#really liking someone so i wanna barrel through all the stages of a relationship at once

[gregmarriage]

it’s so hard being a lesbian, bc it’s in our nature to bring out the u-haul immediately, but also, i have a really bad habit of rushing things in an unhealthy way, and losing myself. so now i’m trying to take things slow with ppl (it’s…difficult 🙂)

[sweetleaf-cafe]

Floyd Crush/Relationship Headcanons

First off, if you've attracted this chaotic eel, good luck.

Once he's decided he's into you, or even before he realizes it, he's going to be extremely obvious.

Floyd will straight up attach himself to you.

Say goodbye to your personal space!

(Though if you were really uncomfortable, he would back off, a bit.)

He can and will squeeze you whenever you're in the vicinity, and if you're not, he'll probably just chase you down and do it anyways.

And if he surprises you or manages to get some sort of rise out of you while doing it?

Then it'll be extra fun in his book!... And you can expect it to become even more of an occurrence.

"Found you, Shrimpy! Lemme squeeze you~!"

When he squeezes you, he's still very firm in his grip, but usually not bone-crushing.

(It wouldn't be any fun if he broke his favorite Shrimpy.)

Well, unless he were very excited or if his mood was at some sort of extreme.

If so, you'll have to be quick to remind him that he's not trying to kill you, and if you don't, R.I.P. you.

Also, he doesn't particularly care where he squeezes you.

You could be giving a presentation in front of the entire school, and that wouldn't stop him.

He would just run up, pick you up, and run right off the stage or wherever you are with you in tow.

(Que Jade chasing after Floyd while Azul tries to get the chaos at the assembly under control.)

If Floyd wants his squeezes, he's getting his squeezes.

Overall though, as long as he isn't murdering you or you aren't super shy or easily embarrassed, hugs from Floyd are very fluffy!

Physical affection from Floyd is certainly not limited to squeezes though.

He loves draping himself on you like a freaking coat.

Only he's very heavy and chances are, you will topple under his weight.

If you do, will he bother to move from this position?

Nah

He's comfortable enough as is, as for you?

Pray you aren't in some sort of public space or a hallway.

Hope you can get comfy quick, because who knows how long you're going to be there?

And that's not the end of it, not by a long shot.

He'll also rest his head, arms, or whatever's most comfortable on your head.

If you're somehow taller than Floyd, then DOESN'T MATTER.

He'll just have you sit down first.

Or he'll even just straight up grab a box, stand on it, and rest himself on top of your head.

But if he can't do that, then your shoulders are pretty comfy too, right? :D

"Shrimpy! I'm tired.... lemme use you as a pillow!"

Overall, even before an official relationship starts, Floyd is already very physically affectionate with you.

And he will want your attention, like, all the time.

Whenever he can, he'll be looking for his favorite shrimpy.

Time spent together is spent doing all sorts of stuff, but Floyd is always going to looking to make it FUN.

He wants to play with Shrimpy!

Which somehow always ends with him chasing you around.

If he doesn't find whatever it is that you're doing interesting, he has absolutely no issue trying to find some way of distracting you from it.

What he'll do will certainly vary, but he'll often poke and prod you while complaining till he has your attention.

Or if he's really wanting your immediate attention, he'll just pick you up and carry you off to do whatever it is he wants to do.

At that point, good luck trying to get anything done.

And he'll also get rather possessive.

Does not like it at all if your friends get too close or they flirt with you.

Well, he doesn't like it if anyone pulls something like that if it's not him.

If someone gets a bit too close for comfort, Floyd will squeeze you, all the while sending a death glare towards the offender.

From there, he would be even clingier for the rest of the day, or even longer, depending on how you interacted with them.

And hid mood would also be rather foul.

If you were to ask him about it, he would be honest with you.

"They got too close to my Shrimpy."

If you ask him about since when you've been his Shrimpy, he'll shrug it off.

"Since I decided it."

He'll want a lot of cuddles from you, and somewhere along the line, he'll probably just trap you in his arms and stay like that until his mood shifts.

"I just wanna stay like this."

Floyd is also one to be very vocal about his love for you.

When he's not ranting to Azul and Jade about how adorable he thinks you are, he'll be telling it to your face.

He has absolutely no shame when it comes to this.

What he says will also differ.

Sometimes, it's remarks about how cute he thinks you are.

"Shrimpy is the cutest when they're jumping around like that~"

To other more upfront remarks.

"Because I wuv my Shrimpy~!"

Either way, he's very good about letting you know just the way he feels about you.

It's honestly endearing.

While many of these aren't said in super serious situations, he certainly means every word.

And if you're easily flustered, then he'll definitely notice that.

Once he does, prepare yourself, because you're in for one heck of a ride.

He'll be even more vocal about it, because he thinks that it's adorable when your face turns all red like that~

Throughout all this, eventually, Floyd will just decide he wants to make it official.

He's already aware that you two are essentially in a relationship, and the idea of being able to take it up a notch makes him feel all happy inside.

(The idea likely first being presented by Jade and Azul.)

If you think he's going to wait to tell you, YOU'RE WRONG.

The moment he decides this, he'll just barrel through to find you.

Once he does, he'll pick you up and twirl you around, seemingly happier than ever.

"Shrimpy! I was looking for you all over the place~! So I like you, I want you to stay with me, and I want to date you."

He'll be very upfront with it, not really leaving any room for interpretation.

And from there, he'll also tell you about all the little and big things he loves about you, already in a really great mood.

Should you accept, he'll legit start beaming.

That mood will certainly last awhile, so you can expect most people nearby to be breathing a sigh of relief.

They did not want to be around if things went awry.

Now that you're officially in a romantic relationship, somehow, he'll be even more affectionate.

He'll want kisses from you all the time.

And is not afraid to bug you for them.

"Shrimpy, I wanna kiss~!"

He loves it when you pepper his face with kisses, and any sort of affection you give him, he'll return it three-fold.

Whenever you kiss him, depending on his mood, it can go many different ways.

Still, a lot of the time, he'll be hungry for more.

So it's best to not kiss him a whole lot unless you're looking for a full-on make out session.

As for his erratic mood swings, you'll have to deal with that.

Sometimes, when his mood is sour, you'll be able to brighten it up with a kiss or something cute like that.

However, much of the time, he'll likely just get annoyed with you and will just want to be left alone.

Should you persist, it likely wouldn't really end well. When it comes to this, it's really best to just give him space when asks for it.

Once he's feeling better, he'll be sure to find you and hang out with you more, and will give you an apology if things didn't go so well.

Overall, things with Floyd are always a rollercoaster of emotions and will bring more than enough chaos in your life.

So once again, good luck with our eel boi!

[nokomiss]

How about: "I won't forget this." *Rolling their eyes* "Thats's the idea y'know." With Jaysteph?

The tragedy happened -- poetically, really -- in Crime Alley.  

Two mid-class goons currently serving Two-Face were barreling down the middle of the street in a stolen armored truck, sideswiping anyone who didn’t swerve out of the way quick enough.  Steph didn’t even know what the special occasion was -- it was both an odd month and an odd day, so maybe it was just Two-Face causing what chaos he could -- and Steph was the closest on patrol. She swung in, regretting her choice to leave the Compact behind, and tried her best to catch up with the armored truck.

“Any help?” she called over the comms. “O, can you do something about the traffic, maybe? These guys are not following the rules of the road.”

“Already there,” Babs said.  “Red Hood is incoming.”

Steph managed to hook a line onto the truck just as Red Hood appeared on a really nice bike. Nice enough she noticed even when flying through the air aiming her body at a speeding truck.  

She landed on top of the truck with more grace than she’d been hoping for, given her iffy relationship with gravity in general, and began to make her way towards the cab of the truck. “Hood, can you distract them?”

“On it,” Jason replied, and a second later the armored truck swerved wildly as a chain wrapped around one of its wheels.  Steph kept her grip, and made her way unnoticed to the roof above the driver. She knew the glass was bulletproof, but that didn’t so much matter if the driver couldn’t see through it. She anchored herself to the top of the truck, then splattered two gooperangs on the windshield.

Instant chaos. The driver, just correcting from Jason’s attack on his wheels, lost total control of the truck as his vision was completely obscured. Steph gripped tightly to the magnetic gripper she’d anchored down. Her cape whipped around her as she tried to figure out where Jason and his bike were -- she definitely needed to bail soon, as the truck was aimed right for the concrete pillars supporting an overpass.  

“Behind you,” Jason said through the comm, clearly seeing her dilemma, and Steph let go of her anchor as she felt the truck lurch over a curb.  

She managed to somersault off the back of the truck like she did it every day, and caught onto Jason’s handlebars in a move she couldn’t replicate if she tried, but was so grateful that she pulled off. A half-turn and a twist and she was landing roughly in Jason’s arms like she’d planned it all out, and a second later the armored truck smashed into the pillar, front end crumpling like an accordion.

Jason pulled the bike to a stop, and Steph hopped out of his arms before offering him a high five. He grinned at the destruction they’d caused and high fived her back before they went to check on the goons, who were both groggy and easy to subdue. There were two dollar bills floating comically around them, like it was a cartoon, and Steph understood why Two Face had staged this particular robbery.

“Huh,” Jason said, catching one of the bills mid-air. “Who knew there were this many in circulation?”

“And in a city known for Two-Face’s crimes, even,” Steph said. “Like. What was the take, a couple hundred bucks?”

Jason pocketed the bill he’d caught, and Steph rolled her eyes at him. “What?” he said. “Batman takes trophies all the time.”

Steph could hardly argue that point, having spent more than her fair share of time climbing the giant dinosaur.  “Thanks for the assist, this went way smoother than--”

She was interrupted mid-sentence by an ominous creaking noise overhead.  She looked up, saw the cracks in the concrete, and grabbed onto Jason’s sleeve. “Run!”

They sprinted across the road, and watched in mutual horror as a broken slab of concrete, loosened by the crash, fell directly onto Jason’s motorcycle.

“Oh no,” Steph said quietly.

“Oh shit,” Jason said, and it was not the horror-struck tone of someone who had lost a prized possession. It was the horror-struck tone of someone who had fucked up majorly.

Steph looked at him.  Jason pointed at the crushed metal that had formerly been a red motorcycle with a shaking hand. “Please tell me I’m hallucinating.”

“Gotham’s infrastructure really never recovered from No Man’s Land,” Steph said, patting him on the arm. “I mean, that was a really nice bike, but at least we caught the bad guys?”

“It was a really nice bike,” Jason said. “It also wasn’t my bike.”

“Yikes,” Steph said. She cautiously moved closer, but there were no more creaking sounds overhead. The bike was thoroughly crushed, though. She poked at a bent wheel with the toe of her boot. “Bruce’s?”

Jason nodded. “Shit, shit, shit.”

“I mean, it’s not like he can’t afford another one?” Steph offered. 

“There aren’t any more,” Jason said. “And he fucking loves that bike.”

“How can there not be any more? It’s not like donut holes at the bakery,” Steph said. “It’s a motorcycle.” A Ducati, granted, and a definite loss, but… Jason was not taking this well. She wondered if he needed a hug.

“There were less than eight in the world. Seven now, I guess,” Jason said. He began picking pieces of concrete off the bike’s remains. “Come on, you have to help me hide the body.”

“Hide the -- you’re shitting me,” Steph said. “You love breaking Bruce’s stuff. Last month you took a picture of yourself next to the Batmobile you wrecked and made it the Batcomputer wallpaper.”

“Well, this is different,” Jason said. “Come on. I saved your ass, now you get to save mine.”

Steph couldn’t really argue with that, given that Jason had kindly kept her from splattering on the pavement. She began to move concrete chunks, and the more of the bike they unearthed, the worse it looked.  Oil and gasoline smeared the pavement like blood, and the bike itself was mangled beyond recognition. The bright red paint was coated with concrete dust, turning it dull brown.  

There was absolutely no way they were wheeling it away from the scene, and Steph could hear police sirens echoing down the street. They cleared off the rest of the concrete as Steph remotely called the Compact.  She glanced over her shoulder and noticed Jason doing the same. “We can drag it over behind that pillar?” she suggested, pointing to one that didn’t have an armored truck smashed into it.

It was less than fifteen feet away, but it took all their combined effort to get the bike’s remains behind the pillar before the cops came.  Steph hurried out, grabbing a broken tail light off the pavement and standing casually in front of her captured goons as the police cars careened around the corner.  

The scene looked suspicious as hell, but the actual presence of a Bat at the crime scene -- even if it was Batgirl -- had the officers off-balanced enough that no one actually questioned the pile of rubble.  Steph told them all the intel she had on Two-Face’s crime (not much, but she added enough details that it took a few minutes) while watching the Compact arrive out of the corner of her eye, and Jason managing to strap the Ducati’s remains to it without any officers actually noticing.  

It was actually pretty hilarious, watching him struggle to shove mangled motorcycle parts into a net intended for a cartoonish capture of criminals on top of the Compact while trying to blend in with the night.  He mostly failed, but luckily for him, Steph was a pretty great distraction.

“And in conclusion, what the heck, Gotham National Bank, what were you thinking? Gotta run!” she announced as soon as she saw Jason finish with the Ducati and climb into the Compact, and made a big show of firing her grappling gun and swooping off into the night like a proper vigilante.

If it hadn’t been for the one notable casualty, Steph would be having an absolutely stellar night.

She met up with him a few blocks over and climbed in the Compact, letting him continue to drive, as she had no earthly idea where one disposed of the body of a motorcycle.

Though, as he pulled up to an abandoned part of the harbor, she probably should have guessed.

They climbed out of the Compact and stood there, breeze ruffling their hair and the moonlight shining on the water. It should be a peaceful moment, but the smell of motor oil dripping from the Ducati ruined it.  

“Tell me why this bike’s different?” Steph was so incredibly curious.  Jason was not one to hide something to spare Bruce’s feelings.

Jason had his hands shoved in his pockets. They were both fully in uniform, though Jason was down to a domino mask.  For some reason, Steph thought it was easier to share personal things while in uniform; it somehow seemed divorced from real life.  Though for Jason the uniform seemed to be real life.  He stared out at the water for a few more minutes, then finally said, “I had a picture of that bike on my wall when I was a kid. Like, before things really went to shit, I ripped a picture out of a magazine at the fuckin’ library, and snuck it home in my backpack. I didn’t know it was some rare thing, I just liked the color.”

“You do like your reds,” Steph said, for lack of anything better.  

His mouth quirked up. “You sure you wanna go there, Purple Rain?” 

She bumped her shoulder up against his-- well, against his arm, but the thought was there.  “So you had a picture of a motorcycle on your wall. Very weird. Almost unseemly, for a boy to have an illicit picture of a motorcycle--”

“Wow, you just don’t stop ever, do you,” Jason said. His mouth quirked up, and then he glanced back at the bike. “Anyway. After Bruce took me in, I kept pestering him about getting me one, even though they were stupid expensive and impossible to find, because of there being only a handful in existence.” 

“And obviously he got it for you,” Steph said, rolling her eyes, because Bruce could be called a lot of things, but stingy wasn’t one of them.

Jason shook his head. “Nope. I mean -- I guess, but not as a present. I guess he bought it symbolically for my sweet sixteen. Probably drove it to my grave, the melodramatic bastard.”

Steph opened her mouth and shut it again a few times, and then turned to stare again at the wreckage of the bike.  “I mean-- wow. So he didn’t think to give it to you once, you know, you rejoined the world of the living?”

“I don’t know if you remember but things weren’t awesome between us then,” Jason said, a little testily.

“I mean, if you want to play that game, I don’t, actually, given that I was having my own post-death world travels at that time,” Steph replied in exactly the same tone. 

Jason’s mouth tightened, then he let out a sharp bark of laughter. “I kind of forgot about that.”

“Well, I don’t bring it up in every conversation I have, so….” Steph nobly managed to not stick her tongue out at him.

“You’re a saint. And no, he did not give it to me once I came back,” Jason said, bringing the conversation back to the salient point.  “I found it in the garage covered in a freaking tarp, and sometimes I borrow it.”

“Without permission, I assume.”

Jason nodded. “He’s never shown any indication that he noticed. Which, you know, for Bruce…”

“Is a miracle in and of itself.” Steph nodded back at him. “So basically -- Bruce bought you your dream bike when you were dead and you’re cranky because he didn’t actually give it to you, so you keep stealing it hoping he’ll notice.”

“When you put it like that, it sounds stupid,” Jason said.

Steph stared at him, hoping he’d get the point.

“It isn’t stupid,” he insisted.

“You’re all stupid,” Steph said. “So now you want to throw it in the harbor instead of just… letting Bruce know that you have been taking it? Nevermind that obviously he knows you’ve been taking it. I mean. Do you fill it up with gas every time? I bet not, and I bet it’s always full when you pick it back up.”

She absolutely was not speaking from experience with her own personal favorites of Bruce’s ridiculously awesome car collection.

“I--” Jason began, but then shrugged. “Shit.”

Steph surveyed the harbor again, then looked back at the wreckage. “You know, this is one way to deal with this, but… what if there’s a better way.”

Jason drummed his fingers on his thigh, clearly weighing her earlier words, then said, “I’m listening.”

*

Four hours later, they stood side by side again, this time in the Cave.

“Okay,” Jason said slowly. “Okay, I’ll say it. You are an evil genius and I adore you.”

Steph fluffled her hair cheerfully. “Glad to hear it.”

“This is-- I mean, I thought I was the best at getting under Bruce’s skin, but this is going to make him go ballistic.”

Steph rolled her eyes. “The point is not to make Bruce go ballistic. That’s just a happy little bonus.”

They were standing in front of Jason’s memorial case, which until very recently had held only his Robin uniform.

Steph had to say, the a good soldier plaque now felt far less serious, given that it was now describing the mangled remains of a motorcycle that had died in the line of duty.  She even found a sharpie and added to the plaque, in the most cutesy handwriting she could manage so that it now read JASON TODD’s dream bike.

“It’s perfect,” Jason breathed.  Steph had been unsure about what to do with the uniform that had been inside, but Jason had lovingly pulled it over the handlebars until the Ducati had become, in death, an honorary Robin. “I won’t forget this.”

Steph rolled her eyes. “That’s the whole idea, y’know. It’s a memorial. For memory-keeping.”

But then she reached over and took Jason’s hand in hers, tangling their fingers together and squeezing. “Sorry your bike died while you were helping me.”

Logically, Gotham’s poor infrastructure wasn’t her fault, but if she hadn’t needed an assist, Jason would still have his beloved bike. Well. Kind of. Would still be regularly stealing his beloved bike from his emotionally inept father, because they were both stubborn idiots.

Jason kept holding her hand, leaning in until their sides were touching. “At least it went in a blaze of glory.”

“And now it’s gonna live on forever in our hearts,” Steph said. She pulled up their joined hands and pressed a kiss onto Jason’s knuckle, ignoring the way he startled at the soft touch and focusing on the little smile he gave her.  “Wanna hide in the dinosaur and watch Bruce’s reaction when he notices?”

