#but if that’s true why can’t i ever have lighthearted conversations and say things like ‘i love this movie i love this actor i love this ti

[artxyra]

Damian Acting Like A Teenager? Impossible.

When Damian entered the halls of Gotham Academy, the first thing he notices was the change in the dark atmosphere. It felt oddly kinder and more lighthearted. Everywhere he turns, there are whispers focus around the new girl. At first, he didn’t care about the gossip, well, that was until he met her.

It was an unusual encounter, something that he would look down on.

It was the passing period, and she was running down the halls in a hurry as he was walking to his next class, one that he didn’t particularly care for; they bump into each other, causing a standstill in the halls. Everyone wondered how the dark prince would react to their newly dubbed princess of sunshine. They expected a yelling match, which, of course, occurred, but what they didn’t expect was an eventual best of the worst of alliance ever made.

Several months passed since the two had met and several weeks since the blooming of Damian and Marinette’s friendship, and not a single student could say that there weren’t surprised.

The moment Marinette had broken down any (and all) walls that the boy had placed, she was able to make the stoic teen become his age. It started small with a joke here and there; then it progressed into card games followed by video games. To this day, Damian swears that he’ll beat her at a shooting game at one point, to which Marinette would respond with a laugh and an over-the-shoulder wink. The young Wayne swears that he has never blush a day in his life, but the photographic proof on Marinette’s phone says otherwise.

The school soon became accustomed to being Daminette’s playground. At first, the teachers were opposed to the idea, but after seeing how slightly more open Damian has become, they slowly agreed to the concept of allowing the duo to have less strict rules. That and they didn't want to be sued by the Wayne family.

Which now brings us to this moment: Marinette swings on a swing set while Damian practices his form with a katana; don’t ask how he managed to get it past security-- cause there is no answer.

“You know, maybe we should do something wild?” Marinette thinks aloud, looking up to the sky with a mischief smirk on her lips.

Damian doesn’t turn to her; he only sets the blade down to his side. “What mayhem do you have in mind?”

Marinette giggles uncontrollably.

Let’s assume that whatever Marinette had in mind would rule the yearbooks for years to come.

~☾★☽~

Since his partnership with Marinette, Damian has been hiding his characteristic change at home. Surprisingly, it was simple. A few death threats here and there, maybe sneaking out moments every so often. No one at the Wayne cared enough to pay any attention to it. It only then became a shock when Damian left for school along the lines of being late. Alfred had offered to take him to school to which Damian declined and got onto his “normal” motorcycle and speeds off.

“Does anyone else seem to think that Damian is acting strange?” Dick asks, pipping his head down from the ceiling. He’s on the chandelier again. Poor Alfred, maybe Dick should dust the chandelier for him as an apology.

Tim walks in with a large, filled to the brim, coffee mug in hand, “Which one?” He absently wonders, taking a long sip. The dark circles and bags around his eyes explain it all.

“I do concur with Master Richard; the young master has been acting somewhat strange for quite some time now.” Alfred appears out of nowhere, thus starting an array of concerns.

It wasn’t long before Jason came in shouting demands with the head of the household trailing behind him. Alfred reprimands Jason for the yelling as he hands Bruce a cup of coffee.

Not caring enough about the conversation and looking like a madman, Jason shouts, “Look, I can’t explain it, but we’re going to need Demon Spawn for something huge.”

“Uh, why would we need Baby Bird?” Dick asks, dropping onto the floor and twisting his body. “Not that I don’t mind getting Damian involved.”

“Look, there’s no time to explain,” Jason facepalms and begins to push everyone towards the door despite the lack of proper wear they have on.

After several protests and one change of clothes, the Wayne household now stands in front of the gates of Gotham Academy.

“Is it me, or does this place look less you know Gotham-y and full of life?” Tim ponders, narrowing his eyes, as he takes a long sip from a to-go coffee cup with Red Robin’s emblem.

“No, no, Timmy, I see it too.” Dick whispers as Jason struts past the gates and onto the school’s property like a man on a mission.

Bruce sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, “Come on, let’s go get your brother so Jason can stop being Jason.”

Tim shrugs before passing the gates himself, with Dick following him.

Upon entering the school, they could immediately see that it was either a passing period or free time from the number of students in the halls. Some student dared to pull out their phones while other whispers amongst themselves.

Bruce makes his way to the attendance office, where the attendance assistant, Joyce, resides sitting at the desk.

“Hello Joyce, I’m here to pick up Damian. He has a, uh, dentist appointment this evening.” Bruce speaks, hoping that she wouldn’t catch the lie.

“Well Mr. Wayne, Damian is, uh…” After lingering in her thoughts, Joyce turns to someone besides her. “Do you know where Damian Wayne would be at today?”

“Try the art room.” A feminine voice answers, followed by a series of typing noises.

Joyce turns back to the Wayne family and smiles, “He should be in the art room; it’s down the hall to your right, you should not miss it, as it’s in the only hallway that has a series of artwork posted on the walls. Before you go, please sign here."

Joyce hands Bruce a sign-out sheet, to which the man signs and ushers his wards to search for his youngest.

“They’re so screwed.” The same feminine voice speaks, causing Joyce to break out laughing.

It took a total of four different locations for the men to find the youngest Wayne.

First, they went to the art room like Joyce’s co-worker told them to do.

When they got there, Damian wasn't there, but the teacher did show Bruce a couple of Damian's artworks. Bruce couldn't help but feel proud.

While looking around the room, one of the art students told them they last saw Damian playing Pokémon Go near the gym; he was trying to catch a legendary Pokémon that spawned there.

So, of course, after an awkward eye contact with one another, they walk to the gym. Once again, Damian wasn’t there but a different student in his stead. He tells them that Damian was making ice sculptures out of ice cream at the cafeteria. The student then goes on to explain that Damian had some wicked skills with a knife.

Jason, with wide eyes, practically shouted at the student that he was crazy and that Damian would never, and he means NEVER would do something that stupid. The student shrugs it off like it was an everyday occurrence. It was Dick that had to hold Jason back from thrashing the teen. Bruce then apologizes to the instructor for their disturbance, as Tim walks casually behind Dick carrying Jason.

By the time they got to the cafeteria, it was damn near empty aside from a few students still eating. There were no signs of ice cream or the tools that would go into making an ice sculpture. Tim had to ask a few students to see if Damian was in here at some point in time. One of the workers overheard the question and answered him. Evidently, Damian was there earlier making sculptures out of ice cream before handing it out to students.

When they asked the question that has been slowly driving the four insane, the worker replies with: “Upstairs racing on these old colorful scooter board down the halls."

After three locations and no Damian, Tim wanted nothing more but to have a mental breakdown, and he would have if it wasn’t for Bruce holding him up and taking his coffee away.

So, they quickly found themselves on the second level of the school. There was no sight of Damian Wayne, though there were wheel tracks smudged into the flooring.

“Are you kidding me?” Jason shouts out into the ceiling. Thankfully, there were no students in the halls to hear it. Well, that might have been the case if it wasn’t for a teacher to open their door and shh the male. It took every bone in Jason's body not to show the teacher his middle finger.

After a beat of silence and walking down the hall, they overhear a familiar voice.

“Angel, you are desperately in the wrong here. The bear only wears one color, so it has to the color red.” Jason stops dead in his tracks and turns to railings.

The voice was too good to be true.

Looking over the staircase, they find an alcove, and sitting in it is none other than Damian Wayne himself, but he’s not alone.

“I’m telling you, Wayne. Pooh’s favorite color is yellow.” The female answers before taping her fingers as she makes her points, “He loves honey, which is by default a yellow color. He's never seen with a yellow background, and if yellow didn't clash with his fur, he would definitely be wearing it.”

“I disagree. Winnie the Pooh has been drawn on numerous of occasions with red items, not yellow. Case in point, the red balloon, his shirt." He counters. The conversation continues with banters and statements; whether it was true or false is up to debate.

This was not happening.

Tim.exe has stopped working.

Jason.exe has stopped working.

Jaws dropped, a low groaning sound.

They cannot be witnessing this. The most deadliest of the Wayne’s is currently arguing about Winnie, the motherfucking, Pooh’s favorite color.

Bruce has no words. He's practically in the same stance as his middle children. Dick, on the other hand, pulls out his phone and begins to record what remains of the conversation.

No one dares to move or utter out words. This version of Damian is the apocalypse. Nothing in the world is okay.

Slowly, the four Waynes exit the school; no one saw them leave.

Legend has it that Damian never went home that day despite being excused from his classes. When he had returned home, his family didn't utter a word to him. He was meet with either a profusely blinking, unwanted hug or laughter, as they were still in shock at what they just encountered. It wasn’t until a couple of months later that all hell breaks loose. Damian had introduced the family to Marinette.

----

A retouch version of Request #2

[gryffindors-weasley]

It’s Always Been You

Young!Sirius Black x Reader

Summary: Your first kiss with Sirius.

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: fluff, mentions of smoking, kissing

Prompt: “I couldn’t get you out of my mind.”

A/N: This is my fic for bestie elle’s @sunrisefairy 2k writing challenge. Ilysm congratulations bestie you deserve the world <3

That moment. It was that moment that you knew something was missing, rather someone. Things didn’t feel quite so bright or quite so full of energy, the room didn’t feel quite the same. It was void of the liveliness only one person in particular could bring. Maybe it’s just because he’s your best friend and you’re his, maybe it’s just because you can’t be found more than a few feet from each other almost all the time. Maybe, you weren’t quite sure. But it wasn’t hard to figure out that Sirius had wandered off elsewhere.

It was a small get-together, close family and closer friends, all joined together in celebration for James and Lily’s wedding a few days out. The small Potter residence had bustled with jovial energy, one radiating the kind of love that keeps a smile on your face and a warmth in your heart. The record player had been sounding in the background to the lighthearted conversation, leaving open the opportunity for James to get people up and dancing. But you knew better than to believe James even needed music to be able to do that. He was captivating and chaotic, the kind of energy that lit up any room.

But it wasn’t hard to realize the very absence of the one you’d spent the entire evening thinking about, the one who’d had you on his mind just as much as you did.

It wasn’t long before you excused yourself and wandered through the kitchen, knowing just where he’d be without second thought. You twisted the brass knob to the door, the metal cool to the touch as you pulled it open. The music carried, loud enough to filter outside, muffled and upbeat in contrast to the quiet of the evening.

What had grabbed your attention first was the ever distinct smell of smoke, most telling to who it was you’d been looking for. It brought your gaze to the mess of raven hair you longed to see since the moment you saw he’d gone missing, Sirius sat comfortably on the hood of Mr. Potter’s car as a cigarette rested loosely between his lips. A pair of brightly colored sunglasses pushed his hair back as they sat atop his head, his knee bent as his foot rested pressed to the very edge of the car’s hood.

The softest of smiles pulled at your lips at the sight of him, head tilted as you made your way over.

His hair is a mess from what you can see, without a doubt from the amount of times he runs his hands through it. But the moment you suggested a haircut as a mere joke, he was adamant that that was never going to happen much to your delight.

“I knew you’d run off to be broody by yourself,” you jest, your words having him turn his head as a smile pulls at his lips. “And you left me to fend for myself.”

“Or maybe I just knew you’d come find me,” he says, flashing you a smile before he takes another puff of his cigarette, dropping it to the ground and stomping on it with the tip of his tattered old converse.

“Is that so?” You inquire, watching as his lips quirk up in a smile.

“Yeah, it is.” You roll your eyes, earning yourself a nudge with his shoe. “Did you miss me?”

You shake your head then, nudging him back as you purse your lips to stifle back your grin. You did. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I believe that’s all I know how to be,” he says, smiling as he tips his head back and closes his eyes, the shoulder length tresses of his hair falling back and dangling freely as the breeze sifts through it.

“That just might be the truest thing you’ve ever said,” you tease, and he peeks an eye open at you as his smile disappears in favor of a frown that was nothing but for show.

“Harsh coming from the most ridiculous person I know,” he counters, his smile returning as he braces himself for the feel of your swat on his shoulder.

“Maybe I’ll just go back inside,” you say with a teasing smile, one he sees immediately when he opens his eyes to meet your gaze. “From the sounds of it James is bound to start dancing any minute now.”

It was true. The moment any ABBA song comes on, any place and any time, that is more than an open invitation for James Potter to take full advantage. Anyone and everyone in the vicinity will bear witness to just any kind of dance he’s got up his sleeve, lighting the room up with his presence.

But you didn’t want to go back inside, not really. Straying too far from him meant you were only bound to wander back—it’s just how the two of you were. Even if the party and the source of entertainment had been just feet away in a sweet little home full of people that’d become important in your life, you felt you had what you needed right here.

In a backyard of slightly overgrown grass with sprouts of wildflowers and the heat of the summer evening that was less than desirable, it didn’t matter. He had what he needed too.

“Dance with me?” He asks, simple as his brow raised and the corner of his mouth quirks up.

The question had you frozen in place for a moment, but only just that. You spin around once to hide the giddiness of your smile, a small bit awkward as you try your hardest to stave off the happiness bursting within you in that moment. But it didn’t matter. You could be as stoic as ever and Sirius could read you like a book, that much was certain. But still, you put the effort in anyway.

“Why do I feel like you’ve been dying to ask me that?” You say, trying desperately to take the attention off of you as you grabbed his outstretched hand.

“Maybe I have,” he shrugs, tugging you closer as your laughter rings out, cheerful and sweet.

He can’t help but chuckle to himself when you stumble and step on his toes, because every time you’ve ever danced with him, you’d do that very thing without fail. He can’t bring himself to mind it, not with the way it has you grinning the way you do and it’s all because of him.

He doesn’t know how that’s quite possible, to be the source of your happiness. You’re wonderful and warm, the embodiment of sunshine and all the good the world has to offer. He feels he’s forever the opposite of that, like the sun and the moon, yet somehow it’s him that has you seemingly at your happiest, and he can’t help the confused bliss that sweeps over him at that knowledge. He’s an open book with you, but he finds himself keeping that one little thing he cherishes to himself.

“Just why is it that you came out here?” You ask, tugging at the ends of his hair in lighthearted fun as your arms wrapped around his neck.

You watch the smile on his lips widen, beaming and bright as he looks away for a moment. He was dangerously close to making a fool out of himself and he knew it, but it didn’t seem to matter. He was a fool, but he wanted to be your fool. To be in love, to feel so certain about something, to feel so strongly was something utterly terrifying and thrilling all the same. To be so sure that you were the very person he was in love with was something he knew with all the certainty in the world even if he knew there was a chance things could go wrong.

But in that moment, he didn’t care for most anything else other than the way you were looking at him like he was the best thing in the strange little world you share.

“I couldn’t get you out of my mind.”

Your lips parted and your eyes widened a fraction, something followed shortly by a smile and then a laugh, soft and sweet and something that sent a whirlwind of emotions to spin around in his mind.

“I reveal this kind of top secret information, and you laugh at me?” He scoffs in faux offense, the corner of his mouth quirking upwards as he rolls his eyes with a grin reserved just for you.

“Because, Sirius Black, do you wish to know why I am laughing?” You ask, snagging the shades from the top of his head and sitting them on the bridge of your nose.

“Yes, Y/n. Do enlighten me, love,” he says, amused curiosity in his every word.

