#and then sharona steps all over it

[mr-stottlemonk]

Monk - S02E07 - Mr. Monk and The Sleeping Suspect.

[justasparkwritings]

Merry & Bright: III. Christmas for You & Me

Previous: II. Christmas for You and Me

Pairings: Min Yoongi x Park Jimin; Jung Hoseok x Kim Taehyung

Genre: Fluff, Non-Idol AU, SLOW BURN

Rating: NC17

Warnings: Swearing! 

Word Count: 2.7k

Summary: Yoongi and Namjoon have planned the first step in getting Seokjin to fall in love with Namjoon. Will it work?

Notes: Merry & Bright this year is taking the form of one cohesive story involving all of Bangtan! Hope you enjoy this change!

      Seokjin slept horribly, he couldn’t get comfortable, which seemed insane to him as he had been sleeping in his bed for more than two years. It was usually his coziest place, besides curled up in the armchair he had in his living room, right next to the gas fireplace. His bed had always been his favorite place, but for whatever reason that night it was his worst enemy. The look Namjoon had given him played over and over in his mind, the way his eyes had grown wide, but then softened at the sight of Jin. How he had fought only to match Jin’s tone, standing down when Jin got so angry his ears turned red. And Yoongi, the perpetrator… But Jin supposed he couldn’t sleep because he was going to Serendipity Sweets to have coffee with Jimin. Which, he knew, was a plan to get him to repair his relationship with Yoongi. He wasn’t an idiot, he knew Yoongi was using his husband as a pawn in whatever game he was playing. But he also wasn’t opposed to repairing the relationship, to the friendship Jimin had always offered. He’d missed it, in some parts of him, he had missed the comradery that being in that little group entailed. Yoongi, Jimin, Taehyung and Hoseok…. And he supposed Namjoon… had been a little family at some point in time. Who was he to stop them from finding their way back to each other?

          He rose too early, did a little yoga to calm himself and took a hot shower. His hair, long and black, was begging to be cut or at least separated from his forehead somehow. He couldn’t bring himself to do it, he liked the shaggy, long look and the little work it required. He fed his cats, the smallest of his litter, Toby was a calico kitty that had been with Jin for three years, one before he added another kitten, Sam, to the family. Yes, he named his cats after characters on The West Wing, and yes he was aware of the joke that cat people give their cats human names. He had been debating Toby and Sam over Monk and Sharona, but ultimately went with the Sorkin penned drama.

          Stepping into the cold December air, he tightened his scarf around himself and buttoned his peacoat. His nerves were still heightened, his yoga and hot showere did nothing to calm himself. Jin rationalized that he would feel better once he got to Serendipity and had a fresh scone inside his belly, the warmth of the shop comforting him instead of causing anxiety. Maybe he would have tea instead of coffee, not wanting to add more stimulants to his system. His brain could create all the trouble it wanted without the help of caffeine.

          Jin lived a short bus ride away from the bakery and spent the ride listening to podcasts and staring at the Christmas decorations passing by. He had struggled to love this time of year ever since Christmas for You & Me came out and the holiday felt coopted by his own hand. He tried to reclaim it for himself. Baking more, decorating a little earlier, listening to excellent Christmas music instead of mediocre radio nonsense…. And it had worked a little, but ultimately every year he didn’t go back to see his family, or go with them to Seoul to see his grandparents, he felt increasingly lonely. He supposed he could date, but that seemed like heartache waiting for him. He hadn’t dated since…. He didn’t care to reminisce on that.

          The bus pulled up to the stop and he exited quietly after thanking the bus driver and took long strides across the frosty sidewalk to the corner bakery known to all as Serendipity Sweets. The chalk art and garland was adorable, and adorned the stunning Victorian windows. The glass looked new, he noted, and so did the black paint decorate the trim. He entered the shop and was greeted by the strong smell of Christmas.

          “Seokjin!” Jimin said from behind the counter. He was using tongs to slip a few Christmas sugar cookies, shaped like Santa and wrapped presents, into a parchment bag with the bakery’s logo emblazed on the front. Jimin handed the bag to the cashier and walked around. There were a few people milling about, looking at the prepackaged goodies like candy and freshly made chocolate chip cookies, then the people in line ordering coffee and picking out treats from the holiday menu. Jimin came around and opened his arms to Jin, pulling him in for a hug.

          “Good to see you,” Seokjin said, hugging Jimin back. He bent a little to meet the height of his smaller friend.

          “You too. What do you want, a latte, cappuccino, peppermint mocha?” Jimin offered. “Anything you want, on the house.”

          “This is like when your husband comes in,” a regular named Jaxson said.

          “That is true,” Jimin said pointing at Jaxson. He took a parchment bag and placed two pastries in it before handing to him. “An extra, on me.”

          “Thank you,” Jaxson said with a smile.

          Seokjin had always found Jimin charming and amiable, but it was clear that charm worked wonders in the retail and food service space.  

          “Uh, a latte would be great,” Jin said.

         “And the newest pastry we have is a Merry Berry scone, or the Marion berry Danish decorated with sugar snowflakes and a dusting of snow.”

         “Coke?” Jin laughed.

         “Powdered sugar.”

         “I’ll take a Danish too, thanks,”

         “Why don’t you have a seat and I’ll grab them,” Jimin said with a smile.  

         Seokjin took a lap around the store before finding the one open table in the corner of Serendipity Sweets. Upon the wooden tables were seasonal placemats with the company’s logo and little drawings of Christmas favorites. It also listed the stores holiday hours and the latest menu additions. Jin stared out at Jimin’s, and Hoseok’s, empire. The bustle of people smiling and happily munching on treats, those ready for work sipping coffee as they exited quickly. He viewed it all through rose colored glasses, his anxiety calming as he got comfortable and waited for Jimin.

         It was then that he saw a flicker of an eye that he recognized. He blinked then looked again, no one was there. He shrugged, feeling a little heat prickle up his spine.

         “One latte with oat milk,” Jimin said setting a cup with a perfect foam tree on top in front of Jin.

         “You remembered,” Jin said.

         “I did. And here is your Danish. I’ve been fucking with it for months, so any feedback is appreciated.”

         “I will give it,” Jin said.

         “Let me grab my coffee,” Jimin said, and he disappeared behind the counter, his black hair easily blending in with the other staff who too had similar haircuts. Jin glanced up and again swore he saw dimples he recognized, but before he could rise to fully get a look, he blinked and they were gone.

         Jimin sat down in front of him. “You good?”

         “Yeah, I thought I saw someone, but I’m fine. Tell me what’s it like having a popular bakery?”

         “Are you interviewing me?”

         “I’m curious.”

         “It’s been really hard, but so fun. The hours are grueling and exhausting, but Yoongi is really supportive. And that makes all the difference.”

    “How is married life?”

    “I couldn’t love him more if I tried, and I’ve tried. He makes me angrier than anyone I’ve ever met, but he cares so deeply for me, it’s overwhelming. Marriage is hard, marriage is work, but it’s so worth it.”

    “I think I would try the whole marriage thing if one, it didn’t feel like such a spectacle, and two, I knew I could be like you and Yoongi, or Tae and Hoseok.”

    “You’ll never know if you don’t try.”

    “I know but trying is so… tenuous and terrifying.”

    “It is. Love is not for the weak,”

    “No, and I fear I am too weak. Too out of practice, too…. too something for it to work.”

    “What was your last relationship?” Jimin asked him.

    “Years ago. I’m not sure it really counts.”

    “If it mattered to you, it counts.”

    “It wasn’t love, I’ve only ever loved one person and clearly that didn’t work out. But I haven’t been ready, necessarily, to be committed. I don’t know that that life is for me.”

    “Do you want it to be?”

    Jin sipped his latte and stared at his pastry, thinking about his answer. “There is part of me that believes it is, and a part of me that believes it isn’t.”

    “It’s cliché, but you don’t know until you try,” Jimin reminded him. “The line is getting long, I should help behind the counter. I’ll be right back.”      

    “Sounds good,” Seokjin nodded and as soon as Jimin left, he lifted his Danish to his lips and took a bite. “Damn.”

    It was in the second his eyes closed, his mouth chewing the delish concoction that Jimin had made, that Jimin’s empty chair slid back, and someone new sat down.

    “Ya – I am with some – oh fuck,” he said as his eyes stared at the man in front of him.

    “Can I sit – just for a minute?” Namjoon asked.

    “Why?”

    “To drink my coffee and eat my cinnamon roll before I go to work.”

    “Aren’t there other –

    Seokjin looked around, checking to see if the few tables were empty, only to find that in fact every chair was full. He sighed loudly, more of a groan really, before looking at Namjoon again. He looked… cute… and Seokjin hated that.

         “Is that my scarf?” Seokjin asked, staring at the plaid material around Namjoon’s neck.

         “Uh, you gave it to me,” Namjoon answered.

         “Why do you still have it?”

         “Believe it or not Seokjin, I don’t think of you and wish you ill.”

         “You don’t? Is this when you say you don’t think about me at all?”

         “I happen to think about you all the time.”

         “No you don’t,” Jin said. He picked up his latte and took another sip. “You don’t think about me at all.”

         “How would you know?” Namjoon asked. He tore a piece of his gingerbread cinnamon roll off and stuck it, unceremoniously and rather clunkily, into his mouth. Seokjin swallowed hard, eyes having wandered to Namjoon’s lips. A mistake he recognized the second his own brown eyes flickered down. He glanced back up but Namjoon wasn’t paying attention - he was tearing another piece of pastry off, wiping it in the frosting that had dripped onto the plate.

         “I guess I wouldn’t,” Jin said.

         “Right, and I don’t know that you haven’t been thinking about me in the last five years. But what I do know is that this is my favorite scarf, and I wear it every winter.”

         “Why are you here?”

         “At this table, in this bakery, what?” Namjoon asked.

         “At this table. Why are you here?” Jin clarified.

         Namjoon shrugged, wasn’t it obvious? “It’s the only one that had an opening, and Jimin said maybe you’d be amiable.”

         “I am never amiable when it comes to you.”

         “You could be. You’ve been civil so far.”

         “It’s all a façade. I’m seething with hate underneath this handsome, calm demeanor.”

         Namjoon snorted. “You’re going to scream fuck you at me, like you did in Yoongi’s office?”

         “I did no such thing,” Jin argued, the heat rising to his cheeks.  

         “Yes, you did.”

         He pursed his lips. “Yes, I did.”

         Namjoon smiled, he was right, and Jin admitted it. Jin never admitted when he was wrong, or rarely, which was deeply frustrating as he was wrong more times than he was right.

         “I’m not sorry about it,” Seokjin continued. “You reacted the same. You weren’t what I was expecting when I walked into Yoongi’s office. You were the last person I thought I’d see.”

         “I’m sorry,” Namjoon said.

         “It’s Yoongi’s fault, not yours.”

         “That is true, you should be mad at him.” Namjoon said.

         Seokjin sipped his latte, noting how the temperature had drastically dropped since Namjoon sat down. “I’m still mad at you.”

         “What have I ever done to you?” Namjoon asked. “Seriously, what have I done?”

         “I don’t want to talk about it,” Jin snapped.  

         “He shouldn’t have led us both to his office for some half-brained idea,” Namjoon offered as an olive branch.

         “I agree.”

         Seokjin didn’t have more to say on the matter, and what he did have to say would lead to a direct question about why they broke up, why he broke them up, and that was not a question he was willing or ready to answer.

         “Namjoon and – Seokjin!” A voice came from behind Namjoon. Yoongi strode up to them, staring with wide eyes. “What are you two doing?”

         “I was here to have coffee with your husband, but he’s abandoned me for his customers,” Jin answered.

         “Oh yeah, it can get really busy in here,” Yoongi said.

         “Honey, I didn’t know you were coming in,” Jimin sidled up to his husband and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek.

         “My coffee was unbelievably shitty, and I figured I’d just swing by for my usual,” Yoongi said, glancing from Jimin to Namjoon.

         “You haven’t gotten it yet,” Jimin said.

         “No, I was distracted by these two,” Yoongi told him. “I didn’t expect, after how you both left my office last week, that you’d be sitting here, together.”

         “Well, it happened that Seokjin was already in when I came in to grab cinnamon roll, you know, cheat day.” Namjoon said. Cheat day was a lie, but Seokjin didn’t know any better.

         “Do you want to sit?” Jin asked Yoongi.

         “No, no. I’ve got a meeting in thirty. I just came by for coffee and to see my husband,” Yoongi wrapped an arm around Jimin’s waist. “I hope you two will consider what I proposed.”

         “We’ll see,” Namjoon shrugged, nonplussed by the request.

         Jin on the other hand was a little annoyed by it. “Yeah, like I will ever agree to working with him again.”

