templetogavage

[oh-take-this-longing]

Adelaide.

[theocmuses]

it was forbidden, for him to remotely feel this way. the territory within fifty feet of her vicinity was marked and accounted for between julie cooper and luke ward. respectively, a boy from chino was far from relationship material. in fact, relationships had never been a blimp on his radar. he was scrappy, yes, but never conning in the obvious way. it was and easy route: turn it off. much like a faucet or light switch. he could blanket his emotions under his sleeves like he had his whole life. there she laid, in sufficient danger of an overdose, in a humid, muggy city he had never landed in before. the midst of confusion, rage, an unwanted urge of security. isolation. that was where he thrived. or in the very least, kept a level head about him. thankfully, there wasn’t a single soul around to distract him. the outside decoration of potted plants lined each pathway to the door like an obvious walkway. buds of scarlet roses and golden yellow poppies exchanged the monotony of midnight blue and jet blacks that nightfall had brought in it’s harmony. as he laid, cranium planted into the soft hollow of a nearby pillow, the subtle, lingering scent of chlorine from the pool house broke through his senses. it cut through the air seamlessly. he needed a clear, slated mind.

one where his thoughts weren’t hopping from one conclusion to the other. it simply wasn’t his place. he was desperate for coherent sign from the universe confirming to him that he should give up. “dude,” the annoying, yet philosophical voice from which he could recognize by now, eyes closed or open. cumbersome, reverberating footsteps soon followed, the clasp of the pool door clicking into place. if anyone could convince ryan to change his mind — well, really nobody could, but the closest candidate? — was seth. up until now, he was begrudgingly migrating into the land of hair-singing bleach and a cacophony of landlines ringing off the hook. the last thing he wanted to witness was the blonde in one of her knots vulnerable states. second only to the scene in tijuana, her lifeless body curled into his brawny arms. a scene he was certainly not wishing to remember. the formidable clack of heels hit the checkerboard-tiled floor. an opening, for whatever it was. there was a chance she would turn him down, there was also a chance she was unconscious. for his sake, each option was a murky path of the unknown. it seemed, ever since hitting the soil of newport beach, that was all he had known. was it his own self-sabotage that lead to mass destruction surrounding him? chino had been difficult, but never did mind games such as these concern him in the same way.

a folded fist rapped on the slightly ajar heavy-weighted door, an uneasy and melancholic drift soon washing over him as if he were guilty of the unthinkable. was he as much trouble as he had been treated his whole life? was he a waste of space like the auburn haired matron of the cooper family has constantly buzzed around when in the presence of him? cloudy, cerulean specs fluctuated from the beeping monitor to the body that occupied the bed. his ring-cladded hand stuffed into the tattered jean pockets, his fingers finding solace in having an outlet of anxiety that was riddling inside of him. there was a small window of time he knew as much, finding seat in a hospital chair, close to her bed. reaching a reassuring hand atop of hers, his eyes flickered up to the ceiling as if he were giving it his full attention now. “hey..i, uh…i’m not sure i should be here, but i just — i wanted you to know that i’m sorry about what you’re going through, trust me. i’ve been in my fair share of unlucky situations. but, i just wanted to let you know that it may he a while before i see you again. at school, probably, but luke will probably be hunting for my ass and i don’t want you to feel like he started it. i mean yeah, it was pretty shitty of him to be caught in the way he was with holly, and you deserve a lot better. but it’s your life, you know. i shouldn’t be meddling in the middle where i don’t belong. i really like you, marissa. i do. and maybe that’s why i felt like a part of me was dying when we found you at that party passed out. it’s just too much,” glassy tears formed a thin line down the round of his cheeks, his fingers separating from her knuckles where they felt safe. “i have to go before your mom gets back, i just wanted to make sure you were okay, i’m sorry,” he repeated gently, tearing himself away before abruptly filing himself to the door.

[anagentinwriting]

Lifeline - Part 1

Summary: (First Responders!AU) Moving to Los Angeles and living with your brother, Thor, was never part of your plan nor was being a 9-1-1 dispatcher, but plans change when you are faced with your own emergencies. In your case, it was leaving behind a relationship that wasn’t as perfect as it seemed. Will this be the fresh start you were hoping for or will your past find a way to catch up with you?

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Odinson!Sister Reader

Word Count: ~1800

Warnings: Car accident, angst

Lifeline Masterlist / Main Masterlist

A line ringing over your headset notifies you another emergency call is coming in. You cleared your head, preparing for anything, and clicked the spacebar, answering it, “911, what’s your emergency?” 

“Bro, that was insane,” the male voice said over the phone. “You’re gonna be famous on YouTube.” 

“Excuse me, sir? What seems to be the problem?” you asked, letting out a sigh. 

“My friend is having trouble breathing, and his throat feels like it’s on fire.”

“What’s the address?”

“576 Rose Lane in Westwood.” 

You typed the address into your computer, signaling the nearest available unit to the caller's location. “First responders are on their way. Can you tell me what he was doing before this happened?”

“We were doing the cinnamon challenge.” You rolled your eyes. “I thought it was harmless. Then, he was gagging, and then he coughed, and a puff of cinnamon came out of his nose. It was awesome; he looked like a dragon.” It's been a while since you got a call about an internet challenge gone wrong, but it's been forever since you got a cinnamon challenge one. You didn't even know that challenge was still around.  “Oh fuck!”

“Is everything okay? What happened?” 

“He collapsed. He’s not moving. Should I shake him awake?”

“He probably passed out, but paramedics are only a few minutes away. Is he still breathing?”

“I don’t think so,” he panicked.

“Remember to stay calm, I’ll help you through this the best I can, okay? Okay, now I am going to have to ask you to administer CPR. Do you know what to do?” 

“Sort of. I learned it in health class a few years ago.”

“Perfect. It's 30 chest compressions followed by two breaths going to the rhythm of the song Staying Alive. You can do this.”

“Ok---okay. Yeah. Right, right,” he mumbled. Hearing him set the phone down on the ground, he started counting and doing chest compressions.

The responding unit was about a block away, and once they arrived, you could hear the sirens coming through the phone call.

“Odinson, take over compressions,” a lady’s voice commanded. “Kid, come with me.”

“Is he going to be...” the line went dead as he hung up his phone.  

You leaned back in your chair, rubbing your eyes. This wasn’t anything new; when help arrives, people hang up, and you don’t get to know how it ends, but maybe it was for the best. You sit back up, seeing your reflection in one of the many screens in front of you. At least, you knew most of the firefighters from Station 107 at the scene, including your brother Thor, if you ever wanted to know how it ended.

It's tough, taking call after call, emergency after emergency with little to no recovery time in between. It’s a stressful job that is emotionally and physically taxing. It requires extreme focus, patience, and puts you under a certain kind of pressure. The pressure of wanting to help and do everything you possibly can when this person you never met puts their life in your hands. You never know what the outcome will be, but you try to help them get through what might be the scariest moment in their life. It’s those calls, the ones you were able to save, that keep you coming back to work.

You stepped away from your command center and headed towards the kitchenette, spotting Luis rummaging through the fridge. It wasn’t unusual, but it did always bring a smile to your face. It was hard to believe he was one of the dispatchers who showed you the ropes after relocating to Los Angeles three months ago. 

“Hey, Luis.” He turned around with a doughnut in his mouth, quickly removing it and shooting you a carefree smile.  

“Hey, Chica, get any weird calls yet? You know I love hearing about those weird ones, right.” 

“Nothing out of the ordinary, but a guy called earlier saying his whole body hurt everywhere he poked. I told him to drive to the emergency room and get his finger looked at because it’s probably broken. Oh, and there was another cinnamon challenge victim.”

“Another one, I thought that craze was over.” He shook his head. “But I did hear about this crazy call that came in last night, right. It wasn’t so much crazy, but one of those nuisance calls, you know what I’m saying, the kind where you’re like, ‘why are you calling, this isn’t an emergency type of situation?’ Anyways, Cameron Klein took the call; you know the dude with the great hair, the kind you just want to run your hands through. It has the perfect fluff to curl ratio. I mean, I touched it once, and it was like a cloud. I asked him what products he used in his hair, and he was like…” 

“Luis, how does this relate to the call?”

“Oh, right. Sorry, sorry, sorry, so there was this lady caller, right. She was telling Great Hair how she couldn't leave her car because there was a hostile raccoon outside her door. So then, Great Hair was like why don’t you go out a different door. And this caller says ‘yo I tried, but it’s like this trash panda can read my mind, right. He follows me when I move to the other side, and he’s like crazy, stupid fast like a rocket.’ And here comes the best part, Great Hair was like, ‘Hey girl, you better run fast then,’ and hung up,” he beamed with a slight chuckle.

“Oh my god, people really need to learn what an emergency is,” you chuckled, shaking your head. 

“You know that’s right, but duty calls.” He tilted his head towards the door, carrying two doughnuts and a huge mug full of coffee. 

“Later, Luis.”

Years ago, you never would have imagined you would be working as a dispatcher in Los Angeles. You preferred helping people hands-on, which is why you became an ER nurse. It was the feeling of never knowing what was going to come charging through those doors next that excited you. But being a dispatcher gave you a whole different kind of thrill because you could only use your voice to help.

The rest of your shift flew by until you were on hour eight of your ten-hour shift. A pileup involving a semi jackknifing on the highway forced a huge collision of cars. All the units in the area along with a few on the outskirts came in to assist. It was the same call coming in multiple times, and all you could say was help was already on the way.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

“Send help,” the woman cried, telling you her address.

“Ma’am, I am going to need you to tell me what is going on?”

“A power line…a power line fell into our pool, and my daughter is trapped on her unicorn floaty in the water. I don’t…I don’t know what to do.”

“Stay calm, ma’am. My name is YN, and I’m dispatching a unit to your home now.” You switched lines to the highway accident, getting on a line with Captain Danvers from Station 107, who was sending three individuals to the scene right away. You switched back to the caller. “Okay, I will need you to stay calm. What is your daughter’s name?”

“Morgan, she’s five years old.”

“Please, whatever you do, make sure Morgan stays on the floaty because it is protecting her from the water. There is a good chance the power line is sending more than 5000 volts through the water.”

“Okay, okay, I can do that, “ the mother breathed. “Honey, please stay on the tube.”

“I'm going to try to get in contact with the power company to turn it off.” You looked up the power company in the area, and someone slid next to you. You glance over, seeing Bruce get to work on calling the power company. You nodded at him, staying on the line with the mom. “Ma’am, has help arrived yet?”

“No, but I can hear the sirens.” You peeked at Bruce, but he shook his head, still trying to get a hold of the power company. “They are coming through the back gate now.”

“Ma’am, can you hand the phone to one of the firemen?” You bit your lip, studying the layout of their home on one of your monitors. There were flowers all over their backyard, and you got an idea. 

“Hello, this is Fireman Rogers.”

“Hi, Fireman Rogers. This is 9-1-1 dispatcher, YN, how is it looking there?”

“Well, on the drive-in, we saw that a truck hit the power line pole, which caused the pole to fall into the pool. The driver isn’t in any serious condition, but one of our EMT’s is looking him over,” he informed in a deep voice. “Then, we have a pool vibrating with energy, but I assume you already know that part.”

“Do you have a plan in place? We are still trying to get a hold of the power company.”

“There are a few more floaties by the pool. I could ride one over to Morgan and pull her to safety?”

“Really? Where did you get that from the macho man handbook?”

“I don’t think that book exists, YN,” he added, making you scoff.

“I may have an idea.” You narrowed your eyes, playing out the idea in your head. 

“What did you have in mind?”

“I can view the whole home on one of my monitors, and there are a ton of flowers. So, I can only assume a garden hose must be nearby.”

“Yup, I see it.”

“Okay, perfect. Grab the hose and cut off the metal ends; it's rubber, so it won't conduct electricity. Then, have you and another fireman take the hose and walk along the opposite sides of the pool. Have Morgan grab ahold of it and carefully pull her back to the edge."

“That’s genius, YN. Thanks for your help,” he acknowledged, making you crack a side smile. Few people said thank you in this job, but when they did, you appreciated it. “Here’s your phone back, ma’am.”

Morgan’s mother's breath was shaky and staggered through the phone. She was scared and had every right to be. If you were in that situation, you would be, too. “Oh my god, it’s working. It’s working,” the mother shouted into your ear. “Are you okay, honey? Are you hurt?”

“I am okay, Mommy,” Morgan replied before the phone line went dead.

You smiled at yourself in one of the now blank screens. It was these moments why you loved what you were doing; a happy ending. Some calls never get a happy ending, but when they do, those are the ones you try to remember when a stressful call comes in.

________

AN: I hope you enjoyed the first chapter. There is a long way to go and I promise things will definitely get more interesting. This was just a quick intro to some of the many characters that will make an appearance/cameo. Comments always welcome! Thanks for reading and I hope you’ll stick with me! 

[lovetenya]

✧ 𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐲𝐚 𝐢𝐢𝐝𝐚’𝐬 𝐬𝐟𝐰 𝐚𝐥𝐩𝐡𝐚𝐛𝐞𝐭

warnings: none.

word count: 3k 

author’s note: this constantly switches between you and tenya dating at UA and typical married domestic life. i’m writing this during my break from my color series. i’m still writing it, and still going to finish it, don’t worry. also, if this is your alphabet prompt, i’m sorry for not crediting you! i don’t remember where this is from!

A - Attractive (What do they find most attractive in a person and about you?)

personality-wise, i think tenya would gravitate toward someone that is intuitive, trustworthy, and kind-hearted. 

someone who isn’t going to tease about the things that hurt him, or question the things he holds nearest to his heart.

someone who would patch him up after a long day, help him with his arm, and hold his face in their hands.

someone who knows when to push, and when to release.

when to prod him with questions, encouraging him to share more, but not arguing and making him feel ashamed for his ambitions.

someone who will be gentle with him, and respect that he is a hero for all the right reasons and does it because he has to

i’m not doing physical appearance because it REALLY bothers me when people hc characters with a certain type.

to me, it feels like it’s made with the intention to leave people out, but...

do whatever you want, i guess. 

B - Baby (Do they want a family? Why/Why Not? How big?)

tenya definitely wants a family

i think he would have 4-6 kids, to keep it even have a big, strong family

he grew up with siblings and loves them to death, so it only fits that he would want the same thing for his kids

but he wouldn’t pressure his kids into being heroes or into doing anything related to hero work, because he can understand how intimidating and suffocating that expectation is 

it scares him to think that he could get killed by a villain and have to leave them behind, but he does his best every day so that he can come home to you and all the little iidas

C - Cuddle (Do they like to cuddle? How do they like to cuddle most?)

honestly? i’m not really sure that tenya would like cuddling that much at first, but i think he’d do it for his significant other and it would grow on him.

i don’t feel like he’d be very cuddly or overly affectionate physically, but would do it to comfort and care for you.

i do think that he likes to hold you and keep you safe in his arms, so i do think that if you were gonna cuddle, he’d hold you close to his chest and wrap his arms around you so that he can press kisses to ur forehead (awww <3)

or he’d be the big spoon :>

don’t even kid yourself trying to be the big spoon, although he’s only 5′10″ i know that if you’re reading this you are NOT taller than him. don’t lie to me.

D - Date (Ideal date?)

tenya’s ideal date would be a quiet date away from others, maybe in a library for a study date.

OR A BOOKSTORE AND A COFFEE SHOP 

oh my gosh and he’d carry your books while you keep walking around and looking at other ones 

E - Energetic (How energetic are they?)

he’s up early for work, but comes home tired. he tries to stay up to talk after dinner, but as the days get longer, his energy wavers more.

i think he’s use to being up for long periods of time, but if he can relax, i think he’ll take that chance to fall asleep on the couch next to you.

F - Fight (How are they in a fight?)

if you’re fighting, he’s wants it to be fixed. he’s not interested in dramatics, or spite, or pettiness.

if he did something wrong, you know he’ll apologize profusely and try his best to give you space, if you need it. if not, he’ll comfort you and reassure you that he didn’t mean it that way, or that he didn’t think before he said it.

if you did something wrong, an apology will help. though sometimes the words hurt more than he’d like to admit, he believes you when you tell him that you’re sorry, and he’s willing to move on from it.  

i don’t think there would ever be a real, blown up fight, because he’s not one to overreact. yes, there will be arguments on whether he’s being taken advantage of by the agency (he is) and he’ll assert that he doesn’t care, because it isn’t about him anyway.

G - Gifts (How do they feel about gifts? How do they give them?)

he doesn’t really see the reason for receiving gifts, because he isn’t materialistic in the slightest. he’d rather you give him your all and your love than a tangible gift, but he won’t refuse anything

that’s rude

he grew up with everything he needed, so he never developed emotional attachment to items, but he loves giving them to other people and seeing how his small generosity can cause so much happiness in others

he’s definitely a meaningful and thoughtful gift giver, and puts a lot of effort into it to make sure it’s perfect 

H - Honesty (How honest are they? Do they keep secrets?)

he’s incredibly honest, but will sometimes downplay his physical pain so that you don’t worry about him 

he’s not going to lie and say “it doesn’t hurt at all!” but i can definitely see him acting tough and saying “it was just a scratch” when he actually got stabbed or something HAHA

(i hate when people only characterize him in relation to his family and how he has a heightened sense of honor, because that’s only a part of who he is. he’s not honest or heroic just because of his family, he does it because it’s the right thing to do. by making honor his only personality trait, you’re kind of playing into a false stereotype, and i’m not gonna call you what i want to call you, just know that your bad writing in your simplification of the culture as a whole is genuinely annoying to me in that aspect)

...

moving on

he doesn’t have any reason to keep secrets from his significant other. he wants to be able to trust you with anything and have you trust him right back, so he’s an open book for you.

if you ask him, he will tell you, regardless of what the question is

I - Injury (How do they react if you get injured?)

IT DEPENDS HOW IT HAPPENED

if you hurt yourself around the house and it wasn’t serious, he’d make sure you were okay and then laugh, saying “you should really be more careful.”

but if it was serious, (say, villain related?) 

J - Jealousy (Are they the jealous type? How do they deal with it?)

he’s not the jealous type, because he isn’t insecure and trusts you too much to suspect anything like cheating

i think if you were trying to make him jealous, he’d ask why you were doing that when you knew he’d give you affection whenever you want. he’s just confused.

K - Kiss (Their favorite way to kiss you?)

his favorite way to kiss you is away from others. pda isn’t his thing.

iida knows his strength, so he’s gentle.

he’ll lift your chin with his hand and press soft kisses to your lips and cheeks

or he’ll hold your face in both of his hands and bring you real close

(you can put your hands on his chest)

(he likes it)

L - Love Confession (How did they confess their love?)

he didn’t want to make you uncomfortable so he tried to be as respectful as possible

i think uraraka and midoriya would scout and interrogate you to see if you like him first

“WHAT’S HIS FAVORITE COLOR, Y/N? DO YOU KNOW?”

as if that’s an indicator

i think he’d give you a letter confessing because he was afraid his presence would be too intimidating for you to give a real answer

it would be very sweet and to the point

M - Mean (What are they like when they’re mean? Is it common?)

when he’s mean, it’s because he feels like he’s not meeting expectations or fulfilling his goals and he gets frustrated

it really isn’t about you but your distractions certainly aren’t helping his focus

i don’t think he’d full on yell at you, he’d just get pissy and ask you to “please let me get my work done”

it’s not really common, because he’s not usually behind on his work

N - Nicknames (Do they have nicknames for you? What are their favorites for them?)

i can’t see him do any of the goofy or overly affectionate ones like.. baby or something

probably just sweetheart, darling, my love, etc. or your first name bc even that feels like a lot to him

??? i don’t really know what he’d call you

but i think it’s cute to call him tenya, ten, honey, baby, etc.

he needs to be taken care of so just anything sweet and i think he’d be flustered

and ingenium (because it would annoy him HAHA)

O - Open (How long did it take for them to open up to you?)

i think that he’d hold back for the most part until he’s sure you’re serious about him and you’re not going to make fun of him for his deepest feelings

if he’s dating you, he expects that he’s able to trust you, so i think he would be relatively easy in opening up to you

P - Proposal (How would they propose? Would they propose at all?)

WOOOOOOOO

he would propose. duh.

he would plan it months in advance and have the perfect ring picked out for you, but he could barely wait to propose

i don’t think he’d propose on a dating anniversary, because that day is supposed to be special on its own, and he doesn’t want to take away from that

i think he’d take you out to dinner, and have the ring in his pocket, but wait until you got home to propose so that everyone in the restaurant wouldn’t make a scene about it 

you’re confused when he holds two items behind his back and asks you to choose which one you wanted first

he’s not usually playful like this, but you play along

you pick the ring first, and he suggests that you pick the other one

it’s three roses (that means “i love you”)

shameless self promo... i talked about that in another one where tensei says that iida should get you that for valentine’s day, finally tenya listened

and then when you ask “what’s in the other hand?” 

he gets down on one knee

congrats, honey <3

Q - Quiet (What are quiet moments like with them?)

i have a draft on this waiting for me to work on it, but sure i’ll give you something

quiet moments with tenya are comfortable. 

sitting under a blanket together on the couch while he types away at his laptop

the look on his face when you take the first bite of dinner together, and he was nervous to try the new recipe, but you were sure it’d be okay

how he always, always, waits for you to finish eating before he gets up to start cleaning up dinner

(he’ll compliment your cooking even if you think it turned out awful)

(even if it did, he doesn’t know how to use a potato peeler, so he can’t really say much in that department)

the quiet moments of intimacy where he hands you a jar of spices that comes next on the recipe

or where he tucks your hair behind your ear

or bends down to tire your shoe for you

R - Rainy Day (What are they like in the rain?)

he holds the umbrella with his left hand and your hand in his right

makes sure you don’t get wet, and tries not to let his glasses get wet

tenya would kiss you in the rain, but under the eave of a building or an overhang where he can do it the right way.

S - Sad (How do they handle their sadness? How do they react to yours?)

he handles his sadness by writing in a journal or he likes reading books from his younger days to make him feel better

he bottles his emotions, but not because he wants to, he just accidentally neglects his emotions because he’s too busy with other things

i think he would talk to you about it if you asked, but he wouldn’t bring up his emotions 

if it was you?

he would react very kindly to your sadness, and he would try to be as comforting as possible without forcing you to talk about it

but of course he’d listen if you wanted to, and offer his support and advice if you wanted it

he would drop everything for you, putting his pen down the moment he sees your eyes brimming with tears

and he’d pull you to his chest and whisper words of adoration and hold you until you feel better <3

T - Time (How long did it take for you to get together?)

maybe like three months to start dating while the two of you were at UA, just because he wanted to make sure you were interested in him before he came on too strong 

he would ask you to be his sparring partner just so that he could compliment you <3 

he’d let you win that day, but would NEVER admit that regardless of how long you’ve been together/married

he just says that you bested him that day, so he’s been the best for you ever since

damn, that was cheesy, tenya. 

love is super gross 

moving on

U - Unique (What’s an interesting thing about them that not a lot of people know about?)

i can either go super angsty with this one or just go normal

hm. i’ll spare you.

not a lot of people know that tenya plays the piano!

he learned when he was young because his parents insisted it would make him more well-rounded, but he quit taking lessons early on and just taught himself from then on

he likes the predictability of music, and how really it’s just a pattern if you think about it, it’s just where to and where not to play

someone requested that i write the angst version, and you can find it here !

V - Value (What are some of the things they value most in life? value most about you?)

he values respect, integrity, and dedication. 

he cares that you respect him and everything he works for, but encourages you to let him know if you ever notice a hint of self-interest in his hero work

he doesn’t want to ever become a corrupt hero and lost his integrity

he values your honesty and your ability to make everything more fun

he finds fun in quiet, intimate moments, but he loves how you still find him in the loud, chaotic moments, and make sure he’s okay.

he also values the fact that you’re so understanding of how important hero work is to him, and how he has to put his life on the line.

you know that he has to stay at the agency or on patrol late sometimes, but you’d never ask him to stop, because you know he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if someone was left unprotected because he was home

W - Wildcard (random fluff headcanon)

i don’t know i saved this one for last

i just wrote 25 others though, why don’t you read those?

kidding...

tenya loves dad jokes because they’re meant to be taken literally and he loves seeing the disappointed look on your face 

“honey, do you want to help me with dinner? i’m hungry.”

“hi, hungry, i’m tenya iida, also known as in-”

“STOP”

“it’s always lovely to meet my admirers! i hope to inspire many great heroes!”

but he hates puns and will sigh deeply without laughing at all 

“that was awful, y/n.”

“HAHAHA”

X - XO (Are they affectionate with hugs and kisses? If not, are they in other ways?)

at ua, he’s not really affectionate with hugs and kisses yet

he’ll show affection by patiently going over that stubborn math problem again and not getting upset when you ask him to repeat the formula again

or he’ll remember to ask you about the plotline in the book you’re reading or how your favorite show is going

and he’ll offer to buy your lunch or bring you a special snack from his secret supply in his room :)

as your relationship progresses, he’s more physically affectionate behind closed doors, but it’s not a common thing and he isn’t clingy about it 

when you’re married, he’s also affectionate in other ways, like he’ll do meal prep for you to make dinner easier for you to make, because he knows it’s hard to wait for him to get home and eat so late

or he’ll do that laundry you’ve been too busy to get to

he’ll go all out every once in a while, but he knows making life a little easier and a little sweeter sometimes sticks with you 

Y - Yearn (How do they deal with yearning?)

he didn’t yearn for you for long at UA, because he just... realized he had a crush and then decided to pursue you, but i’m sure it was hard to get over the initial “oh, shoot” of realizing he has a crush when he’s at UA to become the best hero he can be

he feels his love for you more intensely than he’s ever felt love before, and he’s not exactly sure what to do with your name constantly plaguing his mind. 

i think he’d work a little harder in school and in training because he wants so badly to have a good, long life with you, and for everything to be perfect

he’ll get what he wants, because he works hard for it, and you’re willing to support his dreams

Z - Zen (What makes them calm?)

quiet evenings, quilts, candles, cooking together, soft music playing in the backgroud, looking at photos from your wedding, daydreaming about your future together, reading, and coming home to you after a long day.