You could feel your cheeks burn in that moment under the fondness of his gaze, the tips of his fingers tracing across your skin and over the curve of your ear. A million and one thoughts are racing through your mind faster than your heart has been beating in your chest, the opportunity having presented itself for you to say just how you feel for him. He was all ears to the words that would tumble from your lips, whatever they may be. You just have to say them.

His hand fell to slide down your arm and settle within your own hand, his grip calloused and warm as you stand seemingly frozen in time. Your heart had been doing somersaults and your stomach twisted with excitement and nervousness from the words sitting heavy on your tongue. The bout of cheery laughter streaming outside from the house bought you a few seconds time to stand there just a little bit longer, but it was just that, a few seconds.

“Because, I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

His smile brightens, his own laugh falling from his lips as he pushes the obnoxiously orange sunglasses up from your eyes to rest on the top of your head, his forehead resting on yours.

“Sirius, I pour my heart out to you, and you laugh at me?” You jest softly, mimicking his earlier reaction.

The quiet of his laughter fans warmly across your lips, your nose bumping his with the sheer closeness of the proximity you shared. Relief settled over your heart and your stomach ran wild with butterflies, your lips mere centimeters apart as your smiles remained as tender as they’d always been towards one another, as sweet as they’d always been.

Your lips brushed over his, electrifying and faint all in one, the simplest of touches with the most profound of meanings nonetheless.

“Does this mean you love me?” He whispers, softer than soft as traces of his vulnerability seep in, his eyes fluttering closed.

“Yeah,” you whisper, feeling his smile brush against your lips. “It does.”

You tip your head back lightly and lean on your toes, closing the remaining bit of space that was left as you kissed him. His lips tasted of smoke and the cherry cola he’d been drinking on, his hand was warm as it pressed lightly to your cheek, and you were positive he felt the heat radiating from your skin but he hadn’t said anything of it. Too caught up in the bliss soaring through him.

The arm that rested around your waist had tightened its hold, his hand dropping from your face to accompany it as he kissed you just a few moments longer. The squeeze of his arms around you had you stumbling back some, the shades falling from your head and your laughter pressing into his lips.

In that moment he feels he’s come to a certain realization. It’s always been you.

—

Tags: @nancybycrs @amourtentiaa @snitches-at-dawn @dracosathenaeum @harrysweasleys @awritingtree @writeroutoftime @medalloway-blog @vicouscirce @mon4907

[sunlight-moonrise]

The Law of Attraction (Reid Imagine)

Summary: Reader cannot understand how Spencer is in a relationship with someone who is his complete opposite. 

A/N: Hello Everyone!!! Here’s another story from the secret-fic-swap in the Discord server. I tried my hand at a new genre and I like how it came out. A big thank you to @imagining-in-the-margins​ for helping me make this real nice for y’all (this story was also written to her). Enjoy!

Category: Hurt/Comfort

Content Warnings: If you’re a fan of Max or Maxcer, this may not be the story for you. Sacrifices needed to be made for this story to be told. 

Word Count: 4.2K

Masterlist

The thought that the concept of ‘opposites attract’ was only true when it comes to physics. After all, the comparison of people to magnets doesn’t make any sense. If two people are together, there should be some similarities to build an established relationship, right? Without that foundation, the structure will surely crumble back into the fragmented pieces that created it, leaving them cracked and weaker for it.

Compatibility is necessary, yet there is none whenever I look at them. This is the fourth function that he has brought her to, and with each event, I find it harder to look their way. But when I do find them among the crowd, I can’t look away. Like a car crash or thunderstorm ripping tree roots from the ground.

It doesn’t make sense to me, why on earth would Spencer Reid be with a girl like her.

“If you keep staring at her, she might drop dead,” said a sarcastic voice, breaking me out of my reverie. I turned to see Tara with an amused smile occupying her face.

“I just don’t get it,” I mumbled, focusing my attention on the drink in my hand.

“What’s not to get?” she asked, glancing over at the couple in question. “They seem cute together.”

“They have nothing in common. He might as well be talking to some random person in this bar.”

I chugged the remainder of my beverage with desperate hope that the alcohol will somehow make things better in this situation. It didn’t.

“You sound bitter.”

“I am not bitter,” I bit back.

“I didn’t say you were, I said you sound.”

I didn’t respond to her because deep down I knew she was right. I just fiddled with the straw in my now empty glass as Tara continued, “Look, they both like coffee and going to the park, that’s something.”

I couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped my throat at the thought.

“So do half the people on the administration floor, he might as well have a harem if those are the main qualifications.”

“So what type of person should Spencer Reid have?” she asked, an eyebrow arching up as she focused her attention on me.

“I don’t know. Someone who is family-oriented and loves kids. Someone who doesn’t judge him for his idiosyncrasies. Someone who listens to his rambles and actually responds to them. Someone who he can escape to when things get too tough. Someone who understands when to give him space but will continue to support him unconditionally. Someone who can challenge him and make each day exciting and interesting. Someone who can ke—”

“Whoa there, I didn’t think you were going to give me a whole novel.” If she thought that was a novel, then the rest of what I wanted to say would be considered an encyclopedia. The only one that Spencer would never read.  

“I just want him to be happy,” I relented.

It was the simple truth. Everyone deserves some sort of contentment in their life, but with everything that Spencer has gone through in the past, his happiness should be at the forefront. He always put others before himself. It was time that someone prioritizes his wants and needs for a change.

“And she doesn’t make him happy?”

Not in the slightest. 

But I didn’t want to say that. I was sure half of the team already thought, or knew, that I was infatuated with him. But I didn’t need to give them the satisfaction of a confirmation by talking about this any further. The looks that Tara had been giving me the past few minutes validated my belief that I didn’t need to dig myself into a deeper hole.

“Maybe,” I said, hoping to put an end to the topic.

But just then, I heard a laugh despite how noisy the place was. I knew without a doubt that was Spencer’s laugh – it was the only sound that would demand my attention that quickly. It was the one he used when he felt uncomfortable.

“Excuse me, Tara.”

I didn’t give her a chance to reply before I hopped off the barstool and made my way to where Spencer and his girl were as casually as possible. Jennifer and Penelope were also with them, and it seems as if the three ladies were doing most of the talking.

“….like kids someday?” I heard Pen say. I didn’t need to hear the beginning of the sentence to know what it was about.

“Ehh, certainly not. My nephew is a handful as is, I don’t think I need any more than that one in my life,” she laughed. She, of course, being the ever loving, ever annoying, Max. A quick glance at Spencer's face confirmed that he was bothered by the subject being discussed. If the rest of the ladies were a bit more sober, they’d probably have seen it too.

“Hey guys,” I interrupted, taking my previous seat next to JJ, “I ordered some water for us and some appetizers. Tara is going to bring it over when it is ready.”

Cheers and thank you were shouted across the small table, but there was only one face I cared to pay attention to. Spencer’s mouth was quirked in a sad smile that was meant to hide the discomfort that had already taken root in his heart like an invasive vine.

“Did you place my fries order?” Max asked, garnering my attention. As much as I wanted to ignore her, I couldn’t. I wouldn’t openly be a bitch to her, no matter how much she irked me. She hadn’t done anything wrong. Other than stealing the affections of a man I’d never actually pursued, that is. But I couldn’t really blame her for that one, right? I should’ve jumped on the opportunity before. It was my fault.

“Yup,” I answered quickly with a small fake smile before focusing on the wooden décor of the bar.

“So any plans for Halloween? Assuming we don’t get called in for a case of course,” JJ asked the table.

“There is this pop-up haunted house coming that weekend.” Spencer said, his voice laced with that childlike excitement that made my heart race, “It is near the annual fair, so I’m going to try and do both.”

“Awww, that’s a cute date idea.”

The table was silent for a moment before Max announced, “I probably won’t go. I am not a big fan of anything spooky or… horror. I’ll leave all of that to this guy.”

The table shared an awkward laugh in a poor attempt to lighten the mood.

“Anyway,” I coughed out, attempting to save this poor conversation, “you guys need to hear this terrible joke the bartender told me. So basically, this screwdriver walks into a bar….” and just like that, the topic had been changed.

Tara joined us shortly after and the conversation remained lighthearted for the remainder of the evening. We later said our farewells and readied ourselves to go back home. While I should’ve been sad to leave him, I couldn’t help but feel a bitter joy from the fact that Spencer and Max didn’t talk directly to each other for the rest of the night.

●●●

It’s been a couple of weeks since the last team outing. Rossi must’ve missed us, because he decided to host a dinner at his place to celebrate the ending of a long and tough case. No one was going to pass up the opportunity of free food and wine, especially after dealing with a bunch of cops and detectives with entire tree trunks up their asses.

I was the last to arrive, which was not surprising since I live the furthest away from Rossi. Krystall welcomed and settled me in while informing me where everyone was. What I assumed was a team gathering turned out to be a whole party. There were definitely more than two dozen people occupying the space.

Good god. 

“What’s all this?” I asked as I greeted Rossi in the, thankfully, empty kitchen. Because, of course, Rossi wouldn’t be Rossi if he didn’t take care of all the hors d'oeuvres himself.

“Krystall wanted to celebrate our anniversary,” he sighed, as if this ordeal was somehow troublesome. I had to roll my eyes; he wasn’t fooling anyone. We all knew that Rossi would move mountains for his wife.

Their love was pure and genuine, a perfect example of two people meeting again at the right time and sharing something wonderful with one another. As I reminisced on their beautiful wedding day, a thought came to my head.

“Isn’t your first anniversary coming up in a few months?”

“That’s for our second marriage, this is for the first.” Rossi simply stated with a proud smirk, as if it was standard to celebrate any and all anniversaries in life. I supposed that for him, it was.

“Why do I get the feeling that this was more your idea than Krystall’s?”

“Guilty.”

Classic. Well, I wasn’t going to tell a man what he should celebrate nor how to do so. I wasn’t going to ruin any opportunities to eat some fresh crostini.

Once I made my way back out into the main room, I was able to find my team within seconds. My eyes instantly landed on Spencer’s tall and lanky form. And I would’ve been excited for that, if it weren’t for the familiar woman standing beside him.

Max was there. Hooray.

Usually, I was able to properly prepare myself for seeing her. It actually, unfortunately, took a lot of effort to not be openly hostile to someone I dislike. It wasn’t something I was proud of, but it was true. Typically in a situation like this, I’d avoid the person all night. However, I wasn’t going to allow her presence to influence the night, much less stop me from spending time with one of my closest friends.

“Hey guys.”

“Ahh, you’re finally here,” squealed Penelope, “I already grabbed your favorite drink!” She stepped aside to make room for me in the small gathered circle before handing me the glass.

“So what did I miss?”

They all caught me up on the harmless gossip circulating around the office and the new happenings emerging in everyone’s lives. Everything was going well until I heard the next words from Max, words that felt like a bucket of ice water and lead being poured over my head.

“Well, Spencer and I are moving in together.”

Time slowed down, I was sure it had. Because I was able to gauge everything in a matter of seconds. Tara’s concerning glance my way, her hand reaching out and retreating as if to hold me. Penelope’s joyful appearance over the news, her arms rising quickly causing her wine to slightly spill on Rossi’s floor. Matt expressing congratulations as he roughly patted Spencer on the back.

And Spencer….

Spencer looked like he rather be anywhere but here. His lips were drawn in a too tight smile that I knew was far from authentic. He was tapping his heel against the floor and wringing his hands together.

If this was merry news from the two of them, why did he look like he swallowed a spiked fruit?

The loud clanging of metal against glass brought everyone’s attention to the noisy source. Time returned back to its normal pace at Rossi’s call, thanking everyone for joining in on the celebration and announcing that the food was ready in the dining room.

While everyone cheered and made their way towards the ornate display, I headed to the balcony. It was too hot, too stuffy, too loud inside the house. There was one too many people there.

As soon as I passed through the double doors, I took a deep breath of cool, refreshing air. Everything around me felt muffled. Like I had stumbled into a small pocket universe that only differed from ours by a few notches on the volume knob.

I was thinking too many things, and none of them adding up or making sense in my head. How do you move in with someone you’ve only known for such a short amount of time? What was he going to do with his apartment? With his personal belongings that were scattered and settled on crowded shelves? Why did he look so uncomfortable when she announced it? Did he not want us to know? Did he want to say it himself?

“What are you doing out here?”

As if being brought back to reality by the very same hypnotist who enchanted me in the first place, I became aware that I was not the only one on the balcony. I turned to look at Spencer, taking in his disheveled and tired appearance.

“I just needed some space. I was feeling a bit crowded.” It wasn’t a lie, but my companion and I both knew there was a lot more than just that. Trying to keep the attention off me, I asked, “What are you doing here?”

“Checking on you. I saw you come out here dressed like that and wondered what would drag you out into the freezing cold.”

Now that he mentioned it, the breeze was hitting hard. I didn’t notice my body trembling until now. It is funny how you can’t feel much when lost in your own thoughts. The pain was a welcome distraction, I supposed.

Spencer stood next to me and shrugged off the suit jacket he was wearing. I opened my mouth to refuse, but he gave me a pointed look before I could. Instead, I accepted the warm jacket over my body. The scent of cinnamon and spice immediately enveloped my form and I tried to hide the way my inhales grew deeper. Trying to keep him as close as I could for however long he would allow. He kept his hands on my arms, rubbing them up and down the sleeves of the jacket to instill some heat in me.  

“So whatever happened to taking it slow?” I asked bluntly, keeping my eyes on the interesting speck of dirt that had ended up on my shoe. I didn’t feel bad about getting to the point -- There was no way I could subtly ask him what the deal was, and I’d rather not beat around the bush.

“Well, after the whole situation that happened, sh— we decided to pick up the pace of things,” he spoke lowly, as if he was unsure of the words coming out of his mouth.

“Has she even met Diana? Or know about her?” I instantly regretted asking, the angry look he shot my way had me feeling remorseful. But it also answered my question.

Max only knew the surface level of Spencer. She wasn’t aware of all the good, bad, beautiful, and ugly layers that comes with a man like him. She wasn’t the only one to blame, but I wondered how a profiler couldn’t tell that he was hiding those parts from her because he didn’t want to share them with her. He didn’t want her to know, because the knowing made it real.

“I just want the best for you.”

His irritated expression dissolved into a defeated one as he released the breath he was holding.

“I know, I know. It’s just…”

He stopped talking, appearing scared to share his opinions and feelings with me before he remembered that, unlike Max, he never had to hide things from me. He didn’t want to.

“It’s just…” I prodded, hoping he would continue with what he was going to say.

But he just stayed stuck there, opening and closing his mouth multiple times. I could practically see the cogs in his brain whirling as he properly tried to explain. “Well, the thing is that Ma—”

“Spencer?”

We sharply turned our heads to see Max and Tara staring at us. It wasn’t until that moment that I remembered our position. With Spencer’s hands rubbing tenderness heat onto my arms, his jacket over my shoulders and our bodies pressed together to keep warm.

It would be one thing if everything was settled, but this situation was anything but. Max had every reason to be angry. This wasn’t a new thing to her. So when she turned around, she stomped away fueled by the belief that she’d nearly caught her boyfriend committing adultery. Again.

“Fuck,” I heard the man in front of me whisper as he released me back into the cold night.

Still, as he left, he looked back at me. His eyes burned into mine up until he tore them away, making his final decision and hastily running from the balcony. Away from me. Towards her.

Tara and I shared the silence, but she looked at me with those inquisitive eyes, as if I was a client seeking out therapy from her.  

