#the framed picture is going right on the mantle of the fireplace :')

[canolaaoil]

I remember childhood in yellow and blue

1. Who Can Sleep? Sally Davies // 2. @dakotajohnsongf // 3.Let Magic Surround You, Carmine Belluci // 4. @electraheart2012​ // 5. Kitchen, Larry Bracegirdle // 6. Hum Hallelujah, Fall Out Boy // 7. INTERIOR AT NIGHT, Ryan Kapp // 8. Letter for home, Felix Lee // 9. Monet’s House in Giverny // 10. @girlfromenglishclass​ // 11. @kernjosh​ // 12. On Turning Ten, Billy Collins

Description Follows

Post Description: 

1. [ ID: A photograph of a city at night. There is a skyline in the upper quarter in dark, navy blue, while the lower 3/4 of the image portrays an apartment building. Several windows in the building are lit with golden light in a random assortment around the building. In a few of the windows, sillouettes of people can be seen in black. End ID]

2. [ ID: an exerpt of a tumblr post, reading; let me tell you — sometimes i think this might be all a bad dream. every now and then, when the world is quiet enough, when the yellow light hits the ceiling just right, i feel like a child again. sometimes i wish i could find the spot where time is the weakest, touch it, tear it apart, and wake up on the sofa, behind my parents’ backs where i’ve crawled after some nightmare. from the tv, a laugh track. i’m pretending to sleep. its summer. see, the balcony door is ajar. see, there’s a mosquito trying to get in. see, my heart isn’t aching. see? End ID]

3. [ID: a painting in a stylized fashion of a cat sitting on a table from inside a house looking out a window at snowfall. there are papers on the table, a wooden chair, red and purple curtains around the window, a yellow patterned table cloth, and cups of coffee sitting nearby the cat. The cat is black. The walls of the room are golden yellow. End ID]

4. [ID: a tumblr post by user electraheart2012, reading; being alive is like: you want to go home. you don’t know where home is. you want to go home. you don’t know where home is. you want to go home. you don’t know where home is. you want to go home. you haven’t known for a long time. you want to go home but you don’t know where you’d go. you want to go home  you want to go home  you want to go home. End ID]

5. [ID: A painting in a semi-realistic, oil style, of a corner of a home. The colors are mostly warm yellows, oranges, and browns. From left to right there is a calendar, a doorway, a console table, and a couch. There are mirrors, and shelves with books lining the walls. On the table there is a lamp, which casts most of the light in the painting. The walls have wood paneling on the lower half and paint on the upper half, likely white or off white, but appearing soft yellow due to the lighting. End ID]

6. [ID: a screenshot of a lyric page, reading; And one day we’ll get nostalgic for disaster. End ID]

7. [ID: an oil painting,  portraying a rectangular set of windows, looking inside a home at night. curtains cover the left and right panels of the windows, and the center one portrays a wall in the distance with several pictures on a fireplace mantle. The painting is in mostly golden yellow and orange, with the window frame in dark navy blue. End ID]

8. [ID: a handwritten note on a blue, lined sticky note, written in blue pen. The handwriting is cursive. The note reads; Dear Mum, / Once you’ve cleaned this room and house, I won’t forget the sweet, strange and unforgetful memories. This box will contain most of my belongings and I hope for you to take care of it. End ID]

9.[ID: A photograph of a room in a house through a doorway. The visable room is a dining room, with a table with six visable white wicker chairs surrounding it, a white fireplace/mantle with blue vases and pottery decorating the top, and several paintings lining the wall.  The walls are painted bright yellow, and the triming of the doorways are painted light blue and white. The lighting in the dining room makes the entire room look golden, while the room the photographer is in is in regular daylight. End ID]

10. [ID: a tumblr post by user girlfromenglishclass, reading; Childhood made everything feel like it lingered. The time it took for hot chocolate to cool down was eternal. Christmas day took weeks. The two-hour drive to my grandparents’ house took us to a new world. It’s all too fast now. End ID]

11. [ID: a photograph of two people on a bed. Both lay on their backs. One is wrapped in a puffy duvet cover, laughing with their whole face, looking in the direction of the photographer. The other looks up at the photographer, with their shirt pulled up, with most of their chest exposed, just wearing a pair of checkered boxers. The colors of the environment are light blue; the duvet and the sheets of the bed. The walls are white-ish blue.  The people are warm colors; pink and brown. End ID]

12. [ID: an poem exerpt, reading; But now I am mostly at the window / watching the late afternoon light. Back then it never fell so solemnly / against the side of my tree house, / and my bicycle never leaned against the garage / as it does today, / all the dark blue speed drained out of it. End ID]

paragraph break

[ID: two lines of writing, underlined in yellow, reading “one day i was seven years old, / after that all i ever was was lonely.” end ID]

end post description.

[fivedayslater]

Part 4: Lounge

The fire in the lounge is like a siren’s song to Sanji’s chilled and shivering body, so Sanji makes his way to the lounge. 

It’s a large and comfortable room, with plush armchairs and leather couches scattered around and filling the space. There’s a large oak coffee table in the center of the room, with plenty of coasters, matches, and ashtrays for guests to use, and a drink cart nestled off to the side for people to help themselves, but Sanji’s drawn immediately to the fire blazing in the fireplace. 

He goes to it and sighs in relief as the warmth sinks into him. The mantle is covered in framed pictures, mostly of Luffy in his signature straw hat on various adventures around the world. He spots Ace in quite a few of them, both pre accident where he’s right next to Luffy meeting every challenge right by his side, and post accident where he’s more off to the side, either sitting down or standing with a cane. In the center of the mantle is a stately clock.

“Well, aren’t you a new face.”

Sanji turns and finds he’s not alone in the room. 

Sitting on the couch is the most gorgeous woman he’s ever laid eyes on. Her flaming orange hair is done up in a fancy bun, her delicate bangs brushing just above her eyes as she shifts to drink her martini. She crosses her legs, her silky red dress flowing elegantly down them as she raises an eyebrow at him. 

Sanji’s heart skips a beat at having the attention of such a beauty, his mouth going dry as he struggles to remember his own name.

There’s a sharp laugh from over by the drink cart, and his eyes snap to the room’s other occupant. 

There’s a man there pouring himself a drink. Sanji’s thrown at first by his bright green hair and the scar sealing shut one of his eyes, but once he gets a good look at him, he finds that he has a very attractive face overall. 

They’re both featured prominently in the photos on the mantle, however he noticed the man has two eyes in every photo, and both he and Luffy look much younger. 

The man smirks as he puts ice in his drink, “Guess it’s raining pretty hard out there, or is drowned rat your preferred look, Curly?”

Sanji balks as he self-consciously slaps a hand over his curled eyebrow, “Is that moss patch on your head infecting your brain or were you just born without manners?”

He narrows his eye as sits down in one of the armchairs. 

“Now now boys,” the woman lets out a weary sigh, “We’re all friends here, right? Let’s not get off on the wrong foot.” She sends Sanji a mischievous grin, “There will be plenty of time for that later.”

Sanji gives her a pleasant smile as the other man grumbles in agreement. Now drier and pleasantly warm, Sanji makes his way over to the drink cart and pours himself a brandy. 

“I assume you were both invited by Luffy as well?” He asks as casually as he can. 

“Yup,” the man replies, his gray eye following Sanji around the room, but says no more. 

“We’ve both known Luffy and Ace forever,” the woman says, her own gaze pinned to Sanji as she swirls her drink, “Say, aren’t you that detective everyone’s talking about, Mr. Prince? The one who solved the Alabastian diamond heist?”

“I’m not sure about everyone,” he says with a modest laugh, “But yes, that’s what people call me. You, my dear, may call me Sanji.”

“A detective?” The man says, brow raised, looking almost impressed, “Why the hell did Luffy invite a detective?”

Sanji shrugs, “That I can’t answer. Although, I’m not entirely sure he knows what it is I do.” He chuckles as he remembers what he said to Ace earlier, “In fact, I’m pretty sure he thinks I’m a chef.”

The woman laughs, a high pitch musical sound that makes Sanji’s heart soar, “Yes, that does sound like Luffy.”

The man chuckles as well, a deep warm sound that makes Sanji’s insides flip, “Leave it to him to think with his stomach.”

“I’m Nami,” she practically purrs as she eyes Sanji, “Mr. Sociable over there is Zoro.”

Zoro acknowledges the introduction with a raise of his glass, his own gaze running up and down Sanji. 

He remembers Luffy and Ace mentioning them, about how Nami’s always been around and how Zoro hasn’t, and gives them both a pleasant smile, “It’s a pleasure to meet you both.”

“The pleasure is ours. Why don’t you have a seat, Mr. Prince?” Nami’s smile turns sharp, but it does nothing to diminish her beauty, “Let’s get to know each other a bit.”

“Certainly, my dear,” he says as he makes his way over to the two. 

There’s two seats available, he notices. A spot on the couch next to Nami and an empty armchair next to Zoro.

[dollsonmain]

Ok time to put everything away. That Guy gets home anywhere between 2:30 and 4.

While I decide whether I want to use this or not (I’m leaning no with a preference for foam board shelves wrapped in different pastel papers, this modular unit would make more sense in a more modern setting) and because if I wait until I’ve made a decision I will never complete the project

I’ve added a pink panel to the back of the bed covering the former shower. I already like the way that looks better, and I think I will do the majority of the book case/curio cabinet/hutch thing I’m building in pink with the counter top part (which will include that shower-shelf, each faux cabinet door (which will be the most boring rectangles ever), and if I add foam board shelves then each of those being a different pastel color of the matching paper.

That paper was something I got from the Amazon Warehouse to get “free” shipping.

Look at it, though. That’s just printer paper and I glued it to foam board. It did get a little wrinkly in a place or two because I didn’t wait long enough for the Tombow Mono Multi to set, but look how smooth that is. It would never be that smooth with white glue or a glue stick.

I’m almost out of that bottle of TMM, but I have another unopened one, so I’m not worried. It lasts a very long time.

I might go around only the outside edge of that curio thing with this wood-look contact paper so that when the bed is down (which will be never, but just in case) the platform frame will look like wood.

I’ll see how I feel about/ how it looks with the whole thing being pink first. Wood grain might look really weird with how low detail most of the rest of the house is, though the stickers are a little more detailed.

Either way, the rest of that is basically simple rectangles. As long as I don’t screw up my measurements too much, it shouldn’t be too headache inducing to complete.

Still thinking about making the battery port cover look like a fuse box, or maybe just sticking a little picture  in a frame on it or something. It’ll look bad regardless. All that matters is that I can get to the screw, really. It’s not like I’ll ever put batteries in it, but someone might some day.

I think I would like to make that weirdly shaped crib storage spot (thank you @dollsahoy​ for figuring that out for me) into, like... Maybe put some little cleaning supplies in there? like a bucket and some cleaning cloths and maybe a tiny broom or mop, or maybe pet supplies since there are sticker animals EVERYWHERE on this thing. There are like 3 dogs and 7 cats (that is an exaggeration but only slightly).

I stopped buying non-toy Mini Brands so I don’t have any of the kitty litter boxes or anything convenient like that.

I could also just whip up a “door” and cover over the space completely with yet another faux cabinet.

AND I was looking at the MGA MiniVerse balls I have. The smaller one is pretty much exactly the right size AND shape for the fountain cutout on the back of this door.

It would stick out a lot, though, so I might make something else to put there like a rack for garden tools or a narrow planter box or something, just to keep the profile of the house smaller which makes it easier to store.

That could also be a place to put a pet stuff station to hang leashes on or something like that.

-

I don’t intend to buy furniture for the house I don’t think. I do have a bunch of My Scene furniture sitting around though it’s not colors that would work with this space, and if I buy one of the Gloria sets (or the coveted Avon set....) they come with kitchen chairs and a table and I think I’ll most likely have this set to kitchen most of the time, if not fireplace.

Modern Barbie furniture isn’t the right colors or style.

-

So decisions I [still] need to make:

how to decorate the fireplace room wall, mantle, and the fireplace itself

what colors to apply to basically everything in the kitchen, especially the appliances, little bits of wall above the cabinets, and the backsplash

whether or not to do detail painting in the kitchen like adding color to the stovetop, faucet, and drawer pulls

which dishes to get and whether to buy dishes that are already done, get some cheap ones and paint them, try making my own again, or something else

whether to use the Mini Brands shelving brackets as modular shelving or make my own foam board shelves

-

..... The only thing I did today was make a pink rectangle. Ugh.

[fandomficsnstuff]

Witches And Wizards - 24

(Warnings: Some fluff, confused fluff and some more fluff!)

Note: I once read parts of a fic where the reader has magic and goes back in time, meeting Merlin. I sadly can’t find it anymore. Also Fred didn’t die in this.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ophelia felt like weights were tied to her eyelids, as though opening them was a tough battle that she felt herself constantly on the verge of losing. She opened her eyes to look around, the pain had lessened, as she knew it would, except a small blanket was over her leg to keep her damaged leg warm, even though she was in front of a fire. On the large table stood a plate with different kinds of food and a goblet of pumpkin juice, a pillow was under her head and her skin didn’t feel as sticky as she remembered it to be before the sleeping draught helped and she passed out. She lifted her eyes as her head felt too heavy to move, looking above the fireplace, frowning at a small picture in a frame that stood on the mantle, placed with care and love, positioned so she could look at it whenever she wanted from wherever in the room. She forced her body to move and she finally managed to convince it to sit up. She groaned quietly at the ache in her body but she stood up anyway, using the fireplace to keep herself steady despite the warmth that made it feel like it was burning her when she stood so close to the flames. She picked up the picture in the frame, letting herself fall back down onto the couch as she looked at it. Her fingers gently ran over the picture in the frame, over the sweet face of her mum, holding her in her lap when she was just a toddler, her grandmother beside her and in the corner of the picture, a carpet with a mark burned into it, stomped out before it could consume the whole thing and turn it into ash. Tears began to form in her eyes and she looked around, her neck feeling stiff and she got out her wand, pointing it at her cane and it flew right at her. She caught it before using it to stand, putting the picture back on top of the fireplace mantle and she walked around the couch, towards the right staircase to the second floor where her bedroom was and she waited once she used the eagle to quickly get up there, her wand out and she used the hand holding it to push the door, which had once been dressing panels but the Room changed it to walls and a door, open ever so slightly, frowning at the figure she saw inside.

She recognised him by the ears immediately. He was watering her Niffler’s Fancy that Professor Slughorn had given her as a welcome gift when she became a teacher at the start of the year, knowing the gift would be well received with love, he remembered her skill at potions but especially how her ingredients were always of the highest quality when she’d grown them herself. She put away her wand and pushed the door more open to study him. Her room was filled with plants while her living room was filled with books, the two of them separated, her bedroom enchanted so it’s ceiling looked like it was made of glass, just like the main Room, except in here green plants were hanging around it as it looked like a greenhouse and she knew by the lack of daylight that it was night, since it cycled depending on what time it was outside, just like the glass ceiling in the main Room and the windows. She also noticed that her Alihosty had another one standing next to it. In fact, some of her plants had an identical one standing next to it, only more trimmed and not as well kept. “Are you planting your own plants in my room, Professor Emrys?” she asked calmly, a small smirk forming on her lips as he jumped at her voice, spinning around, looking like a Niffler that had been caught going through the jewelry box. “N-No, they’re-... they’re not mine” he admitted and she frowned, her smirk growing a little “so you’ll have me take care of a stranger’s plants, then?” she asked and he nervously rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand, the other still holding the bottle that held water in it for the plants. “No…”

“So they’re not yours and they’re not someone else’s?”

“Right.”

“Are you giving them to me?”

