#winter makes them more sappy

[summershouto]

namivivi winter couple confirmed

[ghost-lobster]

[slutt4lovee]

friends (b.b.)

𝚗𝚊𝚟𝚒 - 𝚛𝚞𝚕𝚎𝚜 - 𝚛𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚛𝚞𝚕𝚎𝚜 - 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

pairing: bucky barnes x fem!reader

word count: 2356

warnings: NO SMUT, just cutesy fluff, maybe just a tiny bit of angst but not really, nothing really to warn about. might be some typos and shit but at this point y'all should be expecting this from my dyslexic ass.

summary: After being friends with Bucky for years, you finally get the confession you've been dreaming of.

Being Bucky's friend isn't really as great as Steve made it seem. Sure, Bucky is caring and funny and fiercely protective of the things and people that he loves. Yes, he's funny and charming and everything good in the world, but he is also arrogant and cocky and so emotionally repressed that you're not even sure he knows what feelings are anymore.

Being Bucky's friend means that you're also the Winter Soldier's best friend and that is a horrible feeling. Not because of the fact that he is the Winter Soldier but more so because the Winter Soldier has a fucking martyr complex. Despite the fact that Bucky is an amazing person who you think encompasses every good aspect of the world, he's an incredible dumbass. Not just a regular dumbass, the kind of fucking idiot that thinks everyone else, everything else is more important than him. The kind of idiotic person that thinks everyone but him is worth saving, the kind who runs head first into danger because he genuinely doesn't care if he lives or dies as long as he saves someone. Bucky is the type of imbecile that would run into a building, knowing it was rigged with explosives just to save a cat.

Bucky may be one of the best people you've ever met, but being his friend is horrible.

It's caring so intensely for someone who doesn't even care about himself. It's not being able to see or even speak to him for weeks or months because he's off on some insanely stupid mission to save the fucking world or something stupid like that. It's him constantly thinking he's some kind of invincible god and you having to remind him over and over and over that he's not. No matter how much he might look like one. It's trying to convince someone that hates his entire fucking existence that he deserves every soft, sappy thing in the world no matter how much he thinks he doesn't.

But worst of all it's being in love with a complete fucking idiot who doesn't even think he's worthy of love. You'd take all the anxiety, the panic, the dread, the crying and worry a million times over if you could just not be in love with that complete fucking dumbass. Or if you could maybe convince him that he deserves all the love in the fucking world.

—

You can't sleep, never can when he's gone. Some stupid romance movie you've seen about a hundred times plays on your tv—a feeble attempt to keep your mind off Bucky. To keep your mind from imagining what he's doing on his mission and all the ways it could go horribly wrong.

It doesn't really work.

It's almost impossible to keep him out of your mind. When you're not worrying about all the ways he could be killed, you're pining after him in the worst fucking way.

Just staring mindlessly at the screen daydreaming about him and the way his clothes always fit just right, just enough to give you a good view of his muscles without being too tight. And the way he looks in his stupidly attractive one armed outfits he wears on missions—which shouldn't be so fucking hot, but it is, it really fucking is. And his lips, just everything about them, their shape, their pretty pink color, the way they look so fucking soft all the god damned time. And that boyish, way too endearing, smirk of his that makes your heart feel like it's about to burst out of your chest. And his hands and the way they feel against your skin, rough calloused fingers with a touch so soft it sends chills down your spine. And—and, God you're so fucking fucked about him.

He's your best friend, really one of your only friends, and yet you can't stop thinking about him doing filthy things—that he would probably never do—to you. It's horrible and dirty and disrespectful but you just can't stop, thinking about Bucky's mouth and if it's really as soft as it looks.

You smell him before you even hear him, woody smoke, and honey, mixed with sweat. You smile softly to yourself as he drops his bag to the ground with a little grunt. Your mind moves slowly, struggling through your lack of sleep to put pieces together. You're clumsily climbing over the back of the couch the second you realize he's really there.

"Bucky," You start to say, stumbling a little at the ungraceful way you dismount from the back of the couch. "What the fuck?" You ask, waving your hands up and down in his general direction.

He's not sure if you're questioning his appearance or his presence...maybe both. You're not really sure either.

"I just got back," He mutters, words dripping with exhaustion as his arms slip lazily around your waist, making you trip over your own feet as he pulls you into his chest.

"You didn't text," You whisper, matching the soft tone of his voice as you slide your arms around his neck, resting your chin on his shoulder.

He doesn't respond right away, he pulls you closer instead, grabbing onto your shirt to keep you there as if you had any plans on letting go. He makes a soft, barely audible noise, as he hides his face in the crook of your neck. His arms are tight around your waist, holding you to him like he's scared you're just gonna disappear and the thought makes your chest ache. You tilt your head, squeezing your eyes shut as your nose presses into the top of his shoulder, your lips just barely touching the leather on his jacket. Your nose floods with his scent, and you find yourself wishing you could capture it and keep it forever. He smells like camping in the summer, like searching for bugs and plants and pretty rocks in the woods, like staring up at the sky and pointing out the prettiest ones.

He smells likehome, warm and cozy and safe.

Slowly it feels like every ounce of worry and dread is leached out of your body. He's home, he's safe, he's here in your arms and nothing else fucking matters. This is the good part, this right here, all the worrying and sleepless nights are worth it just for this feeling. This happy sort of peaceful relief you get every time he comes back safe.

"M'sorry," He mutters after a few seconds, his words muffled in the crook of your neck. "Jus' wanted to get home."

Your stomach twists at that, a giddy sort of feeling floating around in your stomach at his words. He came straight from his mission to you. Didn't stop at his place, didn't go to the compound, he came straight to you. Straight home to you.

"Took ya long enough." You whisper against his shoulder, voice light and teasing as his grip on your shirt tightens.

He doesn't say anything, but you can tell this one must've been rough on him. It's obvious from the way he's clutching your shirt like a lifeline. Holding you to his chest like he thought he'd never see you again, like he's scared to let go. You don't ask him about it, he'll talk when he's ready, but you do hold him just as tight as he holds you. Rub your hands along his back, over his shoulder, up the back of his neck, lingering the softest touches everywhere you can reach because you know it calms him down.

"S'good you came home, you were gone so long I was about to come lookin' for you." You tell him, smiling softly against his neck at the little snort he lets out.

He's quiet for a bit longer, just standing there with his arms around your waist, his hands clutching at your shirt like he's terrifiedyou're going to vanish. After a while he relinquishes your shirt and before you can even think about pulling away, not that you would, his hands are running down to the backs of your thighs.

"M'sorry," He murmurs into your neck, lifting you up and wrapping your legs around his waist like you weigh absolutely nothing. "Came as quick as I could, darlin', didn't even get to shower or anything."

"Did you eat?" You ask softly, holding onto him a little tighter as he hooks his arms back around your waist.

He shakes his head and you start to offer to cook him something while he showers but he's walking in the direction of your bedroom before you can get a single word out. He nudges your bedroom door open with the toe of his boot without saying a word and it makes you frown because Bucky is never silent around you. Talks so damn much you started to think he just liked the sound of his own voice (really he just loved the sound of yours but he's not about to admit something that sappy).

"Do you want to eat?" You ask, voice all soft and sweet in a way that makes his head spin.

He shakes his head again and without even letting go of you, he falls forward onto your bed, sandwiching you between him and your mattress. He's heavy, dense, thick muscle directly on top of you, but you don't complain. You wouldn't dare tell him that he's crushing your fucking chest because then he'd let go and you don't want that.

He settles with his head on your chest, his ear pressed up against the center of it. Listening closely to the sound of your heart like he didn't believe it was real. His hand slips a little under the hem of your shirt but stays resting on your hip as if all he wanted was just to feel your skin.

He's silent for a while, laying so still that you almost think he's fallen asleep. You don't say anything either because what could you possibly say? You could tell him about work or something but you're almost certain he doesn't want to hear that.

"Thought you were dead..." He whispers as he nuzzles his face against the center of your chest. His hands squeeze at your hips and you can't shake the feeling that he's trying to make sure you're real.

You don't really know what to say to that either. You stroke your fingers through his hair and you swear you feel your heart break a little at the pain in his voice.

"God, I thought you were fucking dead..." His voice cracks a little this time and his arms wrap around your waist tight, too tight but you don't say a thing. You're happy to just let him squeeze the life out of you if it makes him feel even a little bit better. "They...they got in my head, made me see things...and all I could think about was that I never got the chance to tell you."

"Tell me what?" You ask and you think your voice comes out a bit strained because he immediately loosens his grip.

"That I'm fucking in love with you," He forces out, voice rough with emotion as he shifts a little so that he's looking down at you.

Your heart fucking stops at his words and all you can do is just stare up at him like a complete fool. Cheeks flushing bright red and eyes wide as you stammer and choke on 16 different failed attempts at speech.

He loves you. No. He's in love with you.

"I thought you were dead and all I could think about was that you didn't know I loved you." He tells you, voice softening some as his eyes scan over your face. "All I wanted to fucking do was hold you and kiss you and just fucking touch you again and I know that's so fucking selfish of me but...fuck."

"You...love me?" Your voice comes out all meek and unsure as you look up at him. You're not even sure if your heart has started beating again because it feels like you could, very well, drop dead at any fucking second.

"Of course I do you fucking idiot." Bucky laughs and the sound is utterly heart wrenching to you. He tries to smile but it just looks so fucking sad that you want to cry.

And maybe he's right and you are a fucking idiot because you can't think of anything to say. You want to tell him you love him too but the words won't come up, they stick in the back of your throat and make you choke. All you can manage is to reach out, grab his face, and pull it down to yours in a pathetic excuse for a kiss.

He kisses you back instantly, taking control of the kiss, somehow calmer than you. His lips are soft and sweet against yours and nowhere near as clunky and uncoordinated as you but he doesn't seem to mind in the slightest. He smiles a little against your near frantic lips, one hand coming up to cradle the side of your face.

It's not your first kiss, not even close, but you're so clumsy with it that it damn near feels like it. He hums against your lips like it's the best damn kiss he's ever had, strokes his thumb over your cheek and laughs when your teeth hit his.

You think he'll pull away, you would if you were him, but he doesn't. If anything he kisses you a bit harder, trying to take control of the kiss and guide your lips to work with his and it works wonders, you practically melt into it. He makes a soft, pleased sound in the back of his throat when you finally relax and then his tongue slides over your bottom lip and you melt all over again.

You've never been the biggest fan of tongue kissing, it's always just so wet and slimy and forceful. But there's something about the way Bucky's tongue slides so so softly across your bottom lip that has you parting your lips without a second thought. And you don't fucking regret it at all.

It doesn't feel all slimy and gross like you're used to. His tongue is soft and wet and there's a faint hint of sweet mint as he kisses you. One of his hands squeezes at your waist under your shirt and he fucking groans like kissing you is the best thing he's ever experienced.

He kisses you until you're both breathless, until your lips are raw and swollen and slick with spit.

His forehead presses against yours and his voice comes out all hoarse and raspy as he says, "Fuck, I could kiss you for fucking ever,"

You laugh at that and the noise is so soft and sweet that it makes his breath hitch. You flutter your eyes open, thumbs stroking at the side of his neck as you look up at his flushed face.

"I love you too," You whisper and God, the way he smiles sends a jolt of warm heat through your body. "I didn't say it earlier, but I do. I really fucking do."

[dmitriene]

winter holidays with simon riley, booking a trip with him to some snowy mountains with pretty wooden cabins and beautiful views, snow covered areas, tall spruces covered with soft, crumbly snow and a lot of entertainment to keep yourself busy, including a charming village nearby with a lot of souvenir shops.

simon is a little lost, he spent all the last winter holidays as the most ordinary day in his apartment, or in the evening in the pub with his mates from the task force, but with your appearance in his life everything became different, with you he began to go out in public more often, enjoy various walks and vacations, because while you are around, he is ready to step over his built in walls.

holding your hand tightly in his calloused one, hiding it in the pocket of his coat, stroking your fingers and trying to warm them while you snuggle up to his side, strolling together through the snowy village, occasionally stopping at various shops, because simon can't stand the winter cold, biting at his flushed face that he hides behind the thick scarf and collar of the sweater.

grumbles when you tease him about looking like a flushed maiden, his ears bright red over the pale skin, freezing under the touch of your fingers when you brush at them to adjust his scarf, hiding the sensitive areas of skin and brushing your lips fleetingly there with a tender kiss, meeting his warm, amber eyes that crease in hidden smile.

kisses you like a teenager under the mistletoe that hangs like a decoration at the entrance to the cabin you rent, pulling away the layers of clothing that hide his rosy face to gently kiss your lips, cupping your cheeks as his stubble, gradually growing into a small beard that makes him look cozy, scratches against your skin, tickling you, as his mouth swallows your joyful giggles.

carries you to the light, spare bedroom to settle you on the linen sheets, hovering over you without leaving your lips, kissing you over and over again, his tongue swiping into your mouth in an open, gliding kiss, while his hands strips layer after layer from your body, making you shudder wholly at the slight chill of his fingers in contact with your warm, heated skin.

tummy knotting with fizzling heat as his cool touch runs over your clothed pussy, tracing the outline of your puffy folds, sappy with oozing slick that wets the gusset of cotton fabric as you writhe, round hips wiggling under the heated, blown gaze of simon's eyes, as he treats you like his first, dearest gift to the heart, jeans tightening up around his chubbing cock.

main masterlist. quidelines.

[astralnymphh]

The Sweeter the Wheat

# pair: post-seattle!jackson!ellie x reader

## summary: There is no better birthday gift than loving her.

### reader discretion is advised: romance angst, fluff, bit suggestive towards the end, alcohol consumption, jesse is alive (he thought ahead this time), loser!ellie, sometimes!awkward!ellie, sometimes!cheekyandflirty!ellie, reader is sickenly envious and a bit nosy, but aware, ravenous and tipsy makeouts, sappy shit. #### a/n; listened to "to all of you" by syd matters + "cardigan" by taylor swift while writing parts of it.. got a love/hate relationship with this fic but it slaps i guess

WC: 7.7k+ | DON'T BUY TLOU | PALESTINE MASTERPOST | MASTERLIST | ART BY @trackinglessons | DISCORD SERVER

SPRING SUN

 

 “At least we got back before her birthday. Psh—‘magine that sweet tooth havin’ to commemorate her twentieth with nuts and jerky.”

Jackson tholes the bright spring against countless heavy hearts, numb from the death groans of winter. Under the melted snow, came old meadows, but nobody returned to comb through them. Only to pluck them bare of flora for a sole reason—a sole person—and not in the name of beauty. 

Some meadows were stabbed through. Pierced into, made into a final home for the dearly departed he.

Time slipped slowly.

“Huh?”

Jesse sits at the tail of the bar, mumbling somethings that fly right past your ears. The diner is packed and the jukebox softly plays, but that of joy and conversation rules, so all nearby speech that is spat has become hodgepodge, herding your brain to run where the world is quiet. Given that, and the subtle significance in the day around you, you feel less than yourself. Immaterial.

There's a rightful wager that you didn't hear Jesse at all. Something about birthdays, maybe.

You pull yourself from the stars with a head-shake, having to retire the tiny notepad in your clutch. “Sorry, I completely tripped out just then. Why are we talking about birthdays—whose birthday are we.. talking about?”

Jesse appeared to be in doubt that your star-scaping moments were over; his features contorting more and more into disbelief as you gave him that barely curious squint. Poor him for having to be offended for somebody else.

A special somebody else at that!

His drawl comes in handy, “Come on, man. Four years strong and now you wanna forget that girl's birthday?” a voice so versed in pettiness, you could smack it right from his clever, grinning lips.

At whim, you almost do. But then his words fall into perfect place; that subtle signifigance makes all the more sense.

Spring: dappled in sunlight and vigorous in the trees, seems lovelier than it would in March or May. Seas of crimson and clovers thrive in the middle of April, and so does the red in her hair—soft, auburn tines—and the meadows in her earnest and shiny eyes. Recently dim, bruised and disheartened. But there, and unplucked at least, above the freckles you least regret missing when vengeance and a clue drove her out of this large, timber sanctuary. Home.

Every year on this day, the sun is relentlessly beautiful. No wonder, you think, now that you remember.

It's Ellie's birthday.

