#or alternatively he is both simultaneously

[joannerowling]

I always appreciate Merope Gaunt analysis. She's not talked about very often within fandom and the recent take is purely that shes a predator sexually assaulting a muggle man. Which may be true but is still eye-roll inducing given the dynamics layed out clearly in the book. I do think it was a very deliberate move by Jo to make Dumbledore, a fairly omnipotent character, be unsure of what exactly happened and his explanation be what he sees is the most reasonable, compared to what a women might.

I've said this before but i do feel like Merope as a character feels like she belongs in a Strike novel. And i do like the alternative interpretation that Dumbledore was not quite right about how her tricking Tom Sr happened, and i think the JKR of today would find it very interesting.

That being said, there is a part of me that rebels against the notion of Merope being more of a victim of Tom Sr, rather than his (confused) kidnapper. I really like the tension that exists in Merope being simultaneously an innocent and unsettingly amoral character, because of how terrible *she* has been treated. Same way i like Tom Sr being both an arsehole AND a victim. If you sort of reverse their roles in the dynamic, it rings true from a class and gender perspective, but it's also a bit more expected. Both interpretations are nice but provoke very different feelings in me and one is just a tiiiiny bit juicier.

[gingergofastboatsmojito]

Sydcarmy´s blood deal

So, using the same knife without even washing it first was either a HUGE Health code violation, which Coco Storer wouldn´t have let slide, or a symbolic blood deal which was shown ON PURPOSE.

IMO the deal was to recognize the shortcomings each had to work on to get to a better place in their relationship.

Carmy needed to work on his communication congruence, meaning putting his money where his mouth was, actually following through and delivering on what he said, instead of saying one thing and doing another, consistently and fucking everyone up in the process because he´s UNRELIABLE, he means well, but does it wrong, so you can´t rely on him, ever. He means what he says, sure, but he doesn´t deliver consistently, so at the end of the day, you just can´t trust him. He´s acting like a child. Not mean, just immature, who can´t be trusted because of that lack of consistency and congruence that adult and effective communication, not to mention running a business or being part of a team in any project or endeavor, require.

Syd, on the other hand, needed to work on her honesty and accessibility, open up, be vulnerable with him like she was for a moment in S1 in the back alley and in S2 under the table.

Syd doesn´t lack honesty because she lies, but because for her communication to be effective, she needs to open up more and let him in, when Carmy wants to connect with her and brings up more personal stuff that exceed their strictly professional relationship in a bonding attempt that is meant to improve their rapport both in and outside the restaurant. He was, as usual, checking on her and being open with her, in one of the few moments throughout the season where we got a more human glimpse of who he is underneath all that rough and robotic exterior that simboliizes his inner and almost constant struggle between the man and the beast that he can be simultaneously or alternatively. His humanity is brought up by her, maybe not as often in S3, but surely, and his animal-like behavior was brought up by his quest to deliver on the only words he was ever truly congruent with, last season:

So till last season, they were still stuck in the same conflict they had been dragging since S1: She doesn´t feel heard by him, he doesn´t feel she will ever really accept him (aka: be good enough for her) unless he proves himself to her, that´s why he´s obsessed with giving her that star and self-boycots, because he´s at the same time afraid of failing at it, and thus, let her down AGAIN and lose his only chance to win her over, because without giving her a restaurant, a partnership, financial stability, a role as CDC, and a Michelin star, he can´t even begin to fathom he will be worthy of her ever seeing him as something other than a Chef, the most excellent CDC at the most excellent restaurant in the United States of America, a title he dreads because it brings him bad memories. He wants to be seen by her like a man and a potential prospect for a more "personal" connection, that´s why he´s always trying to bond with her and get her to open up every chance he gets, which aren´t many, and she keeps, most of the times, not letting him in.

The common denominators here are the 3 Cs:

COMMUNICATION

CONGRUENCE

CONSISTENCY

In that order, and they BOTH have to work on all 3.

So, when they shared that bloody knife, they sealed the deal of acknowledging that the other was right about demanding what they did because they both UNDERSTOOD each other. He understood she was right in pointing out his communication was fucked and was fucking everyone else up.

She understood he was checking on her and trying to connect on a different level, other than just professional. She showed him she understood that by asking him about how it was going with the whole "quit smoking thing" and trying to "get a taste of him",

showing she cared. Syd was trying to follow his lead in that "bonding" exercise, even when she didn´t like it at all.

She did it for him, to prove to him that for that moment at least, they were on the same page.

And when they try and put in the MUTUAL effort at the same time, they do re-connect briefly. They take turns at work and THEY WORK.

Just like they did for a short period of time here:

That alternation and clear and consistent communication is what works for them, even if it means talking about things that are not working, and it gets uncomfortable at times. When they talk it out like this, things work, and when they stop doing it, it ends up badly for both of them.

This symbolic deal they made and sealed with blood is the key to all that they will achieve in S4, all the conflicts that they keep dragging along, unsolved issues that so far have been holding them back in every aspect of their relationship, and therefore they will keep their words, they will apply the 3 Cs and get rid of the 4th one.

I wholeheartedly believe Carmy is telling Syd all of this; it´s his plea to get her to stay at the restaurant. He will speak the truth, as always, and THIS TIME AROUND HE WILL DELIVER AND FOLLOW THROUGH and SHE WILL FINALLY REALLY OPEN UP TO HIM (AND HIS FAMILY)

and as a result they will "bond" outside the restaurant as well and she will start seeing him as more than a chef and co-worker, she will start seeing and appreciating the man that Carmen Berzatto really is.

And all that can only lead to a SYDCARMY ENDGAME. PERIOD.

TONIGHT IS THE NIGHT, CHEFS! TONIGHT WE START WINNING! (but we´ll really wrap the victory up next season though because there´s probably gonna be a S5). HAPPY BEAR DAY, CHEFS!

Remember to follow my tag #Gingerpovs 💋 & #Gingerpredictions

[corvusalbus93]

Oh, I remember us touching on this conversation after Astarion’s siblings vanish, in some posts a while back.

As a player I was disappointed and annoyed, because of the character development so far, especially in the second half of Act 2. Of course, taking a step back, like you said OP, it makes perfect sense he’s regressing at this point in the story, for all the reasons you’ve listed.

Of course any Tav, doesn’t quite have the luxury of taking the cosy outsider’s view, looking at everything and every possible dialogue tree at their own pace, so I pictured Nizana specifically, as the Tav romancing him, quite frustrated. Angry even. Deeply hurt above all perhaps that he would use her and her feelings for him like this.

This is not a happy Nizana:

I figured she sees him not only falling back into old patterns, but actively trying to manipulate, guilt-tripping her into doing something that goes against her very nature. Sacrificing souls to a devil, not limited to, but including the spawns. Astarion only ever speaks of his siblings, but Raphael very clearly said “including”. We and our characters (should) already know it’s more than seven.

I honestly can’t say which dialogue branch is the worst; he comes across as manipulative in all.

Astation: You're not getting sentimental, are you? I thought you were with me on this. Tav: I just want you to be happy.

Astarion: Then you help me in this. Nothing would make me happier.

Back when I first played this, I wasn’t sure how his questline would continue, I had seen some context-less clips here and there, but was mostly blind. At that point, my thoughts were: “This is going to strain their relationship so much... I think they might break up.” I was seriously considering to roleplay a break up, if I felt the relationship didn’t make sense anymore. It really depended on how things continued.

And let’s imagine for a moment Astarion could have done the rite without help. Like even if turning into a full vampire didn’t bring out the worst in him and amplify it, if Astarion’s personality hadn’t changed at all afterwards – I still think Nizana would have broken up with him for doing something so morally abhorrent.

Even as players, getting to Rivington & BG can be a bit overwhelming with all the quests vying for your attention, everyone reminding you of how there is little time until the brain breaks free and I figured it wouldn’t be better for a Tav unaware of a player’s quicksave-powers.

After all, this conflict isn’t happening in a vacuum; there is so much else going on simultaneously that Tav has so manage... and look, Lae’zel/(insert alternative party member) just got kidnapped by Orin. So, my interpretation of this and the later post spawn-attack dialogue was that it was make-or-break for their relationship, with both on edge & stressed, both sides desperate to sway the other. Juicy, narrative drama – heartbreaking to roleplay.

This moment in the conversation they had after meeting Pale Petras and Dalyria at Fraygo's Flophouse was very frustrating for me, to be honest.

Not in a bad way, more like: “ohh what are you doing?!” ٩(๑`^´๑)۶

Last time I played I probably didn’t check all the lines, but now that I found this branch I need to vent a little.

If you suggest Astarion to just run away he (understandably) argues he doesn’t want to spend eternity as a fugitive, constantly fearing the shadows. And this ritual might allow him to walk under the sun, even after they deal with the tadpoles. But then…

Astarion: And you want what’s best for me, surely.

Just look at his eyes. He is being so obviously manipulative with this line it feels like a stab, especially after everything they’ve been through.

And yes, he says something similar in other branches, too. But this particular phrase sounded the worst to me, especially with that look in his eyes.

Look at her face – she’s not having it too.

But here… I think he understands this as well.

But he can’t help falling into safety of the familiar patterns he’s been using for so long. He is back in the city where everything remind him of his life before. He has just had to face his siblings. And his old self reflected in them. He is back under Cazador’s suffocating presence. The inevitable final confrontation is right ahead.

And the pressure he’s under is immense. He wants to be safe, to be powerful and free. Maybe even to be able to give something back to the person he loves.

He has barely started his path to the healing, but this all is too much too soon.

It hurts to see him like that. Maybe I should be angry. And yet – I just can’t hold it against him. Not when I see where it’s coming from.

I’m sure Roanael knows that too, and she’ll just keep being there and asking the right questions, gently reminding Astarion that there’s another path – the one that leads to light, not darkness.

[electricbathsalt]

can we all agree that there’s at least a handful of universes out there where Chisaki is a world-famous androgynous supermodel instead of a child-abusing murderer mob boss

[juliart-107]

hm. yk that idea that horror and comedy are essentially the same process; where they both start with a build up to a climax/punchline, and then flip the audience's expectations on their heads at the last moment, executed in similar ways but with differing tone?

charlie slimecicle.