         “It’s Christmas, a time for miracles,” Yoongi raised a brow before smiling and guiding Jimin back to the counter.

         “You think it’s working?” Jimin asked Yoongi.

         “Fuck if I know, I hope so,” Yoongi whispered. “How long have they been sitting there?”

         “Thirty minutes, maybe more.”

         “Damn,” Yoongi’s pride was evident in his smile. “You think phase two will happen?”

         Back at the table, Namjoon decided he needed to change the topic. This was becoming too damning and dark, too steps away from charming and cute. “Do you still buy your tree from that little lot?”

         “The one on 3rd?” Jin asked.

         “Yeah, that one.”

         Jin finished the dregs of his coffee swiftly and set the cup back down. “I do, most years. But I haven’t gone yet but am thinking of going after this.”

         “Oh? You know, I haven’t gotten a tree yet, either,” Namjoon said.            

         “So?”

         “What if I come with you?”

          “I’m here to hang out with Jimin, not you.”

         “Jimin seems to be pretty slammed,” Namjoon gestured to the long line that was out the door and into the cold.

         Jin pouted, not having realized how packed and absolutely slammed Serendipity Sweets had gotten in the twenty minutes Jimin had been gone. The line was getting longer too, more and more people wanting a variety of pastries and coffee. Jin was impressed, sure he’d read the Yelp and Google reviews before he showed up today, and for the most part they’d been glowing. But he hadn’t expected this, how could he have?

         “I guess he is,” Jin finally said.

         “So, I’ll come with you to get a tree. Did you drive?”

         “Bus,” Jin answered.

         “I’ll drive us. Come on, for old times’ sake, it’ll be fun.”

         Seokjin sat on it for a moment. Why wasn’t he angrier that Namjoon was sitting in front of him, asking to hang out? Why hadn’t he sworn and left the minute Namjoon sat down? Why was he actually entertaining the thought of spending the afternoon with him, picking out Christmas trees for their respective apartments?

         He had an inkling of why – but he was far too much of a coward to admit to himself the truth.

         “Fine. But you’re buying my tree.”

Next: IV. Christmas for You and Me

[breakthings-archived]

@mysharxna sent: Have you ever considered changing your entire personality? ( For Robbie )

“𝐍𝐨𝐩𝐞. 𝐋𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐈 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐝, 𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐦!”

His grin was as obnoxious as he was, fingers toying with the lighter in his hand as he leaned against the door to his trailer, looking over at Sharona who stood at his steps. He couldn’t help but laugh—loudly, hysterically—his head tilted back and a hand moving to his forehead. He was being dramatic—eccentric as always. Which was worse? Robbie alone, or in the company of his brother? Alone, probably.

“𝐈 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐢𝐠 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐢𝐬. 𝐈’𝐦 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐚 𝐠𝐮𝐲! 𝐉𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐚 𝐝𝐮𝐝𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐮𝐭! 𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐲 𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐛𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬! 𝐒𝐨𝐨𝐨𝐨….” He hopped down the stairs—trying to make all of his actions as annoying as possible, patting Sharona’s shoulder lightly as he walked passed her, turning around and holding his arms out to his sides, keeping a couple feet distance between them.

“𝐃𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐭, ‘𝐤𝐚𝐲? 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐮𝐭, 𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐚!”

[tybaltsjuliet]

nicky’s archetype playlists, 08/11: the damsel.

and there's a perfect kiss somewhere out in the dark, but a kiss ain't enough.

(listen.)

i. the only time i feel all right is by your side. all i ever wanted was a life in your shape (so i follow the white lines, follow the white lines, keep my eyes on the road, and i ache.)

somebody to love (queen) // i've just seen a face (jim sturgess; from across the universe) // when my boy walks down the street (the magnetic fields) // strawberry blond (mitski) // about a girl (the academy is...) // be my baby (the dollyrots) // stupid cupid (connie francis) // grand theft autumn/where is your boy (fall out boy) // all day and all of the night (the kinks)

ii. that james dean daydream look in your eyes. yeah, i got busted (so i used my one phone call to dedicate a song to you on the radio).

townie (mitski) // boys boys boys (lady gaga) // the dum dum ditty (the shangri-las) // you are the light (by which i travel into this and that) (jens lenkman) // style (taylor swift) // burning love (elvis presley) // crimson and clover (joan jett and the blackhearts) // leader of the pack (twisted sister) // a shark in jets clothing (blondie) // i think we're alone now (tiffany) // there is a light that never goes out (the smiths)

iii. when i say i love you, you say, "you better." in or out, there's never a doubt just who's pulling the strings. (i'm all tied up in you, but where's it leading me to?)

the book of love (the monotones) // don't you (forget me about me) (billy idol) // love my way (the psychedelic furs) // puppet on a string (sandie shaw) // the tide is high (blondie) // when i come around (green day) // you better you bet (the who) // my sharona (the knack) // heart-shaped glasses (when the heart guides the hand) (marilyn manson)

iv. lovefool. you said you'll never be forgiven till your boys are, too.

dance, dance (fall out boy) // lovefool (the cardigans) // heart of glass (blondie) // off to the races (lana del rey) // sweet sixteen (billy idol) // colors (halsey) // total eclipse of the heart (bonnie tyler) // speechless (lady gaga) // as the world falls down (david bowie) // heaven's gate (fall out boy) // love song ( lana del rey)

v. there's things i want to say to you, but i'll just let you live. our love was worth a real long try, and i was just trying to be worthy of your love. (but i want to see blood.)

killer (phoebe bridgers) // exit music for a film (radiohead) // every breath you take (the police) // drive (halsey) // cinnamon girl (lana del rey) // loveletting (sons of an illustrious father) // early sunsets over monroeville (my chemical romance) // you're my world (cilla black)

vi. did you ever love her, do you know, or did you never want to be alone? so can we be friends, sweetly before the mystery ends? (i love you more than the world can contain in its lonely and ramshackle head.)

something (himesh patel) // young and beautiful (lana del rey) // love of my life (queen) // jesus was a cross maker (judee sill) // girl in the war (josh ritter) // step (vampire weekend) // jet pack blues (fall out boy) // heartbreak beat (the psychedelic furs) // love love love (the mountain goats) // john my beloved (sufjan stevens)

vii. there's a place for us - you know, the movie song. i can't do everything, but i'd do anything for you. (i can't do anything except be in love with you.)

how to disappear (lana del rey) // the blower's daughter (damien rice) // i'll never be lonely again (ludo) // kissing you (des'ree) // lovesong (the cure) // sweet sir galahad (joan baez) // willow (taylor swift) // i'll be your girl (the decemberists) // friday i'm in love (the cure) // i melt with you (modern english) // bella notte (ruby summer)

+ bonus: in my life, we'll always go on (and on, and on, and on)! my heart will go on - in the style of jackie wilson (mykal kilgore + postmodern jukebox)

[thinkingisadangerouspastime]

Allison sighed, rubbing her forehead in frustration. He was right. The physical evidence—limited as it was—pointed to Marcus, even though she knew for as good as fact that Vanessa was the guilty party. “Well, maybe she’s framing him.”

“Maybe,” Lee agreed, sounding as far from convinced as humanly possible.

“No, Mrs. Dubois might be onto something,” Monk said, matching pace with Lee and Allison. Sharona was only a step or two behind him. “Vanessa Sawyer deliberately pointed us in the direction of Marcus Jackson when she lied about the status of his and Louise Boudreaux’s relationship.”

“That’s right,” Sharona said, snapping her fingers. “She’s the only one who said anything about their relationship being on the rocks! Nobody else could confirm that.”

“Exactly,” Monk said. “They were on the verge of marriage, not breaking up!”

“According to your readings of Jackson’s body language,” Lee countered. “And he’s not exactly the most credible figure when it’s his significant other who’s dead. Besides, Sawyer was Boudreaux’s roommate. It’s entirely possible she heard stuff straight from Louise that wasn’t being passed over to Marcus.”

“Vanessa’s credibility is just as shot,” Allison insisted as they all came to a stop in front of Lee’s police cruiser. “Her story doesn’t add up and you know it.”

“Did you check out her car?” Monk asked. “The blue Nissan she claimed to own?”

“I did,” Lee confirmed. “She doesn’t own any Nissan, blue or otherwise. At least not one that’s registered with the DMV.”

“Then why did she have a key for a Nissan?” Monk demanded. He frowned. “And there was something off about her key, too. I wish I’d gotten a closer look at it.”

“I mean, she could’ve been holding onto the key for someone,” Sharona pointed out. “I agree there’s something fishy about her, but it’s possible the key wasn’t hers.”

“Then why would she lie and say it was?” Monk protested, raising his shoulders and holding out his hands. “She’s the guy. There’s a connection between that key and the murder of Louise Boudreaux.” He faltered, shoulders falling. “I just don’t know what it is. Yet.”

— from ch. 3 of my untitled monk x medium crossover

[castingcomets]

UUUUUUUGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHH Randy x Sharona hot girl SUMMER. The way he stepped out of his car at the end of the episode where sharona came back and he was standing there like a cocky peacock , undeniably confident but undeniably built like a string bean , with his sunglasses, i was suprised there were no flame decals on his car bc thats how he was acting, hes there to pick up his boo and drive her to the airport, she referred to him as her "friend" and then she kissed him full on the lips, SO RIGHTEOUS, so righteous, GOD so righteous. She is a sturdy tough battle-hardened New Jersian c*nt and Randy can handle her. Why? Why can the limp-wristed Randy Disher handle her? Becasue he LOVES IT. LITERALLY. He has good tastes and shes a REAL WOMAN. He can say it and she loves to hear it . They actually speak the same exact language you just wouont expect it. But sometimes life isnt what you expect . The one thing is however she would likely become bored with him over time. That's why they have a hot girl summer. "Summerboy" by Lady Gaga and "My sweet summer" by ummmm the dirty heads? Was that the band name? She couldnt tolerate him long term but hes such a cute slice of doughbread in the meantime, and hes got a bite like a kitten, it's technically all teeth but you domt register the pain bc it's so cute when he does it and you're proud of him. You can speak CANDIDLY w Sharona and he would take full advantage of that, let the words flow baby, let loose and learn from the queen how to season your words, not mince. "Majesty" by Nicki Minaj shit. Making a playlist rn. HOT GIRL SUMMER. He can handle her bc he loves a real woman . And his noodle-like disposition serves him well bc hes bendable, not breakable, she can tear him up amd hed just love it, ya know? Woman of his dreams but it wont last bc she needs to keep moving. "Runaway" by Bruno Mars. That's why she kisses him at the end of the episode, and likely did again when she came back 2 weeks later to settle those lawsuits. Bc shes a tough fun frisky sonofagun and Randy will eat what she cooks (literally as well). So righteous. Hot girl summer

[tactyl-ymon]

DnD session recap - Storms and Sadness

Another 2 sessions in one recap in what continues to be my Clerics no good week from hell. Whole lot of emotions in this one, so fairly warned be ye. There’s two links to additional in game notes and things for some context to help flesh out stuff. 

