#the party is held together by the fact that my rouge immediately took responsibility for the druid and her apprentice/charge/little sister

[chaos-lioness]

Today my DND group adopted a baby dragon by luring it out of a cave with pies and I feel like I finally understand the true meaning of the game.

[sugas-sweetheart]

hi sofia!! i’m so excited for your halloween event hehe!! can i request kirishima for masquerade ball and “please tell me that was you!” maybe mutual pining? and a drabble pls!! thank you 🥺💖💖💖

Ruby Red || Kirishima Eijirou

A/N: YES THIS IS FROM HALLOWNEEN AND THIS ENDED UP BEING LIKE 1.8K WORDS WHAT IT WAS MEANT TO BE A DRABBLE- I apologise PROFUSELY at how long this took me though and bye its not even that good i just procrastinated hgdsjkfgj😭 thank you sm @deephasoceanmagic for helping me finish this djsjdskdj this got kinda hard to write after I had left it bc I lacked inspiration and here we are and I’m sorry its not the best work I’ve done asshdjsjdjs although the Denki and Sero thing is one of my favourite things my head has made up.

Requested prompts: 1. masquerade ball + 3. “please tell me that’s you!”

Pairing: Kirishima x Fem!reader

The yearly UA Halloween party had arrived once again; it would be your final one at the school and to make it special the third years were allowed to organise it. One of the girls in 3A had brought up the idea of a masquerade ball to add to the mystery, which was instantly taken very well by the committee organising it.

The class didn’t exactly have dates, it was more of a “dance with whoever, whenever” agreement. Although, people in the class could clearly predict who was going to be dancing with who, and that included you and a certain fake, red head.

The months prior to Halloween rolled around quickly and the third years were allowed a day off from their usual lessons to relax and get ready. The 3A dorms had been split, the girls getting ready on the third floor, while the boys were kept downstairs.

Excitement bubbled in the whole class, the whole year even. It was a night for them to act like teenagers instead of soon-to-be pro heroes and that was greatly appreciated.

The chattering and squealing from the girls was almost never ending as they complimented and helped each other with makeup, hair and dresses. It was a joyous little bubble that they were in and nothing could break down their morale.

If the girls didn’t praise each other constantly when taking selfies or group photos on a normal day, then it was an eternal compliment battle when getting dressed up formally together. Mina broke the chatter with a question directed towards the whole room. 

“So, who does everyone want to dance with?” Although she directed it at the whole room, she sent you a knowing glance and a shoulder nudge. The teasing you had received from a portion of your class this week was almost never ending, and each time you were bombarded with these inquiries, the spiky haired male sent you a small and unknowing smile from the other side of the classroom. 

Meanwhile, the boys were attempting to look their best, and were holding a similar conversation with each other. But it was Halloween night, and that meant some sort of trickery needed to happen for them, and it was basically in the form of dying their hair as to not be recognisable with their normal styles and contact lenses. Most of them opted for a black spray to temporarily colour their locks for the night and match their dark shirts, suits and masks. (Bakugou, a little begrudgingly, let Kirishima and Kaminari colour his hair) 

“Kiri, you ready to dance with her?” similar to what Mina did, Sero gave him a nudge and he received a wink from the tape and electric quirk holders who were busy spraying his hair back to its natural colour. 

Bakugou took this moment to scoff and join in as he fixed his orange tie, “Took his sweet time to do something if he does.” 

“You’ll twirl her, and dip her, and sweep her right off her feet” The comedic duo that were Hanta and Denki, threw their spray cans onto the bed next to them, joined hands and started re-enacting the scene they created. 

“And end with a kiss!” Sero had dipped Kaminari and they leaned in making childish kissing noises before collapsing onto the bed in a fit of laughter. 

Kirishima was brought out his thoughts with a blush across his features, even if his mask covered it, as he recalled antics from earlier. Fairy lights hung from the ceiling, emitting a soft, warm light and candelabras flickered along the tables. Mini pumpkins and cobwebs were scattered across each table’s centrepiece, but the only thing on his mind was the small handwritten note addressed to him that he had found at his table seat. 

“Meet me on the roof at 8:30, I hope to see you there x”

No one seemed to be looking at him and no one but Bakugou was near him, he had no idea who would have left it, but he hoped it was you. Taking a look at the clock he realised it was 8:15pm and well, there’s no harm in being early is there? 

All of 3A’s eyes - bar one pair - discreetly followed him to the door that would allow him access up to the roof. The class gave each other a quick look before going back to chatting and joking. 

Upon nearing the 3A girls table, you spotted a note next to your name card. The excitable pink haired girl next to you stepped forward, plucking the note from the table and read it with wide eyes under her sparkling mask.

“Oh my god, maybe it’s from him!” The excitement she felt for you was clear in her voice.

“What does it even say?” She immediately pushed the note in front of you in response to your question.

Messy handwriting had scrawled “meet me on the roof at 8:30, I hope to see you there x” along the card. Glancing at the clock you realised there were only five minutes until you were meant to meet this mystery person on the roof.

“So, are you going to meet them?”

“Mina, of course I am. If I die you’ll know where I last was”

As she dragged you towards the door, she claimed that you would be fine and that it was probably just some admirer.

The acid quirk holder observed you as you started making your way up the stairs. Giving the members of 3A knowing glances, she made her way back over to the group of girls you had originally split from.

A few meddling friends - aka Mina, Denki, Sero and an unwilling Bakugou - had organised the whole ordeal happening before you; this was obviously unknown by you and the boy awaiting on the rooftop.

Upon reaching the door that led outside, you paused to take a breath. You hoped Kirishima was waiting for you on the other side of the door. If it wasn’t him, then you’d just have to be polite as you didn’t really want to lead anyone on after this night. 

On the other side of the door, Kirishima stood waiting and staring at the scenery around him. The rooftop was lit by fairy lights and the moonlight that shone down; a small table placed a few feet away held drinks, a speaker plugged into an iPod - that looked a lot like Jirou’s - that played music softly. A small vibration from his back pocket brought him from his thoughts and he went to check the phone notification. It was a simple text from Mina that stated “Ask her to dance when she comes up”. It was then, that he knew his friends had something to do with this whole setup and an admirer did not in fact ask him to come up themselves. 

A heavy click pulled his gaze away from the phone screen and over to the door that was opening a few metres away.  His view was flooded with red material as a second click followed, signifying the door had closed and it was now time for him to speak and not make a fool of himself. 

“Uh, would you like to dance with me?” stammered the boy before you. 

Luckily for Kiri, his mask covered the rouge that was coming to his cheeks as he rubbed the back of his neck in anticipation of a response. A light nod was given from you in return, stepping forward to grab his other hand, which was outstretched for you. While the secrets were intriguing, the poor attempt to hide his identity and your need to find out if he was truly behind the mask was overpowering, and before you knew it, you had blurted out a statement that would have saddened the boy in front of you had your deduction not been correct. 

“Kirishima, please tell me that’s you”

He let go of your hand to slowly peel off his dark mask and reveal a flushed, but hopeful, face at the thought of you wanting it to be him.

“I guess the disguise didn't do much then?” he looked down towards his mask as he spoke, avoiding eye contact with you now that his face was exposed. You pulled away your own mask before speaking up again. 

“Not really, but a hair colour change can only do so much when you have ruby red eyes” 

He gave a soft chuckle at the defining feature that you had pointed out and his confidence increased with the knowledge of it being you that was forced up here by his friends. 

As a slower, steady song played from the speaker he outstretched his hand once again to ask for a dance and this time wasn’t interrupted by an inquiry from you. Taking his hand and placing your other on his shoulder, he moved his other hand to rest on your back and you both tried to find your way dancing together for the first time. 

The next hour was mostly elegant, apart from the toes that were stepped on when dancing, and filled with laughter at small jokes told to ease the initial awkwardness of being set up. He was easy to speak to, he was gentle and caring, and as the night continued you ended up sitting together, staring at the luminescent specks that were scattered throughout the sky. 

Halloween was coming to a close and the moments you shared that night would be cherished  for a long while. Being the gentleman that Eijirou was, he offered to walk you back to your dorm room, despite his being a level below yours. You sneaked down and out together before everyone started leaving to avoid the hustle and bustle of it all. With your right arm hooked in his left, a small, tired smile was plastered across your face the whole walk back and while you were sad about the night ending, this sparked the relationship you would hopefully soon share with the red head. 

As your door came into view, the both of you slowed your steps. There was a slight awkward tone in the air, were you to just say goodbye and leave? Should you kiss? Was he going to say something? 

The few seconds of silence that felt like hours was broken when the both of you opened your mouths to speak and promptly shut them with a laugh to let the other go first. 

He looked at you expectedly, waiting for you to speak first.

“Well, thanks to our friends, this night was a lot better than I anticipated so thank you.” a shark tooth filled smile gleamed with glittering eyes, because he was filled with joy at the thought of you enjoying the night with him. 

“I really enjoyed my night with you, so i'm glad you think the same! I’ll see you in class tomorrow?”

“Mhm!” and in those final seconds looking into his eyes, your mind had made a decision. You pressed a kiss to his cheek before pushing the door open and once inside leaning your back against it, just knowing the heat that was rushing to your cheeks.

Kirishima stood stunned and wide eyed outside of your closed door for a few moments and softly touched the spot on his cheek that you had kissed. Upon hearing footsteps and chatter from fellow classmates, he decided to make his way back to his own room where he slept well with thoughts of what he would say to you tomorrow. 

Taglist (open): @justamultifandomfan16 @shoutamajiki @meliorist-midoriya @goopyartiste @yee-harr @bizzoldmann-08 @katsushimaa @hannahalanib1 @boosyboo9206 @derpeedoo @mystic-helena @spookykiri @vhskenma

[birdwonder]

Hi! I've been watching Brooklyn 9-9 and I just had a thought: a detective!reader who's like Jake Peralta 80-90% of the time (and who's also a stand-user) with Bruno. Maybe reader helped him when he was injured but didn't know that he's a part of mafia but then boom, they meet again when reader went undercover maybe, so reader is just ":0!!!" Sorry if it's weird, have a nice day/night!

|| so sorry this took so long ! i tried to watch some Jake Peralta scenes to help me since i haven’t watched Brooklyn 99 before but i didn’t really capture his character at all. the mood of this story is like. entirely different from the request and i didn’t add the stand user part bc i forgot- sorry!  it was meant to be better but somehow my tab deleted with my first version of the story. :,) honestly i’d be happy to try again for a more light hearted story if you want to request again!