“More like returning” he admitted, much more at ease now as he put the bottle back on the small ceramic plate made for it on a small shelf. Ophelia frowned as he walked closer, a brief chuckle leaving her “returned? These aren’t my plants…”

“They are… I-I’ve tried to keep them proper, you know, like you did. You know, trimming them and such…” he admitted and Ophelia walked over to one of the ‘new’ plants, reaching for it, examining it with a frown “I don’t know what you’ve been drinking, Merlin, but these aren’t mine. These leaves should be trimmed diagonally, not like this” she offered the insight quietly and softly, making Merlin smile at her fondly “I’ll remember that next time if you disappear on me again” he mumbled to himself with a smirk, studying her as she turned around to frown at her “what in the name of Merl-... what are you talking about?” she corrected herself, Merlin smiling briefly before walking out of the bedroom, returning with a bag that made Ophelia’s eyes widen. In his hands were the bag she always had with her. It was a little damaged and looked like it was centuries old but it had been patched up and kept as intact as humanly and inhumanly possible. “That’s-... h-how-... Merlin’s Beard!!” she nearly yelled in shock as she walked towards him, her eyes on the bag and Merlin grinned. “You’ve got to stop saying that” he stated with amusement and her head snapped up to look at him. Her heart raced for some reason at that sentence. She studied him before frowning, looking away from him with a look of confusion borderlining on fear on her face. “I think I’d like to be alone, for now, Professor Emrys” she muttered hesitantly, as though no longer trusting herself… or him.

The possibility that she didn’t trust him made his heart ache and shatter, his smile and all signs of joy were gone and he put the bag down on a chair in the corner of the bedroom. “R-Right! Yeah, sorry I just-”

“No, no I didn’t mean it like that! I just-” she sighed with a frown, continuing to keep her gaze away from him and his heart mended a little at her words “I just… m-my leg, it pains me and I’d like to be alone when this happens” she lied smoothly, Merlin nodding despite the fact that he knew it was a lie. “I didn’t mean to-... I didn’t-”

“It’s alright, Merlin” she stated softly with a very faint smile, barely noticeable, like the tears in her eyes, but he noticed. He nodded and turned around, leaving the living quarters and the second the door shut she let out a shaky breath, eyes closing, a few tears running down her cheeks when she did. Her eyes returned to the bag and she carefully hobbled over, hesitantly picking it up. It was old. Far older than she remembered. Perhaps it was a copy? She opened it, sitting down in the chair Merlin had placed it in, staring into the abyss of the bag and hesitantly, very hesitantly, she stuck her arm into it, looking away when her arm began to obscure her view into the bag, fumbling her hand around as it brushed up against several things until-

She pulled out a large book that she recognised, tears once again forming in her eyes and she hesitantly let her fingers run over the old picture of her, Hermione, Harry and Ron, a faint smile on her lips as she opened the book. The picture that usually was the first to be seen was gone and she smiled, remembering it’s place on the fireplace mantle. She continued through the book, smiling sadly at each picture, having missed them more than she thought was possible. At the very end was a picture she didn’t recognise. At least she thought she didn’t. It wasn’t of anyone she’d ever met before. It was faded and not as well taken as the other pictures, but it was still obvious that one of the people waving back at her was Ophelia. With a healthy leg. She was smiling like she hadn’t done before the war, in a way that was lost to her. At least that’s what she thought.

Next to her stood an old man, her brows furrowing, her fingers grazing over the picture as it moved, smiling up at her and she felt the same sense of comfort as when Merlin talked about the person who had supposedly taught him all he knew. She thought she’d have trouble remembering the name but it was like it was carved into the deepest walls of her memories.

Gaius.

The man in the picture, smiling and waving at her, was Gaius. For some reason, it made sense. Looking at him, smiling up at her, it felt a bit like seeing someone dearly loved after years apart… she felt the same sense of comfort as her mum, her grandmother, her uncle… Molly Weasley… the same comfort they provided

Gaius’ clothes in the picture, and the surrounding furniture and bottles and books, felt familiar to her, like a home away from home. She couldn’t help but smile a little, tears nearly running down her cheeks and onto the picture and she had to put the book away to wipe away the tears so they wouldn’t ruin anything. She sniffled a little before picking the book back up, wiping her nose a little as she carefully slid out the picture. She studied it with a warm smile before instinctually, for no real reason that she knew of, flipped it around, as though she knew something was on the back of it. And she was right. A small, faded, smudged out message, wishing someone a happy birthday, the name long since smudged and faded, unreadable, but it somehow made her smile even more, faded two and a half hearts were left after the name that was smudged out, the handwriting was so old and smudged that she couldn’t see if she recognized it or not, yet she had a feeling that she did, for some strange reason that she’d forgotten about. It was obvious that the picture hadn’t always been in the book, it was a new addition from what she remembered of the book before she lost it. It’s corners were faded and bent back and forth, a tiny hole in the left lower side of the picture, some of it torn out but overall, aside from how old it looked and felt against the pads of her fingers, the paper on the back almost yellow, it was well taken care of. Treasured by whoever had placed it in the book after years and years of carrying it around. Carefully she slid the picture back into the small holding frame, a smile on her lips as she carefully closed the book, hearing it’s cracked spine creak a little as she did and she smiled, placing it on a nearby table, making sure it was safe where it was, unaware of the added pictures past the page of Ophelia and the stranger, Gaius, waving up at her and seemingly having a bit of fun with each other.

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

Merlin was quiet as he walked into the office near the greenhouse classrooms, looking around at the plants, big and small, harmless and poisonous, some harvested ingredients standing proudly in massive amounts, ready to be given to Professor Slughorn to be used in whatever way he deemed fit. At the end of the room was a large round table, a chair behind it and a woman sat in the chair, something in front of her, which he’d come to learn is called a ‘newspaper’. She had flipped through almost the entire thing, a pencil in her hand, the end of it against her lips, teeth biting down around the end as she held the pencil, brows furrowed as she stared at the page, her cane resting against the table, next to her. He hadn’t ever really gotten a good look at her cane. It had a silver wolf’s head for a handle, the cane itself a dark navy blue, the end of it fitted with a small flat footing of something soft that without a doubt helped keep the cane steady when weight was put on it, since the cane slipping at such a moment wouldn’t be ideal.

“Of course! ‘Butterfly’. God, I’m stupid… and blind” she half-joked to herself and scribbled something on the paper in front of her, smirking as she began to scribble some more before frowning again, muttering under her breath as she grabbed her wand and pointed it at something in the paper before picking her pencil back up again, shaking her head a little “fuck” she muttered and Merlin couldn’t help but smile a little. He remembered when they broke into Camelot after Morgana took over and took Uther as prisoner. They had just gotten into the room with the Cup of Life when that word was uttered by her upon seeing the several undead soldiers standing between them and the Cup. “Professor Black? What are you doing?” he asked softly but she still flinched, her cheeks filling with heat and she cleared her throat awkwardly “Professor Emrys! I-... uh… it’s-... nothing…”

“Is that the Daily Prophet?”

“No, actually, it’s-... a-a muggle newspaper…”

“Muggle? Interesting” he muttered and walked over, Ophelia sighing heavily, leaning back in her chair, gesturing to the newspaper with a certain aggression that Merlin found extremely cute “I have a friend who bought me this because I wanted to learn how to do anagrams… except I’m horrible at it” she admitted with burning cheeks, Merlin smiling a little at her as he stood beside her, leaning down to study it “you’ve done really well. I don’t know why you think you’re not good at it” he encouraged but she groaned “no! I’m horrible… I don’t know half of these muggle words… I didn’t grow up with muggles after I turned eleven and even then I barely went to school… I was bullied so much I skipped and missed classes so I don’t know anything…”

“I’d say you know a lot judging by this. Perhaps you know more than you think… if you’d like, I could help you? I grew up around muggles quite a lot…” he admitted sheepishly and she looked at him like he was sent from God “would you? Please” she encouraged and he smiled, pointing her wand at a chair from the side of the room, pulling the chair over next to her and with a swift wave of her wand, Ophelia made another pencil, giving it to him with a shy smile. “Do you know what an anagram is?” she asked and he hesitated before shaking his head a little, making her chuckle “it’s alright, I didn’t either. Of course Hermione knows, she knows pretty much everything” Ophelia muttered the last part to herself “alright so, it’s about taking these words and sort of making a new word out of it, but it has to be a real word. Like… it’s easy to start at the ones with only two letters. So, let’s say you see one with two letters and it spells ‘NO’, that makes it ‘ON’, see? And you continue to do that, it’s why it’s easier to start with the ones that have only two letters. The letters have to match up, you can’t write an A if the words it’ll cross with doesn’t have an A in it where you want to put it, and you can’t just make up your own words. Now, this large picture here? The sentence in it? It’s sort of the final word you have to get from it’s letters and it’s usually insanely long or something like that. Also, even though the words you have to work with have spaces in between, no spaces! It has to be one word, all of it. Did I explain it right?” she asked hesitantly and Merlin nodded with a smile “I think so” he stated softly as he looked at her and she grinned, his heart melting at the sight and she leaned over the paper once more, studying it, thinking Merlin was doing the same but he couldn’t help but just-... looking at her…

After centuries with only a fading picture, he was like an addict, finally getting his fix, his chance to admire her with the utmost devotion that she deserved. “I think… I-I think this is supposed to spell ‘bicycle’... right? See, the C would fit there and the L would fit under this, right?” she asked, looking up at him and he quickly pretended to just have lifted his head to look at her, instead of having admired her all this time and he looked at the paper, nodding, “see? You don’t need my help-”

“Hold your brooms, Merlin, I’m far from done yet” she quickly said with a laugh before looking back down at the paper “there’s still a lot of words here… imagine if the wizarding world made these. I’m not saying I’m a master of every single thing in our world but it’d be much easier to decipher…” she added in a more quiet voice, brows furrowing again and he once again admired her, the paper and anagram long forgotten in his mind, everything was blank except her… she was just as beautiful as he remembered, every small detail, the curve of her nose, her nose bridge that he knew she secretly hated for being ‘too bulky’ when it was nothing short of perfect. He was sitting on her left so he could see her blue eye, just as enchanting as he remembered it and he found that after all these years, that picture didn’t do her justice, especially since it was in black and white and grey. Nothing could do her justice. Nothing except sitting here with her, in the classroom office that was empty except for the two of them, sitting close together with Ophelia hunched over the paper, gnawing at the end of her pencil whenever a certain word vexed her. This moment right here made all the centuries of wait and worry worth it.

[darkandstormydolls]

So I think I may be selling Ashling short.

I know I called him “tied for my most traumatized character”. And everything I have have about him had sort of contributed to that.

So, to make up for that, I present: a scene of Ashling being cool and capable!

The office looked familiar. It wasn’t that I’d been here before. It was simply that every person’s office I’d ever been in seemed to look the same. Sure, the butler had called it the “study”, but the same principle applied.

Every person in possession of an office who was trying to look intimidating seemed to go about it the same way. Some sort of very large and intimidating desk with a matching large and intimidating chair behind it. One or two much smaller chairs on the other side of it, so that the people waiting would feel small. A fireplace on the opposite wall, with some sort of large picture hanging over it. Heavy curtains in some dark jewel tone framing the windows. Dark paneling and dark wallpaper. Bookshelves that were full but not stuffed with heavy volumes. Phantom kept records of every person involved in her complicated web on the ones in her office, along with what she had over them, what they were worth, what they owed her, if they worked for her, if they were a threat, and what to do with them. I could only imagine what the duke must have used his for. Tax records?

Despite this formulaic appearance, there were a handful of personal touches. A wooden duck sat on the mantle. The painting over the fireplace was of the estate, the exact same view from the road that I had seen on my way, with the sprawling house visible in the background, rising up to survey its holdings. A rather inexpert piece of needlepoint depicting what I presumed to be a tree of cardinals hung on the wall. Done by one of his daughters, perhaps?

I was still working through my mental assessment of the room, and debating whether the potential findings that could be obtained by rummaging through the desk outweighed the risk of starting off this interaction on an even worse foot than I already would if I got caught when a small figure appeared in the doorway and asked, will all the bluntness of a young child, “Who are you?”

I looked over at her from my seat in front of the desk. Returning my gaze was a young girl, perhaps around eight, in a light purple flowered dress and a pinafore with enough eyelet lace that it would likely protect the dress beneath about as much as a colander would hold water. I quickly slipped into the cheerful persona I’d used on the butler before. I stood up and gave a small, rather theatrical bow. “Before I answer, I have a question of my own; do I have the great honor of addressing the lovely Lady Emma Minsal?”

The little girl’s face lit up, and she straightened up with a look of contented self-importance. “And Countess of Halermill, don’t forget that bit.”

Oh sweet girl. If only you knew. You may not be Countess of Halermill for long. I smiled back at her. “Of course. How could I forget? Well, my lady, I’m here to meet with the duke.”

“I’ll wait with you, then.” she announced decisively. “Daddy says it’s important to be a good host. And I know where he keeps the good treats.” Walking over to one of the bookshelves, she reached over her head and took down a large, square glass jar. “Lemon cookies,” Lady Emma explained, taking one out of the jar. She held it out to me. “Do you want one, Mr…”

“Elerson. And thank you very much.” I politely accepted the cookie, taking the tiniest bite. It seemed fine, but then again, the first rule of my job was always to be cautious. Better overly suspicious than dead.

“So, what do you need to talk to the duke about?” Lady Emma asked, climbing up into the chair behind the desk after she returned the cookies to their rightful place. She had to sit on her knees to be even approaching the right height for it.

“It’s a matter of land management. Nothing interesting, I promise.”

“Oh. I see.” She considered this for a moment. “Isn’t that usually Mander’s job? He’s the estate’s agent, after all.”

“This was a rather complicated matter. The duke wanted to handle it himself. If I may ask, my lady, is there somewhere you need to be?”

“Oh no, not at all,” she replied while finishing off the rest of her cookie. “Miss Jasmile has her hands full with Salna, and I said I was going for a walk in the garden. You know, it’s a bit late for most of the flowers, but I like the fall ones most of all. Especially the mums. They have so many colors, really, and they look lovely in the beds. What’s your favorite flower?”

“I must admit I haven’t really thought about that. Perhaps… morning glories?”

Lady Emma nodded, satisfied by this answer.

“Emma, sweetheart, are you in here?”

She looked up at to the door, a wide smile spreading across her face. “Daddy!” She hopped up and ran into the arms of the man waiting in the doorway.

“Hello, love. What are you doing in here?”

“I was just talking to Mr. Elerson. He said he was here to talk to you.” The man, presumably the Duke of Cosmere, looked up from his daughter and at me. I looked back. His mouth tightened as he recognized me. “Emma, love, why don’t you run along?”

“Can’t I stay? I think he’s very nice.”

“No, darling, this is a grownup matter.”

“Alright, alright.” Emma left, and the duke closed the door behind him, settling into his seat behind the desk.

“You have some nerve, coming here.”

I slipped smoothly from the cheerful demeanor I’d used on Lady Emma to a much colder one. My heir-to-the-lord-of-spies face. “Nearly as much as you have to refuse Phantom’s demands.”

“I don’t have to listen to someone in some abandoned city who dresses like a ghost and doesn’t have a proper name.”

“The conditions she outlined were quite clear. Fulfill your part of the agreement, or news will come out.”

He glared at me. “I never agreed to anything.”

I shrugged. “That’s not my fault.”

“You forced me into this!”

“I never forced you into anything. That would have been Phantom’s doing.” I held up my hands. “Don’t shoot the messenger.”

“You’re blackmailing me.”

I nodded. “A fact I never denied.”

“I could call the police.”

“Trust me, I could be gone in the time it takes them to come. And if by some miracle they arrive on time, I can say three words and they’d let me go with an apology for wasting my time.”

“You and your cursed spies-”

“-not my spies-”

“-you think you can just come in here and demand unreasonable conditions for honest people.”

“I wouldn’t call it unreasonable. The money’s less than you give your mistress in a month, and you were given other options as well.”

“I’m not listening to someone who won’t even come here and say her threats to my face.”

I leaned back in my chair. “Trust me, the only reason that Phantom isn’t here right now is because she has much more important things to do with her time than explain simple contracts to irritating nobility. And if you consider her conditions too much, well-” I shrugged casually “-you’re welcome to explain to the lovely ladies Emma and Salna that they have a new older brother.”

The duke looked at me, fuming, for a minute before saying, “This isn’t right.”

“Oh, is that what you thought to yourself before you forced an innocent, vulnerable housemaid into your bed and then paid her a deeply insufficient amount of money to run to one of the most dangerous places in the world when it turned out she was pregnant?”

