surprised when you see tears streaming down his face. You drop the rag and rush over to him as he meet you at the bottom of the stairs and you wrap your arms around his waist

“Baby, what’s wrong?” He doesn’t reply, just cries softly. You gently rub his back, soothing him from his sobs.

“Harry, you’re scaring me. Tell me wrong, love.” He takes a few breaths, trying to calm himself down before he speaks.

“Y-you bought me my f-favorite scrub.” He says as he wipes his tears from eyes. You immediately felt a relief, knowing that nothing major happened. You softly smile and keep rubbing his back, knowing that it’s something he finds comfort in.

Harry feels safe in your arms and there’s nothing better than knowing that he does.

“Of course, I did, love.”

“B-but it’s sold out, everywhere.” You pause for a moment.

“I went across town to get it.” Harry looks at you with wide eyes. The tears that have seemed to calm down are coming back.

“What? Wait, what? Why?”

“Because you ran out.”

“B-but, I just—what?” He doesn’t know what to say. He’s absolutely shocked and can’t form a straight sentence.

“Harry, I wanted to get it for you. So I left work just a tad bit early to get your scrub for you. Why are you so shocked, baby?”

More and new tears are forming. “I-it’s just that... I’m still confused. You do so many nice things for me and I don’t know why. No one has ever been this kind to me and I don’t deserve the things-“

“Alright, I’m going to stop you right there, and I want you to look at me and listen to me.” You put your hands on the side of his face as you two meet eyes. “I never, never want you to say that you don’t deserve anything nice. Because you do. I’m gonna tell you now: I’m not one of your exes. I know you’ve had a hard time in your previous dating life and they somewhat brainwashed you into thinking you’re not good enough. But I’m now. I’m here. You deserve all the good life brings and if things get bad, I’m not backing down. I’m with you for you, end of.”

Harry nods as he looks down. “I’m sorry. I just got overwhelmed.”

“Hey, hey, hey, no apologizing. Nothing to be sorry for, right? I bought it for you and I do everything else because I just want to see you happy. It’s my favorite Harry. I hated seeing you disappointed that they didn’t have the scrub anywhere near us, so I just wanted to make you happy.” Harry smiles a little, giving your lips a kiss.

“You make me happy. So so so happy.” You smile at him, glad that he’s in a better mood.

“The feeling is mutual.”

He wraps his arms around you, burying his head in the crook of your neck, and inhaling your sweet scent.

You do the same, with your head on Harry’s shoulder, and rubbing up and down his back.

“I’m here for the long run, Harry.” He pulls away and looks at you with shock on his face. “I mean who else am I going to marry?”

“You want to marry me?”

“I want to do anything and everything with you.” You say as you caress his cheek.

Harry has fallen in deep. He’s fallen so far down from the top that he doesn’t know if someone will catch him. He dove straight in with fear just as high as the cliff he jumped off of and he’s afraid of what will come at the end.

But you came along and caught him from falling. You were there to keep him on his feet and you’ll gladly do it forever if you have to.

Harry didn’t fall because of all the nice things you do for him. He fell because of the positive intentions you have for him. People in his life have always had bad intentions and without a problem, take advantage of him. He fell because you loved him for him, and that’s all he wanted.

“Love me, forever, please?”

“Always, love, always.”

[kelyon]

Golden Rings 7: A Salad

The Storybrooke Sequel to Golden Cuffs

Rumple makes dinner for Mrs. Gold

Read on AO3

Cooking was a skill Rumpelstiltskin shared with Gold. In the old world, the women who’d raised him had shown him all their tricks of brewing and baking and making the most of anything on hand. They told him that a boy needed to be able to do for himself just as much as a girl would. When he’d married Millah, he’d known more recipes than she had. They’d laughed about that--during the brief time when there had been any laughter between them. Even before she left him and Bae, the task of feeding them had often fallen on him.

Once he’d gained the powers of the Dark One, Rumpelstiltskin had been able to conjure up feasts beyond imagining. He’d delighted in pulling food out of the air, grand dishes he would never have tasted as a poor spinner. But Bae had insisted that he liked the old meals better, the food his papa had made with his hands. So he had tried not to use magic for a while. For Baelfire’s sake, he had tried.  

For Gold, cooking had been a necessary art. There weren’t many restaurants in Storybrooke, and their menus quickly grew tiresome. Though he could easily afford a private chef, Gold disliked the invasion of allowing another person into his home. Why should he trust some stranger in his kitchen, handling his food? Gold took pride in the self-sufficiency inherent in creating his own menus. Cooking required patience, preparation, and a deft hand--all traits he valued in himself. 

And, as with most things, it was a way to flaunt his wealth. Not everyone had the time and resources to master the art of haute cuisine. Gold could spend hundreds of dollars on a set of copper crepe pans or custom-forged knives. And he would only bother with the rarest ingredients--the freshest vegetables, the leanest cuts of meat. The style of this world was to present individual bites of food on plates large enough to hold a whole dinner. At fine restaurants, a three-bite portion could cost more than a family’s weekly grocery bill.

Disparities like that amused Gold to no end. His cruel, spiteful nature liked wasting money as much as he liked having it. He would season his food with costly saffron and white truffles--and then throw half of it away, uneaten. No one in Storybrooke knew about that, of course. But Gold knew. It gave him a twisted satisfaction to compare his own extravagant asceticism with the panicked thrift of every working-class parent who looked with grateful eyes at the 99 cent kid’s meal at Chicken Little’s.

Because of course Gold had no actual appreciation for fine foods. Bastard didn’t take joy in any of his possessions or his privileges. He just liked having things that other people couldn’t afford. Things that other people wanted, and envied him for having.

Mrs. Gold came into the kitchen through the door that led out from the patio. Relying on his cane, Rumpelstiltskin had only been able to carry the box that held his dagger and the chipped cup. But his wife held a bag of groceries in each arm.

“I’ll set these down and go get the rest!”

She flounced off, an impressive feat considering the height of her heels. Belle had had difficulty the first time she’d worn shoes like that. It had been his task to teach her how to walk, how to dance. They had come to love dancing together in the ballroom of his castle. On the day of their wedding, they had danced for hours.

But in this world he was crippled again. On the night Mr. and Mrs. Gold had wed, she had danced with every man in Storybrooke except him. 

Small as she was, even hobbled by her footwear, Mrs. Gold was capable of mundane tasks that would cause him agony. Whether Gold liked it or not, his life was easier with her around. 

Perhaps that was why Gold liked to make her life so difficult. 

When she came back to the kitchen, Mrs. Gold busied herself with the groceries and Rumpelstiltskin began to make dinner. Without thinking about it, he pulled out a drawer for a cup into which he could measure out chicken stock and wine and something called arborio rice. Gold had already planned to make risotto, and Rumpelstiltskin had no reason to object. He let Gold’s knowledge guide him through the process. On his own, he didn’t know where ingredients were or how to operate the massive hearth--no. Gold’s kitchen had no hearth, just a stove. It was powered by something called natural gas. 

A twist of a knob, and Rumpelstiltskin summoned up a circle of blue flame. On top of the flame, he placed a heavy, enamel-coated saute pan. It was so clean it looked like it had never been used. But he knew it had been. This pan was one of Gold’s favorites. 

Into the pan, he drizzled a stream of oil. The bottle said it was imported from Italy. Rumpelstiltskin assumed that was a marker of quality, or at least expense. He felt Gold in the back of his mind, offering up exactly how much the best extra virgin olive oil cost per ounce, not to mention the price of shipping directly from Tuscany.

Rumpelstiltskin pushed Gold away with memories of a time when even butter was an unspeakable luxury. From the time he was a boy he had learned to pour off grease and lard and meat drippings into a clay crock so it could be used again when needed. Fat had been a precious commodity in the old world. Animals didn’t have much on their flesh and people had even less. The idea of being choosy about what the grease tasted like--or even if it had gone rancid--was ludicrous.  

Behind him, Mrs. Gold had the refrigerator door open and was putting away the food she had bought earlier.  

“Can you hand me the chopped leeks?” Meticulous as a machine, Gold did the preparation for his meals days ahead of time. Half the glass containers in the refrigerator were full vegetables he had minced to a paste or diced into perfect uniformity.  

“Yes, Mr. Gold!”

She bent at the waist to search for the container he requested. With obvious intent, she hollowed her back and stuck out her pert, round, arse. His hands itched to touch her. He wanted to squeeze that soft flesh or deliver a sharp smack against her pretty skirt. Nothing too severe. Just enough to make his wife yelp. Just enough to let her know that he was looking. 

Instead, Rumpelstiltskin looked away.

Surprisingly quiet in her heels, Mrs. Gold set some food on the counter beside him.

“I got out the butterflied chicken breasts as well, Mr. Gold. Was that correct?”

“It was.” He said what Gold would say, made the menu Gold had planned. “And you’ll serve the same sauvignon blanc I’m using to make the sauce. It should all be ready in less than twenty minutes.”

“Wonderful!” She smiled like he had given her a gift. “After I put away the groceries, may I set the table for both of us?”

He heard the question inside her question. Every night, Mrs. Gold set a place for her husband at the head of the dining room table. Where she ate depended on how he felt about her on any given day. 

“Yes, dear.” Rumpelstiltskin unwrapped the chicken from the butcher paper and added it to the sizzling leeks. “I want my wife close to me tonight.”

****

  While Gold had control of the actual preparation of food, part of their routine was that Mrs. Gold had to plate the food and bring it to him in the dining room. It stroked Gold’s ego to be served by a beautiful woman, to have his wife at his beck and call. He got to use his power. Pretend that he was some kind of lord of the manor. 

A sad little king of a sad little hill.  

Rumpelstiltskin sighed as he sank into the carved wooden chair at the head of the table. Like everything else in this house, the table was an antique masterpiece, stately and dark. A red damask table runner spanned the length of it, breaking up the shine of the polished oak. Two thin tapers burned in crystal candle holders on either side of a centerpiece of silk flowers. Even with the candles, the room was an ocean of darkness.

They were soy candles. Rumpelstiltskin hated knowing that. Soy melted at a lower temperature than beeswax, so these candles were relatively cooler, more tolerable on bare skin. By the time the meal had ended, quite a pool would have melted down. Hot wax, ready to pour over a naked body, if that was what Gold decided he wanted for dessert. 

