#he got sour because I called him out on a technicality

[petals2fish]

Gotta catch up on all the fics this weekend

Especially if I end up dropping my screenplay class lmaoooo

[maxlarens]

I got a lot to say so it might be long,

starting with, thank you for the Charles smau and the Lando fic <3

it took me time to choose an emoji lol but I've been doing an internship and time goes by way too quickly, but I decided to go for the strawberry one 🍓

and since you said you wanted to write for driver! reader, and that she was very intense about driving, maybe you can write something about her racing while she's sick/not feeling well but she still wins the race

woo hi again!!! literally no big deal! i hope ur internship is going well, it’s awesome that you’re doing one!! but yeah literally real life is always the priority as much as i’d also like to spend all my time on here lol. but anyway yay the strawberry is super cute 🍓🥺

and YES lol driver!reader is consuming my thoughts right now. i have other things i should be writing instead of this but i smashed this out in a few days😭 i decided not to make it a win because i have a thing brewing for driver!readers first win and i didn’t want to use up all my ideas for that. anyway!!! as usual thank u for the ask and pls enjoyyy 🤗

OP: extraordinary machine

pairing(s): oscar piastri x mercedes driver!reader

summary: you push yourself to your limits. (also sorry i simply don't know enough technical terms about racing for this to be fully accurate but i hope it works)

word count: 3.4k+

Here is a fact— you’ve got a fever of 39.4 degrees.

Here is another, indisputable fact— you’re racing in Imola today.

The fever had come on overnight after a persistent tickle in your throat all weekend. A mildly sore throat had turned rapidly to a snotty nose, full body chills and sweat pouring off you like you’d just run a marathon. You’re wearing a puffer jacket over your racing suit and it’s twenty-nine degrees out. You feel freezing, you feel delirious, and you’re eating Sour Patch Kids by the handful to keep the sugar rush going. Your race engineer, Rachel, keeps telling you that it’s okay if you can’t race. George can step in, I promise. You keep telling her I’m fine. I’m fine. I can race. But the expression on her face says she doesn’t believe you.

You’re telling practically everyone who’ll listen that you’re getting in that fucking car today. Rachel, George, your mum who keeps calling. Lewis keeps looking at you like you’re about to keel over and die and you want to scream at him you did this! Brazil 2015. You had a fever. You got on the podium. If I can’t do this and you can, what does that mean? But you don’t because that’s your 39.4-degree fever talking and this isn’t about being better than Lewis. It’s about knowing without a doubt that you can still get in that car and race your ass off.

Your phone keeps buzzing with texts from Susie that reassure you that you’d be disappointing no one at all if you had to let George take over this race. You’re not letting down women everywhere and you’re not letting down the team. I know Susie, you keep saying, but I’m still racing.

You know you’ve got to convince Toto when Rachel starts a hurried conversation with George and he starts grabbing his fireproofs like it’s a sure thing he’ll be driving in your place. Bundled up in your coat like it’s the middle of winter, you stomp over to Toto’s office and barge in.

“I’m racing,” you tell him without any preamble.

His head snaps to look at you, expression only mildly surprised— not that you would even notice if you didn’t spend so much time around him. He gives you a once over, eyes lingering pointedly on your jacket and then he raises his eyebrows, “It is twenty-nine degrees outside.”

You suck your teeth in frustration, “I know. The car will be hot. I can race.”

He frowns.

You plead, “Toto. Do not take me out of that car. I can do this.”

He shakes his head, “I can see you sweating from here. You’re not well.”

You shake your head frantically, ignoring how your vision starts spinning, “Let me race. If I fuck up you can put George in the car for Monaco. If I fuck up you can even replace me. I don’t care. Just let me drive today.”

Toto’s face pinches in the way it does when he’s considering something, you can see cogs turning in his head as he evaluates what you’ve said and decides if he should listen to it.

He sighs, “I am not putting that kind of ultimatum on you,” your heart stutters and stops in your chest, and you hold your breath, “Okay. Against my better judgement, I will let you race today.”

You let out an audible breath, it edges out into a sob that makes your aching body curl into itself. You press the heels of your palms into your eyes for a moment to suppress the urge to give in to your fever. It would be easier to give up, it would be easier to let George take your seat for the race so you could crawl into bed and cry the fever out. But none of this has ever been easy for you. You’ve fought tooth and nail to get here, you won’t forfeit a race and let people say you took the easy way out.

You look up. Toto looks concerned.

“Don’t make me regret this.”

“You won’t.”

You practically stumble onto the asphalt before the national anthem, passing your coat off to Rachel while your trainer wipes your forehead with a towel as if you’ve just finished a full-body workout. Your shoulders feel tense, you can’t stand up straight without shuddering so you’re hunched over awkwardly hoping it doesn’t come off looking too strange.

People are still milling about, setting things up while the drivers assemble. You don’t really notice on account of the fever state you’re in, but you end up standing between the McLaren boys. You must brush against Oscar because he looks down at you, eyebrows furrowed, mouth set in a line and his eyes wide like a puppy dog. You get lost in them a little— because of the fever. Definitely.

“Dude,” Oscar says to you, “You’re really hot.”

On your other side, Lando breaks into a fit of laughter. You frown, your brain trying the puzzle through the sentence. You feel foggy, your eyes feel heavy. You need more Sour Patch Kids, or a shot of espresso, or five Red Bulls. Max could swing it for you.

Oscar leans past you and swats at Lando’s shoulder, “She’s burning up, stupid.”

Lando’s laughter pauses, and he says seriously, “Oh shit.”

Suddenly, you’re being twisted around and you’re wincing at the contact on your shoulder that makes it ache even more. Lando puts a hand on your forehead and then immediately rips it away.

“Eugh. You’re sweaty.”

The back of Oscar’s hand replaces it. You twist away, brushing it off.

“You’ve got a fever,” he tells you, his voice thick with concern for you, “Have you told anyone? Does Toto know? Lewis?”

Instead of answering you press a hand over your eyes and crack your neck, trying to work through some of the stiffness in your back. You roll your shoulders and stand up as straight as possible, pushing through that aching, sickly feeling that runs through your whole body. When you finally drag your hand from your face— a thin sheen of sweat coming with it— Oscar is staring at you with a deep-set frown on his mouth. At his shoulder, Lando looks at you with a markedly less severe, but still concerned, expression.

“I’m fine, Oscar,” you insist.

You’re not. He knows you’re not. It doesn’t matter, you don’t want to seem weak. Not barely thirty minutes before the race. You can’t have either of them thinking you’d be easy for an overtake or that you’ll back out of a fight first. Off the track, fine— you’ve been vulnerable and honest with both of them at times. On the track is a different story. This is Formula One. You’re not here to make friends. They are not here to make friends.

“Mm,” Oscar hums, “Pretty sure you’re not.”

“You’re sweating bullets,” Lando adds, “Can see it from here.”

Something white-hot and pissed off flares up your spine. Oscar is not this kind of person, even on track; but the suspicion that he’s just trying to eliminate you as competition rises anyway. You think it because if the situation were flipped, you’d be weighing the pros and cons of having a sick driver on the track. Their weaknesses, what it means if they’re distracted. It doesn’t make you a good person, but you’re already pretty sure you aren’t one.

“I am fine,” you bite.

Oscar’s expression drops. Into something not quite offended… accepting, maybe? Resigned? It closes off to you, is what you mean. That’s fine, you’re trying to close yourself off to him. You’re re-drawing a line that you’ve been crossing without a thought for at least two years now. You’re not here to make googly eyes at Oscar and let him put his hand on your fever-ridden forehead and have him reprimand out-of-line, so-called professionals for you. You’re here to get in that car every Sunday and put your life on the line for a shiny trophy and fucking glory. Even if you’ve got a fever. Even if you’ve got a weird crush on Oscar Piastri.

“I’m racing,” you add in a different tone, feeling as if you’ve been a bit harsh on a well-meaning Oscar, even if you mean what you’re thinking.

Oscar nods, and says, “Okay,” in a way that really means, ‘If you say so, then it is’.

In the car, on the tarmac, sitting in your starting grid position, you’re shitting bricks.

Your cheeks are squeezed tight into your helmet, you can feel sweat, slick and soaking through your balaclava. Your arms hurt, your legs hurt, your ass hurts where it’s pressed into the seat. You’re not crying, but your mouth— hidden away by your helmet— is open like you’re about to. Set into a grimace that you breathe raggedly out of. Toto says something over the radio before the lights go out, you don’t hear it. You’re too busy regretting how earnestly you’d begged him to let you race. It would have been better if George had taken over. It might have been better if you’d passed out during the national anthem so you really had no choice but to sit it out. No one could say you weren’t committed to this sport if that had happened. They’d have plenty to say about women and their weak constitutions though.

You’re on autopilot when the lights go out. One second you’re freaking out like it’s your first time in a car, the next second everything is fading into background noise and you’re fighting a Ferrari and a McLaren for your original grid position. Twenty of you tear down the straight to turn two and you find yourself slotting easily into what you think is P4. Ferrari— not the same one— in front of you. Your mirrors reveal the McLaren behind you. It’s Oscar, you’re sure. You can tell by the way he sticks to your ass. Every nudge of the car you make he makes with you.

You press the radio button, “That Piastri behind?”

Crackle, “Yeah.”

“Knew it. He’s up my butt, Rach.”

“Okay. Go faster then. Not sure what to tell you.”

You make a face. You weren’t looking for sarky advice, you were trying to commiserate. You press the button and make a vaguely mocking neh-neh noise that gets a laugh and then radio silence because you’re supposed to be fucking concentrating. Which, okay, fair.

You press the throttle, done with trying to manage your tyres for the moment and taking Rachel’s comment as permission. You tear away from Oscar, stopping his fight to overtake you through the chicane in its tracks. You start slowly gaining on the Ferrari in front of you, its red rear wing growing closer and closer.

“Sainz in front?” you ask, already knowing the answer.

“Yup,” Rachel confirms before rattling off some lap times when you ask for them.

By lap thirty-something, you’re on Sainz’s ass like Oscar was on yours. You’re fighting him through every chicane, threatening him on the straights and generally behaving in a way that you know for a fact is putting him on edge. But Carlos isn’t giving up P3 without a fight.

A safety car goes out around lap forty, and you pit. Everyone ahead of you does as well. Oscar doesn’t, Oscar is lucky to have gone in earlier. Rachel tells you he’d made up four places after being forced to box for some tyre issue. You feel a strange mix of pride and jealousy swirl in your chest as you all file into a discordant line behind the safety car.

Verstappen leads the pack, as per usual. Then Oscar, Sainz and you. Leclerc is behind you, then Lando. You’re in P4, right where you started and right where you’ve been fucking sitting the entire race so far. twenty-five laps to at least make it onto the podium. Then you’ll be happy. Or not quite happy, you’d need pole for that. Content. You’d be content.

Max starts weaving. The safety car goes off and Max keeps you all ready and waiting until the exact millisecond that he decides the race can properly begin again. You hate when he does this— you know that’s exactly why. Eventually, finally, he gets going.

You have to run defence like crazy for a few laps to keep Leclerc behind you until everything is warmed up. The gap widens as you drive. At some point, you stop worrying about the Monégasque so much and focus your attention on car fifty-five like your life depends on it. The laps fly by as time ticks on. Twenty-five to go, twenty, fifteen, ten. You’re back on Sainz’s rear wheel, a gap of 0.2 to 0.3 that’s been consistent throughout this last stretch of the race. You’re watching him like a hawk, waiting for the smallest slip-up to take advantage of. Somewhere you can push, somewhere he’s weak. It’s hard— he’s covering all his bases. Not giving you an inch so you can’t take a mile.

You’re closing in on sixty-four laps— with only three to go— when he gives you that fucking inch. It’s in the first chicane. His wheel locks up, and he jerks the car slightly the wrong way, something like that. You get in his space and you push and he backs out first. You press down on the throttle and rocket past him, shouting FUCK! FUCK YES! to yourself.

P3. P3. God, you hope it’s P3.

You press the talk button, “Rach?”

“Yes, P3,” she barks, “Fucking, focus. Three laps to go.”

Those last three laps of Imola are some of the hardest of your life. Defending against Carlos is a task, of course, but it’s not even that. The sickness starts to creep back into your awareness as the adrenaline that had hit its peak during the overtake starts to subside. Two laps to go and you’re remembering the fever again. The sweat soaking your hair and streaking down the back of your neck. Your whole body is on fire and it aches everywhere. It feels like someone has taken a sledgehammer to the inside of your skull. You want so badly to close your eyes and drift away to sleep, but the car is flying through the air demanding your attention with the way it thuds against the track. You’ve got one lap to go and Carlos is on you like white on rice. You can’t afford to make a mistake until you’re firmly over that finish line.

So you don’t. You grit your teeth and you refuse.

Carlos is downright reckless in the last chicane, he tries to bait you by moving to one side and pushing but you’re not going to fall for something like that even if you’re near delirious from the 39.4-degree fever. Though surely it’s higher now, the car temp can’t be helping. You hardly realise you’ve crossed the finish line because you’re thinking so hard about how lightheaded you feel. On instinct, you slow down to a safe speed as Oscar’s McLaren enters your vision, but you think your toes have pins and needles and there’s some feeling tingling up into your shoulders. You blink hard and take a long sip of water so you can make it to the pits before your head starts to spin.

Crackle, “Where are you going? That was P3.”

“Huh?” you realise you’re following the other drivers instead of heading into the pits where you’re supposed to go, “Shit. Sorry.”

You edge back as carefully as you can, avoiding other cars that pass by, lucky you’ve not overshot too far so you can turn into the pits and park your car in front of the P3 sign without going around the entire track. That would be embarrassing. Or that would be more embarrassing than how disgusting you’re going to look when you take your helmet and balaclava off.

Toto, Rachel and a few of your engineers are there to meet you at the barricade when you clamber out of the car, unsteady on your feet. Rachel’s eyebrows are furrowed as she tries her best to smile at you, trying to put on a brave face even though you can tell she’s concerned you’re going to keel over. You brace yourself with a hand against the gate and tear your helmet off, then your balaclava. You’ve never been so fast to put a cap on your head, trying to cover the sweaty mess that is your hair right now.

“That was phenomenal work,” Rachel says, reaching to put a hand on your burning hot bicep, “You look fucking terrible, though.”

You suck in a ragged breath and you nod in agreement, trying to keep the black tinging your vision from taking over completely. 

“Get her something to drink,” you hear Toto bark, though it comes to your ears, muffled and staticky.

You’re fine. You’re fine. Until you’re not and your sweaty hand is slipping against the guardrail and your vision is fading into darkness and you’re falling face first into a metal railing. And, and, someone’s got their arm around your middle and you’re not on the ground with your face in the asphalt. You blink, hot tears— from what you assume is exhaustion— burning your eyelids. The arm around your middle is covered in something orange and black… Oscar. It’s Oscar who’s got you propped up, held firm into his body so your legs don’t collapse underneath you. The two of you sway and stumble for a second as you gain your footing back, your vision returning to normal, the buzzing in your ears going away.

“You’re good,” he breathes, “I’ve got you.”

You ignore the shiver that runs down your spine, you attribute it to your current state.

You remember the cameras that are on all of you right now. You try not to look panicked as you step away from him. You try to do it calmly and not frantically like you so want to. Toto has some electrolyte drink held out right in your face and you take it, chugging half of it straight away while you swivel around to face Oscar. You nod, feeling slightly better, but gripping the guardrail tight so as not to repeat earlier.

“Thanks,” you try a smile, but it’s just turning into a grimace because you feel like shit.

Oscar shakes his head, “Don’t mention it.”

“Great driving out there.”

His eyebrow goes up, touching the curl of his hair that peeks out from his cap.

“You’re kidding?” he says, tone laced with amusement.

You frown, which is much easier, “No. You drove great.”

He makes a face like ‘yes, obviously’, but somehow does it in a humble and endearing way that you find you like a little too much. It leaves you confused as to his point.

“No,” he scoffs, “Okay, yes. What I mean is that you just got P3 with a raging fever.”

You purse your lips, countering, “You don’t know I have a fever.”

His tongue darts out to wet his top lip, hiding the small smile that threatens on his face.

He shrugs, “Bit obvious, unfortunately.”

You roll your eyes. You think what he means is it’s a bit obvious because you look like absolute death. There’s probably sweat rolling off you in buckets, your cap is jammed on your head and your hair is probably sticking out at crazy angles. There were dark circles under your eyes before you left for the track this morning, they’re probably ten times worse now. He might also mean it’s obvious from the way your skin is burning hot, like touching a radiator in the middle of winter. Or, perhaps, the way you’d passed out into his arms a few minutes earlier.

You suck your teeth, “Well. I told you I was racing today.”

Oscar nods, biting the inside of his lip, “Yeah. You did.”

There’s more that neither of you are saying. A conversation that you’re trying desperately to have with prolonged eye contact, small little smiles and breaths out through the nose. You think it might be ‘I’m proud of you’ or ‘You’re very impressive and I’m going a little bit crazy about it’. That’s how you feel at least, somewhere in between the fever chills and the urge you’re suppressing to curl into a ball on the tarmac. This is okay, you think. You don’t have to be Oscar’s sworn enemy just because you’re both chasing the win. You can let him worry about you, but make sure he understands he can’t stop you from taking the things that you want. You can say things that mean other things and Oscar can smile at you like it’s something private for just the two of you.

You can be happy with that. Or not quite happy. Content.

🏎️ song inspo (fiona apple my Beloved) -> https://open.spotify.com/track/5h9Iek7Hp9wayRt7fBp7Ab?si=9PnuH5CDSC-qTurLPGiTwg

💫 fill out this form if you want to be added to my tag list: @clowngirlsstuff @leclercsluvs @c-losur3 @mael1pastry @papayamusha @mvk1ma

[formulaforza]

miss americana and the heartbreak prince

—09. Sweet Nothing —word count: 8.5k —warnings: none :) love, mack... sorry. SORRY. you can't even begin to imagine how different my life is from when i last updated. SORRY. technically I got paid to write this lol.

Charles turns up to pre-season testing with a gifted case on his phone. It’s from Reid, FORZA CHARLES written in his best handwriting, colored red with his new set of crayons from his birthday. It’s been on his phone since the five-year-old gifted it to him because Reid was too excited about it for Charles to do anything but put it on. 

Reid had carefully explained that it was a good luck charm—but that Charles is not allowed to be mad if it didn’t have enough luck, since he had to rush to make it before Charles had to leave. 

Reid had played it so incredibly cool ( see: jumping around Chris' kitchen after school squealing like a baby pig ) when Chris had shown him a picture of Charles with the phone case on in the paddock. There’s a certain softness that she feels watching his excitement over something so small, something that gets this kid so incredibly excited because he thinks Charles is so cool. There’s something soft, and there’s also something so incredibly terrifying about it. That she let Reid develop this relationship—even if oh-so-small—with Charles, because now if it goes wrong, if it sours… not only is it going to screw her up in the head royally, but now she’s going to have to explain it to Reid, too. To break his heart, too. She thinks Charles is completely clueless as to the amount of people he’s got completely wrapped around his finger. 

Reid, in all his pure and unadulterated joy, insists that Chris call him up so Reid can share in the joy with her boyfriend--because no matter how many times she attempts to explain it to the kid, he can’t fathom the idea of timezones. 

Chase has always been so good at navigating them, even though he has ever been only, at most, a few hours off the time at home. He’s never missed a bedtime story or a goodnight kiss if he could help it. They’ve always been so good at it, him and Hannah, that Reid is truly unable to conceptualize why someone away at a race can’t talk on the phone with him. 

“He’s sleeping, Reid,” Chris says, shaking her head, and taking her phone back from his grubby hands. “I’m not calling him in the middle of the night.”

“It’s not the middle of the night!” He protests, and he’s not wrong. “It’s just after school time.”

Chris sighs. “But he’s not here. He’s somewhere far away, remember? We talked about this before he left?”

“No! Facetime him!”

She rolls her eyes. They go back and forth for some time like that, her arguing with a five-year-old about time zones. It’s only becoming clearer that there are only two ways for this to end. Either Reid throws the fit of all fits until Hannah gets off work to come pick him up, or Chris calls Charles. If she hadn’t spent all day already keeping five-year-olds from throwing a tantrum, she might have had the strength to endure another grumpy kid. But, she had spent the day on eggshells, so she makes the call and hopes his phone is turned off so it doesn’t wake him up. 

Despite her hopes, he answers, even though it’s past midnight there. She’s apologizing before she can even make out the shape of his face on the dark screen. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. His voice is groggy and sleepy and he speaks through a yawn, shaking his head in a dismissal of her apology. “Es-tu…” he groans. “Are you okay?”

“Yes!” She quips. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. Reid just wanted to say hello. I promise it won’t be more than a minute.” Momentarily, she considers shoving her nephew into the pantry where it’s dark. Where the bright light of Chris’ kitchen isn’t going to hurt Charles’ eyes in the dark of his room.  

“It’s okay,” he smiles, and God. God, he looks so sleepy and sweet and if she didn’t feel so horribly guilty for waking him up, she’d be thinking about how badly she wants to kiss him. He turns on a lamp and cringes at the brightness of it. Her wince is disguised as a smile. “Where is he?”

Here, she says, handing the phone off to Reid, a half-scold, half-warning leaving her lips in the form of be quick. He grabs her phone with the heel of both his palms, keeping his greasy snack fingers off her screen, setting it down with a light clatter onto the countertop, forehead peeking in at the bottom of the screen. “Hi, Chuck!” Reid greets. “Auntie Chris says you’re sleeping!” he giggles. 

“Auntie Chris was right,” Charles laughs softly, and now she just wants to kiss him. She doesn’t get to see him sleepy nearly as much as she’d like to, as much as other girlfriends get to see their boyfriends sleepy. 

She manages to swallow the guilt gnawing away at her bones, silence the already rehearsed apologies she’ll be uttering the next time they speak, and just listens fondly to Charles entertaining Reid. He's so patient. So kind in his efforts to get close with her family. He doesn’t have to do that—seriously. Most people wouldn’t talk to their girlfriend’s nephew on the phone in the middle of the night. Then again, most people wouldn’t fly a quarter of the way around the world for that same nephew’s fifth birthday party—or travel that same distance for a family wedding on a fifth date. In fact, most people would be so put off by the idea of having to do those things, they would never in a million years entertain the idea of dating someone who lives around the world. Most people wouldn’t, and yet. Charles would. Charles does. Each and every time, he does. 

— — —

“So, he comes up to me, right?” She laughs, “I’m trying to give a reading test, and he walks up, and I almost tell him to go sit back in his seat because he’s supposed to be silent reading,” She continues. It’s 12:03 am, at least that’s what her microwave clock tells her. It’s 12:03 am in Georgia and when they’d gotten on Facetime twenty-one minutes ago, he’d told her exactly two things. 

One—the car is shit. Two—I don’t want to talk about it. 

So, she didn’t ask any questions and instead launched into the story she’d been anxiously waiting to tell him all about since it had happened that morning at school.

“But before I can say anything,” she explains to her phone camera—to him, on the other side of the globe— “He says, ‘Um, Miss Elliott, um, my tooth falled out,’' She grins, and Charles matches her expression because even across continents it’s a contagious smile. It was the first time any of her students had lost a tooth in class, and the room proceeded to erupt into chaos, she would continue to tell him. “It was crazy,” she laughs. “I didn’t know what to do with him.”

“So what did you do?” Charles asks, laughing himself. 

“I took him and his tooth down to the office,” she says, half out of breath. “And I let them handle it. I was way out of my depth. The nurse brought him back like, ten minutes later with a plastic tooth necklace that held the tooth all day.”

— — —

Chris is cozied up on the couch with Bean, babysitting the dog for her parents while they traveled to Vegas for her brother’s race when Charles DNFs in Bahrain. 