[cabeswaterdrowned]

“Democracy’s a farce,” Ronan said, and Adam smirked, a private, small thing that was inherently exclusionary. An expression, in fact, that he could’ve very well learned from Ronan.”

Adam emulating rich boys he’s attracted to continues to go crazy

[detonatings]

i'm so sorry you had to find out this way that his ass isn't the one

[jam-packed]

ive made this post before but now that ive actually watched iwtv (2022) i can concretely say that louis and lestat are almost exactly like marc and vale, respectively. like insane amount of overlap.

[homunculus-argument]

Buddy comedy. The protagonists are a man and a woman. They are best friends. They're not romantically involved with each other, she's gay and he's straight. They get into hijinks doing stupid shit for the sake of a mutual goal: Trying to impress girls. It doesn't work. Whatever they're doing, they both look fucking stupid doing it. At some point they get separated, and both happen to encounter a really cool girl and fail to impress her by doing something stupid. The girl is flattered, and thinks the dumbshitteryis actually quite endearing, but is unfortunately not romantically compatible. In two simultaneous, alternating scenes happening at the same time in different places, the protagonists both respond to the girl they were talking to, in identical gestures. A wide grin, raising a finger like "wait hold on I've got something awesome for you", pull out their phones, and text each other

"hey idiot I found you a girl she loves morons"

[dwaekkicidal]

CAN WE HAVE CHAN FOR THE TOYS SERIES NEXT PLEASE 🙏

(idk if you're taking ideas or not (ignore this if you're not) but chan and size training w a dildo?? like it's been in you all day by now, and at the end of the day he's just sat in between your legs pushing it in and out 😵‍💫)

i wasnt gonna take ideas but this is so hot. you win my heart

Toys with Bang Chan

wc» 1.2k

cw» fem!reader, sex toy usage, mentions of various sized dildos, size training, quite a lot of dirty talk, p in v, dp in one hole (with a dildo lol), he's a bit mean in the 2nd part hehe (im not sorry, argue with the wall), i think thats it

an» blame my imposter syndrome for this taking so long (along with the other like 4 drafts i have finished lol)

'Toys' Masterlist

DO NOT republish or translate+post my work!

Channie size training you to take his big cock with alternating sized dildos…….. He’s just too big and he’s deathly afraid of actually hurting you and breaking you apart- no matter how pretty you look begging for him to just “give it to you.”

And then once you can finally take his cock all the way, he likes to push you a step forward and size train your cunt to dp with him AND a dildo… I’ll write a tiny blurb for both because OH my god

“Yeahhh, just like that, baby. See- you’re almost there.” His husky voice makes you keen and your legs shake in his hold. “Just a few more inches~”

He has you face down, ass up with one of his pretty hands digging into your thigh and holding you in place. There was enough lube on the dildo that you could feel it dripping down your thighs. It almost felt like too much, but each thick inch of the dildo that he shoved past your folds made the excess lube feel like barely enough.

“Chris…” Your cheek sinks further into the mattress and you can feel drool seeping pasting your lips onto the sheets. He coos and rubs his thumb on the underside of your asscheek. A mix of your last orgasms and the lube bunch up along your hole and he dips your finger in beside the toy, just to tease you a little further. And when you moan dazedly and push back against him, he knows you can take even more.

Chan pulls his finger out and simultaneously pushes his other wrist harder. “Chris- oh my god…” The dildo bottoms out and Chan lets out a laugh of disbelief when he sees the strings the sticky concoction leaves between the dildo and your cunt as he pulls it away. You hear his signature giggle as he runs his free hand over your ass, his other holding the dildo deep in place inside of you.

“How’s that feel? Nice and full?” Uh-huh… He giggles again and rises off his knees, moving to stand behind you so that his bulge pushes against the base of the dildo and holds it in place for him. The action makes you moan, then again when both his hands rub up your back soothingly. “You did so well, baby girl. I’m so proud of you- and this well behaved pussy.”

He grinds his hips again and the first few inches of the dildo shove right against your g-spot. The feeling makes you cum suddenly, legs shaking and fingers nearly tearing the sheets off the bed. Chan laughs into your shoulder and sneaks his hand around your front, softly rubbing circles into your clit to help ride it out. “That’s it, honey- Oooh it’s a big one, yeah? haha...”

~Now that you’re consistently stretched out and able to take the biggest of the dildos, Chan is adamant on you taking his cock everytime you two fuck. He’s spent so long patiently stretching your cunt and holding himself back for your sake. He doesn’t regret it in the slightest! However, he does think you owe him just a little bit… So he loves self indulging and really stretching you out.

“God. This fuckin’ pussy is gonna be the death of me.” His dull nails dig into your hips as he grabs onto you harder, pulling you into his thrusts so harshly that the only part of you touching the bed is your hands and your face- your back arched aggressively from how high he lifts your hips. He hasn’t even looked at your face since your last orgasm, he’s way too in it now to look away from your swollen cunt. “Need’a cum in this slutty hole.”

“It’s too much- fuck!” He frowns at your cries and pushes his hips impossibly harder, making each moan of yours cut of from how harshly he’s fucking into you at this point.

“Too much?” He scoffs and tangles a hand in your hair, pulling you up to meet his face. He’s just as surprised as you are that he’s angry about your comment, but he decides that a little bit of indulging won’t kill you- it might kill your pussy though… “Yeah- OK, honey. You want ‘too much,’ I’ll give you ‘too much’.”

The venom in his voice is enough to scare you straight, but it’s not until he shoves your upper back into the sheets and digs into your nightstand that the chills break out. You trust him with your life, and you can’t deny the ache in your stomach at the inkling of what he might want.

The best part is he doesn’t even have to put any lube; your cunt is leaking enough to flood the entire bedroom. You feel the all too familiar silicone of the dildo rubbing against your clit, teasing around it like he tended to before he started fucking you with it back when he was still size training you. But… I guess this still is technically size training.

Your jaw drops and your head pushes back against his hand when he slides the tip of the dildo inside of you alongside his cock. Of course he would choose the thickest of the set. The stretch is insane and nearly feels like it’s tearing you in half. Your head pushes against his hand again and he basically growls at you, voice dropping and other hand pushing you harder into the bed. “Stop. You know your safeword if you need it.”

Despite the attitude, he stops completely and sits still long enough for you to decide if you really can take it or not. And- ohh when you push your hips into him and whine out into the bed, he’s grinning from ear to ear. “That’s what I thought.” He pushes the dildo deeper, only choosing to give you less than half the length of it considering how thick he was on his own, let alone him AND the dildo together.

He knows you like the back of his hand, so the second you grow quiet and you clench around him constantly against your will, he knows you’re almost there. “Cum for me, baby. Give me it and I’ll fill you even more, yea?” He slowly starts fucking himself into you again, using every ounce of self control to hold himself back so he can simultaneously fuck the dildo in and out of you- at an even slower pace than his hips. Normally you would whine and cry about it, but he’s fucked you nice and stupid to the point where you can barely think outside of anything other than how stuffed to the brim you are.

Somehow, he’s the one who cums first. It’s a mixture of seeing you broken into a million pieces, all for him to happily put back together later, and feeling your death grip around him that really sends him over the edge. And he’s never one to leave you hanging. So the second he pulls out, he’s fucking the dildo into you so quickly that your orgasm blindsides you.

“Atta girl~ Good job, baby.” He tosses the dildo to the side and helps you flip onto your back. You feel him smile against your stomach as he kisses up and down your body. “...I wanna go again. Haha….”

Taglist: (red=can't be tagged)

@valkyriexo @lunearta @jabmastersupriseee @rylea08

@yaorzu-blog @amararosesblog @jiminssluttyminx @clemissleepy

@miss-daisy04 @kittyxnoa @dwaekkiiracha @honeyybbuubblleess

@mariteez @fun-fanfics @honeyybbuubblleess @kittycatkrissa

@nicora04 @chuuyaobsessed @moonlightndaydreams @velvetmoonlght

@aeri-skzver

[satorusluver]

Random Gojo and Geto nsfw headcanons because we all want them both carnally. Minors DNI.

-Gojo is a little bigger than Geto in both length and girth but Geto is more precise and controlled in his movements, overall has more self-control, and can last longer.

-Gojo doesn't last as long as Geto but he can go more rounds which makes up for it. He's also a munch who loves to overstim you with his tongue while he's waiting to get back to full mast.

-Gojo is either an obnoxiously cocky power bottom when you ride him or he's a whiny lil bitch of a sub depending on his mood.

-They both probably do that thing when you're going down on them where they grab the back of your head and choke you with their cock. Sometimes just a little bit to tease you or harder just to watch you gag and sputter because there is nothing prettier than your eyes when they're teary (in the fun way).

-Geto always has to remind Gojo not to completely break you before Geto can get a turn with you (because otherwise he definitely will, he's not called the strongest for nothing).

-Geto is as a whole generally less rough than Gojo (especially non-villain au Geto) but at the same time he can be kinda sadistic. More likely to torment you with orgasm denial, whereas Gojo usually makes it his personal mission to make you cum on his cock until you lose count...unless you've pissed him off, in which case he will make you beg for it.

-Alternatively, Geto likes getting off to watching Gojo fuck you senseless more than he'd probably like to admit. He scolds Satoru about not being so greedy with you, but it's hard to believe he's really that bothered by it when he's fisting his cock so hard to the sight you two going at it.

-And god, you should see the look on his face when he cums - his head slightly tilted back, his black hair falling in his flushed face, the deep guttural groan that falls from his lips, watching you with half-lidded eyes that are struggling to stay open as he spills himself all over his hand and chest. But he has to keep them open, he doesn't wanna miss a second of your simultaneous orgasm being pulled from your trembling form by Gojo's rough thrusts. The way your mouth falls open and your pretty eyes roll back, Geto is convinced your o-face is the hottest he's ever seen and it gets him off like nothing else (but don't tell Gojo, he'll get a lil jealous).

