#I don’t like that they’re always shit

[darkmatilda]

𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: a spontaneous idea for a new year's eve party doesn't seem so brilliant anymore when there's so much to do and so little time left. and when the sound of fireworks wakes you up with flashbacks. but luckily, reid's right there with you. as always.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐰: spencer x newbau!female reader, baking cookies together, the beginning is really chaotic, reader has a panic attack and flashbacks from time when she was a hostage (in my previous fic but there's no need to read it before. no major references as usual), mention of shooting. penelope garcia slaying. glasses read one more time (will i ever get bored of this?) a lot of jokes (successful i hope) most of the fic is very fluffy, inspired by new year's eve by taylor swift (i recommend listening to this song on repeat while reading)

𝐚/𝐧: this is probably one of my fav fics of mine, i literally cried while writing (because there's no one to clean up the bottles with me on new year's day)

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 6k

“Okay, I think we’ve got everything. Although, do you think we have enough types of cheese...?”

“There’s so much cheese it won’t even fit on one board, Pen.”

“Exactly, so maybe we should make two…”

“Hey, look. Do you think these glasses will work for champagne?”

“Two boards—one with cheese, more savory, and the other with…”

“Because I don’t think I have any others. Jesus, I need to wash these; they’re fucking sticky…”

“…and on the second one, we’ll arrange the cookies we’re going to bake…”

“Shit, the cookies. I’m not even sure if this oven works…”

“Wait, did we even buy olives? Fuck, how could we forget olives…”

“Screw the olives! Wash the glasses if you can, and I’ll check the oven…”

“What do you mean, screw the olives?! How the fuck are you supposed to make a cheese board without olives?!”

For about twenty minutes now, you and Garcia had been running around the kitchen in your house, talking over each other non-stop and hardly listening. A grocery bag sat unopened on the kitchen island, you hadn’t started preparing a single one of your overly ambitious snacks, and some pesky gremlin was doing flips on your shoulder, whispering tauntingly, you know it’s highly likely the milk in your fridge is expired, right?

Well, that’s just how it goes when you decide to throw a New Year’s Eve party spontaneously—on New Year’s Eve afternoon. Honestly, it was a fucking miracle so many people agreed to come. And once they said yes, there was no backing out. You had to organize everything: the food, decorating your house, outfits, makeup. With every passing minute, Penelope was transforming into a full-blown organizational beast, completely unsure what to tackle first. The two cute space buns on top of her head had fallen apart, leaving her blonde curls loosely cascading down her neck—not that she even seemed to notice.

You, on the other hand, were losing steam fast. All you wanted was to curl up in a ball on the floor and eat cheese without bothering to arrange it on a board in an aesthetic way. Two types of people under time pressure. 

To make matters worse, the doorbell rang.

“Coming!” you shouted, your voice so filled with irritation that, if you were in the visitor’s shoes, you’d have turned and run for your life. Quickly, you opened the fridge and sniffed the damned milk. No signs of spoilage, thank fuck. There was no way you had time to go back to the store…

You made it to the door, and halfway there, you realized you were still holding the open bottle of milk you had forgotten to put back. You sighed, turned around, and with a double dose of rage, anxiety, and sheer insanity, you finally opened the door.

"Hey," Reid greeted, standing on the doorstep. His glasses were perched on his nose, and his hair was slightly tousled from the rather strong wind that day. Without even looking at you, he pointed to the brown bag hanging from his shoulder. "So, about those board games, when you invited me, I decided to look something up online and ordered one that I think you'll like. It's inspired by the works of Jane Austen, and players take on the roles of characters from the Regency era..."

"Is someone trying to sell you something, or what?" You heard Penelope's voice from the kitchen.

"Anyway, I ordered it, but unfortunately, it didn’t arrive, so I just grabbed chess and..."

You could only manage a confused shake of your head.

"Reid, with all due respect, but what the hell are you talking about?"

He looked at you as if you’d asked him for the juicy details of raccoon marital life.

"You invited me over for New Year’s," he reminded you, frowning slightly, as if wondering whether he’d gotten something wrong—like the day, maybe. "Me and Garcia. We were supposed to play board games..."

Your mouth dropped open as you suddenly remembered he was absolutely right. You had invited him. For board games. And then forgot to cancel after you’d all decided to spend the evening in a completely different way.

"Give me just a second," you said, and without waiting for a reply, slammed the door in his face.

Then you screamed. Stomping your foot like a frustrated child. Why, oh why, did you have the memory of a goldfish? Forgetting literally everything, from buying those damn olives to canceling this meeting. Why did the last day of the year have to suck so much? Why couldn’t anything in your life just go smoothly?

"The plans have… slightly changed," you explained with an apologetic smile when you reopened the door. 

Reid rocked slightly on his heels, his hand clenched around the strap of his bag. He had clearly heard what happened after you closed the door and looked as though he was debating whether to hand you a note with the number of a good psychiatrist.

"But that doesn't mean I'm kicking you out," you assured him quickly. "I’m really, really glad you decided to come, seriously. So, sorry about how things turned out. But still—will you come in? Garcia's here."

He shrugged and followed you inside.

"What exactly does plans have changed mean?" he asked.

He didn’t look around the room—he’d been to your house countless times before. Lately, for the past few months, with an increasing frequency. But he did stare curiously at a disheveled Penelope, who was busy loading glasses into the dishwasher.

"Well, we met up for lunch," she began explaining without even turning to face him. You didn’t waste the little time you had either, pulling ingredients for cookies out of the fridge. "We talked a bit about Derek and Elle spending New Year’s Eve in the Maldives. And our princess here decided that she wasn’t going to spend the evening in a nerdy way, playing nerdy board games, with two nerds like us..."

"I didn’t say that!" you protested indignantly.

"...while they’re sipping cocktails on the beach and having a great time. And so, it turned out we’re throwing a party."

The explanation came to an end, and Reid listened to it all without much emotion on his face, something you caught out of the corner of your eye. But you didn’t expect him to be devastated. After all, it wasn’t as if you had canceled an event the two of you had been counting down to like prisoners marking days on their cell walls, eagerly awaiting freedom.

Standing by the kitchen island, he glanced at you, then at Garcia, then behind him, as if unsure whether he should stay or politely excuse himself and leave.

“You’re invited, by the way,” you clarified, because while you thought it was obvious, maybe it wasn’t so clear to him. “So, yeah, if you’re planning to come, you have no choice—you have to help me bake these cookies. Get with it.”

You tossed him one of the aprons. The other you began tying around your waist.

Reid caught the object you threw, looked at it with furrowed brows, then shifted his gaze to you, a hint of something resembling a smile flickering across his face.

“Who said I’m planning to come?” he asked.

His mock-offensive tone didn’t quite match what he was doing—slipping the apron over his head. It made you snort.

“Oh, what, got other plans, pretty boy?” Penelope teased. “Some wild party at the book club?”

She leaned over to close the dishwasher. But instead of straightening up, she froze in place, staring at her reflection in the machine’s door. Her jaw dropped, and she gasped in something close to horror.

“What happened to my hair? I look... I look like…”

“Like a homeless caveman who just barely won a fight with lightning?” you suggested in a syrupy tone. “But only just.”

“Excuse me for a moment,” she huffed.

She left the kitchen, the sound of her heels echoing as she headed upstairs to the bathroom. Reid turned to himself with a smug expression.

“Does a caveman qualify as homeless if he lives in a cave…”

You interrupted him with your outstretched hand, pressing it to his mouth.

“Cookies, Reid. Not philosophy.”

You were planning to bake simple butter cookies in the shape of stars, and then decorate them with edible glitter. You started pulling out all the necessary ingredients from the fridge and cabinets, which were soon covering the countertop in your kitchen. You stood side by side, and your eyes were drawn to the rolled-up sleeves of his shirt, barely touching his wrists. Unable to resist, you grabbed his hand and started rolling the sleeves up to his elbows.

"You could've just told me..." he began, looking at you in surprise.

You merely shrugged. You found yourselves facing each other, and you nodded towards his other hand, which he gave you after a brief hesitation. Just like before, you rolled up the sleeve of his shirt, but this time much more slowly. As more of his skin appeared before your eyes, you gathered yourself to speak.

"I feel a bit bad about how things turned out with the games," you admitted, not looking up to meet his gaze. You focused on his hand, holding it by the knuckles.

"It's okay," he reassured you, his voice soft without a hint of reproach.

"I should've warned you earlier," you continued stubbornly. "Instead of doing it last minute. And, you know, if you don't want to come to this party, that's totally okay. I know you were expecting something different..."

"I was expecting to spend time with you," he interrupted, then paused to clear his throat. It was then that you realized you were still holding his hand. His fingers trembled slightly when you let go, and he immediately shoved it into his pocket—perhaps to hide it. "We can have a game night another time. On a different day. Like, this weekend, for example. If you'd want, of course. Not that I'm pressuring you..."

"I would like that," you assured him, looking up at him with a smile, amused by his over-explaining. It always charmed you. You used to think it was because you didn't know each other well and he still felt nervous around you, but as time passed, you came to realize that maybe that was just how he was. "Seriously. And it's not just because I feel guilty about how I left you hanging today. I'm genuinely curious about that game you ordered. It’s inspired by Austen's novels, right?"

He started to tell you more about it, while you both added the first ingredients into a large glass bowl. As he began to knead the dough with his hands, you leaned your elbow on the countertop, propping your chin on your hand, listening to him.

"...one of the symbols of excess in 17th century England was a dish called A Pie of a Thousand Birds..."

You wondered when the conversation had shifted to this topic, while Penelope was still in the bathroom.

 "...containing various kinds of birds, sometimes in different layers, cooked together. In the earliest records of this dish, it mentions anywhere from a dozen to several dozen birds such as quails, chickens, geese..."

Reid suddenly stopped when his gaze landed on you. He must have been so absorbed in kneading the dough and sharing this tidbit with you that he was completely unaware of the fact that you were staring at him.

You raised an eyebrow questioningly.

 "Is something wrong?"

"No," he quickly assured you, adjusting his glasses on his nose. He had a bit of dough on his skin, which seemed to escape his notice. He furrowed his brow, trying to remember where he'd left off. "And... quails..."

You couldn't bring yourself to tell him he'd already mentioned them. Instead of that, you moved from your spot, slowly lifting your hands off the counter and approached him to wipe away the stray bit of dough beneath his eye. Reid, wanting to make sure nothing else was left on his face, wiped it with his hand… which was completely covered in dough. At the sight of his expression when he realized what he had done, you couldn't help but burst out laughing, your head resting against his apron from the weight of it. Meanwhile, he desperately tried to wipe away the remnants using the clean skin of his forearms, muttering a few curses under his breath, which only made you laugh harder.

"I see you're having a great time," Penelope returned to the kitchen.

On top of her head were two cute buns once again, resembling little snails.

"The best," you corrected, undeterred, trying once more to wipe his face. This time, not as gently as before, until he flinched back under the pressure of your hand, scrunching his nose tightly.

You glanced at the clock, and your playful mood started to wane. There was still so much to do, and you rallied everyone into action. Penelope rolled up her sleeves to prepare the charcuterie boards (it turned out the olives were at the bottom of the bag), you got to work on the mini sandwiches, and Reid was busy cutting out star shapes from the rolled-out dough using a champagne bottle as a makeshift rolling pin.

“Oh, by the way, Pen,” you began, opening the heated oven to put in the first batch of cookies, “we’re still going to kiss at midnight, right?”

“That’s right, sweetheart. Nothing’s changed,” your friend replied, focused on arranging various types of cheese into the best possible combination.

Reid, meanwhile, was taking off his apron, folding it into a perfectly neat square, a frown of concentration on his face.

“Why kiss specifically at midnight?” he asked.

“You haven’t heard about that tradition?” you asked, surprised. “A kiss at midnight brings good luck in love and relationships for the whole next year. Skipping it means the opposite.”

“I didn’t know you were superstitious.”

“It’s just a gesture. Or maybe, better put, a symbol. But anyway, last year I was having a bit too much fun and passed out before midnight. And, well, I don’t think I need to tell you it wasn’t the best year for relationships. Or rather, the lack of them.”

“Doesn’t that mean you should kiss two people this year? One for the previous year and one for the current one?” Garcia suggested thoughtfully.

You mulled it over as well.

“Actually, that makes sense. But who?”

“I’m sure you’ll find someone,” your friend assured you. “There’s bound to be some handsome volunteer. And if not, Reid could always be your backup option.”

You glanced at him briefly, biting your lip as you considered the suggestion. Funny enough, you hadn’t thought of him at all. Not because you found the idea of kissing him unpleasant or something you wouldn’t want to do. It was just… this tradition felt more like grabbing a random person, the first friend within reach. Something done without much thought—a gesture that, in this context, meant absolutely nothing serious.

Wait, but with Reid, would it mean something serious? Why the hesitation all of a sudden? You shook your head, dismissing the train of thought.

You looked at him again; he seemed to be making a deliberate effort to keep his gaze fixed on Penelope, not on you. Though as soon as he sensed you looking at him, he turned his eyes to meet yours, his expression unreadable.

“What do you think?” you asked before you could stop yourself. To ease the sudden, inexplicable tension, you added with a playful smile, “My entire romantic year would rest in your hands—or rather, on your lips. Would you be ready to take on such a sacrifice?”

“Think carefully, darling,” Penelope chimed in, pointing a finger at him. “Otherwise, we’ll all have to spend the next twelve months listening to her complain about how awful men are and how unlucky she is in love…”

“I’m starting to feel an unjustified amount of pressure,” Reid remarked cautiously. You kept staring at him, arms crossed over your chest as you stood near the oven, its orange glow casting a warm light across the kitchen.

