#and the past ~month anyways i’ve been more focused on a butterfly that’s gonna be a really late birthday present for my mom

[coyotepawsteps]

of course it’s at 5am on a friday morning during my weekend at my dad’s house when i feel a burst of inspiration for starting the teddy bears i’ve been putting off sewing 😔

[artzee-bee]

End of all things [1] | Chat Noir x witch!reader

Fandom: Miraculous Ladybug (Adrien Agreste/Chat Noir)

Summary: Y/N had been Chat Noir’s friend and moral support for a long time now. Even though she had magical powers too, she never liked getting involved with akuma attacks, but now, as Hawkmoth’s gotten control of the miraculous of creation, she couldn’t stay indiferent anymore. She had to save her friend and Paris!

Genre: Mostly angst? A little fluff

Warnings: canon typical violence, mentions of death/dying

A/N: This was requested, but as I was writting it, it got very long and I’ve decided to post it in 2 parts. I’m not gonna post the request just now, so as to not spoil the rest of the story but Part 2 will be coming out on friday!!!

Part 2

~~~

Chat was pacing around the room, waiting for you to be done with your potion. You had heard from your parents that there had been a new akuma attack today, but as the news reported, the two parisian heros took care of the problem in no time. For this reason, Chat’s presence at your house felt unusual. Normally he would stop by when he needed to rant, when he was in need of comfort and reassurance but the fight today went well, so what could possibly be bothering him?

“Ok, I’m done” you said, screwing the cap on the little bottle and placing it on your shelf “Wanna talk?” you asked, to which Chat gave you a shy smile

“Yeah, a little”

You made your way to your bed, motioning for him to follow you. You got under your covers and passed him his favorite plushie, a cat to no one’s surprise

“So what’s up? Is it about the fight today?”

“Well no it’s more like a...personal problem?”

“Oh…”

“Claws out” in a rush of light and electricity, the infamous hero vanished before you, transforming into Adrien Agrest

“Well, what is it?” 

Adrien revealed his identity to you months ago. You first met him as Chat, but when you really got to know each other, he decided you needed to know all of him. Well, he needed you to know all of him.

You listened to him rant until way past midnight. Until you were both too tired to stand up straight, so you laid down in your bed, covers up to your necks, muffled stories told in between yawns. You listened carefully, giving him your full attention. He fidgeted with the collar of the stuffed toy and you used your magic to make 2 hot chocolates. Eventually, everything that needed to be said, was said. You offered Adrien to watch a movie, since that always cheered him up, but he refused

“It’s late and I have a photoshoot early in the morning. My makeup team will be angry with my dark circles anyways, better not make it worse” he joked

Adrien transformed back into Chat and you cast a safety spell on him, which you did every time he left your house late at night. He always teased you about being ‘too protective’, but deep down he found it sweet how much you cared and wanted to know that he would get home in one piece.

“Night Chat” you said, wrapping your arms around the hero

“Good night Y/N!”

The next few days went by quietly. You hadn’t run into Adrien at all, but you texted a bit back and forth. Sunday evening however, things took a toll for the worst. You turned on your tv, ready to catch up with your show when you heard Nadja Chamack’s voice doing the news report

“It seems as though Rena Rouge and Chat Noir are struggling to stay on their feet! They have taken shelter under a fallen bus, leaving Ladybug alone to defeat Hawkmoth'' your pulse skyrocketed. As you watched the screen you could see Chat and Rena off to the side, struggling to catch their breath. Rena seemed to be in pain while Chat was trying to help. Ladybug was using her yoyo the best she could in order to protect herself from the supervillain, who was wielding his cane like a sword over her head. The fight was clearly going in Hawkmoth's favour! You grabbed your jacket and ran out the front door and onto the empty streets of Paris, towards the Eiffel Tower, where the fight was taking place. 

People screamed at you from their balconies to go home, warning you about the fight and the danger you were putting your life in but you didn’t care. All you could think about was how they needed you. Chat needed you! Every late night talk and every inside joke shared between you two replaid in your head like a broken record. Behind Chat’s tough mask, his alter ego of hero and protector, was the fragile figure of Adrien Agreste. The young blonde boy who cried during romantic comedies, who liked to have his hair braided and forgot how to speak when someone complimented him. If you didn’t help, the heros would loose and he would most likely die! Alongside Ladybug and Rena who, even though you didn’t know their real identities, were still young girls. As you ran down the street, you heard kids crying inside one of the homes. You ran past but at the last second you heard Nadia’s voice coming from their tv

“Ladybug was akumatized”

You approached the Eiffel tower from the side, where you could see everything going on. In front of the tower, right next to Hawkmoth, stood Marinette Dupain-Cheng, dressed in a tight, dark red suit, darker than Ladybug’s. Black butterflies replaced the dots of the heroine's suit and the purple butterfly mask of Hawkmoth’s control was shining over her face. Marinette was Ladybug! She did, in fact, get akumatized. On the other side, you saw Rena and Chat, struggling to stay up right. They were obviously in a lot of pain and extremely tired, but Hawkmoth was merely mocking them.

“After all this time” Chat spoke up, but his breaths were shallow and rapid “I thought you’d know one thing about us! We don’t give up without a fight. Never will. Especially not against you” and with that, the two ran at each other.

“It doesn’t have to end like this, you know?” he said “We don’t have to fight to death. I wouldn’t want to have that on my conscience. All you have to do is give me your miraculouses willingly. The town will be safe, you will be safe! It’s the most heroic option you’ve got. You won’t be any good to Paris if you are dead”

You knew this was not just another fight between them. This was it. Either the heros won or everything they’ve worked for would be lost. Hawkmoth would win and get his hands on both miraculous and god knows what kind of destruction that would bring not only upon Paris, but the world. You focused all your energy in one spot in the air, right between where Chat and Hawkmoth were supposed to clash but before they could reach each other, you sent a wave of energy that blew both of them apart, like a bomb. Hawkmoth flew back into the Eiffel tower while Chat hit the pavement with a thud. Confused and certainly disturbed, both of them began looking around for an answer as to what happened when, finally, Hawkmoth’s eyes landed on yours.

“Aha, miss Y/L/N. What a spectacular honor to finally meet you!” you didn’t reply, instead you stood tall, maintaining eye contact

“I know a lot about you. Seen a lot. Felt a lot of your emotions. None of them can compare to the powers I’ll have with the two miraculouses. With Ladybug’s earrings and the guardian under my control, I’d say my mission here is almost over’’

“Y/N get back!’’ Chat screamed but you were too involved now to run. This was your fight too.

“It is time you give up Hawkmoth. Paris is not yours, neither are the miraculouses. We will destroy you, no matter what it takes!”

“Listen to yourself, kid! <<Destroy me>>? The most you can do is pull a rabbit out of your hat…” before he could finish his sentence, you snapped your fingers in his direction and instantly, the ground around beneath Hawkmoth and akumatized Marinette, fractured. From within the cracks, many tangled plants came out, encapsulating the 2 villains. You sprinted towards Chat and Rena, ignoring the signs of struggle coming from the prison of weeds.

 Alongside the two superheros, you hid inside a corner coffee shop, which was now empty.

“Y/N, you need to leave!! You are putting yourself in too much danger!” Rena told you, as she collapsed to the ground from exhaustion

“Stop with that already! I am here and I’m not going anywhere!”

“Yes you are!” Chat looked at you. His voice was calm and yet, his eyes were filled with disappointment “You are not a superhero. This is our job!”

“You need help”

“No we don’t!” Chat had never, in all your years of friendship, raised his voice at you, let alone yell “ You need to stay safe! You could die! Hawkmoth doesn’t care about anything if it helps him get what he wants! I am ready to take that risk. Rena is too” you both turned to the red headed hero, only to see her slowly nod “But I can’t allow you to take it”

“You can’t tell me what to do”

“I don’t want you to die!” he screamed again “I love you and I will never forgive myself if you don’t come out of this alive!”

Before you could say anything, you saw Hawkmoth and his minion, through the cafe window, cutting through the last of the plants and escaping your trap. You grabbed Chat’s arm and pulled him to the floor, from where you could not be seen

“We’re in this together now” you said in a stern voice, looking the blonde kid right in his eyes “Whether you like it or not '' this time, he simply nodded.

You stuffed your hands into the pocket of your jacket and pulled out 3 little bottles, containing a mate, green liquid. You had prepared one for each of the heros, now you’d only need two.

“Here, drink this!” You handed each of them one “Regeneration potion. Should put you back on your feet.” as soon as they finished drinking the brew, you could see color coming back to their faces

“Where’s Marinette’s akuma??” 

“Her necklace” replied Rena “It’s a gift from her kwami”

“Got it. You deal with Hawkmoth. I’ll bring Marinette back!”

Chat and Rena exited through the front door, grabbing Hawkmoth’s attention. He called out to Marinette to attack, but before she could take a single step in your direction, you had snuck up behind her. Using a simple invisibility spell, you managed to exit unnoticed behind the two heros. It finally felt like the fight had truly begun. From the corner of your eye you could see Chat and Rena doging Hawkmoth’s attacks while you, were doing your best to get your hands on the stupid necklace! Even though she couldn’t see you, Marinette seemed to almost always know what your next move was. She would expertly block all your attack and would keep you an arm’s length away at all times. Finally, you had enough and in one swift motion, you pinned her back to your chest, ripping the necklace away. A wave of black and purple took over the both of you and when it vanished, all you were left with was a half unconscious Marinette in your arms. You dropped her to the ground slowly as she was coming back to her senses. You wanted to talk to her but your thoughts were driven away as you heard Chat scream bloody murder.

On the opposite side of the platza, you saw Hawkmoth rip Chat’s ring off his finger, forcing him to detransform. The exhausted figure of Adrien Agreste fell to the ground with a thud. Hawkmoth had, indeed, gotten his hand on both the miraculouses.

[wroetospotterwp]

Potion Partners

Pairing ✨- Fred Weasley x Fem!Reader

Summary 💓: Y/N is a quiet girl that stays clear from trouble, but that becomes difficult once she has to partner up with Fred Weasley in Potions.

Word Count 🖊: 1,724

A/N 🗣: hello all!! this is my first ever imagine on tumblr and first i’ve ever written really, so this is quite different to what i’m used to! but i hope you all enjoy anyway!

Warnings ⚠️: this is just fluff so i think we should be good

Requested? 📮 - nope

Masterlist

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

It had been the one class Y/N had been dreading all day: Potions. It wasn’t that she wasn’t any good at the subject, she just didn’t like how Professor Snape treated the students and favoured others.

Y/N was not one of those favoured, unfortunately.

As soon as she had finished Transfiguration with Professor McGonagall, she raced to Potions, Snape couldn’t take housepoints from her if she arrived early. It took some time, but she finally arrived, only a few other students waiting outside the classroom. Clearly they had the same idea as her.

With a smile to her fellow classmates, she walked over to the stone wall and opened one of her books. Might as well spend the rest of time preparing for the class. It was quite peaceful, only the flames from the torches and quiet chatter from students were heard.

But of course, it didn’t stay quiet for long. A door behind Y/N swung open, slamming against the stone loudly. The noise completely startled the girl, dropping her books on the floor. Y/N quickly glanced up to see it was the Weasley twins that had just entered the corridor.

Fred and George Weasley. The class clowns of Hogwarts and two heartthrobs that the students of the school adored. Would Y/N be lying if she said she hadn’t fancied one of them? Completely. Fred Weasley had always a been a secret crush of hers since she first saw him, but who could blame her?

Unfortunately, girls like her didn’t stand chances with boys like him, and she had accepted that a long time ago.

Before the red head could catch her looking at him, she focused her attention back on the fact her books were completely sprawled along the stone floor. Y/N bent down and started to try and gather her books, lucky for her one of her fellow classmates started to help her pick them up.

“Thank you.” Y/N muttered before she stood back up and accepted the books from the classmate.

“No problem.” The voice accepted, Y/N looking up and seeing it was none other than Fred Weasley. Her eyes widened slightly, mentally kicking herself as she realised how strange she looked.

Y/N didn’t say anything, just gave a small smile and turned away from the tall Weasley. But he didn’t seem to be finished talking to her.

“That’s a lot of books you have there, Y/N.” Fred pointed out, which almost made Y/N’s heart leave her body. He knew her name?! She kept to herself and only had a few friends, nothing that would put herself out there enough for Fred to know her name.

“You know who I am?” Y/N quietly muttered, her cheeks starting to turn a bashful red. Oh how she was thankful that everyone else was focused on their own conversations to see what was happening.

Fred raised an eyebrow and let out a breathy laugh. “Course I do.” He replied, like it was just so obvious.

Fred Weasley had messed up here, he had only found out who Y/N was just a few months ago thanks to Angelina and Alicia. He was dragged to the library by his two friends and seen Y/N reading at the table herself. Immediately, he caught himself staring, how had he never noticed her before? She was beautiful.

He questioned his two friends and they informed him who Y/N was, but they didn’t know much about her themselves. Fred was desperate to find out more about the mystery girl, starting to try sit near her in classes and in the Grand Hall, hoping she didn’t think he was weird.

She didn’t notice most of these advances, and if she did, she avoided eye contact with him at all times, which he didn’t understand why, had he pulled a prank and she had fallen victim to it? He wasn’t sure.

Y/N didn’t have the chance to reply to Fred as the Potion’s classroom door opened, Professor Snape walking out and sternly looking at them all.

“Most of you will be unable to do this, but enter the classroom and stand by your desk.” Snape eyes fixated on Fred and George.” “Calmly”

Fred and George just smirked at their Professor as the rest of the class entered his classroom. Y/N smiled at Alicia Spinnet, who she shared a desk with, as they settled into the seats.

Snape didn’t seem to trust the Weasley Twins today, motioning them to get up from their seats as soon as they sat beside each other.

“I don’t believe that either of you can be trusted working with each other. So today you’ll be split up.” Snape informed them, Fred and George usually always worked together so most of the class were shocked at their Professor’s demand.

Snape had a very slight smile. “George with Miss Spinnet, Fred with Miss Y/L/N.” He requested them. Y/N couldn’t believe it, how was she going to work with Fred? Alicia got up from her seat and walked over to where George stayed seated, Fred getting up and walking over to where Y/N was seated.

“Alright?” He greeted as he sat down, Y/N nodding slightly, Godric how she hoped that it wouldn’t be this awkward the whole period.

Snape explained to them what potion they would have to produce today, Y/N writing down all the ingredients while Fred was busy balancing his quill on his forehead out of boredom.

“Do you want me to go collect the ingredients?” Y/N questioned, bringing back Fred into reality, who had just realised that the class had began to make the potion.

“I’ll go up.” Fred offered, getting up from his seat. “Are they all written down here?” Y/N nodded as she handed him the piece of parchment, her hand briefly brushing his, sending butterfly’s to her stomach.

Fred didn’t have a clue what half of these ingredients were, grabbing what he thought was each product and hoped for the best. He brought the stuff back over to Y/N, who raised a brow.

“Are you sure this is all the right stuff?” Y/N asked, scanning the stuff Fred had picked up.

“Of course.” Fred confidently replied. Y/N shrugged, picking up a bottle to start the potion when a hand went on top of hers. “I’ll do the potion, you can sit and relax.” He offered.

“Oh, Fred, it’s no problem.” Y/N gave a small smile. “Everyone else is working in partners, you don’t need to do everything.” She didn’t trust he knew what he was doing anyway, so she just hoped he let her help.

“I’m actually quite the potion’s master, Y/N.” Fred smirked as he began to add random ingredients to the caldron. That smirk kept the girl quiet, her face turning bright red and unable to respond.

Fred was surprised that Y/N was actually talking to him, and actually holding eye contact. He hoped for his sake that his random ingredients he picked up would benefit him and make the potion that was required.

But life would be too easy if that happened.

The potion exploded up in the air, barely missing both Fred and Y/N’s face. Fred let out a laugh at what just happened, not noticing the complete shock present on Y/N’s face. Her eyes looked to the front of the class to see Snape’s face.

Safe to say he was pissed off.

Snape gave them both detention, something Fred was used to and Y/N not so much. They stayed after class since it was the last period of the day and Snape demanded that they cleaned every caldron to be completely spotless.

Snape had left to go to speak to Professor Flitwick, so it was just Fred and Y/N, alone. For the first few minutes, it was silence. Y/N too busy scrubbing one of the cauldrons to notice that Fred had walked up beside her.

“You know, I’m quite happy we’re in detention together.” Fred smirked at her, Y/N thought he was having a joke around.

Y/N smiled at him. “Fred, you basically live in detention, why would this be any different?”

Fred faked offence to this. “You wound me woman, I actually have a life outside of detention.” He joked, Y/N letting out a laugh. “Seriously though, this had been my favourite one.”

“I’m glad my company has been fun.” Y/N giggled, starting to feel more confident around the red head.

“I’m just gonna go straight to the point.” Fred informed her, making Y/N stop cleaning the caldron for a moment. “Do you want to go to Hogsmeade together at the weekend? To the Three Broomsticks?”

Y/N raised a brow at the boy. “Are you asking me on a date?” She questioned, quite confused.

“That’s typically what a man does when he fancies a girl, yes.” Fred replied, Y/N didn’t trust him, this must be some sort of joke.

“Is this some sort of prank?” Y/N asked. “Make me think you’re interested and make a fool out of me for believing?”

“What kind of pranks do you think I do, Y/N?” Fred let out a laugh. “I’m sorry if I’ve pranked you in the past-“

“You’ve never pranked me, Fred.” Y/N interrupted. “I just didn’t think you liked me.”

“Lucky for you, I do.” Fred smirked, Y/N playfully rolling her eyes.

“So charming, Weasley.” Y/N beamed, she felt so much better about talking to him, she needed to tell him she felt the same way. “I’ve liked you…for a quite a while now.”

“No one can resist me so it’s understandable.” Fred joked, he couldn’t help himself, could he? Always making a joke about anything and everything.

Fred began to lean closer, eyes flickering from Y/N’s plump lips and her gorgeous eyes. Y/N leaned forward too, this would be her first kiss, she hoped it would go alright.

Their lips pressed together and it was like the both of them had been together for years, they fit together like jigsaw pieces. They were too busy in the moment with each other to notice the classroom door swing open, the Slytherin head entering.

Professor Snape never partnered Y/N and Fred ever again after what he seen.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

i ramble on so much and at the end i felt like i rushed it! i need to figure out how to write these because i’m not sure this was that good, but i tried! first imagine so go easy on me if this is bad!! i’m used to writing fics hahah

my requests are open btw! :)

taglist: @malfoysstilinski @drearyxo @just-a-bittersweet-tragedy @fizzleberries

[celestialrry]

I wish you would write a fic where...

the main character is the daughter of a really important producer harry is working with and he has a major crush on her but 1) he doesn’t want her dad to feel like he’s taking advantage of her 2) she has a rule of not dating musicians

too young

OOOOOOHHHHHH

HIIII GUYS..... i started school again and honestly for the longest time i've had no inspiration to write but then i got this ask!!! (thank you for your patience anon ily) and was like i love this prompt but then i wrote the first part and had no idea how to continue it,,, but I finally finished it!! ε(♡'-')з (this is me giving you all my love and affection for sticking with me) 

(NOT EDITED)

2k

warnings: alcohol consumption

Harry was in a dilemma.

Usually, he could sweep all his issues under the rug, save them for another day, but this one... he couldn't do that. Not because he didn't want to, but because this problem was more than just a dust bunny on his hardwood floor.

Y/N was the problem.

Or to be more precise, his feelings for Y/N were the problem.

Harry had confidence when it came to his crushes. He was smooth, flirty, and snagged almost every single person he's caught feelings for.

But not Y/N.

No, she was almost unreachable, for quite a few reasons.

One, the only reason he knew her, met her, was through a producer he had been working with the past few months. Arlo was massive in the industry and Harry was flattered when Arlo approached him with interest in collaborating. And only a month into working together, he met Y/N.

Harry's head snapped towards the door that had just burst open, a girl barging into the studio that he had never seen before. She was gorgeous, he had to admit, but he couldn't ignore her blatant disrespect for coming in and making a scene while he, Arlo, and a few of his bandmates were working annoyed him to no end.

"Dad! Oh my god, you will not believe what just happened, I was on my way over here and I fucking bumped into Zach," The girl began ranting, approaching Arlo and huffing as she stood next to Arlo's chair. "Of all fucking people I could see just walking down the street, it had to be him. The world is against me today I swear. Anyways, I brought that drum pad you wanted."

She dug into her big brown bag that was slung over her shoulder and pulled out the music board, placing it on the table in front of Arlo.

"Where'd you see him, Y/N? We're about to go on break and I can leave and go kick his ass in," Arlo checked his watch. "7 minutes."

Y/N, Harry now knew her as, sighed and crossed her arms. "He's long gone by now, think he shit his pants when he saw me walking near him."

"Atta girl, thanks for bringing my board too," Arlo smiled up at her from his chair. He then turned to see Harry, and Mitch staring at the two of them. "Oh sorry guys, this is my daughter, Y/N. Y/N, this is Harry and Mitch."

She turned to look at them and smiled wide. "Nice to meet you!"

"You too." They both said in unison, looking at each other with a smile, before focusing back on Y/N.

"We'll be done soon, if you wanna go out and get lunch." Arlo said, turning back to his daughter.

"Sounds good, just text me," Y/N replied, giving him a smile before turning back to the boys. "Nice meeting you guys, again."

And before they could even respond she was gone.

Two, Y/N was younger than him. 6 years younger to be exact. It didn't seem like much, but when put into perspective, she was 21, only just being legally allowed to drink in the States, and Harry was 27. Practically 30, if you ask him, and he was positive Arlo would have his head if he found out Harry liked his daughter. 

And three, she doesn't date the people her dad works with. 

He had found this out one night when he, Arlo, Y/N, Mitch, and a couple other writers were hanging out at the studio, drinking some wine (she had even exclaimed that this would be her first time drinking red, and Harry was yet again reminded of her age) and chatting after a long day of working. 

Harry and Mitch were laughing with Arlo about the first time they met Y/N, and her comments about this “Zach” guy. 

“He’s my ex, and had worked with my dad on one shitty song that never got far because he’s just so-- music is just not his thing, to put it nicely. But he was an absolute asshole and after him I made rule to never date anyone Dad works with. It would just go terribly.” She explained, letting Arlo take a few more jabs at the guy before stopping him.

So yeah, Harry was in a dilemma. 

In all the time he’d known Y/N, he just kept falling for her. She was kind, funny, beautiful, lit up any room she walked into, and treated Harry like fine porcelain. 

She was just fucking perfect. 

｡:°ஐ

Y/N had probably been in a lot of worse positions than the predicament she was in now.

For example, that time her dad walked in on her and her ex making out in the studio, or her 21st birthday when she got completely wasted and almost got into the wrong car instead of her uber, and the next day found out that the man driving that car was actually a convicted criminal.

So there’s worse things that could happen than her liking Harry.

But it doesn't mean it wasn’t bad.

The thing is, Y/N didn’t fall for anyone easily. Her one and only ex Zach treated her like a queen until he could officially claim her as his. The flowers he gave her before every date remained at the shop and the consistent compliments turned into insults and muttered claims of discontentment. 

Hence why he was her ex. It took Y/N quite a long time to work up the courage to end things with him. He was her first kiss, first time, and first boyfriend. She was yet to find her first love, she never really loved Zach. The way he used to treat her in the beginning, she thinks she loved, but him? No, she would never call him her first love. 

So when Y/N’s time crush on Harry began to develop into real feelings in such a short span of time, it terrified her. She had really never felt this way about someone before; butterflies would erupt in her stomach every time he shot her a smile and her mind would erupt into pure chaos when his body brushed up against her own. 

So yeah, it could be worse, but it certainly wasn't good.

｡:°ஐ

Y/N enjoyed spending time at the studio with her dad, and surprisingly, spending time with her dad’s “co-workers”. Even though she didn't usually hang out with the pop stars and spent time mostly with the backing band/producers (they were usually 50 year old men, but they were pretty nice) she enjoyed herself fully, having lunch breaks and talking about where their children when to school and whatnot. 

Sometimes though, every blue moon, Y/N would hang out with a super star her dad was working with. Usually when most stars are at the studio all they did was record, which was understandable, but she never had the chance to meet a lot of them.

With Harry though, everything was different. It wasn’t just lunches at the studio, or dinner at someone’s house, no, tonight they were going out to a bar. 

It was completely unexpected too, they had just wrapped up a song, and Harry, being in a particularly good mood had yelled out about going to a bar to celebrate. Of course, Y/N ignored his shout, knowing she wasn’t invited, and after Arlo had said something about “not being able to party as much as I used to”, she gave her dad a hug good night and waved a little goodbye to the band. 

“Wait!” Harry had exclaimed, chasing after her in the hallway. “Where are y’going?”

Y/N’s eyes widened and she looked behind her before looking back at Harry. “I was just gonna head back home.”

Harry’s head tilted, and looked at her questionably. “Y’not comin’ to the bar with us?” He practically pouted.

Her brows shot up in surprise. “Oh! I- yeah I’ll go out with you guys.”

Which lead her here, decently tipsy, and sitting in a booth between Harry and Sarah, laughing at a story Adam had been telling. Every now and then she would glance over to Harry just to find his gaze already on her.

Her heart fluttered every time, and if Harry’s cheeks weren’t already flushed from the alcohol, Y/N would have noticed him blush every time they locked eyes as well. 

“M’gonna get another drink, does anyone want anything?” Y/N piped up, a resounding chorus of “no, thank you’s” answering her question. Except for Harry who spoke softly, “A beer? Go ahead and put it on my tab.”

She shook her head at him as he stood up to let her out of the maroon leather booth. “Can’t make you pay for that, I offered.” She said, standing to lock eyes with him yet again. 

“Nope,” He grinned. “You can, and you will.”

“But-”

“No buts.” He chuckled, giving her a dimpled smile.

Accepting her defeat she nodded and squeezed his arm with a murmured “Thank you.” before making her way to the bar.

Harry sat back down again, eyes trailing her figure as she walked away before looking back at the table to be met with knowing eyes. 

“What is it?” He asked, glancing around at everyone.

“You’re whipped, mate.” Charlotte grinned, everyone else nodding in agreement.

“What?! I am not.” Harry pouted, eyes flicking over to Y/N, who was making her way to the table, one drink in each hand, before back to everyone else. 

“She’s really sweet H, you should go for it.” Mitch said.

Harry shook his head, eyes now on Mitch. “I’m not interested in her like that, she’s way too young for me, anyways.”

Just then did he hear the soft hit of his beer and her cosmo land on the table. His gaze trailed up her hands to see Y/N’s shattered face. “Here.” She practically whispered to him.

