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youwouldntlietopapa · 1 year

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Amore Mio - Ch.2

Sorry this chapter too fucking ages. No real warnings on it, except to say that this is untranslated. For a fully English on, click here.

Also available on AO3.

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No, no, no…

“Non mi aspettavo che andasse così lontano. Sapevo che sarebbe stato scontento, ma è sempre scontento...”

They can’t send you away… Not now. Not after everything you two just talked about. This is your place. With him. At very least, if it had been Secondo’s anger you were facing, you know him. You know his heart. You could maybe, maybe find a way to make him see your intent, to see sense. But Nihil and Sister Imperator… they’ve never been fond of you. They don’t owe you any leniency or understanding. It feels like someone kicked you in the gut, like all the air’s been knocked out of your lungs. The tears burn your eyes and spill over while you gasp for breath. Secondo is still sitting in front of you, but you can’t make yourself think about it. It hurts too much.

“Amore, guardami. Messa a fuoco.” He says a little sharply. Not cruelly, just trying to shake you out of your panic. His hands are on your shoulders, big and warm and grounding. Only letting go to wipe away your tears. “Respira, Tesoro. Respira e basta.”

Secondo pulls you gently closer, wrapping his arms around you. Holding you protectively. Your hands are on his robe, grabbing the fabric in a white-knuckled grip. Every apology you had desperately scrambled for on the long walk back comes tumbling out in such a frantic rush, it’s nearly incomprehensible. Certainly to Secondo, of all people. He sits patiently, letting you get it out of your system. Slowly rubbing your back. Finally leaning back enough to look at you.

“Amore… please… You need to breathe for me.” He wipes your cheeks again. “Did you hear what I say before? Hmm? I say to you, I have a solution. A plan. Si? So no one ever sends you away. No one ever makes you go.”

That, at least, lets you take a breath. He wouldn’t lie about that. Not him. He is a man of many sins, but lying to you hasn’t ever been one of them. You’ve never known him to lie about anything, really. Not out of any sort of piety. Only that blunt honesty comes much easier to him. “I’ll do anything you say, anything. Just please don’t make me go.”

Secondo shakes his head and smiles a little sadly. “No, amore. No. Not like this. This you only do if you want it. No doing because I tell you. You understand?” He waits for a nod and kisses your forehead. “I need you to listen to me first, si? You can do this for me?”

Again, you nod, staring at him and praying to the Dark Lord for a solution.

“Questo... non è così che ho pianificato le cose, Amore. Sai chi sono. Pensa troppo, preoccupati troppo, pianifica troppo. Ma ho bisogno che tu sappia questo... questo non è per necessità. Si tratta di piani attenti, a lungo ponderati e meticolosamente organizzati, purtroppo richiesti molto prima del previsto.” When you open your mouth to speak, he holds up a finger and you stop without argument. “Te lo giuro, manterrò i miei programmi. Ma, per stasera, se sei d'accordo, faremo le cose in fretta.”

For a moment you wonder if maybe the panic finally broke you, or if Secondo has suddenly decided to take up talking nonsense. But you’re not quiet sure what he’s talking about. Even less so when he stands up and gently turns you to sit directly on the edge of the bed, facing him.

“Ti amo, mia regina oscura, mia Lilith. Più della vita stessa. Il mio cuore è tuo. Ora e sempre.” His hand dips into his robe pocket and you watch as he drops to one knee. “Sei tu quello con cui voglio svegliarmi accanto. Tu sei quello che mi fa sentire amato. Tu sei quello... che si sente come a casa e gioia e pace.”

You barely notice the sound of the lid opening, too focused on his face and his words. But Secondo lifts up the box holding the ring. Platinum and emerald and black diamond. More than just a ring, a statement to anyone who sees it. I belong to him.

And you do. Completely.

“Sposami, amore mio. Sposami e sii mio, sempre.” That gentle, almost timid tone again.

As if there were any possibility you would have ever said no. And of course he had it all planned out, even without the explanation (that finally sinks in) you can see that. He had the ring already. Just waiting for the right moment. A right moment that was currently going up in flames because of your outburst. Leaving you both horrified knowing what it cost him and, once again, awed and overwhelmed by his willingness to sacrifice for you.

Jumping so quickly from blind panic to feeling like your heart might burst from joy leaves you dizzy and breathless. Your arms are around his neck, crushing yourself against him, not even processing that you haven’t said anything at all. Secondo wraps his arms around you, holding you tight. Chuckling softly with relief.

“È un no, Amore?” He teases lightly.

You lean back to look him in the eye, this man who had been so impenetrably guarded behind a lifetime of armour, finally shedding the last of it to offer up his heart. You’re not sure what you’ve ever done to deserve this blessing but, Satanas, you wouldn’t turn it down for all the world.

“Certo... Certo che lo faro'. Sei tutto il mio mondo, Secondo. Non c'è nessuno tranne te.” You don’t trust your voice with more than a whisper. Even then, your voice shakes. But it doesn’t matter. Nothing else matters. Only him. You lean in to kiss him deeply.

It’s a long few minutes before either of you are willing to think of anything else, much less the urgency called for this evening. Too consumed by your own small, private celebration. When another knock at the door snaps you both back, unwillingly, to reality, Secondo kisses you once more and gets up to answer. No stomping or threats this time. Not happy about being interrupted, but at least this one is less of a surprise.

You get up off the floor and retie your robe, slowly trailing after him. Expecting another visit from Terzo who, you gather, is throwing something together as quickly as possible. If he’s pulled it off this quickly, you think, he deserves some kind of Guinness record. Fastest Satanic Wedding arrangements ever made. It’s not Terzo who steps in however, but Primo.

Secondo’s older brother smiles calmly, as always. He never seems to be in any particular rush, not since retiring. His garden keeps him busy and most people have learned that making demands of him or getting on his nerves is a good way to end up regretting all of your life choices. From the way he’s dressed, you suspect Terzo dragged him out of a quiet night in. One more thing to add to your growing list of things to repay him for. At least Primo doesn’t seem noticably upset about it.

“Yes, yes. I hear it all from Polpetto.” The retired Papa waves away his brother’s attempted explanation like a bothersome fly. He looks over Secondo with a critical quirk of his eyebrow. “Maybe put on some trousers before you go help him, Piccino. Before he gets himself into trouble. I will take care of this.”

He makes a sour face at the old nickname and Primo takes no notice. The two of them stare at each other, waiting to see who will break first. As much faith as you have in your love, your money is on his older brother every time. And, once again, he proves to be the bigger force of nature without so much as lifting his finger. Secondo huffs and goes to do as he’s told. He does, however, pause to kiss you first in an act of blatant defiance which earns him an eye roll from his older brother.

“Stiamo facendo tutto questo perché tu possa tenerla, lumacone. Se continui a trascinare i piedi, non servirà a niente.” He chastises and smirks at you. “Are you sure this is the one you want, Sorella? He doesn’t listen so good.”

Secondo levels a glare at him, but holds his tongue. You get one last, quick kiss. “Non ci metterò molto.”

You and Primo both watch as he goes to put on some clothes and leaves to find Terzo. Ending up staring at each other.

“Papa…”

“Primo.” He corrects gently.

You nod, feeling your cheeks getting hot. “Primo, I don’t mean to sound rude but… Why are you here? Secon-”

“Terzo organizes the ceremony part. I organize the bride part.” He chuckles softly. “My fratellini, they have many talents. This falls… outside their specialities.”

Bride. That word feels odd. Still, you manage a crooked smile. “Are you suggesting that Secondo isn’t a wonderful hair and fashion stylist?”

He grins. “I’m sure he would find you something to wear. But maybe not so good for a wedding as a club, si? And hair? Secondo, no. Terzo? He would surprise you, Sorella. Unfortunately, he is busy. So you get me.”

Your smile at that is an earnest one and you step closer to kiss his cheek. “Lucky me.”

“Attenta, piccola colomba.” Primo teases. “Hai già vinto sui miei fratelli. Litigheremo tutti e tre per te se continui così.”

“Wait? Brothers?” You blink at him, a little confused. “Terzo and I aren’t…. What did he say???”

He laughs and shakes his head. “Forgive me, Sorella. I tease. But I think your little… outburst has him quite smitten.”

“Wonderful, Secondo will love that.” You snort. “In mia difesa, non ho solo iniziato a gridare. Non potevo semplicemente sedermi lì e ascoltarlo parlare con loro in quel modo.”

“You don’t have to explain to me.” Primo softly pats your arm. “I’m proud of you. And happy for him. He needs a fighter. But, we need to hurry, si? First, you shower. Then we work and we chat. I like a good gossip.”

You let yourself be herded into the bathroom without argument or complaint. It’s not worth the time to waste your breath on either. Secondo may have a reputation for being a hard, unyielding man but it’s his brother who is truly made of iron. Besides, a shower will allow you a little time just to think and process everything that’s happening.

The temperature is still set at Secondo’s customary scalding hot and, for once, you don’t turn it down. More interested in staying focused than being soothed. As much as you’ve teased him about needing to be lapped at by hellfire first thing in the morning, you’re starting to see the appeal. Scrubbing yourself pink and raw in the nearly intolerable hot water makes it easier to sort through the hurricane of thoughts and emotions raging in your head and easier to focus on solutions and plans. Maybe his routine isn’t quite as masochistic as you thought.

By the time you’re finished and the bathroom is filled with steam, you actually feel a lot better. You can hear the soft sounds of Primo moving around the quarters outside while you work on getting yourself halfway presentable. He is remarkably good, you realise, at knowing just what to do and nudging people in the right direction. In a way that often goes unnoticed. Of Secondo’s brothers, he’s the one you’ve spent the least time with, not out of any sort of dislike. He is just not often in the spaces you tend to occupy. He likes his quiet and his garden, while your duties are more likely to keep you confined inside and busy. Something you need to remedy.

