#demisexual fic

[astarion-approves]

More than sex.

Astarion x gn! Tav

"You’re telling me, that you.. would pass on a night of… meaningless, fantastic, eyes rolling to the back of your head, mind blowing sex… for love?”

“Yes.”

Rating: Mature (for the subject but no actual sex or smut in any way shape or form.) Tags: Demisexuality, demisexual Tav, Demisexual Reader, No Smut, gn! Reader, Slight spoilers, Act One spoilers, Developing Relationship, Developing Friendships, Drabble, short and sweet, Confessions

Ao3 or keep reading below:

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“I’m just looking for a little more excitement. A little more fun.”

Tav considered these words, anytime they saw Astarion having ‘fun’ was on the battlefield. Either stabbing his way through anything that stood before him, or sneaking up behind them and slitting their throat before they could even scream. “And what’s your idea of ‘a little fun?’”

Astarion smiled, taking a sip of his cheap wine before speaking, “By the hells. Sex, my dear. A night of passion.” 

“Oh.”

“Oh, indeed. So, how about—“

“Shadowheart is free.” Tav looked over their shoulder to where she stood by her own tent where she fiddled with a bottle of wine attempting to open it with slow hands. 

“Wait, what—“ Astarion shifted to look past Tav to where she stood, the woman catching his gaze and glaring in return. 

“And she’s really pretty too,” Tav offered. 

“I’m not interested in hearing her praise her goddess tonight.” 

“Well, there’s also Lae’zel—“

Astarion shook his head. “I think she would rather behead me before she would ever bed me.”

“Halsin is available too—“ The Druid elf was handsome, and such a powerful one at that but before Tav could even finish, Astarion cut them off.

“Tempting, but not the one I’m interested in.” 

“Gale—“

“No.” 

Tav hummed, putting their hands on their hips as they scanned the rest of the camp. There were many others, but most were already too drunk to even remember their own names. “I can’t think of anyone else.” 

“There’s always you, darling.” 

“Me?” Tav snorted a laugh. Surely he must have been joking. Of all the people that Astarion could have… Tav would personally put themselves at the bottom of the list. 

“Yes, you. It’s not everyday someone like yourself would be propositioned by someone like me, and this may be your last opportunity—“

“No thank you.” 

“No?! What do you mean ‘no’?!” Astarion was shocked, his hands jumping to his chest as if Tav had stabbed him directly in the heart. 

Tav grimaced, the way that Astarion’s face dropped, the hurt that filled his eyes so quickly… “Look, I’m not… rejecting you—“

“Sure sounds like rejection to me—“

They shook their head. “I need to be in love first… before I can…” Tav lifted their hands, gesturing towards Astarion in a weak display of trying to find the words and failing. “Don’t get me wrong… you’re- you are breathtaking, Astarion. The most gorgeous man I’ve ever laid eyes on—“ 

“Yes, I know. But– you’re telling me, that you.. would pass on a night of… meaningless, fantastic, eyes rolling to the back of your head, mind blowing sex… for love?” 

“Yes.”

Astarion paused, taken aback. “Well, that’s actually quite admirable… But why?” 

“For me, I want it to mean something. Sex is an easily obtainable thing, but love… love you have to work for, to fight for, to earn and to cherish. Sex is great and all but… making love to the person who means the most to you in the world. That’s what I want. That’s what I need.” 

Astarion tapped his finger against his lips, thinking to himself before speaking again. “Hm. Sex and love, I never took you for such a sap,” he said with a light laugh. “Well, how do you feel about being friends then, hm? The kind of friends that protect one another, that is.” 

Tav chuckled. “I think it’s too late for that.” 

“Too late?! So what, now we can’t even be friends?!” Astarion threw his hands up, frustrated. “All I did was hit on you and now—“ 

“No, no,” Tav cut him off, reaching for Astarion’s hands and holding them gently. “What I mean… We can be friends but… I have developed some feelings for you. If you want to be friends, that’s fine. That’s great, actually. I just… well, I need to know if I should ignore those feelings—“  

Astatrion pulled his hands way, choosing to gesture towards Tav as he spoke. “So, let me get this straight. You have ‘some’ feelings for me?”

“Yes,” Tav replied with a nod. 

“But you don’t want to fuck me, tonight? Right now?” 

“Right.” They nodded again. 

“How very interesting… and even.. a little refreshing,” Astarion smiled, a smile that almost seemed shy… With his head turning away from Tav—and Tav swore they saw the smallest blush growing on his cheeks. 

“Refreshing?” Tav questioned, learning towards Astarion in an attempt to see that adorable blush— 

Astarion waved them off, the blush already gone and Astarion back to his usual self. “Never mind that, Tav. I guess we can see where this goes then?” He reached out, taking Tav’s hand into his own and giving it a light squeeze. “Whatever this is, anyway.” 

Tav smiled. “I’d like that.” 

[duty-calls-for-booty]

I love a Demisexual!Ghost, but in a "has never heard that word before in his life" way.

Give me a Demisexual!Ghost who, between trauma and paranoia, has never gotten close enough to someone to flip that switch. Who likes to look, well enough, but never has the same desire as the other soldiers to find someone to blow off steam with at the nearby pub.

Demisexual!Ghost who figures there's just something wrong with him, either as a person, or as the shell of one. He's heard about blokes whose dicks stop working after experiencing horrific traumas. Figures if he ever had the ability to feel that outside of an adrenaline/boredom fueled wank, then it's long since been burned out of him.

Then give me Demisexual!Ghost, who, against his very best intentions, has a Mohawk-ed Scot shaped hole blown through all of the walls he's built up to keep people out.

A completely bewildered Demisexual!Ghost who, every time he sees Soap saunter into a room, can only think:

Finally, give me a Demisexual!Ghost that still doesn't know the word demisexual, who settles for simply calling himself Johnny-sexual in his head, because as far as he's concerned, that's it for him.

[brimay]

Sometimes I feel normal and then I remember that Peeta is canonically the only person Katniss found truly attractive. And she married him.

[matcha-milo]

Did any other aroace-spec people try to write fanfiction when they were younger, but struggled to write romance/romantic scenes? Because I vividly remember trying to write fanfiction when I was younger, but not really knowing how to write the romance because that wasn't something that I felt that much. And this goes for all kinds of romantic fanfic, reader insert, OC insert, shipping, etc. I tried writing all of the above, and every single time, I was unable to write, or even sometimes start, the romantic scenes, because I just didn't know what exactly that felt like or how romantic relationships started. And even when I could get through writing fanfic, it just felt SO unnatural and weird to actually write; like not bad, but just odd, like not realistic. But somehow, people really liked it, so I guess I did something right lol

[queerweewoo]

“Shit.” 