We started out hurtling down a mountain in our carriage under a heavy unnatural storm, being pursued by many demons and one of the horses snaps it's leg and the carriage tips. Eridol gets thrown into a tree and spends the next several hours heavily injured. Veiraen cuts off 3 of his fingers trying to butcher the horse for food. We manage to right the carriage and just before setting off Eridol gets the idea to leave a distraction behind by stuffing his old chain mail with a sack of rice and casting light on it which is just enough to distract the literal horde of flying demons long enough for them to make it to Eridols home town and the contingent of guards waiting along with Eridol’s mum... and his fiancé, Sutha ... and his clerical mentor, Bradul Septima sees Sutha first with his 2000 passive perception and recognises her both because Eridol just talked about her and because Eridol subconsciously uses her image as a spiritual guardian. He and Whisky start yelling "Oh you’re Sutha, Eridols fiance. He's over here. He's right here on the carriage" Sutha comes over to the still very hurt and exhausted Eridol and picks him up in a big crushing hug before asking how he could just leave like that, 4 years without a word and then show up out of the blue with these strangers going on about demons. Eridol apologises but says that this isn't the time to talk about this ... Which goes about as well as you could expect and Sutha throws him down and walks off. Eridol and his mentor briefly talk about how him coming back means things will need to be answered for and that the military will come looking for him and that he can't keep running which Eridol kind of flatly mentions he knows and that's part of why he's here. Everyone gets to meet Eridols parents which goes awfully because literally nobody in the group knows how to talk to people. Veiraen immediately introduces himself as his dad, Whisky grabs photo albums and starts giggling at baby photos and Septima goes all snitchbot and tells everyone about all the things that have happened to Eridol the past year. This commotion gets Eridols dads attention and he comes down and is immediately hard core racist towards Veiraen which Eridol is having none of and threatens to throw him through a window if he starts shit again. Big "I'm gay and stronger than you" energy from the boy. Eridol goes to sit outside to try and collect his thoughts and after a bit Septima comes out and silently sits next to him in the pouring rain. Then the demons show back up, perched on top of the carriage and screech some guttural thing that everyone in 120ft hears in their mind Having been seen the demon flies away and Septima has the idea of asking Eridol who else does he care about that might be taken to get to him and he says just Sutha. Septima animorphs into a direwolf to try and find her scent and is led upstairs to Eridols old room that she was apparently staying in but gosh darn it the door is locked. Guess how long it stays that way with Veiraen around? After a mild amount of breaking and entering, Septima picks up her scent again and takes off with Whisky to try and bodyguard Sutha. Veiraen takes a look around the newly available room and instantly zeros in on the old yellowed note that Eridol left Sutha before he ran away, a note that she had read every day to try and understand and like a bastard, Veiraen read it to himself and then just put it back so nobody would know Septima and Whisky track down Sutha in a bar several blocks away and they bond over how Eridol runs away from things and Septima pipes up saying that since he's known Eridol he hasn't run away from things and has been trying to make the world a better place and then the absolute worst thing happens. Sutha quietly asks them if Eridol came back for her, Septima being unable to read a situation says "No, he brought us here to try and find information from the religious archives" and Whisky says "would you really want him to come back for you?" So Sutha gets up to leave the bar and very clearly says for them not to follow her. They follow her. Sutha gets ready to shoot them with her crossbow and says again not to take another step towards her, she just needs time to process things. Septima takes a step towards her as Whisky is asking that they just want to make sure the people Eridol cares about are safe. Crossbow goes off and because Sutha is a military trained artillerist, the resulting explosion leaves an earth shattering kaboom in the night air. The lingering smoke parts and the crumpled unconscious bodies of Septima and Whisky barely cling to life in the city’s newest pot hole. Eridol and Sutha have a very emotional conversation over all the things he's done wrong, all the things he's trying to do better, how he had to learn how to be a person again and that he always loved her but understands why she would hate him and even if it were just for a few days he wanted her to stay here, so she could at least be safe, he'll stay away if that's what she wanted and then he tries to give her back their wedding ring and says that there is too much happening at the moment but that Eridol genuinely hoped that they could have another chance after all this was finished. Sutha stares down at the tiny man bearing his soul and it just isn't enough and Sutha says to keep it and leaves the house in a rush. In the hastily emptied room Eridol finds an old blueprint of his that she had scribbled on years ago, saying how much she loved his mind. Then morning comes and Eridol tries something. He casts detect magic on himself to try and figure out how those demons were able to track them and the brand on his side lights up like Christmas. Shades of divination, necromancy, abjuration and something else Eridol can't recognise. With that confirmed, Eridol tries something else much stupider in hindsight. He casts dispel magic on the brand. Immediate agony and the boy is unconscious Everyone hears the scream and the distinct sound of a tiny gnome falling down and runs upstairs to find Eridol white as a sheet but still breathing and the brand on his side changed from an open hand to looking curled in like it was grasping something Eridols mentor dumps a massive heal into him and Eridol tells them about what he was trying to do. Septima asks Eridol if it would be alright to try again and with a shaky nod Eridol casts death ward on himself and they try again. Septima calls on his connection to the green to help strengthen their cause and it is not enough and they all hear a very distinctly not Eridol sounding voice come out of the tiny man "By my will, you do my bidding" The brand itself twisting on Eridols side to reach out and grab Septimas arm, black goo numbly racing up past Septimas elbow before shuddering to a halt, his own will just enough to beat the influence and stop a second mark of bane appearing. The group knew about soul bound curses beforehand but one straight from a god sure is something else Stabilised and conscious Eridol asks if they not do that again for a bit and the group discusses options. Obviously this whole demon cult needs to die no matter what Eridol says about greater evils and priorities but they would like to wait a day so Eridol can get his strength back. Eridol does not like this idea, reasoning that the demons already know where they are and the quicker they can make it to the religious city the safer everyone will be while they do research into things. The group wants Eridols parents to come, but the boy knows they won't, his mother has too much work left to do and his dad is way too racist to survive the journey sitting next to Veiraen but ultimately it's their choice. His mother comes in and basically says how he is incapable of letting them through the walls around his heart and they won't go with him

While Eridol lays in bed dealing with the fallout of the last several minutes he begins writing a letter, about an hour later, everyone experiences the telltale sound of of wood and metal tearing itself apart from out in the harbour as an impossibly familiar ship appears from a rip in space, followed by a tidal wave and several finned monstrosities. The ship and all of it’s crew, including the recently departed rogue Emmi and her mother, Sharona, collide with the nearly empty dock. In the minutes it takes everyone to run down to the docks, the ship is heavily damaged by a duo of hydras that had followed them through an arcane gate.

The battle is fierce and several sailors are lost before the hydra fall, discussions are had about how the hell Emmi and her mother are here as they left on a boat half the world away like a week ago. Emmi points to a keystone her father had found ages before he disappeared that since being reconnected to the prime material plane allowed them to shift to the elemental plane of water but it had also brought this continent spanning storm with them that had been causing issues since they had left. They’ll be out of the way once the ship gets repaired and take their surviving crew to a nearby tavern to drink their sorrows and remaining brain cells away. The group makes their way back to Eridols old home, mostly empty as his parents had left to their respective jobs. Everyone piles into the living room and attempts to make themselves comfortable as Eridol trudges back up to his old room he shared with Sutha, stopping outside as he hears the frantic scribbling of quill on parchment. After a tense moment, they share a weak laugh about having the same idea and Eridol brings out the letter he had penned maybe an hour ago. Sutha reads it quietly, never looking at Eridol before collecting the rest of her things and marching downstairs, singling out Veiraen and handing him the letter before quickly hugging the drow and asking that he look after Eridol. The moment ends as abruptly as it began and Sutha leaves for parts unknown, leaving Veiraen holding yet another note from Eridol and he begins reading it. After finishing, he slowly makes his way up the stairs to the quiet bedroom where Eridol is still standing and he kneels down and hugs the cleric and after several seconds, Eridol hugs his friend back and quietly begins crying into his shoulder. 

[yehet-me-up]

Quid Pro Quo

Pairing: Iron Man!Chanyeol, Pepper Potts!Reader

Rating: PG13ish for uhh sexual fantasies? 😂and language (probably)

Genre: Exovengers AU (because why not)

Word Count: 1,769

A/N: HAPPY FRIDAY @yeoldontknow​ ily 💕💕💕I haven’t dug enough into the Avengers world, so this entire backstory/scenario is probably very not canon, but it should be a fun ride 😘

When you step out of the elevator, holding your resume neatly tucked in a plastic folder, the first thing you notice is all the windows. From the street the building looked imposing. From the top floor it feels awe-inspiring.

The wide lobby is polished and sparsely decorated. The desk that you assume his future assistant will occupy is empty, along with the room itself. You purse your lips, you’d assumed that the interviews for Park Chanyeol’s assistant would bring a crowd of well-qualified applicants. But for now, there’s only you.

The thick wooden double doors, that presumably lead to an office, are closed, and you take the moment to inspect your blouse and slacks for lint and wrinkles. 

Appearance isn’t everything, you know that. But it does convey a lot about a person, especially to someone as flashy as Park Chanyeol. You walk over to one of the floor-to-ceiling windows and look down on the bustling street below.

For someone who describes himself as a genius and a playboy, he’s notoriously private. And for someone who touts his wealth, he certainly seems to enjoy the title of billionaire more for amusement than for self-confidence.

You’ve done your research - his technology and inventions have helped millions, but alongside the cars and suits and lavish vacations you know he donates just as much if not more to children’s charities, women’s shelters, STEM equality programs in local schools, and, surprisingly, more than a dozen animal welfare organizations.

You wonder what he’ll be like, up close and personal, behind closed doors. If the bravado is indeed the entirety of the man, or if there’s more beneath the surface. You pull your lip between your teeth and work at it as you consider him.

Moments later you hear the creak of the door open and turn to see him face to face. He’s far younger in real life, with a boyish enthusiasm.

‘Nice to meet you,’ he says, hair askew and dressed in a plain white shirt and fitted jeans. ‘Sorry for the wait, I got carried away on this latest project.’

‘Not at all, Mr. Park,’ you say politely, extending a hand to shake his and looking at your watch. ‘Believe it or not, you’re right on time.’

He grins at that, wide and wolf-like and full of good humor. ‘I’ll be damned. You’re already keeping me on a schedule,’ he laughs, shaking your hand.

When he stands this close you can see freckle on his nose, the cut of his arms under the fabric, the playfulness in his eyes. His presence does something to you, makes your skin feel too hot and your clothes too tight; you’re not sure you like the way you feel slightly out of control.

‘Come on in and have a seat.’

You follow him into an even more impressive space, with views all the way out to the harbor. A pile of parts sits on a wide work table surrounded by tools. Several vintage video games line a back wall - Packman, Space Invaders, Galaga, Asteroids. You almost trip, thinking about the hours you’d spent relieving stress on Joust in the basement of the student center during your MBA.

He leads you to opposing plush couches in a lowered dais. ‘Would you care for anything to drink?’ he asks, moving to a standing bar.

‘It’s… ten in the morning Mr. Park,’ you say, raising a brow. ‘I don’t normally drink at job interviews.’

‘Then you haven’t been working at the right places,’ he says, tilting his head. ‘Please, call me Chanyeol. But I guess you’re right. Best not to start off this working relationship by forcing you to hear my drunken rendition of My Sharona.’

You snort and attempt to hide it behind your hand. He sprawls on the couch, resting a hand along the back and crossing his legs. You sit neatly in the middle, crossing your ankles and folding your hands on top of your resume.

‘Thank you for the opportunity, Mr. Park,’ you say, assuming the focused and professional voice you’ve mastered at this point in your career. ‘It’s an honor to interview for you.’

By now you can play high-ranking impressive men like a violin. You know the drill, much as it grates you. Have an MBA, be clearly competent, but not too competent and impressive that he feels put off. Flatter him, a little, but not excessively.

Mention your skills, the languages you speak, but don’t mention your ambition, the hunger in your bones to make a difference, to do work you care about. Definitely don’t mention that you graduated Summa Cum Laude.

Bring up the changes you helped make at the last Fortune 500 tech company before getting bored and seeking something else, but always demurely frame it as a team effort. Even if the ideas were all yours, even if the lion in your chest wants to roar with pride at all you’ve accomplished.

‘So, tell me about yourself,’ he starts, watching you like a hawk as he runs a hand along his chin. ‘And not the stuff I could, and have, read on your resume,’ he says, cutting you off firmly when you open your mouth to begin your neatly prepared summary of who you are.

You sit for a moment, considering him, meeting his hungry gaze with your own. Everything you’ve read about him, all the interviews you saw on TV, tell you that he values honestly. 

So, you decide to allow yourself to be honest. 

You set the folder on the couch beside you and place your purse on top of it. With a smile you mimic his pose, easing back against the plush material and crossing your leg onto your knee. Taking up more space than you’d allowed yourself before.

‘I’ll start by saying that I’m smarter than just about everyone I meet, though you might give me a run for my money,’ you say evenly and he laughs. 

‘I don’t say that from arrogance, just from fact. I’m also an excellent judge of character. I find that figuring out who someone is and what they want as soon as possible saves time and makes my job easier.’

He raises a brow at you, eyes flaring with something you can’t name but that you feel across your skin like leaving an air conditioned building and stepping onto the street into a sweltering and sticky summer’s day. 

He motions for you to continue.

‘When not working I enjoy a nice glass of red wine, walking through The Met late at night, and vacationing on the Italian countryside. But none of that matters, really. Because I’m a workaholic, like you,’ you say simply with a casual shrug. 

‘If you hire me, I’ll be the making of you.’

He chuckles, the sound low like rolling thunder, as he fights a grin. ‘In what way?’

Your eyes are the flint that strikes flames in his. ‘In every way.’

He nods to himself. ‘I see. What do you see when you look at me, then? What do I want?’

You take a look around the office; take in him on the couch, sizing him up. He expects you to rush, to name the obvious in an attempt to impress him. But neither of you got to where you are by following well-worn grooves of thought.

‘You want to win, to be the best. But not from a place as small as your ego,’ you start and he gives away his surprise with a press of his lips. ‘You crave the challenge of making the impossible a reality. And you long for someone to be able to challenge you, to push you.’

He watches you silently and you carry on. You can feel your heartbeat in your ears as you find something in him that mirrors a part of you that you’ve kept locked away.

‘After all,’ you say softly.’ ‘Even if you can get the high score on Pong by yourself, it’s more fun to play with a partner.’