It’s immediately apparent that he’s been busy, and not shy about going through your personal things. There are three dresses laid out on the bed, a handful of jewellery options to match, and two pairs of shoes. You’re forced to admit, he was right. Neither Secondo or Terzo would have put as much thought and effort into this task. As for Primo, he’s made himself quite at home, setting out a pot of tea beside your hair accessories. Almost gleefully seeing to his duty with complete focus and dedication.

“Ah, you see, signorina? Better already, no?” He grins and pats the seat he has set for you. Before you can sit, he kisses both of your cheeks and steps back to look at you. “Bellissima. Lo ammetto, il mio fratellino ha sempre avuto un gusto eccellente.”

You blush deeply, taking a seat and the offered tea gratefully. Teasing him lightly. “E hai pensato che fossi troppo un flirt?”

Primo chuckles. “Ah, non posso farne a meno. È genetico. Hai conosciuto la mia famiglia. Siamo tutti così. Almeno non sono così male come Terzo, eh?”

It’s impossible not to laugh. “No one is as bad as Terzo. Although… I’ve heard plenty of stories about you too.”

He gasps theatrically and looks back at you in the vanity mirror with an almost convincing shock. “Who is telling such lies about me, Sorella? I will have them punished!”

“We both know Terzo is a terrible gossip. Besides, the more I get to know you, the more I’m inclined to believe him.”

Primo makes a disapproving noise, but there’s mischief in his eyes and he finally chuckles. “Terzo doesn’t know even half the stories. He reminds me too much of myself, il mio fratellino.”

He talks as he works and you ease into a more calm familiarity. Much like his brothers, he’s charming and kind in ways most wouldn’t expect. Attentive and observant. You find he has a skill for getting you to open up without prying and giving his entire attention to you and your words. Secondo only speaks rarely about growing up, but it’s never without a mention of Primo. Even without knowing every detail, you know who was really responsible for making sure he and Terzo were looked after, loved, and given the guidance to become the men they are. When Primo himself talks about them, there’s a pride in his eyes that makes your heart feel full to bursting.

“… Primo?” You ask after a brief quiet in conversation.

He stands behind you, putting the finishing touches on your hair. “Yes, Sorella?”

“I feel I need to apologise.”

Looking back at you in the mirror, he raises a brow. “For what?”

“Just… I’ve been with your brother for a long while now and, somehow, I’ve never managed to make the time to really get to know you. I feel like I’ve done myself a great disservice and that I’ve been unintentionally rude to you.”

Primo smiles calmly and shakes his head. “There is nothing to apologise for. I know our Siblings are busy and I know too well that my fratello will keep you even busier. If anyone should apologise it is me. It is my duty to welcome our Siblings. To be available to meet with them. And, more than that, someone should have welcomed you. To the family.” He places the last hairpin and steps around to look at you properly. “You especially, piccolina. Don’t think I don’t notice how much he changes since he found you. You are good for him, you don’t take his shit. He complains to me once or twice and I say to him you want someone who never talks back? Never tests you? Someone who won’t tell you when you are being a cazzo di stronzo? Then you go back to the clubs for women who don’t care. Who only want a fuck. If you want someone who loves you, who knows you - good and bad, who stays anyway, who cares for you more than for fucking? Then stop your whining, pull your head out your ass, and go apologise for being a prick.”

Deep down you know that it shouldn’t make your eye well up with tears or cause a lump in your throat to hear it. On any other day, you’d probably laugh at the thought. But just then it feels like a weight off your shoulders to be so trusted. Not just by Secondo but by his older brother. His approval will always carry more weight than anyone’s and it feels like a blessing you’re determined to be worthy of.

He offers a hand helping you up, taking a cloth handkerchief from his pocket to carefully dab your eyes. “Perdonami, fiore mio. Oggi non è un giorno per le lacrime e, eccomi qui, a farti piangere.”

“No, no, please.” You catch his hand in both of yours. “I just… I know what your opinion means to him. You’ll see your trust in me isn’t misplaced.”

“I know it isn’t.” He says with certainty. “Secondo is… a difficult man for many. He doesn’t give out his heart. To anyone. For you is not so hard. Not easy, but you stay. He trusts you. With his heart and, now, his life. If he can trust you, I trust you.”

“Thank you…” You say softly, giving his warm hand a gentle squeeze. “And thank you for him. He… he would never say it, not directly, but I’ve learned a few things since we’ve been together. I can say with certainty it’s not your father I have to thank for the man he is. Not in any way that’s complimentary, anyway. But you… It’s not Papa Nihil he looks to for council. It’s not him he goes to in times of trouble, or when he needs advice, or to hear that his efforts aren’t in vain. It’s you. Always. Nihil is his father because he spilled his seed… You’re his father because you actually raised him.”

You stretch up and softly kiss his cheek. “I’ve seen what a gentle, loving, kind, understanding man he can be. The world may not know that man, but I do. And I know that’s thanks to you.”

Primo clears his throat and wipes his eyes before waggling a finger at you. “Che cosa ho detto, principessa? Oggi non è un giorno per piangere.” Still he offers a warm smile and a kiss on the forehead. “Sono solo felice che qualche lezione sia riuscita a superare quella sua testa dura. E digli che ho detto che se manda tutto a puttane, ti sposerò io stessa.”

“Is that a threat?” You chuckle.

“A promise.” He winks. “Now go get dressed or we’ll be late.”

#ghost fanfic #papa ii x reader #fluff mostly #MDNI

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icepopstar5105us · 4 months

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“Hey. Uh, Johnny?” Danny said awkwardly, “What does it mean when one of the older ghosts calls you their favored and why does it freak people out?”

Johnny 13 gave the halfa a bewildered look, “Dude. Didn’t you listen to Death? At all?”

“Death?” Danny scrunched his face, “What do you mean? I don’t…”

“Wait.” Johnny straightened, “You’ve talked with Death, right? She explained-?”

Danny shook his head, confused, “Was I supposed to?”

“When you first died, she’s supposed to appear. She gives a whole spiel and then transfers a bunch of information.” Johnny frowned, “She did it for Plasmius, so it’s not a halfa thing.”

“Oh.” Danny looked down, “What if… What if someone died and came back a few times very quickly? Would that… Would that cause any problems?”

Johnny stilled, horrified, “Ok. Look, do you want to talk about your death? Because I’m not asking if you don’t, but...”

“I guess…” Danny said, “So you know that my parents made the portal, right?”

“Yeah.” Johnny said.

“They’d been trying to do it for a long time. Plasmius actually worked with them for a while back when they were in college. It’s why all of their tech is similar in design.” Danny explained, “They built the thing, plugged it in, turned it on… and nothing.”

“But it works now.” Johnny frowned.

“Yeah. It does.” Danny nodded, “But remember my friends? Sam and Tucker?”

“The edgy emo and the computer geek?”

“As Sam’s friend, I am obligated to inform you that she is goth not emo… but yes, those two.” Danny smiled sadly, “My mom and dad were upset. They left the house and Jazz was working her shift at a library. The whole house was empty and I was… you know. A normal teenager home alone.”

Johnny snorted at that, “Ah yes. A completely normal teenager

“Yeah, yeah. The point is, the first thing I did after being left home alone was call my friends over.” Danny rolled his eyes, “Told them what happened and… It was Sam who suggested we go down there first — she’s always been into ghost and occult stuff — and look around. Tucker was down, because it was tech even if we didn’t think most of the tech would work. He wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity to mess around with it. Jazz had given me some lectures on lab safety — my parents don’t usually follow it themselves — and I had a bad feeling so I put on the Hazmat suit.”

“That’s not a superhero costume you came up with?” Johnny asked, eyes widening.

“No, um. It’s a hazmat suit. The only way I changed my form was the insignia and even then that was Sam’s idea.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, but um….” Danny paused, “We wound up standing outside the portal. It wasn’t working or anything, but there was a big spooky metal hole in the wall. You know, the kind of thing you’d expect in sci-fi movies. Sam dared me to go in and I was nervous. That bad feeling just intensified, but again — fourteen. I wasn’t being smart about it. So… I went into it. I kept going and it was dark. I was turning back when I tripped and I flailed. Accidentally hit some button that was on the side and it turned on.”

Johnny took a sharp breath.

“And um. Did you know that the portal takes a lot of electricity to start up?” Danny joked weakly, “Took three blocks worth. Um, lots of ectoplasm, too — from both the zone and the artificial stuff my parents use.” He shuffled, “So um, turns out both those things can revive and kill people. So I just kind of — died and revived a lot until it turned on and basically spat me out into the lab.

“That’s - Kid…”

“So um, maybe since I was dying and reviving so much death didn’t have a chance to fill me in? Honestly, would have like the heads up.” Danny said sheepishly, “I didn’t even understand what had happened until ghosts started coming through the portal.”

“Seriously?”

Danny shrugged, “I mean, I kind of suspected. I was falling through floors. It was hard to ignore, but I didn’t know - My parents are good inventors, but not the best scientists and it made things hard to figure out.”

“What? You bought that whole non-sentient BS?”

“No.” Danny shook his head, “I just didn’t buy any of it — and I mean none of it. I wanted nothing to do with the whole thing. The whole town thought my parents were crazy, they were always in the lab working, and I only ever saw them briefly once or twice a day. Don’t get me wrong. They’re still my parents and I love them, but… they have two big priorities. Their work and their kids. Their work is just… a higher priority to them.”

“Oh.” Johnny cringed, “Oh. Kid…”

“So yeah. Life sucks. Death sucks… but I really need to know what to do and why Ember is freaking out over me being called ‘favored one’.”

“Uh, right.” Johnny paused, “Well, it’s like old ghost language. Um. Basically, it’s like being called a really, really close friend or adopted family. Kind of like… ‘hey, this is my person that I love and protect’. It’s platonic unless they specify otherwise.”

“Huh, okay.” Danny blinked, “That makes sense, but why would Ember freak out?”

“Well… who called you that?”

“Oh! Clockwork and Pandora call me that when I visit.”

Johnny blanched, “What?”

“And now you’re freaking out, too.”

“You’ve been just- Kid! Are you just casually talking to them?”

“Um, yeah? They said it was okay?”

