#nerve wracking but he's a smart cookie

[gallusneve]

I paid for one of my employee's U.S. citizenship test awhile back and he just got scheduled for next month and wants me to be there for when he swears in ❤️I'm incredibly overjoyed

[lohotine]

Finished Beast Yeast ep 3 last night..... I was not happy with the results, so now I'm forming a picture in my head of y/n cookie running to Shadow Milk Cookie and hiding behind him, fearful of Mystic Flour Cookie, shaking like a chihuahua with tears in their eyes.

If it's possible, can you expand on this, please? If you can't, then it's fine 👍🏻😁

AN: Takes place before the beasts were sealed but after they became corrupted- Uh if you want one in the present I can make one of those as well..! Also, I usually try to avoid using Y/N in my stories, but it just felt natural here-

Shadow Milk x Reader

Oneshot

Warnings: Swears, not proof read

-Fearful-

"And see? My little Y/N here is absolutely perfect in every single way." Shadow Milk was often one to brag about his significant other, the significant other in question being you, of course. It has long since become of a habit of his.

You've become somewhat used to it by this point. He bragged to anyone who would listen, so this happened quite a lot.

Though, something was different about this person.

Her apathetic presence, those uncaring eyes, the way she carried herself... it was all so nerve-wracking.

Shadow Milk had mentioned her a few times before. She was one of his friends. Mystic Flour.

She seemed uninterested in the conversation, yet listened anyway.

The very much one-sided conversation seemed to go on and on, and throughout it all, Mystic Flour continued to stare at you. Something about that gaze made you feel deeply uncomfortable, and you subconsciously held onto Shadow Milk's hand and shifted behind him.

He quickly noticed this and seemed to quiet down a bit. He saw how you began to shake a little, and how you tightend your grasp around his hand.

"Is something wrong?" He asked you, tilting his head to the side a bit.

You didn't want to say it out loud, for fear of potentially offending Mystic Flour.

It didn't take long for Shadow Milk to connect the dots. He covered his mouth with his hand, snickering a bit. "Doll, you're not afraid, are you?"

There was nothing you wanted more than to wipe that annoying grin off of his face. "Hey, fuck you!"

He sighed. "Oh come on. Are you seriously afraid of Mystic Flour?' The grin never left his face.

"I will be taking my leave now," Mystic Flour said before walking someplace else.

You crossed your arms and glared at Shadow Milk, obviously not amused.

He let out another sigh before placing a hand on your head, messying your hair up. "Doll, I assure you, there is nothing to be scared of. That emotionless dustball that somehow gets worshipped will never lay a finger on you because you're mine. And she's smart enough to not mess with my stuff, 'kay?"

You nodded your head and Shadow Milk whisked away a stray tear that you hadn't realized was forming.

He gave you a soft smile. "Next time I see her, I'll have to remind her to appear more friendly towards guests..."

[darcyfangirlsfrequently]

Darcy Analyzes Luke and His "Replacement" of Morgan and how What the Writers Tried to Pass Off as a Replacement is Actually the Farthest Thing From - an essay

People I am tagging in this essay: @a-potato-wearing-plaid, @beelmons, @jacquiebethelina44, @fangirl-criminalminds-garvez because you guys were all in the original thread that inspired this, @snailsandpuppy-dogtails because I am interested to see what you have to say and I know you'll have something because you love calling out poor writing (as you should), and @hey-dw because it's about Luke Alvez

You can find the original thread here

Word count: 1270

At his introduction, it's obvious that Luke is supposed to be the character "replacing" Morgan. Now, in most other "replacements" on the show, it has just been a new character coming in and filling an empty space, and it has always been someone original and nothing like the old character. For example: Emily replacing Elle, Jordan taking over for JJ on Mat Leave, Alex replacing Emily, Kate replacing Alex, and Tara replacing Kate. The only outlier is Ashely replacing JJ, but that's a story for another time. The main difference here is that Morgan was on the show longer than all of these people (at least consecutively, Emily "leaving and coming back every other season" Prentiss I am in fact looking at you) and his absence left a more notable hole. He played a very particular role within the show and excluding that completely would leave a void in the show, so yes, the very base of Luke's character shares similarities with Morgan, because that was the smart course of action.

The base of his character reflects Morgan in two ways. The first way is the obvious physicalities. He's the big strong pretty boy who kicks down doors and manhandles the unsubs. Not that Emily, Tara, and JJ aren't completely capable, they are some scary badass women (and we know Luke agrees) but that was the kind of character Morgan was and it was the kind of character Luke started out as, and a skill he has throughout his entire run of the show. His other similarity is his unique (and flirty) relationship with one Ms. Penelope Grace Garcia. But this is also where we run into the first big difference.

Morgan and Garcia's relationship and Luke and Garcia's relationship could not be more different. With Morgan and Garcia, yes there was always flirting, but it was always interpreted as a joke. Even if there were feelings on one or both sides (and there were) they were never explored, and it was an unspoken understanding that they never would be. Friends were the best thing for them to be. With Luke and Garcia, however, it is completely different. Her one big issue with Luke is that he is not Morgan. She feels like falling for this man who is supposed to be "replacing" her best friend is a betrayal to that friendship, and Kirsten Vangsness said that Penelope hated herself for this crush for that reason. Adam Rodriguez has also said that, at the beginning of his run of the show, as much as his scenes with Kirsten/Penelope were his favorite to film, they were also the most nerve-wracking because he knew the audience was missing the Morgan/Garcia dynamic, but he hoped they had been able to come up with a special dynamic of their own, which I definitely think they did, I think we can all agree.

The best thing the writers did with Luke and Penelope's dynamic was to not make it a cookie-cutter of her dynamic with Morgan. There's always a hint of... something under the flirting and never, not once, is it passed off as platonic or joking. In fact, multiple times, (cool hand Luke, are your ears burning, worship at my throne) the flirting makes her so flustered she hangs up the phone, something she never did with Morgan. Fans wanted Morgan and Garcia to end up together, so when Luke was created and his and Penelope's dynamic was created, it reflected that because he is not Morgan. She and Morgan never could have worked, but she and Luke absolutely could, and, as I have said, there is a romantic tension, or even just a tension of something more that underlines all of their interactions and this is entirely because Morgan and Luke are different people. It's very much a same-person-different-font situation. Things never would have worked between Penelope and the original font but once you put it in italics and make it bold... well now you're talking.

Another thing I have mentioned before is the difference between how Morgan and Luke handle their feelings for Penelope. And if you try to tell me Morgan never had feelings for her... did we watch the same show? The thing is, Morgan would never ever confess his feelings to her. He was way too scared. I think the closest we got see him get to telling her was after she was shot when he said, "I love you, you know that?" and after he almost got blown up in that ambulance when he said, "You're my god-given solace." He absolutely loved her but decided to never tell her and eventually that love shifted into the strong platonic love they share in the later seasons. Luke, on the other hand, has never been shy about it. He openly admits that he wanted to make her like him and was willing to resort to bringing in his dog to do so. He was trying to make her jealous from their first on-screen interaction, he was always the most tactile with her, and he made it abundantly clear from the very beginning that he would always be there for her should she need him. The way he spoke to her has never been platonic, you can see a major difference in the way he spoke with her vs. literally anyone else he interacts with. Even Lisa.

And yes, let's talk about Lisa. The doctor. We've already established that Luke originally started as Morgan's replacement and shared similarities with him, but as the seasons progressed he became his own character. And then for seemingly no reason, we're thrown this new relationship (with someone he barely has any chemistry with... like I'm sorry that relationship was pretty dry) and she's a doctor. Just like Savannah. This feels like a deliberate attempt to make him more of a cookie cutter of Morgan, because we know these writers hate to let Luke be his own thing. I honestly believe Lisa's sole reasons for existence were to provide an excuse as to why there couldn't be Garvez - and maybe deter people from shipping it, which didn't work though. Again, writing. They kept writing Luke as having feelings for Penelope and Adam kept playing him as having feelings for her, - to try to mirror Morgan, and to provide drama in 14.6 "Luke," since without Lisa, Luke would have automatically assumed Ramos was heading for Phil and probably would have ended up beating Ramos to Phil and therefore saving him.

As @beelmons mentioned in the original thread, "it's also so stupid because the whole beef with Penelope is the fact that he would never be Morgan? He was also not Morgan coded at all because even when the base of the character was similar he was personality wise quite different its like it naturally deviated from that and they still tried to force it." I've tried to touch on all of this throughout this essay. Yes, the base of Luke's character is similar to Morgan's, it has to be, but it grew into something different and unique because he is a different person, and when they try to force those similarities again, it just makes for something really awkward that no one really enjoyed. Once Lisa was gone, at least physically, Luke started to be himself again, and his differences from Morgan make him and interesting character, make him who he is, and we happen to love who is. All in all, the writers really seem to hate him for some reason and can never let him be his own person.

[blackmissfrizzle]

Just Right (2)

Part 1

Characters: Angel Reyes x black!plussized!reader

Chapter Summary: As he gets trained Angel starts feeling feelings.

Chapter Warning: Fluff, smut

A/N: Again shoutout to @starrynite7114 for being a wonderful friend, sounding board, and muse. Thank you girlie 😘

A/N (2): Since I got a chapter left, I’m gonna post one chapter a day.

If you want to check out more of my work here’s my masterlist and if you want to be notified here’s my taglist.

Divider Cred: @firefly-graphics​

Photo Cred: @blessedboo​

Angel was wrong and you were right. He hated you. While he was dying from the suicides you made him do you were standing there eating a taco and drinking water.

“Ain’t that enough?” Angel looked up at you during his break. “Nah, you’re gonna keep running until I feel skinny.” You took another bite of the taco.

“You’re fucking evil.” He lifted himself up for the next round torture. “I mean you could always use the safe word.” You shrugged nonchalantly.

Angel glared at you for your suggestion. He promised himself he would never speak Adelita’s name again and that’s why he decided to use it as his safe word during training. That way he wouldn’t give up. “Fuck no!” He shivered and started running again.

That’s exactly how training went for weeks. You push Angel until he voiced his hatred for you and then you pushed him some more. But in the evenings, you were each other’s company except for the occasional appearance by his brother and dad.

During this time Angel got to appreciate you more. You were attractive, funny, smart, and kind. How in the hell did he not see that before?

He was down in his garage working on his bike when you entered. “I always wanted to know what was in here.”

Angel shifted his gaze from his bike to you. He had to hold back a groan. Dressed in an oversized T-shirt of his team and shorts, a messy bun and your glasses with a plate of cookies in your hand you looked delectable. Again, he questioned himself on how Adelita was the one to capture his attention when you were right there all along.

“Ummmmm…cars.”

“Okay, smartass.” You chuckled as you rounded the corner. There you found Angel crouched on the ground working on a motorcycle. You weren’t able to see it earlier due to one of his cars blocking it. “Oh my god,” your fingers caressed the vehicle. “I didn’t know you had a bike.”

This wasn’t something Angel was used to. None of the women he dealt with including Adelita shared an interest in it. “Yeah, she’s my pride and joy.”

Finally standing up you got to enjoy Angel’s shirtless body. Yeah, he’s worked out shirtless before and you had to keep your composure then, but this, this was different. Maybe it had to do with him working with his hands or maybe it was because of his low-slung jeans that hugged his hips. Either way you were a mess.

Taking a deep breath, you purged your mind of any dirty thoughts of Angel Reyes. “Dude, you gotta take me for a ride.”

“Yeah?” Angel smiled at you, while wiping the grease off his hands. No matter how hard he asked, Adelita never agreed to ride with him, but here comes you and you’re practically begging him.

“Hell yeah! I mean I do have a fear of wiping out so I’m gonna be clutching hella hard.” Having your own bike was too nerve-wracking for you, so you settled for riding with someone, but the fear was still there.

“Don’t worry,” Angel lifted your chin and then stole a cookie from the plate. “I wouldn’t mind your arms wrapped around me.”

Your cheeks heated up. Every now and then Angel would make these types of comments, leaving you in a ditzy state. You have to convince yourself that that’s just how he is. From his interviews you could tell Angel was naturally flirtatious and charismatic.

Clearing your throat, you decided to change the subject. “So, what are you doing up this late? Don’t you have a game to rest for?”

Angel scratched the back of his head and knelt down to start working on his bike again. “Yeah, it’s just,” Angel threw his head back and let out a deep exhale. “What if I’m not ready? What if my knee gives out?”

Your heart cried out for Angel. Setting down the plate, you crouched down next to Angel and lifted his chin. “It won’t. I cleared you, the team doctor cleared you, and Coach Losa cleared you. You gotta trust the process, you gotta trust yourself.”

Angel tucked some stray hair behind your ear. “You’re amazing you know that, right? Practically a saint. Saint Y/N.”

“Oh no no no. I’m far from a saint.”

“Oh, so you’re one of them girls?” Angel arched his eyebrows suggestively.

You swatted Angel’s hands away. “No, I am not! I’m a good girl.”

Angel’s chocolate eyes darkened as his voice got deeper. “I know you’re a good girl.”

Your thighs clenched at his words. Now all you could think about is Angel on top of you calling you a good girl while he’s giving you that pipe.

“Anyway, why are you over here so late? Don’t you have a roster of men to be hitting up and making to take you out?” Angel knew you were single or at least he hoped you were. Every weekend you were here or with your parents and unlike everyone else your nose wasn’t stuck in your phone.

“Boy, I am single as Pringle.”

“Why?” Angel just had to know. You were too perfect not to be worshipped.

“Umm,” your phone buzzed, and you pulled it out to see a text from Rio. Smiling you texted him back and put your phone away. “I guess I just haven’t found the one, as corny as it sounds.”

He shouldn’t pry. It’s none of his damn business, but it was eating up at him as soon as he saw you smiling into your phone. “Who was that?”

“Oh, just Rio.” You threw out like nothing.

Of all the names, Angel didn’t expect that one. Turning away from you, Angel continued working on his bike, giving you the cold shoulder. “It’s getting late. You should go to bed and talk to Rio.”

The switch up was dizzying. One moment Angel was warm and soft and the next he was cold and hard. You just knew that it was best to leave him to sort out his feelings alone. “Well, I leave the cookies there if you want some more. Good night,” you said softly, feeling hurt.

When Angel heard the door closed, he kicked his toolbox across the room. Leave it to him to hurt the one person whose been by his side the whole time. “Way to go, Reyes.” Angel palmed his forehead, already thinking of a way to apologize.

Angel’s first game back was nerve wracking. He was playing safe, not trusting his knee fully. If he didn’t get it together right now his team would lose and be out the playoffs. “Hermosa, you gotta talk to him.” Bishop pleaded with you.

Hopping down from the stands you sat next to Angel on the bench. Feeling you next to him, Angel slid down to get away from you, but you just followed him to the end of the bench. “You go any further and you’re gonna end up on your ass.”

“Can’t you take a hint and go away?”

“Aww, someone’s cranky.” You pinched Angel’s cheek and he slapped your hands away. “Don’t be doing that shit on national tv.” Flicking his ear, you whispered in it. “Then stop acting like a fucking baby and do what needs to be done.”

Angel storms off from the bench and goes to the water cooler hoping to shake you, but you followed him anyway. “God, you’re like a fucking fly. So damn annoying.” Coco, Angel’s teammate and best friend was drinking his water when he heard Angel. He was about to defend you, but you held up your hand letting him know you got it.

Slapping the cup of water out of Angel’s hand you got in his space. “I’m not here to fucking coddle you, Reyes. I’m here to push you. You’re not a loser and I’m damn sure not a loser. So, what are you gonna do? Prove everyone else right and let your career go down in the drain or make the biggest comeback ever?”

The whistle blew signaling it was time for Angel to get back on the field. Angel kissed your cheek and snapped his helmet back on, running backwards to the field. “You know if the physical therapy thing doesn’t work out, you should ask coach about joining the coaching staff.” Rolling your eyes you flipped him the bird and he just laughed.

Bishop came up to you and put a headset on you. “Not the pep talk I was expecting, but it got the job done.” You nudge his shoulder and watched the team get a down. “What can I say? My mama ain’t raise no bitch.”

Bishop chuckled as the two of you watch Angel get the most yards he has in the entire game, making victory that much closer. He turned around and hugged you. “And maybe Angel is right. I might need you on my coaching staff.”

“Let’s get this W first and then we can talk about my salary.” You nudged Bishop’s shoulder.

There were 30 yards and one down left. They really needed a Hail Mary.

The whistle blew and for a moment you thought that Coco was about to get sacked, but the ball left his hands before they got to him. It was over. Coco overthrew the ball, there was no way Angel could catch it. You couldn’t watch this, it was making you too anxious. But then you heard the screams and you removed your fingers from your face. Angel caught the ball! He caught the freaking ball and was almost at the endzone with no one behind.

“AND THAT’S GAME LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!” The announcer informed over the intercom. “ANGEL REYES MAKES THE COMEBACK OF THE YEAR AND LEADS HIS TEAM TO THE GAME WINNING TOUCHDOWN AND TO THE PLAYOFFFS!”

Caught up in the commotion you were jumping around with the team on the sidelines, but suddenly you were lifted off the ground. “Oh my god, we did it!” Angel spun you around. “Don’t you mean you did it?” You giggled as Angel set you down on your feet. “Nah, mi dulce, we did it. I wouldn’t have been able to do this without you.” Angel kissed you on the cheek, but then he was pulled away for a post-game interview.

Gilly came up to you and wrapped his sweaty arm around your shoulder. “Get ready?”

“For what?” You arched an eyebrow at him. “To become the hottest commodity in sports history.” Then he left to join his teammates, leaving you to contemplate the next step of your career.

After the game, Angel made you go out and celebrate with the team. He claimed you were just as important to their success, even though you insisted you had nothing to do with it.

Man, these dudes can drink. “Slow down, Angel. Its not off-season.” You took his beer and finished it for him. Angel just sat back and smiled at you. “You’re right, let’s go.”

“Let me go to the restroom real quick.” You hopped up and ran to the ladies’ room. His friends gave him knowing smirks. “Cut it out.” He pointed to them.

“Nah, its not like that. We’re proud of you ‘mano. She’s a good one.” Coco smiled as you came back up to the VIP section.  

Angel couldn’t keep his eyes off of you as you came up the stairs. The heels made your legs seem longer, the shorts made your ass look extra delectable, and the crop top bralette made it hard for him to keep his eyes off your cleavage. “Ready?”

“Yeah, lets go querida.” Angel took your hand and led you down the stairs to the rideshare pickup spot.

“You ordered the Uber yet?”

“Nah, I got something better.” He led you a couple of feet down to his motorcycle. “For real?” You squealed. “Yeah, I thought we go get some ice cream and then I’ll take you for a ride.”

Jumping up and down, you hugged Angel and kissed his cheek. “Oh my god, thank you! You’re the best!” Angel snapped the extra helmet on your head. “It’s the least you deserve. C’mon, hop on.”

Giddily you got on behind Angel, but you were tentative about wrapping your arms around him tightly. Already being pressed up against him was tantalizing enough. “You’re really gonna fall off if you hold onto me like that. Hold on tighter.” At his insistence, you followed his directions. “Good girl.” He said as he revved up his bike.

It was everything you wanted and more. The wind wiping through your hair, the zipping in and out of lanes, and the vibration of the bike underneath you.

Once, Angel got the ice cream, he took you to his favorite spot in the city. It was the biggest hill overlooking the city and also a well-known makeout spot for kids.

“Cloud 9, huh?” You lifted your eyebrow to him as you went to sit on the big rock out there. “Don’t think you’re gonna get lucky mister.” Angel chuckled and lifted his hands in surrender. “Never. My attentions are pure. Its all in my name.”

Kissing your teeth, you lightly shoved him. “Boy, you are far from an Angel according to the blogs.”

“What do the blogs say?” He asked lowly, taking his ice cream cup from you. “According to them you are exceptionally blessed and your tongue isn’t just used for talking.” Angel had a shit-eating grin, but you just had to wipe it off his face. “But I think its all bullshit.” You smiled at his dropped jaw and wiggled in your seat to celebrate for catching him off-guard.

Angel invaded your space and whispered against your skin. “You could always find out for yourself.” Nervously, you began laughing and mushed Angel in his face. He had to be joking.

Sensing your uneasiness, Angel changed the topic. “So, all this time together and I’ve never asked you how you got into physical therapy.”

“Oh, easy! My dad was a war vet and on his last tour he got seriously injured. Man, when I found out I buried my head in books looking for a treatment plan. His PT asked me more than once if I wanted his job. And the rest was history and now I’m working at the VA.”

“Wow, you sure you’re not the angel?” Could you get any better, he thought. Opposite of Adelita, your kindness didn’t come with stipulations. You gave with expecting nothing in return.  

“Mmm, maybe,” you stretched out your body and yawned. “Sleepy, cariño?” He brushed back some of your hair. “Noooo,” you yawned out.

Angel took your ice cream cup and threw it in the trash. “Yes, you are, sleepyhead. Let’s go home.” You allowed Angel to move your body however he pleased. The tiredness was already seeping throughout your body. “Hold on tight. I’ll have us home in no time.”

Racing down the street Angel got you home quickly, though you weren’t as tired as you were earlier. The wind whipping you in the face woke you up some more.

“Thank you for tonight, Angel. Everything was perfect.” You didn’t know if it was the sleepiness, the alcohol, or just the heat of the moment, but whatever it was it led you to kiss Angel. It only lasted for a couple of seconds but as soon as you tried to back away he pulled you back in for a much longer, much more passionate kiss. “Come to bed with me,” he sorta asked, sorta ordered you once he let you up for air.

You nodded at him and he picked you up. “Angel, put me down! You’re gonna hurt yourself going up these stairs while carrying me.” Angel stopped mid-stride and tilted your chin to get a good look at you. “I don’t know what type of dudes you messed with before, but I ain’t them. I can handle of this,” he smacked your backside making you yelp. “Entiendes?”