He looked to his left, to the chair where Mrs. Gold would sit. Both places at the table were set with polished silver and gold-rimmed crystal goblets. Linen napkins were wrapped neatly into engraved napkin rings. The bone china plates were currently in the kitchen. Most people in Storybrooke only saw this level of grandeur at black-tie events. Like weddings. 

“Here we are!” Mrs. Gold burst into the dining room with a plate in each hand. She was still wearing her high-heeled shoes. She had been wearing them all day. Didn’t her feet hurt?

Rumpelstiltskin almost stood to help her. But the second he put weight on his ankle he winced and sank back into the chair. His cane was leaning against the table’s edge. By the time he thought to grab it and stand up properly, Mrs. Gold was already placing a plate in front of him.

“Thank you for permitting me to join you, Mr. Gold. I hope you’ll find me pleasant company.” She poured some chilled white wine into his glass. Her voice wasn’t quite as bubbly as it had been earlier. She seemed more subdued, like she was trying to be seductive. 

Rumpelstiltskin took a drink. 

It was only when he set his wine glass down again that he noticed that Mrs. Gold’s glass was empty. She hadn’t poured anything for herself. Though she sat in a chair, her hands were placed palms-down on the table top, on either side of her plate. 

Oh yes, that was a rule. She wasn’t allowed to start eating until Gold did.

“Well, then.” Rumpelstiltskin shook out his napkin and placed it in his lap before he cut into the chicken and leeks. 

In the silent dining room, he heard the half-sigh that came out of Mrs. Gold. She was relieved, wasn’t she? Grateful that her husband hadn’t changed his mind about tolerating her presence. 

Swallowing his first bite, Rumpelstiltskin opened his mouth to speak. But what could he say? What could he offer this woman? How could he undo the damage of twenty-eight years of living like this? 

But he had to try. 

He looked up at his wife. And for the first time, he paid attention to what was on her plate. There was nothing but green leaves. No chicken in white wine sauce. No pan-fried leeks. Not a single grain of risotto. 

“What are you eating?”

He heard his own voice come out in a thin, deadly whisper. He gripped his fork, too tightly to be natural.

Mrs. Gold saw that. She dropped her own fork onto her plate and looked over at him with wide eyes. “I--it’s a salad, Mr. Gold.” She lowered her gaze and sat with her hands in her lap. If he concentrated, he could see her trembling.

A salad. 

Of course it was. He had seen her bring it in with the other groceries, a plastic tub of pre-washed baby spinach. Cheap and easy, just like her. It was part of their routine, one of Gold’s rules. Every night for dinner, all Mrs. Gold was allowed to take for herself was a plateful of salad greens, with no dressing. Anything else she ate, he would have to expressly permit or give her himself.  

Sometimes Gold liked to make her beg for every bite until she cried.

He took a breath. He didn’t speak. He willed his pulse to slow down to a reasonable pace. He kept his voice controlled. He couldn’t frighten this poor woman any more than she already was.

“I cooked two portions of chicken,” he said carefully. “I wanted you to have some as well.”

“I-I-I’m sorry, Mr. Gold.” She kept her head bowed, her whole body tense. She expected an attack, verbal if not physical. “I thought you wanted the other piece for your lunch tomorrow.” 

“I want to provide for my wife.” He tried to explain, tried to keep calm, tried to keep from crying. Buried memories crashed into his head and he had to raise his voice to hear his own thoughts. “I want you to have more than just fucking leaves!”   

In one instant, a thousand memories assaulted him all at once. Year after year--first as a child, then as a young man on his own, then with his son beside him. When the hungry months came upon the land and winters wore on and on. The stores left over from harvest grew smaller and smaller. And Rumpelstiltskin never had much to store away even in good times. Year upon year, he waited as the winter ebbed, but the hunger remained. Waited as they days grew longer, but the trees stayed bare. Waited until the first hints of green began to bud and grow, signalling that spring was coming and there would be something to eat again.

He had shown Bae what his father had shown him. He had taught him the ways of the woods. They had so little land for a garden, but there was always something in the Duke’s forest. He had bundled up Bae in his shawl and his cap, to go out in search of food. And every year they had found mushrooms and ramsons and Jack-by-the-hedge--anything to flavor water enough so they could call it soup. Anything to keep them going for one more day. 

Bae being who he was, he had thought it a grand adventure. He had wanted to know what else in the forest could be eaten. And Rumpelstiltskin had shown him violets and wood sorrel and taught him to boil stinging nettle. But Bae was a growing boy and all the adventure in the world couldn’t fill his gnawing belly. He began to eat anything that was green, any leaf, except for those he knew were poisonous. 

One day, Rumpelstiltskin had found his son in the pasture with the sheep, his mouth stained green from eating grass and clover. 

To his shame, he hadn’t stopped him. He hadn’t said a word. Because Rumpelstiltskin--spinner, cripple, coward--had nothing better to give him. Because Rumpelstiltskin--useless, penniless, worthless--could not fill the belly of the child he would give his life for. The person he loved most in the world had nothing to eat except fucking leaves!

Taking his cane, he stood up quickly. Mrs. Gold flinched at the sudden movement. Rumpelstiltskin bit back a curse that would have burned down the house around them if he had any magic at all. 

She started to rise, but he hobbled over to her. Plate in one hand, cane in the other, Rumpelstiltskin slid his dinner onto Mrs. Gold’s raw spinach. 

“Sit down,” he ordered through clenched teeth. “Stay here. Eat that.” 

“Yes, Mr. Gold,” She answered like an automaton. What was the word in this world? A robot. A toy programmed to have the same responses no matter what the owner said or did to it. Mrs. Gold was nothing but a thing. And not even a thing Gold valued enough to care for. 

“Thank you, Mr. Gold.”

He went back into the kitchen without a word. He didn’t trust himself to speak. 

It took the last straining threads of his self-control to keep from throwing Gold’s fine china plate against Gold’s state-of-the-art refrigerator. He should take this wretched cane and smash in the glass-fronted cabinets, destroy everything inside. All of Gold’s crystal and porcelain and the plates so thin you could see light through them--he should shatter them into splinters and shards. Rumpelstiltskin should destroy all the things Gold held so dear. Objects that mattered to him more than the woman he had married. It would feel so good to reduce his wealth to nothing and his prized possessions into rubble.

But that wouldn’t bring Belle back.

It wouldn’t undo what had already been done.

With a single breath, all the rage escaped from Rumpelstiltskin’s body. He leaned against a wall and felt himself crumple into a heap. He had just enough presence of mind to cover his mouth with his left hand. Stifle the sobs so she wouldn’t hear. 

That bastard! That monster! How dare Gold do these things to Belle! Rumpelstiltskin knew his share of evil, but he still had enough humanity to be appalled that Gold would treat her this way. His most precise cruelties were reserved not for his enemies or his debtors, but his own wife! The woman he had chosen to marry, the woman whose hand he had held as he vowed to cherish and protect and love her!

But instead Gold made her starve herself. The richest man in Storybrooke took it as a point of pride that his wife barely ate. In this palace of a house, he begrudged her every inch of space. He made her feel like an intruder in the only home she had. He degraded her and insulted her and treated her like she was less than human. Worst of all, he made her think that was how he showed affection.

“Gods.” He rasped out a prayer to powers he had never believed in, deities who didn’t exist in this world. “Gods, Belle. What did I do to you?”

Because as much as he blamed Gold, as much as he hated Gold, the truth of the matter was that this was Rumpelstiltskin’s fault. He had created the curse. He had wanted to come to this horrible world. He had planned and manipulated and twisted the path of fate to his will. He had worked so hard, for centuries, to get to where he was now. He thought he had arranged it all, so that the price of this magic wouldn’t fall on him.

But the very existence of this town was a punishment. According to the one who had cast the curse, Rumpelstiltskin was due the suffering he had lived under for twenty-eight years. Being Gold was a bleak and miserable existence. And he had taken out his anger on the one person who would never leave him.

He looked down at his hands, at his wedding ring, at the scar on his palm. He had made vows to Belle. He had promised to protect her, to belong to her, to trust her with the best and the worst of himself. Like Mrs. Gold, she had a mind-boggling capacity for loving even the most vile of men. And unlike Gold, Rumpelstiltskin could not punish a woman for loving him.

It wasn’t Belle’s fault, and it wasn’t Mrs. Gold’s. The persona of Gold didn’t exist anymore. As satisfying as it was to rage at a dead man, there was no way to take Gold to task for how he had treated his wife. 

And Belle would say it wasn’t his fault either. He had come to her so many times, full of worries and guilt.

Sweetheart, how can you still love me? Knowing what I’ve done and what I’ll do?

Rumple, she had assured him. This curse is a powerful weapon, but it is not in your hands anymore. You are no more culpable for what happens than a swordsmith is responsible for a duel.

Part of him didn’t believe her. He could never look at himself with the grace and mercy of Belle’s kind heart. He had created the curse, he had wanted this weapon to be used. He had placed it in the hands of a madwoman, knowing it would destroy her, knowing it would bring misery to everyone--including himself and the woman he loved. 

Still, perhaps Belle was right. And perhaps, somehow, he could find a way to redeem himself for his past. Even if he could never be good enough, perhaps he could use his evil for a good purpose. 

Perhaps. 

When he was ready, Rumpelstiltskin pulled himself to his feet, dusted off Gold’s fancy suit, and went back into the dining room. 

Mrs. Gold was still at the table, her posture rigid but her plate empty. She looked up when he came through the door. For a moment, he saw her eyes--the perfect blue rimmed with red--and then she looked away.

“I finished everything, Mr. Gold. It was delicious.”

His heart broke anew at her voice. Belle was so strong, so sure of herself, even when she faced insurmountable obstacles. Always, she would stay brave. Always, she would do the best she could with the knowledge and tools she had. In that moment, Mrs. Gold seemed just like her.

“I’m glad you liked it.” Rumpelstiltskin stayed in the doorway, both hands braced on his cane. “From now on, when I make a meal, I expect you to eat your share.”