“Abso-fucking-lutely.”

[derekcasey]

He Knows | Dasey Fic

Derek and Casey haven’t spoken in 7 years, but they meet once again at a bar where Casey’s friends are trying to hook her up with someone.

Read on FF.net 

For Best Formatting Read on Ao3

----

Haley: Casey. Come out with us! It’ll be fun!

Lindz: Not gonna happen Hale. The last time she came out was like… freshman year. And that was only because she was trying to impress us.

Haley: Pleeeeeease Caaaase.

Casey sighs, looking at her phone. She doesn’t want to go out. What’s the point? She’s aware her standards are pretty high. If they weren’t she’d be married already. She just wishes she knew what her standards were. It just seems that every man she meets fails some sort of internalized test that she doesn’t even know the questions to.

But they’re right. It has been a while. Not as long as Linz said, but it had definitely been a few years. And maybe there’s a different crop of men to choose from. So she agrees to go with them. Nearing 30 years old, they aren’t really in the “go out every weekend” stage of their lives. Haley is actually married already and Linz is in a long-term relationship with her girlfriend. So Casey knows that this outing is really just an excuse for them to try to hook her up.

She puts on a tight red dress, curls her hair in loose curls, does her make-up to impress. But her heart isn’t in it. Maybe she’s just meant to die alone, an old spinster with ten cats.

When she hears the horn of Haley’s car sound, she puts on some strappy heels and heads out.

-

“Open yourself up, Casey.”

“What do you mean? I’m open!” She argues.

Haley raises an eyebrow and gestures to Casey’s arms that are crossed over her chest. Casey huffs, letting her arms fall to her side.

Linz comes back to their table with their drinks and hands them out. "Your seltzer m’lady.” She smirks, giving it to Haley.

Haley rolls her eyes, “Did you scope the place out?”

"Yes. A few potentials… there-” Linz flicks her head to the left of them where a group of three guys are huddled at the end of the bar. Casey takes them in, they’re cute… but… missing something. Haley looks at Casey for her reaction. Casey grimaces.

Linz nods, lowering her voice, “Then there’s him.” She tilts her head just slightly to the right and backwards. Casey looks over her shoulder to see a mess of reddish-brown curls. Her heart stops. She could only see the back of his head but it was unmistakably, regrettably him.

Her lack of response seemed to spur the girls on and as some other guy comes up to his right to talk to him, Haley gets a glimpse of his profile.

“Didn’t he go to Queens?”

Casey feels her breath leave her body. This can’t be happening.

Linz turns to take another look at him. “Looks familiar. Maybe.”

“Yeah, I think he was the captain of the Gaels for a couple years.”

And then they’re all looking at him and Casey still hasn’t said a word, but someone scoots past him and he turns around to see and catches Casey’s glance. It’s only for a second, but it feels like an eternity and her cheeks are burning when he looks away.

Linz turns back quickly, laughing. “Shit. Whoops.”

Haley is elbowing her. “You have to go talk to him.”

Casey finally finds her voice, though she clears her throat first, “No- I mean. You said it yourself. Hockey. We’d have nothing in common.”

Linz supplies, "No one’s saying you have to marry the guy.” She pauses, noting the pink of Casey’s cheeks, “Case. You’re blushing, and the dude looked at you all of one millisecond.”

“I am not blushing.” But the blood rushing to her face betrays her even further.

“I’m going over there.” Linz announces before turning on her boot-clad heel and walking over to him.

Casey is mortified. She gets up from her stool and runs after her but it’s too late. Linz taps him on the shoulder and gives a smooth, “Hey there.”

She’s not his type, but he still gives her a once-over and smirks, “Hey to you too.”

“My fri-” Casey clears her throat, garnering the attention of them both.

“Lindsay, hey. I- uh- Haley needs- you at- over at the table.” Casey says, and his smirk grows wider, watching her flounder for words. Linz is confused, but seems to view this as Casey taking it upon herself to start a conversation with him, so she shrugs and walks back to the table.

“Casey.”

And she can’t breathe again. She hasn’t seen him in… who knows how long (she knows, it’s been 6 years, 9 months, and 3 weeks). He looks different but the same. And he looks at her differently but also the same way.

“Derek.”

The eyebrow raise, and the smirk, and she wants to punch him.

“Who’s your friend?”

Yeah, she’s gonna punch him.

“A lesbian.”

Both eyebrows go up at that point. “Hmm. I guess that checks out. Not married at 30, so you decide to switch teams?”

She rolls her eyes. “As fun as this little reunion has been, I’m going to go back to my friends and pretend you don’t exist.” Casey turns to leave.

“You are a pro at that.” She stops in her tracks. He’s baiting her, she knows it. She takes a breath and keeps walking.

“Nonono, you go back there right now!” Haley demands.

“He’s a jerk.” Casey explains, grabbing her drink and taking a large sip.

“Was he a jerk? Or was he just sexually interested in you, Case?” Linz asks. Casey scowls at her. “What?" Sometimes you have trouble deciphering the difference.”

“He did watch you walk away.” Haley points out and okay. That’s… information she didn’t need.

Casey folds her arms on the table and lays face-down onto them. Haley tries, “Come on, Case. You gotta get out there and have some fun.”

“But at what cost?” She whines.

“Hey…” Linz says, softer. Casey lifts her head a bit to look at her. Linz is smiling at her, “Let’s take a shot, and get on that dance floor. You can stun all these fuckers with your rhythm and they’ll be falling all over you.”

And something in her, some primal desire, lifts her from her stool and heads to the bar for the aforementioned shots. The music is pounding and as the alcohol courses through her veins, she feels emboldened. The three of them get lost in the music, the bodies on the dance floor weaving in and out of each other. She’s not drunk, but her inhibitions are definitely falling to the wayside.

After a few songs, a hand snakes around her waist. When her head falls back against the person’s chest, she expects to see Linz or Haley. Instead she sees his familiar brown eyes. It’s not the first time they’ve danced with each other. It’s not even the first time they’ve been this close to one another, but something about it is different.

She tries not to overthink it, just moves with the music. When he breathes, she feels his chest expand. His hand is gripping her waist at just the right pressure. She sees Haley in her peripheral and her wide-eyed glee is almost enough to take her out of the moment but this might be the only time she gets to enjoy this with him. So she shuts her eyes, and leans closer against him, wrapping an arm around his neck, hand nestling in his hair.

She can feel his breath on her neck, and it sends a shiver of delight down her spine. She can’t bring herself to face him, but just for these few minutes, she allows herself to feel him, to be close, to touch, to be touched. When the song shifts, the rhythm is stagnant but the variance brings her to reality. She slows her movements. His grip tightens on her waist. “Case.” He breathes. The music is loud, but his mouth is so close (too close) to her ear that she feels the vibrations of the word, rather than hears it.

She pulls away from him, turning to see the look in his eyes. She can’t read him, which seems impossible. She always can. But it has been seven years (6 years 9 months and 3 weeks). So who is she to say she can read him? She barely knows him, really. She thinks he looks disappointed, but he can’t be, shouldn’t be.

She doesn’t say anything else and neither does he as she walks away. She keeps walking until she’s outside. It only takes Linz and Haley 30 seconds to find their way out as well and get to Casey, who is leaning against the brick of the building, eyes shut tight, hand on her chest.

“You okay, Case?” Haley asks, and Linz rubs Casey’s shoulder soothingly.

“I’m fine. I just- I needed some air.”

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

“About what?” Casey asks, because what is there to talk about? They won’t ever understand the scope of how badly she just monumentally screwed up.

“I mean… how seriously into each other you and that dude are?”

“Honestly, I thought I’d have to hose the two of you down.”

“No, I would not like to talk about it. What I would really like is to go back three hours in time, politely decline your offer to go out, put my pajamas on and watch grey’s anatomy for the 20th time like I normally do on a Friday night.”

“You are just a barrel of fun, aren’t you?” And he’s back. Her head falls back against the brick, knocking it just enough to ground her, not enough to hurt.

“Would you just leave me alone?” She whines, and her heart isn’t in it.

“Is that really what you want?” And he already knows the answer.

She looks at him. “Stop it. I don’t know what- what you think is going to happen here, but-”

“Fine.” His jaw is set. Maybe it’s anger…

“Good.”

He looks like he’s going to say something else, but he just turns, shows his stamp to the bouncer and goes back into the bar. She watches the whole thing, and there’s a part of her that wants to follow him, flow with the music again and get lost in him, just for tonight.

Haley must notice the forlorn look on her face, “Let's… let’s get you home, Case.”

-

So… are we gonna talk about last night?

No.

You knew each other, didn’t you?

She doesn’t answer. She doesn’t have it in her right now.

-

There’s a knock on her door, she expects Linz. She’s the type to not let things fester. She goes to couples’ therapy with her girlfriend Erin even though they were already the most functional and healthy couple to begin with. She’s always saying “We need to address our feelings as they come up.” and it’s just… exhausting. After running from her feelings for over a decade, she’s thinks she has that whole process under control, thank you very much.

But it’s not Linz.

It’s him.

“Got your address from George.”

She pinches the bridge of her nose. She might kill George, and then this whole issue will be moot. Because then they’d no longer be step-siblings. So there’s that.

“Kinda sad, if you think about it, sis."

She takes a deep breath, fire in her eyes. “If I wanted you to know where I live, I would have told you.”

“You’re really gonna keep going with this ‘I hate Derek’ schtick?”

“Oh, it is sincerely not a schtick.”

“Your hips say otherwise, Case.”

And she wants to say her hips are dirty liars. But that’s really lame and Derek would never let her live it down (let’s not forget it’s also, of course, untrue), “Why are you here, Derek?”

“Not even gonna invite me in?”

She sighs but steps aside for him to enter. He looks around her living room. She notices him eyeing her pictures. She has pictures of Nora & George. Lizzie. Marti. Edwin. Of Emily, of Haley and her husband, of Linz and Erin. But none of him.

“You were always quite the decorator. Take after Nora that way.”

“Can you just get to it, Derek?”

He sits on the couch, making himself at home in a ways that makes her furious. “No pleasantries?” He puts a foot on the coffee table. She raises her eyebrow at it and he puts it back down on the floor.

“Okay then. Let’s start with, what the fuck, Casey?” He lets out a laugh but it’s not funny and the laugh seems to know that too. She looks at the floor, hoping that it would open up and swallow her into it.

“I don-”

“Seven fucking years. You sure have gone to a lot of trouble just to cut me out of your life.”

She’s pictured this moment a thousand times. She didn’t know it would hurt this badly.

“What do you want me to say?”

He laughs. “God. You really - you hate me that much? Won’t even give me a proper explanation?”

“Things change. People grow apart.” She lies. He stands up, and they’re close (too close).

“No. What you did was purposeful.” He takes a step toward her, “And I know I can be a piece of shit sometimes, but I thought-” He searches her eyes, for what? She looks away. He’s right, but she can’t admit it.

“We’ve always hated each other, Derek. Why should we put the family through our fighting? It was easier to-”

“Yeah, that’s just it isn’t it. It was easy. Easy for you to just-” He takes a breath, shakes his head. Why is he even this angry? “We don’t fucking hate each other, Casey.” He’s looking at the wall of photos, “I don’t hate you.”

“I don’t hate you either.” It’s small. So small, she hopes he doesn’t hear it, but he does.

He looks at her. Even though he seemingly knows this is true, it looks like her admission just saved his life.

“That’s- that’s why I had to. Do what I did.”

“You’ve avoided me at all costs because you don’t hate me?” He looks confused, but why? He knows already. They’ve both known it. For years. But admitting it… giving it breath and letting it sit out in the open between them… that’s a whole other beast.

“You should go.”

“Fuck that. We’re finally getting somewhere. I haven’t seen you in 7 years and then- then we meet at a club we fucking dance together like that and-”

“I was drunk.”

“Buzzed, maybe. Come on, Case. You were always a terrible liar.”

“We can’t do this.”

“Do what?” And why is he making her say it. He knows what.

“You know what.”

“Say it.”

She doesn’t.

“You should go.” She tries again.

“I’m not leaving until you fucking say it, Casey. Tell me the real reason you want me to leave, and I’ll go, if that��s what you really want.”

She doesn’t know when she started crying. It’s a silent cry. The tears just well up and slide down her cheeks. He’s still close and he’s still staring at her and she can’t take it. She shuts her eyes, tears getting caught in her eyelashes.

He reaches a hand to her face and thumbs away some of the tears.

“I love you.”

It spills from her mouth, and his thumb moves from her cheek to her lips.

“Do you want me to leave?” He asks, simply, patiently, and it’s so unlike Derek, but so like him. In his moments of softness, of kindness.

She shakes her head, opening her eyes. He’s staring back at her, eyes her lips momentarily. It’s a question, she knows, and she nods minutely before he leans in and captures her lips with his own.

It’s everything. All of their pent-up aggression and rage towards one another, all of their love, all of their desire. It’s in this kiss. It’s in their hands as they hold each other. Finding balance within one another. They breathe and kiss and bite, and gasp and they move together. And he returns the I love you into her skin.

It ends with them on the floor, like many other times in the past, their bodies tangled together, just with less clothing than normal.

“What do we- what do we tell them?” She asks, when it’s over.

“Casey, they already know.”

[beetlebitchywitch]

Rockstar!Beetlejuice

Hi my name is Kat and I have so many more things that I’m SUPPOSED to be writing but @yankyo @sapphic-florals and @beetlejuicebeadoll told me to post this so blame them ok bye

CW: Bondage, D/s themes, consensual forced orgasms 

You decide very early on in your relationship with Beetlejuice that you hate Ivan Pavlov with a burning passion. 

You know that the man only discovered classical conditioning rather than inventing it, but that bastard still put a name to it, and you needed to blame someone for the night’s events. You’re backstage at one of Beetlejuice’s concerts, lounging in his dressing room with a beer in hand when the monitor in the corner begins blasting the audio from the arena. All at once, you’re assaulted by the shredding of an electric guitar combined with the deep rasp of Beetlejuice’s voice, and God does it make your fingers clench into your skirt, suddenly aware of how wet your panties feel beneath it. You can’t really be blamed, you decide- it’s not your fault that Beej fucked you for the first time in a single-stall bathroom while his band was rehearsing, singing his songs in your ear as he came inside you in a way that forever intertwined the two stimuli.

...OK, so it might kind of be your fault. 

But still, it frustrates you. Here you are, a hot piece of ass all hot and bothered with not even Beetlejuice there to relieve your tension. The only thing you had was your right hand...and, well, no one was around to see you, right? Smirking, you slip your panties off and toss them aside, spreading your legs and letting your fingers slowly begin to circle your clit. You whimper softly and increase the pressure, letting your body relax into the couch cushions. You hear the band cut out, signalling their short break between their first and second set, but you simply don’t care. You need to cum, and if Beetlejuice got an eye full of what his music did to you, no harm done, you suppose.

You don’t even have the decency to stop when he strides into the room. He pauses in the doorway, out of breath with his cock already beginning to harden at the sight of you. His eyes narrow as he takes you in, almost as if he’s assessing you. 

“And just what do you think you’re doing, shit for brains?” And fuck his voice is so rough and you can’t even answer, you just throw your head back and moan. His voice is what got you like this in the first place, so listening to it all blown out and raspy certainly isn’t helping things. You meet Beej’s eyes again and despite the hardness in his pants, he looks more annoyed than aroused. “Pet, if your hands aren’t by your sides in the next ten seconds, you’re gonna wish you were never born,” he drawls out lazily, his casual tone paired with the threatening words sending chills up your spine. You smirk a little, pressing two fingers inside of you with a hiss. 

“But babe, you sounded so good out there, I couldn’t help myself. I just wanna cum.”

And then, oh, he’s grinning so wickedly that you suddenly second guess yourself.

“Well, isn’t that sweet. My princess gets all wet because of my music? Hmm...I think I can work with that.”

In less than a heartbeat he snaps his fingers, a small object appearing in his hand. He approaches you slowly, sneering as he watches the fear spread over your features as invisible hands grip your wrists and ankles, pinning your hands by your side and keeping your legs spread. He kneels down, humming appreciatively at how wet he managed to get you before showing you...a small, black and white striped vibrator. Your eyes widen, searching his gaze for any sign of mirth- there’s none. He’s entirely serious. He quirks an eyebrow, waiting for your silent approval, which you give by relaxing your body, settling further into the couch. His smile only widens as he slides the vibrator inside you, pressing one short kiss on the inside of your thigh before collecting himself and heading towards the door. He looks back at you one last time, his smug grin sending a red flush to your cheeks. 

“You wanna cum, pet?” he asks, hand gripping the doorknob. “Fine.” 

And the door slams shut.

The weird thing is, though, the vibrator doesn’t seem to be on. You’re practically trembling with anticipation waiting for it, but it doesn’t come. Not, of course, until you hear the cheers of the crowd signaling the return of the band to the stage. You hear Beetlejuice adjusting one of the strings on his guitar through the monitor, and you jolt. You could’ve sworn the vibrator had buzzed a little just now. 

...Oh. Oh no. 

With no warning, their next set begins with a long, drawn out chord from Beej’s guitar that has you biting your lip to keep from screaming. The vibrator has come to life inside you, it’s vibrations perfectly in sync with the volume and frequency of his music. He’s controlling your pleasure from 100 feet away and he’s doing it in front of a crowd of thousands. The very thought plus his intense playing drags the first of many orgasms from you, and by the way your muscles are tensing, you’re very clearly barreling towards your second. 

No harm done. Yeah, that was total bullshit. 

His second set lasts a full hour. You’ve lost track of how many times you’ve cum, but considering that the floor of the dressing room is absolutely soaked, you’re guessing at least 10. The worst (or best) part of it all is you can hear Beej giving the performance of his life. He’s playing his guitar so intensely, every strum sending shockwaves of pleasure throughout your entire body, and you know it’s all for you. Your voice is absolutely shot from screaming, thankfully drowned out by the music, and your tears have been free flowing for at least 20 minutes, soaking both yourself and the couch. You’re just about ready to summon him off the stage to finally fuck you when, thank God, the concert is over. The vibrator shuts off and you release all of the pent up tension in your body, crying openly as you finally receive some relief from the unrelenting pleasure.

It’s then that Beetlejuice chooses to make his grand reentrance, strolling casually into the dressing room to find his precious little breather soaked with tears and her own cum, shaking like a leaf in her bonds with mascara running in trails down her face. Oh, how delicious. 

“I have to say, pet, I am impressed. I’ve trashed some dressing rooms in my time but this, well, this really takes the cake.” 

God, that smug fucking smirk on his face makes you want to either slap him or cum again. He approaches you and reaches out to run his fingers through your hair, wiping away your tears with the pad of his thumb. You smile at his touch, leaning into it as much as you can with the invisible hands still restraining you. He kneels in front of you with a fond smile, resting his hands on your inner thighs. “Let’s get you home, hmm?” 

And just as he’s about to pull the vibrator out again, you hear it. 

Beetlejuice. Beetlejuice. 