“I could deny it. Who would believe you?”

I pulled a stack of letters from my pocket, fanning them out so that he could see the handwriting. “This aside, well…” I gestured to my own face, then to his. “Look at me and then look in a mirror.” I stuffed the letters back into my pocket before asking, “So. Do we have a deal?”

“This isn’t going to work like you want it to.”

I sighed in mock exasperation. “Do I really need to explain the inheritance laws of your own country to you? ‘A child born to two parents, both of whom are unmarried, is considered as much a legitimate heir to both of them as one born of wedlock’. And there is legal precedent for this. Back in 1826, the courts backed a young woman in a situation quite similar to mine. Her father attempted to declare his nephew as heir to his title and lands instead. And yet, I believe that Viscountess Mandrae retains her title to this day.”

“What would you even get from this?” The duke was growing increasingly exasperated.

“What would I get from this? If you don’t agree to the conditions, I’ll become your heir! You’ll be legally required to provide for me as long as I avoid any serious criminal convictions, and if I get sick of that, well, a little inheritance powder in a cup of tea and I’m the next Duke of Cosmere, widely regarded as the most powerful nonroyal in the country. And can you imagine how much the Lord of Spies would benefit from having such close connections with someone in that position?”

“You wouldn’t.”

I looked him in the eye. “I’m Undercity-born. Don’t try and tell me what I would or wouldn’t do.”

He sighed, resting his head in his hands. “What do you want?” he asked defeatedly.

“For you to fulfill the terms of your agreement with Phantom.”

“I can’t do it right now. I don’t have the money on me.”

“Collateral, then.”

“What do you mean, collateral?”

“Something to prove that you won’t go back on our deal. Something that can be held over your head.”

“Fine. Fine! What about this? I’ll write a letter, all signed and things, declaring that ‘I hereby name- do you have a name besides that stupid title?”

“Ashling.”

“I name Ashling Elerson as heir to my titles, lands, and family name. You can take that with you. It would save you the trouble of having to prove it all in a court of law. Will that be sufficient?”

“Lord Ashling.”

“Sorry?”

“Lord Ashling Minsal, Earl of Halermill. As your heir, I would be permitted to use your name, a courtesy title, and your subsidiary titles, yes?”

I was seriously considering how to defend myself if the duke stood up and attempted to strangle me when he gritted his teeth and replied, “Fine.” He pulled out a blank sheet of paper from one of the desk drawers and uncapped an inkwell. “And I get this back once your conditions are filled?”

I smiled. “Oh no. Consider this an apology for all the inconvenience that you’ve caused Phantom, and, by extent, me.”

“I hope you rot in hell.”

“Wouldn’t dream of doing anything different. Now.” I tapped the paper in front of him. “Write.”

He wrote out the letter, muttering under his breath the whole time, signed it, blotted the ink, and held it out to me. “Happy?”

I read over it several times, examining it for anything that would make it seem fake or invalid. It looked fine. “This’ll do.” I checked that the ink was dry, folded it up, slipped it into the document pocket of my jacket, and stood up to leave. “I’ll see myself out.”

[parkerdoesparkour]

-Prologue Track 3: Dog Days Are Over-

The dorm wasn’t so much a dorm as it was a wooden shack. Even shack might have been too nice of a descriptor for the absolute dump Titania now stood in front of. With obvious holes in the roof and boarded up windows, she shuddered to think of what the inside looked like.

“Very charming, isn’t it?” Crowley grinned.

“It’s way too much charm,” she said. He only smiled and pushed her towards the door. She had a feeling he was back to not listening to her. 

“Right, right?” He opened the door and practically shoved her inside. He gestured grandly with his arms at the cobwebs and the rotting wood and the overturned furniture. “Isn’t it just wonderful?”

Titania was too in shock to respond. 

“Stay here to keep out of the rain and don’t go wandering around the school,” Crowley instructed. “For your own safety, of course. I’m off to do some more research. Goodbye!”

His coat fluttered as he twirled on his heels and left her alone in the dorm’s lounge. The rain softly pitter-pattered against the roof as she took in her surroundings more carefully. Books were scattered across the floor and chairs laid on their sides with broken legs. The cobwebs that clung to the corners glittered in the bits of moonlight breaking through the clouds, and the dust that floated around her looked like snow. 

She moved towards the large window that covered the far side of the wall from floor to ceiling. Outside, she could make out an expansive, if a bit unattended to, lawn. The school-slash-castle loomed in the distance and looking at it made her unsettled, so she stepped away from the window. 

“God, this place is a wreck,” she muttered. She picked up a discarded picture frame and set it on top of the mantle. “I’ll have to clean just to be able to sit down, let alone stay here.” The wind suddenly picked up and pushed against Ramshackle. The dorm groaned in response, but above the protests, her ears picked up another noise. 

“It’s really coming down out there.”

She looked down, slowly, to see none other than Grim–collarless and smiling–standing beside her with his paws on his hips. He met her gaze and they stared at each other for a moment in silence. 

“Crowleyyyy!” Grim jumped onto her shoulder as she turned towards the front door, and covered her mouth with his paw. 

“Don’t call him back here!” he said. “What do you think you’re doing!?”

“I’m doing my civil duty,” she replied. She shoved his face away from her and he responded by biting her hand. “DUDE!” She wiped her hand on the robes. “What if you have rabies or something?”

Grim stuck his tongue out at her and jumped to sit on the top of her side. “I’m the greatest mage who ever lived–of course, I don’t have rabies!” He leapt off and onto the fireplace’s mantle, knocking Titania to the floor in the process. “Besides, you should be grateful I’m even talking to a lowly human like–WATCH IT!” 

He dove to the other side of the mantle’s ledge just as Titania tossed one of the old books at him. It ended up colliding with a candlestick and both objects crashed to the ground with a loud bang. “What if you attract monsters?” he asked. “You’re making a racket!” 

“Oh, I’m making a racket? You’re an unwanted stowaway!” 

“I am not!” he huffed. “I’m destined to be the most powerful mage ever. I waited every day for the carriage to pick me up but…” His ears flattened and his eyes grew watery. Titania lowered the second book she was about to throw and watched him rub his eyes with his paw then look away from her. He was clearly trying to hide his distress. “The Dark Mirror just can’t see my amazing potential,” he muttered. 

She sighed and dropped the book. Then she stood up and brushed herself off before approaching Grim. “I won’t tell Crowley you’re here,” she said, “but you have to help me look for a bucket so we can catch the water.”

He squinted at her and said, “Buy me some tuna cans, too.” 

“With what money?” she said. “One tuna can.”

“Deal!” He leapt back onto her shoulder and she figured this was going to be her afterlife now–taking care of some weird cat. “We need to fix those holes soon, though, otherwise my precious fire ears will go out.”

“I’ll work on that,” she said. They left the lounge and headed down the first floor hallway, which was in as great a shape as the rest of the dorm. There were stairs on the left that lead to a higher floor and a row of doors leading into the darkness. Even with Grim’s fire, it was difficult to see, and maybe his talk of monsters was getting to her, because she swore she saw something moving just in front of them…

Grim shook violently on her shoulder, and he practically huddled himself into the crook of her neck. “Let’s just hurry up and find this bucket.”

Titania told herself it was just the wind, just the wind, and when her eyes finally adjusted to the darkness, three figures were in front of her. 

The transparent ghosts appeared in a second and she flinched so hard she threw Grim from her shoulder. “GHOSTS!” he shrieked, and ducked behind her legs. 

The three ghosts all laughed, high-pitched and eerie. “Heeheehee, we haven’t had guests in such a long time.”

“Everyone got scared and left us all alone,” the small ghost lamented. 

“We’ve been looking for new ghost friends since,” the fat one added. 

The skinny ghost grinned. “How about you guys? Whee hee hee.”

“No, I’m too amazing to die here!” Grim shouted. He leapt out from behind Titania and blasted flames. However, he missed the ghosts by a mile and it didn’t take her long to figure out why. 

“You have to actually look where you’re aiming!” she said. 

“Shut up,” Grim said. “I ain’t scared!” He tried again, but the ghosts simply vanished before his flames got close to them. “Stop disappearing!” 

“You’re going to burn the whole place down,” Titania said. 

“Don’t give me orders,” he responded. “Bunch’a cowards, ganging up on us…”

She’d gotten used to the blue flames by this point, but there was still a high probability of a repeat of the opening ceremony. “Drive these ghosts away, and I’ll give you two cans of tuna.”

Grim mumbled, “I’m a genius, I don’t need a human’s help–.”

“Three cans!”

“Deal!” he smiled. Just then, the fat ghost appeared behind Grim. 

“On your left,” she said and Grim shut his eyes, whirled around, and hit the ghost square in his face. 

“Hot, hot, hot!” the ghost cried. 

“I hit it! I hit it!” Grim cheered. He turned back to Titania and she flashed him a proud thumb’s up. 

“Let’s do this, Great Grim.”

With her directions, Grim’s ability to hit the ghosts improved drastically. Within a few minutes, he was driving the ghosts back into a corner. “Fwuahh!” He spewed one last great wall of fire and the ghosts all shrieked and shrunk back. 

“We’re going to fade out of existence!” the skinny one said. 

“Retreat,” the small ghost commanded. “Retreat!”

The ghosts fled back into the darkness of the hallway, and Grim immediately ran to Titania’s side. He jumped into the air and high-fived her. “We won!”

“Amazing work out there,” she smiled. Grim puffed out his chest. 

“Of course,” he said. “I told you I was a great mage. This is nothing for the Great Grim.” She picked him up and gave his head a proud pat. There were footsteps behind her and Crowley appeared in the opening of the hallway with a smile on his face. 

“Good evening. I have graciously brought you supper. Oh, how kind I am!” His eyes fell on Grim and his smile disappeared, while Grim dug himself into Titania’s arms protectively. “You!” Crowley said. “I thought I banished you from campus after the mess you caused at the opening ceremony. What are you doing back here?”

Grim stuck his tongue out at the Headmage. “You should be grateful! I got rid of your ghost problem.”

Titania explained what happened to Crowley, and he hummed. “Yes, I do recall ghosts scaring students away from this dorm.”

“Must have slipped your mind when you recommended this place, huh?” she said, displeased. Crowley ignored her. 

“I never expected the two of you to work together and solve the problem,” he said. 

“I did it for three cans of tuna, which I’m still owed, might I add,” Grim pouted. 

“Before that, I’d like the two of you to show me how you managed to get rid of the ghosts,” Crowley said. “I will play the role of the ghost. If you beat me, you’ll get your tuna cans.”

Grim’s fur bristled. “No way! It was already a pain the first time around.”

“This might be a chance for extra tuna cans, boss,” Titania whispered to Grim. He groaned, sighed, and pulled himself out of her arms. 

“Fine,” he said. “But this is the last time, and you absolutely, definitely have to get me the good kind of tuna!”

Dog Days Are Over by Florence + The Machine

[logophilelife]

Dream I had June 29, 2014

After church on Sunday, June 15 (I forgot to post this the next time I had internet), I came home and went straight to bed. I’m always exhausted after church so I always take a nap. Sometimes I sleep for two hours. Sometimes I sleep for twelve. This time, I slept for three hours.

As I was waking up, I was having the strangest dream. I don’t often remember my dreams unless they’re dreamt as I’m waking up and then I have to write them down immediately or they’re gone.

As soon as I was lucid, I had to write down the details or I was going to forget.

I remember Richard and Jennifer being in their separate vehicles in a parking lot. I was with Jennifer in her car and Richard was in his van. He was vexed by how to get out of the parking lot without having to go over these speed bumps that were everywhere.

Jenny and I left and she took me across the street because there was a store I saw from a distance that I wanted to visit. I can’t remember what kind of store. She parked and stayed in the car. I got out and walked along the walkway in front of this strip of stores.

When I approached where I’d seen the store, it wasn’t there anymore. But, there was a group of men and women who were the type that scared me and thrilled me at the same time. I turned around and went down the walkway again to see if there was another store I’d like to visit. I had expendable money, for some reason.

I found another store. It was a clothing store. The layout was like a cross between an M. C. Escher painting and Alice in Wonderland. Doorways disappeared as soon as you walked through them. Twists and turns. The clothing reminded me of the type offered by Spencer’s at the mall. Really cool, outrageous designs, etc. The elevator was nothing more than a tube that dropped down over your head and one minute you’re in the elevator and the next, it dropped me in a men’s room. But, the men’s room wasn’t a real men’s room. When the elevator landed there, I looked to my right and a man had just finished his business. He asked me why I was in the men’s room. I said this can’t be the men’s room. The elevator wouldn’t have brought me here. We exited the men’s room and looked at the door and this was on it…

BgirlsYS

GwomenYS

Mens

The list was stacked like that.

Somehow, Jenny found me in the store because, apparently, I’d taken too long. I could hear Richard talking about the delay but I couldn’t see him.

I told her I’d be out in a minute. I couldn’t find anything I wanted so I left the store but, somehow, ended up in a bookstore crawling on the floor in circles looking at the books on the very bottom shelf of a round bookshelf.

Somewhere in the dream, whether at the beginning or end, I can’t remember, I was somehow at home but it wasn’t my current apartment. It was a VERY nice apartment, huge layout and a huge fireplace hearth and mantle.

The group of scary yet thrilling men and women- three men, three women – scaled my patio and entered my apartment through the patio door.

One of the men changed the big piece of artwork over my mantle to a framed picture of one of the women with them, I guess his girlfriend.

They made themselves at home, completely comfortable but didn’t pay me no mind like I didn’t exist or anything; weren’t paying any attention to me whatsoever.

Then, I woke up.

[gardenofgods-a]

"Hey!" Xavier chimes as he runs to Yveltal with a large envelope in hand. "Uhm... I guess I'll freely admit it, the gift I got you is really more one that you and deer dad forgot about, but I guess you could say I managed to save these from being lost? Considering it's been a long time since the festival of lights..." He hands him the envelope, containing photos taken of the two from a professional photographer. In particular the best one had been framed, the two had been sitting by the fires comfortably side by side. "The framed one was my idea, I thought it was the best one so... I hope you both like them, I just wanted to say that I appreciate you, and happy father's day."

Yveltal takes the items from Xavier, looking over the pictures with evident fondness in his gaze. He did remember the event, but he hadn't been aware of a photographer that was there. The picture taken was one neither of them seemed to be aware of, the result appearing much more natural. With the professional camera the photographer had as well, the photos all came out beautifully.

"What a thoughtful gift," Yveltal would say, a genuine smile on his face, "thank you Xavier. I know just the place to put the framed photo. I'll be sharing these with Xerneas later as well; I'm certain he'll be just as pleased to see these pictures." Yveltal gives Xavier a quick hug. "I feel very fortunate to have a son as thoughtful as you."

[helliontherapscallion]

Who? (Forlorn Tale of Dionysus Part 2)

Part 1

Warnings: Swearing

Word count: 2,843

(A/N): I’m not exactly sure if this will continue any further, this was just a fun little thing I had in my drafts for a while after some interesting convos in my discord server (which you totally should join, it’s a vibe). This is lowkey word vomit, but eh. This is all strictly platonic btw

“Michael, are you sure you saw a house out here? I really don’t think-” You were interrupted by your much shorter friend yanking on your sleeve to get your attention. You looked down at him in question and watched as he raised his hands.

‘I am sure I saw that house, (y/n)! It is here somewhere.’ 

You fiddled with the sleeves of your thick coat with unease, “alright, but if we don’t find it soon I wanna head back. Uncle Boo and Uncle Tubbo are probably going to start to worry.”

Michael huffed at the mention of his parents. You knew how overbearing they were, causing your friend to crave new experiences and adventures. You’d known him for a couple of years now and he was rebelling more with each passing day. You could relate slightly, Philza and Technoblade had hardly let you out of the house without another person to accompany you. You never really understood why, you were almost thirteen now so you should be able to explore what you want. 

An excited squeal left your friend’s mouth before he started to pull you towards something in the distance, startling you out of your trance. You matched his pace with ease and felt nervous excitement tingle in your chest. 