✧ hope you liked this! it was super fun to write and it was cool to think about tenya in all of these different ways.

love, tj 🦢

✧ navigation

✧ masterlist

[extremelyblackandwhite]

innocence - 22

PAIRING: bodyguard!bucky barnes x innocent actress!reader

WARNINGS: age gap

A/N: i’m so sorry this one took a bit longer, i literally panicked and rewrote it several times and had to stop myself from rewriting this section. hope you enjoy xxx

NEXT CHAPTER

The things drained out slowly, the sounds of the coffee machine buzzing warm liquid into brown stained porcelain cups, the meshed chatter of those surrounding her, the bell ringing once anyone came into the coffee shop. Things dripped like honey from a wooden spoon yet everything registered as messy, scream-ish sounds with images of beige bleak environments. Her hands were folded over each other, resting under her chin, lips slightly open and eyes looking at the fading wood of her table. Her breathe condensed as it hit the cold air, vanishing like time itself as she waited for Chuck to arrive.

The bell rang once again, this time calling for her attention. Chuck stepped inside the coffee shop wearing a long brown trench coat and oversized black sunglasses like some contemporary Humphrey Bogart. He sat in front of her, tense expression.

     - Are you sure you want to do this, Y/N? 

     - Yes. - her voice wavered as she slide a white envelope towards him yet it remained in the middle of the table.

     - You’re gonna regret it. - he took the envelope, putting it on the pocket of his trench coat. - Does Bucky know?

      - No. - her fingers were tangled in her hair, pulling it ever so slightly as she looked to the side. 

      - Don’t you think you should know before you make this decision?

      - I know what I’m doing, Chuck. - every breathe seemed to exit her lungs as she got up from the sit, pulling her bag over her shoulder. - I have to go, Bucky’s expecting me. I’ll see you on set.

     - You can change your mind. 

     - I won’t. - she put on her dark rimmed sunglasses, turning on her heels to exit the coffee shop. 

The surroundings were different; that of a coffee house and of Brooklyn streets but everything still ran painfully slow, like a deteriorating movie shoot. The weather was cloudy, foggy, not allowing for anything but the lights of the Christmas decorations wrapped around the light posts and the traffic lights to be seen in the horizon. The cold wetted her lashes and lips as she strode through the ends of Brooklyn’s autumn. She didn’t know how far she was from James’ yet all she wanted to do was walk and hear nothing but the sound of her heels clicking against the sidewalk.

Y/N knew an abstract way of getting to his flat yet all she wanted to do was let the cold hit her face and hair, swallow her whole and leave her stuck. Maybe Chuck was right but she couldn’t tell him, she shouldn’t tell him. Maybe she was a coward yet that was something she surely had heard before. 

The young actress allowed the wind to move her down the street until she mindlessly ended up in front of Bucky’s apartment. Her head moved to look up to the top of the building, observing every single window decorated with Christmas lights except for Bucky’s. Her breathe once again condensed, flying high in the air as she scavenged her pockets for her keys. Once in hand, she exited the cold into the warmness of the building he lived in, her once strong convictions melted as she felt she walked on glass as she approached the door she had left early this morning. Maybe she shouldn’t have left, what if she had stayed with Bucky, cuddling, coffee and granola breakfast. As she twisted the key opening the door, her eyes focused on the mirror which laid as mere decor on his living room. Her brain played tricks on her, showing the same red lipstick word only to fade away leaving her holding the key on the door and staring at nothing but clear mirror. 

    - Princess? - Bucky appeared from the other side of the living room, dressed in loose clothing. - Hypnotised by your own reflection?

    - Yeah. - she snapped out of her own cage of memories, closing the door with her feet all with a little smile on her face. - I’m sorry, the meeting was ... long. 

    - How was it? - he paced to her, arms wrapping loosely around her waist, pulling her close to him. - I hope it wasn’t too bad.

    - It was fine. - she lied, leaning against his chest. - Nothing too different from the rest. Same old.

    - You’re freezing. - he kissed the top of her head. - You need warmer clothing. 

    - Cold is psychological.

    - Sure it is, princess. Why don’t you go grab something to eat while I set you a nice warm bath so you don’t get sick? 

She merely nodded, not exactly knowing how to react as guilt started to weight on the bottom of her throat. Even if she tried to tell him not to, to just rest himself which he deserved much more than her, her own guilt kept her shut and staring at the inside of his fridge while he disappeared into the bathroom. He had a fully stocked fridge, probably had gone shopping while gone, as she couldn’t pin point a single thing missing. Yet, she didn’t feel like eating and instead poured herself a glass of unsweetened cranberry juice. Chuck was right, she knew he was right and she knew she should tell him yet she also knew she shouldn’t. Her eyes didn’t focus on anything, instead she was lost in her own mind as she drank the red juice from the beautifully crafted glass.

She knew it would be out tomorrow, it would be out tomorrow and he would see it and so would everyone. Her bag was standing on the counter, she could call Chuck and just go back on it yet she couldn’t. She wanted to regret it, but she could only feel guilty about blindsiding Bucky. 

   - Hey princess, you ready? - his voice echoed from the bathroom. She felt even guiltier as she stepped inside the bathroom wrapped in his robe to see the low dimmed light courtesy of some tea lights accompanied by a bubble filled bath. - I had these from when the light went off the compound. I don’t think they smell like anything.

   - Bucky ...

   - I also didn’t know if you were allergic to my shower gel so I used soap to make bubbly water. 

   - Bucky, you shouldn’t have. 

   - You’ve been through some past bad days, you deserve a treat. Get in before it gets cold.

She wanted to cry. As she felt the water warm her skin she wanted to cry, the guilt bubbling up to the surface. Laying under the bubbles, neck and head only visible she couldn’t help but feel awful that she didn’t regret it. Looking into his blue eyes she felt awful but she still didn’t, she couldn’t say she would’ve done things differently but she felt guilty, guilty it was the wrong thing to do. It was the wrong thing to do and he did not deserve it. Bucky did not deserve this and as she looked back at him she couldn’t stop silent tears from rolling down her face.

Bucky frowned, looking around and wondering if something had made her upset. The mirror. He should’ve covered the mirror.

    - Princess, I’m so sorry about the mirror. I’ll have it taken away tomorrow.

    - No. - she cleaned her cheeks with the back of her hand. - I did something terrible, James. 

    - No, you didn’t.

    - I did and I don’t even regret it. - she looked at the bubbles covering the palms of her hands. - I can stop it and I ... I don’t want to.

    - You can’t do bad things, princess. You’re too good. 

    - I’m not.

    - Maybe it’s not a bad thing ... morally ambiguous? - his finger caressed her cheekbone, moving from the very end of her bone to her hair, pushing it behind her ear. - Whatever it is princess, it’ll be alright. 

He leaned to kiss her, cupping her face in his hands. It was sweet, soft, full of emotion and she would rather lose herself in his kiss than her guilt. Her hand bunched the fabric of his white jumper pulling him closer enough that had it not been for his perfect balance, he would’ve fallen inside the bath tube. They broke the kiss once the oxygen ran out and she could only think of how sinful he looked with his cherry red wet lips open. 

     - Get inside the tub, please. - she pleased with those eyes which Bucky couldn’t deny. He quickly got rid of his clothes, submerging himself in the bath with her. 

Bucky pulled her on top of him, resting his chin on top of her shoulder, feeling her soft skin against his scruff. She turned her head kissing his cheek before learning against his chest. 

    - You’re gonna hate me tomorrow. - she mumbled, eyes fixated on the tiles of the bathroom. 

    - We’ll see what happens tomorrow but I can assure you I’ll never hate you,

She didn’t believe him and instead let herself sink against his skin, hoping she could remember what he felt like, remember his breathe hitting the top of her head or his hand intertwined with hers. The water got cold and both of them exited the bathroom to go to sleep yet she couldn’t. The only time she could close her eyes was when the daylight painted both of them golden once her lids were to heavy for her to remain awake. However, both of them wouldn’t be asleep for longer as when silent settled on the room it was rudely interrupted by Bucky’s phone ringing. Bucky groaned grabbing it from his side table before exiting the room. Sam. 

   - What’s wrong?

   - You need to turn your TV on. - he said in a stern voice. - Channel one.

Bucky rolled his eyes, probably another video of him looking great during a press or some kitten stuck on a tree. Turning off the television and switching to channel one, it quickly dawned on him that it was none of those things as blasted on his television was a slightly blurry yet very recognised photo of him and Y/N. He dropped his phone on the couch, eyes glued onto the screen. 

   - So ... do you hate me now? 

taglist: @disasterbii @lookiamtrying @buckysteveloki-me @americasass81 @jamesbarnesappreciationclub @lostinthebeans @mariahthelioness29 @buckyandsebastian @peaches-roses-sins @theadorasabditory @sipsteacasually @saiyanprincessswanie @booktease21 @noiralei @learisa @everythingisoverratedbutgreat @uglipotata72829 @naturalthrone22 @husherstan @mandiiblanche @vicmc624 @newyorkgoddess @itsallyscorner @chipilerendi​ @emzd34​ @writerwrites​ @bluevxnus​ @that-girl-named-alex​ @captnrogers​ @nsfwsebbie​ @sarge-barnes-sir​ 

[maybedefinitely404]

Day 1: Logince

@tsshipmonth2020

Day 1: Your soulmate’s name is on your wrist.

Content: Flower/Tattoo Shop AU, background character death (unspecified cause, none of the sides), that’s pretty much it, it’s just soft Logince.

Word count: 2.7k

A small ding from the store entrance pulled Roman out of his thoughts, and he groaned softly. It was nearing the end of his shift, almost closing time, and another customer at this time would probably mean he was staying after hours again. All he wanted to do was go home and watch cheap reality TV in his sweatpants while shoveling handfuls of hot cheetos into his mouth. So sue him, it had been a long day. But nooo. Someone else had just walked in, probably someone with a very specific style that was out of season and they would argue for half an hour, no matter how many times he explained that tulips aren’t blooming right now, Vanessa! 

Sure, usually his customers were great. Nervous first anniversaries, eccentric brides, all that romance stuff. He loved it. And they were usually all too willing to give him a budget and a color scheme and let him go wild, which was the best part about his job. He was good at it, too. His boss had seen his eye for style and almost immediately gave him solo shifts, which meant decently good pay and hours alone to belt out songs amongst the flowers and daydream to his heart’s content. It was a small enough business that the only mandatory part of his outfit was a green apron, so he could wear whatever he wanted, and he didn’t need a pesky nametag. Those had always weirded him out just a bit. So yeah, he loved his job, but right now, he knew himself too well. He had awful luck. 

With a forced customer service grin, he poked out of the backroom and began his usual spiel of, “Thanks for coming to The Rainbow Bouquet, what can I get started…” 

His words died in his throat at the mere sight of the man before him. Never had he been so equally attracted and frightened at the same time.

He was tall, probably just taller than him, but he held himself in a way that made Roman feel miniscule. Both arms were covered in tattoo sleeves, the left one a flurried mix of black and white and color, beautiful strips of pink and blue galaxies blending with grayscale skulls and clocks. The other had more order; shadows of a forest growing from around his wrist, shimmering mist curling up over his bicep and ending with a full moon stamped on his shoulder like a crest. A corner of something peaked up around the collar of his torn vest, and if Roman had to guess, there were most likely plenty more tattoos that were covered by his ripped black jeans and blue Nasa shirt. Not that his mind was going there at all, no siree. 

Once Roman’s brain had screeched to a halt back in his body, he spoke again.

“What can I get started for you today?”

The man swallowed with difficulty, taking in the rows and rows of flowers surrounding him. He definitely didn’t look in his element.

“I need an arrangement for my mother. She’s in the hospital.”

Ah, the part of the job that Roman didn’t enjoy. Probably half the orders that came in were for sick people or funerals, and those were always a lot harder to arrange. It was always hard to find joy in creating for something so dismal.

“I’m sorry to hear. Did you have anything specific in mind? Does she have a favorite flower?”

“Daisies. She likes Daisies,” He murmured, still admiring the space around him. Roman couldn’t help but smile at the man’s expression. It was just a little awe inspired, a little bit of childish wonder, under that rough exterior. It was a gorgeous shop, that’s one of the reasons Roman had started working there.

“That’s good, it makes it a little easier for me to design something when I have that to go off of. Do you have a budget, or…”

He shook his head weakly, finally turning to look at Roman. “Price isn’t an issue. This is one of the last things I’m going to be able to give her.”

“Oh,” Roman whispered, slowly putting down the pen he’d been writing with, “I’m so sorry.”

“It can’t be changed. There’s no point in losing sleep over it.”

“Just because it’s going to happen doesn’t mean it doesn’t suck. You’re allowed to be sad about it.”

The man narrowed his eyes, giving Roman a once over before lifting his chin slightly. “I don’t need advice from a stranger.”

“Of course you don’t,” Roman quickly corrected, remembering he was still at work, “My apologies. When did you want to pick it up?”

“I’m visiting her tomorrow at noon. Could it be ready by then?”

“You bet. Can I have a name for the pick up?”

“Logan.” Roman’s pen skittered over his notepad, almost falling through his fingers. 

Having a common name on your wrist was a curse in and of itself. And poor him, the hopeless romantic that he was, had met countless “Logan’s” in his day, and consequently fallen for most of them at first introduction, only to figure out quickly that they weren’t destined for a “Roman”. As inconspicuously as possible, he tried to glance down at Logan’s wrist, only finding a mass of swirling tattoos covering his skin. Dammit. There were some people born without soulmates, or had their soulmark fade to nothingness when their person passed away, and he tried not to think too terribly hard on which one Logan was. He tampered his rush of excitement as quickly as it had arisen and turned back to his notes, ignoring Logan’s raised eyebrow at his sudden stop.

Roman scribbled down the name and phone number as it was given, setting down the notepad with a customer service smile. The man spent no time dawdling, immediately starting towards the door, only to hesitate before walking out.

“Her favorite color is yellow.”

Roman nodded, the fake smile slowly morphing into an authentic one. “I can work with that.”

It was now a week after Logan had picked up the bouquet, a somewhat awkward interaction filled with small compliments towards the arrangement and Roman nearly dropping the flowers as their fingers touched while passing it over. As he was ringing up the total, he’d been able to uphold a brief conversation where Logan revealed he was a tattoo artist (no shock, considering he showed more inked skin than plain), and Roman showed off his rose tattoo on his upper arm. It would have been fine if the conversation ended there, but no, Logan had to reach up tentatively to brush his finger along the edge of the piece, commenting off handedly about how the color had started to fade.

“How long ago did you get this done?”

“Probably ten years, give or take.”

“You’re what, mid twenties? There’s no way you were legal ten years ago.”

“Who said I was?” It was said with a small wink that made Logan pull his hand away, an action that immediately dampened Roman’s mood.

“If you ever want it touched up, come by the shop. It’s just down the road.”

Roman had promised to consider, pulling the collar of his long sleeve shirt back up over the rose and bidding the man a good visit to his mother. Even now, a full week later, he couldn’t help his thoughts that were so centered around the tattoo artist. So maybe that was why Logan walked back into the shop the following Wednesday. I simped so hard I summoned him, Roman thought weakly as the gorgeous man strode straight up to the counter, leaning on it like he owned it. 

“I have a question.”

“What’s your question?  

“A client asked me yesterday to design a tattoo for her. A bouquet, seen from the top, and all she specified was it should feature hydrangeas, and she asked me to, quote, ‘go nuts’.”

“This isn’t sounding like a question so far.”

Logan sighed apprehensively, adjusting his glasses, “I was hoping you could give me some ideas on how to start. All the tips I found online contradicted each other in some way or another, and the arrangement you created for my mother was so well done…”

He trailed off, giving Roman a look that clearly said I need your help but don’t make me ask for it. Chuckling slightly, he leaned onto the counter as well, his face inches away from Logan’s. For the first time, he could see the small piercing on the man’s tongue as he sighed again. God, that’s hot.

“I’ll help you. On one condition.” 

“Being?” 

“Help me design my next tattoo.” In full honesty, he hadn’t even considered a second tattoo until that second. 

“Deal.” There was no hesitation in his answer, and he took Roman’s offered hand, barely shaking it in the small space between them. 

“Alright!” Roman pulled back, satisfied but disappointed as their hands separated, “Let’s talk flowers!”

And talk they did. For hours, in fact. It started with Logan’s tattoo dilemma, and Roman’s skillful eye and creative mind solved that problem in a flash, crudely drawing out a bouquet idea that fit all the criteria. The tattoo artist took it from there, using the notepad paper and Roman’s sketch, along with a quick round of the shop to see what the recommended flowers, fillers, and greens would all look like, and drew out a detailed piece that put Roman’s own art talent to shame. After explaining that his shift was done at the parlor and he had the rest of the afternoon free, Roman invited Logan to stay for a while longer, seeing as his day had dragged on customer-less so far, and he was bored. Plus, now was as good a time as any to pay back the favor. Two mugs of breakroom coffee later, the two were huddled around the counter, Roman describing his ideas and Logan sketching them like there was no tomorrow. Maybe half way through the brainstorm, the conversation switched to Logan’s mother (which he talked about hesitantly), then to Roman’s family, slowly changing to the absurdity of satin couch cushions, then to their favorite foods, and finally ending with a loud debate on whether pineapple deserved to be on pizza.

“It’s a fruit, Logan! Why the hell would you put fruit on a pizza?!”

“All I’m saying is that the sweet flavor of the pineapple balances out the tanginess of the marinara sauce, and adds more to the plain crust!”

“That doesn’t make it right!”

Logan had to go soon after that, wanting to visit his mom before visiting hours ended. He left with a begrudging smile on his face and a promise to come back another day, drawing an ear to ear grin from Roman. He’s just a friend, he reprimanded himself sternly, all the while sliding the drawing of his next possible tattoo into his phone case with startling reverence. No use getting attached to some who wasn’t his soulmate. 

Yet, he still couldn’t help but feel saddened as a week passed again, then two, then a month. His job had returned to it’s boring normalcy, with only the flowers and no cute boy to keep him company. Even when he sat at his little desk next to the counter, hands working effortlessly to string together order after order, he couldn’t help the occasional glance at the door. The hope that his prince charming would waltz back in, piercings and ripped clothing galore, never faded. 

A month and a half later, the little chime above the door dinged, and Roman glanced up from his handful of Baby’s Breath (seriously people, there are other fillers). Immediately a huge smile pulled at his lips and he dropped the half finished bouquet onto his table.

“Logan! What took you so… long…” His expression morphed into one of worry as he took in the other’s appearance. Gone was the usual grunge attire he was so prone to wearing, replaced with a black hoodie and beaten up Vans. His eyes no longer held that dangerous glimmer that had intimidated Roman so much when they first met. He just looked… small. Logan had never looked small before.

“My mom died last month,” He whispered.

Roman was over the desk in a second, pulling the man into his arms before he could protest. It took Logan a second, a long, awkward, stiff second, before he let his arms wrap around his waist, allowing his forehead to rest on the florist’s shoulder. 

“I thought I’d be okay when she died… it was inevitable. It was her time… so why does it still hurt so bad?” The desperate whisper shattered Roman’s heart. 

“You’re allowed to feel sad, Logan.” He felt him merely shake his head in response, but he said nothing to push the topic further. 

Logan didn’t cry as they stood there, though he clung to Roman almost desperately. If he had to guess, the poor man was probably already cried out. He looked exhausted, and his unusually slumped posture only weakened more when Roman tightened his arms ever so slightly. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner. You were probably waiting.”

“Hey, no apologizing.”

“I just… didn’t want you to see me like this.”

“So what changed your mind?”

Logan shrugged, still not pulling away, “I couldn’t seem to snap myself out of it. And I needed someone who wouldn’t laugh at me. If our few interactions were anything to go by, you were that person.”

Roman decided to ignore the blatant implication that Logan didn’t have anyone except a practical stranger to go to. They could talk about that later, if he decided to stay for a while. Roman really hoped he did. 

When the tattoo artist finally pulled out of the hug, many minutes later, he pushed his sweater paws under his glasses to scrub at his eyes. Maybe he hadn’t cried, but he sure was close to it. 

“I’m sorry-”

“Stop apologizing.”

“I don’t even know your name, and I-”

“It’s okay, stop-” Roman reeled back slightly, eyebrows shooting into his hairline, “Oh… sweet Zac Efron. I never told you my name! Why didn’t you say anything?!” 

“It felt too late to ask,” Logan smirked subtly despite himself, letting his hands fall back to his side.

“Oh, my sweet summer child.”

“I am none of those things.”

Roman sighed in soft exasperation, smiling at the barely perceivable glimmer in the other’s eyes. Ah, there it is. “My name’s Roman. I can’t believe I forgot to tell you.”

He was instantly concerned with the way Logan’s face fell into one of total shock. Shit, what did he do wrong? The fear was quickly replaced with understanding, however, as the artist’s hand drifted to his right wrist. 

“What are the chances that your wrist says my name on it?” Logan said it like he was scared to be hopeful, like a happy ending was just not imaginable for him. Roman couldn’t comprehend all the emotions he felt at one time; elation, shock, fear. He answered in a choked voice, smiling all the while. 

“One hundred percent.”

The both upturned their arms in near harmony, Roman pulling his gardening glove down to reveal the name. He squinted at Logan’s wrist, finally noticing the small writing that just barely stood out underneath a grayscale (anatomically correct) heart. No wonder he missed it before, it almost blended in with the outline. 

And then Logan did cry, but so did Roman, so it was a little more okay. He seemed more confused than anything as Roman pulled him back in, holding him even tighter than before.

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing.”

“I’m so unused to… well, feeling. I’m not usually like this, I believe I’m just sleep deprived and worn out from-”

“You never, ever need to be guilty for feeling, you absolute punk stereotype.” Roman pressed a long kiss to the other’s temple, letting him unwind in his arms. “We’ll work on that together. I promise.”

A muffled affirmative hum was all he got in response. He pressed another kiss to the top of Logan’s head as his crying slowed, breathing out heavily into the man’s hair. Together. That’s all that mattered.  

Peep this gorgeous art piece for this fic

[imagineaworlds]

I Love You (Part Twenty-Eight)

Written By: @desperately-bisexual​

Request: None.

Warnings: SMUT!! Cursing. Unprotected sex. Wrap it before you tap it, ladies, gentlemen, and nonbinary sibs. Dom/sub relationship. Sir kink. Impregnation kink. Fingering. Oral (fem receiving). Over stimulation. Soft sex. Emotional sex. The reader does go by they/them pronouns, however, Hotch refers to them as female when saying “good girl”.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Greenaway!Reader

Word Count: 5005

Timeline: Right after part twenty-seven.

An uninterrupted, speed limit obeying road trip from Cincinnati to Quantico would have taken me and Hotch about eight hours to complete. The team probably figured that was our plan, but we actually took up Rossi’s advice to take back roads, and to take our time. We chose the long route, which went South, through West Virginia, which added another hour to the “scheduled” trip time. But what should have been only a few hours’ drive quickly turned into a three day adventure. We split up the drive into three days of two to three hours of driving, then stopping in a city to take some time to ourselves. Hell, we even did a little site seeing, even though that wasn’t really our thing. It was just nice to slow down for a bit. With everything that had been going on recently, I liked spending hours stuck inside a car with him, holding his hand, kissing his knuckles, singing along to music that he didn’t know. I enjoyed being in his company because there was a good hour or so in New York where I thought that I would never get moments like these. Every second with him mattered more now. Every fleeting moment was appreciated tenfold. I would never forget that.

On the first day, Hotch and I made a stop in Huntington, West Virginia. We found a hotel to hole up in, and we spent the day just relaxing, sleeping, and eating. We discovered a cute diner around the corner from the place we were staying at, and we learned for ourselves that they had the best milkshakes we ever had. It was there that we called Haley and Jack to let them know that “a case was running a bit longer than anticipated”, and we wouldn’t be home as soon as we thought. Haley was understanding, and just asked that we would call whenever we were about to fly home. She still didn’t know that Hotch wasn’t in good shape, and that was probably for the best. We didn’t want to worry her and Jack. I was already worried to death about him, they didn’t need that pressure, too.

On the second day, we drove from Huntington to Roanoke, Virginia. We knew that the way we planned the trip, it was only going to last three days and two nights, but that was better than nothing. Granted, it was already more than we should’ve taken off, anyhow. We would have to get back to work and Jack sooner than later. Anything more than three days would’ve sent the whole team into disarray. If Rossi were having trouble keeping them from sending out a search party for us already, I couldn’t imagine what would happen after seventy-two hours of not hearing from us. Rossi wouldn’t be able to hold them back very long, and that was alright.

I didn’t let Hotch drive at all. He kept insisting that he wanted to switch off, to give me a break, but I still refused. His hearing wasn’t necessarily getting better, but it wasn’t getting worse anymore, either. If the music were too quiet, he couldn’t hear it. If I mumbled something under my breath, he couldn’t hear it. If his phone started ringing, he couldn’t hear it. He was trying. I could tell that he was spending all of his energy on getting better for me and on acting like everything was normal, but I knew him. I knew when something was wrong, and I knew when he was lying to me. That was why I couldn’t let him drive. It wasn’t safe. Besides, I needed him to just take a break. After the bombing and his surgery, his body was still trying to heal. If he were behind the wheel and needed to make a sudden, calculated move in the case of emergency, I couldn’t trust that he’d actually be able to do it. Therefore, he was forced to sit in the passenger’s seat at all times.

Driving wasn’t the only thing I babied him over. Since telling me the truth about his ears and what the doctors told him, he had shown me the medicine that he was meant to be taking. There were a couple of different pills from his surgery, one to help with his headaches, and there was a bonding agent ear drop bottle— which happened to actually be the most important thing. At first, he insisted that he could do it himself, but when I caught him struggling to get the drops in his ear before we went to bed in Huntington, I made the executive decision that I’d be keeping track of his medication and that he was actually taking it. Hotch was surprisingly squirmy when it came to the drops. When I tried to help him for the first time that night, he fought against me until I sat on his lap and told him to just hold my hips. It managed to calm him down long enough for me to squeeze the drops in and move onto sorting out his pills. He was a little stubborn— actually, very fucking stubborn about me babying him. But I had to keep telling him that this was what happens when he would refuse to take care of himself. He proved that he wasn’t willing to do it, so I was having to do it for him. I didn’t think he appreciated the fact that I was bossing him around when he was used to that being his job in our relationship. I kind of liked it, though.