The crowd’s chanting sends a shit-eating grin to Beej’s face, and he stands up, only growing more amused at the growing look of fearful realization on your face. Just before they say his name for the third time, he sends you a wink. 

“Heh, sorry babes. Encore.”

Beetlejuice.

And then he’s gone.

[bgn846]

Origins of the Sun and Night

         Summary:            

Prompto and Noct are exploring their new relationship together when things take an interesting turn.  First introductions are made and a new future might be dawning.

                 Notes:    

This was supposed to be a short drabble, sure, I'm capable of that... not.  Anywho I hope you enjoy some cute young love.  :)

Noct and Prom are 18 and Ignis is 20, Gladio is 21.

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

             Work Text:          

“Seriously Prom, don’t do that, I’m gonna have to take another shower,” Noct whined.

“Come on I’m just resting my head on your shoulder!” Prompto lamented.

“Yeah, and I already told you Gladio has a really, really good sense of smell for an alpha, he’ll know I was hanging out with someone new.”

“Sooooo, he’s just your shield, what does it matter to him. It’s not like you’re in a pack together or something.”

“He will ask me eighty billion questions, that’s why I don’t want him to know,” Noct sighed.

“Oh, sorry,” Prompto mumbled clearly upset by the thought as he pulled away and stared at the floor.

Noct could tell that he’d hurt Prompto’s feelings. Thinking fast he tried to come up with another answer that wouldn’t sound so rude. “It’s not that I don’t want you to meet Gladio or Ignis for that matter, it’s just that I don’t want anything to ruin what we have. Ya know?” Noct paused and waited to see if he had Prompto’s full attention.

“I guess I understand, but won’t I have to meet them eventually?”

“I suppose, but for now I want to have you all to myself,” Noct smiled as he reached out and squeezed Prompto’s knee. 

“Don’t they already know about me though? I had to go through that background check and everything,” Prompto huffed.

“Um, well, I actually asked the Marshal to do your check instead of Ignis. I made him swear not to say anything, so long as you passed.”

“Oh em gee, you’re keeping secrets from Gladio and Ignis, this is getting exciting!”

“I really like you, Prom, I don’t want to mess this up,” admitted Noct. He knew he needed to speak his mind soon, Prompto might meet another alpha and then his chance would be gone. Finding a mate and starting a pack of his own had seemed like such a stupid topic before he’d befriended Prompto.  Now it was all his hormone-addled, teenage brain could think of.  Being an alpha sucked sometimes.

“I like you too buddy, don’t worry about all this stuff. Let’s just have fun with it okay?”

Noct did manage to have fun with his beta for almost six months until it happened. Gladio and Ignis officially met Prompto and Noct’s world changed forever.

--

Prompto was nervous, only because he hadn’t told Noct that he was coming. He doubted the prince would see him in the crowd of people, but it made him fidgety none the less. Thankful that he was a beta and usually not pestered, Prompto made his way along the wall towards the front of the lobby.

Not willing to ever admit it, Prompto secretly liked it when Noct dressed up in his formal attire.   They’d been sorta dating for almost three months and Prompto was learning how to ask for things he desired. It wasn’t something he’d grown up doing, so having an alpha, a prince no less, wanting to do things for you was odd at times.

Finding a spot near some other betas Prompto waited for Noct to take the makeshift stage. His friend was supposed to be cutting the ribbon for a new multi-building housing project that had finished.  Sure, it was boring but Prompto didn’t care, he wanted to support Noct no matter what.

However, when Noct walked out some people in the crowd started booing. Great, that was the last thing Noct needed right now. People needed to leave him alone.   Torn between looking to the stage and trying to find the people making a ruckus, Prompto missed an important detail. Gladio, Noct’s bodyguard had taken the stage as well, but he was dressed in standard crownsguard fatigues.

Glancing back up to see if Noct was still going to speak, Prompto merely saw what he always called Noct’s babysitting crew in attendance. Paying no mind to what they looked like he focused on his friend. That is when he heard it, someone yelling about ‘tearing it all down��� and ‘to hell with the monarchy’. Shit, that wasn’t something you wanted to hear while standing shoulder to shoulder crammed in a small space. The lobby, though grand, could only hold a few hundred people at most. The confines of the space meant any kind of commotion would lead to a rush of people trying to leave.

Hoping security would remove the angry people without incident, Prompto worked to stay calm. He wasn’t rewarded with that outcome, instead, a fight broke out. People began screaming and pushing against him to get away. Unable to hear anything aside from the panicked cries of those nearby Prompto worked to stay upright. Falling over meant he’d surely get stepped on.

Checking the stage quickly, Prompto couldn’t see Noct anywhere. Giving up on his chance to see his friend again he moved with the crowd toward what he prayed was the exit. That is when he saw him, a tall angry looking guy, probably an alpha, moving against the flow of people. Determined dark eyes unmistakably locked with his own, for a moment Prompto couldn’t breathe.

There was no way this guy could reach him, the crowd was too heavy.  Ducking down slightly Prompto made an attempt to weave sideways. Given the number of people and general chaos, this was no easy task. Spying a side security door, he pushed through the throngs of people in hopes it would be unlocked.  If he could make it out another way, this scary dude wouldn’t be able to catch him.

Not stopping to think about why the guy even had his sights set on him, Prompto forced his way over to the door. Surprised when the knob gave way he nearly fell through when it opened. Other people followed behind him and soon a steady stream of spectators was pushing him forward. The corridor beyond was narrow but it had an exit sign at the other end. Risking a glance behind, Prompto nearly shouted when he saw the same dark eyes boring a hole in his skull.  The guy was only a few yards away!

Breaking out into a full-on run, Prompto barreled towards the exit door and threw himself out onto the street. Not even taking a moment to get his bearings, Prompto kept on running.  He had to get away. The sidewalk he was running along bordered the building and was free of people. However, he realized too late that there was a tall chain-link fence between him and the parking lot beyond. Forced to run on ahead, Prompto tried not to get distracted by what were surely heavy footfalls behind him.

His lungs were burning and he was about to try and jump the fence when someone called his name. Momentarily caught off guard he slowed slightly and scanned the area in front of him. When his name was shouted again, Prompto finally figured out that it was someone from behind.  Looking over his shoulder he saw the guy still chasing him but his expression had changed. No longer angry looking, the dude seemed upset.

Of course, the astrals had it out for Prompto because when he turned back around he tripped. The stupid sidewalk had turned to avoid a tree and he ran straight into the immovable concrete curb.  A sharp pain erupted from his big toe and caused his mind to go blank. Falling to the ground in a heap he cried out in pain.  All prior desperation was forgotten as he writhed on the grass holding his foot.

“Hey, whoa calm down there, you’re okay, calm down,” The guy who’d been chasing him cooed as he kneeled in the grass a few feet away.

“What – do you want?” Prompto managed as he tried to keep from crying.

“I was tryin’ to get you to come with me, so I co--.”

“No! I don’t wanna – I’m not going with you anywhere!” Prompto all but screamed as he sat up.

“No, no, no it’s nothing sinister, I’m Noct’s shield, Gladio --.”

When the guy dropped his name, Prompto’s ears started ringing. All he could do was stare helplessly at the man in front of him. Why was he so stupid sometimes? Gladio was wearing a crownsguard uniform, after all, it would make sense he wasn’t some random weirdo. Coming to his senses Prompto attempted to pick up on what was Gladio was saying.

“—only wanted to get you outta there and in a safer place. Noct said he saw you and had me go try and get you.” Gladio finished not even aware that Prompto had spaced out halfway through the conversation. “So like I said, you’re okay, you’re safe.”

“I think I broke my toe,” Prompto whimpered in response since his brain had turned to mush.

“I’ve got my field medic certification, can I take a look?” Gladio asked kindly as he inched closer on the grass.

Nodding Prompto looked away as Gladio worked to get his shoe off.  Even with him being careful it still hurt. Hissing in pain Prompto put his hand up over his mouth to keep quiet. That’s when he noticed the pain diminishing slightly. What was going on? Taking a deep breath caused his mind to relax even further. “Wha’s goin’ on?” he asked before falling backward in the grass again.

“Tryin’ to help with my pheromones, tell me to stop if it’s bothering you.”

“Feel’s good,” Prompto hummed.

Staring up into the tree canopy Prompto spaced out as Gladio poked and prodded his foot. The pain from before was gone and exhaustion was slipping into to fill the void. The sound of glass breaking caused him to look up and over at his foot. The cool rush of something numb and tingly was rushing through his system. Blinking in surprise, Prompto tried to figure out what had happened. The pain was gone and by all accounts, his foot seemed perfectly normal. Not even a bruise in sight.

“What did you do to me?” he asked in awe.

“Used a potion, figured Noct would be upset if I took you back inside with a broken toe.”

“Oh, that’s cool, I’ve never used one before,” Prompto whispered as he put his sock and shoe back on.

“Really? I figured since you hang out with princess all the time these days that he’d let you use one,” Gladio teased.

Shaking his head no, Prompto forgot about the fact that Gladio shouldn’t even know about him, let alone that he’d been hanging out with Noct. “We’ve never had a reason to use one, we just hang out and play video games and do homework.”

“Nothin’ else?” Gladio asked with a devilish grin. “Sure looks like a hickey you’re tryin’ to hide under that collar.”

Prompto felt his face heat up in lieu of an answer. “It’s not like that, exactly.”

“I’m not upset by it blondie, don’t stress out. I’m only teasing.  Come on let’s go find Noct, he’s probably driving Iggy mad trying to come out here and look for himself.”

After a minute Prompto felt strong enough to get up and follow Gladio back towards the building.  The adrenaline rush was long gone and Prompto felt a little light-headed. Accidentally bumping shoulders with Gladio caused the man to look over in alarm.

“Hey, you okay? You’re looking a little pale.”

“M’good, just tired, I got caught in a mob, chased by an alpha, and broke my toe.”

Gladio simply barked out a laugh and reached out to ruffle his hair.  “You can cuddle with Noct once we get inside; just let me know if you feel faint.”

Groaning at the sheer embarrassment of it all, Prompto dutifully followed Gladio back into the building. They passed several other guards along the way, each time Gladio would put an arm around his shoulders and usher him through first. It seemed to be enough to signal to the others that he was meant to be there.

Finally, when they’d reached what was most likely a suite of administrative offices, Prompto heard Noct call his name.  The prince appeared seemingly from nowhere and rushed over. “What took you so long?!” he demanded looking mostly at Gladio but sparing a few worried glances in his direction.

“Blondie here can run real fast, not sure you’d know anything about that, ‘Mr. I cheat by warping’, Gladio chuckled.

“I can run plenty fast!” Noct defended as he wavered in place.

Prompto wanted to hug Noct so bad but it appeared as if he’d have to wait, Noct wasn’t moving to initiate the action.  Not wanting to get the prince in trouble Prompto stood and smiled instead.

“Go on, don’t wait on my account,” Gladio urged suddenly as he pushed Prompto forward. “You both need a hug from the looks of it.”

Turning to look at Gladio, Prompto almost didn’t believe what he was hearing. “It’s okay?”

“Sure, gives me an excuse to dote on Iggy while you two are distracted.”

Noct’s arms were around him barely a second later. “I was so worried about you, are you alright?”

Nuzzling into Noct’s neck, Prompto took a deep breath. The alpha’s scent mixed with Gladio’s scent helped to further calm him down. “Yeah, I’m good.”

Noct hugged him tighter and began rubbing his back, “Why do you look so frazzled?”

“I didn’t recognize Gladio when he came to get me,” Prompto muttered softly, he knew Noct felt bad when he tensed briefly.

“Sorry about that, I guess I should have introduced you earlier, huh?”

“It worked out, he’s nice.”

“Come on, we’re leaving and I’m taking you back to my place to chill out.”

Prompto had no time to protest when Noct stepped back and grabbed his hand, pulling them towards another set of doors.

“Specs, I want to leave, can we go yet?” Noct whined loudly. Before he’d taken another breath to continue another man appeared followed closely by Gladio.

“Yes, I do believe the exit has been cleared and our car is waiting. Shall we?” The man, Specs, indicated with a sweep of his gloved hand.

Distracted for a moment, Prompto felt himself staring. Licking his lips he managed to utter a shaky hello. The man in question arched a perfectly groomed eyebrow at him and smiled.

“You must be Prompto, my name is Ignis Scientia, and I’m Noctis’ royal advisor.”

“Hi,” was all Prompto could manage to say again. Ignis was gorgeous. “Um—nice to meet you,” he tacked on for good measure.

“Noct, buddy,” Prompto hissed under his breath. “Why didn’t you tell me Ignis was an alpha too?”

“Wha? Ignis isn’t an alpha, what are you going on about? He’s with Gladio, they’re bonded.” Noct offered like it was obvious as he waved his arm around.  “See how they look at each other, it’s so gross.”

“Wait, wait, you’re telling me Ignis is a beta like me?” Prompto asked hopeful.  Getting to meet another beta sounded really nice. Noct was really his only true friend and having another person in their small circle was promising.

“No, I’m an omega,” Ignis cut in with a charming smile. Turning to look at Noct he continued. “I like your friend already highness, anyone that mistakes me for an alpha is a keeper.”

“Ahhhh, wait, what are you talking about? We’re not um – well we are but like you’re not supposed to know about it.” Noct lamented.

“Highness, Gladio sniffed out your new friend months ago, we were simply waiting for you to tell us all the juicy details. However, it seems I don’t have to wait for you to spill the beans, I can ask the source.” Ignis offered as he held out a hand to usher them all out to the car.

The car ride was a bit of a blur, Noct had pulled him close and they sat holding hands for the whole trip, much like Gladio and Ignis across from them.  Having never ridden in a limo before Prompto was slightly overwhelmed by the whole thing. Soon enough the rocking of the car and Noct’s warmth lulled him to sleep.

A gentle touch to his arm woke Prompto sometime later. Opening his eyes he saw Gladio kneeling down and smiling at him.

“We kinda want to send the driver home, wanna come inside?” he asked softly.

Looking around Prompto noticed that Noct had passed out as well, no wonder Gladio was trying to rouse him. “Sure thing big guy,” he offered without thinking. Pausing briefly with a panicked look, Prompto waited to see how Gladio would take the nickname.

“Big guy huh? I could get used to that.”

Blushing furiously Prompto ducked his head and scooted forward to move near the already open door. “What about Noct?”

“I got princess don’t worry.”

Watching the crown prince get carried around like a doll was very trippy. Gladio looked like he’d done this move a thousand times; Ignis barely batted an eyelash. Once they were upstairs and Noct had been safely deposited on the sofa, Ignis started his round of questions. Thankfully, they were all friendly in nature and easy to answer. It seemed that Gladio and Ignis already knew quite a bit about him, maybe that background check hadn’t stayed as under wraps as Noct initially thought.

“So um, what’s next?” Prompto asked once Ignis had finished.

“You finish school and continue to support Noct as his friend and whatever else you see fit to add in the future.”

Prompto felt his face flush, he knew what Ignis was alluding to but they’d not gotten there yet. Kissing and several heavy petting sessions were all that had occurred between them so far. “So, does that mean I’d be allowed to like, um, officially be with Noct? I mean if he wants me.” Prompto added in a rush.

“Certainly, there are no rules against the prince taking a mate of non-royal blood,” Ignis replied.

“What about that princess, the one from Tenebrae, isn’t she supposed to bond with Noct?” The question had flitted around in Prompto’s mind for months but he’d been too scared to ask Noct. Ignis on the other hand was easy to talk with and gave straightforward answers.

“Lady Lunafreya, I believe, has already found a mate if I am to understand correctly.”

“Yeah, she and Ulric are busy tryin’ to make babies,” Gladio commented with a toothy grin. Ignis simply rolled his eyes and reached out to thwack the shield in the arm. “What? It’s true, they’re really cute together.” Gladio defended.

“Yes, well there you have the answer, is there anything else you wish to know?”

Sitting and thinking, Prompto couldn’t think of anything else. He was allowed to be with Noct if the prince wanted him. Until a small thought wheedled its way into his psyche, “Uh, if we um, you know become a bonded pair, do you think Noct will have to find an omega in addition to me?”

Ignis tilted his head in thought and hummed quietly. “I’d not considered that, do you ask specifically for the reason of producing an heir?”

Nodding, Prompto waited to see what Ignis would say.  He wasn’t not open to the idea of being in a pack with Noct, but it would depend on who the other person was.

“At this time I don’t believe Regis will force his son to do anything he’s not comfortable with, including furthering the line of the Luci.”

Prompto’s eyes went wide, “Doesn’t that mean the crystal won’t work anymore?”

“There is that risk, but I would think Lady Lunafreya in her position as oracle would be able to supply a suitable solution via the gods.”

“Oh, that’s really heavy.”

“Heavy indeed, but not something you, yourself, need to worry about. Being a beta male you cannot bear children anyway.”

“What about you?” Prompto blurted. “Can you have kids?”

Ignis nodded and smiled, “Yes, I can, though I’d have to plan ahead to stop taking birth control.”

Grinning at the idea Prompto turned his attentions to Noct, the guy needed to wake up already. “Hey! Sleepyhead wake up! Ignis wants to have a baby!”

Noct shot up off the sofa and nearly fell over the coffee table, “What? Who’s having a baby?”

Gladio was snorting with laughter at the sight; Ignis was even laughing at their prince. “I said we should have a baby.”

“Oh my sweet astrals, I thought you said Ignis was having one,” Noct sighed as he flopped back down on the couch.  “Can we not talk about kids until like another six years have passed? I’m not ready for that kind of commitment.”  

“Sure thing buddy,” Prompto offered as he winked across the room at Ignis. The advisor merely smirked at the display.  At least the omega found it amusing, they could both pick on Noct, this was going to be fun.

“Hey Noct, why have you never shown Prompto how to use a potion before?” Gladio cut in curiously as they all relaxed.

“I never needed to why? What kinda question is that?”

“Just wondering, cause when I used one on him earlier, he was kinda in awe.”

Noct straightened up again and glared at Gladio, “What did you do to my beta?”

“Nothing princess, he stubbed his toe so hard he broke it.”

The prince looked stricken at hearing what had occurred, Prompto would have normally been worried about making him feel better, but he was stuck on what Noct had called him. His beta. “Did you mean it?” Prompto asked softly, “Am I yours?”

“Huh?” Noct sputtered as he reached out to grab Prompto’s arm. “Yeah, of course, you’re my beta, I love you.”

Whatever else Noct had to say on the matter was drown out when Prompto surged forward and tackled him for a kiss. “I’ll make – you – so happy!” He said in between kisses.

“You always make me happy!” said Noct as he pulled him down for another round of kisses.

Prompto wasn’t sure but he thought he heard Ignis and Gladio offering their goodbyes as they made out on the couch. He was pretty sure they’d be having another heavy discussion soon about what it was like to really date the crown prince. In all honesty, Prompto was looking forward to this new chapter in his life. Good things were coming and he could hardly wait.