“Mmhmm,” you nodded, nuzzling your face in his neck. Angel finished his trek to his room and laid you on his bed. Leaning back on you elbows, you appreciated Angel’s look for the night. He wore a simple black tee with ripped black jeans, but the pièce de resistance was his chain. There was something about it that made you hungrier for him. “Keep the chain on,” you meekly ordered him while he was taking off his clothes.

The corner of his mouth quirked up as he crawled over your body. “Yeah? You like it?” You nodded your head and bent down to kiss you while his hands slithered to your shorts to undo them. His fingers slid down your panties and right into your weeping core. “Shit, this all for me baby?”

“Yesss,” you mewled, your legs already thrashing against the bed. “How long has it been, querida? It’s a struggle to get two fingers in.”

You shook your head no, too embarrassed to tell him the truth. “Tell me.” He nipped at your chin. “Or you don’t get to cum and I wanna make you cum, pretty baby.” Angel stopped his fingers, even though he desperately wanted to continue.

“Please Angel,” you ran your fingers up and down his back. “Nah, baby. You gotta tell me first,” he kissed your pulse point. “Alright, you huffed, “three years.”

“See it wasn’t that hard.” Angel began his ministrations again. “We got three years to make up for.” The rough pad of his thumb found your clit and he began rubbing little circles.

“Angel.” You cried out and held onto his wrist. “God, you’re beautiful. You think you can handle another finger?”

It slipped out before you noticed. “Yes daddy.” Angel eyes darkened and he crashed his lips into yours, swallowing your cries. “Fuck, you’re gripping me so tight. Daddy’s gonna fuck this little pussy up.”

The delicious stretch from his fingers and the never ending assault on your clit had you on cloud nine. “Daddy, I’m gonna cum,” you whimpered, circling your hips. “Cum then.” Angel pressed all three fingers against your walls, triggering a white hit explosion you never felt in your entire life.

“Suck ‘em.” Angel tapped his fingers against your lips. Opening them up, you took them in your mouth catching a hint of metal due to his rings. You swore you tasted better on his fingers than on yours.

“Take off your top.” As you did what Angel said, he slid your shorts and panties off.  While he took off your heels, he kissed the inside of your ankle. “I can’t wait to have this dangling in the air.” He fingered your anklet.

Pushing your knees to your chest, Angel slid down your body. He took a deep inhale of your pussy, committing your scent to memory.

The first lick was a little tentative, like he was sampling the goods first . But after a couple more swipes, he had your whole clit in his mouth making you go crazy. “Mi dulce, you just became my favorite meal.”

The combination of Angel’s tongue on your bundle of nerves and his fingers sliding in and out of you was maddening. “Oh no, not another one.” You said to no one in particular. Angel chuckled with your clit still in his mouth. “Oh yes, another one.”

Grabbing onto his raven locks, you tried to pull him up, but he hunkered down instead, Angel wrapped his hands around your hips and pinned you down, diving deeper into your folds. “Fuck Angel! I’m I’m I’m,” it felt like a dam broke as your orgasm overcame you.

Then the damn demon wouldn’t let you go. Angel continued to eat you out even though you already came and was beating down on his back.

Finally Angel came back up for some air and the sight before you was beautiful. His beard was glistening all because of you. Your essence was dripping all over his beard.

“Give me a taste, daddy.” You ordered Angel, crooking your finger. “As you wish.” Angel came up and kissed you. Your tongue swiped at the seam of his mouth. Angel complied with your silent order and opened his mouth, where you and him fought for dominance.

Keeping Angel focused, your hands traveled to his boxers, setting his dick free. “Oh my!” Just from the feel of it, you could tell Angel was hung. Guess those blogs were right. “Are you gonna fit, daddy?”

Angel laughed and reached out for a condom. Slipping on the condom, Angel tapped his dick against your clique. “Ohh, he’s gonna fit.”

Feeling confident that he gathered enough lubrication to slide in. “Fuck, mami, you’re tight.” Angel bent down to swallow your whimpers. As hard as it was for him not to cum, the pain had to be worse for you.

“I’m not hurting you, am I baby?” Angel didn’t dare to begin to move once he was fully seated. “No. I need you to give it to me, Angel.”

Angel pecked your lips and sat up on his arms with his hands on your hips. “This pussy is mines now! You ain’t going nowhere after this.”

He began brutally snapping his hips into yours while singing your praises. ‘Cum on my cock, pretty baby.’ ‘You make the cutest sounds while I’m beating this pretty pussy up.’ ‘You look so beautiful coming on my dick.’

Angel intertwined his fingers with yours and nipped at your lips. “Angel please let me cum.” He took your bottom lip and dragged it it in between his teeth.   “Not until you tell me whose pussy this is.”

“Mines,” you gasped as he hit a new spot. “I knew there was a little brat in there.” Angel wrapped his free hand around your throat. His cool rings starkly contrasted the heat emitting from your body. “You like that shit, huh?” Angel commented when he felt you clench around him after he put his hand on your neck.

“Whose. Pussy. Is. This?” Angel growled, punctuating each word with a harsh thrust. “Damn it, yours Angel! It’s all yours!” You scratched down his back.

“Damn right it is,” he bit on your shoulder. “Cum on daddy’s dick, pretty girl.”

Throwing your head back, arching your back you let the orgasm wash over you. “Angel,” you screamed clutching onto him. “I’m right here, baby.” He kissed you all over face, letting you know he was right there with you.

“Shit,” Angel groaned, his strokes began to get sloppy. “I’m gonna cum, baby. Where do you want it?”

“In my mouth.” You just had to get a taste of him, especially since he already knew what you tasted like.

Quickly both of you got off the bed. You on your knees and Angel hovering over you. Throwing the condom off, he began stroking his veiny masterpiece he called a dick. “You’re gonna look so pretty with my cum all over your face.” Angel stroked your cheek lovingly like he wasn’t just about to paint your face with his load.

Out of nowhere, you got jealous of Angel’s hand and instead of letting him jerk himself off to completion, you wrapped your mouth around his dick. “Oh shit,” Angel moaned, throwing his head back. “Keep sucking Daddy’s dick like that.” He buried his hands in your hair as he tried his hardest not to fuck your face.

“Aww fuck, I’m gonna, I’m gonna, shit!” Angel exploded in your mouth, making you take every drop. But you didn’t stop after that, you kept sucking and swiping across his tip. Angel had to push your head back to get you to stop. “Think that’s funny?”

Wiping the corners of your mouth you smiled up at him. “Yeah.”

“Nasty bitch,” Angel pulled you up by the hair and kissed you, loving the taste of himself on your tongue. “So, did I live up to the blogs?”

“Hmmm, I don’t know. I need to conduct further research.” Angel pushed you back onto the bed. “That can be arranged.” He smiled as he climbed back on top of you to ensure he blew past your expectations.

Tagging: @ourlittlesecretsoveragain​ @starrynite7114​ @sambucky8​ @mygirlrenee​ @richonne4life​ @readsalot73​ @chaneajoyyy​ @enamouravecleslivresetlechocolat​ @jassydwill11​ @otomefromtheheart​ @miss-nori85​ @xsweetdellzx​ @cherryblossomgirl20 @ljstraightnochaser​ @my-rosegold-soul​ @angrythingstarlight​ @brattyfics​ @lovebennycolon​ @langiinspirations​ @chibsytelford​ @trulysuccubus​ @spookys-girl​ @sesamepancakes​ @brownsugarcoffy​ @thesandbeneathmytoes​ @fvckthisbxtchup​ @theartisticqueen​ @vsfavs​ @woahitslucyylu​ @angelreyesgirl​ @blessedboo​ @marvelmaree​ @ifoundmyhappythought​

[miss-nov]

Over-Emotional: Danny Phantom Oneshot.

Original idea by @amabsis on their post right here!!

[Originally written on a reblog of the prompt but it went all screwy and left an incomplete version so I made it it's own post and I've made a few grammar and spelling edits. Sorry for any confusion!!]

(This is the first thing I've ever written for the DP Phandom so I apologize if it's a little OOC)

⚠️(TW: DESCRIPTIONS OF A PANIC ATTACK AND GORE!!!!!)⚠️

  Danny drifted through the skies of Amity Park, following the streets which were slick with recent rain. The stars twinkled merrily above and the beams from the street lights seemed to buzz through the comforting, crisp air. Not a sound disrupted the mellow atmosphere and ghosts had appeared to leave tonight alone and retired to their lairs. A soothing night such as this would have been Danny's favorite; it would have been a much needed break from his overly stressful life.

  Yet Danny couldn't shake off the creeping apprehension even as he twisted in and out of alleyways back into the lit roads.

  His parents had been working tirelessly  on a project that they wouldn't tell him and Jazz about. Jack, their father, would always jump at the chance to describe what he was doing and couldn't keep his antics quiet for long. Maddie's, their mother, eyes would have brightened as she recounted the innovate idea she had conjured and the necessary calculations she could toy around with. These facts coupled with Jazz and Danny casually inquiring about their latest project would make them incredibly ecstatic.

  But whenever the two had asked about it, put off by the unusual quiet of the parents, had only been given an amused smile and an occasional wink.

  Tonight, before Danny's patrol and during dinner, Jazz had managed to weasel some information out of them. Though, it left more questions than answers.

  "So, you guys have been in the lab a lot recently," Jazz said conversationally. "Working on some new ghost stuff? It seems important if you're spending most of the day down there."

  Maddie had given her a deliberate look like someone who'd finally decided to take a second cookie.

  "It's our greatest invention yet," she said lowly and excitedly. "I think your dad and I have found the solution to our little ghost problem."

  The siblings gulped and tried to suppress their shudders.

  "It's not going to hurt them is it? Phantom and the other ghosts." Jazz's voice was even and didn't show a hint of a tone shift.

  "Surprisingly, no. No harm will be dealt to them. It's not like they can feel anyway. That's exactly the problem," Jack chimed excitedly before going back to his ectoplasm contaminated lasagna.

  "Besides, we wouldn't want to hurt the object of our daughter's affection.  We all know about your crush on Phantom," Maddie teased but then added with a small frown. "Though it's not healthy to have a crush on ghosts at all."

 Jazz gave an aggressive gagging noise and Danny was torn between hysterical laughter and a gag of his own. Dinner resumed as normal —well, as normal as you could get being a Fenton— and Danny took note of the fact his parents had refused to say anymore.

  Danny was busy going over and dissecting the conversation and lax in his attention to his surroundings by the inactivity that he didn't notice the two shadow-cloaked figures tailing him. The taller one with a broader build was holding an intimidating gun, that looked like it was straight out of an eighties sci-fi movie, on his back.

  Maybe I should head back, Danny thought to himself. I have so much homework due and a test tomorrow. A pop quiz in calculus and a lab in science. I have to meet Nathan at my study hall period and at lunch. Liz needs my help…

  On and on the list went as Danny subtlety started flying home. Just thinking of things that needed done was making him more anxious and tired.

  "Phantom, we'll have you now," Jack cried, his voice echoing in the hollow streets.

  Danny turned around, slightly aggravated when he was struck by a violet beam and plummeted, crashing to the sidewalk.

  "Jack! I told you to wait," Maddie chastised as they walked over to Danny who had barely sat up.

  His head swam and Maddie and Jack looked like the reflections of a carnival fun house mirror. Though his vision corrected itself quickly.

  "I think you might have given him a concussion. But that doesn't make sense, ghosts don't have brains," Maddie said, slightly confused. She reached out to gingerly place her fingertips on Danny's temple and he flinched.

  "Don't touch me!!" Danny had yelled louder then he meant to and his voice came out with an extra echo; like he had been about to use his ghostly wail. The three stilled before Danny began crawling backwards, keeping his eyes on Jack and Maddie at all times.

  "I don't wanna hurt you," Danny whimpered and tears sprang to eyes like a line of men ready to battle. Why the hell was he crying!? He didn't cry easy, at least not of late, and he'd been in these situations and worse without crying so why was he breaking down now??

  Maddie looked at him with wide eyes and her hand, which had still been suspended in shock, dropped to her belt and Danny panicked.

  "Don't hurt me!" Danny tried to pick himself up to fly, to get the hell out of dodge but when he went to stand his vision and black an —god why were his veins burning with adrenaline???

  Danny's chest was caving, that was the only explanation as his ribs seized and threatened to crush his lungs. His heart had left its place and sprinted from the back of his throat down to right beneath his collarbone before starting all over again. Has his hands always been this sweaty??? Tremors wracked through his limbs —he couldn't deal with this now!! He needed to finish his Hamlet essay, and review his history notes, and hadn't Liz asked him to buy popsicle sticks for their art project??? That's what he had forgotten!! He can't think of this now!! Maddie and Jack could easily catch him now —but oh, God was he screwed when —if— when he went to school the next day.

  "Phantom, you're having a panic attack," Maddie said calmly.

  "No, shit there, Sherlock." Danny bit his bottom lip to prevent another scathing comment from escaping. Usually he had better control of his mouth believe it or not. He put his head between his knees, closing his eyes and trying to focus on, well, nothing. He felt tears slip from his eyes and barely stopped himself from screaming.

  "You know what a panic attack is?" Jack titled his head as he scanned over his shaking form.

  "Jack did you put the settings up too high while we were following him?"

  "Of course not! I was very careful not to bounce anything out of place. You've Done the math, four times, it should be perfectly calibrated." Jack twisted the purple and silver metallic gun in his hands, giving it a thorough look over.

  "What the fuck are you two talking about!!" The scientists' head whipped back to see Danny's eyes glowing a tad brighter than before and his mouth transfixed into a snarl. Maddie slid a careful hand to her holster.

  "Our newest invention. Ghosts, well most of them, are just whispers of feelings that people once had. They can't actually feel and so they do bad things or... or they mimic human behaviors really well to make it seem like they do, like they're human." Maddie's voice trailed off at the end as if seeing if he would explode.

  Danny felt that normally he would have but he started to hyperventilate. How was he going to reverse it??? Was there even a way to do so or did they not include a reverse button by mistake (on purpose?) like they had mistakenly put the 'on' button inside the portal??

  "We're going to take you to the lab. Check your... concussion and to stabilize your mood. Run a few tests..."

Ohgodohgodohgodohgodohgodoh—

   They would strap him down and cut and lay his chest open like a butterfly steak and their hungry eyes would roam over him and their hands would devour him by pulling at his nerve endings and removing his organs and Danny would scream until his voice was hoarse and then some like a helpless lamb. Would he bleed blood or ectoplasm when they drained him? Would they take turns as he bleed out?? Or would they flow out together like some sort of demented, holiday dinner?? Or—

  "Phantom! You need to calm down." Maddie was at his side (when had she gotten there?) and was squeezing his hand. Danny briefly noted her eyes were filled with worry as her goggles hung at her neck. "Just breathe with me okay, please."

  "Breathe with her, buddy" Jack, who sat on the other side of Danny, whispered as he gently rubbed circles on the boy's lower back. "It's gonna be okay. We aren't going to hurt you."

  Danny wanted to say a smart aleck remark about them not having the same sentiment five minutes ago but instead focused on his breathing. He faced his head skyward and tried to count the stars. Nothing but him and the stars, no home— just the stars.

  Danny was reminded of the time he went stargazing with the rest of his family. A rare occasion as Maddie and Jack seemed to always be working. They had smiled so big at him as he pointed out constellations, awestruck. Jazz had nodded along as she listened attentively with a smile of her own. The night hadn't been more clear in months and more stars then usually were out. The picnic blanket they laid on was soft and him and Jazz had rested in between their parents and God they had been so happy then—

  Danny let out an involuntary sob. The melancholy seemed to come from the depths of his chest but at least it seemed to push out the panic.

  "Phantom," Maddie asked as she huddled closer to him. Phantom, not Danny. It hadn't really bothered him before; they didn't know it was him so why would they call him by his name?

  But it still made him cry harder. He wanted to tell them. He wanted to so, so bad.

  Jazz had urged him to tell them. But Danny had always been afraid. Scared that they wouldn't want him anymore.

  Now the sadness had overwhelmed the fear and the panic. He felt so isolated even when his parents were next to him, right there, trying to coax him into being calm. He had to tell them. He had to do it now because he wouldn't be this impulsive again.

  He felt the white rings gloss over him and heard Jack yell out "Phantom". When it was over he heard them gasp.

  "D-Danny," Maddie choked out.

   "I'm so sorry," Danny said through his tears. He chanted it over and over again as his parents reassured him that he had nothing to be sorry for and that they should apologize.

  The three sat there for quite some time, huddled close and crying together.

  Soon they would head home and take care of Danny's quickly healing concussion and reverse the effects of the gun. They would ask questions tomorrow after school but, for now, they tucked him into bed, something they hadn't done since he was eleven, and gave him their good night kisses on his temple before creeping to their room unaware of Jazz watching them from her bedroom door. She would text Sam and Tucker an explanation and ask them to give Danny the answers to the homework in the morning. She slipped into bed and fell asleep.

  The streets were barely slick with rain anymore. The stars twinkled merrily and the street lights buzzed. The crisp, cool air was calm and mellow. The night soothing and the Fentons were a family once again.

[suntrastar]

abstract: chapter 3

 chapter 2!! you can also read it on ao3 :)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Artist!Reader

Summary: Wait- Bucky Barnes attends your art class? And you didn’t even recognize him?

Word Count: 9520. i am deranged. someone euthanize me i beg you.

Author’s note: jesus fucking christ. this is so long for no reason. probably kind of poorly written. that is okay though. i really really appreciate the support you guys have given me for the last 2 chapters!! i was a bit iffy about joining tumblr but i’m glad to be here now :) please comment and reblog!! i appreciate it so much!!! ily all ok now enjoy this mess!!!

“You want to paint me?”

Rina looks at you, shocked, mouth agape, lone cherry tomato speared on her fork.

“Yeah,” you say, and smile with your straw still in between your teeth. “You in a field of flowers.”

“You want to paint me in a field of flowers?”

“Yes- that’s literally what I just said.”

The bustle of the restaurant is loud enough to drown out the rising volume of her voice. Thankfully. She’s being excessive, again- as if this is the first time she’s ever been the center of attention- but you’re fine with it today. You almost like it.

Today, her enthusiasm is almost contagious.

“I know,” Rina says “Duh. But, like, it’s just so crazy to me that you want to put me in your second solo show ever- I mean, why me?”

“Because,” you say, and almost leave it at that, just to mess with her. “Because you’re my best friend, and the whole thing is focused on people I know. And your hair would look so good with poppies, and-”

“I’m your best friend?”

“Obviously,” you say, even though to her, it might not be that obvious. “Who else?”

“That is so sweet,” she says, and leans back in her seat, dramatically clutching her hands over her heart. Rings sit on each of her fingers, gold and heavy stone. “You are too nice to me.”

She’s really milking it. But you’ll let it slide.

Rina gives you a self-satisfied smile, which you return without too much trouble. She’s so overwrought and showy with how she sits, limbs sprawled all over, like they’ve been blown into disarray by the wind. Her hair, still glossy red, is parted down the middle and made up in two French braids, tips just barely brushing her shoulders. The hair ties don’t match.

She has no best friend. She probably has, like, five other people just like you, who she calls on when she feels like it, whenever she wants company, when she feels like humoring someone. Or when she wants someone to listen to her talk.

It comes as part of the lifestyle- can you really blame her?

“I know,” you say, veering back on topic. “Bucky gave me the idea.”

You do it on purpose.

Her eyes go wide.

“Bucky?” She says, incredulously. Like she doesn’t believe you.

The feeling of being incompetent comes quick in a flash, and it takes too much to put it away.

You’re not incompetent- his number is in your phone, after all, isn’t it?

“The Winter Soldier, I mean,” you say, and the words feel all wrong in your mouth.

“No . Shut up. You are not on first-name basis with the fucking Winter Soldier.”

“Oops,” you say.

Her jaw drops.

You’re grinning too hard. She didn’t expect this from you- you didn’t expect this from you! You take a bite of your food, some garlicky chicken thing you can’t pronounce the name of, to delay your response. It gives you time to think of what to say next.

Rina waits, stunned into silence.

“We’re… talking, I think,” you say. “I asked him for his number.”

“And he gave it to you?”

“Yep.”

There’s a story there, that you won’t tell her.

You texted him a day after class, on Tuesday. Was that too soon? You didn’t care, your mind was too muddled with so many other things- icy blue eyes and different techniques for drawing wrinkles and this week’s shopping list and the best color that went with orange-red, and the laundry that you still hadn’t done.

You were too giddy to get smart with it- all you sent was a simple Hey.

All he sent back was a simple Hi.

Then, once you had read over his message too many times, you turned your phone off and pretended it never happened.

It’s too nerve-wracking. And pointless. You’re going to see him on Monday again, anyway! There’s plenty of time to text him- everything doesn’t have to be so immediate- you’ll get around to it before then, for sure.

You just have to stop thinking so much.

“I cannot believe you,” Rina gushes, and from her expression, you believe her. “You’re all grown up! I am so proud of you. That man is delicious, I cannot-”

“Do not describe him as delicious, oh my god.”

You burst out laughing as Rina raises one eyebrow, filled in dark. Her eye makeup always kills. “Am I wrong?”

“Well… no, but…”

***

Steve leaves, but Bucky stays back at the end of class to help you clean up. Acrylics again, and it’s the second-to-last class, so you had finally brought out the canvas.

Canvas means more fun, but more mess. More paint splatters on the tables, more brushes with clogged-up bristles.

Bucky doesn’t smile as he says bye to Steve, and it makes you feel a certain type of way , but you stick to business. Cleaning supplies are pulled out, paper towels are ripped from the dispenser. Bucky starts on the tables while you roll up your sleeves and start the sink, preparing to start on the brushes.

God- these brushes.