“What?” I hissed, “We were just talking.” I refused to feel guilty over something that I didn’t do. If anyone had done anything, it was Spencer. But at the same time, I didn’t think he was entirely wrong, either.  

“I didn’t say anything,” she muttered, holding her hands up high as a sign of surrender.

“You didn’t have to, I can feel the judgment from here.”

“Look, I’m not judging you. But I do want you to put yourself in Max’s shoes. You guys were gone for a while and she finds you two all over each other.”

“What are you talking about, Tara? Christ, it’s not like I was fucking him on the balcony!”

Although I didn’t intend for my words to be humorous, Tara laughed. I was conflicted on whether it was at me or with me, but it ended up amounting to nothing, anyway.

“Look, the night is young and you need to relax. Come back inside, enjoy the party, and don’t let them bring you down. At least for the next few hours.”

She was right, as she usually was. It was why I usually sought her out as the voice of reason; I knew that despite everything, she would always have my best interest at heart.

“Okay,” I agreed before following her back into the chaotic fray.

I heeded her advice and avoided the couple for the remainder of the night. Shockingly, it was pretty easy, but I was sure it was because they were avoiding me too. There were times, lots of times, where Spencer and I made eye contact, but we’d just as quickly look away, as if we were ashamed of what we have done.

All we did was talk. So why did it feel like something more?

There were also times when I made eye contact with Max, but instead of shame, there was anger and contempt. If looks could kill, like Tara had suggested, I was sure my heart would have given out.

It wasn’t until later in the evening that I saw Max take a cab home while Spencer was still inside the house. No one else but me noticed that they didn’t leave the party together.

●●●

I hadn’t seen Spencer since the incident at Rossi’s a few weeks ago. He had to take his mandatory sabbatical leave and I had to take an abrupt trip back home. What used to be almost daily texts between us became nonexistent in a matter of hours. It was a terrible predicament that I was hoping to fix soon.

As I arrived, I spotted him at his desk. For a long time, I stood there staring at him. If he wasn’t nose deep in a bunch of files, I was sure he would’ve seen me, too. I contemplated on how I should go up to him, but nothing I could think of was good enough to say. 

Hey, I have your jacket, I took it to the dry cleaner’s, so it is all clean. Rid of me like you wanted to be. 

Hi, how were the lectures this time around? Still have a bunch of teens crushing on you?

What’s up, it’s been a while, do you want to get lunch during the break?

I hated that things were awkward, even though I was pretty sure that I was the only one that was making it so. I should have just gone up to him, greeted him, and acted like everything was normal, because everything was normal. Right?

Just when I was about to do so, Emily called us in for a meeting. Impeccable timing.

We had a serial killer case in Louisville, Kentucky. My situation with Spencer was going to the backburner.

During our stay in Louisville, Spencer and I barely interacted. We exchanged notes and passed long messages, but that’s pretty much it. I wasn’t surprised. Our specialties don’t really correlate when we are working on a case. Anytime I did catch some free time, I’d look his way, longing for the opportunity to speak to him. He didn’t look back.

Then, just as the case ended, another chance presented itself. After five days of hardly any proper rest, we finally found the unsub. Everyone was in their respective room catching up on some much needed sleep. Except for Spencer, whose gangly body was tucked away at the bar by himself, a glass of what appeared to be soda in front of him.

Silently, I took the seat next to him, and for a few minutes, everything was quiet. But unlike the usual, comfortable quiet, it was torturous.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

I stared at him, letting the silent communication denote the fact that I knew he was lying to me. Spencer released a sigh and looked at me with eyes more intoxicating than any whiskey that shared their color.

“Actually, no, I’m not okay.”

I was going to ask him what was wrong or if there was anything I could do to help, but before I had the chance to do so, he hastily answered the question I hadn’t asked.

“Max and I broke up.”

I stared at him, my face and mind blank as I tried to comprehend what he’d said. That Max and Spencer broke up. They were no longer together. Spencer was single.

I thought that if this ever happened, I would be happy, elated, jumping at the chance to take her place by his side. But I felt none of those things.

“What happened?” I didn’t want to appear nosy or meddlesome, but I needed to know.

“We were fighting a lot, and I couldn’t take it.”

“Oh.”

“We were… actually fighting about you.”

I sharply turned my head at him, both intrigued and disturbed by the implication that I had anything to do with the failure of their relationship.

“What? What about me?”

“She thought I liked you,” he said while staring straight back at me, daring me to scan through each fleck of gold and green to ensure that he was telling the truth. But his hazel eyes expressed nothing but honesty as he continued, “and she was right. I do.”

“Y-you do?”

All he could do was nod his head, lifting his hand and catching a loose strand of hair before tucking it behind my ear.

“Can I try something?” Spencer shyly requested.

Once again, the universe felt different. I held my breath, trying to wake from the dream. Although he didn’t say it, I had an idea of what he wanted. If the hand on the side of my face and the staring at my lips were anything to go by, I knew what was going to happen next.

I nodded back and closed my eyes. A few seconds passed, the sweetest kind of anticipation. But then I felt the gentle pressure of his lips against my own, sweet and tender. He moved his head to get a better angle while I brought my hands up to cup his face. The roughness of his stubble against the tip of my fingers was a perfect contrast to the softness of him. I could taste the soda he was drinking on his tongue and breathed in the cinnamon scent that seemed sunken into his skin.

When we pulled away, it was full of hesitation. All it took was one look for us to know we couldn’t do this. Not now, not yet. He was still healing from the recent break up and I didn’t want to be a rebound. I didn’t want us to resent one another for jumping into a relationship so soon. We weren’t ready.

We sat there in relative silence, taking in everything that has happened.

“Maybe one day,” he paused “one day we can give it a chance.”

“Yes. I’d like that.” I beamed at him, “And I look forward to that day. Until then, we remain as friends.”

He returned my smile and I realized that it had been a while since I’ve seen his real smile. I missed it so much.

“Friends,” he confirmed.

And for the first time in a long time, I felt relief and comfort. Because I knew everything was going to be okay. I had hope that someday Spencer will get the happily ever after he deserves and he’ll get it with me by his side. One day.

[early2000smovieimagines]

Jasper meeting his mate; a lost boys type of s/o, would include~

(Not my gif)(Requested by anonymous)

(Hope this is what you were looking for!)

- Denim, leather, vintage clothes; everything alternative. It was safe to say that you stuck out like a sore thumb in the small town of Forks and not particularly in the good way.

- You weren’t planning on moving to Forks nor were you even planning on sticking around for long; you’d just wanted to pass through. You were looking for something more ...crowded; a place that let you disappear in a mass of people and pick off poor party goers one by one.

- Turns out though, you’d stumbled into vampire territory and were about to embark on a very interesting part of your undead life.

- The Cullens are most likely the ones to approach you because they know their kind when they see them and want to warn you to stay away and not hunt there. And yeah, before meeting them, you were planning on passing through, but out of spite and the need to be a rebellious pain in the ass; you figure you’ll stay a while.

- So you park your ass in Forks and stay just on the border of their little eternal lives, smirking and taunting them whenever you can. To you, they started it and really, you’re only having fun.

- They don’t do much about you, mainly because they find it somewhat amusing and have dealt with far worse. As much of a bitch as you try to act like, you never actually hurt any of the residents of the rainy town, so who are they to start even more trouble and try to kick you out.

- We all saw how stand offish Jasper was to pretty much everyone. And after Maria, he’s especially wary of vampires who aren’t vegetarian which is most likely what really starts your rivalry.

- You think he’s an up tight weakling who needs to pull his head out of his ass and he thinks you’re a selfish bitch who has no decency or regard for human life.

- It seems that, for some odd reason, it’s always you and Jasper that find each other. You reason that it’s because he’s constantly going into the woods to have some air away from the people of Forks but you know that deep down, there’s this inexplicable pull that’s tugging you towards each other.

- And you enjoy lurking, popping out and taking him by surprise when he least expects it. The twinge of annoyance on his face whenever you arrive and the back and forth that you have amuses you and it amuses him as well; though he’ll never admit it.

- Teasing him is fun, mainly because of his reactions. He’ll say something like “easy there little lady” or “Didn’t realize you were still hanging around here ma’am” with an undeniable irritation and warning in his voice.

- The two of you usually wind up fighting in some way, a swing that you know you’ll miss here, a carefully thrown pine cone there. It’s usually fairly lighthearted all things considered.

- But then there was the moment where you actually finally come to realize; or at least can no longer deny, that you have a thing for him.

- He’s got you pinned up against a tree; having actually caught you for once, and he’s looking into your eyes and you’re looking into his and ...you get flustered. You actually get flustered, something that never happens with any other man you’re around because you’re what, sixty years old at this point? You’ve been around, seen all men’s charms; it’s not an easy feat.

- So you push him off and make some sarcastic comment, playing it cool like you’re so used to doing.

“Easy there cowboy” you tell him before disappearing in the blink of an eye.

- Its later that night that you seriously consider leaving forks. You dont know why you want to exactly, maybe because you’re used to freedom and having a mate is the opposite of that. Its too much commitment and you’re not one to be tied down. And what is Jasper but a vamp with a whole family as baggage?

- But as much as you try, you just can’t go. As far as you get that night, there’s still that pull, that urge, that draining longing that you’re growing to hate.

- Jaspers hot, we all know it. You know it and you knew it the moment you saw him. It’s not that you wouldn’t like being with him; it’s just that mates have never been your cup of tea. Destiny and fate and all that meaningful shit has never been your thing. You’re here to have fun and let loose, not find a place to settle down and love someone.

- It’s sort of evident that Jasper has a thing for girls who are out of the ordinary. He likes odd characters so you’d probably be right up his alley if it were any other siutation. But because its this situation; you butt heads and he feels the need to deny what he pretty much knows is true.

- But for once, Jasper is sort of seeking you out, mainly because you aren’t seeking him out. He’s going to places you usually are, scanning things closer, trying to zero in on you somehow, but you’re evading him; staying away as best as you can.

- Finally, you can’t help but go back to the woods you normally see him in, and; like clockwork, he stumbles across you; him and that fucking accent.

“Haven’t seen you ‘round these parts lately.” he teases, keeping things light; humorous for once.

“Was hungry.” you say and he’s reminded of the primary reason why he doesnt like you.

“You ever think of stopping it? Ever feel guilty?” You’ve had this same conversation before but this time it isnt judgemental or condescending. It’s curious; sort of hopeful.

“Dont know,” you say sincerely. “I dont think i’d feel too great about killing little bunny rabbits over inner city rapists and assholes. Besides, old habits are hard to break right?”

“I broke it.” He says and you nod. And after that? ...The two of you actually have a coversation.

- You walk around the woods and talk about your time spent living in all the iconic decades. He tells you a little bit about his life and you actually find yourself enjoying his company.

- And he likes you. He likes you more than he ever thought he would. This calm part of you, earnest, light, free spirited, and funny. You’re living for yourself without a care in the world and it’s only now that he’s realizing how attractive it actually is.

“We should probably talk about it, huh?” you say, catching him off guard, especially with how nonchalant you are when you say it. “About us being mates that is. I mean, I think it’s obvious at this point.”

- He cant disagree with you there, and so you do. You tell him that you’re not someone whose going to be tied down, how its not like you to be in a family or go to school or whatever.

- He just listens to your speech before looking into your eyes and earnestly telling you that you’ll “work it out”. All you can do in response is give him a genuine smile and agree.

[adorethedistance]

City Slicker, Cowboyfriend - Owen Joyner x Reader

JATP masterlist

Warnings: Swearing, nerves, mentions of covid.

Words: 2163

Summary: You’re starting to have doubts about moving all the way to Norman until a shopping trip to Ikea turns into the meet-cute you’ve been waiting for.

A/n: This isn’t a request or one of my Valentines day fics, this is just something that I have had stuck in my head ever since Owen posted this on IG and bc I’m facing total writers block with my other pieces I cranked this one out in a few hours to get the ball rolling again. Hopefully. Enjoy this totally unproofed, fluffy madness!! (Because who doesn’t need more Owen content in their life?)

There are perks to moving and one of them is undoubtedly: shopping. For furniture, home decor, kitchen utensils, whatever! Granted, shopping alone can be tedious and, for some, like pulling teeth, thus, I’ve enlisted the help of my best friends Leila and Chelsea. I didn’t even have to bribe them to come because everyone loves getting lost in Ikea. It’s one of the best things about the human experience.

“It’s been so long since I’ve been in an Ikea,” Leila says to no one in particular as we walk through the onslaught of staged bedrooms.

“What?! Are you telling me you don’t get meatballs and lawn chairs on a weekly basis?” My exaggeration makes Leila laugh as she steps into one of the display kitchens. Looking between me and Chelsea she asks,

“What would you do if I turned the handle then a jet of water sprayed out?”

“Die, I guess.”

The three of us continue through the faux house displays and past the mattresses despite Leila’s urge to jump on every single one. As we walk through the section of different lighting features, I sigh with a frown as I think about college. I changed my bachelor’s to an associate’s so I could graduate in two years. Chelsea’s parents moved out here at the end of our senior year in high school, and she moved with them to study in Norman. Leila in turn went to Arizona for an athletic physical therapy gig, leaving me to face college alone in L.A.. In the two years the three of us were apart, we missed each other more and more, and after determining which of the three states we lived in was cheapest, we packed up and headed East. Covid kind of delayed our plans. But after a few months, I picked Leila up from Arizona and together we chased open job opportunities into Norman, Oklahoma. The three of us found an apartment space to live in together and thus, we ended up in Ikea on this fine Sunday afternoon.

Snapping back into reality I see Leila standing directly under a light that’s hanging very low from the ceiling. Once standing directly underneath it, she pulls down her mask and opens her mouth, rising to her toes to eat the fixture.

“Leila, don’t you dare fellate that light bulb! You’re gonna get us kicked out.”

I swear I’m practically their mom when it comes to behaving in public. Figuring they can’t hurt themselves in the college dorm section, I lead them quickly through it and into the giant furniture warehouse section. On the far wall, I see a large poster of a couple smiling brightly behind Chelsea, but I don’t bother to read the text. Leila and I spot the poster at the same time, and the imagery jogs her memory.

“Chelsea, how’s Hunter? Haven’t heard from him slash about him in like a week,” she asks about Chelsea’s boyfriend of a year.

“Oh, yeah, he tore a ligament in his wrist.”

“What?!”

“Yeah, I guess he moved it wrong or something and put too much stress on the area that it just tore. He was moving hay bales into the horse stables.”

“As opposed to the chicken stables,” Leila judges under her breath, which makes me snicker as a result.

“I still can’t believe you’re dating a literal cowboy,” I interject, “Like, I know we’re in Oklahoma, and he’s from Tennessee, but we saw Texas on the way out here and that’s cowboy country. Norman seems more...” I trail off in search of delicate phrasing.

“Just barely marry your cousin territory, but still downing chewing tobacco whilst driving a lifted truck?” Leila hits the nail squarely on the head.

“Yeah, that sounds about right-” Before I can continue giving my thoughts on Norman, I cut myself off at the sound of laughter behind me.

“Sorry. We weren’t trying to eavesdrop, that was just really funny.” When I turn around, I see a guy roughly our age dressed in all black with bleach-blonde hair, speaking through light, broken laughter.

