#this AU simmers in my brain like soup

[mando-din-lorian]

AU where Din and Boba are turned into kids and they become bestest friends

[kaaaaaaarf]

karfy!! I hope you're having a fantastic vacation!! I'm in the middle of a schitt's creek binge, and I can't stop thinking about a schitt's creek au. what do you think of the weasleys as roland and jocelyn and then mutt as bill? and who would ted be?? any other thoughts or hc's?? <333

HIIII LYNX!! <33 I'm sorry it's taken me so long to reply to this, my brain was broken again. But! I am back from vacation and ready to ponder the important things in life.

Schitt's Creek au is so important to me. I need to start my rewatch and let the crack simmer like a good soup.

I have been trying so hard to picture the perfect Ted and it is a struggle. I feel like if Alexis is Regulus, then maybe Ted should be Evan??? Genius casting of the Schitt's as the Weasley's. I also think it makes it even funnier that they ultimately become friends with the Blacks. I think you're right about Bill as Mutt. It feels right.

I keep thinking about Sirius and Lily sleeping together and then having the wine convo....also the whole musical situation. I'm still set on Regulus singing "A Little Bit Regulus". We could make it work, by god. Also Remus singing and dancing??? YES.

I'll get back to you with more....

[spaceratprodigy]

✏ WIP Wednesday ✏

Thank you for the tag @the-lastcall @captastra 💖💫

I haven't got any new drawings to share just yet! I'm taking a lil break to let my body and my brain rest. But I have been excitedly planning out the things I want to work on next and I genuinely can't wait! Not putting pressure on myself, but I've been super excited to work on some smaller oc stuff, some au stuff, and hopefully I'll have the energy to make some fun things for Halloween this year! :3

I haaaave been messing around with some quick ideas in my notes app tho, so I can share those today at least. Hope y'all like reading! 👇

🔍 — Detective au

"Maximillian, could you hand me that?" she asked, a soft teasing in her voice.

Max reached for the seasoning his companion pointed at, their fingers brushing against each other during the hand-off. Losing himself only for a moment thinking about the way his name sounded on her lips.

"I've never cooked anything like this on my own" he said, holding his head over the pot to take in the aroma.

"It's never too late to learn" Faith practically sang. "Thank you, again. For helping, I mean."

Max's eyes softened looking at her, the smile on her face was genuine. One she had hardly shown during their time together on this case. He wanted to spend every day in this kitchen with her, seeing her glow like this.

"Salami soup is an interesting choice, I've never heard of it before tonight. I'm sure yours is quite the delicacy." He meant it sincerely, but couldn't resist trying to get another playful smile out of her with flattery.

He began cleaning up the mess they had made while prepping. Carefully moving the knives and cutting boards to the sink, wiping up any straggling ingredients that didn't quite make it to the pot, turning down the volume of her little kitchen radio. The way she couldn't resist dancing along to the tunes she liked filled Max's heart with a feeling he still didn't quite understand yet. One he was afraid to acknowledge.

Faith looked at him with a comfort she'd never felt before. She ladled up some broth, offering him a taste. Her smile only growing when he winced from the heat, but agreeing it was quite delicious. She didn't expect to become so fond of her new partner, even less did she think the man she met her first day on this case would enjoy the quality time as much as she did. She heard the whispers about him, the warnings, but that clearly wasn't the man that stood before her.

Faith looked back at her pot with a tired expression.

"Funnily enough, there were quite a few of us in the same crowd who had grandparents or parents that came from Puerto Rico. It was a dish we all knew well, we loved talking about the differences in our family recipes" she stirred slowly, the sounds of the kitchen becoming drowned out by her thoughts.

"But weirdly, we all knew it as Spanish Soup! What a coincidence our parents all had the same name for it" she let out a short, quiet laugh. The corners of her mouth perking up, but her eyes unchanged, fixed on the simmering.

"Not quite the right name for it, though, but a weirdly consistent one. I'm not sure if it was a language barrier translation or what..."

Faith began trailing off and mumbling, not necessarily talking to Max anymore so much as she was reminiscing to herself about mundane moments from her past.

"Sopa de salchichon" she breathed, her voice almost inaudible.

"Is it a favorite of yours?" Max asked, trying to bring her back to reality. A slight bit concerned by her sudden change in tone.

Faith blinked.

"One of them, yes. But not my absolute favorite by any means" Faith began thinking about when she should make Max cook potato soup with her next. "It brings me some comfort, though."

"Does it, now?"

"Unfortunately, yes. My dad used to make it all the time" her voice had no enthusiasm in it anymore. She inspected her brightly colored concoction carefully. "He never did figure out how to cook the potatoes all the way through."

She attempted to ladle up a little bit of everything, admiring how warm it looked. Salami. Potatoes. Pasta. Onions. They radiated in their bath of popping reds, oranges, and yellows. She looked as if she was going to give it a taste, herself, but dropped it gently back into the pot.

The shift in her attitude worried Max, who was unsure of the direction this topic was heading.

"Were you close with your father?" he finally asked.

Faith was silent for a moment.

And another moment.

And another.

Max had realized too late the weight of his question when he heard Faith start sniffling.

"I-I'm sorry. I didn't.. I didn't mean to overstep-" his own voice coming out and wavering before he had time to think.

He took a step towards her, immediately wanting to make it better, wanting to go back just a few minutes ago when she was smiling and dancing around the kitchen. Not knowing how to fix it, how to comfort her, not knowing her boundaries and not wanting to cross them.

Faith wouldn't look at him, the hot tears broke through and were running down her cheeks. Her eyes stung. She was desperately trying to dry her face.

"N-no, you're fine.. you didn't.." she was trying to speak, but her cracking voice wouldn't cooperate "M-max.." she wanted to reassure him he didn't do anything wrong.

Finally, she looked at him. Max had never seen her like that before. It made his heart sink in his chest. Instinctively reaching his arms towards her before he realized what he was doing. His hand so close to cradling her cheek when–

"Fuck!" — "Jesus Christ!" they exclaimed in unison.

The intrusive ringing of her home phone made them jump. Stunning the partners in place, left staring at each other and wondering what was about to happen between them.

📿 — Midnight Mass au [previous tidbit]

The light of the morning sun kissed her skin with a comforting warmth. The scent of honeysuckle on the faint breeze. It was peaceful. Normally she would have considered this the perfect start to her day.

Today, however, was far from perfect.

The gentleness of it all, it mocked her. How can the sky be so clear, the gardens blooming so beautifully, the children laughing so innocently. How can it go on when a storm was about to blow through. A storm no one else was going to feel, to even know was happening.

Faith felt her heart cracking and crumbling. She didn't know how she was supposed to do this.

Trying to keep her breaths calm, she continued pacing around the road she knew like the back of her hand. The one she often walked with a confident stride. Today, it was a walk of shame. Guilt. Her choices finally catching up with her.

Faith plucked a small flower from a neighbor's garden, hoping they weren't around to notice. She began pulling off the petals one by one, trying to keep her shaky, fidgeting hands occupied. It was so delicate between her fingers, so pretty.

It frustrated her.

Not because it had done anything in particular to upset her. She just wanted somewhere to direct her own internal conflict, and the little flower in her hands was the closest casualty.

Faith's heart began beating hard when the church began peeking into view. She swallowed hard, not realizing how dry her throat had become.

How do I tell him?

It was her one place of solace. She was kind, caring, reserved, but never cold. Faith tried her best to be an active member in her community, but it was still a bit out of her comfort zone at times to put such a strain on her social battery. Even more so when her Hiram had left for war.

She enjoyed the solitude of the church. She enjoyed even more what she never expected to find in it.

The last thing Faith thought she'd ever learn about herself, was that she didn't actually marry the love of her life. That becoming more involved in her local church would lead her down a blasphemous path.

An adulterous one.

Finally standing before the building in question, Faith took a moment to admire the architecture. It was a stunning building, a real work of art.

She began her trek up the stairs. The weight growing on her feet with every step. It was agonizing.

With the town's vicar, no less.

Faith felt light headed when she reached the top. Her ears were ringing, darkness was peering in from her peripheral vision.

What greater sin could we have committed?

The doors were open, the morning air saving the church from its usual stuffiness. The sun rays beaming in through the stained glass windows, illuminating the space with colors and dust particles alike. Faith had eyes for only one thing that stood in that room.

Vicar Maximillian DeSoto, very carefully tending to the appearance within his church's walls.

Faith's cheeks were hot, no doubt turning red just at the sight of him. Her heart fluttered in a way no one, not even her Hiram, ever made her feel. She never quite believed in soul mates, until she met Max, and they realized they were meant to be together. Unable to bear being apart from each other's side for too long.

Faith felt the tears welling up in her eyes, not knowing how she's supposed to have this conversation with him. Not knowing what news she was supposed to tell him first.

That she was carrying his child.

Or that her husband just returned home.

🚀 — Canon (summary; not the actual wip)

Faith has an emotional moment (more like an existential crisis) in Phin's lab regarding having been spontaneously dropped into Halcyon to fend for herself + an identity crisis about who she was and who she now has to be. Finding unexpected comfort in him being the only person who believes and understands her complicated existence.

They have a proper heart to heart and Phineas apologizes for the mess he's thrown Faith into without warning or preparation, finally filling her in on what the hell is going on.

Phin confesses that during the unthawing process he saw some things that gave him a clue about Faith's past. Being concerned for her wellbeing, he brings up the uncomfortable information he discovered. His new friend, quite unhappy with him, was hoping to put as much distance as possible between her past on Earth and her newfound identity.

[okami-zero]

OC Name Meanings

I appreciate the tag, @kittynomsdeplume! xD

Rules: Google and post the meaning of your OC’s name (if you made their name up or they go by a nickname, post an explanation of how it came to you)! bonus if you can find something for their last name too.

I believe I shall tag... @elveny, @vasheden, @greyias, @traveleorzea, @autumnslance, @kunstpause, @sasslett, @clockworkdragonffxiv, @karoiseka, @yzeltia and anyone else who see this and wants to join in!

Okay, so one thing to note about most of my OCs, is their names generally just pop out of the random mess of alphabet soup constantly simmering in some corner of my brain. Not ALL of them (for example, Akagi's family name), but most. Or are inspired/pulled from other places. I will go with my big three main MMO fellas, and my two 100% original OCs. Also, have a cut cause I, uh, got carried away. ^_^; (And I am sorry this took so long. >.<)

Zedd Overkill/Zed'rika Ov'redis- Okay, this guy. My half-echani smuggler in SWTOR, who is based on the original I made ages ago (and who is the descendant of the SWTOR one, after some revisions/additions/etc.) The OG is Zedd Overkill, inspired by my favorite Power Rangers villain (Lord Zedd), the head agent from MiB (Zed, as in the letter) and with inspiration from Hackers (Crash Override), a dash (heh, pun) of Dash Rendar from Shadows of the Empire and a maybe just a hint of Han solo. The name popped into my head after watching Hackers and was trying to think up a cool email during computer class (back when Hotmail was still Hotmail xD). The name was repurposed with a smuggler character I made with a friend when we were just making up neat Star Wars OCs for a maybe story we were writing. Story never got finished, but Zedd stuck around. "Overkill" is more a nickname now, as his preferred method of rapid problem-solving involves liberal applications of thermal detonators. x3 Rav Masahiro & Marshall O'Donnell - These two are my second oldest persistent OCs after good ol' Zedd. There is technically one that is older (in fact, old enough that he used Zedd's moniker for a while, back when folding an OC to fit any AU was my MO), but he's kind of only half-baked, for the most part. Rav and Marshall are next in line, and are, by and large much more polished. The story they were to be set in was very grand in scale and scope, considering it was kind of a series of AUs where things in various realities were being fucked with, and they are two of a team of six who are sent out to deal with such things. If this sounds like a certain popular video game franchise from a prominent Japanese publisher, you'd be right in there being some similarities, I guess, but they predate it by about a year. Well, technically Rav predates it, Marshall didn't crystallize until about a year or so later. Powersets are very shounen-ish, I guess? Little bit of henshin and other stuff thrown in for flavor (and things have been tweaked and appended over time). Anyway, Rav's name comes from a reworking of my own name, as he is kind of my self-insert-ish guy. His last name comes from my at-the-time rampant obsession with Japanese culture (yes, yes, I'll say it, I was a weeb. The interest remains, though tempered by time, experience and education). I thought his last name meant something else, as Googling in those early days was... a crap shoot. And the fact that Masahiro is a given name in Japanese hasn't deterred me, as embarrassing as it might be, it just... is a thing now. xD (The other half-baked OC I mentioned has a similar nomenclature goof). Marshall's name kind of just, popped out of the ether, but it flows well and it fits. She does let people close to her shorten it to "Shall" (sounds like shawl). Do NOT call her "Marsh", "Marshie" or "Marsha" or she'll deck you. Like, lay you out flat with one punch. Moving on!

Xanotos Delkai - My Warrior tank in WoW. Another lad who went through some changes. xD So my first character in WoW was a human hunter back in the...alpha or beta, whenever it was they were originally playable before getting nixed. His name was Thanatos, inspired by the character of the same name from a Sega CD fighting game Eternal Champions: Challenge from the Dark Side. He was a typical Grim Reaper-y Death (as Thanatos was the personification of death in Greek mythology, and a psychopomp, I believe). I liked the name. However, the character was nuked after the alpha or beta or whatnot. So, when I remade the character for the full version, I rolled up a Warrior and named him Xanatos/Xanotos (depending on the server), or Xano. Now, I have remade and moved this character many times over the years. Delkai became his surname at some point, and when worgen came out, he was race-changed to worgen, and his backstory was shifted and fleshed out further. Fun fact: the Gargoyles TV series was the farthest thing from my mind when I made this toon, and was for many years. It wasn't until... just before or around Legion, I think? that I realized I had named him the same (if spelled differently) as Evil 90s Will Riker. xD

Akagi Obinata - And now we get to my most recent and most prevalent MMO OC, Akagi. Paladin, Tankfriend, tol dragon/lizard man. So, sadly, this boy is the third I have given a Japanese-style name to, and borked the order of, because Akagi is a freaking surname. >.< Now, I am aware that Hingashi (he was born and raised in/around Kugane) is only kind of Etheirys-Japan, but... I am just...moving on! The inspiration for his given name is one Akagi Shunsuke (or Shunsuke Akagi, in Western fashion) from the anime Dai-Guard. It is an absolutely insane super robot show and I love it, and I see a lot of myself in one of the protagonists (the aforementioned Akagi Shunsuke). So, in honor of a favorite character, I chose that. Forgetting, or blindly ignoring the fact that just because everyone in the show (save for his one relative we see) refers to him as Akagi because it is a cultural thing, and not because it is his given name. >.< What's done is done, however. His surname, thankfully, is one from a list of suggested surnames from the raen au ra lore I could find. It means "blades on waist", and I figured that there were samurai in his family line far enough back that that was the name they took. Akagi, by the way, is if I am not mistaken, "red castle", and well, he IS red. And the Paladin LB3 is a freaking castle WALL, so... it fits in a retroactive kind of way. xD (I was not thinking of his coloring, nor was I aware of what the LB3 looked like when I made him. ^_^; )

And that is it! Do I have more OCs? Yes! But they are all kind of self-contained to different things, and their names are more of a kind of mental slot machine than these goobers (plus the one xD). Hopefully I didn't ramble TOO too much, but I get excited about my homemade blorbos, y'know how it is. Thanks for reading!

[bittersweetbark]

Hello. I don't know if you're open to requests... Can I request you to please write something about VernonCiri ship for Valentines Rarepair Bingo (Holding Hands or Can't sleep /Come back tobed)?

In return, I promise to make pictures with Emralt.)

Ooof, I'm sorry I'm all "nope" lately, that's not because I'm ornery about it but I'm just very limited in the range of what I can comfortably do.

That means odd random squicks of things other people find completely ordinary - like gifts/presents - great difficulties to care about modern AUs and the fact I can't think of romance between any characters that aren't my current ship. It's limitating! I did not choose my brain. :(

I might be capable of doing a drabble on random M/Ms I don't currently ship (haven't tried) but then I've also mentioned it before and I wrote a whole manifesto about it here:

I only do M/M. Again: not a choice but a brain setting.