If these brushes were washed incorrectly, you would cry. They’re new, and high-quality, and the bristles are still soft and not yet frayed or discolored, and the handles are made of thick, clear plastic, and they come in different sizes and styles, and you can barely believe it, but they all even have rubber grips.

They’re really nice brushes.

“You didn’t text me back,” Bucky says.

You wish the sink was loud enough to swallow all sound, swallow you up within it.

Still, you look over your shoulder, giving him a pained smile while he scrubs at a spot of dried paint. He looks back at you, but you can’t tell what he’s thinking.

Of course you didn’t text back- thinking less is way harder than it seems.

“I wanted to,” you say, “but I got nervous. Sorry.”

You turn back to the sink. It’s a little easier to breathe without having to look at him.

“You got nervous,” he repeats, voice still so unreadable.

Is he mad? He always looks mad, always sounds mad- you can’t ever tell if there’s anything behind it.

“Yeah,” you say, and shrug, like it’s no big deal at all, like you chicken out of things all the time, like texting is always such a cause for concern. “I didn’t know what to say. What was I supposed to say?”

“I don’t know.”

Ugh.

The sink water slowly circles the drain. You don’t look past it, only keeping your eyes on the sink and the remaining brushes- it helps calm your heart, a little. Bucky is probably on the last few tables. All of the paintings have been neatly propped up on the drying racks.

Bucky painted his entire canvas yellow.

You are so dumb.

“Um, okay” you say, shutting off the sink. The really nice brushes are all neatly piled up on the counter on top of a folded paper towel, washed and drying. “What if I was like, ‘hey, Bucky, after this class ends and I’m not your art instructor anymore, would you want to meet up sometime?’”

You turn back around and lean against the sink. It’s an effort that deserves applause- you look so collected, while your heart is beating way too fast, and Bucky, its forever opposite, just stands behind a table, spray bottle in hand.

Your hands are sweaty.

He nods slowly, and it’s a victory in and of itself- the action nearly has you weak at the knees.

“Meet up,” he repeats, voice low, like a halfhearted growl. Disdainful, kind of. “Like a date.”

You wipe your hands on your apron. It’s a totally normal, totally relaxed movement. But then you’re wishing that you wore something cuter- was this sweatshirt really the only thing you had? Do you not own, like, a blouse, or something? Didn’t you just do your laundry?

Fuck, you’re being annoying.

“We don’t have to call it that,” you say. “We can just… hang out. Eat something. Go on a walk.”

You say it casually, but honestly, you like nice dates. Dates at art museums, dates at fusion restaurants, dates at movie theaters showing indie films in foreign languages. Anything eccentric, haphazard. Spontaneous.

But you also like seeing him smile, and you like to talk, and you like to be listened to- and he is giving you that.

This is a different type of everything. It’s all upside down, inside out, twisted over in itself. You have to approach it all differently, maybe it’s because he’s too quiet or too famous or too dangerous or whatever the hell, but none of it matters.

What matters is that you want it.

You’ll realign your compass.

“Okay,” he says. “I like walks.”

“Great,” you say, and go on without hesitating, because long nights have you tired and hesitation is for the weak, “I like you.”

Bucky Barnes, real, unfitting name James, clutching dirty paper towels and a spray bottle, smiles at you.

It’s wrong, but you could just bite him.

A sudden, unprompted thought hurls through your mind- you want to paint him.

***

The last art class.

It was once long-awaited, but now, you’re actually sad to see everyone go.

You buy a tray of cookies. It’s the least you can do- everyone has been so nice to you, so respectful and cooperative. Everyone has made things fun. You don’t know if you were doing anything right, but it sure as hell has been enjoyable.

Crumbs might get in the paint, but’s a small price to pay.

“Knock yourself out,” you announce.

The tray is set out on the middle table. You forgot the package of napkins back at your studio, so you gesture to the paper towel dispenser.

Then you long for the kids in your Wednesday and Thursday classes, because unlike these people, they wouldn’t be looking so dead at the prospect of free cookies.

You shake your head and return to your perch, tucking your feet behind the legs of the stool.

Eventually the conversations trickle out, slowly turning the room warm and lovely and bright. You listen in, a little, savor it, and hop back up. There’s nothing to do- might as well make some idle chitchat, one last time.

Shonna uses a small brush to add purple highlights to the feathers of a pigeon. It’s gorgeous- and you don’t even like pigeons- but you like her painting style and the jewel tones she’s adding amidst the grey, and the orange beak, and the washed-out yellow background she’s painting over.

“Wow,” you say, and she adds another purple highlight with a flick of her hand. “I cannot stop looking at this pigeon.”

“Thank you, honey,” she says, without looking up.

She’s too focused for you to stay for too long- you have to leave the pigeon for others. Marcie waves you down and gives you the latest update about her son, abandoning her half-painted rose while she launches into a bit of a tirade- her son wants to pierce his nose, isn’t that ridiculous?

“Hey, I wanted to pierce my nose when I was his age, too,” you say, and spout something about self-expression that makes her frown.

Ahmed chimes in. You have no idea what the blob he’s painting is supposed to be, but you like it. “I’ve been trying to tell her the same thing! These kids are modern now- these are just the things they do!”

“These are just the things we do,” you echo.

Marcie heaves a heavy sigh.

***

You head over to a few more tables, and it goes by too fast and too slow, but then you’re suddenly there in the back, with your star student, and your…

With Bucky.

“I really like how this is turning out,” Steve says proudly, as you approach them.

Then, he adds, almost childishly, “Don’t look until I’m done.”

He has a half-eaten sugar cookie sitting by his paint water.

“I won’t look” you promise, and all at once, you’re almost emotional- he is such a nice guy. He’s like the human embodiment of a golden retriever. “Don’t worry.”

Steve nods, pleased and nervous at the same time. You pointedly look away from the painting as you slide into a seat, across from Bucky and his yellow canvas.

Yellow and black canvas. He’s hunched over with a fat-bristled paintbrush in hand, adding black stripes, blobby and unevenly spaced, but still unbelievably straight.  

It is all so cute.

“Very bumblebee-esque,” you say, and his forehead creases. “I like it.”

Steve smiles.

Bucky adds another line. He didn’t take a cookie. He should’ve- the chocolate-chip is so good.

“Thanks,” he says.

And Steve just smiles wider, and you almost kick him under the table, and Bucky gives you an unsmiling look that turns you to jelly.

Hat aside, he is looking exceptionally pretty today. All hair and eyes and bone structure- it makes you want to do something, like reaching out and grabbing him by the collar of his jacket. Like running a hand over his jaw. Catching his stubble under your fingertips.

Parting his hair down the middle and French braiding it.

Taking a picture- it'll last longer.

“I'm going to miss seeing you guys around.”

Steve gives you a surprised look and shakes his head. He has one arm protectively curled around his canvas, even though you’re still not looking.

“Oh, I’m sure one of us will be seeing you around,” he says, and grins.

You glare at him.

Bucky laughs.

***

The goodbyes aren’t as bad as you thought they would be.

People leave with a simple goodbye and a brief thank you, shrugging on their coats and gingerly clinging to their still-damp artwork. Marcie makes you promise her that you won’t pierce your nose. One woman who would always come to the class with a huge coffee cup sets her painting aside to sweep you into a hug.

It’s very gratifying.

Steve and Bucky linger.

Shonna does, too, but for a completely different reason.

You want to give her Rina’s contact. She probably has some painting class available, if Shonna’s interested in that sort of thing, if she’s okay with being around so much personality.

And you also want to give her your contact- so she can keep on sending you pictures of those  birds.

“One sec,” you tell her, and reach for your purse, sitting on the counter.

Bucky is standing closeby, remarkably closeby, and you accidentally brush against him.

He goes rigid.

But you’re busy pulling out a pen and a scrap piece of paper, and then you’re using the counter as a hard surface to write against, shoulders angled away from him, and you’re talking all the while- you don’t have the spare second to be concerned.

“This is my email,” you say, adding a smiley face after the address. “Send me your art. And, like, talk to me. Send me your grocery lists, if you want- I don’t care. Here.”

Shonna takes it and gives you a smile. There’s a glimmer of something in it, a knowing.

“Thank you,” she says, and laughs a little, and you suddenly fiercely miss your mother. “I’ll keep the last bit in mind.”

She looks past you. Steve, standing a few feet away, holding the canvas he still hasn’t shown you, nods respectfully. And Bucky, standing near the counter, still near you, even though he’s looking at you like you’ve scalded him.

“I’ll leave you to it,” she says.

You almost ask, “to what?” But she’s already left- Shonna and her pigeons are gone.

Steve steps up fast to take her place.

You still have no time to think.

“So, this is the finished product,” Steve says with no preamble, and with a great flourish that makes you laugh in delight, he turns the canvas around.

Oh.

Wow.

You’re not dizzy.

But you will be, if you keep on looking at this- a tangle of vines on a wall, with blooming flowers in what should be the wrong colors, dappled in light from a window you can’t see, drawn from a strange perspective. The leaves are really big and the vines are really small, and then it’s flip-flopped, and he has a hot-pink underpainting that he didn’t fully cover, so there’s pink in the leaves, pink on the wall. Pink in the un-pink flowers.

“Fuck,” you say, and then go quiet.

Steve tenses.

Now you have two very strong men looking at you weird.

You should probably fix that.

“I don’t- I don’t know what to say,” you say, stumbling over your words, feeling cotton-mouthed. “There are no coherent thoughts going on in my head right now. I’m just- where did this even- how did you even come up with this?”

“I tried to do that thing you said,” Steve says, sounding uncertain. He shifts and the painting moves with him, sending pink flickering over your eyesight. “No empty space. Because it’s boring.”

What is this called, again? Artists supporting artists?

“It is boring,” you say in agreement, and your voice comes back to you, all at once. “And holy shit, you pulled it off so well. I’m obsessed with the pink underpainting- it’s everything. You literally invented pink. And can we talk about these vines? How long did it take you to draw them all tangled up like that? And the flowers- you even gave them little stems, ugh.  And all the colors! And this lighting- I’m sorry, I have too much to say.”

Like watching a flower bloom, Steve unfurls at your praise, blush deepening with each compliment. It’s so wonderfully endearing, and internally, you sigh in relief.

“Thank you,” he says, and bursts into the brightest smile you’ve ever seen. “Also, we have one more question.”

“We?” You ask, and Bucky clears his throat.

You turn to him.

Already, you have a whole slew of problems- you have to sketch out an emerging idea and place an order for new brushes, ones with rubber grips, and you have to cook dinner when you get home because lately you’ve been ordering too much takeout, and you have to organize your closet, and you have to give an adequate and peppy response to whatever Steve is about to say-

You’re bursting at the seams.

There isn’t much room for anything else. Any concern.

“You have something to say, Bucky?” You ask, and waggle your eyebrows.

He doesn’t crack a smile- just how you like it.

“I do,” he says, smugly, and then says your name in a way that ties your stomach up in knots, that has you thinking of flowers and chiffon.

“We were wondering if you’re free tomorrow,” Steve says, and then invites you out for drinks, for tomorrow evening.

So you’ve passed the initial threshold of friendship, and now you’re onto group drinking! That’s exciting- and you’ll get to see Bucky, and you’ll get to postpone that tedious process of planning out a date- a hang-out, and you’ll have an opportunity to show up in something besides jeans and sad sweatshirts.

There hasn’t been a chance to show it off to him, yet, but you can dress.

Steve mentions another friend named Sam, who might join, too, if that’s okay with you.

“I’m cool with it,” you say. “The more the merrier, right?”

He has to be a decent guy, if Steve associates with him, and you like new people.

But doesn’t Steve also associate with, like, Tony Stark?

That man is oh-so problematic. He rolls out with a new scandal every month. He’s had enough scandals that he could release a line of red-and-gold-themed calendars- with the dates of each scandal marked in. Each month could have its own photo, too, coinciding with the dates.

Tony Stark, making peace signs at a court hearing. Tony Stark, wasted on a yacht. Tony Stark, in the middle of an interview where he bashes people who have absolutely nothing to do with him.

“That sounds like fun,” you say, and Steve lets out a breath of relief, “but I have to ask, about Sam? Is he, like, a…”

An Avenger? A genetically-altered individual? A prominent public figure with a stupid amount of money?

“He’s a really nice guy,” Steve quickly says.

“He’s a pain in the ass,” Bucky says, immediately after him.

***

As it turns out, Sam Wilson is not a pain in the ass.

He is really nice, but more importantly, he is funny.

Bucky texted you the address a few hours ago. You walk into the bar and at once, you’re assaulted by an excess of dark- dark floors, dark lighting, dark accents on the decor. None of it is dingy, just low-lit. It’s a nice place.

It might be a little too nice- nothing like the sticky-floored, rowdy sports-themed bars you usually hit when you’re in the mood to get hammered.

You catch the back of a head, wavy brown hair and thick shoulders, in a booth tucked into the corner. Steve, sitting opposite him, against the wall, catches your eye and waves you over.

Next to Bucky is a guy you’ve never seen before, Sam. Black skin, close-cropped hair, looking over his shoulder to flash a grin at you. Even in a simple shirt, you can tell that he is built.

He’s an Avenger, then. Maybe.

You’ve just barely slid in beside Steve, and you’re grinning and making some dumb comment about the disaster that is the New York subway system, when Sam fixes you with a gleeful look and leans forward.

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” he says, casting a side-eye at Bucky. “I’m not joking when I say this- I was starting to think that Barnes made you up. He’s always doing crazy shit like that. Anyways, you will not believe why I’m actually here.”

You humor him, because why the hell not? “Why are you actually here?”

Already, you can tell that he has that vaguely-ironic, purposely-stupid sense of humor, which you always find absolutely hilarious. And you want to know what he means by crazy shit.

Bucky looks up at you for a few charged seconds, telling you something you can’t decipher, and then ducks his hand back down to stare intensely at his drink. Something amber, with ice cubes.

“I’m here to make sure that you don’t feel bad. Because these two fossils,” Sam says, and Steve winces, “can’t get drunk. But I can! So if you wanna get trashed, I’m game.”

Under the dimmed lights, Sam’s teeth shine perfectly white. All of Steve’s friends seem to have perfectly white teeth.

“It’s because of the serum,” Steve says, and you just gawk.

They both can’t get drunk?  

Because of their fucking superhero vaccine?

“What the hell,” you say, and rest your elbows on the tabletop. Bucky’s gaze follows your arms, starting at the hems of the sleeves, trailing up to your shoulders. “That’s so… Steve, if you can’t get drunk, then why are you torturing yourself with that beer?”

“It’s for the feeling,” Steve says quietly, blushing pink, and Bucky is still quiet, and you have a feeling that this has something to do with nostalgia, or World War II, or something. The good old days.

Sam catches it too, so he buts in, quickly bringing the conversation back to something less layered, less wired.

He’s a man with nothing to hide. He tells you who he is with no hesitation, without trying to skip over or disguise anything- he’s open. He’s a war vet, too, and now an Avenger- he’s the Falcon. He has, he says, a pair of fancy-ass wings. And the coolest outfit.

“Wait,” you say, and you’re suddenly dying to know, “what does it feel like to fly?”

His eyes light up.

“You know when you’re trying to sleep, and then you randomly get that feeling that you’re falling, and your stomach does that thing?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s like that, but you can control it. It’s fucking amazing.”

He launches into a whole spiel, talking your ear off about the feeling of high-altitude wind on his skin and aerodynamics and some science-y things you don’t understand, and you get your own beer and enjoy the sweet feeling of getting buzzed on a weeknight, and as the edge you constantly have on yourself shifts, the seats shift, too.

You don’t know how, but you end up next to Bucky, in between him and the wall. Not touching, but close. Sam is across from you and Steve is next to him, and all of a sudden they’re talking about Chex Mix.

“If the Avengers were Chex Mix pieces,” Sam says, throwing the word Avenger around casually enough to make Steve’s hesitations seem horrendously uptight, “I would be the garlic chip. The best part of the whole damn bag. Do you know what I’m talking about?”

“Yeah, those chips are definitely the best part,” you say, adopting a mock-seriousness. “And Tony Stark would be one of those knobby-ass, crunchy little mini breadsticks.”

Sam mirrors your expression, nodding gravely, like what you’re both evaluating is a highly intellectual subject. “I completely agree. And for Rogers- man, you’re a pretzel.”

You narrow your eyes. “Square or circle?”

“Uh,” Sam says, turning to survey poor, unprepared Steve, looking equal parts bewildered and embarrassed. “Square.”

“Great choice. And Bucky?”

“Bucky…” Sam hesitates, and the briefest smile flashes over his face before he schools his expression back into objectivity, “Bucky is one of those original Chex squares. Sorry.”

“That’s cold,” you say, and Sam smiles again, and leans all the way back in his seat, bringing his hands behind his head.

“He’s not one of the yellow squares, though- those are actually good,” Sam starts, grin growing wider by the second, and you can’t tell if it would be rude to laugh. “He’s not one of those squares with extra seasoning, either. Bucky is just one of the plain brown squares. The wheat squares, or whatever the hell. Have you ever, like- have you ever wondered what the sole of a shoe tastes like? Or the eraser on top of a pencil? That’s what those taste like- that’s what he is. Just one of the plain Chex squares.”

Your jaw drops.

A roast like that from a halfway drunk man is absolutely scathing.

Bucky just levels a glare.

He’s used to this, you think. Is that his crazy shit? That he never reacts to anything?

You’re definitely a little tipsy- this is obviously no time to get wasted, but the edge has certainly been taken off, the corners of your world having gone hazy. In a lull, you watch a well-dressed man standing by the vestibule doors lean past your field of vision and receive what you think is a kiss on the cheek.

Without thinking, you lean close to Bucky and cup a hand over his ear.

Maybe he won’t react, maybe he will, but you’re not going to give him the time for either.

“I think that you’re the garlic chip,” you whisper loudly, and you’ll probably cringe yourself into oblivion over it when you're sober, but you think he shivers- and then he snorts.

“Thank you,” he says, and Sam putters out, giving you an amazed look.

***

“Heyyy,” you say later, turning to Bucky, when time has passed and you’re no longer on the subject of Chex Mix and he’s still a little too quiet. “What’s up?”

He’s quiet and troubled, drinking what might be whiskey like it’s water. Is it whiskey? You didn’t think that people actually drank whiskey- just kept it around in crystal decanters and silver flasks to look cool, like they’re main characters in a movie.

“The sky,” he says dryly, like you didn’t say that same exact shit when you were in middle school, hopelessly thinking that it was the slickest comeback.

“Very funny, James,” you say, and he huffs, and you feel a brief flash of panic, and then you’re almost apologizing, when he grins.

You know maybe three whole things about him, but you’ll press yourself up against him right here and now, under the low light of a fancy bar, with rain sliding down outside the window panes, with his friends right across the table. You don’t care.

His friends can tell.

“We’ll be right back,” Steve says suddenly, making a very showy display of getting up with Sam. Both of them send you obnoxious grins and suggestively raised eyebrows.

Bucky glares. You can’t stop smiling.

“You kids have fun,” Sam calls, and you laugh.

Just you and him, then. The mood shifts fast, turning from one thing to… another. Bucky’s eyes reflect the window outside, falling dark and darker, and you’re slipping, too.

“You look really nice,” Bucky says, and his eyes dip down in the slyest fucking move- you’re almost proud of him for it, for having such game.

A spark of heat flashes through you, as he takes you in slowly, like he’s trying to savor it.

You opted for a slightly tighter shirt, and a pair of jeans, but they’re your nice jeans. The ones without any weird streaks of paint on the thighs. And you wear a beaded necklace, and in your ears, a pair of fun, delicate hoop earrings, dangling with charms in the shape of crescent moons.

“Thanks,” you  lean back, into the wall, letting your voice drop to match the tone of his. “You do, too.”

He just stares at you, unamused. Still dark, and dangerous.

Purple chiffon, you think, and marigolds. The flower was meant for another friend, but she’ll have to manage, because now, you can only see Bucky with marigolds, with no room for anyone else.

“So,” you say, before the silence carries on and makes you do something stupid, “Done anything fun lately?”

He tenses. Again.

There’s all these things that you know you can’t ask him, things about his job and his hobbies and his metal fucking arm, which you still haven’t seen- which you’re fine with, but, like. It’s the fact that he has a metal arm in the first place- he is so detached from everything you know, and you aren’t sure if you know how to navigate it all. You don’t think he knows how to navigate it, either.

He’s hesitant, you think. But not unwilling.

You’re just going to roll with it.

”I watched a movie today,” he says, sounding so smooth that your clutch on your drink wavers. His eyes are raking you over, cold.

Red marigolds. Not the orange ones. Red marigolds with the little golden borders on the edges of each petal.

“Which movie?”

He shakes his head. “I forgot the name”

“Okay, well, what was it about?”

“Talking dogs.”

You laugh and he smiles, and then you feel light enough to float. “Talking dogs?”

“Yeah,” Bucky says, and he takes a sip. His mouth is very pink. Layers, you think, layers and overlapping, to make the fabric look hazy. Washed-out. “They talk when their owners aren’t home.”

“That sounds right up your alley,” you say, and you’re giggly and he’s all smiley and maybe you’re being embarrassing, but whatever, because he’s looking at you like he’s never been smiley with anyone else before, and you really, really want to lean in.

You’ll wait.

***

Sam comes back with Steve a little bit later, but it isn't until you’re getting ready to leave when he brings it up.

“You’re good for him,” Sam says, while Bucky and Steve have gone to pay. Your drinks are on him- how chivalrous. “Honestly, you’re probably too good for him.”

You laugh as you shrug on your jacket. “Doubt it.”

“No, I’m serious,” he says, voice dropping to an urgent whisper. You realize at once that he’s about to say something heavy, something concerning. “He has been through some fucked-up shit. It’s not his fault, obviously, but it’s always there. He’s never going to get over it. Sometimes he doesn’t sleep. He just stays awake, for like, three whole days at a time. Sometimes he just disappears. He never tells anyone where he goes. Sometimes he does this thing where he-”

“I get it,” you say quickly, and he must be able to see your sudden dread, because his face softens.