[camillemontespan]

camille’s scrapbook [1: olivia’s speech]

I thought I would start this mini series about Camille’s scrapbook! This is really a way for me to put all Drake x Camille edits together and pair them with fics. The edits I’ve made are not very good, while the amazing edits are by @mskaneko​  - you will be able to spot the difference instantly. 

In my head canon, Camille loves to take photos of her family and puts them into a scrapbook which will be passed to her children when they’re older. These edits are the ‘photos’ she has collected over the years while there will be fics to pair with them. 

I’ll admit I’ve not enjoyed being part of this fandom for a long time due to negativity and seeing so many arguments on my dashboard. I needed to write some fluff so I’m on a mission to make my blog as positive and nice as possible, for myself and for my followers. This scrapbook series is a way to provide some fluff and sunshine within my little corner of tumblr. 

I will give credit to mskaneko when I use one of her edits - she is so talented and I recommend you check out her master list when you can!

Also, I’m not sure if this sort of idea has been done before. It probably has been and I can only apologise if you have done something similar. Feel free to message me if you have, I’m always open to chatting :)

Taggin’ those who like Drake x Camille. Tell me if you want on or off, I won’t mind!

@moonlightgem7 @emichelle @jovialyouthmusic @ibldw-main @saivilo @burnsoslow @dcbbw @sirbeepsalot @notoriouscs @marshmallowsaremyfavorite @pedudley @msjr0119 @loveellamae @kingliam2019 @drakesensworld  @rainbowsinthestorm @pug-bitch @katedrakeohd​ 

**********************************************

Camille sat cross legged on the floor in front of the coffee table. She was hunched over a scrapbook and the coffee table surface was covered with photographs she had taken and collected over the years. 

Scrapbooking had become a favourite hobby of hers. After Drake had bought her a Canon camera for her birthday, Camille had become gradually obsessed with taking pictures of her family, determined to collect memories to pass along to her two daughters. To Camille, it was family first before her role as the Duchess of Valtoria. Nothing was more important than Drake, Lily and Luna.

‘Hi mommy.’

Camille looked up to see Lily skipping into the living room. She was wearing her fluffy pink bathrobe and unicorn slippers, fresh from her bath. She barrelled into Camille’s open arms, hugging her mother tight.  She then settled down on Camille’s lap, snuggling into her soft white sweater. She breathed in Camille’s Chanel perfume, smiling as she did so.  

‘What are you doing?’ Lily asked, reaching out to stroke a picture of her father, Drake.

‘I’m making a scrapbook of photos,’ Camille told her. ‘Wanna help?’

‘Yeah!’

Camille pressed a kiss on top of Lily’s head. ‘You can be in charge of glue.’

She handed her daughter a stick of glue. Lily looked up at her with a glint in her eye. ‘Can I use glitter?’

‘Glitter’s a little messy, baby,’ Camille said gently. ‘But I would love your help with the glue. Not too much now, just enough so the photos stick to the paper.’

Lily took a photo and turned it over so she could glue the back. Her tongue stuck out as she concentrated on applying the right amount of glue; she was a perfectionist. As she worked on gluing the photo to the scrapbook paper, Camille scanned the photographs she had collected, trying to settle on the next one to put in the book. 

Drake came into the room with Luna in his arms. His eyes widened in mock surprise and he gasped, ‘Look, Luna, there they are!’

Luna nuzzled her face into Drake’s neck as he carried her across to Camille and Lily. Drake ruffled Lily’s hair and leaned down to kiss Camille on the cheek. ‘You guys scrapbooking?’ he asked, settling down on the sofa. Luna clambered over him, warbling to herself. 

‘I’m helping with the glue!’ Lily said with a burst of pride.

‘That’s great, honey. You’re so helpful,’ Drake told her, giving her a warm smile. Lily grinned and bounced up and down on her heels, pleased to receive praise from Drake. She idolised her father; everything he did was met with wonder by Lily. Their bond was a deep one and everyone knew it. 

‘You look stunning in this photo,’ Drake said to Camille, picking up a photograph of them on their wedding day. His eyes crinkled in the corners as he smiled down on the image. ‘God, I felt so lucky. I still am.’

Camille leaned against Drake’s legs and let her head fall back so she could look up at him. Drake was still smiling at the photo, studying the details. 

‘I’ll put that in next then,’ Camille murmured. Drake grinned and handed her the photograph. Camille passed it to Lily who applied just the right amount of glue, while Camille wrote a caption in her loopy handwriting. 

‘Our wedding day. I think we are listening to Olivia’s speech?’

Olivia’s Speech

Olivia made her way up to the stage and shook her shoulders out, adopting a haughty pose. She cleared her throat down the microphone, not wanting to beg for attention. These people could just stop their laughing and merriment right now and listen to her speak. 

She looked out at Drake and Camille who were sitting together, practically glowing. It was their wedding day; the happiest day of their life together so far. Camille had taken her veil off so she could relax a little, while Drake had taken off his suit jacket. His hand was clasped around hers as they spoke to each other, smiling and laughing. 

Olivia’s heart tugged. She didn’t believe in love, not really. She viewed being in love as a negative trait, comparing it to willingly volunteering yourself to stand in front of the firing squad. Why would you want to give your heart to someone who could break it if they wished?

But Drake and Camille were slowly changing Olivia’s mind. As she had watched their relationship blossom, she could see that Drake and Camille had an epic love. A love that would echo through the ages; they only had eyes for each other. 

Olivia wondered what that felt like. 

Camille caught her eye and nodded, standing up so she could address the wedding guests. ‘Everyone, Olivia is going to make a speech!’ she called out. Everyone shut up and turned to look at Olivia, who was looking down at them all with her lip curled.

‘Jesus, you’re all so rude..’ she muttered.

They laughed.

Olivia sighed. Of course they would think she was joking. Imbeciles. 

She cleared her throat. ‘Alright, so as everyone knows, I am the maid of honour. I was asked to write a speech to commemorate today’s event so you all have the pleasure to hear my dulcet tones for the next five minutes.’

More tinkly laughter. 

Olivia opened her piece of paper that had her speech written. She exhaled. ‘So, I don’t know if any of you are aware but for a long time, Drake and I hated each other.’

More laughter.

‘No no,’ Olivia interrupted. ‘Not funny. Seriously, we genuinely hated each other.’

The room went silent. Drake was turning pale with wide eyes; clearly, he hadn’t expected Olivia to be so bold. 

‘We grew up together but the glue that kept us from really killing each other was our friend, Liam. He was a buffer. We grew up together in the palace, attending lessons; while Liam studied hard, Drake would fall asleep at his desk. I would aim spit balls at him, trying my best to annoy him. As we grew older, we became more hostile.. My fault. I’ll admit that I have said some truly terrible things to Drake in the past, things I’m not proud of..’

Olivia cast a glance at Drake. He gave her a nod, silently willing her to go on. Camille had her arm around his shoulders, her fingers stroking his neck. 

‘When Camille came to court, my attention focused on her instead. I don’t know why, I suppose it was because she was American and new blood. I didn’t understand why a waitress from New York was in the palace in the first place. So I tried my best to undermine her. And because my attention was focused on her, I started to see Camille and Drake grow closer.’

She paused and willed her hands to stop shaking; for some reason, recounting her past thoughts made her feel sick. She had changed in the past few years; she was less of a bitch now, more open to having friends. Talking about the past made her wish that she had been nicer, more kind. Especially now that Drake and Camille were her friends. She was the maid of honour at their wedding, for God’s sake.

‘I saw Drake smiling more,’ she said. ‘He would take part in court events, which was new. Often he stayed in the background, looking like a grumpy loser, but something seemed to change within him. Camille would ask him to dance and he would do it. He was terrible, mind you, but he still tried.’

Drake smiled. Encouraged, Olivia went on, her hands ceasing to shake and her voice grew steadier. 

‘Camille was inching away from the crown, unknowingly finding her way towards a future that was entirely different,’ she said. ‘I could see that she would look at Drake when she thought he wasn’t watching; she would blush when he joked with her; she would smile differently, more genuinely. I found that I stopped bullying her and I started to get to know her. I soon realised that she was in love with Drake Walker, the boy who never danced and who I would aim spit balls at.’

The room laughed again. Olivia smiled now. 

‘I don’t believe in love,’ she admitted. ‘Never have, never will. I find it weak - and I know that is an unpopular opinion. But when I look at you both.. Drake, Camille.. I find that I am starting to change my mind. If Drake Walker, the man who was actually like me; who was cynical and viewed the world through harsh eyes, could find love, and actually be happy.. Then why can’t I? I see how much they love each other, how they are always on the same team. And isn’t that what we all need? We need a team mate, someone who always has your back, who can defend you against harsh words and sharp daggers-’

‘Liv, we’re not going into battle,’ Liam called out, teasing her.  The room giggled and Olivia rolled her eyes. She looked at Camille, who gestured for her to ignore the teasing and continue with the speech. 

‘Drake and Camille are a team,’ she said. ‘A partnership. I’m so looking forward to watching your next chapter unfold, guys. It’s been an honour to be the maid of honour at your wedding and I can only hope that I’ll get the chance to adopt more roles as your life together goes on.. Ahem, like cool Aunt Olivia for your future babies.’ 

Camille blushed, looking down at her hands. Drake chuckled and squeezed her hand.

Olivia raised her champagne glass, prompting everyone else to follow. Drake and Camille held theirs up too; a camera flashed, capturing the couple. Olivia looked at them with warm eyes.

‘To Mr and Mrs Walker,’ she said softly. ‘Thanks to you both, I’m starting to see love as something that is all encompassing and good, nothing to be afraid of. I wish you a lifetime of happiness.’

‘To Mr and Mrs Walker!’ the room chorused. 

Olivia cleared her throat and fixed Drake with a steady stare, making him lean back in his chair.  ‘Drake, if you hurt her, I swear to God, I am coming after you.’

The room laughed, as did the newlyweds, and Olivia gave them both a cheeky wink. She raised her glass in the air. 

‘Cheers everyone!’ 

[dyscrasia-eucrasia]

<<Prev | Next>>

Part 17

As they tramped through the woods, Angel couldn't help but notice how graceful Demie was. He didn't look like he would be, considering how tall and gangly he was, with the horns that made him look top-heavy. But he navigated the underbrush with ease, nimbly prancing over roots and fallen logs. Angel wasn't sure if it was more or less impressive now that he knew those were Demie's real feet, and not specialized high heels. 

"How do you do that?" Angel said as he watched Demie bolt up a series of boulders without losing his balance or even setting down the rifle to pull himself up with his hands. 

"What do you mean?" Demie said, pausing at the top of the rocks and watching Angel climb up. It was a lot harder than it looked, and Angel was huffing and puffing for breath by the time he reached Demie. 

"I mean… don't goats like… walk on their toenails? How do you keep from losing your balance?" 

Demie looked at Angel quizzically, glancing down at the battered Doc Martens on Angel's feet. 

"I dunno," he eventually said. "How do you walk around on your big-ass floppy monkey feet without tripping all over them?" 

"...Fair enough," Angel wheezed, standing upright. "Guess I'm just jealous, it took a lot of training for me to learn to move gracefully. Would've made my job a lot easier if I could move like you do." 

"What's your job?" Demie asked, setting out again. 

"I'm a dancer." 

"What, like, ballet and shit?" 

"No, uh. Exotic dancing. Stripping." 

"Oh, so you're a Chippendale." 

"Yeah, except Chippendales dance for women. I dance for men." 

Demie glanced over his shoulder, brows coming together. "Gotta say, dude, that's pretty fuckin' gay." 

"If that's meant to be an insult, just know that doesn't bother me. I heard it all the time as a theatre kid." 

Demie stopped, letting Angel catch up. He looked down at Angel once they were standing side-by-side, and Angel felt weirdly inadequate. He wasn't sure if satyrs were considering demi-gods or anything like that, but he definitely did feel weird having a non-human look at him so judgmentally. 

"Theatre's not gay," Demie said. His tone was so grave and serious that it surprised Angel. 

"Really? You'd be the first straight man I've met who doesn't think so." 

"Dude, my people, like… invented theatre. You know there was a whole genre of ancient plays called 'Satyrs'? Like, humans only know about acting and music because the Gods and muses and spirits taught you how." 

"Huh. Didn't know that. So is that why you have such good stage presence? Is that just, something all satyrs are born with?" 

Demie got quiet. "Something like that," he muttered, starting off into the woods again. It was a weirdly cagey answer, and Angel was interested in what it meant, but Demie was giving off powerful 'don't ask' vibes. 

They walked a little further, until they came to a spot where the trees thinned out a bit. Angel did a double-take, noticing something in the woods that almost made him jump. There, spread out among the trees, were monstrous faces with reflective eyes that stared back at him. On second glance they were flat, clearly painted on plywood, but that first glimpse of them had been frightening. 

"Are those yours?" Angel asked as Demie stopped and set down the bright orange knapsack he'd been carrying. 

"Yeah. Cheaper to make my own targets. That and it scares away local kids who're trying to get me on camera." 

Angel took another look. The cutouts depicted all manner of crudely drawn monsters. There was a serpentine creature with multiple heads, a humanoid with the head of a cow, a large bird that had the face and breasts of a human woman. All of them were riddled with splintered bullet holes. Some were even broken, pieces of them laying on the forest floor. 

"You wanna take some shots?" Demie asked. 

"Um… sure," Angel said, laughing nervously. He'd never been this close to a gun in his life and it was more than a little intimidating. 

Demie fetched ammo out of his knapsack and loaded the shotgun, holding it out to Angel. 

"Don't aim it at anything you don't wanna shoot, and keep your finger off the trigger until you're sure you're ready to fire," he said. He kept his hand on the shotgun until Angel confirmed that he understood the instructions. 

"So, do I just… lift it up?" Angel asked, putting the butt of the gun against his shoulders like he'd seen in movies and TV. 

"Right foot back, and lean forward some," Demie said. Angel shifted position accordingly. "Left hand under the barrel-- no--" 

He came around behind Angel, grabbing Angel's left wrist and pulling it back. "Pull the gun back towards you," he said, "butt all the way against your shoulder. Right hand on the stock, lift your elbow," he moved Angel's right side into place. 

Angel's heart skipped a beat. Demie was standing so close, his chest pressed against Angel's back. This close up, Angel could smell him. It was a powerfully musky scent, but it wasn't unpleasant. It was kind of hot, really. 

He told himself to stop thinking that way. He wasn't convinced that Demie was 100% straight - not with the way he was being manhandled, or with the way Demie sang about the relationships between men - but he'd promised he wouldn't make a move on him. They'd just be friends. He could do that. 

"Cheek against the stock," Demie let go of Angel's arms, placing one of his huge hands on the left side of Angel's head and pushing his head down towards the gun. "Okay, line up your target. Look right down the barrel at it." 

Angel gripped the gun tighter, trying to steady himself, though the barrel just wouldn't seem to stop wobbling. He picked the serpentine creature with multiple heads to point the gun at. It was the biggest target, and he wanted as fair a shot at hitting something as he could. 

"Okay," Demie let go of Angel and stepped back. "Go ahead." 

Angel took a deep breath, closing his left eye and trying to steel himself. He placed his finger on the trigger and pulled. 

It took way more strength to pull the trigger than he'd thought it would. They made it look so easy in the movies. He squeezed down as hard as he could, and it was like there was an explosion next to his face. Which, he supposed, was what happened. He heard a deafening crack, the gun jumped and knocked his shoulder back, and splinters burst out of a tree to the left of the target. 

"WHOO!" Angel shouted, lowering the gun. His heart was pumping like a jackhammer, and his ear was ringing. 

"Holy shit!" He shouted. "Holy shit, I just fired a gun!" He laughed, and it sounded manic. It was thrilling, but scary. He didn't feel like he should have that much power. And his arms wouldn't stop shaking. 

"Wanna go again?" Demie asked. 

"FUCK no," Angel said, lowering the gun. "No, no, I'm good. Once was enough, holy shit." 

"Alright, well, get your hand off the trigger, then," Demie said. 

"Oops," Angel moved his hand back to the stock. Demie came around him on the right and gently took the gun out of his grasp. 

He lifted the gun, put it to his shoulder and leaned forward. His arms were steady, the gun didn't waver at all. He pulled the trigger, and one of the target's heads shattered into splinters. 

"WHOO!" Angel cried. "Headshot!" He was loud, his voice excited, but he was actually pretty terrified. He decided that he didn't like being around guns. 

Demie lowered the gun and looked over at Angel. "You okay, dude?" He asked. 

"Super!" Angel replied. He may have been yelling, but he couldn't really hear himself over the ringing in his ear. 

Demie shrugged, cracking the gun and loading it again. He snapped the barrel back into place, and Angel couldn't help but flinch. 

He glanced over at Angel, but Angel smiled. Maybe he could tough it out. That was what men did, after all. And even though Demie liked musicals, the way he'd talked about Angel being gay back at the trailer had Angel feeling self conscious. It was like being back in middle school, when it actually mattered to him that people thought he was manly or not. "You're a good shot, huh?" He said. 

"I guess." Demie raised the rifle, aimed, and fired off two more rounds. Two more heads on the serpentine creature exploded. Angel did his best to act tough at the first shot, but he couldn't help but flinch at the second, hands going up to cover his ears. 

Demie lowered the gun, looking over at him. "You okay?" He asked. 

"Yeah, no, I'm fine!" Angel said. Even he could hear the hysteria creeping into his voice, which just made him cringe more.

"Yeah, no, you're not," Demie said, letting the gun fall to his side and stooping to pick up the knapsack. "Let's go back." 

"You sure?" Angel said. "I mean, if you're having fun…" 

"Yeah. I'm sure." Demie turned and headed back into the woods. Angel hurried to follow. 

"So, like, how often do you get people coming out to bother you?" He asked. His ear was still ringing and he was pretty sure he was shouting.

"Local kids? Maybe once a month. Film crews, though, maybe every two years, something like that." 

"Do you always shoot at them to make them go away?" 

"Nah. Don't want more attention. Usually I just hunker down in the trailer, but that group the other day sounded really big. Didn't want them anywhere near my property." 

"Good call. I actually met those guys, they're all dicks." 

Demie stopped, turning to look at Angel. His face was as placid as ever, but still Angel got menacing vibes from him. 

"You met those guys?" 

"Yeah. They came through Charleston. I hung out with them for a night, it sucked." 

Demie was quiet. In fact, the whole forest seemed to get quiet. Or maybe that was just because Angel couldn't hear anything in his right ear. But he was acutely aware of the fact that he was alone in the woods with someone who had a gun. 

"Did you say anything to them about me?" Demie asked. 

"What? No. I didn't even know you were, y'know, a goatman." 

Demie didn't say anything, just kept looking at Angel. He had sleepy-looking eyes, but there was something powerful behind them. It reminded Angel of looking at a tiger at the zoo. Everything was calm, but he was looking at a beast, and if that beast got out, he was fucked. 

"You can't tell anyone about me," Demie said. His voice was deep. He didn't have much of an accent, but there was an almost sing-song quality to his voice. It was rhythmic, like someone reciting a free-verse poem. 