“No pressure. And just so we’re clear, it’s not like I’m taking advantage of you. You’d benefit from this too. Unless, of course, you decide to kiss someone else—then, fine…”

“Considering I probably won’t know anyone else at this party? Slim chances…”

A snort escaped you before you could stop it. Both of them turned to you with curiosity.

“What I mean…” you began hesitantly, gesturing toward him. He was objectively handsome—maybe not every woman’s type, but then again, no man was. In your opinion, though, he absolutely was. There was something about his polished, intellectual demeanor that occasionally clashed with his sharp wit, creating a strangely magnetic allure. You gestured at him again, as if emphasizing your point. “Just try not rolling down the sleeves of that shirt until midnight, and you’ll see your chances aren’t that slim.”

He shook his head, utterly bewildered.

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Oh, Pen, explain it to him,” you sighed in mock defeat.

“She means your forearms are sexy,” Penelope clarified without missing a beat.

Reid looked down at his hands as though they belonged to someone else entirely. You exchanged an amused glance with Garcia, and the whole midnight kiss topic… well, it drifted away. You weren’t entirely sure if he had agreed or not.

You wanted to casually bring it up again, but soon Penelope left the kitchen, leaving the two of you alone with a tray of freshly baked cookies ready to be decorated. Somehow, to your own surprise, you couldn’t summon the courage to ask.

"I bought edible glitter specifically for these cookies," you said, pulling a small box from the cupboard. "Apparently, it’s flavorless, but it’ll make the star-shaped cookies look magical. Maybe we should mix it with the icing?"

Reid stared intently at the label on the bottle, silent.

"What? What’s wrong?" you asked, suddenly worried.

"That’s not edible glitter," he announced. For a split second, you thought you saw the corner of his mouth twitch. But when he noticed your completely bewildered—and now slightly furious—expression, his face quickly returned to its usual stillness. "It’s just regular glitter."

"You’ve got to be kidding me, Reid."

"Since when does edible glitter contain polyethylene terephthalate and aluminum?"

You snatched the package out of his hands, and when his words were confirmed, you slapped your forehead.

"Did I just almost kill all my guests?"

"Maybe not kill them right away," he said, his tone comforting as he took the package back from your hands before you could hit yourself with it again. "Complications from eating include gastrointestinal irritation like vomiting, nausea, and possibly damage to the mucous membranes of the mouth..."

"You're not helping."

"Sorry."

For a moment, you both stood in silence, your gaze still fixed on the tray of cooling cookies.

"But this isn't the end of the world," Reid said gently after a moment. "They still have their... interesting shape. We can decorate them with regular icing. Draw something on them. They may not sparkle, but they'll be just as delicious. And that's probably the most important thing, right?"

You knew he was right, but still, there was a certain sadness in the way you nodded. It took you a while to realize how much you’d been obsessing over such a small thing. You let out a chuckle, and he did the same.

"And I even came up with an idea for what to do with the glitter," you announced after a moment, taking the open box in your hands. A bit of the shimmering particles landed on your outstretched palm, and Reid squinted when you blew on it, sending the glitter his way. "I’ll make you shine. You’ll match the rest of the decorations..."

When Penelope returned to the kitchen, she found herself in the middle of a full-blown war, not even a battle anymore. Reid had both of your hands raised and held still, preventing you from reaching for another handful of glitter. You tried to wriggle out of this trap, kneeing him or doing something, but it wasn't really working. So there you were, looking like you were caught in some kind of bizarre dance neither of you knew the steps to, but your half-smiling faces suggested you weren’t too bothered by it.

You knew you wouldn’t be able to get that glitter out of your hair until the next New Year’s Eve.

*

You had a rule to be careful with alcohol when the party was at your house.

 You preferred to make sure everything was running smoothly. Nothing slipped out of control — no one played baseball with your TV (although you hoped the adult crowd had outgrown that kind of entertainment), no one felt unwell or needed help. Moving between people, conversations, and laughter, asking if anyone needed anything or was having a good time, reminding everyone not to smoke inside. You didn’t notice when it all started to drain you. So much so that you decided to sneak away for a moment in the upstairs bathroom.

You just needed a little time alone, splashing cold water on your neck, playing a game on your phone for five minutes while sitting on the closed toilet seat. That’s all you needed.

Your bathroom had a window, usually left open. The room was on the second floor, so there was no chance anyone could be watching. You never worried about it. The window overlooked the yard of one of your neighbors, whom you didn’t even know. As you returned, you stood with your hands on the cool sink, your eyes half-closed from exhaustion but feeling a sense of relief.

Midnight was in fifteen minutes. The year was ending in fifteen minutes.

A lot has happened over the past twelve months. The most important, of course, was joining the BAU. A huge achievement for someone so young, always commented on with a surprised raise of the eyebrows, so much so that it still hadn’t fully sunk in for you. A fair amount, but still not enough, of cases solved, unsub caught, lives saved.

Apart from the professional achievements, there was also something you couldn’t add to your CV or your dating profile. Memories. The big ones, and the ones often overlooked. The countless smiles exchanged over office desks, the amused nudges of elbows, the hours spent in simple laughter. The nights, the ones spent dancing in clubs or at house parties, the ones in your friends' homes with bottles of wine passed from hand to hand and gossip flowing from your lips, one after the other, in a constant stream of surprised exclamations and sighs. There were also those spent in sad motels during business trips. Many of them, but it was the shabby ones that stuck with you the most. Narrow beds shared with Reid, because of his fear of the dark, which worsened in such places. Sometimes silly conversations and arguments, but also the more serious ones. Comforting. And, of course, you had to include the people around you, those you met this year, and those who have been with you for a long time. All the moments when you were happy, and all the ones when you cried. The books and movies. Those that disappointed you so much that you cursed them for days. Those that made you laugh until you choked, but also the ones that nailed you to the theater seat, your gaze vacant and your mind drifting somewhere on the waves of an existential crisis.

You thought about it all with a small smile on your lips

Unfortunately, when you focused on reflecting on the passing year, another memory hit you—one of those decidedly unpleasant ones. The one where, under the guise of normality, you found yourself in the middle of a robbery, becoming a hostage. And as you watched one body after another drop motionless to the floor, blood pooling around them.

The sink you were leaning against grew warm. Your hands were hot, sweating. You shook your head, trying to push away the uncomfortable memory. Why dwell on it? It was over, long over...

Out of the corner of your eye, you caught a flash in your neighbor's yard. A bright spot rising into the air, even though it wasn't even midnight yet. What kind of idiot sets off fireworks before the New Year? What was the point of that?

You straightened up, an irrational sense of danger taking hold of you. As if that fired projectile was about to crash through your window, causing an explosion in the room. Absurd, you knew that. But then the sound hit. A blast, almost like a gunshot. A gunshot coming from an unknown direction, fading lights around you, and screams. You took a breath as another shot rang out. Fireworks lit up the night sky, a green glow spilling into your bathroom, painting your face. You stayed frozen, breath held, with your chest tight.

You knew you should move, shake off the state that the experience had put you in, but… you couldn’t. Although physically unharmed, in your own home, fear took control, robbing you of your agency. Your heartbeat quickened to an unnatural pace, a sickly rhythm. It paralyzed your limbs, one by one, while images kept flashing before your eyes, intensifying with each approaching shot.

Since your actions and most of your awareness remained beyond your control, you soon realized that you were sitting on the floor. And, worst of all, a silhouette cast its shadow over you. You flinched, expecting to see a pair of leather boots and a gun pointed at you.

“It’s just me,” came a quiet, familiar voice, somehow cutting through the wall that separated you from the world. “Me, Spencer. Sorry I came in, but you didn’t respond when I knocked... okay, that doesn’t really matter right now.”

He sighed and crouched down right in front of you, his forehead furrowed in concern. Hesitantly, he reached for your shoulder, lightly touching it, but you flinched the moment his hand moved.

“No touching, it’s okay. I understand, I get it. I understand... what you’re going through.” He spoke quietly and calmly, but you could see a hint of panic crossing his face as he carefully observed yours, choosing his words. He swallowed hard. “You’re really scared, your hands are shaking, you can’t... you can’t breathe. It’s a panic attack, you know what that means. And... it’s temporary. The important thing is to just breathe. I know it’s hard... but just try…”

The surrounding air seemed thick, like some dense gas filling your nostrils and painfully entering your lungs. You shook your head in refusal, not wanting to do it again.

"Slowly, they don’t have to be deep breaths. Just try to make them steady, okay? Please," he continued, settling down closer to you on the floor. He was also breathing the way he described, trying to demonstrate for you. Focusing on the rise and fall of his chest, you made another attempt. It went... better.

"Exactly like that. We're at a party now, remember? At your house. We baked cakes specially for the occasion. It's New Year's Eve and people are shooting fireworks... those are fireworks, just regular fireworks..."

The green glow crept in again through the window, covering and retreating from your two huddled forms on the floor like a tide. You focused on what he was saying, alternately keeping your eyes tightly shut and wide open. You preferred them closed—it was easier to listen to him that way. But when you closed them, it felt like he was so far away. You reached out with trembling hands, trying to touch him, to make sure he was really there in front of you. And before you realized it, you fell into his embrace, your hands clutching his back in panic with every new shot outside.

You could close your eyes; his presence and scent were with you. You could close your eyes, pretend it wasn’t happening, that you weren’t there.

But it didn’t stop. Reid whispered that it was midnight, and the next round of fireworks shot into the sky, sending those trembling sounds that rattled you. A part of your mind knew why this was happening, so why did your body still react this way?

You buried yourself deeper into his arms, feeling some weight on the top of your head—he must have rested his chin there. You kept trying to breathe, and by accident, you inhaled the scent of his neck, which, surprisingly, helped. One breath after another. In and out. His skin. Another shot outside. In and out.

It must have been many minutes before it finally stopped. You both ended up leaning against the wall, side by side. Your knees were pulled to your chest, his legs stretched out. From downstairs, through the floor, came the muffled sound of music, and that’s what you focused on. On that, and on counting the tiles on the neighboring wall, on the hands of Reid’s watch moving forward. On the details, helping you ground yourself.

"How do you feel now?" he broke the silence that had lasted for several minutes with a quiet question.

You pressed the back of your head to the wall behind you, closing your eyes for a moment.

"Better," you said after a moment. The sound from your throat was raspy, and you swallowed, pausing for a second. "Isn't it... isn't it a strange twist of fate that we're always there for each other when something bad happens to the other person?"

You kept your gaze fixed ahead, and from the corner of your eye, you saw him looking at you. Slowly, he shrugged.

"Isn't that what friendship is about?" he asked.

Then, you shrugged.

"Friendship," you repeated, turning the word around on your tongue. You shook your head slightly. "I guess so. I mean, I guess that's what it's about." For a moment, you paused, lightly licking your lips. Your mind was still clouded, and you struggled to form coherent sentences. "I completely forgot what I was talking about a moment ago. What was it about again?"

Reid smiled gently at the look on your face, the expression confused but calm. And then... his hand slowly dropped to the top of your head, gently stroking it and sliding down along your cheek, where it stopped.

"Friendship," he repeated slowly.

Suddenly, as if realizing something, he turned his head slightly, as if to pull his hand away, but you stopped him. You grabbed it, and even though it had moved away from your face, your cheek, you enclosed it in a gentle grasp with both of your hands, the way a shell embraces a pearl.

You noticed the time on his watch.

"It’s already past midnight," you remarked. "Do you think everyone’s too drunk to look for us, or do they just honestly not care what we've been doing in the bathroom for the past hour?"

He chuckled at your words, amused by your suggestive tone.

"Don’t want to go back?" he asked, making sure.

You immediately shook your head.

"Not yet. I like it here. And I guess I’m not ready," you said, the last part tinged with a slight embarrassment. He nodded understandingly, signaling that it was okay. You didn’t have to leave yet.

You sighed, probably for the hundredth time.

"Honestly, I’ve completely lost my party mood. We could’ve played those board games instead. When I think about the bottles I’ll have to clean up tomorrow, I just feel like I might puke."

"We'll be here. Me. And Garcia," he reminded you. "You thought we were just going to disappear together, expecting you to clean up all this mess by yourself?"

"It's not really your responsibility," you replied with a slight shrug. However, a small, grateful smile tugged at your lips. "It would have been enough if you helped me set it all up. Even if it meant the entire kitchen glittering with sparkles before the party even started."

"New Year’s Eve decorations."

"Right," you scoffed. "That I’ll never get rid of. It will always look like a place where My Little Pony ponies had an alcoholic binge."

As you continued to stare at his hand, lying limp on your lap, and at his watch, you realized something else. A thought that made you tilt your head back with a sigh.

"I missed midnight again," you groaned suddenly. "Third year in a row. Where am I supposed to find three people to kiss next year, when I couldn't even find two this time?"

"You did manage," Reid pointed out, frowning slightly. "Penelope. And if you're counting your backup option, that would be me too."

"Would you?" you asked, surprised.

Pleasantly surprised. This subject had slipped by so quickly that you were sure his final answer would have been a no. You glanced fleetingly at his lips. They were slightly parted, probably in the same way they would have been if everything had gone according to plan. If you had found yourselves facing each other under the full, colorful-blinking night sky.

He nodded slightly in response, his upper and lower lips meeting. You tore your gaze away from them and refocused on the rest of his face.

"Sure," he replied aloud. He was close, the words escaping him with a slight breath of his air. "I mean... I'd also like to have a good year. So far, it’s started well. Anyway... yeah. I don't mind if you extend my backup option subscription for next year too."

The way he phrased it amused you. you lowered your gaze for a moment with a smile. Then you nodded, turning your head back toward him.

"So I guess I have my lineup for next New Year's," you said, letting go of his hand to start counting on your fingers. Both of you only realized then that you had been holding it at all. "First, of course, my husband..."