Bruno Bucciarati | Second Meetings

“Truth be told, I never wanted us meeting like this,” he confessed, wine glass in hand while he purposefully turned it in circular motions to watch the red liquid swirl. It was like you - rouge lips, red dress and the perfect pair of heels to match.

“Honestly, I didn’t think we’d meet again.” You laughed softly, your own wine glass empty and placed on the balcony’s fence. The moon was full and the night was far from cloudy. A perfect excuse not to look at him, not yet at least. Let it all sink in first.

You had waited endless days, months and almost a year to be given an assignment as important as this; the amount pleading and begging you had done was unmeasurable. Of course this is what you wanted, ever since you become an official rookie cop. No - ever since you were old enough to realise the truths of the country you lived in.

Here, the weak are preyed on and the wealthy get away with it all. Street thugs to Mafia members go unpunished while others suffer for their wrong doings, and it’s the furthest thing from fair. That’s why you committed not only your heart but every moment of your life training to become the person you are now, a police officer who can at the very least help a town become a safer place for everyone who lives in it and visits.

Still, you never expected to be in a situation like this.

When you had asked your boss to give you a more important task outside of street patrol and parking ticket duty, you were expecting to be sent to do arrests and investigate some crime scenes, but you were sent on the cheesiest mission in the world. None of your coworkers even expected it, seeing you - the woman who sent the whole station into a riot on your first day just by cracking a couple of jokes - in a dress that showed more than what a modest person could imagine.

The plan was to investigate the members attending a party that only the ‘underground’ members of society could attend, try to overhear any plans, find out the statuses of some mafioso’s and if you were lucky, talk to a Capo. Gain their trust and let them have something slip. You just had to be careful they you weren’t found out and killed. They were the sort of men and women who were merciless when outsiders tried to interfere with their business and you being a cop wouldn’t help at all.

When you entered the party hall, well decorated and filled, you instantly knew this was going to be harder than it initially seemed. ‘There’s no way I could find out anything just by asking questions, it’s too suspicious. I’ll just drink and blend in until I can strike up casual conversation,’ you explained to yourself as you approached a silk covered table, glasses filled with all sorts of beverages on top.

Wine seemed like a good choice, you weren't much of a drinker at all but whatever calmed the nerves! If it did at all. Again, you weren’t much of a drinker. You threw your head back as your lips pressed against the rim of the glass and downed all of what the glass contained in seconds - the flavour barely hitting your tongue and the drink simply running down your throat. Something fizzy was definitely better.

A low, impressed whistle was then let out, followed with a few claps and a voice, “impressive. I can’t say I’ve seen anyone here finish a drink as fast as you have!”

That was the start of leading you to your current predicament.

“You still have that middle aged woman hair cut I see.” Light teasing, nothing truly offensive and even he chuckled a little, head shaking at your comment. You had described it just like that when you first met, insulting him at first until you apologised sincerely and cracked some self deprecating joke about your own messy hair.

His lips held onto the rim of the glass and slowly the wine was disappearing. He seemed calm and relaxed but even he would be a bit on edge in a situation like this.

Bruno knew you were a cop, a truly good hearted one at that, you had told him about it the day you met and proved it through your conversation and actions alone. That was the problem however, being a police officer while he was the Capo you were looking for. It was a tragedy you two met again like this, and he knew you couldn’t leave this place without something to help the police force. You just had to help others in some way. He didn’t know many people who would help him out in a situation like the last.

It must have been a month ago, more or less, and he had fallen by your doorstep due to exhaustion from who knows what; he never told you after all. You never asked questions though. When he awakened, you can imagine his surprise to find himself in a stranger’s home with a woman only feet away, humming to herself as she prepared a meal. That was one of the more noticeable things about your home, how close everything was together.

“Where am I?” He asked out loud, knowing that keeping a level head would be the better option instead of panicking right off that bat. Thankfully, it had caught your attention and you rushed to his side immediately, checking to see if he was alright before explaining to him how he had passed out in front of your home. It was confusing but the pieces came together quickly. Right before blacking out, Bruno was going against a stand user who was trying to climb the ranks of the mafia and though he had succeeded in winning, the exhaustion of the battle had gotten to him too quick to comprehend.

“Name’s [F/N] by the way, I’m a cop so don’t worry about me doing anything shifty while you were asleep! Your outfit’s a bit too whack to touch anyways.”

It was just his luck that a police officer was the one who had helped him.

Still, he was grateful and even more so when you started offering him the food you were making.

“I’m Bruno, a pleasure Miss [F/N].” Better not use last names.

When you parted ways, you jokingly pouted at him, “need to go so soon? I was just about to get used to you being my new room mate, bob cut.”

“How sweet you of, perhaps I’ll be seeing you later,” he laughed, detesting the nickname while simultaneously appreciating your light-hearted and humorous nature.

“I hope that’s more of a promise than a farewell!”

Luck wasn’t kind to him again. Seeing you here like this was a curse, a mistake, anything that he could easily say was the cause of the small break in his heart. It was wrong to even feel that pain, you didn’t deserve a gangsta. Not when you were so purely justice driven.

“So you really are a capo, hm?” You didn't sound angry nor disgusted. More detached if anything, which you were. You wanted to let go of this reality and assume this was a dream mixed with a nightmare.

Now two empty glasses resided on the balcony, along with two young adults who just didn’t know where to go from here, Bruno only nodding in response to your question.

A small sigh left your lips, shaky from either the cold whipping against your exposed skin to which you tried to cover by crossing your arms, or from the nerves. “You’re not going to um-“ Noticing your shivering, Bruno had moved closer beside you and wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer towards him so that he could shield you from the wind. Not entirely effective but the gesture threw you off from the horrific question you were going to ask.

He answered anyways. “Kill you? No, no, I don’t even think about hurting those you don’t deserve it. [F/N], you’re a good person. A sweet one who shouldn’t be risking herself by coming here and yet you have. I respect you far more than I show - you have to leave soon before someone notices you.”

You shook your head in response to that. You couldn’t leave! Not yet, not when you barely had any information to report. You had gotten this far, you just had to find something good, something worth knowing. “Bruno I can’t! I have to stay, just for a bit longer!”

“And risk someone finding you out?” He sounded harsh, just for a second. He softened once he noticed your worry. “I’m sorry, but you can’t just risk yourself like that. I’m going to get you out of here.”

“Bruno…”

“If it helps. Some people have been talking about terrorising the main street in a week’s time. Scare off the locals and rob what they can before anyone tries to stop them so,”

“Beef up the patrol there and we should be good,” you finished for him. It wasn’t exactly ‘take down the mafia’ intel but the fact you were alive was a miracle. “Thank you. I- I’m glad there’s at least some good in gangs, even if you seem like you’d be a better cop.” Your smile was thanks enough to him. How unfair of the moon to highlight your face like an angel’s when he should be telling it ‘goodbye.’

“Call us even, for last time.” His arm around your shoulders then lowered to be around your waist, guiding you away from the balcony and back inside, voice much lower now. “Let’s get you out of here now, if anyone asks I’ll just say you were my date who had to leave early.”

You giggled at that, “your ‘date’?”

“Hey, it makes for a good story. Plus, it makes me look good too, having a beauty like you on my side.”

Neither of you should be joking like this, the attachment was wrong. It wasn’t stopping you though, the two of you continuing to chortle at each other’s words. Quipping back, you teased him, “I don’t know if they’ll know which of us is meant to be the woman here, bob cut.”

When you were by the exit, you two made the mistake of looking into each other’s eyes, you taking a moment to appreciate his blue orbs and him doing the same with your own.

Pulling away from each other’s gaze was harder than you thought it would be. You tried to play it off by snapping your head to the side and faked a cough. “So I guess it’s goodbye again now, right?”

Bruno was looking elsewhere too. He seemed more interested in a potted plant or the wall when really he could only think of you. “Well, for now maybe. If we’re lucky, I’ll be seeing you soon.”

Was this excitement? Compose yourself, [F/N]! You were still on the job. “Make it next Friday soon, you know where to find me.” So much for composure, you were smiling.

“It’s a date.”

[theonewiththefanfics]

Pour Some Sugar On Me (one-shot)

Synopsys: A red dress, an innocent smile and lips like sugar- that’s enough to make Roger lose his mind. And the Reader will use everything she has to her advantage.

Pairing: Ben Hardy! Roger Taylor x f!Reader

Genre: SMUT, fluff

Warnings: SMUT (m going down on f, fingering), swearing, drinking

Word count: 3035

Inspired by Def Leppard’s song Pour Some Sugar On Me... honestly such a fucking banger! If ya want, listen to it while reading this ;)

       The house was packed as Y/N and Roger walked inside, her smaller hand tightly held in his calloused one. People cheered and hollered when they noticed Queen’s drummer walk in their midst with his beautiful lady by his side.        “I’ll get us drinks, love!” he yelled over the booming rock music and saw Y/N nod in response.        “I’ll be somewhere on the dance floor!” and with a wink, she was off. The blond bit his lip as he watched her hips sway in that tight little red number that hugged her ass so perfectly it was like the material was a second skin.        She’d worn it just for him. That much Roger was definitely aware of because Y/N knew just how fast it set him off, just how quickly the crimson dress with the deep V-neck cut and barely-there straps made him hard. When she’d walked down the steps of their apartment and he’d seen what she was wearing, Roger had actually bit on his knuckles to keep the groan in.        “You’ll be the death of me, darling,” he’d murmured pulling her body right next to him and nipping at her earlobe.        “But wouldn’t a death like this be just oh so sweet?” Y/N’s voice was sultry, and if Roger hadn’t sworn to Freddie he’d be at the party, he would’ve just ripped the garment off of her and bent her over the counter.        “The sweetest,” he muttered a reply, before detaching and grabbing the car keys. 