When we stopped in Roanoke for the second night of our trip, we stopped to grab lunch at a pizza place just a few blocks away from our hotel. After getting our food, I got Hotch’s pills out and started sorting the ones he needed to take in the afternoon, especially the ones he needed to take with food. He reluctantly took them, popping them in his mouth and drowning them down his throat with a swig of iced tea. He wanted a soda, but I glared at him and told him, “Over my dead body”, and I ordered a tea for him instead. Like I said, babying. But it was also like I said, he did this to himself. If he just would’ve obeyed the doctor’s original orders, then I would have never known that something was wrong, and I therefore wouldn’t’ve gotten involved. But now I was worried twice as much as before, and now I was spending all of my time making sure that he was only going to get better, and that he wasn’t going to do anything dumb to put his health in jeopardy again. Drinking a soda wasn’t the end of the world, I knew that. But if he wanted one so damn much, he shouldn’t have lied to me. It was as simple as that.

At the hotel, Hotch and I showered to get rid of the disgusting feel that came with sitting in a car all day. Hotch was taller than me, I’d be the first one to admit that, but that didn’t stop me from trying to wash the back of his hair when he seemed to struggle with that simple task. It was hard to miss how he cringed every time he rose his arms above his head, and how he still had to limp because his right leg wasn’t healed. His arms, chest, and left leg were all working overtime to try to keep up with me and prove that nothing was wrong. Every time he tried to wash his own hair, he’d bring his soapy hands to the front, and he could manage to lather it on slightly before giving up and deciding to let the water just rinse it through the rest of his hair. It wasn’t exactly the most effective way to do it. When I noticed his trick, though, that was when I jumped onto my tip-toes and tried doing it for him. He held my waist in his wet hands to keep me steady while I stretched to run my soapy fingers through his hair. That was much better than whatever the hell it was he was trying to do. It also didn’t hurt that it seemed to relax him.

I kissed him under the water as we spun around to face me so that he could wash the soap out of his hair. “I love you,” I mumbled against his lips. He kissed me harder, ignoring how the soap was dripping down his face. He squinted to make sure it wouldn’t sting his eyes. I smiled and wiped his face with my hands, using the water to help me wash it all away. “There. That’s better.”

He opened his eyes before kissing my cheek. “I love you.”

I reached around him to turn off the water. “Better?” I asked.

Hotch nodded and opened the shower curtain to grab us a towel each. He stepped out first. After he had his towel wrapped around his waist, he held his hand out for me to help me out. When we were both out of the shower, towels tight around our bodies, we headed to the bedroom to get changed into comfortable clothes. Then, when we were done, we crawled onto the bed to lay down for a couple of hours.

Hotch was laying on his back to my right while reading a book that he had picked up at a store a couple of small towns back. I was right beside him, my head tucked under his left arm, my torso pressed against his side as I hugged him close. One of his hands was holding his book open, the other one was on the outside of my left thigh, slowly and lightly rubbing circles over the bare skin. It was meant to be an innocent and comforting touch— and originally it was— but the longer he did it, and the wider the circle got, the more I took notice of how it was anything but innocent. Maybe in his mind he figured it was nothing, but his hands were clearly wandering, and I wasn’t naive.

At first, I tried to just ignore it and stay still in order to not give him the satisfaction of earning a response from me, but when his fingers slid their way up to my hip bone, it sent a chill down my spine that made me shiver and whine quietly. His fingers slid back down to my thigh and continued to circle slowly. Every second that passed, I could feel my stomach twisting into knots and my clit was throbbing with need. I let out a quiet sigh into his side, trying my best to hide it from him. He halted his movements and asked me if something was wrong, but I shook my head insistently, so he continued.

My hand that was flung over his chest and resting on his other side started inching back onto his body. I slid it up to the collar of his shirt and fisted the fabric in my grip as he slid back up to my hip bone again. I whimpered again, but he didn’t stop. He spent a few more agonizingly long seconds on teasing my hip with his fingertips before he laid his entire palm against my thigh, squeezed gently, and pulled my left leg over his. My shorts rode up higher on my thighs and he held me in place like that for a minute.

“Your fingers are cold,” I croaked.

“Maybe you should warm them up for me,” he responded, though he was still focused on his book.

Hotch’s left hand released my thigh and slowly slid down between my legs. I hissed at the feeling of his freezing cold fingers making space for themselves between my warm, shaking thighs. He was so close to where I needed him most. I wondered if he knew that. I wondered to myself if he knew that I was already soaking my panties and I was on the verge of begging for him. Maybe he did, because he began kneading the inside of my right thigh carefully and I finally let out a quiet moan.

“Sir…” I gasped, hiding my face in his side again.

“Shh...” he cooed, “I’m trying to read.”

I whimpered again and tried to pull my left leg off of him, but he trapped my ankle between his calves so that I couldn’t escape. I sighed, knowing that this wasn’t going to be good for me in the long run. Hotch had me stuck in a position that wasn’t realistic for letting me move or giving him access to where I needed him most. He wanted me exactly like that because there were so many ways he could play with me that didn’t include touching me where it would feel the best. He had proven to himself and me that just touching my skin slowly and lightly was enough to set me on fire, and he wasn’t about to give that game up yet.

The hand I had fisted around the collar of his shirt carefully let go. As his hand continued to grope the inside of my right thigh, I moved my hand down his chest, feeling how he tensed at my touch, and I rested it just below his belly button. He stayed tense, but he still didn’t look away from his book. In fact, he used his thumb to flip to the next page rather than tear his hand away from between my thighs to do so. I thought of a thousand different curse words that I wanted to throw at him, but I kept it all to myself as I dared to use my hand to wander down his body further.

“I’m trying to focus,” he said to me. His breath hitched and his hand grabbed my thigh roughly as I ventured under the waistband of his pajamas and felt how hard he was. “Baby…” he mumbled, biting back a moan.

I tried to pull my leg away again, thinking that he had let his guard down enough to allow me to do so, but when I made my attempt, his calves only captured my ankle again and with more force. The moan he had been holding back left his throat as I took his length in my hand and slowly pumped twice. Without warning, he threw his book to the side carelessly and pulled his hand out from between my thighs and used it to pull my own hand off of his length. Holding my wrist, his legs let go of my ankle, and he pushed me onto my back as he shifted on top of me.

He held my wrist against the mattress, but he stared at me with passion rather than uncontrollable lust, unlike what I was so used to. His eyes looked between my eyes and my lips before he finally said what was on his mind, “Can we just…” He swallowed hard. “Can we go back to basics for a second?”

I searched his eyes for a moment to make sure that he was okay. I didn’t want to pressure him into anything, and I certainly didn’t want to push him when he was still physically and emotionally recovering from New York. If he wasn’t ready, then he wasn’t ready. I wasn’t about to make him do anything he didn’t want to. I wanted whatever he wanted. If that meant just going back to cuddling, I was fine with that. If he wanted to fuck me into the mattress until I couldn’t walk, I was fine with that, too. Whatever he wanted. Whatever he needed. I figured that I’d let him take the lead, so I nodded.

Hotch leaned down and kissed me gently, his hand releasing my wrist. Both of his hands were planted on either side of my shoulders now, his knees were resting between mine, and his lips were gently pressed against mine, no tongue yet. My hands went up to his face and I cupped his cheeks earnestly. His hips dipped down and he grinded desperately against me through both of our pants. I moaned into his mouth, finally giving him access to dominate the kiss with his tongue.

He was so hard, and I was so wet. I just needed him inside me… I bucked my hips up against his, a plea for more, and he listened. He balanced his weight on his knees and one hand as he brought the other between us and snaked his fingers to my shorts and panties. He pulled them down with one effortless tug. He smirked as he threw them to the floor. I bit my lip while looking up at him, my eyes following his as he leaned over me again.

“Aaron,” I moaned when his fingers found my clit.

“Manners still,” he begged while grinding his hips down.

“Yes, Sir,” I nodded, holding his face in my hands.

“I love you.”

I swallowed his words as he slid two fingers into me, and I moaned a string of curse words before he kissed me deeply. Every inch of me was on fire— more than before. Hotch hovered over me with his mouth on mine to silence my words, his fingers working in and out of me at an intricately slow pace. They curled as they pumped inside of me slowly again, and as a result, my back arched off the bed, my head falling against my pillow, my eyes screwed shut. I was so used to Hotch either going so painfully slow in order to tease me for hours on end or so fast that as he was racing to catch my orgasms one after the other, I could see stars. There usually wasn’t any in between, and that was fine because it was fun to see where my games with him would land me on the spectrum of punishments to rewards. But this…

My hips bucked again as his thumb pushed against my clit and started rubbing figure eights.

This was absolute bliss and euphoria. He wasn’t trying to tease and edge me or force multiple orgasms out of me. His pace, mixed with the way he would spread and curl his fingers while buried deep inside of me were all for the sake of telling me: “I love you more than the moon loves the stars you see behind your eyelids right now.” And I had never felt more breathless in my life as my orgasm began to approach.

Hotch’s fingers curled right into my g-spot, and once he found it, he didn’t stop going for it. My mouth was agape as the back of my head buried itself further into the pillow underneath, and I cursed and cursed like it was the only thing I knew how to do besides moaning. When his thumb changed page and direction on my clit, that was when I was a goner. Hotch sat all the way back on his heels so that he could use his other hand to hold my hips still as I cried out his name, clenched my walls around his fingers, and came as hard as ever.

He smirked to himself and his little victory as I continued to buck around wildly, despite his attempt to pin me. Next thing I knew, after I had the strength to tell him to wipe that grin off his face, Hotch shrugged and leaned down to replace his thumb on my clit with his tongue. I yelped, thrashing around in response to the sensitivity of my throbbing clit and his unrelenting fingers inside of me.

“I know you can handle it, baby girl,” he whispered before licking a long, slow stripe up from his fingers in my core to my aching clit.

I nodded eagerly. “Yes— Yes, Sir—” Another moan broke away from me just when he added another finger and he spread me open ever so slightly. It certainly didn’t feel like being as full as when his cock was inside of me— nowhere near that length and girth— but when he spread them apart in order to stretch me… Fuck… “Please, Sir.”

“Please what?”

“Please make me cum again for you, Sir.”

“Good girl,” he complimented.

In an instant, his lips wrapped around my clit, and he used a mixture of licking and gentle sucking to set me on fire again. God, I loved learning the U.S. State Capitals. By Denver, my fingers were tangled in Hotch’s hair in order to keep him where he was, a silent plea to make him keep going. And he didn’t stop. Tallahassee sent me over the edge for the second time that night, but he didn’t relent. The three fingers inside of me ignored how hard I was squeezing around them in order to keep rubbing against my g-spot. My orgasm had barely just ended, and I felt the desperate need to cum again; but I just wanted him. I wanted every inch of his cock inside of me. Nothing else. I could keep learning the State Capitals all day, but we had only just reached the end of Atlanta and I never needed him more.

“Sir,” I moaned, tugging on his hair lightly to gain his attention. “Fuck me. Please.”

Hotch looked up at me through his lashes, still halfway through Honolulu, and I felt a third orgasm approaching, the knot in my stomach tightening, and my thighs tried pressing together around his head. The ‘B’ in Boise was what did it for me.

“Hotch, please!” I cried out. “Please, baby… Just fuck me. Please.”

Hotch’s fingers stilled inside of me once he was sure that I had come down from my high, then they carefully slid out. I gasped at feeling so empty suddenly but caught my breath when he brought them to my open mouth. I sucked on all three of them, focusing on the task he had given me rather than the fact that he was trying to clean up the mess he made with his tongue, which would surely make me cum again if he just added a little more speed and pressure— which he wouldn’t… but he could… if he wanted to.

He pulled his fingers from my mouth after he finally sat up again. “Baby girl,” he cooed.

“I know. I’m sorry.” I softened my eyes. I knew that I wasn’t supposed to say his name, but it had slipped from me while I was nothing but puddy in his hands and unable to think about literally anything. If I could have, I wouldn’t have said anything to him at all, but my desperation for him had been so strong that I knew that saying his name was a sure way to catch his attention. “It won’t happen again.”

Hotch smiled and tucked some of my hair behind my ear with his dry hand. “You did so well, baby girl,” he complimented. “I’m not mad.” That was a relief. I watched him, my hips still grinding against the mattress with anticipation, while Hotch struggled to get out of his pants. Once they were around his ankles, though, he gave up, figuring that it was good enough since he was just desperate to be inside of me. “I love you,” he whispered while hovering over me.

After I leaned up slightly and grabbed his face in my hands, I whispered, “I love you, too.” And in an instant, I felt his tip circle my clit then slide down to my entrance. “I love you, I love you, I love you…” I kept going as he entered me with everything he had to offer.

He groaned roughly as he bottomed out inside of me. “Fuck, baby girl. How are you still so fucking tight?” He pulled his hips back, nearly pulling out of me entirely, then he slid back in. “God…” he buried his face in the crook of my neck.

There was a point in New York, when Morgan and I were still in the car after getting the call about the bombing and we weren’t sure if Hotch and Kate were involved yet, that I asked myself if I would ever know this feeling again. I was so terrified that I had lost him, and I wondered if I would ever feel the warmth and kindness of his kiss, or if I would ever get to feel at home in his arms, or if I would ever get to feel on cloud 9 with him buried to the hilt inside of me ever again. He was the only person I had ever met who mattered enough to me like that. And the fear of nearly losing him still hadn’t left me yet, but getting the chance to be trapped in his arms as he hugged me close while his hips did all the work and he kissed me as passionately as he could… that was all I could ask for. That was only the tip of the iceberg of what I was scared of losing when I thought I had lost him forever, but I had him, and I wasn’t about to let him go ever again.

Crying during sex was less than ideal normally, but there was something about that evening. Between us, we usually spent our time in the bedroom fucking each other until our games could come to an end and we were entirely worn out. But that evening, there was a silent, mutual understanding that we weren’t there to play or just fuck. This was the truest, strongest way of telling one another: “I love you. I can’t lose you. Ever.” And I felt that with how fried and strained our emotions had been since New York, we were both just… broken, tired, and so grateful to be with one another. So as he lifted his head from my neck and I saw how soft and red his eyes were, so similar to mine, I kissed him before it could get out of hand.

Hotch’s right arm pulled out from underneath my back and he brought his hand to my face. After wiping away a tear from my cheek, and I returned the favor, he drove into me again with a little more force. “I love you so much,” he gasped against my jawline before nibbling down slightly. His cock hit just the right spot after stretching me further than his fingers ever could.

“Shit—” I moaned. “Please… Oh, fuck…”

He was going fast and hard now. Not like usual, but certainly a noticeable improvement from his slow hip thrusts only seconds ago. He was chasing his orgasm now, wanting to cum deep inside of me, and I wanted nothing less than that. He had given so much to me between the gingerly placed touches, the orgasms that just didn’t seem to stop, and showering me in so much love that could last a thousand lifetimes. I wanted all of him. Everything. I didn’t want the kisses to ever stop, I never wanted to leave his arms, and I wanted to feel the fullness he gave me every time.

He huffed as his muscles flexed while holding me. “I’m gonna…” I wiped my hand over his forehead as it wrinkled with concentration. He was so close; I could feel him tensing while his thrusts got increasingly sloppy. “Y/N,” he moaned my name into my mouth, and I begged him to do it again. “Y/N, Y/N, Y/N, Y/N…”

“Aaron—” I whined, almost as a warning. Once again, I was so close to the edge, too.

He let out an animalistic groan as his hold on my check tightened slightly and he came inside of me. I writhed around, holding him tighter, my hands moving to his back and clawing stripes into his skin as I came, too. He held me through our orgasms, moaning with every twitch his cock gave. When he stopped moving, he collapsed slightly, still careful not to crush me. I ran my fingers through his hair, feeling both the sexual and sensual relief waving over me.

He was there. He was with me. He was in me. He loved me. I loved him. We were going to be okay. I wasn’t going to lose him. I wasn’t going to let him go.

“I love you,” I whispered into his ear, feeling his arms snake around me so that he could hug me. “I’m here.”

After taking another moment to just hold me close, Hotch rolled off me, pulling out slowly, then falling onto the bed. His arms continued to stay wrapped around me, keeping me close to his chest as he laid down. He adjusted his head on the pillows, trying to get comfortable. I put my head on his chest, returning to the original cuddle position we had started out in the first place.

“Basics...” I patted his shoulder. “Basics is good.”

He let out a slight chuckle, “Yeah?”

“Oh, yeah,” I sighed, relaxing in his arms once more. I looked up at him slightly. “I love you, Aaron. I feel like I don’t say it enough.”

He pouted his eyes and wiped a tear from my cheek. “Every time you look at me, I know you’re thinking it. When you’re not saying it, I know it. That’s all I can ask for.”

“I love you.” I leaned up and kissed him. “I love you.” I hugged his shoulders. “I love you.” I wrapped my legs around his hips. “I love you.”

He held me close. “I love you.” He kissed me passionately. “I love you.” He grabbed my hips. “I love you.” He flipped us over again. “I love you.” He kissed my lips again. “I love you, Y/N. More than anything.”

We both leaned in for a passionate kiss.

“I love you,” we both said.

[florenceandthemachine]

TUMBLR FUCKED UP SOME OF MY ASK POSTS I AM SO SORRY ANYWAY 

@buckleydiazs​ asked:

talk to me about eddie and chris asking buck to move in, pls and thank u 🥰

Their first unplanned night together starts off with a text message.

Ironically enough, it’s not even a message between Eddie and Buck—it’s between Buck and Maddie. Eddie is all smiles as he pulls his truck onto the highway, Buck in the passenger seat, laughing easily at some story Eddie was telling. It was nice. It was easy, easier than most of the relationships Eddie had ever had before, but that wasn’t surprising—at least, not anymore, not with Buck.

Once Buck had gotten the stick out of his ass, Eddie realized how easily the two of them would get along almost immediately. Buck was... well, he was a far better person than Eddie was, and Eddie would be the first to admit that, but Buck seemed to be oblivious to the fact that he could basically out shine the sun with one of his big toothy smiles.

Their relationship was unique, certainly; they had survived things that went beyond the real of “regular people”; tsunamis, earthquakes, bombs, and most stressful of all (weirdly enough), a lawsuit. somehow, the lawsuit was the straw that broke the back on their friendship—Eddie had finally pulled his head out of his ass, realized how miserable his life had been without Bucky, and asked him out on a proper date a week after Buck's first call back on the team.

Though they spent a lot of time together as friends, and that had only grown after their first official ‘date’, they had been carpooling out of necessity for the week—Bobby had been good enough to match their schedules up while Buck’s Jeep was in the shop—and Eddie insisted that it wasn’t too much of a detour to shuttle Buck back and forth to work.

The mood in the truck was easy and light, and Buck was still laughing when he pulled his phone from his pocket, tapping at the screen a few times—and like someone had switched on a vacuum, the good mood was sucked through the window in less than a second.

“It’s Maddie. She says Taylor Kelly is at my apartment complex. Apparently there was a pretty big drug bust in the building across the way, she has her van camped out in our lot.”

And, well, Eddie wasn’t about to tolerate that, wasn’t about to tolerate anything that made Buck unhappy, anything that could suck the joy out of him in an instant, for reasons that he chose not to dive too deep into. He focused instead on the problem (and yeah, Taylor Kelly was a problem with a capital B), and what he figured was the easiest solution.

“Oh. Well, then you’re staying at our place tonight.”

As expected, Buck started up a whole litany of protests. It was a little sad, Eddie thought, how eager Buck was to talk himself out of a good time, and if he didn’t have the backup of a year of knowing Buck as well as he did, Eddie might have actually taken his ramblings at face value.

As it was, though, he had an ace in the hole. A surefire way to get Buck to shut up and accept some good in his life. He didn’t like to play it, but he knew that he had to as soon as Buck mentioned “I’ll just stay at the firehouse tonight, it’s really no issue, I’ll order take out, and—”

“Buck, it’s fine. Chris has been begging me to invite 'his Buck’ over for dinner for a week now anyway.”

“...oh. Okay.”

Was it wrong for Eddie to use his son so easily, knowing that Buck was as wrapped around Chris’ finger to the degree that nearly rivaled himself? Probably. Could Eddie bring himself to care? Nope.

Especially not when Chris basically launched himself into Bucks arms, completely overjoyed that Buck was here for a “surprise sleepover”. 

Dinner had gone off without a hitch, with Chris easily dominating most of the conversation, rattling off facts, figures, stories from school, information about his friends, and Buck had eaten it up. 

Eddie had found himself staring at Buck—more than once—with a little bit of a dopey look on his face, he was sure, as Buck got more and more animated, making Christopher laugh, telling stories of his own, and he hadn’t even bothered to look away when Buck caught him staring.

Buck was a blusher. Eddie loved it.

Now, though, Chris had disappeared to brush his teeth and put on his pajamas, and Eddie and Buck were working in companionable quiet as they started to clean the table.

"You know, if Taylor being at my apartment means I get to spend the evening with my two favorite guys...” Buck said with a smile, closing the fridge as he leaned against it, keeping an ear out for Chris as he turned the faucet in the bathroom on. “...I’ll have to invite her over next time.”

Eddie shrugged, gesturing vaguely with a spoon, though he couldn’t keep the smile off of his face as he rose a brow. “Buck, you know you don’t need excuses, right? You’re allowed to like this. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I am as wrapped around your finger as you are Chris’s.”

Buck was blushing again, and that was all the encouragement Eddie needed to step forward, his arms wrapping around Buck as Buck started to speak again. “You... you know the feeling is mutual, right?” he asked, and Eddie felt himself light up. “And I... don’t really want to wait for a next time to spend some time with you either.”

Buck wasn’t sure which God was on his side, but either way, he was immensely thankful that Chris didn’t barge in until long after Eddie and Buck had separated, even if they were still breathing a little heavily.

--

The next unexpected visit, it turns out, was only four weeks and three planned dates later. 

Buck had had many a sleepless night after the tsunami, but after the lawsuit, his nightmares had become even worse, more intense, more real. There were nights where he had to tell himself, ten times, that Chris was okay, that he was alive, and then there were nights like tonight, where he let the fear outweigh the guilt and he called Eddie.

(It was probably telling that he was never afraid of his own death—only Chris’. If he had a therapist, he would probably bring that up, but... well, therapy had never been a great idea for Buck before.)

To his credit, Eddie hadn’t let it ring even twice before picking up. 

“Buck, Chris is okay. He’s okay. You saved him, Buck, and I can never thank you enough for that.”

“Ed—he was right there, and I lost him, and I—”

“He is okay. Buck, seriously, he’s okay. Here, you should come over. See for yourself?”

“What? No.” Buck may have been coming out of a nightmare, but even then, he knew not to risk disturbing Eddie more than he absolutely had to.

“Buck, whatever thoughts are swirling around in that head, you better, get your admittedly very attractive ass over here right now.”

...well, he couldn’t argue with that. 

Eddie could feel his heart break when he opened the door, though, and got an armful of puffy eyed, apologetic Buck in response. They quietly made their way over to Chris’ room and then to Eddies own, where he made no short work of Buck’s apologies, kissing him soundless every time he tried.

At the end of the night, Buck wasn’t sure what had helped him sleep better—seeing Chris alive and well, or spending his night in Eddie’s arms, wrapped up tight enough that he couldn’t break free even if he tried.

Not that he would.

--

“Hi Buck!”

“Hi Christopher!” 

Buck was all smiles as he swooped in to scoop Christopher into a big bear hug, leaning over to kiss Eddie’s cheek as he let Chris back down to the ground and they started walking back to the car. “How was school, buddy?” He asked, easily going into idle listening mode as Eddie’s hand slipped into his. It was an early release day for Christopher, and he had all but demanded that they spent the afternoon hanging out together—and it was moments like these that reminded Buck about how lucky he was, swinging his hand in Eddie’s like a teenager as they walked back to the car, Chris eagerly leading the way.

Honestly, if anything, the fact that a date night for Buck was now spending a night at the museum with his boyfriend and his kid (instead of in a club, or at a bar, or doing something he probably wouldn’t remember the next day) really was a testament to his own personal growth. No drinking, no drugs, no questionable sex with questionable people in questionable locations—just a nerdy firefighter and his kid.

Dinner consisted of hot dogs and pretzels and soda, and somehow Chris was outpacing them on energy as they wandered through the exhibits. Buck never quit being amazed at just how much Chris knew—hell, Buck was an adult and he still didn’t know the difference between a Monet painting and a Manet painting—but Chris was like the little brainiac Energizer bunny, his energy only weaning after they got home and demanded Buck read him two whole stories for bedtime, and Buck was feeling selfish enough to allow himself a few moments with Chris, sleeping on his shoulder, before he tucked the boy in for the night. 

“I’m gonna get going.”

“You don’t have to, you know?”

Eddie kept his voice low as Buck slid Chris’ door shut, his arms finding their way around Buck’s waist on autopilot, easily masking the twinge of annoyance he felt when Buck had the audacity to look surprised.

“What do you mean?”

If he ever met that Abby chick, he was going to give her a piece of his mind. 

“I mean you don’t have to leave. You can stay, sweetheart. I… well, I want you to stay, but I always want you to stay, so I’m a little biased. But you can stay as long as you want, whenever you want.” 

It was better, he hoped, to be direct, because Buck obviously didn’t get the hint after so many subtle cues. Hell, Eddie had given him a key after their third official date, and all Buck had commented was how glad he was to have it, in case of emergencies. Unfortunately, the fact that Buck seemed dumber then a box of rocks didn’t seem to count as an emergency. 

His argument seemed to be well received tonight, at least, because Buck smiled shyly as he looked up to Eddie, his own arms sliding around the other males shoulders. 

“You’re sure I won’t bother you and Chris, right? You really want me to stay tonight?”

“Of course I do.” Eddie said. For the rest of your life, he managed to keep inside. 

--

“Buck, you know you’re always welcome here, right?”

“Yes, Eddie.”

“And you know we love having you here, and we generally hate it when you leave.”

“I get it, Eddie.”

“So you know—“

“Eddie, will you please let me in?”

If Buck wasn’t soaked head to toe, standing on Eddie’s doorstep, he’d probably start to think that the universe was playing a cruel joke on the both of them. It was certainly playing a cruel joke on Eddie, to be honest—they had finished a particularly grueling overnight shift just three hours ago, and he had all but begged Buck to come and get some rest at the house while Christopher was out with Carla that day, and Buck had politely but firmly refused, not wanting to trample on any of the time that he got to take for himself. It was driving Eddie crazy, to be honest—he had really thought that they had made progress on that front, that they had finally gotten to the point where Buck didn’t think he was intruding, or interrupting, or distracting, or whatever. He really had thought he had made his stance clear—that he always loved spending time with Buck, period. 