“No worries,” I dismiss the apology as we pass by one another, and out from the dressers section. The three of us continue into the different sections, and come to a stop once I see we’re exactly where we need to be: dining room shit!

“Cowboy boyfriends aside- oh my gosh: cowboy boyfriends. Cowboyfriends,” I say getting lost in my new terminology. Both of my friends share a mix of laughter and gasps and my ingeniousness. “Anyway. Cowboyfriends aside, how is Avery?” I ask Leila who begins blushing madly.

“She’s really good. We were just making plans for our three year anniversary, which reminds me to tell y’all I’m flying back to Phoenix to surprise her.”

“Awwww,” I nearly tear up and the sweet image of Leila and her girlfriend reuniting, “Y’all are so cute. Both of you and your partners. You know, being the only single friend in this group has made life suck a lot. Y’all are so happy and in love and not dead inside. Honestly? Get fucked both of you.” Despite my harsh words, the three of us break into a lighthearted conglomerate of laughter.

“We’ll find you someone… eventually.” Leila pretends she also can’t hear the last part of her sentence despite being the one saying it.

“I know, but I don’t think it’s in the cards for me to find love in Norman. I don’t need a cowboyfriend, and we’re not gonna find a true city slicker here either.”

When I finish my statement, I see our blonde friend seems to have followed us. I observe he comes to a stop in front of another guy in a flannel with a shopping cart. The way they jump into conversation with one another parallels the animated body language Leila, Chelsey, and I share. I continue to watch their exchange as Chelsea speaks up.

“Maybe you need someone right down the middle.”

“Yeah, like a guy who drives a truck but uses it to transport Ikea furniture instead of a whole ass tree that he’ll carve into a chair.” A small laugh escapes my lips, at both Leila’s statement, and the scene ahead of Blondie pretending to strangle his friend over something. I’m snapped out of my nosy yet endeared stare as a third guy appears. He’s a sandy blonde with billowing locks tucked under a trucker hat. And he came from behind me and my two friends to place something in their cart which keeps his back toward me. When he turns back around, my mind goes blank. Any thoughts of shopping for dining room chairs has left my mind. He is wearing a face mask, but he has such nice eyes that he could have a giraffe snout under the mask for all I care. I see him look up from the shelves, directly into my eyes. We stay locked for a moment before he breaks away and turns to his friends. I slowly turn to my friends too who are both giving me the exact same look of excitement and conspiracy.

“He’s really cute,” I sigh out with a laugh, swooning much louder than I’d have preferred.

“He has a face mask on,” Leila points out, her expression dropping from excited to cynical.

“Still! I can just tell.”

“Girl, what are you doing? Talk to him!” Chelsea whisper-shrieks.

“Shhh, I cannot take you anywhere!”

Glancing back at the handsome stranger, we connect eyes once more and I feel my face heat furiously as I realize he was already looking at me. I’m the first to break; I consult my friends for the best course of action and as I’m turned 180 to face them, Chelsea starts pretending to hyperventilate excitedly. Leila looks over my shoulder for me, discreetly surveying the other trio in the dining chairs aisle.

“Don’t look now, but he’s talking to his friends and looking between them and you.” I can hear in her voice she’s trying her best not to smile despite wearing a face mask.

“Should I give him my number?”

“Yes!”

“What are you waiting for?”

“I’m nervous! What if he’s gay?”

“Will you just get over there? I promise you a gay man would not be wearing what he’s wearing right now. Maybe a lesbian,” Leila adds for good measure.

“You guys are freaking me out, I need you to leave so I know you’re not judging my flirting.” I shoo my best friends out of the aisle as inconspicuous as possible. Kinda wish blondie would’ve done the same because when I turn back around, the other trio hasn’t moved and the only one looking at me is the one in all black. He quickly averts his eyes though and I take one last deep breath before walking over to the stranger. I tilt my chin up ever so slightly to fake a sense of confidence that I unmistakably don’t have right now.

“Hey.” Really, Y/n? Hey??

“Hey,” he greets back breathily. Why is he nervous? I’m the one who gets to be nervous! Man, he’s really cute. I can’t fuck this one up. I’m not doing so stellar right now. Perhaps you should say something else, dipshit?

“Uhm,” I should’ve scripted this. “I just wanted to say that-” You’ve got this. Don’t be a bummer. “I-uh, I think you’re really cute and I was wondering if I could give you my number?” My speech is slow, each word deliberate in spite of the fact that I feel like I’m having an out of body experience right now. I’m not the one in control of the words that are coming out of my mouth.

Upon realizing why I walked over, blondie’s friends take the question as a sign to leave and less than inconspicuously back away from the two of us. Trucker hat spares them one last glance over his left shoulder and judging by the look flannel gives him, they were definitely talking about me in their team huddle.

“Uh, yeah. I was gonna ask for your instagram- if you have one, that is.”

“I’m cool with both.” The two of us reach for our phones and unlock them with anxious hands. I move to hand him my phone with instagram open, and he trades me for his which has a new contact open. I type my name and put my favorite heart emoji next to it after triple checking the number is correct. Wow, you’re just so ballsy today, Y/n!!!!! I give him back the phone, scanning the instagram account he’s just opened and followed for me. I hear him exhale a little harder as a small laugh and can only imagine it’s from the stupid heart emoji.

“Owen,” I say in a hushed, endeared voice, fully not intending to say it out loud. “You have a million followers?! Oh, you’re an actor. OH… You’re an actor.” I really don’t need to be speaking my entire thought process right now in the middle of this Ikea. Exhaling a small laugh of my own, I see we already have a small bunch of mutuals, one of which is… Chelsea??? Looking up from my phone I turn around to see Chelsea and Leila watching the interaction from around the corner of one of the industrial shelves.

In the flurry of scattered likes, I see him find my account and follow me back. I accept the request, nervous of what he thinks of me without a face mask on. What do I think of him without a face mask on? Going back to his account, seeing his entire face is even better than just his eyes. I was right, Leila: he is cute.

“You’re really pretty,” I hear him almost sigh as he combs through the grid of my account. The comment makes my heart beat all the much faster and I finally look upward to get a glimpse of Owen in the flesh. Still as beautiful as the last time I checked!

Sparing a quick glance over my shoulder, he looks back down at me and laughs,

“I think your friends got tired of waiting.”

“I think yours did, too.” The other members of our trios come back into the aisle we had kicked them from more or less two minutes ago. We connect eyes once more and stare longingly, wordlessly at one another, so lost in each other’s beauty our friends have to break up the staring contest of infatuation.

“Y/n?” I hear Leila behind me.

“Uh, well, I have to get back to chair shopping, but- text me later?”

“For sure.”

“For sure,” I mimic his voice.

“Guess I’ll see you later. Y/n.”

“Yeah.” And with that, we’re pulled apart by our respective best friends, through the vast expanse of the Norman Ikea.

“What was that?” Chelsea asks, excitedly linking arms with me.

“I don’t know I- Wait, you have some explaining to do!”

*** 

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[aizawaslovebot]

NOW PLAYING: the ex factor by iwaizumi hajime

—reader pronouns: he/him

—warnings: curse words ; had to be cut into two parts bec i want it that way ><

—summary: desperate times mean desperate measures, and y/n l/n is definitely the embodiment of desperate. eager to make his ex jealous for reasons undisclosed (read as: he's just petty), he asks his long-time best friend, iwaizumi hajime, to pretend as his boyfriend.

—note: the second part will be out in 3 days! VERY SORRY FOR THE VERY LONG WAIT UHU

TAGLIST: OPEN ; send an ask to be added even if you've already sent an ask back then!! because all that i could recall is @ohmygodronnie2020 and @beyond-the-mxxn

<- the sweetheart playlist | part i | part ii ->

Iwaizumi Hajime should’ve trusted his gut when it went crazy at the sight of you, Y/N L/N, whose eyes held a very mischievous glint that Iwa hated. He also should’ve turned you down immediately the moment you opened your mouth. Iwa definitely should’ve reprimanded you for roping him into this stupid plan.

Sadly, all he’s doing is crying over spilt milk.

He could remember it like it was yesterday. Years of dealing with Shittykawa meant that he knew when bullshit was about to happen. He thought going to California meant finally meeting someone who isn't an idiot on the daily. You were his contradiction. You were his idiot— basically like Shittykawa’s younger, much more mischievous brother.

Honestly, did Iwaizumi only attract idiots?

On the days you aren’t going on and on and on about why the government should be overthrown or why the both of you should buy a frog table for your shared dorm, he found you to be a nice guy. The people Iwa has met always had a hidden layer to them and you were one of them. Shittykawa was one too. Though Iwa wishes he didn’t introduce the both of you to each other— you become an unstoppable ball of everything annoying when you talk to each other.

But I digress. Iwa isn’t here to cry over why he only had chaos for best friends. Iwa is here because you, Y/N L/N, while you happened to be Iwa’s contradiction for all things he considered his norm, had asked him a very big favor.

“No,” Iwaizumi grunts, regretting even entertaining the male’s request. He could see your (h/c) hair bob as you groan out of frustration. Unbeknownst to the male, you were mulling over using what has to be Iwa’s biggest weakness: your very adorable puppy eyes.

“Iwa-chaaaan,” You sniff, putting on doe-eyes for Iwa to see, “I really want to make him jealous.”

Iwa sighs, subtly turning away so he didn’t have to see the tear-stained cheeks and the glossy eyes. The poor male was about to speak, pointing out that you had been influenced by Oikawa with the damn nickname, but he was cut off.

“He hurt me a lot, y’know?” You started to well up, for real this time, “I just wanted revenge…”

Iwa sighs again but he noticeably softens, opening his arms to let you cry while he hugs you. As you wept, you accepted his gesture and immediately let yourself be engulfed in your best friend’s arms. “You’ve yet to tell me why you two broke up, dumbass,” Iwa chided, though it was lighthearted.

“Zumi, is this your backhanded way of saying yes?” You asked, but your voice was muffled by his chest.

Iwa sighs for the nth time that day as he finally resigns to his fate, “Yes.”

That encounter was a week ago. You gave Iwaizumi enough time to prepare and regret his life choices. Honestly, he should’ve predicted that his idiot timed things perfectly so that your stupid plan would take place on the university-wide party the following week. Iwa could proudly say that most of his predictions were accurate and on point. Then again, his predictions were futile anyway— the best example could be his judgement on your then-boyfriend, Akuma Azamuku.

The brunette could clearly remember how he was able to discern more than enough red flags from just meeting the god forsaken guy. It was annoying how blind you could be when you’re heads over heels in love with the wrong people. Were you not really able to see how toxic this… Akuma guy is? Terrible name too, might he add. Iwaizumi would rather you date him than this devil spawn.

But he didn’t move a muscle. Iwaizumi didn’t move a muscle especially after that thought emerged from his head. What in Godzilla’s name was he thinking anyway?

Even if he could celebrate his on-point prediction on how much of an ass the spawn of Satan was, he couldn’t exactly bring himself to mock you with an angry ‘’I told you so!” Not when it meant that your damn ex-boyfriend cheated on you, covering it up by saying that he wasn’t actually gay. Not when it meant that you had been used. Not when it meant that you, his idiot, were hurt. His idiot was hurt.

“You’re being a martyr again, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa tutted through the phone, tactlessly commenting once the brunette finished relaying what was going on.

The male snorted, “What are you on, this time, Shittykawa?”

“Don’t turn this on me, you idiot.”

How the hell was Iwaizumi the idiot? No. He’s lived with idiots his entire life but he wasn’t one. If anything, both of his friends were the idiots. Not him.

“Selflessly complying with dear (N/N)’s outrageous request, regardless of how much it hurts you. Tsk, Iwaizumi Hajime. You’re one big idiot,” Oikawa sighed.

Iwaizumi scoffs at his friend’s claim, “Why the hell will helping him out hurt me? Shittykawa, did you leave your single brain cell in Miyagi?” The brunette growls, annoyed at the way Oikawa avoided giving him the straight answer.

“Iwa-chan,” Iwaizumi’s breath hitches as he hears the next words, “you’re in love with (N/N), aren’t you?”

Iwaizumi Hajime was, in fact, an idiot.

He was an idiot for realizing it much later than wanted; for allowing Shittykawa, of all people, to know this one fact before him; and for opening an avenue for bigger wounds because all he wanted was to help his best friend. He probably had to be the biggest idiot among the three— and that’s saying a lot… like more than a lot.

The soon-to-be trainer could hear his pro best friend sigh in response to his stunned silence. Iwa concludes that it was weird to be on the receiving end of a tired sigh but he doesn’t utter a word. Not even after Oikawa begins to speak again. “I can’t even bring myself to tease you tonight… or today… or whatever time it is there, Iwa-chan. What will you do now?”

Iwaizumi wasn’t the type to let himself get involved in petty things like this nor does he let himself go against judgement. That is, if you weren't in the question. The brunette was very sure that you were his contradiction— unknowingly forcing him to go against all the boundaries Iwa had set and done. You, also a trainer in the making, could easily be the death of Iwaizumi Hajime. But if it’s you, then he’d gladly embrace this death.

“I’m going.”

Those two words were a lot harder to say than the tired male liked to admit. So as he ends the dreadful phone call with Oikawa, he secretly hopes that next week will never come.

Even if Iwaizumi tried his hardest to deny, next week actually came. Not that it was a surprise. No one could stop the turning of time, the rotation of the Earth, nor the ticking of the clock. How the hell would he even stop next week from coming? Heck, Iwaizumi couldn’t even stop you from this stupid revenge quest that you had set.

Pretend to be his boyfriend, you said. It would be easy to do anyway, you said. We’ll be in and out in a jiffy, you said.

To hell with all the lies that you had promised. It was beyond Iwaizumi’s skills and strength to pretend to be someone you romantically loved when he actually wanted it to be true. The Aoba Johsai Iwaizumi would’ve dipped; Iwaizumi from last year would’ve never pushed through. But here he is, standing in front of the mirror in your shared dorm, preparing to do what he deemed an impossible feat.

You will always be Iwaizumi Hajime’s contradiction. And at this point, he isn’t sure whether it was a good or a bad thing. All Iwa knows is that this will soon end and like the way next week came, tomorrow will soon be today.

So all Iwaizumi could do is psych himself up to do impossible— the same way he had convinced himself he was an ace in volleyball or the same way he gave himself assurance with his college application— and push through with the plan.

I can do this. I’m Iwaizumi Hajime, former volleyball ace and soon, an athletic trainer. I’ve dealt with Shittykawa all my life. I was able to get into a college in California by myself. This should be easy. I can do this.

“Should I wear this, ‘zumi?” You call out from the bathroom, holding two slightly different tops for Iwa to see. The way the brunette spluttered at the sight of a half-naked you was embarrassing to say the least, but Iwaizumi was thankful that you had been too engrossed to even notice the reddening of his ears. ‘God damn it, Hajime. Half-naked Y/N isn’t new,’ he chastised himself mentally as he coughs. “Use the darker one,” was Iwaizumi’s curt reply.

I can do this.

You should not have lit up at his answer like that. The sight gave Iwaizumi more joy than he liked to admit. Nothing could ever top what you said next though.

I c-can do this...

“Oh! This one matches yours too! We look good together, huh?”

I cannot do this.

“Idiot,” Iwaizumi sighs to mask his flustered state, “just shut up and wear it already.” You only laugh in response, already used to Iwaizumi’s brash way of dealing with things. “Alright, puddin’. Just wait. You can’t rush art,” You reply sarcastically, using the other nickname that Iwa had begun to dread.