       The ride to Freddie’s place was one from Hell. The whole time he kept his hand on Y/N’s thigh and the dress seemed to grow shorter and shorter with every passing minute; it’s like the cloth itself was somehow shrinking and teasing him. There was even a moment where he almost swerved on the road, as he felt her fingers skim against his bicep.        “Love ya, Roggie,” Y/N muttered pressing a kiss against his shoulder.        “Love ya too, darling.” He’d never been happier to reach a destination because one more minute and he would’ve crashed the car.        As he made his way through the crowd, in one hand, he held Y/N’s preferred- gin and tonic- in the other he had the same order.        “Great minds think alike,” she had remarked on their first date when the waiter of the restaurant had come up and asked what they wished to order.        Getting through the mass of people was practically impossible, but somehow Roger managed to do it with minimal spillage. And then he almost dropped both glasses when he saw Y/N dancing.        The flashing lights roamed over her body much like Roger’s gaze. Her legs in the burgundy heels looked delectable, her waist was cinched and just screamed for Roger to dig his fingers in the flesh, and that smile… that smile was vile and cruel and horrible because there was no way they’d be able to sneak off for a quickie. Not when she was dancing with Freddie. Fuck, he was fucked. And he was so fucking glad for it.        They’d met after one of his shows. Y/N actually hadn’t been a fan of theirs, let alone a groupie. Her best friend had dragged her to the concert, the bribe being free drinks and food, and she’d never been able to say no to that.        Roger had noticed her immediately when he’d made his way on stage, and throughout the performance, he kept eye contact with pretty much only Y/N.        “He’s looking at you!” Stevie had yelled in Y/N’s ear, her grin bright and infectious.        “Who?” she screamed back trying to be louder than the crowd.        “Roger Taylor!”        “Who?”        Stevie rolled her eyes. “The blond one! The drummer!”        And sure enough, when Y/N turned back to face the stage he was staring right at her.        Instead of the usual response he got when a pretty girl caught him glancing, she had snorted and shaken her head. Even when he’d winked at her, he got zero acknowledgement.        So, he played more vigorously, kept his eyes on her, but Y/N didn’t budge. She deliberately watched just Freddie, John and Brian, and when they took their bows, Roger’s blue orbs blazing, almost frying a hole in her head, she finally gave in and threw him a wink. That’s when his heart did this weird flip thing.        At the afterparty, he sat in one specific place where he could observe the people coming in and out of the door, but no sign of the Y/H/C haired beauty. Despite the numerous women twirling around, Roger wasn’t interested in anyone apart from the stubborn girl who wouldn’t give him the time.        He huffed and stood up to get another drink when his feet stumbled. There, by the bar and chatting away with Brian was she.        Roger’s brain wasn’t thinking, it was no longer in control as his legs moved on their own accord and brought him to stand beside her.        “Hello, love,” he spoke up expecting for the woman to turn around, but she didn’t. She just put her hand up in a wave and downed a shot.        “Your turn Bri.”        Fuck, her voice. Did everything have to be so appealing about her?        “Ya know, when someone says ‘hi’ usually you say ‘hi’ back.”        “Ya know when someone doesn’t reply it means back off?”        Brian laughed at how Roger was at a sudden loss for words. He wasn’t used to people rejecting him.        “I uh I saw you at the concert,” he tried to make conversation once more. “You were in the front row.”        She simply shrugged drinking another shot and biting on a lime. “Friend’s a fan. Promised me free drinks, though I didn’t think she meant ‘get us into the after party and then disappear with the bassist', oh, uh what’s his name uhhh John. Your friend Brian offered to keep me company while the two go at it.”        Great, Roger thought to himself, even John was getting it on while he was still busting his ass. He leaned on the counter on her other side and smirked. “And what if I kept you some company?”        “I don’t know,” she spun around on the chair and rested her elbows against the table. “You must have a pretty good excuse to pull me away from the riveting conversation I was having.”        “What? Interplanetary space dust?” Roger cackled and looked at Brian who rolled his eyes.        “Actually, how quantum effects allow black holes to emit exact black body radiation. Hawking’s theory.”        Once again Roger was stumped. He hated Brian’s smug grin and the fact that she was mirroring it so perfectly.        “So no,” she said standing up and smoothing down her skirt, “not just interplanetary dust.”        And with a ‘thank you’ to Brian she was sauntering off, but before Roger missed the chance he yelled after her, “What’s your name?”        All he received was a wink. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”        Now, on most nights it was the name he cursed and moaned. The thought of that made him giddy.        “You trying to charm my woman, Fred?” Roger asked as he approached the pair and handed over Y/N her drink. Deliberately, and he knew it was so, she let her tongue wet her bottom lip before it wrapped around the tiny black straw and her rouged mouth took a sip.        “Trust me, darling, she’s the one who’s charmed me and half the guests here,” Freddie’s laugh was loud and boisterous; Roger just rolled his eyes and shook his head.        He knew the effect Y/N had on people, how all eyes turned to follow her as if she was the sun and they were sunflowers. She had this innocent demeanour. As if those lips of hers weren’t pure sin and her eyes weren’t hypnotizing. In a second, she could bewitch anyone she wanted, and they’d fall to her feet and surrender their heart. For whatever reason, she’d gone for Roger.        Y/N kept looking at him the whole time as he and Freddie spoke, catching up as the two hadn’t seen one another in a while. When she bit down on her straw and smiled at him, the drummer pinched the inside of his wrist to keep his mind in a decent place. But then she downed her drink.        In one big gulp, the G&T was gone, and a little sliver dribbled down her chin, trailing a path on her neck and disappeared in her cleavage.        “Fucking hell,” Roger whispered, his blue eyes wide as Y/N threw him a wink.        Freddie having seen that just rolled his eyes and patted his friend on the back. “Just use protection, kids.” Then he was off to mingle with the other guests.        “Something wrong, Roggie?” Y/N asked in a sweet tone that sent blood straight from his brain to his little brain as she swayed her hips from side to side.        “Nope,” he answered pulling her close to him and pecking her lips, “nothing at all. Only you looking as sinful as ever while tasting like dessert.”        In response, Y/N pulled Roger down by the open lapels of his dress shirt and gave him a passionate kiss while grinding against his front.        “What are you trying to do to me, woman?” Roger groaned in Y/N’s ear as his palms settled on her hips, tightly pressing them together. “Do you want everyone to see just how hard I am?”        She smirked feeling the bulge against her thigh. “Now, Roggie, isn’t that meant just for me?”        “Of course, it is, but when you act like the devil you are in front of the crowd, how can I control myself?”        “Mhm,” she hummed kissing his neck, “so it’s my fault now?”        “Always, baby.” Y/N’s satisfied smile was blissful.        Her hand trailed down Roger’s chest and slowly but surely disappeared under the open shirt.        “Darling,” his voice had dropped a few octaves and was laced with a warning, but Y/N only smiled at him, her Y/E/C eyes glinting with mischief as she raked her nails on the toned abdomen.        “Fucking hell, you really want to ruin me, don’t you?”        She only smiled wider when Roger squeezed her ass and slid his palms up her back.        “I mean, you can tell me to stop and I will,” Y/N said it in such an angelic tone both of them could feel his member twitch in the constraints of his pants. “But I don’t think you want me to.”        Her other hand was making a dangerous dip, and before Roger could react, she was palming him through the jeans. He was lucky that the music was as loud as it was, otherwise the whole fucking house would’ve heard the obscene moan that left his lips.        “Was this your plan all along?” he groaned in her ear, hiding his face in Y/N’s neck as she didn’t stop her motions. “Work me up? Tease me? Everyone thinks you’re so fucking innocent, you’re such a good girl… if only they knew… if only they realized what a minx you are…”        And when he pulled back, he saw the biggest smile on Y/N’s face he’d ever witnessed. “Then what are you waiting for?”        Quickly he grabbed her hand and led the way out of the large room. He tried to keep his palms from shaking and knees from buckling as they made their way towards one of the many bedrooms, but Roger was struggling.        On their way up the stairs Y/N snatched a drink from someone’s hand and downed it, but before the liquid could completely make its way to her stomach, she pulled Roger towards her and smashed their lips in a kiss.        He could taste the rum and coke and what seemed to be vanilla as his tongue licked in her mouth, gently teasing the roof of it before tangling with Y/N’s.        “Delicious as always,” Roger smirked as he pulled back.        “I think something else might be sweeter…”        “Why don’t we find out then?”            The door opened with a slam as he pushed Y/N backwards, their lips attached for each and every step as they went inside before he closed the door by lifting her up and pressing the woman against it.        Swiftly Roger turned the lock and smirked. “Don’t want an audience, do we?”        “I don’t know,” she purred, “I like it when everyone knows who you belong to.”        “You, baby,” he kissed cupping her cheeks. “Never doubt that.”        It took Roger less than twenty seconds to zip open Y/N’s dress and have it pooling around her ankles. His jaw dropped at the sight. A deep crimson bralette cupped her breasts and pushed them up together while the garter belt was connected to the black stockings, a red thong the only thing covering the rest of her.        “You like it?” she gave Roger a little twirl because Y/N was fully aware of the impact she had on him, and if there came a time, she didn’t tease her man to no end, it would be the day the world explodes.    “Remind me why exactly did I not rip that dress off while we were still home?”    Y/N smirked wrapping her arms around his neck and leaning in to bite at his earlobe. “Because you promised Freddie he’d get to host our engagement party.”        “Yeah, fuck that,” his hands sneaked around her thighs and he squeezed, telling her to jump.        “I’d rather you fuck me,” Y/N gave him a wicked grin as Roger turned around and threw her on the bed, her body bouncing a bit with the motion.        “Oh, love,” he undid the rest of his shirt and discarded it somewhere on the floor. “I fully intend to. But first, I need a taste.”        She whined at his words, but the noise was soon replaced by soft moans as Roger slid the thong down, putting it in the back pocket of his jeans with a smirk, and let his tongue lap around Y/N’s soaking core.    “Like fucking candy,” Roger muttered before diving back in and licking a long stripe right from her centre to her clit.        He worked her for a good few minutes before reverting his lips to the soft skin of her thighs and replacing his tongue with his fingers.        “How many, baby?” he asked, teasing her entrance mercilessly, dipping them in but not fully.        “Roger please,” Y/N whined, and she tried to grind her hips down, but he was stronger. When you play the drums for years, you grow some arm muscle and right now, she was very much so upset about it, because the palm pushing her waist down was very much so in control.        “Words, love,” Roger nipped the inside of her thigh. “How many?”        “I don’t care, just fucking do som-“        In a single move, his middle and pointer finger slid inside. He curled them upwards in a ‘come here’ motion, and Y/N’s eyes rolled to the back of her head.        “If only you could see yourself,” Roger muttered to her, though she was gone. The pleasure of his digits moving in and out accompanied by the delicious rubbing his thumb did on her clit had thrown her brain into another dimension.        “Fuck, you’re clenching so hard, darling,” Roger moaned trailing his mouth up from her hip, then her stomach, her chest, where he left a few blooming marks until he reached her neck, which he assaulted as much as possible before finally moving to her lips.    Her lipstick was already smeared all over her mouth, as it was around Roger's, and the knowledge of that made him grin.        Y/N’s fingers weaved in his blond mop, pulling him impossibly close, and she revelled in the still lingering taste of herself on his tongue. The sounds in the room were obscene, and even when the doorknob jiggled, someone else trying to make their way in, neither cared. Roger was too immersed in how Y/N’s walls fluttered around his digits, and dreaming of the moment he could be inside her while she was trying to keep her loudest moans at bay.        “No, love, that won’t do,” he gently scolded her as Y/N bit down on her knuckles to keep the scream in when his finger brushed against that spot deep inside. “Wanna make sure every fucking person here knows who’s making you feel this good.”        Y/N’s lips tugged up in a smile. “I’ll scream only if you scream.”        The drummer squeezed his blue eyes shut because those words were about to make him cum in his pants. “All in due time, sugar,” he said clearing his head. “But wanna hear you first.”        Now she didn’t hold back. Y/N moaned and sighed his name, and much to Roger’s satisfaction, especially when he got to that particular spot, she choked on a breath before groaning loudly.        “Come on, darling,” he cooed at her in the same tone he spoke to her when Y/N was in a sour mood, and he was trying to figure things out. “I know you’re close. Let go, love. Wanna see you drench my fingers.”        And he didn’t’ have to wait long. With her nails digging in his biceps and teeth biting down on his shoulder, Y/N’s orgasm obliterated all of her senses. She couldn’t feel how hot his skin was or the soothing kisses Roger placed all over her neck and cheeks and forehead. Nothing but white burning bliss existed.        Her body, and especially legs shook at the aftermath, and she couldn’t wait for the next day, when a pleasurable ache would settle between her legs.        “You good, baby?”        How Roger could go from a merciless tease and a fucking sex god to a concerned lover with the eyes of a puppy was beyond Y/N.        “Better than good, love,” she replied releasing a satisfied hum as he gave her a kiss. “But kinda wanna be even better.” With that said her hand cupped his still confined bulge. “What d’ya say?”        “Your wish is my command, sweetheart.”        And her lips as she kissed him were sugar sweet.