“Shit,” you curse, chewing at your guilty lip. “Is Ellie hiding out today as well? Haven't noticed her walking the thoroughfare at all.” Through the idle-talk, your hands find stray porcelain to retrieve and pile in the sink, scoffing at the liters of coffee that inevitably go cold in forgotten mugs.

“Do you notice anything working behind that counter?”

“Duh, dipshit,” you spout, back-talking him shamelessly, “I noticed you ambling towards the window earlier and knew my ears were in for a grating punishment.” Minding your eyes on nothing but the various plates you grab, the clutter clears fast. Like a damn robot.

He raises his hands in defense. “Hey, not my fault patrol’s been on cruise control this week.” With a part of the counter graciously tidied by your speedy work, he reclines in the barstool and claims that space with his lower legs, off to the side. Blissfully permission-less. “Can't say the same for here, though.” 

You draw in a prefacing breath, tilting a cup at him. “You could if you hel—”

“No chance.”

“Fuck you, Jess,” you reply wielding a nickname given for occasions of defeat, little knives glaring from your eyes. “Thought this friendship had a no-questions-asked sort of thing. You've disgraced me.” Cueing that age-old love for drama, you gild the lily; mock a drama-queen. Hand to your heart and a pout to your mouth.

Hating Jesse is out of the picture, and hate is an easy pill to swallow. Sure, you two bark blank insults from time to time, but it's all in good humor. You just get each other too well. A hitch fated to click. A shoulder to violently sob into.

Jesse tuts at you, rolling a smug pair of eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Diners just aren't my thing, as infected aren't yours.” He reaches and grasps his mug of coffee that'd been basking there ever since you whipped up his usual, content in keeping his gob flat for the ‘noon.

And you're content in the casual peace and company. Always are. It coerces you to fulfill orders quicker, you would say. Here you stand, in perfect function, machine of the cogs.

That's how all days streak by here. A warm sun arises, and the hustle and bustle of human nature crowds every faded red booth in here, as your kin would have you sustain, and you sustain it fine enough. Even with the latching, mostly silent presence of your best bud Jesse to keep boredom a stranger and insanity a myth. Peckish lips, thirsty throats; everybody. All famished faces of Jackson, satisfied in the wake of your work. All, save one. 

Ding!

At the entrance, you hear the jingle of the tiny, golden bell topping the door, and it doesn't intrigue you to investigate. Everyone is a frequenter, and you're basically omnipresent; sensing who it is and where they're routed to before they even sit. Call that perfect function.

Abruptly, the vintage magazine Jesse blankly browsed through is smacked back in place, and his throat clears. “First customer to break the hour-long streak. Let's see who—” he trails, and a dramatic pause thickens the air. Surprise loudly ensues. “Oh, ain't that funny. Look what fate dragged in.”

“Is it not a regular?” you ask, and at last perk your chin up. Intrigue clasps you now, as Jesse thought it atypical enough to point out. 

Turns out, it isn't a regular at all.

Fate was a scary portrayal, as fate—and unfinished threads—would have you snuck into a corner and stranded for her to find. Plaid and blue, stood Ellie, lost as a doe in tangled woods, yet tall with purpose in front of that swinging glass door. From here, you notice her right arm supported in a white sling and twisted into her chest, right off the bat, as you did the night of return. Changes were made, obviously, sprigs of marker detailing the canvas-color of it, no doubt produced by those pesky kids in-town. Her tattoo is sorely invisible behind the bandages too; you've always liked that thing. 

She's a bona-fide crush. A red-headed angel.

There and then, you recall why your heart reawoke into a prance that night she returned head to toe in dry, aged blood. You felt the revival of an inner-warmth, tracing fingers over the stitches in her back as she hunched in repressive quietude. Felt the moon evaporate off your skin, felt her wrist tensen in your palm as you dressed the wounds in hers. Felt the elusive moment staying became going, as it wasn't right.

You went straight home and threw right up, that very night. Her cold, marred skin was as deathly-like as the skin of a corpse. And you trailed your fingertips, all over it. 

Strange. In a week, her flesh has been suppled of life. Hale, blushing and glowing as in younger days.

In your heart: a tremor. It reaches up every time you swallow, and blooms its beat, pounding at the pit of your throat. You don't feel real, you feel light, you feel fright. You feel the past, waking from a slumber in you, emerging breathless beyond the surface. So many things.

You feel fourteen again.

“Guess her ears were burning,” mumbled Jesse, polite enough to not transform your shared scrutiny into a scene, only so he could leave it in your hands. His head carefully turns, speaking softly, “You spoke to her at all, recently?” 

“No,” a weighted breath departs you, and your shoulders repose. “Only the night she returned, while I tended to some of her travel wounds. Conversation wasn't easy to digest.” Shunning her very blatant presence, you pick your wash rag and begin again, foraging distraction.

“Bet not. Shit got hectic on the route Tommy picked,” he hums, and his eyes pursue once more to secretly follow her walking the opposite direction. Eyes you expectantly the second she slips into a booth. “Gonna take her order?”

You glower at his smug stare, knowing full well he intends to badger you into jumping the gun. Well, you're employed to do that, but, fuck fate! “Uh, duh? Di—”

“—Ipshit. Stop stalling.” He aims his hand, escorting you. “Birthday girl awaits.” 

“Yeah, hold that smile. See what happens later.”

“Mhm.”

EXTRA SYRUP

 Spectral hands suffocate your heart, and now your chest is tightened. Gut nervously sickened. There, she sits, seemingly absorbed by the air, and the sun that ripens with it. Thumbing at her nails, but not anxiously. Blowing at her lip, but not boredly. Hair dark ochre as the earth, yet fiery as the flaxen ray that pours into it. Tucked into a neat bun, as it was in December, January, and every paving year before. You like her hair that way.

She halved it up when Joel passed, and Seattle howled her name. 

A lot about Ellie changed, really, but that is the perennial nature of water. Ellie is Neptune; a late-teenage girl experiencing a crucial shift into a new, individual season. Ones so seldom—they're cataclysmic, but temporary. 

So much of her is eclipsed to the naked eye. Buried to make burrowing space for others. Just not you, it seems.

Every now and then, she glances as you intricately work your way over, a fist cupped to itself as if it alone safekeeps her deep and untold intentions; the warrant for sitting there. And you too, glance when her eyes smoothly retreat, dedicating pockets of this single, cherished minute to drink in little glimpses of her face. Trying to read her, read the shapes on her face if they indicate trouble, or truce. Last time you talked, you declared your resentment for being left worried and sleepless in Jackson.

Was it out of love?

Through the fair-haired light, that scar-heavy look on her features has noticeably abated, recapturing the tender warmth that gave her face the kind, puppy-browed ambiance you hesitated the world for. Gently laid brows, scarred the same as ever.

Those fucking freckles, too; a constellated map. Hidden miles and miles away for one sun and moon too many. 

Not a mile bridges you both apart now, not anymore.

“Hey, Ellie,” you chime in, frail in respect of the one-mind conversation her idle stare partakes. Just her, and the spring sun. Sweet wheat skin is taken from its aerial shine as her head heeds your voice, a loose twine of auburn falling from place.

Your somber greeting fine-tuned the focus in her eyes, softening into a shape less spacious, more devoted.

And though away from underneath the boughs of sunlight, her eyes found a disembodied source. Dried moss, gleams into a violent sea glass, pupils taking in how you hold that notepad firm in thumbs and pointers.

For the first time in an age, you too, have changed.

The corners of her lips crease into her cheek. “Hey,” her reply mirrors the breathiness of yours, and her left arm low-arcs up to rest on the booth seat, body facing you head-on. Totally relaxed. “How come you didn't mention the job switch? Was lookin’ for you,” she asks curiously, a tinge of that sweet-talk peeking through her wide grin. 

Now that you've stepped closer and garnered her attention, you can see and feel every notched nicety of her face on yours. You can only imagine how a swollen, sliced lip feels, and the continual migraines a fractured nose brings. Weeks of healing have swept by, but her afflictions in particular weren't petty.

“Guess it felt irrelevant to bring up when you got back. But you're here now, and you found me. So?” your tone edges on.

“Well, yeah,” she chuckles. “Did you not miss me?” She feigns offense; brows quirking and her tone pitching slightly.

You did. 

A sigh starts in you, “Hard to not miss and worry for somebody when you picked up their slack in every patrol dating way back.” Barely nipping what you really felt with a snarky tease. “Oh shit, that rhymes,” you glance off and whisper to yourself, still loud enough to inspire mirth.

And it does; her forehead pinches and her voice rises in mirth, laughing casually and shifting in her seat to lean one elbow upon the table. “Ha— yeah,” she admits defeat. Ellie is undeniably cute when she does, always shrinks into herself and sinks into thoughtful conference, thinking of something—anything smart to knock you back into that corner. “Guess you're right. Hm, always were on my ass about that, huh?” 

You tut, “Mhm. Missed my scolding in Seattle?” crossing a leg and bearing weight upon it.

“Nah,” she confesses briefly, and you barely believe it. Wringing in doubt at that sly smile she tries to conceal from you. “I learned my lesson this time.” Ellie glances up, a prayer written on her face asking you to hold your scolds. “Trust me.”

“Hurt enough this time?”

“Fuck you!” She punts you playfully in the ankle and begins a laugh again. “You’re not allowed to point that out!”

That was the way of things; Ellie would charge into a fight wearing her life on her chest, slackening the rules, and you had to reel her in. Tug the leash. It had you suspecting her to have a foolproof reason as her backbone, like she was daring the devil with eyes fearlessly open. Steadfast intent. She would lure runners to her, grapple them from you, or push you away beyond safety. Leave you to watch an animalistic vigor fill every bind in her body until you're convinced she’s either coming out bitten or scathingly torn.

You wish she saw how worrying she truly looked; a sweet face splattered hair to chin in the blood of infected, catching her breath and shaking the arm of the croaking infected she just slaughtered off her ankle. Being way too blithe-hearted for the sacred sake of everyone involved.

“Don't worry about me.”

One day, when she asked you with her solemn eyes to be afraid, you thought she finally trusted you to handle yourself past her overprotective nature. Then, one clicker got too close for comfort, and she retracted the pact of fighting equally. Losing more than what her blade owes the earth would prove her fears to be a product of her unsacrifice.

Ellie figured it was half the reason you quit patrol duty, but not that it was fully the reason you anguished over her leaving for Seattle later on; her appetite for violence.

She accepts it so easily. But even when you had sworn she had place in something as simple as retiring from patrol and nothing else, she smelt the sugary scent of a white lie. Joel did it before. She never accepted it under a gentle radar. Instead, it had her wondering if she had upset you, if you would forgive the crimson melodrama and still take her up on breakfasts at ten when she returned. Regardless if you painted the full picture in the end, apologies spilled alike to winded waters out of this girl; sorry that she still could not stomach you tagging along for vengeance. Never-ending sorries, and you lapped each one up. Brought gaping arms around her and absorbed all the ugly and hopeless sounds. You wanted to prove her fears wrong, but perhaps it was time fear let you be the lamb. Live and let live.

Then, Dina would step in, and Ellie would be wrapped around her finger in sudden laughter. Happy and unhurt. Couldn't even remember what occurred before her sun entered the room, and dried those tears.

Crimson melodrama is all you preserved when abandoned, and is all you could look at her with when in longing.

The winter dance had your guts up to your throat.

Seattle, inexplainable.

You don’t hate Dina; your envy lies with the disconnection of it all.

“What do you recommend?” she questions, and her eyes anticipate you to be the ultimate apocalyptic-dining expert. Locked and attentive. She then begins to shake her head in gesture, planting the menu down. "I don't— I don't usually go to these kinds of places, so.. What do you think?" she awkwardly giggles, tapping the menu's plastic sleeve.

Tension presses a smile onto your lips at her inelegance. "Nobody does, not even people who went to these places before the outbreak," you opine, swapping the notepad to one hand and sliding into the booth. "It's okay. I mean.. hmm, what do you prefer? Sweet or salty?"

Her eyelids flick down, fingers coming to lace together as her eyes traverse the options. "Uh, I guess I— wait, wait," she interrupts herself. A swift finger draws you to look down at the menu, "You guys make pancakes here?" green eyes gaping at you with pupils more voracious than her stomach—or her sweet tooth.

"Yeah."

"I'll have that then."

It was a steadfast verdict. The sweet honey pancakes, she shall have, at the cost of a couple minutes and a couple ingredients. But it isn't traditional for birthdays, so you weigh in. “Just pancakes? I mean.. Faye is back there if you want something a little more celebrator—”

“—I'm not really a blow-the-candles-out and make-a-wish type of person,” she corrects you, brows cinched in as she rambles. Then, her free hand scoots the menu forward. “But you already knew that, you just insist otherwise,” she chuckles, unable to meet eye and eye.

True. Your soft insistence dawns from wanting nothing less than heaven inside everything for her, and maybe a dash of that sweet-sweet crush on her. But, Ellie is so staunch in being the humble girl that doesn't glorify every recorded happening with string lights and a wish hurled into the uncaring universe bent upon nurturing demised, late lights young girls reach for. She kept everything low-key: a small garage get-together on her last birthday, the one before that, and the one predating those two. Alcohol in your palms and movies playing back to back. Budding distorted laughs and tumbles into each other. Birthday things.

The remnants of her fifteen-year-old mind hangs aimlessly inside that museum. Dangled and stretched into archaic bones. On the day of return, she arrived happier than a sunflower drunk on the sun. Broad smiles and whatever else.

Wasn't for long.

“Forget you're so down-to-earth and reserved about all the fun things,” you snarkily deliver, retiring that still empty notepad behind your back. Memory shall serve. “Will that be it then?”

“Are you saying I'm not fun?” 

“I'm saying you need more of it.” You emphasize with a tiny bounce-up on your calves, tilting your head north. Though, nothing she uttered was wrong and so your voice silkily drones on, “And that.” You act the lack of a ruder way to insinuate. “But yeah, okay. One order of pancakes coming up.”

“Cool, I'll uh—have a 'celebratory' drink in the meantime?” She nudges the menu towards you once again, irises pulled thin on themselves. Thoroughly staring; your reflection in a bead of black.

You have to laugh, kindly laugh. “No alcohol here, dumbass.”

“Oh. Right.” Her doe-stare only crescendoed from there, shying away at the result of her asking. Something reluctant is lodged in her pale throat, stumbling out only when it feels imminent as you turn away. “D-Do you wanna chat, afterwards? There's so much bullshit surrounding Seattle I have to catch you up on and I-I didn't before, so.."

Swinging your head back, you gauge that mercurial girl there. Tripping up her request like it couldn't escape hibernation from her head any quicker than insult does.

Faye shouldn't mind. “'Course, I was left to wonder about everything since that night anyway.” Your boss might even encourage it; knowing that your long-standing crush for her—heartbreaking to fathom, beautiful to feel—never swept you from rambling Ellie into some fairytale, so she would use it to psych you into asking her out. Jesse, too. Damn the nosy ones!

But it's the one thing that keeps you worried now.

“Cool, cool. Oh, hey, add extra syrup will you?”

What does Ellie think of you?

“Mhm,” syrup is nowhere as sweet as your hum. “Got it.”

Does she think of you at all?

MOUTHS ALL-CONSUMING AND DEPRIVING

  Minutes in, minutes out, wallowing at that ruby-red booth fed the realization to Ellie that the nerves feeding off her anxious chest could not combat conversation alone. She needed an aid. Liquid courage. Velvety smooth and robust.

Fortunately for betting gods and heaven-watching anyones, leftover whiskey from the last bonfire made stock in her cloistered, chaotic cabinets. So it founded no surprise that it whirled to mind after the celebratory-drink fact; leading you here, in her bedroom, on her bed. She pours whiskey into stubby glasses, One for her, one for you, and a lucky extra two for further along this unexplored line. Nothing overflowing limits.

But, oh boy, did it make you all lovey-dovey.

Her lips move and they dance over words, but all you hear is your own enamoration of how heart-shaped they are. You see, but fail to hear and comprehend. Floating aimlessly into those freckles, again. Something a fourteen-aged, sanguine mind would do.

Ellie was relaying Seattle to you, she prefaced. Prefacing didn’t aid you in paying attention, though. Today is not your sharpest, it dates to be your most absentminded. Not your usual, at all.