Eddie mutters the curse under his breath when he can't seem to release the clasp on his St. Christopher chain.

He'd plopped himself down next to Buck after arriving home from dropping off his fourteen-year-old budding socialite at a friend's house, having already kicked off his boots and hooking an arm around Buck's still crossed-at-the-ankle legs, getting comfy with them resting over his lap—well, his lap and the arm of the sofa, because Buck has the longest pair of pins in the whole frickin world.

“Nope, I'm afraid shit can't possibly be the answer to seven down, Eddie, because even though it starts with an ‘S’, and the third letter is definitely an ‘I’, twelve across has got to be 'Skating', which would make the second letter a ‘K’,” Buck says with mock-seriousness as Eddie is still attempting to take off his chain. “And anyways, I don't really think the answer to the clue ‘Dermis’ could legitimately be shit, not by any stretch of the imagination; ‘Dermis’ sounds too… I dunno. Scientific? Medical?”

Eddie snorts his amusement at Buck, and Buck grins back at him with that particular twinkle in his eye that Eddie has come to think of as belonging to him.

He really tries his best not to be possessive over his best friend, knows he has no right to anything like that, but Eddie can't help being in love with Buck, no matter how much he wishes he wasn't.

Eddie's been fighting his desires his entire life, regardless of the fact he knows there isn't a damn thing wrong with being gay. But growing up in Texas, with a family as traditional as his own? It means Eddie hasn't ever felt entitled to getting the things he wants in life.

Buck must notice Eddie struggling, then, because he immediately drops his pen, and crossword puzzle book Eddie picked up for him yesterday at the newspaper stand near the firehouse, now swinging his legs off the sofa so he can scooch further up to Eddie, until he's almost on top of Eddie, and is saying, “Here, let me get that for you, Eds.”

Eddie freezes.

He knows he should shoo Buck away like he's supposed to, do the right thing, but ever since Buck started dating Tommy—and ever since Buck broke up with Tommy—Eddie's been pretty bad at being well-behaved around Buck.

Buck doesn't exactly make things easy, though. Never has, truth be told. He's always been a really tactile kind of guy, and right now his tactile nature is trying to murder Eddie, dead, dead, dead.

“Lemme just…” Buck's tongue is poking out of his mouth and resting against his bottom lip in concentration—and Eddie knows he should look away but can't—and then he's leaning right into Eddie's space, like he goddamn belongs there and, oh god, Eddie can't take this. He can't. He can't fucking breathe let alone act like this isn't bothering him, like it isn't turning him on like he's a horny teenager again, like this isn't everything he wants and has dreamed of. “Eds, just… lean forward a little would you, so I can—a little bit more, man, c'mon, don't be shy, I just need to…”

Buck really is on top of Eddie now, big arms wrapped around Eddie's head, musky cologne in Eddie's nostrils and warm breath in the shell of Eddie's super-sensitive ear and fuck, he's practically straddling Eddie now, right thigh pushed up against Eddie's junk, oh hell, and Eddie is panting softly and only about two seconds away from moaning his best friend's name like the pathetic hot mess that he is, Jesus fucking Christ.

“Got it,” Buck mutters, and just as he goes to lean back and pull away from Eddie, Eddie hears his internal monologue say: Yeah, I've got it real bad. 

Then something just—snaps inside of his brain before it's shutting down completely and his heart is in his throat as he finds himself whispering, “Screw it,” while he grabs onto both of Bucks biceps with purpose because he's terrified that if he doesn't, they might leave him forever.

“Wait,” he says. Pleads. 

Buck's right thigh is snug against Eddie's left one, the other still in Eddie's lap, his gorgeous face right there next to Eddie's, so close Eddie can almost feel the prickle of Buck's stubble.

“Eds?” Buck whispers, and his breath is mingling with Eddie's and Eddie hasn't prayed for a long, long time, but he's praying now; praying that he's not about to fuck up the best thing, bar Christopher, that has ever happened to him; praying for redemption; praying that Buck might want Eddie even just a fraction of the amount Eddie wants Buck.

His voice breaks when he says the only thing he can. “Don't go.”

Eddie wants this so, so badly, just this one thing, that's all he's asking for, and he's willing to beg for it if he has to—swears he'll never ask for anything again as long as he fucking lives.

“I'm not, Eds, I'm…” Buck trails off, frowning a little. He swallows audibly and licks at those sinful lips that are right fucking there and then says, “What, um—w-what exactly do you mean by 'don't go', Eddie?”

Eddie's heart is thumping so hard against his ribcage it feels as if it's going to burst right out of his chest, and Buck has to be able to feel it too because his solid chest is pressed up firmly against Eddie's, and Eddie can't believe he's doing this and seriously might just pass the fuck out any minute now—

“I don't…” Eddie shakes his head.

Fuck.

Is he really doing this?

“You don't know? Or you don't want me to go—like, as in go home?” Buck's asking. Eddie can't breathe. “Or do you mean, like, go, uh, g-go away from—from right here?” Buck swallows again and Eddie has never wanted anything more than to lick a long stripe up that prominent Adam's Apple of Buck's. “Do you mean don't go from this, Eds? From… from you.” And that last part doesn't sound like a question, it sounds like Buck gets it, and like he isn't horrified by the idea or amused by it or as if he's pitying or mocking Eddie.

Unbelievably, it actually sounds a little like Buck might just want Eddie, too.

Eddie screws his eyes shut, and all he can manage to say is, “Yeah, Buck. The last one.”

Buck is then slowly, gently, sliding his cheek up and down Eddie's, and Eddie finally knows exactly how it feels to have that stubble dragging against his own and there is no fucking way on Earth he could hold in the almost sob-like breath that leaves his lips as Buck's line themself up with Eddie's trembling mouth.

He's gripping Buck's arms so tightly he's scared he might leave bruises there but can feel Buck smiling as he says, “Can I, Eddie? Please?”

Is this really happening?

“Fuck yes,” Eddie urges, and then Buck is kissing him; slowly; gently, and with so much of something that feels like it could be love that Eddie wants to cry.