She nodded, still an obedient creature. “Yes, Mr. Gold.”

They were silent for a moment, then Rumpelstiltskin spoke. “I want to apologize, for earlier. I should have been more direct in my desires. And I shouldn’t have let my temper get the better of me. I’m sorry.”

Mrs. Gold blinked, several times, before she spoke. “I--W--You have nothing to apologize for, Mr. Gold. You can do whatever you like.”

“I know.” Rumpelstiltskin swallowed back the bile in his throat. “And what I would like is to have a wife who is well-nourished and who doesn’t fear her husband.”

She twisted her wedding ring around her finger. “I don’t fear you, Mr. Gold. I just hate the thought of disappointing you. I never want to be less than what you deserve.”

From the beginning, Belle had always been more than he deserved. He had stopped a war to acquire her, and he would never fully pay for all the love and goodness she had given him. 

But he couldn’t tell any of that to Mrs. Gold.

“I’m going for a walk,” he announced. “I need to clear my head.”

Mrs. Gold nodded and stood up. “Where should I go, while you’re out?”

In spite of himself, Rumpelstiltskin clenched his jaw. “You are allowed to stay in this house when I’m not here.”

“I--Really?” She looked more confused than pleased. “Even when I’m not tied up or anything?”

He let out a long, heavy sigh. Yes, he remembered. Gold had regularly left the house while his wife was restrained with no way to get out. There was also a dog cage in the basement where Gold would leave her on work days when he didn’t want her in the shop. It was a miracle the bastard hadn’t killed her. 

“Yes,” he answered. “In fact, it’s high time you got your own key to this place. It is your home, after all.”

Slowly as the dawn, a smile lit up her face. Gods, she was so beautiful.

“Thank you, Mr. Gold!” She stood up from the table and moved to embrace him. But Rumpelstiltskin held up one hand and she stopped in her tracks. 

“You can clear the table whenever you like. I’ll wash the dishes when I return.” 

That was another part of Gold’s arrangement. He didn’t allow his wife to clean, because he didn’t trust her with his precious antiques. For Rumpelstiltskin, the thought of submerging Belle’s hands in dishwater like a scullery maid was an insult. Far from the worst thing she had ever been subjected to, but the principle stood. He would gladly do drudgework if it would spare his wife the labor. 

“What should I do until you get back?”

He shrugged. “Something you like,” he suggested. “Something to pamper yourself.” Something to make up for the hell you’ve lived in for twenty-eight years. “You could have some of that ice cream you bought today.”

Mrs. Gold chewed at her bottom lip as she thought. “I could… take a bubble bath, maybe?”

She was asking for his permission, his approval. He gave it to her. “That’s a very good idea,” he said gently. 

He pushed away the thought of his wife’s legs sticking over the edge of a bathtub. Her head leaning back as she relaxed in the steaming water. Her lovely body hidden under piles of white bubbles until she emerged like a goddess from the sea, warm and soft and scented with roses.

Rumpelstiltskin shook his head. This wasn’t his wife in front of him. Belle was gone, and it was time to confront the person who was really responsible for that. 

He had to see the Queen.  

[stylesluxx]

cold? chilling? freezing? (VI) – s.rogers

[warnings: fury getting shot but that’s it I think]

summary: in which y/n is an assassin turned lover | part five | part seven

word count: 1,758

masterlist

You didn't go straight back to the apartment after you visited the Smithsonian. You remembered it was your night to cook so you spent the afternoon in the grocery store.

You never had to cook until you lived with the super-soldier. You loved takeout but he complained about it after a week. Something about wanting a real home-cooked meal. He cooked for the first month before you ended up getting food poisoning because honestly, he's horrible at cooking. Then you tried to take over and come to find out you too were a horrible chef.

So, every Saturday night you and Steve went to cooking classes and tried to get a hang of it. You started to buy pots and pans and baking sheets. You wouldn't say you were Gordan Ramsey or anything but you were 10 times better of a cook than you were two years ago.

When you got back to the apartment, Steve had just opened the door to the building and smiled when he spotted you. He reached and held the door so it wouldn't close on you before shutting it softly behind you. You looked at the stairs in front of you and sighed before beginning the journey up.

"How was the rest of your afternoon, Captain?" You asked as he took the bags from your hands.

"It was... enlightening. I met with Sam, the guy from the park. He has a support group for veterans," Steve nodded thoughtfully.

"Maybe you should attend that as well. The missions might start to become a bit much after a while. And it'll help you adapt better," You suggested and looked up at him as we walked beside you.

"And what about you?"

"I, uh, Director Fury has already set me up with the therapist. Agent Romanoff recommended it and I respect her advice. We're more similar than I originally thought," You hesitantly spoke, not wanting to divulge too much. "Did you see Miss Carter today?"

"Yeah, I did."

"And how was that?"

"It was good. She thinks I put too much pressure on myself."

"I agree with her, one hundred percent."

"I feel like you've been attacking me ever since you walked in the building," He teased with a light smile on his face, making you laugh.

"Well, get your shit together Rogers," You smiled at him and walked up the last step.

You spotted the blonde woman opening her door and you turned back to give Steve a wink.

"Good evening," You greeted her with a smile and wave.

She was on the phone and had a laundry basket in her hand as she tried to open to door to her apartment. She gave you and Steve smiles before finishing up her phone call and turning to you and Steve.

"My aunt, she's kind of an insomniac," She waved her phone before tossing it in the basket.

It was silent for a moment before you decided to speak up and help Steve out.

"Hey, if you want, you're welcome to use our machine. Might be cheaper than the one in the basement and you won't have to walk up and down all those stairs," You suggested. "And while it dries you and my friend here can maybe go out for coffee."

Steve looked back at you wide-eyed and full of shock before turning back to the blonde with a chivalrous smile.

"Thank you, but I already have a load in downstairs, and uh you really don't want my scrubs in your machine. I just finished a rotation in the infectious disease ward, so..." She softly declined, making you scratch the back of your head awkwardly.

"Well, I'll keep my distance," Steve played off the rejection with a light chuckle.

"Hopefully, not too far," She said slyly before turning to walk downstairs. She quickly turned back around as you got the keys out of your backpack. "Oh, and I think you left your stereo on."

"Oh, thank you," Steve said and turned to look at you once she walked away. At that instant, you both heard the 40s music playing for the record player.

"First of all, it seems like she's kinda into you," You started as you stuck the key in the lock. "And secondly, I didn't leave the stereo on. Didn't even touch it."

"You stay here with the groceries. I'll come open the door when the coast is clear," Steve said and set the bags down beside you and quietly retreated down the steps.

Two years ago you would've walked in with the keys in between your knuckles. You don't know why you listened to Steve, he wasn't necessarily Captain right now and you weren't on a mission. But you listened to him. Your gut told you to listen and to trust him.

You waited for all about five minutes before the front door opened and Steve had his shield in his hand. You surveyed him for any injuries before letting the keys fall from your knuckles. You walked in and set the groceries down on the kitchen counter.

You followed him to the living room and leaned against the wall, your arms crossed over your chest.

"I don't remember giving you a key," You said to Fury as he sat comfortably in your favorite chair.

You liked to sit there during the day while reading a book. You get to see Steve as soon as he walks in and he sees you instantly as well. It was a nice way to start the afternoon.

"You really think I'd need one?" He asked, sitting up. "My wife kicked me out."

"Didn't know you were married," Steve spoke up.

"There's a lot of things you don't know about me."

"I know, Nick. That's the problem."

Steve walked over and turned the overhead light on and we both got a good look at the man in front of us. He was bloodied and bruised, an unusual sight.

Fury put up a hand to still us and reached up and turned the lamp that was next to him off.

He typed in his phone before showing us. It read "EARS EVERYWHERE." I looked over at Steve before walking a few steps closer to him.

"I'm sorry I had to do this but I have no place else to crash."

Steve looked around the room, trying to spot anything out of place or abnormal.

Fury typed on his phone again before showing us a new message, "SHIELD COMPROMISED."

"Who else knows about your wife?" You asked and watched Fury stand up, holding his side.

"Just us three," He said and showed us the phone with the exactly same words. "My friends."

"Is that what we are?" Steve asked hostilely.

"That's up to you," Fury said before screaming in pain and buckling to his knees.

Steve dragged his body from the living room to the kitchen and you pulled out your gun from its place in your holster.

You heard Fury cough out "don't trust anyone" as soon as the front door was kicked down and revealed the blonde "nurse" with a gun in her hand.

"Captain Rogers? Agent Y/L/N? I'm Agent 13 of S.H.I.E.L.D. Special Service," She said calmly. "I was assigned to protect you."

You looked back at Steve and gave him a look before turning back to her.

"On whose order?" Steve asked.

"His," She said and got on her knees to check Fury's pulse.

Steve looked at her dumbfounded but you couldn't believe you were right about her.

She spoke into her walkie talkie and you turned to look in the direction the previous bullets came from.

"Tell him I'm in pursuit," Steve said. He walked backward to get a head start before running and jumping through two windows to chase the shooter.

Sharon gave you an address to where Fury would be taken. Some hospital in the middle of the city which made you look at her weird. Fury was way too private to be taken care of at a public facility but you went along with it.

You ran downstairs and to Steve's bike where you knew he'd meet you. You put the gun back and grabbed his helmet (though it was really yours because he never used it). You put it on and secured it as you saw him running to you.He got on the bike and you followed his lead, wrapping your arms around his waist. He wasted no time speeding off when you told him the address.

—

"Tell me about the shooter," You asked of Steve so you could distract yourself from your boss laying on the operation table.

"He's fast. Strong. Had a metal arm."

Maria Hill walked next to you and looked at Fury.

"Ballistics?" You questioned.

"Three slugs, no rifling. Completely untraceable," She answered.

"Soviet-made."

"Yeah," She said shocked and looked over at you before turning back to the operation table.

You watched emotionless as the doctors and nurses tried to revive Fury but to no avail. Emotionless only because you weren't in the room by yourself. You didn't know Fury too well, no one did, but he (and Romanoff) helped you believe that therapy was a valid option and it was okay to go.