Her heart sinks, through the couch and through the floor and deep into her non-existent basement. It might even go all the way through the world and into Australia to wait for Charles to get there in a few weeks. 

Once he’s out of the car and they show him on camera, he looks so annoyed. Defeated and annoyed in a way she isn’t sure she’s ever seen him, and like he could use a hug. A bear hug. She wants to stick her arms through the television and around him and hug him and kiss him and make him laugh and get that look off his face. She wants the car to turn into a person she can fight. To kiss him all over and run her finger through his helmet hair until he forgets about it for a little while. To tell him how she’s sorry. And how she. How she… how she likes him so much. 

How, maybe someday. Someday, in a vast and distant future, she loves him so much that it scares her to think about for more than a moment. How—again, maybe someday in a timeline she can't imagine yet—she thinks of him constantly. How he’s burrowed his way into her skin and how every time she sees the color red she doesn’t think of it as angry or harsh or mean, she just thinks of him. 

How she loves him, maybe, and it’s wholly terrifying. She hates that she loves him, maybe, because she knows it’s only a matter of time. She’d really, truly hoped he would come to his senses before it got to this point, this drowning slowly in his honey words and soft smile, hoped that he would have found her too much and too messy and not worth all the energy and time and money. But he hasn’t. He hasn’t, and now she loves him, maybe, and has nowhere to put all this fear. 

She waits for him to call her, and he does, hours later when it’s got to be the middle of the night there. She can’t keep the time difference straight and has googled it at least half a dozen times today alone. 

“Did you watch?” he asks, and he doesn’t sound defeated, not like he had during testing. He sounds… dejected, if anything but normal. 

“Yeah,” she says, even though there wasn’t much to watch. 

“They’re saying on Twitter I looked hot,” he chuckles, and it puts a soft smile on her face. She pulls her knees to her chest, picking at the lint on the knees of her leggings. “At least I have that going, huh?”

“You always look hot,” she says, her smile growing.

“True,” he says, and he follows it with a laugh. An honest to god laugh that makes her heart swell. 

“Besides the obvious,” she says, adjusting in her seat, “It was a good race.”

“It was definitely not a good race,” he chuckles. 

Chris continues to pick at her leggings. They’re covered in lint from her blanket and hair from the dog. “Well, I thought it was good. I know you didn’t finish, but… if you had,” she smiles gently. He was on track for a podium. If he had finished. 

“But I didn’t,” He sighs himself into a perfect frown. 

“Eh,” she waves it off with her hand. “Semantics, semantics. Rose and thorn.”

“Rose and thorn,” he nods, quirking a brow. “What is rose and thorn?”

“Oh,” she shrugs, “you know. Like… take the good with the bad? The rose and the thorn,” she explains. “You were having a good race—rose. You didn’t finish the race—thorn.”

“Ah,” he says, his head dropping down into a chuckle. “Rose and thorn, yes.”

— — —

One thing you learn when you’re the aunt of a five-year-old little leaguer is that every single team is actually just a major league baseball team rebranded for whatever city these elementary schoolers are playing in. Same names, same logos—sometimes they’ll change the color scheme, but sometimes they can get away with keeping it. In Reid’s case, they kept even the color scheme. 

Chris supposes this makes her outfit choice for his season opener significantly easier. It’s sunny and sixty-five degrees and Chris is wearing a Detroit Tigers sweatshirt—Navy blue with a white old English D embroidered on the front—and a pair of blue jeans. Reid’s tee-ball team is oh-so derivatively named the Dawsonville Tigers. 

It’s Reid’s third year playing baseball, his third year playing tee-ball. Next year, he’ll get to move up to the real little league, which will only give Chase and Hannah a million more practices and tournaments, and games to travel to. Reid is counting down the days until he gets to play with the bigger kids. Chase and Hannah… not so much. 

They, along with the rest of the family, have grown relatively attached to the comedy show of a bunch of preschoolers chasing baseballs around a bunch of gravel. Chase is an assistant coach, and he’s been swearing up and down in the family group chat that at least ten of the fifteen kids on the team know they’re supposed to run to first base after they hit a fair ball. At least ten of them, and the coaches are working hard to get the other five on track as soon as possible. 

Chris and Hannah sit in folding camping chairs behind the fencing catching up while they watch the show, sipping boxed wine from Hannah’s secret purse-stash in their matching YETI wine tumblers. 

The conversation starts with a rundown of the team this year—of the moms, more importantly. Which ones Hannah likes, and which ones look at her like she’s still a nineteen-year-old with a baby she doesn’t know what to do with. It’s a common thing for Hannah, even now that she’s got a settled career and a house and a whole life with Chase. It doesn’t matter, not to the bitter southern housewives with nothing better to do than spend their time hating other women. 

It starts there. And somehow, with the quick exclamation of Oh! You’ll never believe what Miss Julie told me about Kacie! The two girls are deep in gossip about someone from high school’s relationship. It always seems to go like this, when Hannah gets this endless well of gossip from work, from the hours spent waiting for bleach to process and colors to develop in the salon. 

“But wait, forget about that!” Hannah laughs. “How’s Charles!? Your dad said he had a shit race?”

Chris furrows her brows, swallowing a sip of wine. “My dad knows how his race went?” She asks, and Hanah shrugs. “I mean, yeah, he did,” she chuckles. “Power unit issues, even though they literally replaced the battery and the ECU that morning.  They have to replace the whole thing, so he’s going to have to take a penalty next race too,” she sighs, rolling her eyes. “For the ECU that they just replaced.”

Hannah scowls. “That’s fucked,” she laughs, covering her mouth, doing a poor job at concealing her wine giggles. “He’s coming to visit in a couple weeks, right?”

“Mmhm,” Chris hums. “He’s like…” she laughs, “so geeked out about coming to one of these games. I told him they’re so boring, but. He’s adorable.”

“I’m sure he’s more geeked about other things,” Hannah teases, playfully shoving Chris’ shoulder. “Long distance fucking sucks for the sex life,” she giggles. Chris blushes bright red, holding her hands up in surrender before taking a long sip of wine and asking for a refill. 

Chandler shows up somewhere between the third wine tumbler and the fourth inning of the baseball game. She’s in her work clothes, complete with the kitten heels that sink into the muddy grass with every step she takes. She taps the opposite shoulder of Chris that she stands behind, and Chris falls for it, turning back the other way to see her, to smile genuinely because they haven’t had the chance to get annoyed with each other yet, haven’t had the chance to get annoyed with each other since they last saw the other at Chase and Hannah’s wedding.

“Are you still with that guy?” She asked, from her seat in Chris’ camping chair. She felt too bad watching her heels sink in and out of the mud, so now she leans against the fencing while Chandler sits. “The French one?”

Chris nods, her arms crossed over her chest. “Monegasque,” she corrects. “But yes. Still together.”

“Hmm,” Chandler hums curiously, picking at her cuticles. “Are you ever going out to see him?” She asks. 

“Uh,” Chris sighs, dragging her toe through the gravel, drawing harsh lines and kicking up dust. “I’m gonna fly out for spring break,” she says. “But he wants me away from Monaco.”

“He wants you to stay away?” Chandler asks, and Chris doesn’t miss the tone of voice, eyes darting to Hannah to confirm the condescending tone she already knows she heard. Hannah closes her eyes before she can roll them, and takes a sip of her wine, leaning back in her seat, crossing her legs. 

“Not like that, Chan, come on,” Chris sighs. “I don’t want to be there. We don’t want to be there. It’s too hard, everyone knows him there and we don’t want anyone to know me.”

“So, he’s hiding you?”

“No,” Chris shakes her head, pursing her lips together. “We’re being private. He’s trying to protect me.”

“Alright,” Chandler chuckles, putting her hands up in defense. “I’m just saying, I never would have hidden Lex.”

Chris’ head physically recoils, forcing a scoff out of her mouth. Hannah laughs, too. “You literally hid Lex for two years,” Hannah says. “Like, genuinely you hid her from all of us.”

“That’s different,” Chandler argues. “I wouldn’t have hidden her if she was a man.”

“And Charles wouldn’t be ‘hiding’ me,” She says, forced air quotes around the word she can’t come up with a synonym for. “If every woman he interacts with wasn’t crucified,” she defends. “Can’t you just give him the benefit of the doubt, Jesus.” Chandler rolls her eyes and pulls out her phone, answering texts or emails or whatever else is so pressing as a distraction from the current conversation. “Seriously?”

“What?” Chandler spits, rolling her eyes. “I’m just looking out for you, Chris. You don’t have the greatest track record with guys, so forgive me for being hesitant to give you the benefit of the doubt.”

Chris bites her tongue, literally, and purses her lips. She nods, watching the dead serious look in her sister’s eyes with a glare of equal intensity. Finally, after what feels like an eternity of death stares, Chris puts a pretty smile on her face. “I’m really happy you came all this way, Chandler,” she grins, slipping her phone into her back pocket. “I’m sure Reid will be thrilled to see you,” she continues. “He missed you at his birthday party,” she adds, squeezing her sister’s shoulder as she passes, walking away and kicking up gravel when she does it. 

Saudi Arabia is no better. He has a great qualifying, but he also has that pesky grid penalty and a Ferrari that just doesn’t seem to have anything even close to race pace. The car just feels… so undriveable. So unpredictable. One corner it’s all oversteer, and the next it’s a completely different car, fully understeery. It’s just. It’s terrible, really, and he’s known it since the first time he got in the car. 

It doesn’t help that he spends the whole race stuck behind Carlos, who seems to have just as much pace as he does. He calls Chris that night, so fucking angry, and she gets an earful, one that he immediately apologizes for dumping on her after he’s gotten it all out. 

“It's okay,” she tells him. “I’m just glad that your bad days don’t line up with mine,” she joked, and he laughed because it’s impossible not to laugh at her jokes, even when he feels like shit. “Better days are coming,” she promised, and he wanted to believe her, but he also knew this car inside and out. 

“Not soon enough,” he told her, and she smiled. He can’t get enough of her smile. 

“Patience, grasshopper,” she teased, holding up both her hands in a meditative pose, humming out an ommm. 

“You are so dumb,” he giggles. 

“Oh, please,” she says, opening her eyes, relaxing again. “You love me.”

There’s a heavy beat of silence. So heavy that it can’t even be blamed on FaceTime lag. 

His brain is malfunctioning; heart racing, palms clammy, entire body sweating thinking she knows. Thinking he’s been entirely too obvious about it and not done nearly as good of a job as he thought. You should tell her. You should tell her. Yes. Yes, I do love you. I love you so much I don’t know how to tell you. I love you so much that I’m scared telling you is going to mess it all up. 

He can’t tell her like this, though. Not now, when he’s halfway around the whole and every nerve of his body is frustrated.  No, it needs to be when he’s with her. Not over the phone. He’s completely clueless as to when or where or what the right time is, but he knows this sure as hell isn’t it. 

So, he stays quiet. Because he’s sure if he speaks he’s going to just blurt it all out, and he hasn't kept his mouth shut this long just to say it like this. She’ll have to break the silence. It feels like it takes an eternity for her to do it. 

“So, uh, what time does your flight land here, again?” She asks, and his shoulders loosen just a bit. 

“Yeah,” he nods, wondering if she can hear his heartbeat through the phone. It seems like it’s the only thing he can hear. “Sorry, uh. Yeah. Let me look,” he says, grabbing his phone from its propped-up place on the hotel coffee table and scrolling through it to find his ticket to Georgia. “Five… ish.”

“What time do you leave?”

“Eight-something?” He says, still looking at the flight information. 

“What time is it now?” She asks. 

“I don’t know,” he admits. He’s been making a habit of losing track of time with her. “Late.”

“Go to sleep,” she says, her voice playing out of his phone speakers softly. He smiles at her voice, at her instructions, at the fact she cares enough to tell him to go to sleep. 

“Yes ma’am,” he says, and then salutes her for good measure. 

“Merci,” she giggles in butchered French, and his ears perk up like a puppy, a grin painting itself onto his face. 

“Oh?” He laughs. ““Tu parles français maintenant, n'a pas? fille drôle, je pourrais te dire ce que je veux et tu ne sauras jamais mieux,” You speak french now, do you? Silly girl, I could say whatever I want to you and you wouldn’t know any better. 

“Goodnight,” she says, ignoring the French they both know she can’t even begin to translate in her mind. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow,” he nods. “Goodnight, baby.”

“Miss Elliott has to leave right after the bell today, friends,” Chris hums, leaning against the front of her classroom desk, holding a stack of school newsletters. “Do you think we can get our room nice and clean before the end of the day?” She asks, smiling and nodding at the spattering of little yeses and nods. “Okay,” she grins, pointing to the whiteboard. “All of our tasks are on the big board,” she explains, running through each table and their room assignments. 

The class stays about on task as a herd of twenty-something five-year-olds possibly can, with Chris reminding them to stay on task—and reminding them what their task is—from her seated spot on the group rug, cleaning up the class library with a couple of other students. 

“Where are you going to, Miss Elliott?” Quinn asks her, handing over a book. 

“I have to go to Atlanta,” Chris hums, putting the book on the correct shelf. “Do you know where Atlanta is?”

Quinn nods, handing over another book from the pile on the floor. “Far away.”

“It’s not soooo far,” Chris smiles.

“I just have a uncle there.”

“Oh yeah? That’s nice. Do you ever go visit him?” Chris asks. 

Quinn doesn’t answer the question. “Does you have an uncle in Atlanta?”

“Nope,” she shakes her head. “I have to pick someone up at the airport.”

“Your boyfriendddd?” Quinn giggles, dragging out the letter sounds teasingly. 

“A boyfriend?!” Chris grins, laughing. “You think I have a boyfriend? I spend all my time at school with you!”

“No!” She laughs. “Landry sayed you have a cute boyfriend!”

“What?” Chris giggles, snatching a book from Quinn playfully. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, crazy girl.”

— — —

With the help of her students, Chris manages to get the room put together for the next morning in less than fifteen minutes after the end of the school day, checking Charles’ flight tracking one more time before setting off from the parking lot to the airport an hour away. 

He emerges from the sliding doors of his terminal with his bags and a bouquet of flowers. Chris is shaking her head, cheeks already half-pink and mind more than half-melted when she hastily parks against the curb, popping her trunk and hurrying around the back of the car to greet him properly. 

“Get in the car,” she giggles, “before they start honking at us!” she says, but Charles couldn’t care less about the angry airport goers behind him, leaving his suitcase on the curb, waiting with his arms already open and a tired, jet-lagged smile on his face. 

Chris resists the urge to just throw his entire body into the car and speed away from the terminal, instead hugging him tight, arms wrapping around his frame, slipping into the space between him and his backpack, the plastic casing from the flowers crinkling against her back when he hugs her just as tight. 

He kisses her hair hastily, “Hi,” he mumbles, watching her lips carefully. 

“Hi,” she smiles, giddy. “Eyes up here, brother,” she teases. 

Charles scowls, dropping his backpack off his shoulder and lifting it up into the trunk. “Do not call me brother.”

“Too incest-y?”

“I can get another plane,” he teases, pointing his thumb over his shoulder, and hoisting his suitcase off the curb with his other hand. 

“Go visit one of your other girls?” She asks, pressing the button on the top of the hatch to close the trunk. 

“See?” He laughs, parting from her just long enough for both of them to get into the car. “You get it,” he says, closing the car door and quickly reaching over the center console to pull Chris into a kiss, muttering something about you did not really think I was not going to kiss you?

It’s a familiar speech he’s given that morning, the same one she’d carefully handed out when he was here months ago. The be safe, don’t get eaten by a bear lecture. That’s not where it ends, though. Chris continues to go on and on and on about her Mom’s birthday party that evening—one of the many reasons he’d decided now was a perfect time for a quick visit—and how he was under no circumstances to go overboard on gift-buying, or even buy a gift at all for that matter. 

“I’m going to pick up a card on my way home from work,” she explains, standing at the end of the bed, work bag slung over her shoulder, travel coffee mug in her hand. “And I’m gonna sign both of our names,” she continues. Charles rolls his eyes from the bed. “What?” She laughs. 

“Your siblings’ partners…” he yawns. “They get her their own gift, yes?”

Chris hesitates, which makes Charles grin, which forces her to grin. “Yeah, but—”

“No but.”

“But,” she laughs softly. “They’ve been around longer than you.”

Charles scoffs, feigning offense. “Stupid reason.”

“But a reason, nonetheless.”

Charles shakes his head, smiling. Dramatically, he pulls the comforter back over his head. “Goodbye,” he mumbles. 

“Goodbye. I’ll see you later,” she replies, her shoes creaking against the floor as she moves through the hallway. “No gifts!”

“100 percent buying a gift, but okay!” he calls back, pulling the covers back down, listening just long enough to hear her car pull away from the driveway before turning the nightstand lamp off and putting himself back to sleep. 

— — —

When he wakes up again, much closer to an acceptable morning time, he’s already racking his brain for gift ideas. 

It’s an area of life he’s never considered himself particularly strong in. Sometime shortly after the appropriate period of making his Mum a homemade necklace from uncooked macaroni noodles and washable markers, he discovered he was particularly inapt at choosing gifts. 

It’s a shame, really, because he’s always felt like a good listener—especially when it came to people he cared for. And yet, every holiday and birthday and anniversary he’s struggling to come up with something besides an outrageously priced bouquet of flowers at the local florist. 

Which is why he sits on the sofa, legs kicked up on the ottoman, laptop on his legs as he searches What to get your girlfriend’s mum for her birthday? Birthday presents for Mum. Birthday gift ideas. Birthday gifts for Mums near me. What should you get your mother-in-law for her birthday?

Nothing is right. Everything is too silly or too impersonal or too cheap or too expensive for Chris to forgive him for buying. He’s scrolled through so many pages and so many articles hoping for an idea to spark that he’s starting to go crazy. 

Defeated, he closes the laptop, abandoning it on the couch cushion next to him, and dragging his feet all the way to the bedroom, planning on flopping face down on the bed. Instead, he comes face to face with the unmade mess, sighing. He haphazardly peels all of the layers off the bed, stripping the pillows of their cases, tossing them onto the pile of blankets on the floor. With two new pillowcases from the linen closet, he carefully remakes the bed. 

But now, there’s laundry. So he gathers up the pillowcases and the plastic purple hamper in the corner of the room and hauls it all to the laundry room. He tosses the entire hamper into the washing machine, and then stares at the shelf of containers. Three look dustier than the orange plastic container, so he picks up that tote and reads the instructions on the side of the box, following them carefully. When he closes the top of the washing machine, the start button glows green. He doesn’t dare adjust any of the settings, pressing the button and saying a soft prayer to the laundry gods. 

He pulls the dry clothes from the dryer, putting them back into the hamper—and they’re all white. Fuck. Was he supposed to do that with the pile of clothes he’d just dumped? Too late now. Another prayer to the laundry gods. He heads back to the bedroom, dumping the clean white clothes onto the freshly made bed, and folding away at them. He sorts them out by drawer, checking the continents of each drawer half a dozen times, and puts everything where he’s nearly certain it belongs—first in the closet, then in the dresser. 

Sitting atop the dresser are two loose rings and an unclasped necklace. He puts both the rings on the plate of her jewelry stand, and carefully clasps the necklace back together. It’s a thin gold chain with a row of several pearls in the middle. He hangs it gently with the other three pearl-styled necklaces that hang from the top pole of the rack. Pearls, pearls, pearls. She’s always wearing pearls. The next pole has half a dozen bracelets, most with pearls incorporated, and he can’t even begin to count the pairs of pearl earrings in the dish. It’s always pearls, because of what her Mom always says. Pearls make a lady. 

Pearls make a fucking lady. The answer to his question has been literally sitting in front of him this entire time. New Google search—re: Jewelers near me. 

— — — 

Charles is in the kitchen assessing the fridge for snack options when the front door is swinging open at a speed he can’t believe doesn’t result in a loud clattering of the house shaking. “Chuck!” A small voice calls out into the house, followed by another thud, presumably his backpack against the floor of the foyer. The noise continues, heavy little feet running down the hallway through the house, in his direction. Quieter, he can hear Chris, the metal jingling of her keys against the coated aluminum of her travel coffee cup, the click of her shoes down the hallway floor. His name is not Chuck, she hums behind the small boy. “And my name ain’t Reidy but you’s still call me that.”

“That’s different.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Uh-huh,” Chris mocks. “I’m the boss,” she says, calling after the boy as he walks through the kitchen doorway. “I get to do whatever I want!” Chris calls out from another room in the house. 

Reid catches Charles’ eyes, squeezing between him and the fridge. He rolls his eyes, twirling his finger beside his head. “You are not the boss,” he insists, grabbing a juice box and a stick of mozzarella cheese. “You are like my stupid little boss.”

Finally, Chris appears in the doorway, shaking her head. Her eyes meet his and he feels himself grinning—an almost embarrassing amount. She looks so pretty, he thinks. So full of life and color. “I’m his stupid little boss,” she says, grinning. 

“Ah,” he nods, closing the fridge doors, moving to kiss her hello. “It’s like this, you know?”

“Do not tell me you haven’t gotten a gift yet!” Chris scolds her brother. First, he’s fifteen minutes late to pick up his kid, and then he has the gusto to ask her what she bought their mom for her birthday…. To give to her at the party in two hours. 

“Okay,” Chase laughs, “I won’t tell you.”

“Chase!”

“I have like, two hours,” he shrugs, looking at his watch. “Relax.”

“You’re ridiculous!” She insists, rolling her eyes. “Seriously. I got her a new Circuit because she’s always telling Dad how slow the one she has is running. And then I got her a bunch of scrapbooking stuff to go along with it.”

Chase nods, burying his hands in his pockets, rocking back on his heels. “And he’s just signing his name?” He asks, looking past her in the doorway to Charles, currently half-engaged in a Mario-Kart battle with Reid. Chris nods. 

“Actually—” Charles interrupts, eyes still focused on the game, hands moving with intentional precision over the controller buttons. “About that. I got her one of those….” he trails off, moving one hand to gesture around his neck. “You know. For your… here.”

“Your neck?” Chris questions. “You went out and bought a necklace?” She continues, thumbing at the gold chain around her neck. 

“Necklace!” He snaps his fingers, pointing in her direction before immediately flopping back into the sofa cushions, Reid laughing maniacally beside him at the sight of his rainbow road victory. “A pearl necklace,” he adds, holding his hand out to shake Reid’s. 

Chris smiles. A pearl necklace. A friggin’ pearl necklace. It’s so simple that it’s stupid, really. It’s dumb. It’s stupid and it’s dumb and it’s cliche, in all honesty—that he is the person to remember a one-off about pearls when he can’t remember anything else. 

“Oh, fuck you, that’s good,” Chase groans. “Hannah got her this, like… a cutting board with a recipe burnt into it or something.”

Chris shakes her head softly, still thumbing her necklace. “It’s Meemaw’s brownie recipe,” she says, her eyes glossed over, mind elsewhere. 

“On a cutting board? Because brownies famously need a cutting board.”

“Shut up,” she says softly, smacking his chest with the back of her hand. “It’s cute.”

“It’s expensive.”

Chris’s attention snaps back to her brother. “You won like, literally a million dollars a few months ago. But a cutting board for Mom is too expensive?” She questions, raising her brows, crossing her arms over her chest. “You better find something,” she warns.

Chase holds up his hands in defense. “I know. Worst case scenario, I’m a little bit late to dinner, okay?”

“Get out of my house,” Chris shuffles, gesturing to the open front door. 

“We’re going, we’re going,” Chase laughs, gathering Reid’s backpack from the floor, and helping the boy tie his shoes. 