Then Buck's pulling away, yet not really away because it's only barely enough to let Eddie swallow the boulder-sized lump in his throat and try to catch his breath—only he doesn't quite manage to catch the tear that escapes the corner of his left eye. Somehow, though, that's okay, because Buck kisses that, too—and Eddie finds himself letting it all go, then, and smiling back at the man he's been in love with for almost six years as he cries, because he can finally feel all the colours of the rainbow on his face.

“Eddie, you have no fucking idea how long I've wanted to do that,” Buck chuckles, and Eddie leans in and tilts his own head back slightly and Buck's down a little to press lips against Buck's birthmark, smiling like a fool through his tears.

Buck puts his arms fully around Eddie's shoulders and hugs him, tight.

Eddie just breathes him in until he feels settled enough to look at Buck without welling up again.

“Skin,” Buck says then, bringing his hands to Eddie's face and holding it, brushing thumb pads along Eddie's cheeks and drying his tears because he wants to, and can. Eddie squints in slight confusion at the word, before Buck's revealing the meaning behind it, telling him, “Seven down, Eds, it just came to me: It was the word skin. Yours is—man, it's even smoother than I'd imagined. So, so beautiful. You're beautiful.”

“God, I fucking love you, Buck,” Eddie blurts, because he can't help it. “I'm—I'm in love with you, Evan, and I just—I'm sorry it's taken me so long to tell you that, taken me too long to get my shit together and pull my head out of my—”

“Beautiful, insanely perfect ass,” Buck laughs, and then he's kissing Eddie again, like they've been doing this forever, and Eddie's kissing him back and laughing, too.

“Stay,” Eddie begs between kisses. “Stay forever, Buck.”

Buck looks at Eddie like a man in love and says, “I'm in love with you too, Eds. So, yeah, sure, I can do forever,” he promises.

And Buck always keeps his promises. 

.

happy pride to my beautiful firefam 🌈

(unedited pls forgive me!)

[spotsandsocks]

Fuck it Friday!

@tizniz @diazsdimples

As they say I did not mean for this to exist and yet here we are 1.3k later. Will put on ao3 later and tag everyone later- in my lunch and running out of time. And I need to set this free so I can know peace.

I got in my Eddie feels - aren’t we all right now, had thought and now… have some pain with a hopeful ending. I’m still sold in eddie being so deep in comphet he has no idea what to do. This is the push he needs. Demi Eddie for the win. No Eddie bashing here! Chris loves his dad and wants to help.

When you walk into your living room and find you parents, your son and your best friend sitting there waiting for you, you know things are bad.

To be honest he should of expected something like this.

Eddie stands frozen, awaiting his fate as his dad speaks first.

“We need to talk son.”

At least that’s true Christopher has barely said a word to him since it happened. Not that he blames him.

“We’re worried about you.”

Buck goes next but those words aren’t new he’s already said that and again Eddie doesn’t blame his friend for his feelings. Like he said last time he’s worried about himself too. It’s hard to get his head around the recent choices he’s made harder to think about the consequences.

It almost like it wasn’t him making the decisions. It’s almost like he doesn’t know who he is anymore but then has he ever?

“I’m going to go to Texas”

The third sentence comes from Christopher and is possibly the worst thing he’s ever had to listen to and Eddie has had to hear heartbreaking words so many times.

“What?”

That’s his voice. the first thing he’s said but it’s a barely a whisper. Surely even with everything that’s happened Chris can’t mean that.

His son looks at him, calm and steady and repeats himself.

“I’m going to Texas with grandma and abuelo.”

Eddie turns to his parents all his hurt and betrayal rushing to the surface, he’d thought… he’d let them back in, trusted them

His voice is louder now, “How could you? Why? Why would you try and take him away from me again. I thought..”

Chris stops him in his tracks

“They didn’t ask me. I asked them.”

There’s no words available to respond to that.

“Dad?”

His heart hurts. His head too, everything hurts. He’s fucked up again. Again, again, again. The worst things he knows he deserved this, he caused this nightmare it’s his fault, his fault every time.

Chris’ voice sounds far away.

“It’s not ‘cos I’m mad.”

Eddie doesn’t even hear him. He’s found words and they sound desperate.

“I’ll come with you.”

If Chris wants to leave he’ll do it. No matter the cost. No matter what he leaves behind.

Then that sacrifice is taken from him too.

“No. I don’t want you to.”

He can’t breathe. He’s dizzy, he can’t think. What has he done?

He can’t hear them when they call him.

“Dad?”

“Eddie?”

“Son? Mijo?”

“Eddie?”

“Dad?!”

He turns from them all and he runs.

An unheard voice chases after him.

“I’ll go.”

*

Standing by his sink trying to breathe like he’s been taught when this happens to him he doesn’t need to know who followed him when the footsteps stop.

Buck. Always Buck.

“He’s not trying to punish you”

He can’t turn around. Can’t look, not yet.

“Feels like it”

Soft and concerned, that’s how he sounds. Buck sounds like that a lot recently.

“He’s not. He wouldn’t. He loves you.”

There’s nothing but bitterness in his own words.

“Does he? Maybe he shouldn’t.”

“Eddie!” There’s censure in that word, Buck obviously disagrees and disapproves of that sentiment.

“He loves you. He’s angry and he’s hurt but he still loves you. You can be upset with someone and still love them. I think you know that better than anyone.”

He does.

“Then why is he going.”

He wishes he didn��t sound as heartbroken as he feels. Wishes he could still manage to hide some of his heart from this man.

“Because you need him to.”

Spinning around he turns on his best friend to challenge the stupidity of those words.

“What? I need him here with me. He has to stay with me.”

“Eddie.” Buck’s face and voice hold nothing but aching sympathy. It’s like a knife cutting him open which isn’t fair he’s already got so many wounds.

Then it gets worse because a new voice enters the kitchen.

“Dad… you always tell me I need to be myself, that that’s good enough.”

Eddie stares at his son standing there, just behind Buck, so tall now, so much older than he is in Eddie’s heart.

“But I don’t think you do that. You should do that if you want me to.”

It’s all to much and even rubbing his face doesn’t stop him feeling tired and defeated.

“Chris what are you talking about?

Buck looks down at Chris who nods. There’s unspoken words flowing between them and it’s obvious they’ve been talking about him.

Chris says “Buck can tell you. He worked it out. And he’s right. I do love you.”

Then he walks away, leaving Eddie staring at his friend and waiting for answers.