Steve was the first to walk out and then Agent Hill. You stood there for a moment to ensure you were completely alone before letting a small tear fall. You let it hit your Iron Man shirt before you wiped the wetness off your cheek and walked out of the room.

You spotted Steve not too far away and looked over at him. You walked over slowly and watched his eyes take you in, looking for any sign of distress. He found the wet spot on your shirt and gave you a sad smile.

"It'll be alright, Y/N," He assured you while looking right in your eyes, relaxing you.

You nodded, "I know, Captain."

"Cap, Y/L/N, they want you back at S.H.I.E.L.D.," You heard Agent Rumlow's voice disturb the moment.

"Yeah give us a second," Steve nodded.

"They want you now."

"Okay," Steve nodded again, this time with more force.

Rumlow walked off and you followed behind him while Steve stayed back. It seemed like he was having trouble with the vending machine but you ignored it and listened to the radios the S.T.R.I.K.E. team had. They wanted to question you and Steve.

The ride to headquarters was quiet. You rested your head on Steve's shoulder and his arm was wrapped around yours, holding onto you tight.

[AN: so this series is gonna be longer than I originally planned but not too much longer. and I’m super sorry this too so long to post, it was my birthday week so I was super busy. I think I’m putting this on hiatus; I don’t feel motivated to write it anymore]

[tags: @thisartemisnevermisses​ @thatoneperson5000​ @capstopavenger​]

[bangtan-sonyeonddaeng]

BTS Reaction: You are a chef and opening up your new restaurant

You had become close friends with all the members throughout your time working for them. Big Hit had hired you to cook many of the meals for the boys while they were busy rehearsing and with their schedules, as many times after they returned to their rooms they were too exhausted to do anything except sleep.  And you had quite a reputation already as being one of the best private chefs in Korea. You didn’t mind your job at all. You quickly grew attached to the boys seeing how kind and humble they all were. They treated you like a friend, not a staff member.  Although you couldn't help but still have your dream of opening your own restaurant. You had told the boys this one day while they were happily eating the meals you had prepared for them. They were sat on the studio floor, when Taehyung decided to ask you what your future goals were. 

“Alright y/n, you are way too good of a chef to just be keeping your talent a secret only for us.”

“Right! I think the same think Taetae. Y/n you have to open up your own restaurant or something.” You blushed and glanced away from the compliments of the 95 liners. 

“What are your goals? Your ambitions? Come on tell me please.” Taehyung is looking at you with those puppy eyes you find it hard to say no to.

“I want to open up my own restaurant, you know? I see how happy you guys are eating the stuff I make and I just want to share that with more people.”

“So why don’t you?” Namjoon asks. 

“Well, I don’t know really. Maybe it’s because I have grown really attached to 7 absolutely amazing guys that I don’t really want to leave yet.” In moments Hoseok has jumped off the floor and is hugging you tightly. The other members get up and join him, all squeezing you in a group hug. 

“Y/n we care about you very much. But you have to follow your own dreams too. Don’t let us hold you back. We’ll support you every step along the way.” Jungkook says sweetly. 

“And we’ll come to your restaurant too! We’ll eat there everyday anyway. We would miss your cooking too much.” Jin says with a chuckle. 

“And I guess we would miss you too.” Yoongi says. You smile fondly feeling the support and warmth from all of the members. 

“Thank you, guys. Really that means a lot to me. I’m going to do it then I guess! But don’t worry I’ll stay with you all as long as I can though.” 

A few weeks before opening night you unfortunately had to leave your job with the company, having to put all your focus into making sure your opening went smoothly and everything was planned accordingly. 

When that day finally came you were a nervous wreck. There was a line of people wrapped around the block just waiting for the doors to open. Your hands were shaking as you were sat in the back office. You sigh into your hands and rub your temples. 

“I don’t think I can do this..” 

“Of course you can! You can do anything you set your mind to.” Your gaze snaps up when you hear that familiar and comforting voice.

“Taehyung?!”  You glance around him and see all the member members piling into your small office. 

“Hi y/n. We came to support you! Opening night after all.” Jin says with a smile.

“But.. you guys... You didn’t have to come!”

“What do you mean? Of course we did! Just because you don’t work for us anymore doesn’t mean we won’t support you, sweetie!” Jimin says as he moves in front of you to pull you up into a hug. 

“Don’t be nervous you got this. This is your dream. And I know you can do it! Besides we can help if you need us to! We learned a thing or two about cooking from run after all.” 

“Jungkook... you made sweet potatoes so sticky they were glued to the plate.. and Namjoon you stuck your hand in a pot of boiling water.” They all burst out laughing at the memories. “Thank you all though, seriously. Having you here it means a lot to me. I feel like I can do anything with you all having my back.” You’re enveloped in another group hug and enjoy the warmth of having them all around you. In the months you worked for the company they quickly became some of your closest friends. You pull away and smile at all of them. 

“Alright well go take a seat! Let’s get this show on the road shall we? Sit anywhere you like. You can be my first customers.” You walk them out into the dining area and motion for your hostess to open the doors and let everyone in. The place is filled completely in seconds. Although it was touch and go for a while there, at the end of the night all of your staff came together to give everyone the best dining experience you’ve hoped they’ve ever had. When the last customers are being served you hear clinking on a glass in the dining room. 

“Excuse me everyone! Can I have your attention?” You walk out of the kitchen and into the dining area and see Namjoon stood up in the center of the room. 

“This wonderful night has been courtesy of a dear friend of ours, y/n. Will you come join me please?” You walk out nervously and stand next to Namjoon. You feel a hand laced with your fingers and glance down to see Taehyung smiling up at you He gives your hand a small encouraging squeeze and you smile back at him. Namjoon continues on, “Although we’re sad to see you go, I know you’re going to do great things here. I remember you told us you just wanted to make people happy through the food you make. Everyone was that goal accomplished tonight?” There an applause and some cheers throughout the restaurant and you smile and bow graciously. “You all make sure to treat our best friend well, okay? Come here often and enjoy the delicious food.” He turns to you with a warm smile on his face. He places a hand on your shoulder. “And just know we are so incredibly proud of you. Always have been, and always will be.” You feel tears well up in your eyes but you quickly wipe them away. 

“Um, wow thank you Namjoon I wasn’t expecting that. And thank you everyone for coming tonight. I sincerely hope you will come back here again and that we lived up to your expectations.”

“You exceeded them!” Jimin yells. You laugh as do the other patrons in the restaurant. 

“Well that means a lot to me. Dessert of course is on the house tonight for opening night so order whatever you would like! And thank you all again.” You sit down at the table with the guys and breathe out a sigh of relief. 

“You look exhausted.” Yoongi observes.

“Yeah, I feel it. But I feel happy too. Like, this is something I always dreamed of and never thought would be possible. But I think this restaurant will be going places. Maybe I’ll open up a few more.”

“You should! Then we can eat your delicious food while we’re on tour too.” You chuckle at Jungkook’s enthusiasm. 

“Thank you all for being here. I think I’m gonna retire early. My restaurant manager is gonna handle closing from here.” 

“Can we drive you home? You look really tired and I don’t want you to fall asleep at the wheel.” Taehyung says with a concerned look on his face.

“Sure, I would really like that.” 

[katefiction]

Cora, Chapter 2: Invitations

I have to tell someone.

I can’t.

I can’t tell anyone.

Annie, she’d know what to do.

No, she’d just congratulate me and pat me on the back.

Jenny? She’d freak me out even more.

Mum…let’s not go there.

Dad? I quiver at the thought.

The door swings open as I stand contemplating my options, one hand in my mouth, my nail being torn to shreds, the other clutching a bottle of brandy.

‘Cora!’, he says as if I’m a wonderful surprise he wasn’t expecting. 

‘Evening Nicholas’, I smile, placing my hand at my side quickly.

He looks fantastic, his hair perfectly in place, and wearing a blue shirt and chinos. I have opted for a little black dress.

‘You look lovely’, he kisses me on both cheeks and I hand him the brandy.

‘For you’.

 ‘Brandy and fish? I think I’ll have to teach you a thing or two about flavours!’, he chuckles.

He lets me in to his plush Notting Hill apartment. Unlike my apartment at Clarence House, Nicholas is surrounded by shiny new furniture and contemporary art. It’s the kind of place that when you step bare foot, your feet sink into the lush, soft strands of the carpet.

He puts the brandy to one side and pours me a glass of wine.

‘So what’s for dinner?’, I ask.

‘Salt-crusted grilled fish with lemongrass’, he says proudly. 

‘You are full of surprises! Who knew you were a cook?’

‘I have many talents’, he says, looking over his glass at me.

I blush lightly. I have no idea what to say in response.

We settle down to dinner, Nicholas entertaining me with stories from his childhood, and the rivalry he and his older brother, Jonathan, had as boys.

‘I used to scribble out his grades on his school work and replace them with E’s and F’s’, he laughs, ‘he used to get so angry when Mum and Dad made him do more homework to make up for it’.

‘I wish I had siblings’

‘They’re not all they’re made out to be’

‘No, you’re so lucky to have that one person who understands…’, I trail off. ‘…I remember being seven and finally realising that Mum and Dad divorcing meant I wouldn’t get a little brother or sister to play with.’

I don’t have to tell Nicholas the story, we’d never talked about it, but of course he knew, the whole world knew. My parents divorced when I was five. They continued to live in Clarence House, albeit in very separate apartments, for my sake. When I left home for university, Mum wasted no time in moving to a secluded country home in Surrey. I’d resented her for it ever since. For leaving me. For leaving Dad.

I snap myself out of it as Nicholas says, ‘yes well, silver linings and all that.’ I can see I’ve made him uncomfortable. He changes the subject and my family aren’t mentioned for the rest of the meal.

After a chocolate soufflé, we head over to the living area. I’m a little woozy from the wine and would love to put my feet up and sink into the couch, but it’s hard on the back and sides, and I sit awkwardly upright as Nicholas sits next to me, looking all the more glamorous, his arm draped over his arm rest.

‘Get comfortable’, he insists.

I shuffle backwards into the couch, holding my wine in one hand, doing my best to look casual.

Nicholas swirls the wine in his glass. ‘So I know it’s a bit short notice for someone like you, but my father’s hosting our annual Highland Fling next month, and I wondered if you’d like to accompany me?’