Nods are swayed to every shock-value word that you manage to understand, but the star-crossed rest, you miss, and replace with whatever story her pupils trace. They flit to read your face after each end of her sentences, so it has you thinking too much of her time has slipped without the company of a listener, and now that her time slips into you, she can use it to stretch your expression with whatever witty remark she makes. 

She did one day blurt that your laugh compliments your smile—or however that fucking flirt threw it over the crackle of that bonfire.

In fact, when you begin to let parts of her body neck-down from her face distract you, only then do you decipher how much she has grown in a month.

She pitches her drink to sip, and your eyes are hot on that glassy trail, artistically concerned with the way she swills down whiskey: fluently gulped, throat bobbing, the scar on her lip licked clean. Her brows too, have thickened, much so as her leathered skin, her callouses. She traces her thigh in circles repeatedly—a fidgety habit—and her lips purse and tug and wrinkles hug and press said lips when they are prettily wide. 

Every high noon or low point of her body was different, and you have missed a great many things you care too much about to not appreciate every brink and midst. You don't want her to be lost to otherworld winds without studying her presence harshly. She is in your scrutiny, now more than ever.

“So, do I get to see my pancakes yet, or?”

“Oh, oops.” You snap out of your woolgathering, wagging your head left to right. Then briskly as you assented her invitation, you slide your knees under you, reorganizing your seating. “Can't blame me for being so invested in your epic tales. Could totally be a comic narrator for the school in town.”

Ellie had already been sat skyward. Sprawled at one leg and tucked at the other, arm in her lap, where her whiskey is nestled. “Oh, sure,” she says with a sarcastic edge. “Those kids are a bunch of little shits. They would probably interrupt me with fart jokes or make actual fart sounds than sit still and pay attention for thirty minutes.”

“Hmm,” you hum, short and atonal, peeling the corner of the plastic lid back. “And who do you think taught them those terrible jokes, huh?”

Soft lids narrow together to sharpen her gaze; glaring at your clever comment, lips propped slightly open. “Terrible?” An offended, toothy smile pulls on her lips. All sentences she could possibly muster up come crashing into each other; an agglomeration, “I—They aren't bad jokes—and they're puns, really, so they're actually pretty fuckin' smart,” she boasts with brows raised. “And It isn't my fault that every annoying kid picked them up and started repeating them.”

It most certainly is her fault. Hell, even you catch yourself reciting them at the crest of nightfall, giggling into your palm. Although, why she's trying so rigorously to plead her pun-enjoying case to you, might just be funnier. “Are you seriously trying to explain puns to me?”

“God,” she surrenders in a chuckle, and bows her head to introduce another quick sip to her parched lips. Ellie then eyes you for a blank second thereafter, tugging the plump of her lower lip through her teeth. Like contemplation has her hindered.

Around you, the lungs of the garage’s foundation inhale, and exhale; creaking and settling.

She dashes a huff. “You basically asked,” Ellie reminds you, her tone and eye-roll implying obviousness. “Can I eat my pancakes now? M'hungry.” Her face sutures into a pseudo-frown and encloses herself to a crisscross, impatiently behaving.

Now, as for the pancakes. Fluffy, biscuit brown, star-shaped, bountifully rivered in unrestricted syrup, topped off by a definitely-melted, humbled ingot of butter. Needless to say, you're pleased by what boredom and intact cooking-books taught you, and she hasn't even seen them yet.

The ask for a carryout-container was already in order the moment you set pace for her table, because you wound up in a near-catastrophe as she sought you out around the kitchens like a lost pup and maundered right into you. Thank patrol for instincts; it's the one thing you held an undying clutch to. And the sweet pancakes you proudly plated, making refuge on the counters as you cross-examined Ellie in case you injured her arm more.

Lucky girl was all fine and peachy, of course.

She only knocked you two right into that near-injury mess to invite you here. Persuasion sat readily in her throat incase you questioned her motives—most of her ideas turning out to be a little friend-group antic, never anything serious or singular—but you agreed to it in double-time. 

“Think you might just be one of those kids at this point.” You gingerly tweak the rim of the plate you kept the pancakes on and lift it outside the container, planting it between all four knees.

“Eh, you're not so innocent yourself,” Ellie contends before she even casts her first peek at the hillock of starry sweetness, totally taken aback when she does. “Holy shit,” she awes, just as if she were a young teen again, “Are you kidding me?”

Labor-intended nights never slip soft through the gaps of your fastened fingers, not even days where your work period is abridged, but hey, strange, space-brain girls are far beyond ordinary exception. Hell, Ellie is vital! Commemorating the red angel you worship in the patterned and soapy act of cooping up on her bed, toasting to the moonlight and letting her talk your ear off for old times' sake is your approach to telling her you love her.

“Know I'm not a pancake-connoisseur, but I gave it a unique whirl. Just for you.” You held a fork out, gracing her with first honors. “Don't blame me if it gives you a stomachache,” your forewarn is a doubtful one; in your mind, morningtime will arise with an extra punch to her gut.

Ellie, however, stares right into the baying eyes of a challenge, snatching the fork from you. "Hey, if it's good enough for my tongue, then it's good enough for ma' gut!" and promptly after exclaim, gashes and tears her fork into the sweet, airy texture of the pancake, popping it past her sweet, berried lips. “Mhh—and I will blame you. So you end up feeling sorry n'take care of me.”

God, whatever souls you would sell to spend paradisal afterlife with this fool. Talking with a gob flush of the birthday project you're humiliated to be proud of. You scoff, “Asshole,” lightheartedly scornful as can be, and it snaps something to mind. Head tilting eye-to-eye, “Dina wouldn't be the one to?” you ask, right after she swallows.

That particular question seemingly struck a chord as her brows cinched together, eyes dropping with allusion. “No,” she says meekly, soft in the sound, but you can tell it came up heavy. Shadowed by a sigh, and an untimely chuckle. “Do you want to know?” She throws on a shrug that ripples through her head, sending it to hang lopsidedly. As the stout willow grows.

“Guess so,” you agree temperately, not wanting to seem too eager—even though with this topic, you just might be. Camouflage those old, foul feelings of envy. “Did Seattle have you kicking more ass than just Wolves and infected? Couldn't have been a very romantic tr—”

“Dina's pregnant.”

Silence carves it's way after that. Thick, tense and unyielding. You had words lined up but like a shot in stark night they've just—vanished, sunk back into the chamber. Nothing prepared you to hear that, “Pregnant?” lowering a hand to your belly where you swear your heart has pummeled to.

Ellie glances up, once at your widened face and once at your hand. A bite of humor works it's way above her chin; smugly smirking. “God, don't tell me you're pregnant now too.”

“What? No!”

Damn idiot. Should punch her right in the—nevermind.

Ellie is way too quick to make serious things unserious. “You're a damn menace,” you unapprovingly giggle.

“Am I?” Amusement raises her brows, tearing into the pancake with her fork for another bite. “Cause you seem to like menace.”

You adjust onto propped elbows, “Do I?” playing all nonchalant. “I mean, what do you mean by that?” your voice dims, expending for the small space that separates you and her.

“Mhh,” she contemplates with a purring sound, and shrugs. “Dunno.” Ellie retreats those eyes downward where you won't compel her to smile. You can tell she battles the letch to look up again, which—as proven in her case—doesn't fucking work. She shoots up carefully, and it's a conflicted gaze this time. “Not with Dina anymore, though. That’s the other thing.”

And we're back.

Having reconciled the chance, you retrace. Look at her with somber concern. “Did something between the two of you happen?” It's a gentle question, reinforced by the bulletproof stare you offer her to unwind in.

The air in her voice softens, “Sort of,” and the meridians of your body then become easier to look at as she continues, wrinkles in her brows. “Said some things I shouldn't have, and we.. figured it best to leave it at that. For now.” her explanation sounds desolate and attemptless, like she has sat in shadow and vigil accepting this fact and has given up on hope. Crestfallen and quieter; this isn't like her. Bent at her wrist, dangling that glass above her crisscrossed lap like a sad child pokes at the food on their plate.

“For now?” You hate that you pry, but that sick greed in your gut from times before haunts with a hunger for knowledge. Your envy that is enlightenment. Still, you hesitate to seem nosy, wanting nothing than to possibly just console your friend in need. “What's holding you back from.. calling it quits? The pregnancy?” You crane your body upright slowly.

“Just still feelin' bad.” Her fingers begin a tap-dance at the glass' rim. “I'm an asshole.”

You duck at the neck, searching for her downcast eyes. “Come on, El. I've only ever seen you rant and rave at middle-aged grumpy men and infected, no way it was that bad.”

“You weren’t there,” she insists otherwise with an earnest voice, inciting a refreshed sigh as she swigs her whiskey.

“Well, what did you say?” You are relentless. No, normally you would not condone it, but tonight, tongues are loose and boundaries are blurry. You miss your happy girl. “I could talk to Dina, if it helps.”

“Wouldn’t change shit.”

“If you love her, you would try.” Even if it sickens you.

Ellie slots her drink in her lap, and grouches. “Dude.” She pinches the bridge of her nose and stifles a groan, frustrated. It draws out in words without proper footing, “It's weird. We just don't know what to say to each other—I don't know what to say to her, it.. it's just how it is—it was a mutual agreement. None of your business, really.” 

Her own tongue is a very obvious byproduct of nerves, whiskey, stress, by and large a lot of things. Being goaded, definitely.

How it is, is how it will be.

“She broke up with me.”

You didn't mean to goad her, but curiosity—and a kiss of alcohol and envy—ate your refrain. The lack of any eye contact or movements to stray from you thereafter her word is telling enough. That it aches her head, and a cold, guilty sweat crosses over your skin. It was a stupid thing to blurt. You feel fucking stupid for even saying that.

Fuck. 

Her dry sniffle is noisy on your shortcoming, and has you scrambling to think. “Sorry, just been worried for weeks.” But you shrink into a ball of abraded arms and legs, conserving yourself into a shy, spotted egg of curiosity that clads no hatching cracks to be convicted of. “Thought you two finally getting together would be the dream to end all dreams.” What the fuck do you know anyway?

Her eyes watch through you, into you like water; she notices, and the pancakes are slid to the side. Shuffles of fabric clamber closer as she eats the inches between you two, her breath brushing your forehead. “Hey, hey. I didn't mean anything by it. It's fuckin' great that I got somebody I can drink with and mope to. Really. Just been shitty all around—Tommy? Fuck, he's been the worst lately.” 

Everything ascends in temperature once her hand plants on the side of your neck, every nerve petrifies; unheard-of touch. She can feel the gasped tension in your throat, thumbing the muscles down. 

“Don't worry about it,” she says, and her saying that amuses you.

A moth-eaten phrase in particular is what was said. You scoff at it, plopping your legs back out. “Dude.” You bite a smile into your lips. Sucks that such a hackneyed thread of words does so; you're really chewing back the urge to call her any byname of dumbass, per usual. But damn that sincere face on her face that sweetens the teasing deal for you. You settle for low-hanging fruit. “You always say that, Ellie.”

“Ugh,” she seconded a scoff back at you, grimacing coyly. “Don't you start.” Ellie drags her hand off, not intending for it to land smack-dab on your thigh. It takes her a second to register the sound, the texture, slinking her hand behind her when you say nothing.

“Start what?” you stutter a laugh, bringing your thighs together.

“Nothin,”

“Don’t bullshit me, WIlliams.” To educe her, you dig your foot into her side, poking her. “Does it have anything to do with only me being here and not anybody else?” You lean into her.

Ellie does too, an exact mirror of you. “No..” The only thing that contrasted you, was her hand again, seeking what was left behind on your thigh. “Just wanted to see you first,” her lips barely move besides a slick smirk. Voice tiptoeing through the air, the noise-level two clandestine lovers live at, in secret song.

“You fuckin liar. No hang-outs for weeks before you left and suddenly you want to see me?” You call bull when she relucts to raise her hung head, witnessing the corners of her lip curl. Her head twists away more, and you spearhead the first, little move: tuck that irkful strand of auburn with a single finger. “C'mon.. what is it?”

“Stupid,” she blatantly spits, and at last confronts your face with her puckish one—glimpsing down, and up, and down. Watching her grip flex into your leg intermittently, chewing her lip. “Mhh, maybe 'm starting it.”

Ellie is heart-poundingly close; her breath is now yours to breathe. You whisper, “Maybe you are,” perking yourself right up to her cheek, unnoticing of the ardor her eyes spin over your face. Unsure where to stare. You pretend the pressure on your thigh flies under the radar, too, and that your heart isn't in the middle of a love-logged swell, and your cheeks aren't tender from smirking at the feeling of it perched there. Love-struck death befalls, if else confessed, so you tease, tease, and tease to stomach your excitement. “Maybe, you're stalling on those pancakes because they actually gave you a stomachache. You feeling good?”

Her bitten lips part, and the next sensations you feel—are transcendental.

Wisping whispers so hot, and intoxicating on your skin, you fail to catch her hand coming up from your thigh to clasp your face, or that hers has shifted in front of yours. She breathes out, “Won't you shut up already?” through lips pulled into a smirk, and rushes to press it fondly against your mouth.

You wince—somewhere between an electrified gasp and a reaction of delight—into the kiss she stole, and it only beckons her to starve more for you. The heat of her whiskey breath pours into your mouth, and you drape your eyes closed. Scoring these seconds by, she spends them concentratedly rolling the skin together, others pushing and shying from the kiss, until she stills and bleeds out the pressure in a slow, wet smack. Hazily eyeing you for a response.

Once you feel her no more, your eyes blurrily creak open, and the corners of her lips at soft upturn greet you. Single creases at either side, the few freckles above them outspread.

Judgement renounces you, leaving you with pathetic pickings for reply. You aren't sure what she wants—or needs you to say. “Ellie?” daintily, a mumble flows onto her lips, and is far from a frail sound of concern. Intrigue encapsulates you.

What does this mean?

You think you know, but self-reason has always proven itself to be naive and too eager to trust.

By cruel emotion, she misunderstands you. “Sorry,” she pants out breathlessly, blowing the shape of it into your cleft lips and hovering right upon. Her fingers gouge the fabric clothing your chest, mangling it into her fist—an attempting grasp. This proximity is all she could ever dream of. “Is this okay?” Yet, dreams always sever at the apotheosis. So when she comes in for the second kiss, she wants no more for dreaming; the reality she yawns with hunger into, is insurmountable.

A dewdrop of something cold dribbles between you. Tears.

In turn, you misunderstand her. Using your own stubbornness to create an enigma. To think, that out of the blue, all of this would transpire? After endless wishes unanswered? You doubt it.

You love her, but you refuse the reality of it happening upon you.

Separating from the plush, licked skin of her lips fleetingly, you speak. “Is this you being drunk?” Only to be drawn back in without her processing your words right away, and then drawn back out. Intricate intimacy.

“Please,” Ellie begs, “Answer me, before I feel like an asshole again,” and chuckles sobbingly before her teeth feel rapaciously empty, and cannot tolerate it any longer. Instinct, and teeth nip your bottom, vulnerable lip.

Neither of you could be totally drunk, having only drank a modest portion.

So this is raw.

Thinly pulled, she slowly stretches it across the air between, and watches it spring back beneath eyelids sunken low. The action entails nothing else for her to feed satisfaction from, already panting right in your mouth in search of more as soon as your tongue descries the answer. “More than okay,” you heave in a passioned breath along that all-consuming, deprived mouth. Your hand squeezes her fist confirmingly.

It quenches her lust to know, a hot-blooded, moaned and voiceless curse snapping into your mouth. “I fuckin' love you.” Her rage softens in meeker kisses, peppering them up to the corners of your lips until she pauses, and pulls herself away. Her eyes turn troubled and adrenaline-rushed. Stains of tears shimmer beneath, along new ones that begin to plunge, and for the first time ever, you know they're yours. But then the flesh between frowns, the mood shifting, and she croaks, “Am I.. an asshole?”

It breaks you to hear that.

You glare, and stammer, “W-What? You aren't.” Hooking dearly onto her wrist when her hand glides up to rest against your cheek. “Why?”

“Cause I sprung this on you, 'nd I don't wanna force you to..” Ellie cranks to a halt, mouth screwing shut like her thoughts were too much to bear hearing aloud. “Fuck,” she quietly spews, cowering her face near your neck.