BUT: I am, absolutely, writing Ciri/Roche into my current WIP (which might be finished some time this year :'D), just not, you know, complete relationship descriptions.

So what I CAN give you is a look at what I've been doing in my WIP (which is Emralt but has the Vernilla relationship starting like that):

"Fuck." Roche was rubbing his forehead. Ciri used to think he always wore his chaperone because he was going bald. When she'd seen him without it the first time, she'd been surprised to find a full head of hair on him. He looked decidedly less Roche-y without the chaperone and a lot more approachable.

"But if you get a vision of someone's death you can try to change that." They were sitting in chairs in front of the fire place, not drinking their wine.

"I don't know how. For example, even if my vision had been clearer on 'pitchfork teeth' I couldn't just have kept Geralt away from all pitchforks." Ciri was rubbing her hands together, partly because Vizima was much colder than Nilfgaard, partly because it gave her hands something to do.

"But he didn't die," Roche frowned. "You saved him. So you do have some influence on what happens, even if you can't prevent the injury." He was aware he was reaching for a straw here but having the Emperor die on them now wouldn't just be sad for Ciri, it would destabilise the whole continent. Logic and reason was only ever the top layer of politics, underneath it it was just people soup, peacefully simmering until some of them got spooked and then there'd be an unstoppable stampede. Roche's metaphors were questionable but not wrong.

"Yes and I'm not giving in," Ciri huffed. "I didn't argue when he sent me away because it's easier to go along with it and then do what I have to do from here."

Something in Roche struggled free with a leap and wanted to pledge undying loyalty to the princess. Maybe it was respect like he'd had for Foltest, but he suspected worse. "I might have an idea," he rasped.

[ratherbefangirling]

Fanfic writing asks! 💖

8, 43, 57, 72, 63 💕

Omg I wasn't actually expecting it but thank you so much 💓

Warning this is long

Question list

8. Post an out-of-context spoiler from a wip.

Yoongi peels oranges sitting on the soft rug placed on the carpeted floor. He feeds a bit to everyone. For you though he has reserved a plate of your favourite food so that you can eat it with Namjoon who loves feeding you since he can't cook for you. You always told him it was fine but he just wanted to do something anything for you. So you let him do it. Let yourself be loved.

43. Is there a trope or idea that you’d really like to write but haven’t yet?

I dream a lot basically I have a string

•This Rapunzel AU where the reader has glasses

• Dragon Namjoon

•Yandere where he isn't originally obsessed with the reader but married to her

• Friend for rent

57. How conscious are you about including symbolism or foreshadowing in your fics?

Half conscious. Sometimes I do intend to portray things but a lot of times I leave that weird idea in a wip until it joins with something I later wrote. I very much write on whim for the life of me I cannot write otherwise.

I am very conscious about the moods and If there is a cliffhanger

72. What’s your favorite writing compliment you’ve gotten?

It has to be by @mintsugarmy ; I have told her I'm going to print her comments and put it on my wall, other one on top of my head is @bri-mal because she said if I ever wrote a book she'd get it

(I'm doing this out of memory because I realise I have a bigger masterlist than I realised)

63. What was the hardest part of writing [insert fic]?

Since you've not given any fic I'm going to talk in general. Firstly editing it, I used to write on my computer before but with tumblr it's written on my phone so autocorrect and everything and English not being my native or me not living in a west I feel like I don't know what universe it should be in.

Secondly like loosing motivation, for me story writing is like making a soup. So me writing it at first begins with full of energy then I need to let it simmer in my brain and some soups are easy others aren't and then when I serve the soup the response is so different that it's almost a gamble with myself. Often it feels like do they like my writing or was it fluke it turned out to thier taste.

Like any bts writer knows how maknae line fics easily steal the show and I began writingthinking I should try to make more hyung line to fill the gap but then I wanted to pay them all equal attention.

Also I see a lot of interaction with writers from thier followers that sometimes is disconcerting like what am I doing wrong. Ofcourse I take time to realise there is skill difference and some have been here far longer then I have and there is also the fact where I dont write NSFW but also I write yandere

As writer I can appreciate a growth in my work and I am grateful for the people and connections on this site and I do just like tumblr even without writing. Which is why I'm perpetually online lol.

Recently for my fic Belong I've recieved a lot of attention at first it made me happy. It is supposed to be a comforting fiction so that felt good but it was supposed to be short but a lot of people wanted to read more and I did enjoy writing something with minimal angst or drama. Just a feel good thing but after a while I feel overwhelmed by it and it sometimes feels unfair that the fic I've worked the most on recieves barely any attention as compared to belong. Writing for myself is fun and that is why I keep coming up with new things but it's plainly a lie to say if people's responses don't matter. I always appreciate people who question things about my writing because it means they're paying attention.

I think I got carried away haha. If you reached here thanks for reading.

And to anyone else reading this if you haven't already go check out @aris-ink works.

And I'm socially inept only because I kept reading novels about friends rather than making them so do you want to be mutuals? 💜💜

[beyondspaceandstars]

hello writer!! i was wondering if you could do a fluff arranged marriage loki oneshot with the prompt “can we makeout now?”

thanks for considering!

Dating and Marriage

Relationship: Loki x Reader

Warnings: N/A, just fluff!

Word Count: 1.9k

A/N: alright i hope this is okay and ended up well i love the arrange marriage AU and i thought i was gonna be better at putting this together but maybe its clunky or something idk i still like it so i hope you do as well!

Masterlist

.・。.・゜✭��.・✫・゜・。.

It had taken you a while to get somewhere in your relationship with Loki.

When the two of you were informed you had already been promised to one another before either of your births, you weren’t too shocked. As both of you came from royal standings, arranged marriages were far too common for a variety of reasons. In your case, it was to cement a peace treaty.

Sure, at first, you and Loki were very annoyed with the decision, especially since neither of you was ever even given the chance to be in on the conversation but that annoyance wasn’t allowed for very long. You two were adults now and had to take on your royal responsibilities as such. That responsibility included following through on the outlined marriage.

Loki didn’t seem to harbor any malice towards you and you never held anything against him. But, still, it wasn’t like you two were in love. You were tolerating one another.

And for a while, that toleration was enough. As a couple, you were quite poised in public. Sometimes you thought maybe it was hard for others to believe it was an arranged marriage based on how much you seemed to accept each other’s company. It was okay at times, you felt like you had a friend. Being a royal in a whole new palace could be lonely. Loki at least would spare you some time to sit and chat.

But this unusual friendship you two had started after the wedding was growing into something else for you day by day. And as much as he probably wanted to deny it, you could see something shift within Loki. He’d look at you differently. Reach for your hand when out of the public eye. Even began inviting you to spend his leisure time with him.

There was no avoiding the fact you two were headed on a different course than originally planned in this arrangement and despite its prevalence, you two didn’t speak about it. But you were growing greatly tired of ignoring it.

"We should go on a date," you suddenly said one afternoon. You and Loki were sitting in the library. He was in his favorite chair, consumed with some fairytale while you were seated on the couch across from him, in the process of knitting…something. You didn’t know what — you had only taken up knitting because you had heard other princesses did it. Making scarves had become all the rage.

You could feel Loki eyeing you suspiciously as you tried working on another stitch.

Eventually, he placed his book to the side and spoke. "A date?" Loki echoed.

You shrugged, not taking your eyes off the yarn. "Yeah, a date. You know, just the two of us. We could go out or — or maybe make some dinner here. I’ve been having the kitchen servants teach me about cooking."

"I know what a date is," he sighed. "What I meant is, why should we go on a date? We’re already married."

You felt a bit defeated with that response. You set your yarn on your lap and looked at your husband. He was watching you quite intensely, waiting for your answer. You shivered under the icy stare.

"Y-You don’t want to—"

Loki cut you off abruptly. "I didn’t say that." He glanced down then back at you. "It’s just that… Dates are for wooing, yes? Why would I need that when I can already tell you’re taken with me."

Your heart dropped. You blinked at him, stunned. You hadn’t expected him to just…admit he knew what was working up in your mind. There was some pride in his eyes at your reaction but behind it, you could make out a hint of fascination.

You tried shaking off your pounding heart. You promptly picked back up the yarn, continuing your hopeless scarf, as you responded, "Have you never considered that maybe your wife still wants to be wooed despite the status of her interest."

"So you admit," he chuckled, "you have fallen for me."

You scoffed, "Don’t act all high and mighty. I’m well aware of how you look at me."

You heard Loki lean back in the chair as the leather of it creaked. You could feel his eyes roaming over you but you didn’t know in what capacity. Whatever was in his eyes now you were ignoring as you frantically tried to focus on knitting and not your love confession.

"Okay," he eventually said. "We’ll have a date."

It was impossible for you to hold back the smile forming on your lips.

***

After minimal deliberation, Loki agreed to let you cook for him. You had heard that the Midgardians used food as signs of love and were fascinated with trying to learn some dishes. You studied with the servants for days trying to perfect a meal. They were always a little uncertain about letting a princess in where servant frequented but once you explained this time you were cooking to please your husband, they giggled like schoolgirls, excited to help.

Once you felt prepared enough, you informed your husband of when you wanted the date. You may have had to do some rework of both your royal schedules but it was fine. Meetings are forever, love can be fleeting.

You were preparing the food when Loki hesitantly entered the kitchen. You had explained that you two would be eating at the kitchen table. It was just a little table where servants usually sat to eat meals or relax in between shifts.

Loki had originally protested this saying he was not of such low status. You assured him that there was no intimacy to be found at the grand dining hall. It was far too big and annoying for two people. He didn’t argue further, just mumbling that he’d be there at the time requested.

And, luckily, he followed through.

"Hi, honey," you smiled, watching the stew simmer above the flame.

Loki took his seat gently as if he was going to catch something from the table. "This is really what you wanted to do for our date?"

You nodded. "I’ve had so much fun learning this meal and doesn’t it smell great? I think it’s going to be nice. I ever have bread baking." You motioned towards the stone oven. Loki followed your gaze but didn’t look impressed yet.

"We could’ve very easily had someone make this for us," Loki pointed out. "We have that luxury, darling."

You rolled your eyes, turning back to your bubbling stew. You could feel your anger bubbling in the same fashion.

"That’s not the point, Loki," you said, the tone in the kitchen shifting as you spoke his name. You rarely ever did. He perked up as you continued, "The point is that I, your wife, like you and would like to express my adornment through a freshly cooked meal."

Loki fell silent with that, something that was so rare for him. You didn’t push any further, though, and instead killed the fire under the stew and presented your bread from the oven. You divided it out into individual portions then placed each on the table. Still with an annoyed, sour look, you sat across from your husband. He was watching the stew, you were watching him.

"It—It looks delicious," he said

"Thank you," you mumbled. You two dug in then, this date now turning out a bit more awkward than you had planned. Neither of you spoke for a while, instead filling the kitchen with the slurping of soup and chewing of bread.

Loki soon began looking between you and the food like he was working up the courage to say something which was absolutely ridiculous to you. Your husband was one of the most outspoken people in the realm.

Eventually, you just decided to look up at him, your eyes begging for him to say whatever he wanted to say.

"This meal is lovely," Loki eventually said. "Th-Thank you for…doing all this."

You smiled, a faint blush creeping up on your cheeks. "You’re welcome."

Loki finished his stew then asked, "What else should we do on this date?"

Now you were really blushing. While taking your little cooking classes, you asked the servants what else goes on on dates. They seemed like lovely girls and you were curious. You had heard stories before of dancing and parties but you wanted something more intimate and you had never actually been on much of a date before. You spent time with boys in your youth and the night before your wedding you and Loki had talked for a little bit but nothing was ever of such fashion.

One servant had informed you, quite shyly, that she and her boyfriend always finished their dates by making out. You had gasped, amazed at her bluntness but then remembered these were servant girls. They lived far less controlled lives than you.

You were partially envious but then you realized, technically, you had a husband. A husband who was capable of making out with you even if such actions and beyond were typically reserved for very a calculated time — heir bearing, such intimacy only happened during the time when potential conception was at its peak.

"Well," you said, running your spoon through your bowl of stew, "one of the servants that helped me said her and her boyfriend end their dates with make-outs."

"Making out?" Loki repeated, brows raised in surprise. "But it’s not—"

"I know."

He looked away. You could practically see the gears turning in his brain. "You want to make out with me for fun."

You giggled at his shock. "Is that so unbelievable? I thought we already established I am into my husband."

"Yes, but you, well, neither of us, have never been so bold before."

"But it’s not such a bad thing," you shrugged, "to be so bold."

Loki hummed in agreement as he eyed you. There was something in his expression you couldn’t quite put your finger on but you definitely knew something between you two had shifted. It had already been shifting, sure, but your newly expressed desires opened the dam walls.

"Alright, dear, I think I can indulge you."

You smiled at his excitement which he was certainly trying to hide. But you maybe wanted to take a moment to maybe mess with him a bit. "Hmm," you glanced around at the dirty pots and pans, "after we clean up."

Loki’s jaw dropped. "What?"

"We can get on with our date once we clean up."

"You’re kidding me, right?" He pointedly asked. You shook your head. Loki huffed, "When did my wife become such a tease?"

You stood up, collecting your bowls and plates, bringing them to the counter. "I’ve always been like this, honey," you said. "Maybe you just have to get to know me a little bit more."

Loki began stalking towards you as you pretended to be fooling with the dirty dishes. "Well, darling," he said as his hands came upon your hips, "there’s something you must know about me and it’s that I don’t like to be kept waiting."

"I can maybe leave all this for later if you ask nicely."

He scoffed. "Are you asking me to beg?"

You shook your head. "I’m just asking you to ask nicely."

"Fine," he sighed. "Please, can we make out now?"

You sighed, leaning into his hard body. His arms moved to wrap around your waist now. "Yes, your majesty."

Loki chuckled lowly, dangerously, in your ear. "Thank you, princess."

He leaned his head around and within seconds, your lips were captured with his, getting more and more lost in one another as you two become a miss of kisses and touches.

[theblindgoddess]

Heyo, so like, I should be working on that scarian fic I told you guys about, but like, I'm instead going to tell you guys about a new dream smp au I have simmering in the back of my brain. But I don't feel like typing out the whole story for it right now, so like I'm just gonna give you guys the basic bare bones of the au and if you like I'll make a second post with more details I guess.

So this is a generation swap au, so like all the old people are young and all the young people are old. Mostly, some people don't get swapped because it just fit the plot better. I'm gonna give you guys a basic ish run down of all the characters, at the end will be a list of those I don't know what I'm going to with yet and if I don't list a character it's either because they don't have a place in the overall plot of the au or because I forgot about them. Also got some extra context, the server that they live in has been with out an admin for a while. One day years back the man just disappeared without a trace, and as such many different city states were made to have some kind of government and structure in the world.

Tommy

Part of the older generation now, and just in general the weird server hobo. His only friend is Purpled and the man has some serious trust and abandonment issues. The abandonment issues arise partly from the fact that this is also an experiment innit au. Tommy is basically a slightly magic robot with an artificial soul, and the scientists who made him would never fail to remind him that because of that he "isn't real" and that no one would love him. He eventually escapes and goes on to live a life in the real world. In the begining of the story, no one knows he's not human.

Purpled

Is one of the older ones and is Punz's older brother. Hes a mercenary and will do just about anything if paid enough. Tommy pays him very well. Purpled does care about Tommy as a friend and not just a walking wallet, and he tries to mitigate some of Tommy's worse habits, but ultimately takes that stance that it's not his business and if Tommy doesn't want to change them to just leave it alone.

Fundy

Fundy is now the tired parent of three. Man needs a break and is constantly having to clean up the messes his kids make. Sally is also his sister, and a fish goddess. Fundy is very much not a god of any kind and is a fox. No one understands it, least of all him. He is very tired of being one of the only responsible adults around.

Wilbur

Fundy's oldest son and the only biological one. Dont really have much for him yet, but he's there! If you guys have any ideas let me know.

Techno

MIDDLE CHILD TECHNO SUPREMACY LETS GOOOOOO! Fundy was just in the Nether one day when he found a piglin child sitting on the ground talking to himself and said 'guess I'm a father of two now'. When introducing people to Techno, Fundy will always refer to him as 'the only normal one'. Techno, the child with the murderous voices in his head chanting for blood, is Fundy's 'normal' kid.