Angel's head felt stuffy. The light was coming through the trees right above Demie's head, shining into his eyes, giving him afterimages that he tried to blink away. He wanted to look somewhere else, but he couldn't bring himself to look away from Demie. 

"Don't worry, I won't," Angel said. He wanted to sneeze. Something was stirring in the thick Southern air. 

"Promise me you won't tell anyone about me," Demie said. 

"Of course. I promise." 

Demie blinked, and there was a whooshing sound in Angel's ear as the forest noises came rushing back. The sneeze that was coming on died before it could get out. His head felt a little more clear. 

"So, I'm pretty sure the ghost of my Yaya would come back and kick my ass if I didn't feed you," Demie said, beginning to walk again. "You okay with Greek food?"

[nialledfromfics]

Chapter Nine – To Know Him Is To Love Him

(make sure you click the link in the title fo an instant musical throwback~enjoy!)

It felt like Vivian’s life was going perfectly. She had graduated high school, accepting her diploma and running off the stage into Niall’s waiting arms as her parents quietly looked on. She was falling more in love with him everyday, something she never thought she would have in her life and it seemed that everyone in town had finally come to terms with their budding relationship. No more gossipy whispers or sneering looks, no one batted an eye when they walked hand and hand down main street or showed up to Sunday’s for a frozen treat. No one bothered them in the slightest, not even Cliff. Niall had been quite worried about him, never revealing that to Vivian, but it was something that had been sitting heavy in the back of his mind since their confrontation at Vivian’s party. But it was like something had suddenly switched in Cliff. Not only was he leaving Niall alone, he was acting as if neither of them even existed. Which was fine by Niall.

But for Vivian, there was another person who was acting like neither of them existed and it wasn’t fine by her at all. That person was someone that meant a great deal to her, who she had once been close to. Someone she cared a lot about. Her father.

He hadn’t uttered a word to her since she ran out of her birthday party. Not a single word, and barely even a glance in her direction. Vivian tried to convince herself that it was for the better, and she hoped that he would eventually come around to Niall like everyone else had. But in the following six weeks after her party, he never did. And it hurt her feelings, as much as she tried to pretend it didn’t, it really stung deeper than she had anticipated. Her father’s approval was important to her, she wanted him to be proud of her and happy that she had found someone that cared for her in the way Niall did, but it seemed like nothing would ever be good enough for him.

It had really started to weigh heavy on her, so much so that she had begun to feel sick to her stomach when she woke up in the morning, dreading even wanting to get out of her bed. The tension between them was indescribable and the second she stepped into her house, she wanted nothing more than to step right back out. Her mother did the best she could at getting them to at least be in the same room together, but apart from eating dinner and the occasional Sunday morning brunch, it was as if as soon as Vivian walked into a room, her father would silently get up and walk out. Her mother would sigh and give her daughter a kiss, telling her to just give him time, he would come around, but Vivian felt like that would never happen. Like she would be waiting forever for her father to even acknowledge her again.

*****

One hot summer morning, a couple weeks after her graduation, Vivian found herself sprawled out on her tummy on her bed, feet kicked up behind her as she flipped through a new fashion magazine her mother had picked up from the store. She heard a faint tapping on her bedroom door and she peeked up, watching as the door slowly creaked open. “Vivian, can we speak?” her father asked, his stoic voice booming across her walls as he stepped into her bedroom.

Vivian slapped the pages of the magazine shut and scrambled to her knees. Sitting back on her heels, she rested her palms on the tops of her legs and the young woman wordlessly gave him a nod. It was the first time he had uttered a single word to her in weeks, and to say she was almost in shock, and beyond nervous of what was about to follow, would be the understatement of the century.

Her father, dressed in his daily pressed trousers and fancy shirt, held together with his favorite pair of gold trimmed suspenders, shuffled further into her room as his hands slipped into his front pockets. He stared down at the floor for a moment, as if he was gathering his thoughts and Vivian thought that was very unlike him, as he was always fully prepared with what he wanted to say to everyone he spoke to.

She wasn’t sure if that made her feel better or worse.

“I wanna discuss this, uh…” he paused and raised his head, tipping his chin up as he locked his gaze with his daughter, “boyfriend of yours.”

Vivian swallowed hard, her fingernails curling into the skin of her knees. She should’ve known. “N-Niall…”

“Yes,” he said with a nod, “Niall. Now, I understand your feelings towards this boy, Vivian, but I think it’s right time that you move on from him.”

With her lips falling slack at his words, Vivian glared over at her father, her brows knitting tightly. “What?”

“You see, I want better for you, Vivian,” he started, pulling a hand from his pocket to hold out towards her, “I want you to go to college, I want you to have a good life. Meet a nice boy from a good family.”

Shaking her head, Vivian hopped off the bed and stood tall in front of her father, hooking her hands on her hips. “Daddy, who says I can’t go to college, or that I won’t have a good life?” she asked, her voice rising a bit. “Niall is a nice boy and he comes from a good, hard workin’ family. If you’d take two seconds to talk to him, you’d see that!”

“Vivian, I don’t think you’re understandin’ me here, I want you to be with someone who can take care of you–”

“Oh I understand very much,” she said, cutting him off, “You want me to be with someone like you, someone who has money.”

He tipped his head to the side. “Is that so wrong of me?”

Vivian rolled her eyes to the side, huffing out a breath. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Daddy, you raised me to be respectful and kind and forgiving, to not judge people on bein’ different or for things they don’t have. And you can’t even do that for me, your own daughter,” she spit out, darting her green eyes across her father’s face as she crossed her arms over her front. “I don’t look at Niall and see the things he doesn't have or that maybe he can’t give me, I see what he does give me – love and respect and honor and kindness– shouldn’t that be enough for you?”

“This isn’t about that, Vivian!” he yelled out, clenching his fist and pressing it to mouth in attempt to calm himself. Startled by his outburst, her arms fell to her sides and she took a step back, already feeling the tears creeping to the brims of her eyes. Her father took in a deep breath before he spoke up again. “It’s about your name, your family name, your reputation! You can’t be runnin’ off and layin’ down with the first boy that shows you a good time!”

Vivian gasped. “How dare you say that to me!”

“I just want what’s best for you, you’re my daughter,” he went on, his brows furrowed deep as he tried in his own way to reason with Vivian. “Now listen to me, I gave you your space now, I let you be and have some fun over the summer, but this thing has got to be over, it’s no good for you–”

“This ‘thing’?” Vivian snapped back, an anger quickly filling her cheeks. “Niall is not just a thing, daddy, he’s not a phase that I have to get over, he is the only boy that has ever made me feel somethin’, that has ever made me feel alive...and special.”

“There are other boys, Vivian.”

“No, not for me. Not like Niall,” she said to him, fighting back her tears, “I don’t want any other boys. I want him. I’m in love with him, daddy, don’t you see that?”

He shook his head at her. “Vivian, you’ve not the first clue what love is.”

She locked her stare with his, her chin trembling as a tear slipped down her cheek. “How can you say that to me?” she said lowly, “I know what I feel in my heart, and I know what I feel for him. And I will marry him.”

Her father’s jaw clenched, his chest rising as she watched the rage splotch over his neck. “You will do no such thing, child!”

“I am not a child, daddy!” she shouted back to him, her cheeks stained with the trails of her tears. “We both know that and I will marry him whether you approve or not!”

“Not as long as you live under this roof, you won’t!” he continued, waving his finger in the air, his face pinched in and boiling in anger. “You are gonna break up with that boy, Vivian, you hear me? You’re gonna break up with him, so help me God!”

Pursing her lips together, Vivian wildly shook her head back and forth, swiping the wetness from her cheek with the pads of her fingers. “I will never leave him!” she cried out, rushing over to grab her handbag from her vanity. “I won’t and you can’t make me!”

The young woman, shaking and barely being able to see through the blur of welling tears, brushed past her father and stormed out of her bedroom.

“Vivian!” the man spun around, yelling out after her. “Vivian Prescott, you get back here!”

*****

She cried all the way to Niall’s place. Tears streaming down her pale cheeks, her green eyes bloodshot and puffy. Vivian wiped across her wet face with the palm of her hand as she pulled out front of the garage, Niall curiously peering out from under a car hood when he heard a pair of tires squeal to a stop. His stare went big as he watched Vivian jump out from the driver’s seat of her car, tears pouring down her face as she rushed around towards him.

Niall quickly wiped his hands off on a small shop towel just as the young woman barreled her tiny frame into his, wrapping her arms around his neck and burying her face into his chest. Swallowing hard, Niall held her in his secure embrace, his one hand cupping the back of her head. He leaned his face down towards her, Vivian’s tiny sniffles muffled against the sticky skin of his exposed collarbones and he gently shushed her. “Hey, hey...what’s goin’ on? What happened?” Niall whispered into her hair, his eyes falling closed as the wild thumping of her heart pounded against him.

Vivian shook her head. “He just doesn’t understand anythin’!” she sobbed, squeezing her eyes tight and pushing the tears from the corners.

With his brows wrinkling, Niall gently pet his hand down the back of her head. “Who? Who doesn’t understand anythin’?”

“My father!” Vivian cried out, sniffling as she slid her hand from Niall’s shoulder to wipe under her nose. “We got in a big fight and I just…”

“What were ya arguin’ about?”

Vivian picked her head up from Niall’s chest, catching his stare. “You. Us,” she explained, her chin trembling. “He hasn’t spoken to me in nearly two months and the first thing he tells me is to break up with you!”

Niall huffed out a sigh and licked across his lips as he brought the girl back into a hug. She rested her head on his shoulder, her hands cradled between their chests as she dragged her eyes along the wood framed walls of the garage. “I told him I wasn’t gonna do that, I couldn’t do that,” she went on, pushing back her need to continue crying, “that I love you. But he just doesn’t understand…”

“Shh,” Niall comforted, wrapping his arms around her body, “it’s alright, love.”

“Can I–...can I stay here with you today?” the young woman asked, looking back up at Niall. “I won’t get in your way, I promise. I just..I can’t go back there right now.”

With a smirk tugging at the corner of Niall’s lips, he reached up to softly brush some hair off of Vivian’s temple with the tips of his fingers. “Yeah, of course,” he said, his voice tender in such a way that it made a warmth ripple over the distraught girl. “You’re never in me way.”

*****

The rest of the afternoon twiddled by, Niall bent over the chassis of the car fiddling with the different gaskets and wires as Vivian patiently sat off to the side of the shop on a small work stool. She tapped her toes along with the music that played over the transistor radio and quietly sipped on the soda she had grabbed from the deli across the way but her stare never once left Niall. She found herself falling into a daydream as she watched him; the way the muscles in his forearms moved with each turn of his wrench, the way he’d pause to swipe the drips of sweat away from his forehead with the back of his hand. And the way he’d turn to glance at her, a smirk tugging at his lips and a gleam in his blue eyes. He was magnificent.

It wasn’t long before the two had made their way upstairs to Niall’s apartment, clothes being torn off and mouths engrossed with heavy kisses. The room was stifling, the air inside dank and muggy, just barely a small stream of fading sunlight coming through the one window but the young lovers paid no mind, their carnal insatiable need for one another overpowering any outside feeling. His fingers curled into the tender waves of her hair as Niall pressed his lips to her neck and Vivian’s hands dragged along the soft lines of his frame, their naked bodies falling into a twisted heap on top of his bed. Her sweet giggle filled the space, but was quickly captured by Niall’s mouth, the gentle but expert roll of his hips then causing a pleasured cry to escape instead. Their skin grew sticky and hot, their moans intensifying with their arousal and echoing against the bare walls, and the rhythmic movements of their bodies worked harder and deeper, urging each other past that pivotal point of raw ecstasy.

Niall and Vivian spent the rest of the evening just like that. Entangled naked bodies finding each other over and over again until there felt like there was nothing left but dripping sweat and heaving breaths. They finally took a break to eat; Niall not having much in his tiny kitchenette but a few pickles in a jar and some peanut butter and couple slices of bread, but it was enough for the two of them to have a little picnic on his bed. Niall leaned himself back against the headboard and puffed on a cigarette, his blue eyes focusing on Vivian as she sat between his slightly spread legs and ate, a white sheet wrapped around her tiny bared frame. She looked beautiful, more beautiful than he could remember, pieces of her hair delicately matted across her neck and forehead and her skin glistening a rosy pink.  

Vivian glanced over at her boyfriend as she took another bite of her peanut butter sandwich and she smiled at him, covering her mouth with her palm as a short giggle overcame her. She felt so content in that moment, looking over at the man she loved who was sprawled out on top of the bed, fully naked and covered in a sheen of sweat, pulling in one slow drag of his cigarette after another, who had just spent the last two hours fulfilling her in every single way he knew how. It was like a dream. And she knew that she wanted to spend the rest of her life with him just like that.

Throwing her crusts down onto a napkin, Vivian grabbed her glass of water and took a sip, clearing her throat. “I wanna do this every day,” she said to Niall, his heavy lidded stare still locked on her. Niall gave her a smirk and Vivian shyly rolled her eyes. “I just mean...me and you, bein’ together. No one to stop us or tellin’ us what to do. We can make love, and have picnics on the bed, and kiss each other and hold each other. And fall asleep together every night. I wanna do all of that with you...every single day.”

Niall took one last drag of his cigarette, blowing out the smoke as he carefully pushed the butt down into an ashtray on the small nightstand next to him. Sitting himself up, the young man leaned forward and hooked his hand around the back of Vivian’s neck, gently bringing her into a soft, but passionate kiss. “I want nothin’ more in me life than to have that with you, my love,” he whispered as he slowly pulled away.

She caught his stare, his eyes growing dark to match the intensity of her own and her heart started to race, thumping in the back of her ears. Niall swallowed hard, his hand sliding from her neck to softly cup at her cheek as his thumb caressed along her swollen bottom lip. She was nearly trembling, Niall very much aware of it and he let a smile tug at the corner of his mouth. “Vivian Prescott,” he mumbled, his gaze darting fast with hers and Vivian’s chest seized to move, her body paralyzed with what words were going to spill out into the air next. It was absolute torture for her.

“I want ya to marry me.”

A tiny whine left her parted lips but she didn’t say a word, just stared at him for what seemed like a lifetime before she quietly smiled and swung her arms around his neck. Tackling him down to the bed with kisses, the moments following were ones of a different kind of feeling, the frantic desire being replaced with a warm tenderness, a closeness so pure and sweet, that tears swelled in Vivian’s eyes. She had never been so in love in all her life.

They laid cuddle in the dark afterwards for the better part of an hour, Niall brushing his fingers through her hair as she nuzzled against his chest, before Vivian decided that she had better go home. It had already grown late, and while she wanted to just stay snuggled up with Niall and sleep like that for the rest of the night, she knew that her mother would be worried if she didn’t come home. She had seen Vivian rush out of the house earlier after the fight with her father and the girl was so upset and annoyed that she completely ignored her mother’s worried calls. As much as she didn’t want to see her father or even be in the same room with him ever again, she knew she couldn’t do that to her mother, she had to go home and talk with her. Maybe her mother could talk some sense into her father. Maybe her mother could get her father to see just how much she loved Niall and how much she wanted to be with him, that she wanted to marry him.

Vivian could only hope.

After getting dressed, Niall walked Vivian back down to her car. He pushed open the garage door and grabbed the young woman’s hand, spinning her around and pressing a kiss to her lips. Vivian tipped her head back in a laugh, the heart-warming sound vibrating through Niall and he flashed her a big dopey smile as she skipped over to her car and hopped in. Niall stood at the edge of the garage waving at Vivian and the young woman pulled away as she headed towards home.

Stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans, Niall watched as Vivian’s car turned onto main street and took off, her headlights drifting off into the darkness as his thoughts floated back to everything that had happened between them that evening. His heart felt so full in that single moment, so happy and loved, and he shook his head in a sheepish grin. He had never been in love with anyone as much he was with Vivian and all he wanted to do was marry the heck outta that girl.

There was a tepid breeze that summer night as he stood right outside the garage door and it hummed past his exposed skin, Niall peering upwards in search of the hazy moon. The night sky was cloudy, the grey blurry outline of the moon not even casting a shadow downwards and everything to the naked eye appeared pitch black. It was so dark that night that Niall hadn’t seen the three men that had been waiting on the corner for Vivian to leave. So dark that Niall didn’t see them as they began to walk across the street towards him. So dark that Niall had no idea that one of them had a baseball bat gripped tight in his hand, their knuckles bleeding white with each dreaded step closer.

[thetollofthebells]

repost,  don’t reblog !

𝐛𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐬 !

FULL NAME.      Quasimodo [ surname is technically Frollo, though he has a hard time saying that himself. ] PRONUNCIATION.       Kwah-zee-mow-doh NICKNAME.      Quasi, which he usually prefers from friends. GENDER.         Cis male. HEIGHT.     5′2″ when at his normal height, but if he were to stand up completely straight, 5′8″. AGE.    20. ZODIAC.         Capricorn. SPOKEN LANGUAGES.  French, Latin, English, and a bit of written German. [ Frollo was good for something mumble mumble. ]

𝐩𝐡𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐬 !

HAIR COLOR.       Red. EYE COLOR.       Green, with a hint of blue. SKIN TONE.        Pale. BODY TYPE.       Burly. Heavily muscled legs and arms, barrel chested but lean abdominal muscle. ACCENT.         French. VOICE.         Light and soft.  Though he does have a stutter when he’s nervous or excited. DOMINANT HAND.         Left hand, though he’s ambidextrous. POSTURE.         Welllllllllll, he ain’t called ‘the Hunchback of Notre Dame’ for nuttin’.  He’s hunched over and pigeon-toed.  Because of the uneven distribution of weight, he walks with a noticeable limp. SCARS.         On his back, some lines are still pink and tender.  Also on his hands, his callouses have bled quite a bit and the tips of his fingers from his carving knife. TATTOOS.        None, he’s Catholic ;] BIRTHMARKS.         None. MOST NOTICEABLE FEATURE(S).       Oof.  So, of course it’s hard to ignore his physical appearance, his back sticks up due to his spinal column which is twisted up under his shoulder blade.  His left brow is swollen over [ I head canon that it’s actually an issue with his skull, like a piece has fragmented ] and he has large front teeth.  His hands are very large and usually can swallow up any other’s, and his arms and legs are extremely muscular and strong.  Quasimodo does have super beautiful eyes, green when you first look, but some blues when the sun catches them.

Mostly, people notice that despite his immense physical strength, he’s very timid and quiet.  While he has the ability to destroy many things with his hands alone, Quasimodo takes care in that and will usually handle things with great care; ie his carvings.

𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐝 !

PLACE OF BIRTH.        Whooooooo knows. HOMETOWN.         Paris, France. BIRTH WEIGHT.         8 1/2 pounds.  He was a dense baby. BIRTH HEIGHT.          15 inches.  Poor thing was very oblong. MANNER OF BIRTH.       Natural, though his biological mother died during his birth. FIRST WORDS.       Frollo never told him what his first words were. SIBLINGS.         None that he knows of. PARENTS.         Claude Frollo, adoptive father [ ish ]. PARENTAL INVOLVEMENT.       Quasimodo was an illegitimate child between a Romani woman and a Scottish nobleman.  During childbirth, his biological mother passed away giving birth to him.  A close friend of his mother’s was terrified that the child would be killed if left to an orphanage so she took him in.  Her and her husband took care of him for a few months as a newborn, but grew worried that something further may be wrong with him besides just his physical appearance.  They attempted to travel to the Court of Miracles for assistance in Paris, but we all know how that went.

𝐚𝐝𝐮𝐥𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 !

OCCUPATION.         Bell ringer of Notre Dame. CURRENT RESIDENCE.          Paris, France. CLOSE FRIENDS.         Esmeralda and Phoebus and the freaking gargoyles. RELATIONSHIP STATUS.        ALWAYS SINGLE PRINGLE  He’s got some upcoming relationships in some threads!  Which I am thrilled about because he’s such a sweet and precious angel.  And there’s Madellaine of course [ @immortalxdreamers we’re gonna have to revive her when you get more comfortable at work <3 ], and of course my OC from my fic. FINANCIAL STATUS.        He’s okay.  The Archdeacon insists on paying him for his services, though he does give a lot of it back to the Church and takes only what he needs for food and sometimes paints. DRIVER’S LICENSE.   OBVIOUSLY NOT.  But in modern verse, Frollo never allowed him to drive. CRIMINAL RECORD.        Clean, other than that whole fiasco that happened is Esmeralda oops. VICES.       None more than any other human.

𝐬𝐞𝐱 & 𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 !

SEXUAL ORIENTATION.         Demisexual. ROMANTIC ORIENTATION.         Heteroromantic PREFERRED EMOTIONAL ROLE.       submissive |  dominant |  switch  PREFERRED SEXUAL ROLE.       submissive |  dominant  |  switch LIBIDO.       Slightly lower than average. TURN ONS.        Patience, gentleness.  And as much as it horrifies him, praise. TURN OFFS.        Rushing, and as silly as it sounds, too much touching from partner to him. LOVE LANGUAGE.    Quasimodo is never one to initiate affection.  He always lets the other person decide when they want it, but does really like lacing his fingers with someone else.  He’s also really skittish about PDA, but of course, likes to cuddle in private. RELATIONSHIP TENDENCIES.    Once he’s got any type of feelings for someone, he’s steadfast devoted.  He may seem needy/dependent to some, because that’s the only relationship(s) he’s ever really had, but he does it more so out of showing affection than anything.  Also he’s a stage 5 clinger, hello

𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐨𝐮𝐬 !

CHARACTER’S THEME SONG.      Out There, of course! HOBBIES TO PASS TIME.       His carving and some glass work.  Quasimodo also really likes to experiment with melted metals, though he usually saves that for patching the bells. MENTAL ILLNESSES.    Depression and anxiety are the biggies that have affected him most of his life, though post-movie, PTSD. PHYSICAL ILLNESSES.       He’s a pretty strong dude, but since he’s spent so much time away from people, when he firsts starts venturing out of the bell tower he was prone to getting colds. LEFT OR RIGHT BRAINED.       Right-brained. PHOBIAS.     None really. SELF CONFIDENCE LEVEL.      Lol.  I almost want to leave it at that.  For obvious reasons, the poor boy doesn’t think that he’s worth a damn in any sense, physically or emotionally.  He bases his worth off of what he can do for others and how they are feeling around him.  If someone around him is upset or unhappy, he can’t help but blame himself.  Any compliments he gets, he takes to heart.  Perhaps too much.  Unfortunately, he’s just always going to be dependent on others to make him feel good about himself. VULNERABILITIES.       Quasimodo has a difficult time when it comes to his emotions.  They scare him, and he never really knows how to process them.  There are times when he’s just unbearably sad, gets excited over something incredibly menial, or is blindingly angry.  To be honest, when he saved Esmeralda, he doesn’t even remember breaking through the chains, almost like he didn’t come to until he had her in his arms.  That scares him a lot, because he’s not a angry person by any means, but isn’t sure how to fix that about himself.  His emotions are easily played off of, which was a big reason as to why Frollo had such an easy time manipulating him.

Stolen from: @murroyilodel tagging: I’m not gonna tag anyone because this is a big ol’ hulkin meme that took me hours to fill out.  But if you wanna share some of your back stories DO EET. <3

[a-splash-of-stucky]

A Messed Up Place | Fourteen

Pairings: Bucky x Reader

Summary: A collection of precious moments throughout your pregnancy

Warnings: Fluffiness, swearing.

Notes: WooOOOoooOOO! A whole century later and we’re finally back with another chapter! I’ve missed writing for this baby :’) Also -- four fics in four days whut? 2018′s off to a good start ;)

As the summary suggests, this chapter is a collection of ‘moments’ throughout your pregnancy. After the trainwreck that was the last 13 chapters, I’ve decided to finally gift you with some pure fluffy goodness.

AMUP Masterlist

Bucky moves back into the compound that very evening. As they say: no time like the present, right? Having made amends with you, Bucky feels as if the chains that have been holding him back have finally been unshackled, like he can finally go about this relationship the way he actually wants to, the way he should have done from the very start.

He’d had to make a quick trip to the apartment in Brooklyn, just to clear out his things. He hadn’t brought a lot with him in the first place, which means that most of his worldly possessions are still safely stowed in his room in the compound — something that worked out in his favour, in the end.

Since then, he’s thrown himself into romancing you like he’s never romanced anyone before. Bucky’s also been doing a lot of reading, trying to prepare himself for parenthood as best as he can.

The rest of the team are happy to have him back at the compound, if a little puzzled by his sudden, unexplained disappearance, and equally confounding return. Natasha comes to visit him a couple of days after he moves back in. a grim set to her jaw and a purposeful gleam in her eye.

Bucky watches her with wary eyes from his spot on the bed, hands stilling in his lap. He’d been cleaning one of his rifles before she’d come in and interrupted him. He tracks her as she leans against his dresser, arms loosely folded over her chest.

“I know that you and Y/N had something going on before she got with Steve,” she tells him. Before Bucky can open his mouth to refute her claim, she holds a single finger up and barrels on. “I also know that when she did get with Steve, you were devastated. Pretty obvious with the way you were moping about the place. And it’s why you asked me to set you up, right?”

Bucky hasn’t said anything, but his silence must’ve been a good enough answer for her.

“It was to help you get over her, wasn’t it?” Natasha presses, picking up the comb he keeps on top of his dresser and twirling it between her fingers. “It was to get over her.”

“Stop,” Bucky growls, hands clenching into fists at his sides.

She smiles tiredly. “I’m not judging you, Barnes. I just—,” she breaks off, eyes downcast as she says the next two words. “The baby.”

“What about it?” Bucky asks tersely.

“Is…I don’t know whether it’s yours, or whether it’s his, but I’m guessing that it’s either Steve’s death or her pregnancy that was your trigger. One of those things, or maybe both of them, I don’t know — made you leave,” she surmises, setting the brush down and affixing him with a cool gaze.

“The two events happened so close together—I’m just not sure what set you off. But—whatever it is, I just hope you two get it sorted out.”

Bucky blinks owlishly, surprised by the sudden swerve in the conversation. “I—thanks, Natasha,” he murmurs.

She nods curtly, pushing off from his dresser and sauntering towards his door in one sinuous motion. “You’re both good people,” she says, glancing at him from over her shoulder. “Idiots, but good people.”

“Thanks,” Bucky says dryly. She blows him an exaggerated kiss as the door falls shut.

————————

“You don’t have to come,” you say nervously, for what is probably the tenth time in half as many minutes. “I’ve gone to them by myself before, it’s—,”

“Y/N,” Bucky says, cutting short your nervous babble. “I want to, okay? I really do. I wanna go with you, I wanna see the baby.”

“Okay,” you breathe, smiling nervously at him. “Okay, of course.”

It takes exactly eighteen minutes for Happy to drive you both to the hospital. Throughout the entire journey, you keep your hands folded in your lap, fidgeting anxiously with the hem of your t-shirt. Towards the end of the drive, Bucky finds himself reaching across the massive gap between you and him in the back seat, resting his hand on your knee and squeezing it reassuringly. You’re startled by the sudden gesture, but the tentative smile you flash his way tells him that you’ve appreciated it, nonetheless.

Happy pulls up in front of a sleek building which Bucky has a hard time believing is an actual hospital. It’s all shiny glass and polished steel and spotless floors, nothing like the dingy labs that HYDRA used to work in. Though the interior is sophistically decorated, the faint scent of antiseptic that seems to cling to every hospital building is present, making Bucky’s nose scrunch up in disdain. He follows you to your doctor’s office — Dr Habiba, he learns, is her name — and takes a seat in the overstuffed armchair. You, on the other hand, perch yourself on the examining table, jiggling one leg nervously.

It’s a fairly standard office, albeit devoid of those tacky health-conscious posters that normally adorn hospital walls. Even the medical equipment in there has its own aesthetic appeal, fitting in with the rest of the decor as if they were abstract art installations.

“Twenty weeks, eh?” Dr Habiba comments, once she’s got you settled on your back. You smile and nod, your expression perking up as she chats pregnancy stuff with you — most of it goes straight over Bucky’s head. Dr Habiba’s got dark skin and jet black hair that she’s pulled back into a neat chignon. By his best guess, she’s probably in her mid-forties. She seems pretty competent, moving the machinery around and speaking with the air of someone who’s been through this routine a billion times.

When it’s time to start the scan, you gesture for Bucky to stand beside you, near your head. He’s touched by the gesture, even more so when you take his flesh hand from where it’s lying beside your shoulder and interlace your fingers together.

“All healthy, looks exactly as it should be at this stage,” is the verdict you receive. You blow out a breath Bucky hadn’t realised you’d been holding, expression visibly relaxing at the words.

“You sure you don’t want to find out the sex of your baby?” Dr Habiba asks, looking to you, then Bucky, then back again. Bucky flushes. Does she think that the baby is his, or something? After he’d introduced himself, you’d told her that Bucky was a friend of yours. Perhaps the doctor is more perceptive than she appears.

Bucky squints at the mass of black and white on the monitor. The grainy image does look like a baby, he’ll give it that; he can see the shape of the head, can even make out the bump of a nose and the slope of what he thinks could be a lip. Even so, he’s got no idea how this woman, talented as she may be, can tell what sex the baby is with any kind of certainty.

“Um,” you say, sharing a look with Bucky that he can’t decipher. “I—um, well…I…Bucky? Do you wanna know?”

He’s taken aback. Surely it’s your decision, not his. Bucky licks his lips nervously. “I…uh…only if you want to,” he says hesitantly, not sure whether that’s the answer you’re wanting to hear.

“But do you want to?” you ask, more insistently this time, as if his opinion really matters to you.

“Uh…not really,” Bucky admits, free hand scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “I—think a surprise might be nice.”

Your mouth splits into a grin, eyes beaming with happiness. “Really? Great!” you exclaim.

Dr Habiba has been watching this entire exchange with an amused smile on her face, clearly discerning that there’s something more going on between you and Bucky, that you are clearly more than just ‘friends’, as you’d claimed. Whatever she thinks she does not voice aloud, however, instead just murmuring a soft ‘okay then’ as she turns back to the screen of her monitor.

“How many pictures do you want me to print out?” she asks.

“Three,” you say unhesitatingly. At Bucky’s arched eyebrow, you elaborate, “One for me, one for the fridge in the kitchen — so that no one tries to steal my picture, y’know? And one for you.”

Bucky is not ashamed to admit that he looks at that small print-out for a full five minutes before he falls asleep that night.

————————

“Oh fuck, Bucky!” you moan, head lolling forward as Bucky runs his hands all over your back.

“Yeah, doll? That feel good?” he murmurs absentmindedly. He digs his thumbs into the base of your spine, chuckling at the low groan that rumbles out of your throat.

“Ah, f-fuck, yeah,” you hiss, as his hands start to smooth down your sides, exerting just the right amount of pressure to make your body limp and pliant.

Someone snickers.

Bucky looks towards the direction of the sound and discovers that the source is Wanda, who is trying very hard to conceal her giggles behind her hand. Sam and Natasha, sitting on either side of her, are doing their best to suppress their own smiles. Bucky quirks an eyebrow up questioningly, and that seems to be the tipping point. Wanda gives in, doubling over and clutching her stomach as her shoulders shake. Her laughter set Natasha off, who buries her face into Sam’s neck.

“Wha’s so funny?” you slur out. You scoot backwards and inch the bright red exercise ball you’re bouncing on towards Bucky, so that his hands can start massaging out the tense knots in your shoulder.

“S’nothin,” Sam snorts, “You just sounds like you’re havin’ sex over there.”

“Fuck you, Wilson,” you growl, though the heat in your tone is subsequently ruined by the whimper that falls from your lips. This promptly sets off another round of giggles among your three spectators. Bucky can feel his lips fighting to pull into a smile, even as his cheeks flame up in embarrassment. It seems that you’ve decided to staunchly ignore Natasha’s wolf-whistles, instead choosing to arch into the steady press of Bucky’s fingers.

When you told him that you were feeling sore today, Bucky hadn’t hesitated to offer you a back rub. In hindsight, he probably should’ve waited for the privacy of your room, or something.

Tony and Pepper walk in at that moment. “What is this I hear about sex being had? Why am I not invited?” Tony asks loudly.

“Tony,” Pepper sighs, giving him a gentle cuff on the ear. He scowls like a little child in response.

“Bucky’s giving Y/N a massage,” Wanda wheezes, still not having fully recovered from her laughing fit, “And I think Y/N’s enjoying it a bit too much.”

“Fuck you, Wanda,” you grumble. Bucky pets your side sympathetically.

“Well, I think we should all just be happy that Y/N and Bucky have worked things out,” Pepper says, raising her voice to be heard above everyone’s laughter. “And we should all leave them in peace, hmm?” she suggests, eyes darting towards the door pointedly.

“It’s okay, Pepper, they can stay if they want to,” Bucky assures her.

It’s good knowing that the rest of the team are at ease like this. Bucky hadn’t noticed it, but him being in a sour mood for the better part of six months had really been a dampener on the atmosphere at the compound. Now, with all of the bad air cleared between you and him, it’s like a curse has been lifted; smiles are easier to come by, nowadays, and the sounds of laughter can almost always be heard.

Besides Sam, no one else on the team knows the full truth. Of course, some version of the truth had to be fed to them, that had been an inescapable fact. The condensed version of yours and Bucky’s story, is that you and Bucky started a friends-with-benefits arrangement about six months before you got with Steve, after which, the arrangement became null. Then, one drunken night of passion in KL changed everything, meaning that this baby could potentially by his — that had earned you and him a couple of disapproving looks, at the time. The two of you have assured everyone that you’ve put your differences and disagreements behind you, and that your relationship from here on out should progress a whole lot more smoothly.

Natasha’s probably managed to put together more of the puzzle, but he’s not going to begrudge her that. Natasha’s Natasha; she’ll understand, in her own roundabout way.

“How dare you insult the pregnant woman,” you grumble, tipping your neck forward to give Bucky more room. “Just fuck off and let Bucky give me my massage in peace.”

Bucky can’t help but smile a little at the hint of fondness in your tone.

————————

You’re coming out of the bathroom just as Bucky pops his head into your bedroom, having just got back from a trip to the city. You’re swathed in a fluffy polka dot bathrobe, your damp hair hanging limply around your face. Bucky holds up the small canvas bag he’s holding in his right hand and waggles his eyebrows triumphantly.

“What’s that?” you ask, waddling over to your bed and sinking down on it with a grateful sigh. Being five and a half months pregnant is starting to take its toll on you.

Instead of answering verbally, Bucky comes bounding up beside you, thrusting the bag into your hands. Nervous excitement is radiating out of his every pore. He feels a little like a wolf that’s gone hunting for its mate — not that you’re his mate, or anything — and is now presenting his treasures for inspection.

Your lips pull into a frown, which quickly turns into a giddy smile when you peer into the bag. Inside is a collection of fruits that Bucky bought from the farmer’s market earlier this morning — strawberries, blueberries, a small melon, even a couple of mangoes.

“Bucky, what…?” your voice trails off as you turn to look up at him, eyes sparkling with wonderment.

Bucky shifts his weight from foot to foot and stuffs his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Well, uh…I’ve noticed that you’ve been craving a lot of fruits, lately, especially the sweet kind, so I—I went out and bought you some.”

He doesn’t know what he was expecting, exactly, but he’s certainly taken by surprise when you surge forward and throw your arms around his neck, pulling him in for a fierce hug. “Thank you,” you whisper sincerely. Bucky wraps his arms around your torso and gives you a gentle squeeze, not wanting to jostle anything he shouldn’t be jostling. He’s enjoying the way his heart swells with pride at having made you this happy.

“Oh, there’s also this,” Bucky says, when you finally step away. He shrugs his backpack off his shoulders and plonks it on the bed, pulling open the zip and rummaging around inside. With a soft hum of victory, he pulls out a tub of cookies and cream ice cream and waves it in your direction.

“You got me ice cream?” you gasp, eyes going comically wide.

“Well, last week you said you really wanted some,” Bucky said, handing it over to you. There’s a brief moment where his fingers brush yours as you take the tub from his hands — maybe it’s his imagination, but he swears that sparks fly at that point of contact.

“You remembered that?” you ask softly, gazing down at the tub of ice cream like it’s a whole lot more symbolic than simply, a tub of ice cream.

Bucky snorts, crossing his arms over his chest. “You were keeping me awake all night talking about it!” he reminds you, aiming for nonchalance, but tone coming out far too tender for him to do it effectively. Besides, he’s pretty sure he’s got some goofy grin on his face that ruins the effect anyhow.

You shyly catch his gaze through your lashes. “I was not,” you mutter, “But thank you. I love you.”

Bucky’s breath hitches in his throat, just as your free hand flies up to clamp over your mouth. Your eyes nearly bulge out of your head once the words you’ve just said finally register with your brain.

“Y/N—,”

“I’m sorry!” you blurt out, “I—I mean, I do, but—,”

“Romantically?” Bucky interrupts, “Or as a friend?”

Your jaw snaps shut, eyes travelling to the floor by your feet, not wanting to meet his stare. “Um…would you kill me if I said both?” you ask timidly.

“No,” Bucky replies. “I bought these things for you because I feel both, as well.”

“Oh, good,” you say, before tossing the ice cream onto the bed and pulling Bucky in for another enthusiastic hug.

���———————

Bucky’s just finished relieving himself and is busy washing his hands at the sink when he hears your scream.

“Bucky!” you shout, “Get in here, now!”

A million and one thoughts surge through his system, a sense of panic being the strongest of them all. He bursts through the door — probably ripping it off of its hinges in the process — and sprints towards you. You’re sat on the armchair in the corner of his bedroom, bottom lip caught between your teeth and hands cradling your bump.