“I’m not trying to scare you. I just want you to know- that that’s what you’re getting yourself into.”

“Thanks,” you say, and zip up your coat, and then pat your pockets even though you know you have everything, just so you have an excuse to not say anything. Sam gives you a long look, before sighing and pulling out his phone.

Obviously, Sam is trying to tell you that Bucky is damaged.

You’re not in the business of fixing things, but you’ll take him as he is anyway, because...

“Sam?” you say, and he looks up from his phone.

“Sometimes,” you start, and swallow down whatever anxiety is starting to surface, “Sometimes he’s being all quiet and moody and angsty and whatever, I get that same feeling that you’re telling me. But then, like, he just does something. Like, he’ll make a joke, or say something, and then it’s like-”

You struggle with your words- it’s like everything you want to say is there, but you can’t reach it. Sam slides his phone into his pocket, and Bucky is coming back, with Steve in tow, moon and sun, peas in a pod. You wonder if Sam makes their duo a trio, if he’s the third invitee to their slumber party, or if he’s just on the fringes.

“It’s like- It’s like, okay. Like, I know who he is and it’s all okay.”

He nods, and smiles at you, and you sincerely hope that he isn’t just on the fringes.

***

The paintings of your parents are finished- and they are good. So good. Every detail is there, every color. Every line. The wrinkles and the flowers and the lace neckline of your mother’s dress. Looking at them makes you feel so proud- it’s been forever since you were able to properly convey your thoughts onto canvas.

They’re big, too. Larger than life. You’ll have to rent one of those orange U-Haul trailers to transport them.

On a new canvas is Rina, only halfway painted. She looks good too, even though right now she’s just a head and a torso and two floating feet, because getting the colors on her legs right is harder than you thought. It’s tricky to paint the shadows and contours without her legs just looking bruised- there’s so many flower stems overlapping with the skin, so you don’t have a lot of room to work with.

You’ll figure it out.

You might be a little in over your head, actually. Confident- a little too confident. You don’t even have this painting done, and you’re itching to start on another. A possible recipe for disaster, but every time you have a spare second, in the shower or on the subway or when you’re trying to fall asleep, you find yourself thinking about it.

Not in bits and pieces the way most of your thoughts are, but a fully formed concept; a real, true image brimming with fullness, already starting to spill over into everything you do.

You have it all figured out. You know what techniques you’ll use. What composition, what colors.

You text Bucky.

Nothing crazy. You know you could scare him off, or maybe not, not anymore- by the end of the night at the bar last week, you sat next to him and bumped up against him and whispered in his ear, and right before you left he flicked the charm on your earring, watched it sway, and then he smirked- and you almost died.

You text him Hey, and then set your phone on the farthest surface you can find, pointedly avoiding it. Rina’s calves need attention- you have paint to mix.

Ten minutes later, your phone rings.

You can’t help it, you’re weak-hearted- you drop everything and dash to your phone, dodging your carts of supplies and hopping over a stack of toppled canvases that you never bothered to pick up, and pick up on the third ring.

“Hi,” you say into the receiver, slightly out of breath.

“Hi,” he says, and he sounds slightly out of breath, too.

“Um,” you say, and laugh a little, with the heady rush of nerves flooding in, “I wasn’t expecting you to call.”

“I called because I’m a slow texter,” Bucky says.

You feel so fluttery. When was the last time you felt this fluttery?

“Oh. That’s okay. I was just wondering if you... wanted to meet up sometime soon? Tomorrow, maybe?”

Tomorrow is Saturday, a day off. For you, at least- do Avengers get days off?

“Okay,” he says, and you swear he sounds pleased. You want to cut straight to something else. Skip, jump, leap over all of these steps, so you can get to what you really want to tell him. “I think I can do that. Where are we meeting?”

“There’s this little cafe we can… we can head there first, I’ll text you the address, but I have this idea,” you say, and wait for his invitation to continue, with your heart beating dangerously fast, thrumming like it might just burst through your ribs.

“What’s your idea?”

Thank you, you almost say, but don’t.

The steps are skipped, formalities disregarded- you just tell him.

It’s the perfect time- there’s that currently rare, pretty daylight that grows with each passing day streaming in through your windows unfiltered, blocked by no blinds or curtains. You pace a little, at first, right in the sun, and then sit down on a stool, toeing the smooth wood floors beneath, cradling the phone.

You start it off simple, with the marigolds.

Red marigolds, you specify, because you feel like you have to. Then you delve deeper, into chiffon and lighting and this thing you want to try out with layering, where two elements that overlap go by a completely different color scheme. Like, you say, like the flowers are red and the clothes are black, but the places where they meet are electric pink or orange or blue or something else unusual and distracting.

Save for the sound of his breathing, Bucky is quiet. You can tell that he’s really listening, probably sitting down somewhere and focusing on you, not doing some other task with your voice as background noise. He doesn’t interrupt when you go off on a tangent about the importance of natural lighting or contradict yourself with opposing statements on color choice, or when your words start to deteriorate, when they start pouring out so fast that they slur together and become less than coherent.

Your mind is going even faster- you can see the image even when you blink.

Something at the back of your thoughts tells you to stop, to slow down. You need to chill out.  

But the idea is so vivid, so you can’t- you don’t, not until the idea is totally exhausted and you give a final sigh and go quiet, not until after giving what could count as an entire fucking speech.

When Bucky speaks again, he sounds tentative.

“I… like it,” he says, and maybe he’s holding his phone at a bad angle, because his voice is quiet.

“You do?” You say, instead of asking something else, with a sudden bad feeling in your gut.

“Yeah. But…”

You know what he says without him having to say it.

It feels like you’ve been punched.

The picture behind your eyelids burns brighter.

“That’s okay,” you say in response to his unsaid words, speaking too late, so that it's obvious that it’s not okay.

Your heart is sinking, as if it has any right to, as if he’s in the wrong. How did you go from high to low so fast?

You scared him. You put too much pressure on him too fast- it’s exactly what Sam said, that he’s all levels of wary and weird, and little things can set him off, because of everything that he’s been through-

Even if he was someone else, though, even if he was normal, he would still say no- anyone would say no to being given such a request out of nowhere.

Well, Rina didn’t, but she doesn’t count in this situation, does she?

“Sorry,” he says.

That hurts worse.

“Don’t apologize,” you say quickly. “It’s not like it’s not going to work now- I mean, it’ll be fine. Are you still down to meet, though?”

“Sure,” he says, too late.

***

Bucky Barnes does not like anything in his coffee.

He takes it black, black like his clothes, black like his soul, black like whatever other emo shit you can come up with.

It’s not that funny anymore.

Still, you keep up with it- you’re funny and talkative and charming and everything else, because you don’t know what else to do. The subject will be broached, it’s inevitable- you’ll broach it, even, but you still have to figure out how.

He’s subdued. And wearing his stupid hat, again, and you would give anything to knock it off so you could really see him, and he’s cautiously cradling his mug in a way that makes you ache everywhere.

The cafe is busy and decorated with a specific aesthetic, one that you would call manufactured bohemian. Potted plants and quirky photographs and drinks that all have fancy and ridiculous names. The baristas wear yellow aprons, and if you have a membership card, every tenth purchase gets you a free sugar cookie iced with a smiling sun.

Your cappuccino foam is dissolving. Sometimes, even though it’s mostly tasteless, you swipe it up and eat it with a spoon. Today, it seems like a bad idea- frivolous in the face of his silence and your unmotivated charisma and this stupid idea lingering between you two, like a friend that’s overstayed their welcome.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out, and wonder why you feel so jumpy for saying it. “For bringing that thing up yesterday.”

To your own credit, you still sound confident.

He looks at you so darkly that you wonder if you should be afraid. Have there ever been others in your seat, afraid?

You’re not afraid.

“It’s fine,” he says, and continues staring at you like it’s not fine.

“I’m just- I was just thinking out loud,” you say. You feel like you have to explain yourself, prove something to him, so that you won’t wilt. “It was just an idea that I thought could be cool. I told you because, no , wait. I mean, I know that I- fuck. I’m sorry that it made you uncomfortable. That was really dumb of me.”

He tilts his head, eyes sliding over, and you shiver.

He looks bored.

Which is unnerving and terrifying as hell, because you have this carefully hand-crafted, precisely-cut image of who you are supposed to be, and it is not meant to be boring in the slightest, but he's bored, and you’re going to lose it.

“I said it’s fine,” he says, monotonously, giving the sudden impression that he’s about to leave. But he’s just sitting in his seat, unwrapping his hands from his mug and setting them on the table, while your hands are on the verge of shaking. “It didn't make me uncomfortable.”

If that was true, then you wouldn’t be having this conversation in the first place. You wouldn’t be stumbling over yourself to say something so simple.

It takes considerable effort to keep your gaze steady. “Okay. But I still- I just want to say a thing really quick.”

“Say it.”

He’s being mean.

But this thing has been eating at you for a while now, so you don’t care.

“Um, so, we’re really different people,” you start, and before you second-guess it, you adopt your speaker voice, the teaching voice, the smart one. He has to know this about you- you’re smart. “And you obviously have all of your own things going on in your life that I can’t even imagine, and if you ever want to, like, talk about it, I’m here, but I also don’t care.”

He raises an eyebrow.

You push on.

“Like, it’s not important to me. If you want it to be, then it’ll be, but if not, then it’s whatever. I'm not- when I see you, I just see you. Does that make sense? Like, I don’t really think of any of that other stuff? If I’m supposed to, though, I’m sorry. I… I don’t even know what I’m saying.”

You don’t get nervous often, but you let out a small, nervous laugh.

It’s like your heart and head and lungs are suspended, frozen in ice while he takes your words in. The door to the cafe chimes and a large group of people step in. Middle aged women, all wearing athletic clothes. Devil’s ivy grows on the wall farthest from you- how chic- with vines snaking forward in your direction, reaching for you in green and streaky white.

He smiles.

All you see is teeth and creased eyes and a low, uncreased brow- you want to kiss him.

“Tell me the idea again,” he says, and leans back in his seat. He crosses his arms, and you watch his forearms shift and strain against his shirt, and then you clear your throat and look away and try to focus.

You inhale and gather everything, hoping that this time, you’ll be able to make it make sense.

***

One thing spirals into another. Your words were building and building, rising like a crescendo, overwhelming you to the point where you just said it outright, and-

He’s now in your apartment.

He is literally in your apartment.

You watch him survey the area- the clutter, the mismatched furniture, the crooked posters and photos and artwork hung up on the walls. The subpar paint on the walls that you didn’t choose, the cabinets made of old wood with newly replaced handles.

The entire place is creaking, becoming worse for the wear with each passing day. You could probably afford nicer, but it doesn’t matter, because you love it here- you’ve formed an emotional attachment that goes beyond sad paint and constant repairs. Your home is cozy.

But right now, with Bucky in here, it’s suddenly cramped.

“I want you to sit over here,” you say, and facing a great window, rounded on top with those gorgeous little decorative swirls, which is your favorite part of the whole place, is an armchair. It’s a steal you found at an antique store, with little tassels lining the back of the seat, upholstered with the tackiest floral print you’ve ever seen, but it’s perfect for what you’re trying to do.

The sun is shining strong and unfiltered- he’ll be lit up.

Bucky sits. He looks on edge, and beautiful.

You want to make this easy for him. But you might be too swept away in him to make any efforts- you’re still in shock that he agreed to this in the first place, so disoriented with him being here, in your place, that your trains of thought keep on derailing.

You’re closer than you wish you were, closer to losing it.

“Perfect. Give me one second.”

You go to your room, which isn’t really a room but a sectioned-off alcove with a bit of wall blocking it from view, no door- weird architecture, but whatever, to retrieve your supplies. Tape and the neatly folded swatches of fabric and your camera.

Photography isn’t your thing, but you need reference material.

When you return, he’s looking pensive, and dazzling. His arms fall tensely on the sides of the chair, but his hands dangle so gracefully, and the light catches his face and colors it golden- you are going to lose it when it comes to painting his eyes. They’re blue, but you see them as suns.

“You look great,” you say, and he blushes. You’re ready to pounce, right now.

The fabric is a little bit awkward. It has to be draped upon him- Bucky bristles at your actions in a way that tells you he’s never done anything even remotely like this before, but you persist, and he lets you.

“Get out of the chair really quick.”

“Okay.”

Bucky gets out of the chair. You hop up on it, to tape the corners of the fabric to the ceiling. It’s a flimsy attempt, but they hold and flutter just fine.

He takes you by the hand to bring you back down.

“Careful,” he says, as you make the daunting two-and-a-half-foot descent, and he squeezes your hand in his gloved one before you make him sit down again.

You are buzzing with electricity. Another point to him- that was smooth.

The loose ends of the fabric are tricky, You try at first to tape them to the back of the chair, moving back behind him to reach. Bucky’s head stays perfectly still, and the chiffon looks wrong. It looks weirdly stiff.

So you drape one on him like planned, sort of dripping down his shoulder in a bunched-up purple river, and let the other hang freely, swaying a little from the fragility of the tape.

You move back around to face him.

“This is perfect,” you say, and grin, because this is finally happening. “You look perfect.”

He’s staring all intensely again. You want to come close to him, tell him how lovely he looks, straight out of a dream. You’re so pretty, you almost say, but you have some semblance of rational thought left in you- and so you stay quiet.

The camera dangles from its strap around your neck. You take it in your hands and power it on. The settings are adjusted, and you fiddle with the shutter speed and focus and everything else before bringing it close to your eye, expecting this dream-

He’s all tense, again.

It’s the lens, you immediately think, even though that doesn’t really make sense. You look like- you look like him when he does his things. Lenses and targets and crosshairs. How is this thought so immediate?

You’re just trying to take a picture.

“Relax,” you say, and it does absolutely nothing.

“I am relaxed,” he bites out.

He’s really not. There’s something shifting in his face, something discontented, a brewing storm. His hands are starting to harshly curl into the armrests, digging at the upholstery, distorting the flowers.

The chiffon looms.

“Fix your hands. Like, move them- no, turn them back,”

You’re stooping over to fully capture him, almost ready to take a knee.

His hands flex and stay as they are, stressed and taut and not right, and the rest of him is still so-

You bring the camera down.

***

He’s in this ugly chair, surrounded by fabric, and you’re pretty and wearing a pale pink sweater, and you’re aiming a camera at him, for a picture, but he feels like a target.

White-hot adrenaline and cold and dark dread pull at both sides of him. He feels like a total mess.

Is this they all felt- how they all feel, when he is aiming at them? He tries to do things differently, now, but the tragedy still takes place, the trigger is still fired- the deed is still done. Karma, he thinks, retracing its path, coming back to bite him through you.

You’re frowning. He wants to apologize.

You take the camera down and let it dangle from the strap at your neck. He just had your hands in his- he wants them back and wants to get as far away from you as possible.

“This isn’t working,” you say, and straighten back up, placing your hands on your hips. You look powerful, and he might be trembling from clenching his jaw so hard. “You are not relaxed.”

“I’m not,” he agrees, and you sigh and fix him with a look that isn’t pity- he’d bolt if it were pity, but steely resolve.

You take the camera off your neck, and gently bend over to set it on the floor. Then you sit down beside it, wincing as your knee makes a noise, and giving him a bemused little smile that he wants to just-

Your head level with his knees as you sit, cross-legged. Hands splayed over your lower thighs, careless and carefree. Your posture slouches a bit, relaxing the way he is not, and it's relieving.

His hands grip the chair like a lifeline.

“Why isn’t this working?” You ask, more yourself than him. “You were so- nevermind. Or, Let’s… um, wait. Maybe- Can I?”

He’s always thought of you as so put-together, a born speaker, but now you’ve been stammering and stuttering all over his heart, and he doesn’t know what to do.

You reach out with your hand, hesitantly, wavering. The scar smiles pink.

He nods- his head nods, his body is moving outside of itself, and he feels sheltered and exposed, nearly covered in purple fabric and vulnerable and sitting above you, all of him bared for you to see. Hot and cold.

Your hand goes on his knee.

He’s so alarmed that he almost lashes out- he wants to think, but you’re giving him no time to-

Your other hand is reaching out, tugging at his own, and you bring yourself up to your knees and lean back on the balls of your feet, balancing. Your head is still below his chest and tilted so he can’t see your eyes, and you’re holding his hand like it’ll break.

There’s a dry-erase board fastened on the opposite wall, next to all of the other eclectic clutter. It’s filled in with a to-do list- the words COOK SOMETHING are scrawled at the top in angry red marker. He focuses on the words as you play with his fingers.

You gently trace a thumb over the ridges of his knuckles; he’s suddenly so ticklish that he flinches and chokes on a word that he doesn’t know how to say.

You nudge his hand over to the side, drape the fingers down, and your other hand is still burning his knee, setting him alight-

You’re molding him. Setting him to look how you want, manhandling him in the softest way possible. Should this feel violating? Rude? It feels good- purposeful. He’s letting you do this, and his heart is beating hard, but he can still hear your breathing and his breathing and the white noise of the traffic on the street below, stories away.

You take your hand off his knee, and nudge at his left hand, and he thinks now, how fucking stupid this is- if it’s his fucking hand, why does he wear this stupid fucking glove?

He goes to work it off and you understand, and if he wasn’t wanting so badly to be still for you, stay here as you take your picture, he would grab you by the necklace you’re wearing and drag you closer.

The glove is pulled off and dropped to the floor and the silver of his hand winks in the sunlight.

“Oh,” you say softly, and there’s a crack in your voice, and his voice would crack too, if you asked him to speak.

There’s this look on your face. He doesn’t know if you want to hold his hand or kiss it or put his fingers in your mouth, it looks like all three and he is all unfurled, too, because he is sitting back in this ugly armchair and you’re holding his hands again, and you’re backlit by the sun- like a vision sent straight from the sky.

You fix his hands.

This feels intimate- more intimate than kissing, or anything else. This feels like skipping steps.

After a moment, you pry your hands off of his, and lean back.

Wordlessly, you take the camera and stand up, and you fiddle it and back up, back to where you were at first, far away. Then you’re bringing it close to your eye, looking at him through a lens, and the shutter clicks once, twice.

You bring it back down.

“You got it?” He says, and his voice sounds rough- he sounds parched.

You look at its little screen and bite your lip. “Yeah.”

“Can you come here for a second?”

You look up at him and he’s glad that he couldn’t see your eyes before- they’re dark. “Yeah.”

The camera is tossed to the side, again, and you walk like you’re floating. The steps have been skipped, but Bucky will have to go back to them anyway- he doesn’t like to leave any stones unturned-

And so he waits until you’re close enough, and then tugs you down by your sweater- he doesn’t want to hurt you, and he’s reaching and reaching-

You laugh or smile or do something else sweet, but he’s too caught up to tell. He pulls you down to him, and surrounded by you and sunlight and fluttering purple chiffon, he kisses you.

[princessnijireiki]

🥺 Great Pyrenees!! A friend of mine had one and she was the most excitable thing ever, when he was still training her she would knock me flat on my butt because she a giant baby with the energy of a caffeinated toddler. Idk if that's normal for the breed but I had never seen one before her. As a person with a fear of dogs, being around her was nerve wracking due to her size but he was a really good trainer and she never made me nervous post puppyhood.

It's normal! They are huge & can be really strong, and are LOUD lmao. I've had 4. My first, Sleepy, was from farm dog stock, and one of the smartest dogs I've ever had, but was relentlessly mischievous. He was the one I was forever running around & chasing down because he was a bolter if you left the door open, but he'd walk back home on the sidewalk every time & never got lost. My mom also taught him to jump up on his back legs & take cookies from her mouth as a trick (he was as tall as a person if you stood him up like that), but from then on he couldn't be STOPPED, so anyone eating cookies was at risk of being jumped by this 100lb shaggy dog trying to steal snickerdoodles & sugar wafers. And he was VAIN, as soon as he had an audience of neighbor kids or strangers he would be docile, and pose, and preen while they all called him beautiful, and he would act ashamed if he had a bad haircut lol. He was a real character.

Our current pets include two cats, a Berner, and another Pyr named Prince! We actually got him from a puppy store my sister liked to visit, because the bigger & older he got the fewer people were interested, and the longer he went without a name or socialization the worse he was doing. It was a real Corduroy situation, and he was a STRUGGLE to train because his development was so stunted from that environment (he'd never walked on dirt or grass before we took him home, he had no concept of peeing outside, he's smart but has some odd doggy communication quirks, etc.), but he's SUCH a sweetheart now! They're NOT starter dogs, but they're very sweet and loyal and protective. 💛

Here's an old picture of Prince, too, please ignore the clutter lol!

[jaehyun-eclipsed]

Before I Met You | Twenty-Two: Part One

Next Update: ~February 15, 2021 **2/13/21 update: The next update may be delayed until the second week of March. I apologize for the delay -- school has been quite busy this semester, so I’m working a lot slower than anticipated. Thanks for your patience! **3/27/21 Update: My sincerest apologies. I didn’t plan very well with scheduling... I’m finishing up a big project with school and am hoping to release the next chapter next weekend!

Pairing: NCT (Jaehyun, Lucas, Mark, Jaemin, Johnny) X Reader/OC

Genre: Romance, Angst, Coming of Age

Summary: Four. There were four people before I fell in love with you… Here are their stories.

Author’s Note: Hello! This is a slightly shorter update. Things are getting busy for me again, so I’m going to try to do updates once a month or so rather than going MIA for a few months. Thanks for being patient and don’t be afraid to say hello or send any feedback!

Before I Met You Masterlist

Prev | Next

My eyes slowly open and I blink a few times to adjust to the stream of light coming through the blinds. Sitting up, I look around. This is my room. This is my bed. My blanket. My dog. I give the plush a squeeze. Everything is here and I’m okay.