Philza

Fundy's youngest kid, and no one really knows where he came from. He just kinda appeared in Fundy's house one day, covered in blood not his own, with a sizable number of crows surrounding him, and said 'im your problem now'. Fundy just sighed and went back to bed. These crows that follow Phil around are, obviously, servants to Kristen, the goddess of death. The crows follow Phil around because he is a tiny bit murder happy, and where there is lots of murder, there is lots of death. One day in the begining of the story Philza somehow accidentally finds his way into the realm of death, a place no living being should be able to go, and if they do end up there, they won't be alive for much longer. While their Phil meets Kristen the goddess of death and falls head over heals for her. Also, Phil is at that point in puberty where he is finally able to grow facial hair, and he is very proud of the soup strainer mustache he has.

Charlie

Charlie is a few years older then Tommy. We meet him later on in the story.

Dream

Dream is in the younger generation and has just moved to this server with two of his friends. Dream also has some minor admin powers. He just moved to a server who's admin went missing years ago. As you can tell, this is going to cause some trouble and attract the attention of some not nice people.

George and Sapnap

I know that they will be here and are Dreams friends, but that's about it. If you can give me some ideas please do.

Quackity

He's one of the youngest characters at 14. He was born in the city states of Las Nevadas, one of the most powerful and wealthiest city states. He is currently couch surfing inlue of having a place to stay and an adult to take care of him. Fundy has tried multiple times to convince Quackity to move in with him, because while he is very tired of his children he still understands that children need adult supervision and since no one else is doing it he has to be the responsible one. Quackity refuses every time and tries to avoid Fundy so he doesn't have to deal with that conversation. Quackity insists that he can take care of himself.

Tubbo and Ranboo

Tubbo and Ranboo have been married for many years now. Around the time they got married they removed themselves from civilization and have lived isolated in the snowy mountains since then, along the way adopting their son Michael, who is 10 when the story takes place. Later on in the story they move back to civilization per Fundy and Aimsey's request of help.

Punz

Purpled's younger brother and he becomes good friends with Dream, but that's all I have for him at the moment.

Karl

The Weird Kid™. Everyone is pretty sure that he has parents and a house to go back to every night, but no one knows for certain and every time someone tries to ask him he changes the subject. But one time Fundy was able to get some information on his living situation out of Karl, but when Karl started going on about sheep people Fundy gave up and went back to his own difficult children.

Schlatt

Jack, don't know

Here's the characters I don't know what to do with yet. I'll also list if they are getting swapped or not or if I don't know.

Schlatt is in his late teens and is the nephew of both Puffy and Tubbo. No one knows where his parents are. Schlatt lives with Puffy and generally just goes around causing chaos.

Niki, don't know

Puffy, don't swap

Aimsy, swap

Sam, don't know leaning towards don't swap

Ponk, same as sam

Eret, swap

Foolish, swap

Hanna rose, don't swap

That's it for now.

[saorikuhara39]

Apr 2021 Issue of B'sLOG Obey Me MAKAI TRAVEL Booklet translation ASK THE LOCALS! - Gourmet

Apr 2021 Issue of B'sLOG Obey Me MAKAI TRAVEL Booklet translation

ASK THE LOCALS! - Gourmet (On sale Feb 2021)

We've interviewed about gourmet food in the Devildom straight from the demons' mouth! From trendy cuisine to the taste of family, we asked them to share with us their insights on gourmet food, which they know since they were born and raised in the Devildom.*

(* T/N: I know this is not true; I just translated this part as-is from the magazine article.)

RELATED ARTICLE:  Apr 2021 MAKAI TRAVEL Booklet ASK THE LOCALS! - Attractions

Q. What do you enjoy for breakfast?

BEELZEBUB:

I'm most excited when Satan is on breakfast duty because he's so particular about his choice of ingredients. The pancakes he made the other day were delicious.

SATAN:

Lately Mammon and the others are getting obsessed with Death Devil Sauce, which is a problem. I really hope they stop playing Russian roulette with muffins early in the morning.

LUCIFER:

The standard is a sandwich. If not, many of my choices are all bread related, so I can't leave out the Hell Coffee.

LEVIATHAN:

Freshly baked toast and Melancholy Jam! After all, simple is best, right?

Q. What is the best dish for a party?

BEELZEBUB:

The Whole Roasted Havoc Devil from Hell's Kitchen is a must. Whenever there is a party in Devildom, this is what is usually served.

ASMODEUS:

How can I leave out Madam Screams Ultra Rainbow-Colored cake? It makes the table look gorgeous. ♥

MAMMON:

Ya can't start the party without Demonus! A gold class Demonus is a must, especially for parties.

LEVIATHAN:

Ladies and gentlemen, may I introduce to you Azuki-tan the pancake! Cute! Cuter! Cutest! When it comes to parties, it's Azuki-tan!!

Q.What is the most common dish for a celebration?

BEELZEBUB:

The Shadow Turkey from Ristorante Ninurta is exceptional. The secret seems to be in the seasoning.

LUCIFER:

That would be Headless Dragon Sashimi. It's not common to see this kind of food, but I'll let you try it someday.

BELPHEGOR:

Shadow Chirashi Sushi. The Demonkiller Remora makes an delicious accompaniment to the dish.

MAMMON:

The Bloody Cheesecake at Horror's Horror is seriously good. It's a custom made cake, so I'll order it for ya on your next birthday!

Q. What is the most popular trendy food among young people?

BEELZEBUB:

There's a huge line for the Devil's Cheese Hot Dog sold at a stall on Silence Street. I can' t stand in line because I'll get hungry while waiting.

BELPHEGOR:

Fried Quetzalcoatl Brains sprinkled with salt. For the youngsters, or at least, for me it's a fad.

SATAN:

It's not new, but right now Bufo Egg Milk Tea is all the rage. I think the most recent flavor that came out was the Grudge Chocolate flavor.

ASMODEUS:

Midnight Biscuit from Godevil Chocolatier! It's popular because it looks great on Devilgram. ♥

Q. What is your favorite dish for a packed lunch?

BEELZEBUB:

Deep Fried Shadow Goose Meat that will taste good even when it turns cold.

MAMMON:

I get all pumpin' when Skull Tornado Potatoes are inside!

ASMODEUS:

I'll definitely be making star-shaped Poison Carrots! It's all about the appearance. ♪

LEVIATHAN:

Tamago-yaki (fried eggs). Even in human world anime, the heroine who's not good at cooking gets food burnt and it's so moe!

Q. What do you eat when you are not feeling well?

BEELZEBUB:

Huh? So humans eat different things when they're sick?

LUCIFER:

Demons also eat things that are easy to digest. When Asmo had a fever once, I made him a Risotto with Hellfire Mushrooms.

BELPHEGOR:

Beel can eat anything at any time, but as for me, I prefer something gentle on the stomach, like Vjedogonia Bile Soup.

MAMMON:

I'm lookin' forward to Lucifer's risotto, which he only makes when we have a cold. ......To us younger brothers, ya know!? To us!!

Q. What is "mother's taste" to you?

BEELZEBUB:

I want to keep eating the Simmered Behemoth's Hind Leg that Lucifer makes.

ASMODEUS:

My favorite Babylon Curry is the one Lucifer makes! It makes me think that THIS is the taste to go! ♥

SATAN:

The only way to enjoy a good Super Spicy Newt Pot-au-feu is to have Mammon make it. He puts in just the right amount of spices.

BELPHEGOR:

Don't tell anyone, okay? Scorching Gecko Pasta is probably my favorite with Mammon's seasoning.

*T/N: I love how Beel is there to answer every single question of this segment. It's a segment made for him.

[lady-divine-writes]

Good Omens one-shot - “When God Closes a Door, She Opens a Window, But It's Up to You to Find It” (Rated T)

Summary: Crowley goes through unconventional lengths to escape a bad blind date...

... and ends up finding an angel in an unexpected place. (2770 words)

Notes: This is a re-write of an older story, but I think I like this version better. Human au. Fluffy as heck. CW: If you get squicked out by being covered in food trash, proceed with caution.

Read on AO3.

"Bollocks... bollocks... bollocks... bollocks... " Crowley mutters as she paces back and forth, simmering behind her eyeballs with so much anxiety she's about to tear her hair out by the roots. The only plan she can come up with to solve her current dilemma grows hotly in her mind, but she's searching for something - ANYTHING! - to take its place. 

Maybe something along the lines of acting like an adult, womaning up, and admitting this isn’t going to work? Be upfront about it and say it to the man’s face, for Heaven's sake! 'Go on, Crowley!' she thinks. 'Go ahead! One foot in front of the other. Steady on! You can do this!'

But she’s become so tired of the grind – going to bars, faithfully tending her online dating profile, endless blind dates set up by well-meaning friends, the rejecting and the rejections. She can’t face one more. It physically hurts, knots her stomach muscles until the pain turns her world monochromatic.

Crowley had had high hopes for this one, too. Her date Steven is the new doctor of the boy she nannies. He and Crowley have plenty in common – a love of theater and fine dining, and an appreciation for fashion. Crowley thought dating a pediatrician would be fascinating. After summarizing the pertinent details of her own life, perhaps her date would talk about getting through medical school, toss in a few whimsical stories about the joys (quote/unquote) of working with children - baby’s first shots where the parents cried more than the infant, or the tale of a precocious little girl who demanded he put a Band-Aid on her teddy before he helped her (the way Crowley's young charge had with his first doctor when he was around three). They could swap war stories, bond in that way.

But Steven’s favorite part of his profession is pediatric surgery, and, unfortunately, he loves to talk shop. Every morsel of conversation has been inappropriate for dinner and graphic in nature - appendectomy this and tonsillectomy that, abscesses and pus and untreated sores - until Crowley’s face turned as green as her salad and she couldn’t look at her steak anymore.

Neither could their neighbors, who flagged down a passing waiter and requested a new table. They've been sat near the kitchen, which most diners would loathe, but they look heaps happier.

Crowley excused herself as delicately as she could and raced to the loo, needing to escape any more gruesome talk. 

That was over fifteen minutes ago. 

She’s trapped with no way out.

She pictures the layout of the restaurant in her head. There has to be a back way in and out of this place. All restaurants have an exit through the kitchen, right? But the toilet, the kitchen, and the front door are all in full view of their table. Steven is sure to spot her sneaking out no matter how stealthy she is.

Crowley turns on the cold water and splashes her face, scolding herself to think, think, think! She’s an intelligent woman. She can come up with a way out of this. Could she phone someone to come down to the restaurant and make an excuse for her? Not likely, not on short notice. Her friends Anathema and Newt wouldn't be able to find a sitter - ironic, seeing as Crowley is a nanny, and if the tables were turned, she'd be more than willing to lend a hand.

Could she phone her employers, ask Mrs. Dowling to claim an emergency at home? No. She doesn't want to get them tangled up in her personal woes, especially when they concern a man they think of so highly.

She could look up one of those services that make fake calls to your cell phone to get you out of sticky situations, but that would mean going back out there to make the ruse believable. And from the way her hands lock around the lip of the basin every time she thinks about taking a step outside the door, she knows that isn’t happening.

Crowley looks at herself in the mirror, looks into her eyes, and reminds herself to calm down. Slow her breathing. She’ll find a solution. 

And suddenly, there it is. 

In the reflection of the mirror, she sees what might be her only way out.

A window. 

The only window in there, propped open enough that she’d be able to fit through. 

It’s kind of high, sort of narrow, and definitely a last resort. But what other choice does she have?

Loads, in reality. It just doesn't feel like it.

But does she really have to resort to jumping out a window? She’s already been in there for (she checks her watch and her eyes open wide) twenty-five minutes! And her date hasn’t come to check on her once. Maybe the man got the hint and left (hopefully after paying what should be close to a hundred-pound check). 

Crowley tests her luck, opening the door a sliver, praying silently don’t be there, don’t be there, don’t be there...

But there is no God - not one on her side, anyway - because there sits Dr. Steven Malory, talking to the waiter, telling him about another fascinating surgical procedure. He makes an exaggerated cutting motion across his stomach with a butter knife. The poor waiter, weighed down by a tray of soup bowls, nods politely, but looks like he may vomit in the tureen.

She winces. That poor waiter. Who knows how many times he's been called upon to lend an ear since her absence, or how many more times he'll be forced to endure another gory tale before Dr. Malory realizes she's gone. She peeks over her shoulder at the window, then back to the table, where Steven has his phone out, Googling something to the waiter's dismay. She slowly closes the door and backs away.

Window it is.

Crowley shelves the nagging feeling that she's perpetuating the most pathetic trope in the dating world and starts constructing a platform. There’s not much available – a small stepstool underneath the sink; a short, square, plastic rubbish bin that looks less than steady; another taller rubbish bin, dented along one side, looking like someone else already used it to make a break for freedom; and the toilet and basin, both miles away and completely unmovable.

Crowley does some quick engineering in her head and figures that if she turns the small bin over onto the stepstool, she might gain the height she needs to grab the lip of the window and hoist herself up, which would eliminate using the dented bin. She doesn’t like the odds that she won’t slip, fall, and crack her head open. She’s not so much worried about doing any permanent damage, but of having to explain to her date why she’s lying on the floor, covered in trash, and bleeding profusely.

With her luck, he'll giddily insist on stitching up any gashes, drawing a crowd of bystanders around to watch.

Crowley pushes the stool up against the wall with her foot. She dumps the trash from the small bin into its larger counterpart and sets it on the stool, centering it as best she can to keep it from sliding. With a hand on the wall for support, she puts a foot on the bin and attempts to pull herself up. It wobbles back and forth, then gives one backward lurch that nearly sends Crowley flying. 

She determines quickly that this isn’t going to work the way she had planned and makes a desperate leap for the window, using all her upper body strength to get her halfway through.

Crowley shudders when the cold air hits her skin, shocked by the drop in temperature, but mostly from fear of death. She looks down. 

A huge mistake on her part.

A horribly placed streetlamp keeps her from seeing into the alley, but she’s pretty sure she remembers a dumpster underneath this window. She had parked her Bentley in the lot across the way and saw it on the walk in. She looks out into the rows of cars and spots her vehicle. She sighs with relief. 

Now she’s a little more sure, but still not 100%.

Worst case scenario, she lands in food muck, probably not rotten since it’s still actively dinner, and ruins an expensive designer outfit.

Of course, that’s not actually the worst-case scenario, is it? Worst case scenario, she misses the dumpster altogether, hits the pavement, and breaks her leg, but she’s determined to remain optimistic. At this moment, when her anxiety-ridden brain has her convinced that the only logical route out is through this flippin' window, that’s a chance she’s willing to take.

She swings her right leg over, grateful that she chose slacks over a skirt tonight, till she’s straddling the narrow sill, bent in half by the metal lip of the window frame. She balances there, the dull edge digging into her sternum, her belly, and her crotch, but she can’t make herself jump. 

She’ll need to trick herself into it. 

She forces herself to relax, teeter-tottering back and forth, not dwelling on the possible outcome, just trying to work her way to the right far enough that she knocks herself off-kilter.

Fate lends a hand in the form of a drunken passerby yelling, “Oi! Oi, lookie there! There’s a big bird... human... thing hanging out that window!” 

Crowley panics, afraid she's about to be mistaken for someone breaking into a busy restaurant and not out. She fumbles, flails, starts falling head first, scrambles to get a hold. She hears a distant, “No! No, wait!” as her fingers slip. There are three seconds of cold wind and a sinking feeling in her stomach before she lands on her bum, thankfully in the dumpster, surrounded by the smell of not-too-rank food, the squish of something under her body that she thinks might be mashed cauliflower... 

... and a scream.

“Ouch!”

“Oh my God! I’m sorry!” 

Crowley yelps when her body lifts, something extraordinarily strong underneath pushing her up. She reaches around the slippery mess and wet plastic bags, struggling to pull herself off whoever is in the rubbish under her while trying to ignore the gravy seeping into her slacks, or the rice pilaf embedding itself beneath her freshly glossed fingernails. She knows she's broken two at minimum. 

How much worse could this evening get?