UhHhh pls god make them real. 😩

[hoshifighting]

Hey 👋🏻 🤭 What do you think is each member’s fav position to eat their woman’s pussy in? What other stuff do they do while eating it?

how seventeen gives you oral

seungcheol loves any position where he can maintain eye contact and use his strong arms to hold your thighs apart. he focuses on clit stimulation with his tongue, sucking the bud inside his mouth, making your skin stretch as he pulls his head back. after, he lets it out with a 'pop' to make you melt on the mattress.

jeonghan prefers the 69 position, where he can simultaneously receive and give pleasure. he enjoys teasing your clit with light flicks of his tongue, then gradually increasing the intensity. you can feel him smirking as his tongue flicks over your clit, teasing you to the edge before backing off, and likes to feel the vibrations as you moan around his cock. 

joshua likes having you lay back on the bed with your legs draped over his shoulders. is laid-back and relaxed, taking his time to make sure you feel every moment, can pass a whole hour giving you oral, until the bed and his face are a mess. dont mix oral with fingering, always one at a time. 

jun thinks its more pleasing when your hips are lifted by a pillow for better access. he alternates between slow licks and quick, teasing flicks, often humming against your folds to add vibration. (c'mon as a chinese guy, he def knows how to give u cunnilingus) 

hoshi loves when you're sitting on his face, giving you full control. he uses his hands to spread your folds apart, focusing on your clit with his tongue while his fingers work on your g'spot.

wonwoo is methodical, almost scientific in his approach. likes you in a chair, your legs draped over the armrests. likes rhythmic licks and gentle clit sucking, combined with slow, deep fingering, loves to feel your pussy lips pressing at the base of his fingers, meaning they're on the right spot. he'd listen to every gasp, every moan, adjusting his technique to bring you the most pleasure.

woozi learned that he liked when you’re on the edge of the bed and he’s kneeling in front of you. he’s a master of precision (maestro🤷‍♀️), focusing on your clit with the tip of his tongue and adding fingers to stroke your g'spot—he started to use more of his fingers after seeing how affected you get. he knows exactly how to push you over the edge, and he takes pride in it.

seokmin always wants the prone position, with you lying flat on your stomach. he spreads your legs and dives in from behind, focusing on clit stimulation with occasional teasing bites, as the sharp tip of his nose dives into you, or presses on your clit.

mingyu any position where you squish his cheeks with your thighs, he enjoys it. he uses both his tongue and fingers to overstimulate you, so he can drink all of your juices—thats the best part for him—, often making deep eye contact to make you shy.

minghao, he likes you on all fours and he'd mix it up, sometimes adding his fingers, sometimes just using his mouth, keeping you guessing. and one of his techniques is clit teasing. using a brush, a feather… he likes making it wet, messy, using your own lubrification, or giving you an oil bath. he likes to stimulate not only your clit or your wet hole, but the whole area around it. 

seungkwan enjoys the standard legs up with your hands holding behind your knees. likes to mix it up with playful clit teasing and edging, keeping you on the brink of orgasm for as long as possible. if he's going to give you oral, can't be in the middle of a quickie. 

vernon has always preferred the standing position because it allows him to eat your pussy anywhere, while enjoying the sensation of your legs shaking. with you leaning against the wall. he’s all about deep, long licks and adding his fingers slowly, curling them always!! 

chan likes showing off his strength. lifting you onto a countertop, spreading your legs wide as he kneels in front of you. his hands are everywhere, holding you steady. is a bit of a wildcard, always bringing something new to the table. likes to finger you in another moment, because when he's eating you out, his attention is fully on eating you out. 

[michanvalentine]

Of course, Astarion wants to ascend. He wants it so much, it’s as clear as day. He has never hidden how much he ideally likes the idea of power—to elevate himself from his current position, to ensure his safety, to bend others to his will (instead of being the one who is bent). And if he can also walk in the sun and never feel the hunger pangs again, even better!

But let’s not forget that Astarion has a limited worldview. Cazador himself says it in one of his confrontations with Tav/Durge: "He is afraid. He is afraid because all he has ever known is you and me, and without us, he is nothing."

Astarion does not have a well-developed sense of self, and by default, he also lacks many of the skills that a well-adjusted adult should possess. So, to navigate life, he can either rely on the worldview presented by Cazador (power, power, power, and more power—to place himself above others) or the one offered by Tav/Durge, assuming they are a heroic figure. Otherwise, the only perspective left is that of power, and Ascending becomes almost natural in an evil playthrough (which I myself did in my villain run). Ascending Astarion in a good playthrough, however, seems completely contradictory to me, but whatever…

Let’s not forget that power is not Astarion’s driving force—power is only a means to an end. His real driving force is fear, as both Cazador and Scleritas emphasize. He would do anything to feel safe (like becoming a half-Illithid if scared enough by Tav/Durge—even though he rejects that idea with every fiber of his being, and yet…). The scene with the dryad, Naoise Nallinto, in Astarion’s origin run makes it crystal clear: when she uses her power on him, among all the possible choices (wealth, respect, power, etc.), Astarion’s personal wish is to feel safe, not power—even though power is explicitly one of the options. But it’s not his!

Oh, and Astarion himself spells it out, right before the final decision between Ascending or not. His exact words: "One final thrust, and I'll be free of you. I will never have to fear you again. And if I complete the ritual you started, I'll never have to fear anyone. Ever."

Everything revolves around fear, which is once again emphasized in the insight check—where it becomes obvious what is driving him and what is simultaneously holding him back from making a rational decision. Because while it’s true that he wants to ascend, he also wants to redeem himself. Well yes, it's shocking, folks, but two completely opposite desires can exist within the same person. They're called internal contradictions, and we all experience them every day or almost ("Oh, damn, I want to go out with my friends tonight, but I also want to just lie on the couch and watch TV").

Let’s not pretend this character is one-dimensional and that all these dialogue lines don’t exist when discussing Astarion. Of course he wants to ascend—he wants it so badly. The point is understanding why he wants it. And then questioning whether giving in to that fear is truly worth it, considering the consequences and what he would be giving up (because even Ascending comes with its own sacrifices, and I’m not even talking about his soul or the 7,000 people).

That’s why, if they choose to, Tav/Durge can intervene and make him reflect on the alternative (which, depending on how you play your Tav, could have been introduced to him from the very beginning of the adventure—it’s not something that just comes out of nowhere, unless you’re playing completely incoherently).

And it’s Astarion himself, in one of the most beautiful dialogues in the entire game, who explicitly states this lesson he has learned. When Durge is overcome with despair and fear—just like him—and tries to end the relationship, Astarion says: "This little adventure of ours has taught me that we can't let our lives be ruled by fear, or else we'll never truly live."

He has understood. He has grown. He has accepted that uncomfortable emotion and has decided not to be consumed by it—to choose for himself without letting fear dictate his actions. And I couldn’t be prouder of him.

One last thing, because I’ve seen it repeated a lot on social media: Ascending is not Astarion’s lifelong dream—it is Cazador’s dream. Astarion didn’t even know this kind of ritual existed until five minutes before it happened, so no, Tav/Durge is not cruelly ripping away his lifelong dream just for the sake of moral superiority. And above all, they are not forcing him to give it up—but I’ve already talked about this before, and I’m not going to repeat myself.

[bloodblanks]

nsfw headcanons — kaneki ken

ft. different variations of kaneki throughout his character arcs

note: alternatively, this can be considered a very explicit character study of kaneki.

author’s note: this fanfiction will contain mature content, including explicit sexual acts, mentions of trauma, some overstimulation, and similar themes.

please read at your own discretion.

kaneki ken, the college student, is a shy, flustered mess. whenever you speak, his cheeks are dusted with a warm, rosy hue. despite him anxiously tripping over his own words, he still manages to maintain a contagious smile, beaming brighter than the sun.

when the topic of sex is brought up, kaneki’s eyes instantly widen, his expression much too easy to read as the reddening of his cheeks deepens in colour. he’s surprised—surprised you want to do this at all, but even more so that you want to do this with him.

after all, the day he first laid eyes on you was the day he decided you were out of his league.

kaneki is anxious—terrified, even—at the prospect of having sex with you. simultaneously, however, he is ecstatic. he is absolutely delighted knowing that he gets to engage in such an intimate, sensual act with you.

when you tug on kaneki’s shirt and he realizes he should undress himself, he can’t help but feel a pang of insecurity. but when your hands are on his bare skin and you’re murmuring compliments in his ear, telling him words that make his heart swell and blossom, any worries he harbours will dissipate.

he asks for your explicit permission before doing anything. even just small touches, featherlight brushes of his fingers against your skin, are only done after you tell him that it’s okay.

kaneki is very sensitive and extremely vocal. as soon as your fingers wrap around him, he’s gasping, his breath hitching, small whimpers leaving his lips. he’ll bite down on his bottom lip to stop the embarrassing sounds from coming out, but it’s not long before his mind becomes hazy and he loses any semblance of self restraint, long, needy whines leaving his lips.

despite his inexperience, he’s eager to please, be it with his fingers or mouth. his movements are clumsy to begin with but he’s a quick leaner—he’ll pay close attention to your reactions and adjust accordingly for what makes you feel best.

when he enters you as last, he sharply inhales, and his breath is quivering as he tries to steady himself. his movements are slow and timid, his focus entirely on your pleasure rather than his. not that he needs to pay attention to the euphoria that flows through his veins; if anything, he fears if he lets himself enjoy it too much, he won’t last. and he desperately wants to make sure you finish before him. he needs to ensure you feel good. he doesn’t want to disappoint.

but all the nerves in his body are being set ablaze, his mind flooding with pleasure as he cries out your name. his eyes squeeze shut for a brief second as he reaches his climax, his hands trembling all the while. apologies quickly spill from his lips, the temperature in his cheeks reaching a boiling point as he frantically tries to make up for finishing so soon.

when the both of you are satiated, he’s relieved, thanking whatever gods are out there that he was able to fix his blunder. but more than that, he’s hopelessly, pitifully infatuated with you, the adoration visible in his eyes as he whispers breathless professions of his love.

kaneki ken, the centipede, is a broken, empty husk of the man he used to be. his mind has frayed and fractured from the suffering he endured at yamori’s hands. long gone is the warmth that he used to exude as a human and in his early days as a half-ghoul. in its place is a tormented soul whose last remnants of sanity are held together by threads.

but the affection he holds for you remains. his feelings for you are so deeply embedded into his heart; they are what he clings onto during the endless nights of excruciation, the only thought keeping his mind from deteriorating as he chants the ceaseless string of forsaken numbers.