My breath hitches upon seeing the packages of pistachios and cookies on my desk. Johnny left them here and now everything is more clear as to why I feel so dreary upon waking up. I was hoping last night didn’t play out the way it actually had, but I’m a bit too smart for my own good to trick myself.

I imagine he probably won’t miss them if I didn’t return them to him, but I don’t want them to go stale in my room. Plus, I would like to say goodbye.

Slowly, I place my feet into my slippers and wash up in the bathroom. My grandma wanted to take my dad and me out to lunch to celebrate the end of the semester. I’m looking forward to the meal, but I seem to have lost my appetite. There’s sort of this nerve wracking feeling inside me despite my calm demeanor. Like an overwhelming amount of cortisol is being pumped through my body and I’m working on autopilot to move around and pack up my belongings without feeling any depletion of energy.

Is this what it’s like to have a crush on a boy and to know he returns your affections?

I thought I’d be happier. More giddy.

But really, I’m just nervous. And perhaps it’s because I know there’s a bit of a complication: Johnny still needs to break up with his girlfriend. 

All of those corny movie plots with the assholes are brought to my head. The guy never breaks up with his old girlfriend before he gets with the new one. Even in real life, it’s always messy.

“I’ll do it soon,” he says.

“When the time is right,” he says.

But then he never does.

I wanted to hope that this wouldn’t be the case. Which is why I didn’t want anything to go too far last night. And so, I firmly decide that I’m not getting together with him until things are cleared up.

But I really want this to work out. I really do.

Everything will be fine.

I take a deep breath. Smile to myself.

Everything will be just fine.

I receive a text that my dad will be here to pick me up in a half hour. So I grab the snack bags and run upstairs. When Johnny answers the door, he looks surprised to see me, almost as if he had been afraid he scared me off last night and I wouldn’t want anything to do with him ever again.

My gaze falls. “Um, you left these in my room,” I say and hold out the snacks.

It takes him a moment before he takes the packages from me, apparently careful not to brush his hands against mine.

“You don’t want any?” he asks.

I shake my head. “No, thanks. I’m going to lunch soon.”

We linger in the doorway for several more moments in silence. I’m gnawing on my lip and shifting my gaze to different points on the floor. I think Johnny’s watching me, but I still can’t bring myself to look at him.

“Have a good break,” he says, his statement coming out as more of a question due to an uncertainty of what to say.

“Yeah, you too.” I smile lightly and as if out of reflex, I perch up onto my tiptoes and throw my right arm around Johnny’s neck, pulling him close for a hug goodbye. He jumps slightly at my sudden contact, but wraps one arm around my waist. Quickly, I release him, take one last glance, offer a smile, and turn around to walk back to my room.

When I return to my room, I check my phone and see a text from Johnny.

J: do u need help carrying your bags downstairs?

Me: No, that’s okay. I only have a couple bags. I can get them myself

Me: Thanks though

J: np

There’s a pause.

J: I’ll call u tonite?

I nod to myself before typing back a response.

Me: Yeah

Me: Talk to you later

J: :3

 “You’re not eating very much,” Dad remarks.

I push a dumpling around on my plate with my chopsticks. “I don’t feel that hungry… even though I do want to eat this.”

“What happened last night?”

I proceed to tell my dad all of the events of last night—Hendery’s unawareness, lunch, the bookstore, the movie, Minji, the confession.  I really liked Johnny, but I had no idea how this was going to work out—or even if it would work out.  

“Don’t worry too much about it. Things always work themselves out,” he says.

I know what this means. Implicitly, he’s saying that if it’s meant to work out, it will. And if not… then I guess that’s just the way it is and I’ll have to accept that too. It’s just hard when feelings are messy. You want it to work out, but you expect the worse as a defense mechanism in case it doesn’t end up working out.

That evening, Johnny calls me just before he’s about to go to sleep.

“Hii,” he sings into the phone. “How was your day?”

I smile upon hearing his voice. “Hey, it was all right. How was yours?”

“It was good,” he responds. “Was thinking about you a lot.”

“Aww,” I coo. “Really?”

“Yeah, I know I saw you earlier, but I miss you.” He sighs. “And now I have to wait an entire month before I get to see you again.”

I press my lips together. I let out a sigh of disappointment. “Yeah, a whole month. But we can still talk on the phone!”

“Yeah!”

There’s a brief silence as I deliberate over whether or not I want to ask my next question. The answer is of no real consequence, but I’m curious.

“Hey, I wanna ask you something,” I say. “When did you start to like me?”

Johnny chuckles. “I knew you were gonna ask that,” he says. “I don’t know. Sometime during dead week.”

“Did you know that I liked you?”

“Yeah, I kinda figured you did. That’s why I decided to tell you.” I hear him let out a breath and picture him shrugging. “You kept wanting to hang out with me so I thought you had to have some feelings for me.”

Nodding to myself, I bite my lip in thinking about last night. “You know,” I begin. “I did want you to hold me last night…”

“I know,” he says simply. “We’ll just have to wait until after break. And then we can have sleepovers!”

“How are we going to have sleepovers if Jia is in my room and Hendery is in your room?”

“Hendery never sleeps in his room. He’s always with Yeeun and sleeps in her room.”

My face scrunches into an expression of confusion. “Are they… are they dating?”

“Yeah.”

Despite the fact that I’m looking forward to going home and telling Hana and Hyojin everything that’s happened, I really want to skip over a month to be back with Johnny.

Hopefully by that time, he’ll be single.

“Hey, so,” he begins hesitantly. I hear him shifting around in bed, the shuffling of his blankets echoes through the phone. “I probably won’t be able to talk to you much tomorrow.”

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow is the day he’s meeting Minji.

Tomorrow is the day he’s supposed to break up with Minji.

Johnny is supposed to go into the city, meet Minji, break up with her, and then go home in the evening. There are a ton of questions running through my head. Is Johnny going to meet up with her and break up with her right then and there? Why doesn’t he just call her to tell her it’s off? Isn’t it kind of inconsiderate to go out with your girlfriend the entire day, knowing in the back of your head that you’re going to break up with her, but go about the day like nothing’s wrong?

It’s not really any of my business and the more I think about it, the more unsettled I become.

“Okay…” I say finally.

“I’ll send you pictures throughout the day though! To let you know what I’m doing!” he says cheerfully.

It’s clearly an attempt to make me feel better about the situation. Though, I find it strange that he’s so casual about the whole thing. Like sending pictures to me while on an outing with his soon-to-be ex-girlfriend is totally fine. Wouldn’t she get suspicious? And won’t I feel… envious? Why do I want to know what he’s doing on a date?

Like Dad said: everything will work itself out.

“You okay?” he suddenly asks.

It takes me a few moments to respond, but I say, “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Okay, I’m going to go to bed now. Goodnight! I miss you!”

“Goodnight.”

“He’s really cute, Y/N,” Hana says excitedly.

“I know, right?!” I respond with an equal amount of enthusiasm. “I’m just wondering what’s going on today with him. He may not break up with her.” I sigh. “In which case, I’ll just have to let it go… and continue to be single. Almost twenty-one years strong!”

I pump my fist into the air even though Hana can’t see it over the phone. She chuckles lightly and murmurs some general words of encouragement for me not to give up yet.

“I’d just be careful, Y/N,” she says hesitantly. “He sounds like a nice guy, but you never know.”

The weight on my shoulders returns as I take her words to heart. I know she’s right… even before this I was weary of the whole thing. But I think it should work out. I really like him and I enjoy talking to him. Just take it slow and things will be fine.

“So what about your love life, Hana? Did you meet anyone during the semester?”

There’s a silence before I finally hear Hana release the breath she’s been holding followed by a click of her tongue. “I want to ask your opinion on something, but I’m afraid you’ll judge me for it.”

I frown, slightly upset that she would be so afraid of my opinion. “What’s up?”

“Well, I kinda like one of my housemates…”

I blink several times. “Okay. There’s nothing wrong with that. We’re in the same boat—”

“No, we’re not,” she says quickly. “See, so, his name is Jinhyung… we had a class together and he asked if I wanted to study with him in his room. We have another roommate named Joon and I think Joon has had a crush on me and he gets upset whenever he sees me hanging out with Jinhyung. Joon has a whiteboard and he wrote some house rules on it. The first was ‘clean your own dishes’ and the second is ‘no fucking your housemates.’”

I begin laughing. “Wait, so obviously he doesn’t want you and Jinhyung getting together… but what if you said you would sleep with him?”

“I—I don’t know! I guess it doesn’t apply to him!”

“That’s hypocritical. Anyway, continue…”

“Well, Jinhyung made a joke that he and I already broke one of those rules and Joon got really upset. But uh, one day, I texted him to ask if he wanted to study and he actually thought I meant real studying and then realized what I meant. So we talked about it and—oh my gosh I’m so scared to tell you.”

I remain silent, patiently waiting for her to continue. Though, I think I know where this is going.

“I slept with him,” she finally admits.

“So… what? Was it good?”

“Uh—I—I, yeah, I guess so.” She sounds shocked. “You don’t—you don’t think it’s bad?”

I shrug. “No, you guys talked about it, right? Like you discussed what both of you wanted out of this?”

“Yeah, basically. Like we’re just doing this for fun. No strings attached.”

“So you’re basically friends with benefits,” I say more as a statement than a question.  

“Yeah,” she confirms. “Gosh, I was so scared you would disapprove.”

“You two talked about it and it was consensual. So as long as both of you are on the same page, I don’t see anything wrong with it. I think you need to be careful because feelings can get complicated, but right now it seems fine.”

Right then, my phone vibrates and I see a text from Johnny.

J: Hey! I hope ur day went well!

J: Uh I can’t really talk right now, but long story short it got late so Minji is spending the night

J: I’m going home in the morning I’ll talk to u tmrw! 😘

I guess I unknowingly let out a sound of disappointment because Hana proceeds to ask me what’s wrong.

“His girlfriend is spending the night and he’s going to go home tomorrow.”

“What?!” she exclaims in disbelief.

“I mean”—I bite my lip and then frown— “I didn’t ask how this was going to go down, but I didn’t think it would lead to this.”

Hana and I are both quiet for a minute. There’s something I’m wondering about and my guess is that Hana’s silence means she’s thinking the same thing. Neither of us want to ask it though because I think we both know the answer. What else would you do if your long distance girlfriend came to visit and she ended up spending the night with you and both of you are alone since your roommate has gone home for break?

But if you’re going to break up, would you still do it?

Or is it a simple decision because you’d view it as a “last pleasure goodbye”?

“Are you okay?” she asks, her tone full of concern.

I bite my lip as I stare at the message, responding a quick “Okay” and leaving it at that.

“Not really,” I say honestly.

“I think you should just go to sleep and wait and see what happens tomorrow.”

And this is what I was afraid of… that Johnny would go meet his girlfriend and tell me he was going to break up with her and then just… not be able to go through with it. Which is exactly why I wanted to be careful about getting my hopes up.

“Yeah, you’re right,” I say. “No good overthinking the whole thing. Thanks.”

“Of course. Goodnight, friend!”

“Goodnight.”

I clutch my phone in both of my hands and let them rest on top of the blankets as I lie staring at the ceiling. I know I need to be careful. I usually am. Just take it slow. See what happens tomorrow.

“Do you want oatmeal with pumpkin?” my grandma asks.

“Okay.”

It’s nearly noon as I watch my grandma spoon some oatmeal into a bowl and then bring over a jar of cane sugar for me to sprinkle on top. We’re staying here for a few days before driving back to Oregon. Normally, I’d have distractions because I’d have to study, but since I’m on break, I slept in and there isn’t much to do besides watch movies and wait.

Surprisingly, scrolling through today’s headlines is rather boring. I answer a few messages from Chaeyoung and feel my heart leap as soon as I see a text from Johnny.  

J: Everything’s all good!

I purse my lips. Everything’s all good? What does that mean? He broke up with her? Things are good?

“Dad?” I call as he walks into the living room.

“Yes?”

“Johnny just texted me saying, ‘Everything’s all good,’” I say. “What does that mean?”

“I guess… Everything’s been cleared up?” There’s a tone of slight uncertainty in his answer.

I look down at my phone again and read a second message.

J: Do u want to call soon? Im almost home

“He wants to call soon,” I say aloud. “You think he’ll tell me what happened?”

“Probably.”

Me: Okay!

Slowly, I eat my oatmeal. The ticking of the clock makes me anxious and impatient. What happened? He told her and it was all good? Did he sleep with her last night and then dump her—that’s kinda rough. Wouldn’t it have been better to dump her before going out?

His voice is like warm honey when he greets me, like there’s a renewed happiness and joy in his tone. It almost sounds like there was nothing ever wrong to begin with. Like today is just a normal day and he’s calling his girlfriend like usual.

“How has your day been?” he asks.

“Uh, well, I woke up at like eleven and had some oatmeal.” I hold my phone between my ear and shoulder and place my laptop onto the nightstand next to the bed. Gripping the phone to my ear again, I continue. “I was just browsing through YouTube, but I couldn’t find anything to watch.”

“Well, you can talk to me now!”

“How’s your day been?” I ask immediately.

“Oh, it was fine. I got home like an hour ago and my mom made me lunch,” he says. “And now I’m talking to you!”

His lack of disclosure is quite evident. He’s keeping it to a minimum and only directly answering what he’s asked.

“So how’d everything go?”

“Oh.” He says it like he wasn’t expecting me to ask. “It was okay.”

I wait a few moments before asking him what happened.

“She spent the night and in the morning we took BART back and got off and I told her at the last stop,” he says.

“What—what did you tell her?”

“I told her that there was someone else and she said she sort of figured that’s what happened,” he responds. “It also turns out that she was sort of cheating on me with someone at school.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, so, whatever.” I catch him let out a sharp breath before his voice changes to a more positive tone. “But everything is all clear and good now!”

Assuming this is all true, it’s interesting that Minji was also being unfaithful. I don’t ask for the details, but at the very least, it seems like both of them were emotionally cheating. Seems a bit sad though that they’d rather keep the other person around rather than break up with them. Clearly they had both lost interest in each other. Why continue? Complacency? Security? Fear of being alone? All of the above?

“I’m kinda sad that we have to wait until break before we can see each other again,” he says.

“Yeah, but it’s only a month!” I respond, attempting to be optimistic.

“But aren’t you graduating in a year?”

“Yes.”

I can tell he’s pouting a bit from his tone. “That’s not very long. We’ll have to have lots of sleepovers!”

“Johnny, we have school and studying.”

“Be prepared not to sleep!”

My face grows hot as I realize the implications. There was nothing preventing us from becoming a couple other than my own hesitance. And then there were things like holding hands, first kiss, and all that—things I’ve never done with anyone before and I wasn’t quite sure if he knew or suspected.

Sex. I’ve never had sex.

I didn’t want to give the impression that I had never experienced it before, but when it came down to it, he’d figure it out pretty quickly.

“But I have morning classes!” I argue.

“Hmph. Weekends then!”

I’m at a loss of what to say when he continues.

“Don’t worry. I’m responsible! We support each other!”

A smile makes its way onto my lips. “Yes,” I reply simply.  

“I’ll keep you safe.”

Prev | Next

Before I Met You Masterlist

Masterlist

[fantasy-pens]

United by Love, Rain and Forgotten Umbrellas

Her eyes as blue as the merciful drops from the heaven. His eyes as green as the happy grass enjoying the heavenly showers. A tale of how forgotten umbrellas in the rain bring together the four lovable sides of the Love Square.

Chapter 2: Chocolate with Chat (MariChat)

Summary:  Thunderstorms mean hot chocolate! Hot chocolate best served with whipped cream, marshmallows and....MARICHAT!!

(Kudos to Steyna Art for the bful drawing i found on the net <3 A link to the instagram post thanks to @khanofallorcs​  https://www.instagram.com/p/BqVH3TvhgoE/)

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“And there, all done!” the blond boy exclaimed, stretching himself as he got up from his chair.

“Phew! I thought that homework of yours would never end and I would have to stay up all night with you, kid!” complained the tiny, floating cat-god of destruction.

 “Plagg, is that another way to say that you would have been cheesily romancing your  sweet-smelling Camembert all night while I would have been smashing my head on the desk, pleading for you to stop?”

“Hey! I never complain when you are all flirty with Ladybug or Pigtails!”

 “I do not flirt with Marinette! She is  just  a friend, Plagg,” Adrien defended.

“Oh really? Then why have your cheeks suddenly decided to compete with Ladybug's superhero suit in colour, huh loverboy?” 

“Embarrassment! ” squeaked the part-time superhero, as he slapped his hands onto his cheeks and fervently tried to ignore the cheshire grin his cheese-loving friend was directing at him.

 Nope.  Nope  . Nope.

Marinette was  just a friend . Ladybug was the real love of his life.

Ugh! He needed fresh air! Now!

 Maybe Plagg read his thoughts, for he suddenly spoke up, “Nuh uh, kid. If you are thinking of going out for a run, not now. It is gonna rain soon.”

The kwami, sadly, was right. Dark clouds were looming in the sky.

 But what better chance to escape would he get than now, especially with Father and Nathalie out on a business meeting?

It would be a quick, short run. Nothing less, nothing more.

 The boy looked with his best kitten eyes at the floating furball, but he didn’t relent. And Adrien really couldn’t afford to buy the floating stomach any more Camembert. Not that he had run out of money, but bank transactions made for wheels of smelly cheese? Suspicious. (And no one certainly wants Gabriel Agreste’s secret agents skimming through their money matters. Nuh uh.)

 So, there was only one way left to get Plagg to agree.

 “So Plagg, are you afraid of getting drenched in the rain, huh?”

“Nope. What makes you think that, kid?” the kwami asked dismissively. 

 Internally the kwami thought, “ What is this not-so-smart chosen of mine trying to do? ”

“Well, I see no other reason as to why you would not agree to us going for a run. The rain hasn’t even started yet!  You are a cute little kitten at heart after all, right, Plagg?” As he said so, Adrien reached out and scratched the kwami lightly behind his ears.

  Oh heavenly Camembert! The petting felt so good! 

The kwami purred instinctively. “Aww, Plagg,” the blond said in a sugary-sweet cookie voice ( bleh! cookies! ), “who is a good kitty, hm?”

 “I. Am. NOT. A. Kitten!”

“Oh really? Prove it, then!

 Challenges were one of Plagg’s main weaknesses. (After Camembert, of course.)

 “Kid, I am NOT scared of rain!” With a grumble, the kwami added, “You know the magic words.”

“That’s the spirit! Plagg, Claws Out! ”

 One cool transformation sequence and scratch-dance later, Chat Noir stood where the model had been a few moments ago. Flexing and stretching himself like a feline, the superhero grabbed the baton clipped behind his back, and jumped onto and out of the open windowsill into the awaiting city.

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Jumping over rooftops with the cool wind blowing on his face sure was exhilarating. 

The black-leather-clad boy was enjoying his sprint when suddenly something wet hit his head.

  Wait, wet?

 Looking up, Chat Noir caught just a glimpse of the heavy, dark clouds before SPLAT! Another drop fell on his forehead.

Damn, it hadn’t even been half an hour and he needed to get home soon. It wouldn’t do him good to fall sick, especially when he  technically had not been out in the rain.

 Breaking into another sprint, Chat Noir prepared himself to scale the alley in front of him when he felt the roof under him move. Or rather, his foot was moving back faster than normal.

With a yelp, the cat lost his footing and slid down the slanted roof into the alley below.

  Oh god no! He surely wasn’t in the mood to be soaked-cat-pancake today!!

 Grabbing his baton, Chat pressed the pawprint on it just in time for the device to lengthen up and get lodged in between two open windows (truly the luck of a ladybug), leaving him hanging from it, badly shaken but safe and sound.

 As he tried to get his bearings back, he heard someone entering the dark alley.

“It surely is raining Chats and dogs today,” a familiar voice called out from below.

 “Purrincess!” Chat exclaimed, shrinking his baton back to normal and landing softly (and with normalcy) on the ground.”To what does this knight owe the purr-leasure?”

“Well, I was passing by, and saw you experimenting whether Newton was correct with his claims about gravity,” Marinette said, bursting into laughter. “Sorry  chaton , I just couldn’t help myself. Especially after that nerve-wracking study session I had with Alya.” The girl held her forehead in a dramatic manner. “Oh goodness! Woe is me!”

 The superhero-in-black couldn’t help but chuckle. “Well, well, little lady. Have you secretly been taking drama lessons from my kwami in exchange for cheese danishes?” Chat added with a wink.

 Earlier, Marinette would have had to act all stupidly confused about what a kwami was. But now that Chat knew that she was Multimouse, things were a lot easier between the two. 

Ever since Chat had first appeared on her balcony an year ago, the two of them had struck a chord. Somewhere, maybe in the banters, puns or the heartfelt emotions shared under the starry sky, the two of them had grown close, becoming the best of friends.

 “Who knows? Maybe I am?” she said nonchalantly with a shrug, a hint of smirk visible on her face.

Striking up a mock thinking pose, Chat commented, “Well, well, mice love cheese. You two would have surely bon- ACHOO!”

The sneeze seemed to bring Marinette back to awareness that the teenage superhero was soaked head-to-toe in the rain.

 “Damn, Kitty, which wise sage gave you the advice to go patrolling on a day like this? Come’ere,” saying so, the girl pulled him in with herself under her umbrella. “Good thing I left Alya's place after the rain started and she gave me this umbrella, or else I myself would have been drenched by now. Forgetful me. But anyways, you," she said, shoving a finger in his chest and eliciting an “oof! ” from him, “are coming with me and getting all warmed up before you catch a cold. I won’t accept a no,” she added, making the cat hero close his mouth that he had opened in hopes of protest. Instead, he smirked and bent down in an elaborate bow.