He catches your meaning and looks away at the floor. You wonder if he realizes how much he conveys with his expressive eyes. If he can sense the loneliness and drive within you reaching out for the answering energy inside of him. 

You wonder if he’ll tell you to fuck off and leave, or if your presence feels like a relief, a call answered, like his does for you.

‘But what do you want?’ he asks, turning back to meet your focus.

You tilt your head and smile at him. ‘Quid pro quo, Mr. Park. If you’re as intelligent as you appear to be, you tell me.’

He folds his arms at his chest at your challenge, swallowing a smirk and assuming a pensive look. His gaze trails down the length of your body, hungrily picking apart the careful facade you’ve created. 

He meets your eyes and holds your attention, not allowing you to look away from him. With a soft sigh you pull your lip into your mouth again.

‘I think you’ve been doing quite a number of things without a partner. For far too long,’ he says assertively, eyes lingering at the swell of your chest.

Without meaning to, you imagine yourself on his lap, fisting your hands in his hair. You imagine his mouth, hot and wet on your neck, his hands, firm and rough, holding your hips while you straddle him. 

You imagine yourself splayed out on his work table, legs draped over his shoulders while he tastes you like he’s trying to find the secret to what makes you tick. 

You imagine what he’d look like against the tan carpet, naked and begging to come.

You imagine the things you could create together that have nothing to do with technology or business, and feel your cheeks get hot. With a slight tilt of your head you nod to him and he smiles with a triumph that matches your own.

‘So, how about you start tomorrow?’ he says nonchalantly, tugging at the collar of his shirt.

‘That sounds perfect,’ you answer, standing. ‘Does eight work for you?’

He motions for you to lead the way. ‘Excellent. I’ll email you over a list of the documents you’ll need to bring with you tomorrow.’

‘You already had it, by the way,’ he says, leaning agains the door, holding his hand out to you. ‘Since we’re being honest. I didn’t even respond to anyone else.’

‘Oh, I know,’ you say, shaking his hand firmly before turning. 

The sound of his rich laughter follows you all the way to the elevator.

[cottagethings]

self-quarantine activities

1. Complete a puzzle: The more pieces the better! Feeling extra saucy? Take on a Rubik's Cube. More of a word person? Crossword puzzle!

2. Start a journal or blog. Sure, it can be about the coronavirus, but it could also be about a specific interest from chess to cheese. 

3. If it won't bother your neighbors: Dust off that old instrument and practice.

4. Text all your exes just in case you have one more thing you wanted to get off your chest.

5. Write poetry. Perhaps you can craft a haiku for Mother's Day, or something without a specific structure. Just try it!

6. Watch all the really long movies you’ve avoided until now.

7. Download Duolingo, or a similar app, and teach yourself a foreign language.

8. Finally read “Infinite Jest,” “Les Miserables” or even “The Stand.” Go all in and read “Ulysses.” You got this. 

9. Meditate. Try lying down with your eyes closed, palms up and while focusing on your breath. Or spend 20 minutes sitting crosslegged and repeat a soothing word to yourself in your head. (The latter is more like transcendental meditation.)

10. Face masks, moisturizer, oh my! Treat yourself to a 10-step skin care routine you don’t have time for during a normal work week.

11. Look at pictures of puppies.

12. Put together the most attractive charcuterie board possible, but you can only use foods you already have in your fridge and cupboard.

13. Take note from "Tangled" star Rapunzel, who has an entire song about how she's spent her days alone in a castle. Activities included in her ditty: Ventriloquy, candle-making, papier-mâché and adding a new painting to her gallery.

14. Write actual letters to family and friends. After that? Write thank-you notes to service people who you remember went out of their way for you.

15. Learn calligraphy. YouTube can help.

16. Finally read the rules to those long and intense board games you've never played with the family. Encourage the family to play.

17. Put on a soap opera. Mute the sound. Create your own dialogue.

18. Have a space in your home where all of the tupperware goes? Organize it and actually match lids to containers.

19. Try on all your clothes and determine whether they “spark joy” á la Marie Kondo.

20. Better yet, go through this process with your junk drawer and supply shelves. 

21. Have a roommate meeting about how to be more considerate of one other, especially while you will likely be spending more time together. Bring baked goods.

22. Bake those goods.

23. Watch the films that won Oscars for best picture.

24. Watch films that won Independent Spirit Awards for best picture. 

25. Watch films that critics say should have won those aforementioned awards.

26. Read all the New Yorker issues piled on your desk.

27. Will Tom Hanks into recovery from coronavirus by watching every Tom Hanks movie chronologically. 

28. Knit or crochet.

29. Use Skype, FaceTime, Google Hangouts or Marco Polo to video chat with your long-distance friends.

30. Try out at-home aerobics or yoga videos. Consider downloading a fitness app with curated workout playlists.

31. Look at yourself in the mirror. Attempt a self portrait with pencil and paper.

32. Take a bubble bath (bonus: Add a glass of wine).

33. Make a classic cocktail, from negronis to Manhattans and aperol spritzes. Don't forget the garnish.

34. Coloring books: They’re not just for kids.

35. Take time to reflect: What have you accomplished in the last year? What goals are you setting for yourself in the next year?

36. Write a short story or get started on that novel.

37. Actually try to reproduce something you see on Pinterest. Probably fail. Try again.

38. Clear out the family room and camp indoors with all blankets, popcorn and scary movies.

39. Finally get around to fixing that broken door knob and loose tile or cleaning scuffed up walls. 

40. Acquire a foam roller and treat yourself to some physical therapy. 

41. Pretend you're 13 years old and fold a square piece of paper into a fortune teller you put your thumbs and pointer fingers into. Proceed to tell fortunes. 

42. Learn how to braid (fishtail, French, etc.) via YouTube tutorial..

43. Throw out all your too-old makeup and products. (Tip: most liquid products have a small symbol on them noting expirations, usually six months to a year. This includes sunscreen!)

44. Interview your grandparents (over the phone, of course) and save the audio. Can you create an audio story or book with that file?

45. Go through your camera roll, pick your favorite pics from the past year and make a photo book or order framed versions online. 

46. Go on a health kick and learn how to cook new recipes with ingredients you may not be using already, from miso to tahini.

47. Create a Google document of shows or movies you’re watching and share it among family and friends.

48. Make a list of things for which you are grateful. 

49. Have your own wine tasting of whatever bottles you have at home. Make up stories about the journey of the grapes to your mouth.

50. Work on your financial planning, such as exploring whether to refinance your loan or ways to save more money. 

51. Perfect grandma’s bolognese recipe.

52. Make coffee, but this time study how many beans you use, which types, how hot the water is, how long it brews and whether any of that makes a difference.

53. Buy gift cards from your favorite local businesses to help keep them in business while we quarantine.

54. Watch “Frozen 2,’ which went up early on Disney Plus. Another new movie on the streaming service: "Stargirl." 

55. Write a book with your family. Pick a character and each member writes a chapter about their adventures. Read aloud to each other. 

56. No March Madness? Have a Scrabble tournament. Or Bananagrams. Pictionary, anyone?

57. Get into baking with "The Great British Baking Show," but your technical challenge is baking something with the ingredients you have on hand (that you didn't already use in the charcuterie board).

58. Indoor scavenger hunt.

59. Alternate reading the Harry Potter series with your kids and cap each one off with the movie.

60. Dye your hair a new color. No one else needs to see it if you don't like it.

61. Read Robert Jordan’s 14-book “Wheel of Time” series before it streams on Amazon starring Rosamund Pike. 

62. Write a play starring your loved ones. Perform it via a video call app. 

63. Go viral in the good way by making a quarantine-themed TikTok.

64. Rearrange your sock drawer. Really.

65. Stop procrastinating and do your income taxes.

66. Make lists of all the museums, sporting events and concerts you want to visit when they finally reopen.

67. Get into comics with digital subscriptions on your tablet, like Marvel Unlimited. 

68. Rearrange your furniture to make it seem like your home is a totally different space. 

69. Practice shuffling playing cards like a Poker dealer. Be ready for employment opportunities once all casinos open back up.

70. Organize your spice rack alphabetically or get crazy and do it by cuisine.

71. Teach your dog to shake. Hand sanitizer optional.

72. Memorize the periodic table. You never know when that will come in handy.

73. Order and put together some IKEA furniture. Time yourself.

74. Get a free trial of a streaming service and binge-watch as much as you can before it expires. 

75. Apply for a new job. You have remote work experience now. 

76. Learn a new style of dance via YouTube, from bellydancing to breaking.

77. Update or write your will and organize your affairs. Yes, it sounds melodramatic and morbid but let’s face it: This is a task many of us avoid because we never have the time. Now we do.

78.The parades have been canceled but you can still make corned beef and cabbage for St. Patrick’s Day.

79. Bring out the Legos. Build your house inside of your house.

80. Watch the "Star Wars" movies in this and only this order: Rogue One-IV-V-II-III-Solo-VI-VII-VIII-IX.

81. Two words: Coronavirus beard! Grow it, moisturize it, comb it, love it.

82.  Learn the words to "Tung Twista." Get them so ingrained in your brain that you can rap them as fast as Twista can. Impress everyone. 

83. Been meaning to get some new glasses? Try on new frames virtually on sites like GlassesUSA.com.

84. Attempt things with your non-dominant hand, from writing to brushing your teeth. Prepare to be frustrated.

85. How many words per minute can you type? See if you can get speedier by taking a typing course.

86. Prepare to verbally duel a bully who wants to discuss the evolution of the market economy in the Southern colonies, by memorizing Matt Damon's "Good Will Hunting" speech. 

87. Learn origami. Make cranes for your loved ones.

88. Stretch. Work on your flexibility. It's possible to get the splits back, right?

89. Try to speak in pig Latin. Or, "ig-pay, atin-Lay."

90. Talk to your plants. How are they doing? Make sure they are getting the amount of sunlight they should be. Check their soil. Water if necessary.

91. Deep condition your hair and put paraffin wax on your hands. Enjoy your soft hair and nails.

92. Consider donating money to food banks to help families struggling to get meals.

93. Write a song. If you want to make it about your time inside and put it to the tune of "My Sharona" and replace "Sharona" with "Corona," do what you have to do.

94. Study the art of beatboxing.

95. Try moving in super-slow motion. It's OK to laugh at regular speed.

96. You know how there are dozens of ways to wear a scarf, but you only wear it the one way? Learn the other ways.

97. Learn Old English words. Pepper them into your conversation. Wherefore not?

98. Try on a new shade of lipstick. See how long it takes your partner to notice it.

99. Take deep breaths, in through your nose and out through your mouth.

100. Sleep. Get lots of it.

[nomiliy]

The Devil’s Holed Up in Redcliffe

Darren Shan shot back the first half of his second Rob Roy. He had asked the bartender to pour boozy, be generous with the scotch, and cheap with the bitters.

But he wasn’t feeling a damn thing.

The night was still young by university and baby-alcoholic standards, but he desperately wished his tolerance was lower. Maybe then he’d forget the absolute hellscape this day had become.

He found himself in a musty corner booth of Seven Star Pub in Redcliffe. It was Saturday night, approximately 11:15 pm —peak pub crawl hours—and not even the bar’s basement lighting and thick, cancerous clouds of Newport smoke could hide his crumbling disposition. Smashed between grimy leather upholstery and Steve Leonard’s grimy leather jacket with barely legal freshers from Bristol University and Chelsea fans screaming their heads off over missed goals was not how Darren envisioned his Valentine’s eve.

But what can you do when the love of your life is an arsehole?

Honestly, Darren was more surprised by the fact that Tom Jones and Alan Morris even wanted to go out tonight. It made sense for Tom since this was the first Valentine’s in two years that he’d be alone. But Alan was so married to his studies at Bath University he barely had time for anything that wasn’t lizard scale samples.

But when the redhead texted Steve and Darren about cheering up their mate, Steve being the good friend he rarely is, answered for them—as if they didn’t already have plans!

Darren cursed Tommy’s superstar status. If not for Tom Jones, the four would have never gotten a table. But as the star goalie for Bath’s football club, Jones and company enjoyed pseudo-celebrity perks after rumor got round that Chelsea, Manchester United, and Tottenham were scouting him.

Darren wanted nothing more than to go home to their little flat and roll between the sheets with his handsome Jewish boyfriend. Instead, he sipped on weak cocktails and silently glared at said handsome prick.

Steve sat on the outside of the booth with his arm spread over the back. His legs mirrored the care-free stance and took up most of the real estate underneath the table as well. His face held a gentle flush that colored the top of his broad chest. He was already intoxicated; the fact that he chose stout drinks only hammed up his low tolerance.

Darren occasionally felt his thigh rub against his own, as if to say “sorry, babe” without having to out themselves to Tom and Alan. Or without having to apologize or admit he was a jerk.