“Eddie, its it’s like… well, you were a dad and a solider and a medic and a husband. All before you were 20. Man! That’s a lot!!”

Buck takes a step closer.

“Hell Eddie I was a kid at nineteen, a baby, I had no idea who I was what I wanted, and you had to be all that. And your dad told me you had to “be the man of the house” when you were even younger than that.

So who are you? How can you know?

You’ve been so many things for everyone else. You try so hard to be “normal” I see that and I I know you think you’re broken, but you’re not.

You just haven’t really met you yet. How could you, when did you have the time?

That’s why Chris is going away. Just for the summer. He wants you to have time to be you. Find out who Edmundo Diaz really is.”

Eddie listens stunned and horrified. Are they right? Is that all true. He’s terribly afraid it might be.

Buck smiles soft, eyes still worried.

“It’s ok to go look for him.”

His words get stuck for a moment but this is Buck. He can say this to him.

“What if I don’t like him when I find him? What if he’s … not normal?”

“What’s normal huh? And seems unlikely- I think I know the real Eddie Diaz a little bit at least and he’s pretty great. Always will be.”

Buck’s close enough to touch now. He really wishes he would. He’d like a hug.

“Eddie, your life gave you no room to look for what you truly want for yourself. You have to do that now or I’m scared what might happen to you. You need time and space..”

“I don't want to be alone.”

The words leave his lips scared and true and then he gets something he wants for himself for the first time in a long time as Buck folds him into a hug.

He gets to be held while Buck speaks quietly.

“You won’t be. You got me. You’ll always have me. You told me I could have you back any day, well it’s any day and here I am - I’m not going anywhere.”

It’s a lot to deal with, think about but maybe he can do it with help.

“Promise?”

Buck’s body shakes with a laugh

“Pinky promise and Maddie would kill me if I broke one of those.

“He’ll come back?”

Eddie lets himself be held and given comfort by the only person who could. Which is probably something else he needs to think about.

“Of course he will, this is his home, you’re his Dad.”

He can share his fears with this man, he knows that he has before and he does again now.

“I don’t know if I know how to be anything else.”

Buck’s arms tighten around him.

“I know, but you’ll work it out cos even if you’re not sure who Eddie Diaz is, I am and I know he can do anything.”

Buck sounds so sure, maybe he’s right, maybe with help and time he can work out who he really is and what he really wants and then once he knows that, maybe he can find it.

Buck keeps holding him, keeps believing in him and that he can do anything even find happiness.

Maybe he can and maybe he won’t have to look very far.

[ifwebefriends]

Image ID in ALT

Bad News: the Stanley Parable fic that I originally wanted to finish and post by the end of May is still not done and will probably take a few more weeks

Good News: I started a different Stanley Parable fic a few weeks ago that is already almost done and I feel pretty certain that I can get it done and posted by the end of Pride Month. If you want to be notified on here when it’s done let me know and I’ll make sure to ping you when I post about it on here.

[heart-of-the-morningstar]

I think my aspec card needs to be revoked because of this man specifically

How do I explain myself 😭😭

[mothdustts]

hwaaahhh happy pride month guysss!!! lemme just casually drops the gays and their headcanons :3

alsoooo sorry for not posting as much at the moment since school is going bonkers with exams in like 2 weeks and with my job as well so ;-; def will post alot more once this rollercoaster of a semester is over tho! ^o^

[mostmagical]

Pairing: Stranger/Stranger (Adrinette, but they don't know that) Words: 4k Summary:

“Can I kiss you?” It's costume theme night at the local bar, and Marinette finds herself a bit entranced by a pretty stranger wearing cat ears. She thought she would be content just watching, until Alya suggests she asks for just a little bit more.

Marinette chewed on the edge of her fingernail, trying not to be too obvious as she peered across the bar at the stranger on the corner.

They had met on the dance floor not too long ago, and she had been having trouble looking away ever since. He was attractive, despite the obnoxious cat-eared beanie tight over his blond hair, drawing her towards him in a way she really hadn’t felt in, well, ever. At least, not towards someone she barely knew. Not since the breakup.

The liquid in his delicate cocktail glass was dyed pinker by the spotlight he stood under, so she couldn’t tell if he was actually drinking anything as passion fruit-flavored as the color, or if it was just straight liquor. Her breath caught as he removed his hand from the water-beaded surface, lifting it to adjust the thick-rimmed specs he wore and reminding her of the sparkling green eyes she’d spied earlier.

Blond hair. Green eyes. 

She wondered if it was some cosmic joke that this always happened to her.

Even the cat ears were suspect, but she was trying her best not to acknowledge that.

A hand landed on her arm, and she jumped before realizing it was Alya returning from the bathroom.

“Still staring?” Alya asked. She had forgone her eye glasses that night for the sake of ‘accuracy,’ providing Marinette a clear view of the humor glittering through her friend’s hazel eyes.

Marinette sputtered, readjusting the skewed heart-shaped sunglasses over the bridge of her nose. “Wh– What? Staring? Staring at who– I mean— Staring at what? Because obviously I’m not staring and even if I was I wouldn’t be staring at anyone, certainly not anyone handsome and charming and—”

Alya interrupted Marinette’s spiral with a laugh. “Right, right, right.” She shook her head, the red curls bouncing across her bare shoulders. “You weren’t staring at the guy you danced with earlier, and you haven’t been nervous and jittery ever since. I imagined all of it.”

“Yes.” Marinette nodded sagely. “Thank you, exactly. It was all in your head.”

Alya simply hummed, turning to get the bartender’s attention and ordering the two of them another round. With her friend distracted, Marinette couldn’t help but let her eyes wander again. The stranger was now scrolling through his phone. Oh no. Was he calling a taxi? Checking train schedules? Was he leaving?

Pain blossomed over her thumb and the taste of metal hit her tongue as she bit down just a bit too hard.

“Marinette!” Alya hissed, pulling Marinette’s hand away from her mouth and quickly wrapping it in a cocktail napkin. “What are you doing to yourself? Do you want to get kicked out?”

She was sober enough to feel the embarrassed flush cover her cheeks. “Sorry.”

Alya’s barely concealed eye roll was colored with humor. “You should just go over and talk to him.”

Marinette blinked owlishly. “And say what?”

“Ask him for a kiss.”

“What?!” She knew her shriek was loud enough to disturb the patrons on either side of them at the bar, but all she could hear over the pounding of the bass was the blood roaring in her ears. “Why would I do that?”