“I just remembered I have an early class tomorrow, so I should go, but thank you guys for inviting me out.” Y/N explained in lighting speed as she leaned over Harry to grab her purse and toss is over her shoulder. 

Words of confusion were tossed around the table but she was already booking it out of there, leaving Harry just as devastated as she was.

“I think she heard you, H.” Sarah said, frowning. 

Harry let out a muttered “Fuck!” before taking out large bills from his wallet and tossing it on the table. “For my tab, m’sorry, I gotta go.” And he left just as fast as Y/N did, weaving through the tables and people before bursting out the door to see her standing on the street, arm wrapped around her waist and another holding her phone.

“Y/N!”

Her head whipped around to see Harry bustling towards her and she quickly wiped her eye as he approached.

“Wait, don't go,” He said, struggling to find the words. “We all want you to stay, I want you to stay.”

“I have to get to class Harry, plus, I’m too young to be staying out this late anyways.” She grimaced at her own words. 

He sighed, eyes flickering from her own to her lips then back again. “I-fuck, you know I didn’t mean it like that.”

This time, she fully turned to face him, brows knitted in distress. “Then how did you mean it? Because honestly I don’t think there is another way to mean it.”

This was his only chance, Harry knew it. 

“I just, I tried for so long to tell myself it was wrong to feel this way about you because you’re so much younger than me, and m’pretty sure your father would have my head if he knew but m’fucking infatuated with you, Y/N. M’so sorry I said that earlier, age is my only excuse for not asking you out and it’s not a good enough excuse anymore.”

With this her mouth was gaped like a fish, and her face was akin to a deer caught in headlights. In a flash her arms were wrapped around his neck and he was holding her waist, reveling in her touch. 

“Oh, Harry,” She pulled away. “I really like you too.” And with that she pressed a swift kiss to his cheek, leaving him a blushing mess. 

“Good, thats... thats good.” He stammered.

“So,” she nudged his arm. “Y’gonna ask me out now?”

[knox-knocks]

on a place of insecurity for the kiss prompt please

you got it my friend :-*

tw for body image self confidence issues

~

Andrew didn't know why he cared. It had never been an issue before. But as he took off his shirt and smoothed his hand down his chest to his stomach, he felt a twinge of - of something. It was unpleasant. Andrew didn't particularly enjoy it.

Andrew let his hand fall to his side as he eyed himself in the mirror for a few seconds longer. Then he grabbed the bottle of pills Betsy prescribed him and shook one of the tiny blue candies into the palm of his hand. He raised it to his mouth, and swallowed it dry.

The living room was a bustle of activity. Neil was on his hands and knees looking for his shoe under the couch and Kevin had his hands full of a suspicious green smoothie that he was trying to coax Neil into trying with him. He was ranting about the merits of protein powder and whatever the hell else he put in it. Andrew didn't know how he could stomach that on top of the breakfast of eggs, bacon, and toast Kevin ate every morning, but he also didn't care enough to ask.

Neil lifted his head when Andrew sauntered into the room. Kevin didn't stop talking, but Neil simply ignored him. He was fully dressed for the gym, though his hair was still a wild mess. In his hand, he triumphantly clutched his missing shoe.

"Hey," Neil said. A smile pulled at the edge of his mouth, a perfect companion to his tussled curls. "Did you take your meds?"

Andrew nodded and bypassed Kevin on the way to the kitchen. He stole a piece of bacon off Kevin's plate and an untouched pancake off Neil's. Andrew knew Neil had left it for him, anyway.

The gym was a sordid affair. A mix up and a scheduling conflict meant the Foxes had to share the gym equipment with the football team. Andrew waited, annoyed, for his turn on the weights. He ran laps on the treadmill next to Neil until a bench opened up for Andrew to take. Andrew switched off his treadmill and inclined his head towards Neil. Without so much as slowing, Neil flashed five fingers at him and increased his speed.

Five minutes later, Neil joined him at the weights section of the gym to spot him. Andrew didn't miss the way Neil's eyes lingered on his chest and biceps as he did his first rep. Andrew focused on the pull and strain of his muscles as he pumped his usual two hundred pounds. Bit by bit, it erased his previous insecurity until it was little more than a buzz in the back of his mind. It didn't hurt that Neil was still watching with half-lidded eyes and a quiet hunger.

Andrew replaced the bar on the hooks and raised his eyebrows at Neil. "If I drop the bar on my neck and die because you were distracted, I'm haunting you," he told him.

Neil ruffled his fingers through Andrew's hair, scattering the sweaty strands in ten different directions and then smoothing them back down again. "I wouldn't let that happen."

Andrew huffed and laid back down on the bench. He completed four more reps and removed some of the weights for Neil to do a few sets before Wymack called an end to gym time.

"Hey, Andrew." Nicky had draped himself over the five pound weights, hand tucked under chin and hair pulled into a small bun at the back of his head. "Do you wanna go to Eden's tonight?"

"Pass," Andrew said.

"Oh, come on," Nicky whined. "Just because you and Kevin can't drink doesn't mean the rest of us can't. Neil?"

"Sorry," Neil said, tone unapologetic.

"Drink at your own place," Andrew said.

"The only alcohol we have is the half-bottle of watered down vodka Matt keeps under the sink. That's not gonna get the three of us drunk."

Andrew blinked at him and Neil shrugged. "Figure it out," they said at the same time.

Nicky threw his hands up in exasperation and retreated.

Back at Fox Tower, Kevin left in a hurry with promises of watching the latest rerun of the Trojan vs Longhorns game with Neil thrown over his shoulder. Neil chased him down the hall until he confirmed they were, in fact, also watching the other games he had recorded. When he returned, he quirked an eyebrow at Andrew and jerked his head toward the bathroom.

"Shower with me?" he said.

That unpleasant feeling swirled in Andrew's belly. He shook his head. "I'll shower after you. Don't hog all the hot water."

Neil accepted that with a nod and placed a firm kiss on Andrew's jaw.

"You know," he said as he shucked his shirt over his head and threw it in the general direction of the bedroom, "I've been thinking of getting Kev those books he's been eyeing for being sober for three months. Do they celebrate three month sobriety?"

Andrew shrugged. "Get them anyway. I don't think I can handle any more drool on the computer keyboard."

"I'll order them today." Neil stepped in the doorway of the bathroom with his shorts balled up in his hands. "Hey. You okay?"

"Peachy."

Neil tilted his head until he caught Andrew's eye. Andrew didn't miss the crease of concern in his eyes. "The antidepressants still making you feel weird?"

"I've been worse."

Neil eyed him until Andrew grew tired of being scrutinized and ushered him toward the waiting shower. Neil left the door open and Andrew cast a lingering glance over his shoulder as he peeled off his boxers and stepped under the hot spray of the shower.

Andrew didn't realize he'd fallen asleep until the sound of Neil rummaging through the drawers for clean clothes woke him.

"Morning," Neil quipped. Andrew squinted at him from under his arms. "Shower's free."

Water beaded on Neil's shoulders and ran down the corded muscles in his back in thin rivulets. They disappeared in the fluffy towel still wrapped around Neil's waist. Neil shook out his hair and looked back in time to catch Andrew staring.

He raised his eyebrows.

Andrew rolled his eyes at Neil's smug expression and pulled him closer by the towel. "Asshole," he said, and kissed him.

Neil planted his hands on either side of Andrew's thighs and let the towel drop to the floor. He hummed and opened his mouth as Andrew directed the kiss with nimble fingertips on his jaw. Neil pulled back with a gasp and began kissing down his neck.

"Neil," Andrew said. His eyes fell shut when Neil sucked at the pulse in his neck. "I haven't showered yet. I'm sweaty and gross."

"We can shower when we're done." Neil pressed a hand against Andrew's back and bit at his collarbone. A surprised gasp slipped past Andrew's teeth.

"You're gross."

"You like it."

Andrew didn't deny it.

Neil worried at a spot on Andrew's throat and reached for the hem of his shirt. Andrew startled at the first brush of Neil's fingers against his bare skin. He jumped and reached for Neil's hands, but Neil was already moving back.

"Andrew?" he asked, looking him up and down, searching for what had triggered this reaction. His chest heaved, skin already flushed a distracting shade of pink. "What's wrong?'

"I don't want to take my shirt off." Andrew wouldn't meet Neil's gaze.

"Okay," Neil said. "Is everything okay?"

Andrew nodded, then shook his head. He chewed on his bottom lip. Neil gently reached out and pulled his lip out from his teeth with his thumb. He waited for Andrew to find the words. Neil was always so patient with him.

"I gained weight," Andrew said. When Neil said nothing, Andrew looked up to find him looking befuddled.

Maybe Neil didn't notice, but Andrew couldn't stop noticing. He knew it was the meds fucking with him, Betsy had said that would be a side effect, but it didn't stop Andrew from being self-conscious. He couldn't help comparing himself to Kevin and his green smoothies and defined abs, or Matt's chiseled chest. Andrew had always been on the heavier side, but it had always been made of muscle, and it had never bothered him before.

He was still strong. He could still protect himself. He was able to lift Neil up against the wall when they were kissing. It shouldn't have mattered.

Neil watched him for a moment longer and said, "Can I try something? I have to take off your shirt."

Andrew hesitated, but he trusted Neil. He nodded and lifted his arms so Neil could pull his shirt off. Then Neil pushed him with a gentle hand on his chest until he was flat on the bed.

The first kiss was right on Andrew's chest, just above his sternum. Neil never broke eye contact when he pressed his lips to his skin. He lingered there for just a heartbeat longer before he shifted so his mouth hovered above Andrew's stomach. His kisses were light, frustratingly so, until he placed a soft kiss onto the soft flesh on Andrew's tummy.

His lips tickled the blond hair there, and Neil left tiny butterfly kisses all over. Around his belly button, his navel, the sides that poked out of his waistband, until Andrew was relaxed and reassured underneath him. His eyes had drifted shut, nearly lulled back to sleep beneath Neil's soft touches.

When he was finished, he pulled himself up until he was face to face with Andrew. Their noses brushed. Andrew stole a kiss from him.

"I love your body," Neil said. "No matter what it looks like."

Andrew brushed the hair back from the side of his face and ran his hands down Neil's sides and over his back to settle above the slope of his ass. He plucked another kiss from Neil's lips. "I still need to shower," he said.

Neil huffed a laugh, pressed their foreheads together, and rolled off him. "Better hurry before Kevin gets back and steals the rest of the water."

"Over my dead body," Andrew sniped and tripped over Neil's discarded clothes in his haste to get a fresh towel. He doubled back to press a kiss to the crown of Neil's head.

"Thank you," he whispered against his hair. He didn't need to say anything else. Neil already understood.

[babbushka]

5 Times Flip Ruined Valentine’s Day (And 1 Time He Didn’t)

Flip Zimmerman x Reader (Darling Jewish Wife AU)

11k ; cw: mild angst, mostly fluff & humor, mentions of baby zimmerman, mentions of war, mentions of undercover with the klansmen, brief hospitalization (sex injury), NSFW (PIV, fingering, praise kink, begging, finger sucking, multiple-orgasms, mild lactation kink, implied marathon sex) 

Available on AO3

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

L is for the way you look at me

February 14th, 1962. Flip Zimmerman is twenty-three years old and has finally worked up the courage to ask you to be his girlfriend. After months of pining, months of agonizing, months of Jimmy makin’ fun of him for being such a chicken, he finally asked and you stunned him by saying yes straight away. It’s his first Valentine’s Day with you, but more than that, it’s his first Valentine’s Day ever. Flip has it all planned out, he’s going to make sure that this memory is a perfect one, wanting to prove to you that he can be not only your best friend, but the best boyfriend.

Oh, if only life were that easy.

It had started out innocently enough, at least he likes to tell himself that. Not wanting to go too big too fast and run out of room on the very first holiday, Flip decided to keep things simple. He was going to cook you dinner. A real dinner too, with all five courses and a dessert. You didn’t know this, but Flip had been taking cooking lessons secretly after his shift at the lumber mill twice a week. He felt bad, knowing that you always do the cooking whenever you’re together, and dammit he plans on marrying you one day, so he figures he better get his act together now. His Ma had even given him the go-ahead to use the good china.

He doesn’t know when exactly, it went wrong.

“Hey Jim, are you busy?” Flip’s just finishing up his shift at the mill, when he calls his best friend to try and get some extra muscle, “I’m about to head to the market, help me with these groceries?”

He had told Jimmy about the plan of course, mostly because he told him everything. He loved telling you everything too, but this was one of those things that he had made Jimmy swear to secrecy, so as to not fuck up the surprise.

“Sure thing, pick me up?” Jimmy’s cheerful voice crackled over the phone line, and with an affirmative reply, Flip is practically bounding out of the little office where he works, and is grabbing his keys.

Ten minutes later, Jimmy is in the passenger seat, reaching into Flip’s jacket pocket for the grocery list, wondering what the hell Flip needs his help for.

“So what’s on the list anyway – holy shit this is a lot of stuff, Flip.” Jimmy’s eyes widen comically when the grocery list seemingly never ends, and he tries to make heads or tails of Flip’s shitty handwriting.

“I know! I’m doing a soup and a salad and then making these bread rolls that I know she’ll love and then for the appetizer course I’m doing – ” Flip doesn’t catch the concern in Jimmy’s voice, so focused on driving down to the market, focused on his mission.

“Uhh, are you sure about all this? Don’t you remember what happened that time you tried to boil water?” Jimmy very gently cuts Flip off, only keeping his best friend’s interests at heart.

Flip, for his part, sours and shoots him a glare, snatching the list back from his friend’s hand.

“Shut the fuck up, I’ve been taking lessons. I got this, now would you help me find everything? I figure it’ll be faster with the two of us, and I really need to get started before she comes over.” There’s a distinct edge to his voice that’s the closest thing to panic that Jimmy’s ever heard – at least since the day that Flip broke his clavicle on that snowboarding accident a decade ago.

Once in the grocery store, Flip can’t help but feel cocky. Between the two of them, everything on the list is found with time to spare, which is good because now that he’s really doing this, Flip won’t deny he’s got butterflies. It has to be perfect, he thinks, it just has to.

“Alright that’ll be everything I think – oh!” At the checkout register, Flip quickly grabs a big chocolate bar of your favorite kind, and adds it to the already enormous pile of shit, “And this too, please.”

Jimmy helps Flip load all the paper bags into the car, and then is a good friend and helps bring everything inside the house. Flip doesn’t let him stick around to help, instead shooing Jimmy out with a big plate of his Ma’s homemade cookies as a payment for all the help, and finally letting out a deep breath that he didn’t even know he had been holding.

“Okay Phil, you can do this.” He whispers to himself, “It’s just like class.”

And surprisingly, it was just like class. Flip prepared all the vegetables and got all the dishes starting in the correct order so they’d be finished in time for your arrival – which was in exactly half an hour. He doesn’t know how the fuck he managed to pull this off, but he’s not about to go tempting fate or anything, so he decides that now would be a good time to freshen up so he doesn’t smell like raw onions when you get there.

Flip agonizes over what to wear, eventually settling on a nice dress shirt and some slacks, willing his hair to part neatly. He hopes you don’t think he looks stupid, he – the doorbell rings, and he sucks in a sharp breath to himself.

Without another second’s hesitation, Flip moves to the front door and opens it, momentarily stunned by your beauty. He should have lit up a cigarette, he thinks, because all of a sudden his hands are shaking, just from the sight of you.

“Hi.” He blurts out inelegantly, but you only give him a big smile.

“Hi, you look really handsome.” You bat your lashes and bite the inside of your cheek, and some of the tension in Flip’s shoulders slip away, because he realizes that you’re nervous too.

Taking in the sight of you, it’s very clear that you tried hard to look nice for him, something that blows Flip’s fuckin’ mind. How’d he ever get so lucky to have a girl like you want to be his? Your nails are freshly done, and he’s pretty sure he’s never seen you in this dress before, you even put on some perfume. The scent of it curls up in his nostrils, and he tries to think of something to say so that he isn’t just staring at you.

“You too.” Is the genius move he comes up with, immediately tripping over his tongue, “I mean, you’re beautiful, not that you’re not also handsome, if you want to be, I – ”

“Can I come in?” You give him a break, and he’s grateful for it.

Opening the door wider for you, he steps to the side and mentally kicks himself for being such an idiot.

“Yes. Yes please do, please come in.” Flip tries his best to remember the manners that he was raised on, although it’s difficult when you’re so beautiful and you’re here and you’re his girlfriend. “Let me take your coat?”

“Sure, thanks.” You grin, before your smile falters and a deep concerning frown dimples your forehead, “Say, something smells…um…Flip is something burning?”

Flip frowns too then, filling his lungs, trying to figure out what you’re talking about when it hits him --

“My roast!” Flip shouts, bolting into the kitchen.

What had just been a perfectly cooked dinner not thirty minutes prior, was now a large grease fire, with flames licking up high high high into the air, threatening to touch the ceiling and spread across the kitchen.

“Fuck – fuck shit! God dammit!” Flip frantically begins searching for something, mind going into overdrive to put the fire out. He grabs a bag of something, he doesn’t even know what it is, flour maybe? All he remembers from the class is to never ever throw water on a grease fire, otherwise he’d really be in trouble.

“Oh my god the stove!” The soup on the stove has boiled over and hit the gas burners, there’s smoke coming out of the oven in thick dark plumes, and you scream, “Where’s your fire extinguisher?!”

“Under the sink!” Flip remembers all of a sudden, and lunges to the cabinet under the sink, yanking on the pin and letting the white frothy foam explode out of the nozzle.

Flip pushes you to stand behind him as he puts the fire out, like some hero in an action movie, but instead of praising his heroism, you run out of the room to the phone in the hallway and dial the emergency number.

“I’m going to call the fire department, the flames could be inside the wall.” You shout to him, opening up the windows to air the place out as you go.

Ten minutes later, the fire department is crawling all through his house, and every single one of the neighbors is standing outside on their front lawns like the nosy people they are. Flip is sitting with you on the front porch, his head hung low between his knees, as you rub his back.

“God my Ma’s gonna fuckin’ murder me.” He groans, praying that the fire didn’t get big enough to ruin the whole kitchen.

“We’ll explain to her that it was just an accident.” You lean your head against his shoulder and keep him calm, a soothing balm that cools all his frayed edges. “We’re okay, and that’s what matters most, right?”

He looks at you then, cups a hand to your cheek and gives you a sheepish sigh.

“Yeah.” He grumbles, really desperate for a cigarette now, “I’m real fuckin’ sorry sweetheart, I had it all figured out and then…”

One of the firefighters walks past him, and Flip just gestures to him with a sigh.

But you, somehow, somehow you’re an angel and all you do is laugh, nudging his side with your elbow, making him look at you with an eyebrow raised. Of all the reactions that he had expected you to have, laughter wasn’t one of them.

“Hey, at least we’ll have a story to tell the grandkids one day.” You offer, and in that one little sentence, Flip’s heart beats double time.

“You’re not dumping me?” His eyes widen in surprise, because he was sure, so sure that that’s where this fucking day was going, he wouldn’t blame you if you had, he almost burned the house down after all.

“Dumping you! After how hard you worked and tried? No way.” You shake your head, almost sounding offended by the thought. “In fact, I think it makes me want to date you even more now. Just promise me next year, we stick to flowers or chocolates, okay?”

“Oh, speaking of which – ” Flip remembers, reaches around for something in his pocket, “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

It’s pitiful really, the way that the chocolate bar from the grocery store has slightly melted and broken while being in his back pocket this entire time, but he figures, no better time than right now to give it to you.

And even though you’re laughing, your arms corralling him into a tight hug to kiss the side of his face and reassure him that you think the gesture was very sweet, Flip still can’t help but feel…well…burned.

O is for the only one I see

February 14th, 1967. Flip Zimmerman is thirty years old and officially (!!) your fiancée. It only took him five years to propose, but you knew Flip, and you knew how hard and long he thought about things like this, wanting everything to be perfect. And it had been, the trip to Egypt was a dream come true! The wedding was set for next month, March 18th to be exact, but Flip didn’t want to rest on that excitement to not give you the incredible Valentine’s Day he’s always dreamed of giving you.

True to his word, the previous few holidays have been spent very lowkey, a quiet night at a nice restaurant, dinner prepared by someone that wasn’t him, chocolates and champagne and big bouquets of roses.

But things were different now, he wasn’t just some lowly boyfriend who worked at the family lumber mill – no, now he was a Detective with the CSPD and more importantly, your fiancée and that had to mean something. He wanted to prove to you that he wasn’t going to start slacking now that you’ve agreed to tie the knot with him.

“Ketsl? It’s me.” Flip’s just finished changing out of his work clothes in the rec room, into something more put together for the surprise date he’s about to take you on.

“Hi honey! I’m almost ready, I’ll be all done by the time you come home.” Your voice is bright and fills him with warmth from the other end of the line.

“Remember to wear something comfortable.” Flip flicks the ash of his cigarette into the ashtray on his desk, looking at the picture of you he keeps framed right next to the phone, that way it’s like you’re really there, even when you’re not.

“Will you tell me where we’re going?” You have that pleading tone in your voice that usually Flip can never deny, but today is a different day, a special day.

“No way, then it won’t be a surprise, would it?” He chuckles into the receiver, and you groan playfully, eventually conceding.

“Okay, I love you, see you soon.” You blow kisses into the phone, and Flip shoots glares to any and everyone who dares to make fun of him for that.

So what if he’s in love? Who could fault him for that?

He had it all figured out. After the disaster that was the grease fire, Flip decided that this year there would be no adventurous cooking. Since that Valentine’s Day, he had moved into a small house right off 21st Street with you, and the last fucking thing he wanted was to burn down that kitchen too.

Instead, Flip had gotten tickets to a play you had been dying to see at the Denver Center for the Preforming Arts. It was a bit of a drive, but the trip would be worth it, especially considering the seats he was able to get thanks to a friend over at Denver PD. He was going to take you out to a nice dinner beforehand, which meant if you were going to make it in time, he needed to hit the road now.

His car makes it halfway to his house, when there’s a strange rattle that comes from somewhere inside the dash.

“Excuse me?” Flip says out loud to himself, praying that what he thinks is happening, isn’t happening right now.

A light goes off on the dash, and then another, and then somehow another light, all lighting up on the dash, as his car rattles and makes all sorts of noises that he knows he can’t fix with his tire-jack.

“Oh no,” He groans, as the car comes to a rolling stop, the engine failing for whatever fucking reason, “No no no.”

Glancing at the clock on the dashboard, he’s already doing the mental math and knowing that he’s going to be late – if he gets home to you at all. To avoid risking an accident, Flip manages to urge the car to the side of the road, and he chucks the flashers on.

“This cannot fucking be happening, not now.” Flip gets out of the car, goes around to the front and opens up the hood. It wasn’t like he didn’t know how to fix things, he was handy and took mechanics in high school, but shit high school was some fuckin’ time ago and he doesn’t even know where to look first, anger and frustration bubbling up inside his chest. “How the fuck am I – Flip, remain calm. De-escalate the situation.”

Two seconds later, he still can’t figure it out, and he slams the hood shut with a loud, “God fucking dammit!”

There’s only one choice, Flip knows. He has to walk to the nearest gas station and use their phone for help. Luckily, he knows of one not too far away, you always give them a gift basket of homemade treats for the winter holidays.

As he walks down the sidewalk, leaving his car there on the street without much other choice, he feels…something.

A light plip of water on his shoulder.

Dread creeps up into his throat, because that plip turns to a downpour in five seconds flat, and Flip really had to just stand there, take a moment, and try not to scream out his frustration as the rain pours and pours and pours out of fucking nowhere.

By the time he makes it to the gas station, he is soaked to the bone, and livid.

The door to the gas station swings open and Flip steps inside, taking deep breaths to try and preserve some dignity that he has left. Of course, he had an umbrella, but it was in the car, and he wasn’t about to double back when he was already wet. The look on his face must have been murderous, because the cashier at the counter approaches him tentatively.

“Hey man, are you okay?” The guy asks. Really he’s a kid, probably not more than sixteen, and Flip composes himself as he lights up a cigarette now that he’s sure the drenching downpour won’t put it out immediately.

“My car broke down a couple miles up the road, can I use your payphone?” He sucks down a couple drags, pulling out his wallet and fishing for a few coins.

“The payphone is out of order.” The kid replies, and Flip freezes, letting that information settle into his bones.

“Of course it is.” He mutters, teeth nearly pinching through the cigarette that he’s now smoking like it’s the last one he’ll ever have.

The kid notices Flip’s darkening mood, and thinks for a minute or two, before noticing one of the other people in the gas station.

“But hey! My buddy here is a mechanic and drives a tow truck. He can give you a lift, can’t you Tony?” The kid offers on his friend Tony’s behalf, and Flip tries not to get his hopes up.

Tony, another teenager who looks like he just got his license, maybe a little older, pops up from around one of the aisles with his arms full of chips.

“Sure thing sir, where you headed?” Tony smiles brightly, and Flip just smokes smokes smokes.

“21st street.” He offers, praying that this kid knows where that is.

By the way his eyes light up, Flip thinks that maybe, just maybe, his luck is turning.

As it would turn out, Flip’s house isn’t too far from the mechanic shop that Tony works at. On the way to his house, they strike up a deal to get the car looked at and fixed up before the day was over.

It’s still pouring rain, Tony pulls the tow truck up to the curb and Flip opens the door, reaching over to shake his hand.

“Thanks, I appreciate this a lot.” Flip says, feeling much less angry and now sort of…defeated.

“No problem, I’ll give you a call when we’ve fixed her up.” Tony gives Flip’s hand a hearty shake, “And thanks again for paying for my snacks, that was pretty cool.”

They part ways, and he only gets two steps closer to the front door when it flies open and you’re rushing out into the rain to hug him, holding him close.

“Phil!” You bury your face in his chest, and automatically Flip’s arms wrap around you tight. “Oh thank god I was so fucking worried about you! It’s been hours! What happened?”

You pull away enough to cup his cheeks in your hand and search his gaze, eyes wide and worried, and Flip’s chest sinks. It’s like the first Valentine’s Day all over again, he sighs to himself, feeling just as shitty now as he had when it was a disaster then.

“The car’s in the shop, I’m sorry ketsl, I tried.” Flip shrugs, not knowing what else to do, or say.

“I know handsome, I know.” You stretch up onto your tiptoes to press a deep kiss to his lips, before grasping his hand in your own and tugging the both of you out of the rain, announcing, “But I planned for this.”

“How the hell could you have planned for this?” Flip mumbles, but you just throw a smile over your shoulder to him, trying to get him into a better mood.

“I had a feeling you’d do something extravagant, and we both know how that tends to turn out – ”

“Hey.”