Chris closes the door behind them, staring at Charles, her back pressed against the cool door. He looks back guiltily, gathering the controllers and putting them on the end table. “I’m sorry–”

“A pearl necklace?”

“Yes,” he nods. “Do you want to see it?”

She shakes her head, moving to join him on the couch, an almost painful smile pulling on her lips as she curls up against him. “I want it to be a surprise,” she hums softly. Charles adjusts underneath her slightly, wrapping an arm around her frame, pressing a kiss into the top of her head. 

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she nods. “I’m just happy you’re here,” she adds. 

Is it possible for love to be a pearl necklace?

It’s an easy routine they’ve found—early morning alarms and goodbye kisses and listening to her try to sneak around the creaky floors without waking him up. 

Today, he gets a guest pass to a local gym and works out in the corner following a workout plan Andrea had sent him—minus the neck training. That’s not happening alone in public. 

After the gym, he heads to a grocery store—the biggest one he’s ever seen. He spends more time trying to figure out where he is in the store than he does actually shopping. Like, how many different kinds of pudding could one person need? A whole wall of cereal? Of chicken? Of milk? Be serious. It’s insane. What was meant to be a quick trip to the store for dinner ingredients has turned into a whole ordeal. 

He was just trying to make things easier—for Chris, not for him. It was the middle of her work week and instead of planning a lazy night at home, she’d planned out a million and one things for them to do while he was in town. Charles can’t help but feel like she’s trying to keep him entertained, and it’s a feeling he hates. It’s not her job to keep him entertained. He’s not a toddler. 

So, in response to their full evening schedule of a little league baseball game for her nephew, the possibility of some type of family gathering to follow that could last any vast pan of time, he figured the least he could do is make dinner and have it waiting for her when she got home. They aren’t on Reid duty after school, so it will just be the two of them. It can’t be that hard. 

He’s in the kitchen, humming along to The Kooks—watching the chicken and pasta and stirring the white sauce when she walks through the front door. “Bonjour bébé,” she says, walking through the doorway into the kitchen. 

His head shoots up from the pot on the stove, a smile instantly falling across his lips. “Oh, c’est bien, mon ange,” he says, even though her pronunciation was so forced she’d be laughed out of Paris. She’s trying, and he loves it, and he loves her. So, it’s a good job. 

“Really?” She beams. “It was good?”

He can’t help but smile at a smile like hers. “Yeah, very good,” he nods, kissing her quickly. 

“What are you making?” She asks, hoisting herself up onto the countertop beside the stove, wafting the air in the direction of her face. “It smells good.”

“Chicken and pasta,” he says. “One day, we are going to make pasta from the beginning.”

“You know how to make pasta from scratch?” She asks. 

Charles raises his brows, giggling to himself softly. “To be honest, no. I was hoping you did.”

Chris laughs out loud. “Oh. Well, then. We’re screwed.”

“No,” he frowns. “We’re in serious trouble if I have to be the good cook.”

“I’m not a bad cook!’ She insists, feigning dramatic offense, clutching her pearls, literally. Charles cocks his head to the side, glancing over to her. He smiles a come-on, now smile when she raises her brows in defense, an ache-inducing smile on her face. She is so beautiful it hurts. She is so soft it hurts. She is so, he supposes. End of sentence. 

“Et je ne t'aime pas,” And I do not love you, he mutters, leaning over to press a quick kiss into her lips, lingering just long enough to feel her grin. 

“En Ingles, por favor, Señor?” She asks, quirking a brow. 

“Not a shot in hell.”

“Please?” She frowns, and he actually considers it. Just momentarily, but considered nonetheless. Because what a moment this is. What a time it would be to do it, to say it, to make it known.

Instead, he shakes his head. “Maybe later.”

— — — 

“You’re going to want a jacket,” Charles mutters, moving behind her in the bathroom, sizing up her outfit. They’re getting ready to head out to the baseball game, and she’s wearing leggings and a blue sweatshirt with an Old English D on it—one that apparently matches the color and logo of Reid’s team uniforms. He’s opted for jeans, a white t-shirt, and a blue knit zip-up sweatshirt. It’s quite chilly out, and despite the sun peeking through the clouds, it’s windy. 

“I’ll be fine,” she says, running a brush through her hair. 

They remember to bring a backpack full of snacks, as well as two travel thermos mugs of drinks that are certainly not alcoholic. They forget their camping chairs, though, as well as the sweater Charles had planned on bringing for when Chris decided she did in fact want a jacket. And most importantly, they forget how to keep their mouths shut. 

It’s cold. It only gets colder as the sun sets, as the game continues. Neither their drinks nor the bottle of wine smuggled in by another one of the player’s mothers manage to keep the chill off. 

Chris stands against the fence that goes around the field with her mom, talking animatedly about who knows what. Charles steals Cindy’s empty seat beside Hannah. He watches as Chase and Reid walk up to them—Reid kicking up a trail of gravel dust with every excited skip. 

“Do you want kids?” Hannah blurts out from the seat next to him, and then before even a beat can pass, “Jesus, sorry,” she laughs. “Sorry. Ignore me.”

“No,” he smiles, as soon as he can regain his composure from the blindside of do you want kids. “It’s okay,” he reassures, adjusting in his seat, his eyes lingering on Chris for a moment longer than usual—just to make sure she isn’t hearing this conversation. 

“It’s really not,” she laughs, shaking her head, taking another sip of her definitely-not-wine. “It’s just that if Chase and I die, Chris gets Reid. And she’s… I mean. You see her. You know her,” she says. The sentence left unsaid is that anyone who has ever met Chris would know that if anyone was ever born to be a mother, it’s her. “And she really likes you. Like, a lot,” Hannah whispers. “And I like you, too—but I won’t ever like anyone enough to let her sacrifice something I know is so important to her—”

“I want children, Hannah,” he laughs, cutting her off. “Do not worry.”

“You do?”

“Three.”

“And you want to get married?”

He nods again, almost instinctively looking to his girlfriend, because, as he would argue if pressed about it—who else do you look at but your girlfriend when someone asks you about marriage? “Yes.”

Hannah notices his lingering glance, apparently, because the next words out of her mouth are: “To Chris?” Charles cocks his head back over to face Hannah, rolling his eyes when he does it. Hannah nods. “Sorry, fuck,” she laughs, covering her own mouth. “I know, what’s wrong with me?”

“It,” he starts, but then he’s stopping himself because he isn’t exactly sure what he planned to say. “There is nothing wrong with you. You’re just being a good friend—a good sister,” he pauses, looking back to Chris quickly, spinning his ring around his finger. “I don’t think it is the craziest thought, maybe,” he says, and he’s as surprised to say it as Hannah is to hear it. “But,” he holds up a finger and laughs. “Ask me in six months and I bet I can give you a proper answer.”

Hannah smiles, raising her brows, and takes another sip of her drink. “I’m gonna hold you to that.”

“Oh, I’m counting on that,” he says, and now he can stare without care. It’s normal, he tells himself, to think about it all after it’s talked about like that. It’s not his fault that he’s picturing it—his future, her future. Their future together. He thinks that maybe if he squints really hard and takes a step back he can see himself getting married. That maybe she’s there too, in some wedding dress that probably has pockets. 

“You’re thinking about it now, aren’t you?” Hannah asks, and it pops into his mindless bubble of crazy. He laughs, shakes his head, and pulls his phone out without saying a word. “You totally are,” Hannah giggles, and he feels his cheeks flush. “Look at you blushing, oh my god!”

Charles rolls his eyes, a smile pulling on the corners of his lips. “Shut up,” he mumbles. 

He watches from his conversation with Hannah, watches as Chris stands at the chain-link fence, hugging her own arms and shifting her weight from one foot to the other like she needs to pee, trying and trying to warm herself up with the friction of her own arms. 

“Did she bring a coat?” Hannah asks. 

“No,” Charles replies. “But she’s half a minute from forcing her to put on mine.”

“She can take mine, if she wants,” Hannah offers, but Charles turns her down. 

“No, no,” he says. “I am warm, anyways,” he lies. It’s cold out, but his mother raised a gentleman. 

Chris shivers one more time and Charles has had enough of watching her stubbornness. He takes off his sweatshirt and walks up behind her, draping it over her shoulders in the middle of a sentence. 

“Hi?” Chris says sweetly, turning to look at him over her shoulder. 

“Hi,” he smiles, kissing her cheek. “You’re cold.”

She rolls her eyes but smiles and mutters a soft thank you. Charles hums his response and nods, moves to return to the empty camping chair beside Hannah. Chris reaches out to stop him, catching his hand, his fingers interlocking into hers with a casual ease. 

He stands behind her, adjacent to her conversation with her Mother, watching the game through the fence. He’s barely listening, his focus split between the game he doesn’t understand and toying with Chris’ fingers behind her back. “I’ve been learning French,” she tells her mom. Charles smiles. 

“Oh really? Where at?”

“Uh, just on my phone. I got this app that you can do lessons on every day.”

“And you chose French because of…” Cindy trails off. Chris nods, her grip on his hand tightening, which really pulls his attention. 

“I’m pretty bad but he likes to pretend I’m a pro,” she grins, leaning back into him. 

“Well,” Cindy laughs. Chris shivers, moving to put on the sweatshirt instead of just having it draped over her shoulders. “Charles, you shouldn’t be scared to put her in her place.”

“Oh,” he laughs. “No, she’s a quick learner, really.”

— — — 

Cindy excuses herself, says she’s going to go and get some hot chocolate to take the edge off of the chill, and asks if Chris or Charles want any. Charles says no, Chris says yes—offers to pay but is denied. 

Once she’s gone, Chris is spinning in the gravel to face her boyfriend. “Thank you for the sweatshirt,” she says. “And thank you for not saying you told me so.”

“Are you still cold?” He asks, putting the back of his hand on her forehead like he’s checking for a temperature. It’s chilly, but it's not bitter or wintery. 

“Yeah,” she says, swatting his hand from her forehead. “I’m fine, just can’t get warm.”

“C’mere,” He says, pulls her into a tight, warm hug, fully wrapping her up in his arms, running his hands up and down her back. She melts against his chest. “I think it’s Reid’s turn,” he points out, and Chris spins in his grip to face the same direction so he’s hugging her from behind. 

Chris whistles, “Let’s go, Reidy!” She calls out, and then quieter, just to Charles. “He’s nervous that you’re here.”

“Hmm?” he laughs. “Why?”

“He wants to impress you.”

They watch Reid’s at-bat, watch him swing and miss on the tee twice without laughing. Chris is talking to Charles about whatever she and Cindy were talking about before he came over, neither of them taking their eyes off the game. Charles kisses Chris’ covered shoulder while he listens to her talk, runs his hands up and down her arms to create some friction. 

Reid hits the ball off the tee on his third swing, and Chris actually jumps with excitement. He hits it right to the second baseman, hurries his little legs towards Chase on the first base. Chris cheers through a laugh, her body vibrating against Charles’ chest. 

In a pause in the conversation, he wonders if she’s ever been more her than she is right now. At home, with her family, a never-ending well of love and laughter and beauty. He almost wishes that he could just observe her and all that she is, admire the woman he gets to love. 

This is the moment. 

It has to be. Perfect moments don’t exist but this has to be as close as you can get. “Are you okay?” Chris asks over her shoulder, “Your heart is racing.”

“Yeah,” he nods. “Yeah.”

“Yeah?”

“Um,” Fuck. Just say it, Charles. 

Chris laughs anxiously, turns around to face him, brows furrowed. “What’s wrong with you?”

“I love you.”

Chris doesn’t miss a beat. “No, you don’t.”

“I do,” he nods. “I’m so in love with you.”

Her face softens, the concern melting away. “Really?” God, she says it so soft that it’s almost a squeak. It hurts him how much she clearly wants to believe him. How maybe, maybe she does. He nods. “I love you, too.”

Charles beams, cradles her face in his hands and kisses her. Kisses her like they’re in love. Because they are. They pull apart in a fit of giggles, his thumb dancing on her cheek, running over a tear. “Are you crying?”

“Shut up,” she says through a smile, turning around to lean against his chest again, wiping a tear from her cheek with a sniffle. It’s cute, he says. “Shhh.”

Through a peppering of kisses on her shoulder, her hair, her cheek, he repeats between each peck. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

last chapter masterlist next chapter

[tonyboneysblog]

MOTHER HEN: PART SEVEN

parings: hawks x mother!reader

wordcount: 3.2k

warnings: none

notes: daddy’s…home? genuinely so excited to write the next chapter cause if you notice the timeline, something big is coming😈😈

summary: you, the mother of Fumikage Tokoyami, are just a simple nurse! Who caught the eye of a certain pro.

You haven’t gotten a text from hawks in the past four days, which puts you in a sour mood.

technically it’s a little bit of your fault for kissing his forehead- but if the little shit would have just let you explain…

what’s even worse is that your unable to watch the sports festival- fucking hospital job.

And when you finally get home from that hellhole, Fumikage will be sassy cause you weren’t able to watch him.

He wouldn’t be angry just..slightly disappointed?

Then when you cuddled up in your nest yesterday you see that damned hawks plush you spent 30 dollars on…

So here you are at this amazing place of work! against your will of course.

Currently you’re at the water station- until you were rudely pulled away due to a pro hero getting hurt…as usual.

You open the door to see a younger, dark skinned woman with white hair and the cutest bunny ears on her head.

She looks at you and starts waving happily…your heart would feel warm if it weren’t for the blood on her face.

“Names Mirko!” Oh, you know her! Your sister used to be obsessed with her…well for a short period of time but still obsessed no the less.

“Mirko, how you feeling today?”

She sends you a thumbs up, “terrible!”

You chuckle softly and walk over towards her, accompanying another one of the doctors.

“What’s her condition?”

The doctor sighs, “nothing too serious, we ought to check her for a concussion though..and she’ll have to at least spend one night here.”

“With those injuries it should be longer no?”

The doctor shakes his head, “can’t keep Mirko tied down for too long.” Then proceeds to just…walk out.

But Mirko doesn’t let it stay too quiet.

“So, your name is?”

You smile softly, “ Y/N Tokoyami.”

Mirko looks like she’s pondering for a moment..looks as if she knows you from somewhere.

“I swear I’ve heard that name before..” she says quietly.

You smile again, “you probably have, so is there anything you need?”

Mirko puts her attention back onto you, “nah, I’ll be alright.”

“Really, Why’d the doctor call me in then?”

“Because I complained my ass hurt, I’ve been laying in bed all day.”

You chuckle, “that all?”

She nods her head quickly.

“Well, let’s hope you don’t get a bed sore kay?” You shoot a thumbs up towards her, same she did to you earlier.

Then you walk out, wondering why she even needed you…

But Mirko knew why, hawks told her you were nurse and she wanted to she what all the fuss was about.

Truthfully, he’d been talking about you every time she saw him while on patrol.

She supposes his ramblings are correct, you’re cute.

Then again Mirko has never really pinned hawks as the mamas boy type, and you echo the motherly type.

But you’re sweet, maybe that’s why he’s so attracted to you?

So, Mirko pulls out her phone to bother hawks about his little high school boy crush.

she took it the the group chat though, little asshole.

BEST PROS.

carrot foot

Found ur gf hawks

caw caw bitch

what

caw caw bitch

where

jorts

who?

carrot foot

Hospital

INCOMING FACETIME CALL

Mirko sighs and answers it.

“Where is she, she look cute?” Hawks says frantically.

Mirko shakes her head, “again hawks, get a grip.”

Mirko can hear the wind howling into the phone, of course hawks is flying while on the phone.

“Answer me.” Hawks says sternly.

Mirko immediately starts rambling about the very small amount of information she has on you, “Damn you got a mommy kink or something, cause that woman is a MILF. I mean M.I.L.F.”

“What- what the hell does…no?” Mirko can pick on hawks confusion through the phone.

“Hawks, man, that woman echos mother. Here she is mothering throughout the halls of a hospital!”

“Mirko, what’s your point here.”

“I mean she’s hot dude, get your head in the game…or in her i don’t-“

Mirko can then her hawks yelling loudly out of shock, “GROSS MIRKO, DONT MAKE JOKES LIKE-“

If he yelled any louder you could probably hear him in the halls.

Mirko laughs loudly, “Don’t get your panties in a twist, I’m joking.”

Then there’s an uncomfortable silence on the phone, a little too long for comfort.

but then of course hawks breaks it- as him usually does.

“I mean, I wouldn’t mind…”

Mirko starts laughing again, “aha! Damn dirty bird- go get your wings ruffled elsewhere man!”

Hawks responds quickly, ignoring Mirko comment.

“I gotta go- I see a best jeanist and I’d like to go pull his ear.”

Mirko huffs, “fine, but he isn’t your wingman-I am.”

Hawks laughs softly and hangs up, leaving Mirko in silence.

Until you walk in.

“Oh, there’s my favorite nurse!” She beams.

“Do you mind if I watch the sports festival in here? My kids in it..”

Mirko nods her head, “I don’t mind- need to look for recruits anyways.”

So, there you and Mirko sit watching the sports festival together.

Many times throughout it you had to put a hand over your mouth to keep yourself from screaming and alerting the others your not technically working at the moment.

but during every break in the sports festival, you rushed and did your actual duties as quickly as you could.

Then when you came back, and the 1V1 battles have already started.

And of course your gorgeous boy conquers and destroys the competition.

One after another, what was most surprising to you was seeing todorokis and midoriyas fight, aggressive and raw.

made you vividly remember that was the boy who tripped on his own ice..

You were a little scared that’d he have to face your Fumikage.

Instead it was Katsuki Bakugo who faced him, and after that fight he’ll be the only kid who doesn’t get your end-of-semester cookies.

I mean cmon! Grabbing your son by the beak?! Unbelievable…angers you to your core because who does he think he is?!

But it’s fine.

Fumikage would’ve won if it were anyone else.

But Fumikage still got third, and you can shove it in all your friend’s faces that your son is awesome and that they could never.

Because Fumikage is one of a kind.

You look over to Mirko after jumping for joy for your son’s new shiny medal.

“He’s a good fighter, y’know I know someone all birdy like that.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yea, hawks.” She says bluntly.

You can feel the color drain from your face, hawks low key, high key broke your heart after your last interaction.

“Oh… well I’m sure Fumikage will consider an invitation from him.- if he wanted to work with him.” You say while tapping your fingers together.

Mirko pulls out her phone, typing something, you don’t know exactly what but…it’s whatever.

carrot foot

yea your cooked bud

caw caw bitch

what

Mirko seats down her phone next to the table, where you can hear it buzzing loudly…

“Uhm are you gonna check that?” You say nervously.

“Nah, he’s fine.” She says as she finally relaxes into the bed she had been complaining about all day apparently.

“Ah…okay?” You then hop out of the seat, making your way back to your work.

You should get him an apple pie to celebrate, or maybe just straight apples cause Fumikage will go crazy either way.

Hawks briefly crossed your mind again, what was his favorite again? Wasn’t apples you know what…it was probably something dumb- just like him…

dumb, dumb, dumb man.

enough of him, you have work to do…

right after you call Fumikage!

It rings, but he doesn’t answer? Which is weird because Fumikage always answers his phone unless it’s dead.

Yes that’s probably why, he’ll call you right back when it charges.

But Fumikages phone was in-fact not dead, he was just…distracted?

Fumikages eyes squint slightly, “What could you possibly want.”

It’s hawks he’s being so standoffish with, but hawks just sends him a soft smile.

“It’s the sports festival, of course I’d be here.”

“You decide to stalk me instead of my mother?”

Hawks goes quiet, his carefree smile faltering.

“Not exactly..we got in a small spat.”

“If you’re trying to get me to talk to her for you, it’s not gonna work.” Fumikage starts to walk away before hawks grabs his shoulder.

Then dark shadow comes out.

Hawks steps off slightly, “that’s kinda freaky…”

“Kinda like your face.”

Dark shadow looks over to Fumikage, “that wasn’t even a good comeback.”

“Shut up dark shadow.”

Dark shadow scoffs and folds his cute little shadow arms with what looks to be a pout on his face.

Hawks face completely loses the carefree smile, “I’m serious when I say I’m not here for you…well not technically.”

“What do you mean by that.”

“Yea, what do you-“

“Dark shadow…”

Hawks lets out a small breath, “I was interested in you being my sidekick due to the skills you showed off on the fie-“

“Not interested” Fumikage says curtly.

Dark shadow whips his head over to look at Fumikage with surprise, whispering something in his ear.

“He’s number three- you can’t just reject an offer from him!”

“I can, and I just did.”

Then it’s silent, Fumikage doesn’t mind though.

Hawks sighs softly, putting back on the smile Fumikage hates so much.

“Well if you ever rethink it, my agency will always be open.”

“I hope retribution comes for you in the darkness of your home.”

Hawks stays quiet but then his face twists into confusion, “what does that even mean..?”

Fumikage huffs and if he had hair he would most likely flip it whilst walking away.

Fumikage leaves hawks standing outside, utterly confused in what Fumikage was even talking about.

Maybe that’s what you meant when you said Fumikage was unique…

speaking of you, you were still at that darn hospital.

Fumikage was aware of that, you always worked a lot but the times that you weren’t working you tried your best to spend them with him.

Until Mr. Pro-Hero decided to come into your life..

The first time Fumikage really noticed your relationship with hawks was when you had the talk on the balcony.

He knew he wasn’t going crazy when he thought someone was under a blanket, a blanket you don’t even use may he add.

Then the next day when he went up to your balcony, the blanket was in-fact no where to found.

Then he caught him in your kicthen, Fumikage debated on even eating the cookies because maybe hawks terrible aura rubbed off on them.

They were delicious but that’s not the point!

Then hawks wanders into Fumikages home, which was locked, uninvited looking for you.

Only time Fumikage could tolerate hawks was when he had to save you from the bar.

But then his tolerance shot down when he walked in on the two of you coddling each other.

Then he heard the “little spat” you and hawks had which is why he rushed into your room so fast.

Honestly, who does that damn fowl think he is?!

Fumikage explains all of this to poor dark shadow, who truly just wanted to watch a movie with him.

“Sounds rough.” Dark shadow says quietly.

Fumikage huffs, “It’s worse than rough dark shadow, it’s appalling.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t be so…extreme with hawks- Momma seems to like him.”

“Correction, liked, my mother will never participate in any romances with that man again.”

Fumikage ends the conversation there, but dark shadow would like to expand on the topic.

“It was nice of hawks to offer you that side kick position.”

“well being nice doesn’t cut it.”

Finally, the conversation about hawks is finished, Fumikage only ranted for 4 hours this time!

And he’d finished 3 movies in that time as well…maybe the hospital will let you off early.

So Fumikage and dark shadow fight the urge to rest, which they both utterly fail and fall asleep on the couch.

You come in around 5:30 so they never stood a chance, not after the day Fumikage had.

You walk into the door, spotting only Fumikage.

You stumble over towards him, sitting on the floor and brushing your hand through his feathers.

Fumikage is knocked out, so he won’t wake up if you pick him up.

You use all your remaining strength to pick Fumikage up, making your way towards your bedroom.

It’s been a minute since Fumikage got cuddles from his mama.

And also you seriously doubt you could carry Fumikage back to his room, then walk back to yours without passing out onto the floor.

You place Fumikage under the warm covers, then yourself.

You then wrap your hands around Fumikage as tightly as you possible could, as if someone would take him away if you didn’t.

Then you rest, same as Fumikage.

Same as hawks.

And hawks truly needs to thank you for whatever you did to make him stop having those nightmares.

barely dreams now, and if he does it’s always weird shit.

usually has you in it too.

nevermind, you probably cursed him and overrode whatever put that nightmare spell on him.

a curse that just makes him dream about you.

Now he really wishes he talked Mirko into getting a picture of you, he misses you bad.

Maybe a text wouldn’t hurt? No, too risky- you’re probably still mad at him.