 “Your wish is my command,  ma princesse .”

His comment was rewarded by an eye-roll and slight chuckle.

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Marinette ushered the young superhero in through the backdoor, away from the prying eyes of any customers, and especially her parents.

However, it seemed as though Chat’s bad luck had finally caught up with them (or more specifically,  her ) as she opened the door to the house only to find her dad standing there, in a position that clearly showed that he had been about to open the door just a moment ago.

 “Mon petit cupcake , welcome back! How were your lessons with Al...” her dad’s voice trailed off as he noticed the cat-themed boy behind her.

 Meanwhile, Chat was a bit….nervous? Queasy? Or was terrified a more appropriate word? After all, having seen and been beaten up by Weredad had NOT been a pleasant experience. And who knows what thoughts were right now running through Mr. Dupain’s mind on seeing his daughter (whose heart Chat had once broken) with him? It was extremely natural for him to feel self-conscious all of a sudden. But now that he had been noticed, well. 

 “Hi, Mr. Dupain,” the boy weakly offered, plastering a shaky, nervous smile on his face.

 The huge man kept looking at him blankly. Chat started mentally pep-talking to himself to deal with this awkw- WOAH!  All the air left the boy’s lungs as he was suddenly scooped up in a teddy-bear hug.

“My goodness, Chat Noir! Superheroing has sure made you go thin, my boy! And please, just call me Tom,” the baker said laughing.

“Su-sure….thi-thing, Mr. Dup-I mean...To-Tom,” the hero wheezed.

“Papa! Chat Noir will be able to call you Tom only when you give him some air to breathe!!” Marinette interjected, worried that the black cat might pass out soon from the lack of air.

 “Ah! Sorry young man,” Tom put the boy down, clapping his shoulders. “I must say, you are all drenched! I don’t know if that suit is designed to keep you from getting soaked, so get warmed up and stay here till the rain stops, okay?” He turned to Marinette, “Sweetheart, make sure to keep our guest cosy. We wouldn’t want our superheroes to fall sick, after all! In case you children need anything, Sabine and I will be downstairs. Have fun!” With a booming laugh, the guardian of the house took his leave.

“Well, that hug certainly warmed me up,” Chat said, breaking the silence. “I am glad he is not mad at me anymore. For the...uh, you know..”

 The ravenette smiled and placed a comforting hand on his shoulders. “It wasn’t your fault, Kitty. What I had was a fleeting celebrity crush. And what really makes me glad is that you truly adore Ladybug. Now,” grasping the blonde hero’s shoulders, Marinette turned him around, pushing him up the stairs, “go up and dry yourself up. You will find the towel on the chaise, if I remember correctly. I will make us some hot chocolate.”

 “Okay, okay, princesse , I am going up!”

 Saying so, the hero went away and Marinette busied herself in the kitchen. She had just put milk in a saucepan when...

“Wow! I must say, your room sure has some interesting decorations, purrincess!”

  Interesting decorations? Wait, she had taken off the Adrien pictures from her walls and..

GOD!! Did she leave her computer on??!! Oh, hell no!!!

 Dashing up the stairs, Marinette threw the trapdoor open, not caring about the banging sound it made. She COULD NOT let the sauve cat see the heart doodle background of Adrien on her computer!! Oh goodness, she would never hea-

 Her computer was turned off.

 Laughter attracted her attention, making her turn her head to see the teenage hero on the ground, laughing and struggling for air.

“Oh. My. Kwami. Tha-that rea-reaction...wow princess! HAHAHAHAHAHA! You just made my day!” He broke into another fit of giggles.

 “Not. Funny. Dry yourself up,  chaton ,” the girl deadpanned, giving him her best you-do-not-amuse-me look.

“Aww come on princess,” Chat said, putting up a mock pout as he literally crawled towards her, “don’t be a wet blanket, paw-lease?”

 “Wet blanket? What on earth are you- CHAT, NO! ” the girl screeched as all of a sudden, the hero shook his head, spraying water droplets on her.

Stopping the activity, the hero looked up at her flirtatiously through the wet hair that had fallen in front of his eyes, water still dripping from them. “Chat, yes, Purr-incess,” he said, winking at her as he flicked her nose.

 Damn. He looked so flirtatiously ho- 

NO! Bad Marinette! Your heart is reserved only for Adrien.

 Well, best to break the kitty’s smoulder.

“No cookies for you,” saying so, the girl smugly walked down the stairs, ignoring the mock wail of despair that followed her.

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So will our kitty get the cookies? Or is Marinette going to punish him for his tomfoolery?  With Marichat, fluff and fun are bound to happen! And so are the heart-to-heart talks. To know what happens next, continue reading the chapter on the links below!

Read on Ao3 here

Read on ffn here

Thanks for all the reviews, likes, reblogs, favorites, subscribes, follows, kudos and comments <3

[maddiethebull]

Hello sweetie, can I request prompt #15 with Luci, I don't know if I can add something else, but I would like it to be with MC who sings opera! Thank you!!

Hi! I’m not very familiar with opera singing so its a little vague, but I tried to incorporate it as much as i could, I hope you enjoy!! Thanks for making a request

Lucifer (Obey Me!) - Prompt #15 - “You’re sparkling like the sun.”

You were taking a peaceful shower after a long day at R.A.D. and you had a tendency to sing in said shower, so today, like plenty other days, you were. You sang your favorite song, loud and proud because the walls were thick and you were already so close to the brothers that it didn’t matter to you if they heard. You sang opera with all your heart (and lungs lol that shit’s hard) into the loofah, substituting for a microphone. You imagined you were on the stage at the Devildom’s yearly talent show, you were seriously considering signing up, but you didn’t know if you could. You wouldn’t want to get nervous and just mess the whole thing up, at least you could imagine everyone cheering you on, though. 

Meanwhile, in the next room over, Lucifer needed to find the jewel off of Diavlo’s crown that Mammon stole, ‘What an idiot.’ he thought. As he rummaged through Mammon’s room - basically a dumpster of clothes and random stolen items - he searched under his bed. 

When he couldn’t find anything, he sighed and sat down on the bed. Without the focus on getting back what was Diavlo’s, he heard you. He turned his head from looking down to looking at the wall which connected the two rooms. A smirk grew on his lips, he’d heard this song many times before as he was an opera fan as well, and you sang it so lively. He chuckled to himself and stood, putting his hand on the wall and leaning his forehead to touch it. He closed his eyes and just listened, he had too much shit going on that day and this moment provided such solace to him. Mimicking movements over piano keys accompanying the song, his fingers even began moving. 

“GET OUTTA MY ROOM LUCIFER!” A pillow came flying across the room, missing Lucifer completely, on purpose as Mammon would’ve said, but not really.  

“Ugh, Mammon.” Lucifer winced and raised his head, ‘of course this moment had to be ruined’ he thought. What a day he’d had. He let out a heavy sigh and proceeded to interrogate the demon on where the jewel was. While Mammon gave lengthy explanations of how he lost it, Lucifer’s attention kept being stolen by you. Feeling more lenient than normal, and seeing how he could just get another one to replace it, Lucifer simply gave Mammon a slap on the wrist and left. He headed to your room, for he didn’t want to stop hearing you. 

He leaned onto your bedroom door, listening to only his breath and a sweet voice still going strong. That was until you were finished in the shower and, unbeknownst to him, you were singing even after you’d gotten out. You got dressed and wanted to get some tea, so you turned the door knob and FLUMP, Lucifer was on the floor. You let out a shriek,

“I can fight you!” You put your fists up but then noticed who it was, 

“Wait, Lucifer?”

Playing it ice cool, he simply stood up and brushed himself off,

“Hmm?” he said with a calm expression. 

What do you mean hmm?? You didn’t particularly know how to respond, you opened your mouth several times trying to think of what to ask him but in the end it was futile. You decided to just ask if he wanted any tea since you were going to make it anyway. He agreed and followed you to the kitchen.

As you made the tea he had continued to hold his calm face, even though he was so extremely embarrassed. Pretty much all he was thinking was,  ‘Fuuckcufuckfuckfuuuuuuunkc I FELL OVER IN FRONT OF HER???’ You formulated a question in the time it took to make the tea and sat down with the two cups, handing him one. 

“So……. Why were you at my door?”

Lucifer almost choked on his tea, he really wanted this moment to be over, but he may as well tell the truth. 

“You were singing and I- well, I thought it was rather beautiful so I, um, listened to you.”

Now you were the one choking on your tea, he was listening to you? And he thought it was good? After the tea had gone down, you spoke, 

“Y-you thought it was good then?”

“Of course, if it were bad I would’ve told you. I imagine you already knew that.”

He was such a stiff person, and hearing compliments from him was a rare occasion, so even though you felt awkward asking him more, you wanted to hear more praise from the demon you were crushing on hard.

“So, it was really that good that you listened to me?”

He chuckled, “I believe I answered this question already, but yes. I found it to be a wonderful singing voice.”

You chuckled right back, “thank you,” you hesitated on what you wanted to say next, “you know, I was even thinking of signing up for the talent show, but I’m not sure, I probably won’t.”

He looked at you quizzically, “what’s there not to be sure about? You would make an excellent act to watch.”

You sighed and explained, “W-well. I just don’t know if I’m good enough. I’m scared of joining and people thinking I sound bad. And they would remember me from an embarrassing moment, you know?”

His smile faded, he hated when you talked yourself down like this. He couldn’t understand why you would even think that. You routinely did this to yourself, it was a bad habit to talk yourself down saying things like ‘oh I’m not that attractive’ and ‘I’m not smart enough to do this.’ Saying things he knew were completely wrong. You were, at least to him, extremely attractive, and you were also objectively smart. You were the most amazing person he’d ever met and here you were, being wrong about yourself yet again. He cleared his throat,

“You are good enough, surely. If anyone were to even think of making fun of you I would punish them accordingly for being dead wrong about you.”

You blushed, “Geez, Lucifer, you sure know how to talk sweetly for someone so intense.”

He snickered at your comment, “Thank you, I guess?”

You laughed, being with him made you feel so much less nervous about the whole thing. 

“You’re welcome,” you said with a gentle smile. 

That night you mulled it over endlessly, should you sign up? Was Lucifer just being nice? You tossed and turned the entire night thinking about being in front of a crows, you’d never done that before. You kept thinking about what he said to you, you loved seeing it when he spoke softly to you. Soon your focus shifted from the talent show to Lucifer. With calming thoughts of the times you’ve spent together, you eventually fell into a peaceful sleep. 

The next morning at breakfast, Lucifer revealed to you that he had taken it upon himself to sign you up.

“WHAT?” you shouted. 

After the commotion of you chasing Lucifer down and yelling at him faded, you realized that you had to get ready. The show was going to be next week after all, so you didn’t have much time. You rummaged through your clothes deciding what you should wear until Asmo came in and helped you pick out a dress to wear the next day. The brothers were being so kind about the whole ordeal. They were all excited to see you sing, Belphie even promised not to sleep during your performance!

“Hmmm,” said Asmo, “what about this one?” He held up a beautiful golden, floor length dress. It was the present Lucifer had given to you on your birthday that year and you never thought you’d get any use out of it so it was under a pile of clothes on your closet floor. It was perfect! You decided to wear that dress and Asmo helped with what shoes to wear as well. Day faded into night as you chose what song to sing and practiced and practiced and practiced. You wanted it to be perfect if you were going to do this. Even though it was nerve wracking, the week finally passed and it was the day of your performance. You got ready and headed to R.A.D. The brothers wished you good luck and Beel gave you a fortune cookie so you cracked it open and the fortune read, ‘Failure is an opportunity in disguse.’ Haaaaah. Okay. Beel repeatedly said sorry and Belphie couldn’t stop laughing. You decided to take it lightly, it was just a piece of paper so you laughed along with him and thanked everyone for their encouragement. With that, you left. 

At the show, the brothers were all in their seats. While Satan, Mammon, Beel, and Asmo watched every act in enjoyment, Levi, Belphie, and definitely Lucifer were only here for one person, you. The act before you came on. Lucifer sat in anticipation, he wished he could be there to comfort you since he knew how nervous you were about this. The act finished and your name was called. You walked on to the stage and stood rigidly. You looked in the crowd and immediately saw the brothers, you saw Lucifer, smiling at you. You took a deep breath. 

For any performers, we all know about the silence before beginning, its serene yet holds a certain amount of unsease. You felt all the eyes on you, staring, determining only by appearance, what your performance held. Was it going to be good, or would it be the opposite? You stole a breath to break the silence and, slowly, the piano music started in the background. It felt as if you could see the notes flying away off of the piano, like leaves in autumn. With your eyes closed shut, you began. Your voice trembled at first, but as the words and notes mixed together, you got lost in the feeling and began to really sing from heart. Lucifer looked at you on the stage, you were brilliant. He could picture you as an angel in Heaven, you certainly looked like one. The glimmer from your dress gave you a warm glow as you let out what Lucifer thought to be the most beautiful voice he’d ever heard. He leaned forward, almost as if he were unconsciously trying to get closer to you, to touch the angelic figure on the stage. In awe, he whispered,

“You’re sparkling like the sun.”

“SHH STUPID!” scream whispered Mammon. Lucifer didn’t even want to take his eyes off of you, he wouldn’t dare to stop listening, he was fixed on you, completely fixed on you. 

When you had finished, you got a standing ovation, started by Lucifer of course. You stood there on the stage, so happy that you could cry. It had been a wonderful performance, and in the end, you had nothing to worry about, not with the help of the brothers and especially the encouragement of one (very hot and secretly loving) demon in particular.

—————————————————————————————————-

My prompt requests are open, so feel free to leave an ask

[gracewithducks]

Strange Traditions (A Christmas Eve Sermon)

There is a man in Ohio who creates artwork out of chewing gum; he shapes gum in tiny little sculptures… using nothing but his mouth.[1] There’s a couple in Tokyo who recently went viral for posting pictures of their cats, which isn’t too unusual, except that the cats are wearing hats – bunny ears and crowns, Viking helmets and wigs – all kinds of hats made from the hair those cats shed around the house.[2]

 And I’ve realized we all have weird things we do, things that make no sense, that others find strange or even a waste of time… but it brings us joy, so we do it, even if they don’t understand.

 Some of us dress up like Star Trek characters. Some of us study the Elvish language of the Lord of the Rings. Some of us love to bake cookies and cakes, even when everyone we know is on a diet. Some of us read the same books over and over again. Some people make works of art out of beach sand and sidewalk chalk, even knowing it’s all going to wash away. Some people train for marathons, or jump out of airplanes, or collect stamps or build ships in bottles.

 As for me, I knit stockings.

 On its surface, not that strange. It all started innocently enough: my grandmother always knit stockings for our whole family: generations of stockings, each one unique, each one knit with love. And we love those stockings. As a kid, opening our stockings on Christmas Day was almost more exciting than opening the presents under the tree. Under the tree you’d get the usual pajamas and socks and, if you’re really lucky, that one thing we’d hoped and wished for all year. But the stockings were a free-for-all of surprises: candies and hairbows, puzzles we didn’t know existed, books we didn’t know we wanted to read, games and puzzles and funny little toys that sometimes were more fun than the big ones under the tree.

 Stockings are an important part of our Christmas traditions. But when I was starting my own family, my grandma let me know that, because of the tremors in her hands, she couldn’t knit anymore. It was heartbreaking for her, but it was also nerve-wracking for me – because as the only other knitter in the family, the job of making stockings was handed down to me.

 And when I say that I knew how to knit, I mean that my grandma – the same grandma – had taught me how to knit a potholder when I was about twelve years old. I don’t think I even ever learned to purl, just to knit – straight knit – the end.

 But my grandma handed down her knitting needles and yarn, and I resolved to do the best I could.

 I started working on my daughter’s stocking, the first stocking I’d ever made. And because I wasn’t so smart, I didn’t start working on the stocking until after she was born – which was about two months before her first Christmas. I still remember frantically knitting whenever anyone came to visit and offered to hold the baby; I remember wearing my daughter strapped in a Baby Bjorn and dancing around the living room, trying to keep her happy, while I knitted behind her back.

 Somehow, I finished that stocking. And the even bigger wonder is that it actually looks like it belongs. It’s not perfect, but none of them are; they’re all made with love anyway.

 When my husband and I found out we were expecting again, I knew I needed to plan another stocking. But because I’d only made one stocking before, I wanted to practice, to try following my notes and see if I could do it again. So I decided that, as a joke, I’d surprise my husband by making a stocking – not for a family member, but for Doctor Who. And if you don’t know who Doctor Who is, that’s okay; he’s a character in a British sci-fi show, and Doctor Who always has a Christmas special – a Christmas special which actually airs on the BBC on Christmas Day.

 Since the Doctor always shows up for Christmas, then, I decided to make him his own stocking, with a picture of his time machine on it. And from that one stocking, a new tradition was born.

 Yes, I made stockings for all of my children. But I’ve made many more than that. Every Christmas, I surprise my husband with another silly stocking for his collection, a stocking based on something he loves. We have Iron Man and Captain America; we have Harry Potter and Thing 1 from Doctor Seuss; we have a stocking for Despicable Me’s Gru, and for the Staypuft Marshmallow Man, and even Mickey Mouse.

 Along the stairway to our house is a wall of stockings. My husband isn’t surprised to get a new stocking each year; he looks forward to them – and that year’s design is always a secret – and I so much love the planning, creating, and surprising him.

 It’s a strange tradition, I know. Whenever I explain it, I always get some funny looks. People always want to know if I make my whole family new stockings every year (I don’t) or whether my husband gets presents in all those stockings – (he doesn’t).

 Even my own extended family is confused. Earlier this year, my brother was over to visit, and he gazed up at our stocking collection, looked at me, and said, “You know, there are – other ­– things you can make, right?”

 Of course I do. I make other things. I love making things. But I really, truly find joy and delight in making those novelty Christmas stockings – even if no one else gets it. I love our strange little tradition. It doesn’t have to make sense. It doesn’t have to follow the rules.

 Sometimes I imagine – and to be clear, this isn’t in the bible; it’s my own imagination – but sometimes I imagine that, when God was creating humans, when God had the idea to create these free but flawed beings who would live in God’s creation – I imagine an angel walking up, looking at what God was making, and saying, “Are you sure that’s what you want to make? It looks messy, and loud, and it’s probably just going to break all your stuff.”

 And when God nods, and the angel wrinkles his nose and says, “You know – there are other things you can make, right?”

 And God’s like, “I know. I’ve made other things. I enjoy making other things. But these are different; each one is different, unique, and I delight in planning and creating each one – and maybe they’re messy, and maybe it doesn’t make sense… but love doesn’t have to make sense.”

 And when God was planning to come down at Christmas, to get down and play with those unlikely and perplexing creations, to shrink to our size and play by our rules, so that we might see God’s love even more – when God said, “This is my idea: I’ll go down there as a baby” – I imagine that same angel wanders by and says, “Really? That’s your plan? Haven’t you learned anything?”

 And God says, “It doesn’t have to make sense. Love doesn’t make sense. But it brings me joy. And that’s enough.

 This is the lesson of Christmas: that God’s love for us doesn’t make sense – but God loves us anyway. God loves us too much to stay away, but God loves us enough to come down to our level, to squeeze infinity into an infant, to subject God’s self to cold, to poverty, to grief and hunger and pain – so that when we go through suffering, we know we are not alone.

 God loves us enough to do the unusual, the bizarre, the impossible: to come and be with us.

 And it doesn’t make sense. But some of the most important things we do in life don’t make any kind of sense: like telling your family to split the last pieces of pie when there isn’t enough to go around, and you tell them you didn’t feel like pie tonight anyway; or a grown adult getting down on the floor to play Legos or Barbies, or folding yourself down to fit on a playground slide; it’s driving for hours just so you can have dinner with your family, or giving a few dollars to the stranger at the side of the road, or inviting a stray animal to share your home and be your family; it’s sitting with someone who’s sick, even if they don’t know you’re there; telling your mother-in-law the biscuits really don’t taste burned at all, or going to your friend’s favorite restaurant even if you don’t like it. It’s buying coffee for a stranger; it's practicing for hours to bring music to worship, even knowing the beauty is fleeting – just a few moments and it’s over and gone; it’s gathering to worship a God we can’t see, celebrating a baby king sleeping on the hay, lighting candles and singing about heavenly peace on an earth that’s far from any kind of peace at all.

 There are things we do that make no sense, and we wonder how much they matter – but they’re done from love, so maybe those things that don’t make sense are the ones that matter the most of all.

 Love that doesn’t make sense – and love is what Christmas is all about.

 This so familiar story of Christmas, this story which makes us comfortable and nostalgic on nights like this – this story is in fact a strange tradition: a tradition of looking for God in the cold, the hungry, and the helpless, in the most unlikely corners of a dangerous and perplexing world.

 May the God who delights in you, may the God who loves you enough to be born in Bethlehem – may that God bless you, and may you know that you are loved. And may you too love even when it doesn’t make sense, seeing beauty where others see nonsense, bringing peace into the most unlikely places of all. May we all hold onto this strange tradition of generous, extravagant, beautiful, unlikely love.

  God of strange traditions, God of risk-taking and self-sacrificing love: we are so thankful for the tradition, the story, the truth that brings us here tonight. We are grateful that you loved us into creation, even when it didn’t make sense; we are thankful that, when we were lost and cold and alone, you came to meet us right where we are. Meet us here tonight. In Jesus’ name we pray; amen.

[1] https://www.ripleys.com/weird-news/annual-2012-gum/

[2] https://mymodernmet.com/hair-cat-hats-ryo-yamazaki/

[lovelyirony]

hi, saw your request for pairings and AUs & there's something I thought of the other day, if you consider it an AU. How about Pepperony & Hanahaki disease? what if palladium wasn't the only thing killing Tony slowly in IM2? :) ah, the smell of angst. hehe. thanks

ooh, aren’t you the evil one? also: anyone know why i included the year of 1977? 