“So I made us a special dinner and figured we could watch those old black and white movies together like we used to do all the time. Maybe have some champagne in the bubble bath as a pregame.” You waggle a brow, as the both of you find shelter in your front room, door locked safely behind you.

Water drips from your hems onto the floor, and you reach for a very conveniently placed towel that happens to be right by the door, offering it to him.

He has never wanted to marry someone more, in his entire life, than he wants to marry you.

“Next year will be better.” He promises, kissing you sweetly, before taking you up on that promise of a bubble bath.

V is very, very extraordinary

February 14th, 1968. Flip Zimmerman is thirty-one years old and celebrating the holiday, the first Valentine’s Day together since you’ve been married, overseas.

This year was not, in any way shape or form, better.

He listens to the tape you’ve sent him, plays it over and over again just to hear your voice, hoping to drown out the harrowing experience of war just beyond his headphones. He listens to your voice, and wonders if you’re relistening to the voicemails he’s left you once upon a time, wonders if you’re having dinner with your friends, if Jimmy brought you those flowers like he had asked.  

He rewinds the tape, but he knows it’s not the same.

E is even more than anyone that you adore can

February 14th, 1972. Flip Zimmerman is thirty-five and finally back home from Vietnam. He surprises you one sunny day last summer, and the two of you are practically in each other’s back pockets every day thereafter.

There is no place Flip would rather be, than with you. To anyone who didn’t know you, it might look suspiciously lovey-dovey, but no, that’s really just how you are now. You nearly lost him over there, in the war. You went three years without him by your side – you didn’t want to be more than a foot away from him if you could manage it.

This Valentine’s Day, Flip has arranged everything so that you could do just that. He had a fantastic fucking date planned for you – nothing too fancy, but special nonetheless. It was going to be a complete throw-back, he’ll take you to the diner where they now serve the Zimmerman Special -- a combo of the sub sandwiches you always order, and a chocolate milkshake to share; you can’t get the sandwiches on their own, they have to be ordered together, something that always makes your heart flutter – and then afterwards, he got passes for the mini-golf place, one of the very first dates he had taken you on all those years ago when you were first stepping into more-than-friends territory.

You’re about ready to walk out the door, and Flip is right behind you when the phone rings.

Exchanging glances, Flip seriously is tempted to ignore the phone altogether, but you raise a brow at him and he lets out a disgruntled groan, dragging his feet over to the hallway and picking the phone up.

“Zimmerman, it’s Harry.” His boss’ voice has a tone to it that already has Flip developing a localized headache right in his temple.

“Why do you sound like you’re about to give me bad news.” Flip grumbles, and Harry just sighs.

“Because I have bad news.” Harry replies, and you already seem to know what’s coming, because you close the door with a sad sigh and step out of your shoes, “Look, I’m really sorry, but Ron just gave us some new intel, looks like the boys are having some sort of get together at the Bloomin’ Tulip, and we need you there.”

He was on this case with a rookie named Ron, something about infiltrating the local klan chapter. He wasn’t happy about it, not in the fucking least, for a lot of reasons. The men were vile, and he hated spending any more time with them than he needed to, and he had really fucking hoped that he wouldn’t need to today.

“Isn’t that a strip club?” You pipe up having overheard the name of the establishment, and Flip blinks, gearing up to start shouting at his boss.

“Flip I know it’s not how you want to spend the night but – ”

“Are you out of your fucking mind? It’s Valentine’s Day! I’m not going to a strip club with a bunch of neo-nazis on Valentine’s Day! Besides, they know I’m married.” Flip seethes, the hand that’s not holding the phone gesturing wildly even though Harry can’t see it.

You light up a cigarette and hand it to him with a kiss to his cheek, knowing he’s going to need it.

“Felix and a couple of the other guys are married too, and they’re going. I’m sorry Flip but we need to know if they’re planning anything serious.” Harry really does sound apologetic, and at the end of the day, he is Flip’s boss.

Flip looks at you, and you look back at him and give him a sad smile, encouraging him to go with a little nod of your head. You knew what you were signing up for when Flip asked your thoughts on him becoming a detective, and you had agreed all those years ago. It was part of the territory, and you weren’t about to make him feel bad for protecting the town you loved so dearly – for keeping you safe.

“When?” Flip sighs into the receiver, and he can practically feel the relief in Harry’s sigh.

“You have to be there in an hour.” Harry replies quickly, already spouting off directions and whatever other bullshit that Flip’s not listening to.

“Tell Bridges I’m pissed about this.” Flip eventually cuts him off, and hangs up the fucking phone without even so much as a goodbye.

With the phone slammed back onto the wall, Flip smokes his cigarette for a second and lets his shoulders sag. He really couldn’t catch a fucking break, could he? Turning to face you, wondering where you went, he finds you settling on the couch, your pretty coat hung up on the hook, reaching for a book to start leafing through.

“Ketsl I – ” Flip’s heart sinks, and he has half a mind to call Harry back and tell him that he isn’t going to go, but you shake your head.

“Go, it’s okay. Work is more important.” You reach a hand out for him, and he takes a few long strides over to the couch, kneels in front of you and holds it reverently between his palms.

Flip rests his head on your thigh, pressing small kisses to your knuckles, hating this.

“No, it’s really fucking not.” He grumbles, anxious about the thought of leaving you. “How about this: I’ll go for just a couple hours, make some excuse, and then come right back to you and we’ll go on that date?”

He’s really going to give Ron a hard time about this, Flip thinks, when you just pat his cheek lightly and pull out your wallet from the purse you’ve left on the coffee table.

“Do you need some singles?” You rifle through the thick stack of cash and count out roughly fifty dollars.

“Why do you have a ton of singles?” Flip frowns, confused, and the playful suspicion in his tone gets you giggling, a sound that rushes through Flip like the breaking of a dam.

“Don’t worry about it.” You reply, mock-defensively, before you roll your eyes and explain, “It’s from the bake sale, trade me for bigger bills?”

Flip kisses you, a loud smacking smooch right on your cheek, and fishes out his own wallet, not wanting to steal money from the bake sale. Whatever he spends on the case he’ll get back from the station, but still, that money was to go to the children’s hospital.

“I love you more than anything in the entire fucking world and I will be back as soon as I possibly can, I promise.” Flip rushes to say, as the clock chimes, letting him know he’s got to leave now if he wants to make it in time.

“Just go.” You smile, trying to keep the disappointment out of your voice. You kiss Flip once more, and then shoo him away with a parting, “And be respectful to the girls there!”

“Of course! I love you.” Flip calls back as he leaves the house, running back to give you one last kiss, before leaving for real.

Flip has nothing against strip clubs, not at all. He knows and likes pretty much all the dancers, from his days as a rookie himself when he would be the only one around the station to calls on his late night shifts. They know and trust him, and he’s thankful for that; especially when they see he’s clearly undercover, and know to keep an eye on him without making it too obvious.

The klansmen are exactly how Flip had expected them to be – obnoxious, loud, rude. They don’t tip well, spend most of the time jeering at the women and the rest of the time talking shit about their wives or girlfriends. Felix at one point asks Flip to join in, almost a dare to prove how masculine he is, how much of one of them he is, and the words burn in the back of Flip’s throat as he lies through his teeth.

He hates this, he hates them, everything is too loud and the beer is warm, and Flip’s having a terrible fucking time.

He also has no idea how much time has actually passed, because it’s too dark to see his watch, and there aren’t any clocks on the wall. At one point, Ivanhoe decides to get a little too handsy with one of the dancers, violating rule number one of the club, and gets the entire group of them thrown out. Flip had never been happier to get thrown out of an establishment in his life, and used that as an excuse to leave, claiming an early day at work in the morning.

When he gets back in his car and sees that it’s somehow after midnight, he curses the entire fucking way back home.

He opens the front door carefully, not wanting to come home making all sorts of noise in case you’re asleep. There’s an anchor in his stomach, he feels sick, he’s so fucking annoyed with how this day has gone, and all he wants is to be back with you

“(Y/N)?” Flip whispers, making his way through the house. “Are you awake? It’s me.”

He finds you on the couch right where you had been when he left, and despite the valiant effort you must have given to try and stay up for him, it’s undeniable that you’re dozing. Head resting on the arm of the couch, you’ve got your arms wrapped around one of the throw pillows, and Flip’s chest squeezes because he knows that should be him instead.

“Hmm?” You make a little noise as Flip’s arms scoop you up and hold you against his chest, turning off the lights on his way up the stairs.

“Shh, I gotcha honey-bunny.” Flip presses a kiss to the top of your head, feeling like the worst husband in the fucking world, “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” You snuggle into his chest some more, voice thick with sleep. “I ordered a pizza, I hope you don’t mind.”

“Of course I don’t, I can’t have my girl starving, can I?” Flip smiles weakly, bringing you into the bedroom and laying you gently down on the bed.

He tugs the stockings off your feet, works on unbuttoning your blouse to unhook your bra, knowing that must not have been comfortable. You, the spoiled princess that you are, don’t bother helping him, liking when he does all the work. Flip can’t even tease you for it tonight, the weight of how the holiday has been ruined heavy in his chest.

“The pizza place was cute, they made it in the shape of a heart.” You say, watching him with soft eyes.

“I’m going to make this up to you.” Flip promises, mind a little too exhausted to figure out exactly how he’s going to do that just yet.

“You’re here now, that’s what matters.” You shake your head, before groaning dramatically as you get off the bed much to Flip’s confusion, “Come on, let’s go shower.”

Flip checks the clock on the wall, it’s nearing up on one o’clock, and he’s sure a shower will just wake you up even further.

“You’re coming with me?” Flip asks, which is a stupid question because in the back of his tired mind, he knows that you always shower together.

“Well someone’s going to have to get the glitter out of your hair.” You give him a smile, and that stops Flip in his tracks.

“…Glitter?” Flip groans, yanking the bathroom door open and turning on the light switch, seeing how he’s completely and totally covered in the shimmery circles that he loathes probably more than anything for the way they never ever come off, “Aw fuck.”

You just laugh, and get the water running, and Flip feels like the luckiest sonofabitch that exists, even if he is covered in glitter.

Love is all that I can give to you

Love is more than just a game for two

Two in love can make it, take my heart and please don't break it

Love was made for me and you

February 14th, 1974. Flip Zimmerman is thirty-seven and is the proud father of two precious little angels, that he absolutely cannot fucking believe are his. Last Valentine’s Day was hectic with the kids being so little, but now that they weren’t so teenie tiny, he has arranged for them to be watched by his Ma for the evening.

She had of course agreed, because any opportunity she could spend with her grandchildren was a good one in her book, which let you and Flip have the evening alone together for the first time in a long time.

It was silly almost, how excited the two of you were to go out to a fancy steakhouse and have an expensive dinner, how hard you both laughed at the comedian that Flip had managed to get great seats for, even so far as being able to meet him after the show and get a photo with him.

You are still laughing about some of the jokes all the way back home, and Flip is trying his best not to feel cocky. Finally, after so many years of trying to have a good and special evening, he’s finally gotten to give it to you.

There’s some gifts waiting for you at the house that he can’t wait for you to open, but when he gets you through the door, you are on him like a bee on honey. Your hands don’t know where to settle, skimming across his shoulders, his chest, cupping his cheeks and tangling in his hair, desperate and excited in a way that makes Flip’s heart pound.

“You are so fucking sexy.” He breathes, crashing your lips to his, throwing the keys and your purse to the ground as he backs you against the door, as he holds you tight to him, licking into your mouth and working on getting you naked.

“Take me upstairs?” You moan as his teeth clamp down onto your shoulder and he sucks hickies all over your throat, head tipping back for him to get better access.

Flip groans, his cock rock hard in his slacks, and he smacks your ass to get you runnin’ up to the bedroom, chasing after you with a hearty laugh. He pinches at you and you squeak out laughter and yelps of your own, as he tackles you down to the mattress, mouth seeking yours at once.

“How’d I ever get so goddamn lucky, huh?” Flip shoves his hand into the waistband of your panties, two thick fingers pressing right up into your pussy, working eagerly to get you stretched and relaxed and ready for a good hard fucking, he grunts and groans as your pussy sucks his fingers deeper, “I’m going to make you come so fucking hard ketsl.”

“We have all night, I want you to make me come all over this house.” Your eyes glitter and sparkle in the lamp light of the bedroom, and he grins, feeling overheated in his clothes.

Pulling away much to your dissatisfaction, he works on getting himself naked, while you deal with your own clothes. He eyes you as you reveal yourself to him, and his dick twitches, wanting to thrust as far as it can go into your body, your perfect fucking body.  

“Oh I will, you better fucking believe I will,” He growls, yanking your ankle and pulling you across the bed with bright laughter. Flip climbs on top of you and resumes fingering you, “This pretty pussy’s in for a long night I hope you’re ready for my big hard cock.”

Your hands squeeze at his shoulders, traveling across his back, gripping him tight as your legs part and wrap around his hips. Flip lines himself up and begins to thrust inside your wet cunt, the pulsing heat throbbing around him and making him groan, the friction so good.

Moaning and sighing together, you gasp out loud as he builds up a speed that has you bouncing bouncing bouncing on the bed. He’s managed to find your gspot right away, and he wants to make good on his promise to get you fucked until you’re thoroughly and utterly wrecked – so he figures the more orgasms he can get out of you, the better.

Kissing you deeply, groaning into your mouth, he doesn’t realize how the way he’s pistoning his hips has you moving across the mattress, until you’re grasping at his shoulders with a surprised gasp, “Wait, Flip hold on we’re a little too close to the edge.”

He shakes his head and smiles down at you, wanting you to know that you’re always safe with him.

“I’ve got you baby, you don’t worry about a fucking thing – ” He starts saying, not realizing just how close you both really were, and with one particularly eager thrust, the two of you go toppling over the side entirely, landing with a loud thud on the floor.

Shit, he thinks, as he rolls off of you, scrambling to pull out and make sure you’re okay.

When he looks at you, expecting you to be laughing and scolding him and telling him all about how you were right, and instead sees a small trickle of blood across your forehead from where you’ve hit your head on the corner of the nightstand, his body runs cold.

“(Y/N)?” At once, he begs smacking lightly at your cheeks, a heaving feeling starting to rise up in his stomach as he shouts, “Oh my god, I killed my wife!”

Flip’s military training kicks in, and all he can think about is getting you to the hospital. He grabs a pair of pants off the floor and doesn’t even realize he’s put them on backwards, as he wraps you up in the sheet and runs with you down the stairs. His heart thuds and tears blur his eyes, but he swallows them down because you’re okay you have to be okay he doesn’t know what he’s going to do if you’re not fucking okay.

“Oh my god,” Flip manages to get the bleeding to stop by bunching up the sheet and pressing it against your forehead, and he keeps one hand on you as he speeds through every single red fucking light in Colorado Springs on his way to the emergency room, “Oh my god oh my fucking god.”  

The hospital isn’t too far, and thankfully him being a police officer gives him some special perks – like leaving his truck parked right on the curb as he practically kicks the doors open. He’s got you wrapped up in a sheet, carrying you bridal style with thick streams of tears pouring down his cheeks, shouting and shoving his way through the waiting room.

“Everyone out of my fucking way – can someone help my wife?” He’s frantic, must look like a fucking lunatic, but, “She won’t wake up I don’t know what to do.”

“Bring her this way, hurry!” One of the nurses who happens to recognize him buzzes him in, and he doesn’t let you out of his arms until you’re surrounded by nurses and a doctor is on the way.

He watches as they wheel you back somewhere he’s not allowed to go, not even as a police officer, and Flip punches the wall, hating that he can’t do anything else.

Twenty minutes later, one of the nurses has found him and given him a shirt, because he had forgotten to put one on in all the panic, and asked him what the hell was even going on. So he hangs his head between his knees and tries not to be sick, tears and snot hiccupping out of him.

“…And that’s when she fell over the side of the bed and smacked her head and started bleeding all over the fucking place which I know she’s going to hate because I just washed the carpeting this morning for her and fuck is she okay? Will she live?” He rambles on and on, twisting the fabric of this shirt that is too small in some places but too big in others, nervously, wondering what the fuck he’s going to tell everyone – what he’s going to tell his kids.

“Live? Trust me, she’s alive and kicking right about now.” The doc comes over then, sees the state that Flip’s in, and scoffs.

The words barely register in Flip’s mind before he’s running. He doesn’t even know where he’s running to, somewhere they’re keeping you, sticking his head into every room on the way in case it’s yours.

He finds you eventually, and relief makes his knees go weak. Rushing to your side, he carefully carefully carefully kisses you, the words spilling out of him all at once.

“(Y/N)! Oh honey-bunny I am so fucking sorry I didn’t mean for you to fall the way you did you were right I should have listened are you okay the doc told me you had to get stitches?” His eyes are wide with worry, but you have something of an amused if dazed smile on your lips as you comb your fingers through his hair.

“Hi Philly.” Your voice sounds rough, and Flip could cry, maybe he is crying, he doesn’t know, he’s just so happy to hear your voice. You nod, giving him a little sigh, “Yeah, just a couple right where I hit my head. Was I out for very long?”

“No, but then you were in so much pain they put you under while we worked.” The doc says, because how the hell would Flip know, he was having a nervous breakdown outside. Checking on the machines that you’re all hooked up to, he asks, “How do you feel now?”

“Like I was hit by a truck.” You sigh again, before turning to Flip and giving him a dreamy smile, “But you’re a sight for sore eyes.”

Flip kisses you again, once twice three times right on the lips, before cupping your cheek and not looking away from you when he asks the doctor, “Does she have to stay overnight?”

The nurses come in then and begin to unhook the IV and pull all the cables away, bandaging you up nice and securely.

“No you’re free to go, there’s no blunt trauma or damage to the brain. All you have to do Mrs. Zimmerman, is rest up.” The doc pats your blanket-covered foot at the end of the bed, winking, “And take it easy in the bedroom next time.”

This has the both of you immediately embarrassed, feeling like scolded schoolchildren who got caught ditching class, instead of the grown adults you actually were. You give him a glance as if to say I can’t believe you told them how this happened, and he gives you back one as if to say I had to! I thought you died!

“Yes doctor, thank you doctor.” You cough awkwardly, covering your face and muttering to Flip once you’re sure everyone else is gone, “You think we’d get a free ice cream cone with how often we’re here, hm?”

“I’ll get you ice cream, do you want ice cream? We can stop by on the way home.” Flip kisses your hand, presses the tips of your fingers to his lips and smooches all over them, making you chuckle despite it all.

“Actually, that does sound pretty good.” You mull the thought over in your head, “Okay, just hand me my clothes and after I change we’ll go sign some paperwork and head home.”

It is then, that Flip realizes he forgot much more than his own shirt, when he had carried you up and away to the hospital. He looks around, wondering, hoping that the nurses had brought something for you instead of the little paper gown that you’re currently dressed in, but it seems that that hope was in vain.

“Oh…yeah…” He stalls, “Ketsl, about that…”

“You did not bring me to this hospital naked, did you??” For the first time in a long time, you give him an incredulous look, anger clouding over your face as you demand to know.

“Of course not!” Flip stammers, looking around for the proof that he, “I uh, wrapped you in a sheet.”

He holds the sheet up, still covered in the blood from your forehead,

“Philip Daniel Zimmerman!” You shout, covering your face and sinking back down into the bed, pulling the covers over your head as you realize in horror that he had somehow gotten you into the car naked, and carried through the lobby and the waiting room in nothing but a stained sheet, “God that’s so fucking embarrassing!”

“I love you so much, I love you more than anything in the entire world you are my one true love – ” Flip immediately drops to his knees, really lays it on thick as he winces, knowing that he really fucked this one up worse than all the other Valentine’s Days before it.

“Oh give me the fucking sheet.” You bemoan, snatching it from him and getting out of the hospital bed, taking stock of his own appearance.

He’s wearing his pants on backwards, and a shirt that you’ve literally never seen in your life. He’s got one sock on, and one is missing, no shoes in sight, and his face and hair are a travesty. The poor man looks awful, looks like he had spent the past hour bawling his eyes out, and with the redness in his eyes and around his nose, you’re sure that he has.

Despite it all, you can’t be mad at him. So, instead, you swallow your pride and wrap the sheet around your body like some long avant-garde evening gown, and sigh, “You’re so lucky I’m obsessed with you.”

And if anyone has anything to say about your combined appearances as you leave the hospital and head on your way to pick up ice cream from the drive-thru, neither of you notice, too glad to be alive and together to care.

L is for the way you look at me

O is for the only one I see

V is very, very extraordinary

E is even more than anyone that you adore can

February 14th, 1975. Flip Zimmerman is thirty-eight and he is sick and fucking tired of things getting in the way of this damn holiday. He is determined, absolutely fucking determined, to make sure you have the best day imaginable. He’s done everything right – and he means everything – to ensure victory in this long-sought-after, elusive battle.

Every Valentine’s Day disaster has been leading up to this, he thinks as he drives home from dropping the kids off with Uncle Jimmy. He will not be cooking, he will not be working, he has his truck tuned up and running smoothly, and he is on his way to you right now.

Fresh bagels, breakfast sandwiches, warm pastries and hot brewed coffee from that bakery down the street that you like are sitting in the passenger seat of the truck, and he’s going to surprise you with a perfect fucking day so help him.

When he comes back home, he arranges everything neatly on a tray and brings it up to you, smiling to himself that you haven’t woken up yet. He places the tray – decorated with a little rose in a vase and everything – on the dresser, and settles next to you, petting back your hair from your face.

“(Y/N),” He whispers, trying to bring you out of sleep, “Honey-bunny, wake up.”

“Mmmmorning.” You beam up at him, reaching your arms up for a hug, that he is more than happy to give.

“Hungry? I brought you breakfast.” He kisses you with a smile.

With that, you push yourself to sit up against the headboard and regard him lovingly as he leaves your side and brings the tray over. He settles it over your lap and gestures to the assortment of fresh and delicious looking breakfast choices for you to pick from, but you first lift the little rose up to your nose and give it a deep sniff, happily sighing.

“I thought something smelled good, have you been gone long?” You kiss his cheek and pat the spot next to you so he can lay in bed too, so he does, picking up a muffin and doing his best to not get crumbs all over the sheets.

“About an hour, I didn’t want to bother you on your special day.” Flip sidles up next to you and lights a cigarette, and you rest your head on his shoulder as you smile at him through the reflection of the mirror on your dresser.

“My special day huh?” You tease, knowing the track record for when Flip tries to plan something extravagant.

“Yeah, for real this time.” He’s so determined, so fucking determined, everything is going to go right if it’s the last fucking thing he does, but he doesn’t say all that.

You still hear it anyway.

“Do I get to know what we’re doing?” You prompt sweetly, almost convinced of the fact that it’s because he tries to keep things a surprise, that it all goes badly.

Flip must think so too, because he’s sighing and rolling his eyes, unhappy about spoiling the day but knowing it’s probably for the best.

“Yes, I got us a couple’s spa package. I know things have been difficult with the littles toddling around, and you do so much for them and for me, so today is all about pampering you.” He announces, and you let out a loving little squeak from the back of your throat as you aww at him, making him blush.

“That’s very very sweet, thank you honey.” You beam, excited about the prospect of a professional massage, especially because he was right; you loved your children with your entire heart but having two under two was a bit hectic at times.

“Don’t thank me yet – I don’t want to jinx anything.” Flip is quick to say, and you laugh because you know how he must be feeling right about now.

After breakfast and some lazy lovemaking in bed, the afternoon light shines brightly as you and Flip arrive at the spa.

It’s a real fancy place, the kind with a big water feature right on the wall that makes the entire lobby feel serene and luxurious. Flip is halfway expecting something to go wrong – he keeps bracing for it. But as the nice women at the front desk bring you into the couple’s massage room, everything seems to be going off without a hitch.

Hot stones are all the rage, and so for the next sixty minutes, you and Flip enjoy the peaceful quiet and mood music as the knots in your muscles vanish. Afterwards, they put some kind of mud mask on both of your faces, and add little slices of cucumber over your eyes. You both sit like that for a good while, as you’re each given a manicure and pedicure.

You get your favorite color of polish done, and Flip just asks for a clear coat, wanting his nails to look nice but not necessarily colorful. It’s fun, Flip decides, being pampered with you. Maybe this could become more of a regular thing, he sure as shit could use those hot stones now and again after a long fuckin’ week of stakeouts or pouring over paperwork.

By the time you emerge from the spa, it’s practically evening. You suggest going back home, but Flip has other plans – namely, to keep you out of the house for a little while longer. He brings you to a pizza spot that you remember fondly from your days of dating Flip back when he was working at the family mill he now owns, going out for a slice and a cola and kissing in one of the red booths in the back.

Everything is exactly the same, except everyone’s a little older, but the pizza and the company are still great. Flip can’t help but kiss you, even though you’re not in the red booth in the back, but no one seems to mind anymore. It’s been years and years of this, of Flip loving you, they’re all used to it.

Flip chucks a couple quarters into the jukebox and the two of you dance on the black and white checkerboard like you’re the only two people in the entire pizza joint, because when you’re together, it feels like you are. It feels like you’re the only two people in the entire world.

The clock strikes seven, and he knows the coast should be clear at the house by now, so he brings you home and tries not to act too suspicious. You call him out on it, but he refuses to say, manages to keep his big mouth shut the whole way home, until you’re opening the front lock and pushing the door open to reveal a romantic wonderland.

Ron and Jimmy had been working tirelessly the past two hours, blowing up heart shaped balloons, arranging big bouquets of your favorite flowers and roses of all different colors, and a thick trail of rose petals that led up the stairs to your bedroom.

Speechless, you clasp a hand over your mouth and give him a look, impressed and surprised, and Flip can only grin.

“Go up, there’s more.” He whispers, kissing you on the cheek and patting your ass playfully.

Following the trail of rose petals, you push open the bedroom door and your heart fills with so much love and appreciation for your husband, because on the bed are some carefully wrapped boxes with white satin ribbon bows just for you, along with a giant teddy bear, a bucket of ice and a bottle of expensive champagne, and your favorite kinds of chocolate.

“You are so good, you know that?” You whirl around and practically jump into Flip’s arms, hugging him and attacking his face with kisses, making him smug as shit, but rightfully so.

“Want to open them?” He offers, but you’re so overwhelmed by it all in the best way possible, you just keep hugging him.

“Oh Flip – I will, but first, please, please fuck me?” You bat your lashes up at him, suddenly desperate to feel his body against yours, desperate to feel him in and around you.

Flip hadn’t expected that right away, but that doesn’t deter him. He quickly scrambles to get everything off the bed and onto the floor or up on the dresser, and is back to you within a few moments, kissing you deeply, working to get your clothes off with a deep chuckle in the back of his throat.

“Yes, shit you’re so pretty, my pretty girl.” He scoops you up and drops you onto the bed, wrestles with you a little until you’re laughing and grinning at him, his mouth smacking smooches to your lips as he demands, “C’mere.”