Maybe he could worm his way back into your life with that weighted blanket, if his plan worked he could probably steal it back anyways.

It still smells like you, which is weird because he’s had it for awhile.

That’s probably his favorite part of the day now, getting home, taking a shower, cuddling into his mostly bare bed and just sniffing that shit like it’s coke.

Kinda like how some people spray lavender onto their beds to get sleepy, he just smells the hell out of that blanket.

He wishes he was able to snatch another item from your house that smelled like you.

Fumikage doesn’t really smell like you, he noticed.

He smells kinda like wood? And also a little fruity too.

You wouldn’t really guess fruits and flowers from looking at him but maybe your scent rubbed off on him too.

Honestly, hawks kinda feels like Edward when Bella first walked into that classroom though- hawks wouldn’t be covering his mouth to avoid the smell, he would be INHALING that smell.

He would never admit that the night that he comforted you out on that balcony he didn’t even go home and change, he kept that uniform on.

The coat didn’t truly smell like you, but the under shirt did.

Maybe he’s going a little crazy, sure he’s real kept together most the time but- the things you do to that poor man.

And Mirko- peacefully sleeping in the hospital, she may be hawks wingman but she needs her rest too!

And when you wake, you’ll have to go right back to the hospital.

doesn’t men’s you can’t talk to your son before you leave though.

“Mama.” Fumikage says sleepily, awoken from you moving all around the room.

You perk up now your son’s awake, “Fumikage?”

Fumikages eyes a still closed, fighting to go back to sleep.

“Did you see me, in the sports festival?”

You run your hands through Fumikages feathers, “Course’ I did.”

Fumikage smiles softly, “guess who talked to me after..?”

“All might? I saw it on-“

“No it was hawks, invited me for an internship.”

You jaw slacks slightly, “did you accept?”

“No, not after what he’s done.” Fumikage says with a little rasp in his own voice.

“You should’ve.”

“What?”

You sigh, “hawks is number three- doesn’t matter what he did to me Fumikage.

Fumikage stays silent, suddenly now regretting telling you.

“But…”

You kiss his temple, “thank you for thinking about how I’d feel though. Don’t let my emotions or relationships get in the way of your future.”

Fumikage nods, understanding your point of view.

“Are you leaving for work?”

“Yep, it’s not a long shift though.”

You open your bedroom door, “I’ll see you later, Fumi.”

Then walking out of your own house, making your way to the hospital.

Once you walk in, your infact greeted with Mirko!

and hawks.

“Ah, my favorite nurse!” Mirko cheers excitedly.

“Mirko! Shouldn’t you still be on bed rest?”

Mirko chuckles, “glad you’re worried about me toots.”

You gasp a small bit at the nickname, “Oh!”

Mirko places her hand onto her hip, “Hey, didn’t I see you hear like 7 hours ago, why you already back?”

“Duty calls?”

Hawks chuckles at that, wasn’t even funny.

Mirko throws an arm around hawks, “this was the birdy boy I was talking about!”

“We’ve met.”

suddenly there was an awkward silence.

Hawks wanted to throw himself out a window, you wouldn’t even look at him.

Mirko taps her foot nervously.

“Hawks…” you say his name softly.

His head perks up form Mirko hold, “yeah?”

“Sorry that Fumikage rejected you…I know how he is.”

Hawks can feel his heart beating in his ears, “it’s all good- doors always open.”

You nod softly, looking away.

The three of you just stand there in silence, Mirko foot tapping repeats.

Then she breaks, “Mrs Tokoyami, sorry for holding you up-You got a job to do!”

You jump in surprise, “ah- your right, it was nice talking to you both!”

You quickly walk away to clock in, Mirko and hawks make there way outside.

She scoffs, “had the perfect opportunity.”

Hawks rolls his eyes, “I wasn’t gonna apologize to her in a hospital.

“I’m going to put you in the hospital/ what the hell even was that back there?!” Mirko exclaims.

Hawks pushes her arm away, “I was nervous.”

“Doors always open!” Mirko mocks him.

“Oh quiet down.”

“I’m your wingwoman- giving you a perfect chance and you fuck it all up.”

“It wasn’t that bad-“

Mirko smacks the back of his head, “Hawks, shut your trap.”

Hawks doesn’t reply, walking next to Mirko throughout the less populated areas of town.

Mirko snaps her fingers, “You know what, I can fix this.”

“You can?”

“Of course I can, I’m Mirko.”

Hawks groans softly, already annoyed by the days events.

Mirko starts her plan, “clearly she cares a good bit about her son-but there feeling are mostly separated for different things.”

Hawks nods along.

“So instead of getting all cushy with her son again, you need to fix it with her- clearly your not gonna getting through with her son based on what you told me earlier.-“

Hawks interrupts, “her son is always home though.”

“Don’t interrupt me, he goes to U.A. I bet they have some trip for passing the exam.”

“How are we supposed to find that out?”

Mirko groans, “let me talk, I’m always going to that hospital for some reason- I’ll find something out…she likes me unlike you.”

Hawks looks away with a pout, “Don’t say that…”

“I’ll say whatever I want, I’m your wingwoman.”

Hawks and Mirko continue their walk up until they get to his agency, since Mirko doesn’t have one.

Though Mirko continues walking, “See ya later, Hawkey.”

“Where are you going?”

“To my house?- don’t fuck up anything else while I’m gone.”

Hawks huffs lightly, walking into his own office.

He has so much paper work to do, then the commission will be badgering him later for “doing it wrong” according to them.

He can’t wait to just be home.

Be home next to you.

or…your blanket at the very least?

…he really needs to fix this.

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[ghost-proofbaby]

OH SAY LESS 14 WITH ASTARION PLEASE

so this is my first time publicly writing and posting astarion, so please be gentle. higher word count solely because i felt the need to add lore because, ya know, first time writing him! also, i changed the line just a tiny bit to better fit the character and scene. ALSO, uh... this is a little fade to black. i'm sorry. it just got too long.

14. "Oh, you're hard to please."

warnings: foreplay, sorta fade to black smut (it's there if you squint your eyes), an ungodly amount of pet names, mentions of past sexual abuse and healing from it, technical game spoilers, not edited, 18+ so minors do not interact

pairings: astarion x afab!reader (no pronouns used)

wc: 4.4k+

join the smutty party! send me one of these smut dialogue prompts with a character

How long had it been since Astarion had actually enjoyed sex? Craved it, even? 

If he recalls correctly, it had to have started to become tainted well over a century ago. Somewhere between the first and the third victim, when he’d realized how every single beautiful soul he had entrapped were simply being lured to their own death. And then, the sour taste left in his mouth only became more pungent the longer it went on, the more he came to the realization of just how used he felt. His body was no longer his own – it technically hadn’t been his from the very second he’d emerged from his own grave, and Cazador had been waiting for him – and everything about the act became an old rehearsed dance that he’d grit his teeth through. A chore, something to make his stomach churn, something to regret. A means to an end. 

Plainly put, it had been a while. 

But then you happened. You, who hadn’t blinked an eye when the first time you met him, he’d literally threatened you with a gods damned blade to your throat. You, who had repeatedly trusted him, even when it had been an objectively stupid thing to do. You, who had always offered him the utmost patience and genuine understanding, to the point in which if he thought about it too hard, he’d probably cry. You, who had led your group of misfits with brain worms right into victory, with plenty of personal demons defeated along the way. 

Personal demons including Cazador. 

Maybe that’s when things changed for Astarion. He’d already fallen for you before your group had reached Baldur’s Gate, he’d already gotten to know your body intimately before ever laying eyes on that ridiculously oversized brain you somehow made look easy to defeat. But that had been different, hadn’t it? He hadn’t really wanted to do that (not meant as an offense to you – certainly not after all was said and done), but had thought he needed to. To gain your trust, to gain your protection. And in the end, it turned out he never needed to do such a thing. You’d never said it outloud, probably at risk of making him feel even more regret after you’d learned all his secrets and darkest corners, but he knew. 

And knowing that you didn’t view him as something purely sexual, as a means to an end, as an item to use – well, it had the opposite effect of his request to no longer be viewed in that light. 

“What are you doing?” he says as he quickly looks up from his current book he’d been pursuing the moment you’d entered the room. He hardly cared for the words on the page – he just needed a way to pass the hours until you were available again. 

It was a hard habit to kick. Being so codependent on you, even with the end of the world resolved and the gift of safety being handed over to him on a silver platter. 

“We received mail,” you’re grinning wickedly as you hold up an embellished envelope, delicate fingers pinching the parchment as if it were the greatest gift to ever exist. He’d argue the real gift at hand was the last three months – time spent with you, in a place he can call home. But nothing could impede on your good mood as you throw yourself down on the mattress beside him, “From Withers, of all people!” 

His brows shoot up for just a moment before his face twists up with something akin to distrust, “Withers? What in the Hells does that sack of dust and bones wan-” 

“A reunion,” you cut him off, the look on your face warning enough against his attempt at an insult. “He’s reaching out to all of us to bring us together for a celebration, to check in on everyone, let us see each other again. Apparently, we were the easiest of the bunch to find.”

Astarion quickly lets out a tut as he snaps the book shut and discards it on the bedside table closest to him, “Well, we certainly need to fix that. Soon enough all of those little shits are going to end up on our doorstep, preaching about the power of friendship and how they want to check in on us.” 

You snort at that, laying flat on your back with your hair wildly spread out in a makeshift halo behind you. The sight causes something to stir within him, his gut twisting as he watches the way your knees knock together before slowly falling apart, your legs settling down as flat as the rest of your body.

He hadn’t taken you since that night at his grave. Before the epic final battle, before the two of you had made the decision to settle down somewhere for some well-earned peace and quiet. 

The moonlight dances past the open curtains, and his breath catches in his throat at the way the blue shadows dance across your skin. It almost reminds him of the first time he’d seen you fight. It hadn’t just been the blood splattered across your cheeks that had really gotten the better of his curiosity (even if that’s what he had told you when you asked), it had been the sunlight. Those rays of gold that had mingled with your own aura of warmth after you had helped the tieflings for the first time. 

You put the sun to shame, truly. And he missed it – Gods, did he miss it – but he was content to bask in the peace of night for a few months more before he finally cut you loose from the leash to begin your next phase of adventures to find him a cure. You had promised him you would, had already dedicated plenty of free time to research, and all you really needed was his word to begin. 

He’s selfish. The two of you can find a way for him to walk in the sun once more another day; all he wants right now is to bury himself in your warmth, to slot his body between your thighs, to hear every breathy gasp and the way you’d practically sing his name-

“Star?” you’re looking up at him from an awkward angle, eyes owlish and chin tilted painfully far back as you clearly await an answer to a question he’d been too lost in a daydream to overhear, “Did you hear me?” 

He clears his throat and adjusts the pillows behind his back, keeping him propped up as he admires you, “Of course I did, darling.” 

“Then what did I just say?”

“Something about how we’re absolutely not going to this reunion, yes?” 

Your smile is nothing but patient as you flip onto your stomach. He watches the way your shorts ride up your thighs, how the top of the soft fabric bunches at your waist. His fingers practically twitch with the need to weasel their way under it, to press his cold fingertips into warm flesh and hear you preen. 

Whenever you’re ready, you had whispered to him one night shortly after saving the world. Just tell me when, and I’m yours. 

He was ready. Insatiably ready, really. 

“Very funny. I said we should go, though. It’d be nice to see everyone again, wouldn’t it? All our friends?” 

You’re still talking about this damned reunion. Astarion has half the mind to figure out a way to summon the insufferable skeleton right here, right now, and drive a dagger into his bones until he’s truly nothing but dust. Solely for the distraction. 

“Your friends, my dear,” he corrects gently, “We both know they’re only overly fond of one of us in this relationship, and it certainly isn’t the one that they repeatedly threatened to stake.” 

The furrow of your brows is impossibly cute – he knows that look of determination. It’s the same one you wore when he mentioned it was likely that the two of you would never find a cure to his condition. 

“Our friends,” you insist, “Karlach adores you, Star. And Wyll has always been proud of you, whether he told you as much or not.”

“And what of Gale?” 

Your lips twitch at that, “Gale… certainly wouldn’t stake you on sight.”

“Ah, yes,” he flourishes, trying to keep his eyes from wandering anywhere but where your hands press into your cheeks as you prop your face up to speak to him, “Not staking me. The ultimate sign of kinship.” 

Focusing is a losing battle when you roll your eyes, and he finds his mind overtaken with insatiable lust again. Imaginative ways that he could have your eyes rolling for him under different circumstances. 

“You’re not getting out of this. They are your friends just as well as mine – so argue all you want, but we’re going to the reunion.” 

“Are you sure there’s no other way I might be able to…” he pauses with intent, finally lifting one of his docile hands to your cheek, letting his finger graze the skin with a feather light touch before it travels back into the mess of your hair, “Persuade you otherwise?” 

You almost fall for it, too. Your eyes flutter shut, your head tilts into his touch as if you were starved for the connection. But even with the lack of sexual intimacy, you both know there hasn’t been a day that has gone by in the last three months where Astarion hasn’t found a way to get his hands on you.

Holding your own, resting his cheek on your shoulder, spinning you like a child in the kitchen – he had quite the sudden arsenal of romantic gestures that didn’t involve old wounds. It had been awkward here and there, some of them landing and some of them leaving you both looking like fools, but he was trying.

Almost as hard as he was currently trying to not jump your bones. 

When you recognize the innuendo for what it is, however, you harden immediately. Your shoulders set, a frown settles, and your eyes open with set determination he knows he can’t falter without speaking plainly to you. 

“No.”

“No?”

You’re quick to lift yourself up onto your knees, putting distance between yourself and his hands, “The days of weaponizing sex are over. I don’t even want to joke about that.” 

And, oh, he’s finding himself in quite the mood tonight, because as soon as you’re retracting, he’s following. As you settle on the haunches of your calves, he’s lifting up from his reclined position, leaning forward so that his face is breaths away from yours. 

“I mean it,” you warn, narrowing your eyes and holding up a finger in that small space between you two. 

He tests his luck, wasting no time in snapping his fangs just millimeters from your skin. You both know he wouldn’t actually bite you, but it still humors him to see the way you whip your hand out of his reach. 

“Were you not the one who insisted that we ask before we bite?” you snap, and his smile only worsens. Like a cheshire cat, like a child never scorned by the world – he’s radiant and basking in the moment. 

He lets out a small hmph before saying, “You’re no fun, my dear. Come on – just play with me for a moment, won’t you?” 

Your face softens at his teasing tone, and he can see the way he’s withering away your defenses one by one. There was once a time where he’d done it with malicious intent, but this time around, it’s with nothing but good intentions. 

If you asked him, he’d go as far as to swear it on his own grave. 

“I’m sorry,” you apologize as if you’d done something wrong, and it makes more than half of his own playfulness drain from his face in absolute displeasure. Before he can so much as open his mouth to scold you about unnecessary apologies, you’re continuing on, “I just… After everything we’ve been through, it’s not something I find particularly joyous to joke about.”

What a rare thing, to have found someone to bare your soul and all your burdens to, and watch them offer to help you shoulder the weight without second thought or regret. 

He’s never met someone like you in all his years, and he might never again. 

“And if I told you I wasn’t joking?” he asks slowly, carefully, trying to choose each word with the utmost care, “I’m not weaponizing – I’m offering.” 

Whenever you’re ready. Just tell me when, and I’m yours.

He was ready. Very, desperately, sorely ready. 

The topic of the reunion is all but forgotten as you process his words, nose twitching as you decipher all that’s he laying out before you. “I want more than an offer.” 

“Excuse me?” 

He can’t help the small laugh that leaves him as he sits up properly, leaning into your space fully now with one hand pressing into the mattress just beside one of your thighs. He can feel the heat radiating from you, smell your blood rushing to your head as you try to be sensible. It’s a pitiful excuse for an internal war; all he has to do is close that conveniently small distance between your lips with his own, and you’ll have lost all sense of logic. 

“You’re…” you trail off, searching his eyes as if he holds the answer you’re currently looking for, “You’re sacred to me, Astarion. You must know that. And it will take much more than some joking offer to convince me to have sex with you when I know-”

“I’m not joking,” he’s nearly whining, letting his forehead fall forward to press to yours, “Gods, I am not joking about this. Cross my heart and hope to die again.” 

If he has to beg, he will. 

He’s spent two hundred years in an insufferable position of pure misery, pure shit, and the realization that he’s finally free has everything clicking into place. Proof of the change exists solely in the fact that he could have resorted to his tired old seduction routine from his life before to get what he wanted, but instead, he’s trying to just communicate. 

It was a novel moment. 

But he could appreciate it later, when the crotch of his pants wasn’t becoming increasingly uncomfortably tight and he wasn’t watching you closer than prey. When his stomach wasn’t so tight with desire and anticipation, just waiting for your word to indulge. 

“Do I need to beg?” he sighs, his lips brushing against yours ever so slightly from proximity. He catches the shiver that runs up your spine. “We both know I’m not particularly fond of it, but if I have to get on my knees for you- well, actually, that’s the entire point of what I’m asking.” 

You laugh at that, and his gut twists again, because it’s the most beautiful sound he’s ever had the opportunity to hear. Something more breath than any vocality, something sharp and spelling out the loss of words on your tongue. 

Your silence is enough for him to push it all a step further. Forehead still leaning against yours, he properly presses his lips to yours this time, slotting them between softer than a feather’s caress. Finding home as he can physically feel himself steal your breath away. His fangs just barely nip your bottom lip, unintentionally but still eliciting a delicious reaction of a gasp that makes him graze you a second time just to feel the way you’re leaning into him more, becoming absolute putty in his hands. Pliable for his taking, and Gods, he wants to take you. 

Something snaps. 

All hesitation has vanished as he grabs at your hips quickly, making use of the way your brain has gone blank from a simple kiss in order to lay you out below him. He moves you with ease, incredible speed in slotting himself between your legs before he’s caging your entire body in with his own. The squeak that leaves your lips from his manhandling affects him even more than your gasps had, a low growl shaking his chest as he kisses you deeper. Tasting, begging, searching – he wants this, but he needs to know that you want this just as badly. 

Your hands find purchase on each of his shoulders, squeezing tightly as if needing something to tether yourself to. You pull him in closer for a second, eagerly returning the kiss, almost feverish in the way you drink him in. But the next, you’re pushing him away, a game of want and sensibility still clouding your judgment impossibly. 

You always were stubborn about things like morals. And, well, it wasn’t very moral to just jump right into sex with your traumatized boyfriend who had explicitly said not to view him in terms of sex, was it? 

It was Astarion’s own damn fault. 

He could have just acted like a normal person, initiated a normal conversation in which he renegotiated his boundaries. But you’ve been on his mind all day, and he’s long since proven since the very day that you met him that he has little to none impulse control. 

“My, my,” he murmurs, pulling back from the kiss, eyes wild, looking at you with even more hunger than he had the first night you’d given him a taste of your blood in camp, “You’re just an impossible thing to please, aren’t you? Do you want me near, do you want me far? Tell me, my love, what do you want?” 

He settles all his weight onto one of his forearms as the other slowly brings his hand to your side, caressing over the soft fabric of your shirt – a shirt he’s quickly realizing is actually his own. He recognizes those flowy sleeves, that lacing across the chest, the off-white tone that had seen better days. Given all its wear and tear, he’s almost sure that it’s one of his shirts he had grown most comfortable wearing during the nights of your adventures against the Netherbrain. 

It’s cute. A sort of domesticity that he can ponder over later, when your legs aren’t hanging on his hips and your breaths aren’t coming out staccato as he hovers just out of reach from you. 

“I want whatever you want,” you whisper. Your eyes flutter open, looking at him with pupils so dilated they could swallow him whole. 

“Let me be very clear, then,” he hums, cold fingers creeping their way to the hem of the shirt, slipping beneath with practiced ease to find the smooth skin of your hips below. They dance and skitter up, up, up until he’s brushing against your ribs, “I want you. I want that warm cunt of yours, I want to feel every gasp and breath as your walls squeeze around me. I want to fuck you until you’re unable to walk on your own two legs, until you can only remember my name. I want to watch you come undone, my dear, and for it to be my own undoing.”

Your lips quiver in anticipation, and he feels your thighs tighten their hold on him, “Such pretty words. And… and no ulterior motives? No sense of obligation?” 

“None at all,” he smiles, a predator closing in on his prey, “I’m choosing this. If you want it, if you’ll have me, then I’m ready, pet.” 

Pet. The nickname rolls off his tongue, and he can imagine your walls fluttering just as your eyes do. 

Your hands lift from his shoulders to bury in his hair instead. One cradling the back of his head, the other resting on the nape of his neck as you toy with a snowy curl. It unfurls him further, has him humming lowly as he dips down to recapture your lips and bring you into him even closer. Closer. He needs all and any space between the two of you to become nonexistent. To feel every inch of your skin pressed to his, to allow you to physically curl up into his chest just as you had his mind all those moons ago, to make a home in a room with your name on it already somewhere between his third and fourth rib. 

“Do you really have to doubt if I’ll have you, my love?” you mutter against his mouth, smile breaking the kiss momentarily before he’s back with a vengeance. You don’t care – you’re apparently in a chatty mood, dodging his kiss to get your last words in, “There’s been a space in my heart for you since the moment I first met yo-”

“Yes, yes, very romantic,” he interrupts urgently, suddenly tugging your shirt up, “But, truth be told, love? I’m hoping there’s a space between your legs for me at this moment.” 

You snort, eyes pinched shut as you attempt to shake your head at the ridiculousness of the words that just left his mouth. At any other moment, you might point out how the outrageous comment is just another defense mechanism, veering him away from having to acknowledge the gentle sentiment behind your own words, but now’s not the time. When you open your mouth, probably to say something exactly along those lines, he rolls his hips down against yours, pinning your lower half deep into the mattress. You feel just how hard he is through his trousers – it’s impossible to miss, but he’s deliberating being sure that you feel it as he lets the tips of his fangs sink into your bottom lip. 

The resolve of fighting against his wishes is quickly dissolved. One thing after another, and Astarion has you bare beneath him before any other distractions or annoying conversation can send the two of you further off track. Your, his, shirt is tossed to one side of the room. Your parents fly to the other side of the bed. Only once he has the entire spanse of your body nude and vulnerable to him does he take the time to pause, to look down at you with absolute adoration. 

“Gods, you’re beautiful.” 

He’s said those words to you a million times before. Consistently greeting you with them, muttering them in the dead of night, whispering them as he kisses you awake. But they never lose their weight. And certainly not now, as he’s looking down at you like it’s the first time he’s ever seen that freckle on your chest or the curve of your stomach barren before him. 

“Please, if you’re comfortable with it…” you start, voice laced with desperation, but he shakes his head. 

He’s full of interruptions tonight, “Consider me comfortable with anything unless stated otherwise for this moment, my sweet.” 

“Take off your clothes, Astarion.”

His giddy smile should annoy you. That smug satisfaction in finally, finally getting his way as he undresses himself at almost twice the speed that he had stripped you. And yet he knows you’re enjoying yourself just as much as he is. You’re reveling in drinking in the bare caricatures of his body, every inch and every curve exposed to you just as you are to him. And when his cool skin meets yours again, his body sinking right into that space between your thighs that you’ve granted to him, you let out a short gasp that reminds him that you want this just as badly as he does.

You’ve waited just as long as he has. 

It almost mirrors that night on his grave. The slow descent of his body against yours, the way he slides a leg up to spread your own even further for him as he crawls his way back home to your lips. Unlike that night, however, he isn’t taking quite as much care, his movements far faster and far more needy. 

He’s been waiting long enough. He’s denied himself long enough. 