As you got closer, you could make out small details of the cabin. It was a simple small cabin built out of spruce planks with glass windows and a brick chimney, but you liked it. It strangely felt homey. 

You pulled Michael into a nearby shrub underneath a window and peered in. The interior was also as simplistic as the outside was, looking untouched and tidy as if nobody was living there. You could see that the ceilings were taller than average, perhaps a hybrid of some sort lived here? 

Michael tapped your shoulder, ‘it doesn’t look like anybody’s home right now. Let’s go in.’ 

You opened your mouth to object before the sight of his set jaw and his eyes dead set on something inside made you close it. You learned from experience that when he was this determined, there was no stopping him. You sighed, “fine, but the second we get caught, it was your idea.” 

You both made your way to the front door. Without a second thought, Michael twisted the doorknob and swung the door open. A startled snort left his throat as he stumbled inside, making you put a hand over your mouth to stifle your laughter. He jabbed the side of your lower torso, ‘shut up, I thought it was going to be locked.’

He pulled you inside and you both explored the living room. Bookshelves and portraits lined the walls, a single large couch sat off to the side, and the fireplace mantle was lined with a few small golden hooks. Michael made a beeline towards it, admiring the metal. It seems that’s what he saw that made him so determined to get inside. You hoped that he wouldn’t steal them and explored the area further. 

The portraits on the walls were a slight shock to you, they all included some people that you could recognize; in one you could make out a picture of younger versions of Ranboo, Philza, Technoblade, and Niki. Technoblade and Philza were sparring with shining golden swords while Ranboo and Niki sat in the grass on a hill watching with interest. Maybe this was just one of their old cabins? 

You saw people that you didn’t recognize as well. Namely a cat hybrid with striking sapphire blue eyes, a man seemingly human (you say seemingly because your eyes caught sight of pointed ears) wearing a white bandana keeping his jet black hair out of his face, a tall man with green freckles and a creeper mask, an anthropomorphic diamond block with beady black eyes and a wide smile, and a man that looked strangely like Ghostbur except he was wearing a uniform of some sort. However, a demon quickly caught your eye and made your heart leap for joy. There was someone out there that was like you! 

The man looked kind, always wearing a cheery smile and occasionally waving at the camera. He was tall and lanky, always towering over the others by a considerable amount. That made sense, Philza had told you that demons were naturally very tall when you asked him why you were growing faster than Michael when the zombie piglin was two years older than you were. Large wings and horns akin to yours sprouted from his back and head respectively. If he wasn’t constantly smiling, you would’ve thought that he was malevolent. 

You heard the rapid footsteps of Michael’s boots behind you as you turned around. You bounced on the balls of your feet excitedly, “Michael look, another demon! Do you think he lives here?”

You watched as he shrugged and pulled you towards the kitchen. ‘I don’t know, but look! There’s another demon that looks exactly like you!’ 

On the kitchen table surrounded by various trinkets (bottles of wine, gold bricks, stale bread, and the decomposed remains of flower crowns and bouquets being the majority of the items) laid a framed picture of said demon lazily smiling and looking off to the side. Michael was right, they looked exactly like you except at least a decade older. Everything matched your physical features to a tee; from the red accents on their black wings to the way they smiled, it was like they were your clone. The only thing of yours that they were missing was the three circular birthmarks on your forehead. It was eerily uncanny. 

Your eyes widened before you snatched the picture off from the table, studying them further. If you squinted, you could see that there was someone barely in frame. You flipped the frame around and took out the picture, unfolding it. In the picture was your adopted father and adopted uncles and aunt. What was going on? If they knew the demon, why didn’t they ever tell you about them? 

‘Woah, that was smart. Do you think you might be related to them or something?’ He tilted his head before he perked up, ‘could they be one of your biological parents?’ 

“Maybe, but if they were, why didn’t my dad tell me about them? I… have a right to know about them, right?”

He nodded firmly, ‘you definitely do. It’s kind of fucked up they haven’t told you anything about them.’ 

“Yeah, it is. Do you think something bad happened to them?... Oh shit, is this a memorial?” You hurriedly refolded the picture and put it back into its frame. 

Michael’s eyes widened and flickered around the table at the trinkets before he fished out two gold bars from his pocket and placed them onto the table. You crossed your arms, “what the fuck man?” 

‘I thought they wouldn’t miss a few pieces of gold! You would’ve done the same thing if you were a piglin,’ he defended himself before he paused and shuddered, ‘we’re in a dead person’s house, that’s creepy… What if their ghost is right behind us?’ 

You spun around and put yourself slightly in front of Michael, your heart beating in your throat. Nothing was there. Michael snorted, making you slap his arm, “not cool, man.” 

You were about to stomp off until a piece of paper caught your eye. It was a drawing of this person done in messy purple crayon, probably done by a very young child. It was signed by a Michael. 

You turned to the wheezing zombie piglin and patiently waited for him to stop laughing. When he did, you showed him the picture, “did you draw this? Did you know them?”

He scrunched up his brow in concentration, squinting at the paper. Eventually he shook his head slowly, ‘I don’t think so. At least I don’t remember drawing it… This is getting weird.’ 

You nodded in agreement, putting the drawing back onto the counter. You walked towards the stairs and climbed them. They creaked under your foot loudly, a part of you was scared that you would fall through them. It was clear they haven’t been used in some time. 

They led to a small loft, the ceiling coming to a point far overhead. A part of you was glad that this stranger (relative? Parent?) was a demon, it wasn’t often that you found lofts that fit all six and a half feet of you. 

Like the rest of the house, it was very simplistic. A gigantic bed laid in the center of the furthest wall, made neatly with multiple fluffy blankets, part you was tempted to catapult yourself onto it. On the nightstand next to it sat a redstone lamp and a frosted glass of water, cracks spider webbing up the sides presumably from the cold. 

You opened the lone drawer and discovered a book. Upon further inspection, you discovered that it was a journal with the name (y/n) written inside the cover. So this person had your name as well as your looks? This merely raised more questions than answers, so you slid the book into a pocket in your coat to read later. Under the book laid another picture of them posing with the strange group of people from the portraits downstairs. The de- (y/n) looked younger there. On the back, the word family was written and it was dated to be about twenty years old. You also pocketed the picture.

Michael walked over to the window and looked out at the vast tundra only to squeal in alarm. He ran over to you and pulled you downstairs. You looked out the window only to yelp when you saw a few crows standing on the window sill staring at you with their beady eyes. 

You and Michael ran out of the house as fast as the both of you could, the snow being slightly tough to run through for the five and a half foot tall zombie piglin. You could hear the crows following you overhead. After a while of running, you both finally got back to Snowchester and raced past Ranboo and Tubbo. You hid in Michael’s room with the curtains tightly drawn. 

You sat on his bed with your legs crossed and your back pressed up against the headboard. You let your head bang against the wall and you ran your hand down your face. “We’re fucked, dude. We’re literally so fucked.”

‘Uncle Phil’s still out of town so it’ll probably be a few days until they find out.’ Michael plopped next to you, panting and trying to regain his breath. “Still, we’re gonna be in so 

much trouble for going that far out. I didn’t think my dad’s crows were still here.”

‘Might as well read the journal you found before we get grounded.’

You nodded and took out the journal, flipping it open to the first page. You both read the journal until it was dark outside and Michael was passed out on your shoulder. Subconsciously, you wrapped your wing around him as you read the journal. 

The other (y/n) acted like you did for the most part, the only differences between you two was the lack of swearing and the fact that they felt alone even when they were surrounded by people. Your family’s names were dropped several times, especially when they were talking about ‘The Syndicate’. The code names they used were after various Greek myths, leading you to believe that Technoblade was one of the founders of the anarchist group. 

You had learned that their family (potentially your family?) was strangely possessed by an egg and that they were previously possessed by said egg. They had a brother named Sapnap (your potential uncle?) that helped them escape to the tundra. It was there that they found the Syndicate, reminding you of the found family tropes you would read in books. The last journal entry detailed their last mission, how they were going to destroy the Eggpire from within and get their family back. That entry in particular gave you chills, even someone with half a brain could tell what happened to them after that. 

By the time you had closed the book, it was dawn and the sun was peeking out from behind the closed curtains. You shook Michael awake and stretched out your aching body. Your neck muscles protested movement, sending a wave of pain across the area. 

‘Damn, did you stay up all night reading that?’ 

“Of course I did, why wouldn’t I? I needed to find out about my biological parent somehow. I just- nothing makes sense, Michael.” You growled out, your voice deepening and distorting slightly as your frustration rose. 

‘Chill! You’ll figure it out soon, let’s just focus on staying under the radar.’ 

“Too late for that.” 

You both jumped and fell off the bed as you heard Philza’s voice. In the doorway, Philza stood with Ranboo, Tubbo, and Technoblade by his side, all looking equally angry and disappointed. Next to you, Michael shrunk in on himself and smiled sheepishly. He was about to raise his hands to sign, but a pointed look from Tubbo next to him told him that there was no getting out of this one. 

Behind the anger, you could tell that something changed about the way the four were looking at you. You couldn’t tell what emotion they were hiding, whether it be wariness, longing, sadness, or just more unleashed anger, but you could tell that they knew something you didn’t. If the frustration that overcame you when you were reading the journal at the lack of questions answered burned inside of you, then what you felt now was a blazing inferno. 

“We’re going home, grab your stuff (y/n).” 

After a short staredown with the older man, you huffed in anger and gathered your things into your bag. The entire time, tense silence filled the room. Your hands were shaking with the rage you felt searing every inch of you. You could hear the sharp flicking of your pointed tail cutting through the air and occasionally hitting objects near you. 

When you were done you stomped over to your adopted family and shouldered between Philza and Technoblade, speed walking down the hallway. They quickly caught up with you after saying a quick apology and a goodbye, Technoblade grabbing your arm and holding it in a vice grip. 

They led you out of the mansion and into the harsh winds of the tundra. It wasn’t until Snowchester was far off in the distance that Technoblade shook your arm, “what the hell were you thinking, going into someone else’s house like that! You don’t know who lived there, you could’ve gotten yourself and Michael killed!” 

“You really thought I wouldn’t find out, didn’t you?” You ripped your arm out of his hold and spoke in a low voice, struggling to contain your full rage. “I have a goddamned right to know about them.” 

“...I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Philza muttered out and resumed walking back towards your house. “You’re grounded when we get back, no flying or dueling lessons for two weeks.” 

“Of course you know what I’m talking about, Dad! Why are you hiding them from me? I have a right to know about my biological parent even if they’re dead!” 

They both halted in their tracks and glanced at each other in slight confusion. “What-”

“You know damn well who I’m talking about. Gods, I can’t believe you thought I’d never find out,” you laughed sardonically as your hand subconsciously gripped your growing horn. “(Y/n)! You know, the demon that lived in that house? The one that looks exactly like me?! Does that ring a bell or do I have to show you this?” 

You rummaged in your pocket and ripped out the picture, shoving it into Philza’s hands. Technoblade looked over his shoulder at what you gave him. You watched as their expressions turned blank when they saw the demon in the picture. 

Minutes passed with them continuing to stare down at the picture and you were slowly getting impatient. “Why did you never tell me about them? Why are you keeping me from them?!” 

Without looking up at you, Philza mumbled, “you weren’t supposed to find out about them. You were never supposed to find out.” 

“Do you have any idea how ambiguous that is? Just tell me who they are!” You could feel your eye twitch as your frustration grew. 

You could see the internal conflict on Philza’s face growing by the second before he dipped his head downwards and stalked off in the opposite direction of the house. You spread your wings to chase him in the air, but Technoblade’s hand on your upper arm stopped you from lifting off. 

When you looked up at him, the look of regret and sorrow etched into his features caught you by surprise. “Let him go, he needs to do some thinking… (y/n), do you know what reincarnation is?”

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Gender neutral reader taglist (comment if you want to be added):

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[libraryofloveletters]

Golden Boxes

Luke Alvez x Reader 

Warnings: None I think 

Category: Fluff 

Word Count: 1.8k

Author’s Note: this is dedicated to the Luke to my Matt @luke-alvez 🥰 not sure if it's still your birthday where you are but this is my gift to you :) <3

----

The house was filled with boxes and bubble wrap. The plan was to be unpacked for your birthday but it seems things didn't go as planned. Luke had returned form case later than expected and there was the huge storm that seemed to last for days. A week later and all the boxes had arrived and were being unpacked. 

Luke’s footsteps echoed through the house as he jogged down the stairs, “baby, have you seen the hammer anywhere ? I need it but I can’t find it” he leaned against the doorway of the kitchen, your back was turned to him as you unpacked the dishes. 

“Check the living room” you mumble, turning your attention to the cupboard. Luke shouted from the other room that he found it and ran back up the stairs. The door slammed upstairs, making you shake your head. 

“Yeah! Break it before we unpack!” you yell, you can hear Luke’s boisterous laugh from upstairs, he shouted back a sorry. 

Your morning was spent in the kitchen because if you couldn’t unpack everything, at least you could have clean dishes to eat from and you know what they say, the way to someone’s heart is through their stomach. It was around lunch that Roxy brushed up against your leg, “hey girl, where’s dad?” your fingers run through her fur as you put some pots in the bottom cupboard. On cue, Luke comes down, “hey, I'm gonna run to the store. We’re out of screws” 

“What do you need screws for ?”

“Uh, the bed, I might have cross threaded the other ones” he gave you a tight lipped smile, you chuckled. “Okay, pick up some of the tacks to hang the frames too” Luke comes over and kisses the top of your head before leaving the house. 

-- 

A few hours later, he returned to the house with more bags than screws could be in. “Uh, did you buy out the store? And what took so long?” Luke was already halfway up the stairs when you got to the bottom of the staircase. “No. No,” he laughs and totally ignores your question, returning with the tacks to hang the frames in hand. “Do you need help hanging the frames?” he asks and you shake your head. 

“I’ll be upstairs then” and once again, Luke headed up the stairs and back into the room. Half of you wanted to go up and see what he was doing but the other half was much too lazy to walk up the stairs just to check on the man you saw less than 10 seconds ago. You made your way to the living room, Roxy trailing behind you as you sat on the floor and started opening the boxes. The amount of pictures, framed or in albums that you two had was unnecessary. For two people and a dog, it didn’t make sense that at least 4 large boxes had photo albums and pictures frames. Nonetheless, you begin hanging up the frames, rearranging and changing positions until you were pleased with the order. The fireplace was bare, the mantle covered in dust, you couldn't have it. Wiping the dust away, you tumbled through the boxes for pictures that deserved to be front and centre 

The first one on the mantle was from your 4th date and the first picture the two of you had together. Luke had invited you to a party that the BAU was having at Rossi’s place and Penelope had taken a picture of the two of you cuddled up next to each other outside. The second one was from your wedding, a picture of your first dance. It felt like only yesterday that you met Luke. It was hard to believe that you were married and had bought a house together. The third one was on you, Luke and Roxy. It was just some random picture that you had taken one morning. The two of you were in bed and you had your phone in your hand when Roxy jumped up onto the bed and amid the confusion, you accidentally took the picture. Neither of you are looking at the camera but you're both laughing. 

The sound of something falling pulled your attention away from the photos. “Luke?! You okay ?!” you shout from downstairs, he doesn’t answer so you head up, making your way to the bedroom. 

“Love, are you alright?” as soon as your hand reaches for the knob, Luke sticks his head out. “yeah, I'm okay” he smiles, “do you need some help ? I've had enough of downstairs” chuckling, you go to push the door open. 

“Oh it’s fine, there’s something propped against the door. I’ll finish up there and come down and help you” Luke shuts the door before you could protest. 

“Oh uh okay” mumbling, you head back down the stairs. The banging and thudding did not stop for the next 3 hours. Surely, it couldn't take that long to put together a bed. When it finally stops, he comes down as you had moved on from the living room to the pantry. “Y/n? where are you?!” he called, his footsteps sounding closer with each step. You had headphones in because of all of the noise he was making upstairs and when Luke’s hand rested on your waist, his touch startled you. Your hand coming up and gripping to your chest, Luke held back a laugh. The stupid smile on his face was enough to earn him a small whack to the side. 