Darren sat closer than he knew he should for public outings. He found himself, at times, resting his head atop a built arm or leaning into the partly open embrace despite Alan and Tom chatting across from them. But Seven Star was so crowded, and the February winds stuck to his bones in a perpetual chill. How could he not cuddle up with that platinum blond devil?

He told himself that the guys would think it a consequence of too many drinks, the cold, and the fact that Steve had virtually no sense of personal space.

With how Tom barreled through his third pint of Guinness and Alan nursing his watered-down rum and coke, he doubt they’d notice.

Darren and Steve had managed to keep their friends and family out of the loop for the past few years. Not by fear of rejection from the community at large, but more so by anything interrupting their routine. Steve was convinced that Alan and Tom wouldn’t treat them the same if they knew; they would tiptoe around the subject, give them glances every time they did something remotely ‘cute,’ buy them those stupid ‘His & His’ coffee cups and towels that Steve just loved to pitch a fit about every time they popped up in his recommended search history.

“Are you searching for this shit, Dare?!”

They had their fair share of rows, but whether to tell their friends was always an all-out battle. Usually, it would end with Steve storming out of the flat to cool off with a smoke. He’d come back after an hour or so, curl up with Darren in bed, and give a quick apology shag before passing out for the night. Honestly, it was a routine that Darren thoroughly enjoyed.

The platinum blond terror had calmed down quite a bit since they got together, mellowed by domestic bliss and brain-frying university life to cause much trouble. He didn’t throw things like when he was a teenager, he talked his feelings out (for the most part), him and his mum were on wonderful terms, and he kept up with his aggression therapy after all these years.

But Steve was still, as Officer Crawley put it, ‘a bloody menace.’

Now, Steve didn’t do anything to get himself arrested anymore (like attempted arson, public battery, and joyriding) but he was still a royal git. Which was particularly infuriating with Steve being so bloody charming. The way he belted Black Sabbath and Metallic in that crooning baritone on the train, how he didn’t give a rat’s arse about the sideways glances, how he re-enacted whole scenes of An American Werewolf in London right down to the American accent and blood-chilling howl in the dead of night stalking Kings Street.

Darren always thought Steve would’ve made a spectacular actor. He had the face, the smooth vocals that were damn sinful in Yiddish, the body—Lord, his pecs and arms!— a flair for melodramatics, a sharp grin, but yet a soft smile, a real smile that he’d toss over the kitchen counter while nuking a box of hot pockets at 3:00 A.M. or when he’d roll over in bed and pull Darren tight to his chest just to smile into his neck and grind his morning wood into—

“Think that girl’s got the look on you, Steve,” Alan noted over his straw before sucking down the last of his rum and coke.

Darren’s blood flared through his cheeks in a rolling boil. He didn’t even try to hide behind his jumper sleeve.

Tommy’s perked expression and sharp, goalie-box trained eyes revved on him. “Oi, what’s with the face, Darren?” he asked with some frothy head caught in his baby-stache.

His ex Sharona hated that fuzzy upper lip, but now that she was gone, Darren noted, Tommy let that, and a multitude of other things, slip. His ash-brown crew cut had gone shaggy along with his untrimmed whiskers. He reeked of the field, he developed dark bags under his eyes, and he never seemed to have a clean shirt.

Steve glanced at the flush on Darren’s cheeks, then made a clipped, rolling cackle low in his throat. His shoulder lazily bumped the black-haired Irishmen, and Darren just knew he was bloody smashed.

“That iron tolerance failing you, Shan?” Steve cackled again, losing nearly half of his third Old Fashion over the rim with each jerky sway. “Or you jealous?”

“Oh, definitely,” Darren snapped, “just positively green over here from all the jailbait they were too stupid to card drooling over your Jewish prick.”

“Deepest apologies, mate,” he grinned, “maybe while I’m shaggin’ one of ‘em you can swoop in and comfort their poor, cryin’ beaus with your arse.”

Darren went about nine shades of red ranging from ‘embarrassed’ to ‘furious.’

Then the absolute evil laugh that rumbled out of Steve’s chest added the shade murderous.

He saw Tom go red from secondhand embarrassment, and Alan wouldn’t make eye contact over the rim of his glass. On top of the guys not knowing about their relationship, they also had no idea that Steve wasn’t completely straight. Darren could gather what this looked like: Childhood best friends having a go at each other and one going way over the line. But if they knew what this was (a closeted bi-man hamming up his straight-schtick) then maybe they’d feel a bit of pity.

But all Darren could feel was rage.

“You’re sloshed, Steve,” Darren downed the last of his Rob Roy in a smooth toss. “Maybe you should slow down before you get yourself killed.”

“Think I’m a shot away from that,” Steve said with a shake of his now empty glass. “Hey,” he called over the throngs of people, “in the Megadeath jumper!”

The waitress, a thin woman with fake tits that could double as floaties when the breeze knocked her imbalanced arse into the Thames, glanced the boys’ way.

She nearly dropped.

Darren gave himself an aneurysm suppressing an eye roll. Yes, Stephen Ezekiel ‘The Leopard’ Leonard was bloody fit; get it together and take the damn order!

But he couldn’t really blame the girl. When a Jewish bad-boy with a shocked-blond undercut, two-day stubble, suped-up glamour muscles busting through a (lifted) leather jacket, and a deadly grin leers at you over several empty cocktails, what else can you do?

Frankly, despite the waitress having no fault in this, she was kindly welcome to go drop her arse on someone else’s boyfriend.

“Hi there, love,” his voice dropped another octave when the waitress slid between the booths.

She leaned over the table right into Steve. Her band jumper was torn up and distressed around the neck, letting her ample cleavage spill through and work for those extra fivers. Her name tag said ‘Gina,’ but the occult tattoos rolling up her arms in complete sleeves, splotchy dye-job, and vampy, silicone plumped lips screamed ‘Sex-Metal Barbie.’

“What can I get you, boys?” she asked out of politeness. Darren could see that her attention sparked only on Steve.

“Can I get another old fashion here? Still a bit thirsty,” he jingled the ice cubes in his glass with a wink.

Darren rolled his eyes, shoved his empty glass to the end of the booth, and willed the goth centerfold out of existence.

“An’ a Rob Roy for my mate here,” Steve quickly added, “Famous Grouse scotch, light on the vermouth, three black cherries.”

Gina giggled at the order, possibly finding the specificity endearing. “Wish my girlfriends knew me like that,” she said with an effortless smile. She wrote it down far too quickly on a loose napkin. “I’ll have those right out.”

When she stepped away, Darren saw her hand smooth over Steve’s shoulder.

He bristled at the sight. Her fingers gripped at the taut muscle, massaging the stress knots drilled in by his engineering course load.

Then she left the napkin there, right in front of Steve. Clear as day, for all the table to see, was her phone number and her name with a little heart over the ‘i’ in ‘Gina.’

Tom clapped his thick-bottomed glass on the table with rounded out laughter. “On the prowl already!”

Alan roused back up from his one-drink stupor, jostled his tragic bowl cut around looking for the waitress. “Did she take our drink order? I want another rum and coke,” he asked in a sleepy tilt, sprawling flat on top of the table once more.

Steve looked over the booth, and Darren just knew he was watching her walk away in those skin-tight jeans. But then, the blond tossed a sly smile to Tom and Alan. He slipped the digits right inside his jacket pocket then tapped it with a knowing look.

And that was the final straw for Darren Shan.

Read the rest on AO3~!

[friendlyneighborhoodsexed-blog]

Ten Tips To Becoming A Happier Person That Don’t Involve Drinking More Water Or Using A Bath Bomb

.Hi there. My name is Adrien. I think water is boring and baths are too much work. I live with three nasty kids, and cleaning out my bathtub for 20 minutes of warm water and then discomfort isn’t worth it to me. So, I’m gonna go ahead and tell you ten things I have done over the past five years or so that have made me a happier person that won’t require me to tell you about my favorite brand of sheet mask.

1. Embrace Your Negative Emotions

Ironically enough, I’ve discovered that the more I let myself cry or be mad, the happier of a person I am. The more I forced myself not to cry because I failed a test, the more it weighed on me, and the worse my day got. Taking a few minutes to just breathe and let yourself feel what you want to feel makes your emotions easier to understand and process and helps you to move forward. Do not be afraid to be upset and do not be afraid to hide in the bathroom and cry for five minutes or so. You’re not alone. I love crying in bathrooms.

2. Listen To Your Gut More

One thing I’ve found myself doing more lately is following my instincts and really trying to listen to myself. There have been so many times in the store where I see someone with amazing hair or a nice shirt and I’ve just kept quiet and remembered them hours later and thought “God, I wish I told them how nice they look.” Your brain is you. You are not at war with it, you are best friends with it. If your brain is telling you to go watch a good movie, find a way to do it at some point. Obviously, your brain can be unreasonable at some times, and that’s when you learn to work with it. Maybe ‘abandoning work and going to Disney World RIGHT NOW’ isn’t possible, but waiting until you’re off work to watch your favorite Disney movie and make a little thing out of it is possible. You are the most important person for you to listen to.

3. Practice Gratitude

I’ve been experimenting with gratitude lists! In the spirit of the holiday season, I think it’s important for everyone to try this once. For every day of the month, take a minute to sit down and think about one thing you’re grateful for. Try to avoid the easy and basic answers and really dig deep for something fresh. To give you an example, I right now am grateful for the $25 Target gift card my dad gave me two weeks ago. It’s been getting me free Starbucks after work, and it’s just a little thing that makes my day better. Find little things that make your day better, reflect, write.

4. Look Forward To Something

I am always trying to find something to get excited about. Right now, I’m super stoked about a vacation to Disney World I have coming up on December 7th. I am also really excited for Black Friday, because I don’t have to work that day. You don’t have to be excited for something big, just find something to look forward to. Be excited to get home so you can take your bra off. Be excited for the next time Amy Poehler hosts Saturday Night Live. Be excited for two days from now when whatever you ordered from Amazon gets here. There is always something.

5. Give Someone A Gift

This might be more of a me thing, but I get so excited about giving gifts, I really do. Putting in the time to think of something perfect, putting it together, and watching them open the gift is always such a fun time. I really do think this is such a good way to lift your spirits and find joy in someone else and the connection you create in that moment.

6. Pick Favorites

I have favorites of everything. I have a favorite pair of shoes, a favorite pair of jeans, a favorite restaurant, a favorite movie, etc... Finding your favorite “something” is really easy access to a good mood. Even on my worst mornings, putting on ‘My Sharona’ in the car hypes me the hell up. Wearing my black ankle boots makes me feel confident and proud and powerful, and I think those are some important feelings. Find your favorites and really utilize them.

7. Fall In Love... With Yourself

There are things about myself I don’t like. Everyone has something about themselves that they don’t like, and that’s normal, it’s part of being alive. But hating yourself and hating the way you can’t seem to park straight are two entirely different things. Think about someone important to you. Someone you love very dearly. Chances are, you don’t love everything about them. There’s at least one thing they do that drives you crazy. I love my dad to pieces, but I hate how he yells during football games. Now, imagine that person is you. You may not love every single part of yourself, but it is important to learn to love you as a whole. Spend more time discovering who you are, focus on what you like about yourself, and value your alone time. It’s a slow process, but you’ll love the end result.

8. Laughter Is The Best Medicine

It’s a little cliche, but it’s really true. Find something that makes you laugh and use that to your advantage. My absolute favorite show is Superstore, and when I’m having a tough time, I like to think about it. I’ve seen every episode so many times now that I know a few quotes, my favorite being “This a quality Tuesday.” Even if I’m in a good mood, saying, “This a quality Sunday” elevates it. Looking at some high quality memes on a quick break really will improve your mood.

9. Keep Busy

I’m not saying you have to always be doing something, but it’s good to have something going on. On days when I feel restless, I go and pick up a couple groceries or hang out in a Goodwill for a while to look at ugly shoes with rhinestone longhorns on them. Going to school or having a job is a great way to keep your brain and body running. Even on your worst days, it helps a lot to force yourself out of bed to pick the clothes up off the floor. Just doing something small is going to ease you. I promise, you can go right back to bed afterwards.

10. Help Yourself

You are the key to your own happiness. It’s not Superstore and my sister’s antics that pulled me out of years of darkness, it was myself. It was taking the time to learn to grow and listen to myself and focus on what I need. Someone can always try and stretch you out before you go and exercise, but you’re the one who knows what your body wants and needs. Recognizing what you need and taking that first step to getting it is all you. Going from being too depressed to leave the house or shower or eat to being someone who enjoys getting out and doing things and can genuinely say “I’m in a good mood today” was not an overnight process. It was five years of patience, and I can honestly and genuinely say that I’m in a good mood right now. Things are good. They’re gonna be good for you, too.