It really doesn’t matter when the last time he had enjoyed sex had been, because all that he cares about is that here and now, in this moment with you, there’s not a trace of imperfections to taint his enjoyment. 

Cazador is dead. The brain has long since been defeated. You are both safe. 

As he sinks into your heat, the only thing on his mind is that contentment, overwhelmed with the feel and smell of just you. 

He’ll never be a slave again. Never be viewed as something to simply be used and disregarded again, if you have any say. And one day, some day, he’ll even feel the warmth of the sun again. Thanks to you.

But until that day, the warmth of your love is enough.

When you sigh his name out so delicately, jaw all but unhinging itself in bliss as your back arches in reaction to his touches, he knows he’s made the right choice. 

And he supposes he lied, in a way, earlier. 

You’re not that hard to please – not when it comes to him, at least. Not when it’s his hands trailing along your skin, not when it’s his lips and fangs nipping at every opportunity. And certainly not when it’s his name that’s being chanted like a prayer from your lips in time with every thrust, every stroke, every single movement with the sole purpose of making both of you come undone. 

Astarion no longer questions when the last time he enjoyed sex was in the aftermath of it all. With you, pressed into his side, sweaty forehead nuzzling his chest, the only thing he cares about is the next time he’ll be able to do so. 

“We’re still going to that reunion,” you murmur, half asleep, fading away from him quickly to fall into blissful unconsciousness. 

He almost doesn’t breathe in fear of disturbing you. He’ll waste the night away, laying here, still as a statue for your comfort. 

It’s no surprise when he refuses to put up a fight, instead his hand simply drawing soft stars across the back of your bare shoulder blades as he sighs, “Yes, dear. We will. Now sleep.”

“I love you.” 

The words tumble from your lips so carelessly, so easily and without hesitation, he nearly shakes you awake to hear them once more. Again and again, he needs to hear them, to be reassured that you feel for him as ardently as he does you. 

But he has the rest of your forever to hear them. So he lets you sleep, sending you away with a simple press of his lips to your temples as your breathing evens.

“And I love you, my dearest sun.”

[disillusioneddanny]

For your random fun one shot

There's a fruit out there called Synsepalum dulcificum(aka miracle berry) that messes with the taste receptors(sour things taste sweet etc). Ectoplasm has a similar effect(for the purpose of the prompt that is, idk if it actually does).

So danny (either as Danny or as phantom)does shots of ectoplasm and tries a bunch of other heroes' favorite foods(starfire's cooking, red robin's and or oracle's caffeine abomination, random leftovers in the fridge, etc) and live streams it for charity while answering fan sent questions.

But then one of the flashes knocks over his shot glass while running by and all the food becomes animated and there's an epic food fight in whichever cafeteria he's in

enjoy a taste of chaos >:))))

Danny’s taste was a little fucked, he would be the first to tell you. There was this thing with ectoplasm that made his taste receptors just a bit different anytime he drank some. And because of this, his favorite thing was grossing out his Titans team mates any chance he could. The team had just as much fun as he did and it was technically Impulse’s idea to do this new tik tok series to introduce himself to the world as the newest member of the Titans. 

So, here he was, sitting at the break room table in the tower with vials of ectoplasm and the most fucked up foods his team could think of sitting before him. 

There was a cake baked by Miss Martian that Superboy had winced at. A veggie lasagna made by Beast Boy that Nightwing eyed warily. A strange coffee and energy drink combination courtesy of Red Robin.  Some kind of casserole that Stafire had excitedly made, and a random assortment of the weirdest snacks that Impulse could find. The entire team was now watching in horror as Danny took a shot of ectoplasm and looked over the terrifying arrangement of food in front of him. 

“This feels like a fucked up mukbang,” Danny said with an amused smile. 

Red Robin snickered from behind his phone. “What are you going to try first, Phantom? Everyone in the live are making bets on what you’re going to eat first.”

“Are we sure this isn’t going to kill him?” Superboy asked worriedly. 

“I’m already dead,” Danny said with a shrug. His teammates all gave him that same look of horror they did any time Danny reminded them all of his mortality. He supposed it was easy for them to forget that Danny was a ghost when the only other ghost they really knew about was Deadman and they were two completely different types of ghosts. 

Not only that, but Danny still hadn’t mentioned to any of his teammates that he was only half dead. He had yet to reveal his secret identity to any of them. He had only been a member of the team for about a month and none of them had shared their identities with him so it was only fair that he didn’t share that part of himself with them yet either. 

“Oh right,” Nightwing said faintly, that look of horror still on his face. 

Danny just gave them a sharp, fanged smile and grabbed the first thing on his tray. A small rock of kryptonite. He supposed it made sense to eat that first considering Superboy was looking sicker and sicker the longer they sat there. 

“Are you sure it’s fine for you to ingest kryptonite?” Wondergirl asked, looking a little uneasy. 

“Of course, my body breaks it down just like it does human food. It’s all just turned into ectoplasm and energy,” Danny said before popping the rock in his mouth and crunching on it like it was just a piece of bright green rock candy. 

He crinkled his nose at the taste, it was almost like eating pure sugar, it kinda made his teeth hurt. The same way it did when he was a kid and got his first cavity. 

“Well?” Impulse asked, practically vibrating with excitement. “Is it everything I imagine kryptonite tastes like?”

Danny snorted. “It tastes like I’m eating pure sugar,” he said before drinking another vial of ectoplasm. 

“That’s so crash!” Impulse shouted, slinging his hands out in excitement as he did. The following events were like slow motion. 

Impulse’s hand knocked straight into the tray of ectoplasm vials that seemed to scatter across the table, hitting each fucked up and questionable piece of food or drink on the small table.

From there chaos just simply erupted. Danny braced himself as the pieces of food started to slowly but surely float off of the table, the coffee-energy drink began to take form and create a small fizzy, coffee scented blob ghost that careened straight towards Impulse’s face. 

The veggie lasagna quickly grew pinsharp fangs that it gnashed and chomped at Beast Boy, loud screeches coming from its body. 

“Oh no,” Danny said, his face pale beyond belief. 

“Ph-phantom?” Nightwing stammered, his eyes wide with horror as the casserole that Starfire made started to slowly but surely inch its way towards the eldest hero. 

“Red Robin, end the livestream,” Danny hissed as an ectoblast started to form in his hand, his other hand inched towards the thermos that he kept at his hip.  

“But-” Red Robin let out a screech as Impulse tackled him just before a random giant pretzel launched itself at the vigilante. 

“End the livestream!” Superboy screeched as he shot lasers at the hurtling ball of cabbage that had launched itself at the hero like a cannonball.

“I’m not ending the livestream! We just got so many more viewers joining!” Red Robin shouted back as he started fighting back the chips that were now being flung his way. 

“Brace yourselves!” Wondergirl yelled as jello slung itself around the room. Danny just let out a groan as he started shooting ectoblasts, doing his best to subdue the ecto infused food. 

He was never letting his team convince him into bringing out the ectoplasm again. This was the worst idea they had ever had.

[creepycranberry]

Same people different circumstances: Pt 2

Pt 1

Warnings: not proofread, baby babble, flying toys, fluff, not proofread

——————————

You and Eddie had fallen into a rhythm, he came over most weeknights for dinner and would sometimes stay over when he accidentally stayed too late.

He would usually sleep on the couch or on the recliner chair in the nursery if Winnie was being particularly fussy. It was nice to have him around again, though the question of what your relationship was hung heavy over the both of you. You ignored it for the most part but late afternoons were spent watching Winnie and Eddie exist together like it was so natural and sometimes, just for a moment, you let yourself believe that nothing had ever happened. This was just how things were, this was the life you got to live.

Eddie had been around plenty of kids, but this was slightly different. Because babies weren’t technically yet kids. Steve’s son was about three months younger than Winnie. He wasn’t talking yet, he said baby babble and that was it.

Winnie had certain words down.

Her new favorite being “no.”

Every opportunity she had to use this new fancy word she took. Whether it was a whine over it being bedtime or a simple answer to a question or a shriek when bath time inevitably came around, no was said. No was said with such vigor that somehow it managed to cancel out the no’s she was told by you and Eddie.

And a no mixed with her now being able to walk was almost impossible to deal with at times.

It was a bath time tantrum that caused a slight emotional breakdown for you.

Eddie had a date tonight, which already put you in a somewhat sour mood, despite the fact that you were the one to suggest it.

You felt bad that he was giving you so much of his life, and while he didn’t mind it was eating away at you. You guys weren’t a couple and you weren’t exactly at a point in life where dating was a priority and you wanted him to be able to have fun and go out. It wasn’t fair that you keep him with you to help take care of your kid.

So he was out with Delia, who he had met at work when she went to get some maintenance done on her car.

You had found her number in his wallet when grabbing some cash to tip a pizza guy the other week and you had encouraged him to call her.

And now both you and your daughter were in a sour mood due to his absence.

She had already all but refused her dinner, but what she did decide to eat was mushed into her shirt so you had told her it was time for a bath And now you were sitting on your bathroom floor while Winnie repeatedly said, “no mommy! No baf!” While she played with her bath toys on the floor.

“Come on, baby, please?”

She shook her head, her signature pout finding its way to her lips as she began to cry in frustration.

“No baf mommy!” She insisted and you sighed.

“What do I have to do to get you to take a bath, Winnie-Bear?” You asked and she huffed.

“No Baf!” She reiterated and you groaned.

“Come on, baby, take a bath and then we can watch Bambi or Eeyore and then Eddie will be here to put you to bed and tuck you in and read you a story.” Winnie shakes her head again, “Winifred Lane you need to take a bath!” You snap and her bottom lip juts out and she begins sniffling.

“I’m sorry, baby, I just need you to-“ you’re interrupted by a Little People Horse figurine hitting you in the eye.

“Mean mommy.” She wails.

You can’t help but cry too.

Throwing was another addition she had discovered recently but she hadn’t quite gotten the concept of aim. It was likely she hadn’t meant I throw it at you, she was just frustrated and didn’t know what to do with it.

And the rational part of you knows that but the shock of it causes you to start crying too, covering your eye.

You simply stand up, trying to hide your misty eyes from Winnie as you walk out of the bathroom, leaving her standing there, wailing.

And That was the moment Eddie just had to walk through the door.

“What’s Wrong? Where’s Winnie?” He asks immediately, using the pads of his thumbs to wipe the tears from your cheeks but you don’t want it. You’re too overwhelmed, you don’t want to be touched or talked to or to hear your baby sobbing from the other room.

So you just point to the bathroom and then walk around him.

When Eddie goes into the bathroom Winnie is red in the face and crying so hard she can barely breathe.

“Aw, sweetheart.” He mumbles, “breaking my heart.”

He sits on the floor by her and holds out his arms, she climbs into his lap and sobs into his chest. He tries to sooth her the best he can, patting her back and humming ‘Winnie Lane is in my ears and in my eyes’

He stands to pace around the small bathroom, continuing to pat her back.

“What’s wrong, girlie?” He asks her.

“Me-mean mommy.” She sobs.

Eddie shakes his head, “she’s not mean, baby, she’s just tired. I think you’re a little tired too.”

The mere suggestion makes her worse, “no daddy! No bed!”

Eddie freezes, “you don’t have to go to bed yet, baby.”

She looks up at him with her red face and dramatic pout and Eddie melts, holding her as close as possible, “and I’m Eddie. Not Daddy. I know they sound similar but they aren’t-“

“No.” She shakes her head, still hiccuping a little but calmed at the knowledge that she’s not yet being sent to bed. She points a chubby finger at his chest, “daddy.”

She says it like it’s the most obvious thing.

“Sweetheart, why are you calling me that?” Eddie smiles.

“Mamá Lena.”

The old Cuban woman must have just assumed. She had always liked Eddie so it made sense he supposed.

“Do you want to color?” He asks her, changing the subject in hopes of distracting her so he can check on you.

She nods and almost throws herself out of his arms.

He sets her up in her high chair with a coloring book and some crayons, helping her pick out a coloring page before quietly heading down the hall to the bedroom.

The lights are off but Eddie can make out the faint outline of the bundle of blankets on the bed, the unmistakable snuffles coming from it make his heart squeeze.

“Sweetheart?” He coos softly to you but you just sniffle again. He sits on the bed, kicking his shoes off before putting his feet on the bed cause he knows it drives you crazy, “come on, can you sit up for me?” He reaches to the nightstand and flicks on the lamp.

You peek your head out of the blanket and he frowns at your tear streaked cheeks and at the one eye that seems redder than the other.

“What happened, sweetheart?” Eddie says softly, wiping away your tears with his thumb and moving your hair out of your face.

“She just got so upset, I just wanted her to take a bath but she was fussing and whining and I snapped at her and she started to cry and she threw a toy at me and it kind of shocked me and I just couldn’t do it and then you got here and I must’ve looked like the worst mom in the world but I just-“

“Hey,” he scooches closer to hold you better and you rest your forehead on his bicep,”you’re a great mom, you just got a little overwhelmed and I wasn’t here to help like normal, it’s okay.”

You scrunch your eyebrows together, “why are you back so early?”

Eddies eyes widen and he avoids your gaze, “just got tired.”

“Eddie.”

He sighs, “I hated it. She was great, she was fun to talk to but then I just kept talking about Winnie and I hated leaving the two of you here and disrupting Winnie’s normal and by the end she just told me to go home.”

“I’m sorry.” You mumble, picking at your thumb nail.

“Why are you sorry?”

“I feel like I somehow ruined your date.”

“You did no such thing.” Eddie sighs, “and from what I can tell it’s good that I came home when I did. Apparently all hell breaks loose when I leave for too long.”

You scoff and roll your eyes, allowing yourself to lean into him a little bit more, “we did miss you though.”

“I missed you, too. Let’s get some ice on your eye.”

“It’s fine, Ed's, it's not even that bad.” You shrug, wiping your nose with your sleeve.

“Nope. Just in case.” Eddie stands up and holds your hands to pull you up into a standing position.

You groan but get up and he holds your hand all the way down the hall.

“Mommy!” Winnie’s little arms reach out to you and you pick her up, holding her close.

“Hey, Winnie-girl.”

Eddie walks up to the both of you with a cold pack, inspecting your eye, “she’s got quite the arm. Should sign her up for softball.”

“And let her get a concussion or sprain her ankle? Over my dead body.”

Eddie chuckles and shakes his head, holding the ice pack to your eye. Winnie reaches out to see what he’s got, jumping at the temperature.

“It’s cold, Winnie-bear.” Eddie informs her, using your nickname for her.

The three of you migrate to the couch, Eddie holding Winnie, “she still needs a b-a-t-h.” You sigh.

“Maybe it’ll go smoother with the both of us.” Eddie offers and you shrug.

“Maybe. Hey Winnie? How about that bath, baby?”

Immediately she pouts, looking at Eddie to save her. When he doesn’t do anything she wraps her little arms around his neck and holds on tight, trying to distract him with a cuddle.

“Come on, after your bath I can read you a story and we can cuddle in your chair.” Eddie says and she shakes her head, “well then I guess you don’t want the new story I got you.” He sighs, “oh well. Maybe I can it read it to mommy since you wrong want to-“

“Baf, mommy?” Winnie perks up and you smile.

“Come on baby.”

She lets you give her a bath and dry her off. She picks out her pajamas and then pulls herself up into her chair, looking at Eddie expectantly, “sto-y, daddy?”

You look at Eddie with raised eyebrows, “daddy?”

“Uh, yeah I uh- miss Lena said something I guess. I tried to correct her earlier but she said no and-”

“So long as you stick around I don’t give a damn what she calls you.” You assure him, leaning your head into his shoulder, “that’s all up to her.”

Eddie nods and maintains eye contact with you until Winnie lets out an impatient huff.

“I’m coming, Winnie Lane.” He smiles, swooping her up into his arm and attacking her chubby cheek with little kisses.

You leave so he can put her to bed.

——-

After about a half hour Eddie wanders into your room, eyes slightly droopy. You scorch over to give him room and he flops down on the bed next to you.

“Come here often?” He quips, laying on his side with his head resting on his hand.

You laugh and shake your head, “not at all.”

“Damn. So I just got lucky, huh?”

“I guess so.” You shrug.

“How’s your eye?”

“It’s alright. It doesn’t hurt. I don’t think it will bruise.”

“That’s good.”

“How was the date other than what you told me?” You inquire and Eddie exhales deeply, leaning back onto your headboard.

“It wasn’t bad. She was fun to talk to, the restaurant was nice. She could just tell that I had missed you and Winnie and she was sweet about it, but she told me that maybe dating wasn’t something I wanted to do right now.” He explains and you nod.

“So I guess you’re done with dating for the moment?”

“No.” Eddie shakes his head and you involuntarily pout.

“What do you mean? You said you hated leaving Winnie and that you just needed to-”

“Well I figure if I’m dating Winnie’s mom I’ll get to see her more.” He shrugs, a sly grin overtaking his features.

You pause slightly for a moment, you feel the blush creep into your cheeks and you have to really try not to stutter when you clarify, “Was that an ask out?”

“Depends on whether or not you’d say yes.” Eddie smiles, fiddling with his rings.

“yes.” You say a bit too quickly for you liking, “I mean- yeah, sure.” You think for a second more, “but if it doesn’t work out you have to still be there for Winnie. I would forgive my-“

“I'm not gonna leave you sweetheart. And I would never dream of leaving her.” Eddie reassures you, pulling you closer into him and kissing the top of your head.

He doesn’t say the rest of what he’s thinking, which is that he had spent a year just wishing to have you back. There was no chance he would be letting you go anytime soon, or ever.

You nod and look up at him, wide eyed and smiley.

He looks back at you the same way and leans down, kissing you on the cheek.

You pout a little and Eddie smiles, knowing where Winnie got that habit from, “what?”

“Eddie?”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“Can you grow a pair and kiss me for real?” You sigh and Eddie laughs.

“Nothing I’d rather do, sweet girl.”

He leans down and brushes your lips with his, you can feel his grin and smell his cologne and shampoo.

You wanted to bathe in that smell, to have it around you all the time.

And Eddie would gladly make sure you could always have right there with you. He would always make sure that he was right there with you.

[oddballwriter]

The Second: Go Around

Summary: Upon some further reflection and revelations, Steven finds out that he may have ruined something that he didn't know was there in the first place. But he doesn't even have enough time to think on that due to an unexpected event.

Warnings: Angst, pining, implied unrequited pining, jealousy, sudden turns in plot near the end, mentions of kidnapping and a character getting kidnaped along with an attempt to kidnap the reader

Author’s Snip: Surprise! I've been cooking this up in the drafts for a while now. Technically, it was done, but I was in the trenches of studying for finals week and wanted to see if I could add to it once everything was done. But I figured that this was great as is. So she got a little bit of extra time to marinate.

Notes: This will in fact be a series on my blog so be sure to give some support for a part three.

I’ll shut up now. Enjoy! And don’t be afraid to request.

Word Count: 1,171

Taglist: @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @autismsupermusicalassassin @spicydonut25 @ominoose @iheartlovesickmen

It should be fun, meeting your best friend's childhood friend. But it leaves something sour in Steven's mouth and puts a pit in his stomach. Something about seeing it, being in the atmosphere of it, hearing jokes and laughs fly by like rapid-fire but not feeling involved in it. Not being in on the joke or being in the dynamic. It plucks at the strings in his heart in all the wrong ways. But he doesn't know why.

You clearly want the two key halves of your life to combine and get along but something inside of him bars him from fully doing it. He sits there listening to you laugh and smile at everything Samson says meanwhile he only gets a nod, and then it's right back to Samson.

You do talk to him of course. You prompt conversation between the two of them but he bars up when Samson starts talking. He seems to just naturally take up all the attention with his stories and references.

It feels torturous when it's meant to be joyous.

Steven can't put the feeling into words until Marc says it.

"Jealousy" he says.

"You're jealous that that Sammy guy is getting all of her attention instead of you," Marc explains. Steven scrunches his nose in disagreement, "I am not." he claims.

"Steven, you just sit there and silently sulk while you watch them talk, and then when they do involve you you just pass it off and then continue to sulk till whatever hang out the three of you are doing is over, and then you sulk a little more." Marc bluntly lays out. "I just don't know what to say. I feel like a third wheel when I'm with them." Steven says to defend his so-called sulking. "Then just talk to her for a bit and then if Sammy comes in you go off that." Marc recommends, "I know you don't do good with new people but I'm sure it'll be fine, they can just translate what gets lost." Marc points out, mentioning that you could act as a safety shoot for Steven.

"It feels inappropriate though, I feel like if I say something then it'll be awkward. I'm outside of their dynamic." Steven excuses.

"You want to know what's inappropriate, Steven?" Marc asks, "Making out with someone right in front of your friend while on a mission to stop the uprising of the apocalypse that they've accidentally been involved in." Marc mentions, "That's third wheeling." Marc concludes. "I get it, shame on me for kissing Layla. Thanks. The punch to the face really sent some mixed signals." Steven remarks sarcastically. "That is not the conversation we're having right now, Steven." Marc claims. "Well, then what is the conversation, Marc?" Steven questions.

Marc sighs, "I'm sorry to break it to you, but after all the signs, you don't get to be jealous because her childhood friend is in town." Marc says. "Excuse me? What are you on about? What signs?" Steven asks. Marc pinches the bridge of his nose in disappointment, "Damnit, I really didn't give you enough social awareness when you reformed after mom died, did I?" Marc grumbles.

"All the times she would make time to be around you. The times she could go out of her way to sit with you when you were on lunch break at the museum and then visit the museum to drop by the gift shop and talk to you on your shift. Going to your flat to watch documentaries with you. All the compliments, and comments, and check-ins, and phone calls. And the time she bakes vegan cookies for you." Marc lists off, sparing no detail. Steven stands there as Marc goes off, slowly and almost painfully coming to the realization as he goes on and on, finally seeing it and having it hit him.

"She liked you, Steven. She liked you a lot." Marc says. "She was practically giggling and twirling her hair like a schoolgirl anytime she talked to you." Marc adds.

Steven continues to stand there, shocked at this revelation and the stupid amount of time it took him to finally see it. Steven can only bring himself to ask "What... do I do now?".

"Well, that depends," Marc answers, "Do you like her back?" he questions. Steven thinks about it further and much to his own horror and dismay, he feels the feelings bloom from his chest, unpleasantly violent. Steven never answers but judging by the "hm" from Marc, he can see the blushing horror all over Steven's face. "That's unfortunate, Steven," he says.

"I really wish I could fix this for you, but I don't think I can, buddy." Marc solemnly confesses. "No..." Steven mutters, in denial, "You can manage something. You're good with people and getting them to turn around. I'm sure you can help me with something. Wingman something up for m-" Steven babbles, trying to reason out a way. "Steven, I think too many things are in the way of that now." Marc breaks to Steven, "You're not just Steven anymore. Now it's you, me, and Jake, not to mention that this whole thing also involves Layla too. And you might be a bit too late for the ship. She's probably taken her loss and moving on." Marc explains.

"So I should just move on too after just finding out about all this?" Steven asks.

"You do what you want Steven, but I can only help you so much. This is your own can of beans that you need to sort out." Marc says, "But you might have a disadvantage now instead of an advantage.".

Just as Steven taking it all in and what Marc is implying when saying that Steven has a 'disadvantage', he hears frantic knocking at his door.

He warily goes over to the door, unsure of who would be trying to see him right now, but when he looks through the peephole, and sees you looking panicked and continuing to knock he opens the door.

You're hysterical and look like you ran there.

"Sammy! They took Sammy!" is all you exclaim when Steven lets you in. "What? Who?" Steven asks and he gently grabs you by the shoulders to keep you steady, "Who took Sammy? What's happened?" he questions.