“Y/N?” Bucky asks breathlessly, fighting to keep his cool in the face of all the emotions threatening to cloud his rational mind. Bucky collapses to his knees in front of you, reaching up to cup your face. “What’s wrong? Is it the baby? Are you hurt? Are you—”

He shuts up when you grab his flesh hand and place it on top of your belly. His confusion deepens momentarily, until he feels a barely-there fluttering sensation against his palm. Understanding clicks into place.

“Are those—,”

“The baby!” you cry happily, your hand coming to rest on top of his. “You feel it?”

Bucky has to swallows around the lump in his throat before he speaks. “Yeah,” he says hoarsely, “I feel it, alright.”

He flattens out his hand, pressing as much of his palm onto your stomach as he possibly can to maximise the amount of movement he can feel. There’s no pattern to the motion. He’ll feel a quick burst of fluttering, before the baby quietens down again. Some movements are harder and sharper than the others, but all make him smile equally wide. There may or may not be tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. He makes no move to brush them away.

“I started feeling movement a few weeks ago, but you never when you were around, for some reason,” you say softly, the fingers of your other hand threading through his hair, nails scratching gently against his skull. He has a sudden urge to butt into the touch, nuzzle his head into your palm like a cat.

Bucky’s not embarrassed to admit that the two of you spend the rest of the afternoon watching a movie from your couch, your hands intertwined on top of your stomach. He can think of worse ways to spend his day.

————————

Bucky is lying on his bed, back propped up by a couple of pillows, feet crossed at the ankles and a parenting book held in his left hand. He looks up when you breeze in through his open door, a small white box in your hand.

He resolutely tries to not think about the last time you waltzed into his room holding a box. The past is the past, and your relationship has come far since that day.

“I bought my first something for the baby!” you announce, beaming happily at Bucky as you climb onto the bed.

“Oh really?” Bucky asks, putting his bookmark back into place, before setting the book on his bedside table and pushing himself upright. He crosses his legs Indian-style and rests his elbows on his knees, all whilst trying to tame the exhilarated thumping of his heart. “What is it? Lemme see.”

You twist around so that you’re sitting on the bed properly, mirroring Bucky’s pose. You set the box down between the two of you. It’s square-shaped and pristine white, probably a little larger than Bucky’s hand. The name of the company is embossed on the front in a neat gold font. You open the lid and set it aside, then reach into the box and pull out the — wait, is that a piece of fabric?

“It’s a blanket,” you explain, holding the item in question up and shaking it brusquely, so that it opens up completely. Bucky reaches out and touches it, rubbing the material between the thumb and forefinger of his flesh hand. He fights not to gasp aloud; the blanket is the softest thing to have ever touched his skin.

You pass it to him and Bucky drapes it over his lap, running his fingers over the material to marvel at its unbelievable softness — Jesus Christ, he can’t wrap his head around how silky this thing feels. It’s a pale brown colour, a cross between beige and warm chestnut. There’s a small teddy-bear embroidered on one corner. It’s square-shaped and pretty large too, probably about half a metre in length and width.

“I wanna go baby shopping with you,” Bucky says suddenly, the words coming out of his mouth before his brain can even parse them through.

“Okay,” you say, as if that settles everything. It’s probably not as big a deal as Bucky’s making it out to be in his head, but his excitement levels have definitely kicked up a notch at the prospect of being able to go baby shopping with you. With great reluctance, he hands the blanket back over to you, observing as you carefully fold it into a neat square and place it back into its box.

“I need to properly start buying clothes and things,” you sigh, “Ugh, I need a changing table, and a crib, and a stroller, and—,”

“Hey,” Bucky interrupts, laying a hand on your knee, “Don’t stress yourself out. I’m here to help, right?”

The corner of your lips quirk up into a half-smile, just as one of your hands come to rest on top of his, your thumb stroking over his knuckles. “Yeah. I’m glad,” you murmur. “What’re you reading?” you ask, jerking your chin over to the book he’d set down.

“Oh, uh…” Bucky flushes, running a hand through his hair in embarrassment. “Just a parenting book,” he replies. There’s a pause, then, “I don’t know if I’m cut out for this, Y/N,” he says quietly.

Your thumb pauses its back and forth motion. “You…want to stop? To back out?” you ask carefully.

“No!” Bucky cries hurriedly, quick to reassure you that that is not what he means at all. “No, no, I didn’t mean it like that, I just…I think I’m gonna do more harm than good, is all,” he sighs. “I’ve never fed a baby, or put one to bed, or given one a bath, or—,”

“Hey, neither have I,” you point out, “I’m gonna be just as clueless as you are.”

“But—,”

“We’ll just have to learn together, yeah?”

And there’s just something so earnest in your gaze that Bucky finds himself not caring about his inexperience anymore. Who cares if he fucks things up? It’s all a learning curve, right? Even so, he can’t quite shake off all his worries. “And—there’s something else,” Bucky says, “It’s not just that.”

“No?”

“No,” he admits, shaking his head slowly as he gathers up the courage to say what he’s been meaning to say for a while. “I—don’t know if this,” he says, waving his metal arm around, “Was made for handling babies.”

He forces his gaze to meet your eyes, even though all he wants to do is curl up into a ball in the corner and wallow in his self-pity. Bucky watches as your eyes soften, your mouth falling open into a soft ‘o’.

Moving carefully, as if you don’t want to spook him, you reach forward and take hold of the wrist of his metal hand, bringing it into your lap. You wrap both of your hands around it, enclosing it in your grasp. Your gaze flick towards Bucky to ensure that he has his eyes on you, before you bring that hand up to your lips and slowly, deliberately, brush the tenderest kiss over each knuckle. Then, you stretch each finger out and press your lips to each fingertip. There’s a sense of reverence to your actions, adoration and—and acceptance so clearly discernible in your gaze. The gears and plates in his arm whirr and click, responding to the nervous energy flickering through him. Bucky wants to snatch his hand away from you, but it is as if you have him frozen in place.

His breath hitches as you use one finger to trace the grooves on the back of his hand, your expression unreadable as you cock your head to the side. “I have faith in you,” you say quietly. “Once upon a time, you didn’t think that this hand could touch my lady bits, either, remember?”

“Y/N,” Bucky says exasperatedly, pushing aside the scandalous images that pop into his head.

“And lemme tell you,” you whisper breathily, leaning in closer so that your face is just inches away from his own. “I’ve had some of the best orgasms of my life, thanks to these fingers.”

Bucky feels as if you’ve stolen the breath from his lungs. He clears his throat and tries to remember how to get his mouth working again. “M-metal arm kink,” he jokes, but his voice is too husky for it to come off as playful as he wants it to.

You shake your head. “No! Well, actually—maybe, but that’s not the point,” you say, rolling your eyes at Bucky’s self-satisfied smirk. “My point is that you’ve got more control over this arm than you give yourself credit for,” you tell him, giving the hand an extra-tight squeeze, for emphasis. “I mean, I’m sure you can get Tony to amp up the sensors in it, if you really wanted to, but—whatever the case, I know that you won’t hurt the baby, and that’s good enough for me.”

If Bucky were to ask himself what possessed him to reach up and cup your jaw, at this point, he wouldn’t have been able to answer his own question. He feels as if his body is on autopilot, flesh hand holding the back of your neck as he leans forward. He’s thrilled to see that you’re closing your eyes, your own head tipping upwards and slightly to the left.

The first press of his lips against yours is perfect — everything he remembered it to be from that night in KL, yet so much better, untainted by bitter thoughts of self-hatred. You hum softly in the back of your throat as Bucky deepens the kiss, tongue licking lightly at the seam of your lips. God, but he’s wanted this for as long as he’s known you. All the parts of him are singing in ecstasy, overjoyed to finally be able to indulge in this experience with you.

The two of you pull away before anything can get too heated. Bucky does so remorsefully, but he knows it’s for the best, in the long run.

You sit back, a dazed look in your eyes. Bucky swallows, cards his hands through his hair. He doesn’t know how you’ll react to that. “Um…that was—,”

“Perfect,” you finish, smiling happily at him.

Bucky breathes an internal sigh of relief. “I—yeah. That’s…yeah. Wanna watch a movie or something?”

————————

The two of you are in your room, snuggled up under the covers as a random movie plays on the TV. You’ve got the volume turned down low, however, because neither of you are really watching it. You’re just using it as an excuse to have a lazy evening together.

You’re pressed up against Bucky’s side and his fingers are idly drawing loopy patterns on your tummy. With you at almost seven months pregnant, your belly has rounded out considerably. One of Bucky’s favourite past times is running his hands all over it.

“C’mon, I’m being serious here, any name suggestions?” you ask, prodding him on the shoulder. “This baby ain’t gonna name itself, y’know?”

“What boy names are you thinking of?” Bucky asks.

“I was thinking maybe Steve, or Steven as a middle name,” you admit.

Bucky snorts. “We should spell it S-T-E-P-H-E-N,” he jokes.

You scrunch up your noise in disgust. “Ew, no, that’s an atrocity. I—fuck no, that’s too weird.”

Bucky laughs, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of your head. A hint of possessive pride flares in his chest at the way you burrow even closer to him. “Being serious though,” Bucky continues, “I like that idea. Using Steve’s name, I mean. Spelt the proper way.”

You hum, brows knitted together in thought. It’s apparent that you haven’t heard a word he’s just said. “Or…how about Roger? As a middle name, I mean?” you suggest.

“Oh, that’s nice too,” Bucky says. “But why’re you thinking of middle names first? Shouldn’t first names come first?”

“I know,” you sigh, scrubbing a hand over your eyes. “They’re just harder to think of.”

“What ideas d’you got?”

“I like Carter,” you tell him, “William. Nicholas. Theodore—,”

“Theodore’s good,” Bucky interjects.

“Yeah? Theodore Roger?”

“Yeah, and the baby’ll have your last name, right?” Bucky asks.

You turn your face to look at him properly, confusion evident in your expression. “Oh? Are you sure?”

“Well, we don’t exactly know whether this baby is mine or Steve’s, right?” Bucky points out, shrugging one shoulder indifferently. “I mean, well—it’s all up to you at the end of the day, I guess, I’m okay with anything.”

Bucky watches as you nibble on your bottom lip, mulling over what he’s just said. “Yeah, I—y’know, let’s just cross that bridge when we get there, ‘kay?”

“Sure thing, doll,” Bucky agrees, squeezing your hand reassuringly. He watches as you yawn widely, covering your mouth with your hand, a sheepish look in your eyes. Bucky then notes the time on the clock on your bedside table; it’s almost 11PM at night.

“I’ll just head into my—,”

“No!” you cry, hand darting out to catch his wrist as Bucky moves to roll away from you. Bucky stills, heart racing so fast he can feel it in his throat. “I—I mean,” you add hastily, “I would really like it if you could stay, but if you wanna go back, I understand.”

It takes Bucky two tries to get his answer out. “Okay, doll, I’ll stay,” he says softly, reaching out to stroke your hair out of your face. He asks FRIDAY to switch off the movie as he rearranges the pillows around you, propping one underneath your head, before pulling the covers up and over the both of you. He reaches over to switch off the bedside lamp, plunging the room into darkness. You pull him down by the sleeve of his shirt, rolling onto your left side so that Bucky can spoon you.

His mind is whirling. This is the first time he’s actually sleeping with you — that night in KL doesn’t count — and his heart doesn’t know what to do with itself. He hopes that you can’t feel or hear the mad thumping of his pulse. Bucky allows his body to do what feels natural, curling protectively around your back, his arm resting around your burgeoning waist, his nose tucking into the space behind your neck. Your hand rests on top of his, fingers intertwining with his flesh ones.

“I love you,” he murmurs, lips brushing against your skin.

“Love you too,” you whisper.

————————

“Oh my god, Y/N!” Bucky gasps.

“What?” you ask, turning around to look at him.

“Look at these!” Bucky cries excitedly, holding the tiny booties up for you to see. They’re a lovely blue colour, with white stripes on the soles. “They’re so tiny!”

“I know!”

“They’re so cute!”

You place your hands on your hips and narrow your eyes at Bucky in suspicion. “Barnes, do you need a moment? Need to step outside?” you tease, “I’m gonna need you to calm down.”

“But they’re so cute!” Bucky whines, as he brings them over to you for closer inspection. He drops them into your hands and watches the small smile that crosses your lips as you rub the material between your fingers.

“It’s times like these that I wish I knew what I was having,” you groan, looking miserably around the shop.

“You’re having a human child, I hope,” Bucky deadpans.

You snort, smacking him across the chest with the back of your hand. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it!”

Bucky grunts in agreement; for as progressive as this century may be, all the baby clothes in this shop seem to be in various shades of either pink or blue. “Everything’s either really girly, or really boyish,” you grumble, as you continue walking between the racks of clothes. “I mean, yeah, if I had a boy, I could put him in pink things, and vice versa, but…yeah.”

“Oh look!” Bucky cries, as the pair of you round the corner and enter a different part of the shop. Specifically, the part of the shop that houses distinctly less gendered clothing; the unisex section. Everything here is in calming shades of white, beige, yellow and green. Bucky wanders down the aisles, dropping the items of clothing that catch his fancy into his basket as he passes them by.

“Buck? Come take a look at these,” you call.

Bucky hurries over to you and barks out a sharp laugh at the display you’re looking at. “Avengers merch? For real?” he asks.

“Bucky, we need to get this stuff,” you say seriously, moving to put a set of Black Widow-themed bibs into your basket.

“Wait, no!” Bucky says, catching your wrist to stop you.

“What? Why not?”

“Because I’m pretty sure the rest of the team are going to get us this kinda stuff for our baby shower,” Bucky explains. You frown, but shrug a shoulder in agreement, dropping the subject in favour of exploring the rest of the shop.

Bucky’s noticed that he’s started referring to the two of you as ‘us’ more and more frequently, in recent days. It’s not something that he consciously chose to do — it’s more a habit that he picked up and found he couldn’t stop. If you notice, you don’t correct him and for that, he’s secretly pleased.

————————

“Never again!” you groan, throwing an arm over your eyes dramatically. Bucky chuckles as he continues digging his thumbs into the soles of your feet. Apparently, three hours of non-stop shopping takes a lot out of a heavily pregnant lady.

“Never again,” Bucky agrees.

“How ‘bout Samantha?” you suggest, continuing the discussion you’d been having in the car. You lift your arm away from your eyes at Bucky’s indignant scoff.

“Who’s nickname would be Sam? Do you want Wilson’s head to get any bigger?” Bucky asks, “If it gets any bigger, he won’t be able to fit it through the door.”

“Okay, okay, point taken,” you laugh. “What about…ooh! What about Stephanie? Or Steffi, as a play on Steve?”

“Oh, I like Steffi, actually,” Bucky agrees, using a thumb to dig into a particularly sore section of your foot, if your sharp intake of breath is anything to go by.

“Middle name?” you prompt. “Oh, what about after your ma? Or one of your sisters?”

Bucky’s fingers falter at your suggestion. It means a lot to him, honestly. “Um…Steffi Rebecca doesn’t sound that nice, and neither does Steffi Winifred,” he muses. “My second youngest sister was Elizabeth—,”

“Steffi Elizabeth?” you try, “Mmm…Steffi Beth? No, don’t think so.”

“And my youngest sister was Ann,” Bucky finishes.

“Steffi Ann,” you murmur, lips pulling into a small smile. “I like it. I really like it, actually.”

“Me too,” Bucky says quietly, “Almost as much as I like you.”

“Like?” you echo, waggling your eyebrows suggestively.

Bucky rolls his eyes but takes the bait. “Okay, more like love,” he admits, as he leans forward to plant a soft kiss on your lips.

“Love you too,” you breathe.

[dabbledrabbleprose]

This piece was inspired by this lovely fanart by @liarcleo, who is also doing the 31 Days of McHanzo challenge!

26. Hangover

Part One / Part Two

Oh God.

Merciful sleep began to lose its hold on McCree’s consciousness and he was cruelly forced back into the realm of the awake.

Oh God in Heaven, grant me peace and end my life immediately.

The awake and hungover, that is.

McCree didn’t open his eyes. Couldn’t open his eyes. He could feel the looming headache crawling around the edges of his brain like a fog, not yet unbearable, but he had the nagging feeling that if he was dumb enough to open his eyes, that fog would turn into shrapnel and shred the inside of his skull. No, it was safer to just not move. Possibly to never move again, for the rest of his life, ever.

Hell. He ached, too. He felt sore all through his arms and shoulders, down his back and into his thighs. What did he even do last night? Nope. Best not think about it. Too much thinking was going to turn his headache into a skullfucking migraine. He was just going to lay here and cling to his pillow until the hangover passed.

His pillow took a deep breath.

McCree’s eyes snapped open and light seared into his brain like a goddamn javelin made out of fucking lasers, the forefront of the migraine that came crashing down around him. He groaned and buried his face into the pillow.

No. Not pillow. This was someone’s stomach. Someone’s bare stomach.

What in the hell?

The searing light that had blinded him revealed itself to just be sunlight filtering in through closed blinds, though his hangover had made it feel much brighter. As his eyes adjusted, he was able to make out that his head was pillowed on a firm stomach with a very nice set of abdominal muscles. He’d drooled on them in his sleep. Hell.

Against his better judgement, he slowly crawled his gaze upward, taking in a thick, muscular arm that attached to a broad chest with impressive pectorals that McCree would have recognized anywhere. The left was covered by a familiar blue tattoo. Dreading what he would find, McCree raised his aching head enough to find Hanzo’s familiar face looking down at him, hair undone, eyes bloodshot, and looking just as shocked and hungover as McCree felt. They stared at each other for a very long moment before he felt compelled to break the silence.

“Hanzo,” McCree said cautiously.

“McCree,” Hanzo replied, just as guarded. His voice was rough and hoarse, but McCree’s was no better.

“We…um…” He struggled to find something to say that wasn’t stating the obvious, and finally tried to trace back to what led him here. “You…uh…remember much of last night?”

Hanzo started to shake his head, but grimaced as his own migraine took issue with the motion. “…No.”

“Me neither.”

A beat passed in silence.

“…I am naked,” Hanzo said flatly, stating the obvious when McCree wouldn’t.

McCree had the decency not to look down, even though every fiber in his being that wasn’t distracted by pain wanted to. “I…uh…guess we had some fun.”

“You are still wearing pants.”

“Maybe not too much fun, then.”

“McCree…” There was a hint of a growl in Hanzo’s voice.

Jesse took the hint and forced himself to move, despite the protests of his aching head and body. His good elbow popped and his back complained, but he rolled off Hanzo and forced himself to sit up on the bed. He tactfully looked around the room while Hanzo hastily covered himself with a sheet.

“I don’t recognize this. Is this your room?”

“Yes,” Hanzo said. “…And I believe this is your hat.”

McCree snapped his gaze to him. Sitting on the pillows beside where Hanzo’s head had been laying was indeed his hat, as if it had fallen off during the night.