[impossiblestarfishanchor]

Death at the Edge of the Diamond - Author Signed Edition

The Cape Cod Baseball League season has ended, but if you didn’t get to the Cape this summer, you can at least read about adventures in growing up through the eyes of Jon Megquire! I’ll sign a copy of this book for you

Ebook versions available at Amazon or Barnes and Noble.

Death at the Edge of the Diamond

Jon Megquire went to Cape Cod in the summer of 1979 expecting to play baseball in the Cape Cod Baseball League – a stepping stone from college to the big leagues. He expected to be tooling around in his MG Midget that he called Maybelline. He expected to have fun with his teammates, to build stuff with his contractor host family, and simply enjoy a Cape Cod summer.

But it didn’t turn out exactly that way.

In 1979 oil was being held hostage and major league baseball salaries were about to broach the million dollar per year mark. Microprocessor technology was in its infancy and the internet and cell phones were barely a shadow on the horizon. It was the year that the national housing bubble began and production homebuilding was gearing up. Mortgage rates were over 11%. It was the year that “My Sharona” by The Knack was number one and “The Logical Song” by Supertramp was number twenty-seven.

In the midst of all these variables Jon’s summer unfolded differently from the way he expected it to. He did not expect to be unravelling a murder or finding out that a house can be bad for a person’s health.

The Salsberg’s mansion on Jolo Point connected Jon to the Salsberg family who is trying to vacation while battling through family discord. The matriarch of the family, Faith Salsberg has no intentions of turning over the reins of her company and retiring and that irritates her son-in-law, Garret Scoles. He is quite relieved when she dies suddenly during the renovation of the house. It is quite obvious to Garret that the contractor, Jon’s summer boss, is to blame.

So while Jon was trying to sort out his future in a major league baseball career, the affections of his summer girlfriend, and a growing affinity for houses and construction, he is determined to figure out what happened to the old lady and clear his boss’s name and reputation.

"Reading your book has been very entertaining for me! Yes, I'm hooked. I'm learning more about the Cape and I love your vivid and realistic descriptions of the area as well as your character development."  -- Barbara Kraus

[vintagehellfire]

Down The Rabbit Hole

Pairing: Ben Solo x Reader, Kylo Ren x Reader

Modern AU, Punk!Ben/Kylo - Baker!Reader

Prompt: Ben Solo x reader where they’re at readers 21st birthday party and they play a drunk 7 minutes in heaven.

Word count: 6.4K

Warnings: Profanity, drinking, getting drunk. Nothing else really.

Tags: @nightsofren @drtiberiussith

PART 1 | PART 2 |

The feeling of a cold spot on the bed woke you up. In a panic, you shot up and whipped your head around, heart falling into your stomach as if it was a hunk of lead. Your head pounded not only from how much you drank but the sudden hot feeling that came over it as the thought that Ben abandoned you echoed through your mind- the most intrusive thought that morning. Not even a moment later your loving whatever-the-hell-he-was pushed the door to your room open whilst holding two coffee mugs. The second he saw the look on your face he placed the mugs on the closest dresser to him and rushed over, gently capturing your face in his hands as he sat on the bed directly next to you. He pressed your forehead against his and you felt his pointy nose brush yours.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. I’m right here.” He let out a gentle, deep breathy laugh that fanned your face. “I’m not going anywhere.” He assured you as he pressed his plush and full lips to your forehead. A small whimper and nod came from you, head pounding.

“I thought you left.” You breathed and placed your hands upon his forearms, gripping them firmly but not enough to hurt him. You wanted as much proximity and comfort that the man could offer you. Ben poked his nose into your cheek and gave it an Eskimo kiss.

“Never. I made us espressos to wake us up and to help with your hangover and besides, I haven’t even given you your gift yet. You’ll have to wait for tonight though.” You felt the man pull away and the weight lift off the bed you were both situated on, the dark sheets smoothing out just a tad as he got up to get your coffees. Your eyes trailed his tall figure and you sucked your lip into your mouth as you watched Ben. How had he made something so mundane and habitual look so elegant and thoughtful? He spun on his heels and presented you with the most heart-warming smile, dimples indenting his face and the corners of his eyes crinkling as he gazed upon you. Even in the state you were in, he believed you looked astounding. His weight was put into him leaning back against your dresser and he crossed his left ankle over his right, and he looked almost completely laid back. The glaze in his eyes spoke measures of love but it didn’t stop his anxiety. His eyes refused to meet yours but they remained on you nonetheless.

“Thank you, Ben.” Your voice was nothing but a whisper. You motioned for him to come over by scooting across your bed and creating a small spot for him. You peeled back the covers and let your eyes fall to the spot and you let yourself swallow, nerves slowly taking over. You heard a small huff of a breathy laugh come from the brooding figure before you and the careful padding of feet on the floor. The bed caved as Ben placed himself next to you and handed you your warm espresso.

“It’s doubled.” He promised you and slid an arm around your waist which caused you to lean your head on his shoulder. “You know, I’m really sorry that this is how- how we got together.” He turned his head and mumbled his words into your hair. “I wish that we didn’t have such an animosity at first.” He admit. He really didn’t enjoy that part of your history; the part where you both swore and spit at each other, got in one another’s faces, cursed, hit, and slandered the other. “I’m glad we’re here now.” He whispered before he turned and took a long sip of his coffee. You took this chance to take a very large swig of your own espresso before nearly screaming out as you burned your tongue. You couldn’t deny that it was a good brew, and you couldn’t deny that you were this close to offering Ben a job as the designated coffee brewer of your bakery. The hot drink slid down your throat and you hummed as the familiar bitter flavour exploded in your mouth. “What’s on today’s agenda?” Ben asks.

“Well, I’d run downstairs and make an appearance. I’m sure Poe and Rey took over seeing as I was hammered last night,” you glanced up at the warm man next to you, “no thanks to you.” You created an aside and Ben shot you a look of offence. “I think they’ve got it covered but I wanted to go in and check, maybe make some pizza buns and butter tarts and-” Ben cut you off by leaning over and giving you a quick kiss, letting a laugh slip past his beautiful lips and literally onto yours. You felt his smile which caused you to let out a breathy and full laugh.

“You need to slow your… Roll… s.” He dragged out his god awful pun which made you burst out into a full laugh, which resonated with him, causing him to create a mental note to make more puns in the future. “I have a proposal,” you hummed at your newfound lovers deep and attractive morning voice, “stay here with me, take the day off. You said something about those heavenly and divine macarons of yours. The ones you won’t let me have, seeing as I’m clearly a man straight from hell.” He teased you with the last part.

“Hey, you’re not-“

“Pomegranates are the fruit of the underworld, sacred to the Greek god Hades. Eat the fruit and you won’t be allowed out of the underworld. They’re appealing and enticing. They’re delicious and irresistible much like your baking. It’s bound me to you for eternity. Clearly, since I’m bound to taste those pomegranate macarons, I’m a man of hell and darkness.” The last bit was meant to poke fun, but some truth peeked through. He did want to be with you for all eternity, or at least as long as you’d let him be with you.

“You’re so fucking dramatic.” You barked out and snuggled closer to the other and you both finished your espressos in the silence and gentle heavenly light that barely filtered through your curtains. Your heart ached for this man, and his for you.

Music ripped through the serenity of your apartment and the blooming laughter of both Ben and you bounced across the walls as you both ridiculously danced around the kitchen, his feathering touch on your swaying hips and his step in tune with yours. The smile couldn’t be wiped off your faces as you both danced around to your Get the Knack record by The Knack. It was released in ’79 and your family laughed it off when you promised you’d take it with you when you moved out, but here it was in your possession. Every song was your favourite, despite the band being considered a one-hit wonder, and it showed. You’d sing lyrics at Ben and he’d sing the next lines or verses back, chasing you around as you both gathered ingredients for the fantastic breakfast you were collaborating on. Your specialty was the croissants and his was the coconut chia seed strawberry parfait. Both things were time-consuming and had wait times so you took pleasure in each other’s company and the pure bliss that it brought the each of you. Your hangover was virtually gone due to the strong brew you had earlier, and the copious amounts more that you had after you had both risen from the comfort of your bed.

As the song “Good Girls Don’t” came to an end, “My Sharona” started playing and you couldn’t help but tease the poor man by swaying your entire body side to side along with the rhythm of the song and rolling your shoulders back. Ben’s grin widened and his dimples became far more prominent than ever. His caramel eyes shining brightly as he watched you. He mimicked your movements then, somehow, in your gleaming eyes, moving in more fluid and elegant motions than you could muster. His hands ghosted over your hips as you backed away from him and to your living room while the dough and parfait chilled. You had both assumed a method of dancing that was far more in tune with that of the swing movement of the 30’s. You didn’t take Ben Solo for much of a dancing man but then again, neither of you knew what you were doing.

               The movements were oddly fluid and suggestive, a beckoning finger here, a tug at the hips over there, your hands thrown into the young man’s hair, his hands roaming around your waist and hiking your shirt up until you were both intoxicated by one another and laughing to no end.

               When the song came to an end, the two of you flopped onto your couch and let out a content sigh, Ben laying on top of you, his weight not enough to crush you, rather, it was welcomed and the way his head lay on your chest caused your heart to palpitate in odd rhythms. His dark locks were splayed all over the place and his face was gently flushed by the red tint that mirrored your own. One of your hands trailed its way to his back and the other tugged at his soft and thick curls while one of his hands was placed over your heart and the other on the small of your back.

“Who knew you could have that much fun.” He breathed out, his voice rumbling, it was clear he was completely dazed, never imagining this would have happened between the two of you. It’s as if his wildest dreams were coming true and to be frank they were.

“I did!” You tried to sound offended but the smile that seeped through your voice could be heard clear as day.

“I know, I’m just teasing, my love.” The last two words echoed back and your dream flashed before you vividly, only much warmer this time.

Soft rosy low light glowed and the crack of vinyl brought comfort and serenity to the scene. New Wave flowed through the air and swam around you, entrancing you in its distorted and messy melodies creating an overwhelming sense of nostalgia. You swayed, warm hands firmly on your waist, protective, loving, and yours on the person’s shoulders securely, reminding them that this is where they belonged. The warmth and happiness hammered into your chest and the smile that adorned your face hurt but you wouldn’t give it up for the world.

“You look lovely tonight, (Y/N).” A warm shiver ran down your spine as the deep voice spoke in a whisper next to your ear. It was almost sultry and suggestive but it was just the overlay. The undertones were innocent and honest. It moulded with the music playing. “Enticing, entrancing, beautiful. I had to tell you, my love.”

               You had to bite back the large smile that threatened to split your face, but the hammering of your heart gave you away.

After breakfast, you got dressed, and then you let Ben take your room to change into an oversized men’s shirt you had picked up from the thrift store a few years back. It was massive and you thought he might need a change of clothes.

During that time you decided to bring out the macarons in order to give them to your new lover. You weren’t completely sure if that’s what you were. There was no designated title and you felt that Ben would shy away from labels, after all, Kylo seemed to be the kind of person who would and Ben and Kylo were one and the same, weren’t they? You scolded yourself for the snap judgement and brought the small maroon box from your cupboard. It was accented with a much richer red- that of the colour of the bittersweet fruit with which the macarons were made with, and on top of the box lay a small bow. You prayed that Ky- Ben would like it. You picked the colours to match not only the fruit but him and his persona, or the one you knew before last night at least.

“Hey, where did you get this shirt? It’s unbelievably,” he stopped in his tracks as he saw you, a red tint sprawled across your cheeks and the bridge of your nose and your hands fidgeting with the small box. He took several strides towards you and let his hands take yours gently in his, his long fingers grazing the box, “what’s this?” He pried as a smirk pulled its way across his face.

“It’s off the menu.” You whispered and closed the small gap between the two of you, capturing his full lips in a loving and gentle kiss. Unfortunately for the raven-haired man, you pulled away much too soon for his liking but while doing so, you gently pushed the box towards him.

“You were serious?” He raises an eyebrow at you, unable to fathom what came over you in order for you to save him your famous chocolate pomegranate macarons when your blood seemingly boiled at the thought of him stepping foot into your bakery.

“I was.” You whispered to him. “I had this feeling- I’m not sure what it was but… Okay, hear me out. I felt bad.” You admit. “I’ve been kicking you out of my bakery solely based on that one time where you broke a mug. I thought you were being such a dick- I mean, look at you! Dishevelled hair, half the time you wore ripped jeans, that stupid fucking leather jacket of yours and a loose fitting shirt. You practically called every goddamn person with the ability to see to come and drop to their knees and beg you for a date. You’re the classic punk but now- now that’s taken as people being dicks, and there are so many wannabe punks and I didn’t know how to distinguish the two.” You poured out. “That, and when we did interact I wanted to desperately believe you were being nice to cover up just how massive a prick you actually were. I didn’t think you’d actually be a sweetheart.” You looked to your feet. “Truth is, my last significant other cheated on me with someone from their work… And I caught the two of them together in my bed. That’s not even the worst part. I gave three years of my life to this person.”