"These guys came out of a van and tried to grab me," you attempt to explain through sobs and gasps. Fearing that you might faint from how distressed you are Steven carefully guides you to a place for you to sit down. "They tried to take me but Sammy got in the way and tried to fight them off! I was able to get away but they took him!" you manage to explain to Steven.

"But they had the mark, Steven! They had the scale tattoo!" you exclaim.

Steven pales once he hears those words and he can feel Marc and even Jake get struck to their cores too.

How the hell are they still around and what do they want now?

[ruewrote]

𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑙𝑖𝑡𝑡𝑙𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠.

PAIRING: jj maybank x longhaired!reader WARNINGS: none GENRE: fluff, fluff, fluff SONG INSPIRATION: electric love by BORNS WORD COUNT: 668

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it had now become a routine between the two of you to wake up, get ready and then start the day surfing together. before you stepped foot out of the house jj would help tie back your hair.

it was such a hassle to keep it down when you were in the water, getting your arms tangled in it as you paddled back to shore. it was just too annoying, he must have had enough of your complaining because the boy watched video after video just to learn how to braid it.

you had no idea that he had taught himself how to do it, until one morning, you walked out of your bedroom to see him sitting waiting on the worn-down couch, scrolling through his phone until he heard your door shut, looking up with a contagious grin.

eagerly patting the cushion that was placed on the floor in between his legs, also noticing the new hair brush and hair bands next to his leg closest to you.

you can't lie and say it didn't take a while for him to properly learn how to do it, but you were patient and supportive of him. with more time that passed the dutch and french braids went from loose and in your face to tight and perfect.

sometimes you'd be impatient, kicking your feet against the floor, trying to knock the pins and needles out of your toes.

"are you nearly done jay? my feet are going to sleep!" you whined, slightly leaning your head back only for it to be nudged forward by the back of his hand.

"nearly!" he mumbled, one of the pins in between his teeth, making sure your flyaways were completely out of your way.

when he was finally done, you both grabbed your bags reminding him of anything you knew he would most likely forget, something important like his sunglasses, or sunscreen.

oh, and it wouldn't stop there, he would also take out the braids, running specific oils through the ends as he unwrapped each section, making it easier for you to wash it later in the week or the next day.

you would like to think that this brought you closer together, because of the very few days that you'd let your hair down to breathe. he got all grumpy and would not give you a real reason as to why he was in such a sour mood, but since you had known him for so long, you just knew it was because he felt 'unhelpful' that day.

you were so close to each other that you'd often lay in the hammock together, soaking in the sun, he absentmindedly played with the ends of your hair as you blabbered on about the day prior to the one you were in now about some obscure post you'd seen on tiktok.

"did you know that when you sleep that your brain kinda absorbs the fluid in your head and cleans it? but if you don't get enough sleep then you technically have dirty brain water if the process isn't completed," you exclaimed, throwing your hands up into the air.

"there's no fucking way." he then processed to grab his phone to search it up even if it was bullshit he still listened intently beside you.

everyone started to say there see you tomorrow for the night, keira hugged you, before getting into the truck to leave.

john b and sarah also called it a night, which left you and jj to continue to sit on the fallen tree in front of the fire.

"i know it's been a while since you started doing it, but i really want to thank you for putting in the effort in to learn how to do my hair for me..." glancing towards the now dying flames, then back over to him.

"i really appreciate you j, i hope you know that." with that said you walked over to him, pressing a light peck to his cheek as you walk into the shared house.

jj sat there bright pink under the moonlight.

© ruewrote.

[ghostandsoap]

Sweets and Suckers

John Price x Fem! “Peach” Reader

Tags: None.

A/N: I decided to write this series of fics in third person. I was afraid that this reader is too specific to be in second person...although this still is *technically* an insert reader fic. Feedback is always greatly appreciated. I would love to know your thoughts on this new “series.” I’ll be writing a whole separate fic for their first time meeting so keep an eye out! This is a tester fic. Just to introduce our reader and test the waters. Also, I have no idea if it’s canon to whether or not Ghost smokes. I have a headcanon that he smokes when he’s stressed. 

Word Count: 2.7k

“Know why? ‘Cause I have this little thing called patience.”

She wasn’t like anyone else that he had ever known.

She was the toughest, yet sweetest woman he had ever met. One minute she could be cursing out and beating the shit out of a blood thirsty, heartless terrorist…and the next she could be babying and gushing over Sergeant MacTavish because he got a papercut on his finger.

She had a way with words, but also a way with her fists. She could talk or fight her way out of anything, and Price had witnessed it himself on numerous occasions. She was fierce. She was a blaze of fire everywhere she went, tough as nails and overly aware of the darkness of the world around her.

And yet after all the evil that she had seen, she had a heart that was still as pure and bright as ever.

And he never expected to fall in love with her.

He was skeptical of her at first. Kate Laswell’s description of her didn’t make the most impressive image. 

Laswell’s descriptions painted a certain picture in Captain Price’s mind. A sweet, innocent female who didn’t know the reality of this job and this world. A soldier that had too much hope for humanity and too much zest for life that blinded her to what was true.

And when he learned what her call sign was, he nearly laughed in Laswell’s face.

“Peach?” Price scoffed, a little off put by such a girlish call sign. “Why do they call her that?”

Kate only smiled knowing that Price was already underestimating her without ever seeing her face or seeing her in action.

“She has thick skin and is sweet as can be…” Kate grinned. “Not to mention, she’s a true southern lady.”

Price fought the urge to roll his eyes, but he didn’t try to swallow down the dread that was bellowing up in his throat. 

Great. An American.

It took Price some time to change his mind. Even after meeting her for the first time, he wasn’t so sure that she was the right kind of person for his team. If he was going to work with her, he needed her to be disciplined. He couldn’t afford another soldier that was unpredictable in nature. He needed someone he could trust, someone who he could depend on no matter what.

And much to Price’s surprise, he wasn’t totally discouraged when he first met her. 

She didn’t look intimidating for the most part. She didn’t have the tall, broad stature like Simon Riley or the hard, cold stare like John MacTavish. She had a gentle look, a face that was lit up with a smile when the two of them locked eyes. On the surface, she didn’t look like the strict type…but there was something about her that Price could tell had a rough side to it.

She was easy on the eyes…very easy on the eyes. Price noticed that he had a hard time looking away from her. 

“Captain Price,” She greeted, and her southern drawl made his chest feel fuzzy. “I’m Sergeant [L/N]. But everybody calls me Peach.”

So I’ve heard. 

“Sergeant,” Price extended his hand, the warmth of her grip tingling up his arm. “Pleasure to meet you.”

And from there, the rest was history. 

Each and every day he saw more and more of her personality, and every day he found himself realizing how quick he had been to judge. He saw her sweet side and sour side. He saw how she adapted to every situation appropriately. She was intelligent, skilled, and always looking out for the people around her.

If anything, that was the thing that surprised him the most. She was selfless and would do anything for the people that she worked and spent the majority of her time with. She was everything he could’ve asked for when it came to working with someone.

Suddenly he was thinking about her when she wasn’t around. He wanted to talk to her about things that were more personal. His admiration turned into a romantic one, and he found himself wishing for a relationship that extended past professional.

The small talk turned into meaningful conversations. The passing glances turned into longing stares. The “accidental” touches turned into intentional ones. Before he knew it, he had grown to care for her. And before she knew it, she had grown to care for him.

That loud-mouthed, southern charm woman that had been thrown into his life was suddenly part of it so much more than he originally bargained for…but not that he was complaining. 

His team loved her, and she worked with them well. They were protective over her the same way she was protective over them. She took care of them when they needed it, but sometimes her bedside manner came off a little aggressive.

“Quit movin’ so much,” She growled, tightening her grip on the man’s leg. “I’m gonna beat your ass if you do that again.” 

“Wasn’t on purpose,” Ghost grumbled. “All of this because I was just trying to have a cigarette.” 

“And that’s another thing!” She howled. “You’ve gotta chill with the cigarettes. Since when do you smoke this much?” 

She was the best medic of the team. She had been trained by the best, and she was a natural caretaker. She was always quick to jump in when someone was hurt or sick. She never hesitated to fix someone up who (in her words) “needed fixin’”. 

When it was something unavoidable or something that was a purely freak accident, she was like an angel nurse. A sweet, comforting tone and gentle mannerisms that could soothe even the most panicked patient. But when it was something more…stupid, she tended to be a little more irritable.

Simon Riley wasn’t usually the one to end up on the wrong side of her temper. It was almost always Soap or Gaz who came waddling in with some sort of self-inflicted injury that was from horsing around or “just to see what would happen.” 

Ghost was much more careful. The only times he ever needed her help was when it was something really serious.

So when he came in hobbling on one foot and with a look of embarrassment in his eyes, she knew his streak had been broken. Now she was in a makeshift infirmary in a base in the middle of nowhere, trying to keep him still long enough just to get a good look at his giant’s foot.

“I only do it when I’m uptight,” Ghost muttered, feeling like he was being scolded as if he were a child. “I went outside for a smoke and my fucking ankle just gave out on me.”

Suddenly, her expression changed. A rush of empathy flooded her heart and her eyes morphed into a sensitive look. Ghost knew that she was only being so hard on him because she cared. She worried about his respiratory health due to the cigarettes. She worried about his mental state because he was feeling overwhelmed. Ghost appreciated her concern, but it just seemed like she worried more about others than herself. 

“Awh, Simon…” She sighed. “It has been a hard past few weeks.” 

“You can say that again,” He adjusted his skull mask on his face, to avoid yelping in pain at how she was touching the hurt part of his foot. “Although, I can’t blame that on me busting up my ankle for no reason.” 

“Well, the terrain’s not so level here,” She returned, holding his foot steady in her hands. “Somethin’ probably just snagged your foot when you were walkin’ by.” 

A few minutes of silence passed as she finished looking him over. Ghost strained and fought to keep himself from making any noises of discomfort. He hated being held back like this, and it didn’t help when Captain Price decided to stop by.

“What’s he in for?” Price leaned against the doorway, a grin of amusement on his face. 

She didn’t even have to look at him to know that he had a smirk on his face. She could feel his demeanor from where she sat with her back towards him. She was always happy to see him, but right now she had Ghost to finish tending to.

“Ankle,” She replied, releasing his foot from her hands. “Just twisted it.”

“Do you think he’ll make it?” Price snickered.

She couldn’t help but laugh, but she knew Ghost was feeling lousy, so she didn’t entertain any of Price’s jokes.

“Well, I don’t think it’s broken. I’ll stabilize it and I want you to try to keep weight off of it. Ibuprofen should help with the pain, and I think I’ve got some packs for the swelling.” She said to Ghost, who was just ready to go.

She was true to her word, working carefully and gently to make a splint for his foot, something to keep him from hurting it more. Price enjoyed watching her work. She was so focused and so serious about making sure he was getting the best care possible. 

“I appreciate it, Peach. I guess this is my sign to stop smoking, huh?’ Ghost chuckled, his smooth voice sounding a little bit more lively than usual. 

“Damn right it is,” She replied. “But for now, just worry about this foot healin’ up.”

She helped the monstrously tall man to his feet…or foot, rather – and made sure that he could manage to shift his weight to the other foot. He towered over her, as he did most people, but he was leaning on her like she was her lifeline. Once he was balanced, he was good to go.

“If you need anything, you let me know, okay?” She smiled, that sweet voice sounding out. She reached into her medic bag and retrieved a comfort charm of sorts. “Here’s a little treat for your troubles.”

Ghost’s eyes sparkled at the sight of the small, light pink lollipop, his fingers greedily peeling off the wrapper. 

“Oh, now I know why Johnny’s getting himself banged up all the time,” Ghost raised the lower part of his mask to put the candy in his mouth. “Thanks again, Doc.” He muffled through sucking on the lollipop.

Ghost limped out of the room, but he was moving better than he was when he walked in. Price watched as Ghost made it out of his sight before he turned back to her. Knowing that her attention was free, he spoke again. 

“He’s a grown man, Peaches.” He chuckled. “You’re softening up my men.”

She spun around in her chair, that radiant smile taking his breath away as it always did.

“I’m surely not!” She squeaked. “I’m always takin’ care of you, aren’t I?” 

“Of course. But I don’t ever get sweets.” He claimed, and her brows furrowed. 

“You mean suckers?” She corrected.

“Sweets.” He argued, but in the most playful way.

“Suckers.” She bantered.

This happened all the time. They had very different dialects and very different ways of saying things. She even argued with other Americans about certain words and phrases she used. A southern U.S. accent really is one of a kind, and Price never let her get away with it.

“Alright, well, I never get suckers.” He mocked her accent on the word in question, and she gasped.

“John!” She hissed, but couldn’t wipe the smile off of her face to save her life. “And the reason I don’t give you sweets is because you steal them out of my bag when I’m not looking.”

Now it was his turn to be offended, but only because he had no idea that she had caught on.

“I am appalled at such an accusation,” He clutched his hand to his chest. “How dare you accuse me of being a thief.”

She stood from her seat, reaching for his hand to pull him into the room. His cheeks flushed pink at her gesture, because he knew that it had been a little while since they had a moment alone together. It was hard to get even a few minutes alone when there was so much to be done and so many people around.

“Mm. ‘Cause you only take certain ones, and I know when they go missing.” She wrapped her arms around his neck, which caused the heat in his cheeks to spread to his ears. 

“And which ones are those?” He grinned again, knowing exactly what she was talking about.

She rolled her eyes at him, because she had walked right into this one. 

“The cherry and peach ones.” She sighed, shaking her head at his antics.

He was entertained. She knew him like the back of her hand at this point, the same way that he knew her. He loved nothing more than seeing her figure out something about him without him even telling her. 

Honestly, he wasn’t shocked that she had figured out that he was the one stealing her “suckers.” Although, it would’ve been really easy to frame Soap for their disappearance. 

“Oh? And I wonder why that is…” He continued.

“Cherry is your favorite, and peach reminds you of me.” She laughed under her breath, and hearing her say it brought so much pride to his soul.

“Ah, of course,” He ran his thumb over the apple of her cheek. “Such a smart girl…”

She couldn’t help but look away. If there was anyone who could make her shy, it was John Price. He kissed her then, her grin and giggle vibrating on his lips. They had missed one another, even though they hadn’t gone a day without seeing one another. 

“How are things today?” She asked, changing the subject. 

“The same as yesterday. And the day before…and the day before,” He answered. “I’m tired of sitting around.”

“I know. Me too,” She kissed him again, and his hands squeezed her hips. “Just a couple more days. Then we’ll be up and movin’ along.” 

He grumbled. Price was never one to enjoy the waiting game. He could only play so many rounds of poker with Gaz or tell so many stories with Soap before the boredom started chewing away at him. But that was the reality of some missions: just waiting until the right time to put the plan into action. 

“You make it sound so easy.” He chuckled.

“Know why? ‘Cause I have this little thing called patience.” She grinned.

“You also treat my men like princesses,” He countered. “Next thing you know, you’ll be painting their nails and Soap’s going to walk out in a dress.”

“Please. Soap would do that for five dollars,” She scoffed. “This is why I don’t give you any of my suckers.”

“Oh, that’s cruel, Peachy.” He groaned. “If you give me one, I promise not to make fun of the word ‘sucker’ and I won’t say anything about you turning my team into your squad of girlfriends.” 

“Fine. Deal,” She stepped out of his hold to reach for her bag. “Cherry?”

“Duh.” He sassed, and she rolled her eyes. 

She rummaged through her bag to find a cherry lollipop, but she couldn’t pass up the opportunity to mess with him.

“I think I’m out of cherry ones, honey bun.” She told him, and his jaw dropped open.

“That’s impossible. There were three in there this morning.” He gawked.

“How do you know how many there were if you haven’t been takin’ them out of my bag?” She questioned, not even hiding the victorious expression on her features.

“Uhm…” He paused. “I guessed?” 

“Bullshit!” She snatched a cherry pop out of her bag as if it were damning evidence. “You have been stealing ‘em!”

“I think that stealing is a mighty strong word,” He said. “Think of it more as…helping myself. Besides, I always make it up to you, don’t I?”

She held the stick towards him, and he didn’t hesitate to take it.

“I suppose so,” She watched as he removed the wrapper and popped it into his mouth. “What’s gonna happen if Soap comes in here and I’m out of suckers?”

Price chuckled as he swirled the candy in his mouth.

“He’ll live. It might do him some good.” Price reached for her waist again, pulling her back into his chest. 

“You know, I can just keep a stash just for you. All the cherry ones.” She suggested. 

“You’d do that for me?” His eyes lit up, removing the sucker from his mouth. “Cherry and peach ones?”

She snuck a kiss then, a very cherry tasting one that danced over her lips.

“Sure. And the peach ones.”

[elvensorceress]

sunday sentences 💕

tagged by @rogerzsteven @loveyouanyway @bekkachaos @exhuastedpigeon @daffi-990 @wikiangela @giddyupbuck @evanbegins @wh0re-behavi0r @hoodie-buck tagging if you are so inclined 💕 @eddiebabygirldiaz @hippolotamus @ronordmann @loveyourownsmiilee @spotsandsocks @monsterrae1 @shortsighted-owl @babytrapperdiaz @messyhairdiaz @stagefoureddiediaz @fiona-fififi @thekristen999 @disasterbuckdiaz @tizniz @spaceprincessem @heartshapedvows @diazsdimples @loserdiaz Unless finale with firefam sillies 💕

Buck meets him in the middle section and beams so brightly at him that Eddie breathes easier. He could forget his own name when Buck looks at him with so much joy and adoration. 

Even just the simple act of sitting next to each other, pressing arms and thighs together while on the way to a call puts the whole world back in alignment. Eddie’s finally back on the job and Buck is finally, finally next to him in all the ways he needs, all the ways that matter. 

It’s suspiciously quiet in the truck as they pull out of the station. There’s radio chatter about the traffic collision they’re on the way to. Nothing that sounds serious. But no one says anything else. 

Because Hen and Chimney are both staring. At him? At them? From their spots on either side of Buck and Eddie. They have wide-eyed, expectant expressions that are kind of tense and intense and a lot like being caught snitching cookies but instead of being scolded, someone is just waiting for a confession or admittance of guilt.

Buck looks back and forth between both of them and chooses to play dumb. “What is with the staring? I know Eddie is really pretty, but both of you have wives.”

Eddie bites his lip and is not going to turn red. His face is not going to get hot and he’s not going to say anything he doesn’t have to. Not. 

“Technically,” Chim says in a drawn out, this-is-also-only-formality kind of way. “She’s not my wife yet. Soon. Very soon. But not yet.” He grins brightly then, almost as brightly as Buck was. “She asked me to marry her though. I’m going to marry her.”

Eddie smiles back at him, and only aches with maybe two-thirds of his whole being. 

He’s never had that. He’s never been so ecstatically happy and excited about being able to get married. He loved Shannon. He did. She’ll always be his first love and the disastrous way it turned out doesn’t erase that. Frank’s voice always reminds him. But the idea of marriage wasn’t exactly happy then. For either of them. 

And knowing how it turned out and how neither of them knew how to be a partner to the other and how he never got to enjoy the little things about sharing his life with someone, not even housework and chores and dinners together. It only makes the aching Eddie now has in his chest that much worse. 

He wants that kind of partnership so much. He wants Buck to be his husband. He wants every minute, every day, whole lifetimes of being with him in that way. He wants to be excited about getting married and being married.

It’s too soon though. 

It’s brand new. They’re working on it. 

They have so much to work on. 

“What about everyone else?” Hen asks with pointed staring face again. “Any more wedding plans? New dates that we’re going on? Changes in relationship status?”

“Anything to share with the rest of the class?” Chim adds then holds up a hand like a stop now forever. “Anything that is not filthy gory hooking up because I think I speak for everyone when I say, we’ve had enough of hearing about Buck’s sex life. More than enough. Too much. Bad time all around.” 

“Okay,” Buck says with his own dismissive hand wave. “I have it way worse. When you talk about your sex life, I have to know that it’s with my sister, and that is just—” he makes a sour, disgusted face and shakes his head. “That’s worse.”

“I don’t talk about my sex life here in this sacred vehicle of life saving,” Chim protests.

Hen gives him a side eye. “You sometimes talk about your sex life here. In this sacred vehicle of life saving.” 

“Fine, one time. It was important. We didn’t know how to do the— never mind. You know what else is important?” Chim looks back to Buck and Eddie still pressed together in the middle of their sacred vehicle of gossip and asking too much information. “Telling your friends, your family, your sacred battlefield brethren. Brethren and sisteren?” He glances at Hen and asks, “What would the word even be? Why is language so annoyingly sexist?”

She gives him a “you know why” look. 

And he shrugs and continues. “We are your sacred colleagues, comrades-in-arms, ride-or-die, hashtag squad goals!”

“How do you even know ‘squad goals’?” Buck asks and Eddie would also like to know the answer to this question. Because he has never heard of it either and that is not something he will admit ever.

“My nephew taught me. He knows everything. You should know.” 

“Your nephew?” Buck gives him a strange look. “Don’t tell me Albert has a secret kid no one knows about.”

Chim makes indignant gestures, likely at the lack of comprehension, because that is definitely his “everyone missed my reference” reaction and he looks to Hen for sympathy.

Oh. Oh, but Eddie gets it. Of course that’s where Chim learned it.

“He’s marrying your sister,” Hen deadpan explains. “Therefore he’s your brother-in-law and any child of yours would be his niece or nephew. Or chosen non-binary equivalent.” 

It takes a second, but then a rosy pink flush colors Buck’s cheeks as he grins his “I love Christopher more than all the things” grin.

It’s way too cute. It’s too special and too sweet, and Eddie can’t stop the smile that touches his own face either. But he can press his leg against Buck’s and dream about holding both him and Chris in the biggest three-person family hug. 

read on to snippet #2

[celaenaeiln]

lol hi its me 12 am anon so uh tldr is that i hung out with my friend and we got drunk and we made out or smth but more importantly they made w fuckin list of dick grayson things i started talking abt while drunk

- “bad idea right?” but its dick grayson and his exes

- bruce technically gave dick a family but dick’s the one who like truly made it feel like a family when it comes down to it he’ll fuck up bruce for his siblings

- that one “5 man band” trope and how he can fit as the leader and the heart

- into a specific (blank) to lovers? dick grayson’s got you covered

- the “barney from how i met your mother basketball hoop scene” and “eleanor from the good place mom she never had” but make it dick and bruce (teenage or adult idc i’d love both)

- nightwing could 100% be the figurehead of the dceu (like im talking spiderman level) if dc would do something [this was timed . i talked abt this for like 30 minutes all on its own]

i am . so embarrassed. also i dont know if we made out before or after the rant and i dont know which is more embarrassing .

what. what. "more importan-" NO! NO ARE YOU KIDDING ME THAT IS NOT MORE IMPORTANTLY OH MY GOD!!!

MY MIND IS LITERALLY BREAKING RIGHT NOW!

WHAT HAPPENED AFTER THAT? Do you like her? Did she say anything?! I-

WAIT DOES THAT MEAN DICK GRAYSON LITERALLY GOT YOU TWO TOGETHER?!

NO WAIT!! SHE KISSED BACK. SHE KISSED BACK!

oh my god i'm reeling.

Have you guys talked about it yet?

I HAVE SO MANY QUESTIONS

I LITERALLY CAN'T THINK OF DICK GRAYSON RIGHT NOW AFTER THAT BOMB YOU DROPPED ON ME BUT FINE

"Bad idea right" was literally written for Dick Grayson!

Nightwing (1996) Issue #133

"Bad idea right?"

Actually every single Olivia Rodrigo's songs feels like Dick wrote it.

Like the sour album? Every time I listen to it I imagine that Dick just wrote the album because he was so mad at bruce after being fired from Robin lol.

"bruce technically gave dick a family but dick’s the one who like truly made it feel like a family when it comes down to it he’ll fuck up bruce for his siblings"

That's true too!