‘Will you be dancing?’, I giggle.

‘Yes, of course, and I’ll be in a kilt’

I almost ask him if he’ll wear the kilt in the traditional way, with nothing underneath, but I stop myself. He raises an eyebrow as if he’s expecting me to ask that very question.

‘I’ll check my diary’, I say instead.

Nicholas’ face drops slightly, giving him a look of an abandoned puppy on the roadside.

‘I’m sure it’ll be fine though Nick! Best not double book myself’, I say cheerily, placing a hand on his knee to reassure him. 

‘Good’. He reaches to my hair, tucking a strand behind my ear before resting it on my shoulder. Tilting his body toward mine, my heart starts to beat uncontrollably. He’s taken that small gesture as a green light. Shit.

Nicholas is inches away from my face when I panic, ‘I can’t!’, I say, my voice going to liquid.

He stops, but doesn’t pull away, his face still ludicrously close to mine given what I’d just said.

‘You can’t?’

‘I mean I won’t…I mean…just not on the first date’, I manage a smile.

I’m lying; I did mean ‘I can’t’. A Freudian slip. How could I kiss this man after kissing another yesterday? How could he compare? I shake the thought of Ben out of my mind.

Nicholas pats my knee, ‘of course’.

‘Could I use the bathroom?’, I say, hoping to change the subject.

‘Through the passage, second on the right’. I think I hear a hint of annoyance in his voice.

I amble back from the bathroom a few minutes later, looking at the art work in the passage as I go. Next to the doorway that leads back to the living area is a small, wooden telephone table, with a telephone and a pile of documents sitting on top. The one messy thing in Nicholas’ home, I think to myself.

My father has always said I have an inquisitive mind; anyone else would call it nosy. I reassure myself that I’m just getting to know him better as I flick nonchalantly through Nicholas’ papers. A single sheet at the bottom of the pile catches my eye.

25/07/2163

Invoice

Elliot Mason Private Catering

2 course meal x2    £250.00

I push the papers back into place, smarting from my discovery. Part of me is endeared that he would go to such lengths for our date. The other part, the niggling part in my chest, is annoyed that he lied to me. It’s the cynical princess that wins. I have to test him.

‘So’ I say as I re-enter the room, where Nicholas is clearing away the glasses, ‘what are you going to cook for me next time?’ 

‘Ha! Well next time, we’ll be at the Highland Fling, so I won’t need to’, he gives me a small wink.

Forcing myself to come to my senses, I thank him for the evening, and promise to get in touch. So what if he paid a chef and lied about it? Surely that proves he likes me?

Maybe that niggling feeling I’ve felt all night isn’t my doubt, maybe it’s guilt.

I have to tell someone.

***

I drum my fingers across the desk in an erratic beat as Maggie reals off my commitments for the coming month. Our monthly diary meetings were her idea; a way to keep me organised and for us to merge my work diary with my personal one.

‘The weekend beginning Saturday, August twenty-eighth, you have free…’

‘I’m in Scotland that weekend’, I say, distracted by a fly buzzing near the window, trying to escape. 

‘Ok, for the whole weekend?’ Maggie never asked for specifics, where I was going and who with were my business. Nevertheless, I usually told her anyway.

I get up and open the window, releasing the fly to the world, ‘I’m not sure yet, it’s the Dunrobin Highland Fling, I might come home the next day’.

She scribbles something in her diary, as we discuss the last few days of August for a couple of minutes. I’m eager to leave, I hate meetings. I’m always the fly trying to escape from the window.

‘Just one last thing Ma’am’, Maggie picks up a large, thick envelope. ‘This came for you at the office, I presume you were expecting it?’

She hands it to me and I pull out the contents; a navy blue information pack, with the words ‘Marion and James Evans Trust’ in white writing on the cover. My heart skips a beat.

Opening the folder, I find a compliments note written in scrawling, spiky handwriting,

‘In case you couldn’t find the email address,

Ben Evans’

I’m convinced Maggie can hear my heart humming.

‘It’s from Ben Evans, about the Trust’, I say, my mouth dry.

‘Is he wanting you to get involved?’ Maggie asks, more interested in her paperwork.

‘Um…I don’t know’, I stay glued to the spot, staring at his disjointed penmanship, wondering what it says about him.

‘Are you ok Ma’am?’

When I look up, Maggie is looking at me, a slightly concerned expression on her face. It’s not like me to be so quiet.

‘I kissed him’. The words are out before my brain can stop them.

‘Mr Egerton, Ma’am?’

‘What?’, she thinks I’m talking about Nicholas, I had told her about the date in a fit of nerves on the way back from the awards. ‘No, not Nicholas…Ben, that night, I don’t know what happened, one minute we were talking, the next…’

Maggie’s eyes widen for a milli-second, then settle. She is truly the calmest person I know.

‘Are you planning to see each other again?’

‘I don’t know, I mean of course not! I’m seeing Nicholas, it was just a moment of madness’, I blurt out.

‘Are you worried?’, she says, trying to find the source of my angst.

‘About what?’

‘That he may speak to someone?’

Her innocent question hits me in the chest like a freezing snowball on a winter’s day. I hadn’t even considered he might talk to someone, and by ‘someone’, Maggie meant the press.

‘He wouldn’t, would he? I mean, why would he?’, the panic in my voice is rising by the second.

‘For publicity, press attention…any number of reasons Ma’am’

‘Oh shit’. How could I be so stupid?

Maggie tries to placate me, ‘I can get in contact with his team, make sure he knows any such action would be deplorable’

‘No! No, it’s fine, I’ll speak to him myself’, I scan the room, my mind buzzing.

‘I’m not sure that would be advisable’, she says calmly.

I ignore her against my better judgement, ‘I should see him in person, yes, that’s what I need to do, I need to see him.’

***

Queen’s Club, London

Maggie knew it was an excuse, I knew it was an excuse. But that wasn’t enough to stop me.

I’m well known around here, visiting every month or so to play a quick game of tennis. Ben and I had spoken about it that night, he had told me he comes here often, and after a few discreet phone calls from Maggie, I had discovered he’d be here training today.

Walking towards the lawns in my tennis whites and neon pink trainers, I scan the area for any sight of him and it doesn’t take long before I do. Swinging his racket forcefully against his training partner’s forehand, he bounces around the court, sweating head to toe in the August heat.  

I stand and watch for a few minutes, admiring the shapes his body can make under such speed, until his partner relents and goes to find some shade. Ben heads over to a bench on the side of the court, sits down and leans back his head, pouring water from his bottle all over his face, before gulping the rest down. 

I stride towards him purposefully. I am here for a reason.

I see him squinting like he’s seen a mirage. A grin passes over his face as I approach.

‘Morning, how are you?’, he says simply.

‘Good thanks, and you?’, I say. Casual. Be casual.

‘Good, good’

I stand in front of him, an expectant silence between us. Say something clever, Cora, or funny. Say anything. Speak for God’s sake!

‘I got your information pack, thank you!’, I say with a squeak.

‘Well, I noticed there hadn’t been any emails from you’, he shrugged. ‘I thought you might have been avoiding me.’

I laugh like a deranged idiot, ‘why would I avoid you?’

‘Because you kissed me’

I’m startled by his bluntness and stumble over my words before I realise what he’s just said.

‘Wait a second, you kissed me’, I say indignantly.

‘That’s not how I remember it’, he leans down to re-tie his shoelaces.

I open my mouth to bite back, then realise what he’s doing. ‘Nice try’.

‘Aha, she’s discovered a sense of humour at last’, he says, looking to the sky playfully.

I sit down next to him; I need to bite the bullet. ‘I have to ask you something…’, I say tentatively.

‘Go on’

‘Have you…told anyone about what happened?’

‘Nope, why?’

‘I just had to check’

‘For?…’ He places his elbows on his thighs and studies me.

‘If it got out, well, it would be a nightmare; I would really appreciate it if you didn’t say anything’

‘Thanks for the vote of confidence’, he rolls his eyes. ‘Is there someone in particular you don’t want to find out? A boyfriend, perhaps’

My heart jumps into my throat. ‘No!’ I say it a little too quickly. ‘But, I’ve been on a date, since…it happened’

Why did I just tell him that?

A flicker of disappointment passes over his face.

‘So you‘re just worried I’ll use you for publicity?’, a darkness clouds his voice.

‘No, I-’

‘Cora, I’ve been in the public eye long enough to know how it works, I’m not interested in making the Sunday papers, I just want to play tennis’

‘I’m sorry, it would be stupid of me not to check’, I say.

He nods in agreement, ‘I appreciate you coming to me yourself’

‘See, I told Maggie that would be best!’, I can’t wait for the chance to rub that one in her face.

‘So Maggie knows does she?’, he raises both eyebrows. ‘And yet I’m getting the lecture about keeping my mouth shut!’

Crap. ‘She’s the only person I told, I swear’, I say, panicking.

Ben laughs, that glorious, big laugh, ‘I couldn’t give a shit who you tell’. There’s that bluntness again.

I want to hit him with my racket; this man knows how to break me into a sweat.

‘As you’re here, do you fancy a game?’, he motions towards the court.

‘With you?’

‘No with the Pope, yes with me. I heard Bejar offered you lessons, I think you can do better than him’, his deep brown eyes dart across mine.

I force Nicholas back into my mind like a shoehorn. Don’t flirt, don’t flirt.

‘Well you do need help on that forehand’, I tease.

We head over to the court where we hit a few balls around, Ben giving me some pointers along the way. As we finally get into a game, unsurprisingly, he wins every point. All but one, when he hits the net.

Later as I walk him to the changing rooms, I can’t help but gloat. ‘A point against a tennis champion, that’s pretty good going.’

‘One measly point! And it was only because I was distracted by those ridiculous trainers!’, he looks down at my neon pink feet.

It usually takes an age for a new friend to feel like they can tease me. I smile to myself, grateful that he just didn’t ‘give a shit’.

‘I’m sure you’re better at other things’, he pats me on the shoulder unaware of the glow it ignites inside me.

‘I am’, I try and sound mysterious.

‘Like?’