"Husband?" he interrupted, raising an eyebrow.

"I’m being very ambitious this year, Reid," you assured him, with mock seriousness. "Then Garcia, if she agrees again. But she probably will. Unless Derek gets in the way. Oh well, I’ll just send him to the tropics again. And then, number three, you."

"Your husband won’t mind if you kiss me?"

Something changed in his expression, and it was becoming harder for you to maintain eye contact. Your gaze kept dropping, as if it were searching for something against your will. Plus, the whole bathroom suddenly felt incredibly small, your movements slow, like in slow motion. You forced yourself to wave it off dismissively.

"He’ll understand," you said, forcing yourself to take a breath. You had forgotten again, but this time, it wasn’t panic. It was more about his face, so close to yours, the side of your head against the wall, your bodies nearly touching. "Well, he won’t have a choice. If he wants our marriage to last happily and forever, he’ll have to let me make up for all those lost years, those three missed kisses. Sorry... if I’m talking nonsense right now, just tell me, I don’t know what’s happening with me..."

When he kissed you, for a moment, you couldn’t find yourself. Even though everything had been leading to this, with your faces so close for the last twenty minutes, gazes repeatedly falling on each other's lips, it still surprised you. You sucked in a breath through your nose as his lips pressed into yours.

Only when his hand, the same one you had been playing with for so long, the one that had earlier caressed your cheek, fell back into the same place, carelessly resting and brushing the tips of his fingers against a small part of your ear, did you truly feel it. You squeezed your eyelids shut, placing your hand on the back of his neck, pulling him closer. It wasn’t the kind of kiss you usually associated with New Year’s Eve, one you’d forget the next day or mention with a fleeting smile. Every thought of it was meant to bring overwhelming loneliness to your lips, to make you imagine it still lasting. It alternated between tasting you slowly and carefully and consuming you with the anticipation held captive between you.

You sighed softly against his lips, and he mirrored it when you briefly pulled away. Your breaths mingled, your faces still close, foreheads gently touching.

“I almost forgot,” you whispered, barely lifting your eyelids. “Happy New Year.”

He smiled, his lips brushing yours once more for a fleeting moment.

“May your wishes come true...or something like that.”

“Or something like that.” you whispered, completely distracted, before pulling him back to you again.

taglist: @she-wont-miss @mggslover @nyeddleblog @dylanobrienswife0420 @wmoony

@heddgie @khxna @marauder-exe-old @yujyujj @charleyreid @kitty-kai @sp3ncelle @pleasantwitchgarden @beesin03 @misserabella @re1dsb1xch @trulymadlydarling

[sirhamburrger]

ᯤ feat. yoichi isagi, meguru bachira, hyoma chigiri, rin itoshi, seishiro nagi, kenyu yukimiya, ryusei shidou and oliver aiku ᯤ tags/cw: all characters are aged up, bit suggestive (shidou you freak), petnames ('sweetheart' in isagi's, 'love' in rin's, 'babe' in shidou's), rin is mean (affectionately), shidou being a freak in the minecraft bedsheets, but also really sweet, hopefully not that ooc, i have a semi-serious, semi-casual relationship with minecraft ᯤ a/n: no reason for this whatsoever no prompt no nothing just take this love child between me and my insomnia *shoves this into your arms and runs away* || divider by @sister-lucifer part 2 [rocket league ver with kuni, reo, karasu, sae]

yoichi isagi:

ᯤ is just kinda average at it. like he truly is just okay at it. ᯤ he’s so competitive though (he would ‘race you to that tree over there’ 😭 but he doesn’t know how to sprint so he always loses to you) ᯤ he likes the little sounds the eyes of ender make when you place them in the end portal frame ᯤ defeats the ender dragon with your help but makes you go ahead of him when exploring the nether ᯤ “hey uh sweetheart? why’s that green thing flashing white and making a noise” ᯤ favourite mob: chickens (they’re funny)

meguru bachira:

ᯤ he l o v e s minecraft so much it’s unbelievable (he was probably one of those kids who grew up playing it) ᯤ he loves trying out different hacks he sees on youtube. he knows that 99 percent of the time they don’t even work, but “there’s a 1 percent chance it will, and i’m feeling lucky today!” ᯤ lets you practice your shooting skills using his avatar as a dummy ᯤ cannot wire redstone for shit ᯤ tries to get the rarest (dumbest) in-game death messages ᯤ baabaabaachira experienced mid-life crisis while being attacked by tropical fish ᯤ favourite mob: cave spiders (they look scary in a cool way)

hyoma chigiri:

ᯤ plays for the mobs. will protect his lovelies with all his heart. ᯤ when he got his first minecraft dog, he built a little kennel made of cherry wood for it, only for it to fall into a pit of lava deep in the caves on day 5 ᯤ he cried for five hours ᯤ once you dyed all his sheep pink and he started to tear up just from looking at them ᯤ “hear me out, okay? i think we should get a pet axolotl.” and it’s legal in japan, so you do! (her name is hyoma jr) ᯤ has a huge minecraft zoo ᯤ favourite mob: parrots (they can sit)

rin itoshi:

ᯤ is mean to you at first. he’ll be like “why do you suck at this” and “i could do that too” ᯤ then he gets his hands on the controller and can’t figure out the controls for half an hour ᯤ “… love?” ᯤ “… yes, rin?” (you, amused) ᯤ “… how do you jump…” ᯤ its subtle charm does grow on him after a while. he plays on creative mode and just explores the server on a horse he named sugarcube ᯤ it’s cute watching him play (you send photos to sae) ᯤ favourite mob: sheep (all they do is eat grass and don’t bother you)

seishiro nagi:

ᯤ i will subvert expectations here and say that nagi doesn’t even play minecraft that much because he doesn’t like it ᯤ “such a hassle to play this game… there isn’t even any storyline you can just do whatever you want… and i don’t want to have to decide what to do” ᯤ he ends up finding a passion for building elaborate traps for you to walk into ᯤ absolute beast at parkour. he performs triple neos to perfection ᯤ if he’s a streamer he plays on twitch for the fans but he complains as he does it ᯤ favourite mob: bees (they’re just cute)

kenyu yukimiya:

ᯤ he doesn’t really play video games so understandably he gets off to a slow start ᯤ but once he gets the hang of things? he’s unstoppable. breezing through achievements like nobody’s business ᯤ he’s really excited about it too like “did you see that?? i just killed a zombie!” ᯤ it’s truly the culmination of 18 years of not touching a single game as a child/teen and now playing a sandbox game ᯤ feeling confident, he starts a hardcore world. (he dies from hunger.) ᯤ he's the kind to look up the most beautiful minecraft seed numbers, key them in meticulously and just take in how amazing they are ᯤ favourite mob: foxes, specifically the orange ones (he loves all things forest biome)

ryusei shidou:

ᯤ we all know he’s a very artistic kind of guy so he’d be geeking out over the textures and which colours would go best with each other ᯤ he doesn’t shower for a day because he’s playing creative (my lil stinky 🫶) ᯤ he builds the most beautiful multi storey houses!! and he’s like “if it were real we could live in there together 🥺“ ᯤ “why is the bedroom huge with like twenty beds…” (you, concerned) ᯤ “oh we’re gonna need space babe. for activities.” ᯤ but he doesn’t stop there; he learns how to make entire cities and landscapes and frankly they are masterpieces - think shovel241 (i freaking LOVE his videos they’re so satisfying) ᯤ favourite mob: endermen (he thinks they look badass)

oliver aiku: 

ᯤ meh he’s pretty good ᯤ raged when he first found out fall damage was a thing and again when he discovered hunger and drowning as death messages ᯤ is obsessed with speed runs and parkour for some reason (he’s really bad at both though) ᯤ is the guy who makes “100 MINECRAFT FACTS YOU DIDN’T KNOW” videos with his friends sendo and lorenzo ᯤ you once saw him set up an experiment to see how many blocks a llama can spit and died laughing ᯤ would absolutely kill you in-game just for the fun of it ᯤ favourite mob: cats (especially the black ones)

say hi to hyoma jr. it is not optional.

bllk masterlist || general masterlist

© sirhamburrger 2024

[sunsburns]

this came to me in a dream last night but imagine bsf!vi spying on you and your date (fem!reader, hints of caitvi x reader)

clearly, violet isn’t the jealous type, there wasn’t much that she was usually up against anyway. she was just… looking out for you—it was hard to trust some random date you met on an app or through some mutual friend.

“you don’t trust anyone, vi,” you said, smoothing the last stray pieces of hair in the mirror. vi stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame like she had nothing better to do, her arms crossed over her chest.

“i trust people,” she shot back. her tone was defensive like you’d accused her of something worse. “i do!”

“right,” you replied, your smile a little too knowing for her liking.

your phone buzzed on the counter, and vi’s gaze flickered to the screen. here, it read. she watched as your expression shifted—nerves and excitement mixed together in a way she didn’t see often.

“they’re outside,” you said, glancing at her. vi didn’t budge, just gave a small nod like she wasn’t planning to leave her spot anytime soon.

“have fun,” she said after a beat,

you grabbed your jacket and stepped past her, pausing just long enough to catch her eye. “don’t wait up.”

vi smirked, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “sure. i’ve got better things to do than babysit your bad decisions.”

and by better things, she meant standing there, riling herself up for no reason. vi lingered in the doorway long after you left, her arms now loosely hanging at her sides. she could picture it too clearly: you sitting at some café, that soft, nervous smile you got when you weren’t sure what to say, your fingers brushing over the edge of your cup, looking as good as you always did. only this time, that smile wasn’t for her. it was for some fucking stranger.

her jaw tightened as the thought settled in. what kind of person even asks you out like this? who were they to deserve your attention, your time? vi didn’t even know their name, let alone what they looked like, but the image of some faceless jerk talking too much, maybe trying to impress you with something lame, was enough to make her roll her eyes.

she wasn’t jealous. she wasn’t.

jealousy was messy, and vi didn’t do messy. she wasn’t the type to get all worked up over something that wasn’t her business. this wasn’t her business. except—what if this person turned out to be trouble? what if they hurt you?

shit, what if you liked them?

“sounds like jealousy to me,” caitlyn’s voice chimed through her phone’s speaker a few minutes later.

vi’s jaw tightened as she paced the room, staring at the faint reflection of herself in the window. hooded sweatshirt, messy hair, no real plan—she looked like someone gearing up for trouble. “shut up, it’s not.”

“uh-huh,” caitlyn said, entirely unconvinced.

vi exhaled heavily, tugging her hood up like it might smother the heat creeping up her neck. “i just… wish i knew what was going on. that’s all.” her voice was quieter this time, almost an admission.

she hated not knowing. not knowing who this person was, what they wanted with you, what you were saying to them right now. were you laughing? leaning in close?

“you just gotta chill,” caitlyn said, her tone softening slightly. “you’ll hear all about it when the date’s over, i’m sure. you’re overthinking this.”

“i have an idea,” vi said suddenly, the words spilling out before she’d fully thought them through.

“oh no.”

a slow, mischievous grin pulled at vi’s lips, and her pacing stopped. her fingers flexed at her side as a plan began to form. it wasn’t smart. it wasn’t subtle. it was terrible. “how quickly can you come over?”

“vi, whatever you’re thinking—”

“just get here.”

——

“i can’t believe you’ve dragged me into this,” caitlyn muttered, her voice low and filled with annoyance as she tugged the brim of her cap down further over her face. the fabric shadowed her sharp eyes, which were darting toward the café window like she was already second-guessing her decision to come.

“you love this,” vi said casually, fiddling with the drawstrings of her hoodie.

“no, vi, i really don’t,” caitlyn shot back, her words pointed but softened by a resigned sigh.

as they approached the café entrance, vi glanced inside, her eyes instantly locking onto you. there you were, seated across from somone who smiled at you. vi hated them already.

caitlyn slipped into a barstool near the window, unfolding a newspaper she’d grabbed from the stand out front. her face was completely hidden behind the thin pages. vi, on the other hand, wasn’t nearly as subtle.

her hood was yanked low over her face, and the sunglasses perched on her nose were oversized and crooked, like she’d grabbed them in a hurry. vi hovered awkwardly by the counter, pretending to study the menu even though her eyes kept flicking over to you.

“you’re staring,” caitlyn hissed from behind the paper.

“am not,” vi muttered back, but she didn’t look away.

you were laughing now, that light, effortless kind of laugh that vi rarely saw unless she was the one making you smile. her chest tightened as she watched you tilt your head toward your date, your expression so open, so trusting.

“they’re not even funny,” vi grumbled, narrowing her eyes at your date.

“oh, please,” caitlyn whispered harshly, her exasperation cutting through vi’s muttering. “you’re acting ridiculous. do you even have a plan?”

“i’m working on it,” vi mumbled, finally tearing her eyes away to stare at the drink options on the board. she wasn’t working on anything. she just knew she had to be here—close enough to hear the cadence of your voice.

your date said something else, and you laughed again, this time louder, brighter. vi’s fists curled at her sides as her gut twisted uncomfortably.

“this is a terrible idea,” caitlyn said, sighing heavily as she lowered the paper just enough to glance at vi. “you’re a disaster.”

“shut up,” vi shot back under her breath. but deep down, she knew caitlyn was right.

disaster or not, she wasn’t leaving until your date was over.

[comatosebunny09]

As a result of watching more dramas, humor me.

You plan to go home for the holidays to spend them with your parents. 

Your mother’s been setting you up on blind dates in hopes of eventually finding you a match. She reasons you’re not getting any younger, so it’s time you settle down and start working on a family. Her intentions are good, but you just wish she’d stop badgering you. 

You don’t necessarily live the lifestyle where you can afford to have a partner right now.