“Do you know nothing about the hierarchy of the- Wait. No. You didn’t get to talk to Death. Of course you don’t-“ Johnny sighed — covering his eyes, “Okay, so do you know what the ancients are?”

“I thought that was just a saying.”

“No, it’s not-” Johnny pinched the bridge of his nose, “The Ancients are the most powerful spirits in the Zone. They’re ghosts, but they resemble ideals more than they do a person most of the time. Practically gods. The ancients are Undergrowth, Frostbite, Nocturne, Pandora, Clockwork, Vortex, and Pariah Dark. Thing is… where most ghosts plateau at a certain power level the ancients can just keep growing in power. Clockwork is one of the strongest — so strong, the Observants bound him to their will.”

“Yeah, I heard about that, but he’s really nice, you know.” Danny smiled, “And he makes really good cookies really fast.”

Johnny stared at Danny for a long moment, “Danny. Do you not hear yourself right now? He’s basically the god of time.”

“Yeah, but if he didn’t want me to visit, I wouldn’t be able to find him.” Danny shrugged, “So he told me if I can see the clocktower, I’m welcome to come in.”

“Kid…”

“Besides. I’m friends with half of those guys and they’re cool.”

“Wha- How many ancients do you know?”

“Um… All the ones you just listed? I’m friends with Frostbite, Pandora, and Clockwork. I fought Undergrowth, Vortex and Nocturne before, but Nocturne likes me now. Um, Undergrowth doesn’t like me, though. Loves Sam, though… Um, obviously I know who Pariah Dark is after the whole thing in Amity-“

Johnny stilled, “Wait a minute… Kid. I need you to answer me honestly here… Did Pariah ever mention a challenge when you fought him?”

“Well, um. I guess? He was all formal speak, though, so…”

“Kid.” Johnny said very slowly, “Did he ever issue a challenge or accept a challenge from you?”

“… Um. He did say that he accepted my challenge or something, but wasn’t that just fight-talk or…”

“I think I get it now.” Johnny sighed, facepalming, “Just… maybe don’t tell people about this and consider asking one of the ancients allies you have about what Pariah accepting your challenge means for you.”

“For me? What-“

“Just… give it some thought.” Johnny paused, “And- Well, I can talk to Ember for you, yeah?”

“Thanks.”

—

Danny curled up on a sofa as Pandora embraced him with three arms and ran her fourth hand through his hair.

“Pandora.” Danny said softly, “Some of my friends say you, Frostbite, and Clockwork are ancients.”

“They are correct.”

“I didn’t know what ancients were.”

“I noticed.” Pandora laughed a bit, “But you’re a sweet child. You helped me get my box back and did not demand my favor. Perhaps it was selfish not to tell you, but I didn’t want to distress you. You are a kind and humble soul. Is it such a surprise I wish to continue seeing you?”

“You thought I would stop if I did?” Danny asked, confused, “I mean, sure my other friends were shaken up by it, but they don’t know you. Why would I be afraid when you’re so nice?”

Pandora blinked and then smiled warmly — a little laugh pulling from her throat. Oh, the innocence of such a young spirit, “Why, indeed? I suppose I didn’t give you or myself enough credit, did I?”

Danny shrugged, “I don’t have room to judge people for being different anyway. I’m a halfa. Pretty sure that’s even rarer than being an Ancient, right?”

“I suppose that is true.” Pandora smiled, “There are only a few halfas and none are quite like you. There will only ever be one of you.”

“Does this have something to do with why I never got to meet death?” Danny asked, confused, “That’s the only thing I can find that seems all that different-“

“In a way… Yes, but there are many more differences. The main one is that you powers have grown beyond Vlad Masters and they continue to do so.” Pandora said, “You are what we call a ‘Juna Potenco’. Most realms will never have heard of such things, but us ancients do not forget and when faced with a gift like yourself… well, you’ll only see more of us with time.”

“What does that mean? Is it bad?”

“No, no. It is a gift, not a punishment.” Pandora promised, “You are an inspiring soul, favored one, and it seems the realms themselves have seen that.”

“That doesn’t sound right.” Danny pulled away and sat up as he shook his head, “I’m a halfa, but that’s what I am. It doesn’t say anything about who I am. There isn’t anything special about who I am.”

“Everyone else disagrees with that last statement.” Pandora shook her head, “But I will let you in on the secret.”

“Yeah?”

“These are not due to your half spirit nature, but something truly special.” Pandora cupped his cheek, “Danny, do you truly wish to know? As amazing as this is, I am not sure you will be ready for the truth just yet.”

“I’m - I’ve been debating what colleges to apply for, but… I don’t know if any of them will take me now with my grades. I still look fourteen — fifteen at the oldest… and I still feel fourteen.” Danny looked at Pandora with pleading eyes, “So if this would impact my future, I think I’d like to know. Before things get complicated.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Suddenly, everything froze.

Danny looked up to see Clockwork putting a medallion on Pandora while Frostbite gave him a smile.

“I presume you’re here to assist in informing him?” Pandora asked.

“Indeed.” Frostbite nodded.

“Informing me of what?” Danny asked, confused.

“When you went to face Pariah Dark, you stated your intention to fight him.” Clockwork said, “And he accepted your challenge. You fought in single combat, removed the Crown of Fire from his head, and then managed to get him into the Sarcophagus of Forever Sleep.”

“Vlad-“

“Plasmius might have locked the Sarcophagus, but you have repeatedly bested him and even when he has gotten the best of you, it has not been in single combat. However, Plasmius at one point claimed your fight was a ‘fun challenge’. You agreed — officially accepting it as such. When you defeated him, he lost any fragile claim to the throne.”

“Claim to the- Wait. What are you saying?” Danny glanced between them, “What? No. No… you have to be kidding me. I’m just me. I was trying to help, not-“

“Child, your soul was always going to be tied to the zone one way or another.” Pandora said, “Mortality is already a fragile thing, but someone so surrounded by ectoplasm at a young age all while experiencing the struggles you did with your parents absence… it was inevitable that you would be a powerful ghost.”

“But, then, Great One.” Frostbite continued, “You stood fully emerged in the space between worlds and thought of protection and forgiveness — mercy. You did not even consider vengeance or desires of your own. Only the wellbeing of others. It is an act of great sacrifice and not one many can complete so fully.”

“To put it simply, Danny.” Pandora said, “You’re one of us, Juna Protenco. New and young power that will grow infinitely. Though you are far from ancient, you will be with time.”

“An ancient to be.” Danny said distantly.

“The Ancient of Protection, Space, Mercy, and Matter.” Clockwork turned into his newborn form, “The best candidate for king we’ve had in a long time. Though, perhaps I am a bit biased.”

“Does it have something to do with space-time?” Danny guessed, “Because Matter, Time, and Space…”

“Correct.” Clockwork smirked, “Matter tells spacetime how to curve, and curved spacetime tells matter how to move. I guide you and you make changes that I will use to guide you again.”

Dannu blinked, “Oh. I get it.”

“You do?” Pandora blinked.

“That’s domains for you.” Frostbite chuckled and then quickly explained when Danny gave him a confused look, “We all innately understand our domains and their meanings. My domain is progression, society, and advancement.”

“Mine is responsibility, hope, protection, and perseverance.” Pandora revealed.

“Indeed.” Clockwork transformed into the middle aged man again, “But now that you know of your future, we must prepare.” He put his hand on Danny’s shoulder, “Your coronation must happen by the time you turn eighteen. As Ghost King, you will need to learn some diplomatic skills. We will teach you while you finish your human schooling.” Clockwork promised, “You can tell your parents the truth or you can say you are simply leaving for college, but Maddie and Jack Fenton cannot move to the Zone with you. Your sister is welcome. Your friends are welcome, but unfortunately…”

“I understand.” Danny lowered his head, “I don’t think I’ll tell them just yet. Maybe I’ll leave a note or a video, but…”

Clockwork’s eyes glazed over briefly — clearly checking the timeline.

“That is a good idea.” Clockwork nodded.

“Okay.” Danny swallowed, “I can’t -”

“No.” Clockwork said, “Honored as these two would be, they have their duties and people. They cannot. I am both bound by the Observants and a little too prone to acts of selfishness. It is too much power for me. No. It must be you.”

“You’re not selfish. You helped me.” Danny tilted his head, confused.

Clockwork chuckled guiltily as Pandora made a face and Frostbite shifted awkwardly.

“There is a reason people fear me, Danny.” Clockwork seemed more amused than anything by the sudden awkwardness, “I appreciate your trust in me, but I was not so good or kind in life. I hold domain over regret and retribution as well as time. It is a position I earned after giving and getting both in equal measure. I am not a protective spirit by nature. I am one that seeks justice and sometimes revenge.”

“I don’t get it.” Danny frowned, confused.

“Soon, you will.” Clockwork said grimly, “But for now… Trust me when I say all is as it should be.”

“Okay.” Danny said, “I trust you.”

“Now, time in.” Clockwork said. When Danny tried to give him the medallion he shook his head, “No, hold onto it. I believe it goes without saying, but do not lose it.”

“I know. I won’t.” Danny promised.

“Good, now… I believe you have some friends to talk to?”

“Er, right!” Danny said and rushed off.

“He doesn’t know who you are?” Frostbite turned to Clockwork, “And you haven’t told him?”

“… He’ll learn during his studies.” Clockwork admitted begrudgingly, “And it’s best that he come to me after he processes the information than during.”

“Just remember, Kronos.” Pandora glared as she handed over her medallion, “One wrong move-“

“Yes, yes, I am very aware of your opinions of me, Keeper of Hope.” Clockwork held a hand to Frostbite, “Shall I take you back to your people?”

“Er, yes.”

“Good, then-“

“Hey! I was not finished-“

“TIME OUT!”

Pandora sighed as they disappeared, “Ugh. He is always such a petty menace. One of these days…”

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xitty · 1 year

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Speaking of writing... Here are the little fics I wrote for this year's Wataei Week: [LINK]

#fluff mostly #enstars #wataei

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artistmarchalius · 9 months

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I wanted to try drawing them with tails to see what the hype was about. I get it now.