it isn’t the same, though. what was once pure and untainted has now become something darker, something warped. his attachment to you is no longer rooted in innocence and hope, but rather obsession—a sick yearning.

no, kaneki doesn’t just want you; he needs you. and that’s what he tells you, his eyes wide with lunacy as his hands grasp at you with bruising force. he clutches onto you like a lifeline. in his maddened eyes, that’s what you are.

he has nothing else to soothe him after he wakes up from the nightmares that frequently haunt him. there’s no one else he can find solace in when his eyes snap open, a thin layer of sweat soaking through the fabric of his clothes, besides you. you, who peels away the matted strands of hair stuck to his forehead. you, who dries away the dampness on his forehead. you, who coddles him and caresses his hair, whispering words of comfort in his ear. words that never reach him, as the sound of rushing blood and thundering claps of his heartbeat ring in his ears, as the mocking whispers and taunts in his mind fill up his entire head.

in moments like this, all he wants is to crawl inside of your chest, to nestle himself within the confines of your ribcage and to seek refuge in your heart. but that’s not possible, so he settles for being as physically close to you as possible.

his hands are all over you, running along every arch and ridge with the intent to memorize them. to sear the sensation of your flesh underneath his fingers into his mind, to eternally etch the softness of your body into his brain.

he prepares you with his fingers, and his movements, albeit hasty, are precise. he curls his fingers into you at just the right angle, tips of his fingers brushing against the sweetest of spots as his thumb rubs delightful circles around your clit.

kaneki thrusts into you with reckless abandon, his newfound strength and stamina unrelenting as he buries himself inside you, bottoming out with each frantic slam of his hips. all he can think about is how he needs to feel closer to you, how he needs to be deeper in you, how he needs to possess every inch of you, inside and out.

although he’s desperately chasing his own high, his body far outlasts yours, and the ruthless rhythm he maintains is quick to bring you to orgasm. he can feel your walls tighten and spasm around him, he can hear the way you cry out his name, but he doesn’t stop or slow his pace. he’s yet to climax, and even if that wasn’t the case, he yearns to drag out each melodious sound from your throat. he longs to brand the sound of your voice—the catharsis of his name on your lips—into his eardrums forever.

in the darkness of the room, the two of you are all that exists, fingers interlaced with one another’s and bodies tangled in coalescence.

prisoner 240, the amnesiac, is lost amidst a sea of memories that doesn’t belong to him. he doesn’t know what they are, he just knows that the blurry events and the emotions they evoke plague him at night. the dreams are endless, constantly drowning him in a distant yet intimate feeling of anguish. they could be recollections, but they aren’t his. nothing is his. not the thin fabric draped over him nor the four walls surrounding him; a cell he doesn’t know how he ended up in.

so, when you tell him that he can have you—that you’re willing to be his—he can only accuse you of lying to him. because it’s too good to be true; it’s not possible for someone as kind and beautiful as you to love a monster like him. he fights it, but each refusal of acceptance he utters is only a mask covering his true intent of seeking more reassurance from you.

and reassurance is what you give, wrapping his trembling body up in your arms, holding him in an embrace that he doesn’t think he’s worthy of. but with each doting whisper and comforting caress, his body melts into yours and his tears begin to dry.

prisoner 240 is sensitive, painfully so. he’s starved of touch, yet at the same time traumatized by rougher hands that brought him nothing but pain. he craves physical contact as much as he’s afraid of it, but his desires overshadow his fear by a fraction of a percentage as he allows you to undress him.

he wants to see you, touch you, have your body in ways that make him feel ashamed and guilty, but he dares not ask. he’s undeserving of such tenderness and affection. yet you look at him with such sincerity that he can’t help but swallow his own shame, pushing his reservations to the back of his mind and selfishly indulging in the gentleness of your touch.

at first, he’s busy trying his best to stop himself from instinctively flinching, but once his body relaxes, he’s all whimpers and whines and meek, timid pleas for you to continue. he quivers at the sensation of your fingers wrapping around his length, his erection twitching pitifully as you stroke him, heat searing his skin and electrifying each one of his neglected nerves.

he gasps as he enters you—you’re warm in a way he’s not sure he could ever get used to, your walls squeezing around him in a way that wrings a cry of delight from his lips. he buries his face in the crook of your neck, both out of embarrassment and because he wants to be close to you, wants you to hold and cherish him.

his hips rock against yours softly, his movements gentle and uncertain. despite how much his brain is flooded with euphoria, he’s using every ounce of control to ensure you feel good; he wants to return even a fraction of the pleasure you give to him.

when he orgasms, he’s calling out your name with an utmost angelical voice, his body stiffening as he permits himself to be completely unravelled by you.

after his climax, he’s quiet, save for the hot, heavy breaths that leave his parted lips. he basks in the afterglow of the act with you, before eventually, he tentatively asks if this was okay.

when you tell prisoner 240 he did good, his smile lights up the entire room, no matter how dense the darkness that envelops you both.

haise sasaki, the ghoul investigator, is never truly emotionally present. he’s kind, gentle, and affectionate. but he always pauses before he can utter the word ‘love,’ as if he’s afraid of the very syllable itself. you think some part of him is missing, an invisible wall dividing him apart from himself, a piece of him kept at a distance and hidden away from the world.

haise thinks so, too.

in fact, he knows so—there’s a portion of his mind that doesn’t belong to him. there’s a section in his head that’s inhabited by another person, another individual. someone he’s scared of letting out, someone he worries will devour him whole. someone he fears is all too much him, more him than he’ll ever be.

and there’s a fragment of his heart that beats with so much raw emotion, it threatens to overtake all the flimsy, superficial connections he’s made.

but he doesn’t want to lose this, not quite yet. so he keeps you at arm’s length; just close enough to have you, but not enough for you to have him. he cares for you with his half of the heart, the half of the organ that obeys him.

haise doesn’t commit. it’s no strings attached, no true intimacy, only quick exchanges of your body against his in the small, impermanent space of a hotel room.

his touch is gentle but firm, exploring your body with warm, calloused hands. he kisses you with hunger, his lips deftly moving against yours and your tongues locked in a dance which he performs with practiced ease.

it’s terrifying how little he resembles the person he used to be, the one locked away in the back of his mind.

haise will sink his head between your legs and lap away at your core, sucking on the sensitive bud before delving into your folds, pushing his tongue up your dripping hole. he enjoys tasting you more than anything else; nothing compares to the pleasure of having your thighs wrapped around his head and your juices running down his chin. it’s heavenly, he thinks, unable to get enough of your nectar, your fluids tasting so delectable on his tongue.

and the sounds you make—he longs to hear more, craves to keep hearing you moan out his name like it’s the only thing you know.

haise is vocal, but everything about him is more controlled, from the steady pace he thrusts at to the soft moans and gasps of pleasure that emits from his vocal cords. he presses his lips to your neck, peppers your throat with kisses as he continues fucking you at a comfortable speed, not too fast or too slow, all the while he mumbles earnestly about how good you feel.

you can tell he’s getting close when the tightly wound restraint he constantly holds dear begins to slip, his hips snapping against yours at an accelerating pace, and he brings a hand down to the crux where your bodies converge to rub at your clit. he makes sure to bring you to orgasm first, letting your sounds of fervour unravel the last of his control as he groans loudly, burying his face in your neck.

haise’s always there for you when you come down from your high, stroking your hair and whispering words of praise as he catches his own breath. he’s tender and caring as he cleans you up, basking in the weighted silence encapsulating the room. he’s almost loving, pressing a chaste kiss to your cheek before you part ways for the night.

it’s not enough, but it’s everything that he, haise sasaki, has.

kaneki ken, the black reaper, is a man who puts up walls of harsh, unforgiving defences. he’s cold and closed off, not letting anyone in behind the barrier he built. but even the sturdiest walls aren’t impenetrable, and there are still moments where his barricade cracks ever so slightly.

that is not to say you are able to push past his fortifications entirely—no one is capable of that—but your persistent company has chipped away and nestled itself into the small crevices of his guard. it’s infuriating, how much you affect him, how he finds himself slowly but surely growing fond of your presence and eventually your touch.

your encounters always start the same, with you initiating contact and asking to meet when you know he’s just finished a long day of work. his job is draining, leaving him fatigued and much in need of stress relief. you’re what he considers a distraction, but he agrees to your request nonetheless, telling himself it’s insignificant. but kaneki’s never been one to do meaningless exchanges, and him entertaining this at all implies more than he’s ready to admit.

kaneki’s sitting on the edge of the flawlessly made bed with crisp white sheets when you arrive at the hotel room. he doesn’t do much to greet you, simply muttering a quiet but firm request for you to come. you do as instructed, walking over to the bed with your usual joke about how he’s always so unfriendly.

he’ll tug you down onto his lap in one sharp pull, causing you to stumble. you don’t have the opportunity to protest; any sound you make is quickly muffled by his lips crashing against yours, his hand in your hair and the other holding your waist. the movement of his lips is methodical and detached. despite the searing warmth of his mouth—all liquid embers and velvet flames—he’s so, so cold.

knees, he’ll murmur; a selfish request for you to please him. you oblige, dropping down and undoing his pants. kaneki isn’t hasty or aggressive; he allows you to go at your own pace, save for if you’re teasing, in which case the hand he has in your hair tightens ever so slightly as a warning. as you take him into your mouth, tongue lapping and swirling around his tip, you’re rewarded with the sight of his head tilted back, cheeks flushed, uneven breaths leaving his parted lips. it’s the most vulnerable you’ll ever see of him, because that moment lasts for only so long before he pulls you off his length and bends you over the bed.

he’ll harshly shove two fingers inside you, but any complaints you have wither away as soon as the heel of his palm grinds against your clit. his movements are rough, but he’s not in any actual rush. he takes his time thoroughly preparing you until your cunt is drooling and your climax is near. he doesn’t let you finish—he never does—and instead retrieves his fingers, your denied orgasm and the sudden emptiness leaving you needy and whining for more.

when kaneki enters you at last, he stills for a moment to let you adjust. once you do, the rhythm he sets is fast and unrelenting. he’s fucking into you from behind, his hips colliding against yours in harsh snaps, the sound of skin slapping against skin a backdrop to the chorus of your moans and the ragged breaths he lets out. his hand is reaching between your legs, fingers expertly toying with the bundle of nerves in a way that quickly brings you to orgasm. if you finish before him—which you often do—he’ll slow his pace for a brief moment to let you catch your breath, before he returns to his unyielding pace.