Alya just laughed. “Look at you” —she waved a hand at Marinette’s napkin wrapped finger— “biting through your nails because you can’t stop thinking about how hot you are for him.”

“I– I–” Marinette faltered, her mouth feeling like it was stuffed with cotton the more she tried to move it. “I am not.” At Alya’s raised eyebrows, she tried and failed to come up with another reason why not. “I– You know I’m not like that!”

“Normally, yeah,” Alya replied, shrugging, “but there’s nothing wrong with having a little fun, just this once.”

Marinette swallowed.

“And have you ever been so attracted to a stranger in your life?” Alya continued. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this wound up. Not since Adrien, or Luka, or– actually–” She stuck a finger in the air as if the thought had just struck her from above. “No, not Luka; it’s more like with Chat N–”

“Stop stop stop!” Marinette cut her friend off, throwing a hand over her mouth to stop up the words.

Alya licked her palm in objection.

“Ew! Hey!”

“You are so silly, M,” Alya laughed as Marinette pulled her hand away and dramatically wiped it on her shirt. “It’s not weird to have a crush on a superhero.”

Marinette chewed her lip, traces of the watermelon drink she’d had hours ago still tasting in the corner of her mouth. “You know it was more than that.”

A hand patted her shoulder. “Of course I do, but the point still stands.” Alya grinned, as sly as her own superhero persona would imply. “You deserve one night to not care. Treat yourself. You need to cut loose after, well, you know.”

Marinette couldn’t deny that since she had presented it, Alya’s idea was sounding more and more appealing. Though maybe that was the vodka talking. Or the desperation.

“He sure seems like your type after all,” Alya pressed, squinting her eyes as she studied him. “Tall, pretty, charming... blond.”

“Green eyes, too,” Marinette added, despite herself.

“What?” Alya laughed. She reached out a hand, flicking the frame of Marinette’s sunglasses playfully. “You could tell through these bright pink abominations?”

Her face warmed in embarrassment. “I may have, sorta, practiced discerning colors on my posters of Adrien with them before,” she admitted. She lifted her shoulders in a shrug. “His eyes look the same.”

Alya laughed again, full and delighted. “Marinette! Oh, there’s no one like you,” she said, grinning. “Now you really have to do it. I’m convinced it’s fate.”

It did feel almost divine.

Alya squinted once more, and Marinette wished her friend had listened to her when she told her to wear her glasses anyway. “He even kinda looks like—” She cut herself off with a hum, shaking her head. “You deserve to get out there again anyway. It’s been ages and I kinda think you need a rebound.”

Marinette wasn’t sure if she fully agreed with that statement, but she wasn’t exactly in the mood to broach the subject and down the mood.

“What if he laughs in my face?” she asked instead, sticking her lip out in a pout. It was meant to look cute, so maybe Alya wouldn’t push so much, but the fear was very much real. Sure, she and the stranger had had an amazing conversation, and their chemistry had been more intoxicating than her drink, but he was still that— a stranger. There was no telling what might happen if she walked up to him and asked for something so daring as a kiss.

“Marinette, look at me,” Alya said, placing both hands on either of Marinette’s shoulders. “You are hot. You are cool. And he is totally into you.”

Was there any explanation for the way her heart leapt straight out of her chest?

“Into me?” Marinette repeated. “What makes you say that? Are you sure?”

Alya smirked dangerously. “Well, don’t look now, but I may have caught him taking a few glances over here while your back was turned,” she explained.

Marinette, of course, looked. Her head turned at just the precise moment to catch his gaze in her own, and sure enough, the stranger’s jaw momentarily dropped upon making eye contact. He recovered quickly with a sweet smile, raising his glass in a cheers motion from across the bar.

Alya sighed, shaking her head. “Well, at least there’s another sign for you,” she said, amused. Grabbing Marinette’s shoulders again, Alya turned her back around to look at her face-to-face. “See? Repeat after me: I am hot.”

A bit dazed from the encounter, Marinette could do nothing else but exactly what Alya asked. “I am hot,” she repeated.

“I am cool,” Alya continued.

“I am cool.”

“He is into me.”

She choked, the last phrase a little rougher on liftoff than the others. “He is, guh– into me.”

“One more time, all together.”

Marinette closed her eyes, taking in a deep breath. She regretted it, as the smell of sweat and hops stung her nose. But the intake of air managed to ground her, all the same.

“I am hot. I am cool,” she chanted. “He is into me.”

“Yes!” Alya cheered. “Good job!”

The mantra was like a magic spell. Marinette opened her eyes, suddenly energized. Her stomach pitched a little, but it was full with excitement.

“Two cognacs,” the bartender announced, jolting Marinette from her reverie.

“Merci!” Alya picked up a glass, pressing it into Marinette’s hands with cool insistence. “Drink this, and then get over there!”

Marinette obliged, downing the drink in two big swigs. The alcohol no longer burned the back of her throat, settling in her stomach with a pleasant warmness. She replaced the glass on the bar with a firm clink, then sucked in another deep breath, wiping her upper lip with the back of her hand.

“Okay,” she said under her breath, hyping herself up. “Okay!”

“Go!” Alya gave her one more push, spinning Marinette around and pressing the heel of her hands into her shoulder blades. “Your prince charming awaits,” she sang.

Marinette stumbled forward, unsteady from Alya’s shove, but she quickly regained her bearings. Her blood pumped faster in her veins as she approached the other end of the bar. She swore she could feel every fingertip throbbing with her own pulse as she got closer.

Just a little kiss.

Plenty of people did that.

(Although, it wasn’t something she had ever considered doing herself.)

It wasn’t... weird to ask.

And like Alya had said, he was into her. The stranger probably felt the exact same magnetism she had. He would want to kiss her.

Right?

Steeling her nerves, she stood behind him, watching him swirl the liquid around in his glass. His head tilted towards where Alya stood by her lonesome on the other side of the bar, and Marinette’s heart skipped a beat in her chest as she wondered if he might be looking for her.

She smoothed down the synthetic purple wig as best she could, and adjusted the collar of her leather jacket. She almost wished she could dart off to the bathroom for a final appearance check, but she knew she would lose all her built-up confidence if she did. With butterflies brushing the insides of her tummy, she reached out a hand, tapping him twice on the shoulder.

The stranger turned, and she thought she might let herself believe his face really brightened when he saw her.

Nervously, she waved. “Hi.”