“Don’t do that!” you shout,

“Sorry,” he chuckled, “I thought you heard me calling” 

“Well did I answer ?” you ask him, he shook his head as he watched you from the doorway. 

“Anyways, I'm running out to pick up a pizza. Unless you want something else?” 

“I’m fine, pizza is good” you smile, Luke leans in and gives you a kiss before walking towards the door. He stops halfway and looks back at you. “The room is still in a mess so don’t go up” he tells you, you nod and mumble okay. 

You didn't think anything of it. 

It’s not like you were in a rush for the bedroom to be done but it would be nice. The more you thought about it, the more you realized something seemed off. Luke had been upstairs all day and the bed still wasn’t put together? 

Walking up the stairs, the sound of your steps echoed through the almost empty house. You stopped in front of the door, half of you wanted to go in and see what was happening and the other half was shouting no in big red flashing lights. There had to be a reason as to why Luke asked you not to go in, he wouldn’t say that for no reason. Which only made you wonder even more. Stepping towards the door, your hand was just about to touch the knob when Luke shouts for you, once again, starling you. 

“What were you doing upstairs ?” he was at the bottom of the stairs, looking up at you as you made your way down. 

“Looking for the box with the kitchen towels” 

“Did you find it ?” 

“Must be in the kitchen, I think I saw it earlier” you give him a small smile, feeling kind of bad for lying to him. The half eaten box of pizza was discarded on the floor beside you and Luke, his arm around your shoulder as your head rests on his. 

“I have something for you. Let me go get it” untangling himself from you, Luke gets up. Your brows furrow, watching your husband jog up the stairs. “Babe?! Can you come up here?” you follow the sound of his voice up the stairs and into the room. You stop in your tracks when you step into the room. Not only had put the room together but he had also fixed your vanity. The movers didn't wrap it properly and it got damaged, it was the first time you had bought yourself when you moved out on your own so you had wanted to keep it. 

“You fixed it” you smiled at him, your hand running around the top of it. “Is that what you were doing all day ?” 

“Mhm hm, you looked so sad when it arrived. I couldn't leave it like that” Luke pulls you into his side, his arm around your shoulder once again. He kisses the top of your head, “I take it that you’re happy ?” he asks, turning towards you. “Of course” flashing him a smile which turns into a loud squeal when Luke picks you up, he drops you on the bed and then lays beside you. 

“You know I love you right ?” rolling onto your side, your hand cupping his cheek. Luke kisses the palm of your hand, “I know. you know I love you right ?” he smiles which makes you smile too. “That’s not the real gift though” Luke sits up, he pulls out a little box from the bedside table. 

“This is for you” he hands it to you. Unwrapping the ribbon, you pull the lid off the box. A gold charm bracelet sat in the box, there were a few charms evenly spaced from each other. The first charm was a little paw print which was for Roxy of course. The second being the palm tree because the two of you went to the tropics for your honeymoon. The third was a tiny hockey stick, seeing that you loved hockey. There were a few more that reminded you of your trips and your time together. 

“Oh Luke,” you breathed, he gently picked up the bracelet and placed it on your wrist, attaching the hook and turning it the right way. “Do you like it?” he asks, his hand still holding yours. “It’s gorgeous Luke, thank you” you smile. His phone buzzes, he picks it up. 

“Do you have to go ?” you ask him, hoping that it wasn't Emily telling him that they had a case. Luke shook his head and showed you his phone instead. the clock had just changed to 12, the beginning of a new day, your birthday.

Luke’s hands cupped your face as he leaned in, his lips inched away from yours, “happy birthday mi amor” he pressed his lips to yours. You know he could feel your smile through the kiss, “thank you” you mumbled, as your arms wrapped around him and pulled him back into bed with you. 

---- 

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[thevulcanbobdylan]

Touches #10 🥺

#10: happily doing everything with just one hand, if it means they don’t have to let go

I love this 🥺 I actually considered writing this scene for Looking Through Glass, but I ended up worrying about word count and doing it a little differently... so consider this an alternate/deleted scene. It’s also a sneak peek for a future chapter, so maybe some of this will make it into the final edit after all.

“... So without further ado, Admiral, Madam President, welcome to your cabin.”

Lee stepped aside and into the crowd. The expectant energy of the gathered humans and cylons faded into the background as Bill shared a glance with Laura. Emotion surged in him - if only he could undo their argument and his snappishness. He had no way to show his contrition with a look. She gave him a wavering smile, and he could only hope she understood.

Surprising him, she took his hand. It was a reflexive, magnetic gesture - not an offer extended, but an irresistible impulse. Holding on tightly, he let himself be led up the steps to the porch.

Her other hand was on the doorknob when she glanced at him again, and he tried to nod encouragingly. She took a steadying breath and opened the door.

Bill could only imagine how Laura must feel when they stepped inside; for him, it was akin to stepping into a dream. He’d be lying if he said he’d ever really developed a mental image of the place. Perhaps it had been an act of self-preservation, forcing it to remain theoretical - to remain Laura’s dream, and hers alone. Maybe he’d pictured something vaguely square, squat, low-ceilinged and dim. This cabin was none of those things.

The breeze across the lake was blowing invitingly through the open southern window, and the sunlight gleamed on the smooth wood floors. Empty of furniture, the interior felt spacious and airy. The one large room was divided by a partial wall that housed a stone fireplace, separating the cabin into two halves. Directly ahead of them was the makeshift kitchen, with a counter along the wall and a deep basin to serve as a sink.

Lee and his cylon architects had spared no detail. To their right, the north-facing window was framed by floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. Bill had stepped in and out at various stages of the construction - had even passed through that morning on his way to set up his gift to Laura - but now he felt he was seeing the whole of it for the first time. Maybe he, like her, had closed off his mind to the reality of it, until now.

When the initial awe began to fade, he became aware of her hand, still clasped tightly in his. With her other hand she was brushing tears from her cheeks, turning from side to side without letting go, her lips parted in absolute wonder. The first place she took him was to the fireplace, running the fingers of her free hand over the stone mantle, letting her eyes be drawn up to the gently sloping roof. Then she turned and pulled him over to the bookshelves, feeling the sturdy wood as though afraid it would turn to dust under her touch. 

It was a sensory experience for her, touching every feature and detail, convincing herself it was real. Bill, trailing behind, not letting go, had eyes only for her. Her bare feet; her short curls - she looked at home here already, and it filled his heart to bursting. Her tight grip on his hand was his lifeline, pulling him out of their disagreement and the ensuing awkwardness, bringing him home.

At long last, she dragged him in the direction of the bedroom. His gift was hidden from view by the fireplace, and he hung back, forcing her to turn into him to avoid letting go of his hand.

“My gift for you,” he said, nodding toward the other room. Her eyes widened, and she gave him a tentative little smile, and nodded, and they stepped through the door together.

It was a bed, big and sturdy, with rustic head and foot boards and an overstuffed mattress. Bill watched as Laura covered her mouth with her free hand, closing her eyes as tears spilled over.

He pulled her into an embrace.

“This is what you’ve been working on?” she said into his shoulder. He nodded with his cheek against her hair.

Without another word, she pulled back from him, one hand still clasped in his, and drew him down onto the mattress. They sat facing one another, and he watched in rapt silence as her watery gaze swept the ceiling and landed on the window, with its view of the lake.

There was a catch in her voice when she said, “it’s perfect.”

With his free hand, he thumbed the tears from her cheek.

She laughed at herself then, and touched his face in return. “We should go out,” she said. “They’ll be waiting to hear what we think.”

A little reluctantly, they rose to leave, retracing their steps through their unfamiliar new home until they reached the front door, and hand in hand, stepped out into the daylight.

[tropes-and-tales-archives]

Common Courtesy, Chapter Five

Word Count:  6647

TW:  Two idiots in love. Slow burn.  Mutual pining.  Flirting.  Smut (awkward first times together; oral f! receiving; PiV, protected).  18+ only.

AN:  Part of a series.  The series masterlist here.

As you went to unlock the door to your apartment, you paused, and Barba could practically feel the uncertainty radiating off of you.  You turned and looked at him over your shoulder.  “Sorry about my apartment,” you said.  “Maybe we could go to your place?”

He snorted and placed a hand lightly on your waist.  “You running a meth lab in there?”  He watched the apples of your cheeks redden.  

“It’s just not really decorated,” you muttered.  “It’s not nice like your place.”  You turned back around and unlocked the deadbolt.  You opened the door, and with his hand still on your waist, he gently pushed you into your apartment.

It was small – he hadn’t expected much else on your detective’s salary.  But it was charming, and it reflected a personality that he was getting to know better.  A comfortable-looking, overstuffed couch was centered under a giant framed print of the night sky.  Mismatched shelves were stuffed with books and DVDs.  The mantle over a defunct fireplace was lined with an interesting assortment of items:  a fossil propped up on a plastic stand, a geode perfectly cracked in half, a delicate looking vase.  And a framed picture.  He walked over and looked at it closer – it was you, in a grey cap and gown, and an older woman.  You came over and stood beside him.

“Graduation,” you said. You tapped the glass with your finger, pointing at the woman in the picture.  “She was my case worker for most of my childhood.”

You said it so matter-of-factly that it made his heart ache.  His own childhood had been far from idyllic, but he had a wonderful mother and grandmother and a host of aunts, uncles, and cousins.  When he graduated from Harvard, the entire rowdy bunch wanted to attend and he had to trade favors for extra tickets.  He imagined you graduating, walking across the stage with no one to cheer you on but a civil servant.  The thought made him reach for you.  He pulled you into a rough hug, and he pressed a kiss into the top of your head, inhaling the scent of your shampoo deeply.  You stood stiff and unresponsive for a moment, then he felt your arms snake under his coat and wrap around his back.

“I like your place,” he murmured against your head.  You pulled back and looked up into his face.  “You don’t need to keep apologizing for being yourself.”  He laid a light kiss on your forehead, then one on each side of your face.  He dropped his voice lower, and added, “I happen to like you the way you are.”  He watched the smile spread across your face, then he lowered his head and captured your mouth with his.

He placed one hand on the side of your face, gently tilting your head so that he could deepen the kiss. He alternated between chaste, closed-mouth kisses and searing open-mouthed ones, where he slid his tongue into your mouth, tasting the citrus and rum and your own flavor.  He took his other hand and placed it under your coat on your waist, then ran it from the roundness of your hip up to swell of the side of your breast.  He felt your hands still on his back, scrabbling against the fabric of his suit jacket.  

He broke the kiss reluctantly, leaving you both a bit breathless.  Your eyes were dark, your pupils wide, and your face was flushed with want.  Your lips were parted as you tried to catch your breath.  Barba pulled his hand away from your face and gripped the other side of your waist.  He pulled you flush against him, and you groaned when you felt the proof of his desire for you pressed against your leg.  He smirked and dipped his head beside yours, capturing your earlobe between his teeth before he whispered, “Can we finish this apartment tour now?”

He pulled back to watch your reaction – pure lust shot through with nervousness.  Maybe he wasn’t reading this situation right – you seemed to kiss him back, matching his intensity, but you also seemed anxious.  Maybe this was moving too fast for you after all, and Barba loathed to think that he might screw this up before it even started.  He took your hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze.  “We can sit and talk too,” he said softly, switching his tone.  “Or maybe watch one of your terrible movies.  Whatever you want.  No pressure.”

*****

He was so understanding, you almost burst into tears.  Instead, you disentangled your arms from him and took a step back.  He looked gorgeous – his tie loosened and his suit slightly rumpled from you pawing at him, his hair tousled.  His eyes, boring right through you, making the pleasantly uncomfortable pressure low in your belly build.  

You were both still in your coats – you hadn’t even gotten a chance to remove them before he charged into your apartment and made himself at home. You smiled, and with slightly shaking hands, helped him out of his outerwear.  You tossed his coat over the back of your couch, then added your own coat and bag.  Then you took his hand and led him into your bedroom.

*****

He wanted nothing more than to toss you on the bed and ravish you then and there, but he knew he needed to go slow.  Besides, taking things slowly was its own sort of pleasure.  He wanted to make it last.  He didn’t want it to ever end.

Your bedroom was dark – the walls were painted dark blue, and heavy curtains blocked out any light from the street.  You saw him looking around and shrugged.   “It’s hard to sleep sometimes with my schedule,” you explained.  “This helps.”

“Makes sense,” he replied. He stepped around you and sat on the edge of the bed.  He patted the space beside him, and you sat down.  He took your hand and threaded his fingers with yours.

“We really can just sit and talk,” he said.  You snorted, and he continued, almost shyly.  “I’ve waited for a year just to get up the courage to kiss you.  I can probably wait a decade for more, if you wanted.”

You raised your twined hands together to your mouth and laid a kiss on the back of his hand.  You took a deep breath, and he could feel you rehearsing your words in your head first.  He smiled to himself – you seemed to run your mouth around him without much thought, sometimes.  The fact that you were considering your words maybe meant that you were worried about giving too much away.

Hands still locked, he pulled you onto his lap until you were curled against him.  He locked his arms around you, holding you close, and your face was nestled in the nook between his head and chest.  You squirmed for a moment – he groaned inwardly at the delicious sudden friction in his lap – but then you spoke.

“I’ve never really done this before,” you mumbled from your spot under his jaw.  “I had a boyfriend for a little bit in college, but it wasn’t for very long and we were both…. inexperienced.”  You trailed off for a moment, then continued.  “It wasn’t much fun.”

So that was it.  You weren’t a virgin, but you lacked experience.  Or confidence.  Or both.  He squeezed his arms, hugging you tight.  “That’s okay,” he said

He could feel the heat from your face against his neck.  “I just want to be….good.” “You’re already - “ he started to say, but you broke in suddenly, a rush of words spilling from your mouth, so fast he could barely catch everything you were saying.

“But I’m a good detective, right?  And I always try to do my best on the cases I bring you and now you expect me to do a good job, and now I feel like I’m going to disappoint you because I’ve never really dated and you probably have all this experience with beautiful sex goddesses and I don’t even know where to put my hands, let alone any mind-blowing moves - ”

He cut you off, locking his arms around you and swiveling both of you onto the bed.  You let out a surprised squeal as he laid you out and stretched alongside you, half of his weight on the bed beside you and the other half pressed against you.  You opened your mouth to talk, but he didn’t give you the chance.  The thought that you could disappoint him…ridiculous.  

He crashed his lips against yours with a growl, and you opened your mouth to him, and he shoved his tongue roughly into your mouth, tangling with yours.  He pulled your bottom lip between his, then released it.  He moved from your mouth, laying a wet trail of kisses along your jawline as you writhed underneath him.  He raised himself on his elbow and looked down at you, panting.  He waited a moment for his heart to stop racing.  

“I’ve never slept with a sex goddess,” he said with a chuckle.  He kissed the corner of your mouth, and continued.  “And as an old man, I’m not really looking for mind-blowing acrobatics.”  You scoffed at the mention of his age, and he kissed the other corner of your mouth to keep you quiet.  He reached down for your hands, placing one on his chest and then the other on his bicep.

“You can do whatever you want with your hands,” he told you with a gleam in his eyes.  “I want you to touch me as much as I want to touch you.” He waited until you looked at him and nodded in understanding.  He continued.

“There’s only a couple rules you have to remember:  if you say stop, I stop.  And if you like something, let me know.”  He smirked, and added, “so I can keep doing it.”  

You nodded again, your face serious.  Then you shifted your eyes away from his.  “What if it takes me awhile?  To…to…you know….”

He pulled away in mock horror.  “You mean I might have to spend even more time in bed with you?  That sounds terrible.”  He stroked the side of your face and laid kisses across your forehead and cheeks, mapping your features with his lips.  Then a thought occurred to him, and he pulled back again to watch you.

“Did you ever have an orgasm with your first boyfriend?”  He watched you cover your eyes with your hand.

“No,” you replied, your voice small.

“Ah,” he said gently. He pulled your hand away from your eyes. “Look at me.”  You opened your eyes and gave him a rueful half-grin, but your face was burning hot.  