Pour some sugar on me Oh, in the name of love Pour some sugar on me Get it, come get it Pour your sugar on me Pour some sugar on me Yeah! Sugar me!

Tags (crossed out wouldn’t take): @16wiishes @wanderingsami @desir-ae @thiccio-and-thicciet @roseslovedreams @vesoleil @gloomybisexualemo @kostyaownsmyheart @perriwiinkle @screaminggalileochickenwrites @barbarairene-k @aylinnmaslow @harrysgonnapayforthis @rockyroadthepastryarchy @1hystericalqueen @whateverrrforeverrr @spideymood @fourmisfitz @samanthaofanarchy @fixedonroger @yourealegendroger @probably-not-deadpool @drummerboyrog @destiel-stucky4ever-loki-queen @iidontgiveafuckuniverse @belongsto-prachi @palaiasaurus64 @supernaturalbaesduh @breezy1415 @crazy--me @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @sea040561 @staryeyedgirl @deathbyarabbit @s-c-a-r-e-d-po-t-t-e-r @reblogger-not-a-blogger @m-a-t-91 @dalilx @i-need-a-hero-i-need-a-loki @maladaptive-ninja-returns @averyrogers83 @in-the-end-im-still-trash @gallifreyansass @dewy-biitch @avxgers @sweet-ladyy @magicwithaknife @ollyoxenfrees @bnhvrdy @tvwhoresblog @celebsimagines @thatkindofgurl @lumelgy @unlikelygalaxygiver

A/N: The inhuman screech I let out when I saw that Avengers: End Game had a new trailer was so loud it scared the birds outside! My insides ar shaking!!! Tony’s back on Earth!1!!@! AAAAHHHHHHH

P.S. feedback is always appreciated

P.S.S. my tags are always open/ requests are closed for now :(

[the-observant-frisbeetarian]

Chapter 3 - Vino y Pasta

La Patisserie de la Rose by George deValier 

CHAPTER THREE Vino y Pasta

.

"Maybe this was not the best idea."

Matthew took one look at Francis' worried expression and felt his heart sink to his stomach. Francis had changed his mind. Matthew had been too boring, he hadn't spoken enough, he'd spoken too much, he didn't know how to flirt properly, he'd done this all wrong… "Oh. That's okay. I mean, I understand if you've changed…"

"No, no, no, my dear!" Francis smiled reassuringly and placed his hand lightly on Matthew's back. Matthew felt the touch like a burning, swelling spark beneath his skin. "Asking you on a date was, I believe, the best idea I have had all year. I'm just not certain if I chose the best place."

"Oh?" Matthew glanced around the bright, busy restaurant. What could Francis possibly be concerned about? The place seemed perfect.

"No, it should be fine." Francis spoke softly, as though to himself. "I'm sure they don't work on Fridays…" He was interrupted by a shriek.

"FRANCIS!" A short, grinning, amber-haired young man bounded across the full restaurant, pushing past bustling waiters and crowded tables, and threw his arms around Francis. "François, grand frère, I haven't seen you for so long! Not since Tuesday! Did you bring me cupcakes? No? That's okay, you can make me some for tomorrow night, with rainbow icing and sprinkles and you are going to Gilbert's party tomorrow night, aren't you? Did you know Antonio told him? Lovino was so cranky. Well, crankier than usual."

"Ah, Feli," said Francis, a forced smile on his lips. "So you are working tonight."

"Of course! It's been so busy we need all the staff we can get!"

Francis took Matthew's arm and started to slowly back away. "Is that right? I'm sure there are no free tables, then. Oh well, I guess we will be leaving…"

"No! Don't be silly! There's always room for family. I'll get you a table. LOVINO!" Francis winced at the shout and smiled apologetically at Matthew. The young man burst into a steady stream of rapid-fire Italian, quickly answered by further shouting from the kitchen across the room. No one in the restaurant seemed to take notice.

"I'm sorry," said Francis softly, speaking into Matthew's ear. "Like I said, maybe this wasn't…"

"No, it's fine!" Matthew had never been to a place like this before. The sound of loud speech and boisterous laughter blasted from every table; the smell of tomato and roasting garlic filled the air; vivid drawings of colourful food and the Italian countryside covered the walls. It felt warm, lively, friendly. In some strange way, it reminded Matthew of Francis' patisserie. The cheerful young man turned back towards them and spoke again in English.

"I'll show you to your usual table, of course you know the way though, you're lucky it's free because there's so many people tonight and oh!" The man broke off, stared wide-eyed at Matthew, and gasped loudly. "Hello!"

"Uh. Hello."

"Hello!" The little Italian put his hands to his mouth then wrung them frantically. "I'm so rude. Oh gosh, I'm sorry, I'm so rude, I didn't even… hello."

Matthew tried not to laugh. "Hello."

"Feliciano," said Francis, breaking smoothly into the short, broken excuse for a conversation. "This is Matthew. Matthew, my little cousin Feliciano."

Matthew held out his hand but, to his surprise, Feliciano threw his arms around him and squeezed him tightly. "Benvenuto, Matthew! I'm so, so happy to meet you! Welcome to Casa Vargas! Wow, you must be really special, you're the first one of Francis' boyfriends he's ever brought here! Well, I say boyfriends, but everyone knows Francis only uses them for s…"

"SO!" Francis shouted. "How about that table, Feliciano?"

"Oh, yes!" Feliciano released Matthew and bounced off into the restaurant. "Follow me!"

Matthew tried not to dwell on that earlier statement of Feliciano's, instead allowing Francis to take his hand and lead him through the bright, crowded room. He wondered if his work suit was tidy enough, then wondered if he was overdressed, then worried whether Francis expected to pay the bill, then hoped people weren't staring at their clasped hands, then Francis looked back and smiled. "I had no idea it would be this busy!"

Every doubt and worry flew from Matthew's mind. His cheeks turned warm and he returned the smile shyly. "I suppose that means the food is fantastic!"

His eyes fixed on Francis', Matthew barely noticed they had stopped until Feliciano turned and gestured theatrically to the table beside them. "Your table, signori! I shall return with your wine shortly!" He stared at Matthew, giggled, said, "Hello," once more, then ran off into the kitchen. Matthew reluctantly released Francis' hand, felt the need to let out a deep breath, and sat slowly at the table.

"He's, uh… cheerful."

"You have no idea, mon cher." Francis threw a quick, strangely nervous glance after Feliciano before taking the seat opposite Matthew.