There were many things wrong with Tony’s life at the moment. 1.) Heavy metal poisoning (remind Pep–have Jarvis make a reminder to e-mail Black Sabbath about the new album title, that’s a winner) 2.) He was starting to hate pizza (for…reasons, but still) and he wanted pizza but at the same time it felt like when you were a kid and just slightly tipped the scales at sugar consumption and you just want to sit down for an hour or so, but– 3.) There was a Thing. That Came Up. Because of course it did. Heightened the death thing up by a week, go figure. 

His whole body was wracked in pain for a moment as he braced against the counter top. Body’s last hurrah, still can’t believe he’s dying in a fucking bathroom, such a 1977 thing to do, honest to god–

There are petals. Red petals, and he puts one under a microscope because that’s what scientists do, and he’s basically just staving off a full on breakdown, because he knows who this is about, and it’s… 

Red tulips. Red fucking tulips, because of course life hates him. He remembers being in Ana’s study at their house, reading a book. And Jarvis would always bring her red tulips. It meant a love confession. 

Ain’t that a kick in the head. 

And he remembers the red hair, the eyes that he’s completely fallen for, and the way that she rolls those gorgeous eyes and the easy way she wears jeans and old shirts on her off days and loves those novelty shirts just as much as he does and–

Well. 

“Sir, with the added complications arisen, we have to shave a week off,” Jarvis says. 

People could live years with the…thing. With the petals. If they were careful enough, no one would ever know. If they were smart, people would never know. It was a heart attack. A shame they died so young. 

Tony takes a swig of scotch, and decides that his death will be one of a vice. 

He starts pushing people actively away. His therapist–or rather, the little voice in his head because as much as he would probably like to settle some deep-rooted issues, talking to people about actual emotions, is just, ugh–said that he always did that. But now it’s just. More. 

He sees how Rhodey looks at him as he creates this huge fucking mess, blasting up his home that he and Rhodey had planned together. Says things like not needing a sidekick, knows that it’ll piss Rhodey off, being second-rate, because that’s what he’s always viewed himself as, that’s what others have–

and there’s a petal dropping to the floor, and Rhodey stops. He looks at him, face dropping. 

“You poor son of a bitch.” 

“I have a net worth of over a billion dollars,” Tony snarks weakly. He can feel the bile run from his throat. Leans over. 

“Blood toxicity at eighty-three percent,” Jarvis murmurs. “I would advise you in telling Colonel Rhodes about the situation, Sir.” 

“You could tell her,” Rhodey says. “You could do that. Maybe she likes you back.” 

“That explains why I’m spewing fucking tulips,” Tony says, sneering. “Just fucking admit it. I’m a lost cause, and I’m going out in the way that I fucking want to.” 

“In the way you want to, or the way that guarantees no one shows up to your funeral?” Rhodey asks. “Because you know she’s upset. Not even pissed, really. Just upset because she thought you were better.” 

“Everyone’s fatal flaw with me,” Tony says with a shrug. “And she deserves someone better than…better than me.” 

He gets pulled into a hug. 

A ton of shit happens after that. Rhodey is concerned, gets Tony a therapist, and he still doesn’t realize the heavy metal poisoning. It’s starting to take more effect. Tony forgot that Pepper was allergic to strawberries. She looks very angry at him. 

Natalie or Natasha–whatever the hell her name is, and he’s betting at least a thousand that neither are–is there. Always. It’s annoying, having a complete stranger so close to your life collapsing. Rude, is what it is, the absolute nerve of her–

There’s a video. He kind of likes it. 

“My greatest creation, Tony, was you.” All that happy-feely bullshit that Howard never fucking said to him when he was alive, but hey. Validation? Is that what he’s feeling? Love? Hell if he knows. He’s terrified by it. 

But he knows the element. Still getting schooled by the dead, which sucks. But he works, works past exhaustion and the fact that he still needs to figure out what kind of urn he’s getting, because there’s no way that weirdos will leave his body at rest, and yeah. 

A new element. 

Blood toxicity lowers. More time for him. Yay. A villain to stop, Vanko. What is it with Russians and Tony’s life? Is this a Cold War thing again? He’ll ask Fury, since that guy seems to think he knows the answers to every question of life. 

They…stop. The red petals stop coming, and he stops wearing pocket squares to stuff full of flower petals. And he looks towards Pepper, who hugs him tight and kisses him all over, sans lips because that’s personal, and–

God, he loves her. Still does, after all of that. Used to think he loved her like Icarus loved the sun, too close and too dangerous, but–

It changed. The wings lowered, and Pepper smiles him in the kitchen one day when she’s stealing his cinnamon sugar cookie coffee because she won’t buy anything fancy for herself, and 

“I think I want to date you,” Tony announces. Pepper blinks. 

“Date. Me. You want to take me on a date.” 

“Yes, that’s a thing people do. Normally.” 

“You’re not normal, Tony. You closed down a Tiffany’s store on a whim because you thought that they had a ring that they didn’t, and then sat there eating Chinese on the floor with Jim.” 

“Ugh, why do you always call him Jim? Why not Honey-pop or sugarplum?” 

“Because I’m the normal one? You’re the one who did weird stuff.” She’s grinning. She loves banter, thrives off of it. If she can trade back snipe for wit, laugh for laugh, she loves it. 

 “So, date. I want to take you out on one.” 

“Does this breach company policy? I think it does. I think it definitely would.” 

“Call it a conference? We just…veer off stock points. Immediately.” 

She laughs, that gorgeous laugh that makes him feel lighter than air. Makes him feel like those movies with Bing Crosby that his mother would always watch, sighing happily as she tapped her feet to any song that came on. 

“I want a lunch. With no salad or courses, I want a really shitty takeout lunch.” Tony laughs, making a note on his phone. 

“Do you want any fried food?” 

“Pickles.” 

“You’re a crime against humanity, Pepper, honestly, what was I thinking–” 

“You were thinking that you liked me,” Pepper says quietly. “Because I like you back. And I…well. I want this to work out.” Tony smiles. 

“Well, we’re in too deep now. You can’t quit, you need a pension.” She snorts, but kisses him on the cheek. 

“Pick me up at one. Bring wine.” 

[mcgrathsx-blog]

tell me how to feel about you ; mcjames

Characters: Katie McGrath & Bradley James ( @bradleyxjames ) Setting:   Bradley’s apartment, London Warnings: N/A Timeframe: Last week (i forgot shh) Description: After what it had seem a never ending battle between her heart and her mind, the Irish actress had decided that for once, she was going to forget about being rational and simply listen to her heart. Which led her to jump on a plane to surprise Bradley in London. 

Katie: The last couple of weeks had been a complete mayhem for the Irish actress, she was still trying to get over the fact that her wedding had happened, same as the annulment process and everything in between. Even if she had been wishing that everything had been just a nightmare. She knew that it would take time for her to heal completely, but she was also aware that sometimes good things fell apart so that better things could fall together. Maybe that’s why without really thinking about it, Katie had packed a bag and taken a flight to London. She had to go and pick up her son from Theo’s mother’s house but not until three days from now, so she decided to surprise a certain someone by paying him a visit. It was one of those times where her mind seemed to have lost a battle against her heart. For the first time in what it felt like forever, she wasn’t thinking, and instead she decided to follow her heart. Being back in London brought so many memories, some good and some bad, but still she was insanely happy to be back in the place where she called home for so many years. Katie pushed the doorbell once... twice... three times, yes, she was impatient. “What the hell am I doing?” Katie muttered under her breath, while she rocked on her heels back and forth, waiting for Bradley to answer the door.

Bradley: since going home from Greece, bradley had been on the go with filming and being with his mum as much as he could. she had decided that she wanted to paint his apartment. why? he wasn't sure but he also wasn't going to tell her no because it was something they could do together. which was why when he heard the doorbell over the music pumping out of a speaker that he had sitting on the floor, he set down the paint roller and grabbed the rag out of his back pocket so that he could wipe the paint off his hands. his living room was a mess but it was starting to come together. the color on the wall - one that he had chosen himself - was a soft green called Winter Shamrock and for the life of him he wasn't sure why he had chosen it. until the opened the door, looking into the emerald eyes of the woman standing on the other side of it. ahh, he thought to himself, there is the reason it was chosen. "aren't you a long way from home?" he questioned, blonde brows risen over sparkling blue eyes. "not that i'm complaining. that just means we can put you to work," with a smirk he stepped back and held the door open for her.

Katie: as soon as Bradley opened the door, it was as if all of Katie's doubts had suddenly vanished. And without thinking twice, an ear to ear smile appeared on her face and before she knew it she was jumping on him, wrapping her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist. Immediately crashing her lips against his. God, how much she had missed those lips. Her heart felt like it would rip its way out of her chest, any moment now. "Hi" she simply said in a softest tone of voice. She stole one more kiss from his lips, a gentle and slow one, before her legs went back to the floor. "Wait - what?" She asked with a chuckle. "What am I working on?" But before she gave him the chance to respond to her query, she looked around and noticed what was happening. "Ohh... " She said in wonder. "You're painting your place by yourself? Impressive." She admitted with a nodding of her head.

Bradley: feeling the woman wrap herself around him, he couldn't help but to grin into the kisses she was giving him, his arms snaking around her waist so that way he could hold her up for as long as she was in his arms. "mm, hello to you, too" he said against her lips before she had gone back to her feet, a laugh coming from his lips. "not alone, no." as he was about to tell her his mum was there, she came into the room and stopped in her tracks as she began to speak. "oh, we have company!' she exclaimed while going over to Katie and smiling at her. "hello, dear." this was going to be weird, he could already tell, but what could he do? "actually the painting was all her idea," he pointed his index finger at his mum with a goofy grin on his face. "and when she says she thinks something should be done.." he trailed off when the older woman rolled her eyes at him. "i was just about to make tea, would you like some?" she asked Katie, ignoring her son and waving her hand for them to follow her back into the kitchen. since they were finishing up the living room, the kitchen was safe to be in. the tins of cookies stacked up on the counter that she made him, opened revealing different cookies in them. "i'm sorry about this," he whispered to Katie as he took her head and led her towards the kitchen.

Katie: before Katie could ask him who else was around, she was suddenly surprised when she heard his mother's voice. "Stephanie, oh my god, hello, it's been so long." The Irish actress said as she approached the older woman to give her a hug. She knew that her face was probably in an embarrassing shade of red. She had literally barged in her son's apartment, and had been all over him. "I'm not surprised, you wouldn't have come up with it on your own, and you can't fight me on this." Katie said with a soft chuckle as she turned to look at Bradley for just a couple of seconds. "Tea sounds lovely, thank you." Katie nodded politely, before slapping his torso, "A little warning would've been nice, don't you think? This is so embarrassing." Katie whispered, but still smiled, pulling her hand back, not wanting to make things worse. She knew how close Bradley's relationship was with mother. And she hadn't spoken to the other woman ever since their break-up, who knows what she thought of Katie now.

Bradley: "i tried but then you all but jumped me," his lips twitched into a smirk as he rolled his eyes at her. "it shouldn't be. i'm a big boy and she knows i kiss girls all the time." now he was just being annoying and he knew it, not that he cared. Katie should be used to him by now. "what are you doing here? i didn't know you were coming across the pond once you were back in the states." not that he was complaining, he was excited for her to be here and that was evident in the grins that didn't seem to want to leave his lips. "i've missed you," he spoke honestly as he took her hand again and laced their fingers together so that she couldn't tug it away again. "my sisters are supposed to show up eventually too, so if they do you might just have to deal with them all." now he let out a laugh, shaking his head. he was surrounded by women and he didn't mind it one bit, especially since they were all beautiful and smart.

Katie: couldn't help to roll her eyes at his first words, "I actually came here to pick up Kian, he is with Theo's mother-- well I'm supposed to pick him up three days from now, so I thought I would take a detour and surprise you." The actress said with a nonchalant shrugging of her shoulders. Her eyes went immediately to their hands, fingers laced together. A soft breath escaped from her lips, and she looked up to look into his baby blues. "I missed you too... kind of." She teased and leaned to steal a quick kiss before they entered the kitchen. "Oh boy, no pressure.. at all." Katie exhaled. Okay, this was nerve wracking. The girl had absolutely no clue of what his family thought about her, but she had this, she could deal it with it -- right? "Should I come back later? I don't want to interrupt if you were going to have a family gathering." She stated, nibbling on her lower lip.

Bradley: "ahh, the little guy. do i get to meet him finally?" he questioned, not wanting her to think it had to be done, but actually a little excited to finally see the boy other than pictures. "kind of my butt," he said with another laugh as he rounded to corner and looked at his mum, who was turning to set down a tray on the counter. her eyes went down to their linked fingers and she smiled. "so Katie, how have you been? i am going to say this only once, you are amazing on Supergirl. team Lena for life." his mum was a crazy lady, most people knew that and loved her for it, so her saying what she just had made him bite into his lip so that he wouldn't laugh again. "no, you have to stay. they are just coming to make sure i'm doing things right." rolling his eyes - again - he shook his head at her question. "plus one of them is supposed to be bringing food since i haven't stocked my fridge in a while. haven't been home so didn't need to have anything in it."

Katie: raised her eyebrows in surprise, a warm smile quickly followed. "Of course, if you want to meet him I could bring him over before we head back to Vancouver? He loves football, so I'm sure he's going to like you." She admitted with a firm nodding of her head. Sandra's comment made Katie's smile widen, "You've seen the show?! I'm so delighted to hear that." Katie said with a soft chuckle. "Thank you for that, being able to play such a strong character is such a blessing." She went over to the kitchen island and sat on one of the stools, without letting go of Bradley's hand. "How about you? How's everything? This guy isn't giving you too much trouble?" She eyed the blonde for a moment. "You'd be lost without your family, you realize that, right?" She smirked before extending her free hand to take one of the cups, taking a small sip of tea. It felt like home. "This is so good, you can't get a proper cup of tea in either Vancouver or the Sates."

Bradley: "then please do bring him 'round. we'll play some footy and he can show me how much i've grown to suck at it." a teasing light lit up his eyes as he listened to the two women talk, taking up a cookie from one of the tins and nibbling on it. "i have! it's such a fascinating show. all those young people saving the world and aliens. who doesn't love it?" nodding her head along to Katie speaking about playing strong characters, his mum reached over to lay her head against Katie's arm. "a strong woman playing another strong woman, it's how the world should be." tilting his head, he couldn't agree more, even though he regretted those words not coming from him. his mother could teach him a lot about making a woman weak, he noticed. "i do know it, love. they are my backbone and my corner stone, without them i'd basically be nothing." which was why he let them bug him, harass him and tell him what to do. they knew better, after all, women always did. "that's right. tea is best at home." he fully agreed, even if he had just bought a home in LA not too long ago. "i was telling mum the other day how she needs to come spend time with me in LA since i bought a house there. she's telling me that it isn't for her and it's breaking my wee heart."

Katie: "Oh absolutely, and the aliens are the best part... even when some of them are murderous aliens, but it's okay. The good guys win most of the time." The Irish said, followed by a chuckle. With each passing second she was feeling more and more relaxed, she honestly felt like she was back home. And that was a feeling like no other. Sandra's words warmed her heart, making it seem like she had been worrying for absolutely no reason, but hey what else was new? "You're going to make me cry." Katie said with a laugh, while she rested her cheek against the older woman's head for a few, she meant it though. Everyone who knew Katie, also knew that she was a big crier and it didn't take much for her to shed a few tears. Hearing Bradley talk about his family brought a big smile to her face, his devotion towards them was one of the things that had made her fall for him, she was glad that it hadn't changed. "Oh no, why LA?" Katie wrinkled her nose. "Sandra, if you ever come to America, ring me a bell and I'll take you to New York with me. The streets are always crowded, the city never sleeps, there's food in every corner, it's absolutely loud.. dirty even, but you'll love it. It's not that different from London." She said with a chuckle. Her closest friends also knew that Katie despised the sun, and LA was far too sunny for her, that's why New York had become her home away from home.

Bradley: aliens? the young blonde had no idea what they were talking about - or so he'd tell Katie, though he actually did follow her show - so he continued to eat his cookie and listen. "that sounds a little stupid," he said as he waited to either be ignored or slapped silly. this time he knew he'd be getting it from two directions and he wasn't even sorry for being a jerk. "hey, how about you stop trying to get her to go visit you when she won't even come visit her own son. it's not fair." though knowing his mum, she'd do her best to get him to go along with her, which he wouldn't mind. not one bit. "that sounds like fun, dear. i hear that they have such pretty things in New York. especially the broadway shows." a far away look came over her face and bradley raised an eyebrow, never quite understanding where his mother went when it happened. not sure if he wanted to know either. "then i shall take you one of these days," he said, trying to recapture her attention and take her away from where she had gone to. "the sisters could come too. we'll make a weekend out of it and if Katie's around, maybe she can join us as well. her and her son."

Katie: "Shut up." Katie muttered, pulling her hand back so she could slap his forearm playfully before she went back to lacing their fingers together. "LA is so overrated, that's why. If she's coming to America, she should see the best places." She stated with a grin and a nodding of her head. "Oh that would be so lovely!" The actress turned to look at the other woman now, giving her, her full attention. "Finding Neverland will play again the month, I've been meaning to take Kian to see a show, hopefully I can manage to get him to love musicals as well, I haven't had much luck in that department." The girl explained, her eyes going from back and forth from Bradley to Sandra, noticing how he had raised one of his brows and she was wondering if she had missed something. "While your sisters come over, I'd love to help with the painting... but I might need to borrow an old shirt from you, and fair warning I've never done this before but hey, it can't be that hard right?"

Bradley: "why did no one tell me that before i bought a house there?" he grumbled as he took the slap and laughed, shaking his head at her. "maybe i'll gift it to one of my sisters and buy something in New York instead." the thought was a serious one but he didn't want to scare her, so he teased her. "that way i can be close enough to you, to bother you and wake you up at all hours of the day and night for no reasons at all." his blue eyes danced with amusement as he nodded her head, tugging her hands so that she'd get up from the stool she was sitting on. "Finding Neverland is one of my favorites, if i'm to be honest with you. i saw a video of it on Youtube and fell head over heels for it. not that i'd admit that to anyone outside of you two. i have a reputation to protect." walking towards the living room again, he paused to smile at his mom. "i'll get Katie a shirt and then we'll get back to the painting. since it's my home, i don't mind doing it myself but Katie covered in paint will be an interesting sight." winking at his mom, he turned the corner and pulled Katie with him, flattening her against the wall once they were out of sight. "i have to do this," he stated quietly before taking her lips with his.

Katie: turned to him the moment he mentioned buying something in New York instead, which made the actress raise both of her eyebrows in surprise. Sure, he had deflected by adding the little teasing notes, but still she couldn't deny the fact that having Bradley so close to her would bring her a great amount of joy. "You'll definitely get along with Kian then, he also wakes me up at all of hours of the day and night for not reason at all." She commented with a soft chuckle. "If you do end up doing it, you'll come to the conclusion that there's no battle between LA and NYC, New York wins by far." She nodded firmly. "Then we have to take you to see it, it's also one of my favorites. I wanted to be one of the lost boys back when I was younger... and I'll even admit that at this age i also wouldn't mind to be one, in the slightest." In cue, she stood up as well and her eyes shifted to the other woman in the room. "We'll be right back, and despite what Bradley thinks I won't mess up." She assured with a soft chuckle. Now that they had rounded the corner, Katie was surprised by his lips, which she welcomed with delight. Having Bradley press her against the wall, brought back so many memories from when they would sneak around on set, stealing kisses between scenes in every opportunity they had. "I missed you" Katie muttered against his lips, bringing her hands to his lips so she could grab handfuls of hair, pulling him to her as much as she could.

Bradley: hearing her talk about New York like she did, he could understand how it might be a nice place to live, especially if what she had told his mother earlier were true. so many different things to see, to do, and anyone who knew him knows that food was his one true love. or at least one of them. so the idea to move there began to take on even more roots, ones that he couldn't seem to dislodge no matter how many times he told himself it was a bad idea. "i've missed you too, love." he whispered against her lips, his hands going down to her hips where he dragged her against him. having her body against his brought back so many memories, memories that he had closed off for so long. they were good ones, some that turned his heart inside out because it made him want her all over again. not that he had ever stopped, not in a million years. "if my mother wasn't here right now.." he stated, a smirk coming onto his lips as he looked into her eyes before kissing her lips again. "you'd be completely naked in my bed right about now," if only he thought with a sigh before pulling away and moving back so that she could move away from the wall if she chose. "now about that shirt."

Katie: had to close her eyes upon hearing his words, immediately feeling goosebumps in her skin and a wave of electricity run down her spine. The pull he had on her was undeniable, she was completely drawn to him. Always had been, since day one. A connection and attraction that went beyond the physical aspect. Katie leaned forward, tiptoeing so she could press her lips against his ear. "As if you were that lucky." She said, slowly, her voice filled with want. She tugged on his earlobe with her teeth, proceeding to ran her tongue against it, soothing the skin where she had just bitten before pulling away from him without taking a final glance. "Room's this way, right?" She inquired, but didn't wait for an answer before she continued her quest down the hallway, until she found the master bedroom.

Bradley: "i am a very, very lucky man indeed." he spoke up as he followed her to the bedroom, leaning a hip against the door frame and keeping a distance from her so that he wouldn't do something that might get them in trouble. "you're such a tease, Katherine. if my mum wasn't here, you would be tearing my clothes off just as quickly ad i'd do to your's. there's always been chemistry between us, that's something you can't deny." just like the vibes in the air surrounding them now. it wasn't anything new, in the past a lot of people had told him more than once that they could cut through it with a knife that it was so palpable. bradley walked over to his closet and pulled the door open, stepping inside to start going through the shirts inside. he had quite a few that were older, tattered and well used. pulling one off the shelf, he turned around and held it out to her. "how about this one?"