Well, he was certainly never one to back down from a challenge. 

“What even happened, Buck?”

“The pipe burst in the apartment above me. I got soaked through in the middle of a nap.” 

“Oh, Buck.”

“It’s not funny, Eddie! I was trying to be considerate!”

“Baby, I’m not laughing. I’m just very distracted by how good you look soaking wet.”

“Eddie, I swear to god—“

“Do I look like I’m joking?”

“….oh. Oh!”

--

“I meant what I said, you know?”

“Hmm?”

They had gotten down to the lazy, delighted moments of the evening, standing together in the shower, Buck slotted easily into Eddies arms. They were taking advantage of the last twenty minutes they had together before Chris came home, and needless to say, neither of them were exactly jumping at the idea of wearing pants again.

“We love having you here, Chris and I. And we really do hate it when you leave because you think that you have to, or you think that you’re intruding, or you think… well, whatever else that you’re thinking.”

“Eddie…”

Buck turned in his arms, pushing his wet hair back, but Eddie smothered any chance of a self depreciating comment by pressing their lips together. He didn’t pull back until he knew Buck would be breathless, panting, and dazed, and it probably wasn’t fair to fight that way, but Eddie couldn’t handle another comment about how much of a bother Buck perceived himself.

“You’re home to me, Buck. Chris too. He loves you and he looks up to you, and you drive me crazy thinking that you could be anything but welcome in our lives. Buck, I want you to move in with us. Stay. Forever.”

There was a time and a place where Buck’s self doubt would have run rampant faced with a confession like that—hell, Buck 1.0 wouldn’t even have allowed a relationship to get that far—but somehow, looking up at Eddie, nothing could be more perfect. 

“You’re home to me too, Eddie.” He started, softly, a smile on his face. “And if you and Chris really wouldn’t mind—“

“It’s not just that we wouldn’t mind, though. It’s what we want. We want you to live with us, sweetheart.”

“… well, I’ve never been good at denying anything my Diaz boys want, have I?”

--

(Over dinner, Buck had nervously approached the topic with Chris, because no matter how sure Eddie was, Buck had to hear it for himself. 

Chris got so excited he almost threw up. 

Eddie considered everything about that night as a win—but the best part of all was the price, Buck, beautiful Buck, waiting for him in his—no, in their bed.)

[taehyungiejiminie95]

BTS Reactions – They try to win you back

He clutches at his chest, trying to slow his racing heart down. This isn’t right. He knows it. It’s not been the same since he left you, and he doesn’t know how to cope. In all of his life, he has never made a mistake this big, and he has never wanted to turn back time more. He’s not a time traveller, so the only fix is to do his best to win you back. It has to work. He has no other choice.

Jin

It’s been… some amount of time since you last saw Jin. It hasn’t actually been that long, but at the same time it feels like an eternity. You’ve got this Jin-shaped hole carved into you, and there’s nothing that can fill it. No amount of time, distraction or food could ever come close. You’d know. You’ve tried. You’ve been trying since he left you, but nothing’s changed. It still hurts, but you’re not using it as an excuse. With all the effort it takes, you’ve been going out everyday to the bakery you run with your soon-to-be-retiring parents and acting like you’re okay. For the most part, you very nearly believe it.

You normally get in before your parents do, so you can fire up the ovens and set up for the day ahead, so you’re not surprised to find the bakery in complete darkness. It smells like home here, somewhere you can truly forget your worries. Today’s special pastry is going to be churros, and you know it’s going to smell even better. A nostalgic scent, you always felt. You flip on the main lights as you go, heading straight for the back room. Stopping short, you realise that something feels odd. You have that feeling you get when someone’s stood too close, but you know there’s nobody around. You’re probably just being weird. That’s quite normal for you at the moment, really, so you do your best to shrug it off and you push your way through to the office to put your coat and bag down,

“What on earth…” You mutter under your breath, seeing the state of the office. Flour. Literal bags of flour covering every inch of the desk where you do the accounts. Your brow furrows as you step forward to where a sole red rose rests atop the bed of flour bags, next to a small note, “I’m outside,” You read aloud, a sense of dread filling you from the toes up. If you couldn’t recognise Jin’s handwriting after how long you spent together, who even are you?

The question of whether or not to respond to this gesture makes you wonder. Is it worth seeing what he wants? Or should you just ignore it, clear the bags into the pantry, and pretend this never even happened?

Your feet move of their own accord, propelling you back through the shop and out of the front door to where Jin is waiting, looking as handsome and as serious as the day you met him, when he was running late for his friend’s birthday and needed something – anything – sweet to take in means of a gift,

“You always said you had no use for flowers. Flour on the other hand… that you need an abundance of,” He half-heartedly teases, looking at you with poorly concealed fear, “Please, will you let me explain myself to you? I know I don’t deserve it but…” He trails off, eyes wide and fearful. Your words fail you. What are you meant to do here?

Yoongi

Your alarm goes off with a harsh buzz, making you wince as you’re rudely woken. It’s cold this morning, you realise with a huff as you get up. You flick the kettle on for your coffee and turn on the radio. Ever since Yoongi left you, you’ve hated the silence. It only amplifies how alone you are, how empty the apartment has been since he left. You rub the sleep out of your eyes as you reach for a mug, the kettle screaming to you that it’s ready. That’s when you hear it,

“In a surprise move from BTS member Suga, a new song has been realised under his own name. This is unusual for him, as the rapper uses many aliases for his different work, but never his birth name…” A cold sweat breaks out over your body as you fumble to get to the radio. You don’t want to hear the new song. The feeling of dread in your stomach tells you what it is, and the soft sounds of piano confirm that for you when you’re not quick enough to the power switch.

Time stands still. Nothing moves as the song plays. You know it’s for you. The melody is something he wrote for you in the early days of your relationship. He always joked that he’d release it under his birth name, because it was so personal. He never did. But now, as you listen to the song which is so clearly dedicated to you, your heart aches for him. His art. This is far more than a melody, than a simple piece of piano he wrote for you. This is pain mixed with poetry and poured into a track. This is true beauty, and you can’t deny it. You can’t move as the words wash over you, and your emotions quickly follow. Tears threaten to break rank as your lip trembles and you’re forced to see how much you miss him.

The last notes of the track wrap themselves up in melancholy, the final one dragging out as if it doesn’t want to end. You don’t want it to. It feels even emptier now, without that song. The radio DJs begin to discuss the unusually heartfelt track, comparing it to First Love, only more pained. You’re still stuck in the kitchen, holding a mug so tight it’s groaning and threatening to break.

Minutes pass as you try to process what you’re feeling, and what this means. Does he want to talk to you? Does he regret what he did? Or is he only using pain as inspiration, with no real intent?

Your phone rings. “Min Yoongi is calling…” You lurch to pick it up before it goes to voicemail.

Hoseok

It’s just gone 11. You pull the covers up over your head in an attempt to try and pretend like you’re any closer to sleep than you were 2 hours ago when you got into bed. It’s been… hard lately. Without him. You can’t even bring yourself to think his name anymore. You’re not someone who lets their life halt for some man, and you’re not letting that happen now. You refuse to huddle down and let this ruin you, which is why you confine your sadness and dysfunction to night times only. During the day, you’re fine. You don’t even let yourself entertain the thought that you want him to come home, to climb into bed and sing you to sleep like he always did. It’s too painful to think about wanting-

Your thoughts are rudely interrupted by a sharp knock at the door. With a groan, you slide out of bed and head towards the door. You fumble around for a moment with the lock before you’re finally able to swing the door open, your very best glare ready for whenever this visitor comes into view. You’re surprised to see… nobody. It takes a huff and an eye roll before you cast your vision down to the floor, where you see a small box. The words “From your Hoseok~” are born on a gift tag, and the tidy scribble of the handwriting you recognise so well. It’s hard to resist scooping down to pick it up.

The box sits in your hands for the rest of the night. You don’t sleep. You barely even blink as you try to work out whether you should open it – just so you don’t have to live with the painful curiosity – or put it in the bin – just in case whatever it is hurts you.

As night turns into dawn, you sigh and put your head down on the back of the couch. Your first movement for hours. It’s taking everything in you to not just throw this damn box back onto the doorstep, or post it straight through Hoseok’s letterbox and be done with it, but you know you need to open it. You lift the flaps carefully and look inside, somehow terrified about what you’ll find. It’s a small note, written in the same tidy scrawl.

‘Meet me by the river tonight. The one we met at, outside your apartment. Let me show you how sorry I am’.

You’re out the door before you can stop yourself,

“You’ve been here all night?” You shriek, seeing Hoseok sat under a willow tree, one of many that line the bank of the river. He nods slowly, gazing unseeingly into the flowing water. You tear off your dressing gown and drape it around his shoulders as best you can, “You’re still an idiot, then. It’s the middle of winter, and you’re hardly dressed appropriately,”

“You didn’t come, but I couldn’t accept it. I needed to be sure you really didn’t want me anymore,” He whispers, finally turning to look up into your eyes, trying to find his answer. The truth is that you’re not even wholly sure on one yourself.

Namjoon

The pigeon hole with your apartment number on it never has anything interesting in it, other than bills and spam, but you still make a habit of checking it every day. Just in case, you suppose. You’re on your way in from work when you check it, today. You barely even glance in, about to walk away when a small package catches your eye. You take it into you hands curiously, not recalling having ordered anything, You take it up to your apartment anyway, seeing as it isn’t a case of someone else’s mail in your pigeon hole. It’s clearly addressed to you. Maybe one of your friends has sent you a care package to get through your low period.

An hour or so later, you curl up on your couch with a hot cup of tea. You’ve showered off and had a snack, and your mid had wandered back around to the mysterious package tantalisingly awaiting you on the coffee table where you left it. It feels quite dense, you realise as you carefully tear back the brown wrapping paper. It’s a book, you find out. You’ve opened it from the wrong side – you’re looking at the back, where the blurb should be. Instead, it’s just a plain matte black. Turning it over, you see the title embossed in silver against the black – “My Last Love by Kim Namjoon”.

Your heart drops to your stomach, but you can’t stop yourself from carefully opening the cover, flicking to the acknowledgments in the front.

“To my greatest loss, and my greatest achievement. We always spoke about me publishing this book, but I never had the courage. Now, I have nothing lose. I hope you’ll read this, although by now you’ll know the story better than I do. It may be selfish, but I also hope you’ll reach out in the way I’m too afraid to do”

You fingers trace over the words, not written in the traditional font but printed in the front of every book in his own handwriting, smudges and all. Tears shine in your eyes without you realising as you see what this is. For years, Namjoon was writing a book. It was based on the story of your love, although he was always unsure of his skill, whether it would be good enough to ever publish. He kept it in his archives for a while, forgetting about it until he broke things off with you. He was right, you do know the story better than anyone, but you can’t resist flicking to the first page and allowing yourself to get lost in his world. A world you sheared, it used to be.

You’re only a chapter in when your phone lights up with a text. It’s your friend. They want to know if you’re going to reach out to Namjoon, the way he clearly wants you to. The thought makes your throat close up. Do you want to?

Jimin

Turning your phone over, you sigh. You miss the days when you would be able to pick up your phone at any given time and see a few notifications waiting patiently for you. Jimin was someone who liked to keep you updated always, even if it was just with the occasional picture or a few seconds of video. It’s almost painful now to turn on your phone and see ‘No New Notifications’ waiting for you. At times like this, it’s too painful to look at. At least if you’ve turned the screen away from yourself, you can’t jump up every time the flashes across it, making it look as if it’s lit up again.

You try your best to go about your day as normal, running errands around the house in time for work tomorrow. It’s boring, but well overdue. You scrub the inside of the oven, do your laundry, sweep the floors, bleach the toilet and you’re just about to re-organise your wardrobe when your phone rings,

“Hello?” You answer, only to immediately be spoken over by your very excited friend,

“Look out of your window right now! Just go, do it! You will not believe what it is!” They all but scream, causing you to panic slightly as you rush to tear your curtains open, fully expecting to see an alien spaceship threaten to destroy the earth if you don’t comply. But it’s not anything like that. Somehow, it’s worse. It’s a large white blimp, with Jimin’s face plastered onto each side. In his own enlarged handwriting, a message is shown clear for the world to see – ‘you will always be my safe place’, “Oh my God, I need to go for a second and call my boyfriend. He needs to up his game. I’ll call you back!” Your friend promises, but you barely even hear. Your phone is loose in your grip, and your breath is scarce in your lungs as you’re forced to see what the whole of the country is currently photographing and talking about. They’re literally sending Jimin’s over-the-top attempt to win you back viral. You don’t know how long passes before your friend calls again. You pick up instantly,

“I honestly can’t believe this. He broke up with me, why would he-“ An all-too-familiar voice cuts you off,

“Because I made a huge mistake,” Jimin’s broken voice whispers, marred with tears.

Taehyung

You smile politely at the security on the door as you breeze past them. They don’t bother to stop you, knowing well who you are. The event looks as grand as you were hoping, and a sense of satisfaction bubbles up to the surface as you cast your eyes around the gallery. This was probably your most ambitious project yet – you’ve combined the art collections of 25 of the greatest connoisseurs in the world, having to rent out 10 different venues to hold everything that encompasses your art show. Your colleagues shake your hand as you sautés further into the venue, knowing you’ll be bored of all this by the time the final one opens. But for now, you’re enjoying it on night 3 of 10.

Something grabs your attention from the corner of your eyes – a tallish man, wearing a beret and an unusual combination of clothes but… no. You refuse to let false memories of Taehyung plague your night. You plaster a smile back onto your face as you take a glass of champagne.

As your exit time comes near, you decide to simply observe as much of this wonderful art as you can. The pensive look on your face wards off conversation partners as you wander through the work you’ve compiled. You recognise some of the work here, but not all of it. Some of it is to your taste, and some isn’t. That’s what you love most about this. Seeing things from the perspective of others, and not always agreeing with what you find.

But one painting stands out more than anything else in the room. It’s… unique. It’s a clash of colours that shouldn’t work, but do. It’s confusing and loud, but you can’t tear your eyes away. It gives you a sense of nostalgia that you can’t shake, and it speaks to you in an odd way. It feels like pain and longing,

“You haven’t stared at a single painting as long as this one,” A familiar voice remarks from behind you. Your eyes dart to the corner, and you see the artist who created this. It’s called “Desire” by Vante. With a deep breath, you turn around to face Vante. Your Taehyung, “Do you like it?” He asks, eyes as wide and as curious as when you first met him,

“It’s different to your normal work. What prompted the change?” You reply civilly, feeling your hand start to shake around your champagne glass. Funnily enough, you already know the answer to your question,

“Losing you,” Taehyung whimpers, taking a step forward, “Look, I know that I’m the one who left you, but I made a mistake. Please, let me talk to you. I can’t lose you like this,” he pleads, voice cracking as he tries to reach for your hand. You don’t know whether or not to let him.

Jungkook

Your Jungkook, your love, the one you cherished above all else, was never that into big romantic gestures. He was small things that made you smile. He was doing the dishes when he got in past midnight so you didn’t have to. He was buying you a bouquet of flowers every now and then because of how you love fresh flowers. He was leaving you a home cooked meal on the side when you were getting home late. He was carrying you to bed when you fell asleep. Your Jungkook was not a big gesture. He was the little things that kept you smiling.

Maybe that’s why everything going on right now has been such a shock to you. This isn’t like your Jungkook at all, but somehow it’s just as real and genuine. The video on your phone plays again, stuck on a loop, just as your mind is. It hardly makes sense at all, that he would do this. He’s the one who left you, and yet he’s gone to such a length to get your attention again. You cast your eyes back down to your phone, needing to watch it one more time to try and grasp that it really did happen,

“ARMY!” Jungkook calls, waving his hand up. The crowd screams loudly before finally falling quiet again, “ARMY, you do so much for me, and for BTS. You know our love for you never ends,” He confesses, sending the crowd wild again. He waits patiently for their focus to come back to him, “That’s how I know that I can ask this favour of you. Will you all do something special for me?” Jungkook calls, spinning to cast his eyes around the arena. It’s the end of the concert, and everyone is tired, but he can’t let this go. He knows it will work, “Everyone, get your phones out! Put your camera on, turn the video on, film this! I want you to record something for me, and then I want you to post it to every platform you have. Twitter, Instagram, Snapchat, Facebook, everywhere! You, my Kinds and Queens of trending, I need you to make this go viral,”

Jungkook’s eyes somehow meet the lens of every camera in the arena at once as he speaks your name solemnly. The crowd hushes each other so Jungkook can speak. His eyes are red, and he’s not sure for how long he’ll remain composed, “Forgive me. I’ve done something stupid, I know that now. I see that I’ve hurt you, and I’m ready to grow and mature and become the best version of myself. Baby, I need you. Will you please call me? I know you’ll see this. Please, all I want is to talk. Even if you decide I don’t deserve a second chance. Please,” Jungkook closes his eyes, blinking back tears, “ARMY, please make sure they see this. Post it everywhere. I want them to know that I love them more than myself,” His voice cracks on his last word as he starts to break down, “Please,”

[skaylanphear]

Doorways to the Truth

Summary: After the events of Reflekdoll, Marinette finds herself rather preoccupied with the fact that Chat’s real eye color is, in fact, green. A familiar green--too familiar, perhaps. While Adrien slowly begins to come to his own conclusions, if only because Marinette might have made herself a little too obvious. 

A story in which they both think they might know something, but have no proof, so what else is there to do but continue testing the waters?

Part 1

"Your eyes are green."

It was a downright stupid thing to say and Marinette knew it was stupid even as she said it. Because she knew perfectly well that Adrien's eyes were green—she'd known from the very first day that his eyes were green with very vague amber flecks. She'd written a poem about the very same eyes and stared at them regularly via the pictures she had stuck up all over her walls.

"Uh, yeah," Adrien agreed, looking a bit dubious as he stared down at her. "Always have been." He said it kindly, but even so, Marinette found herself blushing at her own idiocy. Turning away, she ignored how he continued to watch her for a moment, before he returned his attention to the conversation that had originally been going on between the four of them—him, Marinette, Alya, and Nino. Adrien had turned to her to ask her about something, but she found that she couldn't remember quite what.

It was probably for the best that he hadn't pursued it further. She was having a bit of a crisis, as it would turn out, despite the fact that she was doing a pretty good job of hiding as much (or so she hoped).

Chat Noir's eyes were green too.

This, of course, she'd always known, because his miraculous changed his eyes so they matched Plagg's. She'd found this out when they'd been fighting Reflekdoll the day before, when she'd used Chat Noir's ring herself. Her own blue eyes had been masked in the same green, any and all traces of her natural color hidden away.

And though they'd been far too preoccupied by their enemy at the time to show it, she'd been startled when she'd finally encountered Chat Noir using her own miraculous. Not because the sight of Mister Bug had been alarming, but because as she'd leaned in enough times to talk to him, she'd come to the realization that Chat Noir's real eyes were green too.

But so what? Plenty of people had green eyes. Well, not plenty. It was one of the rarest eye colors in the world. The bright vibrant color that Adrien had inherited from his mother was even rarer than the normal. Yet, somehow, Chat Noir had eyes of an almost identical hue.

It could just be coincidence, of course. Of all the people in Paris, there were sure to be some that had a similar eye color to Adrien no matter its rarity.

None of this had really occurred to her at the time, but it'd burrowed into the back of her thoughts without her realizing it, which was what had left her so stupidly startled when Adrien had turned to look at her.

Though she was far more familiar with Adrien and his face than she was Chat Noir's without the mask (obviously), Mister Bug had flashed through her thoughts the moment Adrien had turned her way.

Which was what had her in a bit of a panic.

What, exactly, had Mister Bug's eyes looked like? They'd been very similar to Adrien's, she'd noted that at the time of Reflekdoll. But how similar? As similar as his height was to Adrien's? And his hair?

What about his voice? Did they have similar voices?

Why couldn't she remember?

She saw both Adrien and Chat Noir at least every other day. If they had similar voices, certainly she'd have noticed.

Right? Right?!

"Hey, Marinette, you okay?"

She released an incoherent noise as she flailed back, once again startled by Adrien, though this time in a more physical sense. He'd placed a hand on her shoulder, which she'd slipped out from underneath, and was now watching her with concern painted over his expression.

Imbedded in those green eyes.

"Oh yeah," she said, laughing uncomfortably as she did. "I was just dinking—I mean, thidracted—I MEAN, DISTRACTED!" She smiled. "I was just thinking…"

Adrien laughed lightly, looking at her as he often did when she couldn't be understood—with total sympathy, if not with some underlying puzzlement. Like he just didn't quite get her, but had made peace with the fact.

She supposed that was her own fault.

"Everyone's headed to class," he explained, gesturing toward the stairs.

Which was when she saw it, that flash of silver.

Reaching out, she found herself grabbing him by the wrist before she pulled his hand up so she could get a better look at his ring. There didn't appear to be anything special about it—just a silver ring with a circle carved in the top. There were four tiny prongs that surrounded it, the same as the black cat miraculous when it was active. But different from what the ring had looked like when she'd worn it. Hers had been rose-gold and more delicate in shape.

All this flitted through her thoughts in but a second, before Adrien was yanking his hand rather harshly out of her hold.

Looking up at him, she saw unease apparent in his expression as he held his other hand over his ring, hiding it.

"Where did you get that ring?" she blurted.

"I… uh… It—It was a gift," he blundered out, before tossing her a smile that was clearly quite fake, even for Adrien. Adrien, who smiled even when there was nothing to smile about in that soft, understated way that Marinette had long since realized had been hammered into him by constant politeness and expected manners.

"From who?" Marinette pushed.

Adrien's smile faltered, his expression finally beginning to harden into something akin to defensiveness. "Why do you want to know?"

Which was when Marinette realized that perhaps she'd gone a little too far. "Oh, no reason," she lied, supposing it was her turn to throw out an exaggerated, fake smile. "I just notice you wear it all the time and was curious."

"It's really important to me," he said steadily, still looking quite defensive as he flicked his attention back to the stairs. "We should go to class or we're going to be late."

"Oh, right, of course," she agreed, laughing stupidly as Adrien finally dropped some of his guard to smile back. He headed for the stairs shortly after, Marinette following silently behind. She held the strap of her purse rather tightly, if only because she knew Tikki was inside.

Tikki knew Chat Noir's identity. Just like Plagg knew her identity. Certainly if Chat Noir was… was Adrien Agreste, Tikki would have given her a hint or something. But, then again, kwami weren't supposed to compromise the identities of their owners. Perhaps this rule stretched to the identities of other miraculous holders, even if the spell that kept them silent didn't.

Ugh, there was no point in thinking about Tikki. Her kwami was strict with the rules and even if Marinette had a suspicion, she wouldn't verify it one way or the other.

Besides, she was getting ahead of herself. There was no way Adrien was Chat Noir. They were totally different, even if they did look a little bit alike (a lot alike, but whatever). Chat had said it himself—he was the "cunning, ultra-charming Chat Noir," full of humor and rash decisions.

Adrien… Adrien wasn't like that. Adrien was charming, sure, but in a totally different way than Chat Noir claimed to be. Adrien was kind and considerate and… and Chat Noir was those things too, but that was beside the point! Adrien wasn't cunning… even if he did sometimes sneak out or come up with excuses to get out from under his father.

Okay, the main point was that Chat was a goofball with a bad sense of humor and Adrien, well… if he had a sense of humor (which he did, obviously because everyone did, Chat Noir's opinions aside), she had no idea what it was like.

Adrien never told jokes or goofed around or…

Had much of any fun, really. The most fun he seemed to have was when he was hanging out with his friends, and even then he was more subdued than most. Always trying to do the right thing and always stepping aside to let other people have a chance.

Despite being a model, he was always happy to let someone else take the lead and have the spotlight. Just like Chat was always doing for Ladybug, seemingly with little qualms on the subject.

Ugh, now she was just getting confused. So maybe Adrien and Chat Noir had a few things in common, yet they were also very different. She wasn't exactly sure how they were alike or different, because the longer she thought about it, the more convoluted the whole thing became.

She just needed to stop thinking about it. So they had the same eye color and both wore a ring on the same finger. Big deal. That didn't mean they were the same person.

But what if…

Personality differences aside, Marinette found as she sat through class that day that she'd opened up a rather big can of worms as far as what her brain was willing to entertain pertaining to Adrien and Chat Noir.

If—and this was wholly fictional, or so she told herself—Adrien was Chat Noir, then it'd make sense how their miraculouses had gotten switched. She'd had to remove her earrings for their shoot and since Adrien had ended up modeling, he'd have removed his ring to wear her own line of jewelry. After all, she couldn't advertise jewelry that she hadn't designed.

So that would mean he'd have had to keep his miraculous close by, just like she had. Maybe… Maybe Tikki and Plagg had been in the car together? Could that—No, that couldn't possibly—No way.

It was just too… surreal.

Adrien wasn't Chat Noir. No matter how any circumstances lined up, that was just… It'd be too serendipitous.

Determined this had to be the truth, Marinette squashed any active thoughts on the matter. Or she attempted to, once lunch came around. Yet, as soon as their regular group of four came together, her brain was making constant comparisons between Adrien and Chat Noir. But even with all their similarities, she couldn't completely prove her theory one way or another.

Probably because it wasn't true.

But what if…?

"Marinette!"

"Huh?! What?!" Whipping around on Alya, Marinette was wide-eyed as she stared at her disapproving best friend, who had her hands on her hips and was giving her the stink-eye.

"We were trying to decide where to go to eat," she explained. "Are you okay with going to the park?"

"Oh, yeah, sure, that's fine," Marinette replied. "Sorry, I was a bit distracted."

"We could tell," Nino muttered, clearly looking between Marinette and Adrien. Which had Marinette blushing while Adrien looked on in confusion.

"Then let's go! I'm starving!" Alya announced, grabbing Nino by the hand before leading the way out of the school doors. Marinette followed about a step behind Adrien, her finger pulling at her lip thoughtfully as he walked on in front.

Those jeans he wore really were tight. It really provided her a good view of his… "figure."

Did they have the same butt? Adrien and Chat? She'd never really paid much attention to Chat's butt, despite seeing it all the time. Adrien had a cute little butt though. For sure Chat had a—

"Hey, is that your bodyguard waving at us?" Alya asked, jarring Marinette's thoughts as the group looked over at the curb, where Adrien's gorilla of a guard was waiting beside his car.