The table was situated in a back corner of the restaurant, slightly removed from the other diners, which gave it a private, secluded feel. This had all happened so fast, but it suddenly struck Matthew that he was on a date – a date with a man he was very, very interested in. When was the last time that had happened? Actually, when had that ever happened? His natural shyness overtaking him, Matthew could only stare at the table. This was real now, this was a date, not just a casual morning at the patisserie before work. Matthew did not quite know what to say, what to do with his hands. He absently pushed the wine glass across the crisp white tablecloth, then reached out and touched the small candle holder in the centre of the table. Unexpected heat spread through his fingers. "Oh!" he said in surprise. "It's real!"

"Excuse me?"

Matthew looked up to see Francis staring amusedly at Matthew's fingers brushing over the little glass jar. Matthew immediately dropped his hand. "Oh, nothing, really. It's just, so many restaurants have those fake candles these days. It is nice to see a real one. It's more…"

"Romantique?"

Matthew felt his lips twitch and his skin warm at that familiar bright-eyed smile, that lilting, teasing tone. "I was going to say, honest."

"Of course. That describes the place quite well, really."

Matthew glanced around at the tables of families arguing over pizza, the couples gazing at each other over glasses of wine. "It is lovely. Warm and friendly. And your family own it?"

Francis nodded. "The Italian branch."

"There are branches?"

"Darling, my grandfather scattered children across the Mediterranean like petals to the wind. I am quite certain that entire future generations in the region would be able to trace their ancestry back to the man." Francis winked. "If only his grandchildren were the type to procreate."

Matthew leant forward, intrigued. "Which they're not?"

At that moment, Feliciano reappeared like a colourful miniature tornado beside them, grinning and bouncing and brandishing a bottle of red wine. "La vostra bottiglia di vino rosso, signori! Or, votre bouteille de vin rouge, Messieurs!"

"Or, Ihre Flasche Rotwein, Herren." Matthew shot a wry smirk at the bouncing brunet, who went immediately still, his eyes widening and his mouth dropping open. Matthew started to worry that he might have been rude or inappropriate, when Feliciano finally shouted a response.

"O mio Dio, Matthew, you speak German!"

"Oh, um..." Matthew blinked a few times, taken aback. He had only meant it as a light-hearted, throwaway reply to Feliciano's swift change of language. "Well, only a tiny bit, that was probably incorrect, I was just…"

"Can you teach me to say something?" Feliciano interrupted eagerly, his expression bright and earnest and intense. He didn't seem to notice Francis take the wine from his hand and proceed to pour it into the two glasses on the table. Matthew looked to him for help but Francis just suppressed a laugh behind a falsely innocent expression.

"Well, I'll try if I…"

"Can you tell me how to say, 'I love you?'" asked Feliciano excitedly.

Matthew's features relaxed into a soft smile. What a charming thing to ask. "Of course. It's 'Ich liebe dich'."

Feliciano's eyes were as wide as saucers and he practically jumped on the soles of his feet. "Oh! Thank you so much! Can you write it down for me? I'll have to get you a pen but ooh, first, also, how do you say, 'You're handsome and perfect'?"

Matthew bit back a laugh. Feliciano was too adorable. "Sie sind hübsch und perfekt."

"Grazie, Matthew!" said Feliciano breathlessly. "Just one more thing. How do you say, 'Fuck me harder, you magnificent, filthy German sex pig?'"

Matthew gasped, choked, and promptly broke into a fierce coughing fit. Francis smoothly pressed a glass of wine into his hand. Matthew gulped it down swiftly.

"Feli," said Francis lightly, "I don't think Matthew's German vocabulary extends that far. Why don't you ask Gilbert?"

Feliciano's face lit up. "Of course! Gilbert! Why didn't I think of that already? Merci, François, grand frère!" Feliciano bounced off again happily. Matthew glared at Francis over his glass, his eyes slightly wet from coughing.

"Why do I get the feeling that was quite a cruel suggestion?"

Francis shrugged innocently and took a sip of wine. "I've no idea, mon cher."

Matthew drank as well, bringing the last of his coughing under control. Well, that was certainly unexpected. "So, who is the magnificent, filthy German… uh…" Matthew trailed into a mumble and Francis giggled airily.

"Gilbert's little brother. He and Feliciano have been together a year or so."

"I see. So that's what you were referring to, earlier."

Francis winked, his dark blond hair falling across his sparkling blue eyes. "Let's just say that Grandpa has long resigned himself to the fact that he is unlikely to have great-grandchildren."

"Oh." Matthew paused to adjust to this new information. Meeting Francis' friends Gilbert and Roderich had been eye-opening in itself. Matthew was not used to meeting other gay men so openly; not in everyday situations like this. Yet Francis seemed to be surrounded by them. It was a far cry from Matthew's sheltered, small town upbringing. "So you know a lot of…" Matthew faltered over the sentence, but pressed on resolutely, "…gay men, do you?"

Francis laughed and settled back in his chair. "Darling, you've no idea!"

Matthew finished his glass of wine, feeling strangely small and ignorant. "I can't even imagine. I knew two other gay guys growing up. And one was my brother Alfred."

Francis' eyes lit up with interest. "You never told me you had a brother."

Matthew immediately regretted bringing the subject up. Even living in another city, another country, Alfred had overshadowed Matthew their entire lives. "Half brother, actually. We weren't even raised together, except for the holidays. His father is American - that's where he lives. The general consensus is that he's a more popular, more successful, better looking version of me."

Francis frowned disbelievingly. "More popular and successful, possibly. Better looking? I simply refuse to believe it, darling, unless this Alfred be a God."

Matthew scoffed incredulously, even as his neck burned at the praise. "Some might agree with that assessment of Alfred's divinity." Matthew was used to living in Alfred's shadow. But Francis made him feel special, for the first time in his life, so he had so far avoided bringing up the topic of his famous brother. But it was not the kind of thing he could hide forever. Matthew sighed deeply, met Francis' gaze evenly, and prepared himself for the gasping and gushing he had come to expect on this topic. "My brother is Alfred F Jones."

Francis' eyebrows furrowed for a moment before his face brightened in cautious understanding. "Oh! The baseball player… no?"

Matthew blinked a few times, then had to choke back a sigh of relief. "Gridiron."

"Gridiron…" Francis tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Ah oui, the silly game with the helmets. Yes, there was that scandal last year, wasn't there? The famous quarterback who came out and introduced his male English lover to the media. I vaguely remember seeing it in the papers. That was your brother?"

Matthew nodded. "I'm surprised you only heard it in passing. It caused a media meltdown in the States."

Francis waved a hand dismissively before reaching over to refill Matthew's glass. "I do not pay much attention to the news. I prefer to focus on positive things. Like my work, my patisserie. My friends. Art, music. Beautiful places. Beautiful people." Francis' compelling gaze held Matthew's as he pushed the glass towards him. "You, my dear." Francis' tone was blatantly seductive, the flash of his eyes sending a familiar shiver firing from Matthew's stomach downwards. Matthew picked up the glass to hide his reddening cheeks, but refused to lower his eyes. The lingering gaze was abruptly interrupted when a chair slammed down beside them and a dark haired man fell into it heavily. He leant against the table, his green eyes wide and unblinking, a daft but strangely discerning smile on his face.

"Hi."

"Hi," replied Matthew uncertainly, leaning away and holding the wine glass to his chest. What now? Another friend or cousin of Francis'? Why did they keep interrupting at the times like this?

The man's eyes flicked between Matthew and Francis, his expression positively beaming. "Hi."

Matthew wasn't sure whether to again respond in kind. Francis let out a resigned sigh. "Matthew, this is Antonio, a particularly irritating friend of mine. Antonio, can I help you? What are you even doing here?"

Antonio didn't answer. He leant towards Francis and hissed through clenched teeth, "Gilbert told me you had a boyfriend."

Matthew's stomach flipped at the word. Boyfriend… Francis just rolled his eyes. "Of course he did."

"He's cute." Antonio spoke in an exaggerated whisper.

"I know."

"He chose the éclair, didn't he?"

Matthew felt his cheeks burn. Did all of Francis' friends know about that? Francis glared at Antonio, who just smiled at Matthew obliviously. "What is this… this thing you're doing?"

Antonio turned to Francis, puzzled. "Thing?"

Francis let out an exasperated breath and touched his forehead. "This whispering thing. He can still hear you, you stupid Spaniard, he's right there."

Antonio scratched his head, turned back to Matthew, and broke back into a grin. "So pleased to meet you, Matthew. You're much better than looking than most of Francis' dates."

Now Francis hissed through clenched teeth. "Shut up."

Antonio ignored him. "Not that they're not good looking, only the very best for our Francis!"

Francis smiled desperately. "Please shut up."

Antonio beamed brightly. "So it's a compliment, you see."

Francis looked about ready to grab Antonio by the throat. "Oh mon Dieu, why can't you ever just shut up?"

Matthew listened silently, a small concern prodding gently at his mind. Feliciano had mentioned Francis' dates earlier, also. And then there was Francis and Gilbert's strange, whispered conversation that afternoon. Maybe Francis really did have some secrets hidden away…

Antonio waved a hand in Francis' face. "Shush, Francis. Matthew, you are coming to Gilbert's party tomorrow night, yes?"

Matthew shook the concern away and told himself not to be silly. So Francis went on a few dates. So what? That didn't mean that he wasn't interested in Matthew. After all, most guys dated a lot. But Matthew had never acted or spoken with anyone like this. It was like Francis brought out a part of him he never knew was there. And now he couldn't help wondering if Francis felt the same. He couldn't completely silence the tiny voice that asked – Does Francis treat everyone like this?

Matthew suddenly remembered he had been asked a question, but Francis spoke before he could answer. "Speaking of Gil's surprise party, Antonio…"

Antonio groaned loudly. "Oh, will everyone stop already, you know what he's like! It wasn't even me who told him, Feliciano let it slip that we were doing something! And then Gil cornered me in the kitchen, and threatened me with a spoon, and said that he'd tell Lovino about that lap dance in New York…"

"What lap dance in New York?"

Matthew felt the atmosphere turn cold. He glanced up at the young man beside them. One hand held a platter of bread and olives; the other rested rigidly on his hip. He looked very similar to Feliciano, but with darker hair and an angrier expression. Antonio turned white, then chuckled nervously. "Lovino, baby! That was something involving Gilbert, nothing to do with me!" Antonio shot Francis a manically gleeful stare. "Right, Francis?"