“Said it was okay,” you coo, clarifyingly coo, raking your fingertips up and through the tied loops of her hair. “The only asshole thing you'd ever done was not let me come with you.”

“I know.” Her eyes search for uncomplicated plains. The sheets, her lap, your neck. A kiss is planted as she tips her head, the gust thereafter a warm reminder of her sorries.

“Thought you were going to die.” You awoken in violent patterns, cold nights restless in bed, tossing and turning. Waking and falling into daydreams of how Jackson would feel missing a cardinal component. A girl to rave against dying lights. Thorns scale your throat at the thought. “You're reckless, y'know?” you mean it as a gentle insult, chuckling as it leaves your lips, and sealing it into her scarred palm. Kissing reckless consequences.

Her lips loiter on the pulse of your throat. They drag, and they drag.. sloppily limping over your jaw as she makes her way to observe you in her palm, mumbling low, and gravelly, “How many times am I gonna have to say it?” Ellie deems it redundant to tell you that she knows again, resorting to her own little gentle insult, “Such a fuckin' sap.”

“Says you.”

Her hand is comfortingly warm; you aren't fain to break away. But her fingers are curious, thumb nearly making it into your mouth before she second-guesses herself, easing it at the verge of your lips instead.

A longing moment of Ellie staring at the way her thumb looks—a decoration to your mouth—passes, and she responds, “Still alive, aren't I?” to that loose thread of a plea you forgot you even said. It calls you right over, bidding you to look into her eyes again as space finds itself thinning again, her scratchy, band-aided nose caressing yours. “Dumbass.”

She chuckles into your mouth as you chuckle into hers, cutting yourself off with a kiss that ebbs, and flows. Suckles, and smacks, snaking her tongue in for a change. That sweet, sweet wheat. Saccharinity you can't explore anywhere else other than the outline of her mouth. And you—of grunted volitions in her chest—take exploration further, replacing the grasp of her shoulder with the coursing of fabric, sliding under the hem of her shirt and palming the skin there.

You feel her skin breathe, her belly breathe into your hand, and a content wrinkle pinch between her brows. Her skin, is as soft as nothingness.

“You're a dumbass.”

Air clings to your cheek as her hand reaches around you, pressing fingerprints into the base of your head as to prop you for her delightments. Ellie is no amateur, enjoying you as if she knew you were hers without explicit pledge.

“Sure, babe,” she scoffingly counters, and pulls her tongue out of you, lips messiy shining. She scouts you out; lays eyes on your expression with undertones of satisfaction and presses an appetent bite right back into your damp skin, grunting into the filthy kiss.

Your mind is one-pathed right now; in the most maddened form, you crave the story further down her throat. In that warm space, is air thinned and balmy with the scent of alcohol and syrup. In those whimpers, is the sincere confession she held tight in throatly gloaming, all those intimate times before. In all of your yearnings, your lips never parted for more.  

Two holes that want to consume each other.

Weeping, wailing, tormenting in an empty forever.

“Fuck you, Ellie,” you cathartically sob into the humid cavern of her, a hint of wanton—and other repressed things, taking form. That hand under her shirt wanders from her navel and tweaks the button of her jeans, pressing your body against all of her like it hurt to be inside your own, singular body. Overcame by a need you could not chew out.

Ellie cuts the kiss, quick to soothe the movement with her hand pressing down and collecting yours. “Hey, hey, too fast,” she laughs, distancing herself and giving you those eyes that could see you were overstrung, hectic to go somewhere you aren't prepared for.

She loves you, but that means appreciating you enough to wait until time is perfect.

Her head cocks, “Let's take shit slow, huh?” fingers weaving into the pliant gaps of yours and pulling your fist dear to her chin, kissing it.

You speak over the repeated sounds of her smooches, “Yeah, sorry,” cringing slightly at how fucking cheesy the scene became. But, when is Ellie not? Wonder clasps you now; intent to know what this makes out of the two of you, having held your feelings for forever. “Well, what does all this mean, then?”

“It means..” Ellie slants her body even more, stealing your wrist along with her. Planning something, no doubt. “You and me, breakfast tomorrow at ten, Tipsy Bison?” Her mouth stuck to the side of your hand like syrup, so firm in not letting you go.

It makes your ears simmer hearing her shamelessly set up a date, of all things she could have said. God. You errantly laugh, totally not giddy when her mouth starts sprinkling up your arm at an alarming pace. “Sounds more than good—hey! You slow down!” 

Happy birthday, asshole.

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[sjyuns]

🗒️ 、HOW SWEET

downbad!sunghoon x fem reader 500 words warnings kissing genre fluff mikaela’s note back to my roots of simping over men w glasses

Sunghoon wonders if you know how sweet you taste.

It lingers on, the taste of you — a hint of cherry pomegranate under the tint of mauve that glazed over your lips. The cold air sends chills down his spine yet his glasses fog up at the tickle of your warm breath caressing him in winter midnight.

And it feels like summer, the way you make him feel so alive. His cheeks a shade pink as he brushes it off, blaming it on winter when it’s really you that’s to blame.

The existing fatigue from his arduous day fades into a mere shadow beneath the both of you as he presses his lips onto yours yet again.

“It’s cold Hoon, we should head in,” you murmur as you watch his glasses fog up yet again — and you want to draw heart shaped stars around the lenses of them, a symbol of your love towards him.

Your boyfriend hums, pulling you closer into his arms. “Just a while more,” he answers softly, fingers wrapped delicately around your waist, chin perched on your head.

And if the winter wind had memories, it’d remember the countless times you and Sunghoon spent in the chill, away from the comfort of your home. The gentle breeze through the leaves, yet strong enough to engulf the both of you — making you savour the warmth brought by him.

Sunghoon shifts from his comfortable position to catch your gaze, a small smile appearing on his face as he moves in to kiss you for the nth time. And you can see the tinted mauve pink that you’ve transferred onto his lips, a testament of the love shared between the both of you.

“What are you doing,” you giggle softly, the quiet atmosphere calming and alluring, as you stare at Sunghoon — clad in his favourite black Armani suit and tie, sleek black hair slightly messy after a long day of work. And you can’t help but notice the shades of pink that contrast his aloof aura.

Sunghoon stares back, admiration shining through his eyes. “It’s because you’re too pretty,” he comments, facial expressions serious and stern.

You scoff, pulling away from his embrace, and Sunghoon’s body instinctively searches for your warmth again. “I told you not to say sappy things,” you whined, “it’s cringey, Hoon,” you grimace, holding back a giggle.

“It’s not sappy, it’s real,” he reiterates, taking big steps to return by your side, fingers once again finding their way to the dip of your waist; pulling you into him, “you’re the prettiest girl in the world.”

You throw your head back in laughter, filling the once empty atmosphere with a ringing melody. “And I guess you’re the handsomest man in the world.”

“You guess?” Sunghoon probes, fingers tickling your sides as he dips down to get a taste of your lips once more.

And even with the thousand more kisses Sunghoon takes from you, he can’t seem to get over how sweet your lips taste.

© SJYUNS

[periwinkla]

Narumitsu/AA fic rec list No.1

---- Multi-chapter ----

pressure (pushing down on me) ApprenticeofDoyle | @apprenticeofdoyle https://archiveofourown.org/works/28440966/chapters/69694179

miles edgeworth's terrible, no-good, very bad week ApprenticeofDoyle | @apprenticeofdoyle https://archiveofourown.org/works/29390913/chapters/72203136 (this one isn't completed but please listen to my advice: a fic does not need to be completed to be enjoyable and/or give you necessary feelings) This author writes so beautifully, go read both!!! The first one has such cute and emotional moments and there's a scene in particular I will cherish most dearly for all of eternity. The second one follows as the title says Miles's most terrible misfortunes (aka AAI), so enjoy his very well written struggles.

The Miraculous Disappearance Of Phoenix Wright JJsADragon | @4ragon https://archiveofourown.org/works/15341994 This is Phoenix-centric, narumitsu is background - it's so beautiful and it's full of Phoenix drama and... hear me out... Godot!!! But, being serious here. This one really struck me. I don't know, I don't quite have the words to explain. You need to experience it yourself. But I can say that it made me rethink my whole perception of Phoenix's character. Vacation All I Ever Wanted JJsADragon | @4ragon https://archiveofourown.org/works/25088599/chapters/60774496 Same author as previous one and what can I say? It's gorgeous go read it. Also side note I actually laughed out loud at very very frequent intervals.

Saturation (ongoing) TiedyedTrickster | @greentrickster https://archiveofourown.org/works/20272603/chapters/48054286 Already talked about this previously....: It's a Miles-POV fic, sweet & cute, emotional, with an amazing sense of humor. The character relationships are chef's kiss. Absolutely brilliant all around.

The Things We Agree to Believe are True actual_goblin | @metaphorical-goblin https://archiveofourown.org/works/42658245/chapters/107157108 I think this is the kind of thing you need to read without any explaination whatsoever. It's just... an adventure, I would call it, and very very beautiful, so just jump in. There is one thing I can say though. If you like character exploration, to a degree that is frankly out of this universe, GO.

Kindred timepatches | @monimolimnion  https://archiveofourown.org/works/28852137/chapters/70772769 It's about Miles adopting Pess! And it makes him realize a few things. It's so so very heartwaming. Set during the 7y gap. I think whatever I say might spoil it so I'll just describe how it made me feel! Fuzzy. Warm. Sappy. Cozy like wrapped in a blanket in winter with a nice cup of cocoa in hand. ---- One-shots ----

pressed beneath the burden of proof harmony | @harmonization https://archiveofourown.org/works/57174151 So very very very well written - I love how the author describes thoughts and emotions... it felt like I was feeling them myself.

Trials, Texts, and Tribulations bluemoodblue | @blue-mood-blue https://archiveofourown.org/works/20590601 Just very very sweet and with such nice subtlety it made me scream internally-- I love subtle things.

A Boy at the Airport KrisseyCrystal (IceCreAMS) | @krisseycrystal https://archiveofourown.org/works/29741124 Kid Apollo + Wrightworth. cute too cute too extremely cute family feelings overload ---- my heart is flying away...

Code to My Heart SnowOnVenus | @legayllyblonde https://archiveofourown.org/works/57499360 Incredibly beautiful and the drawings made to accompany it are absolutely charming and so fitting to the story... I especially love how Edgeworth's character was explored here. This will forever be inprinted in my heart.

To be honest there are so many more so I will probably make more lists in the future, as I also need to reread things (I have terrible, terrible memory)... hence the '1' on the title.

[atinyniki]

flowers and confessions.

group: stray kids !

pairing: nonidol!bangchan x f!reader

genre: fluff, pinch of angst

warnings + additional info: reader is referred to as y/n, reader and chan are both whipped for eachother, chan is referred to as channie, yeji of ITZY and changbin have a crush on eachother in this au for the sake of the plot (NOT SHIPPING), reader and yeji are roommates, love confessions, college au, reader and chan like cooking together.

authors note: this is something i was doing with a friend of mine at uni a year back but he had a gf </3 i never ended up confessing, so i decided to make this story a happy ending :) this is also not proofread. english is not my first language, so please excuse any grammatical or spelling errors. happy reading :)

wc: 3733

“and she’s more of a tulip girl than a rose girl. got that?”

“yes ma’am”, chan chuckles nervously.

“listen to me chan. you’re a good man, and i know if she gives you a chance she’ll give in eventually. just… please don’t fuck it up.”

chan nods his head slowly, processing what she’s said to him. “okay, i’ll try my best not to. thank you, yeji”

she nods, escorting chan out of her home. 

‘what could i do…?’, chan thinks to himself. the walk his dorm isn’t all that time consuming, but it feels even longer with the thoughts of you plaguing his mind. 

the envelopes on his desk seem to strike up an idea. you guys are best friends, he doesn’t want to ruin anything of course. so… why not confess anonymously?

“like… love letters? from a secret admirer?”, changbin asks incredulously.

“yeah… im sure she’ll tell me about the letters and then… i can ask if she likes them. you know?”

changbin sighs, staring at chans lovestruck face. “you do you. i don’t need any letters because… i’ve got these.”, changbin says as he points to his biceps and wiggles his eyebrows. “shut up bin”, chan chuckles.

he quickly goes back to his room, writing the first letter as an opening. he quickly writes the letter, placing it in an envelope and closing it with a red wax stamp.

the excitement was getting to him, he had a hard time sleeping that night.

“seriously…?”, yeji stares at him, completely unamused.

“what… is it bad?”

“dude. i give you all of that info, and you use it for love letters?”

chan sheepishly nods at her. he knows it’s crazy, but he just doesn’t want to say anything face to face yet. you’re such great friends already, he’s afraid that he’ll ruin things.

“yeji, listen. this way, if i ask her about the letters and she says they’re weird or something, i won’t have to handle direct rejection. she would never know it was me.”

yeji seems to be understanding this more now. “ah… i see. go on then, make sure to make them super sappy. she loves that… for some reason.”, she rolls her eyes.

chan bows quickly, rushing to his next class. he can’t stand being late to this one. it’s his favorite class, not because of the subject, but because of you. seeing your face and being able to sit next to you brightens up his mondays every time. 

you watch as he makes his way up the stairs, a small smile on his face. “hey chan”

“hey”, he says with a smile.

he takes a seat next to you, the warmth emitting from his body. you love that you can sit next to your best friend first thing in the morning, especially in the winter. 

your professor walks in, and you both immediately focus on your work. mr. bae is no joke. chan makes small talk with you of course, as much as he possibly can without being scolded by your professor. he’s been caught too many times for him to be let off easy this time around. 

class ends not too long after, meaning the two of you have to part ways for now. it’s okay though, you always hang out outside of school anyways.

you make your way to your locker to put away some things before your next class. you don’t have much time, but luckily the class is in the same hall. 

you open the locker and put away your things, but something catches your eye. a beautiful pink tulip, placed nicely on top of a white envelope. there’s a cute heart on the wax seal, and you’re careful not to rip the envelope while you open it.

you begin to read the letter, a pink hue spreading across your cheeks as you process the words. your heart flutters in your chest, knowing that someone thinks about you in this way.

you don’t think your smile is all that special, but this person definitely thinks otherwise. you quickly put away the envelope, reminding yourself to dry press the tulip later. 

all of a sudden, you’re smacked out of your thoughts. you run towards the hall. you’re definitely going to be late.

you arrive at chans with the ingredients, waiting for changbin to get back. you’re cooking his favorite today, so you’re very excited to see his reaction.

the tulip that your admirer gave you is pressed in between a stack of books, you plan on air drying and preserving it later. 

“who gave the flower?”, he asks with a smirk.

“oh… no one”, you reply shyly.

he continues to wiggle his eyebrows at you, causing you to shove him playfully. 

you and chan continue talking about some studies, when you hear changbin come in.

“chan?”

he stands in the doorway for a second, inhaling for a little while. he rushes to the kitchen when he smells it. “what is all this?”

“we decided to make your favorite tonight, help yourself. we’ll bring the danmuji out in a second”, you tell him.

he smiles so wide it almost reaches his eyes. “ooohhhh thank you thank you thank you! you did all this for meeeee?”, he says excitedly.

“it was all chans idea, thank him”, you chuckle.

changbin jerks his head towards chan, a cute pout on his face. “you did this for me channieee?”

chan stares at him for a little while before rolling his eyes. “no. why would i do it for you? shut up and eat now.”

you both knew it was all an act. as much as chan tried to pretend he hated changbin, you knew that it was just brotherly love.

“thanks chan”, he says with a smile.

chan can’t help but smile back.

you open your locker the next week to a black tulip, your heart sinking to your stomach.

you pick up the note, reading it quickly before you go to class. 

“don’t worry, nothings wrong. i just gave you a black tulip this time since i always see you wearing black clothes. i assumed it’s your favorite color.”, it read.

the note went on with the usual, except this time it was about your nose. you giggled to yourself, the words lingering in your mind for far too long. your heart flutters in your chest thinking about who could possibly be writing these.

you run to class, afraid you’ll be late. you lost track of time reading the note, but you don’t regret it. not one bit.

you hope he’ll reveal himself soon.