I say the first think that pops into my mind, ‘like the Highland Fling’

Ben finds this hilarious, of course he does.

‘I bet you couldn’t do it, I bet you’re too “manly” to even try’, I hold his gaze.

‘Try me’, he says, his voice deep.

‘There’s a party on the twenty-eighth, my friend…the guy I’m going with, it’s at his home, a big do, I’ll send you the details…if you’re not too much of a wuss, that is’

What am I doing?

‘Great’, if he’s registered that I’m going there with a date, he doesn’t show it.

‘Great, see you then’, I flounce off , my face on fire, my heart thumping.

‘Uh Cora!’, he calls after me.

I turn around.

‘You’ll probably need my number, to send me the details?’

‘Oh yes’, I blush.

I walk away with my hand gripped around my racket, Ben’s number in my phone, and his eyes on my back.

This has suddenly become very real.

What have I done?

[lia-jones]

Growing Pains - Chapter Eighteen - Tangled In My Web

It was uncanny how cheerful Victor always seemed in the kitchen, his expression changing by just merely entering the room. It was almost a happy-go-lucky version of himself, his expression calm and relaxed, his movements fluid and almost musical, a little spring on his step. It wasn’t like Victor wasn’t relaxed before, but his contentment surely increased in the kitchen, his expression softer, happier. I was so glad to be a witness to that transformation.

Opening several cabinets, Victor took out an array of different pots and pans, putting them aside on the counter. He looked at them carefully, probably assessing if he needed anything else. Next, he went to the fridge and came back with his arms full of several vegetables, onions, garlic and a bottle of white wine in his hand. He put it all on the counter and went to get two glasses, filling both with the white wine he brought.

“Here. Have some wine and relax while I get to work.” Victor said, handing me the glass of wine.

“Do you need help?” I asked, sipping my wine. It was somewhat sparkly and sweet. I raised my eyebrows in appreciation.

“No, tonight I do all the hard work. It’s a very simple dish, won’t take long. Have your wine, I’m glad to see you enjoyed it.” Victor said, taking a sip from his glass, and turning to his cutting board with some vegetables. I watched him cut the ingredients at the speed of light like it was my own private show, seeing him in a way I had never seen him before. His focus wasn’t based on stress or in pressure. It was a labor of love, something that truly brought him pleasure, his expression quickly moving from one of close attention to the contentment of a job well done. After he was finished, he quickly glanced at me.

“Do you like what you see?” He asked, a sly smile on his face.

“Very much so. You really enjoy cooking, don’t you?”

“Yes, this is a passion of mine. If I could take any other job, I would be a chef.” He confessed.

“You have money, you can do what you damn please.” I teased.

“The more money you have, the greater the responsibility. Given you have something called a spine, of course.”

I took some time to answer, absorbing what he just told me. I had read about Gregory Lee, the financial mogul that built his fortune from scratch. Certainly Victor had his fate written in his blood, the family business to be passed on like a legacy throughout the generations.

“Did your parents pressured you to choose this route?” I asked. Victor answered matter-of-factly, busy with his pots and pans.

“Not so much my parents, my father. Not that he told me I had to do it, but no other option was ever on the table. I remember one day, I was still a teenager, I told my father that I wanted to be a chef and he laughed at me. He wasn’t even mad. To him, the thought of me working in anything else than investments was hilarious. I quickly took the hint.”

I didn’t know what to say. Victor quickly caught on my awkwardness.

“Don’t misunderstand me, I like what I do. It gives me a good lifestyle, and most people go through jobs they absolutely detest just to get by, so who am I to complain? Besides, being LFG’s CEO brought me some perks.” He reached for my hand on the counter, squeezing it meaningfully.  I was about to tease him about how smooth he was, but my eye caught something moving in the sink, which almost made me fall from the stool I was sitting on. I glanced at it again, seeing a pair of red claws reaching for me, causing me to startle once again and let out a small, but still very embarrassing, shriek.

“Holy crap, what’s that?” I said, trying to recover from the scare. Victor was laughing hard, which almost made the scare worth it. I had never seen him laugh like that.

“It’s our dinner. It’s a lobster.” He said, still chuckling, his hand motioning to me to come closer.

And there it was. A huge live lobster, roaming in a bit of water in the sink. I suddenly became fascinated with it, as it reached its claws to me, like it was greeting me. I took a spoon that was laying on the counter and started playing with the crustacean, lightly poking at its claws, studying its reactions.

“The mean man is going to cook you, right? You were happy at home with your lady lobster and your baby lobsters, then some net grabbed you and first thing you know you are in a moody guy’s mansion, watching your fate from this sink, the steaming pot that awaits you. This is the end, my friend.” I was talking to the lobster, partly to tease Victor, but mostly because it was fun.

“Stop talking to it. It’s dinner, not a person.” Victor said, coming in my direction, grabbing the lobster.

“You’re going to throw a live lobster in a pot of boiling water?” I asked, horrified.

“How cruel do you think I am?” Victor was slightly offended. “I’m going to stab it in the head to kill it first.” He said, grabbing his knife and positioning its tip in the lobster’s soft spot.

“Stabbing him in the head isn’t cruel?!?!?”

By Victor’s expression, I could see he was at his wits end.

“First, it’s not a him, second, how am I supposed to….” He placed the knife on the cutting board and placed both hands on the counter, his head hanging low, seemingly defeated. “I’m not having lobster tonight, am I?”

“Can you kill it?” I grimaced.

Victor pondered for a moment, staring at the lobster, a frown on his face. He scoffed in frustration and went for the fridge.

“I have some steaks we can eat. That is, if you haven’t made friends with the cow.” He spoke ironically, and I could see he was upset things didn’t go as he planned. I couldn’t hide the smile this time, which Victor answered with a deathly glare.

As he was unwrapping the steaks, I moved closer and hugged him from behind. His body tensed, showing that he was clearly annoyed and unwilling to let it go just yet. I made him turn to face me, but Victor didn’t lean as he usually would. He maintained his height, making it hard for me to reach his face. Although I could see that he was indeed a bit upset, I somehow knew part of him was softening for me as well. I started stroking the part that I could reach, his chest, and spoke softly to him.

“I’m sorry, I’m sure you had to go to the market, after a terribly long flight, to pick that lobster for us. I appreciate the effort, really. But I know it felt wrong for you too. Otherwise you would tell me to shut it and cook it anyway.”

Victor raised an eyebrow at me, poker face on, but I could see he had softened a bit.

“And beef isn’t murder? Talk about a double standard.”

“I didn’t watch it die.” I started pressing small kisses on his chest, over the sweater. “Don’t be mad. I’m sorry.”

I finally broke his angry spell. He wrapped his arms around me and leaned closer.

“You’re quite a handful, you know?” He whispered in my hair, and I could feel the smile in his voice.

“Oh please, we both knew I would be high maintenance.”

Victor chuckled and leaned further for a kiss. I replied in the most tender, loving way I could muster, which in this case, being Victor I was kissing, it wasn’t very hard.

“Alright, that’s enough.” He said, trying to look cool and unaffected by the kiss, but his dark eyes told me otherwise. “I have to cook those steaks. You must be hungry.”

Victor quickly prepared the food and set the table. Obviously, him being such a perfectionist, the table was exquisite, with delicate plates and silverware, beautiful flowers and candles to set the mood. Even though I was just eating with him at his apartment, I almost felt underdressed for the occasion. The food itself was perfectly garnished, with shaped vegetables and herbs giving the dish a sophisticated touch.

But my biggest surprise was when I actually tasted the food. Perfectly seasoned and juicy, the steaks almost melted in my mouth. The sautéed vegetables were cooked to perfection, not too hard and not too mushy, and the seasonings brought out the best in every ingredient, so it was possible to single out every flavor. I hummed in pleasure.

“I’m happy to see you’re enjoying your meal.”

“It’s absolutely amazing.” I said enthusiastically, taking a sip of my wine. “You need to open a restaurant. I know you have your job, and your responsibilities, but just like, once a month. Share this happiness with the world.”

Victor chuckled.

“Who says I didn’t?”

“You have a restaurant?!?” This man was full of surprises.

“I had, a long time ago. It was called Souvenir.” Victor said factually, make the wine spin in his glass.

“Wait, I read about that restaurant before moving in!” I paused, the coin dropping. “Now I understand the reviews.” I said, laughing.

“Angry and unsufferable chef, I know.” Victor rolled his eyes, his face falling.

“Sorry.” I grimaced, but still laughed. “Why did you close?”

“I didn’t feel inspired to open anymore. Besides, Mr. Mills moved to France, and I didn’t have the patience to look for a replacement.”

“Wait, Mr. Mills? So that’s why he calls you boss!” Victor chuckled at my realization. “I found that so weird.”

“Mr. Mills is a good friend. I’m happy to see him doing well.” Victor stood up to take the dishes. I tried to follow him and help , but he grabbed my shoulder, gently pushing me back on my seat. “No, this is my job. Your job is to sit tight like a good girl and wait for dessert.”

After a moment, Victor returned with two dishes with pudding. I was never a huge fan of pudding, but this was something else. It had a perfect consistency, not too firm and not too soft, the velvety sensation on my tongue and the way it melted in my mouth making me close my eyes with satisfaction. The caramel and the vanilla blended perfectly, neither of them overpowering, just right. I couldn’t contain another myriad of compliments, and Victor seemed more than pleased to hear them.

After the delicious dessert, he led me to the living room. I noticed his vast CD collection.

“Do you mind if I take a look?”

“Go ahead. I’ll fix us a drink. What are you having?”

“Whatever you’re having. I trust your taste.” I said, sitting on the floor in front of his CD rack. I could see plenty of classical music and opera, but Victor seemed to have a taste for Jazz as well. Billie Holliday, Miles Davis, Duke Ellington, the guy had impeccable taste. I took out a CD that caught my eye.

“You like Carole King?” Victor asked, sitting by my side, handing me my drink.

“Everybody likes Carole King. Most of her songs are covers for other bands, even if most people don’t know it.”

“Put it on.” Victor ran his hand down my back.

In no time we could hear “Too late”. Victor got up, pulling me up with him.

“Where are we going?” I asked, puzzled, while he put our glasses on the coffee table.