Francis shrugged distantly, his expression mildly triumphant. "I've nothing to do with this, mon ami." Antonio narrowed his eyes, but Francis just smirked.

Lovino raised his chin and stared down at Antonio shrewdly. "Hmm. We'll see. Antonio, get your fabulous ass back in the kitchen. We're understaffed and you're supposed to be helping."

"I'm being social!" Antonio whined indignantly.

Lovino tilted his head slowly, a dangerous glint in his eye. "New York, was it?"

Antonio almost knocked the chair over in his haste to get to his feet. "I must be off! See you tomorrow night, Matt! Francis…" Antonio leant over the table and hissed in Francis' ear, just loud enough for Matthew to overhear. "Not one word. Don't forget that I've got far more dirt on you than you'll ever have on me, amigo." Antonio straightened up, kissed Lovino on the cheek, and rushed back to the kitchen.

"Thank you, Lovino," said Francis, his pleasant tone starting to sound a little strained. "Matthew, this is my other little Italian cousin."

Lovino dropped the platter on the table with a dull thud. He kept his eyes fixed on Francis and spoke before Matthew could say a word. "Whatever. Here's your entrée. What lap dance in New York?"

Francis' expression remained impassive as he picked up an olive from the plate. "Do you know, I believe you should bring that up with Roderich."

Lovino glared at Francis, then glanced sideways at Matthew. Matthew smiled tentatively back. "Right," said Lovino. He put his hands on the table and leant over Francis. "You'd better not be hiding anything from me, cugino. Don't go forgetting the things I know about you." Francis popped the olive in his mouth and smiled. Lovino stood straight, nodded at Matthew, then turned and marched into the kitchen.

Francis closed his eyes, released a deep breath, took a long sip of wine, and smiled apologetically. "I am truly sorry. But, where were we? Tell me more about… you." Francis wagged his eyebrows and Matthew suppressed a laugh. Instead, he raised an eyebrow and tried to look unimpressed.

"Really? Now? That's your line?"

Francis groaned and fell back in his chair. "It's no use, is it. I'm completely obstructed in here."

Matthew lowered his head to hide his amused smile. It was nice to see Francis as the flustered one, for once. "Well," he said, brushing his hair back and trying to wipe his smile away, "I've been telling you about me all week. There's not much more to tell."

Francis raised an eyebrow deviously. "There is always more to tell."

"Oh?" Matthew straightened up and raised his chin. "All right then, François." Francis upper lip twinged at the teasing tone. "Tell me. Why did you leave Paris? Some scandal, perhaps?" Matthew gasped softly, dramatically. "A jilted lover? A political outrage? A dangerous past starting to catch up with you?"

A tiny eyebrow twitch; the slightest rise at the corner of Francis' lip. He lowered his lashes and said breathily, "Do you really wish to know, mon cher?"

Matthew rested his chin on his hand and leant forward across the table. "I told you once, remember? I'd love to hear all your dirty secrets."

Francis groaned at the back of his throat, then sucked in a breath through his teeth. He shot forward until he was so close Matthew could feel his warm breath on his cheek. "If you insist. The truth is…"

"Where is he?" A deep, accented voice suddenly boomed through the noisy restaurant. "Where is the boy my Francis finally brought home to his grandpa?"

Matthew laughed in disbelieving disappointment. Francis closed his eyes and put his hands to his head. "Mathieu, my dear, we can leave right now…"

Matthew sat back and smirked. "I'm actually sort of enjoying watching you squirm."

Francis' blue eyes flashed then narrowed. "You sadistic little… Grandpa Roma!" Francis stood quickly and was immediately embraced by a tall, dark haired man who kissed both his cheeks. Matthew smiled pleasantly, prepared himself to remain polite and quiet and civil, and wondered how long this interruption would take.

"Francis, my boy! Where have you been lately? Too busy for your own family? No time to see your old grandpa?" Francis' grandfather looked surprisingly young. He had the same features as Feliciano and Lovino, but Matthew could see Francis in the man's wild gestures and dancing eyes. He held Francis at arm's length and looked him up and down. "Are you eating properly, Francis? You can't live on cake and biscuits, my boy!"

Francis' face was red. Matthew couldn't help thinking it was rather endearing. "Yes, Grandpa, I know. Now, please…"

"And, Matthew!" Roma released Francis and turned. Matthew scrambled to his feet and held out his hand, but, once again, was pulled into a strong hug. "Welcome, benvenuto!"

"Um… pleased to meet you…" Matthew choked out. Roma released him and he gasped for air. He was then pushed to arms length as Roma looked him over. From the corner of his eye Matthew could see Francis standing with one hand over his face.

"Oh, aren't you handsome!" cried Roma. "Good taste does run in the family. Well done, Francis, my boy, well done! What do you do, Matthew?"

"I'm an accountant," Matthew answered quickly.

"Accountant, hmm? What kind of tax breaks can you swing for us?" Matthew tried to stammer an uncertain response before Roma clapped him on the shoulder and laughed raucously. "Joking, I'm joking, Matthew!"

"Are you done?" asked Francis through tightly stretched lips. "I didn't actually realise the entire family would be working tonight." Francis' voice was dangerously strained.

"Of course you didn't! I'm sure you have more important things to do than be interrupted by your obnoxious relatives all evening. So…" Roma whistled and, seconds later, a waiter appeared carrying a plastic bag of food containers and a second bottle of wine. Roma smiled at Matthew and winked. "So get out of here."

Matthew decided he liked Francis' grandpa.

.

"This is incredible!" said Matthew for the third time, halfway through the most delicious carbonara he'd ever tasted. He had barely even paused so far to worry about the mess he was probably making, trying to eat fettuccine off his knees from a plastic container with a plastic fork. Of course he knew there were a few sauce stains on his shirt, and he was hyper-aware of Francis' eyes on him, but these smooth, rich, bursting tastes on his tongue made all of that too unimportant to worry about. Francis laughed softly beside him.

"The best pasta outside of Italy. Perhaps, even, anywhere."

Matthew stared out at the bright lights reflected on the water. This place really wasn't as bad as he had thought at first. Sitting here on this bench beside Francis, eating pasta and passing a wine bottle back and forth, the city actually looked quite beautiful. The night was strangely warm despite the season, a light dusting of stars shone faintly above the glittering skyline, and few people passed them where they sat on the walkway by the river. Matthew swallowed another mouthful of the creamy pasta, then glanced at Francis from the corner of his eye. "So, making magic with food is a family trait, is it?"

"A gift, and a curse." Matthew raised an eyebrow curiously. Francis' eyes twinkled with familiar mischief. "Legend has it that a distant relative was head chef to an Emperor of Rome."

"Oh?" With an effort, Matthew kept his twitching lips from turning in a smile. "Which one?" he asked, straight faced.

Francis waved a hand with effortless grace. He had finished his own pasta, but was still as perfectly neat and refined as always. Francis ate as elegantly as he did everything else. "Oh, one of those emperors who liked his food, you know."

"Caligula?" Matthew guessed randomly.

"Oui, yes, that will do. Anyway, this story goes, that the Emperor was to hold a very large, very important feast. The night before the feast, he called his head chef to the throne. The Emperor then told him that if he did not create the most wondrous, most amazing, most delicious meal ever tasted, then he would have the chef crucified." Francis paused to take a sip of wine from the bottle, then passed it to Matthew. "The chef was, naturally, rather worried. So he called upon the dark God of the underworld, Hades."

"As you do." Matthew hid a smirk by taking a swig from the bottle.

Francis' eyes narrowed just slightly, but he continued smoothly. "He made a pact with the God. In exchange for the greatest culinary talent known to the world, the chef would give his soul to the dark underworld. And in return, all his descendants would be blessed with the same talent, and the same curse. Unless…" Francis trailed off teasingly.

"Unless?" prompted Matthew, his eyes held to Francis' in an amused, magnetic gaze.

"Unless, through their talent, the descendant is able to make just one good, pure hearted person fall in love with them. If we can do this, we are saved from the curse."

Matthew raised his eyebrows sceptically. "One of pure heart? It's like a Disney movie."

Francis' voice, always smooth as liquid sugar, came slightly deep, amused, and almost rough. "Someone like you, mon cher."

A shudder of desire rippled through Matthew's spine, but he laughed dismissively and looked back out at the river. "How many boys have you given that line to, I wonder."

Francis ignored him. "But, there is a catch."

Matthew took a sip of the strong red wine. "Isn't there always."

"I feel you aren't taking this seriously, my dear." Matthew felt his eyes drawn back, and Francis' eyes seemed to challenge him. The look set Matthew's skin afire. He attempted a sarcastic smile, but wasn't sure he pulled it off.

"Oh no, please. Tell me. What's the catch?"

Francis reached for the wine bottle, wrapping his hand around Matthew's. Matthew felt the touch shoot downwards through his veins. Francis' returned Matthew's teasing smile… his was much more successful. "If we are able to make this good, pure hearted person fall in love with us, then we gain our soul… but we lose our talent."

"Is that right?" Matthew was fairly certain that his breathy tone ruined his attempt at sarcasm. "If that's the case then… is it worth it?"

Francis slowly raised the bottle to his lips, not releasing Matthew's hand around it. He drank slowly, his eyes not moving from Matthew's. "Love or renown. It is an easy choice, no?"

Matthew felt suddenly too vivid, too aware. Francis' firm warmth beside him, the gentle pressure of his fingers, the siren flash of his eyes. But even in this close, falling, blood-quickening moment, Matthew tried to shake the worries from his head, his concerns about the constant mentions of dates and boyfriends, the nagging doubt about how many times Francis had said these words. "It is an interesting legend," he finally managed to say. "Do you think you will evade the curse?"

Francis smiled and winked. "I'm working on it."

Matthew dropped his gaze, his neck burning. He put the lid back on the plastic container and placed it on the bench beside him, then took another sip from the wine bottle. He was beginning to really feel it's effects. "So, Francis," he asked abruptly. "Why did you leave?"