“Please don’t let me fall off the side of the bed this time.” You grip his biceps and he flushes a deep embarrassed red, but brings your attention to the floor where the accident had happened all that time ago.

“One step ahead of you, ketsl.” He gestures to a series of plush pillows that he had lined up on either side of the floor by the nightstands so that if you were to fall – which he’s going to make sure you never ever do again – you’d land on something soft, “A perfectly padded landing platform.”

That is the final thing holding you back from pulling him down by his shoulders on top of you, and Flip happily goes, happily settles you underneath him, eagerly slides the head of his cock through your folds. Your pussy grows wet under his touch, and it’s not long before you’re whining for him to really give it to you, so he does – oh fuck, he does.

Lifting your hips with one of his strong hands, Flip lets your legs wrap around his waist as he thrusts shallowly in small motions, wanting to get you stretched and relaxed as he sinks his cock deeper into you, making you moan, your eyes rolling back into your head when he bottoms out in your hot cunt.

“Oh! Oh yes, right there, right – yes!” You gasp as he begins to fuck you in earnest, holding your legs up and bending your body in just the right way to give him deeper action, stronger penetration that has you gasping.

Your back arches and your toes curl just from the feeling of being so full, your head tossed to the side as your hands twist in the pillowcase underneath your head, reaching up to grip the headboard that begins to shake and smack against the wall as Flip moves his hips faster and faster.

“Look at me?” He doesn’t like that he can’t see your face though, with the way you’re tucked against your arm, so he reaches for it and grips your jaw, pulls you to look at him. Your eyes are already unfocused and glassy but you’ve got the brightest smile on your face, that drops into a beautiful perfect O as he pounds into your pussy, “Fuck, you’re the most beautiful fucking thing I’ve ever seen, you know that? I feel like I don’t tell you enough.”

“Tell me again.” You tease, biting your lip and shaking under him, opening your hips and letting him fuck over your gspot with wild abandon, voice wobbling from the effort, “I didn’t hear you.”

“You’re – so – yes! – fucking – beautiful – oh god,” Flip groans long and low as you clench around his cock, your pussy fluttering and pulsing, the tight we velvet heat sucking him in and never letting him go, making Flip’s ears ring with pleasure, “Do that thing again ketsl, do it.”

You do as he says, and your cunt clamps down hard on him, making fucking you even sweeter, the friction driving him insane, making him grind his cock as deep into you as it can go. You can feel it knocking against your cervix and you whine out in pleasure, tears from overstimulation pricking up at the corners of your eyes, clinging to your pretty lashes.

“Flip! Ohhhhh Flip, that’s so good,” You praise him, only spurring him on, making him sweat sweat sweat all over you, dripping sweat down onto your perfect fucking tits that he just cannot not kiss and lave his tongue over and suck on, “Your cock is so good honey, fuck me harder, please!”

“No, I’m gonna take my time with you, make you fall apart, make this pussy soaking wet by the time I’m done with you.” Shaking his head, Flip pulls one of your nipples into his mouth and makes you moan high and loud, and Flip doesn’t even stop when your body confuses him for the baby, and sweet milk floods his mouth.

“H-honey! Right there, right there just a little faster? Please just a little f-faster -- ah!” You’re crying now, your thighs shaking, feet kicking out your pleasure, one of your hands gripped tight in his hair and yanking hard, making him come a little into your cunt, making him never want to stop.

“I should tie you up, keep you right here under me where you belong,” Flip pulls off your nipple and grips your jaw, “Tell you how fucking pretty you look taking my big Jew dick – suck.”

Slipping a few fingers into your mouth to wet them and let them rub against your tongue, gagging you, making the sweetest choking noises spill from your throat as you try to moan and suck at the same time, Flip’s mind blanks out entirely with pleasure, a static sort of hum singing through his body as your pussy pins him and holds him.

“I-I-I’m --!” You wail, and that’s his cue to pull the fingers out of your mouth, drool stringing from your lip to his knuckles, and finds your clit, rubbing steady circles that have your body jackknifing up, tensing up and cry cry crying his name.

“That’s it ketsl, let it out, shh I know it’s good.” He massages your clit slowly, milking it as he fucks you through your orgasm, licks up the tears and sweat on your face, kisses you deeply, passionately.

“Don’t stop, please don’t stop honey!” You beg, trembling against his lips, and Flip wouldn’t dare go against those wishes, not for anything.

You don’t know how many hours pass, before Flip comes in you for the final time. He crashes down onto the bed next to you, chests heaving, bodies sticky with sweat and come and tears of pleasure, of overstimulation, of love.

The night is still young, you still have to open your presents and drink your champagne and all, but for now, all he wants to do is gather your beautiful naked body into his arms and kiss you, so that’s exactly what he does.

“Fuck.” He grunts as his muscles which had been so loose from the spa day, are now burning with all the exertion. He kisses you and pinches your nose, asking with too much hope, “Good?”

“Really good.” You promise him, cupping his cheek with a pleasure-weak hand and kissing him again and again and again, until he’s smiling. You laugh and stretch a little, your entire body made of jell-o, and joke, “At this rate, we’ll be three for fuckin’ three years in a row.”

“Would that be so bad?” Flip thinks of the kids that should be fast asleep by now, and his chest grows warm.

You duck your head bashfully, feeling so loved and cared for and wanted by your husband. You always do, truly, but you can’t deny that it feels a little more special today.

“I gotta say, Flip,” You turn to face him and prop your head up on your bent elbow, “You really knocked it out of the park this time.”

If there were a Heaven, this would be it, Flip thinks as joy and elation course through his veins. He grins and punches the air with happiness, feeling like he suddenly has the energy for a victory lap around the property. You laugh at how display of theatrics, and he surges up then, wrestles with you playfully and nips at your jaw with his teeth, finally finally finally having succeeded in something he had tried for over a decade to do.

“Would you mind saying that again?” Flip echoes your earlier sentiment with cheeky sarcasm, “I didn’t hear you.”

And you can only laugh and tell him again and again, wanting him to know that you have had a wonderful, a perfect, a beautiful Valentine’s Day, not just this year, but every year that you’ve been together.

Love is all that I can give to you

Love is more than just a game for two

Two in love can make it, take my heart and please don't break it

Love was made for me and you

Love was made for me and you

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

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

Tagging some pals! Thank you all for reading, I hope you enjoyed :) @mochabucky @sacklerscumrag  @artsymaddie @bitchydecisions  @direnightshade  @reyloaddict55  @thembohux  @kylorenswhxre  @sunflowersinthesnow  @babayagakeanu  @safarigirlsp  @rennasiance-mama @steeevienicks  @mousemakingjam @the-unmanaged-mischief  @materialisthicc  @drake-bells-waxed-penis @dutchiepie @slut-for-harri  @littleevilme13 @erys-targaryen @leillaa @hswritingrecs @miabelay11 @han68000​

[pinkhairedlily]

Utakata Hanabi

Prompt: Festival | AO3 link here. Connect with me on Twitter. Happy SS Month everyone! 🌸🍅🥗 @ssskmonth

Funny how things change over time – from Uchiha Sasuke, youngest heir among the biggest clan in Konohagakure, most handsome, the brightest, the one with highest potential to Uchiha Sasuke, the traitor.

It has become difficult to stay beside Haruno Sakura, the girl who bugged him to no end at the academy but now the world-renowned medical ninjutsu specialist, the peak flower of the Hidden Leaf Village, the most beautiful and the strongest but also the woman he loves.

Her admirers flock daily to the village’s hospital where she is the head of medical corps, and to her and Ino’s newly established mental facility. These so-called patients have a unique array of illnesses which often end up with a scolding prescription rather than a real medical certificate. He wonders if he deserves to monopolize her affections.

These thoughts stay with him even if she spends nights in his state-sanctioned apartment, her steady breaths against his chest, and her hair splayed between his fingers, even if she prepares him bento boxes for lunch as he gets ready to spend the whole day briefing the council of elders of his missions, even if she kisses him in the shower before leaving. No one knew they were even together. This is a burden he had to carry – the stigma of his name, the inability of society to forgive, the consensus that he doesn’t belong.

And so it catches him off guard when Sakura brings up the summer festival. “I already picked out a fabric for my yukata. It’s so pretty I don’t want it to go to waste.” She bats him with her puppy eyes impression – her emerald irises jumping at his defenses.

“Sakura,” he starts as he reaches for her hands on the couch. “I want to but you know how it is.”

“And you know how I don’t care about any of that, right?” She looks at their intertwined fingers, and she blushes, quite not used to with their intimacy although they are already quite far in that particular journey. “I just want to see the fireworks…together.”

“We can see the fireworks together. They’re on the same sky anyway.”

Sakura lifts her fingers away from his grasp. “I’ve spent countless summers watching them alone. Now you’re here, and you don’t even want to go. I think I’m gonna sleep early.”

She’s angry. Sasuke finishes creating new storage scrolls and climbs on the bed with her. He hugs her with his lone arm and breathes in the fading lavender scent on her hair. “Maybe I can compromise.”

Sasuke apologizes with a fancy dinner the next day, and by dinner, that meant miso soup, grilled mackerel, kani salad, and her favorite – blueberry muffins. Sakura beams seeing the freshly baked dessert on their table. She also sees two masks on the edge, the compromise he talked about while she was already drowsy in slumber.

He holds them up – a fox and a dragon – and he is rewarded with a grin. “Wear your yukata tomorrow, Sakura.”

--------

She is beautiful, she has always been, and he loved her long pink hair ever since they met. When she cut it off in the Forest of Death, he felt a slight of pang of loss, even more so when it was because of him. Finally grown to her waist, she lets them down for the night in a long single braid adorned with cherry blossoms and her fringes clipped to the side with two butterfly pins. Her yukata, white and adorned with stars, fits her like second skin. She is beautiful.

They walk together hand in hand in the lantern-lit street filled with the crowd. No one actually pays them attention, everyone is too busy catching fish, playing shooting games, and trying all food stalls. They find a space on the riverbank, and they sit together on the grass, hands still clasped with each other.

“Are you happy?” Sasuke asks behind his mask. He slightly regrets this arrangement since he cannot see her expression, and Sakura has these charming microexpressions, like she wears her heart on her sleeve, an open page for everyone to read.

Before she could say anything, a pair of young men also dressed in yukata taps her shoulder. Sasuke immediately lets go of her hand.

“Dr. Haruno! We were right to come tonight. You never fail to go to summer festivals.”

Sakura takes off her mask and smiles back at them. “How did you know it was me?”

“We can spot your pink hair anywhere, Ma’am.”

“We can immediately see you in the sea of crowd. Do you need company?”

“It would be sad to see your outfit go unappreciated.”

Sasuke can feel a headache coming on. He is never the jealous type but the audacity of these kids to hit on Sakura.

She tilts her head, and her voices takes on an apologetic tone. “I’m actually with someone.” To drive the point further, she reaches for his hand and returns her fingers to where they were before they came. “You can enjoy the rest of the festival.”

Sasuke eyes them through his mask, and true enough, they are unperturbed because why would Sakura spend this important social evening with someone hiding behind a prop. But they eventually leave, knowing when to respect her wishes and knowing what happens if they don’t.

More people start filling the riverbank, indicating the start of the fireworks. Sakura eases in closer to him and wraps her arm with his. To their surprise, an elderly man sits beside Sasuke and waves to Sakura.

“Dr. Haruno.” He surmises this must be a previous patient of hers.

“It’s nice to see you with company this year. I was actually thinking of introducing my son to you later this month.”

Sakura chuckles, sensing the annoyance ooze out from Sasuke. “Oh my, there’s no need.”

“I see that. You look happy, happier than I’ve seen you in the past years,” the old man remarks then he fixes his gaze on the man beside him. “You.”

Sasuke slightly shifts to face him and bows in respect. “Good evening, Sir.”

“I’ve seen this girl come to the summer festival every year without fail. She would sit on the riverbank, her hair done up, with some makeup on, and wait for the fireworks. And when they finally light up, she would allow herself to cry, hiding her tears in the celebration, thinking no one looks beside them when the sky is showered with beautiful explosions. I sometimes think why the hell would a gorgeous girl spend the festival like that and watch fireworks with her eyes on the ground. And this year again, she’s here. You better not make her cry.”

“Oji-chan, you can stop now. You’re traumatizing my date,” Sakura lightly protests. She gives him a smile and words a soundless thank you.

“My child, he deserves to know. Anyway, I’ll leave you two and my knees are starting to hurt again.” The old man starts to get up, but he stares openly at Sasuke, piercing the mask barrier with a glare. “I’m serious though, you better not make this girl cry again.”

Sakura laughs and pulls Sasuke tighter. “Of course, he won’t. You come visit me tomorrow Oji-chan so I can prescribe you some meds. Okay?”

The old man pats the top of Sakura’s head and walks away into the crowd. The countdown starts from the opposite of the riverbank, and they hear the explosion. Colors burst into the velvet sky, and her emerald eyes follow the bright traces of the sparkling lights.

Sasuke slowly lifts off his mask and places it on the grass. He foregoes the sight above and focuses on the one beside him, memorizing every line on her face, committing them to his memory, savoring the awed glint in her eyes. He stays like that for the duration of the show without care for anyone who might have recognized him.

She finally notices his look and shifts her attention. He lets go of her hand and allows his fingers to tuck a stray strand behind her ear then he brings her closer to him and plants a soft kiss on her lips, their first public kiss, shrouded comfortably by the distracted crowd and the ephemeral lights above.

“I love you,” he whispers against her ear, and she responds by leaning against his chest with his arm around her, enjoying the last seconds of the show, a giddy smile on her face.

Links for Utakata Hanabi: Youtube | Spotify

[uwu-shinsou]

Stakeout

Summary: After an unexpected breakup, pro hero Ground Zero is the last person you expect to be comforting you. And also conducting a stakeout in your living room.

Warning(s): Language, themes of breakups

Pairing: Pro Hero!Bakugo Katsuki x Reader

Genre: Hurt/comfort, I guess slight angst?, light fluff, Bakugo tries to be comforting

Word Count: 2.3K

A/N: Okay first off idk about the whole legality of a hero secretly having a stakeout in your home but let’s just IGNORE that pls and thnx LOL. I was scrolling through AUs and saw one that was like “im an assassin conducting a stakeout in your house and you weren’t supposed to be home until next week” and I said okay but what if it was pro hero Bakugo and BAM HERE WE ARE!! So pls enjoy my first baku fic, I tried to make him just as fiery but also slightly more mature since he be a PRO in this 😌

You gotta be honest, the last thing you were expecting to come home to was a famous pro hero conducting a stakeout in your living room.

You hadn’t even planned to be home at all this long weekend. You and your boyfriend had planned a weekend trip together, driven all the way to the hotel, only for him to promptly break up with you and confess that he’d been seeing another girl for almost the entirety of your relationship. You’d dumped him, kicked his butt out of the car, and promptly driven two hours back home, trying your best not to cry over it.

You’d lugged your suitcase up five flights of stairs to your door, fumbling with your house key before sliding it into the lock. You tiredly stepped into the dark apartment, closing your door behind you with a sense of finality.

While locking the door, you began to mumble out the stream of consciousness that had been running through your mind since the moment you left the hotel.“If I ever see his face again I’m seriously gonna break his nose. How dare he even-” 

You walked a few steps forward into the living room, only to freeze up and let out a screech as the dark outline of a person moved from your couch. Your hand shot out behind you, and the metal baseball bat that you kept near the door flew through the air and into your hand. You took a prepared stance, ready to bash the intruder’s head in with your weapon.

“You have three seconds to tell me who you are before I start swinging!” You hiss, readying the bat.

“You aren’t supposed to be here,” The darkened figure said, taking a step towards.

“No! No, do not come any closer to me. I’ve had a very bad day and I will take my anger out on you!” You threaten, pointing that bat at the intruder to act as a barrier.

“Hey! Don’t do anything fucking rash! I’m just turning on the light, okay?” In a moment you were blinking into the soft light of the room, gaping at the man who you’d almost just clobbered with a bat.

Your arms slowly lowered, the tip of the bat resting on the floor as you blinked in disbelief. “...Ground Zero?” You asked dumbly.

“Yeah, that’s me,” He answered curtly. “Now what the hell are you doing here?”

You looked at light haired hero in disbelief before glancing around the room. “Uhhh, this is my apartment? We’re standing in my living room, and you were sitting on my couch. I think I’m the one who should be asking what you’re doing here.” You slung the bat over your shoulder and glared at him, trying to calm the butterflies in your stomach from the fact that one of Japan’s top pro heroes was standing in your living room. 

“I don’t have to tell you anything,” He grumbled, walking back to the couch and grabbing his phone. “WHAT THE HELL?” Ground Zero yelled as his phone flew out of his hand and into yours. His eyes closed and he huffed out an angry sigh. “Fucking telekisnesis. I forgot that was your quirk.”

Your mouth opened in surprise and you clutched his phone to your chest. “How do you know what my quirk is?”

Ground Zero opened his eyes and glared harshly at you. Questioning and antagonizing the most temperamental pro hero was probably not my smartest move you thought as he began stalking towards you.

“F/n L/n, early 20s, telekisnesis quirk, barista and occasional babysitter, lives alone, has been dating her boyfriend for five months, and, most importantly, isn’t supposed to be home for four days because she was on a trip with her shitty ass boyfriend!” He finished his statement with a growl, and his red eyes felt as if they were burning a hole in your face.

You averted your gaze, shuffling your feet as you mumbled, “Well you’re right that he is a shitty ass boyfriend.”

“Listen, I don’t have tme for your drama. According to our intel, you shouldn’t be here until Monday night,” He said accusingly.

“Well I didn’t want me to be back this early either!” You said, letting go of the bat and sending it back to it’s spot by the door. Your hands tightened into fists in frustration and you pushed past the intimidating hero, making your way into the kitchen.

“Hey- don’t you fucking walk away from me!” Ground Zero stomped behind you, staring in disbelief as you started rummaging through your pantry. “I asked you a question!”

You turned around to face him, holding a full package of cookies. “Guess what, Ground Zero? I don’t care!” You exclaimed, opening the package. “Honestly? I don’t even care why you’re in my apartment! Go ahead, make yourself at home! Sit on my couch, eat my food, watch my TV, it doesn’t even matter! The past five months of my life have been a fucking lie, so please just leave me alone to cry in my room and eat my feelings away.” You shoved a cookie into your mouth and tried to step past him. The hero side stepped into your path, and no matter which way you tried to go, he was in front of you. You were just about ready to take a swing at him when he started talking.

“Y/n,” He said. Hearing him use your name startled you enough to stop you in place. He huffed out a quick sigh before speaking. “We’ve been tracking down a rising villainous organization for half a year now. Eveytime that we get close to making the bust, they pick up and move operations. This time, we’re one step ahead of them.” He gently took your arm and guided you back into the living room and over to the window. “We have to take extra precautions when dealing with them, since any sign that the police are on to them causes them to run.” He points out the window to the building next door. It was a squat, rectangular warehouse of four stories. With you apartment being on the fifth floor, it had the perfect view in through a poorly covered sky light. 

The pro hero switched out the lights in the room, allowing you to see clearly out and into the other building. You crouched down to get an even better look, and Ground Zero lowered himself down next to you. He handed you a pair of binoculars and pointed to the left side of the skylight, where you could see a group of people working at a long table. Looking through the binoculars brought the figures into clearer view.

“Ground Zero, are they-”

“Bakugo,” He said, interrupting you. “Just- Bakugo is fine, okay?”

You glanced at him in surprise before looking back into the adjacent building. “Alright then, Bakugo. Are they making-” You squinted and focused harder on the objects lying on the table. “Support items?”

“Yeah that’s right,” He responded. “A black market organization for support items to supply to villains. We’ve been through hell trying to track the weapons back to them, but we had a breakthrough a few weeks ago.”

You hummed in thought, shoving a cookie in your mouth before offering one to the pro hero. Bakugo’s eyebrows raised in surprise, but he accepted it nonetheless.

“So you needed my apartment to finish getting your dirt on them, and then you planned on doing your big bust?”

“More or less, yeah. And being here,” He gestured vaguely to your apartment. “Was critical because that skylight was in the perfect place to capture incriminating photos of them doing deals earlier tonight. We’re fucking finally ready to finish this.”

“And how many heroes are on this job, exactly?”

Bakugo held up a hand, counting on his fingers as he thought through it. You hid a smile behind your hand at the gesture. “I guess a dozen or so, plus the local police force. There’s a good number of those shitty criminals in there, but we’ve faced a lot worse.”

You sighed, eating another cookie. “Well, sorry that my breakup got in the way of your important hero plans. I could leave I guess, maybe stay with a friend for the weekend-”

“Shut the hell up, I’m not gonna kick you out of your own damn apartment,” He said, rising from his spot on the floor beside you and going back to his supplies laid out on the couch. “I’m not exactly a very patient person so the bust is happening within an hour anyways. There are heroes and police stationed all around in the other buildings and streets, so I won’t be in your hair for that much longer.”

“Oh,” Was all you said, slowly putting a cookie in your mouth. 

The hero stopped fiddling with his supplies and plopped onto the couch, his furrowed eyes meeting your gaze. You raised an eyebrow in question, holding out the cookie package in a silent offering.

“No that’s not- did you say ‘breakup’?”

You huffed out a humorless laugh. “Uh huh. Bastard was cheating on me for basically our entire relationship. I guess I just wasn’t good enough or something.” You bit the inside of your lip and looked down at your lap, furiously trying not to cry. I’ve already embarrassed myself enough, I definitely do not need him to see me crying right now.

“But don’t worry about me, I should just leave you to get ready to, er- arrest some criminals and- do your hero stuff.” You quickly stood up, clutching the cookie package to your chest, and tried to make your way past him while hiding you face. “I’ll just- go sit in my room so I don’t bother you.”

You’d almost made it to the hallway when you suddenly bumped into something that was definitely not your furniture.

You let out an “oof” as you collided with Bakugo’s chest, his hands landing on your shoulders to steady you. You glanced up at him, and his face showed he was just as surprised as you were. He then realized he was still touching you, and took his hands off your shoulders like it had burned him.

“Listen- it’s shitty that he did that to you, and there’s no way you deserved it,” Bakugo said, and the absolute sincerity of it made you burst into tears.

Bakugo started to panic then. “Oh shit, what’s wrong? Did I say it wrong or-” He cut himself off as you vehemently started shaking your head, trying to rub the tears away.

“No no no no,” You said, assuring him. You sniffled, desperately trying to stop your crying. “I guess that I just-” A fresh wave of tears hit you and started rolling down your face, making Bakugo hover his hands in front of him, unsure of what to do. 

“I know that I’m not very good at this, but if you want I can go and beat the shit out of him or something,” He said, making you laugh as you wiped your face.

“I was trying to say that it just- meant a lot to me, that you said that,” you said as you started to calm down. “I didn’t really believe it before, that I didn’t deserve that to happen to me, but when your favorite pro hero says it to you…” You shrugged, giving him a wobbly smile. “Maybe it is true.”

He gave you an assuring smile that you could almost call a smirk. “Well you better believe it, honey, because it’s the truth.” He paused, smugly crossing his arms. “So, your favorite hero, huh?”

“Ahaha,” you felt your face go warm, and you gave him a sheepish smile. “Sorta kinda yeah.” The admission seemed to surprise him, like he didn’t know how to respond.

The beeping of Bakugo’s phone in the living room drew the two of you out of the moment. He bumped his shoulder playfully into yours as he passed. “Glad to hear that I’m your favorite.”

You scrambled to the kitchen to put away your cookies and splash a bit of water on your face as he answered the phone. You could just make out his conversation over the running water.

“What’s up, nerd?... Yeah, I know. I got all the pictures we needed... Good. Everything’s still quiet in there… Got it, I’ll see you in a few.” 

He hung up his phone just as you edged into the living room, watching him glance out the window into the criminal’s headquarters. He let out a huff of a sigh as he started packing up his things. 

You wandered in a little bit further. “So it’s time, then?” You asked. He looked up at you as he finished his packing.

“Yeah, time to beat some villain asses,” He said, shouldering his bag. “You gonna be alright?”

You gave him a soft smile. “I will be. I already feel a lot lighter, like the weight of a whole ass grown man has been released from my body.” Bakugo let out a snort of laughter before falling quiet. “Really, I will be.” You reassured him.

“Of course. But I was serious, if you ever need me to go and knock him around-”

You snickered at him. “Very hero-like.”

“Hell yeah it is,” He responded as you walked him towards the door, opening it for him. “Also maybe don’t go around telling people this happened, ‘cause I’ll probably get my ass kicked for sharing classified information.”

“My lips are sealed, pinky promise,” You said, holding your pinky out towards him. He scoffed but linked his pinky with yours nonetheless. “Good luck, Bakugo.” You started pulling your hand back before he grabbed it and pressed something into it.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” He said with a wink before making his way downstairs and out into the night. You slowly closed the door, leaning back against it and taking a deep breath before opening your hand.

Inside was a scrap of paper with a phone number scrawled across it, and the words “your fav hero” written below.

You may have looked out your window a little more than usual during the rest of the night.

[mor-beck-more-problems]

Corpses in the Meadow || Morgan & Eilidh

TIMING: Current

PARTIES: @braindeacl & @mor-beck-more-problems

SUMMARY: Nothing brings together two dead women like wildflowers and flesh eating watermellons.

Morgan had thought her days of laying in the ground for hours were behind her, but April really was the cruelest month and she hadn’t gotten free of its grip yet. Today, under a bright spring sun, she furrowed her nails deep into the earth and tried to pull herself under, as if the ground and all its creatures were a blanket for her. But of course the earth didn’t hold anyone like that except for the dead. The for real, permanent, definitely-no-walking dead. Morgan brushed her fingers along the newly sprung wildflowers, imagining what their petals felt like, if they were as tender and smooth as her memory told her they were. At least she could enjoy their colors, and their fluffy golden pollen centers. Morgan plucked some carefully by the stem and knotted them together from her sprawl on the ground. Maybe if she ever got to have a real funeral, she’d ask whosever was left to care about her for wildflowers. She should probably find out if her zombie goo was toxic to plants, but if she could go back to being a part of the world, if she could be felt and taken in, that wouldn’t be the worst thing.

Carefully, Morgan plucked more flowers from around her and wove them with care, on and off, between laying and watching the bright eye of the sun through the trees, until she heard the grass crunch behind her. Morgan tilted her head back, squinting to catch a glimpse of the figure. Please no hunters, she thought. I don’t want to convince a hunter I deserve to live today.