“We are going to dance. We can’t let a good song go to waste.”

My body buzzed with his warmth, as he wrapped his arms around me, his cheek close to mine. A thought crossed my mind, making me giggle.

“What is it?” He feigned an impatient voice. But his warm smile was there to tell me otherwise. I laughed harder this time. He was so cute. Not that I would ever tell him.

“A few months ago, I hated your guts.” He snorted, apparently amused with my honesty. “You’re smooth. Got me tangled in your web. Sneaky.” I teased him.

Victor held me closer, his mouth whispering seductively. Our bodies swayed to the music.

“And how does it feel to be in my web?”

“Warm. Comfortable. Like I don’t want to leave.” I said, leaning my head closer to him.

“Maybe I’m the one tangled in your web.” His lips were on my hair, I could feel his warm breath on my ear, making my skin tingle.

“What do you mean?” I turned, my nose caressing his.

Victor smiled at me, but didn’t say a word. His eyes were full of emotions, though. If only I could read them. He swiftly dipped me in his arms, pulling me up again to meet his lips.

[defenderofjustixe]

Living with Jumin Han Headcanons

Be prepared to be spoiled. Needless to say if you even think of wanting something Jumin will have it delivered on a silver platter for you. 

Even if it is something he doesn’t understand like ‘commoner’ food he will make sure Jaehee does all the research. He will probably have a presentation done over the topic or item before purchasing it . Only the best for his beloved. 

He would insist you don’t need to work and if you felt the need insist that you work as his assistant. Not for any pervert reasons, however, I’m sure there would be a little office fun time. But for the reason he simply wants you around. So he can call you into his office and simply look, or hold you. 

If you wish to work on your own, or at home, again research is done. He makes you go through several personality tests and career assessment exams. And by makes I mean he suggests it until you agree, or has Jaehee take them for you. They are all done to ensure you are given the best. 

When working the two of you carpool together to your respective locations. Jumin and you tend to simply relax and drink coffee, or tea, while reading the news. Jumin tends to read aloud to you since you enjoy the sound of his voice and he simply enjoys speaking to you. 

Actually, he reads to you a lot. At night he will read to you from whatever pick you pick. Laying in bed together until you fall asleep. 

On days off the two of you enjoy simply relaxing together. However, that doesn’t keep Jumin from spoiling you every other weekend. Be it taking you to a spa, or across the world in his private jet. Lets just say he helps you kick a lot of things off your bucket list. 

The two of you don’t cook in house that often. Jumin tends to take you out for most dinners. And, when you are eating at home it is a meal prepared by your personal chef and planned by a dietitian. It takes a lot of convincing to let you cook yourself.

After eating the first meal cooked by you, Jumin is rather surprised. And you’re even more surprised when you find him asking for more. His gaze is shy and face flustered. He’s so cute. 

Soon you find your fridge stocked and you taking private cooking lessons along side Jumin. 

[oudenoida]

✥ - Popping a button on their shirt, showing their chest / a bit of cleavage (Hawke & Jake)

Life had a funny way of bringing this back full circle in a way nobody could anticipate. The first time they’d tried to date it had been a game of secrets. The Minister of Magic could never be seen with a member of the Department, let alone a former member of the Department who now waited tables at an Indian restaurant. Hawke’s job had been everything to him, his legacy, his reputation, his mission more important than any level of emotional honesty that he could gift to Jake. Which is why Jake had left him. Submitted a formal letter of resignation as Hawke’s boyfriend and walked out of the Ministry with his head held high. A lot had changed in the years in between leaving Hawke and the night the now-former Minister of Magic had walked into his restaurant and asked for a word with the chef. Jake had been perfectly comfortable making him wait several hours in a booth until dinner service was done and waiters were putting chairs on top of tables in preparation for the end of the night. 

“You waited.” 

It wasn’t a question when he asked it, but there had been a question behind it, about why Hawke had shown up, ate, and then waited until the restaurant closed down to finally talk to him. 

“The food was exquisite. You used to be a great chef… I think you’re something beyond that now.” 

“My Michelin Star and James Beard Award agree with you.” He’d sat down on the other side of the table as one of his staff brought him something to eat. “Doesn’t explain why you waited though.” 

He’d always been the one who’d been honest between the two of them. It was time for Hawke to shoulder that burden now. 

They’d talked late. He’d sent the staff home and they’d sat in that booth, and then in the kitchen as Jake made them a well-past-midnight snack, and just talked. It was the most open he’d ever heard Hawke be and in the moment it was a very sharp reminder of why he’d been so in love with the man in the first place. Hawke seemed to be heading in the direction of them getting back together and so Jake felt it the appropriate time to drop the bomb he’d been sitting on all evening. 

“I’ve got a kid, Hawke. I adopted. Elimelech Alistair Conrad. Eli Jr.. If you want back in my life… you’ve gotta be ready to be a dad. Because I’m not doing this if you’re not.” 

“You… adopted?” 

“I asked everyone not to tell you. I honestly assumed you’d know just because you’ve got your fingers in seventeen different intelligence agency pies, but, yes. Last year. He’s three now. Eli’s mom watches him while I work, because that woman is a bloody saint.”

In Hawke’s defense he hadn’t immediately run out the door, hadn’t bolted the moment he’d heard the word “kid” like some of the other men Jake had tried to date since he’d initially left Hawke, but he didn’t look immediately at ease with the whole concept of being a father. “Well. Congratulations. I think I owe you a baby shower gift then.” 

He hadn’t laughed like that in a long time, and just like that they were back on the slow road to whatever it was they were going to become. 

A lot had changed in two years. Minister Ashby had become Mr. Conrad, one restaurant had turned into two, to three, and then a cooking show, and despite what reservations he’d had, Hawke had become a truly amazing father. An apartment in muggle London had turned into a penthouse in Diagon, and it was through this penthouse door Jake was walking to be immediately tackled by a slightly more than knee-high cannonball, “Daddy’s home!!” 

Hawke rounded a corner shortly after their speedster of a son did, trademark wry smile on his face, “Maybe we let him get more than six inches in the door before we tackle him.” 

“Papa took me to see Auntie Emma at work today! Mr. Foster had a puppy!” Leaning down Jake swept Eli Jr. off his feet, kissing him on the forehead and hugging him tightly. 

“Oh Papa did, did he?” 

He threw a questioning eyebrow in Hawke’s direction as he set Eli Jr. back down again and his husband gave him a gentle smile, “Weymouth had some automaton breakthrough. Wanted to drop one off, show us how it worked. He’s getting closer and closer to figuring it out… which is honestly a little terrifying. Have you ever seen a nine foot tall magitech robot take a spell to the chest and bounce it back? And before you chide me… Samuel had Eli well in another room distracted with what might honestly be the cutest pitbull puppy in all of Christendom.” 

“Nana ‘nique said she’s going to take me to the museum tonight!” 

Another questioning eyebrow, and another smile, a language they were slowly and methodically rebuilding, “Gramma Monique offered to babysit tonight. She said something about couples needing quality time, how she and Manu had always loved their family but cherished the moments that they had privately. Then she gave me what can only be described as the most scandalous eyebrows I have ever seen on a woman and said she’d be by, well,” he looked at the watch on his wrist that had probably cost more than Jake’s first apartment, “Any minute.” 

A gentle knock on the doorframe behind him made Jake’s face split into a lopsided grin as he turned to see the willowy figure of Monique Whetu silhouetted in the light from the hall, “And here she is, as promised Misters Conrad.”

There was very little in his heart that Jacob Conrad loved as dearly and preciously as Monique Whetu. She had seen Jake at his most abject; when veins were still black as night and some days he couldn’t hold a mug for the shaking, and she had loved him ferociously anyway. It was one of Jake’s greatest sorrows that he would never have the chance to meet Manu Whetu, but from the way Monique lived her life, it was evident where Eli got his big heart from. “You didn’t have to do this mom.” 

He couldn’t pinpoint exactly when he’d started calling Monique mom. There had been a very long time when she had been Lady Whetu, and then Monique, and then somewhere along the line mom. Maybe it had been before he’d knelt before the Manu-possessed Lich body of Aiden and received the blessing of the Lord of Manawa, maybe after, but somewhere along the line she’d joined Madhur and his own mother as one of the army of women he called mom, and it just felt right.

“That’s what makes it fun, Jacob. I know I didn’t have to do this.” With an effortless redirection of momentum she scooped Eli Jr up and propped him up on her hip, “You both work hard, and you deserve these moments.” Leaning in she planted a kiss on Jake’s kiss and he breathed in the smell of flowers and home, “Besides. This handsome man and I have a date with his Uncle Eli and Aunt Millie. You can’t deprive Millie of her Eli Jr time. You know how she gets.” 

With another blinding smile and a wave from their son she was gone, and there was silence in the penthouse. “Well, Mr. Conrad.” Jake set his bag down and leaned against the wall, “I guess we have a free evening.” 

“For the first time in what… months?” Hawke began loosening his tie, draping it over the back of a nearby chair as he unbuttoned his cuffs and popped the top buttons on the bespoke Thad oxford he was wearing, revealing a sliver of tan skin and carefully groomed chest hair. 

“Mmmmm.” Pushing off the wall Jake careened gently into his partner, bringing a hand slowly up and over Hawke’s chest and cupping his cheek, “If you’re going to start a strip tease like that in our front hall you and I are never going to make it to the kitchen to start dinner.” 

Hawke’s low chuckle sent shivers down Jake’s spine as he slowly unbuttoned another button, “Oh this is what does it today? Well, Mr. Conrad. You’re the one with a restaurant empire. I am fairly certain with one phone call we can have a four course meal delivered and left outside so we don’t have to put pants on for the rest of the night….” 

There was an end to the sentence that Jake refused to give Hawke time to finish; lips crushing the rest of the words in their shells. “You know my love language, that’s for sure.” 

Another button and Hawke smoothed a hand under Jake’s shirt and up his stomach, “There’s no rush, my darling. We have all night, Millie and Eli are hosting a sleepover… and I intend to take my time. I think we’ve earned it.” 

Jake had to admit as Hawke began removing his clothing with agonizing slowness that his husband was right. They had earned it, and he intended to take full advantage of every remaining minute they had together.