"Yeah, but I didn't think…" Shoulders slumping, Adrien pulled up his phone and checked his schedule. "Oh…" he said, his spirits dropping even further. "I guess my father rescheduled that press conference the akuma messed up last week for today."

"So you gotta leave?" Nino asked.

Adrien sighed. "I guess so. He'd be really angry if I skipped out on it."

"You know, your dad sure expects a lot out of you all the time," Alya observed. "It wouldn't be the worst thing if you skipped out once in a while."

"Maybe not, but the more I screw up, the less I get to do the things I wanna do. Besides, it'd be irresponsible to start skipping things like press conferences and I don't want to mess up my father's reputation."

"You really do have a lot of responsibilities, don't you?" Marinette found herself saying, her own spirits dropping alongside his own.

He cast her a small smile. "It's okay. I don't mind most of the time." Yet his words didn't sound the least bit convincing. Still, he waved to them in farewell before breaking away, the three of them watching as he met his bodyguard and ducked inside his car. Soon enough, they were driving away.

"He won't be back for the rest of the day, probably," Nino said, sounding quite irritated himself. "I feel like I hardly see my best bud most of the time."

"He is busy," Alya said. "I wonder if he ever gets to relax. I know that if I lived with Gabriel Agreste, I'd be uptight all the time."

"Yeah, that's true," Marinette agreed, her tone sounding somewhat hollow, even to herself. "It must be hard, having to live up to those standards all the time."

"His dad thinks he's perfect though," Nino pointed out.

Marinette frowned and turned to continue walking on to the park. "That makes it even worse," she muttered to herself, the worry in her gut so heavy it felt like she'd swallowed a dozen stones.

oOo

"Good evening, Kitty," Ladybug said as she plopped down on the ledge beside him. He immediately turned to look at her, his smile wide as he beamed.

"Hello, Bugaboo. Fancy meeting you here."

"We always meet here."

"Still, I'm grateful."

Rolling her eyes, Ladybug hummed in amusement, ignoring the urge she had to stare at Chat in the same way she'd been staring at Adrien all morning. She looked out over the rooftops instead, the sun beginning to set and casting the city in a vague, orange glow.

"So where are we patrolling today?" he asked. "The next section of the city on our map? Or did you wanna go over last night's locations again, just in case we missed something? You seemed a little uncertain about that neighborhood at the end, since we were both getting pretty tired. Then again, Hawkmoth isn't exactly a subtle guy, so we'd probably have notice—"

"Do you like being Chat Noir?" she asked suddenly, only having been half-listening to his chatter. Her question seemed to take him by surprise, his lips pulling into a frown.

A frown that looked just like the frown Adrien had worn earlier that day…

"What I mean is," she continued, "do you like having the powers that you have?"

"Uh…" Chat pooched his lips as he thought. "I mean, sure. I think the powers I have fit me pretty well. You said it yourself that I'm a simple, straightforward guy."

"You wouldn't want my powers then?"

His previous thoughtfulness turned to unease. "Why do you ask?"

"I just… You've used my miraculous now. I guess I just wanted to know what you thought about it."

He was quiet for a moment, clearly needing time to think of an answer. "I think that… that your powers are amazing, and it was fun being you for a bit, but I don't really think I'm cut out for it."

"Why do you say that?"

"Isn't it obvious?" He grinned good-naturedly. "I wasn't exactly as good at using your powers as you were at using mine."

"But your lucky charm did work," she pointed out.

"After you told me how to use it."

"I guess…"

"My Lady… What is this about?"

She stared down at her lap. "I don't know. Nothing, really. I've just been in kind of a weird… mind-space today. It's probably best to just ignore everything that I'm saying."

"I'd never want to do that."

She flicked her gaze back up to his, taking in his sincere expression despite how it had her heart fluttering inside her chest.

"Why do you pretend like you're some irresponsible hooligan?" she finally dared to ask.

Her question clearly took him aback, his head rearing a bit as he digested her question. A series of expressions crossed his face then—surprise, confusion, offense (that was short-lived), before confusion again. Finally, he opened his mouth to speak, but then no words came out.

"I know you're not," she continued, when it was clear he didn't know what to say. "You act like being Chat Noir is easy and like everything we do is a joke, but if you really felt that way, you wouldn't work as hard as you do."

He gaped again for a while longer, before finally managing to gather some words together. "I feel like I'm in trouble for something," he admitted. "But you're not exactly saying bad things about me."

"You're not in trouble. I'm just trying to understand, I guess."

"Well… it's like you said. I act like it's easy, but we both know it's not. I guess I figure that being serious all the time doesn't really help anyway, so why bother?" Another frown pulled down on his lips. "I have to be serious all the time, when I'm not Chat Noir. And it makes life pretty miserable. We're already fighting akumas, so why make it worse than it already is?"

"I have a hard time imagining that you could be serious all the time when you're not transformed," she admitted.

"You wouldn't recognize me, I promise you that."

"Why do you have to be serious all the time?"

He shrugged, seeming to mull over her question before he answered. "I guess there's just a lot of pressure for me to be perfect all the time. Anytime I mess up, it's like—like…"

"Chat?"

"I just have to be careful, because if I mess up too badly, I might—My father—It's complicated. He's not exactly known for being lenient when he thinks things aren't going his way. I feel like I'm on thin ice with him most of the time as it is, just for doing normal things everybody else my age is doing. And I don't mean bad stuff. Just going to the movies or hanging out after school. Stuff like that. And it's stupid because I do exactly what he says all the time and he has this huge schedule with all this stuff I have to do every day and if I even let my grades slip a little or if I complain that I'm tired, he assumes it's because I'm hanging out with my friends too much or staying after school too long, even though I barely ever do those things anyway. So I can't ever be less than perfect because if I am then he takes away everything that I do like doing and blames my friends. So… yeah… that's why, I guess…"

He was clearly frustrated, but also seemingly embarrassed by his rant, his cheeks a little redder than usual.

"Sorry," he said, voice quiet. "I shouldn't have said so much."

"It's okay," she replied softly, her own thoughts running over everything he'd said, though likely for different reasons than he was imagining.

"You have enough to worry about," he continued, before managing a small smile. "After all, I know what it's like now, to be you. Being Ladybug is no easy job."

"Your job wasn't easy either, for the record," she countered, before winking. "Even if I made it look like it was."

"Coulda fooled me," he admitted. "You were doing everything right even when I was screwing up."

"You weren't screwing up that badly," she comforted.

"I was," he insisted. "But it's okay. I screw up all the time as Chat too."

"You do not!"

"I do too!" He laughed. "You're the one always pointing it out!"

"Well…" She bit the inside of her cheek.

"I said it's okay," he replied.

"I don't want to make you feel bad…" she admitted, which sobered him immediately.

"You never make me feel bad," he said straight.

"You were just saying how your father—"

"You're not my father," he interjected rather sternly. "I mean, I'll admit, I was a little worried when we first met, but you don't—you're not…" He sighed. "I guess I feel like I can screw around with you and you're not going to be mad about it. Most of the time anyway."

"Sometimes you enjoy it a little too much."

He grinned. "Gimme a break! You're the only person I get to goof around with."

"Why don't you goof around with your friends?" she dared to ask.

His grin went a little sideways with unease. "Ah, I dunno. I guess because, like, when I'm not Chat Noir, I always… have to be careful?"

"But if your father isn't there…?"

"I guess…" He turned away, as if he was trying to hide from her in plain sight.

"Chat," she said sternly.

"When I'm, you know, me, I can't just—I have to be careful—If someone sees me and I'm not doing exactly what my father expects…"

"How would he even know?"

He cringed. "I can't really explain. If I do, you might figure out who I am."

An admission that took Ladybug by surprise despite the fact that she was already sniffing out more than he was likely anticipating that she could. But maybe she'd kind of tricked him with her questions, even if he had no way of knowing that.

She felt a little bad.

"Alright. But you shouldn't be so paranoid about your father. Your friends are missing out, not being able to be as annoyed by you as I am all the time."

He leaned closer, bumping their shoulders together. "That just makes you even more special."

"Uh huh, sure."

"It's true, Bugaboo. You're the apple of my eye. The light of my life. The yin to my yang. The—"

"Alright, I get it," she cut in, shoving him playfully away as she did. "I guess you do deserve your miraculous—sounds like you'd have a mental breakdown if you had to deal with my responsibilities on top of your civilian life."

"Yeah, probably," he agreed, before whipping around on her with concern behind his mask. "Don't let anything I've said change how you treat me," he said quickly. "I know your miraculous is way more important than mine and I always want to help you in any way I can. I don't view being your partner as a break from real life or anything like that—if you need anything from me, you tell me."

She couldn't help her own smile then. "Oh I will, don't worry about that," she promised, which visibly relieved him. "And just because you can't purify akumas doesn't mean you're not as important as me. I need you here with me and I wouldn't have it be anyone else." She reached out and patted him on the thigh, which had him practically purring as he leaned back into her personal space.

"I'm irreplaceable?" he asked coyly.

"Of course," she agreed. "I don't think I could ever find a Chat Noir that's as much of a clown as you. It takes special talent to mess up as smoothly as you do." Reaching up, she tapped him on the tip of his nose.

"Good thing you always fix everything afterward, huh?"

"Someone has to clean up your messes."

"Now, hold on, sometimes you make the messes too," he argued. "Your plans do get a little out of control sometimes. And who was it that broke the Reflekdoll and sent it rampaging?"

She scoffed. "You'd have done the same thing."

He looked down at his claws far too innocently. "Doubtful."

"Whatever," she said, waving him off as she did. "I did what I thought you'd do."

"And you did it beautifully," he assured.

"You'd trust me with your miraculous again, then?" she asked teasingly.

"If I had to. Though I must admit, I prefer you as Ladybug. I'd rather gaze into those blue-bells Tikki gives you than the same-ole green I'm used to." He cocked his head then, looking curious. "Weird that Tikki didn't turn my eyes blue though."

It took Ladybug a moment to digest his words. "Wait, what do you mean?"

"Your eyes," he said. "I thought back when we first got our powers that they were your real color, but then I realized it was probably a perk of your transformation. You know, like how my eyes change. Not that I'd prefer your blue eyes to whatever your natural color is—I'm sure you're stunning no matter what."

"Uh, while I appreciate that, what makes you think Tikki changes my eyes? She didn't change yours, so why would she change mine?"

"Well, because you—I thought—" He appeared abruptly uncomfortable. "I just assumed because you're, you know…"

"I'm what?" she asked, laughing lightly as she did.

"You’re… Asian?" he asked, flinching back some as he did.

She crossed her arms over her chest and gave him the stink eye. "So I can't have blue eyes?"

"No! Of course you can! It just occurred to me that it was unlikely your natural eye color was blue. But obviously I'm an idiot and you can have blue eyes if blue is what you actually have. Do you have blue eyes? Is that your natural eye color?"

"Well now I don't think I should even tell you."

"Reasonable," he agreed. "I understand. Honestly, you could have no eyes and I'd still think you were the most beautiful girl in the world."

"Don't get ahead of yourself," she warned flatly.

"But, wait, how do you know Tikki didn't change my eyes?" he asked.

"Because she doesn't change my eyes!"

"So your eyes are actually blue!"

Ladybug groaned.

"Wow," he said then, leaning a little too close again and causing Ladybug to shy back. "It should be super easy to find you then. How many Asian girls are there in the city with natural blue eyes, really?"

"Enough that you clearly haven't found me yet," she said, a warning clear in her tone.

Not that he heeded it. "Obviously, I was looking for the wrong clues."

"You're so oblivious, you wouldn't know me if I was standing right in front of you."

"I don't know," he said, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "This new information is pretty important."

"No, it's not," she said hastily, scrambling back and onto her feet as she did.

She'd said too much. She'd said way too much. Not that she should be at all surprised. She'd been the one to start it, asking him all sorts of personal questions in her quest to somehow debunk her own stupid theory. A theory that she was quite sure wasn't so stupid after all. And while Chat could be pretty dense and Adrien even more so about some things, she wasn't sure she was going to be able to escape this mistake.

She should have just agreed with him and said Tikki changed her eyes. She was so stupid! If Chat's eyes could lead her to his identity, then of course her own would do the same for her. Yeah, green eyes were rare, but blue eyes on a Chinese girl—even a half Chinese girl—were a dead giveaway.

And here he'd been assuming they were fake. An obvious thing to agree with and she'd totally blown it.

"Ladybug?" he asked, clearly picking up on her distress.

"C'mon," she said, throwing her yoyo out as she did. "We should have started patrolling a long time ago."

Vaulting off the edge of the building, she didn't dare look back.

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

A/N: Hope you guys enjoy my drabbling after Reflekdoll. I’ll probably write more soon.

[jlalafics]

“Baptism”-an Everlark one-shot

Hello! Was it possible? Could I fit all three requested sentence prompts into one story?

I did.

Anyway, the three prompts I was given are:

“Oh god, how can you manage to switch from cute to sexy in under a second?” (Anon request)

“What took you so long? I missed you…” (From @omercilessmoon​)

“If you don’t stop looking at my lips without doing anything about it, I will take you right here on this counter.” (Anon request)

I hope I did all of you justice.

Happy Reading!

Also, thank you to @keelaree​ for my bomb cover. Love you!

Summary: “Katniss didn’t know if it was kismet or just plain bad luck but she and Peeta Mellark always found themselves on the opposite of a baptismal font, one of them holding a white clad infant and wondering which one of their idiot friends thought they would make good godparents.”

_______

Baptism

The Baptism of Josephine Lily Hawthorne

The church bells rang atop the Church of St. Anne as people gathered inside dressed in their Sunday best. In the first few pews sat the excited parents, Gale and Madge Hawthorne, along with their families.

Madge, in a rose dress, smiled in greeting to anyone who came into the church, showing off the dark-haired Josephine dressed in a multi-tier white dress and matching bonnet. Beside her, Gale greeted everyone stoically, a hint of pride in his smoky eyes.

However as soon as they were alone, his face fell into a mask of anxiety.

“I’m going to kill him,” Gale whispered to his wife.

“Not if I get to him first,” Madge replied through clenched teeth. “Thank God, Katniss is always a stickler about being on time.”

They were twenty minutes past their allotted time. Besides them, there were two other families waiting for their babies to get baptized.

Gale turned to the entrance doors behind them just as Katniss peeked in to shake her head.

“Dead,” the man swore to his wife. “There’s going to be a funeral right after this baptism.”

++++++

In the church vestibule, Katniss paced as one of the parish attendants closed the door so the service could begin.

“Every fucking time,” she swore quietly.

Why did Peeta always do this?

On the other hand, why were they always picked?

Actually, Katniss already knew why.

She was single. Peeta was single.

Everyone else in their group of friends had already put a ring on it and then reproduced.

Finnick and Annie Odair were first, getting married right out of university. Gale and Madge’s wedding happened two years later to which she played Best Woman to Peeta’s Man of Honor.

Recently, her own sister had betrayed her by marrying Cato, Peeta’s former roommate. The two were currently finishing up their Hawaiian honeymoon while the rest of them celebrated the blessed event of watching Joey Hawthorne getting water splashed on her sweet little head.

The sounds of rushed footsteps broke her from her reverie, and she turned to see Peeta running over to join her.

Katniss crossed his arms as he slowed. “What took you so long? I missed you…”

Peeta raised a brow as he buttoned his suit jacket. “You did?”

“Fuck no! I’m just tired of freezing my tits off waiting for you to show up,” she growled at him. “They want both godparents there before they can bathe the baby!”

“Katniss, please. You’re in church and God doesn’t appreciate your filthy mouth,” he replied, his tone heavy with snark. “Though it is one of your better attributes.” Peeta grinned. “Your tits too, but I’ll only admit that because we’re in the house of God—”

He was quickly silenced as Katniss grabbed his crotch and squeezed…hard.

“Listen,” she hissed, her face inches from his. “You are a giant pain in my ass but, for some reason, we are always stuck together. I would appreciate it if you would just do me the courtesy of not making me and the entire party wait while you do whatever the hell you do.” His mouth opened in an attempt to speak and she tightened her grip. “Do you understand?”

Peeta’s face had gone stark white, though his glare was as biting as ever. “You bit—”

“Hey guys?”

Katniss quickly released Peeta from her death grip and turn to find Gale peeking his head out.

“We’re ready for you,” he said. Gale’s face suddenly went scarlet. “Also, the sound really carries through the whole church…”

Katniss’ jaw dropped. “How much did they hear?”

“How much should I donate?” Peeta asked as he tried to smooth down the creases in his pants.

“Everything and enough to pay for Joey’s first year of college,” Gale told them. “Now, get in.”

Chastised, the two followed their friend down the aisle and to the baptismal font where Madge waited with their goddaughter. The woman glared at Peeta before handing Joey to him carefully.

From across the font, Katniss watched him as he gazed down at Joey, a smile lighting up his face. In turn, Joey cooed at her godfather.

She couldn’t help but smile at the charming pair—

“Katniss?”

Her eyes went to Gale, his grey eyes panicked as he leaned towards her.

“Father just asked if you renounce Satan…and you didn’t respond.”

“Oh—" She looked to the priest. “I totally renounce him!”

Her eyes went to the ground, trying to ignore the quiet snicker coming from across the baptismal post.

Katniss didn’t know if it was kismet or just plain bad luck but she and Peeta Mellark always found themselves on the opposite of a baptismal font, one of them holding a white clad infant and wondering which one of their idiot friends thought they would make good godparents.

++++++

The Hawthorne Residence

“That shit was hilarious!” Annie cackled as they sat at the kitchen table, eating some leftover cake from the reception. “They asked you if you renounced Satan and there was twenty-second pause!”

“I am horrified.” Katniss forked a hefty piece of cake before plopping it into her mouth. She looked to the woman loading dishes into the dishwasher. “Your parents must be horrified, Madge. I am so sorry.”

“It was actually kind of funny,” Madge told her easily. “I told my side of the family that you were Gale’s first choice for godmother. Hazelle, however, has probably lit a dozen candles for you.”

“Well, she’s known me since I was kid so I’m pretty sure she’s lit more than a dozen for me,” Katniss retorted.

There was a flurry of tiny steps as Nolan Odair rushed into the kitchen, jumping into his mother’s lap and burying his little face into her chest. She, in turn, affectionately caressed his dark locks and placed a kiss atop his head.

Another set of footsteps followed as Finnick stepped into the kitchen, a smirk rising on his handsome face as his green eyes settled on Katniss.

“Hey Katniss! Do you renounce Satan?”

“If he’ll help me get rid of your annoying butt,” she deadpanned before digging in for more cake.

Gale walked into the room along with Peeta. “Be nice to him.”

The latter still held their Goddaughter in his arms and Joey, now fully awake, looked pretty content. Katniss had to admit that Peeta had that special charm about him. She watched him through their college years captivate women, both young and old.

No one was immune to Peeta Mellark.

Except for her.

“And, why should I be nice?” Katniss asked her friend.

“Because he’s going to be a Dad again,” Peeta informed her.

Annie looked to her husband. “I thought we were going to tell them together!”

“We were!” Finnick turned to Peeta. “How did you know?”

“Annie hates chocolate cake,” the man replied. “And she’s wolfing it down like there’s no tomorrow.” Leaning down, Peeta kissed their friend’s cheek. “Congratulations Annie. Here’s hoping that you’ll have the girl you want so Finnick will finally leave you alone.”

Finnick looked aghast. “How dare you. She seduced me!”

Annie grinned, looking to her husband. “It’s true. Couldn’t keep my hands off him.”

The rest of the group all congratulated the couple, each one raising a glass of wine or, in Nolan’s case, a juice box, to the second time parents.

Afterwards, they all settled back, and Katniss reached to get another piece of cake.

“This tastes amazing,” she mused, her eyes closing and a content hum vibrating against her lips. “I just want to rub up on the person who made it.”

“Oh God, how can you manage to switch from cute to sexy in under a second?” She opened her eyes to find Peeta staring, his blue eyes full of mirth at the sight of her. He handed Joey to Madge before removing his suit jacket. “Do you really mean it?”

“Mean what?”

“About rubbing up on the person who made that cake,” he replied as he unbuttoned the cuffs of his sleeves to fold them up.

Katniss watched; each fold revealed his forearms for her perusal. “Why?”

He sat across from her, taking her fork to cut a piece of cake before placing it in his mouth.

“Because I made it.”

She was faintly aware that the fork had previously been engulfed in her mouth; that she had licked chocolate off the same spears that were between his lips.

Katniss shook her head. “You lie.”

“It’s true,” Madge told her from the counter as she rocked Joey. “Peeta’s family owns a bakery.”

“No kidding.” She couldn’t help but smile as Peeta’s cheeks colored. “Why did I never know this when we were in college?”

“Because you were too busy in college to even look at me,” he replied quietly.

Katniss grinned. “If I had known, maybe I would’ve sucked up to you more.”

Peeta groaned, trying not to smile. “You’re killing me.”

“Plus, Peeta was getting enough sucking in college, if you know what I mean,” Finnick informed her gaily.

The smile fell off her face. “Moment over.”

“Damn you, Finnick!” Peeta looked to her, crestfallen. “So…no rubbing?”

Katniss snorted. “I’m afraid not today.”

However, she left with half the cake.

++++++

The Abernathy Institute of Aging

“Hello, Mags. I’m Dr. Katniss Everdeen.” She sat beside the older woman’s bed. “How are you today?”

“I’m alright, I suppose,” Mags replied softly. “Do you know when my husband is visiting?”

Mags’ husband had passed away several years ago.

“I’m not sure. I’ll have to check with the nurses—do you know what month it is?”

“September,” the woman answered.

It was July.

“Thanks for reminding me.” Katniss gave her a smile. “It’s about lunchtime. Did you have any requests?”

“I’m fine,” Mags told her kindly. “My Harris will be bringing my lunch. We eat every meal together, you know.”

“Alright.” Katniss stood up. “I’ll give you some time to get ready for your visit. Thanks for speaking with me.”

As soon as she stepped out into the clinic’s hallway, Dr. Haymitch Abernathy, her mentor, joined her side.

“How was she today?” he asked, concern in his voice.

“Better in terms of her mood as she was completely stable during our interaction,” Katniss told him before frowning. “However, she’s forgotten about Harris’ passing again. When she remembers, it’s going to be difficult.”

“If she remembers. Her memory has deteriorated quickly in the last six months.”

“I’m sorry, Dr. Abernathy,” she replied. “I know how much she means to you.”

“She was a fine neighbor who was always kind to the wayward young man next door,” he said with a grin. “And she did introduce me to her pretty niece.”

“Yeah—I mean, Effie is way too good for you,” Katniss replied with a snort.

“Watch yourself, Dr. Everdeen, or I might not be so favorable when it comes to next month’s shifts,” he told her, though a smile played on his lips. “Effie is expecting you over soon, by the way.”

“I’m off next Sunday,” she replied. “I’ll be over for brunch.”

He nodded as they reached the nurses’ station. “I have a new case that I’d like you to shadow.”

“Sure,” Katniss said easily. “Where’s the chart?”

The elevator behind them dinged. “Actually, I can just introduce you now—”

“Katniss?”

She whirled at the voice and found Peeta approaching them. He gently guided the man he was with until they stood in front of her and Dr. Abernathy.

The man looked to her and gave her a shaky, yet kind, smile. “You know my son?”

Peeta’s father—they had the same smile.

“Yes, Mr. Mellark. Peeta and I went to the same university.”

“Katniss is loads smarter than me,” Peeta informed his father. He looked her over in her doctor’s coat, her printed blouse and bootcut dress pants peeking out from beneath. “Obviously.”

“She is my prized intern,” Haymitch informed the men. “Dr. Everdeen, this is our new patient, Brian Mellark. Brian, Dr. Katniss Everdeen will be shadowing me on your case.”

Katniss took the man’s hand, clasping his fingers between hers. She felt the tremble, already knowing that she was looking at someone who was suffering from Parkinson’s. However, Katniss could tell that Brian had a fighting spirit.

“Nice to meet you officially, Mr. Mellark,” she said.

“Brian please,” he insisted. “Any friend of Peeta’s is a friend of mine.”

“Well—” Her eyes went to the man who stood beside Dr. Abernathy. “—Peeta and I just happen to share a goddaughter, so we’re practically family.” She began to guide him towards the exam rooms, making sure to follow his pace in order to gauge his current mobility. “I have a feeling we’ll be sharing another one in about seven-ish months.”

They made a slight right into the exam room and she helped Brian into a nearby chair.

“I actually really hope that they don’t pick us,” Peeta told her. “I mean, you’re practically banned from the last church we were in.”

Dr. Abernathy guffawed. “Why is that?”

“Because when they asked if she renounced Satan…she paused.”

“It was an accident,” she insisted. “I was momentarily distracted by a certain tardy godfather!”

“So, you were looking at me.” Peeta smirked at her. “Katniss, I’m flattered.”

Katniss looked to Brian. “How do you even deal with him?”

The man chuckled, briefly giving his son an affectionate smile. “He grows on you eventually.”

She raised a brow. “Like a fungus?”

“Exactly.”

“Dad!” Peeta cried out in embarrassment as they all chuckled at him.

Dr. Abernathy grinned. “I think we’re all going to have fun.”

++++++

“So, does anyone know?” Katniss asked as she and Peeta stood outside of exam room. “Madge? Finnick?”

Peeta shook his head. “It’s new.” He leaned against the adjacent wall. “My mom noticed the tremble about three months ago, so she took him to his primary doctor. He ran some tests and then recommended that we see Dr. Abernathy.”

Katniss nodded. “Your Dad is in good hands. Dr. Abernathy is the best.”

“I feel like I know nothing about you,” Peeta suddenly said. “How long have you been working here?”

“I’ve been an intern here for about two years and I hope to stay as long as I can,” she told him. “The world needs more neurologists.”

Peeta reached over, straightening her coat for her.

“I’m impressed.” His gaze went to neat braid resting against her shoulder and her breath caught as his fingers grazed the tip. “Dr. Everdeen.”

“I’m impressed by your cakes,” she offered. “I can’t bake for the life of me.”

“I guess that’s why you’re going to have to keep me around,” he quipped. “After all, the cake that I made for Joey’s christening was the whole reason I was late and earned your ire. I had to help my Dad close the bakery and then spent the night making the cake. The bakery is about two hours away from the church and I overslept.”

“You should’ve told me,” Katniss said, suddenly feeling ashamed.

Brian’s condition was serious, and it was obvious that he would have to completely cut back from working at the bakery sooner than anyone thought.