you’re not done until he is—something he’s made clear by now. it doesn’t matter if you’re already a mess and too sensitive, he’ll simply reply saying that you can handle it.

when he finishes, it’s with the same loud moan, albeit stifled, his body shuddering in pleasure as he comes to a halt. the room is silent, save for heavy gasps and pants as you both greedily take in oxygen. it’s a while until he finally pulls out, but then he’s quick to clean you up. neither of you talk; the room is choked in a tender silence as he wipes you down in a manner that feels far more intimate, far more personal than he’d like.

he ignores it. instead, he lets his gaze linger on you for a few moments, his eyes searching you. it’s evident there’s something on his mind, but neither of you truly know what it is.

no more words are exchanged for the night—he redresses himself, and he’s gone, leaving you uncertain as to if he’ll come back.

he doesn’t admit it, not even to himself—but deep down, kaneki knows he’ll return.

kaneki ken, the one-eyed king, is a culmination of all his past experiences. he’s matured and grown, many aspects of his personality having gone through metamorphosis. but what has always been here and still remains is the caring self so deeply embedded in his nature. despite the suffering he’s endured, all the grief he’s gone through—he’s still willing to care for others. he’s still willing to open his heart for you.

kaneki doesn’t have all the nervous anxiety that bubbles up at the thought of having sex with you, but without the coldness masking his demeanour, he’s much less restrained, allowing the butterflies in his stomach to freely flap their wings. his characteristic shyness is apparent, his cheeks visibly flushing as he undresses, but you can tell by his soft smile that it’s excitement rather than unease.

he takes his time thoroughly savouring you, preparing you with both his mouth and fingers. he’s quiet as he laps at your core, his fingers simultaneously pushing up against that sweet spot nestled within your inner walls. he’ll pause briefly to ask if it feels okay, and when you nod, smiling at him as feverish words of encouragement leave your lips, he can only beam in return. pink dusts his cheeks like the fallen petals of cherry blossoms.

if you offer to return the favour, he’ll nod, quietly accepting your offer. he prefers to lay on the bed so that you can get comfortable too, rather than having you on your knees. he doesn’t hold back, not like this, letting out breathy moans and sighs of pleasure as you wrap your lips around him. all the while, he reaches to your face and brushes your hair out of your eyes so that he can see your pretty face better. he gazes at you so lovingly, as though you’re the only one in this whole entire universe for him. and you are.

when he finally enters you, it’s with your legs wrapped around both sides of his waist. he holds himself up, but leans down often to capture your lips with his. while his kisses are gentle, they’re hungry. you can taste the need as your mouths melt together, a coalescence of unadulterated passion.

the pace he sets is slow in the beginning, but soon becomes something more ardent, his hips meeting yours fervently with each hitching breath and guttural groan. hot, panting gasps of air are taken each time your lips break apart, a string of saliva connecting the both of you still, only broken by the next time his mouth finds yours.

he waits for your release first, allowing it to trigger his own. the feeling of your insides clenching and spasming around his length never fails to bring him to the edge himself, and he finishes in you soon after. it’s your name that he calls as he climaxes—an angelic cry of ecstasy, a confirmation of his devotion.

kaneki takes a minute to catch his breath, before he climbs off you, laying down beside you and pulling you close to his chest. his lips are on your neck, pressing soft kisses from your jugular to your shoulder blades as he cradles you close. as the afterglow settles, your breathing gradually returning to normal, he murmurs of his love for you, a hushed whisper like a confession of sin. it’s anything but—his feelings for you are a source of comfort for him. he’s thankful to experience such a beautiful connection with you. he’s grateful for your presence, and he tells you so, before eventually getting up, carrying you to the shower with him.

he takes the time and affectionately lathers you up with soap, his calloused hands caressing your skin with such tenderness that it makes you shiver despite the hot water cascading over the both of you. as the two of you clean away the aftermath of your intimacy, your skin against his, he finds himself thinking that it’s not about you completing him.

instead, with you, kaneki feels like he could be a whole person on his own. no longer does he feel the hollow ache of a void in his soul; instead, he’s fulfilled and content. he knows he’ll do anything to ensure you are, too.

kaneki brushes his lips over yours, sealing an unspoken promise.

if you enjoy my writing, please consider reblogging; i really appreciate the interactions.

thank you everyone for reading and supporting my work! (｡･ω･｡)ﾉ♡

[lucis-dove]

Coffe𝖾 on dark nights {2}: 𝖵𝖺𝗇𝗂𝗅𝗅𝖺 𝖢𝗁𝖺𝗂

chapter summary; 𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖩𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝖿𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝖺 𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗍𝗂𝗇𝖾. 𝖧𝖾’𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗌𝗍 𝖼𝗈𝗌𝗍𝗎𝗆𝖾𝗋 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝖺𝗒 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎’𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝗉𝖾𝗋s𝗈𝗇 𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖾𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝖺 𝗌𝗁𝗂𝖿𝗍. 𝖠𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖾𝗌𝗍𝖺𝖻𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗁𝖾𝖽 𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗍𝗂𝗇𝖾, 𝖺 𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗌𝗅𝗈𝗐𝗅𝗒 𝗀𝗋𝗈𝗐𝗌 𝖺𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝖾𝖾 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗈𝗇 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗌𝗍.

pairing: Dr. Jack Abbot x reader

rating: Mature

chapter no: Chapter 2/10 𝗈𝖿 𝖢𝗈𝖿𝖿𝖾𝖾 𝗈𝗇 𝖽𝖺𝗋𝗄 𝗇𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗌

wc; 5.7𝗄

tags/warnings; 𝖼𝗈𝖿𝖿𝖾𝖾!𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗉 𝖺𝗎, 𝗌𝗅𝗈𝗐𝖻𝗎𝗋𝗇, 𝗌𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗌, 𝗂𝗆𝗉𝗅𝗂𝖾𝖽 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗌𝗉𝖾𝖼𝗂𝖿𝗂𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗀𝖾-𝗀𝖺𝗉

Author; @lucis-dove

a/n: 𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗂𝗁𝗂𝗁 𝖨 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝗂𝗍𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗁𝗈𝗇𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖨 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝖩𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝖠𝖻𝗈𝗍𝗍 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝖾

Jack had become an integrated part of your new usual morning routine. 

The shift wasn't monumental. You still arrived well before opening to prepare, the first hour ticking by like any other before his visits had started. Yet, as everything was ticked off on the checklist and you moved on to your routine, that's when things changed.

Before, you only brought your cup from the back. Now, you also plucked a to-go one from the stack beside the barista machine on your way. As they stood side-by-side on the counter, you prepared your drink, simultaneously ensuring everything for his coffee was set to brew once he arrived. It became habitual, ingrained in your everyday pattern, just like Jack's morning visits. 

During the weeks, five minutes of waiting for his coffee also slowly extended to ten, later fifteen. You couldn't pinpoint when it happened, but even though the coffee wasn't trickling and the red button had turned off, you waited a few more moments before heading over to fill his cup. And, as you handed it to Jack, he'd, too, started to linger. 

It's too hot to drink anyway. Your fault for ordering a hot coffee, not an iced one. 

But Jack didn't change his order, nor did you stop brewing his usual.

It wasn't until the four-week mark something broke the pattern.

You'd grown used to seeing Jack within the same thirty minutes most mornings. Accustomed enough that your internal clock started timing your glance towards the door as he reached to open it. You'd noted his punctuality, to which he'd shrugged and told you his only consistency was that he usually never ended his shifts when due.

That's why surprise pins your eyebrows high upon spotting the man standing outside the entrance as you exit the back of the café.

There's no guessing who it is; that head of curls and black scrubs is a dead giveaway, even if the latter is partly shielded beneath a light jacket. The sun may shine brighter each morning, but only minimally warmer.

Your gaze shifts to your arm, catching the time as you set down the last trays of danishes you'd been preparing. 

7:10 A.M

More than once, your eyes stray to Jack while loading the baked goods into the show window. He stands with his back to the door, facing the sun, hands in his pockets. Your brows pull into a deep furrow. He'd never been this early.

You're quick to finish your task, unceremoniously leaving the baking trays on the counter directly to the right in the back room. You make a mental note to put them in the dishwasher while your legs carry you to the store's front.

You don't know what gave your presence away, but Jack's already turning before you say anything, his gaze finding yours as you step onto the threshold.

"Earlier than usual today?" You greet him, arms wrapping around yourself as the morning chill greets you.

"Got off on time, for once." 

As he says it, you notice how he favours leaning on one side of his body as if to alternate the weight on his feet, too exhausted to distribute it on both. 

You don't hesitate as you open the door further, propping it open with your hip. "Come on in, Jack."  He looks at you.

"You're not open," he says, matter of factly. You huff out a laugh. 

"Now we are." You nod sideways, ushering him inside. But you make no move to drag the Open sign outside. 

From how his eyes flicker to it and then back to you, Jack seemingly notices and remains rooted in his spot. 

You cock your head, brows raising. "I got here early, for once." 

He exhales a low huff as his words are reflected back on him. Yet, it's enough for him to move into the warmth of the café.

You follow him inside, letting the door close and lock behind you again.

"Sit down," you say instinctually, motioning to the tables you're passing by. 

He isn't actually dragging his feet, but his walk is stilted. You can liken his movement to yours after busy workdays when you've barely had a moment to sit down. When fatigued crept into your muscles and a heaviness settled in your legs.

Jack looks back at you, gaze seeking yours as he slowly moves closer to the till. His strides are accustomed to yours, allowing you to catch up with him.

"It's fine." Your brows rise upon his reply, halting your next step. 

He hasn't smiled, not even given you that half-smile appearing as an upward twitch on one side of his mouth. His body is rigid, even if it seems he is trying to force it into the opposite. His deflecting comment seemingly made in an effort to convince you and himself. 

Today, there's an abundance of signs you weeks prior would've written off as nothing. Prolonged silences are the most prominent. His tone flattening, the second. The rigidness clinging to every shift of his body, the last. They'd all definitely gone unnoticed the first week you met him. Undetectable until the second week, maybe even third, when you'd seen him enough times and slowly learnt what was normal and not.