Batman (2011) Issue #11

"The truth is, I didn't save you from some dark fate, those years ago. You saved me from one."

Batman (2011) Issue #11

"And you still are saving me, every day."

Bruce gave Dick security but Dick gave Bruce a life. He gave Bruce the ability to become human, to be happy.

Take Gotham War for example,

Batman (2016) Issue #138

Bruce tells Jason he's saving Jason from himself and Jason in turn asks Bruce who's going to save Bruce from himself.

Cut immediately to -

Batman (2016) Issue #138

Dick.

Dick has always been there to pull Bruce out of his darkest days when he tries or is willing but Bruce giving up on Dick's ability to do so is symbolic of him giving up on himself. It's the height of Bruce's irredeemability.

Even after Jason died, Bruce indirectly called Dick to come join him but at this point his back up personality is too far gone for him to recover.

Batman: The Return

Dick literally is the reason Bruce stays connects to the batfamily. In a good way.

He has no reservations about keeping Bruce in check.

"that one “5 man band” trope and how he can fit as the leader and the heart"

5 man band trope: one leads, one contrasts, one thinks, one fights, and one keeps all of the above from killing one another

DAMN RIGHT

He's the leader.

Batman: Gotham Nights (2020) Issue #12

And the one that keeps them all together

Batman: Gotham Nights (2020) Issue #12

Dick is the defacto leader when Bruce is gone or lost it.

Batman (2016) Issue #137

Batman (2016) Issue #704

Batman (2016) Issue #704

"Selina doesn't run Gotham. You do. While I'm away."

And the family's protector.

Batman (2016) Issue #137

"into a specific (blank) to lovers? dick grayson’s got you covered"

Yup!

Canonical:

Childhood partner to lovers - Raya Vestri

Friends to lovers - Barbara Gordon

Enemies to lovers - Shawn Tsang

Psuedo-family to lovers - Helena Wayne (they actually married in Earth 2)

Crime fighting partner to lovers - Helena Bertenelli

Kiss at first sight to lovers - Koriand'r

Pseudo-therapist to lover - Bea Bennet

Landlord to lovers - Bridget Clancy

Teammates to lovers - Zatanna

X to lovers - literally him and everyone

He's just so shippable that way. Not gonna lie, literally all of his relationships Dick and his lover have been great together.

the “barney from how i met your mother basketball hoop scene” and “eleanor from the good place mom she never had” but make it dick and bruce (teenage or adult idc i’d love both)

The New Teen Titans Issue #50

Man this hits hard. I've never seen how I met your mother but the parallels in the basketball hoop scene and Dick's talk with Bruce are uncanny.

The thing I think is weird about Dick and Bruce's relationship is that it's steeped in insecurities for each other. Dick feels hurt and betrayed and lost as to why Bruce would take in a new robin so suddenly and Bruce's tenure as Dick's robin is riddled with insecurities about him not being a good enough partner.

Batman and Robin Eternal Issue #6

However it's because of these insecurities that I believe they are close.

The difference between Barney and his dad, from what I gather from the clip, is that his dad never acted like one to Barney.

But with Dick and Bruce? Bruce was a good dad to Dick. But he was a terrible partner. Bruce treated Dick like an equal while still fielding reservations about his age and dealing with his own insecurities. Bruce knows that what he's doing is not right but at the same time Dick is far too competent. His intelligence, his athletic skills, his compassion, and his fearlessness were light years beyond anyone Bruce had ever met and Bruce acklnowledges this.

Batman and Robin, The Boy Wonder Issue #2

"The GAS was supposed to knock his OUT. His brain out to be sailing past the MOON, right now. What's this brat MADE out of?"

Batman: The Widening Gyre Issue #1

Bruce's biggest problem with Dick is literally that he talks to much.

Dick is equal in every way to Batman and even exceeds him in some ways when he was Robin itself. So Bruce pushes the responsibilities of Batman's partner on to Dick while treating his as his son, mother, therapist, and partner. And Dick steps up to that. Soon they fall into a rhythm where Dick is Bruce's one for all human interaction. So imagine when you have a constant thing with someone that you're comfortable with and they suddenly start holding back from you. They begin talking about how you're too young to handle adult responsibilities. How you shouldn't be facing that burden. Now you're confused. Those responsibilities they are criticizing you for are the very ones that depended on you for. So now you start doubting yourself and trying harder and harder to make them see that you can handle the job. While you're struggling with confusion, they're struggling with guilt.

That is Bruce and Dick's relationship. Bruce grew a conscious after 10 years and Dick can't understand it. So there comes the self-blame and strife.

What Dick doesn't understand his Bruce feels guilty of his over reliance on Dick. Dick's self-blame has come to such a point that now even when Bruce in full honesty rants about how proud he is of Dick, Dick holds reservations because if Bruce was really proud then he would dump all the responsibilities on him right?

It's really messed up.

"nightwing could 100% be the figurehead of the dceu (like im talking spiderman level) if dc would do something [this was timed . i talked abt this for like 30 minutes all on its own]"

LOL

I think the Dawn of DC does have Dick be the figurehead or at least he will be in the future. We're just getting the beginning now.

Nightwing (2016) Issue #100

Nightwing (2016) Issue #100

Nightwing (2016) Issue #100

Nightwing (2016) Issue #100

"We want you to lead."

Justice League (2011) Issue #51

It comes full circle.

[bumblebeehug]

Gave him her heart

Ship: Natsu Dragneel x Lucy Heartfilia Summary: Lucy worries about what to get Natsu for his birthday, not knowing how ridiculously easy it actually is. Day 5 of Nalu Week 2023 - prompt: gifts Ao3

***

Natsu was a good man. He was wild, fun, crazy, but most of all: good. Lucy was very aware of this and knew that such a good man truly deserved the best. So, naturally she felt slightly panicked when she realised his birthday was coming up.

Lucy liked to believe that she was good at giving gifts. She was observant, both on the battlefield and off, so she knew what people looked a little extra at when they browsed shops or went by markets. Wendy turned to sweets, cute dresses or jewellery, something Lucy was relieved over when she noticed it – Lucy was nothing if not good at picking clothes and accessories, and Wendy was transparent with her tastes (sweet = good, savoury = fine, if there was a good reason to why it was gifted, otherwise a little weird, and sour = danger zone. It could be risky, but citrusy tastes were appreciated in sweet desserts). Erza was also easy to please with gifts – either go the sword and armour route, or go the girly route, possibly with some suggestive books. Gray appreciated nice soaps and clean décor for his house, and if she wanted to be funny with him she could always gift him underwear, seeing as it was the only clothing that stayed on for a while (though since him and Juvia got together it wasn’t really an option – Juvia didn’t care too much about what Lucy gave him, underwear or not, but Lucy herself felt weird about it, so nowadays she kept to soaps). Carla liked tea and pretty dresses as well, but appreciated flowers and other handmade things, and Happy was never happier than on his birthday, when he practically could get buried in the number of fishes he’d be given.

Natsu, however? Lucy wasn’t too sure what she could give him. He liked loads of things – food, fights, adventures, funny hats, board games: few things were off the table with that guy. If she gave him a bouquet of flowers he’d probably smile and say thanks (and maybe he’d try to eat them once he got home), if she gave him tea, he’d probably set the leaves on fire and accidentally get high or something – she didn’t want to risk it either way. He’d be thankful for any clothes she would give him, but would most likely only wear them when he really had to, or to sleep if they were comfortable enough. He really liked his special made ones, that managed to stay intact no matter how hot his fire was. He would definitely try to eat the soaps, and that wasn’t worth it in her opinion, and if she gave him a fish he’d very likely think she was either giving Happy a gift through him, or that she was confessing her undying love for him, since that’s what it meant when Happy gave fishes as gifts to the opposite gender (of the same species, might be important to add).

Point is: giving Natsu gifts was hard when you knew him too well. She had even considered giving him jewellery that matched with the ones she had gotten from him recently, but it once again came down to him only wearing them as a chore, and her pride couldn’t really take that. She would have to put a pin in this challenge though, because she was expected at the guild to help cover a shift for Mira as she dealt with one of her requested missions.

As she entered the guild hall, she was relieved to see that it was rather empty. It had its perks, working at a bar in the middle of the day, and since she saw some of her closer mates, she knew she could take her chance to dig around and find out what others would be gifting him.

“Hi Master,” she greeted Makarov, still using the title he had tried to give over so many times already. Though technically he was still in charge, so Lucy thought it only appropriate to keep calling him master until he truly was off the position. “I’m covering for Mira this afternoon.”

“I heard,” he grumbled from his position in the wheelchair. “You’ve been behind the bar before, so you know the drill. In fact, could you bring me a plate of fried squid and a beer? Just put it on my tab.”

Lucy took his order and sent a note into the kitchen per his request. Normally Mira would help out in the kitchen as well, but since Lucy had limited experience with cooking the meals they were serving, she was excused to just manage the drinks and easier snacks, like nuts and chips. As she waited for the staff in the kitchen to finish the order, she poured a glass of beer for Makarov. Half with light alcohol, half with none. He was currently cutting down on his alcohol intake, Porlyusica’s demand, but to not make him fall back immediately from quitting cold turkey, they slowly made him drink lighter and lighter.

“So, Natsu’s birthday is coming up,” Lucy said, trying to cover it up as small talk, but realising it was obvious what she was trying to do.

“I’ve heard.” A smug grin graced Makarov’s face. The relations between the mages in his guild were always amusing, especially in the stage that Lucy’s and Natsu’s had been in the last couple of years.

“I’m a bit curious…” She gave him his order. “What do you think he wants? You’ve known him for longest.”

“Child, I’m too old to remember all my guild members’ gift preferences, and I’m definitely not rich enough to give away gifts like it’s nothing. For a long time now, I’ve allowed myself to forget who likes what.” Lucy smiled, ready to brush the topic off and take another order across the hall, but he continued. “I do, however, know that you could give him a stick or a pebble you found on the sidewalk, and that boy would treasure it like it’s his most sacred, most valuable item in his possession. Do what feels right, Lucy.”

She thanked him, but within she felt like she was back at square one. She knew he would be happy about getting any gift, but she didn’t want to give him just any gift. She wanted it to reflect how much she appreciated him and their friendship, and she wanted it to stick out. Maybe it could even suggest that she appreciated him more than a normal friend, but only if he started overthinking the gift (which she doubted he would do anyways). It was meant to be subtle, but not subtle enough for it to never be discovered by him. And if it needed to be discovered by him, whatever this little message it was she was trying to convey to him, then it would have to be flashing in neon lights above his bed when he woke up in the morning.

So, she spent a few hours continuing to ponder on what to do, as she was taking more and more orders as people kept dropping in. At around 6:30pm her true saviours arrived at the guild hall. Her team, plus a few other closer friends and minus Natsu and Happy, who were camping today and tomorrow, were back from one of their shorter missions, and they were probably starving for some dinner. Lucy was quick to come over and take their order, also grabbing her chance to question them about their thoughts on this conundrum.

“Hi guys, did the mission go well?” She greeted them, preparing her notepad.

“It went great!” Wendy beamed, and Lucy made a quick mental note to ask about the mission more in detail at a later date. She must have done a good job if she allowed herself to be this proud – Lucy always thought she was too harsh on herself when they fought on missions.

“Gray even kept his clothes on,” Erza added, praising the man on her right.

They took a quick moment to chat, and as they finally decided on what to eat, Lucy seized her moment.

“So,” she started, already knowing she would never live down asking a question like this, considering that many of the people at the table were quite transparent on their opinions on Lucy’s and Natsu’s relationship, “Natsu’s birthday, huh?”

The silence her sentence brought made her regret it immediately. She could already see how their brains were working on new ways to tease her for whatever she was going to say next, but she would have to swallow her pride once again. It’s for a good cause, she kept telling herself.

“Have you gotten your presents yet?” She chuckled awkwardly, hoping their answers would be enough to inspire her, so she could get their food and forget she ever brought it up in the first place.

“Mhm.”

“Yep.”

“I have too.”

“And I’m with Wendy on her gift,” Carla added, still making it painfully obvious that nobody was elaborating their answers. They were making Lucy work for it; she just knew it. They loved grabbing their chances to make her say embarrassing things, and today was no exception.

“Really…” She forced out a laugh. “So, what have you gotten him?” She tried again to prompt anyone at the table to speak up, but they knew she would have to continue pressing, and that it would sound more and more desperate the less information they gave her, so after they all stayed silent for another minute, Lucy gave in.

“I’ve just completely blanked out; I can’t even remember a single thing he likes! Please, help me! Give me some inspiration!”

Erza exchanged a glance with Wendy before she answered.

“Well, he likes fire.”

“And fighting.”

“And ugly tourist shirts,” Gray chimed in. Lucy groaned.

“I can’t exactly give him a clip card for sparring matches, and I’ve already considered a bonfire, but I wanted to have a get together later with all of us where we make a bonfire and drink hot chocolate and stuff.” She spared Gray a short glance as well. “And he only wears his special made clothes, so I can’t give him a shirt to frame for 200 jewel.”

“Then we can’t help you,” Erza said, flipping her bangs as she always does when she lies. Lucy pouted.

“I’ll get you your food, please help me afterwards?”

“Deal.”

After 30 minutes she finally had four hot plates balancing on her arms, ready to serve to her stubborn teammates. They were chatting along just fine now, so hopefully the would have forgotten their silent agreement to keep themselves clammed about their gifts. Lucy hurried to place out their food, hoping that they would notice her way of bribing them by giving them extra big portions.

“Now please...! What should I give him?” Lucy sat down at the table. She wasn’t going anywhere until she got an answer she was pleased with.

Wendy gave her an apologetic smile.

“Well… We can tell you what we think, but don’t you think he’d like it better if it truly came from you?” Erza nodded along.

“I’m going to give him a sword that’s enchanted with endless fire,” she revealed. “But you know, it’s not really a gift that screams ‘Lucy’.”

“Erza’s right. I’m giving him some scrap wood I found in the woods because I can’t really bother, but no gift we tell you to get will be as appreciated as the one you come up with,” Gray said, taking a sip from his beer.

“And we’re getting him a small cupon at a restaurant,” Wendy added.

Lucy sighed.

“I know it won’t be the same, but my creative well has completely dried up. Nothing I think of feels like enough. If I get him something I’d appreciate it would be like I don’t know him at all, and that doesn’t feel fair.” She started to feel hopeless. She didn’t like how drained she got from worrying about this – she loved Natsu! And she would love to properly show him how much she loved him, because he truly deserved that. Platonic or not.

“Hey, you look like you’re giving up, that’s not like you! Think of it like this, we’ve all combined our own interests with Natsu’s interest: Erza with the sword, Wendy and Carla with the food, and me with the scrap wood that shows that I have zero interest in him. Why don’t you write something to him? It may not look like it, but I think he know how to read. At least simple words.” Gray gave Lucy a half-hug from his seat in an attempt to comfort her.

“So… you think I should write him a letter? Would that be enough?” She felt sceptical, but it could work.

“You spitting on him would be enough,” Carla snorted, almost offended by her obliviousness.

“Carla!” Wendy burst out, not before Lucy raised an eyebrow in confusion. Her gut told her not to ask, and for once, she decided to actually follow that gut feeling.

“Do you really think a letter would be enough though?” She asked.

“How about you give him an experience? A friendly date of sorts,” Carla suggested.

“An experience?”

“Like going to the movies, or to a restaurant, or maybe picknick or stargazing?” It was Erza who spoke up this time, and Lucy thought she could see a sparkle in her eye. If she didn’t know better, she would almost think that Erza had been on dates like that herself.

“Hm… I guess you’re right. If he doesn’t like it, I’ll just have to ask him directly, I suppose.”

Lucy stood up from her seat at the table and bid farewell to her friends, along with her thanks. A letter would have to do, and she had a gut feeling that told her that she would figure out a good topic to write about. She hurried to end her shift so she could get to her gift-making. A good idea rarely stayed for long in one’s head.

When she finally sat at her desk, pen in her right hand and paper in front of her, she knew this was the right thing to do. What better way was there to tell Natsu how much she appreciated him, if not through words on paper? It was her speciality, after all. She had even lighted some candles to keep her company, since she knew she would sit there for a while. There was a lot of things she wanted to tell him and thank him for, and the letter would be the perfect way to convey these feelings. Right. Feelings. That could include her less platonic ones, and even if this was a great opportunity for that as well, she didn’t know if she was quite ready to go that far yet. In the meantime, she would just have to tell him she loved him in every way except the straightforward one.

Four hours and 16 pages later, she had her letter. It was ridiculously long, she knew that, and he probably wouldn’t be able to read it in one go, but her heart felt light. A letter was the perfect gift. She had even included multiple invites to ‘experiences’ she wanted to give him, and if he took as long to read it as she thought he would, then those experiences would be experienced with about one week in between them. Lucy gave the thick envelope a quick lick to seal it, and after that she couldn’t help but to give it a soft kiss. She had poured her heart out, and though it would be embarrassing for her to know that he would read such things, it also felt very right. It wasn’t a love letter, but in a way, it felt like it was. She had told him all the things she loved about him, all the moments she especially appreciated him being there, and how great her entire life was thanks to him. If read with the intent of reading a love letter, it could very well translate into one, and maybe, someday in the future, he could look back at it and see the hints she left him.

Lucy leaned back in her chair with a big yawn. It was well into midnight hours by now, and she really needed a refreshing shower. A thought went to how Natsu and Happy were having it right now, in a tent somewhere in the woods. Though she was happy to get to sleep in her soft bed, she was missing them. Tomorrow couldn’t come soon enough. To speed time up she hurried to the bathroom so she could get into bed as soon as possible – her apartment wasn’t the same without those two.

Lucy cursed herself. Why, why, why had she written that letter? It was the most obvious love-confession anyone could ever read, how on earth had she not realised that when she read it through yesterday? She was dragging her feet behind her, because if the embarrassment wouldn’t kill her when he read it later, she would have to kill herself, and no one non-suicidal would ever look forward to something like that. So, her feet dragged. The letter felt heavy in her hands, and she knew that as soon as it would be opened, she would feel naked. Her gut was begging her to turn back, but her heart told her that celebrating Natsu today was more important than her pride. Him and Happy were coming back from their camping trip, and they promised her they would stop by the guild to say hi before heading home, and that’s when they would be surprised with a small celebration. Nothing like other events, where people went completely wild, but a celebration big enough to show him some appreciation.

Checking the clock one last time, she made sure that she was there before they arrived. They woke up pretty late generally and their favourite camping spot was about an hour into the woods. 10am. Maybe they hadn’t even woken up yet, but Lucy didn’t want to risk it. She wanted to prepare and decorate the guild, and then she would grab something to eat, considering she hadn’t eaten any breakfast yet.

As she entered the guild, she was relieved to only see her team and a handful more people. They were chatting and blowing up balloons, and they had turned one of the tables into a gift-table. Lucy hurried to put her letter amongst the others, eager to get the gift out of her hands.

“Good morning, Lucy!” Levy greeted her with a hug. “You’re pretty late, did you stay up last night?” Lucy chuckled lightly.

“Yeah, I had something important to finish.” She felt her team’s eyes in her back – they knew she had stayed up writing, and though Lucy knew she hadn’t written a love confession of any sort (other than platonic) she still managed to feel a blush creep onto her cheeks.

“So, do you need help with the balloons?” She offered, greeting the rest of the group.

“It’s fine, you go ahead and grab some breakfast instead,” Mira smiled.

“How did you know I haven’t eaten?” Lucy sat down at a table.

“You have a tendency to forget to eat when you have other things on your plate,” Mira just answered, placing down a yoghurt bowl with homemade granola and fruits. Lucy could only smile sheepishly, slightly embarrassed how obviously nervous she was about this event. She was sure Erza had told her about her moment of weakness yesterday, so she reminded herself to try to keep herself under the radar. She’d just be here, sing a happy birthday song, eat a piece of cake and watch Natsu open his presents, then the day would be over and the whole Lucy-confesses-her-feelings-though-a-letter thing would be over! No unnecessary teasing from her friends, if all went well.

“I’m back!”

The guild door shot open with a noise loud enough to give the untrained ear a heart attack. Lucy however had a trained ear, so she just turned her head and met Natsu’s happy gaze, her heart fluttering at the fact that his eyes immediately searched for her and no one else.

“Happy birthday!” The guild cheered. Lucy stood up from her place at the table, not really knowing why until Natsu stood in front of her, just an arm’s length away. If she reached, she would be able to bring him into a hug, and it truly itched in her arms to do exactly that.

“Hey,” Lucy smiled softly. “Happy birthday.” Watching Natsu’s smile go from surprised and generally happy, to soft and caring made Lucy lose what little control she had, and she caved into her needs to hug him. As soon as she felt him hug her back, she knew that whatever the others thought about the content of her letter contained, as long as Natsu read it and took it to heart, all would be fine.

“Thank you,” he whispered, tightening the hug for a second before he went ahead and thanked the rest of his friends, never straying far from Lucy.

The birthday party was overall a quite big success, everyone had a great time, and Natsu, who not so secretly had been itching to open the presents, finally gave in and announced what he was planning to do.

“Time to open the presents!” He cheered, almost jumping in place in excitement, clearly not representing the age he was turning (400-something years old) but making everyone smile regardless. Everyone except Lucy, whose heart flew up in her throat, suddenly getting the strongest urge to grab her letter before he got to it so she could throw it away or burn it. Not because she didn’t want him to read it – she would just prefer it if he read it somewhere more private, where the burning eyes of her much beloved friends could read it and jump to conclusions. So, she hurried close to whisper her plan to Natsu – despite him being the cause of these nerve-racking feelings, he was still her partner in crime, and she knew he would break his neck to achieve whatever she asked him to do. This time, what she asked him not to do.

“Psst!”

Natsu shot a glance to Lucy, who was whispering just quietly enough that no one else would notice, unless they had dragon ears and paid attention to her. Lucy, who saw that he had heard her, hurried to shoot her shot.

“My gift is the letter, I would kinda like it if you read it after the party instead? It’s just – it’s quite long and it won’t be any fun if you sat down and read it here, you know?”

The ball was in the air, and now she could at least sleep well knowing that no matter the outcome, she did try her best to steer the situation into best case scenario – all to her means of course.

Natsu, the king of pranks and someone who was surprisingly good at sneaking around, despite his usual love for the “let’s just barge in and fight anyone who tries to stop us” approach, still managed to keep up his gleeful demeanour as he had listened to Lucy’s request. He once again met her gaze and gave her a quick nod, ensuring that she had scored. The rest of the evening would manage to stay calm and uneventful. All thanks to their ways to keep down low. It was really convenient to have dragon hearing at times like these – though usually she had that thought on missions, and not happy, meant to be uneventful celebrations and parties.

The birthday boy himself didn’t mind opening Lucy’s gift later. In fact, he was just happy he was getting something at all from her, considering how stressful most birthdays could be for her. Sure, she already knew what genre people liked, but getting down to picking the actual thing and managing prices was a hard task for Lucy to tackle without stress. So instead, he went ahead and opened the elongated, wrapped gift that said “Happy birthday, from Erza” on the card. He would make sure to ease Lucy’s mind today, considering how stressed she clearly had been the last couple of weeks.

Natsu couldn’t stop grinning. He truly had the best friends ever, and despite him not being a big birthday celebrator when it came to himself, it felt good to be appreciated. There had been good songs playing, yummy food to eat, and most importantly: good company. He especially loved the presents he had gotten, since they clearly were gifts that his friends had carefully thought through and taken into consideration before giving them – yes, even Gray’s gift was appreciated, because though it seemed silly, he did sometimes need firewood after hard missions to speed up his recovery. Everything was dear to him, so when he finally got home with that thick letter in his hands, he couldn’t wait a second more to open it. This, you see, might be the dearest gift of all.