Springtime was here, and Eilidh couldn’t help but smile. For one so shrouded in death, life in all its forms filled her with delight. As the forest shivered, awoken from its winter slumber, she felt herself drawn more and more to its embrace. Of course, she did have the professional need to be there so frequently, but that wasn’t the main motivation. Even when her ventures were work focused, such as now, she took her time getting to the needed destination. Especially after the gateway adventure and all these damn fires. Between work and wondering what the hell was going on, she deserved to have a moment of relaxation. But she tried not to worry about that now. She inhaled a deep breath—the hint of spring air tickling her nose, so accustomed to just a suggestion of its true form she didn’t know the difference. The sounds of creatures, excited by the revitalized forest as well, filled her ears with a wonderful symphony. Colors that weren’t there the day before dazzled her eyes and—wait, who was that?

She squinted. Aye, looks like a person. Well, she should probably investigate. Changing course, she got closer, and closer, and closer, until she could clearly see what the other person was doing. Arms to her hips, brows furrowed, voice stern, she called, “Hey, you’re not supposed to do that!” A pause. Then, a grin. “Nah, it’s whatever. Just don’t pick too much, or I will have to actually ask you to stop.” Even closer now, she peered curiously as the braided flora, trying to make sense of its unfinished form. “What are you working on, anyway?”

The voice calling out to Morgan definitely didn’t sound like a hunter. “Sorry!” Morgan called dully. Then the voice warmed, not laughing, but bouncing like it wanted to. Slowly, Morgan sat up to look at her. Definitely a lot prettier and friendlier than any stranger she’d run into in the woods so far. “I’m making, well…” She looked down at her handiwork. It had gotten too long to be a circlet, unless she wanted to twist it over itself. “Honestly, I’m just passing the time. Making things helps me think. Or not think, I guess. Normally I do that at home, I’m not a serial flower picker or anything. I just didn’t feel like being inside about it.” But she did, apparently, feel like oversharing about it.

Morgan grinned ruefully and held it out to the stranger. “Do you want it? It’ll look better on you, with how tall you are.” She nodded at her, insisting. “Are these your woods?”

“Seems like you’ve had a lot of time to pass.” Eilidh mused while surveying the length of the, well, the to-be-decided. It reminded her of her own absentminded creations, especially during days when she would forego human society for days, weeks, months at a time. And it was a pretty little thing; she could tell its creator had experience.

She perked excitedly at the offering—eyes alight and giggle bubbling—and immediately claimed it, though with care. Within her grasp, she gently turned and twisted the woven piece, concentration on her face. Suddenly, epiphany. She dropped down to her knees, taking care to not disturb too much of the vegetation below. She wrapped it once around her head, quickly connecting the end piece to the rest, and then began to weave the remaining part within her own hair into a side braid. “I don’t claim them, but I do work here.” Feeling hospitable after the generosity, she continued. “Speaking of, I was heading over to do something. But I know a real good flower spot on the way. It’s not on a commonly used trail. So, nice and private. But you can’t pick any of those. And I’ll know, so don’t try. Still, they’re wonderful to look at, ‘specially right now.” She finished the braid. Part of the flowers still stuck out at the end; her hair just wasn’t quite long enough. Ah well. “Interested?”

Morgan looked up at the sky to check the position of the sun, then her phone to confirm her suspicions. She’d been laying here for hours and it had barely felt like anything. Maybe that could have been a relief, but she’d been down this proverbial hole too many times to be glad about skipping suffering by being absent from herself. “I guess I have, yeah…” Her voice tapered off into a laugh. Technically, she had all the time in the world.

She smiled in spite of herself as the woman wrapped the flowers into her hair. She seemed to have done it before. “So that’s why you’d have to stop me if I became too much of a flower thief. At least you’re a lot more pleasant than any of the other public service workers I’ve met in town.” Although between Marley Stryder and Kaden in his scowl-y asshole days, that bar was pretty low. Morgan looked at the sky again. It was well past morning, but she didn’t feel like going back home while everyone in it was away doing...alive-people things, presumably. “Uh...you know, I don’t see why not. It’s okay if I take pictures of them though, right? It’s not gonna hurt them any.” Slowly, she got to her feet and waited for the woman to show her the way. “If we’re going off on unknown woodsy adventures, I should probably know you as something better than ‘strangely nice park lady’. I’m Morgan.”

Mischief twinkled in Eilidh’s eyes when she looked upon the other. “You caught me. I want all the flowers to myself.” Sentence punctuated with a mock evil laugh. She did, perhaps, on her off time, pick flowers and use them for various things. She mostly placed them in her hair, or pressed them in a book, or added them to her crafts, similar to the one now braided in her hair. She always made sure not to take too much, and to give back to the earth in ways she could.

Her? Pleasant? James would scoff if he was near, but he was off having private time. Though, at times, she could be such a word. Especially when she was surrounded by all that nature could give: when the sun hit the nape of her neck and the breeze cooled her skin and the trees danced amongst the flow. It calmed her. It was why she always felt drawn to it. It was her home. It was the only true one she had left, anyhow.

She arose, brushing off remnants of the ground off her skirt. “Aye, photography’s fine. Just don’t have me in them. I don’t like paparazzi. And call me Macleod.” She nodded in greeting. Then, with her head, she motioned onward and began their journey. “This way. It’s not too far from here.” Initially, the trail they took was large and the ground smooth, packed down by many feet over the years: a main path. The trail Eilidh quickly turned into was less so. It was marked, and it would come up on the map if you looked, but the ground was noticeably less tame. And the surrounding wilderness knew this, knew the barrier between it and the path was weaker. Eilidh didn’t bat an eye as they continued.

Morgan laughed softly in response. “Are you saying you’re secretly an international pop star on the run, Macleod?” She teased dryly. “Because I could use the boost to my Instagram profile. Cat pictures interspersed with flowers, decaying animals, and their bones isn’t very mainstream.” She took out her phone, arching a brow, then turned and took a close shot of a tree branch. It was easier to hold herself up in front of someone, especially a stranger. She had her pride, even if sometimes she overshared to the point of distressing people. And then, new people were such convenient puzzles and experiences. She didn’t have to be sad looking at herself if she was learning their expressions and what they were like and how their presence colored the world.

She followed this woman, Macleod, down the trail. It was one of those obscure ones that was half grown over by neglect, or some unspoken message from nature. Morgan had a sense that they were passing into someone else’s territory. Morgan stumbled behind her, scanning their surroundings, the birds flying above the trees, the blur of butterflies in the distance. Further on, she thought she spied a shadow, some deer maybe, lazing on its way through its day. “And this is definitely a secret flower patch and not a secret murder patch, right…?” She asked.

“I’ll never tell.” She winked. Then, pause. Instagram. Eilidh was almost sure she knew which one that was. Should someone the age she looks like know what that was? She decided not to mention it and look it up later. “Really? ‘Cause all that already got my attention.” The brief moment the phone faced her, she stiffened ever so slightly—shoulders barely rose, face found a subtle hardness. As the lens passed on to a new target, the tension washed off her just as quickly as it came. Her eyes followed the new direction. A simple tree branch, but the way the light hit it just so… she understood the interest.

She let out a short chuckle. “Nah, the murder patch is half a klick that way.” She took note of Morgan’s unease and quickened her pace, figuring it was best to get to their destination sooner rather than later. The breeze picked up, brushing aside the flimsy vegetation ahead and the pair got an early glimpse of their goal. Colors erupted between the green, as if a window into another world. The wind took a turn, and the air suddenly became engulfed in a cornucopia of sweetness. Unfortunately, to her it was only a little tickle in her nose. Nothing more.

“Really?” Morgan said, brows raised. “Well that’s not something I hear every day. You don’t have a collection too, do you? Because I have a lot of death sculptures and I’m running out of shelf space.” Not that she’d been adding much to it lately. Between taking care of her family and being too miserable to cook for herself, she hadn’t been doing much in her studio besides breathing and spacing out. But if a normie like Cutler could find something nice in it, maybe Macleod could too.

But before Morgan could make her pitch, they arrived. It had rained the night before and the ground was still iridescent with water, which now shimmered in the sunlight as if enchanted with a glaze of pearl. White flowers streamed over the grass as if they’d been poured from the sky. Bunches of violets and peonies danced in the breeze and a thin haze of dandelion puffs and pollen floated like pixies through the air. Morgan gaped in awe, too awed to bother aiming her camera. “I was about eighty-five percent sure you were serious about this not being a murder patch, but stars above--” She tipdoed carefully into the flowers, trying to disturb as few of them as possible. “What are their names?” she asked, sinking down to brush the petals. “What do they smell like?”

Eilidh perked curiously. “Can’t say I have a ‘death sculpture’ collection. What’d they look like?” Images of a room overcome with ceramic skeletons filled her mind. And then, the same room taken over by structures constructed by pieces of the dead. But all theorizing dashed from her mind at the sudden burst of colors. Despite having found herself in the spot many times, the sight was still delightful. Especially now, when many of the flowers were finally awoken from their slumber—stretching, dancing in the spring air. Their full vitality overwhelming the area in every hue. The forest was a sky, and this was its rainbow. Morgan’s reaction reminded Eilidh of when she first found the area less than a year prior. Sadly, it was located just as the flowers began to take their rest. But now she can enjoy it in its full glory.

“Well, that one’s Jeffrey, that one’s Helga.” She pointed to flowers at random. “Kidding… Maybe. Who knows, they could like being called Helga.” Still, she wasn’t going to force upon them a name. But she wasn’t sure if her current company would understand the sentiment, so she continued. “Anyway, these are known as Dog’s Tooth,” she motioned to a congregation of yellow petaled flowers, “and those’re Lady’s Slippers,” it was the collection of peculiarly shaped flower’s turn to be gestured at. “To name a few.” She matched Morgan’s tentative steps and joined her by a dense patch of purple flowers, one of which Morgan currently caressed. While the petals were small, their large numbers resulted in a relatively tall plant. She nodded, regarding its presence. “This one is supposedly very obedient. But I can tell they still have a wild spirit.” She too placed a gentle finger on the petals, though her fingers hardly registered anything. Her nose faced the same situation. A faint sweetness lingered, but only enough to register its existence, not to understand. “Uh, they smell like flowers. Sweet. Ya know.” Odd question. It made her wonder.

Something lurked just outside of view. But it was coming closer.

Morgan was too swept up in the rainbow spray of flowers to notice anything in the shadows. She was picking her way over to the edge of the patch so she could lay down without crushing any of them. She took out her phone and photographed the biggest flowers up close, and then from as close to ‘below’ as she could. ��Pixie’s eye view, you know?” She teased. She really did want to find out if this was how Sundew and the rest of her pixie family saw the world, but Macleod didn’t need to know that. “Also, I think it would be pretty great if you actually had named them. Helga’s especially pretty.” She brushed her finger over the petals and tried to remember what they felt like. She would think of them when she touched Deirdre’s lips. Sometimes they were so smooth, just a little sticky with her matte color of the day. Maybe this flower was like that. Morgan smiled fondly at the association. At last she put her phone away and sat up, simply enjoying the light in the moment. She took a deep inhale, but all she got was a faint whiff of...flower. She couldn’t detect enough to separate anything besides that soft, pollen-y perfume. “I...had my sense of smell damaged in an accident,” she said at last. “Nothing’s like it used to be. But it’s okay, if you don’t know how to describe it. And it’s probably hard, with so many around…” She let the thought go with a sad sigh, then sat a little straighter, forcing herself to brighten. “How did you find this? I know it’s your job to be here, but it must have taken a while to notice.”

For a moment, Eilidh’s eyes glanced upon Maybe-Helga: a beautiful white flower with magenta freckles at the base of elongated petals. She wished she knew what they thought of the name. She’d try asking another time. “Hm, maybe.” Before musing on that thought for too long, she looked back at the sound of Morgan taking a deep breath. Watched as her features and her words darkened in the aftermath, a rolling cloud casting a shadow over the otherwise beautiful day. Eilidh wanted to help. But she couldn’t even pretend. The true complexities of their scents had been lost to the forgetfulness of time. A part of a life she pretended was fully disconnected from her. What she could detect now was all she could ever know. Not that it bothered her much; how could you miss something you never knew?

“I spend lots of time exploring. Probably too much.” She winked, pressing a finger on her lips. “Don’t tell anyone.” While she took her job seriously, she never understood the notion that her entire time had to be utilized for work, and work, and more work. What’s the point of being among flowers if she can’t (sort of) smell them? But that thought was pushed out when a rustle occurred just on the outskirts of the meadow. An intrigued hum rushed through her throat as she got a closer look of the– “Watermelon?” Odd. She hadn’t spotted it when they first got there. And watermelons don’t just appear out of nowhere. Taking another step forward, her eyes scanned the nearby area. Trying to detect whoever left it behind. Focus drawn elsewhere, the watermelon quickly rolled up to her without detection. She looked down and it rolled to a stop near her feet. As if struck by an invisible knife, it was cleaved in two. Fangs protruded out of each half, filling the newly opened space. Her eyes held curiosity at the action.

But it craved blood. Its fangs dug into her leg. With a shout, Eilidh started wrestling it off.

“Watermelon?” Morgan repeated. She had moved on to another flower, which had a pistil so large it made the flower look like a face with a long, odd nose, and was thinking of a person-name to give it. So she didn’t notice anything was wrong until Macleod screamed.

“Oh, shit--!”

Morgan scrambled to her feet and trampled through the flower patch to get to the other woman. “Hold on, you’re gonna be okay!” She shoved her arm between its wet melon jaws, forcing it loose enough for Macleod’s leg to come free. The melon, hungry for anything, chomped down on her arm, shredding her muscles to ribbons. Morgan clamped her jaw shut to muffle the sound of her scream and tried to bash the melon into the ground. But strong as she was, the melon was pretty hefty, and with the pain and awkwardness, she only managed to dent a few chunks off its bulbous shape. “I got this!” She choked out. “Get as far away as you can!”

Pent up force building up as she struggled, when the hold of the watermelon was released, Eilidh tumbled backwards. She shot back up to see… Morgan had taken her place? Eilidh didn’t know whether to be worried or impressed by her tenacity. But it was no time for introspection, it was clear Morgan was suffering. Eilidh stuck out the—non-chewed up—leg and fished out the iron dagger strapped to the thigh. Then she launched herself back into the fray. The blade struck deep into the green flesh. She pressed it forward, adding a new gash. But this time, no teeth sprouted out. Instead, it seized, trembling for a few moments, until stillness took over. The teeth relinquished themselves from Morgan.

She stared at the mangled arm. But something, something familiar, was off about it. “Fuck. Ok, let’s get you out of–” More rustling. Eilidh whipped her head to the sound. Two watermelons revealed themselves. Perhaps this was their area? She’d usually try and leave them alone at this point, if willing. Or in this instance, pick up Morgan and leave. But her leg was still healing, so she wasn’t sure if she’d be fast enough to outrun their roll. Making a decision, she gripped her leg, fingers encircling the flesh loosened by the first watermelon. She ripped off a chunk and threw it away from the flowers. Bait. Like hungry sharks, the two dived at the morsel. While they were distracted, she kicked into one so hard it bent her toes into the balls of her feet. The watermelon went flying into the trunk of a tree. Smash! Red chunks flew out of the mouth cavity as it rolled back onto the ground. Her eyes locked onto the remaining one. While her attention had been focused elsewhere, it had started making its move towards Morgan. But Eilidh interrupted, pouncing on it and sending stab after stab. It tried to roll away, the thing was surprisingly slippery considering, but with one final strike of her dagger, it stopped as well.

Morgan tumbled free and rolled onto the flowerbed. The watermelon’s teeth hurt coming out just as much as they’d hurt coming in. She dug her hands into the ground, ripping up grass as her arm knit itself back together again. “What are you doing? They’re gonna--” She turned her head toward the carnage. Macleod was--handling herself just fine? She saw the woman rip off her leg and use it as bait. The rest of Macleod’s watermelon slaughter passed in a daze. That woman had just ripped off her leg. She ripped off her leg like it was nothing and she didn’t have anything coming out of it except for a few black globs of blood. She didn’t even look phased. Was this what it felt like when people watched her cut off her fingers?

When the last watermelon had been stabbed to a pulp, Morgan sat up, staring at Macleod with open wonder. “You ripped off your leg to save me,” she said. “And I turned my arm into hamburger meat to save you.” She held out the still-healing arm for emphasis, laughing deliriously. The two of them pouncing on watermelons to save the day when neither of them were in danger of dying again. It was hilarious. “So...you’re a zombie too, huh?”

Eilidh looked over at the carnage. Hopefully those watermelons would have a better go next time. She nodded, a casual bow, with words leaving her lips, so soft they were illegible. She turned, remembering eyes were still on her. Passions had distracted her. In the heat of the moment, she forgot to consider how Morgan would react to, well, the way her body reacted to violence. Her leg was in clear view, already at work to reseal the newly torn muscles. There was no denying it; no future attempt at naivety. She considered her options. The grip on her dagger tightened. Wait, no, no, not that. Not again. She sighed. “Let’s just forget this and get you help.” But before she could pick up the injured woman, her eyes focused on her arm. The arm that was also in the process of healing. Same as her own tattered limb. Tissue that hadn’t been there just a moment prior concealed parts of the lesion, with more on the way. Where the fresh skin hadn’t been produced, a familiar black ooze leaked out. Arm mirrored leg. Realizing no real danger to Morgan was present, Eilidh relaxed. All the two needed was rest. She wished she had known that a minute earlier, though. Poor critters.

And there it was. That word. Tension returned, forcing her body into a straight fixture. Face contorted, words sour. “No, I’m not! I’m a–” She took a deep breath. “Doesn’t matter what I am.” It sounded more like she was trying to convince herself rather than Morgan. “So you’re one then, yeah?”

“Oh, no!” Morgan said, grimacing with embarrassment. “It’s just. I’ve only seen two more of us. Ever. And one of them was my best friend who made me like this at the last minute. My last minute, not theirs, obviously. Uh--” None of these were the words she was actually trying to get out. “I’m not used to this. Or asking for personal terminology. Sorry. What I’m trying to say is I’m sorry. I know the z word isn’t for everyone and I shouldn’t have assumed, I was just--” She looked at her haplessly. “It’s just been a really lonely time for me lately. And you’re--kind of incredible. And it does matter to me, what you want to be called. Very much. But yeah. I’m one too. A year now, so, still new. Newer at this than it feels like. How long have you been...you know? Do you meet a lot of people like us out here?”

While her ears listened to Morgan’s words, Eilidh’s eyes drifted to the blade in her hand—both slick and sticky with the juices of the fallen. Curiously—it was flesh after all—she gave it a lick, collecting the remnants of the slain creatures on her tongue. Nothing. She tasted nothing. Figures. She wiped the rest of the juices off with her sock before returning the dagger to its holster. Her eyes returned to looking, watching, Morgan. Studying her. The heat from her outburst still burned at her throat, but it started to cool as the woman’s words sunk in. The apology seemed genuine, and the attempt at reconciliation was appreciated. The creases on her face lifted, revealing a softer expression. Especially at the admittance to the newness of her existence and the loneliness following; at that she finally lifted her hands, patting the air in a calming motion. “It’s alright, it’s alright. That word is just—I hate it. But I’m not mad.” Not anymore, at least. The flow of apologetic words had been enough to calm Eilidh’s sudden temper. Brief silence followed as she looked Morgan up and down. Considering. “I’m a Slúagh. Similar to—yeah. But not the same. Guess we’re sorta like cousins in a way. Besides you, I’ve only met one zombie in White Crest. But I’ve seen a few here and there over the years.” Never another just like her, however. But she refrained from mentioning or even hinting at… them. That would only lead to further questions; questions she was not in the mood to answer. “And let’s just say I’m old.”

Morgan squirmed under the intensity of Macleod’s gaze. “Hated, noted,” she said. “I’ve never heard that other term before. Slu-aagh? Is it a regional thing, or a time period thing, do you think? But either way, I mean, all my birth family died before I did, so I barely remember what it’s like to have a cousin. This still feels really--I know we don’t have biochemical instant affinity for each other like fae do, but it feels wrong to brush off finding each other, when there don’t seem to be many of us who survive long enough to be found. And if we’re lucky, there won’t be many other people who can know us as long as we can. That, and we just saved each other…” She petered into laughter. “Even if we were pretty much fine the whole time. So, why not? Be friends, or as much as we can be to each other. Have you fed recently, by any chance? Because I have some meal prepped brain burgers at home, if you want. Or I could grab some of whatever you eat, if that’s something different. If you want, of course.”

“Slúagh.” The word rolled off her tongue naturally. “Not just a term. It’s what I am.” Eilidh insisted, that fire ready to return if resistance was found. At the following statement, Eilidh simply just stared. She couldn’t remember having—no, she’s never had a family. At least not biologically. Slúaghs can’t reproduce after all. No matter how much she had tried. With the mention of friendship, the blank expression plastered on her face shifted into the hint of a pleased one. Eyes widened in interest. It was always nice, making a new connection. And she was right. This existence could get lonely, in that sense. It was impossible to find those like her, and rare to run into those like Morgan. At least ones that had a good grip on themselves. Not everyone was cut out for their unique lifestyle, even with help. And moaning and groaning didn’t make for good conversation, though the wrestling could be fun. The other ones, well. Most acted like she was lying about who—what—she was. Sometimes the thought was enough to send her tempers firing. Enough to make her generally avoid association with them, in case of opposition. But for some reason she still craved that kinship. While the use of us didn’t go unnoticed, and her face had tensed at the usage, Morgan seemed to be less dismissive than the average. And those gentle eyes were very persuasive, inviting. Morgan reminded her of James; she should introduce them.

A drop of hunger stirred from within at the thought of feeding, dashing out any contemplation. “Nah. And getting your leg chewed to hell makes a gal hungry.” The damaged leg was close to appearing as if nothing happened, a craving the only reminder it did. She hummed curiously. “Brain burgers! Fun. I usually don’t bother cooking. So, brain burgers it is.” A small chuckle escaped her. “What a first friend date, though, huh?” She gestured to the watermelon gore surrounding them.

It meant far too much to Morgan to hear the word “friend date.” She was smiling too much. When she looked at the watermelon gore around them, she burst with laughter that startled two birds from their nest. She had to clench herself still to keep from bouncing. “Yes! I mean, to the burgers. They take awhile to make, getting some flavor to actually, you know, flavor, but they’re pretty nice! Not like what you remember, if you do remember, but it’s better than plain grey stuff.” And now she was talking too much again. As you do. Morgan got to her feet and dusted herself off. “But all this--” She gestured, laughing again. “I think that’s just how White Crest brings people together.”

[radishaur]

hi! may i request Zuko x gender neutral reader with a prompt of: “you’re pretty cute when you’re nice” “what am I when I’m not nice” “hot”

I love this idea! I’m gonna set this as a Firelord Zuko thing because I just love me some Firelord Zuko. Who doesn’t?

•••

Reparations (Zuko x Gender Neutral Reader)

Warnings: None

Genre: Fluff, Slight Angst (like TINY angst)

Part: 1/1

Summary: See request

•••

The town looked drastically different than how it looked the last time he had been here. The streets were bustling with life, the town itself looked more structurally sound, and the atmosphere was no longer suffocatingly tense. His presence, however, seemed to bring at least a tiny bit of that tension back.

As he walked through the streets, he did his best to smile at everybody and be as careful as possible. Some of them recognized him but none of them said anything. That didn’t really matter to him, though. He was only there for one person and he knew exactly where they would be at this time.

Walking up to a tiny bakery, he couldn’t help but smile as the familiar smell of freshly baked bread wafted out of the door. He smoothed down his clothing nervously before mustering up the courage to go inside. He told the guards to wait outside to he could have some privacy.

“I’ll be out in a moment!” you called from the back room.

The sound of your voice made him more nervous than beforehand, cementing the fact that he was actually here and that he had to repair all the damages he had done. His breath caught in his throat as his eyes finally landed on you.

You had flour dusting your face and a bright cheery smile that sent a symphony of butterflies off in his chest. Unfortunately for him, your smile immediately dropped into an expression of shock. He smiled nervously and waved.

“Hi.”

He wanted to kick himself. He came halfway across the world to try and make amends and hi was all he could come up with? This was not off to a good start.

You blinked back in response, letting his presence register before your open mouth shut into a firm line and you met his nervous greeting with a cold hard glare. If he wasn’t sweating already, he was now.

“What the hell are you doing here?” you asked through gritted teeth.

“W-Well uh...now that I’m the Firelord, I thought it would be a good idea to revisit some of the places I traveled and make amends with the people I hurt. So...,” he trailed off, not sure where to go from there.

“You’ve gotten even more dense if you think I’m going to forgive you,” you seethed angrily.

He could almost see smoke billowing out of your nose. If you were a firebender, he didn’t doubt you would be spitting fire from your mouth as you spoke.

“If you’re not going to buy anything then get out.”

He winced slightly but didn’t fight back. He simply looked over the menu quickly and picked the first thing he saw. You disappeared into the kitchen to warm up his order and returned a few minutes later with his order in a paper bag.

You thrust it unceremoniously into his hands and told him his total, voice void of emotion. He handed over the money like asked and watched nervously as you put it into the register. He swallowed.

“I-“ he began before getting cut off.

“I’m not interested in anything you have to say!” you interrupted angrily.

“Please. I know I’ll never be able to fix everything and take it back, but at least give me the chance to apologize. Five minutes and then you’ll never have to see me again,” he begged, desperate for you to agree.

He watched you stop to think it over, holding his breath and trying to get a read on you. Having Toph here would have been a great idea. Finally, you sigh and look up to meet his eyes.

“My shift ends in an hour. You know where to meet me.”

Elated, he spews a million thank you’s out before rushing out of the shop. He gave whatever he had ordered to one of his bodyguards, not interested in eating it in the slightest. Right now, he was focused on preparing.

He walked around the market place of the village and couldn’t help thinking of the last time he had been here. You had found him sleeping behind the bakery and offered him a place to sleep. He had begrudgingly taken you up on the offer and was less than pleased to have been dragged to the market place the next day. Something about a favor for a favor.

He also remembered you stopping by a cart that sold various flowers and remarking that you always loved the way lillies smelled. At first, he had thought it weird, but after he had left you, he couldn’t stop smelling them. A small part of him said it was because it reminded him of you but he muffled that voice quickly.

He was here to make amends not court you.

With a small amount of blush dusting his cheeks, he managed to buy a small bouquet of lillies. Not because he liked you. Just to apologize. Yea, that was all. He found himself beginning to doubt that.

One hour later, Zuko was standing at the outskirts of town, right by the forest. Eventually, out you came, eyeing him suspiciously as he waved. He couldn’t stop the flutter in his chest as he noticed how good you looked. It was like the sun was illuminating you. He cleared his throat when he was caught staring and held out the flowers.

“They’re for you. As a thank you for meeting me,” he mumbled, an innocent smile on his face.

You couldn’t help but stifle a grin and take the flowers. As if on cue, you raised them up to your nose and sniffed, sighing in satisfaction. Your smile up at him made his heart stop.

“You remembered,” you said softly.

He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly and nodded. You rolled your eyes and set off down the path that lead into the forest. He followed after, eventually pacing himself to stay by your side.