It's one of those days, today, the silent ones. 

You didn't know what to otherwise call them, but you'd noticed how some of his visits were shrouded in a certain… silence. 

Jack was a man who sought eye contact, indicated his attention through his gaze. On those days, however, they remained locked on what you did, as if he forced himself to stay more present than he was. You never forced conversation. You let him have the silence. But, when his gaze froze, looking at the place you'd moved from, you brought him back with a gentle comment. 

Those were the times you carried the brunt of a conversation to keep him from falling into whatever place of his mind it was obvious he got stuck in. And you did it seeing how he didn't mind having them, as his few-worded replies were all in favour of keeping it going.

Noticing you don't follow him, Jack slows, turning half his body to look back at you.

You don't reply, deciding not to agree with what you know is a lie, nor push him to admit it is. Concerning he'd already attempted to play down his fatigue, you suspect he didn't need someone shoving it further in his face. So, you remain silent, pulling out a chair at the table closest to you. 

Hazel's eyes follow and remain on you as you sit down. 

For a moment, Jack just looks at you. But as you make yourself comfortable, crossing one leg over the other, all the while meeting his gaze, he pushes out a sigh. 

You patiently wait for him at the table as he turns entirely and heads towards you.

Once reaching the table, Jack slides the backpack off his shoulder, dropping it with a thump beside his seat and soon after draping his shrugged-off jacket on top of it. The heavy sigh he releases once the wooden chair holds his weight is less strained, leaning more towards relief. That tells you enough. 

He'd needed to get off his feet, if just for a moment.

"Do you want anything to drink?" You ask as he settles, one arm on the table, the other in his lap.

He tips his chin. "The usual." 

You remain seated for a moment, eyeing him.

You knew the effects of too much caffeine or drinking it at the wrong time. You'd lost count of the number of students who mixed the two, ordering one coffee upon arrival only to have a double shot espresso an hour later. 

A staggering majority were left unable to concentrate and simply stared at their laptops. The nail-biting, constant checking of time and frustrated noises only increased as time ticked on, and the coffee-induced anxiety kicked in and remained.

Although decades their senior, you predicted Jack on the same receiving end of poorly timed caffeine intake.

He doesn't avert his gaze, not afraid of the attention from your eyes flickering over him. Although when he cocks his head at your prolonged silence, you finally nod, moving to the place you usually meet him.

"Alright, I'll be back in a few."

You catch a shift in his eyes as he follows you until he can no longer turn his head if he doesn't turn his body. Something about it implied he hadn't anticipated you wouldn't call his bluff.

Although busying yourself preparing his and your respective drinks, you steal glances at Jack occasionally. When you turn to get a ceramic coffee mug rather than the paper one he usually receives. When you move to gather the ingredients to your drink more than his. 

Each time you're met by the same sight, Jack seemingly deep in thought, face turned to the sun trickling through the windows. If you could see his eyes, you bet they would have that faraway look. 

You hurry the best you can to finish your drinks.

When you return to the table, you don't miss how he presses his fingers into the muscles around his right knee in a half-hearted massage, hidden from sight from your previous position. But when Jack hears you getting closer, he stops, craning his neck to follow you as you walk around him.

"There you go." Two low thuds follow as you set down the mugs on the wooden table, the one with darker liquid before him and the other closer to your seat. Jack nods his thanks as you sit down opposite him. 

You both raise your mugs. But, while your body relaxes at the heat, you don't see the same reaction Jack usually gets after having the first sip of his drink. You decide to speak then. 

"Rough night, I suppose."

Jack shouldn't be surprised; most people in Pitt have noticed the switch since the second hour of his shift. How he concentrated on charting over taking a seat to unwind in the few available moments. How he never hesitated to take on an incoming trauma despite barely exiting the room of the last. How he slowly grew more silent between patients and the gaze of his eyes was heavier to hold by the hour, judging by how fewer people had met it for long periods.

He'd even seen the quick rise of Robby's eyebrows as they ran into each other by the nurse station rather than the roof by shift change. The comment had quickly left the older attending after he'd gathered himself. Go home, brother, swift and interrupting any lingering both of them knew Jack would've done otherwise.

But you didn't work with him, knew nothing of him besides what you'd learnt during his brief visits. Which, in his eyes, wasn't much. He took his coffee black, was a widower and worked at the hospital a short walk away.

You let him be silent when others pry. Even so, your silence wasn't void of knowing. You proved that when you spoke. You made the painstakingly right comments, similar to Robby if he found him on the roof. You knew. Somehow.

"Yeah." 

In Jack's lowly spoken statement, you caught something akin to… you don't know. Something darker had laced his tone. Something had flashed in his eyes. 

You let it be, just like earlier, noting it but deciding not to comment. Even so, you nodded as he said it, trying to silently convey you get it, even if you also didn't.

After a beat of silence, Jack's the one who steers the conversation in a new direction after a deep exhale. Not pained or annoyed, simply final.

"How many of those do you have a week?" Jack eyes your cup, white froth topped with a sprinkle of brown, a little heart left in the middle.

"What, coming for my caffeine intake?" You rebut. "I think you beat me there." 

He huffs through his nose. It was short and airy, not nearly a laugh but nonetheless a sound of amusement. "No doubt about that."

"It's not even coffee, anyways," you shrug, hands circling your cup, index and middle finger threading through the ear.

"No?" His eyes fall to your drink again, returning to lock with yours soon after. 

"It's a vanilla chai latte. Black tea with milk, a little vanilla and spices, basically," you explain. "I don't like coffee." 

Jack had taken for granted it was a coffee since the first time he'd seen you with that cup. The one with a little heart painted on the bottom. As he'd aimlessly spun his otherwise identical mug, he noticed it didn't carry the same mark.

"And yet you work here?" His tone is lighter now, teasing.

"Hypocritical, almost, isn't it?" You chuckle in agreement, only to fall into a one-shouldered shrug. "But you don't have to drink coffee religiously to have knowledge about it." 

Although taking a swig of his coffee, the way he cocks his brows invites you to continue. 

"I read up on the needed stuff, then taste it to know the practical differences. You often don't need more than a mouthful to tell things apart, not when everyone's taste dictates what they prefer anyway." The humoured roll of his head makes you smile and add, "Especially when there are people who order their coffee black, can you believe it?" 

That elicits a low chuckle from him. 

The sound is rough in the morning stillness. But it isn't hollow and doesn't end in heavy, exhausted breath. In fact, it softens his posture overall and leaves an amused expression behind, if the side of his mouth tugging upwards is anything to go by. And on these days, you'd learned it was.

"Should I be offended?"

"If it hits too close to home", you sip your drink, hiding your smile behind the brim of the cup. But the arch of your brows gives away your amusement to the man watching you. He shakes his head, yet the side of his mouth pulls a fraction higher.

"Is it really that good?"

"Looking to change up your usual?" 

You knew he wasn't. Considering he took his coffee black suggested enough of his taste in hot beverages. One contrasting heavily against yours. Even so, you lower the beige-speckled cup onto the table.

"Taste it if you want," you slide it closer to Jack, inviting him to taste the drink. His brows twitch upwards, the lines on his forehead accentuated for a few seconds. "I am not the germaphobe here," you shoot him a look along the comment, lips pulled into an entertained purse at your own comment. 

He accepts the drink after that, his smile edging the territory of a smirk.

Jack's reaction was immediate after he took a swig of the chai. A crease entered the space between his brows. The little jump of the muscle above his smile lines. A minuscule shift of his chin followed by clenching and unclenching his jaw. How he used his coffee as a chaser was the final straw for you.

You couldn't help the laugh that slipped out while you retrieved your cup after he put it down. Although you feel his gaze on you as you wipe your eyes from the single tear collected there, it isn't as heavy anymore. 

When your laugh trails off in a breathy giggle, you loop your finger through your mug's ear. Drinking through your smile is almost hard.

"Tastes like something Robby would like", he scoffs, but it's fond.

As you swallow, your expression remains much less offended than his. "Robby?" 

"Senior attending during the day shifts, a friend," he offers just enough for you to understand. "Likes his caffeine shy of a heart attack and sweet enough to set off alarm bells for diabetes 2."

You snort, almost choking on your drink in the process. It makes the edges of Jack's mouth pull harder. It's the first time both sides of his mouth bow upwards, gracing his features in that delicate smile you'd dubbed as his, the one that's enough to accentuate his smile lines and fight the weary shadow across his face.

You enjoy your drinks until you both finish, which is just in time for you to officially open the coffee shop.

You walk with him to the front, dragging out the sign to signal you're officially open to the rest of the public. This time around, the air outside is much more welcoming, enough for Jack to continue clutching the jacket he had previously worn in his hand.

"Have a good night, Jack." He cocks his head, brows jumping upwards momentarily. It's the first time you've bid him goodbye as if you were operating on the same schedule as him. 

"I'll try." He notices the same flicker across your eyes as you smile at him, something twinging the edge of your lip. But it's fleeting, unconscious, before your smile turns playful, now twitching upwards rather than down.

"Cutting out the caffeine before heading to bed would be a first step." A wink accompanies your comment. 

Jack notices the meaning laced into the sentence offered as a teasing remark, the suggestion moulded into something delicate rather than directly mentioning a problem.

He can't help but shrug. "You said it; coffee and mornings go hand in hand." You chuckle, shaking your head before meeting his gaze again with an easy smile.

"Addictive together, even."

And just like that, you turn the conversation into something light, non-pressuring by agreeing with him about something you both know you despise. He'd noticed that talent of yours during the month he'd stopped by.

"Sleep... well?" Jack watched as eyebrows furrowed halfway through the saying, probably as you realised its unsuitable nature, yet the words were already off your tongue.

He doesn't respond because he knows he won't. Sleep that is, and certainly not well if he accidentally did. But, again, he feels the twitch at the edge of his mouth upon your consideration, settling for another goodbye, "Have a good shift."

After watching a small smile unfold on your lips and the accompanying nod, Jack turned, tracking back to the Hospital parking lot. He catches the sound of the door shutting gently again, signalling you've returned inside.

The rest of your day passes as usual, with the steady lull of people chatting and coffee brewing. Although you can't deny your thoughts strayed to Jack more than once during your shift. Lingering on how he was doing until the next customer swept your attention away to them rather than him.