“Have you…ever had one?” he asked.  “At all?”

You shook your head and sighed.  “I don’t think so.  I don’t really, uh, look after myself.  That way. You know.”  You flapped your free hand, gesturing wildly.  “If I get, you know, worked up – I just…just go for a run. Burn off my energy that way.”  You grimaced and added, “Sorry.”

You struggled weakly against his hold on you, clearly too embarrassed to make eye contact.  This had to be killing you:  you’d been embarrassed after your drunken night at Forlini’s, and Barba was fairly certain now that Liv had been right all along – you had been nursing a crush on him.  And now, after a first date of sorts, he was in your bed while you spilled your rudimentary sexual history to him.  If he let you go now, you probably would make good on your promise.  Fake your death and turn up in another city under a new name.

He couldn’t let that happen.  He had nursed his own crush on you, but every time he kissed you, he felt something….more. Undefinable.  

“Stop apologizing,” he told you gently.

Another duck of the head.  “Sorry.”

*****

Barba crashed his mouth against yours again, kissing you deeply.  He broke contact and said sternly, “I told you to stop apologizing to me.”  His somber face shifted as a slow grin spread across his face.  It was the one you called his “shark’s smile;” he got it in the courtroom when he caught a defendant in one of his verbal snares. Seeing it directed at you made the molten heat between your legs throb with need.  You reached out for him and ran your hands lightly across his chest, awkward but unable to resist.

“Barba,” you said shyly. “Can I…undress you?”

His green eyes darkened and he sat up on the bed.  “Of course.”

He stood up and pulled you up to stand in front of him.  You hesitated.  Then you stepped around him, turning off the overhead light.  The bedroom was plunged into darkness.

“Am I that terrible looking?” he joked.  In the darkness though, he couldn’t see your face, and you felt braver and less nervous.

“No,” you answered seriously.  “You’re the handsomest man I’ve ever known.”  You returned to stand in front of him and fumbled until your hands got oriented in the dark.  You eased his suit jacket off and tossed it over the chair in the corner.  You could picture his green eyes, doing that thing where they stared a hole into you, but you were safe in the dark.  You unbuttoned his waistcoat and it joined the coat. You loosened his tie and tossed it too. He stood stock-still in front of you, silent except for the occasional ragged breath that tore out of his throat.

You laid a trembling hand on his shirt, and undid the top button.  You rocked onto your toes and kissed the exposed skin of his throat.  As you released each button, you pressed a kiss to his undershirt, feeling the heat of his skin through the cloth.  

“Is this okay?” you asked. “Am I going too fast?”

He inhaled deeply and sounded half-strangled when he answered.  “You’re doing perfect.  Not too fast at all.”

You untucked his dress shirt and pushed it off of his shoulders.  You ran your hands over his arms.  “I really like your arms,” you confessed.  “And your hands.”

He laughed shakily. “I know.  I may have caught you ogling me a time or two.”  You paused, and he continued teasing you.  “It’s not very professional, treating your ADA like a piece of meat.”

“Hmm,” you replied. “My ADA, huh?”  You untucked his undershirt and slipped your hands under the hem, sliding your palms over his belly and chest and back down again.  He raised his arms and helped you pull the shirt off of him, then he groaned as you pressed your face against his chest, your breath hot on his skin.  “Just my ADA? Not Liv’s?”  Your hands made their way to his waist, and you hooked your fingers under his waistband, inching closer and closer to his belt buckle.  He groaned again, and put his hands over yours.

“Liv and I usually start by talking about cases and then end up talking about you,” he muttered thickly.  “She was always teasing me about you, telling me to ask you out.” You fumbled at his belt buckle and he helped you unclasp it.  “But having a beautiful woman getting jealous over me is a nice shot to my ego.”  You kissed a path across his chest, relishing the feel of his coarse chest hair against your lips.  “Besides,” he added, “what about you and Amaro?”

You stilled your hands and pulled away from him.  “Nick?” You laughed.  “You think I have a thing for Nick?”

Barba sounded uncomfortable. “He’s single, good looking. Younger.”  You stilled him by tugging him by his waistband against you, pressing your pelvis against his.  He shuddered, then ground his erection against your hip with an involuntary jerk.

“Do you know what Fin and I call Nick?” you asked him, your voice husky with need.  “The Cuban Missile Crisis.  His life is a mess.”  You pressed against him harder, drawing another groan from him.  “He’s divorced with one kid, has another kid who thinks he’s his uncle, he sleeps with Amanda often enough to confuse her, he’s always punching his way into trouble….”  

You trailed off when Barba snaked his hands under your shirt, splaying them against the naked skin of your lower back.  He pulled you tight against him, and you wrapped your arms around his neck and rose up on your toes to kiss him.  

Your tongues tangled and soft moans filling the room as Barba undressed you.  He unbuttoned your shirt, trailing his thumb over your exposed skin, tracing the lace edges of your bra as you shrugged out of your shirt.  You broke away long enough to take off your boots and socks.  He kicked off his own dress shoes and socks too.  He spread his fingers wide and held you by your waist, as if he wanted to touch as much of you as he could.  

“You still okay with this?” he asked.

By way of answering him, you unbuttoned his trousers and unzipped him, your knuckles inadvertently brushing against his erection.  “Fuck,” he hissed through his teeth, and you pushed his pants down around his ankles, allowing him to step out of them.  He released your waist and made short work of your own pants, kneeling down to help work them over your feet.  

On one knee, he held you steady by your hip as he lifted your left leg to ease your pants off, then repeated the gesture with your right leg.  Instead of releasing your right leg, though, he hooked it in one smooth movement over his shoulder.  He turned his head to lay a path of wet, open-mouthed kisses along your calf and on the side of your knee. And up your inner thigh.  You reached out, shaky on your one foot, and grabbed at his head.  You ran your fingers through his hair, gentle at first.  You gave it a sharp tug, however, when he sank his teeth in the soft flesh of your inner thigh and then ran his tongue over the stinging skin. You yelped, and he released your leg, standing in front of you.

“Was that too much?” he asked.  He couldn’t see your face, so he ran his hands over it instead, searching with his fingertips for any clue of discomfort on your part.

“Oh no,” you breathed out. “That was very good.”  You grabbed his hips, pulling them against yours, then walked both of you backwards until your legs bumped against the bed.  You sat down and scooted back until you were laying down.  “You’re very good with your mouth, counselor.”

He practically snarled as he crawled on top of you.  He laid his full weight on top of you, and you melted at the feeling of being pressed into the mattress.  He reached up and tilted your head to the side, then he started by kissing you sloppily under your ear.  

“Remember,” he growled. “You say stop, I stop.”

You wriggled underneath him. “Well, don’t stop yet.”

He kissed you under your ear again, then worked his way under your jaw to your other ear, then down your throat.  He pressed the tip of his tongue against your pulse point, and you whimpered at the sensation.  He moved to the crook of your neck and sucked a stinging bruise there.  He then continued across your collarbone and down to the swell of your breasts, running his tongue along the skin just under the edge of your bra.

You raised yourself up, allowing him to unclasp it and ease it over your arms.  He tossed it somewhere on the floor, then turned his attention to your breasts, capturing one in his big hand, kneading it gently. His mouth was on the other, leaving a wet trail of kisses before he placed the edges of his teeth on your nipple, flicking his tongue against it.  Your college ex hadn’t done any of this; he’d been a virgin too, and his idea of foreplay had been less than a minute of aggressively pawing at your chest.  No wonder it had been so unfulfilling.

“Oh, god,” you breathed shakily.  You griped Barba’s shoulder with one hand, and threaded the other through his hair at the back of his head.  You pulled his head against you tighter, your hips juddering upwards to meet his.  

Barba broke away from your embrace for a moment.  “You know, you were very worried, but your hands seem to know exactly what to do after all,” he said with a laugh.  You smacked him playfully on the arm, your face red in the darkness.  He laughed again, then returned to his ministrations, shifting to your other breast and then continuing lower.

“Wait!” you gasped. You realized what he was planning next.  “You can’t do that.”

He pressed his face against the softness of you belly with a groan.  “Why?” he asked.

The want in his voice was apparent, making your core throb with desire, and you felt your resolve weakening.  “It’s just that guys don’t really want to do that,” you said, apologetic.  “You don’t have to….”

“Hermosa,” he said, strain in his voice.  “How can you know what guys really want to do?”  He shifted his face and kissed the swell of your hip, right above the waistband of your panties.  “I can tell you what I want.”  He turned and kissed your other hip, tugging at the lace with his teeth.  “I want to strip these off of you, throw your legs over my shoulders, and devour you until you cum so hard you see stars.”  You whimpered and felt his lips curve into a smile against your skin.  “I want to make you unravel with my mouth, and I want to taste you.  Fuck, I’ve imagined this so much…. just give me one minute, and if you want me to stop after that, I promise I will.  Please…just trust me a little….”

You thought about it a moment.  This could go so badly.  You were already in too deep here – you were colleagues.  What if you messed this up and had to face him at work, a good detective and a terrible lay?  But no…Barba wasn’t that type.  If it was truly terrible, he’d never say so.  Under that gruff exterior was, you thought, a very kind-hearted man.  And he’d told you to have a little faith in people, after all.

You reached down and stroked his face.  “I trust you,” you whispered.

He leaned his head against your stomach again.  “Thank you,” he replied.  “Just one minute, that’s all I ask.”  He got up and slid you down the bed until your legs hung off the side.  “Just relax,” he whispered, and you lifted your hips to help him slide your soaked panties off.  You were grateful for the darkness; your face burned like the sun, embarrassed by how turned on you were, your arousal practically flooding the bed.  

Barba seemed to see it differently – he swiped a thumb over your slit and groaned loudly at how slick you were.  He ran his thumb across your seam as he knelt at the foot of the bed, placing the backs of your knees on either shoulder.  He turned to the left and kissed his way up your inner thigh, then did the same on the right, pressing an extra-firm kiss to the general vicinity of where he nipped you earlier.  The entire time, he worked his thumb against you.

You couldn’t see him, but you could feel his breath tickling your most intimate parts.  You squirmed, and he laid a heavy forearm across your hips, stilling you.  

“None of that,” he said sternly.  You took a deep breath and started to apologize; you swore he could sense the “sorry” on the tip of your tongue, so with one swift movement, he buried his face between your legs, inhaling deeply.  You were so stunned, you didn’t react, and then he replaced his thumb with his tongue, drawing a long, wet line along your dripping core.  

The effect was like a bolt of lightning.  You arched your back involuntarily, struggling against the arm that pinned you down and pressing yourself against his mouth.  “Oh, god!” you moaned.  You felt him grin against you, and you settled back against the bed.  He parted your lower lips with his tongue and set a rhythm:  alternating between slipping his tongue into you, lapping up your essence, and sucking on your tender bundle of nerves.  

As if it didn’t feel amazing on its own, the sounds Barba was making would have been enough.  He sighed and groaned, and he ate you like a starving man.  Every so often, he paused and pulled away, pressing his face against your inner thigh, panting.  Then he dove back in, putting his mouth to a different task than his usual sarcastic banter and courtroom elocution.

You melted under his touch, and an unfamiliar feeling began to build in the pit of your stomach, like a growing tension that made you try to squirm against him.  Suddenly, he stopped.

“That’s been about a minute,” he said.  His voice sounded shaky.  “Should I keep going or….” He trailed off, and you could hear the knowing smirk in his voice.

“Don’t stop,” you begged. “Please…”

He plunged back in, his nose brushing against your clit as he lapped at you.  You grasped at the sheets, twisting them in your fists as the tension returned to your core, building and building.  Barba kept up his ministrations, and then you felt a finger at your entrance.  He slid it in slowly, until he was fully submerged in you.  You tensed up for a moment, and he pulled off of your clit with a wet smack.  “Just relax,” he whispered, his breath tickling you.  He shifted his forearm that had been across your hips, reaching up to drag his thumb against your nipple.  You shuddered, then focused on relaxing.

He returned to his pattern, multitasking between rolling your nipples between his thumb and forefinger, and licking your core, and gently sliding one finger in and out of your tight sheath.  You relaxed with a moan, and he added another finger, stretching you out carefully.  It felt amazing, and deliciously intimate, and the coil in your belly tightened to an uncomfortable degree.

“Barba,” you warned breathlessly.  “I….”

“I know,” he said, his voice husky.  “Come for me, hermosa.”  He gave you one final swipe of the tongue along your slit, then replaced his mouth with his thumb.  He plunged his two fingers into you and pressed his thumb firmly along your clit. The sudden pressure was too much, and you felt the tension in you snap in an explosion of pleasure.  

You clasped a hand over your mouth, biting into the meaty part at the heel of your hand, stifling your scream.  You arched off the bed, and you wrapped your legs right around his shoulders, pulling him against you as your first real orgasm thundered through your body.  Your legs trembled, and your vision went white with sparks.  You were dimly aware of Barba, coaxing you through it.  As it subsided, he gently disentangled himself from your now-limp legs and came to join you on the bed.  He pulled you up so that you were no longer half-hanging off.  He was quiet while he waited for you to catch your breath, only stroking your head gently.

*****

His only regret was that he let you turn the lights off.  He so wanted to watch you come for the first time.  And if he’d known you were going to stifle your scream, he would have reached up and stopped you.  If he couldn’t watch you, he wanted to hear you.  Then again, he thought, he barely was able to keep himself from coming, just from going down on you.  He had to pause a few times to get himself under control.  Of course, the torturous foreplay of you undressing him hadn’t helped. The agonizingly slow disrobing paired with your suddenly brave admissions made him painfully hard.

He lay beside you, his hand lightly holding your wrist.  He could feel your erratic pulse and smiled, knowing that he was the cause.  He was glad for the break, actually.  It gave him more time to get his own arousal under control.  He could still taste you on his tongue, though, and smell your uniquely feminine scent from where it had coated his mouth and lips.

You gave a big sigh, finally recovered.  He reached over and stroked your face, and you turned to face him in the dark.

“That was amazing,” you whispered in awe.  “Is it always like that?”

He considered your question for a moment.  No, it wasn’t always like that.  He thought about his own sexual history.  With Yelina, there was criticism about his stamina, but he’d been young and clumsy. Later lovers varied, from the bored trust fund baby in college to the overly aggressive partner at his first job out of college, the one who tried to choke him out.  You were different, but he wasn’t sure he should tell you that. You were naked in his arms now, but he didn’t know what you were thinking about the future, if anything. For all he knew, this was just an itch that he was scratching.  If so, he was at least happy for this moment, even if it didn’t continue beyond this night.

Instead of answering you, he leaned over and kissed you, prying your lips open and slipping his tongue in so that you could taste yourself on him.  You moaned and slid your own tongue in his mouth, licking against him.  He smiled a bit – as your nervousness dissipated, you became bolder.  He liked it. A lot.

You reached down, and he felt you tentatively cup his clothed erection in your palm.  He hissed a sharp intake of breath, and you stroked his length. You broke the kiss and whispered, “Barba, I want you.”

He steadied his breathing. “Then I’m yours, Detective.”  He half-rose, and you helped him push his boxer briefs over his hips, laughing as he kicked them from his ankles.  He cut your laugh off by settling his weight on top of you, placing a knee between your legs to gently prize them apart. You whimpered when you felt his cock, heavy against your hip, bump against your still-sensitive entrance.

“You remember the rule,” he said.  “If you say stop….”

“You stop,” you finished. You placed your hands on his chest, digging your nails lightly into his skin.  “But if I say ‘don’t stop,’ does that mean you’ll never stop?”

He growled at the sudden boldness, dropping his head to the juncture of your neck, pressing his teeth against your pulse point.  He started to push forward, the crown of his cock slipping against your slick heat, then, with enormous effort, stopped.

“Do you have protection?” he panted.

“Condoms.  In the bedside table drawer,” you replied.  He pulled away from you reluctantly and fumbled in the dark for the drawer.  He found it, opened it, and pulled out the new box.  From the feel of it, it was an economy sized pack.  He grinned in the dark as he opened it and tore one off, opening the foil and rolling it onto himself.  “Did you buy these specifically for this purpose?” he asked playfully, settling back onto top of you.