“So, you wanted to talk?” you said, snapping him back to reality.

“R-Right. Well, I wanted to apologize for...for being such an asshole. You were nothing but kind to me and I ruined that. I’m really truly sorry,” he said honestly, looking down with what he hoped was an open, honest expression.

Judging by the way you gave a small smile and looked ahead, he would say he did.

“Yea, you were kind of a jerk,” you said with the air of a laugh before you became more serious and asked, “Why did you do that, anyway?”

He didn’t need to ask to know what you were referring to. He sighed and looked to his side to see you, patiently waiting for an answer as the two of you continued walking to your destination.

“I was scared. It’s a shitty excuse, I know. But it didn’f seem as shitty in the moment,” he admitted sheepishly.

You stayed silent as the pair of you finally reached the small clearing. There was a small wooden bench that sat by a small pond. He smiled, remembering all the evenings the two spent sitting by the pond. The two of you sat down together before you spoke.

“You really hurt my feelings, you know.”

He winced. That was to be expected. Thinking back to their last conversation, he was surprised that was all you had said. He had spewed some terrible bullshit about how you lived in a perfect bubble where nothing was wrong. That you should join him in the real world for once.

He still couldn’t erase the pained look his words had caused from his mind. He also couldn’t even begin to forgive himself, so he highly doubted that you would either.

“I really am sorry. I was just so scared of opening up and getting hurt that I shut you out and ran away. I was too afraid of my feelings,” he said softly, eyes staring into the clear pond water.

“...Feelings?” you asked hesitantly.

“Yea. If I’m being honest, I’m still scared. I’ve spent the entire past few months trying to convince myself I didn’t like you, but that’s been failing miserably,” he sighed, chuckling slightly at his own dispair, “I just hope I can make it up to you.”

He braved a glance over at you to see you smiling. You were still clutching the flowers to your chest as well. His heart skipped a beat as you laughed. It was a happy laugh that filled his heart with warmth.

“Well. Would you look at that? You’re pretty cute when you’re nice.”

It took him a minute to process your words. He has a million thoughts running through his head as he felt himself malfunctioning. He sputtered around for a few moments before managing to speak.

“What am I when I’m not nice?” he asked hesitantly, voice holding a hint of confusion.

You actually flat out laughed at that point, which caused a burning red flush of embarrassment to wash over him and color his cheeks and neck. Even the tips of his ears burned.

“Hot,” you said decidedly.

This caused him to gape, his blush growing more furiously. Reality finally caught up to him and he grasped the gravity of the situation.

“Wait. Does that mean-“ he began to ask before being cut off by a short kiss on the cheek.

You returned to your sitting position, smiling lightly with a blush of your own. He couldn’t stop the smile he was holding back from breaking out onto his face.

“You’re a real character, you know that?” you asked with a giggle.

“But you like me anyways?”

You smiled. He could swear his heart melted on the spot at your response.

“Undoubtedly so.”

[spencersawkward]

switchblade faith//spencer reid - chapter 6

summary: one month after joining the BAU, Clea is still settling in. between solving murders and getting acclimated to DC, the only comfortable thing in her life is her friendship with Dr. Spencer Reid.

relationship: Fem!OC/Spencer

content warnings: discussion of mental illness (schizophrenia)

word count: 4.4k

masterlist

the thing about growing up in a place where there are so many dinosaur fossils is that you start to search for them everywhere. my friends and I, in elementary school, saw the enormous bones, those huge sockets where eyes used to sit. and even though there was nothing in them now, they seemed to glare back at us. if you stood right in front, face-to-face, it felt like looking down the barrel of a gun. a several-ton, reptilian gun. petrifying.

and it wasn't like there was much to do in Montana, anyway. sometimes the sheer expanse of that place, especially if we drove a bit out of town, was enough to put fear in me. like we'd been abandoned there.

when my mom got her migraines, I dug holes in the front yard. occasionally, I'd find something-- a funnily-shaped rock, usually-- and it would look enough like a dinosaur tooth that for a moment I'd deceive myself into thinking that I'd made a discovery. it didn't matter that actual remnants would be buried much, much further in the ground than I could turn with my small hands. but I liked the slight rush it sent through my body, seeing what other people hadn't. sitting back on my heels and brushing off the excess, the only thing I could hear was my breath. there's something quite serene about that, the focusing in on something which normally I would never think about. my heart pounding. and I collected my findings so that I would be able to put them together again when there were enough pieces.

but this doesn't matter in the grand scheme of things, particularly not when I'm short on time and staring at an upsettingly pathetic evidence board.

"the unsub said we needed a book, didn't he?" Spencer brings me to attention. there's an unfolded paper on the board that Hotch's wife dropped off an hour ago. he's talking to her in his office about who delivered it; we don't know anything else. all it has is a bunch of numbers written in neat black ink.

"yep." I bite the end of my pen and frown. "one that 'inspired many an adventure.'"

"then it's a book code," Reid says like it's the most obvious thing in the world. I arch an eyebrow and he continues. "each one of these sets of numbers represents a specific word. page 118, line 30, word 3." he points one long finger at a certain spot, and I follow it.

"so we just need to figure out what the words are and fill in the blanks," I lean forward in my chair, cradling a cup of coffee that's starting to grow cold. "except what book are we looking for?"

"I don't know," he shrugs. I lean back in my seat; if Reid doesn't know, we're all screwed. "the thing is that it has to be the exact same edition of the exact same book."

"that's encouraging." I sigh. the useless feeling puts me in a bad mood. we're wasting time by sitting and learning nothing. although there's nowhere to go.

I'm not sure how long we're there; hours, at least. night becomes less heavy, hues of a purplish pink sky slotting through the blinds and reminding me of just how exhausted I am. not enough to sleep. bone-tired.

Spencer crosses his arms, leans his chin on his fist and stares at the numbers like they'll suddenly make sense. and maybe they will; I don't know how his head works. some miracle that has eluded us for the past few hours might appear now. but the longer I stare, the more confused I get. instead, I start to sift through the pile of other evidence pieces scattered around the table. we could be missing something.

"you know, I can understand how this guy got our addresses and phone numbers, but there's no way all that information about JJ's butterfly obsession or Rossi's trips to baseball games would be in our personnel files." I frown. those things wouldn't be relevant.

Spencer isn't even listening to me, though. he's muttering to himself, eyes flickering over the floor.

"'never would it be night, but always clear day to any man's sight,'" he says it more loudly, then finally focuses on me. "it sounds familiar-- I think I've heard it somewhere before."

I also get the feeling that I've heard it before, except it keeps slipping my memory. a lot of rhyming poetry leaves my mind after I finish reading it, and I don't want to lead us in the wrong direction, either. he uncaps a dry erase marker and hurries over to the white board, writing "Possible Book Titles" in messy scrawl, staring at it. I watch him for a moment, the way he talks to himself as he works through his thoughts, certain words floating in the air.

"how many books do you think are published every year?" I ask. maybe if we can narrow that down, we can get a better perspective on how to proceed. Spencer doesn't even look up.

"thousands. easily." he sighs dejectedly. and then his head snaps up. "year... every year."

he spins and starts to push all the evidence bags aside on the table, scrambling to grab something. I don't know what to say about his fervent behavior. I'm speechless when he finds the baseball card. he shoves it in my face. "1963."

"what about it?" I take the card.

"if the book has to be the right volume and the right publication date, why is this from 1963?"

his eyes are enormous. wide pupils that urge me to catch onto his line of thought. for a moment, I have no idea what he's talking about. my eyes run over the baseball card for what feels like the millionth time, examining the date. I slam the thing down on the table and we look at each other.

"Rossi said 1959." I say. he nods.

"so the book must be from 1963, or it wouldn't fit the pattern," Reid straightens and runs his hands through his hair, his spine finally straightening as he takes a deep breath. I can practically sense the electric current that radiates from his body while he thinks. "I'm gonna go ask Garcia about something."

he's gone before I have a chance to respond.

...

the rest of the day gets really weird really fast. as all of us are focused on finding the unsub, I fall into a daze. I don't eat, don't drink anything other than tankards of coffee while my eyes start to burn from looking at the board.

we've finished talking on the phone to a librarian at some facility in Virginia, where the exact edition of the book we've been seeking is housed. it took about half an hour for us to go through each blank in the code with her. somehow, that prompted Spencer to think of his mom, so he called her and requested she be flown out here from Las Vegas immediately. the whole time he's on the phone, he rocks back and forth on his heels and keeps glancing at me.

I pretend to be focused on the pile of evidence, not wanting to intrude. he already told me about his mom, and I'm assuming this has something to do with her being a professor of medieval literature. it's not really my place to question it.

when he hangs up, he doesn't say anything to me. there's quite literally nothing else for us to do. I clear my throat, lick my lips, and sit a bit straighter. he's still standing with his hands shoved in his pockets.

"um," I wrack my mind for anything that would take our minds off the waiting. "do you wanna play cards?"

Spencer tries to smile. it looks more like a wince as he nods. with Prentiss and Morgan talking to the guy who delivered the code papers and Hotch and Rossi on their way to interview the parents of the missing girl (whose name is Rebecca Bryant, apparently), we're kind of aimless.

I head to the bullpen to grab my favorite deck, then return and close the door behind me. there are plenty of other employees out there bustling around, and the noise probably won't help his anxiety. he's sitting in the chair next to where I was, leaning his elbow against the table while he presses his knuckles to his temple. he looks incredibly pensive.

"here." I plop down next to him.

"thanks."

"mhmm." instead of starting a conversation, I just shuffle the deck. the only sounds are the flutter of paper against paper and the slap of the cards on the table's surface. his eyes follow the movements of my hands, the way I bend and mix them up, before eventually dealing them out.

it should be awkward, but it's not. the weight of his thoughts fills enough of the space for the both of us; I can practically hear him running through scenarios in his mind, ever.

we start to play for a couple minutes in silence, and I'm in shock when he's the one who initiates a game of war. all I do is smile to myself as the pile in the middle of the table begins. we get caught up in it; both of us are tense, and he finally slaps his hand down on the pile before I do. my hand is covering his, evidence of my defeat.

"hey!" he cheers, looking up at me with a surprised grin and dragging the pile towards him. I narrow my eyes.

"I was distracted." I roll my eyes.

"yeah?" he starts to laugh as he sets forth another card. "by what? how I'm crushing you?"

"you get one hand and suddenly you're the master, now, huh?" I can't help but giggle. he nods and smiles like, yeah, pretty much. I scoff and we continue to play. halfway through the next round, he speaks up.

"I forgot she always used to read me that poem."

"what poem?" I frown.

"The Parliament of Fowls-- it's how we figured out the book title."

the name slides into place for me at last. I must have read it in college or something, because it didn't leave that big of an imprint on my memory.

"Chaucer?" I raise an eyebrow. his head startles up from staring at the table.

"yeah." he smiles a little. 

"I'm not entirely stupid." I wink before setting down another card. he makes a noncommittal noise.

he seems to get uncomfortable, shifting, then gives up on his previous train of thought. "it's kind of funny, isn't it?"

I just give him an inquisitive look.

"I should have realized sooner. nobody knows things like the fact that JJ collected butterflies except for me." he isn't looking at me, but I notice that he does seem more relaxed than before. his shoulders aren't so hunched over, and there's even a hint of a thoughtful smile on his face.

"that's sweet." I reply softly.

"people tell me their secrets all the time," he stops putting out cards. I stop, too, although he doesn't even notice that we're no longer playing the game. his back is reclined in the chair. "I think it's because they know I don't have anyone to betray them to."

my heart sinks in my chest at the implication. his tone is a bit melancholy, but there's something else in it, too, that I can't quite place. like a resigned loneliness. I want to say something, though I'm not sure what. and I don't think it would make a difference anyway. he continues on before I have to, thankfully.

"except my mom. I tell her... pretty much everything." he looks up at me when he says the last part, smiling. his eyes sparkle, and something about the low tone of voice and the way he gives up all of this at once makes me think that Spencer hasn't spent much time telling his own secrets. only hearing others', storing them away.

"I don't think anyone would mind." I reply.

"you know, I write her a letter every day." his laugh is really lovely. my heart stutters.

"I think that's nice."

"well, it depends on why I write her."

"what do you mean?" this time I frown, my fingertips fidgeting with each other under the table. I hate that I'm nervous right now, worried that I'll somehow ruin the moment.

"I write her letters... so that I don't feel so guilty about not visiting her." each syllable like its own individual battle for him.

the admission is like a cement block between us, something ridiculously heavy that he has compressed and repressed until it's too solid to hide anymore. and he's avoiding contact when he says it, and the moments after. his fingertips mess around with a stray paper clip, twisting the thing into oblivion.

"did you know that schizophrenia is genetically passed?" he asks, then peeks up to gauge my reaction. schizophrenia.

"how long has she been diagnosed?" my own eyes are barely able to hold his. everything in my body wants to reach out and hug him, even though that would only ruin this. Spencer isn't a fan of physical touch.

"since before I was born," he shrugs, poking his palm with the end of the paper clip. "she was on meds but didn't get placed in Bennington until I was eighteen." this also seems to be bitter in his mouth. "you get used to it. it's just... I won't know for a while."

I nod. it likely won't manifest for a couple years with him, but that only puts a ticking clock over his head. and, judging by the way his body is sinking into the swivel chair, he senses it constantly. I wish I could tell him that he doesn't have it, that he won't have it, except I can't. there's no way for anyone to find out right now.

"I'm sorry, Spence." it's a weak thing to say-- stupid, really. I've never had a way with words. instead, I pour every ounce of my emotion into it. I don't want him to feel alone. I guess I'm sorry for that, too, along with everything else. nobody deserves to deal with that by themselves.

"it's okay," he smiles. "it is what it is, right?"

"I mean, I think it's a little more complicated than that. but yeah." wow, really fucking eloquent. he chuckles at this, though, brushing his fingers over the top of his deck of cards. he flips the top one over and we return to playing, leaving the conversation to lie open between us.        

...

my body feels like it's been dragged through a corn field by the time we get back to the office. I think I'm still a little in shock, honestly. this whole day has been jam-packed with things, easily the most intense case I've had yet. my morning was occupied by a code-cracking book search, then a series of out-of-place card games with Reid, then his mother arrived and I left them to talk so as not to overwhelm her.

we rescued Rebecca Bryant-- Spencer did, I mean. it was chivalric, how he went into the house and tried to talk down her kidnapper (who happened to be her father). the guy blew himself up, and Morgan tells me that they barely got out of the way in time. I was on the main level with Hotch, trying to find Rebecca. again, Reid came to the rescue with that eidetic memory, recalling the puzzle pieces and a photograph that included an illuminated basement light. the key he received in the mail slipped into her shackles with ease, unlocking her before we carried her out onto the lawn and watched the house burn into an ash-covered shell of itself. I remember the way the smoke billowed into the air, how sparks fluttered out of the windows and dissipated into nothingness.

I stood there like a rock, Reid stumbling up next to me. his face was covered in a sheen of sweat, and his hair was curlier than usual. the heat must have ruined whatever he usually used to smooth it down.

"hey." I'd said, putting my hand on his shoulder as if to offer some kind of stability. he glanced at me with something like unease, then tried to straighten up.

"hi."

"I heard you were a hero in there."

"did Morgan say that?"

"yeah, why?" I laughed. Reid chuckled, shook his head slowly.

"he's teasing me."

"for what?" I frowned.

"pure irony. you know how he always calls me 'pretty boy' and stuff?"

"I sure do." my fist came up to softly slug him in the shoulder. Spencer stumbled a bit and my eyes went wide as I tried to right him before he fell. he made a face as he regained his footing and then I giggled. "you okay, there?"

"I'm fine." he tried to be annoyed, but he was hiding a smile.

"is Rebecca gonna be okay?" I nodded to the ambulance, where he had just spent the past couple minutes talking to the paramedics and checking her condition.

"she'll be okay-- physically, I mean."

"seriously," I watched them close the doors to the vehicle, closing her up inside before they sped off to the hospital. "two years in there."

he nodded and we started to walk to our cars to meet up with the team and head to the office. we both knew his mother was still at Quantico, probably anxiously awaiting his return after she helped him crack the case. but he didn't seem to want to talk about it, so I asked something else that was on my mind.

"do you ever go back and look at old cases?"

"old cases?" he stared at the ground beneath his feet, kicking up the gravel as a way to distract himself. I cleared my throat.

"like, ones that you guys have solved. have you ever gone back and checked to see how the victims are doing now?"

"I haven't worked here long enough for that, really." he had shrugged. I remember how the air felt in my lungs, a little bit poisoned by smoke. still breathable as I inhaled it deeply.

"really makes you think."

"what do you mean?"

"'saving' people has to be more than just sweeping them out of harm's way at the last second, right?" I put air-quotes around the word.

he thinks this over, nodding.

"sorry, I know you're tired." one look at him and I realized that the question I'd posed was one for another time. he walked like there was some unconscionable weight on his shoulders, like he didn't think he deserved his moment of glory for saving that girl's life-- and ours, probably, too.

he looks the same now, pushing the glass doors of the BAU open and immediately focusing in on the windows of the conference room, where the blinds have been lowered to make Diana feel safer. I watch as he runs up the stairs, returning to her as soon as possible.

I wonder what it is to love someone that much, that fear for their well-being that puts you on edge.

Emily places a hand on my shoulder.

"you okay?" she asks, draws my attention away from the closed door of the round table room. I smile and nod cheerfully.

"yep. just ready to go to bed."

"no kidding," she scoffs, slamming her go-bag on her desk. "I feel like I've been up for days."

"so it wasn't just me?" I laugh as I set my things in my own space. she shakes her head slowly and Morgan walks over, his own gait seemingly heavy with exhaustion.

"plans for tonight, ladies?" he jokes.

"with my couch and takeout." Emily replies. once my bag is all packed up, she and Morgan and I wander out of the office. Rossi stops us at the last minute, joining before we head into the hallway to take the elevator downstairs.

I peek once to see Hotch sitting in his office, settled in with the light on like he's been there all day. my brain almost short-circuits at the thought of doing more work in any capacity right now.

"does he ever sleep?" I ask quietly as though he can hear me from all the way over here. Rossi glances at the unit chief through the window, shaking his head slowly and letting out the kind of knowing chuckle that only older people have.

"nope."

"wait," Morgan sees our small grouping, almost does a head count as JJ emerges from her office and sidles up silently next to me while we wait for the steel doors to open. "where's the kid?"

"Spence is flying his mom back to Vegas." JJ replies right away. when I saw him disappear into that room, I knew they wouldn't leave for a while; moving her around so much can't be good for her mental state. but I guess they're eager to get her to the sanitarium, which also makes sense.

"oh, okay." Morgan shrugs. I chance a look in that direction. the blinds are still drawn. Medieval literature. huh. part of me begins to think about all the things she must know, must have passed down to Reid.

...

"I'm gonna say... three." my voice is uncertain at first, but then the flavor coats my tongue and I smack my lips. "yeah."

Spencer's nonresponse is damning. I hear the puff of air he exhales in frustration as I lift the sleeping mask up from my eyes. I got it from my go-bag; we've decided to repurpose it for the morning in the office. technically, we could just close our eyes and keep it simple, but I thought it would be sort of funny because there are two huge cartoon eyes printed on the front.

"I'm right, aren't I?" I smirk, eyes landing on his crossed arms and taut expression. he shrugs.

"I think you're cheating."

"how am I cheating?" I laugh.

"I don't know, but you are." he shakes his head as I wrap my fingers around the handle and take a sip of the coffee. we're taste-testing to see who's better at finding the sugar content. it's become a pattern of ours: I make him a cup and he makes me one and then we drop in the sugar packets while the other keeps their eyes covered. it's actually pretty fun, especially because I'm good at it.

"your turn, then." I take off the sleeping mask and hand it over to him. he slips the thing over his eyes and waits patiently for me to put the sugar packets in. I chew on my bottom lip as I decide what number to do.

as I do this, JJ stands behind my shoulder.

"nap time, Spence?" she asks him with a chuckle. I explain before he has the opportunity to slander me with more cheating accusations.

"we're trying to see how good we are at detecting the number of sugars." I pick up six packets, knowing it'll definitely overload his senses. this'll teach him to call me a liar. JJ's eyes widen.

"cover your ears, Reid, I don't want you to hear me tearing them open." I order. he obliges, and I can sense the frown on his face while I dump in the sweetener.

"okay." I mix it with the stirrer before placing it in front of him.

"this thing smells like lavender." he observes randomly in reference to my sleeping mask.

"it's got scented stuff inside the fabric." I say.

"interesting. did you know that lavender is actually proven to be much more effective than--"

"Spence, just drink the coffee. I have to go talk to Hotch about something and I wanna see how this ends." JJ cuts him off light-heartedly. I purse my lips because I was sort of interested in what he was going to say, but he takes the not-so-subtle hint and lifts the mug.

I expect him to be repulsed by the sweetness, or at least to show some kind of discomfort. however, he takes a long draw before setting it on the table. his hand clutches onto the mug, still, as he pulls the mask off.

"five. this is my usual concoction." he clenches his jaw in complete seriousness. I have to fight an enormous grin, though it just turns into me twisting my mouth to the side of my face and JJ raising her eyebrows in surprise.

"what? am I wrong?" he gets nervous, voice going up an octave as he glances between the two of us. JJ averts her eyes, smiling.

"you lose!" I cackle, throwing my hand up for JJ to high-five. Spencer looks at me like I've stolen his life's savings.

"no! there's no way--"

"I forgot how many you usually put in there and I still won." I feign an awed expression.

"it's okay, Spence. you can always practice." JJ pats his shoulder sympathetically and then leaves us, running up the stairs to Hotch's office. I'm still smirking triumphantly as he glares at me.

"don't hate the player," I sigh, throwing my hands up. "hate the game."

"well, the player also happened to invent the game, so I think I'm entitled." he counters. I snort at his quickness.

"can I try this?" I point to the mug. "I've never had one with six."

he pushes the drink in my direction with his fingertips, almost having given up on trying to fight the loss. "there were six? that's only one off."

"yeah, but you need to get it right to win, dummy." I take a sip of the coffee. it's so sweet, though, that I shake my head and set it back down. "what in God's name is that?"

"you made it!" I sort of like the way his voice gets higher-pitched when he's vehement about something. it's cute.

"I wish I hadn't." I shove it over to him, half-expect that he'll not touch it now that I've taken a drink from it. but he continues to take ingest the caffeine, undeterred. I quirk an eyebrow silently, watching him.

"what?" he asks.

"nothing," I stand up. "come on, we should get some work done. I don't want Hotch to come down here and yell at us."

[harringrovetrashrat]

Pretty Boy

“This is so boring.” Heather popped her gum, smacking slightly, and blew a curl out of her eye. She and Billy were in her dorm, studying together. Her roommate Robin was lounging in her loft, ignoring them, but it was a comfortable thing. Billy sighed and rolled his eyes.

“Switch it up then. Stop with Stats and work on Bio or something,” he suggested. He turned the page in his Art History book, trying to focus.

“No, I mean,” she scoffed, “I mean, like, studying is boring. We should take a break.”

“I’m not taking shots Heather--”

“I’m just saying--”

“I actually need to finish this--”

“Well, I need to do something else--”

“Oh my god,” Robin groaned, leaning over the side of the bed. “Whatever you guys do, would you be quiet about it?” Billy stuck his tongue out and she rolled her eyes before turning back towards the ceiling. Heather eyed her, tongue swiping over her bottom lip unconsciously, and Billy smiled slightly. She was so obvious.

“Hey,” he suggested slyly, “Didn’t you say you had a new lipstick you wanted to show me? Said it screamed Fuck Me?” He ignored the slightly choked sound that came from Robin’s loft and instead focused on Heather’s rapidly flushing face. She gave him a look that said I know what you’re doing, but stood and went to her dresser anyway.

“It’s this gorgeous red, and I also have a gloss I thought would look good with it, but I wanted your opinion.” She pulled out a tube and Billy tossed his textbook to the side, leaning back slightly. He caught movement from the corner of his eye and saw that Robin had turned so she was facing the room and not the wall. He smirked to himself. Lesbians were so oblivious to each other, it was almost infuriating. Almost. “Alright,” Heather said, popping her lips. She turned and gave him a bright smile. “What do you think?”

“Oh yeah, girl,” he said with a grin, “That’s a fuck me red, if I’ve ever seen one.” It was a bright red, like Christmas holly or a cartoon candy apple. The gloss looked like it was close to dripping down her chin, shimmery and sheen. Billy licked his lips and Heather’s grin turned sly.

“Oh I have the best idea.” She grabbed her makeup bag and plopped back beside him on the futon, turning to face him. Billy raised a brow.

“What?”

“We’re giving you a makeover,” she said with delight. Billy rolled his eyes.

“Heather--”

“Oh come on! Please? It’s 2019,” she begged, pouting. “Guys wear makeup now and you have the best eyes for makeup I swear. I am so jealous of your lashes you don’t even know, Billy.” He laughed at that, and then shook his head.

“Alright, fine. You’re right, I do have amazing eyes.” He heard shuffling and a thump, then Robin was behind Heather, a wide grin on her face.

“This is gonna be good.”

“Pull your hair back,” Heather said, tossing him a baby blue velvet scrunchie. He pulled his hair into a pony on the crown of his head, watching her pick through her various makeup bags. “Alright, close your eyes, Billy,” Heather cooed, picking out an eyeliner. He did, reluctantly, but his heart thudded in excitement. He’d never really tried out makeup before. Sure, he’d done eyeliner and some mascara, because he did have the best eyes for makeup, but anything more? His father had made sure he knew there’d be hell to pay if he ever tried. And once he got to college, well, he’d been too busy with schoolwork and keeping his scholarship that he didn’t really think about what it meant to be out from under his father’s roof. To be in control of himself. It wasn’t like he really wanted to do drag or anything either, but he’d always loved how he looked. Spent too much time staring at himself in the mirror, probably. And he knew, he fucking knew, that he’d look good in makeup.

“If you make me look like shit, Heather, I’m taking all of your scrunchies,” he warned, a smirk pulling at his lips. He heard her gasp, offended.

“You’ve seen my makeup--”

“Yeah, exactly,” he teased.

“I’m gonna give you orange eyeshadow if you don’t shut the fuck up,” she hissed.

“I’d still look good.”

“I dunno, Hargrove,” Robin drawled. “You’re not looking at this orange.”

“Dunno when I asked for your opinion, Buckley.” She snorted at that, and he imagined she probably rolled her eyes too. Billy liked Robin. She was quick witted, funny, and had a really special knack for making ‘dingus’ sound like a compliment. Also, she was friends with one Steve Harrington.