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salsakiyoomi · 1 month

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i ii

sukuna fucked up.

he knew it well, so damn well that he did.

it's been a few weeks since your declaration that you won't be with him anymore until he gets his shit figured out — he hated being away from you, but dammit he knew he was an asshole.

he was an idiot to think you'd be under his influence forever.

sukuna's leg bounces as he sits on his bed, contemplating what to do now —it's been four weeks exactly since you had last spoken to him, and he had seen you around campus, laughing and talking with your friends normally without a care in the world, it made him wonder if he had ever had an effect on you the same way you do on him.

you told him that he was the guy for you all because he hadn't dropped you yet — he thought that was stupid, pathetic even, why would you ever think that?

the more he thought about it the more he realized how wrong he actually was.

he realized it in the way his days seemed lonelier without you, and how his heart always thumped extra loud with the thought of you, and the way you felt so good in bed — fuck, this is getting out of hand.

screw it all, he thinks, getting out of bed and stomping his way over to your dorm, hoping he'd find you there and awake.

it was a half hour past midnight when rapid knocks came at your door — you were on the couch doing some work on your laptop when you jumped from your skin at how loud it got.

you got up, a frown on your face as you make your way to the door wondering who the hell is knocking so damn loud so late into the night.

you open the door and you're immediately shoved inside — you let out a scream before you realize it's sukuna holding your face in both of his hands.

“i can't do it anymore.” he says, his eyebrows furrowed and you stare up at him, confused.

“w-what?” you stutter, your face is still in his hands and you're cheeks are squished together and with that dumbfounded expression on your face sukuna thinks you look too cute for your own good.

“i can't do it, i can't stay away from you,” he says, and he sounds a bit out of breath and that's when you realize that his hair is dripping wet — had he come through the rain just to tell you this?”

“ryomen, what's —” you're cut off with his lips are against yours, he tastes of berries and cigars but god you melt under his touch.

he pulls away after a moment, he's forehead against yours as he stares into your eyes, taking deep breaths.

“i was a stupid asshole,” he says, “i am the guy for you.” he declares and once more you're dumbfounded.

is this his way of confessing to you?

you blink, once, twice, then you let out a laugh.

“you're so silly.” you say, and he frowns, “does that make us official then?” you ask, a smile on your face.

“if you want,” he grumbles.

you grab his face, pulling him in for a quick kiss, “of course i do.” you say and his heart beats a little faster.

man, he was head over heels in love with you.

taglist : @samaraxmorgan

#ok i promise things will be uphill from here #mostly anyway #drummer! sukuna college au #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk headcanons #jjk drabbles #jjk fluff #jjk x reader #ryomen sukuna #sukuna headcanons #sukuna drabble #sukuna fluff #sukuna x reader

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marvelwitchergilmore · 3 months

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First Kick

Summary: Aaron Hotchner x Fe!Reader -> Both you and Aaron have been in a secret relationship for three years, except when you go into labour, the rest of the team can't help but speculate.

Disclaimer: Just pure fluff. Small descriptions of labour. BAU being a family. Jack and Haley don't exist in this fic. Not Proof Read.

You would have thought working with a bunch of FBI profilers, they would have figured out the truth by now.

But they hadn’t.

Instead, both yourself and Aaron had lived in wedded bliss for the last three years and were now expecting your first child.

Of course, that couldn’t be hidden from the team. The constant morning sickness. The aversions to certain smells. The swollen ankles, the overwhelming emotions and the growing belly.

Which, as you were sitting at the dim light of your desk filling in the last of the paperwork for your latest case, began to move.

The others had stepped out for a while, grabbing some food. They had invited you except the thought of walking a block and a half already made you want to fall asleep. So, kissing the top of your head, Morgan took your order and promised to bring you back extra guac.

The hum from the headphones you placed around your belly filled the small silence, a tune of Motzart rather than a constant drum of a nearby printer.

However, from under the headphones, you felt a movement.

It wasn’t big. Barely noticeable. But it was there.

Or was it?

Maybe it was nothing.

Except, twenty seconds later, you knew for certain.

Pulling the headphones from you, you stood up immediately and rushed towards Hotch’s office.

And you continued with your normal routine. Knocking on his door, calling his name and stepping inside.

“Is everything okay?”

Trying not to raise any alarm, you closed his office door behind you before shutting the blinds.

“Is everything okay?”

Aaron scanned your face. “Honey?”

Within seconds he was by your side. “What is it?”

But then you smiled. And he became confused.

“What-”

“Feel.”

Taking his hand, you guided it to cover part of your growing belly. “What am I-”

Kick.

You watched every emotion possible pass over Aaron’s face as he took in the feeling of your child kicking his palm.

“Is that-”

Kick.

Then he laughed.

Aaron Hotchner laughed.

It wasn’t often that you got to see this side of your husband when at work. So it was a nice surprise when you did.

Within seconds, he had stepped a little closer and had carefully removed his hand from the top of your stomach and slipped it under the hem of your shirt, allowing his warm palm to rest against your skin.

Then your baby kicked harder.

You both laughed that time.

“Hey, ow.” You said, looking at your stomach.

Aaron chuckled lightly before resting his forehead against yours as his other hand rested against your face, brushing the fallen hair from your face and cupping your cheek.

“She’s moving.”

You smiled. “You’re still convinced it’s a girl?”

“Of course I am. I’m a profiler. I should know.”

You chuckled lightly, shaking your head. “I’m a profiler, too, you know.”

“I know.”

“And it’s mother.”

“And you disagree?” He asked, still with a light smile gracing his lips.

You hummed. “I’m uncertain.”

“Well, how about I give you my profile and see how you feel?”

You laughed. “It really is second nature to you.”

Aaron hummed before moving his hand, still under your shirt, to the top of your belly.

“You’re carrying high, for one.” His thumb traced back and forth on your stomach. “You’ve suffered with morning sickness before twelve weeks, your main craving so far has been fruit. You sleep on your right side.”

“I always sleep on my right side.”

Aaron smiled. “And your skin,” He stroked his thumb against your cheekbone. “It’s soft.”

You smiled, leaning into his touch. “Except, they are just old wives tales.”

“I’d like to think there is still some justice in them. Are you sure you want to wait until they’re born?”

“Yes.”

“And you couldn’t be persuaded?”

“Nope.”

“Are you sure?” Aaron smirked a little before leaning in and kissing you.

Pulling his hand from your stomach, he brought it up to the other side of your face and it wasn’t long before he felt your body melt into his.

“The others are going to be back soon.”

Aaron groaned a little but not before kissing you a last few times before pulling away.

“You’d think they would have figured it out by now.”

You nodded. “But it is kinda fun. And I can’t wait until they see our baby. I have a feeling they’ll look like you.”

“I should hope so.”

You laughed. “You know what I mean. And, if it is a girl, don’t they usually look like they’re dad?”

“Are you saying you agree with my profile?”

You hummed. “Maybe. Just a little. You are the Unit Chief of the BAU, so I suppose you have some credibility.”

“Even if they’re just old wives tales?” He asked, raising his eyebrow a little.

You nodded, with a slight smile. “Even if they’re just old wives tales.”

You finally left his office just before the team got back, but not before stealing a few more kisses.

Over the following months, the team grew more protective of you. With your pregnancy coming to an end, and still not knowing who the father was, they began to step up.

It was sweet to watch.

Penelope had planned your baby shower with JJ’s help. Reid had read up on everything a doctor and midwife knew about giving birth, just in case you went into early labour. Emily had helped you pack your spare hospital bag for the office in case you were rushed into labour whilst at the office or away on a case, being too far from home to drive to get your hospital bag.

And when Hotch couldn’t be by your side, he made sure either Rossi and Morgan were there to help you.

“You okay there, Momma?”

You looked to Morgan who had appeared from around the corner. You were leaning against the counter, your hand holding onto the bottom of your belly.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine.” You breathed out. “Just a little- ow. Okay. Hey-”

“Whoa, hey, okay, take it easy.”

Morgan placed his coffee mug down, coming right back to your side and holding your hand. “What do you need?”

Your grip tightened around his hand. “Ow. Hospital.”

“Okay, okay. Where’s your hospital bag?”

“By my desk. Emily-” You grunted in pain. “Emily knows.”

“Okay, okay. It’s okay. Emily!”

Turning around, it took Emily less than ten seconds to realise what was going on.

“Okay, Garcia. Hey! Penelope, call Hotch. Let him know what’s going on.”

“Why, what’s-O…oh my god. Okay, Okay. Calling him now.”

By the time Morgan got you to the parking lot, Hotch was pulling in.

“Get in, I can drive her straight there.”

“Have you got everything you need?”

You nodded.

“Call us if you need anything?” Emily asked, shutting your door.

You could only hum, holding onto Emily’s hand.

She leaned in for a moment, kissing your cheek.

“See you when you get back, Momma.”

Hotch pulled away a few moments later, rushing you directly to the hospital.

And for the next twenty hours, Hotch stayed by your side. And the rest of the team started to think.

“I mean, think about it. When she got braxton hicks. Who was the first one at her side?”

“Hotch.” Penelope answered.

“Yeah, and the way he looked. I don’t know about you but I have never seen Hotch that nervous.”

“That is true.” Rossi agreed.

“But they can’t be…together, can they?” JJ asked. “You all had it sussed about me and Will. They couldn’t go this long and not have us at least find out.”

“Maybe they didn’t want us to.”

“Or maybe they’re not together at all.”

“When have you ever known either of them to be that close with each other as they are with us? Rossi, have you ever seen the inside of Hotch’s house?”

“Not for a while, no. Why, have you ever seen hers?”

Emily shook her head.

“Penelope, can you find out anything?” Morgan asked, turning to his best girl.

“I can but it would completely wreck my moral standing.”

“You’ve never run a background check on us?” JJ asked.

“No! That would be an invasion of your privacy. And theirs! If they are a..them, I suppose. Or maybe not. Maybe she is just a single mother and Hotch has decided to help her. He was the first to find out.”