Iwa resorts to the comfort of his phone— or rather, he uses the phone to conceal the undying pink on his cheeks so you wouldn’t see. Maybe if he spared a minute before he did so, he would’ve seen that you were equally flustered; seemingly embarrassed to have said what you had in their conversation. But it is what it is, and Iwaizumi has to continue his emotional constipation without ever knowing that had ever happened.

You take Iwa’s hand in yours before you lead Iwa out of your dorm and to wherever the god forsaken party was. “What’s with the skinship?” Iwa asks, though the way he adjusts the grip so it would be comfortable didn’t go unnoticed. Maybe he had started to like the prospect of this whole fake dating fiasco because it let him taste of what could’ve been instead of just wondering how it felt.

“Nothing you’re not used to, puddin’. And uh… uh… this way we could look like an actual couple,” You stammer and avoid eye contact, your hand still in Iwa’s warmth though.

If Iwaizumi hadn’t been too distracted, too haunted by the reminder that this was just pretend, then he would’ve noticed that you had seemed unsure, seemed too engrossed in the feeling of your hands together that you weren’t able to make a great excuse. He once again resigns to what has been destined. “The Y/N L/N I know doesn’t do things half-assed,” Iwa claims as he drops their hands, “By that logic this should be okay right? So people would really think we’re together.”

‘It isn’t okay,’ You croak internally. Iwa decided to go against all things normal by doing this… this very compromising position that ensured the two of you looked like nothing else but a couple. Iwa decided, despite not knowing how much damage it would bring to your poor heart, to wrap an arm around your waist.

Unknown to the soon-to-be trainer, you were just as, if not more, smitten with him as Iwa was with you. You almost revealed the reason behind your bad break-up and even let Iwa see that he had this much of an effect on you. So this, to see Iwa be so into the role of his pretend boyfriend, both flustered and somehow hurt you.

You didn’t know why it hurt though.

“You okay there, dumbass? ” Iwa asks, getting too close to your face and being far too concerned than your heart could’ve handled.

Everything about this was confusing. Both of your minds were having their own storms as the both of you stumbled upon this new, confusing field in between friendship and romance. Closeness with Iwa wasn’t new to you at all. Him lightly calling you dumb wasn’t new at all. So why, in God’s name, did your ribcage feel like breaking apart from the very loud beating of your heart?

If Iwa had to ask himself the same question he asked you, he would’ve gotten a big ‘NO’ from himself. Initiating skinship to this extent made Iwa’s brain malfunction. Not only that, but the feeling of your waist was very much heavenly and mind-boggling. To put a cherry on top of the sundae called “Iwaizumi Hajime’s gay panicking,” the speechless and cute expression you had was too much for his heart.

Turns out that you would answer the same as Iwa, not that the brunette knew though.

This plan of yours started on the right course. Your dick of an ex did cheat on you and you wanted to make him regret ever even thinking of using you as a scapegoat from his problems. It was common sense to ask for the aid of your best friend, right? He, of all people, would know you and understand you best. So when did your fake dating extravaganza take its turn? At what point did this plan converge into something different?

In other words, did you still want to make your ex jealous? Or did you want to see how it would feel to date your best friend?

Time did not let you answer the many questions that formed in your pretty head. Before either of you knew it, you’ve arrived at the party.

You turn to look at Iwa, who was somehow already gazing at you with that intense fire in his eyes, and nod.

It’s showtime.

—reblogging helps a lot !! thank you for reading !!

[attack-on-kiwi]

Hi! I really enjoy your writing and your characterization. Could I please request the rest of the fluff alphabet for post-timeskip Reiner? (whichever point is easiest for you to write from)

Check my master list for letters F, H, N, & R!

A ctivities - What do they like to do with their s/o? How do they spend their free time with them?

There isn’t much Reiner genuinely likes doing. He’s more than happy to just take part in whatever activities his s/o wants to do. At this point he doesn’t feel like he’s allowed to have an opinion or have any strong wants. This does bother his s/o, so they need to try and coax an answer from him.

They find out he enjoys going for walks. Reiner specifically likes going on long hikes where no other people are around. Sure, he enjoys walking around the marketplace, but there’s always a pressure that he’s going to be cut down at any given moment. Therefore, private hikes are more his scene. He’s able to relax and will be more willing to open up to his s/o during these hikes. 

If he had to pick another activity, it would be training together. He’d want to do something physical, such as sparring because it gives him an easy and familiar way to tease them in a more lighthearted manner, such as play wrestling. It’s one of the few times his s/o gets to see Reiner act his age and not put up walls. 

B eauty - What do they admire about their s/o? What do they think is beautiful about them?

Resilience. The fact that his s/o is able to push through being with someone like him and still see the good in this terrible world has him weak. He feels undeserving of someone so good, but he’s too attached to even consider letting them go. 

To Reiner, their laugh is the most reassuring and calming sound. No matter if their laugh is a gentle chime or a crashing wave, he can’t get enough of it. He swears to himself whenever he makes them laugh, he falls more deeply in love with them than he thought could be possible. 

C omfort - How would they help their s/o when they feel down/have a panic attack etc.?

Reiner wouldn’t really know where to start. His mind is racing with thoughts such as “Is there an attack?” and “Did they get hurt?”. He lacks tact when calming them down, gripping their shoulders and forcing them to look at him as he near demands them to spill what’s going on. When that doesn’t work, he tries to rethink his approach. He’ll breathe and calm himself before smoothing his palms over their arms and gently asking them what’s wrong. 

He’ll hug them tightly and wait as they relax. Whether they just cling to him until their breathing calms or they ride out their panic, he’s pressed his lips to the top of their head, mumbling “everything is fine” even if he doesn’t believe it himself.

D reams - How do they picture their future with their s/o?

Reiner, like other warriors, doesn’t entertain the idea of having a future. This man has already resigned himself to the idea that he will be dead within a few years, so what is the point of him imagining a future? 

If he could have his way, he’d want a family. At least one child. Though, he wonders if his child would need a friend since he has no siblings that could provide cousins. Maybe two children, then, so they don’t get lonely. He thinks about how he wants a small, comfortable home away from the bustling of the towns. The seaside sounds ideal. Sometimes he imagines what it would feel like to have those children tucked between him and his partner while he told them exaggerated stories of the animals that lived in the forests. 

E qual - Are they the dominant one in the relationship, or rather passive?

He’s physically dominant when it comes to most situation. He’ll put himself before his s/o and make sure they are always in his view. When it comes to intimacy, he teeters between being timid and overbearing. It’s difficult for him to find a balance between wanting to be careful and wanting to have his s/o to himself, and they often find him coming on too strong then becoming reclusive for a few moments after due to the fear of having possibly crosses a boundary. 

Reiner sees himself as a natural guardian, so it’s only to be expected that he takes on more traditionally protective roles.

G ratitude - How grateful are they in general? Are they aware of what their s/o is doing for them?

Reiner is extremely touched that his s/o would stay with a coward such as himself. He thanks them often and brings them gifts. Most of the time it’s food that would otherwise be difficult for them to get their hands on. 

He has a hard time getting out of his head but is able to see that his work and attitude does affect his s/o to a degree and tries to be as mindful as possible. Most times, this mindfulness is chalked up to a simple, “I don’t know what I’d do without you” which needs to be interpreted depending on the context of the situation and his emotional state.

I nspiration - Did their s/o change them somehow, or the other way around? Like trying out new things or helped them overcome personal problems?

His s/o grounds him, but they haven’t made huge steps in affecting his personality. He is lost and needs to figure out how to depend on others, and unfortunately, he’s unable to do so credibly at the moment. His s/o hopes Reiner will one day be able to share his burdens with them, even if just a little bit. Reiner definitely teaches them to be patient. 

On the other hand, Reiner is happy to help them overcome their fears. He’s always got a solution and steps to help them get to their goals.

J ealousy - Do they get jealous easily? How do they deal with it?

Yes. He’s insecure and is easily provoked by other people giving his s/o attention. If he sees them giving others intimate attention, he will become extremely suspicious and angry. Reiner tries to ignore it since he doesn’t want to cause a scene. Image is important to warriors, after all. He does cling to them more as he tries to calm himself, often holding their hands or hugging them close in private.

If he’s in a situation where he is allowed to make a move, he’s more than willing to use physical force to scare off anyone he sees as trying to get with his s/o.

K iss - Are they a good kisser? What was the first kiss like?

Reiner’s a good kisser when it comes down to it. His kisses are hot and nearly suffocating. He always has a strong hand behind his partner’s head and another firmly on their back pressing them into him as deep as he can. His skin is warm and being so close to him increases that heat. 

His first kiss with his partner was desperate. Whether it was during an episode back in Paradis or when he got back home, his s/o found him uncharacteristically quiet. Serious. 

Their voice surprised him, causing him to jump as they made their presence known. It was an unusual sight- to see Reiner hunched in on himself. When they got close enough to sit next to him and ask what was going on, he simply told them that he wanted to kiss them at least once since he didn’t know if he’d ever be able to again. After their initial shock, his soon to be s/o agreed, letting him take lead. Reiner licked his lips and placed one hand gently behind their neck while the other rested on their thigh. He leaned ver, finally inviting them to his lips and as the two sought one another’s touch, he found himself pinning them down and nearly unclothing them. Whether his s/o allowed it to continue or stopped is up for debate.

L ove Confession - How would they confess to their s/o?

Reiner would never consider confessing.

He would need to be near death or in an extremely stressful and dire situation to blurt it out. 

That, or during more recent manga events, Reiner would try to find a moment of peace where he and his s/o could speak in private. During a conversation where he finally explains his past, he would likely refuse to make eye contact and stare at their feet. His voice is shaking slightly as he steels himself for whatever the outcome may be. It’s his s/o who turns his cheek to look him in the eye, confessing they are in love with him. It’s overwhelming and as he’s embraced by them, he reciprocates it over and over in shaky whispers that are muffled by their neck. 

M arriage - Do they want to get married? How do they propose? What would the marriage be like?

He likes the idea of marriage. Being with someone who is completely his and building a life together that’s peaceful and without pressure would mean the world to him. 

Reiner’s proposal is private. It would be during camp before the climatic battle. One evening, he’d take his s/o to a private area and reminisce their experiences together. He’s unsure why he’s bringing it up until his s/o asks what he wants to do after they win. He’s taken aback, wanting to say there’s not much left for him once the world is saved. “Will you marry me, Reiner?”

Reiner’s heart stops at that moment. It’s not a proposal, more so it’s just gauging his desires. He can’t help but nod. If they survive, even if he has little time left, he wants to spend it with them.

O n Cloud Nine - What are they like when they are in love? Is it obvious for others? How do they express their feelings?

Reiner’s love is subtle. It’s not common for people in Marley to outright be romantic in public, so displays are limited. Though at some point when he was younger he would have taken great pride in being overly affectionate in front of others, he now takes solace in being a quiet and helpful lover. It’s difficult for him to really express his love verbally, so he takes action. He’s good with fixing appliances, running errands, and comforting them in private. To most others, it seems Reiner is distant with his s.o, but this is untrue.

He’s skilled in loving them. His holds are firm and comforting. His kisses are deep and true. His actions express his care more accurately than his words ever could. The way he puts himself before them is in itself his ultimate display of love. 

P DA - Are they upfront about their relationship? Do they brag with their s/o in front of others? Or are they rather shy to kiss etc. when others are watching?

Reiner prefers to keep his romantic involvement private due to fear for his s/o’s safety. Being Involved with him makes them a target which is something he’s unwilling to look past. This does not mean he is ashamed of them by any means. 

Q uirk - Some random ability they have that’s beneficial in a relationship.

His hugs are all consuming. Something about being in his embrace helps wash away all anxiety. It’s truly difficult for his s/o to be upset for long when they’re in his hold. This becomes especially useful during high stress events, and it helps Reiner calm down.  

S upport - Are they helping their s/o achieve their goals? Do they believe in them?

Reiner’s focus isn’t on helping his s/o achieve any goals. His fixation is his mission to save humanity, so he doesn’t actually think too much about if his s/o has any goals they wan to achieve.

If his s/o shares a desire with him, he’s happy to help them map out a plan of attack. There’s not much he can do in ways of helping them if it doesn’t pertain to training or military affairs since most of his time is dedicated to his work. 

T hrill - Do they need to try out new things to spice out your relationship? Or do they prefer a certain routine?

Reiner prefers having a routine above all else. With how erratic his life is, a sense of peace is important to him. He suffers from PTSD and anxiety among other issues, so knowing where his s/o is during a certain time or having a specific ritual at a certain time every day helps him ground himself. He wouldn’t want to deal with any destructive routines when he has free time. It’s extremely important for him to focus on his healing, so a routine is best.

U nderstanding - How good do they know their partner? Are they empathetic?

Reiner... does not know his s/o well. He knows what bothers them and knows about them from what they share. However, he doesn’t make an effort to learn more. He’s got too much on his plate, and the relationship is reliant on the physical intimacy to help each other blow off steam. He could stand to be more emotionally present. It’s something he’s aware of and feels like it’s too late to do anything about it. If he survives, he wants to build a stronger relationship where the two can equally rely on one another for the support that they need.

He’s empathetic to a degree. He listens to their problems and tries to offer the best support he can, but he’s not necessarily equipped to help someone deal with their own problems when he barely has a handle on his own shaky mental state.

V alue - How important is the relationship to them? What is it’s worth in comparison to other things in their life?

Reiner is ridiculously obsessed with keeping his relationship. He knows he’s not the best partner that he could be, but he wants to selfishly keep his s/o because they make him feel human. They make him feel worthy of being alive, and he’s too scared of letting that go for who would he be without a purpose? His mission does come first, but he’d be more than willing to throw himself in front of his s/o if it meant securing their escape. 

He’s a natural protector as mentioned before, and couple that with suicidal tendencies and you have someone that’s problematically self-sacrificial. It’s not a good mixture, but it goes to show how dependent he is on his s/o for a sense of stability and how far he’d go to make sure they were safe. 

W ild Card - A random Fluff Headcanon.

He likes lying face to face when the two are in bed. When Reiner is especially tired, his cheeks and nose flush  a dark pink. It’s always embarrassing when his s/o decides to tease him about it. Don’t you dare call him cute or coo at him because in his tired state he will have no methods of coping. He might even turn around to try and escape their compliments, but if they cling to his back and try to pull him back around, they’re somehow always successful. 

X OXO - Are they very affectionate? Do they love to kiss and cuddle?

Reiner doesn’t kiss often. He does like to hold his s/o’s hands. Clasping their fingers with his own and holding their hand sto his chest in moments of quiet vulnerability will be the most stripped down, vulnerable acts he will ever commit. 

He’s not opposed to his partner kissing him and holding him, he just doesn’t feel worthy of starting the act himself. Once they initiate, he’s more than eager to soak up as much touch as he can. He never wants to let go, meaning they can be in one another’s embrace for hours if they’re lucky.

Y earning - How will they cope when they’re missing their partner?

Reiner is good at compartmentalizing his feelings, so he will run on autopilot and just hope that his s/o is alive so he can see them soon.

Z eal - Are they willing to go to great lengths for the relationship? If so, what kind of?

As mentioned earlier, Reiner is more than willing to put his life on the line for his s/o. He would run into a head on attack if it meant giving his loved one a moment longer to breathe. 