Steve was something else. He and Robin had been friends in high school, making the move out to Berkeley together. He’d helped Robin move in, like Billy had helped Heather, and the minute he had seen him, Billy had been obsessed. Steve was cute, fucking adorable, and then he’d run his hand through his hair and Billy had nearly short circuted imagining doing that himself. Then Steve had opened his mouth and proved himself to be so far out of Billy’s league. He was kind, goofy, but also stubborn and loyal, like a puppy. He was smart, if not a little naive, and he was funny. Pretty much the perfect fucking package.

But Billy knew that he’d ruin him. That he’d taint the goodness that was inherently in Steve, so he kept his crush to himself. And it proved fucking helpful just last week, in late October.

“Halloween is fine enough, I just had a bad breakup with my ex at a party in high school last year and it’s just a little tainted still.” Steve frowned as he sucked on the joint. Billy watched his lips intently, snapping his eyes up as Steve handed it to him.

“Oh?” Billy busied himself with taking a hit so he wouldn’t ask. He wasn’t sure Steve wanted to talk about it.

“Yeah,” he sighed, still looking up at the ceiling. “She got really drunk and kinda, let me have it? Then slept with someone else?” Billy exhaled sharply, eyes widening slightly. He ignored the clenching his chest at the revelation of it being a girlfriend.

“Fuck.”

“Yeah,” Steve croaked. “We made up, but like, it’s not a great memory anyway.”

“Well,” Billy offered, licking his lips, “We could hang out if you want. On halloween. Nothing big. Just get stoned and watch some horror movies or some shit.” His stomach was full of butterflies and he tried to squish them, trying to keep his hopes fucking down. Steve was most likely straight, and Billy really should have seen this coming. Still, it was kinda like a date and he’d never really been on a date before. Not with a guy, at least. Steve smiled a little.

“Yeah, I’d like that.” Billy’s heart fluttered in his chest before sinking when Steve said, “Could I bring Robin?”

“Yeah, of course.” And that had been that. Billy had taken that as a rejection and tried his darndest to not think about Steve and his long fingers, longer legs, and his mesmerizing brown eyes. He didn’t do a very good job of it.

“No, no, no.” He zoned back in to Robin and Heather bickering.

“But the blue would look so good with his eyes!” Robin said.

“Well, duh,” Heather replied. “But gold fits Billy so much better! See, if I do golds and this coral here, his eyes will just pop!”

“Okay, okay,” Robin relented. “But if his eyes are gonna be all done up, you should really add some highlighter.”

“Oh yeah,” Heather nodded, “You’re so right.”

“Do I get an opinion?” Billy said, eyes still closed.

“No,” the girls replied in unison, and he smiled.

--

Steve was having the worst fucking day.

He’d spilled his coffee all over his notes that morning, had been late to his shift at the school store after a shitty phone call with his father, and was now being sexiled from his own dorm. He thunked his head against the hallway wall, wondering if the world could just swallow him up.

Plus, he’d been anxious about not hearing as much from Billy the past couple of weeks.

When he had invited Robin to the Halloween hang out, she had laughed at him for a full minute. He was confused until she brought up that Billy had been asking him on a date. Which didn’t make sense because Billy was obviously straight. Not that Steve was one to go on stereotypes, but Billy was a natural flirt and he’d just figured he was comfortable enough in himself to flirt with guys too. That he didn’t mean it. Because, well, look at him.

Billy was the kind of hot that slapped you in the face. When Steve had first seen him, muscles bulging as he carried a box on his own, his mouth had gone dry. He hadn’t looked away from his ass until Robin coughed pointedly. Then they had talked, and Billy had been smart and charming, and Steve was a sucker for both of those things. Hell, he’d gotten fucking hard listening to Billy theorize about his English homework a month ago.

And then Robin had rolled her eyes and said that Billy was gay as fuck, that he and Heather were best friends, not dating like Steve had assumed. So Steve held his head in his hands and groaned. Robin had laughed at him again, but told him that she would come if he really wanted her to.

“I mean, I want it to be him being interested so bad,” Steve groaned. “But what if you’re wrong?”

“Trust me,” she had dead panned, “I’m not.”

But Steve had made mistakes before. He’d been so positive about Christian, and that had ended so poorly. He really didn’t want to take any other chances. So she came and brought Heather, who Billy had invited. And it had been a fun evening and Steve had thought that maybe, just maybe, Billy was into him.

But then they hadn’t talked for a while, what with midterms coming up, only meeting when the whole group got together for study sessions with alcohol. It wasn’t super unusual, but Billy and Steve had been texting regularly, pretty much everyday, and suddenly it took him hours to respond, sometimes even a day or two. It wasn’t like it was pressing stuff, but Steve’s earlier hope and excitement at Billy’s possible interest was quickly dissolving.

And what sucked is he couldn’t even complain to Robin about it. Because she would fucking laugh at him and remind him it was his own damn fault. It also didn’t help that after he’d gotten a C and B on his last tests (which were some of his best and most steady grades in years, thank you very much), his father had used the phone call to resume his quest to get Steve to major in business instead of social care. Had talked over Steve’s excitement with disappointment in his voice that Steve still hadn’t chosen ’the right career’.

Steve sighed, thunking his head against the wall again, feeling sorry for himself. He needed a pick me up. He needed a drink. Robin was good for both. He took a deep breath and made his way to her dorm, wondering if Heather was there too. She was always good for a drink and maybe seeing Robin fail to talk to her crush could make him feel minimally better.

Also if she had just so happened to message him earlier that Billy was there to study, that was no one’s business. Steve would have gone there anyway.

He knocked when he arrived, waiting to come in since he hadn’t texted ahead of time. Robin opened the door, a weird and intense smile spreading on her face when she saw him.

“Oh no way,” she breathed. “This is perfect.”

“What?” Steve furrowed his brow. She pulled him into the room, smile still wide.

“Steve’s here!” She announced, way too perky. Steve started to get nervous.

“Oh great! He can tell me what he thinks!” Heather cheered. There was a strangled sound from next to her and once Steve had his bearings, he focused on Heather and-- promptly choked on his own spit. Billy was staring at him, hair up, face fucking glowing. Heather had her makeup spread out on the bed between them, her red lips pulled into a cheery smile. But Steve couldn’t focus because Billy’s lips were also so red and shiny and his eyes were breathtaking--

“So?” Heather asked, a knowing grin on her face. Steve opened and closed his mouth, trying to get back the ability to talk.

“I think he likes it,” Robin chuckled. Steve gave a nod, swallowing thickly. Billy was blushing, Steve could tell by the tips of his ears, and he let out a shaky breath.

“Uh, y-yeah, it’s great. It’s, uh, really great!” His voice shook a little because Billy’s fucking lips were just like, there.

“Thanks!” Heather said, ignoring the way Billy and Steve were staring at each other. “I could do your makeup sometime!”

“Sure,” Steve replied absently, not listening to a word she was saying. Heather rolled her eyes with a smile and crossed her arms.

“Oh my god, I actually can’t take this anymore, just fucking get it over with!” She said, exasperated but having fun. Both boys snapped out of their trance, looking at her with furrowed brows. Heather and Robin locked eyes before rolling them. “You think he looks fucking hot, right?” She directed this to Steve, who spluttered and turned bright red.

“O-Oh, I, uh, yeah? Uh, I mean, uh--”

“This is so embarrassing for you,” Robin said, almost in awe.

“Shut up,” Steve hissed.

“Uhm.” Billy’s voice cut through the tension, and everyone’s attention turned to him. He looked to Steve, still blushing. “You think I look hot?” Steve opened his mouth and Billy, obviously flustered, cut him off with, “I mean, of course you do, I’m a fucking snack.” He sniffed, trying to act unaffected. Heather looked to Robin, wondering if she should put them out of their misery.

“He also wants to suck your dick,” Robin added, making Steve gasp and turn on her, shocked.

“Robin! What the fuck!”

“You do?” Billy’s eyes were wide, but excited. Steve looked at him, shocked.

“What-- I-- Well, yeah.” He rubbed the back of his head and smiled a little awkwardly. Billy smiled.

“Holloway, I need to talk to Steve in your room for a--”

“Oh no, you are not making out in here--”

“Oh come on,” Robin said, grabbing her arm. “Just use the fucking futon, you animals.” And she closed the door behind her. When Heather and Robin returned, having grabbed some pizza and beers for the evening, Steve and Billy were on the futon; Steve’s hair was wild and he had lipstick and gloss smudged around his lips, while Billy’s, lipstick ruined, were stretched into a smug smile.

“I think it’s time you two talked.”

[dontshouta]

elegant obscenities

summery: Your tattoo session which you’ve had scheduled for months has finally arrived and you finally get to meet the man everyone’s speaking so highly of. pairing: tattoo artist!bakugou katsuki x fem!reader word count: 3,799 note: modern au! also,, this is ns*fw so please… if ur not into that... just look away alsoalso, my tattoo knowledge is very limited.. im goin based on what ive seen on t.v or what ive read.. soo sorry if anythings wrong lol i dont have the heart to do extensive research on it atm but i hope you enjoy nonetheless

To say you were excited was a massive understatement. You felt like your heart was gonna burst from how quickly it was beating, your stomach felt like the den of a thousand butterflies, and yet you couldn’t wipe the huge smile plastered on your face.  Today, you were going to see what all the fuss was about. Today, you were getting your first tattoo from the King of Tattoos himself-- Bakugou Katsuki. Just the mere thought of it shot a rush of adrenaline through your veins. You’ve heard so many reviews on this guy, you’ve seen his beautiful works on yelp, you’ve seen the clean and cut format of the parlor’s website- he was no joke. Though, his reputation seemed flawless, people did seem to not like his attitude. But of course, that would be ultimately overlooked, his work was just that good. 

As excited you were, you were equally nervous. You didn’t know if you could sit through an hour session of what could possibly be him yelling and screaming at the top of his lungs. Or at least, that’s what some people have claimed to have happened. You wanted to remain optimistic though, and decided not showing up would be a waste of everyone’s time.

So, with determination and excitement fueling your resolve, you entered the tattoo parlor. You were greeted by an eager redhead, who smiled when you told him of your appointment.

“Oh yeah! Well, Y/N, if you could read over these papers and sign ‘em, Bakugou’ll be ready for you when your done!”

You took the clipboard with a smile and sat down. For a moment, you just stared at the words, not really reading them and letting the paper blur. You only hesitated for a moment, before grabbing the pen and firmly filling out the forms. You couldn’t possibly back out now, you’ve waited months for this opportunity! Just because some reviews said he could be a scary guy, psh, from what you’ve seen from the redhead, he couldn’t possibly be that bad, right? Just as you signed your last signature, someone cursed at the end of the hall.

“Shitty-hair! Is that client here yet?! I’m not gonna fuckin’ wait all damn day!” 

You froze in your seat, your eyes watching the redhead as he rolled his eyes.

“She’s here, dude, chill.” 

You gulped, pen shaking in your hand as you stared at the papers again. Was this guy serious? He sounds like he could up and kill me with his tattoo gun! The redhead laughed, taking in your pale figure and offering a calming smile. You relaxed the slightest bit.

“Ah, don’t mind him. He’s all bark and no bite, you’ll be fine. It’s just a tattoo after all!” He laughed again, trying to get you to ease out of your frightened position. “Are you done filling those out? If you could hand me your I.D you’ll be all set!”

You nodded mutely, handing him your I.D and clipboard. His reassurances should’ve placated you but why were you so damn tense? Was the reality of getting a tattoo settling into your bones and immobilizing you? You let out a deep sigh, deciding it’s now or never, hostile artist or not, he still was the best of the best.

The redhead, Kirishima he said was his name, handed you back your I.D and beckoned you to follow him down the hall. The closer you got to the room, the quicker your heart beat. You were so nervous, so excited, you didn’t know what to do with the plethora of emotions surrounding you. With a deep breath, you entered the room behind Kirishima.

The room was covered in art and designs of the past on the walls, fat binders lining bookshelves and a desk spilling over with sketches and unfinished line work. You could tell just from the room alone the experience Bakugou’s had. The tattoo table sat in the corner, laughing at your hesitance,  which almost had you running for the hills at the mere sight of it. The air smelt sterile, and you took a deep breath again to try and calm your jolting nerves. Just as you did, the air caught in your throat when you finally laid eyes on your tattoo artist. His eyes were an angry red, brows set in a frown as he appraised your form. You were frozen at the door, not quite able to tear your eyes away. No one mentioned anything about how hot he was! Feeling very deceived by the reviews online, you shimmied yourself fully into the room, all the while staring at the famed Bakugou Katsuki.

“Took you long enough.” He grumbled with a click of his tongue, strong, impossibly tattooed arms crossed over a built torso. He wore a black tank top, not leaving much to the imagination and wore watching black jeans, which hung delectably low on his hips. Now you weren’t sure if you could sit in the same room as him for a completely different reason.

Kirishima rolled his eyes. “Dude, she’s early. Impatience is so not manly.” He huffed, walking out of the room, giving you a thumbs up and smile on the way out.

Now you were left alone. With an insanely attractive man whose hands and eyes were going to be all over you for the next hour. Your earlier hesitance in the matter all but withered away and was replaced with a newfound excitement. 

You waved awkwardly, smiling slightly. “Um, hi, I’m Y/N! I’ve heard so many great things about you!” You greeted, hoping you didn’t seem overly eager. Now with your resolve restored tenfold, you wanted to get off on the right foot. His temper still looming over your head dangerously.

He clicked his tongue again, eyes roaming over your figure. “You better have, I don’t run this fuckin’ business for nothin’.” He mumbled, motioning for you to sit at that tattoo table while he prepared.

You watched him eagerly, eyes following where he slapped on his latex gloves. You drank in the way his nimble fingers worked with his equipment, sending you head reeling from thoughts of what else they could do. Goodness, this is embarrassing. Get yourself together, Y/N! You can’t be getting yourself all hot and bothered, this is a professional environment! And with that, you averted your eyes and focused them on your twiddling thumbs. 

“So’re you gonna take your pants off or what?” He finally asked, eyes slanting in passive anger at you.

“Wh- huh?!” You exclaimed, almost falling off the table in pure shock. Take off my pants?? Has he noticed my staring? Wait- can he read my thoughts?!

“I can’t tattoo your thigh over you pants, you know. Idiot, you should’ve worn shorts or somethin’.” His voice was laced with superiority as he chastised you, making your thighs clench unconsciously. You were not going to survive this session.

With flaming cheeks, you stood from the table, hands poised over the button of your jeans.

“R-Right.. Well um, would.. Would you mind turning around or something?” You asked quietly, the blush on your cheeks traveling to the rest of your face as you stared into his red eyes. Which he rolled.

“I’m gonna see you half naked anyway,  just take your pants off so we can get this shit over with.” He commanded, a brow raised haughtily as he sat on the stool next to the table. 

Now, you really didn’t think this through. You’d hoped he’d find you half naked in different circumstances, but here you were, jeans pooling around your ankles in contempt while the flush seemed to travel throughout the rest of your body. How could you forget that you wanted this stupid tattoo on your thigh? At first, you didn’t think anything of it, believing you wouldn’t be attracted to your artist. Fate had other plans though, and made your artist the most attractive man you’ve ever laid eyes on. 

You stepped out of your jeans, mumbling begrudgingly as you scooped the mass of fabric from the ground. Once you straightened up, you made eye contact with Bakugou. For a split second, it looked like he was staring at you ass. If you were bolder you might’ve said something like “Like what you see?” but instead, you shook your head, finding the notion preposterous as you sat back onto the table with curses being muttered under your breath.

“It ain’t my fault you wanted the damn tattoo on your thigh, no need to get all bitchy with me.” That comment might’ve brought down his attractiveness to you by about one percent, so any response that you had died in your throat once he started cleaning the exposed area on your thigh. Your lips were zipped tight, trying your absolute best and then some to keep any peep from coming out of your mouth. 

The breath that had been stuck in your chest finally escaped from your body once Bakugou pulled away, reaching for the readied transfer paper. You eyes softened at the sight of the design of your tattoo, heart fluttering at the way Bakugou had rendered it.

“It looks beautiful.” You whispered, smile blossoming on your face as he applied the transfer to your thigh, momentarily forgetting your qualms about the damn artist’s proximity. 

He hummed in response, clearly denoting an I know in his wake as he removed the transfer paper. “Look in the mirror and tell me it looks good.” He commanded, his tone clearly indicating he already knows it looks good. Probably just wants me to stroke his ego some more.

You got up anyway, not wanting to disobey him, and checked out the art that was going to be permanently etched into you skin in an hour’s time. “It’s perfect.” You breathed, checking yourself out in the mirror with renewed excitement. When you turned back, Bakugou’s eyes flickered up from your thigh to your eyes. He cleared his throat, motioning you to sit back on the table with a flick of his wrist.

“Duh, I strive for nothin’ but perfection.” He said, gloved hands patting the table impatiently.

Was that… a blush on his cheeks? Your heart rate accelerated, smile growing as you skipped back onto the table. “I don’t doubt it, Bakugou! Alright, now tat me up!” You were giggling happily, legs spread onto the table before the young artist, which, unbeknownst to you, had his heart rate going a mile a minute.

“Yeah, yeah.” 

With that, he leaned into you inner thigh, one hand gripping onto the soft flesh while the other poised the tattoo gun over it. 

“Brace yourself, it ain’t the most comfortable feeling in the world.” He warned, barely giving you any time to actually do so before getting to work.

A gasp escaped from your lips once you felt the tattoo gun connect with your skin, not necessarily in pain but to your horror, in pleasure. You bit your lip, trying to seem nonchalant but in all reality, heat was rushing to your core and you started to feel your body temperature rise considerably. You couldn’t really blame yourself, an attractive man’s face was inches from your barely concealed vagina while he gripped your thigh. How could you not get turned on? What was really going through your head though, was how you were going to distract yourself. You couldn’t possibly think about him and only him this entire time, right? He’d probably catch on and kick you out or something. You wouldn’t be able to stand the embarrassment that would come with that. 

While you did try to keep your mind occupied, you couldn’t help but watch the artist at work. His tongue slightly poked out his lips every now and then. Sometimes he’d blow out a breath which would hit your thigh deliciously and send you head spinning. He’d squeeze your thigh and maneuver it this way and that to get a better angle. Every little thing had your heart racing, your thighs needing to clench, your core needing some damn friction. You were, to put it lightly, going fucking insane.

Bakugou suddenly pulled back, his face screwed up in an expression you couldn’t place. An agitated groan escaped his lips while he made aggressive eye contact with you.

“Wh- ar-are you done-?!” Your eyes flickered to the unfinished tattoo, your expression turning confused when you met his eyes again. “What-?”

He shoved himself onto you, pupils blown wide with arousal. “You know what you’re doin’, huh? Don’t play dumb with me you’ve been acting like this since you walked in here.. You know how hard it is to fucking concentrate when I can just smell how wet you are? Huh?” He all but growled, eyes glued to yours while his large hands gripped your waist possessively.

You took in a shaky breath, breaking eye contact to watch his body hover impossibly close to yours. A sweat had built around Bakugou’s temples, body slightly shaking with restraint as he gathered your next reaction.

“Fuck.. you can’t blame me, can you?!” You yelled, hands gripping onto his strong biceps. “You’re over here gripping on my thigh and breathing on my coochie, how the fuck am I supposed to react?”

Your response shocked him, but was enough to confirm any suspicions he had and he immediately clashed his lips with yours. You melted instantly, hands roaming up to grip at his sandy hair roughly. Teeth clashed, tongues melded and fought for dominance, breath coming in hot and heavy as your bodies melted into each other. Bakugou was already hard against your thigh, member pulsing through his jeans and prodding closer and closer to your dripping core. 

You moved to wrap your exposed legs around his waist but was shoved roughly back onto the table, Bakugou breaking the heated kiss and roaming down. His hands left a trail of fire on your exposed skin, causing small, broken mewls to slip to your lips while he pushed your top over your breasts, his eyes drinking in your heated form greedily.

“Fuck baby you look so good like this. I’ve barely even touched you and you already look fucked out, all for me huh?” He purred obscenities into your ear, a shiver wracking through your body at his words. His hands barely skimmed over your bra, your breath held in anticipation as he slowed his rough mannerisms to admire your breathless body. A low growl emitted from the back of his throat, his hands pushing your bra down to expose your chest, your nipples hardening immediately in the crisp air. Deft, tattooed fingers toyed with your breasts, red eyes burning into your own as he watched you writhe underneath him, your legs rubbing together incessantly to try and gauge at least the tiniest amount of friction you could get. 

You whined needily, fingers fisting into his hair as you tried to connect your barely concealed pelvis with his.

“Nuh, uh, baby girl I’m gonna need you to be patient, yeah? Can you be patient for me?” His tone was laced with such dominance you were rendered speechless, a nod of your head indicating you understood what he was implying.

“No, that ain’t gonna cut it sweetheart, use your fucking words or else I’m stoppin’ right here, when we’ve barely even gotten started.” His fingers gripped your chin, forcing your gaze onto his.

“Y-Yes, sir..?” You were hesitant with the addition of the title but a hum of approval resonated from the tattooed man that had you relaxing back into the table again. Your eyes watched his every move while he lowered himself closer to you, a feeling of desperation slowly gnawing at you. His hands roamed every inch of exposed skin, from the apples of your cheeks down to your pelvis, his fingers toying dangerously with the waistband of your delicate panties.

Just as you thought he was gonna grant you at least some relief, his fingers skimmed past the waistband completely, ignoring the removal of the tiny article of clothing and instead moving to push a tattooed finger against your core teasingly. A gasp escaped your lips, one of your hands gripping his bicep for dear life, the tiny amount of contact overwhelming you.

He chuckled dangerously, his face moving to hover over your clothed heat, his hot breath tickling your thighs.

“Oh, please, just fucking touch me, Bakugou.” You seethed, your patience growing incredibly thin. You wanted to reach for his wrist and just make him touch you yourself but you didn’t want to push your luck, having already yelled at the man already. 

He laughed at your command, his hands moving to grip your hips while his tongue poked out of his mouth to gently prod at your panties. An eloquent oh fuck rolled out of your mouth, his hands gripping harder as his tongue lightly grazed over your clothed cunt.

“Is this what you wanted, princess?” He murmured against your wet panties, his eyes lazily gazing up at you. The sight of his face buried in between your legs had you shaking, the hands in his hair impossibly tightening while you tugged him closer to you.

“Bakugou, please, please, please, eat me out I can’t take it anymore, I want you to fuck me so-!” You cut yourself off with a hearty moan, his fingers snatching your underwear to the side and delving his tongue into dripping core. One of his hands massaged your hip, while the other snaked to toy with your entrance. You were already gasping for breath, legs spasming against his head while he dug himself deeper into you. His tongue laved other your clit, alternating between drawing lazy circles and sucking it hard. The juxtaposition of movements drove you mad, your head falling back against the table with your back arching, you hips bucking into his mouth greedily. His finger finally pushed into you, the combination of his thrusting finger and suckling lips pushing you further and further towards the edge.

All too soon, the friction was gone just as you felt your climax rush over you, causing a shriek of disapproval to sound from you. Your head was up in a flash to shoot a look of desperation to the teasing man. His gaze shook you to your very core, almost undoing you just then, with eyes completely clouded over with unadulterated lust. He smirked, bringing his soiled fingers to his lips and sucking them clean. A whine emitted from your throat, the display downright lewd and having you begging for more.

“Baku-”

“Call me Katsuki, darling.”

“Katsuki, please.”

And with that statement, his tank top was off. His pretty fingers worked to smoothly take off his belt and pants, the mere sounds of the rustling clothes bringing more excitement in between your legs. You crawled toward him, moving to help but he quickly pinned you back down onto the table.

“Now, now, let’s not get too hasty. I plan on fuckin’ that pretty pussy of yours real good, yeah? Don’t you worry that pretty little fuckin’ head of yours.”

Bakugou picked you up with ease, flipping you around and bending you over so your ass was up in the air for him to lay a resounding smack onto it. He hummed while you whined desperately, his abusing hand rubbing the skin immediately to soothe the reddening cheek. You legs felt wobbly, barely able to keep yourself up for him. He was rubbed languid strokes against his angry cock, angling it towards your entrance and prodding at it coyly. He tapped the appendage against your folds, chuckling as your hips bucked up against him. A smirk played on his lips, his eyes dark and dangerous as he started to shift his hips forwards to meet yours. You watched the muscles in his beautifully inked stomach flex as he moved, the feeling of slowly being filled just too good.

Once he was fully inside you, you gasped hotly, trying to accustom yourself to the sensation of being so thoroughly stretched out. His eyes watched attentively, flickering from your stretched hole and to your face. He moved his hips back tortuously slow, setting a pace so agonizingly good that you could barely open you mouth without moaning desperately.

“Oh, f-fuck!” You half-sobbed, clinging to the table for dear life as he rocked into you. He moved to hide his face against the back of your neck, latching onto the juncture of her shoulder and throat in a way that made you sure he would leave a mark. The feeling was almost too much– the slow drag of his cock inside you, the ministrations of his lips, teeth and tongue on your shoulder, the quiet and low growls leaving his perfect lips– you were done for.

His large hands gripped your ass, alternating from hard gropes to rough slaps that resounded about the room and arousing you tenfold. Broken moans fled your lips, your fingernails scratching at the table hopelessly. His cock pulsed within you as he quickened his pace abruptly, his hand fisting into your hair and forcing your back to arch up into him. You cried out in pure glee, your breasts bouncing while he pounded mercilessly into you. 

His hands held your hips in a bruising grip, the pain mixing deliciously with the absolute pleasure that was Bakugou’s pace. His lips were muttering obscenities into your ear, alternating from suckling your earlobe in between his teeth and littering your neck with pretty purple bruises. You have ascended, your mind gone due to this tattoo artist’s godly dick. 

You were sputtering, moans never ceasing to escape from your lips as you tried your best to keep up with his pace, your body becoming hotter and hotter with every deep thrust. You felt your climax building, your walls clenching around his thick cock, causing him to curse into your ear.

His unoccupied hand snaking around your waist to rub quick circles into your clit, sending your body into overdrive and making you see stars.

“I’m go-gonna- oh my goodness- I’m gonna f-fucking come-!” Your body was on fire, your mind short-circuiting with the amount of pleasure wracking your body as you finally came. Your moans came louder with it, your body spasming against his still pistoning cock.

He came soon after, his thrusts becoming sloppy as he rode out his high within your overstimulated walls. Bakugou released your hair, your body falling limply onto the tattoo table. You were gasping for breath, his seed pooling out of your pussy and onto the table. His fingers circled your folds and gathered the come from it, holding them out in front of your lips.

“Now, be a good girl and swallow my cum, huh, princess?”

[inkrabbit]

Cyberpunk 2077 Johnny Silverhand x Trans/Nb V or a GN V who gets jealous of his fans

I am so fucking sorry this took so long, but it's here now.