“See, another thing!” Emily pointed out.

“But Hotch is the first to know everything about us. He’s the main person we have to tell when it comes to personal things that could affect our work.” Morgan explained.

“But why not come to one of us?” Rossi asked. “JJ, what do you think? Out of us, who would you have come to?”

JJ thought for a moment. “Out of you boys? Probably…Hotch.”

“Really?” Rossi asked.

“Why not me?” Morgan asked.

“Or me?” Reid finished.

JJ smiled. “You know I love you all equally, but out of Three Divorces, Pretty Boy and Chocolate Thunder, I’d want to tell someone I know to be calm. That could remain level headed.”

“And we’re not level headed?” Morgan asked, causing JJ to look up above her shoulder.

“What did you do when I told you I was pregnant?”

Morgan paused for a second. “You may have a point.”

“Either way, we can’t know for certain that they’re having a baby together.” Reid pointed out.

“Well, she’s married. Or engaged, at least.”

They all turned to Emily.

“How do you know that?”

“Her wedding finger. Last time she came back from AL she had a tan line. It was faint, but it was there.”

“Maybe he ran off? They got pregnant but he didn’t want to be in the picture?”

Penelope scoffed. “What a jerk.”

“I don’t think they’d appreciate us speculating like this.”

“JJ’s right. Maybe they’re just friends and Hotch is helping her out. Garcia, have you heard from them yet?”

“Not yet, Sir.”

Meanwhile, at the hospital, the midwife was instructing Aaron to get behind you, holding you up and holding your hands and you continued to push.

“I don’t think I can do it.”

“Yes, you can. Yes, you can. Come on, honey. I know you can.”

“Can’t you do it for me?”

Aaron chuckled. “I wish I could, but I can’t.”

“Just a couple more pushes, Mrs Hotchner.”

Another wave of contractions hit and you continued to push for another fifteen minutes before finally everyone in the room heard the cries of your baby.

“You did it, honey. I’m so proud of you. You did it.”

“Is she okay? What-Where is she?”

Aaron smiled, tears in his eyes, pushing the hair out of your own. “She’s-She’s okay. Look, the midwife is just wrapping them up.”

A few moments later, the midwife handed you your baby.

Two days later they discharged you from the hospital and the first stop made was at the office considering the last of your things had been left there when you went into labour.

And it also meant the team could finally greet your baby.

“Ooh, ooh, they’re here. They’re here.”

Penelope was the first to spot you and Hotch standing in his office and it wasn’t long before they were all standing outside.

However, as the congratulations and praise was made, Penelope’s voice dropped an octave after she got a clear look of the baby.

“Oh my god.”

“What is it, Garcia?”

“Ohh, ohh, ohh my goodness.”

But you could only smile.

“You!” Penelope pointed before turning to look at Hotch. “And you! Oh my god! You are!”

You looked behind you, finding your husband standing closer to you than when the team had first walked inside.

“Are what? Baby girl, what’s-”

And then it clicked.

With all of them.

And for a moment they were all stunned into complete silence.

“Aaron…why didn’t you…”

“Tell you?” Hotch asked, finishing Rossi’s question.

“Truthfully, we kinda maybe wanted to see how long it would take you all to figure out.” You explained.

“But…how?!” JJ asked.

You just shrugged.

“Hints were there if you looked for them.” Aaron said.

“Hints were- Oh, so, now he tells us. How long?”

“Four years.” You both answered.

“Four years?!” They all half shouted, quickly remembering there was an infant present.

“Wait.” Penelope said, holding up her hands. “Oh my god, it’s all coming together. This must be how Sherlock Holmes feels when he cracks a case.”

Both yourself and Aaron smiled before looking down at the sleeping baby in your arms.

“The weekends away, the lunch orders, the arrive at work together. Oh my god! The touching.” Penelope hit Emily and Derek’s arm.

“Ow!” They both called.

“How could you two not have noticed this?!”

“You didn’t notice either!” Emily replied, rubbing her arm.

“Baby girl, they kept this from us for four years. Why aren’t you hitting them?”

“Because,” Penelope explained. “She had just had a beautiful baby girl. And Hotch is my boss.”

“Can you ever find a way to forgive us?”

They all looked at each other before seemingly coming to the same conclusion. “Fine. But, only if you tell us how it happened and when. And, if you have a wedding re-do so that we all get to attend.”

Both you and Aaron looked at each other.

“That could work.”

“Great! Now, let me see this beautiful baby girl.” Penelope said, her voice once again chipper, as she came to your side.

“My goodness, she’s beautiful. Hotch, she looks just like you.”

Aaron smiled at the compliment, but shook his head. “No, that’s all her mom.”

“Oh-ho,” Rossi laughed a little. “She is going to be running rings around us all soon enough.”

Four weeks later, each member of the team turned up together on different days, listening to the story of your relationship. First were the girls and Reid before JJ showed up with Morgan and Rossi. JJ was there to drop some items off that both yourself and Hotch would find useful with the nursery but she didn’t mind hearing the story a second time.

Eight weeks after you had given birth, your doorbell rang and just as Aaron opened up the front door, Penelope and Rossi walked inside carrying boxes of items before directing the rest of the team through your home into the garden.

“Dave, what’s going on?”

“You, my dear friend, are getting married.”

“We’re already married.” You said with a small laugh, walking to stand beside your husband.

Dave nodded. “That you are, but today, you are both getting remarried. You did promise us.”

“We did promise them.” Aaron said, turning to look at you.

“We did, didn’t we?”

Dave smiled. “So, Uncle Reid is going to be looking after this little one.”

You carefully handed your baby girl to Spencer as Dave continued to explain.

“Whilst the girls help you get ready and I enlist your help,” Rossi turned to look at Hotch. “To help finish the set up.”

Penelope appeared from down the hallway. “Come on, Emily is finishing setting everything up.”

“I guess I’ll see you at the wedding?”

“I’ll be the one in white.”

Aaron smiled before kissing you quickly as barely a second later Penelope was dragging you upstairs.

That night was filled with joy, laughter and happiness. Yourself and Aaron shared another set of marriage vows in front of the team. You shared a second first dance, a second first kiss and a first family dance.

It was a quiet moment on the corner of the dance floor. You were swaying with your baby, softly, in your arms when you felt a familiar pair of arms wrap around your waist from behind and a familiar pair of lips kiss your shoulder.

Turning around you, Aaron held both of you close. Your forehead against his and your eyes closed, his fingers traced patterns against your arms back and forth before down your side and to your hips where he pulled you in a little closer.

Neither of you knew it until a week later, but Morgan had, with Emily’s help, caught everything on camera. And with help from Penelope, a second wedding video had been made.

Capturing the full length of your first family dance together.

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kitamars · 5 months

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lovey dovey (alt ver of the first one under the cut!)

#HEEHEEEEE GINHIJI BIG LOVE #so refreshing that i can mess around and draw them to my hearts content…..#so domestic here……..im sick cough cough splat #i love them so goddamn much you have no idea #all the little moments that are possible are so fun to draw even if i mostly just draw them yelling and arguing most of the time #i’ve read too much fluff fic and now this is what i have fhdnnfjdjfn suffer with me #silly men are silly and in love #sakata gintoki #hijikata toushirou #ginhiji #gintoki x hijikata #hijigin #hijikata x gintoki #gintama #ok bye

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skzdarlings · 18 days

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alternate ending ; sharing a bed ; chan

original sharing a bed one-shot with chan.

author's note: i do love the final smut edit (and it's my most popular piece so clearly i was right!) but i always missed this fluff version. the love confession is very cute in this one.

content info: still some suggestive content, the first half of the story is the same and there's some heavy kissing, but this is definitely the fluffy director's cut lol

word count: 1800 words

You let yourself into Chan’s room, expecting to find him awake and working despite the hour. Whenever you sleep over, your friend is more than happy to let you sleep in his bed when you can’t get comfy on the couch. Many nights have passed that way, nestled under his blankets and falling asleep to his typing and clicking and absent-minded humming. He likes to work through his nights so you sleep until morning then leave when he turns in.

He must have been tired tonight. His laptop is shut, the room dark save for the little flickering lights of his computer station. Chan is in bed already, laying with his back to you and the blankets tucked around him. He is sound asleep, so much so that he didn’t even hear your gentle knocks.

You feel bad for disturbing him now. Commandeering his bed is a little different when he is already in it.

You turn to leave when the blankets rustle behind you. Chan’s groggy voice breaks through the silence, a raspy, “Babygirl? That you?”

Maybe it’s the cold floor under your bare feet, maybe it’s the late hour, or maybe it’s the roughness in his voice, but despite how many times Chan has playfully and affectionately called you baby girl, this time a little shiver brushes up your spine.

You turn back around, wrapping your arms around yourself. Thanks to the faint light from his work area, you can see Chan clearly even in the dark. He has rolled onto his back and is rubbing a hand over his face.

“Sorry, Channie,” you whisper. “You sleep. It’s fine.”

His blanket slips down his bare chest and he drops his arm, looking at you with crinkled, sleepy eyes. His curly hair is an endearing mess, though your eyes go a little lower when the blanket falls to his waistline. You quickly lift your gaze from his abdomen to his sleepy eyes. He squints at you as he adjusts to the darkness.

“Everything all right?” he asks, still groggy.

“Yeah, don’t worry,” you say, as if that has ever stopped Chan from worrying anyway.

He is a little more awake now, his brow pinching as he looks at you. All at once his face goes slack with realization. A smile pushes at his dimples.

“Right,” he says. “The couch sucks, yeah? Sorry, wasn’t thinking—”

“Don’t apologize,” you say with a little laugh. “It’s your bed.”

“Auuggh,” he says with faux-agony, “I’m such a bad host.”

You cannot hide your amusement, smiling when he slaps a melodramatic hand over his heart. As usual, the goofball makes himself giggle with his dumb little theatrics, the sound twinkling in its delight. Your heart skips a beat.

“All right,” he says. “No worries. Big bed. You wanna share?”