[rebelhan]

linger

pairing: Din Djarin x Reader

word count: 2k+

warnings: fluff

a/n: just frolicking in a field with a touch starved mandalorian...

masterlist

ao3 link | gif credit: @rexahsoka​

You press a kiss to his cheek, or where his cheek would be. At the curve of his helmet. The action is so quick that he barely registers it before he sees you bounding down the Crest’s ramp and into the grassy field beyond. It was so fast that he finds himself racking his brain to remember if you had done it before, if it was a normal habit and he had somehow forgotten it.

If he concentrates, he thinks he can feel your lips against his cheek. And if he concentrates a little harder, he can feel them at the stubble of his jaw, and ghosting down the side of his neck, lingering at the point where his heartbeat can be felt at the surface of his skin. Then you turn around and face him, surrounded by a halo as the setting sun lights your silhouette. The grass swallows your figure up to your hips. “You gonna stand there all day?” your voice calls to him. It’s enough to break him out of his trance.

He takes a second to compose himself and in a moment he’s back to the version of himself he usually offers to you. Silent and stoic as he follows your footsteps down the ramp. When you see that he’s moving towards you, you turn your back to him again and wander further away from the ship. With the child fast asleep inside the Razor Crest, the Mandalorian taps a button on his vambrace to seal the ramp of the ship before tracing your steps through the field.

He can’t pinpoint where exactly you intend to go, your path crisscrosses through the field aimlessly, and he dutifully follows, unable to do much else while he’s fixated on the way your hand trails over the taller stalks of grass. 

Four standard days ago, you had told him the Crest needed some repairs. “I’ll take us to the closest inhabited planet,” he had said.

“I have everything we need,” you shook your head. “We can go somewhere else. Maybe somewhere that isn’t populated. Where we can stay an extra day.” That last part was posed more like a question. He had turned his head towards you silently. In the dark cockpit, you could see the stars reflecting off the metal of his helmet.

You knew that he would prefer an uninhabited region. His armor made him a spectacle every time you stopped for food or refueling, and that made protecting the child from bounty hunters quite difficult. Word of a Mandalorian sighting always spread fast.

“An extra day?” he had asked.

You shrugged noncommittally. “I want to stretch out. We’ve been flying for so long.”

“There’s plenty of room in the cargo hold for stretching.” You would’ve thought the remark was an attempt at a joke if not for his perfectly serious tone and the nature of every conversation you had ever had with the man.

“That’s not what I mean.” You huffed out a breath in frustration.

“What do you mean then?” The question was cautious. Like every conversation was. It always felt like he was scared to learn too much about you. And he always offered even less about himself.

You mulled it over for a moment before settling on how to describe it to him.

“I want to see a sun. Not from the Razor Crest where the light is blinding and I have to hide out in the cargo hold until we pass it because I don’t have a helmet with polarizing filters. I want to see a moon peeking out from between clouds. I want to feel a breeze that isn’t just the Crest’s circulation system. Just for a day.”

You must have sounded really desperate because he turned back to the console and punched some buttons before responding to you.

“Okay.”

The smile on your face didn’t disappear from that moment until you stepped into the grass on a planet whose name you had already forgotten.

Your shadow grows longer and longer as you meander, the sky darkening with each passing moment. Before he’s realized it, you’ve led him back to where the Razor Crest stands. He’s far away enough that when you sit down, the tall grass obscures you completely from his vision. For a moment, he’s alone on this planet with nothing but his ship. The thought sends a bolt of panic through his heart, though he can’t understand why it sparks such terror. Long before either you or the child were with him, he traveled alone. The feeling should be familiar, not terrifying. But his heart is still eased when he comes to stand next to where you lay in the field, grass stalks flattened below your back and softening the ground.

You look giddy, he thinks, like the face you get when you finish a particularly complicated repair, but somehow more. You gesture to the grass beside you in invitation. “Join me?”

He doesn’t have to accept. He could say he needed to check on the child, or that he should eat inside the ship now while you spent time outside. You’re just the mechanic he hired. There’s no need for him to spend time with you outside what is necessary. But he knows that hasn’t been true since he started noticing the faces you make during repairs and it’s certainly not true after he’s imagined your lips on his neck.

The Mandalorian lays down beside you as gracefully as he can whilst covered in armor and you turn your head to face him. Your clothed shoulder rests against his pauldron. There is still enough light that he can make out your features but the details are disappearing as the sun falls lower and lower below the horizon. “I’ll get started on repairs at first light tomorrow. They shouldn’t take more than a day of work,” you tell him.

“You don’t have to,” he says before he can stop himself. “We can stay here a few days longer.”

Your smile disappears and reappears as something softer. It’s timid. Surprised, even. It’s an acknowledgement that he must be fighting his instincts to keep moving; after all, staying in one place for more than a day would be out of the norm for the pattern he had established while protecting the child. You turn your head back to the sky and he follows suit. Three moons form an arc across the sea of stars. Thin clouds float slowly across your vision.

You stargaze in silence. It’s peaceful. A different kind of silence from looking at the same objects from the cockpit of the Razor Crest. That silence was always anxious and frantic. Even hours of floating through space was not enough time to enjoy the stars when you were on the run, constantly thinking about the next seven steps, always planning for the worst. But for once, the Mandalorian finds that he’s losing track of time, and he’s not worried about it in the slightest.

Before he’s realized, so much time has passed that the largest moon is at its apex, bathing the field in a silver glow from directly above where you lay. There’s a question on the tip of his tongue, though he doesn’t know how to ask it. There’s a chance you’re asleep after hours of silence under the night sky, but he can’t bring himself to turn his head and check if you are awake. If your eyes meet his through the slit of his helmet, he knows the question will die in his mouth.

“Earlier today,” he begins, then stops. His voice rings clear in the empty field. He waits for a sign that you heard him.

“What about earlier today?” Your voice is quieter than usual and slow with lethargy. It has his heart beating harder beneath his armor and him even more unsure of the words he’s about to say.

The question is jumbled on his lips and he’s calculating the best approach, the most careful phrasing. He’s always cautious, but you could never figure out if it was because he was worried he’d scare you away like a skittish deer or if giving up too much of himself or learning too much of you might somehow trap him.

“Why did you kiss me?” He asks the question in a rush of words. Then he holds his breath. He thinks he’d die if he looks at you.

If he did look at you, he’d find you with a gentle smile on your face, eyes closed as you try to fight sleep. Maybe if you were a little more awake and a little less lighthearted from the afternoon of frolicking, you might find it in you to be embarrassed at the action, or at the very least acknowledge that it was unusual. Instead, you’re shamelessly honest as drowsiness strips away any inhibitions you might have had during the daylight hours.

“I was happy,” you tell him. It’s perhaps too simple an answer, but your mind is too far gone to formulate a better response.

You feel him shift beside you. His head is turned to you now, mapping the features of your face he can see in the moonlight. He notes that your eyes are closed.

“Are you still happy now?” he asks. You barely register the question as you linger at the edge of slumber. It’s a whisper at the corner of your mind. Words escape you in the moment so you do the only thing your muddled brain can think to do.

You turn your head until you can feel the metal of his pauldron cold on your cheek. Another small movement brings your lips to the piece of armor and you place a kiss there. It’s so quick and so gentle that he would have missed it had he not been staring at you.

You still completely and he would have thought you had fully fallen asleep, but your quiet, uneven breaths are picked up by the sensors in his helmet.

Then suddenly, your hand is feeling along his vambrace, searching for something. You seem to find it when you grip his fingers and pull his hand towards your face. Sleep has destroyed all command of your impulses and he feels you tracing the material of his glove near his wrist.

Your fingertips brush his bare skin and you stop your movements. His heart stutters. Your skin touches his at the gap between his glove and his vambrace. A tiny patch of skin he’d always been a little bit careless about. The sensation is wholly unfamiliar, but it lights a fire in him that screams for more contact. He doesn’t want you to move. His nerves are buzzing with the new feeling and he swears that when he checks next morning, your fingerprint will be burned into his wrist.

Then the feeling is gone and immediately replaced with something he’d only come to crave earlier that day. Your lips touch his wrist and Maker, he’s gone. He’s ascended. The moonlight feels impossibly brighter. His helmet is suddenly suffocating and his chestplate too tight. The breeze rustling the grass around your bodies is delightfully cool, but every inch of his skin prickles with heat.

You drop your hand, still clasping his, to your stomach. “I’m always happy when I’m with you.” And with that, you promptly fall asleep, seemingly unaware of the turmoil you had just caused in the man lying beside you. 

Long after your breathing has slowed, he continues to watch the rise and fall of your chest in silence. He sees only what the moonlight offers to him, refusing to activate his helmet’s night vision. He can barely make out the outline of your hand tangled with his, resting on your stomach. Though the skin at his wrist is covered now, his glove having shifted back over it, he can still feel the ghost of your lips brushing over it. When he closes his eyes, the sensation grows stronger. If he concentrates, he can imagine what your fingers interlocked with his would feel like without the leather that separates them. It feels like a secret, hidden from even the night sky by layers of leather and beskar. But it’s a secret he’ll share with you in the morning.

[starlightsearches]

why is it always hux doesn’t treat his wife right so kylo falls for her and never kylo doesn’t treat his wife right so hux falls for her😔💔

Anon, you are so right. Here’s a little blurb for you, my friend 💖

Armitage Hux x GN Reader (no pronouns but I did add that the reader was wearing a dress because I’m a slut for ball gowns)

Warnings for: language, infidelity, mentions of possible spousal abuse, angst. Let me know what you think!

The night air is warm here. It sticks faintly to your skin, sometimes brushed away by the slight breeze that passes through the trees every few minutes, smelling faintly of salt and some kind of flower that you can’t quite place.

This is good for you: the peace that can be found in simple things. If you couldn’t have satisfaction, at least you could have fresh air on your skin. If you couldn’t have happiness, you’d make up for it in still, summer nights.

The garden exists in a kind of half-darkness—not a true night but different enough from the Supremacy, where the light never waxes or wanes. Nine moons orbit the planet, but you can only see three from where you stand, the others hidden from sight by the surrounding trees, or else set to rise at a later time.

Nine moons. It had been the general who told you that—a passing comment as you boarded the transport before your husband had arrived. You could hardly remember the planet’s name, let alone it’s most popular export, the importance it had to the Order, or any of the hundred other things Ren had told you in the weeks before your arrival here—but you remembered the moons.

You brush the idea away. It’s best not to give weight to thoughts like that; Ren’s pride could not take it, and if he caught you thinking about another man in any capacity . . .

You don’t think he would hurt you. He hadn’t so far, in almost a year of marriage, but you could not ignore the hint of roughness in how he handled you. As if he were only showing the barest kind of restraint as a message—not a threat that violence would happen, but that it could, if he deemed it necessary.

No such courtesy—if you could call it that—would be extended to the general for your indiscretions. Ren would kill him.

The possibility of that feels far away on a night like tonight, so you let yourself think about it for a little longer.

The breeze plays with the edge of your gown as the curve of the fourth moon peers over the tips of the trees. You should really be getting back to the party.

Heaving a sigh, you lift the hem of your dress, padding through the sparse grass of the garden floor, weaving in between the bushes and ducking under low branches; the only sound beside your footsteps is your own breathing. There’s no sign of life anywhere, now that you think of it, no glimpse of the candle-lit veranda or the gilt ballroom beyond flickering through the leaves.

You come to a halt in a copse of trees. It’s a dead end.

You could have sworn that you came this way. Although, you didn’t have to pay much attention to direction of your travels when the only destination in mind was away from here.

A trickle of fear slips down your spine, turning the warm night cooler. You had already spent too much time out here, and it’s not hard to guess how Ren might react if he was forced to come find you.

You turn on your heels, your sense of urgency heightened at the thought, but urgency gives way to panic when you collide with something in your path.

You look up with startled eyes, relaxing slightly when you realize that it’s only the general. He’s caught you by the shoulders, holding you steady with a hand on each arm—whether to make sure you don’t fall over or to keep you from knocking him to the ground, you’re not sure.

He looks stunning—a face made for the moonlight, carved from stone. It takes the air out of your lungs.

A faint blush dusts his cheeks, vague but visible, and he slides his hands off of you with some hesitation, the leather of his gloves dragging over your skin reluctantly and raising goosebumps in their wake.

“Your Highness, my apologies,” he offers you a stiff bow, stepping back slightly, and you wither. Even in total seclusion, he is nothing but a gentleman. Your thoughts from earlier resurface to mock you, but do your best to conceal the hurt.

“No need for that, general. You actually arrived just in time; I got lost on my way back to the party,” he makes no attempt to respond, so you gesture weakly to the sky, trying to fill the silence, “I was admiring the moons.”

He turns just as you do—four moons now solidly visible between the over-reaching branches of the trees. The back of his hand brushes against yours before he pulls away.

He clears his throat, stepping back towards the entrance to the path, offering you his arm, “shall we return to the party?”

You take his arm with a polite smile, wrapping your fingers around the sleeve of his suit jacket, walking in silence for a moment as he leads the way back through garden—on the correct path, this time.

“Did Ren send you to find me?” You interrupt the silence of your journey, curious how the general had known where to come looking for you.

“No,” he offers simply, “the Supreme Leader was . . . otherwise engaged.”

“Oh,” you sit with the odd feeling his answer produces, trying to find it’s source. Were you disappointed that Ren had not noticed your absence? Or thrilled that the general had? “I only ask because I can typically slip from these kinds of events, at least for a little while, without any notice. I was worried that I might have lost my touch.”

He hums noncommittally in response, but you suspect that there’s more would like to say. You can see the magnificent house, and the party within, between the gaps in the trees, your journey almost coming to an end. The general makes no attempt to carry on the conversation, and you worry your lip between your teeth. Maybe you’ve offended him.

“I won’t take it to heart, general; you notice everything,” you say with a lighthearted tone, hoping to assuage whatever wound you’ve created.

His pace stutters slightly, as if he might like to stop for a moment, but the movement is so infinitesimal you’re sure you wouldn’t have noticed it if you didn’t have him by the arm. His response is quiet compared to the sound of your footsteps, the hints of music weaving its way from the open doors and windows out over the garden.

“I notice you.”

The air punches from your lungs. Your lips part, body begging for new air, but you can’t get it back. He tenses against you, and you’re sure you have not misinterpreted his meaning.

“General, I-” you try to speak but the words fail, you’ve lost sight of everything but him, and your lack of focus leaves you vulnerable, your shoe catching on the uneven ground. Your body reacts before your mind can comprehend, your free arm reaching out in front of you, anticipating the inevitable fall.

It never comes—the general has caught you by the waist, pulling you close—your hand meets the collar of his suit jacket instead of the unforgiving ground. When you’re eyes find his, the words die on your lips. His grip doesn’t loosen.

You can see everything when you’re this close, every minuscule detail: the slight glimmer of his pale lashes as they brush against his cheeks, the soft smattering of grey in the green of his eyes, a freckle—darker than the others—just below the corner of his mouth. Your eyes linger there for a moment longer than the rest; what happens next feels like a natural progression.

You slide your arm up, over his shoulder, all the way around his neck before pulling him closer, pressing one kiss to his soft, pink lips, then another. And another.

Then he kisses you back.