You work for Onychinus’ leader, Sylus, as an assassin. You’re at the peak of your game, so much so that you’re considered his right hand by his enemies. You also secretly harbor feelings for your boss, but you know they’re fruitless because you think a relationship, let alone with you, is the furthest thing from his mind.

Anyways, you’re drinking at one of Sylus’ bars one evening, venting to him about your mother. He always humors you when you’re not working—you bring a certain flair to his life that he admits makes his days much more entertaining.

“Why don’t I pretend to be your boyfriend, then? Just to get her off your back,” he suggests with an amused crinkle to his eyes, watching you as he sips his whiskey.

You snort incredulously. Sylus and boyfriend are never two words you would imagine fitting in the same sentence. Still, you can’t deny entertaining the idea of what it’d be like to be something…more to him. 

You brush him off as just humoring you as usual, snatching your coat from the barstool and fixing your boss with a sardonic smirk. 

“Yeah, right. See ya around, bossman.” 

Your flight home leaves first thing in the morning. As much as you would like to stick around to shoot the shit with him, you need your rest to deal with your mother come morning.

Fast forward, and you’re back in your childhood home. You feel strange, being in your cutesy, innocent bedroom like there isn’t so much invisible blood on your hands and like you haven’t long shed the sheltered skin you once wore when you were younger. 

Your parents don’t know the full extent of what you do. They know you make a generous amount of money—you’ve bought them luxurious cars and clothes and sent them on exclusive vacations. You would buy them a plot of land with a beautiful home built from the ground up if they’d let you, but your parents insist on staying where they’re familiar.

An old childhood friend’s having a get-together. Your mother insists you go—this is the perfect opportunity for you to network and possibly find a future husband. Despite your protests, she pressures you, and you begrudgingly agree. 

You stick out like a sore thumb, donned in expensive fabrics at the party. Years of being an assassin and seductress have given you the gift of gab, so you’re the life of the party. Eventually, people start inquiring about your love life. Their questions become so invasive you step out momentarily to gather yourself. Just because you’re good at flapping your gums doesn’t mean you don’t occasionally become overwhelmed.

You decide to text Sylus to help ease your anxiety. You text each other quite often, and someone peering at your relationship from the outside would assume you’re just close friends. 

[ Sylus ]: that bad?

[ You ]: yeah. they won’t stop asking when i’ll get married. 

[ You ]: it’s really pissing me off. 

[ Sylus ]: lol

[ Sylus ]: well why dont you leave?

[ You ]: because i know i’ll never hear the end of it.

[ Sylus ]: hmm.

[ Sylus ]: would you like some company then?

[ You ]: 😏😏😏 what are you gonna teleport here or something?

[ Sylus ]: look up.

On cue, you glance skyward as the telltale shadow of a crow circles the ground around you. You squint your eyes against the sun’s brilliance, making out distinct iridescent feathers circling above. “Mephisto?” you suspiciously inquire.

You look down, only to be met with a familiar swatch of scarlet and white. “Sylus?!” you shriek, jumping back and clutching your pounding heart, almost having shit yourself.

He wears that customary smirk, looking so cool with his hands stuffed in his pockets. He wears a tailored, dark suit, his blazer hanging off his shoulders, ruffled by the summery breeze. “In the flesh.”

You swallow against the stickiness of your throat, wide-eyed and feeling like you’re dreaming. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Sylus examines his nails, his tone conspiratorial. “Well, I was just passing through—”

“Like hell you were!” You aim an accusatory finger at him. “We’re, like, 1,700 miles from the N109! There’s no way you’re just ‘passing through’!”

He shrugs, feigning innocence. 

A few of your high schoolmates, summoned by the commotion, gather in the courtyard behind you. The crowd oohs and ahs, whispering as they study your tall, devastatingly handsome boss. One of the women asks who he is, admiration evident in his voice. You know that tone too well: if you don’t claim him, I will. 

You swallow your resolve, seizing the opportunity to shut everyone up. 

You sidle up to your boss with a fake smile, encircling one of his arms with both of yours, your hands wrapped around his impressive bicep. You cling to him, playing up the theatrics of a docile girlfriend. It makes you sick.

Sylus smiles down at you in your peripheral, the omniscient lift of his brow letting you know that he’s never going to let you live down what next comes from your mouth.

“This is my fiancé!” You pat his chest with a giggle pinched from your lungs, cold dread dropping into your belly. 

What the hell are you even doing?

[floral-cavern]

So.. Sarcastic Chorus has retired from doing Helluvaverse content. This is a huge blow to the series. If you somehow don’t know, Sarcastic Chorus is the Helluvaverse YouTuber. He’s done so many analysis videos, it’s kind of part of his brand in the same way FNAF is associated with MatPat. The fact that Chorus left the shows is crazy, but, honestly, it’s just a testament to how bad this show has been getting.

This is the view count for the first three episodes for seasons 1 and 2

And if you think that’s bad, look at the difference between the season finales for each season

(I know technically Ozzie’s isn’t the season finale, but Queen Bee doesn’t count because of how long it took to come out)

People are tired of the show focusing on the wrong things. I seriously recommend Chorus’s video, it has so many good points. And one point I really want to talk about is Stolas.

I talk a lot about the bad writing in the show in general and how I don’t like Stolas, but I just want to say, I don’t like him anymore. I used to really like his character.. but season 2 completely ruined him for me because they refuse to acknowledge that he has any flaws. Rather than tell “we know Stolitz has flaws on both sides of the relationship, both will work on that,” instead, it’s all just Blitzo. They’ve spent 3 whole episodes just shitting on Blitzo, when… where’s that same treatment for Stolas? Stolas is a classist, racist, rapist. But the show seems to just… forget this. They’re backpedaling so hard, I'm surprised they haven’t fallen off the bike.

I used to find Stolas an interesting character and I was so excited to see where they would take his flaws and mistakes. Like, think about it. Stolas is completely naive, having been sheltered his whole life. The only concept for genuine intimacy he has comes from erotica. Of course he’s going to have a skewed idea of what sex is like when the only sex he’s ever had is with Stella, who, and I quote, “just lays there staring at the wall” where Stella has to do all the work. Ya… that is fucked and a form of sexual abuse, just like what Stolas does to Blitzo. So, I was interested to see where they would take this cycle of abuse that Stolas is so accustomed to and how they were going to have him break it. How was Stolas going to learn his idea of intimacy is wrong?

Well… he doesn’t. Not really. He does realize this transaction is wrong, but, when he tells this all to Blitzo and when Blitzo doesn’t have the reaction he wants, Stolas throws a fucking tantrum. He walks away and refuses to let Blitzo speak, he denies having ever done anything wrong, says that Blitzo was the one who always makes things about sex when that is NOT TRUE. And the worst part? The show treats Stolas like he’s right. They never do anything to show us that Stolas is a hypocrite, instead, like I said earlier, only punishing Blitzo. And don’t even pull the “he was banished” card! Stolas was not being punished for being a neglectful father, or for being an abusive partner. He was being punished… for a heroic sacrifice. He was being banished because Andre doesn’t like him and everyone is mean to Stolas so we have to feel so bad for him, guys!

I just… I started to have my doubts for the show around Full Moon, but I wanted to stick with the show. I liked Apology Tour, but did find it a bit weird that Stolas was being woobied, but I just assumed it was because the next episode, Stolas would be the one receiving the punishing. But the next episode.. WAS ANOTHER HATE ON BLITZO EPISODE. So I told myself, boy I told myself, that the next episode will be focusing on Stolas’s flaws, on Stolas’s part on why this relationship didn’t work. AND THEY DIDN’T FUCKING DO THAT STILL. In fact, Mastermind was just full of Stolas unnecessarily insulting Blitzo, calling him an idiot and whatnot. Like.. GIVE THIS GUY A BREAK, HOLY FUCK. WE GET IT.

This show has gotten so fucking infuriating. Good on Chorus for leaving. Me, personally? I’m going to keep watching, out of curiosity and because I hate myself, but if the show gets anymore infuriating, I may just leave. Because this show is so non-self aware with its black and white writing while it tries so damn hard to have a moral high horse.

So, actually, no. Not ‘fuck Stolas’. Fuck the writers for being so blind to the kinds of behaviors they are endorsing and encouraging with him.

[ily-fictional-women]

Holiday Spirit

Summary: The Christmas spirit is something that should always be shared 

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader + platonic!Maria Hill x fem!reader

Warnings: Not proofread (yet)

Word count: 1155

a/n: Happy holidays! I’ll try and get out another fic that isn’t about Christmas sooner than later for those who don’t celebrate. Sorry again for this being so late. (Reblogs are welcome and critiques/advice are heavily encouraged, but please no translating.)

Tossing her duffle bag on the floor Y/n flops onto her bed face first with a sigh of relief. Missions can last longer than expected sometimes— but it’s worse when they’re stake-out missions that last longer than expected. Almost on the edge of sleep, there is a knock on the door to her bunk.

Y/n groans into her pillow, “Who is it?” 

“It’s Santa, and you, my trusty elf, are needed in my toy factory.” Begrudgingly Y/n gets out of bed opening the door with Maria on the other side. Maria grins, “You look like shit.” Shooting Maria a quick glare Y/n rolls her eyes. “This,” Y/n gestures to her face, “is due to a twenty four hour solo stake-out mission. Also, you do know you’re only an inch taller than me right? If I’m an elf, so are you.” 

“Woah woah woah, no need to get defensive Y/l/n. Anyways, I just came by to see if you were up for Christmas with my Mom again this year. Maybe you could even bring Natasha, I’ve been telling my Mom about you and her.” 

“Yeah I’ll go, and that’s a good idea. I’ll ask her later tonight.” Maria nods before walking away, “Great!” Before closing the door Y/n catches her, “Oh and Hill, what have you been  telling your Mom?” 

Maria smiles, “Just the truth and what I see, you two are good together don’t worry.” 

//

Softly knocking on the door Natasha opens it, “Hey detka, how did the mission go?” Y/n shrugs still tired after the nap she took. “It was okay, are you busy right now though?” Cracking a smile Natasha rolls her eyes, “For you? Never, get in here.” 

“You look nice right now by the way.”

“Are you serious?” Natasha asks as they both begin to lounge on the small bed in the room. Y/n sits up a little to face Natasha better, “Yeah I’m serious, the messy half up half down bun look is cute. I like it a lot. Plus it’s just nice to see you in non-mission clothes.” 

“Well then thank you.” Natasha tucks one of Y/n’s stray hairs away abstenmindly beginning to play with it, “Did you need something though?” 

“Right, yeah. I just wanted to ask if you wanted to come with Maria and I to her Mom’s place for Christmas. I usually have fun but I think it’d be more fun with you there.” 

“I’d love that.”

//

Ringing the doorbell there’s an immediate faint sound of bells jingling. The door swings open to the sight of Elizabeth Hill in a ugly Christmas sweater coverd in bells, pom poms, and LED lights. 

“Girls!” Elizabeth immediately pulls all three women into a tight hug. “Hi mom.” Maria pats the woman on the back struggle to move. “It’s good to see you too Beth,” Y/n croaks out being sandwiched between the other women.  

Letting go of everyone Elizabeth begins shaking Natasha’s hand vigorously, “It’s good to me you by the way Natasha. Maria has told me a lot of good things about you. Oh I love your shirt! Is it red silk or-” Maria quickly interrupts. “Mom. Can we come inside.” 

“Oh! Yes, yes everyone come in! And Maria dear, maybe you would be warmer if you had a leather jacket with some lining like a told you last year.” Entering the home it is fully covered in decorations of candycanes and colorful lights with a large tree in the living room decorated with a mix of generic ornaments and homemade ones over the years. 

In the dinning room though sits two premade gingerbread house surrounded by bowls of snacks to decorate them with. Elizabeth smiles, “Now usually I buy one for everyone but I figured since we have even numbers this year we could do teams. Lets say mother and daughter versus the cute new couple?” 

Natasha grabs a piping bag of icing giving Elizabeth a mock scowl, “Absolutly just know you’re going to loose.”

“Ooh I like that energy, Maria dear you need to bring someone home like her.” As Maria sighs rolling her eyes Y/n looks at Natash with a quirked eyebrow and a grin. Natasha looks up from the ginger bread house and at Y/n, “What? I can be competitive. Now are you going to help or not?” 

As Y/n gives a nod of confirmation the kitchen dining table immediately becomes a battlefield. Icing tubes all over the table like artillery, random cadies spread out like ammunition, and a mix of orders and arguing coming from the mouths of both teams. On one side of the table being Maria and Elizabeth who are arguing about candy cane placement. 

The other side consisting of Natasha and Y/n with Natasha so lazer focused on the gingerbread house she making to notice the mess beginning to grow around it on herself. On the other hand Y/n is making and decorating marshmallow people as instructed by Natasha. 

Looking up at the enemies across from them Elizabeth uses the last trick she can think of to try and get ahead. She blurts out, “Natasha did you know Y/n and Maria made a band in highschool.” 

“Mom!” 

“Beth!”

As Maria and Y/n both yell at the woman at the same time Natasha looks up from the gingerbread house slowly putting down the gumdrops she was using to decorate with. “Do you have pictures,” Natasha asks as she moves closer the woman. Elizabeth grins mischevously, “Better. I have pictures, videos, and the shirts they made for the band.” 

“Oh I need to see this.” Natasha follows Elizabeth to the livingroom as Maria and Y/n look at eachother mortified. Hearing giggling already begin to erupt from the living room Y/n launches a distraction. 

“Nat, under any circumstances do not come back in here. I may or may not have messed up the gingerbread house.” In the blink of an eye Natasha is standing in the doorway of the dinning room staring daggers into Y/n.

“You. Did. What?” Y/n puts up her hands defensively slowly walking up to her, “Nothing. I did nothing. I was just trying to steal you away for a minute.” Natasha lets out a sigh of relief, “Don’t do that again.” 