[yelena-bellova]

“Captain America Defeated By Spaghetti?” Steve/Natasha Fanfic

Summary: Steve comes by the compound to visit Natasha and do his laundry only to find his friend in a sad state. He decides to cook her dinner to lift her spirits, but it may not go as smoothly as he thinks it will…

Requested by @askaboutari: Can I get some Steve/Nat please?!?!? It can be romantic or brotp I love both but I need more of them 🤗🤗🤗

Warnings: Endgame spoilers if you squint really hard

Word Count: 2,057. (WOW. I did not intend to make it this long haha) Note: I was SO EXCITED to get this request 🥳 I’ve wanted to write about Steve cooking dinner for Natasha since I saw that scene in Endgame and I’ve been thinking that Steve cooking would probably go something like this haha 

This is my first imagine I’ve written so it kind of sucks, but it’s a start. Hope you enjoy it!!

Steve turned his key in the front door to the compound, taking a quick look at the surrounding area. It was desolate. Cars that had been parked five long years, the lawn overgrown and untended…it was a sad sight that sent a chill down his spine. He continued to unlock the door and stepped inside. Carrying his full bag of dirty laundry, he walked down the hall making just enough noise to alert Natasha of his presence. He didn’t hear any noise coming from any of the rooms and began to wonder where she might be. He peered into the living room, the only sign of possible life were the empty takeout containers laying across the coffee table. “Nat?” he called out. No answer. He slowly walked towards the office/study, where she could usually be found, and what he found made his heart break a little.

She was sitting in a chair, slumped over the desk table, passed out cold. Knowing her, she’d probably been checking in with Rhodey or Carol to see where they were. She was always grasping for new information, looking for some nuisance in the universe to put a stop to. Steve stared at her, noticing the fresh tear stains down her cheeks and the near empty coffee mug held loosely in her hand. He knew better than to just walk over and wake her up. Natasha was a trained assassin, she’d spring into action and have him pinned down before he could even gather himself. He set his bag down, tiptoed over to the desk and grabbed her phone. Unlocking it, he knew the song that she always set as her alarm, and hit play, As soon as the soft guitar strums began playing, Nat’s eyes fluttered open immediately. She glanced up to see Steve standing over her, a sad smile on his face. Happy to see her, saddened by how he found her… ”You know a bed might be more comfortable.” he quipped. 

“When did you get here?” she asked, lifting her head from the table and rubbing her eyes. “Just now. Thought I’d multitask; see a friend and do my laundry.” 

She gave him a small smile as she leaned back in her chair, resting her hands on her stomach. “I can’t promise there’s detergent, but have at it.” she said, gesturing to the nearby laundry room.

Steve slung his bag over his shoulder and walked over, starting his load set for an hour and exited back out. Nat was still sitting at her table, staring blankly at the wall. She looked underweight, sleep deprived and downright miserable. The fire that used to be so visible in her had died down to a wisp of a flame and the light gone from her eyes. He leaned up against the doorframe, “Nat…” 

“Hmm?” Her eyes didn’t move from the wall, but she was at least reachable. 

“When was the last time you did anything other than sit at that desk?” She finally turned to face him, more recent tear stains down her face, but she made sure to put a smirk on her face. 

“If you mean when was the last time I got out of here, you’re not gonna like the answer…”

“No, I mean when was the last time you got a good nights sleep? When was the last time you had a meal that didn’t come in a Chinese takeout container?” he asked.

She chuckled, “Half of humanity is still gone and you’re worried about the last time I made myself a sandwich? I hate to tell you this, Rogers, but I think your priorities are a little screwed up.” 

Steve gave her a disapproving look that she had long ago dubbed the “Captain Dad” face. 

“Nat…I’m serious.”

Natasha looked away to her lap, crossing her arms as if to shield herself from him being able to see right through her poorly constructed facade. Truth was, she hadn’t been grocery shopping in a month. Her “home cooked meals” were microwaved meals she usually only ate half of. She cried herself to sleep each night, and the few hours of sleep she managed to get were plagued with nightmares of the family she’d lost. And she knew she didn’t have to tell Steve any of that, he knew her well enough to know how hard she was still taking their defeat.

“I’m still alive, aren’t I?” she mumbled.

Seeing his friend like this killed Steve inside, and while he knew he couldn’t fix her, he was going to try his hardest to help in whatever way he could. Starting with getting some food in her… “Come on…” he said as he walked towards the kitchen. She slowly got up and followed him, knowing the judgement she’d face from him once he saw the contents of the fridge and pantry. 

Steve opened the door to the pantry and found nearly bare shelves. A few canned goods, cereal boxes, bottled sports drinks, crackers, a loaf of bread, and a bag of chocolate chips. He worriedly looked over to Natasha who was leaning against the counter, “Don’t give me that look, there’s no need to keep it stocked all the time when I’m the only one here.” she said defensively. Unfortunately, she was right. With her being the only one living at the compound regularly, she only had herself to feed. He went to examine the fridge next finding more takeout containers, a dozen eggs, milk, an open jar of peanut butter and a block of cheese. Steve glanced over at her again as she shot him an almost apologetic look. “Well, this is a far cry away from Tony’s private chef…But I think I can make it work.” he said proudly, walking over to the pantry. 

“You know you don’t have to do this.” she said. “I can ta-“ “If that were true, you wouldn’t be living off of coffee and egg rolls.” Steve remarked as he dug through the pantry to find a box of pasta and a jar of marinara sauce hidden behind cereal boxes. Natasha smirked, she knew he was right. She hadn’t been taking care of herself. Steve turned to face her, “Now go sit down, put a movie on, and let your friend do something nice for you.”

She jokingly gave him a salute and disappeared into the living room. Steve wasn’t a chef by any means, but he knew the basics. He hadn’t made pasta in a long time, but was confident in his ability to boil noodles.

He had never been more wrong in his 100+ years…

Twenty minutes later, his third attempt at spaghetti were stuck to the bottom of the pot, he had burned himself from the steam twice and there were still two empty plates. Natasha stood in the doorway, trying not to laugh at her friend, waiting to jump in and help him. “I thought you were the one who was supposed to be taking care of me.” she quipped. Looking up from the disappointing pot, “I thought if the box said “Easy to cook” that it would actually be easy to cook.” he remarked. 

“Captain America defeated by a box of spaghetti? Oh, how the mighty have fallen…”

Steve chuckled, if his embarrassing attempt to cook gave Natasha some much needed joy, it was worth it to him. “I’m sorry about this…And I’m clearly in dire need of help.” 

“I was just waiting for you to say that…” Steve cleared away the burnt pot of noodles and cleaned up his area as Natasha began grabbing eggs, milk and bread. She put a pan on the stove and turned on the burner, pouring some oil on it too. “Grab me a whisk and a spatula.” she directed.

“Yes, ma’m.” Steve replied, mimicking the salute she gave him earlier. Twenty minutes later, they had made a huge stack of french toast and were dishing up their plates. Natasha had found syrup stashed away in the spice cabinet and poured a hefty amount of it on her pieces. Steve’s plate of course had a super soldier sized portion of their meal…They retired to the living room where Natasha had a movie ready to go, it played quietly in the background as the two friends caught up with each other. “How’s your support group going?” she asked him.

He didn’t look up from his plate as he answered, “As good as it can go, I guess. We share, we grieve…Some make progress, some don’t…”

“What category would you put yourself in?” Steve set his fork down and gathered his thoughts for a moment.

“Sometimes I think I’m moving on, when I’m just going about day to day life…Shopping, reading, watching TV, going for drives…Things almost feel somewhat normal. But when all of that stops and everything’s quiet, I realize I’m no closer than I was five years ago.” 

Natasha watched him struggle to not say what she knew was on his mind. She could see through him just as well as he could see through her. And if he couldn’t work up the courage to say what he really wanted to say, she would help him along… “You miss her, don’t you?” 

Steve still hadn’t looked up from his plate, but as soon as Natasha spoke, his eyes made their way to meet hers joined by a sad smile.

“Every day.” Natasha nodded, knowing that no matter how many losses they faced, one of Steve’s greatest losses would be losing Peggy Carter. She had lost count of how many girls she had tried to set him up with, only for him to shoot down every suggestion. She’d given up eventually, knowing that he was just as stubborn as she was, if not more. Steve continued, “I sit there in that group each week listening to people talk about going out on dates, moving on from their partners and I support it. I congratulate them and encourage them and tell them they’re doing the right thing. But every time I think of myself moving on, not just from Peggy, but from all of this,” he gestures to the room as if the whole team is in it, “it just feels wrong.”

What Steve was feeling in the moment was a feeling Natasha knew all too well. She knew that if Clint were here, he’d be telling her to move on with her life best she could. But anytime she even considered stopping her search for him or her attempts to stop whatever trouble was being made in the universe, she felt paralyzed. She felt like she was disrespecting her dead teammates by taking care of herself and moving on. She and Steve were in the same boat, he was just able to function slightly better than she was. She cut off another bite of french toast and chewed it slowly, savoring the first true home cooked meal she’d had in months.

“Maybe moving on looks different for people like us.” she said, shrugging her shoulders. “We’ve seen things that the general population has only heard stories about. We weren’t only here for the aftermath but we were there for the loss itself. Maybe you’ll never be able to move on like somebody off the street, but that doesn’t mean it’s impossible.” 

One side of Steve’s mouth curved into a knowing smile, “Maybe the same goes for you.” 

Natasha’s lip’s curved into the same smile, “You first.” The rest of the night was spent polishing off all the french toast, laughing at the movie, Natasha telling Steve about the report Carol had given her, and more free flowing conversations between the two best friends. Eventually, Natasha fell asleep on the couch using Steve’s bicep as a pillow. He looked down at her and smiled, for the first time in a long time she looked at ease. Her stomach was full, she’d had a few laughs, and she was getting much needed rest. Steve reached over and grabbed a blanket, draping it across her small frame. He closed his eyes as well, slowly drifting off to sleep. His last thought was of the forgotten load of laundry still in the washer, but that was fine…His true mission of the night had been accomplished; Seeing his friend happy for the first time in a long time.