His arms solid around your waist, bunching the fabric of your dress under his fingers, your heart plummets from your chest when he deepens the kiss with more intensity than you ever thought him capable. The general’s stoic exterior has come undone under your touch.

He kisses you, harder, deeper, your bodies connected at every point, every line. There will never be enough of him, enough of this. You’ll starve of it, once you go back to-

Shit. Back to Ren. Oh gods, what have you done?

The thought must hit the general at the same time—he tears himself away from you, breathing hard.

“We shouldn’t— I never knew—” He’s stumbling back before he can even get the words out, his expression pure agony, his voice harsh as he says, “this can never happen again.”

You’ve barely regained feeling in your limbs before he leaves you, walking swiftly towards the lights and the music and the chatter, away from you and the kiss that you might have mistaken for a dream had it not left you so empty. 

He disappears from view before you can cry out for him, and you are alone in the light of the moons.

[moonbeamsung]

Winter Nights & City Lights

Because nothing says ‘Christmas’ like spending the big day (and not to mention the whole holiday season) in the Big Apple living with your high school friend-turned-roommate, Mark Lee.

member: mark (featuring johnny)

au: roommate!mark x gn!reader, college roommate au, christmas au, ‘the gift of the magi’ au/inspired

word count: 9.5k

genre: fluff, angst, slice of life

warnings: profanity, underage drinking, hangovers, insecurities, mentions of food and drink, money issues, embarrassing moments

author’s note: This fic is close to becoming my favorite that I’ve ever written. It’s also almost twice as long as I planned, not to mention that tumblr crashed right as I tried to post it so here I am, two hours later. Overall I had a blast writing it and I hope you enjoy reading it! Please let me know what you think, too! :,) Happy holidays! <3

taglist: @astroboy-lele​ @kisshim​ @radiorenjun​

network tags: @kpopscape​ @neo-constellations​ @starryktown​ @culture-cafe​ @dreamlab-nct​

“That parade was so cool! I mean, did you see the size of all those balloons? They were huge! I’ve never seen so many people all in one place before,” Mark chatters away like an excited child as you navigate through the crowd that always seems to grow bigger year after year, gathered along the curbs of the New York streets to watch the famed Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade.

“How are you not more excited about this?” He questions, and you stifle an amused giggle. “I’ve lived in the city for over a year, Mark. I’ve seen a thing or two.”

“Oh, right. I knew that.” The cold air only accentuates the blush on his face as he remembers that particular detail about you. It isn’t often that it’s demonstrated, however, considering you spend so much time cooped up inside of your shared apartment cramming in university work and studying. There are hardly any opportunities during the year to take in the sights of the concrete jungle you live in the very heart of, but luckily, one of your long-awaited breaks is coming up soon.

Thoughts of Christmas vacation are the only things keeping you going, along with countless cups of steaming hot coffee, as you prepare for exams in just a few weeks, weeks that seem to go by in a flurry of snow.

There’s less than three days left until your first one, but you’re nothing short of drained after pulling so many all-nighters, and you need a break. A breath of fresh air seems like just the cure for your burnout, so you slam your textbook shut and lethargically drag yourself off of the soft comforter you’ve been sitting on for the past two hours. You grimace at the deep imprint left behind.

Trudging through the living area, you knock softly on Mark’s bedroom door. A tired “Come in” sounds from the other side, and you push it open, immediately noticing his disheveled state. Eyes heavy with fatigue and lacking their usual sparkle of youthful innocence, he blinks back at you, “What’s up?”

“You look like you need a break just as much as I do,” you insist. His already-open mouth widens a bit more, “But... our first exam is on Monday, we can’t just—”

“Mark, come on, you’re one of the smartest people in our class. If anyone’s going to pass, it’s you.”

He huffs, “Maybe you have a point.”

“I do have a point, and you know it. A little walk in the park never hurt anyone, right?”

Mark rubs his eyes with the back of his hand, fingers raking through his dark locks before he musters up enough strength to push himself off of his bed and into a standing position.

“I’ll get my jacket.”

Central Park is a sight to behold on its own all year round, but something about the Christmas season makes it even more magical. You and Mark step at the same pace, your paths lined by metal benches blanketed in fresh snow. Even through the many layers of warmth you’re both wearing, the chilly air still nips at your skin. It’s Mark’s first time experiencing the holidays in New York City, and you’re determined to show him everything this real-life winter wonderland has to offer.

The story of how you two came to be roommates in the first place is an extremely lucky one. You met in high school, and had been part of the same group of friends along with six younger boys. Both Canadian, you’d been hoping to get into the same New York college since what felt like forever. The day that you received your acceptance letters in the mail was full of joy and celebration, but not even a week later, Mark got an unexpected scholarship to a local but prestigious university not far from where you lived that he simply couldn’t pass up.

Parting ways after graduation, you had thought you might never see each other again until you got a call from him. It was the day after your last exam of the spring semester in college and you were sitting on your two-person couch, feeling rather lonely. The number seemed too familiar, too good to be true, and scrambling to pick up the phone as it blared throughout your fairly small apartment, you answered with a shaky voice. Mark’s recognizable tone met your ears, and a wide smile met your face. Though he couldn’t see it, he could hear the happiness in your words.

As it turned out, his college had given him the opportunity to transfer to yours for the remainder of his four years, as their programs were closely linked and on similar levels. Graciously, he had accepted, and wanted you to be the first to know.

“So, uh... are you living with anyone?”

The question he dreaded asking more than anything else. Call him cliché, but he had the biggest crush on you in high school, much to his dismay and to the rest of his friends’ excitement. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to like you, but he feared that college could tear a potential relationship apart, regardless of whether or not you went to the same one.

As a result of this, he had never acted on his emotions. But he’s older now, and wiser, which leads him to believe that maybe it wouldn’t be so hard to maintain one, should he ever gain enough courage to ask you out.

“No, actually, I have my own apartment.”

Silence.

“...Are you looking for somewhere to stay?”

“Yes! Yes,” he replied a little too quickly, eager to accept what would hopefully be an invitation from you. He wasn’t disappointed.

“Well, my place isn’t the biggest, but you can live with me if you want to. Plus, we could split the rent between us!”

You’ve always liked Mark. He’s hardworking, kind, and humble, maybe a little too much of all these things for his own good. Even back in high school, you spent endless nights and very early mornings on the phone with him, trying to convince him to go to bed after he refused to stop studying. To reassure him that he did the right thing by ending that friendship, or to insist that he tell the teacher no one worked on the group project, so he did everything himself. You’ve been his shoulder to cry on for years, you’ve seen a side of him that he’s never been brave enough to show anyone else because they expect so much of him.

Mark knows he’s blessed to have had a picture-perfect childhood, a good family, and an education that was rigorous yet rewarding enough to prepare him for his next chapter in life. The pressures that came with being so lucky just got to him sometimes, and they made four years of high school seem more like fourteen.

You, on the other hand, didn’t quite have all the same luxuries that he did, but you still managed. He’s been there for you plenty of times, too. In your opinion, though, he’s the much more vulnerable one of the two of you, mainly to his cumbersome insecurities and shortcomings, however rare those shortcomings may be.

So in your mind, Mark Lee deserves the entire world and then some. The least you can do is share your apartment with him, either until he finds what you’re sure would be a much more desirable place to live, or if he wants to stay with you indefinitely.

What you don’t realize, and will eventually struggle to admit to yourself, is that your admiration for his perseverance and endless generosity is teetering rather precariously on the edge of blossoming into something more than just platonic.

“Sounds good, then. Thanks so much!” He had exclaimed, the sound of his pure excitement and gratefulness bringing a wave of heat to your face, and you were glad he wasn’t there in front of you to see it.

You talked a little bit more for the next few minutes, catching up and enjoying a lighthearted conversation about what you had both been up to. These sessions on the phone began to occur more and more frequently, turning into weekly, and soon daily, affairs. Mark planned to move in a couple weeks before school started again, giving himself some time to settle in and adapt to urban life in general. The calls became a highlight of your summer vacation, and every day without fail, you found yourself waiting to hear the unique ringtone you had set his contact to.

Less than twelve hours before Mark was scheduled to arrive at New York’s largest airport, you were on the phone with him just like always. The clock in your apartment chimed eleven o’clock, and as reluctant as you were to hang up, you knew you should turn in for the night. After all, the sooner you went to sleep, the sooner the morning would come. The morning you would meet him at the airport.

“So I’ll see you tomorrow?” His voice was hopeful. Slightly unsteady, but hopeful all the same.

“I guess so. What time does your plane land, again?” You confirmed the time you had scribbled down onto a neon yellow sticky note a few days earlier as he repeated the short string of numbers, nodding to no one in particular. Why did you feel so nervous? It’s just Mark, you had told yourself.

“Have a safe flight!”

He bade you goodnight in return, accidentally throwing in a “sweet dreams” before he could stop himself. When you put your phones down, you were both too busy trying to calm your racing pulses, however, so it didn’t matter. Mark collapsed onto his bed, hand bumping his duffel bag and heaving a sigh. You sank down into the couch cushion, closing your eyes and leaning your head against the back of the furniture. Neither of you could find the strength to stand in those moments, scared that your legs would give in from the unsteadiness of your nerves, your hearts, your emotions.

A singular worry occupied both of your minds from that point on until you greeted him in the JFK airport terminal the next morning, shy smiles on your faces: is it dangerous to enter into the impending situation of living together? Are you really ready to be in such constant close proximity to the object of your affections, however oblivious you might be to them?

Before his brain could talk his heart out of it, Mark had wrapped you in a tight hug, extra thankful for the welcome since you were all he had here, in the city. You wouldn’t have missed his arrival for the world, and you told him so. You also wouldn’t have missed the chance to make him flush a deep but adorable shade of red, reaching from his rounded cheeks all the way to the tips of his ears.

In your long-term rental car, you drove him back to your apartment, enjoying the quiet sounds of surprise and amazement that spilled from his lips, generated by the city’s sights. As you passed underneath towering skyscrapers, navigated bustling avenues, and caught glimpses of world-renowned landmarks that you both had seen only in the movies when you were younger, you just knew Mark’s eyes held their signature sparkle, despite your inability to see the dark brown orbs glimmer with wonder. You kept yours on the road ahead.

His first day was spent unpacking his suitcases and bags full of possessions, one of which was his most prized: an acoustic guitar.

It had been a gift from his parents when he finished the eighth grade, and all throughout high school, he had turned to music as an escape whenever he needed it. As any new musician does, Mark had played around with chords, experimenting and seeing what sounded good, and before you knew it he had composed a song. Another one followed, then another, and by the end of his freshman year he had written enough to fill an entire album if he so wished.

The guitar had heard every note, every lyric, carried every melody from his heart into the world. It had grown to be a part of him, a worldly sliver of his soul in the form of a simple musical instrument that could convey every hope and every dream, every concern or every frustration. Every love confession. Though that wasn’t saying much, since he only had eyes for you. You didn’t know it, but one of those songs was about you. For you.

You and Mark’s circle of friends tried to set you two up one day in the school’s band room after hours, with the excuse that the second-youngest of the group, Chenle, had forgotten his piano sheet music in there. They sent you to retrieve it, which you only agreed to do after being persuaded by the boy’s intimidating but still lovable pout.

With no sheet music in sight, your eyes landed instead on a diligent Mark that appeared to be the only sign of life in the room, plucking away at the strings as the sun set outside. You had sat with him for a while, neglecting your task and listening to him strum gracefully, softly murmuring lyrics that sounded like your name at one point. You didn’t think much of it, though, not making the connection behind the rest of the words coming out of his mouth and accompanying the chords. His love song was left unacknowledged by the subject of it themselves, and that was both the first and last time he ever attempted to confess to you.

He wondered if now that you were sharing an apartment, he would let something slip by accident. What would he do then?

University had other plans, though, and his fears were temporarily relieved. So fortunately and unfortunately, you were so occupied with schoolwork that trying to balance dating, or even mere thoughts of doing so, with all of your other responsibilities would have been exhausting, not to mention impossible.

Snapping out of your memory-induced daze, you realize that you nearly wandered off the path into a deep snowbank, only aware of this fact because Mark catches you by the wrist and pulls you back toward him to walk at his side. His fingers stay curled around your forearm as you approach a famous bridge, stepping to the side and gazing down at the icy waters below, calm and rippling with the chilly breeze.

“What do you want for Christmas?”

You honestly haven’t thought about it yet, so you can’t give Mark a definite answer. The same goes for him, both of you leaning against the brick railing in a comfortable silence.

In Mark’s mind though, he knows what he wants to give you: something to complement your own equivalent of his guitar, a large collection of handwritten letters and notes from your childhood and school days. Sentimental by nature, you had saved every colorful post-it note one of your friends would slip through the narrow slats of your locker, every birthday card received over the years, every thoughtful postcard from someone’s vacation.

Your favorites are undoubtedly the always-awkward Christmas cards that your friends’ families consistently mail out each December, by far the most humorous parts of your growing collection. You always found yourself chuckling at the pictures displayed on the front. Eyes bright with mirth, you would observe their forced smiles and arms slung carelessly over siblings’ shoulders, their eyes flickering between the camera and something going on behind it, probably the family pet getting into trouble across the yard. You pitied the photographers, surely beyond frustrated as they would try to get everyone to stand still for more than five measly seconds. Mouths were clamped shut and for a brief moment, the air was void of complaints of how itchy someone’s sweater was.

Then the camera would snap, capturing an image that was simply “good enough.” They’d plaster it on the card and in a few days, it would magically appear in the mailboxes of relatives and close friends. Grandparents would overlook the uncomfortable expressions and focus instead on how fast the kids were growing up. You didn’t blame them. Even in four years’ worth of cards, so much could change. In between fits of laughter, you’d stare in awe at the way your friends grew into their features, only becoming more handsome with time and some growing so tall that they even towered over their fathers. You always kept the letters they included, too, detailing the highlights of the year that was soon to come to an end by the time they dropped it into a nearby mailbox.

And like he could read your mind, Mark makes an offhand comment right then and there. “My folks texted me the other day to ask for our address. You know, for the Christmas card.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah,” he laughs. “Shame I couldn’t be there for the family photos this year.”

“Is it really a shame, though?” You prod, tilting your head a bit at the boy. “You always told me you couldn’t stand waiting around for the so-called ‘right lighting’ and all that.”

“Well, I couldn’t, but now that I’m not there I wish I could go back to those days. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, you know?”

“Right,” you sigh, thinking about how the same saying could easily apply to the way you felt about Mark all throughout your first year of university.

You have a box, made of a dark mahogany wood and lined with elegant golden trim, where you keep all of these letters, these handwritten memories and souvenirs from some of the happiest moments in your life. A gift from a past Christmas, your family had your initials engraved onto the front in a loopy cursive font, making it truly unique and utterly irreplaceable. And, you’ll soon come to realize, valuable.

Mark remembers it well, remembers the many times you’ve shown him its contents, remembers how his eyes sometimes land on the delicate container resting beneath the windowsill in your room, sunlight catching the accents. He knows how much those letters mean to you, and he also knows how much you love returning the favor.

That’s why he wants to give you the tools you need to do just that, and to do it well.

You’ve always been one for writing thank-you notes for any and every gift you receive, your parents having ingrained the habit in you since you were very young. Slowly, crayons turned into pencils and lead became ink. To this day you remain unfazed by the increasing amount of yellowing papers residing in the letter box, but the words imprinted on them never quite fade, strong enough to withstand the test of time.