“I’m sorry!” Crowley scrambles to her knees, crawls away a few feet. “I’m so, so sorry!” 

“It’s alright, my dear.” A voice underneath her chuckles, its owner emerging from a layer of poached fish and au gratin potatoes.

Crowley turns in time to catch a glimpse as they move into the light. A woman wearing a vintage-inspired emerald gown covered in Hollandaise sauce and ranch dressing smiles sheepishly at her. The white light overhead gives a halo effect to her silvery-blonde hair, and her blue eyes almost glow.

She's quite breathtaking. 

“I thought I had reserved a private dumpster,” she jokes. “I’ll need to have a word with the maître de."

Crowley stares at her, stunned. “I… I don’t understand. What are you doing in here?”

“I suspect I might be here for the same reason as you,” she says, wiping mayonnaise off her hand before offering it to Crowley. “I’m Aziraphale.”

“Crowley. I’m sorry I landed on you.” She takes Aziraphale’s hand, forgetting to wipe hers off before and smushing creamed spinach between them. Crowley groans in embarrassment, but Aziraphale laughs.

“No worries.” Aziraphale doesn't let go immediately the way Crowley thought she would, her smile becoming brighter the longer she holds on. “It’s the most exciting thing that’s happened all evening.”

“So... I take it you’re running away from a bad date, too, huh?” Crowley asks, regretting when Aziraphale finally lets go.

“I'm afraid so.” Aziraphale glances down with a long sigh. “A friend set me up, but I swear, the only men she knows are unemployed, torpid, and skeevy.”

“Wow. That’s some A-plus word usage right there.”

“Yes, well, the written word is my passion."

“Does that mean you're the one who wrecked the silver rubbish bin?"

“Did I?” Aziraphale looks up at the window and grimaces. “I should probably offer to replace that then, shouldn't I? What about you?” Aziraphale turns her soft blue eyes back Crowley's way. “How bad was your date going?”

“I can now perform an appendectomy with my eyes shut.”

“Yikes. I take it that’s not a turn-on for you?”

“Not in the slightest. I appreciate medicine as much as the next gal, but I’d rather not know the gritty details." Crowley stares at Aziraphale until Aziraphale notices, then the two look away, blushing like giggly teenagers flirting in a coffee shop instead of two adults stuck in the trash. Crowley can't help herself. Regardless of the stench of curdled butter and cheese that will probably be with her for life, Aziraphale is a calming presence. And she looks like an angel. An honest-to-God angel! 

And Crowley found her in the trash. 

What are the odds?

“You know, we might want to get out of here before anyone else drops in,” Aziraphale suggests, rising to her feet and lending Crowley a hand.

“Yeah,” Crowley agrees. "Guess that's my night over. Though... " She looks down at her blouse and trousers, positively caked with sweet potatoes, chicken grease, tomato sauce, and chutney "... I’m not looking forward to driving home like this.”

"How far do you have to go?"

"I'm in Mayfair."

"Oh!" Aziraphale gasps. "Isn't that a lovely part of town?"

"I enjoy it," Crowley replies, never having felt quite so proud to live in Mayfair as she does in this moment. "And you?"

"I have a shop in SoHo."

"Lucky. You're just a hop, skip, and a jump, aren't you?"

"Yes, I am... " Aziraphale chews the inside of her cheek as her words hang, balanced in the air between stopping a thought or continuing it. “I hope you don’t think I’m being too forward, but if you come back to my shop, I have a shower. We could clean up there... " Aziraphale sputters when Crowley's eyebrow arcs sharply upward. "S-separately, of course! A-and order in some pie. I know a great spot nearby. I dare say they have the best pie in the world! And they deliver.”

“I don’t have a change of clothes,” Crowley says, wary of taking Aziraphale up on her invitation. Garbage notwithstanding, meeting her has definitely been an improvement to the way things were going. 

"I might have something that would work for you." Aziraphale sizes Crowley up, but not in a creepy way. In a surprisingly nurturing way. "It would be nice to salvage the evening, don't you think?"

"It would." But one disastrous date is plenty for the night. Should Crowley jump straight to another with a woman she met in a dumpster? Then again, it would be wrong for her to assume that spending time with Aziraphale would be disastrous. Plus the story of how they met is way too fantastic to waste on self-doubt.

Crowley took a chance on jumping out a window with only hope to guide her. She’d be stupid not to take a chance on this.

“Sure,” Crowley says, confident with her decision. “Your car or mine?” The words slip out before she considers the fact that she's talking about her baby. A vintage car that she, due to an extreme case of sheer luck, has been the sole owner of. She won't even wear muddy shoes in her car. Or rayon! On top of her own ruined outfit, which will need to be dry cleaned twice and then set on fire, if she lets Aziraphale in her car, she'll have two sloppy, food-stained seats that she’ll need to have scoured. 

Maybe Aziraphale will laugh her off and offer to take her own car. Why would she want to leave it behind, anyway?

“Oh, I didn't drive,” Aziraphale says, looking down sadly at her own destroyed dress. “I took the bus.”

Crowley's heart clenches. There's that decision made. There's no way she's going to suggest Aziraphale take the bus while Crowley drives her car. She just prays that, with time, her baby will forgive her.

“My car it is then.” Crowley loops her arm covered in soup through Aziraphale’s arm covered in whipped cream and leads the way. Aziraphale smiles, holds Crowley's arm a wee bit tighter, and Crowley becomes certain this new development will be worth the money she'll spend detailing her car in the morning.

[eijie-cavies]

Wen Kexing, Scorpion King and Gu-Xiang raised together in ghost valley.

This lovely user had produced a VERY interesting Au that I couldn't help myself but make a lil drabble/one shot on it. @naniya27 I hope you like it! I had fun playing around with Xi'er hahahah. (one shot under the cut)

Zhou Zishu didn't know if he should gape in surprise or tilt his head in confusion at the sight of Wen Kexing and a VERY familiar man clad in black conversing by their table. He had only stood up to order himself some more wine and all of the sudden there was an assassin sitting beside Wen Kexing, more so, this assassin wasn't even trying to kill him.

"Where have you been? I've been looking all over for you-" The man whined.

"I told you I will be "around" little brat, didn't A-Xiang inform you of my whereabouts?" Wen Kexing retorted, his carefree smile widened as he tilted his head back to drink his beverage as if this assassin was not in the least bit dangerous.  "Da-ge, you know I would be busy, did you purposely send me away to have your little adventures?" The man pouted, POUTED, as though he was a little brother feigning hurt just to gain favor from his older brother.

'Have I missed something here?' Zhou Zishu internally blanched, approaching their table slowly.

When the man's eyes landed on to him all the traces of playfulness disappeared and a hard mask was set in place. The man straightened in his seat like a proper gentleman with his eyes cold and observant. Zhou Zishu internally shivered, The man looked every bit like he was once did back when he was still serving the prince.

"Ah! A-Xu, come come, you took too long" Wen Kexing whined pettily which gained a slightly shocked but nonetheless passive expression from his companion. "I was gone for 5 minutes Lao Wen-"

"Five minutes too long, a-xu don't deprived me of your beauty" His soulmate winked.

The scandalized look on the scorpion's face ALMOST made Zhou Zishu want to play along with his fan man's antics, but his mind was still too muddled to comprehend just WHY this man was even here.

"Lao Wen, i don't think you need me here if you got a companion?" Zhou Zishu challenged, the man's eyebrows twitched. Either from annoyance or anger he didn't know. "Ah, my bad, A-Xu this is Xie Wang, Xi-er say hello to my beautiful A-Xu" Again, Wen Kexing had that silly sparkling look in his eyes that quiet frankly Zishu decided he would never tire from. "Wen Gongzi, I was not aware you harbored stowaways in your journey" Zishu wanted to snort at that. as if he had not seen the way this "Xi-er" acted while he was not there.

"I know who he is Lao Wen, did not know the Ghost valley is familiar with the Scorpion" Zhou Zishu tilted his head, sitting down across from Wen Kexing. Xi-er looked ready to retort a smartass reply, probably something Wen Kexing had taught himself when the older man beat him to it.

"Ayiah, the ghost valley and Scorpions had always been allies A-Xu, is it not a common knowledge?" he asked.

Zishu only shrugged his shoulder. being an ex-assassin he could always read people based on their body language, and though the man in front of him was of similar occupation, Zishu could not help but chuckle at the way Xi-er's knee slowly moved to touch Wen Kexing's in a protective manner ,or how his jaw flexed slightly indicating that he was grinding his teeth behind his mouth, the piercing eyes never left him for a moment as if anticipating Zishu's attack at anytime. truth be told he looked about ready to drive Zishu away himself.

"Ah that reminds me, I seemed to have forgotten to buy some herbs too take back to the manor, eh A-xu i'll be back in a bit" He smiled warmly before standing up to leave. Zishu knows it's bullshit, Lao Wen would never run off to "buy" something not unless he asked for money first, so Zishu figured that this was his chance to get to know this person, whatever Lao Wen had in mind anyway.

"So...Leader Zhou, we meet again" Xi-'er smiled politely, though the ex assassin knew that that was FAR from a friendly one, more like a challenge. "Yes, after you abducted Chengling" he fired back, smile as taxing. Xie'er ,in a moment of weakness, groaned "Please, don't remind me, i already got an earful from Da'ge about that, I don't want to hear the same from you"

Zishu raised his eyebrow in surprise and confusion, okay so he was not hallucinating then. this scorpion DID call Lao Wen "Da ge"

"Pardon?" said Zishu.

"How was I supposed to know that Zhang boy was your ward and you were with Da ge anyway? he hadn't contacted me ever since he got out of the valley" he pouted...again. "Besides, I already said sorry to him" he reasoned again. Zishu smirked at that "So you said sorry to him and not me or Chengling?"

"Hell no, I don't even know you. and why are you even sticking to Da'ge anyway? this wasn't even in his plan" Xie'er rolled his eyes so far back he was sure it would pop out. The ex- assassin only laughed at that. No, Lao Wen did NOT anticipate their meeting nor did Zishu himself, but he'd be damned if he was the one sticking to Wen Kexing. that fan wielding man was the one who clung to him in the first place.

Just before he could retort Chengling arrived just in time to See Xi-er slightly leaned forward at the table as if he was about to attack Zishu. "Chengling" the swordsman started, but Chengling was fast to run to his side and position himself just behind Zhou Zishu. Xie'er was not pleased. "Little idiot, I thought you went off to buy more supplies for-"

"I was! but Shishu told me to come back here and that he would handle it himself"

'Lao Wen I swear to-'

"Shishu? hah, who are you calling shishu? my Da'ge would never let anyone call him that" Zi'er

"Your Da'ge, definetly did" Zishu almost could not contain his laugh at the scorpion King's scandalized and shocked expression. "This is ridiculous" the scorpion King stood up with al the gracehe could muster in anger "I'm going to find him and set this right" he harrumped, swishing his robes as he disappeared out the tavern.

Chengling, who was still slightly cowering behind him stuttered. "Sh-Shifu, wasn't tha-"

"Yes, don't worry i'll talk to your Shishu about this, come on. Let's go and finish getting those herbs before we go home"

____________________________________________________

"Lao Wen"

"Hmmn?" Wen Kexing hummed, stirring a pot of hot steamed vegetables with chicken soup simmering by the side. "Xie'er was...something" at the mention of his brother Kexing stopped for a second before continuing his minstrations. as if reading Zishu's mind on wanting a clearer explanation, Wen Kexing caved "I found him when I was still in ghost valley. he was one of the children who had been abducted and brought to us" the taller man swallowed hard, clearly struggling, though his face showed little emotion.

"He almost died, luckily I got to him in time and managed to save him, hiding him away was the hardest part. it took a while before he trusted me but once he did I found that I could not turn him away"

Zhou Zishu sighed, with a burst of bravery he walked over to his Zhiji and wrapped his hands around his waist, his head came to rest on Lao Wen's shoulder. "He lived with me for several years,and then Gu-xiang appeared. We barely managed to save her but when Xie'er promised ties with the Scorpion to the former Ghost valley chief he let her go, when I became chief I finally let him go back to his home where he can see his parents again" Wen Kexing stopped, longer this time. His hand shook as he removed the pots from the fire to prevent them from burning, he turned to Zhou Zishu, eyes full of guilt and sorrow.

"But...it was too late, his parents had been killed and with no one to take the title Xi'er had to assume the role and had to band together the scorpions that we know today. He was only 17 that time A-Xu, it took years before he could properly  get a hold of the others and most of the time I wasn't even there to help him. I still had Gu-Xiang to raise and it wasn't time for me to emerge from the valley. He had to come to me multiple times-"

Wen Kexing faltered. Zishu figure that was enough, he didn't think Lao Wen would actually tell him that much. The shorter man steadily turned his soulmate to face him, his eyes soft and understanding as he slowly leaned in, just enough to let Lao Wen back out if he so wanted. but the other man stayed in place. He finally rest his forehead against Lao Wen's. in an instant, his partner loosened up, hand began to encircle around his waist as Zishu moved closer, feeling their noses touch.

"Lao Wen, you did great"

At that high praise and implication, Wen Kexing could not help but to shed tears of relief and gratefulness. Zishu understood, Zishu accepted. and most of all Zhou Zishu stayed.

Bonus: Timeline.

Wen Kexing was around 7 or 8 when he was brought in to Ghost valley. so let's say he was 7.

Xie'er came to ghost valley when he was 8 years old making Wen Kexing 15.

Gu-xiang came to valley when she was 7 making Wen Kexing 18 and Xi'er 11.

Wen Kexing was 20 when he took over, Xie'er now 17 years old and given free reign over the scorpions and Gu xiang 9.

Finally current drama:

Wen Kexing - 28

Xie Wang- 21

Gu-Xiang - 17

(These aren't the real ages btw XD just estmation. i had big brain moment trying to sort out the timeline hahaha)

[widowsofchaos]

98,101,66 please. 👉👈

❝Kindred Spirits

98. “Can you just…hold me? Just for tonight.”

101. “(Name), please…you’re scaring me.”

66. “It doesn’t matter what I want.”

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x black!reader

soulmate au // requested from this prompt list

A/N: angst and smut, what else is new? After this one, there would be a mix bag of light and dark fics of the 200 ways to say masterlist will be filled with dark fics, for dark fics is why I created this blog in the first place. I’m just trying to get my lighter ones out first. Requested from this prompt.

Oof anon, you one angsty bitch, aren’t you?

Do Not Repost My Works!

It’s okay, I’m here for you.

That’s how it started. Sweet whispers, warm on his clammy skin -- a balm rash. On his flesh forearm, words of adoration carving, itching, and burning -- kismet.

A moment’s breath of happiness reared its head a 180, unveiling a twisted putrid beast; foaming at the fangs shouting “You don’t deserve her.”

Legend has been told for generations that if you reject your destined soulmate, physical illness overwhelms the body. An heart-wrenching pain injects itself into the soul — as if death itself manifests within you.

Those sadden eyes when Bucky shifted away from you that night made him want to bite down on his fist, and scream till his throat went raw. You slightly flinched when he curled in himself, snagging his flesh arm away from you.

It was another restless night for Bucky, waking up screaming bloody murder from an intense nightmare -- images of Hydra murdering you sent him into a spiraling panic attack.

Shouts of your name laced in despair echoed throughout the floor, fists clenching the bed sheets. Knuckles ghosted white, nearly ripping the fabric at the stitched seams. Hot tears stream down his red cheeks like waterfalls. Like a guardian angel, you flew to his aid.

Trembling hands seek a tender soul -- a better soul. Aching bones, and aching heart grasping for your touch, despite the gnawing guilt of how undeserving he felt of your presence.

To breathe the same air as you, there’s nothing tender in his jagged edges, or in his filthy hands. Bitter clouds brew and storm above him -- not fit to feel your pure flesh.

The light in your eyes, the feathery pads of your fingers soothing him -- it reminds him of his mother. Lately, he’s been missing her even more these days; the more deeper he wallows within him, serene memories of himself being dumb and fourteen.

The sly slip of ale on the tip of his tongue, fumbling apologies, she just shushed him, and tucked him into bed. Told him he was a good boy, and that he could never do anything bad. Taught him how to be tough, and yet connected with his sensitivity -- how to be a man.