“Sure, sure. But I will be honest with you it’s kind hard to take you seriously when you have frosting on your nose,” as Y/n says that she wipes it off for her leading to a sudden flash near them. 

The two look over to see Elizabth taking out a small picture from a polaroid before pointing above the two. “Misltoe you two!” Elizabeth says with glee as she readies her camera. As the two kiss and a camera flashes once more Natasha smiles softly at Y/n, “This is a great Christmas, thank you.”

[ryuto12-gaming]

Ranking the companions by how often I think in between missions their fucking Rook, keep in mind I’ve only done Neve and Bellara’s romances and that I’ve only seen the first half of Davrin and Taash’s scenes plus some dialogue I’ve seen so this’ll probably change later

Taash. Their 23. What more do I need to say. The games evidence is already there. Yall knew the answer to this.

Davrin. Also the second obvious choice considering you can flirt with him like only twice to start his romance. That man is feral.

Harding. Dialogue confirms how often she and Rook bone, enough that the other companions know about her magic doing weird shit when they get down. Also has lots of dialogue if with Taash so yeah definitely after every single mission.

Emmrich. Old, not decrepit. Has like, a normal amount but in always odd locations. A bed is great, forest floors and crypts are so much better. Has dialogue with Strife about being kept out all night and not coming home till sunrise.

Neve, who’s only fifth because she’s stressed as fuck all the time. Is below Emmrich because of dialogue with Taash about she and Lucanis taking their relationship slowly if they’re together. Despite her low ranking on the frequency, fully sure shes top 3 for skill at it.

Lucanis. Great amount of charm, but if he makes himself cringe he’ll just hit the BioWare turn and leave.

Bellara. You don’t even get to kiss this woman until the very end of the game, and they don’t get a scene, it just fades to black and there is no mention in dialogue that I’ve found of them boning. Emotional intimacy out the wazzoo, but definitely barely fuck.

[arkangelo-7]

Oh my God! Yes! 👏

I love the idea of Bruce being super protective and meticulous when it comes to his suit. Because although it’s really fucking durable and basically its own weapon, the suit is also really really delicate because of the sheer complexity of it. There’s so many little components and pieces that, when not put together properly, can make the suit unwieldy and inefficient; there’s also a bunch of weapons, tools, and dangerous equipment hidden in there, so if you don’t know what you’re doing there’s a really high chance that you could hurt yourself trying to put it on. It’s fitted to his proportions, too, so just by attempting to put it on, someone could accidentally stab themselves with that batarang in the hidden pocket by his thigh or lose circulation to their left arm because Bruce keeps that area tightened for grappling-related reasons.

But on top of all of the safety reasons, Bruce’s suit is special because it’s his. Sure, it’s been through like eighty million upgrades, but to him it’s still the same suit that he wore that first night out in Gotham. It’s nostalgic. And similarly to how someone wouldn’t like their siblings/parents/friends/etc., stealing their shit and doing whatever they want with it, Bruce gets fucking mean when people try and mess with his suit.

He’ll tolerate his kids climbing around on it, but the minute they try to play with the straps or touch his utility belt, they’re done; and god forbid a leaguer try to prank him by messing with his armor… Batman will legitimate go on a reign of terror.

But with Clark? It’s… different.

Clark is the most powerful being in the world, but he’s also kind and silly and a little awkward, and above all that he’s a really, really good person. Bruce trusts him, in a way that’s different from the way he trusts the other Leaguers (they’re more his colleagues and underlings) and his kids (he will always, always prioritize their safety despite how much he trusts them).

So it makes sense that he’d entrust Clark with information about his suit. Because he trusts that Clark would never use that information against him, trusts that Clark won’t abuse that power, trusts that Clark respects what Bruce’s cowl means to him and that he’ll honor it with the upmost respect.

And he’s entirely correct. Clark treats the suit with reverence whenever he has to change Bruce into it or help him out of it for medical reasons, etc.. Not only because he understands the gravity of what that type of show of trust means to Bruce, but also because that suit is the last line of defense between Bruce, a mortal, and the hundreds of aliens/gods/metas consistently trying to kill his best friend… So, yeah, he appreciates that suit, and he’ll do his damnest to make sure he knows everything about it

You know how Superman can super-change into his outfits? Do you think that if they’re in a rush, Bruce taught him all the ins and outs of the batsuit so he can change them both at super speed? Like no matter how fast that guy has taught himself how to get in and out of that thing (because you know he has) sometimes it has to be literally instant.

It’s like an insane show of trust, not many people know all the little tiny details that get updated every few months, the close batfamily might know how to take of pieces in case of emergency and the exact contents and placements of his belt, but Clark has a lot of hands on experience and the symbolism of him putting Bruce’s cowl on for him is neat too.

[the-100-days-of-junkan]

Day 89

SURPRISE! Days 79 and 85 were secretly the same AU all along! And by that I mean- wait before I get into that. Time for a headsup.

So tomorrow is Day 90. And as you know I try to do something special for those, which of course can lead to my little ramble sessions to go on for much longer than normal. And while I won’t guarantee it, this is more than likely going to be the longest one of the whole project, more than likely even longer than Day 100 which will be the post marking the end of the project.

Just to give you an idea of what kind of scale we’re talking about here, Day 90 took me a total of 3 Months, starting its creation on May 8th, and finishing on August 1st.

Alright! Now that you’re tense and speculating what in the merciful name of all that’s good is gonna happen tomorrow, let’s start talking about TODAY's art!~

Anyway, so when I made Day 85 I was trying to really think of what I could even do with an AU where the entire basis is “Oh, they’re kids.” And that reminded me! I had the same issue with the Adult AU, even if that had a bit more ground to stand on with them being adoptive parents to the Warriors of Hope.

Then it hit me! Why not combine the two of them? And thus was born the Childhood Friends AU! Though you could also just call this The No Talent AU because hey, you remember during Danganronpa WLWeek when I drew Junkan for the Talentless prompt? That’s right! It was secretly a tease for this art! Now if only I drew something for them during their college days I could have fully planted the seeds for this whole pic in your collective minds. 

Anyway, core idea of this AU is the timeline is slightly shifted so Junko and Mikan (along with the whole of the DR Cast) are born slightly earlier, while the Warriors of Hope are born at the usual point they would have in the timeline, solely because this allows our two favorite lovebirds to adopt them. Hope’s Peak doesn’t exist, nor do the ultimate talents of course (Though obviously for some characters like Mikan they’re still partial to those talents. It’s just that they don’t reach the absurd levels of skill that they do in main canon). And finally, Junko and Mikan were positioned in such a way that the two were childhood friends. I feel like I worded that in a way far too complicated and excessive for something that was pretty damn obvious, but hey I like to ramble.

Anyway, I can’t remember but I think I said that with the Fantasy AU it was the only other AU aside from Vampire that I would want to make a proper Fanfic for. If I did say that, I was either wrong or lying, because eventually I wouldn’t mind telling some kind of story of this version of the characters. More than likely just from their child and highschool years, but I’m sure eventually I’d get more ideas for them in college and as adults. 

The obvious dynamic here is that Junko since becoming friends with Mikan has been protecting her from bullies and not realizing that Mikan is very desperately pining for her (Don’t worry! They get together before the end of Highschool!). Also Mukuro is there! She’s got a stick.

I’m envisioning that up till they were entering middle school Junko would call her Bandaid Girl, because as kids Mikan was the kid who always had Bandaids (both in terms of wearing them and just carrying some around on her person all the time).

And look! Mukuro is in fact there, and not just that but a shit ton of other characters! I think I was really starting to crack and lose self control at this point in the project. So I decided to also make this a mini story of Mukuro getting together with Sayaka and Ibuki! Who both generally go down the same path they normally would, though eventually Sayaka becomes an Idol Manager after a short career as a proper idol, and Ibuki of course is a semi-popular musician. Mukuro has acted as a bodyguard for both of them before and will continue to do so when asked. 

And of course, by the time they’re adults Junko and Mikan decide to adopt the Warriors of Hope, very legally, and they definitely didn’t hide any bodies (I don’t even know how much I’m joking about that here). Fun fact! I almost forgot to draw Masaru! Don’t ask me how that happened, I have no idea. I will admit when it comes to the Warriors of Hope and Junkan most of my interest is mostly in their dynamics with Kotoko and Monaca. Not to write off the other three, Jataro especially, but I just think that’s what hooks me more immediately. 

I really tried to load today’s piece with as much as I could, because even if I didn’t know how long it’d take, I knew for a fact that finishing Day 90 would take a very, very long time.

As always, Reblogs, Comments, and Little Notes in the Tags are appreciated!~ They always make my day!~

[spadaaces]

Thinking about Akiren and his hometown…. I like to think/headcanon that he doesn’t hate it there. There is a strange sort of comfort being there at times, but it’s not really.. Home anymore. Same with his parents - my hc is that they’re pretty average (he goes through So Much shit all the time I think he deserves a Little bit of normalcy in his life lol). They’re nice and they care for him, but after living in Tokyo for a year and everything that happened that year, there’s this weird gap now.

Akiren went through so much in the span of that year and he changed a lot during that year. We obviously don’t know too much about pre-game Akiren, but it seems like he’s always had this strong conviction, but acted more reserved than he actually is, similar to how he keeps his head down when he’s put on probation. And then he does not only awaken to his persona and is able to rip of that mask both figuratively and literally, but he finds a place where he can truly start being himself. He finds people who also discover themselves and grow alongside him, and makes him stronger - and he finds people he truly belongs with. And despite all the shit they had to go through, it’s also some of the most fun he’s ever had and these people are so special to him and they understand him and he them and -

And then he has to go back home. And he knows they’re gonna miss each other, but also that he’ll see them again. And it is a little nice to be back, it’s peaceful for a change and at least he has Morgana with him. But it’s a bit too peaceful. There’s not the buzz of the city anymore, he’s not used to it being so quiet - he’s not used to having so few people around him anymore. The town is the same, his parents are the same, but he isn’t. And it feels weird cause nothing is necessarily wrong or bad there, he’s just so. Out of place. He’s a completely different person but no one in this town knows that. And so it’s really easy to slip back to how he’s always acted when he’s there. Because this isn’t where his real self is supposed to be.

Then summer rolls around, and he travels back to Tokyo and all his friends are there to welcome him and Morgana back and it finally feels like he can breathe again. Like he’s finally back where he belongs and he’s able to be his full honest self.

He’s home.

[seal-pelt]

the thing abt misgendering is like. yeah it’s hot. but if you’re not Family then it’s not the same. older sibling or parent calling me their pretty little girl, buying me dresses and makeup and guilting me into wearing them because “that shit was expensive.” grooming me into some fucked up codependent relationship and getting it in my head that if i don’t stop trying to be a boy then they won’t love me the same. stealing my first kiss and taking my virginity and making me want it, need it, until i’d do anything—be anything—if only so it doesn’t end. getting pavlov’d into arousal the second my deadname is said, and getting disappointed when they indulge me by using my chosen name. asking them to misgender me when they’re fucking their cum into my cunt, crying and begging for them to moan my real name. looking at childhood pictures and feeling myself get wet when they talk about their sister/daughter and how they always knew she’d grow up into the perfect little slut. uhm.

[kawoala]

IM SO SHY SENDING THIS RN OMG

Just saw you want requests, and I was thinking (not something good for me, btw) 😇😇 about 😇😇 kita w a really shy!reader and he asks the miya brothers for help, and they say that he should flirt w reader 😭😭😭

IK YOU DONT REALLY WRITE FOR KITA AND THIS MAY BE HARD FOR YOU BUT I LOOOOOOOOVVVEEEEEEEDDDDDD WHEN YOU WROTE MY LAST REQUEST W HIM IT WAS SO GOOD I WAS SCREAMING CRYING THROWING UP RAINBOWS IT WAS SOOOOO GOOODDDD UUUGHHHH

𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐄 𝐊𝐈𝐓𝐀 year and a half word count ; (719) content warning ; (request, more fluff haha, social anxiety! reader, asking someone out, advice from the miyans)

You’re nervous. But, for you, that’s normal. Your fingers are in your lap as you tug at your fingers— a response to your constant anxiety. Your classmate is almost finished with their presentation, meaning that you’re up next. Your heartbeat quickens. You hate speaking in front of the class.

Beside you, Kita bounces his leg. You know it’s not out of nervousness, like it would be for you. He’s always relaxed like that. You’re not sure if he’s ever been nervous in his entire life. His fingers drum against his desk. He looks bored.

Your classmate finishes their presentation and a round of applause startles you out of your nervous haze. Kita clears his throat and stands. You do the same.

After you finish the presentation, you realize you were making a much bigger deal than you should have been— like always. Your face is hot when you sit down and you know your cheeks are a different color than the rest of your face.

You lay your forehead down on the table and let out a weak sigh.

Kita knows you get nervous. He knows you get nervous, because he likes to stare. He knows you get nervous because of the way you change color so fast, the way you pull on your fingers. He knows because he likes to pay attention.

You started at Inarizaki in the middle of his second year. Almost immediately, he recognized just how smart you were. You didn’t advertise it like others, but your grades were always the highest in the class. He also recognized that you were beautiful. Kita had never been one for crushes, but he knew that what he felt for you was a crush.

Throughout the next year and a half, he had tried to get your attention. He had gone out of his way to try and get your attention. But nothing seemed to work. 

He would make you food under the guise of simply “making too much” and you would refuse to take it, saying that he might need it after practice.

At least you knew he was on the volleyball team.

When he would ask for help on his homework— even though he didn’t need it— you would tell him of another classmate that was far better at teaching things.

All of his attempts were unsuccessful and it was driving him crazy. So, the day of your presentation, Kita goes to the twins for help. He knows it’s a bad idea, but what has he got to lose?