"Leave?" asked Francis, confused.

"Why did you leave Paris for Canada?"

Francis turned to face Matthew on the bench, then rested his elbow on the backrest behind them. "I hunger for new experiences, Mathieu. You never know what life will bring you. Sometimes it is hard to leave what you have always known; but then, sometimes it brings you something you would otherwise never have dreamt of."

Matthew felt warmth fill his chest at the words. It was like Francis was describing Matthew's own experience. He never would have dreamt that leaving his small, quiet town would lead him to someone like Francis. The entire evening since they had left the restaurant had flowed evenly, easily. It was so natural to talk with Francis, to just be with him. But more than natural; it was exciting. The not so subtle glances, the bright and hidden smiles, the flicks of hair and bitten lips and brief brushes of hands and feet. The awareness that they both knew what was going on and where this was leading; the sweet anticipation and aching wait to get there. But now that the night was growing quieter, and the silences between them longer, Matthew could not stop his mind going again through the earlier conversations. He asked the question before he properly thought it through. "Do you go on a lot of dates, Francis?"

Francis' sharp breath and brief silence gave the answer. But then he laughed flippantly. "Please, it is nothing. You know how friends and family are. They love to make such drama out of nothing."

Matthew accepted the response for the moment. After all, it was not his place to pry. "I understand. Alfred is the same."

"I would like to meet Alfred."

The very thought of it drained the blood from Matthew's face. He shook his head, eyes wide. "No."

Francis smiled, even as his expression turned puzzled. "Why not?"

Matthew said it before he could stop himself. "Because everyone likes him best."

Francis looked amused and sceptical. "We will see about that. But let us not speak of your brother. You did not tell me about work today."

Matthew could feel his face fall. He shrugged and stared at the river. "There is nothing to tell. It was the same as every day."

"You do not like your job."

Matthew's eyes shot up. Francis rested his chin on his hand, a mixture of curiosity and empathy on his face. Matthew sighed and shrugged one shoulder. "It is a job. I am lucky."

"But it is not a passion."

Matthew frowned, a little annoyed – what an unfair thing to say. "Very few people get to do what they love, Francis."

"And what do you love?" Matthew didn't answer. He didn't know how to answer. Francis just asked again. "What did you want to be? As a child?"

Matthew laughed shortly. "A professional hockey player."

"And why did you give up?"

Matthew rolled his eyes. "It's not a very feasible goal, is it?"

"Well, even if it is not... you love to skate? To play?"

Matthew looked down into the almost empty bottle as he thought about the question. He did love skating - so much. He hadn't thought of it in years. Because, well… because it was pointless, wasn't it? "Well… yes, but…"

"Do you still skate?" Matthew looked up at that. In the reflected light from the river, Francis' eyes seemed to pierce right through him.

"No. I have no time. But..." Matthew was unsure why he paused.

Francis tilted his head slightly. "But?"

"Well..." Memories rose unbidden. Gliding alone on a lake of ice as his breath misted before him and the sun descended in the clear, darkening sky. Racing across a busy skating rink, easily dodging slower skaters and leaving Alfred struggling to catch up behind. The heart racing excitement before every game, the wild, giddy thrill of winning which nothing since had ever managed to match. "I loved hockey as a kid. Even just skating around on the ice, on my own. I always thought it would be nice to own a little skating rink, one without the politics and snobbery you sometimes get. Just somewhere friendly, where kids could learn, with hockey and dance lessons and a little café by the rink." Matthew shrugged and brushed his hair back, a little embarrassed. "Huh. I've never told anyone that." Matthew startled when he felt Francis' hand touch his, brushing the hair from his face. The touch raised goosebumps on Matthew's neck.

Francis met Matthew's gaze, and was quiet for a few moments. His voice, when he spoke, was not teasing or laughing or rough. It was simply honest. "I hope to hear many more things you have never told anyone."

.

The walk to Francis' patisserie took twice as long as it should have. They ambled along slowly, arms almost touching, Matthew's stomach twisting in knots every time their hands brushed together briefly. They had barely spoken since leaving the river, but it felt perfectly comfortable like this. Like they did not need to speak. When Francis suddenly stopped it took Matthew a few moments to notice why - they were standing at the patisserie door. His twisting stomach flipped completely. He turned slowly to face Francis, their eyes meeting level.

"So. Well. Um. Thank you for your company." Matthew found himself reverting to politeness, as he always did when slightly nervous. "And for asking me to dinner. I had a wonderful time."

"I can not apologise enough for earlier..." Francis looked down at the ground and ran a hand through his loose blond hair. "Ah, it was a complete disaster."

Matthew snickered softly. "Well, yes. But interesting."

Francis sighed dramatically and raised his eyes from the ground to the sky. "How I wanted out first date to be perfect and romantic, darling. Not… 'interesting.'"

"Oh, it wasn't so bad." Matthew was actually rather relieved that Francis was not always as suave and perfectly charming as he had been at first. Matthew did not know how long he could have kept up with that. "Besides, this is turning out rather 'perfect and romantic' right here."

"Hm." Francis sighed softly and lowered his eyes again. "I do believe you may be correct, Monsieur."

Matthew's heart beat faster at Francis' piercing stare. "Besides, I enjoyed meeting your family. And I'll get to meet more of your friends tomorrow also, won't I?"

Francis' eyes narrowed, his expression slightly devious. "You're meeting far too many from my side. I shall have to get even, my dear."

Matthew shrugged apologetically. "It's only Alfred on my side, I'm afraid. Or, well, there is Kumajiro."

Francis' eyebrows shot up. He looked rather thrown. "Kumajiro?"

Matthew met Francis' eye as evenly as he could manage. "Yes. He lives with me. He shares all my secrets, and sleeps in my bed every day, and watches over me every evening." At Francis' puzzled expression, Matthew gave in and smiled. "My teddy bear."

Francis' face softened and he chuckled lightly. "Well. Just when I think you can get no more adorable, my darling."

Matthew looked down and wondered just where this was going: the constant eye contact, the hand brushing, this fluttering heat and this warm, familiar feeling. But he didn't want to push, he didn't want to mistake this, he didn't… but then Francis took a step towards him and rested his hand lightly on Matthew's hip. Matthew's eyes flew up and his lips parted. Heat spread from Francis' hand over his hip, across his back, through his stomach, shooting lower and spreading like fire. Francis' blue eyes burned into his and sent a flutter through Matthew's shoulders. He leant closer and, just as Matthew realised Francis was about to kiss him, he closed the final gap himself. Their lips touched firmly, softly, and Matthew moaned, unable to stop it.

This culmination of the week's glances and touches and playful words shot through Matthew like a jolt of electricity. He rested his hands on Francis' shoulders, then lowered them over his back. Francis pulled him closer by the hips and thrust further into the kiss. And oh, not that Matthew had a lot to compare him to, but Francis was the most amazing kisser in Matthew's limited experience. His tongue so light and firm, his lips gentle but strong, his soft hair tickling Matthew's cheek and smelling faintly of lavender; the overwhelming sense of Francis' feel and scent, the taste of tomato and mint and still the faintest hint of chocolate… Matthew reluctantly broke the kiss to gasp for air, faintly aware that he had barely breathed for a minute or so. He laughed shakily, his arms still holding to Francis firmly.

"Well," said Francis breathlessly, his lips brushing Matthew's as he spoke, "I suppose it is true what they say about hockey players."

Matthew quickly wracked his brains for an explanation. "Something about sticks?"

Francis stifled an amused snicker. "No. That they find an opening and get it in." Matthew just stared for a moment, a little thrown off. Thankfully, Francis clarified. "Hockey players. Find an opening. It's a dreadfully bad pun, I know. Um... this is terribly awkward. Can we just kiss again, please?"

Matthew nodded quickly. "Yes." The second kiss was as powerful as the first, but with bright, uncontainable laughter rising between their lips. Matthew had never felt something so right as this, so comfortable, so perfectly natural and easy and knee-weakingly arousing.

But what now? Was Francis going to ask him to come in? Was that how this worked? Matthew had only been on a few dates, but from what everyone said Francis seemed to have been on so many. He suddenly worried again just what that meant. Then he worried about that strange look of conflict in Francis' eyes, that slight uncertainty in his face, and again Matthew feared he had done something wrong. He started to drop his hands, but Francis grasped his arms at the last minute. "Have breakfast with me."

Matthew could only nod. "What time do you want me?" The words came out breathier than he intended. Francis groaned.

"Don't tempt me. As early as you can be here, darling. I start baking at four."

Matthew bit his lip, nodded, and tried to tell himself this was a good sign. Francis wasn't inviting him in, but he obviously still wanted to see him – he probably just wanted to take things slowly. "I like to sleep in on Saturday," said Matthew in what he hoped was an indifferent tone. "Shall we say, eight?"

"Mm." Francis pulled Matthew close again by the waist. All thoughts of indifference flew away at Francis' lips on his cheek, his lips, his jaw, his ear… "I shall await your arrival with bated breath and maple syrup crepes."

Matthew laughed shakily at the hot breath on his ear. "Then I shan't be late… mon cher."

.

Next Chapter

Disclaimer: This story belongs to George deValier. Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya. I own nothing.

[isitgintimeyet]

The Ties That Bind

Thanks for all your feedback on the first chapter. I loved reading it all! I hope you enjoy the second chapter.

Once again thanks to @mo-nighean-rouge for the beta

Chapter 2 : A Recreational Activity (well, a few)

The power of a glance has been so much abused in love stories, that it has come to be disbelieved in. Few people dare now to say that two beings have fallen in love because they have looked at each other. Yet it is in this way that love begins, and in this way only.  -Victor Hugo, Les Misérables

Jamie groaned and hoped that the banging inside his head would stop soon. This was the problem with drinking wine. Generally Jamie tried to steer clear of ‘grape’ and stick to ‘grain’. However, last night, he had supped copious quantities of both and now was suffering the consequences. He stretched his hand out hoping to find a glass of water and possibly even two aspirins left on the bedside table by his more responsible alter ego yesterday. There they were. Gratefully, he sank back onto the pillows and waited for them to do their work.  