V in this story is FTM trans! Hopefully it's good <3 there also isn't exactly a happy ending for both of them, because we believe in angst in this household

It wasn't the first time V had attended one of Johnny's concerts, and he was positive it wouldn't be the last. He hated how he loved the music, and he hated himself for loving the singer more. He saw how he stared at them. The women who were barely adults, jumping and squealing in the crowd, calling out to him. And he'd be lying if he said he hadn't seen a couple of them making their way out of his changing room.

Yet, here he still was, standing among the crowd with his arms crossed over his chest, almost scowling at Johnny. How long have they been dating now? Five, six months? Oftentimes he questioned why exactly he had fallen for the rockstar. Had it been the fame? The money? The sex? Johnny would normally buy him whatever he wanted (or rather, just tossed his credit card his way and let him scamper off to get whatever item caught his attention), and the intimate times with the man never left him unsatisfied. Still, he wanted more. He wanted it all from the man, not just the petty little things and meaningless title.

Time and time again he had thought of leaving; finding someone else worth his time and emotions, but something always dragged him back. What it was, he didn't know, but he absolutely despised it. The tug of his heartstrings and that warm feeling that would sprout in his chest and move throughout his body whenever the man would say anything to him that held affection.

He's not even listening to the music anymore, too caught in his building rage to even acknowledge the lyrics. However, Johnny makes eye contact with him, and with a smug grin plastered across his face, he sends the man a wink. There goes that feeling again, starting the middle of his chest. But he forces himself to ignore it; to believe that he's sending the wink to the young woman standing next to him with her tits practically falling out of her halter top. He rolls his eyes.

No matter what, he was confronting him about all of this. And he was leaving, no questions asked.

When the concert finally ended and the band said their goodbyes, V finally started to move. He was going to beat Johnny to his changing room, and he was going to make sure no other person got back there before him. He shouldered his way past the other patrons and glared at them when they tried to raise their voice at him. He was lucky none of them decided to push the issue.

He had gone through everything he would say to the rocker when he saw him. Tell him how much of a bastard he was and how he couldn't stand him anymore; how he couldn't stand the way he cheated on him or even looked at those women. Another tug at his heart, but not the familiar giddy feelings. No, this had been something that was eating at him for a long time, and he was finally at his wits end.

“Enjoy the show?” The gruff voice had caught his attention, his eyes glancing over to watch Johnny walk up towards him. The same grin is still on his face, one hand tucked inside his pocket as he stands before him with all of his weight on one foot. “Saw ya out in the crowd. Sure do love our music, don't ya?” He slowly gets closer, lowering his face so he's staring at him over his iconic shades. “Or do ya just come here to see me?”

“Don't flatter yourself,” V scoffs, pushing himself off the wall. He follows Johnny inside the room and away from prying eyes. It always smelled of smoke and alcohol, and no matter how many times he tried to grow accustomed to it, he just couldn't. It was all too strong and just smelled of Johnny, making his head spin.

“So, why are you here, then?” Arms wrap around his waist, and V's quick to wiggle out of his grip with a huff. “Christ, V. That time of the month already?”

“Don't even start,” The sharpness in his tone had shocked both of them, but even if it had truly fazed Johnny, he didn't let it show.

“If you're gonna act like this, you can get the fuck out.”

“Oh, you'd like that, wouldn't you? Let one of those whores come in here?”

“Is that what this is about? Christ V-”

“Don't you “Christ, V” me! How do you think that makes me feel?”

“I'm sure you're gonna tell me anyway...”

“Do you even care?”

There's a beat of silence as Johnny removes his shades, pinching the bridge of his nose and sighing. V can feel his jaw clench.

“You like them cause they got tits?” he accuses, “'Cause they have curves?”

“V-”

“What do they have that I don't?!” It feels like his throat is trying to close up as tears prick at the corners of his eyes. He tries taking deep breaths to calm himself, blinking rapidly. There was no way he was going to let this man see him cry like this. Still, he couldn't deny the feeling of defeat that had cemented itself in his stomach. He felt sick.

“I've been so patient with you,” He's slow to talk, hands curling into fists as he focuses on anything but Johnny. “I've made so many excuses for you. And you keep doing this-”

“Why don't you just calm down?” Johnny tries, taking a slow step forward. “Deep breaths. We don't gotta discuss this now.”

And for a moment, V tries it, taking a deep breath in and letting his hands relax by his side. He feels arms snake around his waist again, and he allows his hands to rest atop Johnny's forearms. A soft kiss is pressed to his temple, one of the only gentle things Johnny will actually do. Maybe he knew tenderness was one of the things that made V actually calm down. Maybe he had listened and admired him; got to know the small details most people seemed to leave out.

“There. Don't you feel better?” It’s the snide tone in his voice he can pick out, having almost an “I told you so” feel to it. In a way, he did feel better. “Don't know why you're so bent out of shape on this.”

V lets his words sink in. Why had he been so “bent out of shape” about everything? He knew what was to come from a relationship with the rockstar. He had heard every rumor and bitter remark about him. Why did he think he'd be any different?

Right. Because he thought maybe he'd be his saving grace. That he wouldn't actually be wasting his time and emotions trying to “fix” such a broken and angry man. That maybe, just maybe, Johnny would grow up and act like a fucking adult and admit to his faults.

Wishful thinking.

The lies, the poor excuses, the nudes and naughty texts found on Johnny's phone, the women who would leave his changing room, the “innocent” peck on the lips to his adoring fans, the way he would actually comment on a woman's figure while they were out-

It all came back to him, the blinding rage that made his jaw clench. He was played and took advantage of. No matter what he tried doing for Johnny, it was obvious the rocker seemed to have a spot for his fans more than he did V. Had he ever cared for him, actually? Did Johnny ever once look at V and feel the same feelings he did? The butterflies, the tightening of the chest, maybe even some shortness of breath? He doubted it. At the end of the day, he was positive Johnny was more in love with himself and his ideas than he was with V.

Something felt like it snapped inside him, and maybe something truly did. The last heart string that kept him with Johnny finally split. In that moment, he finally felt peace; freedom from the relationship that was bringing him down.

“Well, V. How ya feel now?” Johnny's lips are ghosting the shell of his ear, his voice a low husk as his hands slowly travel lower. There's no thought behind his actions; he almost feels like he's completely disconnected from reality. Throwing his fist forward, he makes contact with Johnny's nose, sending the man stumbling back and blood trailing down from his nostrils. There's a newfound confidence in V as he shoulders past Johnny, the rockstar shouting and hurling insults his way. With his hand on the doorknob, he takes a glance over his shoulder, a smug grin on his face.

“Lot better now that I got that out,” he answers him. Throwing the door open, he slips out of the changing room, making his way for the exit of the venue. It feels like there's a weight that's been lifted off of his chest, and he mentally pats himself on the back for remembering his worth. He wouldn't cry for the man, and he sure as well refused to ever go back to him. Tonight, he'd delete all of his pictures that were of and reminded him of the man, and he would even erase him from his contacts. He didn't want any memories of Johnny.

The fans had caught his attention on his way out, the girls squealing about the show and talking among themselves, chattering away about backstage passes and autographs. In the past, he would've looked at them and compared himself to them. Their figures, their voices, how they dressed, anything to figure out why he didn't seem to be good enough for Johnny. But now, all he could do was laugh. They all were just as naive as he was, and a surge of pride washed through him as he continued home. At least he finally came to his senses.

[mandobls]

don’t.

pairs: obi-wan kenobi x mandalorian!reader

genre: fluff, angst, action

warnings: a lot of inaccurate travel times and locations lol, reader’s kinda goofy, but it’s cute. is reader a bouncer for a planet?? idk?? i say “vibe” in here so i guess that’s how low i’ve stooped. some violence? swearing?

word count: 2.1k

description: in which everything about this is forbidden

a/n: idek the demand for this lmao but we’re here anyway right? it’s been such a long time since i’ve rewatched the movies, so this is gonna be,,,, :)

masterlist 

it’s hard. giving away padme’s children. obi-wan can tell they will be strong, but it’ll be a matter of time until they’re ready. 

he’s decided to stay on tatooine, to watch over the boy. the girl will have the life of a princess. he has confidence in organa’s protection. 

but there’s something he has to do first. 

a funeral. for anakin and padme. he knows anakin is alive. he can feel it. but what anakin will become is alive. the little boy he met on tatooine is not. 

he returns to naboo, kneels when prompted, speaks when looked to. it’s all just numb. he is unfeeling, too broken and... angry. in himself, for losing his brother to the dark side’s pull. he pushes it down, though. it is done, he needs to move on, for the anger is consuming.

condolences are barely heard as he storms back to his ship. he has to get away. it’s suffocating there.

his hyperdrive is damaged, so it’ll take him at least two standard months to get back to tatooine, but maybe it’s better this way. he needs some silence.

but of course. of course. he is nearly out of fuel within two days. he groans, quickly searching for a close planet. this is why he hates flying.

the nearest is only a couple hours’ trip away, and he hurriedly sets his course.

he lands without trouble. the mechanic in the shop grunts after inspecting his ship.

“it’ll be a while before i can finish fixing everything. i don’t even know how you flew with this thing.” obi-wan nods with a sigh.

“how long?”

“think a week, if not two.” 

“that’s alright. thank you.” the mechanic grunts again.

“yeah, yeah.” he’s stranded here for a bit. 

he walks into town, spotting a bar. he can sit for a while before he finds a place to stay.

the bar is packed, music booming and people brushing against each other. obi-wan takes a seat at the bar, pointing a finger at a bottle of orange liquid in the background and holding up a finger, the bartender nods and-

“make that two.” he spins in his seat, placing a hand on his blaster on instinct, locking eyes with a t-visored helmet. it turns back towards the bartender. “oh! and-” the ugnaught behind the bar turns, holding two glasses. “could i get a straw with that?” obi-wan cocks an eyebrow, and the mandalorian beside him just shrugs.

“modern solutions, dear jedi.” the glasses clink as they’re set on the bar, straw lolling around one’s rim.

“of course,” he replies, watching the straw disappear under the mandalorian’s helmet.

“so, what business does an ugly planet like this have with a jedi like you?” she asks, modulated voice betraying a smile.

“getting fuel and repairs. going to head back to tatooine and retire.” the mandalorian tilts her head in recognition.

“so soon?” he shrugs. “that’s alright. life is hard here.”

“i’ve experienced much more in the past years than i should have liked to.”

“understandable.”

“what’s your business with this ‘ugly planet’?” obi-wan asks, mimicking her words. she laughs, leaning an elbow on the table and gesturing to the green paint on her armor.

“duty. i keep peace on this planet as best i can.” he tilts his head.

“and you can’t leave?” 

“i was stationed here. this is the way.” she drains the alcohol from her cup, straw sucking nothing but air. he finishes soon after.

“do you know any place i could stay?” he asks, standing and straightening.

“people are hostile here. there’s a reason i’m here. no hostels or anything. stay with me,” she offers, as if it’s the most normal thing in the world.

“oh no, i couldn’t intru-”

“you’re not intruding, jedi. i get lonely anyway.” she stands. “what’s your name?”

he hesitates for a second, but there’s something that tells him she is trustworthy.

“obi-wan. and yours?” the mandalorian sweeps past him towards the door, cape flowing.

“follow me.”

her home is small, but big enough for the two of them to weave around each other comfortably in the space.

“i have an extra cot in that-” she points- “room over there. this is the kitchen, there’s a ‘fresher over here, and that’s my room.”

“i can’t thank you enough.”

“that thank you is enough. do you need anything? clothes, tools?” the realization hits him, and he nods.

“a spare change would be nice, but i don’t need much.” 

“alright. we can head down to the village tomorrow.”

the mandalorian provides food and bed, not even asking how long he’ll be staying. 

he watches her put together dinner, helmet still firm over her tunic and loose pants.

“i can wait in my room if you’d prefer,” he offers. “i’m sure you’re tired of wearing your helmet.” a hand waves in his general direction.

“i spend most of my life in this helmet, obi-wan.” electricity shocks his spine. “i wouldn’t if it was uncomfortable.” she brings the food over, two dishes of something. “okay, i don’t cook. i’ve never cooked for somebody else. i tried to make something and i don’t really know what became of it.” she pauses. “jedi.” her mock-serious tone makes him look up, staring into her stoic visor with a smile. “this is going to taste horrible.” he laughs as she places the plate in front of him gingerly.

“i’m sure it’ll be fine. anything you’ll give me is good enough.” 

“you say that now, but...” she shrugs, clutching the other plate as she walks over to her room. “i promise i’ll eat breakfast with you! i’ll be back, and we can see how it tastes.”

“i look forward to it,” he calls as she shuts the door.

it’s not a second later when there’s noise again.

“have you eaten it yet?” she asks, voice unmodulated and bright.

“not yet,” he replies, fond smile stuck on his face as he prods the food in front of him with a fork.

“don’t!” the mandalorian says, playfully warning tone shining through so clearly without her modulator.

“i won’t.” obi-wan puts his fork down, inspecting the plate again.

she returns, helmet on once more, holding her barely-touched food.

“that was not worth the trouble i went to,” she announces. he laughs, shifting to lean back in his chair.

“i can hold out till breakfast.”

“you sure?” she asks, hand inches from his plate. 

“of course. you’ve been so hospitable, and i think i can wait a few hours.” she nods, picking up his plate and happily slinging the food into the trash.

“alright. you wanna take the ‘fresher first?”

“no, it’s fine.”

breakfast is blended, strange, spiky fruit blitzed into submission so that they can eat together. 

“i’ve got straws for this exact purpose!” she’d exclaimed.

they go down to the village straight after, just a ten-minute walk that’s easily filled by idle conversation. she’s nothing short of hilarious.

“i’ve heard things about mandalore and its inhabitants,” he says.

“are you surprised with what you found?” she asks, gesturing to herself vaguely.

“mandalorians are fierce warriors. i’ve always been under the impression that-”

“we’re all hardasses?” he blinks, opening his mouth to deny- “nah. i’m the only one that’s not.” he laughs. “but you’re right. not many of us have a sense of humor,” she grunts. “you got lucky with me!”

“i can tell,” he replies, attention focusing on the village that’s just meters away.

“okay, robes should be over there. i’ve got credits, so you can just choose whatever.” obi-wan almost refuses, before realizing that his are on his ship, which is still in repair.

“can... can i ask you something?” her head turns towards him, listening. “why have you been so kind to me?” she nods, facing forward again.

“fair question.” she pauses. “i owe my life to the jedi.” his head bobs as he listens. “i admire your way of life, you know. so selfless and kind. i could never be like that.”

“you are selfless.” he says automatically. why else would she be housing him? 

she remains silent, helmet facing stagnant forward as they approach a booth. 

he keeps it quick, picking something that’ll hold him over. the robes he wears has been through many a-

“fight! over there!” the mandalorian groans, glancing back at him.

“i’ve got to go break it up. follow if you’d like.” 

he does, leaving the robe and keeping a hand on the weapon at his hip.

it’s only a fist fight, but the surrounding villagers swarm the area, egging them on.

the mandalorian shoves her way through the crowd, pulling one away from the other with a firm hand on each villagers’ chest. he follows, staying at the inner edge of the crowd.

one of them swings at her, and he’s about to step in-

but her fist strikes true first, knocking out the villager with one strike. she turns to the other.

“i hope that you can sort this out when he wakes up. civilly.” he nods, head bowed, and the mandalorian walks back to obi-wan.

“let’s go get your robes. and maybe some food for later.” he nods, still shocked as he trails behind her.

it’s only been a week and they’ve fallen into a bit of a routine.

he helps her around the house, walks with her as she makes her rounds. and in turn, she provides him with a home and butterflies for his stomach. lots of butterflies. birds in there.

it’s bad.

and it gets even worse when she almost kicks down the door of her house, brandishing a bottle of mystery liquor like a trophy.

“you don’t need to work tomorrow?” he asks, amused. she just laughs triumphantly, gathering two clean glasses and a straw.

“they can take care of themselves. the way only says i need to stay on this planet. i need a break.” he takes a seat in the chair across from her, holding a glass as she fills it with amber. “and besides, you’re leaving tomorrow. we should celebrate!” right... he’s leaving.

it’s strong. he’s nearly delirious within a few hours.

but not as delirious as her.

the mandalorian periodically bangs her head on the table, laughing at everything and anything.

“...no, but you know! you’ve got a thing going on.”

“a thing?” he asks, almost crying in his laughter.

“like... like...” she whines, head lolling. “i dunno the word in basic,” she slurs, hand gesticulating wildly. “copyc.”

“give me- give me the general gist of it.” she nods, index finger raised as she thinks.

“attractive.” she exclaims, and he almost sobers up.

“you think i’m attractive?” he asks incredulously, scooting closer.

“don’t tease. not like... the face.” she pauses in consideration. “but also the face, i guess. but the word means... your aura.”

“my aura?”

“yeah, obi, your vibe. it's personality. your personality is attractive.” 

“wh-” her helmet makes a loud clunk as it drops onto the table, and he can tell she's unconscious.

hopefully, neither remember that conversation the next day.

he remembers everything.

his head pounds and the light shining through the window is too bright. his neck is craned at an awkward angle. he must have fallen asleep after her last night.

he hopes that at least she doesn’t remember anything.

a bottle is placed in front of him. “for- for your hangover,” she says awkwardly, turning back around.

she remembers everything. 

breakfast is quiet and tense, the sound of the mandalorian sucking her straw the only sound.

she sighs, looking up.

“look, you’re leaving soon. i don’t want this to be the last thing you remember about me.” he nods in agreement. “we can just forget about it.” 

she finishes her drink, standing and taking his empty glass.

he stands with her. “wait.”

she turns, placing the glasses down and looking up at him.

“you called me copyc.” he can see her getting ready to respond and quickly speaks before she can. “and i think you are too.” 

she steps closer hesitantly, and he places his hands on her waist lightly. one of her hands comes up to rest on his cheek, other over his shoulder.

obi-wan’s hands rest on her helmet, almost-

“don’t.” her hands are suddenly on his, a practiced instinct. “it’s forbidden.” he nods, hand on her hips again, hers still on top of his.

“what will you have me do?” it’s a pained whisper. 

the mandalorian’s hands raise to his face again, slowly pulling his head closer so his forehead rests against the cool metal of her helmet.

he doesn’t know the significance, but he can feel it, closing his eyes and pulling her ever-close.

“come with me.” it’s useless.

“i can’t.” he understands.

“i know.” 

“obi.” he opens his eyes. “my name... it’s-”

“you don’t have to,” he says. 

she hesitates. “but i want to.” 

so she tells him, he nods, then they’re silent. it is forbidden.

obi-wan taglist: @panda-luminary, @kat-soudone, @sacredmirrxrs​, @spooky-childd, @chandler-woods​, @procrastination-nations​

complete taglist: @ispilledmyink​, @justlovetoreadfics​

[leotssukinaga]

Out of Reach- Mattsun x Reader, Makki x Reader

Chapter Four: Makki’s Ending

Series Masterlist

Summary: You’ve been friends with Mattsun, Makki, Iwaizumi and Oikawa since first year, and you guys are an unstoppable team. But your crush, and Makki’s, might just bring everything tumbling down A/N: I couldn’t get the sad ending to work on paper I literally spent like 3 hours trying and it just wouldnt. So this has two endings now, sorry! Both of them are gonna have an epligoue too. Those are gonna hurt you.

Watching you and Makki grow closer, as you drifted away from him, hurt Mattsun deeply. There'd been a time when it was him you asked to proof read your essays, him you baked good luck brownies for when he had an exam or a game. A time when you called him when things were bad and you needed a shoulder, or when it was raining and you forgot your umbrella and needed someone to bring you one. He'd never have imagined a day when that changed, and yet it came. He watched out the window of the library as Makki made his way towards you, umbrella in hand, and slung an arm round your shoulder as the two of you began to walk home. Maybe Oikawa had been right about this one. He hated to think it, but he couldn't deny that the evidence was there. 

 He'd never know that you thought Makki was just being a good friend, nor that the reason you'd drifted away from him was because you felt like you were drowning every time his girlfriend came up.You'd noticed, though, that slowly things had gotten easier. Nishiyama's name no longer made you feel sick, but Makki's hugs made butterflies bloom in your stomach. You hated your luck. Why couldn't you fall for a guy who wasn't your best friend?

• • • • • • • • • •  "Okay, what's wrong?" "Nothings wrong, Makki." "You know I can tell when you're lying, right?" You sighed, looking up from your books and meeting his gaze. "I'm just thinking, is all." "What about?" You. "Nothing important." "You'd tell me if something was up, right?" "'Course I would." That's a lie, you thought, I'm catching feelings for yet another guy I can't have and this time it's you. Something had to be wrong with you. First Mattsun, now Makki? And it wasn't like you had anyone to go to, this time. Iwa was focused on school and volleyball right now, bothering him would be a shitty thing to do, and Oikawa would just be insufferable about this. Mattsun had been your first friend in high school, and going to your first crush to talk about your new crush felt wrong, especially considering you weren't entirely over Mattsun anyway.

But there was so much you wanted to tell Makki, so much you could never say, that you had nobody to relay to. You could never admit that it'd been a while since you'd felt the need to run away when Nishiyama came up, but that you'd still made excuses because the times when you and Makki sat alone in a classroom, eating together and talking about anything that came to mind, made even your worst days bearable. You could never admit that the framed photo of you and Mattsun on your desk was now a photo of you and Makki (the Mattsun photo was still in your room, but it was on the wall with all the other photos of you and the squad now. You considered the desk sacred ground, where you put your most cherished memories,) or that you hadn't actually forgotten your jacket for a while now, you just liked when he gave you his. You couldn't tell him that every playlist you'd made in the past month had him as the icon, that every character in every book you read bore his face when you imagined them. He'd never know that when you stopped writing in class to stare out the window, you hoped you'd see him walking by, despite knowing that he was in class too. Nor that every poem in the notebook you kept under your pillow was written for him, that you'd bought a new one especially for that. 

Likewise, there were things Makki could never tell you- though both your secrets could be spilled if even one of them left your mouths. He'd never tell you that he had alarms set for the middle of the night, just in case you needed company; that his favourite hoodie was only his favourite because it was the one he always gave to you; that he didn't even have a favourite colour until you told him yours in first year and suddenly it was his, too. Nor that he had an album on his phone of pictures he'd taken of cats to send to you when you were upset; that when his teacher asked him to write about love he wrote about you. You didn't know that if he never got into heaven, he'd still spend eternity happy enough, knowing that he got to hold you in his arms just once while you slept (you'd gotten the flu, and he got it too because he refused to leave your side.) How could he ever tell you that he understood now, why people gave up everything for love, because he would pull the stars from the sky and arrange them around you if only to see you smile for a moment? That he'd never felt closer to understanding himself than when you looked into his eyes? You both had your secrets, and neither of you knew that they converged on the same path. But perhaps, one day, you'd find out.

• • • • • • • • • •  "Hey, Y/N?" You turned to see Mattsun jogging to catch up with you, and waited. "Oh hey, whats up, Mattsun?" "I need to ask you something." He couldn't help but think how cute you were as you cocked your head slightly in curiosity. "What is it?" "Are you and Makki together?" Your face flushed, and you looked away. "I-ah...no. We aren't." "But you want to be, right?" "H-How'd you know?" "You're not good at hiding when you're flustered, Y/N." You smiled a little. You remembered why you'd fallen for him, how could you forget? Even as the feelings faded, he'd always hold a place in your heart. "You should tell him." It broke his heart to say it, but he wanted you to be happy. Makki could do that. "I can't, Mattsun." "Why?" "Because, I'm tired of falling for guys that don't like me! If I ignore it maybe it'll go away." "You know it won't." You groaned and buried your face in his shoulder. Things were so much easier when you liked Mattsun, because you knew he didn't like you. With Makki, you had no proof, just your own insecurities. That just made everything worse. "What do I do, then?" "You know what I'm gonna say." "I hate this." "I'm about to be the worst friend ever." "What d'you mean?" "He likes you." "Mattsun..." "I'm serious. Middle of first year, on a training camp, he told me he thought he was in love with you.Honestly, I thought he was kidding, but looking back I don't think I've ever seen him that serious. And it makes sense, you know? Just... you should tell him." "You're sure he meant it?" "Yeah, I'm sure." He hoped Makki wouldn't be too mad at him for telling you. This was for the best, right? You'd date Makki, he'd move on from you and be happy with Nishiyama. Things would be good. Yeah. Things would be great. 

• • • • • • • • • •  Makki rounded the corner, excited to see you. At least, until he actually saw you, and you were talking to Mattsun. You were blushing, and his heart broke a little as you buried your face in his shoulder. Of course you still liked Mattsun He was stupid, really, letting himself dream. Letting himself hope that you didn't, that you'd developed feelings for him instead. He should've learned, back when you first told him about your crush. Why hadn't he learned?

• • • • • • • • • •  When the doorbell rang that evening, Makki ignored it. His parents had late visitors pretty often. When someone knocked on his bedroom door, however, he couldn't ignore that. He hadn't expected you, though. Honestly, you looked like you'd run a marathon, and you were biting incessantly at your lip. You were still perfect, but he wasn't sure you could ever not be. "Y/N... somethings wrong." "No there's not... I need to talk to you. Can I come in?" "Always." He stepped aside and you walked into his room. You immediately began to pace. "Whats got you so worked up?" "I must be going insane, I'm not actually gonna do this, am I?" "Do wha-" You interrupted him, certain you’d never get the words out if you didn’t say them right there and then. "I stopped liking Mattsun like, a month ago. At least." That piqued his interest. "Why didn't yo-" "Because you're the reason. I don't know when I started to like you but God, everything I feel for you is so much stronger than any thing I've ever felt before. Every poem I've written has been about you, every thought I have has you buried in it somewhere. Mattsun was- I don't know. Maybe I was infatuated with him? I genuinely don't think it matters anymore because all I fucking think about is you, Takahiro. And I wasn't gonna tell you, I was just gonna pine for you for eternity because I couldn't handle the idea that you might not feel the same. But I'm just tired, Makki. I need to know. So could you maybe get a readable expression on your face before I have an anxiety attack, please?" And he did. His mouth dropped open. "You..." "Yes." "Christ alive." "You know, that's so not helpful." "Sorry I just... I spend nearly 3 years convinced you'll never like me and you wait a month and decide to tell me anyway?" "I'm impatient." "Well, I know that.” "Wait- 3 years?" "About that, yeah." You smiled, and reached out to take his hand. It was warm, and rough- calloused from years of volleyball- but he was gentle as he slipped his fingers between yours. "You know, I like it when you say my given name." "I'll have to do it more often then, Takahiro." The smile he gave you could've melted your heart. Everything about him could, if you were being honest. You didn't mind. It was his to melt.