“Ya gotta impress her, Kita-san,” Atsumu says, popping a potato chip in his mouth. “Girls like it when you do impressive shit.”

“No, you gotta be straightforward,” Osamu says with a sigh, shaking his head. “Girls like her— shy girls, I mean— gotta be told straight up, or they’re going to think you’re just being nice.”

Kita takes Osamu’s advice, because even though Atsumu seems like a ladies man, Osamu has had two girlfriends and Atsumu has had none.

So, the next day, after class, Kita asks you to wait a moment. When everyone has left the class, he turns to you and takes a deep breath. “Do you want to go on a date with me, Y/n?”

He watches you blink a couple times, watches your face change colors, and briefly wonders if he should have taken Atsumu’s advice instead.

“Um, me?” You ask, pointing at yourself. You tuck a strand of hair behind your ear and look away from him. “I don’t… Is this a prank? It’s not very funny, Kita-san. You’re supposed to be the nice one.”

Kita doesn't know what that’s supposed to mean, and he doesn’t want to. “It’s not,” he says simply. “I’ve been trying to work up the nerve to ask you out for the last year and a half.” You look up now and he smiles softly. “It’s not a prank.”

Again, you blink dumbly. He can hear when you swallow. “Okay,” you whisper, nodding. “I mean, yes. That sounds, um, fantastic.”

Kita’s smile grows and he nods triumphantly. “Okay. I’ll text you the details tonight, alright?”

You nod again and, that night, when Kita goes to practice, he gives Osamu a firm handshake and makes Atsumu run three laps for the objectively dumb advice he had given.

[hyperfixationhobo]

LADS Headcanons Pt 2!!!

—————————————————————

Wooooo! Part two baby! I’m so happy you guys loved my last headcannon post!!! I hope you like this one as well!!!

Xavier:

. Says wholesome stuff in the most fucked up way possible.

. “I just wanna carve out a hole next to your heart and squeeze in it.”

. “I wanna live in your lungs so I can be the air that you breathe.”

. “The stars look gorgeous in your eyes, I wanna pluck them out and frame them.”

. Says this shit with the most innocent face.

. You made a smiley face on his pancakes once and he refuses to eat them without a smiley face on them.

. Absolutely thinks your mad at him when you don’t put a smiley face on his pancakes.

. Make it a frowny face and he knows he fucked up.

. I read somewhere that he mostly sleeps on his stomach and he most definitely sleeps with his butt semi in the air.

. Mostly it’s from a stray pillow that somehow managed to get under his hips.

Zayne:

. Obsessed with your heart in a wholesome way.

. He’s scared of not finding the cure for you so he constantly tries to feel your heartbeat.

. Hand pressed against your chest, your back, pulse points on your wrist and neck he just wants to make sure it’s beating.

. Let him sleep with his head on your chest so he can hear your heartbeat and he’ll truly relax.

“Just need to make sure you’re ok.”

. Has chilled sodas with his hands for Xavier.

. Bought those hand warm up bag things once.

. Now a cabinet fully stacked with them.

. Has a ton of onesies hidden somewhere in his closet.

. I think he adores jams, specifically strawberry and peach jams.

Rafayel:

. Much like how I think Zayne’s hand will be naturally cold, Rafayel’s hand would be naturally warm cause y’know, fire.

. Very sensitive when it comes to the cold, always has his studio at like 72 degrees.

. Hates winter just cause of the cold.

. I like to think his legs would be strong as hell.

. “Hey MC! Wanna see me crush a watermelon between my thighs?”

. Solid abs and strong core too cause of how mermaids swim.

. Legs are definitely more sensitive cause he’s used to having a tail and now the sensations are doubled.

. Does that fire trick thing you see where it looks like he breathes fire.

. Has almost burned his hair while doing said trick.

. I personally think that this mermaid boy can’t handle eating oysters.

Sylus:

. Can’t ice skate for shit, always falls on his ass.

. Holds a lot of respect for Zayne since the man is your doctor.

. I think he does little annoying things but isn’t aware of it cause nobody has ever told him.

. Let’s be honest no one wants to go up to this crime overlord and be like “Hey, your finger tapping is annoying can you please stop?”

. Has a very secret soft spot for Rafayel. Will never admit it, in fact he’ll happily chip off his arm to deny it.

. I like to think that Sylus enjoys spoiling those he’s close with and Rafayel most definitely likes being spoiled.

. It works perfectly.

. Walks around in nothing but a towel to grab your attention.

. Such an attention whore.

. Will cough up blood in the middle of a fight and worry that he isn’t at the right angle to make himself look attractive for you.

Bonus: Luke and Kieran!!!:

. Ok so a very personal headcanon about these two bird babies is that they’re actually brown skinned with gray fluffy hair and red eyes. Maybe it’s cause I’m black and I want to see more people of color in the game which I know is very unlikely, but it’s how I like imagining them.

. I like to think that they’re Aro/Ace cause it’s said they can feel whatever the other is feeling and even see out of each others eyes but we’re not given the limit of that ability but we know they can’t just switch it off.

. It’ll be weird that when your twin kisses his partner and you feel it as well. And very very awkward if it goes farther than that.

. They love pulling pranks on MC, much to MC’s dismay.

. They get overstimulated easily, constantly feeling, hearing, and seeing what your twin sees is a lot.

. Sylus bought them noise canceling headphones and weighted blankets to help them through these rough patches.

. Absolutely love cheese burgers. Luke’s likes his without pickles and Kieran likes pickles on his.

. Secretly feed Mephisto tiny bits of human food like fries and popcorn.

. Can’t sleep in separate rooms from one another.

. They were experimented on so it makes since they will feel most safe when they’re able to see the other and know that they’re close.

[lyraa-kill]

Here’s a little ghost x gaz fic I wrote at midnight lol. TW for mcd(soap) and grief

If you’d like to read this on ao3 instead, here’s the link!

Johnny’s death devastated the whole team, but it killed Simon and Kyle the most. They were his lover and best friend, after all. There’s a Johnny sized hole in their universe now, and neither of them know how to deal with the grief, the immense loss they never prepared themselves to one day have to deal with.

It takes a few weeks before either of them come off of auto pilot, stop going through the motions of their day and of missions without feeling like theyre robots being controlled by an automated system. When they do, they end up bumping into each other more, taking more notice of the other. Noticing the same emotions in the other as the ones they’re feeling. The same tired, sunken eyes and lifeless skin, the same horrible posture and fidgets when things just get too quiet.

It’s late at night, Kyle’s grabbing a late night drink when Simon waltzes into the common area kitchen as well. He stands there and stares for a minute before he moves past Kyle and gets to the fridge. He tries not to think of the similar nights he had with Johnny like this, tries not to think of the time he picked him up and put him on the counter and kissed him like he never would again. God, he wishes he had kissed him just one more time.

“Can’t sleep either?” Kyle asks, his voice light and a little gruff. He hasn’t been speaking much the last few weeks, so his vocal cords are out of tune.

“Nope. Usual, though,” Simon responds, grabbing a jug of apple juice and pouring it into a cup.

Neither he nor Kyle comment on the fact Johnny was the one that had bought this jug, had loved this specific brand of apple juice probably more than he loved Simon. But they both notice it. They always notice the little things Johnny’s left behind that they hadn’t before.

“Don’t I know it,” Kyle jokes, breathing out a small chuckle.

Simon laughs a little too, joining Kyle in standing with his back against the counter top, glass loosely held in his hand at hip level.

There’s a lot of unspoken words between them. They don’t know what to say, don’t know if they should bring up how much shit sucks and what they’re feeling or pretend like everything is okay. But they both have an innate knowing that the other person is just as lost as they are, that their world is a little darker now. That nothing makes as much sense as it did before. Seriously, how can they be living and Johnny just be gone? Gone? It seems about as ridiculous as the sky being green and the grass being blue.

“You holding up alright?” Simon asks, breaking the silence after a few minutes.

Kyle swallows the rock in his throat. Takes another sip of his glass of water. Finally, he manages to answer, “Best as I can, sir.”

Simon rolls his eyes. “Don’t call me that. I’m not your lieutenant right now.”

“Hm? What are you then?”

Simon sighs and rubs his eyes. “A friend, I hope.”

They sit in silence again, until Simon notices that Kyle is crying. He’s silent, but tears are still rolling down his cheeks. His throat is bobbing with unreleased sobs. His left hand is gripping the counter top so hard his fingers are losing color.

Simon immediately sets his glass down, striding over to Kyle and wrapping his arms around him. He was fine to deal with his grief alone, had already done it for everyone else that had mattered to him, but he didn’t want Kyle to suffer by himself. Someone as good as him didn’t deserve that.

Instantly, Kyle melts into the hug and all the sobs and wails he had been holding back are coming out. He grips onto Simon’s t-shirt like he’s going to go away too, like he’ll lose another person he cares for. Simon keeps his grip steady. Letting Kyle cry into him for as long as he needs. He sheds a few tears as well, but not that many. He’s more of a suffer in peace kind of man.

“Fuck- s-sorry, I-“ Kyle stammers, wiping away his tears while Simon continues to hold him.

“I know,” Simon says, “You don’t need to apologize.”

“This just really fucking sucks, you know?” Kyle laughs while releasing a few more sobs.

Simon answers with sorrow, “Yeah. It really fucking blows.”

They stand there in silence while Kyle tries to compose himself and fails, and Simon awkwardly keeps holding him because he doesn’t know how to help someone through the loss of their best friend when that person was also your boyfriend and almost fiancé.

“I miss him too,” Simon mutters, “Captain does too, I’m sure. You’re not by yourself.”

“I-i know, I know. But it’s different. To cap, he was another soldier, really. Sure he cared for him, but he wasn’t his friend. He- he didn’t- he wasn’t close with him like I was. And you, fuck- you loved him. Like, really loved him. And I kinda didn’t. It’s probably so much worse for you and-“

“Don’t say that,” Simon interrupts, “You love him too. Maybe different than I do, but you do.”

“I know. Fuck- I don’t know what I’m saying. I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright, Kyle.” Simon says before he ends the hug and stands there in front of him, one hand on his shoulder.

In his mind, Simon imagines Johnny watching them. Not as a ghost, but more as just… energy? A presence? He doesn’t know how to describe it. But it seems like he can feel Johnny, so close and yet so far away, like he’s right there but he just can’t reach out for him. How would Johnny feel, watching his boyfriend and best friend cry together and be so consumed by the pain of losing him?

Then he remembers that Johnny can’t feel anything, that he’s dead and gone, and there’s nothing left of him in the world anymore. Just some ash in a fucking lake and a near expired carton of juice.

He starts to cry too, and now it’s Kyle’s turn to pull him into a hug and comfort him.

They stand there, holding each other as their cries fill the other wise silent room. Neither of them had thought that crying it out with someone would feel so nice, so freeing. Like the grief wasn’t all consuming and could be dealt with. It felt like through their shared feelings, Johnny was alive in some way. Is a person dead once they’re no longer here, or when people stop caring that they’re no longer here?

After that night, when either of them are feeling too overwhelmed, feeling the inky darkness of loss wrapping around their heart, they seek out the other. It doesn’t matter what’s happening or what they’re doing. They’ll make the time. Whether it’s Kyle dragging Simon out of office hours where he’s doing paperwork to be held and cry or Simon finding Kyle at the gun range and bawling into his t-shirt, they’re there for each other. Price too, when he opens up about how much he misses Johnny. But it’s different with him. He didn’t care for Johnny as much as they did.

Eventually, Simon and Kyle hang out together when they’re not crying and spiraling into a hole, becoming friends in their own right outside of their loss. They’ll sit in the common area and watch a movie together, side by side on the couch and sharing a blanket and popcorn. It felt weird to laugh at first, but they got used to it. Smiles no longer felt like betrayal after a while, it just felt like the warmth of friendship.

It continues into them eventually being able to talk about Johnny. Share their memories. Laugh about that crazy, damn near feral Scot and all the fun they used to have together. Kyle recounts the time they snuck off base in the middle of the night to get drunk in some field. Simon tells how Johnny one time stole all his t shirts because Simon refused to tell him what his birthday present was going to be.

They share what they missed about him. Simon wishes he could’ve yelled at him about leaving his hair all over the sink when he shaved one more time. Kyle misses hearing explosions go off when they were out in the field and knowing Johnny was having the time of his life. Simon misses waking up and seeing the golden rays of sun dance across his skin so perfectly, like a painting. Kyle wishes he could’ve played one more game of cards with him over lunch.

One day, Simon starts to feel strange. He notices when he’s trying to fall asleep that he hadn’t thought of Johnny at all that day. Not once. Most days he’s consumed with thinking about him. Wait, it wasn’t just that day. It was the day before too. Wait, what?

He sits and thinks. What was he even doing? Everything reminds him of Johnny, because it’s like he can see his ghost all around base. Everywhere he looks is somewhere he had once stood. What was he thinking of instead?

Then, he realizes. Kyle. His mind had been consumed by Kyle instead. He was thinking of how he looked the night prior when they were watching a movie in the dark living room and the blue highlights from the film looked beautiful contrasted next to his dark skin. Thought of running to the store to grab him more of that ice cream he likes. Thought of seeing him later and being excited for it.

His blood runs ice cold. He remembers when he was falling in love with Johnny and he felt the same way. Couldn’t get him out of his head, couldn’t stop recounting every second they had spent together. Just like he was doing with Kyle.

That- no. He can’t. He can’t love Kyle. He loves Johnny. Loved, whatever. Johnny is his boyfriend. Was. Fuck.

He rolls around and buries his face in a pillow. He thinks of Kyle’s face, and he thinks of Johnny’s Side by side. Which would he pick?

He ponders it before he gets angry. He can’t pick, because Johnny’s dead. He has one option and a bunch of discarded ash.