“mmhhh noo…”, you whine.

chan giggles a little, pulling you closer into his embrace for a second. “i really need to go to the bathroom y/n…”

“you’re warm though…”

chan takes your hand in yours, “i’ll only be a minute. besides, you have the blanket.”

you nod, watching him go and sitting in the spot on the couch where he previously sat. the seat was warm still, almost enough to pull you into a slumber.

chan quickly locks himself in the bathroom, his heart beating almost a thousand times a second. why did he do that? why did he hold your hand… oh gosh. his entire face is red, he tries to wash it away. it doesn’t work.

maybe it’s his fault for sitting so close to you in the first place, but he can’t deny that he enjoyed it. he wants to be in your embrace forever. 

“gosh… this is beautiful.”, you whisper to yourself. the note contained a little poem about your eyes this time. you didn’t think they had much effect on anyone.

you pick up the red tulip, admiring it for a moment before placing it back in your locker inbetween some tissues and a stack of books. you enjoyed pressing them.

that way, if you were to ever find your secret admirer, you could keep the memories of your feelings.

wait… feelings? do you like this guy? you don’t even know what he looks like! maybe they’re just… shy?

you never thought for once that a man would be too shy to see someone like you of all people. you’re not really all that special in your opinion, but surely there was more to you that this guy sees.

maybe you could go searching for him…

“you really like pressing those damn tulips.”

you chuckle nervously, “yeah… they’re really pretty”

chan is surprised you haven’t told him anything yet, but he makes sure not to push you. he doesn’t want to let anything slip.

chan sits back down on your bed, admiring you for a bit while you talk about some things that happen at school.

“and she’s been- she… why are you looking at me like that?”, you ask. the look on his face has you tripping on your words, oddly flustered.

“huh? o-oh… um.”, he stutters, afraid he’s made things awkward. he tries to think of an excuse quickly, “you still have a little sauce on your cheek.”

embarrassed, you wipe a bit at your cheek, trying to wipe the sauce that wasn’t even there in the first place. suddenly, chan speaks up. “i’ll get it.”

he scoots incredibly close to you, stroking your cheek and “wiping away the sauce”. your eyes widen, cheeks turning a bright red.

chan seems to notice, smirking at you again and wiggling his eyebrows. you scoff playfully, flicking his forehead causing him to recoil.

“heyyy! what was that for”, he says with a fake pout. you can only giggle at his antics, running a thumb over his forehead to ease the pain. 

you continued going on about the girl in your class, ignoring the way chans close proximity made you feel.

“what the hell?”

the note came with a baby blue tulip this time, writing about how your voice makes his day. ‘so he knows me…’, you think to yourself.

maybe you two share a class or two. either way, you’re determined to find out. this time, you write a note in your locker for him to read the next week. 

it’s a simple note, not as cute as his are. the only thing it asks is if you two share a class.

you hope he notices it next time, it’d be a shame if he didn’t. you place the note in your locker and quickly run back to class.

now that you think of it, he must have a class in the same hall as you since he always gets to your locker in the morning. maybe he’s in your first class. 

wait. why are you so eager to know? gosh, how are you falling for someone when you don’t even know who they are? 

“oh come onnn, please?”

“jeez, why do you wanna know so bad?”

“becauseee… you seem so happy when you get these flowers. do you finally have a boyfriend?”

you shoot him a look, shutting him up immediately. “what do you mean, “finally”? i’ve had many boyfriends before”, you say while shaking your head. 

chan laughs beside you, causing you to laugh a little bit too. “well, the truth is, i don’t know who these flowers are coming from. someone puts them in my locker every monday with a love letter…”

chan looks at you, wide eyed. he fakes his surprise, “wait… you have a secret admirer?!”, he giggles.

“yeah… i guess i do”, you smile.

you turn your head to look at him again, his boba eyes staring right at yours. you can’t help but think back to what the note about your eyes said. does chan see them the same way? do you… want him to see them the same way?

chan pulls you into an embrace when he sees the look in your eye. “well, hopefully he reveals himself soon”

your face is painted with a light blush again. how could you possibly be falling for two men at once?

why do feelings have to be so confusing…?

the weeks go by, different tulips and notes arriving in your locker every week. you’ve confirmed that you’re both in first period together, but that seems like the only clue you’re getting for a while.

each day, you press the flowers and place them in your special frame next to the decorative box, in which you place the letters.

your frame is just a blob of colors now, the ivory, purple, and crimson tulips popping out the most.

you’ve been meeting with chan a lot more recently for movie nights. you’ll have to admit, they’re really fun, but you’re finding it difficult to evaluate your feelings.

you’ve started to develop stronger feelings for chan, as well as your admirer. your heart is torn between the two. you don’t know who to choose. you dont even know if you can begin to choose.

how could you break their hearts?

you wake up early in the morning, surprised because you normally can’t seem to bring yourself to open your eyes. you nuzzle closer into the warm pillow, wondering why it feels so much better than usual.

“sleep well?”, chans voice revertibrates through your entire being. you pull your hands back, scooting away from him and looking up.

“wait… i- what the hell?”

“hey it’s not my fault! you were incredibly drunk, and you insisted i stay.”

“oh…”

“oh channie… please stay! i can’t sleep without you… you’re so warm”, he mocks you and laughs.

your eyes go wide, a hand clamped over your mouth in shock.

“i actually said that…?”, you hide your face in your hands. 

“no biggie”, he smiles.

you bury your face in your palms, embarrassed. you’re glad you didn’t let anything else slip out though. chan pulls you back into his embrace, drawing patterns on your back and laughing a little. 

“hey, seriously. it’s fine, i don’t mind keeping you company you know. your channie will always be here”, he giggles.

“shut. up.”, you reply, your voice muffled in his chest. 

you hear the door open, quickly jerking your head towards it. “you lovebirds done? i brought breakfast”, yeji smiles.

“yejiii” you whine, hiding your face again. chan gets out of bed, laughing again as he gets ready for the day.

“fuck…”, you mutter under your breath. it’ll be much easier to confess to chan right? you can confront him face to face, but with your admirer it’d be more difficult.

what if they’re just joking around? if you confess, the tulips will stop. you’ll have no more notes to keep in your box. but then again, if you do confess, there’s a high chance of the both of you ending up together.

there’s no way chan likes you, but you really need to get it off your chest. you can’t pursue your admirer while still having feelings for chan, that’s not fair to him.

if chan is so excited about this admirer, there’s no way he could actually like you… right? fuck it.

you run over to chans dorm, changbin opens the door for you. “y/n? chans not home right now, sorry.”

“yeah i know… i was um- i was meaning to talk to you actually.”

“oh! come in”, he says with a smile.

you explain the whole thing in depth to changbin, even your feelings for the two boys. changbin laughs to himself, ‘what has he gotten himself into?’, he thinks.

changbin doesn’t even seem to notice that tears are leaving your eyes. he quickly grabs your hand, running his thumb over it. “hey, i’m sure nothing bad will happen if you confess to chan. he loves you too much to let you go just because of a crush.”

“no but that’s the thing changbin! it’s not just a crush- i love him. i love the both of them. and i don’t know who to choose, or how to tell them, because it’s not fair to date one without telling the other and…”, you trail off.

“just tell chan you love him. and if you really want to win him over, tell him while you’re cooking or baking together or something.”

“what? why?”

“just do it, trust me.”

you nod, continuing to plan out your confession with changbin. you figure out how you’re going to confess, you hope chan will enjoy having his favorite dish.

“i should tell yeji about this too, she’ll probably have some advice.”

changbin goes silent, thinking about what else you could do. you notice the way his face goes red at the mention of your roommate.

hopefully he’ll confess too.

“i brought everything… what’s the occasion though?”

“you’ll see”, you say with a smile. 

you both make your way to the kitchen, smiling along the way. of course your nervous, but it’s a lot easier when you have his reassuring smile.

it seems to be something that always puts you at ease, it’s one of the reasons you love him so much. you feel so safe with him. 

you guys work on dinner, smiling and giggling the entire time. “that damn coral tulip really put you in a good mood hm?”

you chuckle a little, “hm, yeah”, you beam at him. hold on… did you tell him about the coral tulip? “wait… how do you know about the tulip”

“huh?”, chan seems to be confused, but then his eyes go wide. he realizes his mistake immediately, but he doesn’t know what to do.

“chan… i never told you anything about the tulip. how did you know what color it was?”

he opens his mouth to say something, but it won’t come out. “i…”, the lump in his throat rises more, cutting off his air flow. he’s seconds away from hyperventilating.

“channie, was it you the entire time?”

tears well up in his eyes, he didn’t want it to happen like this. he planned a whole reveal for you, and now it was all ruined.

you quickly turn off the stove, walking over to chan. you’re being careful not to scare him away, a smile on your face. “it’s you isn’t it?”

he nods softly, some tears escaping his eyes. “i’m sorry…”

you cup his cheek with your hand, wiping away the tears on his cheek. “can i…?”

he nods, and you crash your lips into his. “i love you channie”, you say breathlessly. he grabs your waist, picking you up and setting you down on the island. he pulls away from the kiss and looks you in the eyes. 

“i love you so much y/n. i’m so sorry i didn’t tell you i was just… scared of ruining our friendship.”

“chan… i um. i didn’t- i don’t want you to think i kissed you just because of the letters. i was planning on confessing to you today but that just made it so much better”

chans eyes twinkled in the light, stunned by the sincerity in your voice. “y/n… i truly do love you a lot. i- thank you.”

you give him a quick peck on the nose, wiping away his tears again.

“so, you were making all this so you could um… confess?”

you nod shyly, averting his gaze. he giggles at how adorable you look right now, sitting on the kitchen island.

“what’s so funny chan?”

he picks you up once again, this time pinning you against the wall. your heart flutters again in your chest, the butterflies erupting in your stomach.

“no. not chan… i’m your channie”, he smiles at you, leaning in for another kiss. you enjoy the moment with him, but all of a sudden you stop.

“chan! we still have to make the food”

he looks at you, sets you down on the floor and then turns away from you. you’re a little confused by the sudden change in attitude, but then it hits you. 

“sorry dork, i meant channie”

he smiles at you again, helping you fix dinner.

“wow… first dinner with my girlfriend and we even cooked it together.”, your eyes widened. you were going to have to get used to chan calling you his girlfriend.

“wake the fuck up you two!”, yeji yells from her room.

you’re in the same position as last time, you face nuzzled into chans chest and your arms are wrapped around him. he’s holding you this time, whispering sweet nothings into your ear and stroking his fingers through your hair. 

suddenly, yeji barges in to see you two practically looking like a pretzel. “oh my gosh…”

chan continues running his fingers through your hair, not paying attention to yeji at all. “wait… really?!”, yeji says excitedly.

it seems like shes finally gotten the hint, and you reach up to give chan a little peck. you smile at yeji, watching her visibly gag. “you know, you couldn’t just said ‘oh yeah we’re dating now!’. you didn’t have to kiss him. gross…”

chan laughs a little, the sound being music to your ears. “hey, it’s not my fault”

“yeah yeah whatever. get ready, we’re going out with changbin.”

you turn your head towards yeji again. “changbin? why so?”

chan lifts his head from the pillow. “are you finally dating now?”, he asks excitedly.

“ew no… gross”, yeji says while rushing out the room, not wanting you to see the crimson red covering her face.

you open your locker, instantly met with a much bigger envelope. you quickly open it to read it, smiling to yourself as you do. you’re so glad that chan did all this.

you searched your locker again, looking at the floor to see if the tulip fell, but you couldn’t find one. you pouted a little, the tulips seem to be something you cherish a lot. just then, you hear chans voice behind you.

in his hand is a bouquet, all different assortments of tulips. he doesn’t say anything, he just gives you a kiss and heads off to his next class. 

you stare at him as he leaves, completely in awe. tears almost spring to your eyes, but you fight them off. quickly placing your bouquet in your locker, you run to your next class.

you make it there just on time, but before taking out your notebook, you grab your phone.

y/n: thank you channie :) channie <3: i hope you liked them :) y/n: of course i did! y/n: i love you channie <3 channie <3: i loved you first <3

<3

[waldau-archived]

hii! I've noticed that you haven't written anything for minghao yet (according to your master list) so I wanted to request something cozy and homey with him. like maybe cooking together or waking up together or something along those lines.. :)

hello anon! i was feeling extra sappy with minghao and this also happens to be my first work for him. thank you so much for requesting it, i hope you see this!

gender neutral reader. warnings: none.

muse — xu minghao | 1,382 words | fluff

minghao blinks his eyes open to the sound of silence. there’s not much he can hear right out, except for the distant sound of cars going past. he lazes around for a few more moments before giving in and checking the time on his phone.

it’s just shy of six in the morning. he needs to be up and at the studio by nine, but he doesn’t feel like moving just yet. he puts his phone away and turns around to you, to watch you sleep.

the first time he’d ever done it was unfortunately a time you weren’t actually asleep, and he’d ended up staring at you for ten minutes before you woke up and apologized to him, saying that you couldn’t pretend to stay asleep without wanting to burst into laughter.

he still remembers how embarrassed he’d been by that, and how you made it up to him with kisses and multiples reassurances that it had been okay, that he could do it again, that it wasn’t a problem at all, you’d just been caught off-guard the very first time.

the thing is — minghao adores you. he’s in awe of you. to him, no one else on this planet even compares to how exquisite you are. he loves how like-minded the two of you are, how affectionate you’re with him, and how much you support him without even saying any words. of course, he loves going out on dates with you, seeing new places with you, seeing you match the outfits he wears, but this might just be his favourite sight in the world.

this being seeing you asleep on your side, facing him, a hand tucked under your head and the other holding his own. as an artist, he’s used to noticing the finer details about everything he sees, so when it comes to you, he could lose himself for hours noticing every single thing about you that makes him love you more.

minghao gently untangles his hand from your grasp, drawing his own blanket over you properly so that you don’t feel cold. he immediately feels the cold winter air hit his bare arms, and he winces as he gets used to it. he’s going to need to workout before he leaves, because there’s no time for it in the evening. not if he wants to finish work fast enough to come back to have dinner with you.

his fingers itch for a brush. it’s been a while since he’s painted something. the last thing he’d put on his canvas had been a rendition of a sunrise he’d been able to see with you a few weeks ago. it had been magical; the beautiful hues of orange and yellow blending with the shimmering brightness of the sea, contrasting the pale hue of the sky.

but nothing looked more beautiful than you sitting next to him, watching the sun rise and letting the water wash over your legs. he’d been tempted to paint you instead, right there, but you’d dragged him out on a monday morning for inspiration, despite the fact that both of you had work soon, and he wasn’t going to let it go to waste.

but he doesn’t really need inspiration. not when you’re his muse.

he runs his fingers across your face as gently as he can, glad that you’re still asleep. you’ve been having trouble sleeping recently, and he’s glad he’s part of why you’ve been sleeping better. he smiles when he notices two faint pillow creases stamped into your cheek, angry red lines that he hopes don’t hurt you at all. you somehow manage to look even more perfect with them.

he doesn’t know how long he’s been staring at you before your eyes blink open slowly, and somehow his eyes are the first thing that yours find. he holds his breath, waiting for you to speak.

“hao?” you ask, voice croaky. “what time is it?”

minghao checks his phone again. “six thirty-seven. you still have twenty three more minutes to sleep, if you want.”

“mm,” you say, before you roll in closer and pull his arm to yourself. “wake me up at seven, then.” before he can say anything, you look up at him. “aren’t you supposed to leave early today?”

he nods. “do you want me to leave?”

you huff and tug at his arm to pull him closer to yourself, and he goes down willingly. “you know that’s not what i meant.”

“what did you mean, then?” he asks, pinching your nose softly.

you’re used to his teasing by now, so you just roll your eyes throw an arm around his waist. “did you sleep well, hao?”

“really well. you?”

“me too. but…how long were you staring at me this time?”

he feigns shock. “you could tell?”

“i can just…feel it, somehow,” you giggle. “won’t you tell me?”

“do you really want me to?”

“of course,” you say, eyes shining despite the layer of sleep clinging to them. minghao wishes he could spend more time with you like this. it’s almost like you’re forcing yourself to stay awake despite having some more time to sleep, just to talk to him. the thought warms his chest.