Parts of his alcohol-induced dreams came back to him… miles and miles of hotel corridors and he was chasing, chasing... a woman with the most gorgeous legs he had ever seen. He kept chasing her, but she wouldn’t stop and she wouldn’t turn round. A flash of wild dark curls and…

The banging in his head seemed to be louder now. “Unca,” a cross little voice added to the general cacophony. “Unca, get up now. Mam says now. ‘Tis beckfast and then ‘wimmin’. Mam says.”

Jamie forced himself out of bed. Fastening the towelling bath robe, he opened his door. His little nephew rushed past him and started jumping on the bed. Jenny stood in the doorway, her eyes darting all round the room.

“I go ‘wimmin’ with ye, Unca, wiv Spideyman shorts. What ye shorts, Unca?”

Jamie sighed and looked at his sister. “She’s no’ here. She didna stay. Nothing happened.” He grabbed Wee Jamie round his middle, lifting him high up in the air. “And who said I would take ye swimmin’, ye wee fishie?”

“Mam said so, she did.”

Jamie gently set his nephew on his feet. “Aye, well, yer mam makes an awfa’ lot o’ decisions fer the men in this family. But I guess I canna refuse, no’ if I ken what’s good fer me.”

**************

Claire lay on one of the day beds next to the swimming pool and wiggled her toes, admiring the newly applied scarlet polish. She set aside the copy of Hello! she had been skimming through and turned to Geillis.

“This was such a good idea of yours, G. Total battery recharge today… and we’ve even had the whole pool to ourselves. I don’t reckon we’ll be seeing any of that wedding party any time soon. Not if last night was anything to go by.”

“I am rather full of brilliant ideas,” Geillis agreed. “Although I feel we may have missed an opportunity last night. So many men...”

“... And no doubt so many wives and girlfriends!” Claire interrupted.

“Och, well,” Geillis dismissed Claire’s interruption. “Guess we’ll never know.”

“Anyway, so I’ve a body wrap, then hot stone massage in twenty minutes. I’m going to head into the sauna for ten minutes first. You coming?”

“Aye, may as weel. I don’t reckon there’ll be anything worth hangin’ round here fer today.” Geillis gathered up her belongings and followed Claire into the sauna.

**************

Jamie sat in the male changing room, blowing up his nephew’s armbands (Spider-Man, obviously a theme here) while Wee Jamie hopped excitedly from foot to foot.

“Now, afore we go in the pool, are ye sure you dinna need a wee? Ye ken what I told ye, as how if ye wee in the pool, the water turns bright blue?”

“Nah, Unca, c’mon now. Wanna go ‘wimmin’.” The little lad pulled his armbands up, grabbed Jamie’s hand and headed for the door. “C’mon, c’mon.” He paused and stared intently at his uncle. “Ye no Spideyman shorts?”

Jamie looked down at his blue checked board shorts and tried to look sad about this. “Sorry lad, I’m too big fer such a fine pair.”

As they entered the pool area together, Jamie looked around. It was totally deserted, which, Jamie thought, was hardly surprising based on the amount of alcohol that had been consumed the day before. An abandoned magazine lay on one of the day beds.

Wee Jamie pointed to a small passage way on the other side of the pool. “What’s ‘at?”

“Ah, nothing for ye. Just the sauna... it’s awfa hot and no’ fer children and the girls’ changing room is down there too. That’s definitely no’ fer us lads, eh?”

Following Jenny’s instructions to “wear the lad out, we want him tae sleep in the car going home,” Jamie stayed in the pool, playing with his nephew until he noticed the lad’s eyelids start to droop. He scooped him up and carried him back to the changing room, intending to just wrap him in a towel and leave the tricky drying and dressing to Jenny.

Wee Jamie held tightly to his uncle’s neck. “You fib, Unca. Ye did. I wee’d and I wee’d but no blue.”

Jamie chuckled. God, he loved this little lad something fierce and maybe someday, God willing...

**************

Claire picked up the two whiskies from the bar and made her way to the table where Geillis was sitting. The pub was quite empty at the moment, just a handful of people, like them, having a quick drink after work before heading home.

Geillis looked Claire up and down appraisingly. “Ye ken I love ye, Claire, but could you no’ wear something a bit, weel, more alluring when we’re out?”

Claire gazed down at her old jeans and plain black tee shirt. “G, I’ve been on my feet in theatre for the past 8 hours. I’m so knackered, you’re lucky I managed to change out of my scrubs and into this! Besides, however can I compete with your alllllluuure?”  She drawled the last word out jokingly. “Maybe you have the allure for both of us? I can be your duff.”

Geillis raised a quizzical eyebrow.  

“Designated ugly fat friend.” Claire explained with a smile. “According to the movie, every friendship group has one. You and me, we’re a friendship group, ergo, I must be it.”

“Claire, ye may be many things but fat or ugly never.” Geillis said, “Yer hair’s a wee bit wild, mind. Do ye no’ fancy a Brazilian blow dry?” She ran her fingers over her sleek strawberry blonde locks.

“And here’s me thinking a ‘brazilian’ was about a different part of my anatomy altogether!”

Geillis smiled, then a serious expression crept over her face. “But, Claire, ye dinna think ye’re fat or ugly really, do ye?”

Claire stared at the beer mat on the table, her fingers picking at it, ripping it into tiny shreds of paper. She really thought she’d outgrown that nervous habit.

“Well, no, but, it’s difficult to explain. Frank...” She could hear Geillis tutting at the mention of his name. “Frank had certain… er, expectations of how I should be. How I should behave, how I should look. The disapproval on his face if I took an extra roast potato, ordered dessert, poured myself another glass of wine. There was always someone younger, more self-controlled, thinner. So, for a while I tried to become the person he wanted me to be. I tried to see myself through his eyes and I saw the fat arse, the lack of control, the not-really good enough...”

Geillis leaned closer and gently placed her hand on Claire’s. “Thank God ye got out of there. That wasna a healthy place tae be, Claire. Ye know ye’re worth a lot more than that.”

“I know. And I am joking about that duff business but occasionally, old habits are hard to break. That’s why I’m not after a serious relationship. I’m not sure I’m ready to let someone see me as I really am.”

“But a fling will do ye no harm at all. It will do ye the world of good, let ye see how another man treats ye. In fact, we need a list. A checklist. When ye’re in theatre, ye dinna start cuttin’ till ye know everything is in place, all the boxes are ticked. So we make a list of what ye want and ye dinna start, er, flingin’ till a man ticks all the boxes.”

Claire finally put the mangled beer mat down. “A list, really?”

“Aye, it’s scientific, ye ken.” Geillis picked up her bag and rooted around for a piece of paper. Finding an unused paper napkin, she smoothed it flat on the table, extracted a pen from the depths of her bag and sat poised ready to write. “Ok. Point one…” She scribbled something down quickly.

“Come on, Let me read it.” Claire laughed, turning the napkin round. “Must look good in, and out of, a kilt. G, you have a one-track mind.”

“Och, it’s a fling we’re talking about, ye only need one track, I reckon. So, what about point two?”

“Well, I may as well play along. Point two must be no complications.”

Geillis obligingly wrote that down. “Next point. Enjoys a drink. Likes to let his hair down.”

Claire took the pen from her friend and added another line. Geillis read it upside down. “Really, it’s a fling ye’re after. Ye’re tellin’ me if they dinna like the X-Files, that’s it? Is that a deal breaker?”

“What can I say? The heart wants what the heart wants.”

“Fine, but I’m adding this one then. Fancies ye as ye are. No changing ye.”

The pub was starting to fill up. Most commuters had already made their way home, to be replaced by those heading out for the evening, coming into the pub for a quick drink before their evening plans properly began. Even on a drizzly Thursday evening, it was getting to be standing room only. Claire noticed several people eyeing their table enviously. She drained her whisky glass and stood up.

“I think that’s me done for this evening. Any more and I’ll have to be put to bed right here.  I’ll just pop to the loo and meet you outside, G.”

As Claire crossed the room to the toilets, Geillis started to gather her stuff together to leave.

Immediately a woman rushed to the table, plonked herself in one chair, and stuffed her bag on the other chair. She eyed Geillis, willing her to hurry up and be on her way. Geillis ignored her and continued rifling through her bag, her movements deliberately slowing. Eventually, Geillis decided she’d had enough of the game, turned away and walked to the exit.

**************

Geneva caught Jamie’s eye as he moved away from the bar, drinks in hand, and pointed to the seats she had found for them. He sat down, taking a deep slug of his whisky as he put Geneva’s vodka, lime and soda on the table next to a tatty old napkin.  

“Someone’s shopping list, no doubt.” Geneva dismissed it with a wave of her hand as Jamie picked it up and carried on telling Jamie about the difficulties in trying to find the correct colour for a new bedroom throw. “...Not really a teal, but not quite a cerulean colour either…”

Jamie knew his role in this. It was just to nod and murmur appreciatively at appropriate points in the story. That gave him time to think… unfortunately. Thinking made him realise that Jenny had been right three weeks ago at the wedding. Geneva was not the one, he didn’t need to try again just to see. And she did talk utter shite.

He groaned, which Geneva seemed to take as indication of his deep interest in her tale of home furnishing trials and tribulations. He should never have slept with her. He hadn’t intended to but last night, as the blood left his brain and migrated south, he had lost the capacity for rational, coherent thought and had followed his baser instincts. Which had been a very bad idea.

Jamie glanced at the napkin he was still holding. Straightening it between his fingers, he began to read. A woman with long strawberry blonde locks suddenly leaned over and gently took the napkin from his fingers.  

“Thanks, it’s fer scientific research, ye ken.”  

He watched as she walked to the door, to her waiting friend. Her friend with the long shapely denim clad legs and mad curly hair and her face, so full of life with sparkling eyes he longed to dive right into.

“What an odd thing to want.” Geneva interrupted his contemplation. “That couldn’t have been scientific research. On a used napkin. Some people are just strange.”

Jamie felt his breath catch in his throat. Jenny had been right - he recognised it. What to do now?