“And I promise that you will gain those three years back, and many more, with me.” He took a small increment of a step closer to you and placed his lips to the top of your head, letting them linger there for a moment longer than they normally would have belonged. “Thank you.”

“No, thank you for not being a chauvinist pig and for caring enough about what happens to me that you didn’t let me do anything until I was sober.”

               You led the man before you to the couch and as he flopped down, so did you. You shifted closer to him and draped your legs across his lap, bringing his face down to kiss his cheek, your bliss seemingly endless. You watched his face intently, linking every single beauty mark across his face and making a trail of constellations that led up to his soft eyes. Before he opened the maroon box, a soft smile tugged at his lips and from his peripheral Ben threw you a glance. His graceful fingers made their way to the lid and he tugged on the silk bow, watching it cascade down the sides, leaving the lid to be removed. Carefully and slowly he plucked it from the box, only to reveal six deep red macarons with a chocolate ganache filling. His hear swelled and he let out a small and breathy thank you before picking one from the box and offering it to you.

“At the same time.” Was all he needed to say and you understood exactly what he meant. It was a small gesture and it was meant to encourage him, rid him of any anxieties related to you watching him taste the delicacy but it was also a small push to see if you would do the little things that seemingly didn’t matter but spoke measures. You gently took the dessert, careful so that it wouldn’t break, and waited for him to choose another one. Silently, the two of you counted off to three and bit into the treats, causing Ben to groan.

“You like it?” You laughed out after having swallowed down your bite. You earned a frantic nod before he too managed to swallow and answer you.

“If this is what they use to trap people in the underworld, consider me sold, no need to keep me trapped, I’ll stay on my own free will!” He put the macarons onto your coffee table and pulled you onto his lap. “I’m already here on my own free will and I want you to come to the answer to my question on your own free will.” You tensed at his words. “What are we, or what do you want us to be?” Your breath caught at the unexpected question.

“I thought Kylo wasn’t someone who tied himself to labels.” You stated boldly but with your statement, you felt your eyebrows knit together in confusion.

“You would be wrong, and stop calling me that, it’s Ben.” He assured you. “Either way, it helps clear things up. I don’t like labels or being labelled as one thing or another. The good guy, the bad guy, I don’t like those labels. I’m neither, but sometimes labels help clarify.” He pressed his forehead to yours, his hair creating a curtain in front of his face and hiding all emotion he could just in case what you were going to say was to rip his beating heart from his chest.

“It’s a two-way street but if you agree, I’d really like to be your significant other, your partner in crime, if you will.” A chuckle came from the man before you, warm and welcoming. 

“Bonnie and Clyde.” You hummed in agreement and took his face in your hands.

“And Ben? I’m lucky to love you too.”

A/n: I hope you liked it. I don’t have an intention for part 3 but can muster something up if need be. I also have a request to fill out which I’m excited for. So stay tuned. 

[quiet-kunoichi]

Stepping from the shadow of the hallway and into the soft yellow glow of the dining room light, Kimiko gingerly holds her fingers in front of herself. Was it possible to feel this bashful? The last time she felt this intimidated by a set of eyes was her first day of grade school: being announced to the class as a new student and wanting absolutely zero of the attention it resulted in. In this moment, Kimiko felt like a beacon: like Sasuke was the only one in the world who could see her - truly see her for what she is. The breathless praise falls from his lips and her eyes widen as she spots something in his eyes that catches her off guard. Maeve's words come to mind. Adoration. Perhaps Sasuke truly does feel that way.. but life wasn't built from fairytales. With her head dipped and her ears steaming, Kimiko can barely contain the width of the smile that breaks across her face. "..Thanks." Comes her quiet reply, glancing up to notice Maeve using her head to usher Kimiko over to Sasuke. Biting at her lip, Kimiko thinks of the advice her foster mother gave her: be yourself. So, with a brief moment to collect herself; Kimiko closes her eyes, inhales through her nose and exhales a preparing breath. Then one foot moves after the other, the blocky heels of her oxfords clicking over the wood as she closes the expanse between her and.. her date. "You know, you aren't looking too shabby, yourself." She hums as she peers up at him, still avoiding his gaze if she could help it. Still blushing tomato red, but now glowing with the magic that comes along with a first date. Her hands reach up and smooth over the tops of his shoulders, unable to pinch down her dumb smile. "I'm glad you left your hair like this." She notes, fingers coming up to touch at the ends of his hair by the base of his neck. "Unruly fits you. Fits us." The last bit slipped out on its own, taking Kimiko by surprise. Everything felt accompanied with a layer of.. well, romance. It was only a tad awkward, and thus Kimiko bites down on her lip - still unable to reign a smile into control as she looks up at him, at last. Her heart grows wings and begins to flutter. Maeve steals the opportunity to take a clandestine photo of the pair, but the shutter is loud enough for the kids to overhear. They are reduced to miming awkward and typical 'prom date' poses until Kimiko insists that half a dozen was more than enough. "Alright, alright. I hear ya." Maeve holds her hands up in her defense after setting the offending camera down. "Here's your overnight bag, and the keys to my Sharona." Maeve provides the keys to Sasuke after stuffing the packed backpack into Kimiko's arms. "Oh, don't give me that look. There's always an after party." She waves off Kimiko's look of bewilderment. "You don't have work tomorrow?" Kimiko asks, to which Maeve replies with a little shrug and a sneaky grin. "I'll just get Chuck to drive me." She snickers. "Now, young man." She turns her best attempt at a stern look onto Sasuke, holding up an accusing finger. "Don't you let a single scratch get on my baby." After his obedient confirmation, Maeve breaks into her usual smile. "Glad that's all settled, then. Have a magnificent date, you two." Flustered, Kimiko is already fumbling with the deadbolt to the front door. Once cracked open, the cold air is a welcomed reprieve on her fiery cheeks. "Oh, and don't wreck my car." Maeve adds, moving to the doorway as the couple hurry down the driveway and unlock her car. "Have fun!" She calls with a wave as Kimiko is tossing the overnight bag into the backseat. "Make safe choices! Use protec-" Her voice is cut off by Kimiko quickly shutting the car door behind her. The engine ignites, the front door shuts, and Kimiko releases her long-held breath, head falling back against the passenger's headrest. "..I'm sorry about that." She exhales her apology with a little sigh before her honey hues drag over to soak in the sight of him. A small shaky inhale sips into her lungs, her fingers curling atop her lap. "I.. really like your tie. You look like you

walked straight off of the page of a book of fairy tales." The words just spill from her lips, guided by the swift and trembling hand of her nerves. She realizes too late how ridiculous that sounded, ducking her forehead into a visor of shame fashioned by her hand. "God,.. that was so dumb." She whispers with the intention of chiding herself.

[ @suck-my-tomato | verse; highschool ]

[thinkingisadangerouspastime]

(GASP YOURE TAKING ASKS AGAIN *shaky eyes*) 4, 5, 6, 11, 14, 23, and 30!

I SURE AM 😤💛 the semester is over and i am ALIVE 🙌

4. Link your three favorite fics right now.

i have been on an ml fic binge the past several weeks bc i finally caught up with season 4 of miraculous so they're all ml (adrienette) fics ajdsdjsdks:

Trust Falls by PitViperOfDoom; Chasing the C/h/atwalk. by Inkkerfuffle; and Operation Mega-Sleepover by InTheWild

(also these are all complete! there's some wips i adore rn, too, but i don't want to link them in case i lose interest bc then i'd feel terrible 💀)

5. What are your fanfic pet peeves? Do they have a huge effect on whether or not you decide to read something?

if a fic has no paragraph breaks, i cannot read it. and hey, i was guilty of it too when i was in middle school, but it's a dealbreaker for me 😂 also commas. if a fic has too many OR not enough commas, i probably won't be able to read it. and i can be a bit picky with characterization? but that depends on the fandom, the story's context, what character we're even talking about, etc. etc.

6. How do you find new fic to read? Where do you primarily read fanfiction?

i get recs from friends, i read my friends' works, i literally just go to ao3 and read from the most recently posted fic, and occasionally i sort by kudos. i primarily read fanfic on ao3!

11. How do you come up with your fic titles?

song lyrics, a significant motif/line/etc. in the fic, occasionally im inspired by quotes i hear or read, and sometimes im just like "this sounds cool, that'll do" 😂

14. Do you have a personal word minimum that you hold yourself too? Why or why not?

i used to not like having fics shorter than 1k, but i have since matured and realized that a fic is only as long as it needs to be. sometimes that means im encapsulating a small moment in only a few hundred words, and that's a-okay! 😌

23. What’s your absolute favorite trope to write?

ooh, good question 🤔 honestly i just love emotional hurt/comfort, which isn't really a trope, per se, but it's the closest to one i can provide for this question 😂 a lot of my fics involve some aspect of a character study, so i think my enjoyment of emotional hurt/comfort makes sense adkjsdsks

30. Post a snippet from your current WIP without context - no more than 300 words.

i've been posting context-less snippets for the past three days, this ain't nothing new 😂

“Our dining room is right over here,” she said, stepping in front of the two and gesturing to her left. “You can sit—” Allison was abruptly cut off as she ran face-first into a navy blue men’s dress shirt.

“You can meet my husband, actually,” Allison corrected herself with a wide grin, turning around to extend introductions. “Sharona, Mr. Monk, this is my husband, Joe. Joe, this is Adrian Monk and Sharona Fleming.”

“I have heard great things about the both of you from Allison,” Joe said, shaking Sharona’s hand and then Monk’s. “She says that without you two on the case…” He trailed off, brow furrowing as Monk snapped for a wipe.

“Don’t worry, he has a thing about germs,” Sharona reassured Joe as she handed Monk a towelette from a fresh pack in her purse. “He’s like this with everyone.”

“It’s true, I am,” Monk said, wiping his hands. Sharona dropped the wipe back into her purse when he was done.

There was a momentary pause, but Joe shook off his confusion and picked up where he left off. “Allison tells me your help has been instrumental with the current case.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say we—” Monk was interrupted by a snicker from Sharona, who waved her hand apologetically when he frowned at her.

“Sorry, sorry. I just”—she snickered again—“instrumental. Y’know, they’re all musicians?”

A laugh escaped Allison’s lips, too, while Monk’s frown only deepened.

“I don’t understand.”

Sharona sighed, patting him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, boss. Your funny bone will heal eventually.”

Monk shifted his shoulders at her touch. “Doubtful.”

[beans-shadow]

The Whole Nine Yards

Summary: Lucifer drops by Chloe's house on a lazy day.

Author: little_bean (aka me)

Notes: Amidst all this angst of the season finale and hiatus, I just wanted some fluff! Title from the Lucifer gag reel.

Read on Ao3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/11110146

The sun was shining, Trixie was out playing at a friend’s house, Dan was doing improv with Amenadiel, Maze was doing God-knows what, and Chloe Decker was happy.

There could have been many reasons she was grossly happy. Maybe it was due to her solving a case in a clutch moment, thinking swiftly on her feet. Perhaps it was because of a nice evening out with Ella yesterday, the forensic scientist’s bubbly attitude not having yet gone away.

Or most likely, it was because Chloe Decker was dating the Devil.

The idea itself sounded absurd. And it definitely would have sounded insane to Chloe not a couple of months ago. But now, she simply stood upbeat in her kitchen, all alone, smiling into her coffee mug as she took a generous sip. The marvelous taste  of the sugar-free almond milk drink danced on her tongue, emitting a glorious sigh of contentment from Chloe. She really did make the best coffee.

“Even I have not managed to elicit such a satisfied look on your face. What do you put in that monstrosity of a drink?”

Chloe opened her eyes to see Lucifer let himself into her apartment, smirking at her as he closed the door behind him. In response, Chloe just rolled her eyes, never surprised at his sexual comments, but always amused. Sometimes against every bone in her body, this man never failed to summon a smile from her. He knew it too, and used it to his advantage, the darn devil. Literally.  

“Hey,” Chloe greeted him, deciding to ignore his question. It didn’t matter, anyways. Lucifer was tremendously disgusted by coffee. She’d seen him try it once, after he admitted to her of his crime of never tasting it. The grimace as Lucifer reacted to the drink was priceless, and Chloe regretted not taking a photo of the humorous look of betrayal that was plainly written on the fallen angel’s face. But she had saved the memory in stone in her mind, never letting him live down the moment.

Chloe gave him a soft smile, one that made Lucifer’s eyes soften in kind, one that left him vulnerable. It was a look he reserved only for her (and Trixie, when he thought Chloe wasn’t watching). The devotion in his gaze warmed Chloe’s stomach as she placed her mug on the counter. “What brings you here? Everyone else is out having a life,” she joked.