“maybe forty minutes? maybe more.”

there’s a grin on your face. “correct me if i’m wrong, but…i think you love me?”

he could just refute it, tease you a little, joke that you’re in too deep, but he can’t. there’s something about the early hours of the morning combined with the fact that he has the honour to wake up with you that makes his heart heavy. he’s lucky to even have this, especially with you.

“you’re right,” he says, voice rough, feeling his waterline sting suddenly. “i love you.”

the grin on your face disappears slowly. “hao? is everything okay?”

“of course it is, darling,” he says, bending down to kiss your forehead, brushing off some rogue strands of hair to kiss it properly, tucking it behind your ear so he can see your beautiful face better. “i love you. is that wrong?”

“no, silly,” you say, leaning up to cup his cheek in your palm. your hand is cold. maybe he should’ve warmed you up better. “you sound…sad. like there’s something eating at you.”

he closes his eyes and indulges himself in your touch, trying to work out his words, marvelling at how easily you can read him. “i…love you. you know that, right?”

“yeah. i love you, too. but…?”

“but,” he sighs, “i just…don’t have the right words to tell you how much i love you. i could say i love you a thousand times, but it wouldn’t be enough. i could kiss you a thousand times and it wouldn’t be enough. i could…i could ask you to marry me but nothing would be enough to tell you how thankful i am that you’re here with me. that you’re mine.”

silence, just the two of you in your bedroom, the sounds of life filtering in from outside the window.

your breath is shaky when you speak. “hao.” you drop your hand down to his arm. “i love you, too. you don’t…i don’t need any grand gestures from you. just…be with me. every single day. be mine forever. that’s it.”

“there’s nowhere else i want to be.”

“then that’s all i need.”

minghao presses a kiss to your head. he hopes it conveys everything he’s feeling right now. he’s about to say something more when your alarm goes off, and he really should get going if he doesn’t want to reach work late.

“see you in the evening?” you ask, hand catching his as he attempts to get to his feet. “maybe we can talk about…getting married? for real?”

minghao hasn’t even opened the curtains yet, and he feels like he’s standing in front of the sun again. he’s going to go to work, do well, come back home to you and hold you and hear about your day and eat with you. he’s going to surprise you with a painting of yourself, and he’s going to marry you. that’s the life he’s built for himself with you, and he loves it.

it’s all he needs to keep going, every single day.

“i can’t wait. i’ll be back before you know it, darling.”

taglist: @bookyeom @wootify @strnsvt @cloudycaramel @thepoopdokyeomtouched @minnieminshi @nonononranghaee @hrts4hanniehae @viewvuu @bewoyewo

[martyrlamb]

✶  let the light in  /  leon kennedy

pairing:  leon kennedy x gn!reader

summary:  early mornings are hard and leon loves you.

tags:  sfw, fluff, a bit of angst when leon thinks about his life, no use of y/n, complete self indulgence i want to wake up next to him, cuddling, kissing, established relationship, any time period leon!!, leon being clingy and adorbs, leon is absolutely whipped for you

note:  ummm title based off the lana song. it’s so waking up and being all soft and cuddly in bed with ur s/o coded and i know leon is so clingy on the mornings he has off so that’s what i wrote :P enjoy

word count: 1.3k

He’s used to sleepless nights and early mornings.

Been used to them. Leon lived in a group home, kids got loud before breakfast—incessant laughter and whines of hunger he couldn’t tune out by smothering his ears in the fabric of his pillow. Training had a rigid schedule he couldn’t get past even if he tried. 

Falling asleep was harder than it looked, and he spent most nights staring at the back of his eyelids wishing he could fade away from consciousness. Every creak of the floorboards made him jolt and the wind that whistled through a crack in the window frame produced cold, clammy hands. 

When he did float off to dreamland, he usually didn’t last very long. 

The last few hairs on his dad’s head. A string of pearls snapped on the floor. His mom’s manicured hand, stained with blood. Every set of eyes he’s ever known going dull. Losing himself. Desperately—desperately holding onto something solid for dear life. It’s all there, and it plays over like freeze frames of a movie.

He pretends it doesn’t stick. There are no bad dreams he’s startled himself awake from, he doesn’t shake like the alley strays in the middle of winter under his blankets, his skin is not damp with sweat.

He knows the routine when he wakes up: lie there until he isn’t allowed anymore. Only, when he opens his eyes all heavy and groggy, unable to shake the itchy sleep deprivation from his tear ducts, he’s with you.

You, with that peaceful expression of yours while your head rests against the pillow. Your chest rises and falls in soft hills under the bit of blanket Leon hadn’t managed to steal during the night. He traces the bridge of your nose with the shadow of his finger; he thinks about counting the number of eyelashes that ring your pretty eyes so he never forgets the shape.

It’s tooth-achingly sappy, and it makes him feel like that giddy kid late for his first day as a police officer again. A little brighter, a little more saturated. Before he saw the worst parts of the world—at least on mornings like these.

Between work and the general hustle and bustle of life, he doesn’t get many of them. A crime, if you ask him.

Sunlight filters through the crack in the curtains that you picked out. It’s peering over the horizon and it beats down in streams on the bed and makes a silhouette of your face. You’re backlit like something angelic. God, he’s getting poetic but he can’t help it; you’re you and you’re in his life, so yeah, it’s innate in every way possible.

He takes it in: the birds chittering through the screen of the window that you always leave open an inch, the squeak of the old fan he pulled from storage as it oscillates, your warm skin against his. Leon’s room isn’t very picturesque (your doing; when he started seeing you, your things began to crop up everywhere and now they’re strewn about the apartment alternating: yours, his, yours, his.), but he thinks this morning could be put in the Louvre.

You stir in your sleep and Leon goes still, watching your breathing as it speeds up. He doesn’t want it to end yet.

Okay. Leon might be the villain for this, but he rolls right back over, partially on top of you, and puts his head on your chest with one of his arms draped over your stomach. When he hears the gentle thrum of your heartbeat, he shuts his eyes and pretends to sleep. 

Words that fade to nothing escape your mouth in a sigh as you squint yourself awake. He can picture the face you’re making right now: all bleary-eyed and softly disgruntled, the slight furrow of your brows as you regain consciousness. He’s seen it a thousand times, and he’s going to see it a million more if fate wills it. 

You struggle under his weight to check your phone and he can tell you’re moving as slow as possible so you don’t wake him. Something about no good deed going unpunished—he’s not planning on going anywhere anytime soon even if he could for the sake of your mobility. 

When you place your phone on the nightstand again, it’s a bit more aggressive, a bit rougher, and you grumble. Must be work. Your fingertips creep up and palm at Leon’s hair gently, an attempt to coax him awake that doesn’t work. His breathing stills, and he listens to you whisper his name sweetly into his ear.

“I know you’re up, Leon,” you mumble finally, he can hear the smile in your voice.

Damn, caught. He doesn’t budge. 

You continue, stroking his hair with one hand snaked behind his head. “I have to go to work.”

With his gig up, he merely buries his face in the crook of your neck and inhales like it would somehow attach you to him. The hairs on his arms rise when he catches the smell of your shampoo. You giggle and squirm under him from the sensation. His name falls from your lips in a playful complaint, dragging out the last syllable. 

Leon can feel the vibration of your throat and he smiles against your skin. Shhh… he thinks when he peppers kisses along your collarbone. You’re ticklish under his feather-light arsenal and you laugh, grabbing the sides of his face to tilt his head up slightly to look at you. Your hands are soft and warm and he could probably draw out your fingerprints from memory by now, but he still relishes the feeling like he’ll forget at any moment.

“I have to go,” you insist, your thumb strokes circles on his cheek when he starts on your waist. There’s no real urgency in your tone.

He groans and lets his head fall forward, forehead against your chin. “No.”

“You don’t know how much I want to stay.” Your reply is wistful; considerate—he’s got you right where he wants you.

“Then stay,” he mutters quietly, and he looks up, glancing at you through his lashes. Bingo. He watches your persistence dissolve on your tongue. 

“What about work?”

“Call in sick.”

You hum in response, a cute little tone that means nothing in the long run. Your mind is already made up, Leon can see it in your eyes, but you like to pretend to put up a fight for responsibility’s sake. 

“Oh, fine,” you finally reply and snatch your phone from the nightstand. It only takes a few minutes for you to finish tapping on the tiny keys and when you do, you discard it and rake your fingers through Leon’s hair.

The sensation of your nails against his scalp sends goosebumps down each column of his spine and he shuts his eyes, leaning his head on your shoulder. You simper when you say, “You’re a terrible influence.”

“I’ve been told.” It comes out more like a sigh.

You press a kiss to the crown of his head, a small, loving movement that might have brought him to tears a few years ago. It was so plain and domestic, a type of subtle affection he’d never had the privilege of experiencing until he met you. He thought it wasn’t real for the longest time, something of romance novels and shitty rom-coms, but you made it so easy. You made everything so easy.

He wraps his other arm around your waist and rolls both of you over, him on his back and you on top of him. You laugh his name, tangled in a mess of blankets and limbs as you wrap your arms around his neck. He presses a kiss to the crown of your head, now, and he hopes it feels the same for you as it did to him. 

A ray of sun beats against his eyelids, enveloping the darkness in an obnoxious white light. Bah. Leon can’t even find it in himself to complain; he loves you. He’s in this bed, and you’re in this bed and he loves you so much he can’t think of anything else. 

[ahmedfreepalestine]

Dear humanity,

I am talking to you about my suffering and the suffering of my children.

I have not met or seen my children for more than a year😭🙏 because I am in Egypt, and my children in Gaza are going through difficult and desperate conditions🙏😭.

They are unable to obtain the basics of life🍉🍉. And who brings them water and food in light of the difficult conditions and high prices there.

I also have a severe fear of losing them🇵🇸🇵🇸. Please help by donating🙏🍉

. If you cannot help, please share🙏🔻 There is news about the opening of the Rafah crossing this month, and it is the only chance I can meet them, please help🙏😭

My has been verified by @bilal-salah0 @heritageposts @frustrated-froglet

Ahmed is living abroad alone and far from his family😭

https://gofund.me/708653bf

Click to donate link gofund.me The family is in dire need of donations. Every donation makes a difference. Please.💔🇵🇸🍉

[tag list under the cut]:

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@postanagramgenerator @chronicschmonic

[bbyseok]

sparks in your eyes

pairing: bakugou katsuki x gn!reader

word count: 1.5k

a/n: happy new year everyone !! ik i’m a week late but please enjoy this :)

content: soulmate au, ua students setting, everyone are third years, the class is like a whole family :’) we love to see it, newly established relationship, fireworks n sparklers, VERY soft katsuki, swearing yes, very tiny hint of angst, mostly sappy fluff for the new year !!

analysis: as the year comes to an end, you and katsuki enter the new one with sparks in your eyes.

———

they say you see sparks when you kiss your soulmate for the very first time.

and just with that saying, people dreamt of having their first kiss. of finding their soulmate in their first, if they were lucky enough.

but sometimes, your first significant other wasn’t always your soulmate. it wasn’t always your first relationship. sometimes you’d find them further down your life—sometimes, it’d take a lifetime to find who the universe had destined you with.

the frigid air of the last night of december is a chilling reminder that winter is yet to end, unlike the year.

famed class 3-a, now finally in their third years after long months and adventures of battling villains, are celebrating the new year together.

everyone’s gathered in the common area, conversing excitedly as everyone prepares to head into the streets for the fireworks and the countdown. (iida is doing his infamous hand motions as he makes sure everyone is bundled up properly. momo supplies an extra scarf or two.)

and here you are, nestled into katsuki’s side as the two of you wait on the couch with the rest of his friends. denki’s chatting up a storm per usual, and there’s the sound of hagakure and jirou laughing.

katsuki rubs his thumb over your hand absentmindedly as he deadpans something kirishima says, and you can’t help but snort.

it had taken bakugou a couple of months to muster up the courage to confess to you before it'd be too late. with the new year approaching, so is graduation—and the possibility of losing you as you all are thrusted into the lives of being actual pro heroes wasn’t something he was going to risk.

and it had been worth it. these past few weeks are proof of that. having the privilege of being your boyfriend—walking you to class hand in hand, staying up with you to bury all that studying into your head, sharing warmth underneath the sheets of his bed in his dorm room.

katsuki’s tugging you upward suddenly and you blink up at him in confusion, breaking out of your thoughts.

he catches your stare and scoffs fondly. “c’mon, brat. we’re headin’ out now.” he gestures to your classmates exiting the dorm building before he tugs you alongside him to follow them out.

“sooo..” denki elbows sero and kiri with a waggle of his brows before he glances to the rest of the class as they walk, “who’s ready to find their soulmate tonight? i know i am!”

there’s a few who roll their eyes at his statement while others blush—you can feel katsuki’s eyes linger on you but you don’t say anything as you join in the girls’ giggling.

“as if anyone would wanna kiss your dumb face, sparky!” bakugou barks out and the laughing rises.

the electric student sticks his tongue out at your boyfriend and crosses his arms. “yeah, yeah.”

there’s a few more snickers and the class blends into more easy conversations. it feels comfortable, it feels right to be like this. after all, having trained and lived alongside some of these people, they were bound to feel like family.

once you reach the outskirts of the city, everyone begins to spread out for the meantime to grab drinks, foods, etc. some of the class stay behind to still chat and light up sparklers.

you grab one from midoriya, turning to katsuki with a pleading look. “light mine for me, katsu?” you ask sweetly, twirling the stick in your fingers.

he rolls his eyes but he never can say no to you. “whatever. my explosions are cooler than some sparkler, y’know that, right?” even as he says this, he lights the damn thing for you.

“of course, suki,” you snort. once the sparkler burns, you wave it and threaten to jab it at the blonde. he glares at you playfully.

“watch it, brat!” he tells you with a smirk, “don’t wanna start the new year with some charred clothes, yeah?”

the empty threat has you gasping and you hold the sparkler in defense. “don’t you dare, bakugou katsuki!”

he sends you a stupid grin and you dash. he ends up chasing you around the street and you grab another sparkler for defense, maneuvering around your classmates with a shriek.

eventually, your sparklers die out and bakugou manages to snatch you up with a triumphant laugh. “hah! you thought you could run, huh, dumbass?”

“katsuki!” you giggle, “okay, okay! i surrender, lemme down!” when he sets you down, he ruffles your hair fondly. there’s a sudden flash and next thing you know your boyfriend is wrestling a pink-skinned girl for her phone.

(mina had made it out alive and promptly sent the moment to you afterwards, don’t worry.)

time passes and the countdown is nearing its final digits. things had definitely become more livelier as some of your classmates had returned back to the meeting spot and more people had trudged in.

“katsuki,” you say softly, tugging at his fingers as if to lure him away, “let’s head back to the dorms.”

“don’t you wanna stay with the others?” katsuki inquires, quirking up a brow at you. he seems surprised by your request.

you shake your head. “it’s okay. i just wanna be with you.”

you don’t know it but you make his head all fuzzy, especially when you say such sappy shit like that. his cheeks are red and it’s not just because of the cold. “fine,” he huffs, and he’s leading the way again.

once you’re back inside the heat of the common area, you glance at him, still walking towards the elevators.

“dumbass, where the hell are we goin’?” he questions you but he doesn’t protest as you keep dragging him along.

“the roof, katsu,” you simply explain to him, a bit giddy, “so we can still see the fireworks.”

bakugou hums in reply and is quiet during the elevator ride. the doors open and you take the rest of the stairs that lead up to the roof.

you let go of his hand to stand near the edge, looking over the bright lights of the city. it’s as if the buildings and streets are alive, even from this distance. the city bristles in anticipation of the countdown.

“are you going to kiss me, katsuki?”

the question catches him off guard even though he had been preparing for it all night. and the nights before that. (katsuki has been thinking of kissing you for weeks.)

you hear his light footsteps as he comes to stand behind you. “if you want me to,” comes his gruff reply.

you turn around to face him. the radiance of the moonlight slants over his features and though you’ve never doubted it, he’s the finest man you’ve ever seen. “do you?” you shoot back.

he visibly trembles. “fuckin’ hell, of course i wanna kiss you.”

his ferocity makes you forget how to breathe for a couple of heartbeats. “and what if..” you trail off but the question hangs in the air. and what if we’re not soulmates?

he answers you easily, slotting his hands in yours. they’re still warm. he’s like a walking furnace sometimes. “you think i wouldn’t be able to find my soulmate first try?” he snorts.

you roll your eyes then with a small smile. ever the confident one, he is. “i’m nervous,” you then confess quietly, flexing your fingers against his.