“It’s fine,” he told her easily. “I am glad that you liked the cake.”

Katniss chuckled. “I owe you a rub down, too.”

She did not just say that.

Oh God—was she actually flirting with Peeta?

A grin rose on his lips, making her forget her faux pas.

“I’m going to make you five more cakes just for saying that.”

++++++

The Baptism of Alice Riley Odair

“I’m sorry!” Katniss rushed to the front of the church, removing her coat, and tossing it on a pew before joining the rest of the group. “I got held up at work.”

Finnick went to her, placing the infant in her arms. “Isn’t she the most gorgeous baby?”

Katniss’ eyes went to the baby and she leaned down to sniff the baby’s strawberry-colored hair.

“She is very beautiful…” Her words caught and everyone looked up at her show of emotion. However, Katniss gathered herself and looked around the nearly empty church. Besides Finnick and Annie’s parents, their group—which now included her sister and Cato—was the only one in attendance. “I guess it’s a solo baptism?”

Annie smiled. “Finnick insisted that no other babies take up his princess’ spotlight.”

She nodded before her attention went to the priest to begin the ceremony.

However, Katniss knew he was watching her.

Because this time, Peeta forgot to renounce Satan.

++++++

The Odair Residence

“I brought you some cake.”

Peeta sat next to Katniss on the back steps leading down to the wide backyard of the Odair Home. Inside, the reception continued as servers walked about offering the hundreds of guests champagne and canapes.

No one even noticed the beautiful English-inspired garden outside the double doors—or the two missing godparents.

“They haven’t even started serving the cake,” Katniss replied softly. However, she took a piece from the plate that she was sure was part of the Odair family china.

“I might’ve brought an extra cake,” he told her, leaning back against the steps. “You’ve been crying.” Katniss looked to him in surprise. “Your eyes were shiny when you got to the church and your nose was a little red, like you’ve been sniffling a lot. You can talk to me if you want. I mean, I think our friendship has grown in the last few months.”

It was true.

Since his father’s first appointment, Peeta had become a constant visitor to the clinic, along with Brian. His father’s treatment was a combination of medications and lifestyle changes prescribed by Katniss and Dr. Abernathy. However, every patient usually needed some time to find the best dosage and medication for themselves; it took Brian three months before they found a working regiment.

While his father worked with her and Dr. Abernathy, Peeta had been his father’s constant companion and, after each appointment, they found themselves often talking by the nurses’ station until Brian was ready to leave.

Sometimes, she thought that Brian let them talk a little too long.

Katniss took a deep breath. “Mags died last night.”

“Katniss…I’m so sorry,” Peeta told her sincerely. “I know how much she meant to you and Haymitch.”

Her eyes welled up once more and this time, she didn’t brush the tears away.

“I knew that she was getting worse,” she explained in a thick voice. “But it just happened so suddenly. I was at the nurses’ station charting and she coded…” Her face fell into her hands. “Haymitch and I tried so hard to get her back…but we knew it was over.” She looked up at the man next to her. “I have never seen Haymitch look so defeated.”

She was suddenly engulfed in Peeta’s embrace.

“This all sounds like a good reason to cry. You cared for Mags and so did Haymitch. She will always be a big part of your life and career. She’ll be the patient that you’ll always remember.”

“I knew neurology was going to be hard. It’s all about dealing with the brain. All parts of it…the parts that effect the physical body…the parts that effect emotional parts. But Mags was more than a patient to me. I cared about her and she was my first patient at the institute.”

Katniss groaned into the balmy air in aggravation.

“Why couldn’t I have gotten into something easier? Like obstetrics?” She let out a wet laugh. “I don’t suppose you’ve heard—”

“Prim is pregnant,” he finished for her. “They made the announcement about five minutes ago.”

“I guess this is our magic third,” she told him.

“I hope it’s a boy this time,” Peeta replied. “That way Finnick can freak out over Alice possibly having a future boyfriend.”

Katniss rested against his chest. “That might just cheer me up—a panicked Finnick Odair.” She looked up at him and gave him a smile. “Thanks.”

She was abruptly aware how close they were…how Peeta’s thumb caressed the top of her hand causing a zing of electricity to surge through her body. His nose was nestled in her loose waves and Katniss found herself wishing that he would just—

She liked him.

More than liked him, really.

Katniss could almost imagine herself waking up in the arms that held her; they made her feel safe and loved. She could see a life where they would spend Sundays making bread at the family bakery so that their children could visit Brian and Peeta’s mom Miranda and cheer up their ailing Grandpa. She imagined kisses that made her forget stressful days and conversations that lasted until they fell asleep in each other’s embrace.

It all seemed wonderful.

But it wasn’t real.

Also, Peeta didn’t like her like that.

They were friends and they shared godchildren. If it didn’t work out, they would be splitting up the whole group.

She would lose him.

And her heart couldn’t take that.

Slowly, Katniss pulled away.

“We should go back in.”

She rushed away before he could even respond.

++++++

The Abernathy Institute of Aging

Katniss sat back after examining Brian; he seemed comfortable, his tremors under control. However, he did admit to struggling during workouts. She noted his discomfort but knew that it would be some time before he’d feel stronger.

“I think it’s the combination of medication that’s making you feel so tired,” Katniss told him. “Anyone taking that combination would probably feel the way you do. Give it time and continue working out. However, if you continue to feel this way in a few months, then we should consider looking into other regiments, maybe physical therapy.”

“I agree with Dr. Everdeen. Your symptoms seem to be side effects of your medications,” Dr. Abernathy told the man. “However, I also see a definite improvement with your tremors. Do you have any questions?”

“I do have some questions for you, Dr. Abernathy,” Brian replied.

The doctor nodded before looking to Katniss. “Why don’t you set up Brian’s next appointment up with Peeta?”

“He should be outside,” Brian told her with a smile.

“Nice seeing you, Brian,” she told him before giving him a quick hug. “I’ll be at the nurses’ station as usual.”

Gathering her things, Katniss stepped out into the hallway and found Peeta waiting expectantly for her. He approached as she closed the door, giving her a small smile.

“Hi.”

“Hello,” she said shyly. “I haven’t seen you since—”

“The reception,” he finished, joining her side. “Do you think we could talk…privately?”

“Sure.”

Katniss led him down the hallway towards the opposite end as Peeta followed silently behind her. It had been a little over three months since they had seen one another. She had been busy at the clinic as well helping Prim and Cato move into their new house.

“Brian told me that you’ve taken over a lot of the day to day operations at the bakery,” she said as they walked into an empty conference room.

“Both my brothers were more interested in the business and marketing aspects of the bakery,” he explained. “I enjoy baking and we were able to hire a recent graduate from the Culinary Institute to assist me. Also, my mom is helping out in the front along with Susie, my sister-in-law.”

Closing the door behind her, Katniss went to the counter where a coffee maker and hot water dispenser sat next to a sink.

“Did you want any coffee? Oh wait—you like tea,” she said absently as she filled the dispenser before opening the cabinets. “We have chamomile, black, rooibos—”

“Katniss.” She turned to find Peeta right in front of her and instinctively she pushed back against the counter. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

“Maybe,” Katniss found herself admitting. She leaned back against the counter, crossing her arms. “I’m not good with vulnerability…and feelings, in general. I chose a career where I had to rein that all in.”

“Whether you like it or not, emotions tend to come out,” he replied. “Prime example is Mags. You never reined it in when it came to her, did you?”

“Towards the end I did,” she told him. “I had to introduce myself to her everyday and it broke me every time.”

“Just because you let someone in and it hurt, that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t let anyone else in,” Peeta pointed out.

Katniss met his eyes. “And by anyone, you mean you?”

“I like you!” he burst out, blue eyes frenzied. “Hell, I might even love you, but you can’t run away because you’re scared.” His hands went to her shoulders. “Katniss, you’re smart…and kind…and beautiful beyond words and I know that I don’t have a chance in hell with you—but I have to try.”

Her chest filled at his words. “You might love me?”

Peeta shook his head. “No, that’s a cop out. I do love you. Even when you hated me, I loved you.”

“I never hated you,” she said. “I might have been annoyed with your tendency to be late…and your complete lack of tact sometimes…and in college, the fact that there was always a different girl on your arm—”

“I tried and failed to compensate for the one person I wanted,” he explained. “All of us…you and me…Annie…Finnick…Gale and Madge…even your sister and Cato are so interconnected. I thought that it would go badly if I even approached you with the intent of becoming more.”

Her hand went to his cheek. “And now?”

Peeta let out a shaky breath. “I will gladly take their wrath just to be with you.”

“I wouldn’t let them hurt you,” she told him quietly. “But I am scared. It could all go to shit in a few months…or a year…or even tomorrow.”

Peeta stepped closer, his hands reaching to cup her cheeks.

“If we just have tomorrow, then we should make it a hell of a day, shouldn’t we?”

Katniss took a deep breath, her eyes tracing over his face and landing at the smoothness of his mouth before she nodded in agreement. “Okay.”

He beamed. “Okay?” His hands rested against the curves of her waist. “I’m not used to you being so agreeable.”

“Don’t get used to it,” she murmured as he gazed at her in soft reverence. “Peeta?”

“Yes?”

“If you don’t stop looking at my lips without doing anything about it, I will take you right here on this counter.”

Peeta smirked. “As much as I’d love that, I’ve waited much longer to do this—"

Before Katniss could respond, his mouth swept hers and she felt herself sag into him. Her arms reached around his neck and she anchored herself to the hard planes of his front. His tongue traced against the entrance of her mouth before gently dipping in to caress her own.

A hum escaped her mouth at the taste of him.

Peeta Mellark could be utterly annoying sometimes.

But he was also utterly addicting.

“Ahem.”

They separated quickly, righting themselves before looking to Dr. Abernathy.

“I’ve made Brian’s appointment because I couldn’t seem to find my intern,” he informed the two. His eyes went to Peeta. “However, your father seemed to think that you two needed to talk.”

“I apologize,” she replied breathlessly as she smoothed down her hair. Katniss turned to Peeta, still reeling over what had just happened. “Peeta, I’ll follow up with you about all of this…later.”

“Follow up?” Peeta chuckled before placing a kiss on her cheek. “I’ll call you tonight.” He went to the door and clapped Dr. Abernathy on the shoulder before stepping out.

Katniss looked to her mentor. “It won’t happen again.”

“Brian really didn’t have any questions,” her mentor informed her as they walked out into the hallway. “But I’m sure Effie will. She will never let it go if you and your boyfriend don’t come to dinner next weekend.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” she told him. The man eyed her. “At least, I’m not sure if he is.”

“With a kiss like that, I’m pretty sure he is,” Dr. Abernathy said. “I’m happy for you.”

Katniss felt her face heat. “Thanks.”

“And, I think that Dr. Katniss Everdeen-Mellark would look very impressive on your office nameplate.”

She whipped around at him. “What?”

“When your internship is complete, I’m offering you an official spot here,” he told her with a grin.

For the first time in her professional career, Katniss hugged her boss.

++++++

The Baptism of Lennox James Sloan

“Aren’t you worried?” Madge turned to Prim, who held her son. “The service is starting in five minutes.”

“I know my sister,” Prim insisted. “She’ll be here.”

“Yes, but Katniss has been a little off these past few months,” Annie added. “Kind of distracted.”

The women stood up front while Finnick, Gale, and Cato sat in the first pew along with the Everdeens and Sloans.

“She’s fine—” The slamming shut of the church doors cut her off and the subject of their discussion hurried in along with Lennox’s godfather. “—I told you she’d be right on time!”

“Sorry!” Katniss stopped at the first pew as Peeta helped her out of her coat, revealing a peach dress that brightened her complexion. “Got caught up—”

“We expect this from Peeta,” Finnick joked. “But this is a first offense for you.”

Katniss blushed, stepping up to join the girls. Peeta followed along as Prim handed Lennox to him.

“I overslept,” she explained. “My alarm didn’t go off—here let me fix your tie, Peeta—or I slept through it.” Peeta quickly turned to Prim to give Lennox back and she gave him a quick smile as he gently placed her son in her arms.

Katniss removed the tie, smoothing it out before placing it back around the collar of Peeta’s button down. The group gawked at the fluidity of it as Katniss created a Windsor knot before patting down the collar.

“I’ve hardly gotten any sleep,” she continued distractedly, her hands brushing at Peeta’s suit jacket.

Prim couldn’t help but grin.

Katniss had insisted on keeping her and Peeta’s relationship a secret until after the Lennox’s baptism.

However, in one obviously intimate gesture, Katniss had revealed their secret.

“And, why haven’t you been sleeping?” Cato asked as he joined them along with Gale and Finnick.

He grinned wickedly at his sister-in-law.

Of course, Prim had to tell her husband that the relationship he knew would happen eventually had actually come to fruition. She didn’t know which one of them was happier.

“I’ve been…reading,” she grounded out. “A lot.”

“Then you must be reading until you can’t keep your eyes open,” Cato replied, and Prim elbowed him.

Katniss looked at him in confusion. “Um…yeah?”

Peeta turned to Katniss, his blue eyes shining at her.

“I’m sure Katniss is an avid reader. Probably one of those readers who won’t stop until they’ve finished.”

Cato grimaced. “Gross.”

“What the hell am I missing?” Gale asked.

Madge finally caught on and so did Annie, both discreetly high fiving in celebration.

“Nothing, sweetheart,” his wife assured him. “Let’s go take our seats.”

The priest entered and Prim and Cato went to greet him.

Katniss and Peeta joined them, the latter’s hand not-so-discreetly on the small of Katniss’s back, his thumb caressing the spot as they listened to the man’s instructions.

Gale’s eyes widened in realization and he turned to the group, his grin wide.

“I call godfather!”

FIN.

[thephantomofthe-internet]

Not Your Type 2

Steve Harrington x Reader

Read the first part HERE

Word Count: 5,651

Warnings: Swearing

Authors note: You want it, I found a way to do it! Sorry if I came off mean at first about doing a sequel, comments that are purely asking for sequels to fics are really disheartening because I get all excited about a comment and then it just feels like a demand for more with nothing else. But I found a thing I like so here ya are! Thanks to everyone who read part 1, I hope you like part 2 too!!!

Tag List: @moonstruckhargrove @hotstuffhargrove @carolimedanvers @thechickvic @alex--awesome--22 @lilmissperfectlyimperfect @so-not-hotmess @hipsmcgee @agentsinstorybrooke @sunflowercandie @kaliforniacoastalteens @songforhema @spidey-pal

It took him a full twenty-four hours to call. You suffered through the whole sleepover at Robin’s, filled with ‘I told you so’s’ and holding back her hair when she puked from a bad combination of sour belts and malt whiskey. She nearly puked on the lavender trumpet sleeves you’d lovingly built for Juliet herself and you nearly killed her.  You’d never bolted out of her house faster and back to your own, only a block away, to check your messages.

Unfortunately, there were none to check. You were insanely disappointed. But you held out hope, you had nowhere to be with the demon child’s parents taking him to the zoo for the day. You spent half the day cooped up in the living room on your couch, switching positions every thirty minutes and watching everything your tiny selection of TV channels, watching soap operas and the news and b movies from the fifties and reruns. You ate sparingly, flipped through every magazine on your coffee table, you found a great dress to recreate once you were done the Juliet dress, you did your makeup and then took it off-anything to fill the time.

And then, at five o’clock on the dot, he called.

Every phone call that had come through all day, you waited at least two rings on before answering. Both your parents worked full time, so you were free all day to do nothing. But with your mother home since four, you were risking her answering, so you pounced on the phone. You were glad that the first call the house had gotten was him, it meant that you could finally ignore the phone.

“Hello?”

“Hey, is this Y/N?” Steve asked. He sounded so nervous and awkward; he probably expected to get an older sibling or parent. He was trying so hard to sound polite. It was a little bit adorable. Just a little.

“Hey, Steve, what’s up?” you asked with a chuckle. The corded phone in the living room only reached so far, so you pulled the recliner’s matching stool to you with your foot and sat down again, resting your elbows on your knees and your head in your hands.

“Hey! Nothing much, how was Robin’s place?” Across town, Steve was fully laid down in bed, clutched his own phone to his ear. It had taken him all day to buck up the courage to make the call-he didn’t want to get your mom or some sibling he hadn’t heard about yet by mistake, that would be embarrassing and weird. He’d slowly given up on trying to be popular, but part of him wanted to live up to others expectations of him.

“About as fun as always. I half-watched Carrie for the fourteenth time and held back her hair after she drank too much and threw up. Party of the century...” you replied with an awkward laugh. You felt weird about making fun of Robin to Steve, but he laughed all the same and you didn’t want to seem totally lame and boring. In actuality, the night was boring and uneventful. You threw handfuls of popcorn at Robin’s younger brother Kyle when he tried to bust in all creepy. You hemmed a dress. You ate dinner with Robin’s mom. Nothing insanely eventful. Even the puking was fairly normal; Robin couldn’t hold her whisky despite her love for the stuff.

“No pillow fights and practising kissing?” Steve asked. He felt gross about it, especially knowing Robin, but he did it anyway. Maybe you’d laugh. Or say something snarky and cool.

You giggled, rolling your eyes “No, not really?” you replied, your tone turning up into a question. You couldn’t tell if he was serious. You hoped it wasn’t.

“No? Oh well...you’ll have to have one with me next time. Way more fun.” Steve propped his head up on his race car themed pillow.

“I generally like to have a guy take me out on a date before I start planning sleepovers with them...” you twisted the coiled cord around your finger, looking down the hall to ensure that your mother wasn’t listening from the kitchen, or worse on the other line getting the full conversation. Luckily, she had her ABBA cassette on blast as she cooked in the kitchen, mouthing the words to dancing queen into her slotted spoon.

“Well, then I’ll have to take you out then, what’re you doing tonight?” Steve asked, checking the time. It was only five fifteen, he had all night to see you.

“Nothing much, where’re you taking me?” you asked. You’d need at least an hour, to wash your hair and change your clothes. And that was just to look less sweaty and awful, to be at the level you’d like to be for a date you’d need at least another hour.

“How about I pick you up at eight and I take you to this diner I know and we get some food. And then we can drive around for a bit, nothing crazy.”  Steve offered out, trying to not sound meek and weird. He was not exactly proud of the half-assed plan, but it would work for now.

“I think I can make that work...I’ll see you at eight at 1245 Orchid Lane, alright?” you said, grinning giddily.  Steve bid his goodbyes and you hung up, rushing upstairs to take a shower. You scrubbed your hair rigorously, filling your private bathroom with the scent of artificial roses. You wanted the scent to linger in your hair as long as possible, even though you were going to put perfume over top. You knew that perfume never lasted as long as a man’s cologne, so you wanted to make sure you still smelt good. You scrubbed your body in strawberry body wash and scrubbed your face in apricot face scrub. You turned off the water fast and jumped out of the shower, pulling on a massive ‘Hawkins High’ tee shirt.

“Y/N! Robin’s here!” your mother called from downstairs, clearly annoyed by your not telling her that someone was coming over for dinner.

“Send her up!” you replied, pulling your baby pink hairdryer from the lowest drawer of your vanity and plugging it in, blasting your hair with hot air and using a rounded brush to build some waves in your hair.

“Harrington called.” Robin mused with a smirk as she walked into your room, plopping herself on your twin bed.

“He called. He’s taking me out. You got one right, bask in the glow or whatever.” You huffed, talking over the roar of the hairdryer.

“And we’re doing our hair...interesting...” Robin replied, examining her short nails and their chipped black paint.

You turned to her with a scoff   “I do my hair for every date. Unless I have no time, I always try to bring a bit of glamour to the equation.” Robin chuckled at that, reaching for the Seventeen magazine on your nightstand. “Well, if they’re going to take me out, they should get a bit of a show, shouldn’t they?”

“Whatever you say...” Robin said “But I’m sure Steve isn’t putting in this much effort.”

Robin was wrong. The second he got off the phone, he rushed to start his own process. He had just washed his hair the day before, but the Steve Harrington hair process took a bit of effort and time. And his hair needed to be damp. So he rushed to get it wet under the bathroom sink, running water into his palms and then his fingers through his hair. He repeated the motion over and over again, until he deemed his hair wet enough. Then went in the Farrah Fawcett spray and the fluffing and preening until it was the right height and shape.  He thought about calling Robin for help.  He felt completely out of his depths with you: you were still an enigma to him, confusing and strange and hard to discern. One moment you were bitchy and snarky and the next you were funny and supportive. He couldn’t gauge where he sat with you. Sure, you’d agreed to this date with him, you even seemed excited, but that didn’t mean that he was in the clear with you. You could turn on him again. He wanted to be sure that this would go okay. But Robin might not know, or worse she’d tell you and you’d laugh at him.  He couldn’t handle that.

He put his focus on choosing something to wear, something that wouldn’t look like it too much effort and yet came off attractive.

Back in your bedroom, you were freaking out. And Robin wasn’t helping. She had taken to pulling clothes from your closet to laugh at. It was like she wanted to stress you out. You tried to keep your focus on the tiny foam tipped applicator brush between your fingers, smudging very light peach eye shadow over your lids. You’d already filled in your eyebrows and put on the faintest amount of blush, to look flushed but not caked with makeup.  

Robin sauntered behind you, holding up a teddy bear themed knit sweater with a cheeky grin. “I think this would be perfect for your date with Harrington.” She giggled, bouncing the material up and down behind your head.

You scoffed, rolling your eyes as you tried to apply some mascara to your lashes.  “Yeah, that’s a no.” You muttered, jabbing the wand back into its pot and pulling it out to force more product onto the brush, swiping it thoroughly through your lashes till they looked defined enough for your liking.  You reached into the cup you’d filled with various lip glosses and lipsticks, digging through to find the cherry flavour you wanted. It was just pink enough to look defined on your face, but it wouldn’t stain the skin if you made out with him. Not that you were planning to make out with him. Just a precaution.

But it wasn’t in the cup. You whipped around to glare at Robin, who’d returned to your closet, examining a costume from the regional theatre’s production of Sweet Charity, which you’d snagged before the theatre snatched up all your hard work to keep in their vaults. “Did you borrow my cherry lip gloss?” you snapped.

Robin turned to you briefly, deadpan “Why on earth would I touch your lip gloss?” she asked, her voice completely monotone. You knew she didn’t touch the stuff. You were just stressed out.

“Damn...it was my favourite one...” you sighed, turning back to the mirror, choosing two lesser glosses and deciding between vanilla and strawberry flavour.  “Hey, while you’re in there, can you dig out my acid wash skirt? The one I hemmed too short, not the knee length one my mom bought.” Robin did a mocking salute before pushing through the hangers roughly. You felt like making a crack about her going back into the closet, but decided it wasn’t couth.

“Y/N! Come down if you’re eating! And bring Robin, she’s too skinny!” your mother called from the stairwell. You got up with a sigh, grabbing Robin’s wrist as she threw the skirt on your messy bed. You picked at your dinner nervously, unsure if eating would be beneficial to you or if it would just make you look bloated. Across town, Steve ate cold pizza while standing in the fridge.  Neither one of you were exactly focused on eating, simply on killing time before they had to meet one another.

Once you were able to excuse yourself, Robin left you to panic on your own and you went back to getting ready. Time flew by much faster with Robin not looming behind you, you were able to relax again as you dressed and painted your nails. Your tight denim skirt and white imitation silk blouse weren’t exactly comfortable, but you looked good and when you saw Steve’s car pull up to your house, you made your break downstairs. You shoved your feet into your white tennis shoes and threw your purse over your shoulder.  

“Be back later! Don’t wait up!” you called, yanking open the door. You waved shyly at Steve, who you found waiting outside his car, leaning on the passenger side door.  He looked effortlessly cool and confident; he wasn’t even looking at you. You made your way quickly over to the car, muttering a quick hello which he didn’t return. He did come to your side of the car and opened the door for you. That was the first time he looked at you in your whole interaction and he looked...nervous. It only showed in his eyes, but they completely gave him away.

He rushed to his own side again and climbed in, starting the car fast. You sped off a bit too fast out of your street and off into the night. Steve had the radio on low and The Smiths were playing, softly filling the car. You watched him drive, how he slowly began to find himself with his hands on the steering wheel and his eyes on the road.  You watched the grin slide onto his lips and the way it lit up his face, how it warmed his eyes and brought a bit of colour to his paled complexion.

“So, where are you taking me here?” you asked, turning to look at him fully. You crossed your right leg over your left, tapping your foot slightly to the melancholic wailing coming from the stereo.

“I know this absolutely awful diner, just the worst. And I figured, since it’s always empty, we’d go there, since its quiet. And hopefully, if all goes to plan, you won’t let me eat there ever again.” He chuckled and you bit back a grin, nodding slowly. With anyone else, having a boy tell you that they were bringing you to a secluded, empty, crappy diner would make you nervous and annoyed, but Steve was so trustworthy.  He wouldn’t pull any tricks on you. So you let him drive you to the outskirts of town to a faded, desolate diner off the turnpike, its spinning sign spelling out ‘Benny’s Burgers’.

“Isn’t this the place where the owner killed himself? In like the dining room?” you asked, furrowing your brow.

“No clue.” Steve replied with a shrug. He put the car in park and climbed out easily. You took a breath and followed behind quickly, not wanting to be left behind in the empty, dark, and far too quiet parking lot. Steve held open the door for you and ushered you in quickly to the desolate diner. The bright, white florescent lights hit you like a wall and you went momentarily blind, squinting under their harsh glow. You hadn’t realized how dark it was outside until they smacked you in the face.

Steve found you a booth and you slid in, still not used to the lights. He looked over you, concerned. “You alright over there?” he asked, leaning his elbows on the table as the ancient waitress brought you menus and cups of coffee.

“Just regaining sight, why is it so bright in here?” you asked, rubbing your eyes rigorously.

“No idea, it’s always like this at night.” Steve shrugged easily, flipping open the menu.

“You spend a lot of time here?” you followed his lead, looking over the standard diner fare at the offer.

“Yeah kind of...” Steve muttered, looking up to meet your eye. You nodded, easing him into the rest of the story obviously on the tip of his tongue. “My dad is a big investor in a chain of hardware stores. He’s always off out of town and my mom goes with him most of the time, so I’m on my own a lot. Big empty house, gets quiet. Sometimes I come here.”

You nodded “I get it, kind of...my dad’s never home either. He’s a truck driver, so he’s always gone, driving something somewhere. My mom has a job here now, but before my sister was born, she used to be one too, that’s how they met.” You explained.