The softly written “To: Natsu Dragneel” on the front of the envelope made Natsu’s heart beat harder. He knew that the content in it probably wasn’t anything out of the ordinary stuff the two of them said to each other, but still. He liked that Lucy had put extra thought into whatever she had written. Or, at least he hoped she had, seeing as he didn’t actually know what the letter said yet.

Happy peaked over Natsu’s shoulder, closing the door behind the two.

“So, what are you waiting for? Open it!” Happy urged, eager to see what Lucy wanted to say to him, but clearly couldn’t since she had to write it down. In his opinion a speech would be quicker, knowing how slowly Natsu read.

Carefully Natsu parted the sealed wax from the paper, making sure not to tear anything. If he could make some space, he’d want to hang everything on his memory wall later, and in that case he didn’t want to ruin it.

Still standing just inside the door, Natsu began to read. The letter started out rather normal. She was writing the obligatory happy birthdays and saying hi to Happy, who she knew would read over Natsu’s shoulder despite it being a private message. That part piqued Natsu’s interest a little extra. What did she have to say to him that not only had to be written, but wasn’t meant for Happy to know? It sparked some hope in his heart that she possibly could feel something special about him – special-er than what they already had. He continued down the page. She started reminiscing about the past, and about halfway through the second page, Happy gave up on Natsu’s slow reading and told him he’d simply read it after Natsu was done with it. Natsu took a seat as he joined Lucy’s trip down memory lane, enjoying the new information on how she saw him when they first met, during their first missions and more. He especially liked learning that despite his foul mood the first days together, she still had fond memories of him, like when he included her in his list of friends when they fought Macao (before they knew it was him, since he had turned into a Vulcan) and how the reason she didn’t refuse to get along with him after he had seemingly deceived her for a mission, was because he had managed to get a few lucky words in. Something like “because we thought you seemed nice” had made her stick, and Natsu could only thank his past self for accidentally pressing the right buttons.

As he continued reading, he was struck by the wonderful realisation that he truly mattered to Lucy. It’s not like he didn’t know that she enjoyed his company, but seeing in in black and white was completely different. It wasn’t just that she had written something along the lines of “I care about you, your existence matters to me” (though that would have worked as well), but the fact that she could remember so many small details of what he had said and done, that she may as well have written a complete book with all those moments, and it would probably be at least 200 pages long. He knew she had been cutting down on what memories she brought up in the letter, because enough talks with one person made them show how much brain capacity they had, and Natsu knew that her brain capacity was way longer than a 16-page letter. This was her way of being concise. Yet she still managed to bring up moments he only vaguely remembered, sharing almost exact quotes of what was said and by who. Mostly the who was either Natsu or Lucy, but it was still impressive.

Natsu had never been interested in reading. It was a chore he had to go through to get the money he needed for food, had never been any more interesting than that. Except for two occasions: Lucy’s first published book, and this letter. Sure, he had been reading it for almost double as long as it probably took to write it, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t interested. This letter was so far the greatest thing he had ever received, which wasn’t an easy thing to manage.

At 4am had he gotten to the last line of the letter. His eyes were trying to force him to rest, but his mind fought it like never before. He had skipped dinner for this, and he was not planning to give up last minute, just to succumb to something so superficial, boring and unnecessary as sleep. No, he gathered up some extra will power and pulled though. “Though you probably understand this after reading this letter, I am simply eternally grateful for everything you are, and what you’ve just read is the best I could do at describing my gratefulness in words. Thank you for all you’ve done, and for being unapologetically you. No one else could make me as happy as you have, so once again: Happy birthday, Natsu Dragneel.” She had signed it with her signature at the very bottom, ensuring that all he had just read was completely and wholly from Lucy. After reading the whole thing, he felt his legs itch. No, maybe it was his arms. Feet, hands? No, it was most definitely his soul that had started to climb inside his body. He wanted to go to her, and he wanted to see her. Preferably five minutes ago. He threw another glance at the clock. 4:50am. He had been tossing around, unable to even do as much as close his eyes, for the last 40 minutes, and he knew he wouldn’t feel better until he was within a 20-meter radius of Lucy. Or rather, 2-meter radius.

Not bothering to sneak around the heavy sleeper that the exceed was, Natsu jumped out of the bed and pulled on his slippers. In less than 3 seconds he was out the door, and in another 3 he noticed that he was running. He wasn’t quite sure what he would do when he saw her, especially considering that she most likely was asleep in this hour, but he simply had to get to her, quickly. The time was ticking, like he was a bomb soon to explode, like he was going to run out of time if he didn’t arrive soon. Wind blowing in his ears, he could barely make out the sound of his heavy breathing. He hadn’t run this fast in Mavis knows how long, and he might actually had made it outside her apartment in record time. His chest rising and lowering in big breaths, he managed to make something of a sigh in relief to see her window slightly opened. Climbing the wall quietly was no challenge with Natsu’s experience, so he swiftly pulled himself up, making sure to fully open and enter the window as quickly as possible – though this time with less success since he didn’t have as much experience with that part. Usually he just barged in after scaling the wall, seeing as the time he did it at was most often a time where Lucy either was away or awake.

Either way, he didn’t manage to sneak in as stealthily as he’d like. The window creaked and his body almost fell limp after getting a whiff of Lucy’s calming scent – that he had been running like a maniac to get there didn’t help either, and after a loud, nongraceful landing, Lucy was already awake.

“Natsu? ‘s that you?” She mumbled, sitting up and rubbing the sleep out of her eyes.

“Yeah, sorry for waking you,” he whispered, finding his balance on his legs again as he stood up.

“No worries.” Lucy had now swung her legs over the edge of her bed and sat in a more upright position. “Did you need anything? Is Happy alright?”

“Yeah, he’s at home sleeping. I just felt like coming here,” Natsu said, full transparency.

“Alright,” Lucy said, now taking a better look at his face. He looked red and flustered, but with his heavy breathing it might just be the fact that he ran to her place.

“I read it.”

Lucy’s face started getting hot as well.

“The letter?”

“The entire thing.”

“Wow. Uh, so what do you think of it?” Had the hour been normal she might not have asked him such a bold question, but something about the way the streetlights and moon illuminating the room made her feel brave. Perhaps she still thought she was dreaming, but this felt much too real to be just a dream.

“It’s perfect.” Natsu took a few steps closer. He could now make out most of her facial features, sleepy yet alert of his presence.

“I’m glad.”

A few more seconds went by, though it felt like minutes.

“Is it true?”

“Is what true?”

“All of it. All the things you wrote?”

A soft smile graced Lucy’s lips.

“Of course. I would never lie about those things.”

Natsu knew he could be dense in most situations. He couldn’t always read the room, and he wasn’t good at subtext. This time however, he had felt something the whole time as he read that letter. Maybe it was what other would call “reading between the lines” but he suddenly had great confidence in something that could change their relationship forever. Of course, it was a very long shot, but perhaps the adrenaline from all that running was just what he needed to gather the courage to take it. He did, however, decide to test out the water first. Running headfirst was usually his go-to method if he could choose, but he wasn’t blind to the delicacy of the situation he was putting himself in.

“Can I assume things?” He tried.

“Assume things? From what I wrote?” Lucy asked, curious where he was leading this conversation. She was very aware of her heartbeat, but she didn’t know that she didn’t have to be this time, considering that all that Natsu was hearing was his own.

“Yeah.”

“It depends. What do you want to assume?”

Natsu swallowed. Did he always have this much saliva? If so, maybe something was wrong with him. He swallowed again, clenching and unclenching his fists. Had he ever been this nervous in a situation as calm as this? No bandits, no monsters, no big wild animals – not even an annoyed Erza was around.

“That…” he started, his tongue thickening as he spoke. Not literally, but it sure felt like it. He could barely concentrate on what he wanted to say, gazing into those doe eyes. She was so, ridiculously pretty. He knew that before, of course, but he almost found it unfair. How could he think of any words when she sat there, looking all nice and pretty. “That you like me?”

He had said it as a question, though it sounded more like a statement right now. Lucy’s heart must have skipped a beat or two. She was still sleepy, but the tiny possibility that this wasn’t just a perfect dream made her stop herself from straight up answering yes.

“Well… I hoped my letter was clear on that. You’re my best friend in the whole world, how could I not like you?” She let out a small chuckle at the very idea of disliking a friend. She didn’t, however, predict what he would say next.

Natsu reached out his left hand, touching a piece of her hair that had fallen out from behind her ears.

“But can I assume…” He put it behind her ear, “that you like me more than a friend?”

Natsu’s eyes were darker than usual in the dimmed light, but Lucy saw clearly that he was being serious. Though, this exact facial expression was one she had never seen before. She had seen his tender look, his soft look, his happy look, his loving look, but she had never seen this combination of all. And it was her he was showing it to. In fact, maybe it was exactly this expression that made her admit the truth for once. For so long she had been scared that he would feel bothered or surprised by the very idea of “liking beyond friendship”, or love, as she would prefer to call it. She had been afraid that he would find her fantasies of the two of them living their life together as a couple weird, or even mildly repulsive. That her confession would lead to their friendship breaking apart forever. That, however, could no longer be the case. Lucy wasn’t blind, and she certainly wasn’t dumb. If Natsu looked this… happy? To even assume that she likes him beyond friendship, then the outcome from telling him the truth couldn’t possibly be bad. She tilted her head lightly towards his hand, sharing another smile.

“Yeah. I do like you more than a friend, or a best friend.” Natsu took another step closer, now close enough to make her feel his hot breath on her face that he had tilted upwards, towards him.

“Then…” He bended down slowly to come closer to her sitting position. “Can I kiss you?” His words didn’t come out louder than a breath, but Lucy knew what she heard. Her heart had never danced as wildly as it did when she nodded and closed her eyes as Natsu closed the space between them.

The kiss itself was probably nothing special to someone watching. It was plain and soft, just two mouths pressing against each other. For them, however, it was nothing short of magical fireworks. Lucy’s cool, soft lips against Natsu’s hot, slightly rougher ones sent shivers throughout both of them, as if the small touch had opened a completely new door, a way for them to connect and become closer than ever.

Inexperienced as they both were though, they soon had to break it off to breathe. After less than 20 seconds, Lucy pulled their faces together again. How could they have been missing out on this awesome experience for all the years they had known each other? Natsu knew that this already had topped the list of his favourite activities – even placing higher than eating and fighting. The next time they went up for air, they couldn’t stop themselves from giggling.

“Can this count as a birthday gift if I haven’t slept since yesterday?” Natsu asked, more energetic than reasonable after his long day.

“If that makes you happy,” Lucy smiled, giving him another peck on his lips. Whatever they decided to do from this point on, Lucy knew they would figure it out. After all, if they had managed to overcome the obstacle of going from friends to whatever this was, then they could definitely manage anything and everything else thrown at them. What’s important was that they from this point out, took on every challenge together.

[zaebeecee]

Drowning in Stardust

🦌 RadioDustTober: Short Story Edition 🕷️

Day 06: Comfort

Human high school/Persona AU (confused teenagers possibly dating, they haven’t figured that out yet)

CWs: Mourning, family loss

The anniversary of the death of Alastor’s mother is never easy, but he always gets through it, and he does it alone. Anthony understands, and he’s going to be there to be alone with him, whether Alastor likes that or not.

Word count: 909

•••

The first time Anthony knocked, it was soft and polite, three quick, gentle taps of knuckles on wood.

The second time, it was louder, more insistent, and delivered with the side of his fist rather than his knuckles.

He wasn’t sure if he could call the third time a knock, per se, because a knock was technically a single action that had an end. This was more an incessant, rhythmic tapping, one that started at a fast pace and stayed right there as Anthony continued to smack the door with the knuckles on the back of his hand.

His tried-and-true persuasion tactic (which he officially called Being Fucking Annoying On Purpose) paid off as he heard the dorm room door unlock, then creak open just enough for a single exhausted green eye to peer out at him in total silence.

“…hey, Alastor,” Anthony said, lowering his hand and adjusting his grip on the backpack slung over his shoulder.

“Anthony,” Alastor answered in a measured voice. “You… need something, I assume?”

“No, I just like knockin’ on doors and yours was available,” Anthony said dryly. “Coach Bee asked me to bring yer Home Ec assignment by, since you weren’t in class today. Can I come in?”

“…ah. Right. …of course.” Alastor stepped aside, opening the door further to allow Anthony to pass into his dorm room. It was dark, the way it usually was, but it felt more oppressive today. He turned as Alastor shut and locked his door again. “You can leave it on my desk.”

“Sure.” Anthony swung his backpack in front of himself and unzipped it, pulling out a sheet of paper and putting it on top of Alastor’s most recent stack of creepy library books. When he looked up again, he saw Alastor was still keeping his distance, leaning more heavily on his cane than he usually did. “Just wanted to come see how you were holdin’ up.”

Alastor narrowed his eyes slightly. “Oh?”

“Yeah.” Anthony shrugged a little. “…Charlie told me.”

At that, Alastor’s eyes widened, then his expression softened and he looked away. “…I see. I assume she only told you to get you to leave me alone today?”

“Yeah, probably, since I was threatenin’ to come up here and drag you out.” Anthony smiled as Alastor’s lip twitched, which was at least an improvement. “She said you probably wanted to be alone today.”

“She’s correct.”

“Can I be alone with you?”

Alastor stared at him. “…that kinda defeats the purpose of being alone, wouldn’t you say, sha?”

“No,” Anthony said. “I can be quiet.”

That earned him a scoff. “You most certainly can’t.”

“Sure I can, watch me. Come oooonnn,” he wheedled. “Please? I brought stuff. I got some sour candies and some of those weird Cajun chips you like for some reason, and they got Gonjiam back on streamin’ if you wanna watch that again and we ain’t gotta go to class in the mornin’.”

Alastor sighed, but he was very nearly smiling again, and Anthony could tell he wasn’t upset. “You’re so stubborn. Did you know that?”

Anthony grinned proudly. “Sure am.”

“…I’m going to regret giving in to your wiles so frequently, but fine. You can stay.”

“Yesss,” Anthony hissed, plopping down on Alastor’s bed. “I got somethin’ else, too. Only planned to tell you if you let me stay.”

Alastor watched as he reached into his bag again and pulled out a bottle of rye whiskey. “…you were going to hold out on me if I threw you out? How cruel. Where did you even get that?”

“Blitz. Don’t tell my brother, he wouldn’t hesitate to get me detention just ‘cause we’re related.”

Ten minutes later, they were both sitting on Alastor’s bed with their backs against the wall, Alastor wrapped in a big, fluffy pink blanket that had taken up most of the room in Anthony’s backpack. The candy bag sat open between their knees, and Anthony’s laptop was open on the bed, close enough that they could read the subtitles while Korean influencer ghost hunters ran around a haunted asylum and pissed off the already angry spirits. At some point, Alastor drifted until his head was on Anthony’s shoulder, and as though holding up his end of an unspoken agreement, Anthony didn’t mention it. He stayed there for the rest of the film, and even when Anthony felt his arm going numb, he didn’t move. He would have sooner cut his arm off than move out from under Alastor right then.

As the movie ended, Anthony closed the laptop with his foot so he didn’t have to sit up and dislodge Alastor. Immediately, both the darkness and the silence were complete, and he let the other boy (his boyfriend? Were they dating? Were they just friends? Was it something else? Not a good time to ask) figure out what it was he wanted to say.

“…I miss her,” Alastor finally said into the darkness, his voice soft.

“I know,” Anthony answered, unsure of what else he could say to that.

When Alastor exhaled, his breath shook, and Anthony leaned his cheek against the top of his head. He’s crying. He wasn’t about to call any attention to that, of course, but the fact that Alastor felt comfortable enough to do something like this around him, even if it was in total darkness…

“Anthony?”

“Yeah?”

“…I’m glad you annoyed me into opening my door.”

“Sure. Anythin’ for you, Al.”

•••

[glorious-spoon]

I prompt "what's wrong with you?" because it made me giggle even though that's probably not how it's meant! If it sparks ofc ✨

that also made me giggle, so this is... definitely not a serious interpretation of the prompt, lol.

-

"Listen," Buck says. "I can explain."

"Uh huh." Eddie sounds deeply skeptical. Buck can picture the expression that goes with it: the flattened mouth betrayed by the teasing sparkle in his eyes. He can't see that expression, unfortunately, because he is currently wedged headfirst in the basement wall along with a jagged tangle of dislodged pipes. At least one of them has ruptured, and there's a sour stink of stale water. Buck should probably count himself lucky that it's nothing worse than that, but he's not feeling especially lucky right now.

"It's not what it looks like."

"Well, it looks like you got your head stuck in the basement wall."

"Okay," Buck concedes. "It is what it looks like. But it's not my fault."

"How did you even…" Eddie trails off. His footsteps move around Buck, like he's trying to take in the whole humiliating scene.

Buck tilts his forehead against the bare concrete wall with a sigh. That makes the pipes shift slightly, but not enough that he can actually disentangle himself. "I was trying to get at the trap vent. Maddie said they've been having a weird smell coming from the bathroom sink, and I told her I could just take care of it while she was at work so she didn't have to call a plumber, and then…"

"And then the plumbing came to life and tried to kill you," Eddie concludes. He's not doing a very good job of pretending not to be laughing at Buck, here.

"You're very funny," Buck says sourly.

"So I'm told."

"No, listen, whoever did the plumbing down here was a moron who didn't secure everything right, and one of the anchors came out, and—can you just help me out, please? You can make fun of me as much as you want afterward."

He probably could get out by himself if he really had to, but not without breaking something potentially expensive. At least Eddie lives within fairly easy driving distance. His other options would have been waiting for Maddie to get home in six hours, or calling 911, and he'd absolutely never hear the end of it. Good thing his phone, which he left on the other side of the room, has voice commands enabled.

"Oh, believe me, I will," Eddie says, but he also steps closer, pressing against Buck to peer over his shoulder. "Is that big pipe anchored to anything?"

"I think so. I didn't really want to yank on it too hard and find out."

"Okay, but what if I lift here—" He leans over Buck's shoulder as he speaks. "Hang on, let me get a better grip."

And then he hitches himself against Buck, warm and solid from chest to thigh, and honestly, Buck's life is a fucking farce.

"I'm pretty sure I saw a porno that started like this once," he blurts, because he can always be counted on to make an awkward situation worse by running his big mouth. And, okay, a little bit because Eddie plastered against him like this is extremely distracting, even under the current circumstances.

There's a long silence behind him, long enough to make him wonder if Eddie is genuinely offended. If maybe he's just going to stomp off and leave Buck stuck halfway through a basement wall until the 118 can show up with the halligan to rescue him, and then inevitably tease him mercilessly for the rest of his life. Which, like, he'd probably deserve, but he hopes not. The warm weight of Eddie's thigh tenses, then relaxes, but doesn't pull back.

"Oh my god," he says finally.

"Just saying," Buck adds, pressing his burning face to the cool concrete.

"What is wrong with you?" Eddie asks, but he sounds like he's laughing. "Don't answer that. It was a rhetorical question."

"I mean. Lots, technically."

"And we are not—" Eddie breaks off with a grunt, shifting back. Something creaks ominously overhead. "Okay, here. Duck your head a little, and I think we can—"

The pipe shifts, scraping painfully across Buck's trapped arm. Cloth tears, and he winces as the sharp edge of the metal digs into the point of his shoulder, but then he's free. He stumbles backward, the torn shoulder seam of his shirt flapping stupidly, and trips over Eddie, sending them both to the floor in an awkward tangle of limbs.

"Oof," Eddie mumbles, and shoves Buck's elbow out of his gut to sit up. "You good?"

"My pride is never going to recover," Buck says, putting a hand over his burning face. Then, "Yeah, I'm good. Thank you."

"Anytime," Eddie says, reaching down to pry Buck's hand out of the way. His hair is ruffled, and he's grinning, and honestly, Buck is in hell. "Come on. I think maybe this time we can leave the plumbing to the professionals. Have you had lunch yet?"

"No, I've been stuck in a wall for the past hour," Buck grumbles.

Eddie laughs again and gets to his feet, leaning down to offer Buck a hand. "Come on. We can stop by my place so you can grab a clean shirt, and then go get lunch. My treat."

"No, come on, I'm—you drove all the way over here to rescue me, I'll buy lunch."

"Well, I wasn't gonna leave you stuck in a wall all day."

"You're a good friend."

"Believe me, I know," Eddie says, but there's no rancor in it, or in the smile he aims Buck's way. His face is still faintly pink with laughter, and his eyes are sparkling, and Buck wants to kiss him.

It's an urge that's more or less constant these days, but it overwhelms him at the oddest moments. And the thing is, he's starting to think that if he tried it, Eddie might let him.

Now is probably not the moment for it; his shirt is still damp and smelly and Eddie is going to spend the rest of the day rightfully heckling him about this. But maybe someday. Maybe even someday soon.

Eddie pauses at the door, tilting his head toward the stairs. "You coming, or what?"

"Yeah, okay, I'm coming," Buck says, and follows him up out of the basement.

[hanasnx]

OKAY i can’t stay away long im sorry

navi toruk makto jake who gets to ship off the humans and all he can think of is fucking. he needs to get his dick wet and get this want out of his system immediately. so of course, jakesully, the idiot he is, picks the prettiest girl he can find. young. sweet. obedient.

the honeymoon phase does its thing. indy you’ve spoken about this. he courts you. brings you flowers and promises and a hefty gift he knows how to use for your sake. it’s perfect and he gets you just where he wants you. and he’s a feral man. so so feral. he’s on you and he’s damn near foaming to ‘ust fuckin’ take it and of COURSE you do!! you take him and you let him take and take and take until you’re nothing but drooling and leaking holes.

and then his actions have consequences. there wasn’t any tie there in the start. just fucking. he needed to fuck and you were more than willing. to serve toruk makto was a privilege.

and then a tie happens. he’s over the moon. all he hears is mine mine mine, instead of the obvious distain in your tone. you still have things to do. you want to be someone in the clan. sure, you’re fucking toruk makto, great, but anyone could. you aren’t mated. just having a child together apparently.

but who are you? what do you want to be? surely not just his pet he can knock up.

things turn sour. you want to scalp him 95% of the time and he’s got his tail between his legs. he can’t see why you’re so angry over this. you weren’t upset for the process. what happened to his sweet girl? his obedient girl? the girl he’d use and use and then tuck into his side for the night? hm.

sigh, just baby daddy jake who is just so RAAH 🦅🔥

“i cant stay away long” who says you have to go? i wanna talk about jake sully all the time rn

toruk makto jake is truly my fave evolution. all the knowledge and the confidence, the haircut that’s right before he shaves the sides, the fact he’s part of the clan now because he earned it…. so much to love. everyone immediately respects him because he rides the last shadow, it’s enough to make a dick twitch tbh

he’s victory fucking you. it’s a long time coming. all his focus was on the mission, then the war, now on this.

also calling it a “hefty gift” 😵‍💫😵‍💫

he had to learn everything else in a na’vi body, now he’s learning how to fuck. through you and your reactions

one of the things that always draws me about the baby daddy trope is the dissonance. at one point you two were inseparable and getting along and fucking through that honeymoon phase, now you’ve got a real responsibility to a living breathing thing you made together and the union is broken apart because of the behavior leading up to it. jake and you may have fucked, but you’re separated. people view the two of you as having abandoned each other because you were technically mated.

now you’ve got this kid that you’re taking care of and you love, and jake obviously has a sense of obligation to them so he comes around. you have a history with him, familiarity, and the kid asks why you two don’t live together like other parents do. but it simply wouldn’t work out! if you’re in the same room as jake for more than a minute you wanna tear each other’s heads off …😏