“don’t be, dumbass,” he scolds you. “i’m gonna kiss you ‘n it’s gonna be you. you really think the universe wouldn’t give me the perfect soulmate?”

bakugou doesn’t say words of flattery much—his affection is rather shown through actions and while you don’t mind, hearing his declaration has heat rushing to your cheeks.

puffs of air are visible as you breathe, but they mingle between the two of you. he’s so close. the sudden roar of the countdown sounds.

ten! nine! eight!

“okay,” you hum, drawing him closer.

seven! six! five!

“okay?” he says softly.

four! three!

“okay, katsuki.” you smile. “kiss me.”

two! one!

he leans forward and you meet him halfway, lips on his and then—the fireworks in the sky aren’t the ones you see. there’s a blaze and flurry of sparks that envelop you as your eyes flutter close.

you feel as if you’re on fire, the way katsuki’s lips mold against yours and he draws your body even closer. the brush of his thumb on your cheek has you gasping into his mouth and you know he can see it too.

you can still see them as you open your eyes slowly and barely pull away. you can see the sparks in his eyes, can feel the heat of them in his fingertips.

a silence hangs between you but it feels warm. the affirmation of your bond steady in the air, and it’s like your soul is sated. you had found each other.

“you were nervous, admit it,” you tease, utterly breathless and helplessly in love.

instead of vehement denial, his eyes soften and your heart leaps.

“no.” katsuki breathes and melts against you, entirely yours. “i told you i knew it’d be you.”

and when he kisses you again, the sparks are still there.

[soupbabe]

So it’s basically winter where I live and I was wondering if I could get the sinclair brothers, Billy Lenz and Otis Driftwood with an s/o who always has cold hands and try’s to warm them up by touching the slashers? Thank you as always

Touching the Slashers with Cold Hands

Featuring: Billy Lenz, Bo Sinclair, Lester Sinclair, Otis Driftwood, and Vincent Sinclair

No problem!! Literally the only thing I hate about winter is how cold my hands get 😓😓 Apologies for taking a while to write this, I've been focused on other things

Billy Lenz

- No matter how cold your hands are, his hands are colder

- He revels in your touch so much, like a cat rubbing his head against his owner's hands

- If you're being touchier than usual, he's immediately assuming you want to do more than to just warm your hands up

- might take your hand to other places he wants you to touch him

- It'll take like 3 other incidents for Billy to finally get the hint that you genuinely just want your hands to get warmer

- He's already the kind of guy who wants to be held 24/7, your constant touching is fueling his bad habits of forcing himself in your lap whenever possible

- Though Billy can't help you heat up your hands, it sure does feel good to be cuddled up in your lap by a fire

Otis Driftwood

- Cold hands were the first thing Otis discovered about you

- He loves having your hands all over him, massive ego boost to have your s/o cling to you

- It's just a bonus that he's a human furnace

- With how touchy you are, he also tries to get something more out of it

- Just gets him going when you're with him and your hands drift ever so slightly under his shirt, y'know?

- When you're all over him it's when he wants to be at his most unbothered

- Will throw anything in his vicinity at whoever comes in and interrupts his time with you

Bo Sinclair

- He adores your hands on him

- Bo is definitely a possessive and protective type, having you next to him, hands around his arms always make him walk around with his chest puffed out

- He never liked being touched but you've changed his mind so fast

- Bo would definitely kiss your palms or something if you're cuddling early in the morning

- He's sappy when you're in bed with him, he can't resist

Lester Sinclair

- When you first touched him, you scared him a lil

- You wrapped your hands around his waist once and all that left him was a small shriek-giggle combo

- If you tell him your hands are just cold, he'll just nod and let you drape your arms around him once more

- It doesn't take long for him to recognize that it's a common issue for you and so he gets to plotting

- He knows he can't always be there to help you warm yourself up so he'd go into town and get you a nice pair of gloves <33

- You wear them constantly and it warms his heart !!

- Though you both know it doesn't beat the intimacy of real skin to skin contact <3

Vincent Sinclair

- Oh he's the best person to warm your hands up with

- Not only is he a human furnace, he's always gonna have some lingering warmth from his workshop

- He's a bit skittish, not being the touchy type, but he loves the cool feeling your hands leave on his body

- Head empty only Vincent guiding your hand to touch his real face, the sensation extra warm due to his blush

- He becomes a lot more clingy whenever you're around

- It's not like you'd have a problem with it, right? He knows you'd be complaining about how cold you are if he wasn't there

[xhoneygirlxx]

Miss Americana & The Heartbreak Prince

Steve Harrington x Reader

summary: The cheerleading and boy's basketball coaches are the talk of Hawkins High. When they can't seem to put two and two together, the students have to take matter into their own hands to get the pair together.

warnings: fluff. Steve and reader are both in their 20s. gender/body size/ethnicity are not discussed (the name of the fic was simply picked based off of one line). a little cameo from our favorite metal head. a bit sappy but who cares. idiots in love. we stan the students in this fic, they were doin god's work frfr. also modern au! spelling errors/shitty writing, i'm sick so forgive me for any mistakes lmao.

*if i miss anything please let me know*

a/n: As we all know, today would have been the last day of Honey's birthday bash. That was the plan my friends but bc of party festivities, hangovers, and now a bad cold, we are now behind on schedule. Thank you all for hanging in there with me :) I hope you all enjoy this, love you bunches!

The whole school is rolling fake dice.

Whispers traveled through the echo chamber hallways, bets being placed with the shaking of hands, and gossip being passed back and forth in the lunchroom like a breadbasket at dinner. All anyone could talk about was the two coaches that were blind to their own attraction to one another.

Unbeknownst to you and Steve, you guys were in the middle of a storm of circulating rumors since the beginning of the season. From the moment you two met all hell broke loose, a wildfire spreading through the classrooms of the school.

Everyone could see how much you liked each other, it was so clear like the scoreboard that shined brightly in the gym, except for you. The perfect love story, the cheerleader and jock, it was bound to happen sooner or later.

It started as a game between the cheerleaders and the basketball players, betting on who would break first and finally make it official. Soon it became a game amongst the rest of the student body, all of them biting at their nails and crossing their fingers in the hope that one of you would crack.

To everyone's disappointment, neither of you ever did. It was exhausting watching the two of you dance around your clear feelings for one another. The two of you tried to play it cool, act like any of the accusations were just that, accusations. But it was there, bright as day, on display for the whole world to see.

It was in the way your eyes would find each other's in a crowded room, feather light touches that would linger for way too long, shy smiles and rosy cheeks. The way you talked to one another was anything but two people who worked together. It was teasing, flirty, and breathless any time you talked.

There was a big wager for this whole thing, which team would win the biggest check and which one would have to fork over all the money. The cheerleaders and half of the school had their money on Steve, his reputation as a ladies man helping them with their decision. The basketball team and the other half of the school bet on you, knowing you were more outspoken then he is.

Now it's been months since the bets were placed but neither of you finally crossed over the line from friends to lovers. So the cheerleaders did what they do best, they rallied everyone on their side, made a plan that would guarantee their win.

Winter formal was only a week away, both of you were sure to chaperone without a date. So the cheerleaders got to work, making sure their plan would be executed flawlessly.

Phase #1: Plant the seeds

Two loud knocks against the heavy wood door of Steve's office bring him out of his computer screen. Shouting a come in, he's met with the sight of the student council president, Lauren McPhee who holds a white paper.

"Sorry to bother you but I need this form filled out for the dance next week!" She's too chipper for a Monday morning, smiling brightly like the sun that hangs in the cold December sky.

"Oh yeah, let me just get a pen." Wheeling back on his desk chair, Steve begins to pat his shirt while looking around at his cluttered desk for the writing instrument.

Once he snatches the ballpoint pen from under the stack of papers, Steve grabs the flimsy sheet from Lauren's hand and scribbles down his signature on every empty line.

"Alrighty, there you go." With a tight lipped smile, he hands it back to the nice girl.

Steve watches as her eyes flit over the paper, flipping it front to back to make sure everything is filled out properly. When her features twist in confusion he can't help but wonder why.

"Everything look good?" He questions and she shakes her head while still reading over the curled letters of his name.

"Y-yeah, it's just," pulling her lip between her teeth, Lauren begins to chew on it anxiously, "the section for your date has been left blank. Excuse me if I'm crossing a line here, coach, but you're not bringing a date?"

Her voice is sympathetic, lips pulled into a deep from and her eyes sparkling with pity as she looks at the older man. Steve isn't sure why she seems so upset about him going alone or why it would be a problem, but when she looks at him like a dog that's been kicked he feels the need to answer.

"Oh, well I don't really have anyone to take. Plus it's more important for me to be paying attention to the punch bowl to make sure no asshole- I mean jerk, spikes it." With a forced laugh, he waits to see if his answer is enough to suffice the girl's curiosity.

"O-oh that makes sense I guess, I just though maybe you and the cheerleading coach would go together. You know cause they're also going alone and from what they told me, they never been to their winter formal before." Shrugging, the girl moves her sights from him back to the paper.

"They told you that?" Steve's answer is met with a hesitant nod from the girl. "I-I didn't know that." He breathes.

"At least they'll finally be able to go, right?" Again she shrugs, pulling a folder from her bag to put the paper away.

"Wait!" It comes out louder than he expected, cringing slightly at his volume. "Can I hold onto that and then had it in later?"

"Sure! I'll be back on Wednesday." A sunny smile shines at him, the white paper being passed back to him. "See you then, coach."

Waving him goodbye, Lauren shuts the door behind her where the cheerleaders wait for her. With a singular thumbs up, they begin to jump with joy only for a moment before moving on to phase two.

Phase #2: Destroy the band room

Now destruction of school property was not something any student was willing to get written up for, but with the help of an adult maybe they wouldn't have to.

Mr. Munson was the band instructor and drama teacher, as well as Steve Harrington's right hand man. Before he was an educator, Eddie Munson menaced these halls for many years. Before getting his act together and after he quit selling weed to the students in the woods, he worked as an apprentice for a while, following a plumber around for months while he went to college for education.

"Mr. Munson come on, don't you want to see your bestie finally get a happy ending?" Karissa Thomas batted her eyelashes at him as she begged for his help.

"I don't know guys, I could get into a lot of trouble." Rubbing his forehead, Eddie sighs as he weighs out his options in his head.

"Think of it this way, you can finally give principle Higgins the finger. At least metaphorically." Anthony Whitmer adds.

"Plus, we'll give you some of the profits." Mark, another band kid pleads from the group.

Eddie leans against his desk wide eyed, smirking slightly at his band students. Who knew they would be so devious.

"Fuck it, I'm in." The group before him shout in victory while Eddie laughs devilishly. Somethings never changes, he thinks.

So this morning when he arrived at school, Eddie made sure that no one was around when he began fucking with the pipes. After about twenty minutes and sore upper arms, he finally succeeds by springing a leak.

When he reported the leak to principle Higgins, he was met with a side eye before getting the approval of the gym slot after school, which meant you and your team would be forced to share with Harrington and his team until it got fixed.

Phase #3: Offer planning services to coach Harrington

Now to bring this whole plan together, cheer captains Dan Morrison and Amber Hall needed to be in the same place at the same time as Steve Harrington. The only problem was his office and where he usually occupied the most was the east wing of the school. The east wing was the closest to his office and it was the least traveled hallways out of the whole school.

That meant they needed to make it look like they were that way for a reason. Luckily for them, the art room was also in the east wing, so they would make it look like they were grabbing poster boards for last minute winter formal posters.

Lunch time was the best time to put this into motion, so the minute the 11:50 bell rang, Dan and Amber sprinted to the east wing in the hopes they would catch him.

After rummaging around for glitter, markers, and poster boards, the two waited at the door, peaking over the frame in the hopes to catch the older man. When the door of his office opened, the two seniors began to walk out of the room talking about random things to not make it look so obvious.

In the hopes of sparking a conversation with him, Amber dropped the container of markers causing colorful pens to fall all over the hard floor.

"Amber, I told you not to drop them!" Dan laughs, putting the white posters to the floor in order to pick up the rolling markers.

"You made me laugh!" The girl argues back, laughing loudly as she crouches to help.

"I didn't even do anything." He replies, making the girl laugh even harder at his comment.

The echo of Steve's heavy footsteps could be heard by both teenagers, but they ignore it so he wouldn't catch on.

"You guys cool?" Steve asks, crouching down to help pick up what fell.

"H-hi coach," Amber greets, catching her breath from her heavy laughter, "We're okay, Dan just made me drop these."

The boy in question huffs and rolls his eyes playfully, continuing his actions of gathering the rest of what's on the floor.

"So what are you guys doing with all this, anyway?" Steve asks, pushing off on his knees to stand.

"Oh, just last minute posters for the dance." Dan says nonchalantly as he gathers his pile of supplies.

"You're going, right?" The young girl asks and Steve responds with a small sigh, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Yeah I'll be there." Nodding his head, the man places his hands on his hips looking at the two kids in front of him.

"That's fun! Are you bringing a date?" Amber wiggles her eyebrows.

Shoving her playfully, Dan looks at her with a gasp. "Oh my gosh, Amber you can't just ask that. Sorry, coach." Doing his best to look sympathetic, Dan offers his best smile to the older man.

"It's okay, Dan," Steve places a hand out, looking at the brown haired boy, "Actually, I was wondering if you guys could help me with that."

"Sure!" The cheerleaders agree in unison.

"Let's talk about this in my office." Pointing a thumb to the end of the hall, spinning of the ball of his foot to lead the way.

Steve defiantly doesn't see how bright both of the teen's smiles are from where they walk behind him and he surely doesn't see them giving each other a high five.

Phase #4: Get you to go to the parking lot before practice

This phase was probably the hardest of them all. You were very keen on punctuality, always the first to be at the building to make sure everything was set up. Now that you'd be sharing the gym with the basketball team, you were more than likely to be there a whole lot earlier than usual.

Now this is where the most important players come in, Lauren Hernandez and Simon Carter. The two freshmen were bright stars at Hawkins High, the leading members of the mathletes and very trust worthy students.

When this whole plan started it was known that they'd need someone who was convincing to divert your attention, so the two meek students volunteered without a second thought. The amount of money they'd win if coach Harrington made the first move was way more important than credibility at this point.

When they spotted you coming through the outside gym door, the two kids began to put on their show. Rushing through the two gymnasium doors, Lauren and Simon pant acting as if they ran a mile.

"C-coah, we need-" Simon bends over, bracing his hands on his knees while breathing heavily, "We need your help!"

You immediately drop your bags, sprinting over to the two youths. Worry is written all over your face, eyes immediately checking for any visible injuries on them.

"I-is everything okay? What's wrong? Are you hurt?" Placing a hand on your chest, you wait for them to catch their breath.

"There's a fight outside. Max Newman and Devon Lewis are fighting in the parking lot." Lauren rushes out, eyes wide and glassy under the gym lights.

You're more than shocked at the news, the two boys have been great friends the whole time you've coached them. In a flash, you urge both kids to get coach Harrington from his office while you break up the fight.

What you don't know is neither Simon or Lauren have to get him, waiting until the slam of the heavy gym door both run after you to make sure they don't miss a single moment.

Rushing through the entrance doors, the cold winter chill instantly hits you but you don't pay too much attention to it when there isn't a fight happening.

When you walk outside, you see your team of cheerleaders lined up on both sides of the steps, a red rose in each hand. As you walk, they hand them to you, bright smiles on each of their faces when they do.

You can't speak with the amount of confusion that runs through your brain. Even though you want to ask them what all of this is about, you just let your feet carry you out into the parking lot.

You jump slightly when you hear Wildest Dreams being play, the only difference is the band kids stand off to the side with their instruments. Giggling slightly, you imagine Eddie Munson teaching his kids a Taylor Swift song but Bridgerton style.

With a bundle of roses in hand, you continue out into the snow covered parking lot. Under the street lights you see him standing with his hands in his pockets. Behind him stands some of the drama kids, holding big white posters. Taking a moment to read the blue and silver lettering, you gasp when it finally hits you.

F O R M A L ?