“You have a sister?” Steve asked, surprised by the news. He’d hardly heard of you, much less another one in the family.

“Yeah, she’s like seven years older than me. Lives in Kentucky now with her fiancé and their kid. You probably wouldn’t know her, she didn’t live her very long before she graduated and moved out.” You replied. Steve looked confused, so you added “I didn’t move here till like fourth grade, super late into the year.”

Suddenly, Steve’s face lit up into a look of pure realization “I totally remember you now!” he slapped the table. You raised an eyebrow, cocking your head to the side. Steve pulled his hand off the table, pushing himself into the back of the seat shamefully “From school, I mean...” he added.

“Oh yeah?” you chuckled awkwardly. There were two options here: one was embarrassing, the other flashy and cool. You were really hoping he remembered the cool thing, not the awkward one.

“Yeah! You were in my gym class that year, you totally yakked on the gym floor on like the first day!” he cried with a laugh. You felt your whole face turn beet red and you turned away, utterly embarrassed. You hated that memory; it made you feel so small. You were so nervous that day and the cafeteria had accidently served milk out of date, it was a recipe for disaster.

“Everyone called me puke face for like a year...” you muttered. That shut him up quick. Steve’s laughter died in his throat and he coughed to clear it, rubbing the back of his neck, heat rises up his skin.

“That sucks, man...” he said awkwardly, floundering for something to say to fix the moment. He found what he was looking for quickly. “If it makes you feel better, like a year later I ripped my pants in front of like the whole school at one of the big assemblies, Tommy never let me live it down.”

You smiled sadly “Yeah I remember, I laughed my ass off about your Spider Man undies.” This made Steve blush, which was cute. But a bit of bitter bile came up in the back of your throat and you let the words it carried with it out thoughtlessly. “But mostly I remembered the way your butt was the gossip of the school for the rest of the year. I was puke girl after what I did, but you were just hotter.”

Steve frowned “I mean, that’s not completely true: all the guys gave me the same amount people gave you. And the puke thing wore off after Ricky Scott got stuck on that chain in the woods and had to be rescued by the fire department.” He argued, crossing your arms over your chest.

“The difference is that you had people on your side. You had Carol and Macy and Tina all telling the boys to stop. The right people. Anyone who stood up for me was shamed too, it was too much of a risk. And Ricky was left in that tree by Tommy H and Chris Samuels. Nothing would’ve happened to him if they had stayed to help him.” You fired back quickly.

Steve opened his mouth to speak, but shut it again. What could he argue? That it wasn’t a competition? He was battling against the hurtful memory of yours he’d brought up. He wouldn’t pretend that he didn’t call you that behind your back, that he didn’t laugh when people made fun of you to your face. He was a bad guy, he knew that. He was trying to be better now. And that meant, in that moment, to shut up.

You sighed, releasing the anger. You shouldn’t have brought up any of it anyway. You had let most of it go, that little bit was the last of it that remained. “But nobody really remembers puke girl now, except for you, I guess. I lived it down.” You said offhandedly. Steve nodded, his mind elsewhere, trying to figure out how to fix this.

“But you know who’ll never like her nickname down?” you asked. Steve didn’t respond, but you said it anyway. “Carol.”

“Carol didn’t have a nickname.” Steve muttered, clearly annoyed by the mention of her name. He really didn’t like Carol, not after what she said about Nancy way back when they were just starting out.

“Oh yes she did. Everyone called her period head in sixth grade. She got her period in Mr. Fitz’s history class and after that everyone called her period head, cause her hair matched her jeans.” You giggled at the memory. Karma was sweet: Carol was the worst about your cruel nickname, having her deal with the same embarrassment for a year was sweet revenge.

“Nobody called her that after seventh grade, when Tommy beat up Anthony Parks.” Steve countered, leaning on the table. You’d piqued his interest just a bit. Or maybe it was your smile. You looked so happy in the moment, it was hard to ignore.

“You and your friends might not have, but mine did. After she pushed Amanda Peats down the stairs in freshman year, we all started calling her that in silent protest. Amanda’s boyfriend, Arnold took care of actually going after Carol for it, and getting his ass handed to him by Tommy for it. Whenever we talk about Carol, she’s still period head.”  You said a bit too proudly.

Steve nodded, taking a sip of his coffee. Your waitress had returned and you couldn’t even remember what you had ordered as you handed back your menus, your focus solely on Steve and his pensive, thoughtful look. You didn’t think you’d ever seen him look pensive in your life.

“So, wait, what did your friends call me?” he asked, setting the mug down.

You scrunched up your face thoughtfully “Oh different people called you different things...Harrington, the hair, I know the whole soprano section of the Hawkins High choir called you heart stopper Harrington. My friends alternated between Harrington and that douche.” You replied.

Steve nodded “Sounds about right, I knew about the heart stopper thing. Don’t know where it came from.”

“You went to see the choir in junior year.” Steve shook his head, looking at you like you were crazy. “No you did, I remember I was there too, I went to see Robin perform with the band and you were there in the third row. You had detention or something, forced to see the show. You smiled at Tammy Thompson and she about near fainted. That’s where the nickname came from.”  

Realization washed over his face “I had to go cause Ms. Seymour gave me detention for skipping drama like four times in a row.” He added quietly before turning to you, wide eyed “How do you remember all this stuff?”

You found yourself blushing again, looking down at your lap “I don’t really know...I guess my life has just happened in parallel to your for awhile and I never noticed that it was weird till now.” You said shyly.

Steve smiled cheekily “I like it.”

You rolled you eyes, trying not to smile back “Well that’s cause you’re an egomaniac.”  Steve laughed at that and you watched him for a second. A piece of his puffed up coif had fallen into his eyes and his eyes crinkled up at the edges when he laughed. You wished freak Byers was wandering around with his camera, taking his creeper shots. You wouldn’t have a copy of this moment.

When he finally recovered and your food arrived, Steve looked you over, watching you for signs of discontent. He’d already fucked up once and you finally seemed to be happy again, he didn’t want to ruin it. But he had one moment he wanted to recount with you.

“I remember you for one more thing, you know...” he said softly, building a large pile with his corned beef hash, using the sides of his fork to mix everything together.

“Oh yeah? What’s that?” you asked, leaning your head on your palm, watching him lazily.

“You were in my drama class in junior year. It was the sophomore class, cause I didn’t have the credits for the junior one and I needed a class that I couldn’t fail.” He said confidently.

You nodded slowly “That all?” It wasn’t exactly a deep memory, it hardly had anything to do with you, just a glimpse of your life happening far in the background of his.

Steve swallowed. This was the part that could hurt him, he didn’t know how you’d take it. “No, I remember one more thing. We had to do monologues for our final. I don’t remember most of them, because they were shit. But I remember yours. You did this one from some Shakespeare play and I just remember how...beautiful you liked. Seymour insisted on having everyone stand under the spotlight on the stage in the cafeteria. And you were up there, and your hair looked so pretty under the lights, and you seemed so...confident. You were the only one who seemed confident about anything. You did the best job.” He explained.

You demurred. This was not the amazing moment you wanted to remember. That moment was really insignificant in your life. You preferred backstage work, you move onto crew quickly. Nobody else thought that scene was good, everyone liked Kristy McNeel’s scene better, she did the monologue about Santa killing her mom so naturally it was popular.

But you didn’t say any of that, though.

“You remember that?” you asked softly, almost in a whisper. You suddenly felt very seen and very shy.  

“Yeah, it was cool! You did like Romeo and Juliet or something. I didn’t really get what you were saying, but you sounded so dreamy and sweet. And then I actually met you and-”

“And I was a massive bitch, sorry about that...” it was your turn to be embarrassed and awkward. You reached up to run your fingers through the side of your hair, destroying the styling you’d done in one awkward movement.

“It’s cool, I was a douche like all of the time you knew me, it evens out.” Steve shrugged “So wait, what do you think? Did my reviews live up?” he gestured wide towards the empty seating around you.

You chuckled “Well...yeah kind of.” Steve chuckled, shaking his head. “But I can see why you’d want to come here sometimes. It’s peaceful in a way.” The diner wasn’t insanely loud, but it wasn’t dead silent. You could hear the hum of the radio in the kitchen, the distant chattering of your waitress and the cook in the back, the jukebox in the corner looked absolutely desperate to be played. When combined, it wasn’t bad company. Add in the sound of your forks scraping plates and the cups hitting the table and a good book and this place could feel like home.

“Plus it’s open really late.” Steve added thoughtlessly. You raised an eyebrow at him curiously. Steve swallowed hard, his throat turning dry. “I have a bit of insomnia.” It wasn’t a complete lie, he just didn’t give any reasoning behind it. He could rationalize holding back information, it made things easier.

You pursed your lips, nodding your head back and forth “I guess that’s good then, good to have somewhere to go.” You decided.  “But you know what this means, right? Now I know your hiding place. Robin has been trying to figure out where you go besides your house, work, the arcade with Henderson, and the occasional party. Now I know, I could sell you out to her in a second.”

“Don’t you dare! That girl has been trying to get me to go to a Chicago concert with her for the past week and a half! Do you know how much Chicago sucks? If she knew where I hid from her I’d never hear the end of it.” Steve pleaded jokingly.

“Oh she’s on you about that too? I won’t go see it with her either! I saw them once, with my mom when I was ten, and it sucked ass. I won’t do it again.  I can’t believe she’s bugging you about it now!” you moaned, shaking her head as the image of Robin heckling Steve over the counter at Family Video to come to the dumb concert filled your mind and made you cringe. Poor guy, Robin was persistent about those sorts of things too, he probably never heard the end of it.

“It’s not so bad; if it was like three towns over I’d go see it with her, but it’s right in Carmel, people will see me there.” Steve said.

“Oh, and I thought you were over caring about your rep in this town?” you asked cheekily, swatting his arm.

“A man’s gotta put his foot down somewhere. I choose to not be seen at Chicago concerts with girls who I’m not dating.” Steve answered truthfully. Your waitress brought over your check and cleared your half-eaten food away before either of you could pretend to want to take it home. Steve dropped two twenties on the check before you could even attempt to pull your wallet from your purse.

“So, and correct me if I’m wrong, but you’re saying that you’d be seen at a Chicago concert if the girl was putting out.” You asked with a giggle. The logic was so stupid, you had to laugh.

“Pretty much, you ready to blow this place?” he offered you his hand and you took it happily, letting him pull you up and walk you out of the diner. It was nice; his hands were warm and enveloped yours easily. You found yourself gravitating towards the heat his body gave off. And he smelt good, like good cologne and hairspray and something else, maybe laundry detergent? Whatever it was, it made the smell utterly intoxicating. You wanted to be wrapped up in that smell and that warmth.

Steve drove you home in comfortable silence, your hand held in his and your gazes switching from each other to the road ahead and back again. You felt giddy and drunk. You really liked him. That was weird to think, that you liked Steve. You remembered making fun of him with your friends in school, joking about how dumb his hair is and how stupid he was. But now...now, you saw something different in him. How self-aware he was, how focused he was. He was just a big old dork with money and a cool car and more than an ounce of charm.

You liked that he was a dork. It made him more approachable.

Steve already liked you. He knew that he liked you the second he saw you smile in Burger in a Basket the day before. He didn’t want you to stop smiling. You were too pretty to not smile. And you were smart and funny and you paid attention to people, to him. He wasn’t used to that. Nancy didn’t pay attention to him, especially after Christmas. He always paid attention to the girls he dated, especially Nancy, but you? You matched his attention at every move.  It was flattering. But it was also nice to feel as though his effort was matched by yours. It made him feel wanted.

“You know...in that drama class, I had a massive crush on you...” you whispered softly, running your thumb over his knuckles. There were scarred and jagged from some events you weren’t a part of. You wanted to know the stories behind the scars, the fights he’d won or probably lost. Everyone already knew that he lost a fight to Billy Hargrove, expected, and Jonathan Byers, very unexpected and kind of embarrassing.

“Yeah?” Steve muttered back, his expression softening.

“Yeah...I mean you were so cool and charming...it was hard not to like you. But I did fall out of it quick enough. You’re a terrible actor.” You chuckled, brushing a strand of hair out of your hair, grinning up at him.  Steve scoffed dramatically, rolling his eyes with a wide smirk.

“No, I’m serious you’re awful! You did that scene from A Streetcar Named Desire, which I’m sure Seymour chose for you since you were never there, and you were awful! You didn’t even know what you were saying!” You cried. Steve shook his head, laughing along with you. He pulled up to your house, parking outside.

The pair of you stared at one another for a moment, the laughter dying out in both your throats and your eyes locking onto one another. You weren’t sure what to do, but you couldn’t look away. You watched as Steve’s eyes flicked to your lips and yours did the same. You couldn’t tell who kissed who first, but you knew that Steve was a really good kisser. Top five at least, maybe even top three. He was firm and slightly aggressive. He kissed you like it was his last moment on earth and he needed to savour it. He set your whole body on fire in a single moment.

Steve broke away first, but you pulled him back fast, pulling him to your chest and letting his hands run up your back and to your hips. The gear shift was in your way, but it was clear that Steve wanted you even closer. You wanted him closer too.  

When you broke away again, your chest heaving in breaths, you nodded to Steve with a small smirk “Wanna go to your place?” you asked slowly, drinking him in.

Steve’s eyes darkened and he swallowed hard, nodding hard. He shifted the car into drive and slammed the gas, sending you flying back in your seat and laughing loudly.

This was going to be a fun night.

[ciceroisthefamilycat]

The conclusion to the VA/BL reread with Silver Shadows and Ruby Circle (here’s the post on FH, here’s the post on the VA closers SB and LS)

I think I forgot to emphasize this in the last post: it is bullshit that Adrian still had the Alchemist-paid-for apartment after the events of “TFH” and only becomes more unbelievable that Trey has it still in “SS”... I do not get it

Like with SB and LS, I would make a lot of plot changes in the adaptation.

Silver Shadows

Fun fact: her golden lily on this book cover actually flashes a little gold in the right lighting, and I love that

This one, especially the majority of Sydney’s stuff in the first half or so of the book, was much better than I remembered.

Adrian’s stuff had me far less forgiving. I realize he’s struggling with a fictionalized elevated form of bipolar disorder and he developed addictions in trying to self-medicate over most of his adolescence/early adulthood so far, but as far as his actions go... the part where he blackouts for something like three weeks while in Sydney’s chapters she’s so certain he’s going to rescue her... it really frustrates me. Especially because Richelle writes him as self-flagellating over it, but Sydney immediately reassures him “oh, no, I just got the gas turned off, you couldn’t have really done anything...” as if those three or so days weren’t a big deal with the way the time crunch worked out later... it’s one of those heavy-handed things where I don’t feel like Richelle ever actually makes Adrian own up to his errors in the same way the rest of the main characters have to. Including: Wesley Drozdov and his motley crew show up again, and Adrian plays big hero and outs their dabbling attempt on Sydney, and then with Keith later on thinks to himself “at least I’d taken no for an answer from girls” as if he hadn’t insistently pursued both Rose and Sydney (including the scene at Alicia’s Victorian inn in IS) and been revealed to have dabbled at least once. Like, good that he’s trying to make up for past behavior, but again and again it comes off to me as glib or insincere (in the way it’s written- that he’s some model that is exempt from causing harm). This especially pisses me off in the way he treats his mom for sticking in a loveless marriage to his dad (did Adrian forget about his mom’s affair with Ambrose btw?) for financial security, and even with the hypocrisy being pointed out to him and him begrudgingly admitting it in his mind, or he drags Nina to Sonya’s to try and get her compensated for her work and she’s all googly eyes at him, but his acts of chivalry feel empty. And this extends to Marcus, too, to a lesser extent. Look, I love Carly (all the Sage sisters mean the world to me) and I’m glad that she became an advocate for fellow survivors and I get what Richelle was trying to do in empowering survivors with Carly’s character, but Marcus’ star-struck admiration of her (being made speechless by her strength) felt weird and make me uncomfortable.

On to Sydney’s stuff, holy hell her side of the story is dark. And this conversion therapy nonsense in it is part of why I desperately want canon queer leads in the adaptation (preferably Sydney herself, which would yes mean Adrian and probably Rose... that’s my prerogative). Is that potentially triggering? YES. But Richelle took that step when she laid it on so thick with the allegory. In the meantime, I love the supporting characters that Richelle drew up to be in the center with Sydney. Emma, Duncan, and the rest (the fellow detainees- not Sheridan... she can burn) and I want more of them (seriously, Richelle made some great underexplored groups with the Unpromised, the Keepers, the Merry Men, and then these additional Rebelchemists). There is a weird mention of Sydney having arranged some supply closets on one of the floors, despite whatever scene she did that in seemingly having been cut (there was also a line Rose ascribed to Victor at the end of Last Sacrifice about sending Jill away, so it’s not unheard of). When I first read the book (with a long break before), the degree to which Sydney was using magic in there felt illogical, but rereading directly from the other books, it is more justifiable. I think the Detainment, and Sydney’s struggles there, is some of the best writing Richelle managed in the books, and I don’t have any changes to that part.

But the escape... is actively worse than I remember it. There are glimmers of some great stuff in there- I mentioned in the last post how much I love when Sydney wakes up Hopper and sobs over him, and that still is powerful. But omfg Sydney (and Adrian) hold up the stupid stick so many times in these chapters. To be clear, first-off: Adrian should have gotten blood before they ever went into the desert. In the worst case, he and Eddie (the night before the infiltration) should have gone off to the side and done a feeding (doesn’t have to be Eddie, since I imagine he actually has a bad reaction to them since FB, but it does have to be someone willing). Eddie would have enough time to recover, especially with adequate food. Setting that aside, the actual events of the escape work for me. So I guess it’s more the after. Sydney and Adrian should have driven straight to Las Vegas (if they wanted to stop in the other town and change clothes and switch cars that’s fine with me- I even like the senior citizen tour they were on; p.s. we never learn if the Ivashkinator was shipped back to Palm Springs or anything, which is very surprising to me). Their decision to stay in a hotel overnight, even as much as Sydney did deserve that kind of relaxation, was stupid beyond belief. I would have preferred they got to Vegas, were spotted by Alchemists but made it to the Witching Hour without issue, and then Adrian got them a room, and that was the point where Sydney relaxed and slept. Consolidate some of that. Let Sydney have her luxury bath, and a haircut from Adrian, and other stuff there. Let her mention to him that the first photo she saw of him was taken near there, and hey, did he know Rose had bought a car in Russia that Sydney loved. And when Adrian goes down to make some money to further their escape, that’s when he realizes they’re being watched- there are too many yellow and orange auras. Let them have a less exorbitant wedding than in the book- no ridiculous mermaid dress that Sydney can’t expect to move in and that is ridiculously expensive (she can still have a beautiful stunning white dress). Let her start with the blue sneakers. Let Adrian find a place to get the ring made, if that’s necessary (or just use the dang cufflinks as are for the time being and pin them to the fancy attire). And Jill sends the chopper directly to the Firenze for an “Italian” wedding. They can still have the showdown with Sheridan on the roof- just simplify everything.

And then when they get to Court- let Sydney do more of the talking. Let her (righteously) call out the conditions in the reconditioning- the torture because she showed empathy to Renee who couldn’t even eat on her own, the torture they inflicted on Emma to break her- she didn’t betray her own kind, the Alchemists are repeatedly betraying their own kind, pushing them into the darkness of an empty hole. Oh, and this necklace around her neck, that Sheridan took for her own before Sydney reclaimed it, the morning glories were painted by the man she loves. And she rejects the Alcehmists having any authority on her. She’s a witch of the Stelle coven; she’s Sydney Sage Ivaskhov damnit. And when her dad tells her that if she doesn’t come with them, these will be the last words she ever gets to say to him? She gets to ask him if he knew what happened to Carly, if he let it happen under his own roof because he wanted a son like Keith more than the daughters he was blessed with. I want Sydney arguing her case, having her real communion. I said the same for Rose and Spirit Bound, and Sydney deserves the same here.

p.s. there are a lot of structural parallels between this book and BP/early SB- Sydney’s reeducation being like Rose’s time in Novosibirsk, the Tasarov escape from SB (which Eddie directly mentions) immediately followed up with a Vegas trip

Ruby Circle

Dang it. Look, I no longer hate the idea of Sydney and Adrian raising a kid. Their ending in RC was a lot better built-up (and a lot less bitter for Sydney) than I thought the first time. But the road to get there...

I hate the Jill being kidnapped by Alicia part (and I don’t buy the Warriors working with her). Honestly, just let them deal with Alicia during the events of Fiery Heart (when next to nothing else is going on). Like, Adrian and Sydney come off really badly in my head for “causing” her kidnapping because of a personal vendetta against them, when they came there to protect her in the first place (I realize the actual fault was with Alicia, but the feeling stands). Also the pointless scavenger hunt leading them from Pennsylvania (so conveniently, even though Alicia would have had to go there to set her traps after abducting Jill in the first place?) a month after the fact to whatever castle (then to Michigan) then to Palm Springs and the infiltrating the Warriors mission... it’s all too much (also I refuse to believe Sydney cast those stinging demons... that’s so dangerous I can’t even). Given the introduction of the Stelle in FH, and the unnecessary Malachi stuff, it works better to do that all then anyways. (I still want Jackie involved somehow of course) Instead of sidelining Angeline at Amberwood, she should get to be involved in the hunt for Jill (same as Eddie was for Sydney).

In other parts... Wesley Drozdov was never a good character. I really didn’t need even a mention of him in this book. I also... don’t buy how stigmatized Adrian was for marrying Sydney. I can see it being a scandal, or a laughingstock, the source of snarky asides and derision, but Richelle never built it in VA or the earlier BL books to being as heinous as she then tried to make it (so that Adrian could feel suffocated by Court, just like Sydney). I would have been much more interested in trying to see Sydney blend in, and take a stand in the Moroi world (and seeing her try to ally with nonroyal Moroi, but that also still not going super smoothly because they don’t like being on the same level as a human), and maybe her trying out her magic with the Moroi fighters that Mia and Christian had formed (that beautiful, blessed little moment), and then if it integrating there didn’t work admitting that it just... wasn’t going to. Rather than not even trying.

I understand that Richelle was building up with Adrian’s fears of completely losing it with Nina, but she just got screwed over in both of these books. (We’re acknowledging that it was wrong of her to kiss him in SS when he wasn’t even conscious, and moving on). And then Olive got screwed. And Neil got screwed. I said before that I don’t mind Sydney and Adrian raising a kid. But I mind a whole heck of a lot that Richelle killed (essentially) Nina and Olive both (in bullshit, tragic ways) and then wrote Neil off so that Sydney and Adrian would have to raise a baby. Let Sydney be pregnant. Let her be recovering from the most traumatic event of her life, she and Adrian forewent protection on their hectic honeymoon/escape, she’s going to be a mom to a Dhamphir and wow that’s going to be weird for her... and meanwhile this allows her to get through to Olive. To promise Olive and Neil that Sonya and everyone else will not use their baby as a test tube. Nina can still go up to the brink (maybe she passes it and the spirit trio of Lissa, Sonya, and Adrian have to heal her), there can still be a Strigoi attack at the Refuge in northern Michigan, but ffs cut the crap treatment of those three to pass on a readymade kid to Sydrian. It is a trope that I loathe. I also dislike the “ohmigod” fangirl characterization of Mallory, and while the Rand stuff was better than I remembered (that is to say, he is terrible and everyone acknowledges that and no one makes light of it the way I misremembered), I could do without it (especially since I’d prefer that if they keep Dimitri and Adrian cousins, they addres it much earlier).

Honestly, I would do the following:

the start of the season for RC (which doesn’t match its name??) has Sydney and Adrian locked down at Court and they can’t help like they want to, so they try to adapt and do what they can there, including Adrian trying to get Nina to calm down; their friends from Palm Springs and Marcus team up altogether and get an infiltration squad with the Warriors of Light; Eddie gets to participate; they rescue Jill, and get some of the data on the Alchemist/ Warrior collaboration

the Moroi Court finally gets into action on the age and family laws in earnest; meanwhile, Sydney is helping carve out a niche for the rebel Alchemists to work with the Moroi, especially for Strigoi hunting groups like what Mia and Christian wanted to organize; Jill and Sydney are helping each other emotionally recover from their respective hostage ordeals; Sydney realizes she’s pregnant, which helps Adrian realize in a dream with Olive that she’s pregnant, and finally sees her location marker

it’s “rescuing” Olive time; Neil gets to go too- with his presence, things don’t all go to shit; there is a Strigoi attack in retaliation for the new hunting groups, but heroes persevere and protect the commune; the data on the Alchemist/Warrior collaboration, and the Rebelchemists work with the Moroi, gives the perfect leverage now to get the Rebelchemists their freedom and establish Sydrian’s future together

SO, after rereading Bloodlines

I dislike Sydrian less than I did, though I still think Adrian could be vastly improved if adapted as a woman

the second half gave Eddie more to do, but still not enough emotional focus on him

man Amberwood and its supporting characters disappeared; I get that Adrian isn’t likely to settle in California long term, but can I please get more resolution to those characters, whether it comes from more focus in IS, or a graduation ceremony or something?

Abe also disappeared which is strange

man, Sydrian have a lot of daddy issues. because their dads are both abusive jerks. but why oh why did Jared end up collaborating with the Warriors for tattoos? was it because of anger over ‘losing’ Sydney or just greed? I’m glad that Zoe and Sydney at least started to heal things, and that Zoe is ok where she is

we still never got answers on who restored Lee... Clarence only showed up for deus ex machina money and shelter and I guess blood (did Marcus ever get to speak to him again?)

minor grievance: Richelle described the Warrior recruits as being almost evenly distributed between men and women, with a slide toward men, before two pages later saying there were 30 potential guys and 13 potential ladies, and remembering that, oh, yeah, the Warriors didn’t really use women on the front line; I don’t want any of that subplot adapted I just... editing?

#DoBetterByOliveAndNinaAndNeil2030 (who gets to name their kid Declan?), #LetSydneyUseHerBeautifulBrain

[adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy]

this is dom harry bro no questions he'd just sit there eating u out for hours but wouldnt let u come

“Please.”

“No.”

“Harry, please.”

“Mm-mm.”

It’s been hours. Literal hours.

Her best guess is two, but it feels more like twenty. She’s hypersensitive, and it’s not helping that he’s refusing to let her cum.

Y/N can only hold out for so long before her body takes on a mind of its own and breaks down without his or her permission, so she tries to focus her thoughts on something—anything— else. Anything but him.