He briefly thinks of kissing Kyle the way he did Johnny, and cringes before he bolts up right and starts to breathe like he’s losing air. Not because the thought disgusts him, but because it excites him. The same way he was excited when he thought of kissing Johnny for the first time.

No no no- no. He can’t do this. He can’t betray Johnny, especially with his best fucking friend. What sort of despicable cheating fucking monster is he to do that to him? He can’t. This is ridiculous. He can’t love Kyle. He can’t do that to Johnny.

He does the only thing he knows how to do in this situation. He ignores Kyle. Moves past him in the mess when they would normally sit together. Says he’s not feeling well when Kyle offers to watch another movie or play a dumb card game with him. Flat out ignores him when he offers to go down to the range and practice shooting.

He thought it would be easy, thought that if he refocused his mind back on Johnny he could forget all about Kyle, forget about the bubbling feeling in his heart when he sees him from across the room, how pretty his full lips and walnut eyes are. How beautiful his muscled arms look slightly bulging from the sleeves of his shirt. His well his pants fit over the whole of his legs. How his voice sounds like bells and lemonade on a summer day back home.

It goes on for weeks. Simon can tell Kyle is upset, frustrated, and confused. But he just can’t betray Johnny like that. He needs time to be away from Kyle so he can forget about those ridiculous feelings. Try and remember how Johnny’s voice sounds and how his body felt wrapped up in his, before he forgets for good. He would forget it all if he got with Kyle. And he doesn’t want to forget Johnny. He wants to keep him nestled safe in his heart forever, lock it down and declare it his and only his. But there’s a crack in the chains he’s binding, his heart too full to be contained to what he wants to limit it to. And it’s hurting him.

It all comes to a head when he gets back to the barracks of the 141, the common area unlit until he switches on the light to take his shoes off and he notices Kyle sitting with his arms crossed and a sour expression on his face on the couch.

Simon begins to take his boots off, going to pretend Kyle isn’t even there, until the man gets up and strides over to him, kicking his shin to make him look up at him.

“Where the fuck have you been?” Kyle asks.

“Busy.” Simon answers.

“Don’t lie to me.” Kyle’s words are full of venom and pure rage. He’s fucking furious at having been ignored.

“‘M not lying.” Simon mutters, kicking off his shoes with his boot and trying to brush past Kyle.

Kyle grabs his arm and pulls him back with force Simon didn’t know he had.

“You’re not going to ignore me anymore, Simon. Tell me what’s going on.”

Simon looks at Kyle, really looks at him. Notices the way his eyes are dark with rage, the dark bags beneath that are the worst he’s ever seen them. Notices the way he’s biting the inside of his lip, probably to keep himself grounded because of how intense his emotions are. The way his fist keeps clenching and unclenching, how he’s standing on the tops of his feet rather than the whole.

And fuck, he really can’t deny that he loves it all anymore. Really can’t deny that everything about Kyle draws him in and makes his heart want more and more, to take all it can possibly get. And it’s so strange, because Kyle is nothing like Johnny. He doesn’t tease as much. He’s not as crazy or wild. Doesn’t laugh as much, doesn’t compliment him as much. Isn’t so sure and defensive of all his opinions, doesn’t insult. Doesn’t laugh when he jams a knife into an enemies neck and blood goes flying everywhere. What does he see in Kyle that he wants so goddamn badly?

“I can’t,” Simon mutters, his voice cracking as his eyes drop to the floor. Tears start to form, but he tries to hold them back.

Kyle looks at him for a few moments. “Simon?” He asks, not angry anymore, “Please. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“I can’t.” Simon says again, his voice filled with the tears he’s refusing to let come out of his eyes.

“Why not?”

“You’re going to hate me. I hate me.”

“I won’t hate you,” Kyle says, gripping Simon’s arms and tugging him closer. “Just- please. Tell me. So I can fix it. I- I don’t- I don’t want to lose you too.”

Simon’s heart breaks. It never occurred to him that he was all Kyle really had. Johnny was his only friend and Simon a strange “more than acquaintance but not really friend but also a friend”, so after he was gone and he and Simon started to become closer, that was all he had left. These last few weeks he’s been completely alone with no idea of what the reason why could be. Simon is such a piece of fucking shit for doing that to someone he claims to love, apparently more than he did Johnny.

He starts to cry, fat tears falling down as his lips release bawls and sobs. He’s never cried like this before, not since he was a small child. Not even the first night he spent alone without Johnny. He’s always stayed silent and cried on the inside. Let his heart do it instead.

Kyle grabs him into a hug, wrapping one arm around his waist and the other holding his head into his neck. It’s awkward, since Simon is so much taller, but they make it work. Eventually Simon wraps his arms around Kyle’s waist and holds him as close as he can, almost lifting him up off the ground.

Kyle holds him while he cries, whispering that it’s okay and that everything is fine. That he’s not angry anymore, he just wants to talk. That whatever it is, he won’t hate him for it.

“I’m sorry, Kyle,” Simon chokes out, “I shouldn’t have ignored you. I- I just- I didn’t know what to do.”

Kyle soothingly rubs the top of his back, over his muscled shoulder blade. “It’s alright. I forgive you.”

Simon pulls away a little bit and looks Kyle in his eyes. They’re beautiful, but not in the same way that Johnny’s were. Kyle’s are soft, calm, like a gentle breeze in a forest that carries the scent of the wood and the leaves. Johnny’s were bright, loud, like a raging, unforgiving ocean. Strong.

“I don’t know how to say this- but- i-“ Simon stammers. How can he even go about admitting this? With Johnny it was easy. All it took was looking at each other a certain way one night when they were alone doing some late target practice and they were on top of each other, their mouths connecting and hands searching for whatever skin they could find. All the emotions came later, when they were more comfortable with whatever they were and what they had. How do you start with the feelings first and the passion second?

“It’s okay, Simon,” Kyle whispers, “Take your time.”

“I- I can’t say it. I can’t betray Johnny like that.”

Confusion flashes across Kyle’s face, before it dawns on him.

“Oh.” He says. Oh.

Kyle looks absolutely struck, like he doesn’t know how to process what Simon just told him.

Simon pinches the bridge of his nose and grimaces. He’s such an idiot. He shouldn’t have fucking done this. God- he’s so stupid-

He turns to walk away, muttering apologies when Kyle grips his arm again and tugs him back again. Instantly their lips are connected, locked together in a kiss that makes Simon completely melt inside.

It lasts for only a few seconds before they break apart, panting and looking wildly into each others eyes.

“What would he think?” Simon whispers, “I can’t do this to him.”

Kyle nods, a few stray tears falling from his eyes. “I know. I don’t know what to say to help fix it.”

“I love him,” Simon says, “I think I always will. It’s not- it’s not fair to you or him. I- I don’t know if I can love you both. I don’t want to lose him.”

“I understand,” Kyle says. He runs his hand up and down Simon’s arm, the one covered in tattoos of flames and skulls. “I wouldn’t know what to do either. I’ve never- I haven’t experienced something like that before.”

“I’m sorry, Kyle.”

“It’s okay. I forgive you.”

“You sure?”

“I am. We can just be friends. I want that.”

“Do you- feel the same?”

“As you do?”

Simon nods.

“Yes. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m glad.”

They stare at each other for a few more minutes. Simon hugs Kyle and kisses him on the forehead before he mutters a good night and stalks off to his room, pretending he doesn’t hear the soft cries coming from behind him.

Simon lays in bed, staring at the ceiling as tears keep rolling from his eyes. At least Kyle knows now.

He turns to the side, looking at the empty space where Johnny always slept. He still wishes he was there, would do anything to hold him one more time, but now he also wishes Kyle were there. Wishes he could hold Kyle to sleep and wake up next to him in the morning. How could he want both? It doesn’t make any sense.

He drifts off to sleep, his body and mind exhausted from all the crying. Once he falls under, the strangest feeling over takes him.

Someone is holding him from behind, wrapping their arms around his waist and nuzzling their face into his upper back, the same way Johnny always did.

“Si?” He hears someone say, in a voice that sounds oddly like his Johnny.

Excitement floods his bones. He goes to turn around, but Simon finds he can’t move. “Johnny?” He croaks out.

“‘M right here, love.”

Simon can’t cry in his dream, but if this were real, he’d be a puddle on the floor.

“Don’t cry, angel. I hate seeing you cry.”

“I’m so sorry,” Simon says, his voice breaking so badly he sounds almost inaudible. It feels like a weight is crushing his chest and caving in his ribs, smashing his heart into pieces.

“You don’t need to apologize for anything baby. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I- I promise I don’t love him. I only love you.”

“You know that’s not true. You do love him.”

“Not as much as I loved you.”

“You do. Just in a different way. I know you do. You always forget you can’t hide things from me, Si.”

Simon shakes his head. “I- I can’t do that to you. I won’t. I’m only yours, Johnny, I promise.”

“Maybe you used to be only mine, but you’re not anymore. You’re Kyle’s now too. I’m gone, Simon. I can’t be there anymore.”

“I really wish you weren’t.”

“I know.” Johnny presses a kiss to his back. “But that’s the way things are. I wish I could fix it, but I can’t. I want you to be happy, and you’ll be happy with him. He’ll take care of you now that I can’t.”

Simon wishes he could move so he could grip Johnny’s arm, feel his hands in his one more time.

“Go love him, Si. Go have fun. Go make memories. Go do all the things you want with him and do everything we couldn’t do together. I’ll be waiting right here for you when it’s all over, and I can’t wait to hear all about it.”

Simon chokes. “I want you there. I don’t want to do it without you.”

“I’ll be there love, I promise. I’ll be right there.” Johnny kisses Simon’s back one more time.

“You promise?”

“Aye, I do. And when your time is up and you come back to me, I’ll be there to hug you and hold you and kiss you again. I don’t mind sharing with Kyle.”

“You sure?”

“I am. Just don’t forget about me, baby.”

“I won’t. Fuck- I won’t, Johnny. I won’t ever forget.”

Simon feels the presence shift, and suddenly Johnny is in front of him, gripping his face and kissing him one last time.

“I love you.”

“I love you too, Johnny.”

“Go have fun with him, for me.”

Simon wakes up gently to the sun caressing his skin that peeks out from under the blanket. For the first time in months he doesn’t wake full of aching and grief. He’s… calm. He’s not entirely happy, but the pain is manageable today. He’s better than he has been in a while.

He doesn’t know if that truly was Johnny speaking to him or a strange dream his mind conjured up to help him feel better, but he’s going to choose to believe it was whatever presence he’s been feeling that seems like Johnny.

If Johnny wants him to be happy, he can be happy. He can be with Kyle. He’s… god, he’s excited for it. He can’t wait to fall more in love with him.

He rushes out his room, not bothering to throw any other clothes on other than what he slept in, and finds Kyle making his morning tea in the kitchen.

Kyle notices him and quickly glances away in fear. “Morning,” he mumbles.

Simon grabs Kyle’s shoulders and kisses him with everything he has.

Kyle looks at him in shock. “I- Simon?“

“I’m sorry, Kyle. I didn’t mean what I said.”

“What?”

“I love you. I love you so much. God it- it fucking hurts how much I love you. I- I’m going to have to try and figure out how to love you both, but I want to try. It’ll hurt but I want to try because I want you, and- and I want to fight for you.”

Kyle looks at him with pure shock. Then a big grin spreads across his face. He throws his arms around Simon’s neck and hugs him as tight as he can. Simon’s arms find their home around Kyle’s waist, tugging him close.

It’s going to hurt. When Simon does things he never got to do with Johnny, it’ll hurt. When he realizes he’s been with Kyle longer than he’ll have ever been with Johnny, it’ll hurt. When he retires with Kyle and lives out the rest of his life with him, something he wanted with Johnny but now can never have, it’ll hurt. But his pain is just his love for him persevering. And Johnny said that he’ll be right there with him, so he won’t feel like he’s truly leaving him behind.

He kisses Kyle again, and for the first time in a while, his pain is all gone. There’s only joy, and the familiar presence of a soft kiss pressed into his back.

[determinedowl23]

ohhhhhmy god oh my god guyssjsjaidbwisjsis IT HAPPENED I SAW IT AND IT WAS AMAZING

Notes:

Act I

I NEED TO MARRY ALFIE BOE SOOOOO BAD BRUH YOU DONT EVEN GET IT

Alfie’s so short I forgot about that lmao he’s so baby

I do really really really love Michael but I can already tell that Javert is not exactly his thing. He’s too whimsical- too Marius. Super glad he gets to do something with Alfie tho <333

Jeremy (I think) rocked the bishop omgggggg

I WAS NOT EXPECTING KATIE HALL TO BE HERE CHAT- soprano Fantine is such a foreign concept to me but she was gorgeous 

THANK YOU BOEBALL VALVERT FOR BEING THERE FOR ME I LOVE MY BOYFRIEND AND HIS BOYFRIEND

THENARDIERS ARE SO FUNNY I’ve never seen funnier thenardiers. He called Cosette Baguette when Valjean took her away

Also at the beginning of the bargain when Alfie started singing Madame T went “oh he’s got a lovely voice tho”

COSETTE NEW PINK DRESS IS SO PRETTY!!!!! It matches Marius’ bow :))))

Ok both Eponine and Cosette were mixed bags for me- I liked them most of the time, but there were a couple times their voices felt a bit… nasally? They were both very pretty tho :)

James D Gish is beautiful. My dad says he’s the second coming of Ramin Karimloo and im inclined to agree

Gavroche is king shit as per usual

They had stars in stars omggg. ALSOOO at the end the lights make it look like he has wings. Probably unintentional but he’s soooooo fallen angelcore 

As much as Michael doesn’t fit Javert, his Stars really is amazing

WE GOT ENJOLTAIRE CRUMBS 👏👏👏 The entire pause between ABC Cafe and Red & Black they were just looking at each other forever

As much as I do love enjoltaire, im an even bigger fan of Gavroche and Grantaire’s dynamic. It was the main thing I noticed about R’s character (even with Kyle Adams playing him) and I’m so happy that it’s in other productions

No Javert barricade outfit in one day more :(

Three flags??? In this economy????