His early visit had taken you off guard, breaking the routine balancing upon his working hours. But it seemed today would also leave, or start, with a surprise.

A knock on the window minutes after seven makes your head snap up, eyes drawn to the entrance. You catch Jack's hand just about falling from the window once you do. 

When your eyes lock, his expression morphs, entertainment visible on his face through the glass. You can only guess your own expression because of it.

Abandoning your tablet and the digital pen, you walk around the counter quickly as you head to the entrance. Once you reach the door, you push it open with a quizzical look.

"Should I start preparing your coffee in a mug rather than a to-go cup?" 

You immediately realise that the Jack who was here early yesterday is certainly not the same as today. The side of his lips already twitching upwards after your question.

"Can't answer that. It will ruin the surprise." He pauses for a second as he passes you, not needing more than your nod that invites him inside to agree this time around. "But… no coffee at all today."

Your brows jump, continuing forward with Jack, who'd waited a few steps into the shop. "That so?"

"Shouldn't have a coffee, need the sleep." 

You hum, pushing down the smirk threatening to curl your lips, tasting the what did I say on your tongue as you walk together to the till. The thought of why he's here in the first place is much more silent. 

However, as he speaks again, your expression drops, and you halt in the middle of a step. "Didn't have a bad shift." 

Images from yesterday flash in your mind, his silent days now given a name. A bad shift. But that didn't make you stall at the side of the counter, not fully circling it to reach your spot behind it. The meaning of his comment is what threw you off. He gets coffee after bad shifts.

"Wait, you've had bad shifts for four weeks straight?" You can't hide the edge in your voice as you turn to face him. He's already looking at you.

"No." 

Your brows furrow. "What?"

"I don't have that many bad shifts a week." You shake your head in bewilderment, lips parting as you try to follow. 

Then you realise he isn't simply looking at you. He's watching. As if he's waiting for something. Your eyes narrow, then they jump high as you cock your head.

"Was that a joke?" His neutral expression cracks, his mouth twitching, not much, but just enough for you to realise he'd previously tacked on a bit more for the sake of being extra unreadable. But now, a modest, bordering on bashful smile graces his face. 

"Oh fuck off, here you had me worrying!" He doesn't chuckle, but his smile grows before he forces it down as if to quell it humorously. "Do you still not want anything to drink, or was that a joke too?"

"Are you progressive enough that you have decaf?" There's a lilt to his voice as he speaks. You'd heard it before but could count the number of times on one hand.

Moving forward again, you feign insult through a scoff. "That you even have to ask makes me offended." 

You catch his amused hum from behind, not believing you in the slightest.

Unlike usual, you walk down the counter to fetch a tin marked with Decaf. As you turn back, you face Jack again, unable not to smile when his eyes follow you while working. His smile lines are still enhanced, having everything to do with the easy way he stands and the lack of heaviness in his eyes.

"You seem to be in a good mood today," you point it out as you set down the tin, turning to scoop enough powder into the filter.

"Gotta take the wins when you get them." You hum, understanding he's talking about his shift.

"Is it rare?" As you ask, you fill the water to the first line, just enough for one cup of coffee.

"Not really." But how he says it indicates it certainly isn't an everyday occurrence either. 

You turn back to Jack as the machine hums to life.

"What-," you wave your hand around to find the word,"-branch, is that what's it called?" You test, but it doesn't feel right, and you scrunch your nose, settling on, "What do you practice?"

You've never talked much about Jack's work or what he did as a doctor. It was only ever the conversation topic when you acknowledged his bad shifts, and those conversations were sparse on details.

"Field." Jack corrects you first. He readjusts the bag on his shoulder, shifting his weight as he rolls his head into something akin to a single nod when he continues. "And emergency medicine."

Your brows rise as you nod slowly. "That's impressive." His scoff takes you back. "What, is it not?"

"Impressive isn't the word I'd use."

"No?"

"No." His voice isn't sharp, neither annoyed. But the self-critical edge is there and makes you tilt your head. "It's work." 

It's your turn to honestly scoff at that. "Please, Jack, you save people's lives-"

"Can't save everyone."

"Sure, no, but you try." Jack is about to interrupt you again, but you cut him off just as quickly. "And before you go arguing it isn't the thought that counts. I'm just saying, what if all of you just.. stopped trying? There wouldn't be many left to do it because not everyone's cut out for it. That's why what you're doing is admirable." 

He remains silent, gaze remaining locked with yours, observing. You don't know what he could be looking for.

"You're speaking like a bright-eyed med-student." His tone implies that bright-eyed could just as well be a synonym for naïve. And, with how Jack apparently regarded his profession as just another job, you wouldn't be surprised if that was the case. 

"Could never be me."

Jack's lip twitches, catching the fleeting way your nose had scrunched and lips pursed downwards. "Squeamish?" 

"No. Yes? I've never found the appeal in being elbow-deep in someone's chest."

"Usually, it's not elbow, only to the wrist." You send Jack a look as you grimace before you shake your head, forcing the visual away.

"And there's the reason I work with coffee, not blood." His scoff is amused. 

"That what you were doing?" Jack nods downwards towards the tablet, still waiting where you'd left it.

"That's what I'm doing now." You say, plucking a paper and a ceramic mug, holding them both up. His nod towards the paper one proceeds his lowly spoken right. You walk over to Jack while writing his name on the cup, placing it between you and just to the left of the device you now point to. "That was me sketching on some new ideas for pastries."

Jack's brows pull together for a second. He glances sideways as he leans back on his heels a little, eyes finding the glass display. Right now, there are only various breads, Danishes, and sandwiches.

"You do pastries?" He looks at you again.

"Mhm," you nod. "But we start with those later when the confectioner turns up." 

"Don't you make them?"

Shaking your head, you release the air through your nose in a short huff. "God no, couldn't even if I tried."

"You don't drink coffee and don't bake. Is there anything more I should know about?" You laugh at his sardonic remark. 

"Actually-," you point at him. "I make the danishes and bake the bread, at least in the mornings."

"Are they safe to eat?" Much like the question, his minimal smile has a teasing air to it. 

You send Jack a glare, but it softens quickly into something equally amused.

"You might not want me near the making of the fancier-looking cakes, but I am, in fact, able to manage the basic danishes." He cocks his head. You shrug, clarifying, "Sometimes you learn as you go."

"Preach," he hums, notching his chin high with a slight nod as his arms cross over his chest. "Why do you take the morning shifts, then? Isn't it better to just leave it to those capable to bake?"

"I'm capable, just not an expert, thank you very much. And people don't buy cake at seven in the morning," you rebut, making both sides of his mouth curl in amusement. You continue with a haphazard wave of your hand. "Besides, I'm only by myself until around half past eight. It's better to schedule people when needed, especially if it makes them happy about being able to sleep in."

Jack noticed how you spoke as if you were in charge of scheduling people's shifts. With the admin stuff he'd seen on your laptop occasionally, he wasn't surprised if you were involved in the process somehow.

"Wish we had someone like you managing our schedules." 

"Yeah, I've heard about your shifts," you wince, remembering the few times you'd been told about the 12-hour rotations medical workers operated on. You offer him a sympathetic look. "Can't say I'm jealous." 

He didn't give you a sad smile or anything implying his dislike for it. Instead, a smirk plays on his lips. "Wait till you hear about the 24-hour shifts." 

Your mouth drops open. "You are kidding, right?" 

With the serious face Jack sent you, your brows rose, realising he did not. 

"Fuck me," you breathe, leaning against the counter in front of you, hips pressing into it as you, much like him, cross your arms. "If I ever complain about my work hours around you, you have the permission to…. I don't know, slap me sounds wrong to say to a doctor?" 

The short chuckle was out before Jack knew it. How you spoke with an air of disbelief, followed by a regretful chuckle, and your eyes flickering to his stirred more amusement than disdain for pity inside him.

"I'm not risking my license." He knew you caught the joke behind the sharpness of his reply, seeing as your mouth still quirked while you attempted to fend off a smile. "But I'll take my pay in pastry form." 

He couldn't fend off the quirk on his own lips as your smile developed fully, head tilting as you watched him with a gleam entering your eyes.

"A sweet tooth? Didn't pin you as the type of guy."

"I don't like sweet drinks. But never underestimate the power of glucose at the end of a shift." 

The clarification tickles you enough to laugh. "Why do I feel like your take on a sweet treat is a stale protein bar?"

Jack doesn't answer, not verbally. But the dip his head bows into as the air leaves him in a short, huffed breath makes you snicker again, knowing you were right.

"Well, considering you're an expert, Mr Connoisseur, what do we think?" As Jack's head rises, so do his brows before his eyes fall to the tablet you turn his way.

You'd opened the digital sketching pad again, showing him the drawings on the screen despite not entirely done, seeing how he'd interrupted you upon his arrival. Even so, the sketches of different pastries are close enough to be done that he'll understand what they are.

Jack gazes at the colourful creations and follows the arrows to small notes describing fillings and layers. He notices that your handwriting is much neater than at the coffee cup.

"They're pretty."

You fiddle with the digital pen in your hand, watching him with your head tilted and an amused smile growing. "With that elaborative feedback, I may just pick you as my guinea pig for the new recipes."

"As long as they don't make me one of Robby's patients." His gaze returns to yours, and he straightens. You didn't notice how he'd leaned down slightly, though it was more a crane of his neck as his eyes narrowed.

"Hm, I'll try." 

"Call me when you need me." You chuckle, knowing there's no way for you to actually do that. 

As you lock the tablet and put it aside, you reach for a smaller brown bag to your left. "Until then, have a taste of what we do offer for early-birds." You push the sliding window open, grabbing the tongs while waiting for him to direct you to one of the pastries.

"I'm good."

You cock your hip, resting your arm atop the glass showcase ending shoulder-high, the bag in your hold rustling at the action. An unimpressed but slightly entertained look was sent to Jack. 

"Concerning you didn't originally come here for a coffee, and my newly found knowledge of your sweet tooth, I'm assuming you stopped by to celebrate a good shift with a little reward for yourself. So now, pick one."

Jack blinked at you, but you just stared straight back at him.