He clung onto his mother’s sweet words, wise advice -- even a century later.

“Did I do something wrong?” Those words burned in his brain, how your chin wobbles a bit. Shifting on his side, his back facing you, he mumbled, “No. Just leave.” Bucky bit back a sob, his bottom lip trapped between his teeth. His face contorting in a pitiful display.

A hiss escaped through his teeth, “Bucky, what’s wrong?” You whimpered. That tug -- all too familiar in your heart to scoop him up, and tend to his wounds. On instinct, you hugged him, your chest squeezed onto the muscular planes of his slick back.

Shivers crawled through the crevices of his spine at the feel of your skin.

Bucky wiggled in your grasp, the heat of your engraved words began throbbing as Bucky refused to accept the tie between you two.

Bucky slithered out of your hands as if it pained him to be near you. Tears brimmed at your eyes -- never once -- has he ever refused a hug from you.

The closest of the Avengers; Bucky was timid in your presence. You didn’t force yourself in his bubble, a comfortable distance. Friendly approach of kind greetings, inviting him to movie nights of just you two or suggesting reading material to him.

Helping Bucky adjust to modern culture through advanced technology. Spoiling him with your cooking -- no longer does tube-fed mush, or boiled food lingers on his palate.

It was easy to trust you, it was -- second nature to ingrain yourselves in each other’s bubbles.

Eventually -- Bucky sought out your company, and kind words. Old language of affection -- fluttering lashes, and tiny grazes of her knuckles. Soft hugs at night, his ear laid against your beating heart to tame his late-night terrors.

Now a year later, finally the acknowledgement of deeper layers of love that were sunk in each other now surfaces from the soul to the skin -- a permanent tattoo.

“Bucky, what’s wrong with your arm?” You asked, terrified that he might be in unbearable pain, your strong hands grab his forearm. Tumbling to see what’s eating at him, Bucky jolted with a pained yelp, eyes shut; tears now soaking his face, clutching his arm.

A burning rash simmers on your chest, like a hot blade. A hidden promise prickling above your heart.

A quick graze of your fingers against his skin, sore skin incised. The carving sent electric zaps, the tug in your chest pulling harder and harder; breathless.

You gasped, “Bucky, let me see.” Your words hushed, uncertain.

Hopeful, if it’s finally time. The universe has connected you two together. It’s meant to be.

“No.” Stern, and hardened. “Now leave.” Watery eyes cloud his vision, the taste of anger lingers on his tongue -- rage at himself. His chest cavity felt as if it shattered, “Don’t do this.” You pleaded, it felt as if God himself stabbed your soul.

“Don’t push me away. Not after this.” Your voice trailed into silence, and a sniffle; wiping your wet nose with the back of your hand. “Please, show me your arm.” You begged again.

Fresh tears trail down your cheeks, Bucky remained silent -- the only cadence was his heavy breathing, curling into a fetal position at near the edge of the bed. “Bucky, please don’t do this. Don’t you know what this means? Don’t deny your -- our fate.”

A beat of silence, Bucky refusing to meet your eyes. Your weak fists pounded on Bucky’s back. A few seconds past, even at the brink of offense, and rejection bubbling, you just couldn't bear to physically hurt him. You love that steel-eyed bastard too much.

“Is this what you want?! To end this?!” You shrill, hiding your face against his bicep, softly weeping on his arm, but with every contact -- the words itched even more. Eventually, you stopped, slumping on his body, full bodily sobbing; Bucky kept his metal hand on his arm.

Dying, and yearning to cradle you as droplets flood his eyes, nose scrunching. Losing you will surely kill him.

His words, void of any emotion, “It doesn’t matter what I want.”

-

Gingerly, his teeth sinking into his lip, gripping onto the metal tray in both his hands. On the tray, was a bowl of tomato soup, crackers, and a bottle of water. It’s been three days since Bucky sent you away, rejecting you -- despite the universe’s revelation.

Standing at your door, sighing as he peers at Bucky’s door -- shut closed away. Steve dropped off a platter of food, but he doubts Bucky even acknowledged it. Three days, fearing that it would tip into a week of radio silence, and festering ill in your own respective rooms.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., can you please open Y/n’s door?”

“Of course, Captain Rogers.”

The lock clicked, a faint groan can be heard. A humorless laugh exhaled through his nose, maneuvering the tray on his hand, the other twisting the handle. Steve entered the room, the stuffy atmosphere almost made him cough.

The blinds and windows were shut -- pitch black darkness shrouding, causing Steve to nearly squint. The lightning emitting from the hallway, revealing the thrashed living space.

Furniture throttled across the room, the sofa up-turned, the glass table nearly shattered; no doubt, your fist colliding against the coffee table, visible blood splatter are still drying on the cracks. Steve shakes his head, sighing.

Strolling quietly towards your bedroom, Steve’s chest tightens at the sight of you crumbling into a ball, surrounded by wrinkled sheets.

“Please, Steve … I’m tired.” You mumbled, too exhausted, too sick to open your eyes -- too lethargic to send a glare in Steve’s direction.

“This needs to end.” Steve murmured under his breath, hesitant to ask the question that it is just edging at the tip of his tongue, but how else is he going to address the rabid elephant in the room?

“Have you talked to Bucky?” Steve whispered, his words dying into silence. Brows pinched sorrowfully, hurt that not only is he witnessing the deterioration of a close friendship -- the only person Bucky fully heatedly trusts besides Steve -- along with the distress in not only you, but Bucky as well.

“No -- he doesn’t want me. So why should I?” You weakly snarled, but it was a pitiful attempt to mask your heart-ache, and yearning for him.

Barely glancing at Steve, as you sat solemnly on the edge of your bed; staring out at the window. Limbs aching deeply, muscles tensing as you clung onto the blanket. Slowly, your body is going to give out.

“This can’t keep going on. You’re getting sick and so is he.” Steve walked to the dresser, placing the tray down.

“And who’s fault is that?” You choked back a sob,

“I’ve been sick my whole life. Sick and fucking tired. All my years, everyone rejected me. My parents, being bullied as a kid -- and now the very soul that the universe connected me with doesn’t even fucking want me! My existence is a fucking joke.” Your arms failing, sloppily crawling under your bed sheets to hide away once again, and pray to finally die.

“You’re not a joke. We all were born for a reason, and destined for the right one.” Steve sat beside your sniffling form, balled into an infant position. His palm cups your shoulder, rubbing it through the stitched cloth.

Pity swells in his cavity. “Oh Stevie --”, you sighed. What a romantic he was, still the old soul of the hopeful bird-boned boy under the shield of a praised golden god; ever so the gentleman clinging onto fantasies of true love.

“--Bless your heart. With your sweet soul, I hope you find the one meant for you.” You croaked, a bit hesitant at first, mixture of regret -- Steve stills hold onto the mourning of Peggy.

Muffled in the back of his mind, insistent that she was the one; but never got the chance to find out if his skin would be graced with her serene words.

Steve silently clung onto your hand through the blanket, squeezing a bit tightly. Grounding himself so he won’t slip into the painful nostalgic haze once again.

“You both need to address this. I’m worried about yours and Bucky’s health. I’m scared.” Steve whimpered, shell-shocked to hear him crumble -- you peer over the blanket.

Steve’s face is pinched, pruning into a pitiful kicked puppy, his chin leaning against his chest -- eyes shut, failing to prevent tears from falling.

Caving in you crawl out of the sheets, hugging onto his muscular back -- a picture worthy of a laugh, how much you resemble a koala bear clinging onto a teddy bear.

“Please -- just talk. Please.” Steve’s stuttering over water-logged words, sniffling as his eyes leveled with yours; never once have you thought ever in your life-time that you would see the mighty Captain America shrivel into a shaking boy.

Petrified that Steve can lose two great friends -- due to years deep of insecurities, and lack of communication.

“Okay --” Defeated, you sink your chin on his shoulder, “--I’ll talk to him.”

Your knuckles grazed his cheek, “Don’t cry, Stevie.” Wiping his fallen tears gently, Steve twisted his body to engulf you in his arms.

Steve’s rubs your back soothingly, “Now, please eat.” You huffed a chuckle, you mumbled a low sweet okay.

- Guts churning, as if the devil himself was playing jump-rope with your intestines. Nausea bile rising at the back of your esophagus.

Why will I say to him? What if he turns me away again?

The possibility of once more rejection will kill you. Trapping your lip between the cages of your teeth, the hesitant fist hovering over the door finally rains down.

Unanswered knocks engulfed in silence rings in your ears. It’s well past midnight, the entire compound is fast asleep, but you know Bucky -- like the back of your hand. Insomnia is a tricky bastard that haunts Bucky, you sighed.

Thankfully, Steve permitted you access in FRIDAY’s system to unlock his door despite Bucky’s request to remain locked in.

Timid steps waltz inside, the air thick, and stuffy -- like your room, barren, and shut out from the outside world. Hovering fingers mindlessly fiddle in the air, trying to grasp any solid surface; cautious from bumping, and falling.

Gliding open-palms against the wall pavements, walking in the correct direction in darkness due to muscle memory; your chest heaving slightly from unbridled anxiety.

Shaky fingers clutch the knob, twisting it carefully -- although, you have a hunch, Bucky is aware of your presence.

“I thought I told you to stay away.” A hoarse, harsh disembodied voice looms from the beyond the door, simmering rage now rises in fiery flames at the pit of your stomach. You push the hinges of the door wide open, your eyes swirl from soft brown to carmine fury.

Sitting at the edge of the bed, chestnut tresses cling against his cheeks -- tear soaked strands sticky against his stubble cheeks.

Hunched over, eyes stuck on the carpeting -- as if the blue rug was so damn fucking interesting. He doesn’t have the nerve to look you in the eyes -- how could he?

“Look at me.” You demanded, tone hardened; despite your congestive throat. “I said fucking look at me.” You stomped your foot on the floor, emphasizing your hurt.

Watery blues peek through brown strands, wincing at your nose flaring, fists coiled, “Stay away?!” You shouted.

Bucky grimaced, shutting his eyes, his face pruning -- resembling a pitiful baby. “Stay away? Like I don’t mean anything to you! Like I’m trash?!��� Your voice cracked, tears pooling in your eyes.

“I’m not like everybody else -- it’s you and me. I -- I don’t understand -- these past days, I’ve been having these dreams -- whenever I do get some sleep!” Your eyes zero on him, daggers into his soul; your arms flailing.

Your heart is beating wildly against your chest, tight fists weakly beating onto your cavity. Twirling like an unhinged rag-doll, Bucky crying slightly, his body shaking a bit, from small tremors of sobs.

“Y/n, please … you’re scaring me.” Bucky scared you’re going to hurt yourself, itching to cease your hands hitting yourself. Fingers clinging onto the sewed fabric, “Dreams of you --” breathless, eyes hazy. Bucky gasped a bit, dreams of him?

You quietened down, glaring at him, “I’ve never got to show you.”

You quickly unbutton your blouse, frustrated fingers fumbling over the stitched buttons, “Y/n, what are you doing?” A pained whimper laced with curiosity, Bucky’s hands reached out to halt you. “No!” You shouted -- a watery bite -- he flinched.

Gripping the flap of your shirt, you tugged it down -- a soft gasp left Bucky, harshly swallowing back a sob. Imprinted above your heart is his own words, “I won’t let anyone hurt you, doll.” Cerulean lettering gleaming against scarred sepia.

You scoffed, then a sniffle, “Funny, when it’s you who ended up hurting me, instead.” Irkingly you released your snag, hugging your torso with your arms, a weak attempt to distance yourself -- succumb into your shell.

‘I won’t let anyone hurt you, doll.’ Those words weigh so heavily, creamy bronze snicked on brown skin back three months past.

It was a mission gone hay-wire, five Hydra agents bombarding you -- Bucky heard your screams in his comms; screams that would haunt him forever.

As a speeding bullet, Bucky ran like a mad-man for you -- slaughtering agents, snarling as his knife punctured clean through the necks; gliding his blades slicing down the spines. No mercy. If you ever get hurt, it would be the end of him.

Drenched in blood, ichor coating his strands -- sticking against his maw, and neck. Sitting on the floor, crazed eyes, black cat-suit shines with splotches of red, curls now limp with plasma, plump brown cheeks now covered in a blood mask.

Big doe eyes beam underneath coated heavy droplets -- Bucky sweet strawberry kiss upon your hairline, his lips printing against the red sheen-- his blood-splattered angel.

“I won’t let anyone hurt you, doll.” Forehead pinned against forehead, Bucky’s palm gripping the nape of your neck. Passive eyes with a small smile masking a burning hot-white sensation right above your heart plate.

“I’m sorry.” Bucky mumbled under his breath, tiny droplets of tears falling down his bearded cheeks. “You deserve the world.” His chin fell to his chest, little sobs huffing.

“You need someone who isn’t broken.” Bucky cried, sniveling — staring at his trembling hands in his lap.

“Not someone who’s going to wake up screaming in the middle of the night from fucking night terrors!” His hands harshly gripping his sweatpants.

“Who’s clingy, and needy cause doll –” Bucky lifted his wet gaze to you, “I miss you when you leave to the next room. I need you all the time.” He croaked. You cautiously stepped to him, cupping his puffy face.

Bucky instinctively leaned into your touch, tranquility washing over him. A calm sigh slipped from him, “Bucky, I need you. I’ve always needed you.”

Bucky’s eyes opened, “I’ve needed you before I was born.” You bent forward, the tip of your nose flick against his, he solemnly chuckled.

His timid smile fell just a tad bit, “For so many years, I thought the universe was playing a cruel joke on me. For decades I saw you in my dreams – I thought maybe it was a hallucination.” Bucky’s released the bundled fabric, his hands finding its home on your body. Bucky pulled you to his lap, grasping onto your thighs like a life-line.

“I thought you were a figment of my imagination—it gave me peace knowing that you didn’t leave me even when I was getting my brains fried.” You choked back a sob, kissing his forehead. A lingering kiss; you lips were so soft— soft soft soft— like a feather grazing him.

“You see, I was always there with you.”  You mumbled against his hairline, nimble kisses in your wake.

Littering kisses on his tear-soaked face: on his fluttering eye-lids, between his brows, the creases on the edge of his eyes, and his chin.

Bucky reciprocated, emotional sloppy kisses. Limbs entangled like a pretzel. On your temples, a trail of pecks on the slope of your nose, your eye-lids, and your chin too. A little nibble like a sappy puppy.

“For decades, I’ve dreamt of you. Didn’t know if you were real or not — soulmates are destined, right? Everything happens for a reason.” You tearfully nodded at his words.

“If I have to go through years of brain-washing to be with you again, I would do it in a heartbeat.” You cried, furiously smashing your lips on his, cupping his cheeks in your hands.

“I love you in a place, where there is no space or time.” At that moment, you felt like your heart would stop at Bucky’s words, glassy eyes meet each other.

Foreheads connect, Bucky’s hands slowly graze your smooth skin, glossy oceanic hues never waver from yours, his calloused fingers slither underneath your shirt, rubbing circles at the nape of your back.

Keening leisure desperate touches, your fingers intertwining, and soft tugs of his tresses. Lips hairs-away from each other, a bit hesitant at first, hitched breaths fanning; a quick flick of your upper lip against his.

“Can you just ...hold me? Just for tonight.” Bucky asked, his voice on the cusp of shy, still paranoia hovers in his mind that you may be gone tomorrow.

“I want to hold you every night.” You mewl, a feather-light kiss. Open palms travel the muscular planes of blood, bone, and metal -- nails lightly scrape his skin. Bucky’s lips smashes against yours.

Decades ago -- what feels like a distant lifetime ago -- dim mere of his own past, Bucky would’ve cupped your face in the warm curve of his hands; once soft, now calloused with bitter memories.

He would press his lips to yours, tenderly. Like a poem, simple but yet passionate.

Taste of smeared lipstick, sticky like honey, and faint mint -- now, it’s fumbling. Sloppy, desperate. But it’s all the same; he’s no longer the fresh baby-face of his past. Eyes sparkle with wonder, he’s older -- wise beyond his years.

Years of hurtful baggage weighs on his heart, but -- you. You remind him how to feel alive again, he feels like the care-free pubescent misfit he once was running around Brooklyn, saving Stevie from another fight, and chasing skirts, being a heartbreaker.