“Are you telling me that you were naked in bed wearing only my hat at some point last night? And I was too drunk to remember it?” he groaned.

Hanzo gave him an indecipherable look. “What do you remember?”

McCree frowned, thinking. “I remember the Christmas Party… Genji runnin’ around with the mistletoe…having a few drinks…then I stole the mistletoe…flirted a bit…and then…uh…” he gave Hanzo a sideways look. McCree definitely remembered that. He’d die before he’d let that memory go. “You kissed me.”

Hanzo tensed beside him. “You did not protest.”

“Darlin’, protesting was the last thing on my mind at that moment. Hell, I wish it could have gone on forever.”

Hanzo gave him a startled look, but McCree continued.

“You said to meet you after the party, so I stuck around. Few other things happened… Rein arm wrestling Zarya… Mei making it snow inside…I had a few more drinks…” He frowned, trying to remember. “And then it starts getting fuzzy. I remembered people clearing out…and you were on the balcony…”

“I remember waiting for you,” Hanzo said. “We talked, though I don’t remember what about.”

“I think we were flirting,” McCree said. “Probably really stupid drunk flirting.”

“I kissed you again,” Hanzo said decisively. McCree made a distressed sound.

“I don’t remember that part!” he cringed as his own voice grew loud enough for his migraine to protest. “…We kissed twice and I only get to remember one of ‘em?”

Hanzo gave him that strange look again, then glanced away. “I don’t remember after that. I don’t know how we got from the balcony to here,” he frowned and looked around the room. “Or where our clothes are. They aren’t here.”

McCree looked around, and found that there indeed weren’t any clothes strewn across the floor.

“Except your pants.”

“And my hat.”

“And your hat.”

“So…uh…are our clothes just…littered from here to the west balcony? Waiting for someone to find ‘em?” McCree asked.

Hanzo groaned and sank back down into the bed, grabbing McCree’s hat and using it to cover his eyes. “I don’t want to think about that right now. It is too early and my head hurts too much and it is too bright to deal with that.”

McCree shifted uncomfortably on the bed. There were a number of questions still hanging in the air between them and he didn’t know how to approach them, so he took the safest one first.

“Do you want me to leave?”

Hanzo was silent for a moment, then shifted so one brown eye peeked from behind the brim of McCree’s hat. “…Do you want to leave?”

“No,” McCree said, perhaps just a little too quickly.

“Then stay,” Hanzo said, as if it were that simple.

McCree remained where he was, sitting splay-legged on Hanzo’s bed, while Hanzo wore nothing more than a sheet and his own hat beside him. He managed to last a solid forty seconds before he snapped and started running his mouth.

“Han, I know this ain’t the best time, what with both of us nursing a hangover bigger than Torb’s ego, but I gotta say it. Now that we ain’t drunk, now that we’re alone, with no one watching, no interruptions, no excuses, can…can I kiss you again?” He pretended there wasn’t a quaver in his voice at the soft plea. Instead of giving Hanzo time to answer, he barreled onward, babbling out of fear that the answer might not be what he wanted. “I mean, I was real happy with that first one, and it ain’t fair that I don’t remember the second, not to mention how we came to be in various stages of undress in your bed, but I’ve been makin’ eyes at you for a long time and I just figured nothing would come of it and I didn’t wanna jeopardize our friendship if you didn’t feel the same and-”

“Jesse.”

McCree shut up. He couldn’t recall Hanzo ever calling him by his first name before and the shock of it combined with Hanzo’s stern tone was enough to startle him into silence.

Hanzo sat up slowly, tipping the hat back so it sat properly on his head.

“If I did not want you here, do you think I would have allowed you to stay? Here? Half naked in my bed?”

“Well…” McCree said slowly. “If you were tired enough. Or too hung over to want to deal with it.”

“Good points, but both unnecessary in this situation,” he said, sliding closer to rest a hand on Jesse’s shoulder. “While it is an entirely valid concern that we may have…ah…moved a little fast under the influence of alcohol, that ridiculous mistletoe gave me the excuse I needed to…what is the phrase in English? ‘Make a move?’”

Jesse stared at him. “You…are you telling me that you…you’ve been…”

Hanzo smiled warmly. “Yes. Your infatuation has been far from one sided. I admit, if I had known you had felt this way, I would have done something far sooner.”

“Really?” He didn’t know whether to laugh with joy or sob with relief. Hanzo liked him. Hanzo liked him. Hanzo had been looking for an excuse to kiss him.

“Yes, really,” Hanzo grabbed the hat and plopped it back on McCree’s head, then leaned forward to give him a brief, but passionate kiss that left Jesse’s head reeling. “Now stop looking like a child on Christmas morning and go back to sleep. My head is killing me and it is far too early to deal with this.”

Hanzo sank back down into the bed and rolled onto his side, his back to McCree, getting the sheet settled around him. Jesse’s own migraine was still throbbing through his skull, but he still felt somehow better as he settled down into the bed behind Hanzo, draping his prosthetic arm over Hanzo’s waist and settling comfortably against his back. He nestled his face in the crook between Hanzo’s neck and shoulder and placed a tender kiss against the soft skin.

“This alright? Or too fast?”

“Mm,” Hanzo said non-committally, but settled back against McCree’s chest, getting comfortable.

“I’m a’gonna take that as a yes,” McCree said, kissing the back of Hanzo’s neck.

Hanzo hummed pleasantly, but didn’t open his eyes. “Go back to sleep, Jesse. I am exhausted and we will have plenty of time to discuss our new relationship later.”

“Relationship…” McCree said slowly with wonder, then sighed happily and nuzzled into the back of Hanzo’s shoulder. “I do believe I like the sound of that.”

It would be a long while before they felt human enough to get out of bed, but being together helped their hangovers seem not quite so bad.

[survivorreelsmagicwithin]

Episode 5- “Good thing I bought a box of wine the other day.. I'm gonna need it.”-Jess

After Gryffindors tribal Raffy was voted out. This is either just bad news for Raffy specifically or for the Gryffindor tribe. I don't know how much what he's said and done as his tribe speaks to him, but I'm going to be stepping up my social game now to try and avoid a similar fate. https://am24.mediaite.com/tms/cnt/uploads/2015/07/Harry-Potter-Disgusted-Gif.gif 

 We are playing Mastermind this round and... I dunno what a good score is on this game ever. I always think I did well at it and then people blow me out of the water. I hope I did well enough that we avoid another tribal, but I have my own personal doubts. I explored the castle today. I went behind some barrels. I guess since I'm technically sorted into Gryffindor that I didn't know what the barrels are - I went behind them and found the Hufflepuff common room where I talked to Professor Sprout's flowers... They told me that Hagrid has a new dog. Either Hagrid is in the Forbidden Forest or these flowers are liars. I've been to Hagrid's Hut and interacted with each thing he owns. I saw no dog. https://dontyoushushme.files.wordpress.com/2015/11/tumblr_lp98471uss1qa8ir9o1_r1_500.gif

Mastermind is one of my very favorite comps so if someone causes us to go to tribal during this challenge I'm going to be VERY upset!! 

37 minutes later

If these people really think I'm going to rocks they have lost their minds. 

So I flopped the challenge and will probably have my name thrown out as an option so... PARTY! However, I decided to play the "omg I fucked up feel bad for me" card so maybe that'll either make people feel bad for me...or they'll make me a target. I kind of want people to feel bad for me? but also like I think people know I'm going through a rough time right now so if they vote me out they are going to hell xoxoxox But I'm gonna try and put in the werk to make sure I DON'T GET VOTES.. How may you ask? I think the key is Owen? I know Owen is a VERY social player and on a tribe like this I think having great social skills really can propel you into the top ranks. So I've decided to give Owen some "spell guesses" to help build some sort of trust moving forward.... will this help? probably not.... BUT right now.........the only kind of currency I have in this game is information (which I have none of because.. well new tribe...) and my guesses. Hopefully he feeds into my bullshit and sees that I do actually want to work with him (for now). So the goal is simple, I want people to think I'm NOT DISPOSABLE. People in games are selfish, they want to know what you CAN DO FOR THEM and I plan on doing just that. I also fucked around and shared guesses with Juls. She gave me a clue and I for the LOVE OF ME CAN NOT FIND THIS CRITTER. I thought it was that stupid Harry Potter spider but he told me to fuck off.. idk I'M SO STRESSED. Good thing I bought a box of wine the other day.. I'm gonna need it.

3 minutes later

PS: Landen is either playing too hard too fast or... he has my back? IDK. He's basically naming me as 1 of 4 people he doesn't want to go.. and we... we've spoken like twice. No game talk, nothing. We talked about MILK. How the fuck does he want me safe and not to go? IDK it seems fishy but I'll take it. Maybe he's just promising everyone safety right now and that's his game? I literally don't care. I will take whatever I get at this point. I want Max out. I've decided he really annoys me and I can't work with someone who thinks "penis" is a funny joke. I have nothing in common with him and... from the sounds of it something was "off" with him on his old tribe so... maybe just maybe..  that's something I can WORK WITH. Fucking weebz.

Oh my god, thank god we won! I do not want to have to deal with another tribal. For a unanimous vote, our tribal sure was messy. I think my position so far in this game is super solid, I'm in a great position with Nick and Kevin because we talk a lot and I have formed really strong relationships with both of them. My postion with Dan is honestly fantastic, I know he trusts me because he told me about his advantage in the game (a vote steal). Jules and I are good, we honestly just like each other and she was the first person to tell me that Miguel was throwing my name around. She also knows about Dan's advantage. I'm a little worried about her though because each tribal we have gone to she has gotten a vote, plus she started drama with Raffy before she left. I still think she is super sweet, but I'm worried that her confrontational personality is going to get her voted out and I'm not sure that there is much I can do about it. 

I'm going to mess around and get voted out, I have such a big mouth, y'all.  SO FAR TODAY, I have told Chips I didn't hear his name... then fifteen minutes later I DID hear his name.  Next I told Jess I heard Chips's name thinking she came up with it and she said it was news to her LSJFLDSJF.  Then I told Juls that I didn't hear anything... to which her and Jess are probably comparing notes.  I showed Lily all the places I've looked for the idol and last but not least I TOLD OWEN ABOUT THE OG HUFFLEPUFF ALLIANCE.  I AM GOING TO GET VOTED OUT, WHY DO I HAVE SUCH A BIG MOUTH????? SOMEONE HELP ME. 

hufflepuffle LOST immunity! that is so not the marshmallow move i was trying to make :/ over the course of the game, i've really bonded with lily, so i think that is going to be my close alliance here, obviously aside from juls, who i knew pre-game and we are just good friends. i do think juls would backstab me if she had to, so i'll keep my eye out for her, even tho id most likely die for her. *bleeds out* well when we got to this lil ol tribe, max made the bold move to instantly create a hufflepuffle group chat and declare how we are #HUFFSTRONG. i made the stupid decision to not trust my gut instinct on ruthie's distant responses, and now i am paying the price for that, because as far as i've heard ruthie is telling people hufflepuff is tight and is trying to blindside max, leaving me in the dark. i'm honestly less upset at the target on max, and more upset that she is trying to leave me (and pooossibly lily? cant be sure.) in the dark. I'm a little bit annoyed with it. like, we openly discussed voting about max on the original hufflepuff. i get that circumstances change, but there's no reason to leave me blind. i understand it from owen, jess, chips, but... why from ruthie lol? we've talked about it before and it's just like. bleh. that's my bad, for not talking to ruthie more on a personal level before and after the swap. i can be slow to make official alliances and cement my bonds in survivor, it's a strategy that's risky in the short term but pays off dividends in the long term when people really like AND trust you. that emotion is somethin necessary! it works its own kind of ~Magic~ so to speak. but right now it's definitely showing its weaknesses with ruthie trying to play me and my quietness with chips/owen/jess biting me in the butt a bit because they don't trust me. T_T i will have to work to prove i am a trustworthy ally for them, but in the meantime, as long as i can survive this vote (lol that means i am going home) then i'm fine and it's whatever. i want to try to think of a better wham line to close out this confessional, but i can't, so it's just going to kind of wither off and die here, as this sentence stumbles along on its meager way to find SOME version of sufficient punctuation to the topic, punctuated by actual punctuation.

this vote is gonna be.. como se dice.. interesting. working with max and landen while now being added to an alliance with owen, jess and chips um. smiles. it’s gonna be smth! but it seems like max is the target for this round which sucks but, i’d rather go with majority and help push that than make myself a target for wanting go against the odds.. idk if that made sense LMAO. but i’m just stressed! i love max so much but.. i wanna keep the people who weren’t on the og hufflepuff tribe close as opposed to letting them go so easily. 

THE WAY I HAD ONE OF THE LOWEST SCORES IN MASTERMIND https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f_Maspo1z34

Well here we are forced to actually play the game. And well.......this vote is crazy. I should have honestly anticipated this craziness but the craziness has been thrust upon us. Sincerely really enjoy everyone on this tribe. This meant that whatever decision I made on who to vote out would be strictly strategic. I know I can't vote out anyone from original hufflepuff because that inherently puts all of the original hufflepuff in danger of being easy targets in any future votes. I can't even in my brain consider voting out one of them at this vote because of this. I feel great about my social game rn. Several people are interested in working with me to my face and apparently in passing to others. This means that I'm unlikely to be a target for a vote but this could honestly all change after this. I feel the most trust and loyalty to Ruthie and Landen and I also feel like Max really has my back even though we haven't explicitly said this to each other. I also feel good about Jess. She told me today that she doesn't care too much as long as it isn't me or her and that semed honest to me? This leaves Juls, Owen, and Chips. Juls seems wishy-washy but I can tell she wants to vote Max but is nervous to say that to me. She is a newer player so this makes sense. I can tell that Landen doesn't want to vote Juls but no one really does so she doesn't make sense as the target. Chips has always been a good ally to me in the past but the past few games we have played together we have trouble being honest on what we want to happen.I want to work with Chips and don't want to see him go on this vote. I don't think he is as big of a threat at this stage of the game as Owen. Owen is one of the smartest people I've played with he has one of the best social games I've seen. He has a way of getting people on his side. I know he is thinking about a lot and knows that Max going right now is what is best for him. I want to trust owen and work with owen but my gut says that isn't what is going to work this time. Ruthie told us (Landen and I) about how they made a final 2 before the game even started (before we were told not to talk in the Great Hall chat in PMs) and now she is clearly backing out of that. Right now OG huffs are planning to vote Owen out. I think this is the best strategic play for us but will anyone else see it? Or will people be hyper focused on voting an OG huff that they would prefer to go to a rock draw than vote Owen. I'm not sure and I don't think I'm mentally prepared for what is about to go down. I'm hoping Jess, Chips, or Juls would be willing. But I'm also nervous not telling any of them about the vote could be the actual mistake we are making. Should I put my trust in Jess or Chips and see if they would vote Owen? I DON'T KNOW. Do I sound like I know what I'm doing??? NO. Am I attemping to make money moves??? YES. Is it the right decision????? PROBABLY NOT. But....we shall see. We shall see. 

Kind of happy we lost because this will be an interesting one for sure... As I said before, we have 4 hufflepuff and 4 non-hufflepuff on our tribe, and I wanted to jump on that IMMEDIATELY, so the second I heard Hufflepuff had a group chat (thanks ruthie hehe) I made one with Chips, Juls, and Jess. Jess and Juls are my gorls in this game, and I'm glad I finally get to make stuff happen with them. I want Ruthie to trust me (she messaged me for a final 2 literally night one before we found out we couldnt pm each other in the great hall), and I do really love her - but since we're on different "sides" of the tribe, I wanted to play smart. I originally threw out both Chips AND Max names, to make it seem like old tribal lines mean nothing to me, but then today I've been telling Ruthie and Landen I'm leaning way more towards Max beacuse he hasnt talked to me and Chips has, which is true. Ruthie seems to agree that Max should go - she told me he did some qweird stuff like pranks and things on their old tribe, and Landen said that Max would've been first boot. So it seems easy enough?? But then.... here comes Lily, with her own brain and stuff. Why can't people stop having opinions and just do what  I say??? I can tell Lily wants to keep Max, which makes sense. She probably wants to keep the Hufflepuff security in numbers. But I'm not writing Chips down, period, and they all know it. No matter what happens, as long as it is Max or Chips I'm fine. I'm just using this vote to have as many conversations with Lily, Ruthie, Landen, Jess, and Juls about game as possible to further myself, and I don't much care who leaves as long as it isn't me Jess or Juls. But I do think for the hell of it I'd go to rocks if I had to - bc if they're going to ROCKS for Max?? I sure as hell don't want to be outnumbered. Hopefully ruthie is being honest in wanting max gone and can change lily's mind.

https://youtu.be/TBrNjh2DnU4

SO my big mouth strikes again.   Landen came to me earlier and OWEN SPILLED ABOUT ME SPILLING ABOUT THE HUFFLEPUFF ALLIANCE.  I WAS SO MAD.  Mad enough to agree to voting him out and now I just feel guilty.  Jess, Juls, Owen and Chips don't know that there is going to be a tie tonight after all.  We feel like if we vote Owen that we can get Chips to vote with us in the revote and I hope that is the case because I REALLY don't want to go to rocks. Part of me thinks I should call Owen out on him spilling the alliance secret to him and try to fix things but I'm still very salty about it. I'm so sad and I feel so guilty but...  HE COMPLETELY MESSED MY GAME UP AND I TRUSTED HIM! 

So it has been a day. That's for sure. Got in my first alliance of people who didnt start Hufflepuff. Found out from two out of three Hufflepuffs my name was thrown out. May be leaving or at the very least the subject of a tie vote. If the target Max has an idol I leave guaranteed. I hope not. 

I am a horrible person. My heart is pounding so hard, this move is either going to make or break my game. :(

I would like to publicly thank Hufflepuff for extending my life in the game by another round- much obliged. Not sure how much of a difference it’ll make in the end lmao but nonetheless I’m still technically alive. Either this is the quietest game I’ve ever been apart of or everyone is definitely working together and I’m on the bottom. I know Kevin isn’t in on it but that Raffy vote was suspicious and you can’t tell me otherwise. Because how am I talking to everyone all day long but I don’t find out the vote is Raffy until 2 hours before the vote and that’s “what everyone is doing”? Not to mention it came from Jules, not Dan or Nicholas aka the people I thought I had a halfway decent relationship with. So the only way you can explain how I’m the last to know even though they were several opportunities for like 5 different people to tell me is that those 5 are working together. So basically I’m praying Hufflepuff can take one more L after tonight because if not, there’s a high chance I’m gonna have to beg for my life. And I’m not above it! But I also can do the math and I don’t know if Slytherin is smart enough to realize they’re handing the game over to Ravenclaw. Who knows though- maybe Jess or Juls will go home on the other side and that will strengthen my plea of attack Ravenclaw while we still can. Cause there’s 9 Huffleclaw left and 6 of Slytherdor so I’m like... we can’t all be the cute swing vote at merge that gets picked up to be a number but hey what do I know