Katie: "I seriously have no idea what you're talking about." She said nonchalantly as she walked to the edge of his enormous bed, sitting down as she ran a hand through her raven colored locks. Her green eyes were locked with his baby blues. She definitely knew what he was talking about. The electricity and tension was so thick in the air, that her breathing was becoming a little heavier by the second. Emerald eyes following his every move, like a predator looking intently at its prey. The metaphor suiting her perfectly, if she had her way, she would be devouring him. "That one looks perfect." She commented with a satisfied nod while standing up from the bed, she grabbed the piece of clothing and put it on top of the matress, turning to him again. This time she held her arms over her head, "Can you help me with my shirt?" The girl questioned, with a small playful smile.

Bradley: could hardly breathe when asked if he could help her with her shirt, something that he could remember doing more than once. Katie was a seductress of the highest power and she knew it, even if she didn't want to admit it. "you don't have to ask me twice," he murmured while walking over to her and grasping the hem of her shirt, tugging hit upwards slowly, so that his eyes could watch the revealing over eye inch of her creamy white smooth skin. a groan was making it's way up his chest, close to coming out of his throat when he finally pulled it over her head and tossed it onto his bed. a bed that was not made but soft as feathers if he were to only move her towards it, lay her down on it and climb on top of her. the thought was maddening but he knew better. it wasn't the right time. "there. no more shirt," he said as he turned away from her and smiled to himself.

Katie: was glad she had decided to wear one of her nicest laced bras, even when Bradley had turned away from her she knew that he would've at least caught a glimpse of her while removing her shirt. Okay, she had to admit that she loved doing that. Getting under his skin, teasing him in the process. His reactions would never disappoint. He surely knew how to make her feel wanted and beautiful. "Thank you, so skilled aren't you?" She said with a soft chuckle, grabbing his shirt from the bed and putting it on. The shirt was several sizes too big for her, so she tied a knot on the hem, that was hanging on one side of her hips. "I'm decent, you can turn around now. Don't worry, I'm not going to seduce you and steal your virtue." The girl claimed, with another chuckle, one that was followed by a playful rolling of her eyes.

Bradley: couldn't help but laugh as he turned back to look at her, a little disappointed that she really was in the shirt and that she hadn't just told him that so that he'd see her in her bra. "i don't have any virtue left, i'm afraid. you stole that from me a long time ago." a grin was on his face as he stepped towards her once more, framing her face in his hands so that he could lean down and press a gentle kiss to her plump lips. would he ever get tired of kissing her? doubtful. every time he did there was a fire that ignited deep in his bones, it had been that way since the first time. and if it hadn't stopped by now? bradley assumed it never would.

Katie: “Oh please” Katie immediately rolled her eyes at how absurd it sounded, since it was the other way around, without a doubt. “You are the one who stole /my/ virtue.” The girl accused with a laugh, making a special emphasis on herself. “I was this geeky girl who talked about nothing more than books, Star Wars and comic books, and then this breathtakingly gorgeous muscular hunk came along, decided that for some odd reason he liked me, and then he stole my innocence, can you believe that?” As she spoke, the actress wrapped her arms around his neck, her right hand going straight to his golden locks. She welcomed his kiss, and responded to it for a few seconds, focusing her attention on his lower lip before letting go. “Do you remember the first time we kissed? We were filming episode 10 of season one, the one where Merlin’s village was being threatened by a warlord. It was the night before we had to film the big sword scene, it was almost midnight… I think, and you were nice enough to offer to practice with me. And like a scene taken out from a very very cheesy movie, I tripped, you caught me by the elbow and I fell on top of you. The next thing I knew was that somehow, we were kissing.” Katie shook her head, laughing at the fond memory. “You’re my guy.” She proceeded to say, while resting her forehead against his. “You are the one I want. You’re the one I’ve always wanted.”

Bradley: raised an eyebrow at how absurd she sounded just then. Katie was geeky? his lips pursed as he thought about what she was saying and let out a laugh, nodding along to it. "you're completely right. i take full responsibility for taking your virtue and everything else that came along with it. for some reason i'm extremely attracted to the geeky and nerdy type, which you hold the record for." once more listening to her speak, a warm feeling wormed its way into his chest and made a nest there, one that he didn't plan to upset or turn over any time soon. "i do remember that. you were shocked when i settled my lips over yours and i thought to myself 'she's going to sock you if you keep handling her' but you didn't. you reciprocated. to this day i still don't know how i had gotten so lucky for you to get to know me, to let me know you, to let me fall in love with you. which wasn't a hardship at all, might i add." a grin was on his face when he butted her forehead gently, in a teasing manner. "i'm your guy, hm?" the words were making him a little giddy, not that he'd say that to her or even let her know it in any way. "you've been what i've wanted since i messed up all those years ago by watching you walk away. it wasn't about me not wanting you, it was about me not knowing if i could give you what you needed." this was the first time he had put into words why he had broken up with her. or not really broken up with her, but let her break it off with him. "i was young and stupid. heck, i'm still stupid but i'm not as young anymore and i want you even now. i'll want you forever." there. he had said what he had been thinking, feeling, for all this time.

Katie: "I'm not even going to deny that, because I'm seriously the nerdy and geeky type." She said with a chuckle and a nodding of her head. She was obsessed with Star Wars, comic books, was an absolute bookworm. To that day she still didn't know how on earth this gorgeous man had shown interest in her. But she wasn't going to question it, not anymore at least. Nodding at his words, she pursed her lips trying not to smile but it was sort of an impossible task everytime he was around. "I was shocked, I always thought you were into tall, skinny, blondes. Or just gorgeous bombshells with no brains -- I always thought you were going to go for someone like Angel... NOT that I'm saying she has no brain, because I adore that woman but yes, at the time I thought she was more your like your type.. but hey, i wasn't complaining back then and I'm not complaining now." Katie admitted with a small smirk, while leaning in to press her lips against the corner of his mouth. "You were stupid, probably still are. But things happen when they are meant to happen, I didn't understand that back then, but I do now... so let's forget about that and focus on what we have right now, yeah?" Her thumb stroke his lower lip while her emerald eyes were locked on his baby blues. "And good, because I'm not going anywhere anytime soon." She said with a lopsided smirk.

Bradley: "Angel?" he questioned, a small smile on his lips as he took her hand and went back to bed, sitting down and pulling her into his lap. "there have been so many rumors that we were together back then just for the fans to have their fantasies but she was never the girl i liked. not in the way that i liked you. you were brainy, you were hilarious and when you tripped onto me i fell right along with you. in every sense of the word. but now that you mention tall, skinny, blondes.." he trailed off with a flick of her hair, taking a strand of it between his fingers and twirling it. "good because if you did walk away i'd follow you this time. to the ends of the Earth, McGrath. you're stuck with me and my stupidity. even though i can admit that i don't want to be stupid anymore when it comes to you. to whatever goes on with us." which he wasn't going to ask questions about, not now. maybe some time in the future but for now he was happy with where they were seeming to go. "now tell me you missed me again," he poked the end of her nose and grinned at her, not being able to help himself.

Katie: "I was aware of those rumors, and when we started.. our thing, it was pretty hilarious, not going to lie. I was like 'boy, if they only knew'" Katie said, with a small smile. "You're such a sweet talker, did you know that? No wonder why you have so many girls trying to get your attention. Too bad for them, you're mine." She stated, looking at him with that signature smirk of hers before she leaned forward to press a hard and quick kiss on his lips before pulling back, laughing at his little act. "Babe, I don't think you'd fall in the skinny category." She patted his stomach, but of course she was wrong. There was nothing but muscle there, still she couldn't help to tease him a little. It's who they were. "There's no one else I'd rather be stuck with." She said, honestly. Lifting her hand to his cheek, stroking his cheekbone with her tumb. "To whatever goes on with us." She repeated with a chuckle, shaking her head from side to side at his next request. "Nope." She grinned in return. "We can't keep your mum waiting, so-- let's get going."

Bradley: "our thing?" he used his fingers to make quotation marks as he asked the question. it had been more than just 'a thing' to him but maybe not to her. there was no way he was even going to try to contemplate what went on in Katie's mind. it was a steel trap most of the time, one that he couldn't get into at times. "i am not. and there is no one trying to get my attention. they have better guys and girls out there for them. i'm completely smitten with someone already and they all but know they don't have a chance." leaning forward, he bit into her lip and tugged on it roughly, to show her just what he thought of her teasing. "hey, it's not my fault that my mum cooks such good food and i enjoy every little bite of it." his broad shoulders rose and fell in a careless shrug. he didn't worry much about his weight so it didn't bother him if he had a stomach now and then. "she can wait just a bit longer," he spoke up as he took her hand and placed her thumb between his lips now, biting down into the sensitive flesh at the tip of it. "plus even though we were just together in Greece i want as much time as i can get with you before you spirit off again and i'm left wondering if you were even here to begin with."

Katie: "Yeah, don't give me that look.. I meant before we made it public and official. At first it was mostly us sneaking around to have sex, at first I don't think neither of us knew what it meant. All I know is that I was on cloud nine, and I didn't care what the gossip pages would say." Katie said with a small shrug, that was followed by a smile. "There's no one better than you." The Irish actress said with determination. "You're smitten with someone? .. that someone is insanely luck--" couldn't even finish her sentence when she felt how Bradley roughly bit on her lip, making her moan in the process. "Don't start something that you won't finish." Katie said through narrowed eyes, following every movement he was making, a shadow of smile visible on her features. "Don't blame Sandra, you're always hungry for some reason." the moment he introduced her thumb in his mouth, she couldn't help to close her eyes, enjoying the sensation of his lips, teeth and tongue against her flesh. "And you say I'm the tease." her eyes slowly opened, loving what she was seeing. the way he was looking at her had the power of making her weak on the knees. "come with me then." she began. "if you don't have to film, for a few days at least? i'm not ready to say good bye to you just yet."

Bradley: he had known what she meant but it was fun to hear her say exactly what she meant, what she had been thinking at the time and what she had wanted back then. knowing that it was him made it even better. "i've never cared what the gossip rags say nor will i ever. well, depending on what's being said. if they go too overboard then i might care a little. especially if it hurts someone i care about." with a huff of a laugh, he lifted her up and settled her down on the bed and walked to the door, shaking his head as he did. she was right, he wasn't going to keep tempting them both when his mother was in the other room and could walk in on them if he had kept going. "as i already stated, my love, i will follow you anywhere." and he would, that wasn't something he was saying lightly. turning back to her, he held out his hand and smiled with a wicked look in his eyes. "now come, lets finish painting before my mum finds other things for us to do. like washing dishes or even my clothes."

Katie: followed him with his eyes, he was definitely quite the view and anyone who knew him would agree with her. "I'm serious!" Katie stood up from the bed, crossing her arms over her chest, giving him a look indicating that she needed him to know that she had actually meant what she was asking from him. "I know you said that earlier, but that's a vague answer." She countered. "I need you to say yes or no to going back with me. I finish filming at the end of this month, maybe after that we could go to NYC, or come back here? Whatever your schedule allows you to do." She knew that maybe she was asking for too much. She didn't know where they stood, but she wanted to find out. For some reason the idea of being away from him now seemed completely unfathomable, and she didn't know if that was a good thing or a bad thing. But right now? She didn't care. She just wanted to be wherever he was. "God, you seriously need to grow up." Katie smirked, shaking her head from side to side before grabbing his hand, leading him out of the room.

Bradley: pursed his lips as he turned to look back at her, amused by the folding of her arms and how she looked absolutely annoyed with him. it gave him a thrill and he let out a sigh, nodding his head. "you know i will go with you. why are you acting like you don't already know the answer. lets go to NYC that way i can look a houses there. i was serious about maybe buying something there. if i do my mum might actually leave London now and then to see other places." a laugh left his lips as he was pulled from the room, lacing their fingers again as he moved to her side, walking beside her instead of behind her. "probably but i wouldn't be as much fun if i was a stuffed shirt, now would i?" he squeezed her fingers before letting them go and moving towards one of the cans of paint, using a knife to pry the top of it and grabbing the roller that he had laid down in the paint tray earlier. "do you like the color i'm using?" he wanted to know her opinion even though two full walls were already painted.

[up-sideand-down]

For the AU: my old fav where Cloud gets turned into a Sephiroth clone and the general and his friends hides him away from Hojo and ShinRa.

I’m gonna continue from this one

Despite Genesis’s insistence that it was a foolproof plan to pass the cloned Cloud as Sephiroth, everyone has their doubts. 1 foot height difference was quite noticeable. Even with the insoles Genesis offered. Sephiroth was also leery about having a trooper corporal taking over his job without it seeming awkward. He’d happily take the vacation, if he knew it was taken care of. The worst one to convince was Cloud. Cloud was terrified to leave Sephiroth’s apartment. Sephiroth didn’t blame him one bit. 

It took a long time to get Cloud to act like Sephiroth. It just wasn’t in his nature, but Sephiroth assured him that once he masters the resting bitch face the rest would fall into place fairly quickly. Cloud decides to trust him on that. Cloud also understands a lot more about what his SOLDIER duties than Sephiroth assumed, but the height difference is still an issue. There’s really no way to cover it up. Genesis decides they should just own it. “If Angeal and I say there’s no difference, who is gonna question it?”

Cloud’s first day was horrifically nerve wracking. Angeal and Genesis try to make sure at least one of them is close to Cloud at all times, but it isn’t always possible. After Lazard asks if Sephiroth seems...smaller than usual, apparently giving a confused look was the right answer. Sephiroth texts him every hour to make sure things are going smoothly. Sephiroth almost bursts out of his apartment when Cloud texts back that Hojo wants to talk with him, but he resists. It was just to let him now that it was a Sephiroth clone that escaped. 

“What did you tell him?” Sephiroth asked. 

“That I wasn’t surprised,” Cloud responded. Seph laughed at that a few times throughout the day. 

After a first successful week, Cloud asks if he might contact his mother to tell her that he’s alright. They find a way to make it happen. He doesn’t tell her anything, but just that he’s fine, but might not be able to contact her as much. All through letter. “We don’t have a phone anyway,” Cloud admits. Genesis has to sneak it through various channels to get it to Nibelheim, mislabeled to her work, but she gets it. She sniffs that something isn’t right and gives some serious passive aggression back. Cloud is weak. Sephiroth isn’t much stronger after he reads it.

Cloud is well and truly sniffed out by one hyperactive and too observant Zack Fair. He hasn’t worked with Sephiroth a lot, per se, but enough. Enough to know that Sephiroth sarcasm is more biting, less annoyed. His bitch face has more smirks and less smiles. And...he seems shorter. He tells Angeal about his suspicions and Angeal tries to brush it off. It makes Zack more suspicious. He starts trying to prove the Sephiroth is false. The other two try their damndest to get Zack to stop. They kinda like Cloud, and besides, they’ve gotten this far. 

Cloud is the smart one in this situation and after Zack’s latest attempt to prove he isn’t the real Sephiroth, Cloud drags him off with the impression that he’s going to put Zack through some sort of punishment. Instead Cloud takes him to Sephiroth apartment, where Sephiroth is on his sofa binging a show on the cooking channel. 

“There Happy,” Cloud says, “You were right, I’m not the real Sephiroth. I’m the escaped lab specimen. If you turn me in now, you will be the asshole in this situation.” Zack looks to Sephiroth, who just nods and takes another gigantic bite of cookie dough ice cream. “So if you want to help out, keep your trap shut and help me stop looking like that asshole.” Zack looks to Sephiroth again at the insult, but Seph just shrugs. 

“He’s not wrong.”

[spookyjudgement]

GBBO 2020 reactions Episode 8: Dessert Week. Twitter spoiled the final lineup for me, time to see how we get there.

WHAT IS MATT DOING? WHAT is this intro that’s so much. The episode intros are also nerve wracking. Is this a new editing thing? I think this must be a new editing thing to make the episode preview an anxiety-fest.

Mini cheesecakes.

Ok. Peter is out here representing, I too dislike cheese. Aversion to cheese? Gluten-intolerance considered? He’s checking all the boxes. Pity he’s an econ boy.

I mean, yeah Paul they’re all star bakers but all star bakers in different weeks/different concentrations!

I think Hermine’s jar idea is adorable, I don’t know why Paul was concerned by it? Also I get Dave’s thing about citrus and gelatin.

Don’t you have to use a bain-marie? IDK I’m worried for everyone who hasn’t.

10/10 Impromptu musical number. That’s Paul, that’s Paul!

Gotta say given how hard turning these cheesecakes looks for Laura, I think Hamish and Hermine made smart choices with their structure.

I think...this was the first time I saw Peter this flustered? I hope he’s ok. Laura’s also worried me.

Yeah Dave! Prove Paul wrong about that gelatin! and Peter! Listen to Noel, stick it to the man! Don’t apologize!

???? Prue??? Are you saying you get all your bakes done perfectly the first time around? What the fuck do you mean no extra ingredients??????

This...sounds like a very British technical...and a very disgusting technical like...ooze out? Suet??? ew ew ew. THIS IS THE LEMON ONE WHY. WHAT IS THE POINT IN PUTTING A WHOLE LEMON IN A PUDDING. IT COOKS IN THE PUDDING?????

I love Hermine’s reaction...gotta agree with her...Suet breakdown.

Watching this...I am reminded of something my father once told me. We’re not pastry, cookie, cake people. We’re barfi, laddu, halwa people. This is like...in my top ranks for least appetizing looking pastry dish (not that I could eat it anyway but, it bears mentioning).

Noel: “Prue, not worth the calories” gotta agree. Gotta agree.

Won’t these be...inedible??? If they’re not properly cooked??? How are they gonna judge them?

Oh...bold...Dave is first to come out when he was the last to go in...yikes...

Oh god they’re all breaking????? Ahhhh...well...they tried. OMG YOU CAN SEE THE LEMONS THAT’S SO MUCH

Did Prue even give them enough time???? Peter had his in fairly early and his needed another hour? Ma’am I’d like to see you steam a pudding in the period of time you allotted for it. Ugh. Odds the contestants got up in their faces off-camera for that. They’d have been justified.

Prue, fuck you, you did not give them enough time to steam that pudding you absolute fool. Don’t comment on the “mess” they made of it. *eyeroll*.

HERMINE WITH THE ICONIC TAKE! EATING JELLY IS AN ANGLO SAXON THIN!

Hamish feels bad about all the gelatin being used. Honestly...same. Mood. I think I’d have just taken the risk and tried agar agar and pectin even though they don’t set as jiggly.

I’m glad Noel is helping defend Hamish from Paul and Prue. Like...yeah! Hamish is right for going big! It is the time to be ambitious.

ROAST THE ENGLISH HERMINE! ROAST THEM FOR THE LACK OF CARE IN APPROACHING OTHER LANGUAGES.

LOL at the announcer taking Hermine’s note on the pronunciation of genoise.

Gotta agree with the criticism...this isn’t really baking. All this...jelly work.

It seems like Dave went with the most foolproof method here...admittedly with everything hanging on his release from the bowl. All the melting jelly is nerve-wracking? I know it’s expected but still.

Oh noooooo Hamish’s is unfortunate :’(

Prue said the word Japanese and a swear to god my eye twitched.

All of a sudden an entire tent pronouncing genoise properly! Incredible.

Not the judges talking about that technical like they actually gave them enough time to work on it.

HERMINE DOMINATION!!!!!! HERMINE DOMINATION!!!!!!!!!

I’m sad Hamish is leaving. Peter got lucky, and I think he knows it.

[autumnwritcs]

trasha1x1​

“Nick Lowry,” she let out a sigh before chewing on her bottom lip. “When D’ante was sick I took him to the doctors. Dr. Schaffer wasn’t free so I agreed to see any doctor and Nick Lowry was the lucky winner.” She sighs, letting her head fall back against the couch. “It’s only a matter of time before Nick talks to Eli. And with the family becoming aware of this, I’m assuming he’ll want to talk, or something.” There were a few scenarios running through her head of how their interaction would go. But there’s a chance she could be wrong. He didn’t want anything to do with them then, he could feel the same way now.

Aaliyah turned her head to look at Louise, “It’s driving me crazy, not knowing what’s going to happen next. Especially something like this. A part of me wants to wait and see what he does, but the other part just wants to contact him and get this all over with.” the latter seemed like a better option. It’s better to get it over with then sit their in limbo, constantly wondering. But, was she really going to do something? “I don’t know what’s more nerve wracking, having that conversation with Eli, or possibly talking to D’ante about meeting his father,” she already knew the answer to that.

Aaliyah sat up, arching an eyebrow when she noticed the plate of cookies on the coffee table. “— When did you make cookies? ” How long was she in her head?

Louise tilted her head, still looking at her cousin with a confused frown as Aaliyah brought up Nick’s name, she knew him of course, her family and the Lowry’s had been friends for a long while. Of course, he was also Elijah’s brother. With every word that she kept saying, Lou’s eyes kept widening, quickly reaching to the same conclusion her cousin was uttering. “Oh boy.” She muttered, bitting her own lip in nervousness, she knew how much she had tried to to keep D’ante’s parentage to herself, and she was in her right to do so, so Lou could only iimagine how much distress this might be causing to Aaliyah.

“I... This is just me talking but I’d go and tell him about it. Waiting will do you no good, you’ll be stressed and D’ante might notice and get worried. But it’s your call, if you rather wait then wait, I can keep you company. if that’s what you want.” Louise smiled, grabbing her cousin’s hand in hers and squeezeing it gently. “D’ante is a helluva kind boy, and smart. He’ll understand. But you’ll know what to do when the time comes, trust your gut.” 

Looking at the plate with cookies then back at her cousin, Lou chuckled. “I keep frozeen dough and it takes a few minutes for them to be ready. Eat something, it’ll make you feel better.” That was probably was her most used phrase. for any kind of trouble.