It isn’t really a question because he doesn’t wait for an answer, flipping open the covers for you to slide in.

When you step towards the bed, he throws up a cautionary hand and laughs again.

“Sorry, uh, just wait one second,” he says. “I’m not, uh, technically decent.”

Your eyes drop again. The blankets only just reach his hips and when he shifts to get out of bed, it becomes abundently clear that Chan is completely naked under the covers. You very nearly choke on your own spit, swallowing hard as your frantic eyes dart around his body. He is seemingly oblivious to your startled state, turning his back to you as he steps out of the bed. The sheet slips smoothly off his body.

Without thinking, you spin around to give him some privacy. This plan fails spectacularly as his closet door is a big mirror and you end up looking at him through it.

He is nonchalant, walking up to his dresser. Your view is his backside but you have no complaints. You know you shouldn’t stare, but you do, eyes on the breadth of his shoulders, the definition of his arms, going down his sturdy back to his ass where you linger a beat longer, then diving down his strong thighs until the view is blocked by his bed. You watch him step into a pair of boxers, doing a little jump before snapping the band around his hips. He turns around and you quickly close your eyes, grateful he cannot hear your heart going a mile a minute.

“All right,” he says pleasantly. “All good now. Come on.”

He gets in the bed first and holds it open for you. He is smiling so sweetly and you feel like the world’s nastiest horniest monster, gawping at him as you stumble to the bed. You try not to think about how Naked Chan was laying between these sheets just moments ago.

Somehow, you slide into the bed without making a huge fool of yourself. You even manage to settle down, albeit stiffly. So stiffly that Chan notices and laughs again, that same bubbly giggle as he reaches out to tweak your nose.

“Y’okay?” he asks, his bare face so open and sweet that you melt with both affection and embarrassment.

“Mhm,” you lie. Your heart skips another beat when your leg brushes his under the covers.

“C’mere, silly,” he says, wrapping his arm around you and tugging you across the bed. You go with a squeak of surprise, planting your face in his bare chest. “Better?” he asks.

“Mmmhf.”

With a little more shuffling, you settle again. Chan lays on his back with one arm wrapped around you, you on your side just as snuggly holding onto him. You rest your head on his chest, your fingers bouncing where they rest on his abdomen. It takes a lot of effort not to start tracing the lines of his body, and even more effort not to drool all over him, but you do manage.

Your heart is still beating quickly. You are way too awake to just drift off. Still, there is something cozy and safe about laying in his arms. Even though you can’t sleep, you are content to rest in silence. Your close your eyes and let your breathing follow the same cadence of his chest as it lifts and falls.

You begin to slip into a drowsy, dream-like state, but you are awake enough that you feel his hand slip down your back. It doesn’t go lower, but he touches the base of your spine and holds you a little closer to him.

“Baby girl,” he whispers. “You awake?”

You are lucky you don’t mewl like an overly amorous kitten. A few little pets and a whispered name and he almost has you whimpering.

Not trusting yourself to behave, you pretend you are fully asleep. He just sighs, his thumb rubbing a little circle on your lower back. You keep your eyes firmly shut the whole time.

“I’m so fucking stupid,” he whispers.

He sounds exasperated. You don’t think it’s your fault, because he lovingly tips his head to rest it on yours. There is another moment of silence, so you assume he was talking to himself about nothing particular, but then he releases a deep breath.

“I told myself I was gonna talk to you tonight,” he says, still whispering and still exasperated. “Talk to her when you meet for coffee, Chan. Buy her favourite tea and tell her. Tell her now, Chan, while she’s sitting on your couch. Don’t hide in your room. She’s hugging you, Chan, tell her now...”

You try not to get ahead of yourself, but it sounds like your friend is grumbling his way through a love confession. A grin tugs at the corners of your mouth.

“Does it count if I tell you while you’re sleeping?” he asks.

Yes, you think. You massive dork.

You have no idea how one man can be so dweeby and so hot at the same time, but Chan manages it. His hand covers your hip while his other hand brushes hair out of your face. Is he staring at you with the same lovestruck goofiness that you looked at him?

You get your answer when he speaks again.

“Love you, baby girl,” he says, voice gone even softer than his previous whispers. His hand falls away and he sighs. “Maybe you’ll, like, internalize it or something, in your sleep, yeah? Please. ‘Cause I’m crazy about you. I love you so much. I’m so fucking stupid. What am I even doing right now? Fuck, I’m a fucking idiot.”

You crack an eye open. His eyes are closed and he looks incredibly pained by his performance despite thinking you didn’t even hear it.

Joy is a bubbly thing in your chest, threatening to burst out of you with an explosion of giggles. You restrain yourself in favour of another manouvre.

You shift as if moving in your sleep. Your hand slides up his chest and hooks onto his shoulder while you lift your head. He must be looking at you because you feel a little puff of breath against your cheek.

“Channie,” you murmur in a sleepy voice.

“Yeah, baby, I’m here. What’s up?”

You blink your eyes open and hit him with the most tender, wanting expression you can muster. He visibly swallows.

You wrap your hand around the back of his neck, your nails scratching the way he likes. Sometimes he just plops his head in your lap and shoves your hand somewhere up there to tickle and scratch his head. You know what makes him happy and it causes the usual shiver of pleasure. Combined with your steady gaze, it makes him effectively pliant. You easily pull his head closer.

The once impossible space between you is finally closed. Your lips come together in a gentle, careful kiss, one that is interrupted by his sharp intake of breath. You take in a shaky breath of your own.

“Chan,” you whisper. “I love you too.”

“Oh,” he says, staring at your mouth. “Good. That’s good.” He smiles when you giggle, then he brushes his nose against yours. “Good thing. Otherwise it would have been really awkward when I do this.”

He rolls over you, kissing you with such ardor that you feel as if you are melting into his sheets. You hum sweetly against his lips as he gathers your hands to pin them by your head. When he licks into your mouth, you arch against him and make him moan. Your knees cradle his hips as he settles against you.

His head falls to the crook of your neck where he kisses you softly.

“Chan,” you say, a breathy sound. You wrap your arms around his neck.

“Yeah, baby girl,” he says. He kisses under your jaw, your cheek, then your mouth again. “I got you,” he says.

Knowing it’s true, you smile into the next kiss.

#again not gonna overly tag. mostly just for followers who like the original lol #bang chan x reader #chan x reader #bang chan fluff

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angelcake10023 · 14 days

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A Little Jungle Makeover 🍃🌸

The beginning of my apology for the last post hdkdhdkdjdkdkdke there will be more fluff to come!

#lmk au #curious mk #curious george au #lmk tang #lmk baby mk #lmk mk #lmk xiaotian #monkey mk #fluff #silly #my art #lmk fanart #lmk #lego monkie kid #tang finds Mk first au #i swear the au is mostly stuff like this lol #Mk being an adorable monkey and Tang being the exhausted dad of said monkey #they love each other

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mostly-marvel-musings · 11 days

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The suit stays on

A/N: What? How’d this happen? I don’t even know. But it did. Here it is. I am back in the Jackman-verse now, voluntarily and irrevocably. I want to thank @stark-ironman for all the thirst trap pictures and encouragement 🩵 Leave a heart, comment or reblog if you enjoyed the story!

Pairing: Hugh Jackman x F! Reader

Warning: 18+ smut. Minors DNI.

Main Masterlist

“Oh no, the suit stays on.”

You had whispered against his ear when he was about to strip; you were at the end of your tether watching him strut his stuff for hours wearing that criminal outfit.

The ache between your legs had got to a point where you’d lost the ability to think straight. It wasn’t like your needs weren’t satiated mere hours ago, wasn’t like you were deprived of that gorgeous body that could only have been chiseled by the Gods, no.

You were well aware of how greedy you were being, but all your sense of rationality had found its way out the door when you’d seen your man walk out in the suit. The little salt and pepper bristle only added his sex appeal, making for additional friction each time it brushed against the most sensitive parts of you.

“Needy little thing, aren’t ya?” He had grunted, wrapping a hand around your throat with enough pressure that it walked a thin line between pleasure and pain. You wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Only when it comes to you.” You choked, smirking as you were rewarded with everything you had hoped for.

His cock travelled to the deepest parts of you, brushing the very spot that had you seeing stars as your walls clenched around him. Lust travelled over your skin leaving trails of goose-pimples while he impaled you, stoking the fire that burned deep within your core.

You wanted the man. No. You craved him. In every way. How was one ever supposed to get enough of Hugh Jackman?

You certainly weren’t opposed when he pulled out all of a sudden, only to bend you over the nearest desk, uncaring about the mess you’d already made. A primal grunt resounded off the thin walls as he entered your sopping heat again, not holding back at all this time.

With every thrust, you gripped the edge of the table tighter until your knuckles turned white, your climax approaching quick as you felt your thighs begin to twitch involuntarily.

“I—I’m so close—” you whimpered, revelling in the way his hips snapped against yours in an urgency you both felt.

“I know. Be a good girl and come all over this cock.”

Like the most obedient of students, your body willingly obliged to his command, making the coil inside your belly snap into smithereens. Your orgasm crashed over you like a violent wave, making your walls flutter as you cried out his name.

Reality was a mere distant thought as you allowed yourself to float on a cloud of ecstasy, your heart beating erratically against your ribcage and throbbing down there. You faintly registered his cum spilling on your lower back as he climaxed, making the most sinful noises that were music to your ears.

Cleaning up consisted mostly of lazy kisses and a crafty grin that refused to leave your lips. You had gotten your way again and you both knew it would continue in the future.

What do we think? It’s my first time writing for this man. (Will it be the last? Idk yet) ALSO I CAN’T WITH THIS LOOK 🫠

#hugh jackman x reader #hugh jackman smut #hugh jackman imagines #hugh jackman fanfic #hugh jackman x you #hugh jackman fluff #hugh jackman #hugh jackman one shot #hugh jackman x y/n #hugh jackman x female reader #marvel fanfiction #mostly marvel musings

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formulaforza · 30 days

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— caught in a blue summ. but to love her is to need her everywhere (a gentle kind of love) charles x fem reader, wc 4.1k ish, no warnings, no y/n! fueled by one single praise from @silverstonesainz

You’re three paragraphs into an all-too-lengthy work email when he sits down in the chair next to you silently, one elbow on the sage green tablecloth. He sits in the chair sideways, something you can both see and feel, even without looking away from your phone screen. His presence is accompanied by the gentle thud of two heavy glasses.