“Hey, Clara,” he said in a soft voice, somehow still audible over the loudspeakers. His smile was sweet and reserved. Her throat tightened up. “I was hoping you’d want to talk again.”

Marinette felt like the breath was stolen right out of her lungs. “You– You did?”

A hand reached behind the back of his neck in what must have been a nervous tick— yet another similarity to more than one of the loves of her life, oddly enough. “Yeah, I mean—” Was that a hint of red on his cheeks, or were her glasses fogging up again? “You– Uh, I loved dancing with you.”

The smile pinched her cheeks. “I loved dancing with you, too,” she said. “I had a lot of fun.”

“Wait a second,” Marinette said, her mind finally catching up to the last 60 seconds. “You called me Clara. I didn’t—?”

His mouth twitched into a grin. “Your outfit,” he pointed out. “Inspired by Clara Nightingale, right? From the ‘Heartbreak Disco Baby’ video?”

“You recognize it?”

The stranger’s face seemed to light up, even in the darkness of the bar. “Of course!” Marinette watched agape as his eyes scanned up and down her body, dare she say, appreciatively. “I’ve only watched that video about a million times and this is a perfect recreation.”

Pride swelled in her chest at the praise. “Thank you,” she replied. “I do take my costuming very seriously. My best friend even dressed to look like Sonia Auclair from that video.” She gave her loose hair a flip over her shoulder as she took the moment to seize up his outfit as well. “And you are—”

“Dressed at the very last minute,” he supplied bashfully. “I wasn’t exactly planning to come out, but luckily I had this beanie.”

“It suits you.”

His smile seemed genuine at her compliment. “You really think so?” he laughed, playing with the edge of the material. “Thanks.”

He was adorable. She bit her lip against the rising heat on her face.

“Heartbreak Disco Baby,” he repeated thoughtfully. “That doesn’t mean you’re a little heartbroken, are you?”

Adorable and considerate.

Now or never, she thought.

“Can I kiss you?”

As soon as the words left her mouth, her chest seized up. She said that. Oh god. She really said that.

The stranger’s face blazed a delightful shade of red, and Marinette wondered if they would match or clash were someone to compare the two of them. “Sorry,” he coughed. “I think I might have misheard you?”

She could run away. Back out right now, and save herself the mortification. Unfortunately, a flash of movement on the other side of the bar caught her attention, and she was met by Alya fluttering her fingers across the way. Marinette forced down a swallow.

“I asked to kiss you,” she repeated clearly.

When he only continued to stare at her, face crimson and eyes wide, Marinette slipped dangerously close to panic mode.

“Forget it!” she practically screeched. “You don’t have to do that—” She cut herself off with an awkward laugh. “I just— whew! Is it hot in here? I just— My friend over there told me I need to cut loose, and she told me to just go for it because I, well, I mean you’re very pretty— and we had chemistry…? Oh god, I said that— I mean, no, I stand by that, we do—” She covered her mouth, eyes wide in horror over her spew. “I swear I haven’t had that much to drink,” she admitted, rubbing her temples. “Sorry, I’ll go.”

“Okay.”

Marinette froze, slowly drawing her gaze away from the floor and back to the stranger’s face. “What?”

He rubbed the back of his neck again, the redness of his face having faded to a lovely pink that blended with the colored shades of her glasses. “Okay,” he said again. “I’ll kiss you.”

“You- You– uh. . .” Words didn’t seem to want to come to her rescue.

Luckily, the stranger did. He eased off away from the bar, facing her fully as he took her limp hand in his. With a gentle tug, he guided her to step closer towards him. “Is this okay?” he asked, his warm tone sending her heart fluttering.

She nodded almost too vigorously before she finally managed to rouse her tongue. “Yes, yes, it’s okay.”

This close, she could smell his cologne, a cluster of warm linens and nutmeg that sent a pang of recognition down her spine. His chest was firm and radiated a comfortable warmth that Marinette felt she could fold into. She followed his eyes as they dropped down to her mouth and back up again. Goosebumps raised over her skin as his hand glided up her arm, his face an image of patience. Until it changed to panic.

“Wait, oh no,” he gasped. “You’re not–”

“What?” She tilted her head in confusion, not really sure where this reaction had come from.

His mouth was a worried line. “Have you been drinking?” he asked. “Because I’m sober, and I don’t want to be taking advantage of you–”

Marinette cut him off with a snort. “I promise you, I am completely of sound mind, when I do this.”

Riding the sudden wave of confidence, Marinette mirrored his earlier movements, allowing her hand to trail up his arm and over his neck, warm skin beneath her fingertips. As she gently cupped his cheek with her palm, she pressed up on her tiptoes, rocking forward to sear her lips to his.

His breath fanned her mouth as he gasped into it, truthfully without a hint of the taste of alcohol, and his lips were pleasantly warm and plush against hers. She found herself quickly sinking into it, especially as a hand landed on her lower back and held her steady. Her other hand dove into the hair at the back of his neck, teasing the soft strands in rhythm with the glide of their kiss.

It was more than sparks and explosions and fire— all things she never expected she would feel while kissing a complete stranger.

She couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something achingly familiar— comfortable, her mind supplied— about the pressure of his mouth on hers, and the little hums she could feel vibrating over her skin. Despite herself, she cracked open her eyes and studied his face as he continued to kiss her.

Green eyes. Blond hair. Cat ears, puns, those lips. Her heart almost seemed to stop as she realized she knew exactly why the sensation was so familiar. She had felt this kiss before. It could only be Chat Noir, she realized, warmth flowing between her shoulder blades.

She pulled away, just a centimeter to breathe between them. “Mon Chaton?”

He blinked open dazed eyes, blinking at her as if waking up from a dream. “Chaton?” he repeated. His eyes widened. “My Lady?” His voice was breathier than she was used to hearing it, and it sent a thrill up her spine.

“It’s you.” She almost wanted to laugh. “No wonder we fit so well together.”

It only took a few seconds for her partner to recover from his dreamlike state. He grinned his cat-like grin. “We’ve always been the purrfect team, after all.”

“Oh my god,” Marinette groaned, pressing her lips to his once more to shut him up. However, his mouth remained shockingly slack against hers. She pulled back. “What’s wrong?”

Seemingly dumbfounded, he replied, “You kissed me again.”

Oh god. Oh, god. He didn’t want to kiss her now that he knew. She was such an idiot.