He felt you nodding.  “Yes,” you replied seriously.  “I’ve only been doing a good job at work in the hopes of nailing the ADA.”

He dragged his hand up the side of your leg, over your hip and side, and settled it on the side of your face.  “I feel so used,” he murmured against your mouth.  You laughed softly, and he once again wished he could see your face.  He wanted to look you in the eye so that you knew he was serious now.

“I’m going to go slow,” he said.  “I will not hurt you.”  He felt you nodding again, so he pressed your legs open and settled between them. He dragged the head of his cock up and down your wet heat, gathering your essence, then pushed the crown into you. Even through the condom, he felt the unbelievable heat of your core.  He kissed along your jawline and pushed in a bit further.

That’s how he proceeded, painfully slow.  His baser side wanted to plunge into you in one smooth motion, but the thought of hurting you was unacceptable.  So he pushed in a fraction at a time, then shifted to kissing your or kneading your breasts until you relaxed and he could proceed.  He gritted his teeth when your clenching pushed him to the edge of his own release.  You seemed to sense his conflict, and you laid a shaky hand on the forearm that braced him near your head.   “I’m sorry it’s not very good,” you whispered. You sounded almost in tears, and he stopped, holding himself halfway inside of you.

“Hey…” He stopped when he heard you choke back a sob.  “Oh, god, hermosa.”  He brushed his hand across your eyes, thumbing away one tear and then another. “It’s so good,” he assured you.  “You’re so good.  I just want to make it good for you.”

“Sorry,” you said again.

“You keep apologizing,” he replied with mock sternness.  “You have nothing to apologize for, but if you insist on it, I’ll have to punish you.”

You scoffed at him, but he felt you relax under him again.  He kissed your lingering tears away, and you asked in a small voice, “what sort of punishment?”

He pushed forward, sliding another inch into your tight sheath.  “You have handcuffs here, I presume.”  He shifted between your legs and eased in another inch.  “I could cuff you to the bed…”  You lifted your hips a fraction, allowing him to slide in more.

“That doesn’t sound like punishment to me,” you murmured in his ear, your voice tight.

“…and after I cuff you, I’ll sit on the edge of the bed and read from legal journals to you until you beg for forgiveness.”  You laughed at this, inadvertently relaxing, and he slid the rest of his cock into you, or at least as much as he felt comfortable giving you.  You gave a sharp intake of breath underneath him, and he felt alarmed.

“Is that too much?” he asked.

“No,” you replied.  You drew it out, a little breathless.  There was a beat, and then you  writhed under him, but he begged you to hold still for a minute.

“I’m so close,” he whispered hoarsely.  “Just hold still.”  You ran your fingers through his scalp, scratching him lightly until he propped himself up and started, ever so slowly, to thrust into you.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, setting a gentle pace of in and out against you.  He reached down and grasped the leg alongside him, twining it around his waist and holding it there.

“I feel….” You panted along with his thrusts.  “…. like you could split me in half.”  You dug your nails into his back, leaving half-moon indents.  

“I think you’re sturdier than that,” he replied.  “But I could try to, if you want.”

You groaned in his ear, and he felt the fire of your burning face radiating like a furnace.  “Jesus, Rafael.  You already made me come once with your mouth….”

He slowed in his movements. You called him “Rafael.”  He could hear the gears turning in your head while you replayed what you had just said.  

“Is that okay?” you asked. “Or I can just call you Barba….”

He cleared his throat. “No, no.  Rafael is fine.”  Who was the last person to call him Rafael, other than family?  To everyone else, he was Barba.  If you called him by his first name, what did that mean about how you thought of him?  He smiled and picked up the pace, thrusting a bit faster now, still careful not to fully seat himself into you.

He couldn’t fool you though, the girl-genius detective.  “Rafael,” you whispered in his ear.  “Are you holding out on me?”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said through gritted teeth, schooling his gentle back-and-forth into you.

Your hands on his back slid lower, reaching to cup his ass as you wrapped both legs around his waist now.  He stopped thrusting, and you tilted your hips up.  Digging your nails into his ass, you pulled him into you, those final few inches, so that he was fully buried to the hilt in you.  You shuddered against him, letting out a soft “oh” as the tip of his cock pressed against your cervix.  

“You okay?” he asked, panicking.  You answered him by fisting a handful of his hair and dragging his mouth to yours, kissing him sloppily until he started thrusting again, this time pulling halfway out and then pushing completely into you again.  Every time he filled you, you moaned – his name, pleas to god, unintelligible nonsense words.  He ground his pelvis into yours, grinding against your sensitive clit as he drove into you.  Your breathing was erratic, and he knew you were getting close again.  He shifted and removed your hand from his head, pinning it along your head, threading his fingers through yours.

“You feel so good,” he whispered in your ear as he picked up the pace.  “I bet you’ll feel good coming on my cock.”

“Oh, Rafael,” you moaned. “Please….”

“Come with me,” he begged you.  He pushed firmly against your clit – once, twice.  The third time pushed you over the edge, and he fell with you.

He wished, one last time, for just a little light, just enough for him to lock eyes with you when you both came together.  You clenched around him, screaming through your release as you arched underneath him.  If he thought you were tight before, now you gripped him so hard, he could barely drive into you.  He felt his own tight coil of tension snap, and he groaned your name out as he came too.

Gradually, you both recovered, panting and shaky and sweaty.  He dropped his head beside you, and let out a shaky breath by your ear.  He eased out of you, missing instantly the feeling of you surrounding him with your core.  You lay there, silent except for your own uneven breathing.  

He was unnerved by your silence and suddenly was anxious.  “Was that okay?” he whispered.  He felt you turn your head on the pillow to face him.  You ran a hand over his forehead, pushing back a strand of tousled hair from his furrowed brow.

“Oh, Rafael,” you whispered back at him.  You ran your finger over his scowling eyebrows, smoothing out his worry lines, tracing your finger over his kiss-swollen lips.  You leaned forward and replaced your fingers with your own lips, feather light against his.  You may not be a so-called sex goddess, but you were infinitely tender.  “You’re amazing,” you told him.

He lay there a moment, then climbed out of bed to remove the condom, tying it off and tossing it in the bathroom garbage before he returned to bed with you.  He crawled under the covers and wrapped you in his arms.  You nuzzled against him sleepily, breathing against his bare chest.  He rubbed your back and you hummed contently.

“Good sex makes me sleepy,” you murmured against him.  “Who knew?”

He chuckled.  “Is it okay if I stay the night?”

“Mmm-hmm,” you voiced. Before you fell asleep, you placed a gentle kiss on his chest, aiming for where his heart was.  “You can stay forever, if you want.”

[tennessoui]

KUWSK is killing me with cuteness like I literally feel my heart clench with every one shot. I was wondering if you could maybe do a lil one shit on the aftermath of the aftermath of the router incident 😭 after obi-wan clarifies he does in fact love the kids and doesn’t want them to leave…I just need anakin to tell obi-wan he wants to stay… love this sm

oh bless, i'm happy to hear you like them!!! this is a bit sappy and also um definitely unedited so 🙈🙈but i think this includes the most obikin content of them all so far which is wild seeing as how my google doc for KUWSK is literally 15k at this point.

(here is the aftermath of the Router Incident, for context)

(1.6k)

Comforting and calming the children, that’s the easy part. Children forget grievances like water rolls off a duck’s back. Adults are trickier.

Adults don’t just forget and forgive.

Obi-Wan finishes the book he’s been reading to the kids. Last night, they had been on Chapter Two. Tonight, the kids are asleep by Chapter Four, but he keeps reading, all the way through the denouement at the end of the book. He knows he’ll have to go back to Chapter Four tomorrow night, knows that he may have bought himself some time but not enough time to make a difference.

But if Anakin really wanted to leave, there was nothing on God’s green earth that could stop him.

He places the book on the nightstand between the two beds and quietly stands, adjusting his glasses.

Finding and signing a lease can happen very, very quickly. He suddenly wants to wake the kids up, just to read another chapter. There are so many books left to finish, but finding and signing a lease can happen...can happen very, very quickly.

How many more chapters do they have left?

The entire time he spends walking down the stairs, he’s hoping that Anakin will have already gone to bed. But the light in the living room is still on, which means Anakin doesn’t want to keep ignoring the elephant in the room, which means in turn that either Obi-Wan can continue down the hall at the bottom of the staircase to his own room and just pretend that he doesn’t know Anakin’s waiting up for him, or he can confront the situation and perhaps even act his age.

He goes to the living room. If he only has a certain block of time left with Anakin in his presence, he’s not going to waste any of it hiding in his room.

Anakin is standing with his arms crossed, looking at the mantle of the fireplace and the photos lined up there. His face is hidden from view, but his posture is stiff.

“The children are asleep,” Obi-Wan says, mostly to announce himself. Which he knows is stupid, seeing as how Anakin most definitely heard him come down the stairs. But suddenly he wants Anakin’s eyes on him quite desperately. He will, in fact, do most anything to have the man look at him. His eyes are so expressive. His eyes are so beautiful.

Obi-Wan shakes the thought from his head and reminds himself of what’s very quickly become his mantra over the past few months. You will not make your housemate into your rebound.

It had sounded so logical when Quinlan had suggested it. So easy to agree to.

“Thanks,” Anakin says, turning to face him. It’s awkward. Anakin hasn’t thanked him for putting the children to bed for months.

“Of course,” Obi-Wan replies, coming into the room completely. “I--”

“I--” Anakin starts, but cuts himself off when Obi-Wan speaks. “You go.”

“Ah,” Obi-Wan stutters. “Well. I. I meant to say. That I...I understand. Obviously. If you were to. Want to leave. You must have had time by now to...have found a place that could. Better fit your needs.”

Anakin clears his throat. “I guess,” he says. “Yeah. I’ve. I’ve looked.”

“You have?” he asks, much too quickly and with much too much painful interest dripping off the words. “And have you? Found a place?”

Anakin hesitates and looks askance at the frames on the fireplace. “No,” he admits. “Not a place that’s. That’s anything like here.”

Obi-Wan’s smile feels so forced on his face that it actually hurts to hold. “I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing, Anakin.”

Anakin looks at him as if he’s lost touch with reality. “Obi-Wan, come on, you have to know.”

Obi-Wan stays quiet. He doesn’t know anything. Just a day ago he had wondered absentmindedly how they were going to deal with a teenaged Luke and Leia both wanting the singular second floor bathroom in the mornings before school.

And now--well.

“You have to know,” Anakin insists in the face of Obi-Wan’s silence. “I would stay here. If it were up to just me.”

“If not you then who is it up to, Anakin?” he begs and then tries to pretend that he isn’t begging by rubbing a hand over his beard and turning away. He’s faced immediately with a picture of the twins on Christmas morning, passed out in the foreground as Obi-Wan is in the background trying to put together one of their new toys.

It had been one of the most frustrating mornings of his life. He wouldn’t trade it for the world.

“Do you...do you really think...that I don’t--that I hate the twins? Anakin, you have to know I love them--”

“No, I’m sorry,” Anakin quickly says. “I never said that, Luke was just--he--”

“He made his own conclusions,” Obi-Wan finishes.

The other man nods gratefully. “Obi-Wan, I know you love the kids, I know you do. It’s not. It’s not the kids.”

“So if it’s not you, and it’s not the children, it must be me,” Obi-Wan concludes dully. Of course. Of course it’s him.

Anakin doesn’t immediately say no, and that pause is enough of an admittance that Obi-Wan has to pause to take several deep breaths to regain his composure.

“You’ll get tired of it,” Anakin finally says quietly. “You never signed up for us, for this for this long. I don’t want to impose. I--” he turns away to stare at the mantle, where a picture of the four of them after one of the twins’ school plays sits proudly in the middle. “I don’t want to see you growing to resent m--us. You shouldn’t have to tell us to leave. It’s your house.”

“Anakin, if you think it’s just my house still, after all these months, then I don’t know what to tell you,” Obi-Wan scoffs. “Other than to look around. “There’s stains on the ceiling I didn’t put there, we never managed to get Leia’s crayon drawings fully off the walls in the hallway, and I can’t walk twenty paces without tripping over some sort of mechanical part I have no idea what to do with if I try to pick it up off the floor. I haven’t thought of this as my house in months.”

Anakin ducks his head, as if he’s being scolded. “I’m sorry,” he says, barely louder than a whisper.

“I’m not,” Obi-Wan wants to yell, but he’s mindful of the children asleep just a floor away. He walks closer to Anakin instead, and speaks with a quiet sort of intensity. “I’m not, Anakin. And if you leave, it will still not be my house. It will just be--”

He purses his lips and sets his jaw.

“What?” Anakin asks, coming forward to meet him in the middle of the room. His hand twitches as if he wants to reach out and touch Obi-Wan, but he doesn’t.

Obi-Wan shakes his head and swallows, but he figures he’s already committed to this sort of confession. There’s nowhere else to go from here. “A house I live in,” he admits quietly. “A big, quiet place that I’ll dread coming home to.”

Anakin looks speechless, and Obi-Wan tries to smile. He can’t--he shouldn’t pressure Anakin. He’s said his position. If Anakin truly had only been afraid of overstaying his welcome, surely Obi-Wan has assuaged those fears.

But the fact that he hasn’t said anything must certainly mean that Anakin harbors other reservations. Ones he doesn’t want to share with Obi-Wan.

Very well.

“I will not...pressure you,” he tells the man. “I understand. I do. I--”

Anakin cuts him off and grabs his shoulder. “Obi-Wan, I want to. The children want to. I don’t want to leave. I’ve never had…”

Obi-Wan waits on tenterhooks for the end of the sentence, as Anakin searches for the words.

“...a home that feels like this,” Anakin finishes quietly, his hand slipping off Obi-wan’s shirt. Obi-Wan misses the muted heat of the touch immediately.

“Then don’t leave,” he pleads, crowding forward into Anakin’s space. “Anakin, stop looking. Would it help...would it help to quiet your fears if we were to draw up some sort of lease?”

“A lease?” Anakin asks, sounding strange as he looks down at Obi-Wan.

“Just something that says we’ll talk about this every year. To check in and make sure we both still want to live here?” Obi-Wan knows his answer won’t change. Probably won’t ever change. But if it’ll help calm Anakin, he’ll sign whatever.

Anakin seems to think about this for a minute, mouth pursed and eyes downcast. Obi-Wan wants to thumb at the moue of his lips, wants to press against his wrinkled brow until the skin smooths out.

No.

No.

“Alright,” Anakin finally agrees. “We can draw up...a lease tomorrow then. But it won’t be legally binding, alright? As soon as you want us out, tell me and I’ll start looking. Please, Obi-Wan. That’s my only condition.”

Anakin’s only condition to stay is that Obi-Wan will tell him as soon as he wants him to leave?

Does the other man know the extent that Obi-Wan would have tried to go to convince Anakin to stay?

“Alright,” he says, instead of anything else he’s thinking. “Of course. Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” Anakin repeats. “Okay. Um,” he backs up. “Goodnight then, Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan reaches out and grasps his wrist as soon as he turns to leave. He doesn’t know why. He just. He wants. He doesn’t want to see Anakin go yet. The idea of being alone right now terrifies him in a sort of undefinable way.

“Sit with me?” He says, instead of what he really wants to say, which is thank you, thank you, thank you.

Anakin gives him a sort of half-smile that’s impossible to read. “Sure,” he replies. “I’d like to hear about your day.”

Obi-Wan winces, thinking about how much of his day was spent fretting in Quinlan Vos’ office. “Oh, I’m not entirely sure about that, dear one,” he laughs self-deprecatingly, and Anakin’s smile grows, and Obi-Wan knows that everything is going to be okay.

[arrowflier]

Fic prompt: Backstory on the Gallagher family photos on the mantle.

Thanks to @grumpymickmilk and @whaticameherefor for finding me scenes that showed them. I'm not sure that the one is of Fiona but I'm going with it. Also I'm sorry these paragraphs are so long 😅.

It felt weird, to be leaving the house after so long.