You look over briefly—long enough to suggest to him that his presence is mildly perturbing—and then return your attention to the email. You can hardly concentrate over the jazz band in the corner of the hall, rotating through their collection of love songs sung in different romance languages, and now a strange man has set up camp next to you, only further reminding you why you shouldn’t be responding to emails when you’re out of office.

“Hi,” he says, after more seconds of silence.

You finish your email before you give him the time of day. “Hi,” you smile, soft but forced. “Who are you?”

“Charles,” He smiles, holding his hand out to shake yours. You stare at his waiting hand until he takes it away. “Nice to meet you,” he laughs, moving one of the drinks closer to you. “For you. White Negroni. Céline told me it’s your drink.”

You give him a sideways glance before looking past him, scanning the reception hall for your friend. She should stand out in her bridesmaid dress. The wedding invite had specifically requested guests to follow a color code, and nobody was wearing that shade besides the bridesmaids. Your eyes finally land on her, glass of champagne in her hand, long blonde hair falling over her shoulders, leaning over to whisper something to the groom—her brother. No doubt the two of them conspiring, a theory only proved when Mathéo’s eyes land on yours from across the room. You roll your eyes.

“How do you know Céline?” you ask, as if half the guests here tonight aren’t related to her.

“I went to school with Mathéo,” he says, and you nod slowly, confusion growing, curiosity peaked. “I suppose technically I went to school with Céline as well.”

“I went to school with Céline,” you say, and Charles furrows his brows.

“Are you sure?” He asks, and you laugh softly, picking up the drink he’d offered, pulling the garnish off the lip of the glass and dropping it on top of the ice. “I’m serious!” He says, matching your laugh, taking a sip of his drink. “Because I would remember you. And I do not remember you.”

“I’m sure,” you shake your head, bringing the glass to your lips. “Lycée. Première.”

Charles nods. “That is why. I was graduated by then.”

Someone laughs so loud at the next table over that it steals both of your attention. It’s the mother-of-the-bride, and she's visibly drunk in a way that only a divorced French socialite can manage. The sudden attention tones her down, and the room is once again filled with wealthy laughter and crisp clinking crystal glasses.

You love weddings. You love this wedding; the delicate scent of blooming lavender, the smoked salmon canapés and delicate foie gras pâté that sit half-eaten at most of the tables, the perfectly chilled glasses of champagne waiting to be toasted, and the sun. The golden sun that casts itself across the terraces and into the tall windows, painting the dancing figures in golden hues.

And then he’s speaking again, and you look back at him, and the sun casts a warm shadow through his brown hair that you're noticing for the first time. “Parles-tu français?” he asks.

You wince, tilting your head to the side, holding up two fingers pinched together. “Un petit peu. Je suis grec,” you explain, pulling your hair around to drape over one shoulder.

“Ah,” he says. “How do you say, ‘Would you like to dance?’ in Greek?”

You smile gently, taking another sip of your drink. It’s important to keep yourself paced. Especially when you’re staring at someone who looks like that. “Θα χορέψεις μαζί μου?” You finally say, and he stares at you blankly. The expression forces a laugh from you, which in turn pulls one from him.

“Again?”

“Θα χορέψεις μαζί μου?”

Charles nods for what feels like a very extended period, before downing the remainder of his drink. “Tha horeps…” he winces at his pronunciation so you don’t have to, “mazi-moo?”

You smile at his hopeful expression, and wonder if he’s more hopeful for a correct pronunciation or an agreement to dance. You shrug, swirling your drink around the glass, looking past him to your friend again.

She’s watching you this time and wears a grin the size of the wedding. She holds up both her thumbs, and then makes a heart with her hands, pretends to have it beating out of her chest. You shake your head, smiling softly, eyes moving back to Charles.

“One dance.”

— — —

Your feet drag across the stone pathway like maybe you’ll slow yourself down and get to spend a half-second longer on the phone with him. You hear it over the voices of drunken uncles pouring from open windows and the radio sat on one of the sills playing a Christiana classic. The air is warm, but dry, and the elastic at the end of your braid tickles the skin on your back while you walk.

Ahead of your scraping shoes, a cat cleans their paw in the yellow of a porch light. You’re in Paros, and life is so sweet you’re finding porch lights and the smell of your yia-yia’s karidopita to be the most romantic thing in the world.

“I’m nearly home,” you hum into your phone’s receiver. He laughs on the other end, and you wish all the aunts with the drunken, ballad-performing husbands could hear it so they’d stop asking when you’re going to settle down. It would make sense to them, then, the way you behave about Charles. It would all make sense if they heard him laugh, if they could imagine his dimples.

“Well, you should probably hang up, then,” he says. You roll your eyes. Your cheeks ache from smiling all evening. Your cousin joked before dinner that your face was going to freeze like that if you weren’t careful.

“I should,” you agree, but you don’t hang up. You stay on the line, quiet, and stop in front of the resident street cat—he’s small and sweet and purrs against your skin when you run your hand over its sleek black fur, scratch your nails under its chin. You’d bring him home if you knew he didn’t belong to someone, to everyone. “Or you could.”

He laughs again. It’s like honey. You’d swan dive into it if you could, drown all slow and blissfully. “I’m not the one nearly home,” he retorts. I could get far from home again, you think. You could do another lap around the neighborhood. You’d already done it thrice, and then two more times after that. What’s another in the grand scheme of things? “I’ll call you again in the morning,” he says, like it’s routine. You suppose it’s sort of becoming that.

You take a seat on your porch steps. Voices pour out louder, now. They’ve gotten rowdier with every lap you’ve done. A cousin pulls the old squeaky door open behind you, and you jump in your seat, turning around to see who’s busted you. They hold their hands up defensively, mouth a quick sorry like they’d walked in on you changing, and disappear back into the house. You pull your braid over your shoulder, twirl it around your finger carefully. Nervously, you ask:“Do you think we speak too often?”

“Why do you say that?”

You shrug like he can see it. “We talk too much to be friends.”

“Do we?” You imagine him quirking a brow goofily, based solely on his tone of voice.

“Yeah,” you chuckle, dropping your braid. “Yeah, I think we do.”

Charles sighs. All you can smell is cinnamon and walnuts. You wonder which one of your cousins ate the heel of the bread while you were out walking. “Well, good thing I would never be just friends with you, then.”

The apples of your cheeks burn like they’d been pinched. You flatten your dress over your legs and a careful giggle tumbles from your lips, teeth biting down on the stupid smile there. “Good thing.”

“Goodnight?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “Goodnight.”

— — —

It’s raining in Milan when you pinky promise your best friends that you and Charles aren’t dating.

The sky has been threatening all afternoon, dull and gray and humidity that was anything but friendly to your hair. It poured through the window like your own personal heatwave every time you walked past the open kitchen window,coated the tiled countertop in an irritable condensation.

It came wafting through the air with the smell of the impending storm when you opened the door to your friends. Finally, after hours of building up, heavy raindrops patter against the porcelain of your kitchen sink, forcing you to hastily close the window while giggles pour from your friends’ mouths.

Between your two hands, you can count the number of times the lot of you have been in the same time zone since graduation, let alone the same city. You’d spent the entire humid day wiping condensation off the counters and cutting cheese into perfect cubes and gathering the nicest bundles of grapes you could from the three grocery shops within walking distance.

The sound of the storm against the glass is drowned out by red-wine laughter and tales of big cities and big dreams, all so vastly different. You sit with your legs crossed underneath you, phone face-up on your thigh, the stem of an empty wine glass pinched between two fingers, twisting the glass around mindlessly.

Your phone buzzes, for the fourth time in eight minutes. And for the fourth time in eight minutes, you pick it up, abandoning glass on the cluttered coffee table next to the week-old vase of pink anemones.

Stop texting me, he’s messaged. Enjoy your time with your friends.

You smile softly, your incriminating grin illuminated bright OLED white in contrast to the soft yellow lamp lighting the dim room. You stop texting me, you replied, because you’re a pig-tailed girl on the schoolyard when you talk to him, your normally composed, carefully developed persona melting into a puddle of mush at the mere thought of him.

Can’t, he responds. I am bored.

Why? You’re never bored.

“Oh, my God!” your best friend, Roma, teases in broken English, her Italian accent not nearly as light as the cube of Gorgonzola she’d tossed at your head from the other end of the sofa. “Who are you speaking to?” She questions.

“Just a friend,” you say too quickly, too defensive for anyone in the room to believe.

Roma quirks her brow at you, curious grin painted on her face. “Yeah? Just a friend?”

“I’m serious,” you insist, turning your phone off. You set it face down on the table, and it vibrates there almost immediately, all of your friends’ eyes watching for your reaction. The corners of your lips tremble, fighting a soft smile, and you shrug, bringing your empty wine glass to your lips, turning your head up to the ceiling, the last few drops of red falling through your lips. And then it vibrates again, the bright colors of your background pouring out in a soft ring of light around your phone. You still don’t flinch, but Roma does, lurching forward and snatching it up before you have time to react.

“‘Because,” she reads. “‘I’m normally speaking with you at this time,’” she looks over to another friend, grinning,“From Charles. With the emoji that does like this,” she says, mimicking the blushing emoji you have next to his name.“But with the pink on the cheek, yes?” She continues explaining.

You sink into the sofa, popping that cube of cheese into your mouth before gathering up the baby hairs and bangs that had fallen loose from your ponytail, carefully twisting the hair into a tiny, thin braid coming out from the middle of your hairline.

“Just your friend?” Roma questions, and you don’t have to look up from your distraction braid to know she’s raising her brows and grinning at you.