But the only skirt he wants to chase is yours only; and keep your heart in his safe grasp.

His heart unfettered, you came to him bare -- as if you peeled your skin inch by inch, no secrets barricading your love.

Soaking in your essence, unfiltered groans against molding mouths -- coveting pink lips slip from your swollen lips to your jaw to your weak-spot; you squeal as Bucky suckles on your pulse-point.

Marking what is his -- the gift that the universe personally bestowed for him, and him only. From an outside party, you’re younger than him, but not in flesh and not in soul.

A vision that followed him everywhere in his mind, even in the darkest years, you were the light.

Kindred spirits before birth.

Bucky grunts, his palm tenderly clutches the nape of your neck -- steadying your shakiness, eyes blissfully closed as he devoured you.

“I love you. God -- I love you.” Mumbling against your flushed skin, his warm tongue licks against his love-bites, parted lips fanning tantalizing pants.

Your eyelids fluttered, pupils rolling in the back of your skull, “I love you too.” A declaration, the truth. Spidery brown fingers rubbing against his scalp, he gasps, it’s a cooling sensation soothing his senses.

“Make love to me.” You coo, you relish the way Bucky squirms underneath you.

Desperate, inpatient -- Bucky grabs your waist, lifts you off his lap momentarily. Seated with Bucky nestled between your legs, thick tone thighs ripple a bit underneath your soft plush.

Choppy pants exuding from both of you, Bucky tugs the hem of your shirt upward -- braless, breasts heave free, ready to be explored with his mouth.

His teeth caging your nipple, nibbling, and pulling -- you hiss, ensnaring Bucky’s head in your arms. Cradling his dome against your chest, as he suckled upon your breasts.

Muffled groans, and moans -- grinding your clothed pussy against his bulging crotch. Leisure thrusts, dry-humping -- your lavender panties turning into a wet silky grape.

“I need to feel you.” You mumble lowly, a whining lover. Bucky’s hands glide down the slope of your spine, sweetly rubbing the nape of your back to then cupping your soft globes.

Squeezing, molding into his palms, you lean into his neck, and lick a long stride. He mewls, his fingers sneak beneath the hem of your panties, calloused against smooth flesh.

Sneaky fingers travel between your cheeks, as if it’s muscle memory, toying with your gaping asshole to your clenching cunt. A raw groan vibrates in your throat, “Bucky --”  He shushes you, lips trailing your jaw. “You’re so fucking wet.” Back and forth glides in your velvet folds, to your supple cheeks.

“Nhhh -- uh--” Stunned stuttering, your entire body vibrating in shivers as the cooling metal infiltrates your blazing heat. “Hmm … needs a little bit more.” Bucky removed his fingers ever so slowly, a quick spat on his fingers; diving right back in.

His thumb plunging and curving inside your glistening ass, and his two fingers pistoning in your moist pussy.

“I need you dripping … so I can slide nice and deep.” Like a feline, you mewl and your back arches in his grasp, manhandling you by the clutch of your holes.

Untying his sweatpants strings, in a frenzy as your ass jiggles in his unrelenting metal appendage. With his flesh hand, with ease and precision, Bucky snaps your underwear off.

Your thighs shake as if an earthquake was erupting within your body. Harsh tugs at his pants -- God, you can tap-dance if you could -- he goes commando. Slapping against his abs, his cock swollen -- gleeful fingers wrap around his cock like a vice. Tight, and ruthless.

“Fuck doll --” Bucky’s voice is cracked, he growls lowly, “Don’t stop. Never fucking stop.” Swiveling fist from the base to the tip, twirling around his tip -- Bucky’s swallows thickly, “You fucking minx.”

It’s all too much yet liberating. Cheekily you twirl the tip of his cock against your throbbing clit, you shudder against his lips, “You’re mine.” You spoke in a hush, maneuvering his dick upward, skidding against your humming labia.

Bucky releases your holes, “Enough! I need you.” Bruising grip on your waist, lifting you upward, hovering over his dick, and swift fall of grace -- you scream, so thick, so full.

“Shit, you’re so big. So damn big.” Eyes shut close, “Wait Bucky --” A frail hand lays flat on his abdomen, “Wait nothing!” A guttural noise leaves his throat, like a beast. And fucks you like one.

Your head leaning backwards, curls bouncing and yourself jolting up and down in his hold as he snaps his hips against. A menace.

Time ceases to exist, gravity crushing, bones aching yet it’s a pleasure burn -- no longer pains of despair, but delicious pain as Bucky thrusts in you.

He’s selfish -- and with every right, his heart thumping against his cavity, he thinks it would stop. Can you hear it? How it beats like a hummingbird for you?

Fast, and snarling, “No -- no -- no.” Latching on your jaw with his thick fingers, “Look at us.” Aiding your head downward, you groaned at the sight of his cock hurtling like a mad man. How perfectly you clench him -- a perfect fit.

“So perfect, like a warm wet hug.” A hoist of his hips off the bed, a curve of his dick, you shriek, “Ah -- there it is. The sweet spot.” Your fingernails create craters in his bicep, and scrape against metal.

Squelching skin on skin pounds in your ears, abrupt jerk down on him, balls deep -- it was brutal. Swirling his hips, along with you following his teasing motions, muffled sticky cadence of your juices coating him.

Slow fall, asterning with your hands on his knees. Skull hanging, raspy small fucks, and yes Bucky leave your lips.

With the support of his hand on your back, short but hard thrusts, and his flesh hand slapping your tits. Bent forward, Bucky sucks on your breast, his hair tickling your bare breasts -- the one with his imprintment. Gawking at it as he sucks, it brings tears to his eyes.

“I’m --- uggnh -- I’m gonna cum.” A broken whisper, Bucky pulls back to him, nearly his bare back colliding to the bed, “Do it, doll. Soak me. Cum with me.” Possessively, you wanna coat his flushed pink skin with your cum, have your scent on him -- like an omega for her Alpha.

It’s divine will. A burst of an eruption of the milky way in his eyes. Unwavering brown meets cosmic blue. Space dust clouding your visions, satellites whirling -- Bucky and yourself nourishing your needs’; crawling in each other's fibers, and sinews, make-shifting into a womb.

As one.

The horizon of the galaxy is painted in glittering pinks, neon green, and blues. Stars shine like uncut diamonds, the hand of God commemorates the two soulmates.

Time and space disoriented, shouts of the other’s name bounce against the walls, but speaking each other’s names is like a prayer, salvation. Hot waves of fluid paint your wet walls, spurts of your essence sprays his flexing abs, and groin. Droplets falling from his happy trail.

It's blinding -- cumming so hard has Bucky and yourself levitating at the toes, then begin collapsing and twisting in each other’s limbs, clinging onto each other, shattered breaths, chests heaving. Loss for words.

Bucky came hard, yet gentle and sweet deep inside of you, his words dying in a slurring breathy whisper. It’s so much -- suffocating, but both of you don’t mind drowning. To lose only a sense of the world; just feel each other. In body, and soul.

The smell of him -- hot musk, flushed warm skin, sweaty skin on skin. Love-bites litter his neck like on yours. Bucky’s ego flares, you smell of him. Branded by every sense of the word.

Lust still lingering in the air, on yours and his flesh. Sepia melanin coated in a sheen, candied with saliva and sweat. He smells like a natural aroma of lavender. How Bucky internally gushes at how your baby hairs cling on your forehead, your kind hands sway the chestnut ringlets that curtain your favorite burning blues.

Shy lips dance a bashful tango. Barely touching, but sensual. Tempering with aching pining, ever-lasting yearning that can be only satiated with touch. Always, always, always, always starving, and everlasting.

“I want more.” A crooked grin forms at Bucky’s face, so insatiable he mutters under his breath. His smirk falters a bit, “All of me?” Depth to a simple question with a complicated meaning. A double-edged sword wielding in the distance, but you know both ends are worth it.

So you’ll take it straight to the heart -- the journey will be sweet -- dear God, yes sweet sweet agony. “All of you. For all eternity. Even in the after-life.”

A kiss soft, and slow. Not sure to rush in, can feel his heart. Bucky grips your curls to look you in the eye, a quick glare, his eyes glistening, Are you sure?

You smirk, grabbing the nape of his neck, smashing your lips, forehead to forehead. Nose to nose, face closer, searching for any shadow of doubt but he only saw a twinkle of pouring affection.

A short chuckle, Bucky leans in for a kiss but you tease him with only a second of it, pulling your face away. A huff of a laugh at his darkening eyes. Grumbling, by the power of his metal fingers, forces you on his lips.

The echo of the smooch is wet, and enticing. Flinging you on the bed , trapping you under his weight -- a giggle, and a low timbre of a raspy snicker.

“I want those legs high on my shoulders, doll.”

Smack.

“Hmph --”  Biting down on your lip, reveling in his dominance. “-- And you call me insatiable.” You jabbed, a shit-eating grin.

Crack.

And another brisk one, heat blooming on your cheeks.

A high-pitched moan is Bucky’s only answer.

- Pungent fragrance of coitus thickens the air. It’s delicious. Hours of non-stop love making. The sunset is sneaking from the distance, a soft tangerine hue illuminating the room.

Bucky’s fingers rubbing circles on your shoulders, lulling you to a blissful freshly fucked state.

Hazy eye-lids, you want him -- he’s still in disbelief, how can someone like you -- a goddess incarnate -- love someone like him. Is the universe really forgiving him for his sins?

Your small frame engulfed in his massive frame, legs entangled, his arms hugging you tightly. His fingers finding refuge in your hair, his water-logged eyes trail to your chest.

It’s okay, I’m here for you.

A beautiful reminder of your dying commitment. The pads of his fingers trace his marking above your breast, ‘I won’t let anyone hurt you, doll.’

Savoring your small sleepy pout that edges into a smile. A smile curls at the corner of his mouth, leaning forward to peck the letters -- and he’ll always be there for you too.

Forever and always.

[sarah-yyy]

I love the fact that your mum was like Yeah four hours to simmer but all of our collectives brain went: ITS GONNA BURN. Also the fact that you made another part to save the food, it's officially a Nobody dies/Everyone lives Au, except for wwx parents but you win some, you lose some

fun fact: my asking of that question to my mum caused her great distress, like she had to call me, all worried and concerned, like, “are you cooking?? did you burn the soup???? cannot be, it should simmer for as long as possible but at least some hours. did you burn yourself?????? is the house on fire, facetime me asap so i know the house is not on fire!!!!”

y’all need to say sorry to my mum ahahahaha

[forlornmelody]

Kord Center Mall: Curiosity

Rating: T (no smut, just lots of angst)

Fandom(s): DC Comics

Ship: Rose Wilson/Cassie Sandsmark, Rose Wilson/Jason Todd

Linkage: Ao3

Summary:  After her fight with Jason, Rose is willing to move on to anything or anyone who can get her mind off of him. And Cassie seems good enough. What could go wrong?

Note: This is a cross over, mall-verse AU concocted by @scifi-ginger and myself. You’ve been warned. Also, I have a lot of disclaimers for this one. Cause. Firstly,  Cassie doesn't get a good look in this one. Turn back now if that puts you off. Also, Rose has some not-nice thoughts about sexual identity labels, and they do not reflect my views on labels, kay? She's kind of in denial at this point. *cough* It's called a character arc, Susan.

–>–>

Rose hasn’t slept well in a week. Every time she closes her eyes, she sees the hurt on Jason’s face, and it makes her heart pound. He’s better off--You’re better off, this way. This way no one gets hurt. Except he’s hurt already. The times when she does fall asleep, she dreams of holding hands at the Wayne Estate, nursing him back to health when he’s sick, crying on his shoulder when her dad doesn’t show again. Each time Rose wakes up in a sweat, and then her brain won’t shut the fuck off. 

Thank the Great Whatever for punching bags. Let Joey meditate and mouth his mantras--sometimes punching is the only thing that calms her mind. With each hit--the synapses connect, her blood flows where it’s supposed to, and her muscles relax. Rose hits and hits and hits, sometimes throwing in a kick for good measure, until she’s too gassed to stand. Then she sits on a bench and stares out the window as the world starts to make sense again. Maybe the endorphins make it easier. Maybe her body’s too exhausted to let her brain overthink, but Rose realizes something after her second round of cardio. 

Rose wants more. 

Before, and maybe now still, Rose figured romance, real, true, love, was something ashamed people made up to feel better about what and who they did in bed. Joey, in his typical Marches-In-The-Pride-Parade-And-Has-Fucked-Every-Color-Of-The-Rainbow fashion, labeled her aromantic, or maybe demiromantic. Rose shrugged off the label and continued fucking whomever she pleased--let others worry about what to call her. She was Rose Fucking Wilson and she did what she wanted. Ugh. Her older brother probably has a label for whatever this is, too. 

So, what does Rose Wilson want, exactly?

Well. 

Jason Todd, obviously, as usual. But Rose wants Jason in more than Just-The-Guy-I-Fuck-Around-With-Sometimes way. She wants to hold his hand when they’re out in public, wants to make him chicken soup from scratch, she wants to be held--not just when he’s thrusting in and out of her and making her scream. And Rose already fucked that up. 

So, what is Rose to do?

Well. 

There’s Cassie Sandsmark--the girl Rose has fucked more than once. More than usual, recently. To the point where her friends keep asking Rose what’s going on--and her usual shrugs and suggestive eyebrow waggles don’t seem to cut it. Maybe Cassie is still real fucking annoying, but she’s also kind of...charming? Fun to look at, at least. What the hell. Rose has no idea how this love thing is supposed to work, so maybe Cassie will work. 

At least, that’s what Rose keeps repeating to herself as she waits for Cassie to show up for their shift. 

“Someone pee in your coffee?” The sound of Cassie’s voice makes Rose jump in her seat. 

“No,” Rose says shortly. All those lines she rehearsed in the last ten minutes? Gone. 

“No really. What’s up?” Cass plops down in the seat next to hers, bumping their knees together. 

“You look nice.” Well, she did. But why did Rose just say that out loud?

“Okay. Who are you and what have you done with my…?” Girlfriend? “...desk mate?”

Rose shakes it off. “You busy later?”

“Mm. Depends. Why?” Cassie does that thing where she twists her pencil into her hair, and now it makes Rose melt instead of cringe.

What the actual fuck is happening? To me? “I was thinking I could make you dinner. Or something.” Smoooth.  “Your place?”

Cassie’s eyebrows rise to the ceiling. “Sounds...different.” She pulls out her phone, thumbing through her text messages. “Yeah. Sure. Mom’s still out of town on a dig.”

Rose probably looks too eager, but she can’t help it. “Sweet. I’ll be there at 6.” There’s only one problem--she has to act casual for the rest of her shift. The hours drag on, as Rose sits, completely aware of how close Cassie’s chair sits next to hers, how she can just reach over and touch her hair, pull her close, and kiss her until she’s a writhing mess. She plans the menu in her head--starting with drinks and working backward. Cassie probably likes wine more than beer, right? Or is she more into the cheap shit the older kids keep smuggling into her parties? 

“Uh, excuse me?” Rose looks up, meeting the eyes of a disgruntled soccer mom in overpriced yoga pants and a matching crop top. She holds a mat in one hand and a designer thermos in the other. “Where’s the hot yoga?”

“Down the hall, second door on your left.” Rose says automatically, heat rising to her cheeks. Shit. Could she tell? Could she smell the want radiating off her body? Soccer Mom moves on, and Rose steals a glance at the girl who’s stolen her heart. She’s halfway through her inbox, labeling and responding to emails in triaged fashion, seemingly unaware of Rose’s gaze. 

Stir fry would work. Everyone loves stir fry, right? 

->->->

Hours later, Rose stands in Cassie’s kitchen, making her dinner and daydreaming about making her dessert. The peanut sauce simmers on the backburner, and the curves of Cassie’s thighs boil in front of Rose’s mind. She rehearses her speech over and over.

Hey, I think I really like

You’re really awesome and

What do you think about being girlfriends?

Cassie wraps an arm around her, and Rose jumps out of her skin. “You’re really jumpy today.”

Rose swallows, hoping the heat of the stove excuses the redness in cheeks. “I have a lot on my mind.”