“I’m so sorry.” Hastily, she tried to push away from his chest, only for him to grab her wrists and prevent her escape.

“Wait, no. I just–” His mouth worked wordlessly, endless green eyes searching her own. “Are you sure you want to be kissing me? What about—”

“Adrikins!”

Marinette froze in place, the familiar voice sending a chill up her spine— one that was cold and bruising, rather than warm and thrilling tingles that her partner had sent up and down her back all night.

Her hands went limp, still caught in Chat Noir’s hold, as the spray-tanned arms of Chloé Bourgeois wound around his neck.

Chloé, dressed in a flowing gown that did not at all match the whimsical costumes in the bar, immediately launched into complaints, current company left unnoticed, or rather ignored. “Thank god, I finally found you,” she cooed. “I can’t believe you left me there with that cousin of yours and Tsurugi. Ugh.”

A pained expression flashed Marinette’s way before her partner turned his head to meet Chloé’s powder blue eyes. “You had Zoé, too, didn’t you?” he asked her.

“Ugh, you know I would rather it be just us two.”

Marinette was rooted to the spot. It felt as though her brain was misfiring in about a billion directions. And yet, somehow all those directions ended at the exact same destination: the stranger before her.

A stranger, she was realizing, that was not so strange after all.

In fact, this was probably a person she knew better than she ever thought she had.

Because if she added everything she knew up, carried the two, and multiplied by three, well...

It seemed like Chat Noir was Adrien Agreste and the two (three...?) loves of her life were actually just one.

Nervous green eyes peeked at Marinette, as if to check that she was still there. The redirection of his— Adrien’s, oh god— attention finally drew Chloé’s eyes east, and if Marinette thought she could make it out of this easily, she was quickly corrected when an appalled groan filled the air.

“Dupain-Cheng?” Chloé stuck her nose up in the air, somehow glaring at Marinette through only the corner of her eye. “What are you doing with her? I thought you two broke up.”

“It’s complicated,” Marinette said, at the same time Adrien burst out “Marinette?”

She took one look at his face before immediately casting her eyes away again, an angry red blush overtaking her cheeks.

What the hell what the hell what the hell.

She found herself almost wishing for an akuma alert to save her. Except, no. No, she didn’t, she realized, because she would still have the same man right there with her.

“Marinette?” Adrien repeated again, voice sounding almost far away, even in a room where her ears were already blocked from the loud music.

Shyly, she met his pleading eyes, pushing her sunglasses back up and onto the top of her head. His jaw all but dropped open as he watched her, recognition flitting through his eyes.

They were quite the pair, weren’t they? Marinette could have laughed. A pair of glasses and neither realized that they were talking to their own ex. And the fact that she had recognized Chat Noir’s kiss, but not Adrien’s... No. Nope. Not going to unpack that.

Chloé glanced between them, a look between disgusted and bored plastered across her face. “What’s with that reaction?” she asked. “Listen, if you’re getting back with this weirdo, I–”

“Chloé!”

Marinette had no idea where Alya had appeared from, but she had never been so happy to see her best friend throw an arm over the other girl’s shoulder. Chloé physically recoiled under Alya’s touch, attempting to lean away, but to no avail.

“Césaire,” she grunted.

Alya grinned, unbothered by the less-than-enthusiastic response. “Oh my god, it really is you! I could barely tell; forgot my glasses, silly me. How’ve you been?” she asked. “I want to hear all about the new campaign.” Over her shoulder, she threw Marinette a wink.

The realization that Alya was providing her a way out burst across Marinette’s skin. In a flash, she had wrapped her hand around Adrien’s wrist, bodily dragging him through the crowd and away from their classmates. He came along willingly, only slowing down to dodge around drunk patrons that stepped between them.

Eventually they found themselves comfortably alone in a quiet hallway leading to the bathrooms. The hallway was much brighter than the main floor, illuminating all of Adrien’s features in a way that she couldn’t believe she had missed before. Marinette looked up at him in question, squeezing his wrist tight between her fingers. “When did you get back?” she asked, too desperate for the answer to pretend like she wasn’t.

He looked worried. “Just tonight. I– I wasn’t sure if you wanted to see me.”

“Of course I did,” she murmured. She realized she had said it too quietly to be heard over the speakers when Adrien kept going.

“Everyone was asking questions.” He pressed a hand against his forehead, twisting her heart with it. “And just talking so much about my dad and England and... I don’t know. I– I had to get out.”

Her breath caught. She began running her hand up and down his arm to try and soothe him, saying, “I know, kitty, I know.”

“Zoé mentioned you and that’s when I realized I had to make a break for it.” He ducked his head shyly. “I should have figured I’d run right towards you.”

Marinette huffed out a laugh, her earlier conversation with Alya about fate and divinity seeming oh so relevant now. She let her hands rest on both his cheeks. “Yeah, seems like we’ll always be in each other’s orbit, doesn’t it?” she asked. “I just can’t seem to ever let you go.”

His eyes went shiny, and she wondered if he was about to cry. “Do you really mean that?” he asked, covering her hands with his own.

Her shoulders dropped with the tension she had been carrying. “Of course I do,” she replied, running her thumbs over the dark circles beneath his eyes. “I’m sorry about that night. I just didn’t want you to leave and I didn’t know how to say it.”

“I didn’t want to leave either,” he said with a watery smile. “Are you disappointed you didn’t get to kiss a stranger?”

She used her thumb to brush one errant tear away from his eye. “Considering I’d rather be kissing you, anyway?” she teased. “No, I’m not disappointed at all.”

His mouth twisted into a wry grin. “Not even about...?” He glanced back and forth down the hallway, as if checking for any listeners, only to look back at her with just an eyebrow waggle to voice his concerns.

Marinette giggled again. “Come here, kitty.” With a gentle tug, she guided his face down to hers, kissing him all over again.