Your assumption was sound. Jack knew it was. But it wasn't his reason either. If he was honest, he wouldn't even have guessed correctly why he'd come here because he didn't know. 

He's exhausted, like always, but not thoroughly enough that it's reached his bones. After the closest thing to a good shift he could come, exhaustion creeps up as tiredness, not anxiety, especially after a day of close to no sleep. On these rare occasions, even he avoided coffee. And yet, his legs carried him down the road to get here, just like yesterday when he needed to get something to keep the sleep at bay.

He could use the decaf coffee he ordered or the pastry you asked him to name as an afterthought, but nothing more.

"I'll take the one with chocolate."

You give him a satisfied nod as you grab the pain au chocolate. "Good choice."

"You would've said that about anything." You simply gasp in mock offence.

"Me? Biased? Why would I ever be that?" You grin at him, making the side of his mouth twitch. "But, honestly, it's one of my favourites. If I get anything, this is the one." You rattle the paper bag gently, now with the pastry inside, just as you catch the coffee finish brewing. 

You fold the bag twice before handing it over to him. He takes it gently, pinching the same spot you held it in, making your fingers slip almost from beneath his. Your smile is reactionary, and so is the dip of your head before moving to prepare his coffee. His eyes stay on you like they always do.

"I'll walk with you," you nod toward the exit once you finish his beverage and turn around, keeping ahold of his cup. Jack simply waits for you to walk around the counter as an answer. 

You walk side-by-side in silence, Jack pushing open the door and holding it open for you once you reach it. You take it over from him by leaning your body against it to keep it open, making no move to drag the sign outside since it's still a little while until you open.

While Jack shuffles the to-go back into the same hand he's got his thumb hooked beneath the backpack strap over his shoulder, you watch him, waiting until his gaze seeks yours again.

You offer him a smile while handing him the coffee. "Sleep good, yeah?"

"I will." Something warms in your chest; the difference to yesterday's goodbye is not lost on you.

"Good." You linger just a few seconds longer by the door before you shuffle inside again, sending him a smile and a small wave through the window when you look back and find him still following you with his eyes. 

It's enough for Jack to take a deep breath and feel that the detour was worth it. For whatever reason he took it.

[withmyloveasyourgarden]

CINNAMON SWEET

STEVE HARRINGTON X F!READER

A cute little diner, friends that secretly conspire to give you and Steve the push you both need, and a planned breakfast that suddenly feels a lot more like a date - not that either of you are complaining. [Re-uploaded from my old blog]

Realistically, Steve should have known there was something going on when everyone, except you and him, suddenly couldn't make it to the breakfast that they'd all planned. 

But he hadn't really thought much of it when Max said she was teaching El how to skate or when Eddie and the rest of the kids said there was important Hellfire stuff that needed doing. 

Robin had picked up an extra shift at work and when Steve had shot her a briefly suspicious look, she had simply smirked and said something about how she needed to stop being broke and finally get a licence. Because it's not like he could drive her around forever and ‘I can't be third wheeling when you finally get a girl willing to put up with you Harrington.’

And maybe he would have put it together if he hadn't been so god damn nervous.

If there weren't butterflies in his stomach right up until he pulled up in front of your house and if his brain didn't stutter every time he thought of how it was just going to be you and him. 

He didn't fare any better when you stepped outside, the same startling grin on your face when your eyes found his that had stolen his heart the very first time he'd seen it.

There was a softness to how you were dressed that made him ache, all chunky-knit sweaters and pretty-coloured beanies, the scarf that Steve had given to you last year when you took the kids ice-skating and later you'd teasingly informed him he would never get back. 

He couldn't help but hope that he never would if it meant he kept getting to see you walk around in something of his. The feeling he got in his chest when you would catch his eyes on it - smile half hidden beneath the dark wool, hopelessly shy, and your own gaze tinged warm. 

It was one that lingered as you climbed into the car, a gust of cold wind entering with you that stirred at Steve's hair and blew the scent of spiced apple and vanilla from your body wash all around him, hands tightening around the steering wheel and teeth clamped because he was sure he would blurt out something stupid when he realised how the smell instantly brought him comfort. 

"Hey." You murmured from beside him, voice soft, still a little thick from sleep like you hadn't fully woken up yet and Steve was pretty sure he felt something in his chest melt at the sound. "Is it just us?" 

"Hey, sweetheart." He hummed without thinking, the pet name slipping too easily past his lips like it had always held a place on his tongue when he spoke about you, and he was too preoccupied with watching the road to be aware of the way you flushed in response. "Looks like it, apparently everyone else has plans that couldn't wait. S'that okay?" 

And it's not that he necessarily thought you would have a problem with it but he wanted to make sure anyway. Because you and Steve had never really done anything like this before, there was always other people around - the kids or Robin and Eddie, or any time you had spent alone together was either spent entertaining each other at work or in an alternative dimension, fighting for your lives. 

This, right here and now, felt different and the last thing he wanted was for you to feel like you had to be there if you didn't want to be. 

But then, to the boy's delight, you turned your head to grin at him, soft and warm, eyes bright. Looking every bit like you had always belonged in the passenger seat of his car, right beside him, just like this. "That's fine Steve." You told him. "It's their loss." 

**

The drive to the diner that Steve had chosen, a little bit out of the way instead of sticking to the one in town, was simultaneously never-ending and not long enough. 

An easy conversation flowed between you both. The nerves that had fluttered in your belly at the realisation it would just be the two of you slowly fading as you listened to Steve sing along to the music under his breath, only for them to then reappear with a vengeance when his hand occasionally brushed against your knee as he shifted gears. 

Each time he would withdraw his hand, cheeks tinged a soft pink, his apology a little choked sounding as he coughed to clear his throat. 

You had to pretend that the fleeting touch didn't burn you each time, that you didn't wish you could catch his fingers with yours and pull his hand back to rest on your knee instead of telling him ‘don't worry about it.’

And by the time you were unbuckling your seatbelt, nearly tumbling out of the door in your need for fresh air, there was a heady kind of tension between you. A sweet ache that made you feel permanently too warm, too giddy each time soft, brown eyes landed on yours and he smiled that same devastating smile that had labeled you a goner from the moment you had met him.

He waited for you to join him around the front of the car before he motioned towards the place with a little ta-da, his expression adorably pleased when you gave a delighted laugh before your gaze flickered to the quaint, little building, intrigued.

It didn't look like much at first glance but there was charm in its simplicity, all the decorations that they'd lovingly put in place for the season and the upcoming holiday making it feel homely and your heart undeniably happy. 

"How did you hear about this place?" You asked curiously whilst walking to the door. 

There was barely any space between you and every now and again you accidentally bumped arms or your fingers brushed, almost catching, so close to holding, but never quite. And unlike in the car, this time there was no quickly pulling away, no muttering of an apology, instead you both allowed it to happen like you were waiting to see if the other would pull away or if they'd be the one brave enough to move closer. 

But neither of you did and Steve quickly pulled you away from thoughts of if you should when he answered,

"Joyce told me. Said she used to bring Jonathan and Will here all the time because Will was convinced they did the best cinnamon waffles and hot chocolate." He grinned softly, eyes golden in the light of the sun and his expression briefly hesitant when he drew his lip between his teeth before adding. "It uh, it made me think of you."

"I remind you of waffles and hot chocolate? Is it because I'm just so sweet?" You joked. 

He shook his head with a huffed laugh, a rogue strand of hair falling into his eyes that you ached to brush away. "I wouldn't say that, well maybe, I guess?" He contradicted himself, cheeks a little flushed as he caught your amused stare, the pretty twinkle in your eyes that grew the more the boy spoke. "You mentioned that cinnamon waffles and hot chocolate was your favourite thing to have for breakfast that time we were at Robin's and– wait - shit - did I remember wrong?" 

You were stunned - a little too much so that you couldn't answer him for a moment, simply blinking at him as Steve's face grew worried. 

He brought you back with a hushed murmur of your name and you were suddenly fighting to breathe against the golden warmth flooding through your chest. 

"No, no, no, that's right." You assured him, a steadily beaming smile creeping across your face and Steve practically lit up with relief. "I just can't believe you remembered."

He snorted a little as he reached for the door and swung it open, a strong arm catching around your waist and pulling you into him to create a clear path for the elderly couple who were on their way out. 

"I remember a lot of things about you, probably more than I should." His voice was softer than you'd ever heard it and if the boy heard or even felt the way your breath hitched then he didn't say anything. Simply smiling proud and wide as the old couple thanked you, the lady cooing about 'what a cute couple you were and such lovely manners too.'

And when you finally dared to chance a look up at him he was already watching you. The tension from the car ride returning, something electric brewing in the small space between you that apparently made the boy feel bolder.  

"I did forget something today though." He mumbled, gaze a little warmer, a little flirtier, fixed on yours as he lifted his hand to tug high at your scarf, a light touch that caused his hand to barely graze the edge of your jaw and jesus christ, you couldn't fucking breathe. "Should have told you how pretty you look the moment you stepped foot in my car." 

You hadn't even realised your hands had made their way to his chest, fingers caught gently in his jacket from when you had swayed into him. But his breath was warm on your face and his nose was bumping yours and you swore there was a question in those pretty, honey eyes as they flicked from yours to your lips and slowly back. 

"I think I could maybe forgive you for taking this long." You whispered and he grinned, sticky-sweet and lovesick. 

"Yeah?" 

It was a question that you so badly wanted to answer by tilting your chin and pressing your lips to his. You wanted nothing more than to push yourself further into him, ached to feel him wrap himself around you, arms tight and mouth warm and giving under yours. 

But just as his lips brushed yours, the faintest echo of a touch, and you heard the boy's breath hitch, there was a crash from inside.

The sound of a plate shattering and cutlery hitting hardwood loud enough that the two of you jumped and stumbled apart with wide eyes. Gazes a little shy now the bubble you'd found yourselves in had been popped, allowing the world to rush around you once again. 

For a few moments you both just stood there, you nervously chewing at your lip as Steve ran a hand through his hair, musing it further than the wind had already. But then you caught the boy's eye and the laughter that bubbled out from you both sounded quiet and breathless, but real.

Happy.

And you could hardly bite back the smile when he tilted his head towards the inside of the diner and grinned. 

"After you, sweetheart."