Her mind wanders to how she’d ended up in this position in the first place.

How she had thought he’d come in from the airport and they’d go out for some dinner and maybe save all of the raunchiness for the later half of the evening.

But of course he couldn’t wait. He’d been waiting for three days, and now he was refusing to leave his post between her drenched thighs to make up for it.

Harry had gone to Cancun for a couple of days to shoot something top secret, leaving Y/N behind in Philly, where he was planning to come back to put some more business details in order for his next album.

When he had walked through the door of the hotel room, she almost didn’t recognize him.

He’d gotten very tan during those days in Mexico and she could tell it was natural. His nose was already starting to peel and the edges of his hairline were sun-bleached, along with a wave of honey and auburn highlights running through his usual chestnut brown curls. He was sporting crisp white shorts, a simple black button-up with the first two buttons undone, a black windbreaker, and her own pair of scuffed up white Vans that she had let him borrow.

He tended to take something of Y/N’s with him whenever he went away, even if just for a little bit. An old oversized Jurassic Park t-shirt that smelled like her, a wooden bead bracelet she got when they visited Animal Kingdom, the silver charms from one of her favorite necklaces that dote her initials, which he would loop around his cross chain. A ruby and black diamond ring he had gifted her for her birthday that fit perfectly around his pinky, her favorite pair of cactus-patterned socks— the list is endless. Point being, this time around he decided on the pair of Vans he found at the bottom of her suitcase.

Harry loves that he never had to ask to borrow her stuff; she just let him raid whatever he wanted because it truly touched her that he always wanted to have a piece of her on him.

Those pair of raggedy Vans had ended up kicked into the corner of the room beside his suitcase as he distractedly shrugged off one shoulder of his jacket, the other occupied holding his phone to his ear.

“Yeah, that’s what we planned. Mitch texted and said he was boarding his flight so he should be here by tonight, probably around ten. The latest, twelve, depending on traffic.” Harry had grabbed his phone from its spot between his ear and shoulder, switching sides to slide off the rest of the windbreaker. “Okay, so nine tomorrow morning? The room’s booked and everything? Alright, sick! I’ll text you when I’m on my way. Later.”

Harry had tapped the screen of his phone, releasing a long sigh of relief through his nose as he chucked it onto the free bed along with his jacket, running one of his large hands up his tired face and through his messy locks.

Y/N had spoken up first, voice clear even over the Sugar Rush episode playing on the TV in the background. “How was Cancun?”

Harry’s drained gaze had focused on her and somehow, just looking at her— just seeing his girlfriend laying on the disheveled bed in one of the lavish, creme-colored hotel bathrobes with rainbow fuzzy socks covering her wiggling toes and her bangs pinned back haphazardly with a clip— had inflated a certain warmth inside him that rose up from the heels of his feet to the tips of his fingers, expanding in his chest and squeezing out any stress and exhaustion milling in his veins.

He had pursed his lips into a small, lopsided smile full of tender fondness, his eyes softening and glossing over with the comfort that comes from her familiar scent of chamomile shampoo and apple lip balm. “It went great. Everyone was lovely, the filming got done quick and easy, the food was as amazing as ever, but...”

Harry had trailed over to the front of the bed, falling onto his knees and then hands, crawling across the mattress until he was hovering over her with arms propped on either side of her head and knees straddling her hips. He’d pressed a delicate kiss to the center of her forehead, leaning down to nudge her nose with his. “...I missed you.”

Y/N cocked her head back to lock eyes with her boyfriend, his smile contagious. “Well, I missed my Vans.”

Harry had broken into an amused snort, shaking his head lightly as he speckled pecks all over her face. His tone was dramatic and full of pretend anguish. “My poor heart!”

She was reduced to a giggling mess as she wrapped her arms securely around his neck, his own arms weaving their way between the bed and her lower back to keep her trapped as his mouth brushed across every tickle spot he’d learned like the back of his hand.

Harry had pulled back from his little attack, grinning ear to ear with his dimples on full display. He’d balanced himself on his elbows, fingers reaching up to tuck her unkempt hair out of her face.

They’d laid like that for a moment; Harry snuggled between her legs, irises flickering over the tiny details of her face, taking her in. The way her lips were lightly chapped, her cheeks warmer than usual, her chest heaving and neck flexing with every breath she’d gulp down. The way her eyes were bright, almost as if infused with literal starlight. The way her hands were gripping at his wrists gently and the way she kept glancing down at his mouth, inviting it to meet her’s.

“Y’know what I’ve been thinking about all fucking day?” His voice had been soft— barely above a mumble— but filled with a type of desperate conviction that she rarely saw in him.

“Mm?” Her fingers had tightened around his wrists curiously.

He’d taken in a shaky breath, letting it out slowly in such a way that it rattled his lungs. His tongue had peeked out to swipe across his bottom lip, which had then pursed with his top one in anticipation.

“Been thinking about eating you out for hours.”

Y/N’s heart had tripped a step at his confession, which had come out as a sigh of needy pleading. 

“Yeah?”

Harry had nodded his head sluggishly, leaning forward to lightly touch his lips to her Cupid’s Bow. The warmth of his words traced the outline of her mouth suggestively, sending a shiver racing down the knobs of her spine. “All fucking day, baby. Spent every second on that plane thinking about how sweet you’d taste on my tongue and how good it’d feel to have you dripping down my chin.”

One of Y/N’s hands had left its spot, opting for tracing his top lip with its fingers instead. “For hours?”

Harry had nodded almost feverishly, a small whimper stringing at the back of his throat at the sensation of the ridges of her skin passing over his. “Just been craving you a bit extra, lately. Was practically running through the airport to get here.”

She’d release small laugh in the form of a scoff, taking her bottom lip between her teeth. “I thought we’d go out to dinner first or something and save this for later, but if you really need it that bad...”

“Fuck, minx, I need it so fucking bad.”

Harry had left no time for her to think it over twice, pushing back to sit on his heels and tugging the tie of her bathrobe loose. “Jesus Christ...”

Y/N had prepared for the occasion.

In the short time he’d been away, she’d gone shopping at a mall near the hotel. She hadn’t really gone with the intent of purchasing anything, but then she ran into a specific set of lingerie that she just couldn’t pass up.

It was bright red lace, the fabric littered with glitter. It came with a bra (which had a bow over the middle of each cup and one at the center of the piece, which could be undone to remove the article from the front) and a pair of high-waisted cheeky panties with matching garters that fit perfectly mid-thigh.  

Y/N could practically see Harry’s mouth watering as he had blinked at her a few times, utterly dumbfounded, mouth slightly parted. A hue as red as her undies had crawled up his neck and spilled across his cheeks, as well as the shells of his ears and the tip of his button nose.

“I was saving it for later.” She’d murmured softly, keeping her vision trained on his face, drinking up every twitch and jolt of his expression and letting it overflow her ego. She had spread her legs, hooking them over the back of each of his knees as she sunk further into the sheets, allowing her plush robe to skim down her upper arms. “But you can tear it off now, if you want.”

And that brings her to where she is now, with her head thrown back against the mound of expensive feather pillows, fingers woven into Harry’s damp curls as she bucks against his face, his forearms draped over her outer thighs to keep her pinned down to the mattress.

“Fucking hell, Har, please just let me cum.”

When he said for hours, she thought he’d meant it hyperbolically.

“Stay still.” His voice is low and raspy, thick with lust and drunk on her taste.

She thought it would’ve been maybe twenty minutes— forty, tops— but those minutes had turned to an hour, and that hour into two. The first hour he’d spent biting into her inner thighs and tonguing her over the lace panties, only removing them after they were embarrassingly drenched (and with his teeth, of course). The last hour had been him nose-deep between her thighs, fingers working into her thoroughly as he lapped at her folds like he hadn’t eaten in weeks.

“God, you’re so fucking wet.” Harry pulls back a bit, lips, dimples, and the point of his nose gleaming with her excitement. He messily drags his knuckles up her pulsing clit, trying to clean her up a bit so he can get in further without feeling suffocated.

The milky liquid coats the back of his hand generously, dripping down onto his fingers and smearing across the soaked sheets. He glimpses down at it, instinctively bringing it up to his mouth and licking every drop off his knuckles. His tongue passes over his skin and between his fingers, eyes flickering upwards to lock onto her’s. His irises glitter with a form of self-satisfied snarkiness, glittering with different tones of green, light blue, and crystal amber in the deeper crevices.

Harry pushes his first two digits entirely past his lips, lids fluttering shut as he inhales a quaking sigh through his nose, humming a moan in the back of his throat. His words are muffled over his full mouth, but passable nonetheless. “Shit, you taste so bloody sweet.”

Her whole body caves upwards, thighs clenching and heels digging into the bed. Her voice is broken and whiney. “Wanna cum so bad.”

“I know y’do, darling. I know.” He pulls out with a wet pop, licking over his swollen lips and glistening chin. “But I’m just having too much fun. Just a little longer, I promise.”

Harry’s large hands cup over her quivering outer thighs, yanking her back towards his face. He picks up again with tiny puppy licks across the sensitive bud at the center of her folds, hips absentmindedly grinding into the bed to ease the radiating ache itching the underside of his balls.

Y/N tugs harder at his sun-kissed curls, feeling him hiss against her— the vibrations cause her knees to twitch. “I c-can’t hold off anymore...”

The pads of his digits bruise her skin. “Y’can— know y’can. If you want me to fuck you tonight, you better.”  

Harry flattens his tongue out across the thickest part of her crotch, turning his face slowly from side to side as his fingers gently curl inside her, brushing against her tightening walls and resulting in a shattered whimper straining her throat. “That’s a good girl, hm? Love the sounds you make for me— they’re so fucking pretty. Love the way I make you squeal.”

Y/N’s words choke out in sputters, interrupted by abrupt breaths she can’t help but inhale. “Feels—so good— fuck—!”

“Such a darling little thing, aren’t you?” Harry looks up at her from underneath his thick lashes and cockily furrowed brows, the edges of his lips peeking up in a smug simper from between her legs. “Bought yourself something nice for me to fuck you in and thought you could go prancing around in it all night without me knowing until we got back.”

“Wanted it to be a s-surprise.”

“Yeah? Well, I’ve got a surprise for you, too.”

Harry backs away from her slightly with a final rough lick, removing his fingers from inside her and sloppily wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. He reaches over her left hip, hooking the ruined panties with his index finger and holding them up above her abdomen for her to see. A certain mischievous glossiness washes across his darkened eyes.

“You’re going to put these back on and spend the entire night in them. Want you sitting at dinner in the mess you made, thinking about how hard I’m gonna pound you when we get back.”

[jeongcake]

𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 || 𝐊. 𝐁𝐚𝐤𝐮𝐠𝐨𝐮

content/warning(s): angst, fluffy ending... okay maybe Denki snuck in some booze to the underaged dance 

word count: 1.5k

↳ summary/prompt: prom night doesn’t always go as planned

a/n: I'm very sorry, this is terrible. I'd say it was my best, but even I know it's not. Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

Positive note | Super Long Prompt List | Navigation

──────── ･ ��ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ────────

You had a crush on Bakugou Katsuki, the class hot head. Everyone, including him, knew since when you told your bestie Mina, she told Denki, who told everyone.

You didn't exactly mind since it made you feel more comfortable with your advances. You'd often ask him out, casually leaning over to him, "Wanna go out?" And he'd always decline roughly, "No dumbass."

Since prom was coming up, you'd been asking him thrice as much as usual. You had a whole suit picked for him, which you'd bought beforehand, and a matching dress.

But as he always did, he rejected you, "I'm not going to the prom with some extra, I don't care if you bought a suit, or a dress! Stop askin' me, I don't want to go with you!"

Something about the way he said it, it made you finally understand, he didn't like you back. "Okay, I-I'm sorry... I won't ask you anymore," tears began to line your tear ducts, making your eyes glossy, "I already bought it, and it's tailored to your body... J-just keep it I guess."

You threw the suit over his shoulder, keeping your head down and running away. You didn't run far, because you dorm was right next to his. So much for persistence.

You felt terrible, but you promised Mina and Ochako you'd be there, and you didn't want to miss your prom. You jumped into the shower, allowing the running water to mask your tears. Slowly, the warmth let you drift away, and you stopped hopelessly sobbing.

The dress you'd picked was black and red. The breast piece was red, a tight fabric holding low you your breast, covering barely the same amount as a bra. The waist down was black, and it reached mid thigh, a slight on your right thigh, even if it was a tight dress. The gloves you picked were fingerless and went up to your shoulder. It was beautiful, honestly, and fit you perfectly, hugging your waist and curves in all the right ways.

You slipped on the dress, tugging the gloves up and fixing some leggings to cover your legs, to a degree at least. Before you could put on your shiny new satin heels, you heard a knock.

"One second, be right there!"

Bakugou felt like shit, trudging around his room.

"Y'know, that was probably enough for her to leave you alone for ever man," Kirishima mumbled, focusing on the suit you'd bought for his best friend, "Shame though, she got you a really nice suit compared to the one you bought."

Bakugou growled, unable to express his guilt in any other way.

"You might be able to catch her before the dance, I mean, it's still a few hours away and she's right next door," Kirishima suggested, "But you have to be gentle and romantic about it, or else you're at a loss."

"Like heck I would!" Ironically, he began to put his shoes on, then, grab a rose from the bouquet you gave him last week.

Opening his door, he saw Todoroki outside you're door with a box and what seemed like a hand picked bouquet of a bunch of flowers.

His pride deflated, looking at what he had to offer you, versus what Ice Prince had obviously put a lot of thought into. He saw your fingers brush Shoto's as you accepted his gifts, a smile on the half boy's face.

"Thank you Shoto, I'll be glad to go to prom with you!" You giggled on the other side of your door, blocked from Katsuki's eyes.

Scratching his neck, Todoroki chuckled, "I was really worried you'd say no. Thank you (Y/N)," before turning to leave, he pulled a necklace out of his pocket, handing it to you gently, "Please where it, I know it'll look good on you, and it matched the dress enough."

The blond gremlin huffed, sliding his door closed gently, "Like heck I would..."

Kirishima, who heard the whole thing, patted Katsuki on his back, "You'll be alright Bakubro, let's just enjoy tonight!"

"Whatever."

When night came, everyone was in the gym, streamers, glow sticks and glitter all over the place. The LED lights also brought a special look to the room, the disco balls changing colors every few seconds.

"(Y/N), I heard about Bakugou, I'm sorry," Ochako frowned.

"Yeah, he's an ass!" Mina exclaimed, "But it seems someone else is waiting for you!"

Todoroki was over by the punch, twiddling his hands as he waited for you. He looked breathtaking, his white hair gelled back loosely, and his black suit with his red tie looking amazing woth his red hair.

Mustering up your courage, you tapped his shoulder, smiling brightly at the hetero chromatic teen.

"Hi Shoto! You look fantastic!" You gushed, your (H/C) bangs falling out of your loose bun.

He blushed, a calm grin stretching onto his face, "Thanks (Y/N), you look gorgeous."

"Let's dance Sho!" You beamed, grabbing his arm and pulling him onto the dance floor.

From the other side of the room, Katsuki watched you like a hawk, sipping his punch.

"Hey Bakugou! Want some extra buzz in your drink? Denki snuck in some vodka!" Oh Sero, what was he thinking? May he rest in peace.

"Whatever, just a bit I guess..." He grumbled, watching the clear liquid being poured into his red drink.

After about three hours, Bakugou was just a little more than buzzed, but that was alright, he was still mostly functioning. It helped him sit through the agony of watching you and the "Damn Half N Half Bastard!" Dance and smile at each other.

On your end though, you were genuinely enjoying Todoroki's presence, but your eyes couldn't stop darting over to Bakugou. It was hard not to imagine being in his arms instead of Todoroki's. "Thanks for tonight Shoto, but I think the gym is closing, and we should probably get some sleep tonight!"

"No problem (N/N), I'm glad you had fun."

"Goodnight Shoto," you smiled, yawning a lazily walking to your dorm.

Three steps ahead of you, Bakugou was already waiting in front of your dorms, his buzz still not having worn off. He felt like he could take on more of the world than usual, like a hunter waiting for its prey to arrive.

"My feet are killing me, I should've chosen flats instead of heels... But at least I looked good, I think," you murmured to yourself, pulling of the painful shoes.

"You looked... You look beautiful..." Bakugou slurred slightly, a small stumble present in his words.

"O-oh," you jumped, surprised by him, "Thank you Bakugou, you look great too."

Still conscious, he could tell it was a fake smile, and a fake compliment at that. You were just lying to seem strong.

"Hey... (Y-Y/N)?"

You stopped turning your doorknob, looking at him forcefully.

He waltz d over to you, only hugging you when you were face to face. "I'm sorry... Will... Will you go to the prom with me?"

You laughed, pushing his chest lightly, "Bakugou, a-are you drunk? The prom is over already!" Snorting gently, you touched his face for temperature.

Bakugou put his hand on top of yours, stopping it in his cheek to lean on it, the sleeping pills he took during the dance finally kicking in. He didn't want to sleep now! He wanted to sleep during the dance!

"Just say yes (Y/N)... Please," he whispered, looking you straight in the eye.

His heart churned at the memory of rejecting you. He was such a dumbass! You were obviously the only one worthy of his love, heck, he was barley worthy of yours!

You felt a pang in your chest, not having the strength to turn him down. After all, you still loved him, and couldn't let him feel the way you were a few hours ago.

"Yes Bakugou, I'll go the prom with you," it was soft, and only he could hear it, but that was a clear green light to him.

He opened his dorm up, where his room was lit dimly with a small lamp, giving it a warm feel. He pulled you to the empty middle space, immediately placing both his hands at your hips and his head on top of yours. Shocked, it took you a moment or so to finally place your around his neck, falling into his rhythm. There wasn't any music, but it was almost like a soft drum beat was accompanying the two of you.

The next morning, you woke up in Bakugou's bed, a t-shirts replacing your dress. Sitting up, you saw the blond struggling to stay on the couch.

"I'm sorry, I really like you (Y/N), I was just flustered earlier... I also think I'm falling... Asleep." He mumbled, eyes fluttering open and closed, "Since this might be... A... Dream, I love.. I love you..."

You teared up at his confession, softly chuckling at his half awake state.

"I love you too Bakugou," you put him in his bed, messily throwing his blanket on top.

Stirring, he reminded you, "There's t-shirts in... In my closet... Change into... One..."

You did and fell asleep on his couch.

"I guess he switched our spots when I was asleep..." You thought aloud, before picking up your ringing phone, "Oh, hey mom... Yeah, prom was great, best night ever!"

Positive note | Super Long Prompt List | Navigation

[ineffable-snowman]

Ficlet: How to marry a demon

Real life is scary right now and so I wrote something short and fluffy, hope you enjoy!

***

Anathema and Newt were dancing, staring into each other’s eyes like there was no one else in the world. Everyone was watching them with happy smiles, flashes of love everywhere. Aziraphale really loved weddings, one of the best human inventions in his opinion, no matter what Crowley said about marital feuds and divorce rates.

Aziraphale sipped at his champagne and sighed contentedly. “Look at how happy they are,” he told Crowley, who was seated opposite him (in a rather fetching black suit) and was currently at his third glass of champagne. He had reluctantly agreed to come to the wedding “for the alcohol.”

“Would you like to -” Crowley gestured at the newlywed couple, “too?”

Aziraphale gasped. “Oh. Oh, my dear, I – I – yes, yes, of course. I was not prepared, I’m afraid. I did not even know if you were interested. Of course it’s not really necessary, strictly speaking, because we’ve always been together anyway and surely always will, and, well, I thought it was a thing only humans did, not supernatural entities. But then, we do a lot of human things and it is a rather nice tradition, isn’t it? So yes, I absolutely want to marry you. Just let me…” He took off the ring from his little finger and offered it to Crowley. “I’m afraid I don’t have a wedding ring with me as I was completely unprepared for this, but would you like to wear this ring from me? I – I know I’ve worn this as a sign of my loyalty to Heaven for millennia but I want it to mean something new from now on. A sign of my loyalty and love to you.” Aziraphale swallowed. “Will you allow me to put it on you?”

Crowley was gaping at him. “I, er. Wha-, um, er. Y-yes?”

Aziraphale could feel his heart swelling and his eyes tearing up and his lips pulling into the widest smile. He carefully took Crowley’s hand and slipped his ring on Crowley’s ring finger. He was completely overwhelmed and mouthed a little awed, “oh,” when the ring fitted perfectly. Seeing Crowley wearing his ring, seeing him willingly wearing a golden ring with little angel wings on it as a sign of their love and loyalty was doing things to Aziraphale. He lifted Crowley’s hand to his lips and placed a soft kiss on the ring.

Crowley was still gaping at him.

“Are you alright, my dear?”

“Nmm, yes. Yes. I. Just. I just meant to ask if you wanted to dance. But –“ Crowley pulled his hand away and protectively put his other hand over the ring. “I’m keeping the ring. You gave it to me, I’m keeping it, sorry, no taking this back.”

“Oh. Oh dear. Dancing.” Aziraphale chuckled. This was highly embarrassing. Look at him jumping to conclusions! “Dancing sounds wonderful, too!” In fact, it sounded really exciting. Ever since he had learned the gavotte, he had wanted to try it with Crowley. “I should love to dance with you.” He stood up and offered Crowley his hand. “Shall we?”

“Dancing. Why. Yes. Of course.”

Aziraphale had always enjoyed doing the gavotte but never as much as tonight. To be honest, Crowley was not particularly talented and mostly stuck to his demonic and slightly inappropriate dancing moves but they had great fun nonetheless. Until a human politely stopped them.

“Do you think you could maybe slow down a bit? Or just, you know, stay to your part of the dance floor?”

Aziraphale looked around. Most human couples were dancing very close to each other but in a safe distance from Crowley’s and Aziraphale’s somewhat wilder moves. What the humans did could not even really be called dancing, more of a gentle swaying to the slow music. It looked complicated because everyone was doing it slightly differently. Some held hands, some put their foreheads together, some embraced each other… But it looked nice and Aziraphale bathed in the love surrounding them.

They observed the humans some more and then picked a couple that they chose to imitate. There was a bit of bickering about whose arm went where – Aziraphale wanted to hug Crowley close but Crowley insisted it was his job because he was the taller one, which Aziraphale thought was a ridiculous argument if you considered his true form was a snake, “That’s my point, snakes curl around things!” said Crowley – until they decided to simply switch every song.

Aziraphale had no idea how the humans did it without proper dance steps. His and Crowley’s knees bumped together all the time. It still was nice, though. He leant his face against Crowley’s shoulder like that human did with her dancing partner that they were trying to copy, and it was so nice to feel Crowley’s breathing and to inhale the demonic scent. Also, slow dancing apparently included hand holding, something which they had become quite good at since the averted Apocalypse.

“So, we’re getting – that was my foot, angel!”

“Sorry, sorry.” Aziraphale adjusted his feet. More knee bumping. “What were you going to say, dear?”

“So. Uh. We’re getting married.”

“Well.” Aziraphale took Crowley’s hand with the ring and pressed it against his heart.

“Because you proposed and I accepted, right?” said Crowley. “It’s done.”

“Technically I accepted your proposal. Or, well. What I took as a proposal anyway.”

“Not sure that counts.”

“Of course it counts! You accepted.”

“I sure did. Which means you were the one that propo-ouch!” Crowley hissed when Aziraphale stepped on his foot again.

“Too sorry,” Aziraphale said, not feeling particularly apologetic. “If you wore proper shoes for once in your life, it wouldn’t hurt so much.”

“Doesn’t change the fact that you’re a lousy dancer.”

“I’ll have you know I was a much sought after dance partner at the gentlemen’s club where I learned the gavotte.”

“Were you?”

Aziraphale looked up (and in doing so bumped his head against Crowley’s chin). “You know there is no one else – no one but you.”

Crowley tripped again and Aziraphale could just in time steady them to avoid them falling into the wedding cake. God, poor Anathema and Newt would have been inconsolable!

They came to stand still. Probably better not to pick up that slow dancing business again if they did not want to ruin the wedding.

Crowley cleared his throat. “I. I don’t think I’ve ever said it to you. Back to you.” He cleared his throat again. “Just. You know.” He looked terribly flustered.

Aziraphale pressed Crowley’s hand even closer to his heart. “Yes, I know.”

“Oh, going all Han Solo on me now?”

“Who is that?”Aziraphale asked suspiciously.

“No one to worry about. Promise.” Crowley shrugged casually. “Guess you’re stuck with me now. For all of eternity. Tough luck.”

“Like that’s anything new. Still…” Aziraphale worried his lip. You see, he had dreamed of (or fantasised more like) a proposal from Crowley. Just…a more romantic one. This botched up proposal did not seem right. Of course it was lovely that they were going to get married but why not do all the wonderful human traditions that came with it? “I think you should propose properly.”

“Oh?” Crowley raised his brows.

“I was thinking…Paris.”

“Paris, really?”

“On the Eiffel Tower, maybe on New Year’s Eve if that can be arranged. Then we could have a spring wedding, wouldn’t that be lovely? Oh, and you’d need to give me a ring of course. Some humans also bring flowers when they propose, red roses usually. And we could have dinner at Le Meurice before.”

“Sure you don’t want to do the proposal? You seem to have worked it all out already.”

“No, I think it’s definitely your turn because I already did. Well. Sort of.”

“Oh, fine, whatever. Just don’t expect me to get on my knees.”

Aziraphale shrugged. He had of course expected Crowley to properly get on one knee for the proposal. But he supposed it would be fine if Crowley did the rest like Aziraphale had told him to.*

“Fancy another dance?” Crowley was cheekily grinning at him and offering his hand and how could Aziraphale say no to that?

They danced for the rest of the night and into the morning hours, long after everyone else had left except for the disc jockey, who, to his own confusion, was playing music that he had never heard before. Aziraphale was so pleased with the music choices that he hired the man for a spring wedding next year.

 * Crowley did get on one knee (on the Eiffel Tower at New Year’s Eve after a dinner at Le Meurice). Aziraphale gasped in shock and clutched his heart when Crowley dramatically produced a huge bouquet of dark red, almost black roses from another plane of existence and opened a little box with a ring in it.

“Don’t act so surprised,” Crowley drawled. “You knew I was going to propose.”

“You haven’t even asked me yet!”

Crowley tipped his sunglasses slightly down and grinned up at Aziraphale. “Marry me, you bastard?”