Leaning closer, Cassie chews her grin. “Oh, like what?” Close enough to kiss. 

“Heh, yeah. Something like that.” Their noses brush, and Rose swears she can taste her already. 

Just as Rose’s lips brush Cassie’s, she jerks back. “Is something burning?”

Rose’s eyes widen, shoving Cass out of the way. “Jesus fucking Christ.” 

->->->

Cassie has devoured half her plate before Rose finally blurts it out. Rose tries taking a bite, but it tastes like wet papier-mâché and goes down her throat like gravel. 

“Cassie?”

She looks up at Rose, and Rose drops her fork. “Yeah?”

“Want to be my girlfriend?”

“Huh?” Cassie shoves another bite in her mouth, narrowing her eyes. 

Shit. Fuck. Rose takes a breath, trying to slow the hammering in her ears. “I think...I know. We’ve. Fu--slept together a few times. And you’re actually really nice so…” Waving her hands in vague gestures, Rose watches for Cassie’s reaction. 

She smiles. Then she laughs, leaning back in her chair. “Rose.”

Rose holds her breath, and every tick of Cassie’s grandfather clock takes an eternity to strike. 

Cassie shakes her head, chuckling a little. “This...I mean. I’m not really interested in girls that way.”

What little Rose managed to eat churns in her stomach. 

The girl across from her softens, reaching over to squeeze her hand. “Don’t get me wrong. The sex is great.” She smiles. “Girls are hot. But I only form emotional connections with men.” Her forefinger taps Rose’s knuckles. “Did you still want to? Y’know?”

Don’t. Don’t you dare. “Sure.” The word slips so easily out of Rose’s mouth. 

They fall into bed together easily too. It’s easy to pretend this is all she wants right now. Making Cassie squirm comes as readily as doing algebra. And it feels nice to be touched by her. And if she doesn’t like her, then it doesn’t matter if Jason’s the one she’s thinking about, right? 

Rose doesn’t stay the night. 

[kdreamscenario]

Lunatic: Part XIX

BTS Mythical!AU

You X Yoongi

Rated: G More Birthday fluff

Word Count: 4328

Part XVIII

A/N:  I’m sorry it’s been so freaking long since I posted.  I was originally planning on this being the end of Lunatic but I’m going to add one more part for some more closure. So this is your warning there will only be one more.  

September 1st comes fast after your birthday.  Just as every year you’re on the evening train to Seoul.  The deja vu feeling is just a bit different than past years.  You’ve never felt so apprehensive before.  Your fingers fiddle with the dark garnet necklace while you think over all the things that have happened this past year.  Every important scene plays over chronologically right up to now.   Coming to face Yoongi again for the first time in months is making you nervous.  The texting and calling with each other has helped to fill in the gap between you.  A nice friendship was able to rekindle, but seeing each other in person is going to be much different.  You’ve been told that Yoongi has completely changed since his surgery and that you’ve no reason to fear him.  Still you’re unsure how you’ll feel even with the evidence of his change.  

Lost in thought the sight of the Seoul transfer station rolls into view faster than ever.  The last leg of the trip to the boys’ house should take just another 10 minutes.  You send Jungkook a text to let him know.  From the train station you need to walk a few blocks of residential area.  It’s not far but your bag is laden down with gifts and food from everyone back home.  

At the front gate you reach to buzz the intercom but the gate swings open seemingly on it’s own.  You give a look around before stepping through.  You’ve barely stepped in when Jungkook jumps around the corner and scares you.  Of course you scream in surprise and he laughs at you, pulling you into a crushing hug.  “I should really just go stay in a hotel and take your gifts with me.”  You tease and try to wiggle out of his grip.  

Jungkook lets you go but is quick to snatch said gifts out of your hands.  “No way I’d let either of those happen.”  He has no trouble carrying the heavy package in one arm and dragging you towards the house with the other around your shoulders.  You roll your eyes at how smug and happy he looks.  

Inside the house Jungkook is quick to lock the door, slip out of his shoes, and head straight to the kitchen with his gifts.  You’re barely out of your own shoes before the three bodies of Taehyung, Jimin, and Hoseok are attacking you from all angles.  It shouldn’t be surprising anymore but they get you every year.  Amidst their noisy greeting and squeezing you to death, they drag you away into the living room.  

“Get off me you overgrown koalas.”  You wheeze and try to escape.  Tae takes a step back.  “Y/N you know we’re more like overgrown puppies.”  He gives a playful snap of his teeth.  “Right, so get off me you mutts.”  All three look offended but Jimin most of all.  “Don’t lump me in with these two.  That’s not fair.”  He pouts but still clings to you.  “Well you act the same, how should I know?”  He looks aghast but doesn’t get a chance to defend himself because Jin sticks his head in from the kitchen.  “You mutts let her go so she can come help cook dinner.”  

The four start arguing about being disrespected and you manage to escape.  Jungkook passes you on the way out of the kitchen with his presents.  “Foods all put away.  I’m going to do my V live while you’re cooking.”  He speaks to everyone in the room but you might be the only one to catch it over the ruckus.  When they do catch on the three nuisances scurry away to Hoseok and Jimin’s room to plan how they’ll crash Jungkook’s birthday video.  

You and Jin both shake your heads and move into the kitchen.  The two of you cooking together doesn’t happen often but  you easily set into a perfect rhythm.  Both of you well experienced in the kitchen helps the work flow smoothly.  Besides comments about the meal prep and the occasional noise from down the hall it’s quiet.  

The soup and rice are simmering and the other ingredients are prepped.  The two of you can take a pause.  Jin pulls out his phone and sends a group text that dinner is almost ready.  He reads through the replies then puts the device back in his pocket.  “Joon and Yoongi are almost home.  I’ll go make my important appearance if you don’t mind watching the pots.”  

Your heart skips at the mention of Yoongi.  You had wondered if he was here or not.  Usually he’s in his room when you arrive or at the studio.  “Go ahead.  I can watch the food.”  You say after swallowing down the anxious lump in your throat.

The bedroom door opens to more boisterous voices but closes soon after to seal in the sound.  You’re left alone to your own thoughts.  From your purse you take out a pocket mirror to double check how you look.  You did your makeup a little nicer than usual.  You’re glad Jungkook hadn’t noticed it.  

It’s a tense ten minutes of pointlessly stirring the soup and watching it bubble.  You hear the bedroom door open again then Jin and Jimin coming back down the hall.  Jin returns to also check the food while Jimin grabs the dishes to set the table.  It’s not long after that the front door opens.  “We’re home.”  Namjoon calls.  You jump at the sound and feel stupid a second afterward.  Namjoon comes into the kitchen moments later and the three of you welcome him.  

“Hey Y/N.”  He gives you a smile and a short hug.  “Smells great.  You must’ve done most of the work.”  He jokes.  Jin turns from the stove scowling.  “Does it smell bad when I cook?  Is that what you’re saying?”  Jin asks with his over dramatic flair.  “No it just misses a woman’s loving touch.”  “My touch is just as womanly and loving!”  Jin loudly proclaims but turns to giggles at how ridiculous that sounds.  Everyone else laughs along.    

Taehyung, Jungkook, and Hoseok come filing in to help finish putting everything on the table.  “Yoongi-hyung said he’d be right out.”  Jungkook states clearly in your directions though it was meant for everyone.   “Must be he wants to look a little less like he’s been in the studio for the last three days.”  Taehyung teases.  “Surprised he even bothered to come home.  Thanks Y/N for getting him to come out of his cave.”  Jungkook adds on.  “Don’t thank me I’m sure he’d come home for your birthday whether I’m here or not.”  You push the focus away from you as fast as you can.  They’re really just trying to get a rise out of you.  

With the table all set everyone takes a seat.  Jin starts dishing out bowls of soup and Jimin scoops rice.  You’re focusing hard on passing dishes and keeping the door in your peripheral.  You’re not sure how Yoongi is going to act or even how you’re going to act.  

The last bowls are being set in Yoongi’s empty spot when he slinks into the room.  Your eyes lock with his automatically.  Your brain gives you an intense flight response at the first sight of him.  The cup you’re being handed nearly slips from your hand.  Jimin and Jungkook on either side of you snicker.  Yoongi looks mildly surprised or perhaps startled but changes to a small smile.  

“Hello Y/N.”  He speaks easily.  You return a tight lipped smile and the greeting.  Right away you notice how worn out he looks but it’s a bit more than that.  His eyes are soft and almost dull.  There’s no spark or golden glitter to them.  Just two dark rings that fit well with the fluffy matte black of his hair.  The colour more natural looking than the silver grey you were used to.  The panic bubbling under your skin dies out like a prey animal realizing a predator is too weak to attack.  

Yoongi comes to squeeze Jungkook on the shoulder.  “Happy birthday Kook-ah.”  He mumbles and takes his seat over by Jin.  Everyone feels the awkward silence that had settled over when Yoongi came in.  “What?”  Yoongi asks looking around.  

No one answers but they all grab their utensils.  “Happy Birthday to our maknae!”  Jimin cuts in and everyone raises a cup in toast.  Thankfully that seems to settle out the issue.  The room ticks on as a normal dinner with everyone usually does.  All the tension is gone besides everyone taking notice that you and Yoongi are both avoiding any eye contact.  

The evening passes as usual.  Movies, videogames, snacks, beer, and loud rough housing.  Yoongi stays out longer than he usually does.  He gives you plenty of space the whole night.  Jin ends up pushing him off to bed when he’s fallen asleep on the couch.  All the older boys go to their rooms shortly after, leaving you, Jungkook, Jimin, and Taehyung to play Overwatch until after midnight.  When you and Jungkook finally get curled up in your usual sleep spots neither of you talk besides a mumbled goodnight before knocking out.

The smell of fresh rice and reheated soup wake you in the late morning.  Carefully you step over Jungkook’s sprawled out body and move to the kitchen.  Jin is scooping out a bowl of rice.  Hoseok and Jimin are sitting at the table over cups of tea and their own breakfast.  Two small bowls of side dishes sit in the center of the table.  They all say a quiet good morning when they see you.  

“Go sit.  I’ll bring you a bowl.”  Jin ushers you right to the table.  He sets down the two bowls in front of you.  “Coffee or Tea?”  He asks.  “Coffee”  A gruff voice replies from behind him.  Yoongi shuffles in with his eyes barely open.  He slumps into the chair beside you and drops his head down on the table.  Out of reflex your skin prickles on the side he sits by and your brain is telling you to move away.    

“I wasn’t asking you.  I don’t have to ask you.”  Jin scolds him.  Yoongi doesn’t budge. “Y/N what do you want.”  He asks.  “Tea please.”  You answer.  It’s quiet again besides the sounds of everyone eating.  You find yourself admiring just how soft and fluffy Yoongi looks.  His dark locks tousled all over the place.  You wonder if he’s fallen back to sleep right there on the table.  Only his breathing moves his body slightly.  Jimin and Hoseok share a look when they notice you staring longingly at the boy beside you.  

Jin comes back into the room in two trips.  Two mugs that he sets in front of you and Yoongi and the other are his two bowls for breakfast.  With a deep intake of breath Yoongi lifts his head just high enough to stick his nose into the coffee mug and slip his hands around the warm surface.  He takes a few long draughts, stands up, and goes into the kitchen.  He comes back with his own bowls of breakfast.  

“Did you sleep okay Y/N?”  Hoseok asks.  You stupidly jump a bit at his voice, forgetting they were even there.  “Yup, that couch is pretty nice actually.”  You answer quietly.  “That’s good.”  Hoseok says fighting back a laugh.  

Namjoon is the next to come in for breakfast.  He’s already washed and dressed for the day.  Taehyung comes shortly after with a hardly awake Jungkook draped over his shoulder.  Tae dumps him in a chair and he mimics his hyung by flopping his head down on the table.  Jin gets up and takes empty bowls from around the table to the kitchen.  He comes back with two full bowls for Jungkook.  Tae sits with his own.  

Jin has to physically pull Jungkook to sit up and look at his breakfast.  “Well Y/N we all need to go to the studio today to work but you’re welcome to come with us.”  Namjoon tells you.  “Sure that sounds nice.”  It’s been awhile since you’ve been to the studio with them.  It’s always nice to see how they work.  

It takes an hour after that for everyone to get ready to go out.  Two of the managers come in a bit before that to pick you all up.  The boys all split up at the Big Hit building.  You follow the dance line to the practice room.  They practice seriously for about 3 hours without taking much of a break.  It’s really fun to watch them so the time passes quickly.  When they feel like they’ve gotten down the dance moves they’re working on the instructor lets them take a break.

The three of them flop down around you catching their breath.  “You doing okay?”  Jimin asks you.  “Yeah.  I like watching you guys.  Don’t worry about me.”  You give them a thumbs up.  “That’s good but I think there’s someone else you need to go see.”  Jungkook looks pointedly up at you.  You glare for a second but he doesn’t back down.  “Really you should go talk to him.  I know you both want to.”  He pushes and you relent your eye daggers.  

“Do you really think so?  I know how he can be about his studio work.  I don’t want to bother him.”  You rub at your neck.  “You’re probably the best acception to that.”  Hoseok says.  “I know that he’s not going to come to you first.  He’s too scared to of approaching you and scaring you.  So you need to go or you’ll both regret it.”  Jungkook adds.  He stares at you until you finally relent.  “Fine.  I guess you’re right.”  You sigh.  “Of course I’m right.”  You stand after a well aimed smack to Jungkook’s sore calf.  

“You know where you’re going right?”  Jimin asks.  “Pretty sure yeah.”  You reassure him.  “Okay well good luck.”  He adds with a cheeky grin that the other two replicate.  Shaking your head you make your exit.  

It’s easy enough to make your way through the building to where the boys have their personal recording studios.  You stop at the door with the label Genius Lab knowing you’ve got the right spot.  After a deep breath and a whole body shake out you gently knock on the door.  You wait with baited breath but there’s no answer.  You try knocking a little harder.  There’s no answer at first so you think maybe you should text him.  The beep of the the lock opening comes a moment later.  The door swings open not even a foot.  Yoongi is shocked to see you.  

“Hello, Yoongi.  Sorry to bother you.  I just sort of wondered if we could talk but if not that’s fine.  I’m sure you’re busy.”  The words all come out in a single rushed breath.  “Uh.  No that’s fine just um hold on a minute.”  He closes the door again and you’re confused.  

A minute later the door reopens and one of their producers P.Dogg is coming out with Yoongi behind him.  He gives you a warm smile and says hello.  You bow and return the greeting.  “Let me know when I should come back Yoongi-ah but don’t be too long okay?”  P.Dogg teases before walking away.  “Yes hyung.”  Yoongi acts unaffected.  

He turns to you and opens the door for you to step inside.  “Come on in.”  You step in just far enough for him to close the door behind you.  The lock beeping closed shoots an edge of panic up your nerves.  Being in the closed space with Yoongi is affecting you more than you expected it to.  Your eyes settle on him without even looking around the room.  

Yoongi’s senses are much weaker now but he can still sense your discomfort.  He stands stock still afraid that he’ll spook you with any sudden movements.  It honestly hurts him to see you reacting this way.  “Hey.”  He tries awkwardly to start up the conversation.  You feel so stupid for being so afraid.  A squeaky hi is all you get out.  

“So how are you?”  He tries again.  You try to shake yourself out of it.  “I’m fine.  You?”  Yoongi nods a bit.  “I’m okay.”  You try a smile that probably looks really bad.  “You look really different.  But good.  You look good.”  The last part you add on quickly, realizing how rude you must’ve sounded.  It makes him smile a little.  “Thanks.  I’m still getting used to the change but it feels better.”  You nod knowing he doesn’t just mean his looks.  “That’s good.  As long as you’re happy.”  The words hit him deep  The fact that you sincerely wish for him to be happy blows him away.  He feels again that you’re much too good for him.  

“As happy as I can be I guess.”  He tries not to sound as choked up as he feels.  You catch the tone of it and finally look him in the eyes.  The broken look in his eyes melts a lot of your fears.  “Y/N, I want to apologize to you again in person.  I don’t think I can apologize enough for the things I’ve put you through.  I’m grateful that you’re even still talking to me right now.”  