Ian hadn’t always been happy there, but it was still home. It had been home when he was a closeted gay kid sleeping with his boss for want of options and attention, when he was struggled with relationship and self-worth and needed to feel like he belonged. It was the home he came back to after the army, the home that took him back in when he lost himself. When he lost Mickey, Caleb, Trevor. Mickey again.

It was the home where he watched his siblings grow up, go on their own journeys, and come back themselves with new family in tow. They had all left, at one point or another, but this house had always been where they returned.

Until now.

Walking through the house one last time, Ian trailed his hands along everything he could touch, memorizing the feel of it under his fingers. His whole life, it had all been here like this, at his fingertips if he just reached out.

The worn sofa, with its handmade blanket. The scratched and burned table, where they ate meals together in front of the television and stubbed out shared cigarettes after dessert. The broken fireplace, where Liam used to huddle when they didn’t watch him close enough.

Ian paused as he reached the mantelpiece. Their pictures were still there, right where they had left them—the real estate agent said it was good for buyers to see that the house held happy memories. Like they didn’t all know that the house wouldn’t survive the sale intact.

Ian let himself linger there, over the still images of their past.

First and largest was Lip, of course. Their best hope at redemption, their golden goose. So proud the day he graduated the 6th grade, so eager to pose with his fake diploma as Monica gushed over his accomplishments. Lip, the smart one, the one that was going places, all geared up in academic regalia that he would never see the like of again. Those young eyes were so full of intelligence, so full of hope.

It would be dashed soon enough when Monica left, and with everything that came after. Lip would no longer find happiness in that type of accomplishment, not once it became all he had. But Ian thought that if the little boy in the picture could see Lip now, with Tami and Fred and maybe another baby on the way, he wouldn’t think things had turned out so bad.

Then came Liam. Little baby Liam in a small square frame, wearing an old sweater that had found it’s way onto the backs of three Gallagher boys before him. Monica had already been gone, when that one was taken. She hadn’t been there to fawn over him the way she had over Lip years before. No, Fiona had done that—had gotten him dressed up, borrowed a camera from a girl at work, and snapped enough pictures of his chubby face to cover the entire wall. They could only afford to get one printed.

Liam didn’t look like that little boy anymore. He didn’t smile as much, or as widely. His eyes were more serious now, more searching. But he had grown up well for all his struggles, Ian thought. Grown up strong and smart and sensitive, in a way none of the rest of them had quite managed to balance. You’d never know that he had grown up without his parents, overdosed on drugs as a child, spent so much time following Frank around to scams and homeless shelters and who knows where else. Not from that picture on the mantle, and not if you saw his face today.

Debbie was next. Debbie with her favorite pigtails, red hair unkempt but bright and beautiful. She hadn’t thought she was beautiful, back then, Ian knew. She had taken one look at that school picture and turned her face away, and it took Fiona brushing her hair back and pressing a kiss to her head to convince her that it was worth saving. Fiona had found the biggest frame she could and put Debbie’s face front and center on the mantel, just to show how much she loved it.

Ian wasn’t sure that Debbie had ever really recovered from the feelings it first evoked, though, no matter how much they all supported her. She had gone on to mimic all the girls that used to make fun of her, taking more pride in her appearance than her character for quite some time. It was better now, now that she had Franny, but Ian still caught her looking in the mirror a little too long sometimes, like she wanted to change what she saw. Ian was afraid of the way she forced Franny into dresses and fancy things, afraid that she didn’t even realize what she was doing. He loved Debbie, but he hoped Franny grew up more like the little girl in pigtails and less like the hot convict version of his sister that attached herself to anyone who complimented her.

Carl’s was the only picture that was a little bit different. His school photos always came back unusable, and getting him dressed up was an exercise in futility even now. But Frank—fucking Frank, of all people—had managed to get a decent shot one summer as Carl beamed at him from the bottom of the patio steps, lips blue from a popsicle that Lip had stolen for him from the corner store.

Carl always had been his own person, Ian reflected. He had changed a lot over the years, going from pyromaniac trouble-maker to drug pusher to cop, but that had always stayed the same. Whatever Carl did, from eating a popsicle with his whole face to caring for dying dogs in their basement, from shooting illegal guns in their backyard to being one of the least violent cops on the beat, he did it his own way. Ian had always admired that about his little brother.

Fiona’s picture was by far the oldest. From a time Ian didn’t really remember, when she still smiled. He had asked her once whether Monica or Frank had taken it, but she had gotten quiet. Lip was the one who told him, later, that neither of them had been around that day. That Lip had found Monica’s camera and started clicking the shutter, and happened to get a few good ones.

Wherever Fiona was now, Ian hoped she was smiling again. She deserved to, after everything. Everything she had done for them, everything she had put aside for herself to do it. Maybe there was someone else taking her picture now, someone that made her happy, someone that made it possible for her to think of good memories and not bad. He’d see her again someday, he was certain, and she should look as young and carefree as she always should have been.

Ian himself was last. The last picture, tilted toward the others like he was watching them, just a boy in Lip’s old hand-me-downs looking out past the camera toward his family. That day, he remembered. Monica had wanted a picture so badly, but Frank barely let them out of his sight. Looking back, Ian figured there was more to it than he thought back then, when he idolized his mother and already felt little toward his father.

Well, not his father, not really. Biological or chosen. Seeing himself now, Ian wondered how he hadn’t realized sooner that he was the odd one out among them, with his height and his freckles and his hair. He was quieter than the rest, then, easier, more accepting.

That hadn’t lasted very long.

“Hey, you ready?” a voice came from the open front door, and Ian looked over to see Mickey standing there. The sun at his back cast him in hazy yellow light, like a dream sent to shake Ian from his memories.

Ian looked back to the pictures, so carefully chosen and arranged. An image of what their lives had been. Then he looked at Mickey, and his dark hair, and his soft smile. The smile that was reflected in the picture they had over the fireplace back home, the one of them standing together at their wedding. A wedding that the younger Ian in that staged photo would never have imagined for himself, with a boy he barely knew existed yet, in a world where he could be loud and happy and loved by more than his siblings.

He smiled, and took a step toward the door.

“I’m ready, Mick,” Ian said. And he left it all behind.

[tsukishumai]

Hi uhmmm could I request prompt 5 and 6 from fluff with Tendou I love him sooo much 🙊

Thank you!!

Hi! Ty for requesting, I also love Tendou v much 🥺

send me a prompt + ur fav character here :)

4. Kiss me. & 5. Home stopped being a place when you entered my life.

Word Count: 700+

A/N: I hope you don’t mind i used both in this one! I hope u like it :)

You heave the last box up the final steps of the staircase, using all of your strength to carry it past the foyer of your brand new apartment. Scrawled on the side in black marker were the words “pictures & decor”, so you make sure to drag it all the way to the living room.

Grabbing a box cutter from the coffee table, you quickly use it to cut past the tape, opening the top to reveal various sized items all wrapped up in newspaper to prevent from breaking. One by one, you begin to empty out the box, unwrapping pieces of decor and searching for the perfect spot amongst the brand new shelves.

Music softly twinkled from the stereo, blending with the cool breeze that drifted in from the open window. You caught a whiff of the fresh baked bread coming from the bakery just down the street, and you started to feel yourself getting excited.

You pick up the last piece from the box, ripping off the newspaper to reveal a picture frame. You felt the corner of your lips turn upwards, running your finger along the glass and tracing the faces that were smiling back at you.

“All done unpacking the bedroom now,” a voice bursted out from the single bedroom in the apartment, “Is that box the last of it?”

Tendou froze in his spot as you looked up from the picture frame.

“Yeah, just about done,” you replied, “Hey, where do you think we should put this?”

Tendou gave you an odd look, something between anxious and worry as he approached you. He grabbed the frame delicately from your hand, studying the moment that was so beautifully captured on film. The bittersweet expressions of his family and friends were frozen in time, some smiling, some crying, some doing both. His arms were around you, and their arms were around you both, their final farewell perfectly encapsulated in this one photograph.

“I think it would go perfectly right here,” Tendou remarked softly, placing the picture right on top of the mantle above the fireplace. You beamed at its new spot.

“Perfect.”

Tendou straightened suddenly, reaching out a hand to caress your cheek as her nervously chewed on his lip. You could sense his apprehension from where you stood, eyeing the way he was fidgeting in his spot.

“What’s wrong, Satori?”

He rested his hand on the crook of your neck, red eyes searching yours for any hesitation, but only finding patience.

“My apprenticeship doesn’t start for another few days,” he started, and you were curious as to where he was going, “Let’s explore the city, try all those restaurants we saw lined up along the street. We can get to know the town, and finally get a taste of just what the world has to offer for us.”

You smiled as he grabbed your hips and pulled you closer, automatically bringing your hands around his neck.

“I can never tell you how much it means to me that you’re here,” he whispered, bringing his forehead down against yours, “I’m going to make sure you never regret leaving home.”

You were stunned at his confession, feeling almost guilty that Tendou could ever think such a thing.

“Satori. Kiss me,” you quietly demanded, and Tendou more than happily obliged. You reveled in the way his soft lips moving against yours, letting slip out a happy hum before he pulled away.

Your hold on him tightened, keeping him in place and forcing him to look at nowhere but you as you tell him, “Home stopped being a place when you entered my life. Whether it’s in in the dorms of some private high school in Miyagi or a one bedroom apartment in Paris, I’m home if I’m with you.”

The tears spilled from Tendou’s crimson eyes, a pure look of adoration flashing across them before he pulls you into a bear hug.

“I love you,” he professed while burying his face into your hair, and you rubbed circles on his back.

“I love you more, Satori.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

“Come out, I want to see!”

“Hold on, one more minute!”

You were folding your laundry in the living room, neatly organizing clothes into different piles until Tendou bursted out from the bedroom.

He was posing in his brand new chef’s uniform, extending his arms and legs to give you the full view.

“So? Do I look like a real chocolatier?”

“Oui oui, monsieur!”

[songbirdsingingthings]

Ski Lodge - Katsuki Bakugou x Reader

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANY OF THESE CHARACTERS, THEY BELONG TO KOHEI HORIKOSHI

DAY FOUR OF 25 DAYS OF CHRISTMAS - 25 DAYS OF CHRISTMAS MASTERLIST - MAIN MASTERLIST

“Wow, we’re finally here!” You exclaimed, dropping your suitcase in the middle of the front walkway.

“Oi, don’t leave stuff out in the open. One of us could trip on it. And by us I mean you because you’re clumsy as shit.” Your boyfriend grumbles, lugging his own duffle through the small door. You flash him a smile when you pick your suitcase back up and give him a kiss on the cheek.

“I can’t believe this place belongs to your family, it’s gorgeous.” You gush, looking around the building. When Mitsuki and Masaru offered the two of you their family ski lodge for the weekend, you couldn’t help but pounce on the opportunity. A couple days in the snowy mountains, just you and Katsuki? It sounded like heaven. You walk over to the mantle situated on top of the fireplace and grin at all of the picture frames. It was mostly of the Bakugous when Katsuki was pretty young, probably around the age of five. You even found Midoriya in one of them, but you didn’t mention that factoid to your boyfriend - he would’ve probably blown it up.

“Get your ass over here so we can unpack and do something,” Katsuki says, latching his hand onto yours and pulling you towards the master bedroom. It was lovely inside. The walls were dark, almost lulling you to sleep, and the bed looked like it was made of clouds. The duvets must've been freshly cleaned and the pillows looked so comforting.

“What side do you want?” You ask as you start to put your clothes in the dresser drawers.

“Left.” Katsuki responds quickly, jumping on the bed. He springs off of it for a few bounces but settles down.

“Sooo, what do you wanna do?” You ask, flopping onto the right side of the bed. 

“Hmm…” He hums, rolling you on top of him. Your chin rests on his chest as you look up into his crimson eyes. “Lay in bed all day.” He decided, wrapping his arms around you. You roll your eyes and smile, letting one of your hands rest on his bicep.

“We can lay in bed at 8:30 since that’s when you insist on going to sleep,” you quip, patting his arm and sitting back up. “Let’s hit the slopes while it’s still light out.”

“WHOO!” You cheer, carving your skis against the powdery snow, clouds of white puffing up behind you. Not far behind you, Katsuki slid in on his snowboard, pulling off a few jumps.

“C’mon Y/N/N, you can do better than that!” He teases, speeding past you. 

“Race you back to the lodge?” You yell to him, using your poles to try and gain some ground.

“You’re on!”

“Ugh, I can’t believe you beat me.” You say, tapping the front of your boots against the porch door to get the snow off of them.

“10 whole minutes, Y/N/N, you’re gettin’ slow on me.” Your boyfriend tuts, shaking the snow from his hair. You give him a gentle punch in the arm and walk up to open the door, reveling in the warmth the lodge provided.

“I’m so tired…” you grumble, collapsing onto the plush couch in front of the fireplace. Katsuki copies your movements, wraps an arm around you, and covers both you and his legs in a fluffy blanket. A comfortable silence falls over the two of you as the snow falls outside and the fireplace crackles in front of you.

“This is, uh, nice.” He mumbles, his thumb rubbing circles against your shoulder. You lean your head back to look at him, a lovesick smile on your face.

“Yeah. This is basically the first time we’ve been in a place alone overnight.” You point out, nestling into his body further.

“Well then… maybe we should make the most of it.” He says, his hold on you tightening. You look at him with an incredulous look on your face.

“Katsuki Bakugou, are you kidding me? We just got settled and already you’re trying to get in my pants.” You scold him, your index finger poking his nose. He gently brushes your finger away and rebuttals.

“God woman, will you just listen to me?” He says in a hard tone but a soft expression remaining in his eyes.

“So… what did you have in mind then?” You ask. Katsuki shifts so that he’s laying on his back, his head supported by a pillow. You were now laying on top of him, just like before you left for skiing. You giggle and lay your head down on his chest. “This is seriously what you had in mind all day?” You ask, closing your eyes. He doesn’t say anything back to you which confirms your suspicions. His hands come up to play with your hair, braiding some pieces and twirling some around his fingers. You felt your eyelids get even heavier and you were sure that sleep would come to you within the next few minutes. That is, until Katsuki pushed you off of him quickly and with a shout. Your eyes go wild looking for an intruder, only to see your boyfriend screaming at… his mom?

“Dammit Katsuki, you really had to wake her up didn’t you? Couldn’t have just let me snag a quick picture to put up in the lodge, huh?!” You see Mitsuki with a fiery gaze aimed right at her son.

“She would’ve been asleep if you hadn’t barged in on us you hag! Why the hell are you even here?!” The screaming continued for a few minutes before Masaru, Katsuki’s dad, stepped in.

“It’s okay Mitsuki, I already snagged the picture beforehand.” A cheer and a slap on the back was what Mitsuki rewarded her husband with. You walk over to peer at the photo, a light blush dancing across your cheeks.

“Hey, uh, do you mind sending that to me?” You ask politely. You have never been able to get a cute picture of the two of you - it was either a selfie with a pout on Katsuki’s face or it was a picture that people would label “pictures taken right before disaster”. This was different - He had a gentle smile on his face as he gazed upon your nearly asleep form, his fingers twisted around the tendrils of your hair.

“Seriously Y/N? You too?” Katsuki exclaims, exasperated. You give him a cheeky grin and help his parents print the picture, frame it, and place it on the mantle.

“Feel free to use this place anytime - we swear you’ll be totally unbothered.” Mitsuki commented, giving you a hug.

“Yeah right! Like you said we’d be totally unbothered beforehand!” Katsuki yells, grabbing onto your hand and leading you to the master bedroom, shutting the door and locking it. “Now get on the bed so I can go to sleep.” He grumbles, climbing under the covers. You decided to be just a little more of a tease and ask him a loaded question.

“Why do you need me to be in the bed for you to go to sleep?” You ask, peeling back the covers slightly. Bakugou gives you a glare, grabs your hand, and pulls you - rather forcefully - into bed next to him, arms immediately wrapping around you.

“Now go to bed dumbass, it’s already 8:55.” With a smile, you snuggle into his hold and close your eyes. You were definitely going to be coming back to the ski lodge whenever possible. Especially if you’re able to drag your hot-headed boyfriend with you.