— — —

You sit next to him in the fourth row of church pews, one leg crossed over the other, desperately wishing the wedding mass program that sat on your lap was a paper fan, not yet having resorted to the lengths some of your fellow guests had gone to and actually using the cardstock to cool down.

One leg is crossed over the other, the tip of your heel-clad foot threatening to tap the back of the pew in front of you with every awkward, uncomfortable roll of your ankle you attempt. At least your dress is sleeveless, you think. Charles is not as lucky, a formal suit perfectly fitted to his frame, one arm draped behind you over the back of the pew, his fingers mindlessly twirling one of the tiny braids that riddle your ponytail. Neither of you speak nearly enough Spanish or know nearly enough people for this to be any sort of enjoyable.

“Do you understand them at all?” You whisper, your head falling onto his shoulder. “Because I do not.”

“Absolutely not,” he whispers back, kissing the top of your head, his hand finding yours, interlocking in your lap. “And I am about to die from heatstroke.”

You nod. “You, me, and the rest of the church,” you sigh, pretending not to hear the crying baby or the stressed mother in the back of the church. You figure she has the eyes of enough judgy relatives to drown out any soft sentiments from a stranger. “Can they just kiss and wrap it up?” You ask, and as is on cue, the newlyweds are locking lips under the cathedral candlelight.

“Oh shit,” Charles giggles, the two of you hurrying to stand with everyone else in the room who understood what's been happening for the last hour and a half. You hastily adjust the skirt of your dress, feeling quickly to make sure you hadn’t sweat-stained the fabric, or worse, the bench you’d been all but stuck to. “Thank God,” he says, just above a whisper, just loud enough for you to hear.

The church quickly funnels out of the church behind the couple, filing into the cars that were driving to the reception location. Police officers line the road on either side, cameras and strangers gathered at their barriers. You walk out with your hand interlaced in his, watching every step you take down the steep concrete stairs.

“Is it like this every time one of you gets married?” You ask, staring at the uniformed officers. They’re a stark contrast to the summer air, to the leaves of the trees drenched in sunlight, and to the flowers buzzing with bees. It feels like you’re at a royal wedding—the ones with professional watchers and ceremonies that get broadcast to millions of people around the world. But it’s not that. It’s just your boyfriend’s teammate.

“Um,” Charles shrugs. “I’m not sure, to be honest,” he admits. “I don’t think so,” he continues, letting you duck into the black sedan first. “I think it’s just his family.”

“Gosh,” you breathe out, relaxing in the calm of the air-conditioned car. “It’s like a whole production.”

“I know,” he shakes his head, uncapping a water bottle that was waiting in the car door cup holder and passing it to you first. “It’s like they’re Spanish royalty or something,” he laughs.

You nod animatedly, drinking down the water before passing the now half-full bottle to him. “Exactly like that!” you laugh.

— — —

“Three wishes,” you grin, spinning around to face him, antique Arabian oil lamp in your hand.

The second-hand shop smells like vintage leather and dusty velvet. La Dolce Vita plays from the store radio, and it sounds like it’s on vinyl even though it isn’t. The store is full of gaudy outfits and gaudier decor, and there in the middle of it is you and Charles, the ladder laughing every time the former makes the same joke about twenty different items, each uglier than the one before, being ‘just what I was looking for.’

“I wish for unlimited wishes, obviously,” He says, and you shake your head.

“Absolutely not. That goes against Genie rule number three.”

It’s chilly, the early morning dew still crisp in the air. A gentle breeze pours in from the propped open door, and with it comes the smell of fresh pastries and espresso from the bakery next door. It smells gentle and warm and makes the vintage store feel like your yia-yia’s house on the last morning of your last visit to her house.

You’re wearing your favorite pair of jeans, a pair of pink sneakers, and a sweater that was your favorite before you shrunk it a size in the dryer the day before. You cover up the fashion faux pas with a tan wool coat and long, hardly managed hair. He’s dressed like you, but elevated. Always more elevated than you, even if the only brand he seems to bring into his closet anymore is his friend’s.

“Ah,” he nods, pulling you closer by the opening of your coat. “Of course,” he smiles, speaking softly. “And what are the other rules?”

“Oh, you know,” you shrug, dimples digging into your cheeks at the mere sight of his. “No bringing people back from the dead, no making someone fall in love,” you hum, “and no wishing for more wishes.”

Charles quirks a brow, dropping his head to the side. “Those are stupid rules,” he protests, pouting. “What if those were all three of my wishes?”

You shrug, holding up the lamp to his eye level. “Got to get educated on Genie’s, man,” you tease, cheeks aching. “I don’t know what to tell you,” you giggle, stepping even closer. “Them’s the rules.”

“Them’s the rules,” he repeats. “How about…” he says, leaning in, still grinning. “Wish one,” he says, pressing a soft kiss into your lips. “Wish two,” he says, repeating the action. “And,” he grins, pulling away momentarily to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. You think you could die on the spot, melt right into a puddle on the shop floor. Your face is so hot. “Wish three?” he says, and as a surprise to nobody, leans in to kiss you again.

“Nope,” you shake your head, desperate for another breeze to blow through the shop, to cool you down, to keep you standing. “I expected better wishes. Very… μη πρωτότυπο.”

“Mi protótypo?” he repeats, and your grin grows.

“Not original.”

— — —

Charles’ apartment couldn’t be more different than yours, and not even solely on a decoration level. Fundamentally, you two come from two different spaces, and trying to merge those spaces has been nothing short of a treat.

Not that your decor styles are the same either, because you think his are one-of-kind. So one of a kind, that the two of you had gone through each other’s apartment with yard-sale stickers from the corner store, tagging everything you refused to mesh with in red, and everything you refused to part with in green. Who else can say they have three dozen racing helmets and trophies in the living room, a blown-up shot of a homeless American man on their dining room wall, and a piano that costs more than your net worth in the foyer? That is some perfectly Charles Leclerc decor, and if you had told yourself once that you would be endeared by all of it, you’d have laughed in your face.

But you do. You adore it, the way it perfectly encapsulates her personality. And you adore him, and the way he put a green sticker on a total of seven things in his whole apartment because he wanted to make sure it felt like your space too.

“Why did you not label any of these boxes?” He asks, the two of you stood in his dining room. In your dining room. In the dining room.

“Um…” you hesitate. “You know, I was going to. I really was,” you nod, staring at at least twenty cardboard boxes, each of them completely indistinguishable from the others, not a single identifying marker on any of them.

“And then?” He asks, shoving his hands in his pockets, rocking on his heels, the herringbone hardwood creaking under his feet with the shifting of his weight.

“And then I realized I packed my Sharpie,” you nod.

“Mmm,” he hums, scratching his beard, his fingers moving over his face and into his hair, combing through it stressfully. He’s so patient with you. Hopelessly patient with you, and would never admit it. “But you could not find the box it was in?” You shake your head, agreeing with his statement. “Because you forgot to label any of the boxes?”

“Because I didn’t label any of the boxes,” you confirm, an apologetic look painted across your face, eyes soft and sweet, attempting to remind him just how much he loves you. “And suddenly the movers were there. And now I’m here.”

“Oh,” he sighs, wrapping his arms around your chest from behind, kissing the top of your head. “I love you so much,” he says. “I love you so much,” he repeats, voice blank, unconvincing.

“Yeah,” you nod. “I was thinking we start in the dining room,” you joke, smiling softly, pulling a chuckle from his lips. You can always count on him to laugh at your stupid jokes. Even when he’s pretending not to be annoyed with you.“I’m sorry,” you say softly, kissing the forearm crossed over your chest.

“I know,” he hums. “It’s okay. It won’t be too bad.”

— — —

A soft summer breeze floats through the air, blows through the linen pinned to clotheslines in the neighborhood. It brings with it salt air and the careful wafts of cinnamon and nutmeg and eggplants and tomatoes. You sip a glass of Retsina, ignoring the bitter and accepting the sweet.

The olive trees are draped in endless strings of lights, and gentle, traditional music plays from the live band and the wooden stage your uncles had built with your dad. Your Yia-yia moves around from table to table pinching the cheeks of your cousins, reminding the single girls to check their shoes for their prince charmings.

The sun is setting on the water, golden shadows cutting around the soft cement architecture. The air is light. Charles wears a tan linen suit with an evil-eye boutonniere. You wear a white dress and a cold coin in your left shoe.

“You told them no to the money, right?” He asks softly, sipping a glass of white.

“I did,” you nod. “Well. I told my parents,” You shrug. “Whether or not they convey the message to the four hundred other people here, I guess we’ll find out.”

“It’s weird, no? A first dance and a last dance?”

You smile softly, watching a stray cat hurry down an alleyway. “My family keeps coming up to us and pretending to spit,” you giggle, “But the second dance is where you draw the line in the weird sand?”

“None of it’s weird” he shakes his head, reaching to tuck a curly piece of hair behind your ear, adjusting your veil accordingly. “It’s all you,” he says, leaning in to kiss you softly. His lips are soft, and he tastes like apples and melon and citrus, as easy to kiss as ever. “And I love you.”

“Ah,” you nod, a teasingly soft smile parting your lips. “He loves me,” you say, pretending to wipe sweat from your brow. “I was worried.”

“You act very worried,” he grins. “Wedding dress and all.”

“Oh,” you feign surprise as if you've noticed the setting for the first time. “This old thing? The one that costs a quarter of my salary?”

Charles nods, humming. “That’s the one. Keeps taking my damn breath away.”

You look down at yourself, an innocent, girlish smile draped over your lips, the pink shades of the sunset painting themselves warm over your cheeks. A gust of wind blows through the space, the breeze gently blowing through your veil, through the fabric of your dress.

“Are you ready?” You ask, watching the sun creep closer to the horizon, be swallowed up inch by inch into the sea, using your hand as a shade-visor. “No time like the present, right?” You add, downing what’s left in your glass. “Our second dance as newlyweds.”

“Our second dance,” Charles nods, holding out his hand, waiting for your fingers to interlock with his. “Let’s go.”

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