If you enjoyed, consider dropping a kudos or comment on Ao3! <3

[f0rgetf0rgetting]

my first time doing a ship chart dont throw tomatoes at me guysh. im elaborating on the tags because im embarrassed. user f0rgetf0rgetting extreme yap session

i also got too passionate on the madoka magica one and ended up doodling this

[bekkachaos]

he's never gonna love you like I want to

T | 5.5k

"Do you... want to talk about it?" Buck offered, and Eddie knew that dealing with it himself hadn't exactly been working so far. Eddie just looked up at him a moment, giving him another sigh that made Buck raise his eyebrows a little. "I don't know, we're just in that pivotal point in a relationship I guess," he said. "In what way?" Buck asked. "I mean I thought you guys already made it clear you weren't dating other people? It wasn't the 'your job is too much for me' conversation was it? That one sucks." Eddie gave him the slightest of laughs, a smile and an exhale through his nose. "No that one's just a you problem I think," he said. "No, it was... I mean it was a little more... she wants to take the next step, and I'm a little... hesitant." "The next step? What next step? You're not already thinking of moving in together are you?" he said, and Buck couldn't have hidden his disapproval at that if he tried, he had a very transparent face. "No, no we're not close to that," Eddie shook his head. "No I mean... she wants to take a physical step." For a moment Buck had a look of confusion on his face, staring back at Eddie like he was waiting for him to keep going but Eddie just gave him a firm gaze and waited for him to put things together. "Wait... you guys haven't..." Buck said, brows shooting up high on his forehead. "Oh."

a.k.a Eddie needs more time and connection to feel sexual attraction, and Marisol has trouble understanding. Eddie leans on Buck for the support and understanding he can always count on. Things go unsaid between them that aren't yet ready to come out.

read on ao3

Thank you @bidisasterbuckdiaz for reading this over first to make sure it made sense 💕

[queerweewoo]

𝖘𝖆𝖎𝖓𝖙/𝖘𝖎𝖓𝖓𝖊𝖗

a closeted gay teen from a mexican catholic family growing up in 90s el paso, texas, edmundo diaz met shannon in high school and, in her, found his best friend and soul mate.

after a while, they decided to fake-date, to save eddie from scrutiny and danger—but in the end, shannon was the one who needed protecting; she was murdered for defending eddie, by a knife gang of bigots hellbent on chaos and death, and eddie, in self-defence, killed one of them after they tried to take him out, too.

jailed at 18, eddie did 8 years for manslaughter at the penitentiary of new mexico, where he kept his head down and his record clean, and turned to god in the hope he could save his soul.

when he got out, with no real prospects and no friends or family to turn to, eddie joined the church, and once ordained, moved out to CA to his first parrish, where he met a firefighter named bobby and struck up his first real friendship in what felt like a lifetime.

through this new kinship, eddie was introduced to another first responder: evan 'buck' buckley, who became determined to blur the lines between platonic and something more—setting eddie on a path that would lead him to forever securing a place for his soul in the fiery pits of infierno...

[spotsandsocks]

How can we dance when I silenced the song 💜🩶🤍🖤 29k

(7/7 complete)

Using this as my Wip Wednesday tagged by @thekristen999 @hoodie-buck @tizniz @wikiangela @actualalligator 💜🖤🤍🩶

This is all finished Demi!eddie my beloved finds his happily ever after. Wanted to get it all finished out before the next episode and Eddie’s decision making skills disintegrate completely in cannon. 😉

Chapter 7 (7k)

Buck is struggling to untie one of his  shoelaces.

He’s been at it for several minutes now. It’s his own fault, he never unties his trainers when he takes them off and obviously he did them too tight this time and now he can’t loosen the knot.  Eddie watches surreptitiously as Buck struggles, equally amused and horrified at the level of concentration required for the task.

Why he loves him he has no idea, but he does. The warm feeling in his chest is washed away by a sudden wave of guilt. Another month has disappeared since he got back from Texas and he still hasn’t done it.  

He really should. He needs to, he wants to but now they’re at the end of yet another shift and Eddie knows if he puts it off again he’ll probably never do it. He’s been making excuses forever but he really does want to tell Buck about himself. He wants to tell him about how he’s discovered he’s queer too, thank him for his part in that, share this with him like he shares everything else. He just hasn’t found the right time. 

@monsterrae1 @daffi-990 @loserdiaz @the-likesofus @bi-buckrights @rogerzsteven @ronordmann @hippolotamus @elvensorceress @spaceprincessem @bidisasterevankinard @underwaterninja13 @wildlife4life @stagefoureddiediaz @honestlydarkprincess @jesuisici33 @eddiebabygirldiaz @diazsdimples @steadfastsaturnsrings @theplaceyoustillrememberdreaming @rainbow-nerdss @lover-of-mine @fortheloveofbuddie @watchyourbuck @loveyouanyway @shipperqueen6

[iltrpls]

summary : Buck looks baffled when he asks, “You’re still hung up on Shannon?”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he shakes his head negatively, “No. I’m not.” He’s fully shaking when he dares to look at Buck, “I think my libido died when she did, or something like that, because I just can’t do it, alright?”

Buck hesitates when he speaks, “So you don’t wanna have sex?”

“No, no I wanna have sex,” the words feeling heavy on his tongue. He does. He does wanna have sex, he thinks about it, touches himself and wishes it were someone else doing it or that at least that he had someone to share it with. Eddie wants to have sex, in theory. It’s the practical part that feels wrong. “It’s more,” he licks his lips, “It’s more like I want to have sex, and I can see myself having sex, but I can’t see myself doing it with someone else. It’s like I need more than just someone there willing to do it with me.”

“What does that mean?”

“I don’t know.” He admits with a heavy heart.

OR: demisexual Eddie Diaz

[steddieunderdogfics]

regular rec: your kiss (your kiss is on my list) by stellarpoint

your kiss (your kiss is on my list) by stellarpoint (pettifogger)

@letterfromvienna

Rating: General

2,340 words, 1/1 chapters

Archive Warning: No Warnings

Tags: Post-Canon Fix-It, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Pre-Relationship, Getting Together, First Kiss, Demisexuality, Demisexual Steve Harrington, Asexuality Spectrum, Bisexual Steve Harrington, Gay Eddie Munson, Background Relationships, background buckingham, Prompt Fic

Summary:

“Nothing.” The word falls heavy from Steve’s mouth. “I feel nothing. A complete absence of feeling. I don’t know how I can want something so bad and feel nothing at the same time. I really think I’m broken, Bobby.” His voice starts to waver by the end of his sentence. “Oh, Steve.” Robin nuzzles her face against his shoulder and wraps her arm around his bicep. She sits with her legs straight out, parallel to Steve’s, their sock-covered feet lined up in a neat, colorful row. “I haven’t felt anything for anyone in so long. Since Nancy, maybe,” Steve says. He looks over at Robin. “What if that was a one-off? What if I never feel anything for anyone ever again? What am I supposed to do?”

Thanks for the rec!

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