Now Lucifer frowned. Despite her constant teaching, and despite him having been on Earth now for over five years, he was still dreadful at picking apart sarcasm and joshing. He took everything so seriously. He was still practically a foreigner, constantly learning the euphemisms, the slang, the normalities of life—especially Los Angeles, American life.

“Do I need an excuse to come visit the greatest detective of the LAPD?” Lucifer asked, tilting his head sideways.

Chloe shook her head, making her way around the counter to take his arms in her hands. “You don’t mean that,” she insisted.

“Always so humble,” Lucifer whispered, voice dropping with his eyes as they sought her lips. His head quickly followed, as Chloe stood on her toes to meet him halfway. She could feel his smile against hers at each kept the kiss relatively chaste. Or at least Chloe tried, until she snuck a hand up his neck, tangling it in his fuzzy, curly hair, pulling him closer, opening her mouth wider.

Lucifer was the one who pulled away. He stared at her, gaze intense. “It’s true, you know. You really are the most talented detective.” She could tell this was really important to him, that she knew how he felt.

Chloe chuckled, shaking her head, trying to clear it of those hypnotizing eyes. “That you know,” she finished the sentence for him. She knew he wasn’t lying, that he believed the words he was saying. But there was no way. Out of the hundreds of detectives at the LAPD, spanning all over the Los Angeles county, Chloe Decker could not be the best one.

Lucifer sighed, probably guessing exactly what she was thinking. At least he also understood it was moot to try and argue with her. She was stubborn, to a pretty frustrating point, and she wasn’t afraid to admit that. So instead he just shrugged one shoulder, saying, “Well, you’re the only one that matters to me.” As Chloe smiled at him, he looked around. “What was your plan for the rest of the afternoon, Detective?”

Chloe stepped out of Lucifer’s warm arms, making her way to the living space. Trying to hide a blush, she gestured to the TV. “Not much. Just to watch some TV show until I either fall asleep on the couch, or Sarah’s mom drops Trixie back off.”

“Sounds wonderful,” Lucifer purred, following Chloe to the room. There was a time, Chloe remembered, where Lucifer would scoff at such a list of events. Before, he would not have considered any of that fun. But now, he seemed to appreciate the domestic moments more so than even Chloe did. It was as if he was done with the extravagant life he sought when he established Lux, when he first arrived at Earth. Now, he just wanted to relax, enjoy life. Be in the moment.

Be with Chloe.

Chloe smiled wide at Lucifer, flopping down on the couch. “Good. I agree.”

“Splendid.” Lucifer tore off his jacket, stretching his arms as his wings spread out in the living room. They reached to the sides of the compact space, and Lucifer groaned as they worked out the day’s kinks. It must be rough, Chloe thought, keeping them tucked away all day.

From her spot on the couch, Chloe let herself admire his beauty, for just a moment, before he caught her and started teasing her. The teasing, she had deduced, came from a place of both snarkiness and timidness. While Lucifer was never one to turn down praise about his physique, he was still always surprised whenever he saw her scrutinizing his angelic or demonic parts. He was getting better at it, finally understanding that she loved him, loved everything about him, but his previous rejections had been rough, had cut deep, and might always be in a state of healing.

Chloe blinked, bringing her back to the present, watching the wings ripple, the muscles straining underneath all of that white. The aura they released smelled like sanctification, the wind they brushed across her cheek sounded like a chorus of glory. The mix of sensations flooded her, but never overwhelmed her. It comforted her, felt so much like Lucifer it hurt. Not a bad hurt, but that tug that one gets when they see their favorite person act in a way that is just simply them. And you become reminded why you latched on to them so hard, and why you could never let go. Because you appreciate them for who they were, and who they will become.

Lucifer finally settled down next to her after sufficient stretching as Chloe switched on the TV. He extended his wing behind her, wrapping her in his feathers and tucking her against his chest. She welcomed the pull, resting her head on his body. His rhythmic, steady breathing always calmed her, slowed down her brain, allowing her to get the rest she needed, being the busy mom she was.

“What are we watching today?” Lucifer asked, gesturing to the set with his left wing, too lazy to lift his own arm.

“I want to show you what a real, good detective looks like,” Chloe informed him. “This is Monk, an old show about a San Francisco detective.”

Chloe could feel Lucifer shift under her weight, something bothering him. “I never participated that much in the consumerism side of humanity, but it is my understanding that most of this is fake.”

“That is correct,” Chloe said.

“That means this detective is fake as well. He’s not real,” Lucifer said. “So how could you say he is real?”

“Well,” Chloe said, unsure how to proceed. “I guess I tried to suggest this is what a better detective would look like. Or, if I was as good at you claim I am, this is how I quickly I should be able to put two in two together.”

“I doubt it, but I will humor you, Detective,” Lucifer said, rubbing her arm with his hand, up and down.

As per usual, Lucifer narrated during the entirety of the show. It always started with snorts, or scoffs, then steadily escalates to tuts, angry “no ways!” and then out-right comments about the character’s absurd, or clever, actions. For this one, he tried to guess the murderer within five minutes of the show. “I’m a civilian consultant, Detective, I know what I am talking about,” is what he told her when she asked him how he could possible know. Chloe just rolled her eyes, and went back to paying attention to Adrian Monk and Sharona Fleming.

She didn’t mind his commentary. To her, it meant he was invested in the show, actually listening and watching, instead of zoning out and pretending to have followed the plot, like Dan had used to. Besides, while his conjectures were never accurate (it was quite a tricky show), they were always entertaining.

Lucifer got so sucked into the show, in fact, despite being confused by Monk’s OCD, he insisted on watching the next episode, and then the next.

Chloe must have fallen asleep at some point, because when she opened her eyes next, Lucifer had moved onto an episode she didn't remember seeing the beginning of, and when she checked her watch, they’d gone well into the evening. She yawned, stretching her arm, and Lucifer moved his wing absentmindedly out of her way.

“This show is quite fascinating,” he remarked from the couch as Chloe stood up, searching for her phone. She patted her butt, checking those pockets, glanced at the counter, and then found it right in front of her: the living room table. “This Adrian human is remarkable. His fastidious nature allows him to notice the smallest of things that are pertinent to the case, yet sometimes he views this ability as a curse.”

Chloe pressed the home button. “Well, sometimes it is all about perspective. What we think is harmful to us actually, in the end, becomes the very thing that saves us.” She quickly read the messages on her phone. “Apparently, Trixie has decided to stay at Sarah’s house for the night. She got permission from Sarah’s mom, and Dan. They tried to ask me, but I missed it when I was asleep. Nothing I can do about that now.” She sighed, slapping her thigh in exacerbation.

Chloe looked up when she heard the TV go black, just as Lucifer rose from the couch, placing the remote on the table.

“That just might be the best news I have heard all day,” he informed her, a wicked smile on his face.

Chloe stood almost frozen at her spot, looking at Lucifer with as much really? as a single face could have.

“Are you serious right now, Lucifer?” she groaned as he approached her, snaking a hand around her waist, bringing his mouth to her neck. “I’m not sure this is the best time…”

“It’s always the best time, Detective,” Lucifer spoke to the crook of her neck, kissing her gently, tugging her closer to his chest. Still trying to resist, Chloe brought her hands up his chest, rubbing his shoulders. It was tough to refuse him. And no, not because he was the Devil. Chloe couldn’t care less about that when it came to this. It was simply because he was Lucifer. Her Lucifer.

“I was just asleep!” Chloe protested, chuckling as she touched her forehead to one of his shoulders.

Lucifer straightening under her hands, eyes becoming unfocused as his mind recalled something. A smile plastered on his face, one of pure joy and excitement.

“Oh! Well, I have a surprise for you that might just be the right pick-me-up for you!” he said happily, and turned to jog into Trixie’s room. He walked out a second later, hands behind his back, face still lit up with warm anticipation.

“A surprise you kept in Trixie’s room?” Chloe asked, a bit confused and a bit suspicious.

Lucifer raised his eyebrows. “Yes, well, I couldn’t have you snooping around and finding it. Now, please go back and sit on the couch. And close your eyes.”

Obeying his command, Chloe lifted a finger at him. “If this is one of those  ‘open your mouth and close your eyes’ type of things, I swear to your father, Lucifer…”

“Of course not, Detective,” Lucifer scoffed, waving a hand in the air, still making sure to keep the object behind him. “But I will ask you to close your eyes.”

Chloe sighed. But she trusted Lucifer. Rubbing her hands over her leggings, she sat on the couch with her eyes shut tight, waiting patiently for Lucifer to uncover what he had in store for her. “Okay. Open.”

With those words, Chloe opened her eyes, then immediately started laughing at what she saw.

Lucifer stood in front of her, arms out, eyebrows raised, expectant. The smile on his face was so bright it made Chloe’s heart burst.

But on his head.

On his head was a headband. But not just any headband.

It was a devil horn headband, one that had two red horns poking out from the strap, sparkly and shiny, reflecting the dim living room light. They contrasted with Lucifer’s deep black hair, just drawing more attention to them.

“Lucifer, what are those things on your head?” Chloe tried to get out, speaking between snorts.

Lucifer frowned. “I think you know exactly what they are, Detective.”

More snorts. “Yeah, but I meant why do you have them on your head?” she laughed.

“Well, I know you have a things for horns. You told me so yourself. In fact, if I didn’t know better, I would think you were actually disappointed I didn’t have horns when you found out what I really was.”

Chloe finally got control of  herself as she stood up, drawing closer to Lucifer. But she still chuckled. “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have a touch of disappointment. But you’re pretty good as is. Especially now,” she added, bringing up a hand to play with his horns. They were soft, and when she pinched them they easily collapsed under her strength. But they were cute, and Lucifer had got them specifically for her. Sue her, maybe she did still had horn dreams.

“I knew you would like them,” Lucifer purred. He leaned down, mouth searching for hers, and she surged upwards. Like always, kissing him generated waves of pleasure through Chloe’s body. His lips on hers, tongue tracing her mouth. His hands practically left burn marks as they drew lines up her back, then back down as he tried to close the little distance between them.

And curse those damn horns, but Chloe’s hands kept going back to them, playing with them, shoving her fingers through his hair, dragging the headband with his curls. She could feel Lucifer hum with contentment under her touch as he deepened the kiss, lifting Chloe as she wrapped her legs around his waist. He carried her to the countertop so she could rest as she took his face in her hands, kissing him hard, the temperature in the room rising.

After a couple of minutes, the couple parted to finally breathe. Unfortunately for Lucifer, he never had this problem before being tied to the detective. Now, he had to be aware of the fact that mortals needed air to live, and so did he. But he didn’t care. Not at all.

In the moment of rest, Chloe smiled as she brushed the tips of the horns with her finger. “These are too funny,” she said.

Lucifer smirked. “Yet they did the trick,” he said, placing a quick kiss on her lips.

Chloe dropped her hand to caress Lucifer’s cheek. She touched his mouth lightly. “You know, it’s kind of ironic how the Devil himself has the most adorable dimples.”

Lucifer drew back. “I am insulted, Detective! Adorable? That’s how you describe me?”

Chloe grabbed his shoulders, bringing him back. She smacked him with a kiss, moving slowly against him. “Yes, adorable. You are adorable, and I love you.”

Lucifer breathed in, taking in Chloe’s scent. Forehead to forehead, he stared at his detective. “And I love you, Chloe.”

Chloe smiled at him, and he just looked back in admiration. The two remained like that for a while until Chloe reached up to remove the horns from Lucifer’s head and place them on her own. “If I wear these, is it like you’re kissing yourself, or one of your demons?”

Lucifer’s brow pinched together in serious thought. “Neither. Like I said, and you know, I don’t actually have horns, and neither do any of my demons. Horns are just the result of human imagination.”

“Hmm.” Chloe said, playing with the horns, straightening them. “So, how do they look on me?” She leaned backwards to give him a better look, his hand on the small of her back, constantly supporting her.

He sized her up, hot gaze studying her whole body, despite her only asking about her head. But Chloe didn’t object. His eyes became almost predatory, yet on Lucifer, the vulnerability remained, and Chloe only felt more secure in his arms.

“You look positively ethereal,” he whispered, voice full of awe.

Shaking her head, Chloe snickered as she crossed her arms around Lucifer’s neck, drawing him in for another kiss.

Yes, Chloe Decker had many things to be happy about. And one was definitely thanks to her being in a relationship with Lucifer Morningstar. No one else had such a sweet, caring partner in the whole world. In the entire Universe. There was no way.

Notes: And maybe I wanted to address the horn kink (and declare my love for Tom's dimples). I hope you enjoyed this little story!