Yoongi had taken a small step toward you while he spoke.  It took a lot of self control not to back away.  You nod in thought of his words.  It’s true that he can’t apologize enough but at the same time you’re ready to move on.  “Yoongi, I can’t lie.  I’m still a little weary but seeing you now I can tell you’ve changed.  I think I’m ready to try and fix this.”  Those words are much more than he had expected to get.  

Nice and slow he takes another step closer.  He wants so much to hold you in his arms now and tell you not to be afraid.  Him touching you being the very thing you’re afraid of is tearing him up.  “Thank you.  I’ll appreciate any step you’ll give me.  I know I don’t deserve it.”  He sounds so truly sad.  You’re surprised to find yourself wanting to fix that.  That feeling manages to outweigh your fears.  

You take your own brave step forward.  Only a foot of space is left between you now.  With a shaky hand you reach out to touch Yoongi’s arm.  That’s as far as you get, not sure what you really want.  Yoongi gently reaches for your hand with his other hand, afraid that you’ll back away too soon.  

“I’d like to start correctly this time.”  Yoongi’s words are barely more than a whisper.  “It will be hard with the distance but I’m willing to try and make it work.”  He moves your hand hand up to place a soft kiss on the back of it.  That simple action takes your breath away and leaves goosebumps up your arm.  The pleading look in his eyes when he lowers your enlaced hands spreads the chill through the rest of your body.  

For a long moment you’re at a loss for basic functions.  “Yes.  I’d like to try.”  You finally reply.  You both smile softly.  “So I guess for now we’re friends again?”  You asks just wanting to be clear about things.  Yoongi wishes it could be more but that’s more than enough for a start.  “Yeah friends sounds good.”  He nods.  The silence that follows let’s everything set in.  Neither of you are quite sure what to do now.  

“Would it be too forward to ask for a hug?”  The wish to embrace you in anyway possible is getting harder to resist.  Truthfully you’re wanting it more than you’d like to admit.  You nod in answer and take a shaky step closer.  Yoongi drops your hand to wrap his arms around you and close the distance.  At first it’s an amazing comfort to the both of you.  Like a relief lifting from your shoulders.  

Yoongi takes short notice of the hard object pressed between your chests.  It’s a second later a throbbing pain shoots through the scar on his chest seemingly from that hard object.  He steps back with a groan.  You look to him in a confused panic.  He clutches for his scar while the pain ebbs away.  You follow his line of sight to your own chest and put your hand to the spot.  

You feel the hard garnet stone under your clothes and getting an inkling of what’s wrong.  With a tug of the chain you slip the necklace out of your collar.  “Did it hurt you to touch this?”  You ask.  Seeing the gemstone clears Yoongi’s confusion as well.  “You really wear it?”  He asks, all concern for himself gone.  

You’re not sure why it feels like you got caught doing something embarrassing.  “Ah, yeah.  Always.  It’s really pretty honestly and makes me feel safer I guess?  I know it doesn’t really make sense.”  It really doesn’t.  Honestly you should be frightened of it.  Maybe it’s better to always have it in your sight?  Yoongi can’t help the smile that spreads across his face.  Knowing that you always wear that necklace is doing too much for his ego right now.  

“I’m glad you like it.  Strange it hurts my scar though.  Guess the bastard is still mad at me.  Can’t blame him though.”  Yoongi says giving a last rub over his chest.  “Does it hurt a lot?”  You ask.  He shakes his head.  “Nah, just makes it a little sore.”  He starts laughing to himself and you’re confused what’s funny.  “What?”  He shakes his head again.  “Nothin’ just thought that I’m kind of like Harry Potter.”  That gets a laugh out of you too.  

Right then your phone dings in your pocket.  Taking it out you see messages from Jungkook.

-Are you having make-up sex?

-Nvm don’t answer that

-Tell Yoongi that we ordered food.  It’ll be here soon

Your cheeks blaze at the first message and move on quickly glad that Yoongi can’t see these.  Jungkook really is the worst friend.  You send back a quick acknowledgment and put your phone back in your pocket.  “Jungkook said they ordered food that’s on the way.”  “Is food something to blush over?”  He asks with a quirked brow.  “Hm?  Am I blushing?”  You try to play dumb.  He definitely doesn’t buy it but let’s it go anyway.  

“Well let’s go up to the practice room then.”  He turns back to grab his phone off the desk.  He opens the door for you to step out first and follows right behind.  The two of you walk in a comfortable silence really feeling like things are working out just fine.  When you walk into the practice room together the others all turn with looks of happy surprise.  That’s as far as they take it.  Thankfully none of them say anything about it just giving you wide knowing smiles.  

Sadly the time for you to start heading home is shortly after you finish eating.  The maknae line all pout and tell you not to leave them.  With things so comfortable again you almost take them up on the offer.  One more day to work things out with Yoongi would really be nice.  Too bad you have work the next day and they’ll be out the whole day anyway.  

Each of them give you a goodbye hug.  Yoongi’s hug is noticeably longer than the others.  You had slung the necklace around to your back before he came over.  The other give curious looks to that.  “You can let go now hyung.”  Jungkook butts in.  Yoongi glares at the boy but he doesn’t care.  Jungkook puts his arm around your shoulder to walk you out to the lobby.  The others give a chorus of goodbyes as you walk through the door.  You look back, your eyes staying on Yoongi as long as they can until the door blocks your view.  

You’re barely two feet from the door before Jungkook starts his questioning.  “So.  You’ve obviously made up.  What’s the details I need to know?”  He asks with a stupid eyebrow wiggle.  “Not much.  We decided to be friends again for now.”  You says casually.  There’s not much else to tell.  “Mhm.  And how did you come to that conclusion?  You were downstairs for almost an hour.  There has to be more juicy details.”  “No juicy anything you lonely virgin boy.”  “Seriously nothing?  He didn’t kiss you or hug you or anything?”  “A hug yes and kiss if you count my hand.”  “He kissed your hand?  Wow hyung is so cheesy.”  You smack Jungkook’s chest for that.  “You could learn a thing or two from him about being romantic before you die alone.”  “Nah, being a sentimental old man isn’t really my style.”  “True.  You’re much more fuckboy style.”  “Yah!”  He nearly lets you go for that comment.  

You reach the lobby and he pulls you in for a bone crushing hug.  “Y/N I’ll miss you.  Thank you for coming for my birthday.”  He’s being loud to purposely embarrass you in front of the people around.  “Be quiet you big baby.  I’ll be back next month for Chuseok.”  You slip out of his loosened grip.  “Oh right!  I don’t know why I forgot.”  You both laugh at how silly he is.  “Well have a safe trip home.  Tells our parents I miss them.”  “Of course.  You know they miss you too.”  He smiles and squeezes your arm.  “Y/N I’m glad you and hyung are working it out.”  You nod slowly.  “Yeah.  Me too.”  

Jungkook hugs you one more times before sending you on your way.  The whole train ride home you look aimlessly out the window.  Your fingers running thoughtfully over your necklace.  All your anxieties from the trip here are gone and replaced with excitement for the future.

-E.최 

[alya-bug]

The Best Kind Of Friends Chapter 2

Chat Noir finds himself falling for Alya, who loves Marinette, who is just confused. Relationship shenanigans ensue.

Chapter 1 | | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Ao3

This chapter is very slightly nsfw, but still definitely within the T rating. 

Chapter 2: Adrien is a confused, desperate dork.

Adrien was embarrassed when he saw Alya the next day at school. It was always weird interacting with his friends as Chat Noir, but he had gotten used to hanging out with Alya like that. He enjoyed Alya’s company, but he pretty much never got a chance to hang out with her just by themselves when they were at school. That was why he came back after those first interviews. She was just really fun to hang out with.

But after last night, he couldn’t help but blush when he saw her.

He knew she was just joking around with the talk of superhero threesomes. She joked about things like that all the time. It was just what she did.

But when a super pretty girl says that she wants to have a threesome with you and your longtime crush, you pay attention to that. It was perfectly reasonable to dwell on it and imagine it while taking a shower. It was also perfectly understandable that he would feel awkward when he saw her again.

She looked really great today too. The weather was getting hotter and she was dressed for it in a tight t-shirt and shorts. They really accentuated her curves as she walked by his desk, and he had quickly looked away. He had to keep Alya from seeing his face was burning, and to prevent himself from gawking.

He had always been aware that Alya was a very attractive girl. Her full curves, flowing curls, and wide smile made her undeniably beautiful. He knew this when she had been dating Nino, and he knew this now...but now it was different. Now he saw that she was hot.

He was familiar with attractive women. He was a model, and he had spent his youth surrounded by some of the most beautiful women in the world. He wasn’t going to act all pure and pretend he never noticed any to them sexually. He did. They were extremely sexy women, and they knew it, but none of them had affected him the way Ladybug did. Ladybug had completely defined his sexual awakening. Maybe it was because of his romantic feelings for her, but he found everything she did to be so sexy that he could barely handle it. There had been days when he had to duck out of patrol early because he was too aroused by the way she would move, laugh, and talk.

He was used to having that sort of reaction to Ladybug, but reacting that way to Alya was new...new and a little distressing.

He shook his head. It was just because she said she would have sex with him. It was just a normal reaction. Nothing to worry about.

“Hey, Adrien.” Alya said, tapping him on the head with a pencil.

He turned around so fast he nearly gave himself whiplash. “Hruh?” he said, unintelligibly.

“Wanna join us for lunch? Or are you busy?” She asked.

“No! I mean, yes! I’m not busy.” He blushed. “Lunch would be great.”

Alya giggled and nudged Marinette. Adrien turned away in embarrassment.

“You okay, dude?” Nino asked. “You seem a little tense.”

Just realizing how hot your ex girlfriend is. No big deal. He pushed aside that though. Nino and Alya’s relationship ended on good terms, and they hung out all the time, but he was not sure if that was the most appropriate thing to say.

“I’m fine,” he said, swallowing his conflicted feelings. “I’m, uh, just hungry.”

More like thirsty.  He groaned internally. That was bad, even for him.

Alya laughed. “Well, it’s a good thing we’re going to lunch, isn’t it?” Her laugh was so open and earnest, unreserved. She was always so unrestrained, unlike him. He admired that about her.

They chose their regular cafe, just a couple of block away from the school. Back in college they ate at Marinette’s bakery a lot, but the lycee was slightly further away so they had branched out to a few cafes. Adrien was always glad when he could hang out with them at lunch.

Today, however, he wasn’t sure if he made the right choice in joining them. Alya walked ahead with Marinette, chatting about what club they wanted to go to for Alya’s upcoming birthday, her full hips swinging while she walked. She didn’t normally walk with such a seductive motion, her behind hypnotizing him with every step, did she? It must be the heels. Alya didn’t normally wear heels after all. Even just small wedges like the ones she wore today would create an exaggerated hip motion. Anyone would look good like that.

“So, what do you think?” Nino asked.

“Huh?” Adrien turned to see Nino looking at him expectantly.

“I said ‘what did you think of the track I sent you last night?’. You just said that you listened to it.” Nino was almost laughing.

Adrien vaguely remembered nodding at something Nino had said, “Uh. . .”

He hadn’t actually had time to listen to the track Nino had sent him. His stomach twisted nervously. He was being a bad friend.

Nino punched him lightly on the shoulder. “It’s fine, dude. You were clearly distracted.”

Adrien blushed. “I wasn’t been too obvious was I?”

Alya glanced back. “What are you boys talking about?”

Nino laughed and responded before Adrien could stop him. “Just how lovely our lady friends are.”

Marinette giggled nervously and Alya flipped her hair, striking an exaggerated pose. “Of course. That is a topic that clearly needs to be discussed more.”

She blew them each a kiss.

Adrien felt his heart skip a beat.

The cafe was more crowded than usual, but they were still able to find a comfy table by the window.

The topic on everyone’s lips was Alya’s upcoming birthday. She was finally turning 18 like the rest of them, and they had plans to go to a classy nightclub. The club they had in mind was one that Alya had been wanting to go to for a while, but it had a strict age limit.

“Should we go to dinner before?” Alya asked eagerly.

“Sure, anywhere you want to go?” Adrien had already made sure that he was free that night, so he wanted to make sure he could spend as much time with Alya as he could -- with all of his friends... because they were his friends.

“I don’t know,” she scrunched up her face, “There are too many good places to eat.”

“What about that new Lebanese place you mentioned you wanted to go to?” Marinette suggested.

“That might be good,” Alya mused. Just then the waiter came with their food. “I’m not sure if I want to try somewhere new or go to an old favorite, you know?”

Nino swallowed a bite of his sandwich. “Shouldn’t we go somewhere near the club? So we don’t have to walk very far?”

“Good point.” Alya took a sip of her cafe au lait and Adrien couldn’t help but watch her lips as they parted to let the liquid through. Damn, he needed to stop being creepy. Alya was just a friend. He should save the creepy pining for Ladybug. “The Lebanese place is pretty far away.”

“Isn’t the place we went to with Alix and Kim nearby? The one with the really good pasta?” Marinette suggested, attempting to stab the grape in her salad with a fork.

“You mean the one they almost got us kicked out of?” Alya laughed. “I’m not sure if I am ready to show my face there again.”

Adrien grinned at that. Alya had made almost as big of a scene as their classmates in her attempt to get them to simmer down. She always made her opinions known, that’s for sure. “What about that trendy tapas place? You mentioned wanting to go there and it’s in the area.”

“That place is like, ridiculously expensive.” she said, dipping her bread into her soup.

Adrien grinned. “You forget, I’m stupidly rich and love treating my friends on their birthdays.” He winked. He was always a little embarrassed when he channeled Chat in his daily life, but it was frequently hard to not flirt with Alya, even before this freight train of attraction hit him.

“That is true.” She laughed and bit off a hunk of bread.

“We promise we love you for more than your money.” Marinette said with joking reassurance.

“Maybe you do!” Alya said, mouth still full of bread. She nudged Marinette, who blushed.

“Hey, at least I can buy my friends somehow.” Adrien used to be more insecure about people only liking him for his money and fame, but three years with Nino as his best friend got rid of that idea.

Alya’s eyes lit up with an idea and Adrien’s heart sped up, hoping she would share the devious workings of her brain. She downed the rest of her cafe au lait, chugging it it for several seconds before the cup was empty. “Oh, look at this.” She looked at her cup in feigned surprise. “I guess I have to get another drink. Nino, come with me.” She grabbed Nino by the arm, dragging him away from the table.

“God dammit, Alya.” Marinette muttered, stabbing her salad violently.  

“Why did she leave?” Adrien asked, trying to prevent an awkward silence from falling over the table. He was pretty used to Alya’s flighty behavior but it bothered him a little. Maybe because she dragged Nino along? Were they getting back together? Nino never told him why they broke up in the first place. But no, Nino was just telling him about someone that he met on his DJ gig that he wanted to ask out. And it was stupid to feel jealous when she was just his friend.

Marinette sighed. “She’s just . . . being Alya. Don’t worry about it.”

He laughed. Alya  was  quite a character. “She a good friend though, for all her eccentricities.”

Marinette smile was warm and she blushed. “Yeah, she’s pretty great.”

The silence stretched between them but Adrien felt less anxious than he normally did. Maybe it was just relief that he was wasn’t being overwhelmed with sexual (romantic?) interest. Marinette was definitely just a friend and friends were good and safe and didn’t surprise you.

“Have you been working on any new designs?” he asked. Marinette was always less awkward when she was talking about fashion. And he was always willing to listen because she was really, really talented.

“Well. . .” She looked around quickly and pulled out her sketchbook. “I’m working on a present for Alya. It is mostly done but here’s the design.” She flipped to a sketch of a dress. “I have the basic form made, I just need to make the straps and do a little detailing on the .”

He could tell that the dress would be  stunning  on Alya. It was tight and short and he felt himself growing warm imaging her in it. “It’s . . . sexy.”

Marinette blushed. “Uh, yeah, well, Alya’s the one who’ll be wearing it so yeah.” She flipped to another page, one that showed several designs for small purses. “This is something else I’m working on. I’ve been wanting to replace my purse for a while now.”

By the time Alya and Nino returned, they were in an animated discussion about fabric weight. Alya had a strange look on her face, a confusing mixture of disappointment and relief.