Tears prick your eyes and not just because of the cold winter wind. The thought and dedication that went into this must've taken so much (more than both of you even realize), you're heart beaming with the thought of Steve putting this together.

"So what do you say, coach? Will you do me the honors of being my date to the dance?" Steve's cheeks are red and his teeth glimmer under the florescent lights.

You can't help but let more tears fall, all of the pining and wishing finally coming true under the darken sky, right where the two of you first met. It feels too good too be true, a real life fairytale happening in real time.

"Of course I will." It comes out loud enough for only him to hear, the two of you looking at each other in adoration.

In a split moment, Steve's strong hands pull you in and wrap you in the tightest hug, something you dreamt of all this time. Even in the cold temperatures, his body heat, his touch holds the heat of a thousand suns.

The roaring cheer of all of those around you, besides the band who continue to play, fills the open air. You and Steve are so wrapped up in each other you don't even notice the flash of the camera, Andrew Johnson of the yearbook committee getting multiple shots of the whole thing.

Pulling back enough to look at one another, you smile brightly up at him. Steve looks so pretty like this, cherry nose, snow flurries collecting in his eyelashes and hair, and a smile so sweet it could rot your teeth.

"I can't believe you did all of this." You say with a laugh, shaking your head in amazement.

Chuckling slightly, he looks down bashfully at you. "Yeah well, I had some help." The two of your look all around the parking lot where multiple students stand, all from different clubs, groups, and social brackets beam and cheer for the two of you.

The two of you turn back to one another, gooey looks on both of your faces and love filling your eyes. "Who would've thought." You say breathlessly and he agrees.

"Can I kiss you?" It's breathless and hopeful when Steve says it, and you're answer is just as breathless.

Connecting his lips to yours felt like two puzzle pieces fitting together, it's feels like home, and it feels right. Like a snow globe, you and Steve are frozen for just a moment under the December snow.

I hope you all enjoy! Love you all <3

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[mrs-willow]

"A Raven and a Falcon" benji x oc

Disclaimer: I am not familiar with the Dance of Dragons books or the accurate storyline, so I have decided to change it to fit this story. I could not find an exact or reliable family tree for either House Blackwood or House Arryn, so I just made my own characters.  

The dance never actually happens!!! Viserys doesn’t die until he reaffirms Rhaenyra as his heir, and after that big family dinner, Rhaenyra returns on Dragon back, and she and Alicent talk out everything. There are mutual apologies, tears, laughter, and everyone lives. 

This is a sappy slow burn with angst, fluff, smut later, and everything I make up when I disassociate.  

This is literally my first post on here or any other website, so please be nice. I am writing this solely for my own enjoyment… there needs to be more Benjicot Blackwood material on this app.  However, I would still love feedback, and if there is something that you think would add to the story, message me, and I’ll see what I can do. 

Summary: Lady Lillian of the House Arryn reaches her eight and ten in a fortnight and has yet to be wed or promised to another Lord. After returning from Kings Landing for the coronation of Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, she is informed of her Father and brother's plans to wed her to a man she has only seen glimpses of and whose reputation is insanity and bloodlust. Lillian learns to love this new stranger, or will she be forced into a life of loneliness and solitude and made to produce heirs until she dies?

Warnings: smut (later), blood, violence, cursing, period typical sexism, alternating POVs, (idk lmk if I should add more stuff)

Chapter 1

As Caelan strode through the corridors of the Eyrie he pondered the rumors of the castle being haunted just as Harenhall is. The man had grown up running through these halls with his siblings, escaping the septas and playing games of war and duels, and yet he could not remember the strange sound of wind whistling through the columns and doorways, creating the strange feeling that someone was trying to speak with you. That fate awaits one as one grows from boy to man. 

Caelans riding boots echo on the dark stone as he makes his way to the Arryn family's apartments. The decorations adorning the walls turn from mosaic replicas of the vast mountain range the Castle was built in, with striking figures of falcons soaring through twenty-foot billowing clouds to soft tapestries displaying a man, his wife, and four beaming blonde children. Metalwork of falcons and moons adorns the tall arches of doorways, and vases of flows rode in from the reach sit colorfully in vases. 

This deep into the castle, the man and the flowers are protected from the harsh rain and winds whipping through the outermost corridors and open rooms. Still, as he enters Lord Arryns personal study, Caelan finds all four hearths of the great room lit as the aging man cannot escape the chill of a month's travel on the King's Road during winter.

At the sound of someone entering the great room, the old man looks up from the pages he had previously been contemplating. It's funny how a few words can cause so much stress. Robert Arryn was a kind man, loved by his bannerman, and respected in court and on the battlefield. His Knights of the Vale were among the fiercest armies in the Seven Kingdoms and were recently praised by the new Queen Rhaenyra when Robert matched them south as a show of support for the true Queen and a warning for those who mean to harm her. Among his Knights, the Seasnakes Armada, the Blackwood host, and the Northmen showed formidable support for their true queen. Yet, Robert is no longer a twenty-year-old man poised for battle and all manner of foolish, daring adventures, and this long trip has taken its toll on the man's bones.

He muttered as he met his son at the table. 

“The realms delight should’ve lived up to the title and held the coronation in spring to spare all us old men the pain of the cold set into our bones.” 

The young man subtly rolled his eyes away from his disgruntled father. “If you had listened to my warnings of the rain while on horseback, perhaps you would not be in such discomfort, Father,” Caelan teased with a small smirk. 

Robert sent the young man his most fearsome glare, “I will not be laughed at in my own home, boy. Now go get your father a pelt so he might not freeze to death in the damn winter.” 

Calan rose, joking that the “bloody Starks are always right at some point. Winter is Here.” 

The two men sat side by side momentarily, gazing into the crackling fire. One old man sat grateful that he had not been called to fight another war, “so much death and cruelty in the world,” he thought, “thank the old gods and the new that my children will not know war.” The younger man sat gazing at the flames, contemplating his father's reasons for calling him here at such a late hour with the castle all but asleep. His mind immediately drifted to the worst reasons for the summoning, and he prayed his worries would soon be eased when his Lord Father stopped being such a dramatic old crow.

“Father, why have you summoned me at such an odd hour?” Caelan questioned. The man knew better than to press his father for answers and thus sat patiently like a little boy waiting for his father's commands. 

Robert sighed. He then rose and retrieved the papers he had been studying when Caelan first arrived in the study. Wordlessly, Robert handed the letter to his son and resumed his place at the table, once again falling silent.

As Caelan reads the letter addressed to Lord Robert Arryn of the Vale, the reality of getting older becomes present and clear as the childhood he once knew begins to fade into blurry memories filled with love and laughter.

Caelan reaches his father's eyes, “Lillian is to be…” he pauses and lets his father's eyes answer his question. 

“She is to be Married,” Robert affirms. “She is nearly ten and eight; the time has come, and it would do her more harm than good to shelter her here until it truly is impossible for us to let her go or her to let us.”

Caelan leans back in the oversized chair he adorns, “She will be livid,” he warns his father. 

“Aye,” Robert agrees, “but that is the way of things and she cannot hide in these mountains forever.” 

“Father, I agree, but truly to that man?” Caelan questions. “You cannot possibly think that giving Lillian to a psycho would be wise?”

“Mind your tongue, boy,” Robert warns. “His father is one of my oldest friends and closest allies.” Robert reminds his emotional Son.

“Yes, of course, but that does not discredit the news we hear of his son. We mu-”

Robert rose swiftly from his chair, “I will hear none of this. Samwell Blackwood and I were raised side by side. We learned to shoot, ride, and wield swords together, and I trust that the man I grew up with raised a son who is equally honorable and just as he is.”

Caelan slumped forward, defeated. “At least allow me to inform her of this change to her life?” the man asked. “She will be more forgiving if it comes from me rather than you.”

Robert sighed. He felt pride swell in his breast for his eldest son and his three younger children. He was proud to have raised them in a manner that made them friends and confidants rather than enemies. He knew then and there that his eldest son would be equally loved and honored as Lord of the Vale when death came for him. 

“I will allow it, but it must be done in the morning. She will leave the day following her name day.” 

“Thank you, father. If I may retire to my chambers, I sense tomorrow will be a trying day.” 

Robert raised his hand and bid his son a good night, then called after him, “Caelan? Please tell her that I’m sorry.”

Caelan paused and sighed, “Father, you must tell her this yourself. Soon, she will no longer be a short walk from your own chamber.”

With that, the heir to House Arryn headed back toward his chambers and noticed that the howling in the halls sounded sweater, slightly more musical and feminine.

Back in the study, Lord Arryn stood in front of the hearth in contemplation. He reminisced about the times his family was still whole and couldn’t help but feel that he was chipping away yet another piece of his soul in allowing his daughter to leave the safety of her family.   

[justporo]

From savoury to sweet

All your friends are invited for winter festivities and you're doing your best to prepare everything for a big reunion. But a certain vampire keeps testing your patience until it ultimately snaps...

MASTERLIST | AO3

Author's Note: Written for the "Delicacies" prompt of the BG3 Winter Holiday challenge and since I'm running this challenge I'm cheating a bit and also fill the "Holiday spirit" with this - because I guess everyone knows the feeling of feeling stretched thin when the end of the year comes around with all the joy and stress it has to offer... And sadly I don't have a sassy vampire to pull me through it *sighs* Happy holidays to you all!

Pairing: Astarion/GN!Tav (You) Warnings: none Wordcount: 1,5k ~~~

The little townhouse in Baldur’s Gate you and Astarion lived in was filled throughout with delicious smells: mulled wine, freshly baked pastries, simmering gravy. Together with everything being neatly decorated with holly, candles and more wintery decor it made for a very cosy and festive atmosphere.

Unfortunately, the comfy mood was disrupted by smells of burning and colourful curses being spat.

Gale and you had been bustling around the kitchen cooking, baking and making preparations, meanwhile Astarion sat at the long table there - one leg lazily dragged up onto the bench. He was reading something and kept stealing brandy infused cherries out of a bowl that always seemed to magically find its way back into his reach - no matter how often you moved the bowl away from him.

The wizard had come over to help you prepare a whole bunch of food. And of course there had been a very good reason behind all of this.

Somewhen when winter had rolled around and the Midwinter holidays had come closer, a thought had entered your mind and been stuck there ever since - and with that a wish.

It had been quite some time since you had seen all the other members of your little adventure group last - or friends rather because that was what they all had become. And you missed them all deeply. But fortunately there could be something done about that.

So, you had brought up the idea to Astarion to invite them over for the holiday to have a nice festive evening together.

Immediately, the vampire’s nose had scrunched up in distaste: “You’re not becoming all sappy all of a sudden, are you? I didn’t sign up for this.”

You had swatted his arm and pouted profusely, feeling a little hurt by his immediate rejection of your idea.

This had been a dream of yours for a long time: having a really fancy and enjoyable holiday festivity with someone to actually share it. Because you never had the chance to have that when you had grown up on the streets of Baldur’s Gate.

The closest you’d ever gotten to a holiday celebration had been sharing a stolen pie with some other urchins while you had huddled somewhere under tattered blankets, trying to escape the cold.

When you had painted that picture for Astarion (maybe purposefully laying it on thickly), his sassy attitude had immediately fallen. You had seen some of your past hurt mirrored in his red eyes. With a small sigh he had hooked his thumb on your chin and promised you to give you the holiday festivity you had always dreamt of.

“But”, he had immediately added when you had already started jumping up and down joyfully, “no one and I mean none of them will stay with us, darling. I had enough of sharing camp with all these buffoons for a lifetime - for all of immortality even.”

You had brushed off his sarcastic words quickly and had sent out letters to all your friends the following day. Answers had come in slow and sporadically since then - but that surely only meant that everyone was just very busy. Right?

But once you had started to think about what dishes you all wanted to prepare for this evening, how to get everything festive and whatnot, all these worries had quickly been forgotten. Gale had immediately been enlisted as your aid to tackle the massive task - obviously not taking no for an answer.

So there you were: a prodigy wizard and a former thief slaving away in the kitchen for almost a whole day in preparation for holiday dinner. Meanwhile a vampire was contributing nothing to the efforts - except if you counted his snide remarks (and of those he contributed many).

Every surface in the kitchen was filled with already finished dishes, loose ingredients or heaps of dirty pots, pans and utensils. Together with Gale you had prepared little filled pies as a starter, a variety of sides for the main course of different picks of meats and fish and sauces to compliment everything.

Almost all of it was done being prepped for dinner.  Now only your baked dessert was missing. And of course that had been where things had went awry. Your nerves had been on edge already, stressing how everything would go. Gale had not been helping with his unhelpful-helpful commentary. And not even to mention your vampire just lounging there on the bench like a cat, making it a point to annoy you even more with his sassy manner.

And you had reached your breaking point when you had pulled a completely burnt cake from the oven, covering up the delicious other smells while a small smoke cloud had erupted in the middle of the kitchen and Astarion hadn’t been able to keep his mouth shut about it.

“Oh love, I mean, I am no expert by any means, but I do think that’s a bit dark even for a dark chocolate cake,” he’d commented while he had barely even lifted his eyes from his book, one elbow propped up on the table and head placed on his hand while he popped another cherry into his mouth.

And that had also been the reason why he’d been hit with a small bun. Caused by your already thin stretched patience finally snapping you had grabbed the nearest throwable thing and had hurled it at the vampire’s head. That thing had happened to be a bunch of sweet rolls you had made as a side. Your impeccable aim had made sure that you hit your mark - and the screech you had let out had probably given it even more force.

Without even checking Astarion’s reaction you had sunk down on the bench opposite of the vampire and had buried your face in your hands while you tried to not let tears overwhelm you.

Astarion reflectively hissed and swatted the gnarly pastry away from him. But then he took in the scene and quickly realised that he had rightfully brought this onto himself.

Gale, who had taken a step back from you in caution with hands lifted defensively, threw the pale elf a sour look now while you suppressed sobs. “Incredibly supportive, Astarion, a job well done”, the wizard scolded the vampire who at least had the good grace to look ashamed of himself.

The wizard sat down beside you and started rubbing your back while he kept throwing Astarion looks. The vampire shuffled around awkwardly for a few moments, not being used to and not enjoying having to apologise.

With a sigh he finally got up and moved around the table and with a “shoo shoo” motion chased Gale out of the kitchen so he could be alone with you for a moment or two.

“Love, I’m sorry,” Astarion whispered as he sat down beside you and looped an arm around your shoulders. Immediately you let yourself fall into his touch. You really didn’t want to be mad at him. Under different circumstances you would have just laughed at his comment.

“I’m sorry I upset you with the stupid thing I said, forgive me?”, the vampire added and softly nuzzled his nose into your hair as you buried your face at his chest.

“I forgive you - sorry I threw baked goods at you”, you mumbled into his chest but you knew he had understood you when you felt the soft rumble of his laughter run through his whole body.

“It’s all good, my love. I got what I deserved and may I add: incredible aim. You’ve not lost your touch since the end of our grand adventure”, Astarion added and pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

You relaxed a little and just sat there with him for a few moments as you felt that your breathing slowly became normal again and some tension leaving your body. Astarion just held you.

After a while the vampire dragged over the bowl of liquor drenched fruit he’d been stealing out of. “Cherry, my sweet?”, he asked and with that made you look up again. He was holding the sticky fruit between his thumb and index and winked at you.

And for some reason that made you laugh. But when you didn’t immediately answer, Astarion shrugged his shoulders and popped the little treat in his mouth. You whacked his hand.

“No, Astarion! And stop eating those, we still need them!”, you scolded him as your partner pouted at you for being told off.

“Alright, no more cherries, but only if you agree to come with me and get some fresh air”, Astarion proposed. You wanted to protest but the vampire hushed you. “I’m sure Gale can be trusted to not burn the house down for like half an hour alone”, he continued.

You looked at him with some suspicion: “Unlike you to trust Gale with anything but walking in a straight line.”

Astarion rolled his eyes while he already got up and made to drag you along.

“Well, unusual circumstances and the like - you know”, he went on and let his free hand draw circles in the air. You just shrugged, honestly being happy to be dragged outside for a while.

“Now come, love, get your cloak - you need a break from all the sweet and savoury dishes here”, Astarion said and patted your butt for some motivation.You grinned at him: “Alright, except for that one sweet snack, my dear.”

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