Act II

Okay I did genuinely forget about the barricade outfit but it did come back! It’s different from the Staged Concert, more greenish-black and I think he has his hair down- there’s at least some strands loose on the front

OKAYYYY IM REALLY SURE TGAT BEFORE R STARTED HIS SOLO IN DRINK WITH ME HE WENT AND HELD ENJ’S HAND FOR A BIT- and after he sang and Enj left Gavroche ran over and gave him a hug it was so sweet

Alfie Boe Bring Him Home is still my favoritest thing in the entire world. I owe him my life im so serious he was my top artist for a reason

Enjolras did the Aaron Tveit “until the earth is free” opt up it was amazing

They cut Gavroche’s individual death scene which was either for better or for worse because that’s the one that always gets me crying, so I just teared up at the end

When Javert let valjean and Marius go from the sewers he turned around as if he was gonna follow them, paused, screamed, and put his head and his hand

Dude michael ball does the best suicide scene he’s so unhinged and skdjaidhaisjsj

EMPTY CHAIRS BRO. At “phantom faces” the Amis all stood up in their places in their seats, with Enj, R, and Gavroche on the center balcony right by the conductor. Also at this point he begins to scream with anger at his survival. I’ve never thought about angry Empty Chairs, but it works so well and I need to see it more

Valjean in AHFoL Reprise made me so sad bro. Insert my post about him and Donna Sheridan but add that they’re so attached to their daughter (Amanda Seyfried) and kinda don’t want to let her go to get married

The audience clapped along to Beggars at the Feast. Don’t know if we were allowed to, but we did anyways

When Marius tells Cosette her father is a saint Valjean just shakes his head no oh my god 😭😭

HE DID THE NICK CARTELL NOSE BOOP WITH COSETTE

THE BISHOP COMES UP BEHIND VALJEAN WHEN HE DIES AND VALJEAN GIVES HIM THE BIGGEST HUG EVER OMFGGGGGG

During bows when Michael came up to bow with Alfie they had to switch sides so that Michael could be on the left and Alfie could be on the right. Order has been restored to the world

In summary: Amazing show god I love Les Mis!!!!! Alfie Boe is the only one who can save me <3333

[housewarningparty]

💙or 💜 for fuffy

that's drunken/tipsy kiss and impulsive/surprise kiss. i think this fill counts for both.

-

Honestly, Faith hadn’t planned any of this.

She just gets antsy whenever she’s recalled to the Castle in Scotland. She hates it, if she’s being honest. It doesn’t feel like a real place — too old, somehow too big and too claustrophobic at the same time. She’s got this theory: slayers are meant to be solitary, there was only ever supposed to be one at a time. She’d said to Buffy once that maybe that was why they could never get along. She thinks she might have been onto something, even if she’d only half-meant it then. Being around so many other slayers makes her skin buzz, makes her irritable and restless.

She’s here as a show of goodwill. And because B called and asked for her, but that doesn’t mean she has to like it. As soon as the debrief ends, when Faith’s got her marching orders (leaving with a small team of girls to track down some magical book that’s been stolen, while Buffy leads another team to raid a vampire cult’s headquarters to free a kidnapped warlock) she bails.

They’re not leaving until tomorrow morning. It’s stupid, probably, to go get drunk when she’s got to be on a plane in a few hours, but there’s not exactly a huge amount of options for entertainment in rural Scotland. It’s pubs and churches and football clubs and only one of those is open at this time of night.

It’s not her first time in the area, so she already has a game-plan in mind when she rolls into town. She avoids the smaller local pub — townies always pay her too much attention. The chain pub on the high street is her best option — she knows she’ll stick out there too, but with a booth in the back and an unfriendly enough attitude, she might get a chance to drink in peace. 

It goes okay, at first. She orders a pitcher of beer and a couple shots to boot, heads off to a dark corner. Smile nice at the girl that serves her, glowers hard at every man that looks at her twice. A few pints in she takes another glance around the room, sizing up the barflies. Maybe it could be worth it, she thinks, finding someone to go home with. Blow off some steam — that itchy feeling from the Castle hasn’t quite left her and there’s no chance she’ll get to go slaying tonight, so a round or two with some stranger she won’t have to call again seems as good an outlet as any.

Then she glances at the clock on the wall. Wheels up in less than 10 hours. She should probably call it quits now, head back to the Castle. Work herself up to get some shuteye. 

She orders another round of shots instead.

Slayer metabolism makes it kind of tough to stay drunk. Getting drunk? Easy enough. As long as she doesn’t slow down too much, it basically works. Unfortunately, this is the kind of behavior that tends to worry bar staff.

“Honey, I know you’re just doing your job, but I’ll let you know when I need something,” Faith says, pushing away the glass of water her waitress sets in front of her.

She holds up her hands. “Courtesy of that woman at the bar.”

Faith looks over to where she’s pointing.

Ah, shit.

As soon as they’ve made eye contact, Buffy slips off the barstool, crossing the room to slide into the empty spot across from Faith. She looks up at the waitress, smiling beatifically. “Thank you.”

Faith hunches low into her seat, barely managing not to fold her arms over her chest like a sulky teenager. “Hey Buffy.”

“Don’t sound too excited,” Buffy mutters. 

“Well, didn’t exactly expect you to crash,” Faith says, knocking back another shot just for something to do with her hands. “You’re kinda blowing up my spot here, B. Clam-jammin’. What if I was looking to get lucky?”

“I’d say that’s maybe not a great idea when you’re supposed to be on a plane in a little while. But then again, neither is getting hammered,” Buffy says, frowning. Then she leans forward, plucking a shot glass right from between Faith’s fingers and draining it with only a slight wince. “Are you?”

It takes Faith a beat to register Buffy’s question. She was still staring at the line of Buffy’s throat. “Huh? Am I what?”

“Looking to get lucky?” Buffy says, glancing around the room, that judgy little wrinkle between her brows.

Holy shit.

Faith blinks, hands clenched so tight around her pint glass she feels it start to give, a spiderweb of cracks spreading outward from her grip. She lets go quickly, flushing. Is this…?

“Are you, uh, offering?” Faith asks, wincing. Fuck. Way to go Lehane. Smooth.

It’s Buffy’s turn to go beet red. 

Fuck. Okay, so she wasn't.

“Sorry, sorry,” Faith says waving a hand in the air by her head as if she could swat away the clumsy offering lingering between them. “Swear I'm not trying anything, I know where we stand. Just drunk.”

And stupid. Sullenly, she draws her pint glass nearer and takes a hearty sip.

Surprising her, Buffy reaches out and pours her own glass of beer from the pitcher. Faith can count on one hand the number of times they've drank together. “You've been avoiding me.”

She can't help but notice the way Buffy doesn't meet her eyes when she says it.

Faith fidgets in her booth. “No,” she begins, cut short by the unimpressed look Buffy sends her across the table. “I mean not… You know I don't exactly love your digs here, B. Too crowded. I needed to get out.”

“Only you would call 2 acres of land and a massive medieval building crowded,” Buffy scoffs.

Faith shrugs, “Yeah, well. I like my space.”

At this point, Faith even isn't sure if that's a lie anymore. She's been more or less on her own for the past few years since Sunnydale went down and all the Potentials were activated. Giles and the other eggheads at Buffy's place keep her busy - she lives on a generous stipend, flitting from place to place, taking down monsters, fighting the good fight. She's gotten good at being alone.

“You should have said something. You don't have to stay on the grounds if you hate it so much,” Buffy sighs, then leans an elbow on the table, propping her cheek against her palm. “Do you want to get a room here in town?”

The pub lighting is dim but warm, the yellow glow of the light fixture dangling over their table makes everything feel so intimate. For a moment, Faith lets herself indulge in a little fantasy - that they could be strangers or old friends, that Buffy asking if she wants to get a room could mean something else.

“Why'd you kiss me?” Faith asks, startling herself. They said they wouldn't talk about it, but fuck, not talking about it seems to be just as exhausting. Maybe this is better. Rip the band-aid off. Put those stupid little fantasies to bed.

“I don't know,” Buffy says, takes a guilty swig of beer. “I just… wanted to.”

It had been about a month ago. Faith got in over her head trying to hunt down a rogue witch who had integrated herself with a pack of vampires in Vegas. She'd called in for backup and had been surprised when Buffy herself arrived. They'd spent a week dealing with the mess down in Sin City, both of them nearly biting the big one a few times each. Sleeping in the same hotel room, first for convenience, then for the company. 

Then, finally, the night after they'd finally staked their last vamp, Buffy had surprised her by electing to stay another night. They went out to celebrate. Danced. Drank a little.

The kiss felt like something she'd dreamed. Honestly, Faith hadn't even really been able to enjoy it — it had freaked her out. That's probably what ruined it. Faith never seems to get it right with Buffy, she'd been too stunned to kiss her back, to savor the moment. Sure, it probably wouldn't have gone anywhere, but at least she'd have had that memory. That one movie moment, kissing under neon lights on the strip, Buffy’s hands in her jacket. Instead she'd frozen, then it has been awkward and Buffy had apologized and well. Now they're here.

And it's awkward again.

I just wanted to. What the hell kind of answer was that?

“Trying something out?” Faith pushes, hoping for more. “Curious about chicks?”

Buffy flushes a little, buys herself time to answer with another drink of beer. “Not exactly. You're not the only girl I've kissed, Faith.”

That stings a little more than she expected it to.

“Oh.” She wants to ask more. Who? When? What did it mean then? Was it only kissing? Why wasn't Faith her first?

Buffy tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “It felt right in the moment. I don't know. I didn't think it through. I guess… I mean, I assumed you wanted it.” Buffy winces. “Ugh, god, why does that make me sound gross?”

Faith feels like she'd just jabbed a fork into an electrical outlet. What the fuck.

“I did,” she blurts out. “Want it.”

“But you didn't even kiss me back—”

“Well, you fuckin pussied out like immediately, I hardly had a chance to react,” Faith shoots back. “Fuck, B, I was shocked.”

“I didn't know anything could shock you,” Buffy mutters. 

“Fuck me,” Faith laughs, disbelieving. She plops her elbows on the table between them, leaning in to sink her hands into her hair, shaking her head. 

“I got embarrassed,” Buffy admits. “Like, I'm super creeper predator girl all of a sudden and I totally misread like our entire deal for years and—”

“Our deal for years?” Faith echoes, looking up.

“You've literally asked me to kiss you before,” Buffy points out. “There's always been that vibe. Don't play dumb.”

Faith flushes. She's not sure why this is embarrassing — she'd convinced herself that Buffy never picked up on what she wanted all those years. Learning otherwise now, she can't help but cringe a little at how desperate she'd been before. How obvious.

“You said it felt right in the moment,” Faith says, haltingly. She bites her lip and takes a chance, sliding across the u-shaped booth until her knee knocks against Buffy's under the table.

“Yeah” Buffy says, practically whispering. The light is casting shadows over her face. She smells good, perfume and the slight tang of beer on her breath. She looks like a painting, like something Faith could have dreamed.

“What made it feel that way?” Faith asks, letting her gaze drop to Buffy's mouth. Might as well make it obvious this time.

“We were a little tipsy,” Buffy says.

Faith reaches across the table, drags her pint glass over and takes a drink. She watches as Buffy, hands trembling, takes another sip of her own drink 

“Yeah?” Faith prompts.

“Uh, you were close. Leaning on me.” Buffy doesn't break Faith’s gaze as she leans in, one arm sliding over the back of Buffy’s booth, crowding her. She presses her knee harder into Buffy's thigh 

“Yeah,” Faith breathes.

Buffy’s eyes are huge. “You looked so pretty. And I just…”

Faith doesn't fuck it up this time. When Buffy lets her eyes drift shut, leans in, Faith meets her halfway. She kisses her with force — not rough, but with intention, the kind of thing it would be impossible to write off or misinterpret.

Faith wraps her arm around Buffy’s shoulder, pulling her close. With her free hand she reaches up, toying with a strand of Buffy's hair briefly before cupping her cheek. She licks at Buffy's lips, tastes strawberry lip gloss and lager.

It's like everything Faith imagined but more, better. Buffy’s lips are plush, her mouth is warm, inviting. She makes a little sound in the back of her throat that sets Faith's nerves on fire, makes her want to dive in, to push Buffy back into the booth hard, to feel her buck and squirm and to find out what other noises Faith could get her to make.

She holds back though, contenting herself with this. With Buffy's right hand on the back of Faith’s neck, holding her there. With her left fisted in the lapel of Faith's jacket, like the first time.

Faith lets the kiss linger. Savors it, like she should have the first time.

When they finally pull apart, Faith stays in Buffy's space, eyes locked on hers, waiting for what's next.

Buffy bites her lip. Cranes her neck to look at the clock on the opposite wall, by the bar. “It's getting late. We have early flights tomorrow.”

Ah. Well, Faith tells herself, it's stupid to be disappointed. She'd gotten another shot. She didn't waste it. It's more than she ever expected.

“Right,” Faith agrees, a little embarrassed by the hoarseness of her voice. She clears her throat, leaning back. “So—”

“We should probably get that room,” Buffy says, voice even, but Faith can see the nervousness on her face. “It'll save us time instead of driving back.”

“Oh,” Faith breathes. “You mean it?”

Buffy nods.

“Cool,” Faith says, stupidly and can't help the way she grins. “I'll close the tab.”