Too many times in high school Mark would find you, hunched over your dining room table in frustration with a stack of letters beside your arm that you deemed “failed” because your handwriting was bad, or something of the sort. Usually it was the other way around, him being the one in need of comfort, but on those days your roles were reversed.

He had always wondered why you didn’t have fancier supplies that were more suited to your task, but he supposes now that maybe it simply wasn’t an option for you and your family. So a stationery set seems like the perfect gift for you this year.

On a similar note, you’ve already decided what you’re getting him: a guitar case. You happened upon a sleek leather one while browsing the website of a popular music store, coincidentally with a location not too far from your apartment.

Now it’s no longer a question of what to get the other, but how. As university students living on your own, money is scarce. Unknowingly, you both contemplate this concern as you walk side by side, returning to the start of the path that you set out on at least a half hour ago.

This stroll of yours was supposed to clear your minds, but why are they racing even more than before?

There’s no time to worry now, though, and for the next week, your thoughts are forced to shift back to the topic of school and midterms and all your academic endeavors.

Your exam week is over before you know it, and the two of you return to your apartment after the last one only to collapse onto your respective beds, beyond exhausted.

The dreary Friday afternoon clearly calls for a nap, but unbeknownst to you, Mark decides to seize the opportunity that has so conveniently presented itself to him: a chance for him to go out and buy your gift without suspicion. He drops his backpack on the carpet next to his dresser and sighs, wondering if what he’s about to do will be worth it. But it’s you, of course it’ll be worth it.

Thus, his next move is done with a heavy heart. He’s been forced by a lack of funds to come to a decision about your gift, and a difficult one at that. The only thing he can think of doing to even come close to affording a nice stationery set is to sell some things in exchange for cash. Namely, the most valuable item he owns: his beloved guitar. He doesn’t really want to, but deep down he knows that a true friendship warrants the occasional sacrifice. He’s done some research on a nearby pawn shop, and however sketchy those kinds of places may seem, it’s his only feasible option at the moment, with just a week left until Christmas Day.

After making sure you’re fast asleep, he not-so-stealthily slips out of your shared flat, his actions far from silent but even so, you don’t wake up. Mark winces at the unintended high volume of pulling the front door shut behind him, sticking his hand into his jeans pocket and relaxing when he feels his keys at the bottom of the fabric compartment. Guitar strung over his shoulder by the flimsy, fraying strap, he sets off.

With his phone in hand and directions to the pawn shop displayed on the screen, he strides through the lobby of the apartment building and pushes the revolving door, stepping onto the busy sidewalk and into the cold winter air. Shoppers crowd the pavement with hands full of department store tote bags, crinkling loudly as they pass by one another. Shoulders knock together and heels click against the concrete, just some of the many sounds of the city that Mark is still growing used to hearing.

A few blocks and several wrong turns later, he finds himself on a quieter street, standing in front of the shop. It’s dimly lit inside and looks almost abandoned, the letters painted on the window chipped and faded from the wear and weather of past years. A soft bell rings when he lets himself in, searching for some sort of employee.

From behind a cluttered shelf a tall man emerges, the shabby name tag pinned to his vest reading “Johnny.” Well, he’s not some shifty-eyed, balding man wearing a muscle shirt stained with grease. New York continues to be full of surprises.

His dark hair looks neat, the jacket he’s wearing free of any wrinkles and face young but chiseled, high cheekbones prominent.

“How can I help you today?” Johnny booms, stepping behind the counter and absentmindedly sifting through some loose change in bottom of the cash register.

Mark gulps, “I’d like to sell something.” Still not entirely sure he wants to do this, he instinctively tugs on the strap resting atop the fabric of his wool jacket.

“Well, you’ve come to the right place,” Johnny assures with a small laugh. “What did you have in mind?”

Taking a deep breath, Mark slides the guitar off his shoulder and holds it near his chest for a moment, before extending his arms out towards the counter.

“A guitar, huh? We don’t see many of these,” the tall man comments. “Are you sure? It seems pretty valuable to you in more ways than one.”

Mark’s fingertips trace the strings for the last time and he decides to just get it over with, before he can change his mind. His hands are shaky as he gently places the instrument down on the counter in front of Johnny, taking a step back once he’s done so. “I don’t have much of a choice. I need the money to buy a gift for my… uh, my friend.”

Johnny raises an eyebrow, “Just a friend? Or a special someone?”

“They are special,” Mark confirms, noncommittal to either title that Johnny suggested.

“They must be if you’re willing to give up something like this for them. Okay, that’ll be…”

Johnny tells him what the guitar is worth, matching the amount with a stack of cash and a few old coins, rusty but still holding their value.

Despite the pain of letting something so meaningful go, a bit of joy creeps into Mark’s heart as he realizes that now he can give you a gift that will hopefully become just as meaningful to you as his guitar was to him.

He thanks Johnny and bids him goodbye, step lighter than when he entered, much to his surprise.

It’s the next day when you and Mark find yourselves getting into the Christmas spirit for the first time this season. After he had returned yesterday, you were still out cold on your bed, so he chose to follow your example and do the same. The both of you had slept the rest of the day and almost the entirety of the following morning away, waking up just before noon.

With a sudden burst of energy you spring up from the sheets, overtaken by your excitement for the nearing holiday as you dig out the artificial Christmas tree you had bought last year from your closet. Sure, it may seem lazy of you, but let’s face it: there was no easy way to find a real one in New York City, let alone lug it down the streets, through an elevator and down a narrow hallway to a door it wouldn’t even fit through.

Mark hears the loud rustling of various decorations as he begins to stir, leisurely getting out of bed and checking one of his dresser drawers to make sure he hadn’t merely dreamed up his shopping adventure of the previous evening. There the stationery set sits, tucked safely at the back of the wooden cabinet.

The bookstore he stopped at on his way back last night had many different options to choose from, so he made sure to get one that both matched your box of letters and reminded him of you, with its color scheme and style. A surge of pride brings a smile to his features, pleased with his choice, and he pushes the drawer shut before joining you in the living area.

Your knees brush as he sits down next to you to help unpack the large but manageable box, taking out the tiers of the tree to eventually stack on top of one another. Working more quickly than usual (and probably necessary, there are six days left after all), you assign Mark to stringing the lights across your small balcony while you finish setting up the tree. You knew you shouldn’t have let him do it alone, though, because when you look over at his progress you find more lights wrapped around his body than the metal railing.

“Do you need a hand?” You question, holding back a laugh at the way the cord restricts his arm movements to the point where he can’t even reach for the handle on the sliding door.

From outside he opens his mouth to reply, but pauses, looking down at himself and the mess he’s made of the lights before meeting your eyes once more. His voice is muffled by the glass, but you hear him shout playfully, “I’m the tree now! We don’t need that one.” He tries to gesture to the one you’re currently decorating, but fails, and this time you aren’t able to contain your amusement.

“Let me help you,” you offer, joining him on the balcony and helping him untangle himself from the glowing strands. “Thanks,” Mark replies, sheepishly rubbing at the back of his neck. With your combined efforts, you manage to thread the string of lights through the railing with little to no mishaps, and both of you continue decking out the apartment with other seasonal items for the next several hours.

At some point during the afternoon one of you decided to connect their phone to a speaker and play some music, all Christmas songs of course. As the classic version of “Jingle Bell Rock” begins to blare throughout the living room, Mark abandons his task momentarily to walk over to you. He extends a hand down to you, sitting on the floor, and you accept the invitation to stand up with a questioning look.

“Dance with me?”

It’s hardly a platonic request, Mark realizes once the words leave his lips, but even so you don’t shy away, glancing down at your feet with a slight trace of bashfulness in the action.

He intertwines your fingers somewhat loosely, placing his non-dominant hand on your waist and beginning to sway, slowly at first but then his movements become more exaggerated, shoulders tilting dramatically to one side after the other and straying from the rhythm of the music. You join Mark in drawing out the jesting movements, losing yourself in laughter and leaning forward to bury your face in his shoulder, the heat of your breath hitting his skin through the thin t-shirt he’s wearing. In one last attempt to keep the joyful smile on your face, he steps back a bit and holds your wrist above your head to twirl you in a circle.

The electric guitar in the song fades as you collapse onto the carpet, recovering from your fit of giggles. The sun has begun to sink in the sky, you can tell by the gold and orange glow that your apartment becomes bathed in as it sets, inching closer to the horizon and eventually becoming hidden by tall skyscrapers in the distance.

Satisfied with your progress so far, you both decide to call it a day, though in truth there aren’t many decorations left to put out. A few stray ornaments and some garlands remain, still packed up in boxes that you would need help reaching. You’re also eager to get your mind off of the way your heart was palpitating as you danced with Mark, your roommate and friend but nothing more, nothing less. You have enough to worry about at the moment, not wanting to add potential feelings for the boy into the mix. Shit, you think, you still need to buy his gift.

“What should we watch?” Mark asks, scrolling through the list of movie choices on the TV screen.

“I don’t really care, anything’s fine.”

His finger presses a button on the remote to select a film at random, the intro playing as you scan the refrigerator shelves for a frozen meal. Hopefully it’s not one of those cheesy holiday romances.

Settling down on the couch a few minutes later, you with the warmed-up container in your lap and Mark holding a cup of ramen noodles, both of you fall into a comfortable chatter about the movie. Thank god it’s a comedy.

Occasionally you find yourself diverting your attention from the harsh display and directing it over to the panes of floor-to-ceiling windows, where you watch more and more lights flicker on in the distance, illuminating the urban landscape as night falls. The view is breathtaking, but so is the way your face softly glows with their warmth, even from blocks away. Not that Mark would ever tell you that, of course.

“I’m going out!” Mark hears shuffling from outside his bedroom the next morning, your voice instantly bringing him to his senses. Curious, he shoots out of bed and flings the door open to find you, one arm stuck through the sleeve of your coat and the other buried in a bag, but it’s not the one you usually bring when you leave the flat. Eyes wide and panicked at the boy’s unexpected appearance, you clutch it to your chest with a visible amount of difficulty, Mark notices.

“Where are you off to?” He squints at the brightness of the living room, the early morning light pouring in through the glass on the far wall.

“...Maybe I can’t tell you,” you respond with a huff, slinging the heavy bag over your shoulder and pulling the rest of your coat on.

“What do you mean, you can’t—oh.”

“Nice going, genius,” you shake your head, feigning disappointment. “It’s not like it’s Christmas this week or anything.”

“My bad, sorry.” Mark winces and rakes a hand through his bedhead, abashed.

“I’ll be back soon, okay?”

With that, you step into the hallway and offer a parting smile over your shoulder, shutting the front door behind you.

At least your being out of the apartment gives Mark time to wrap your gift. All he has to do is figure out how.

Johnny gets a familiar feeling when he sees you enter the pawn shop, fumbling with your things and reluctantly gazing at whatever’s in the tote you’re holding. Are you also about to make an exchange you could potentially regret?

“One second,” you excuse yourself as you step up to the counter, placing the heavy bag down and removing the large item from inside: your letter box, minus its contents. Of course you would never get rid of those, but despite the letters and notes being so special to you, the box they were always kept in is also a significant part of your attachment and the memories you hold dear.

With a thud you set it down, Johnny glancing between the hesitation on your face and the wooden container on the counter in front of him. “Let me guess, you want to exchange this for cash?”

“Yes, sir, that’s exactly what I—” You pause, biting your tongue. “Hold on… Look, I know this is a pawn shop and that’s what people do here, but how are you so sure?”

Johnny’s gut tells him he shouldn’t give away the fact that a boy wearing the very same expression and with the same sense of purpose and determination was in here just two days earlier. So he corrects his mistake with a simple “Lucky guess” and a hearty chuckle.

Without Johnny even asking, you tell him that you’re also looking for some extra cash in order to afford a gift for your “friend,” and you say the word with so much conviction and certainty that it’s almost laughable. The information given to Johnny helps him fully connect the dots in his mind, realizing that each of you are the one the other talked about.

Before handing you the money, Johnny tears off a sheet of paper from a nearby notepad and asks you to fill out your information, most importantly your address. He has to lie a bit, saying it’s for contact purposes, but his heart is in the right place nonetheless. Just in case something goes south (and the sinking feeling in his stomach tells him that it will somehow), doing so gives him an option, even if he doesn’t know what that option might be yet.

“Thank you, Johnny, and Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas!” He returns your wish cheerfully as you push the door open to leave.

“Good luck finding a gift for your ‘friend,’ too.”

You feel heat rise to your cheeks when you see his teasing use of air quotes, but still smile.

On your way back to the apartment Mark texts you and asks you to check the mail, saying he forgot to do so yesterday. When you arrive in the lobby and make your way over to the cluster of mailboxes, you’re instantly shocked to find a large cardboard box shoved into the small cubby with your and Mark’s name on it. You’re already struggling to carry the guitar case you bought for him, so you decide to make a second trip later.

A few moments after stepping out of the elevator, you knock on the door to your apartment, hoping with all your might that Mark won’t actually open it and instead just answer with a “Come in” as he always does. Your wish is, thankfully, granted, but it’s quickly followed by “Wait, wait, wait!” As it happens, he just finished wrapping your gift and needs another minute or two to tuck it away somewhere until the big day arrives. “Can you stay out there until I say?”

“Sure,” you reply, “but I’m going to have to ask you to do the same.”

“How about I stay in my room while you come in and do… whatever you need to?”

“Sounds good.”

With his door closed, Mark hears the front one open and shut as you enter. Trying not to make any noise that would give away the size of the item you just bought, you finally settle for hiding the leather case underneath your bed, concealed by the drapery attached to its frame that hovers just above the floor.

Mark had hastily placed the now-wrapped (though not elegantly so) stationery set back into his dresser, so he’s already out of his room by the time you leave yours. “Any letters or packages?” He questions when he sees you.

“Oh, right!” You snap your fingers, “We do have a package but my hands were full, so I’ll bring it up right now.”

“Eggnog?”

While the box had looked fairly ordinary from the outside, upon opening it and glancing at the return address you learned it was actually anything but that. Mark’s and your parents had sent a holiday care package of sorts, including both of your families’ Christmas cards and a carton of eggnog, along with some small gifts that are meant to be saved for the morning of the 25th. Also mixed in are a few small decorations (not that you need more), some baking supplies complete with a copy of the recipe for the cookies you make every year, and a soft pair of mittens for each of you. He hopes you don’t realize that one of the items is a sprig of mistletoe.

“You don’t like eggnog?” You ask, stunned. Mark shrugs, “I don’t really care for milk but it’s the thought that counts, I guess.”

That evening you and Mark take another stroll, this time choosing to stay on the streets and admire the festively adorned buildings and shops as you pass by them. Admiring Christmas lights at this time of year is nothing new to you and Mark. In fact, when you lived in Canada you would do the same thing. The only difference is that back then, it involved driving through quiet suburban neighborhoods and not ambling through crowded city streets and alleyways on foot.

Snowflakes begin to cascade from the heavens as you make your way back around to the block where you live. Mark sticks his tongue out to catch one of the small crystals, and it immediately melts in his mouth, eliciting a high-pitched laugh from the boy. Snow is also something you both are more than used to by now, having grown up with white Christmases all your lives. It makes you wonder if the holiday season would be the same without it.

“You know what we should do?” Mark turns to you just as you’re about to enter the apartment building again. “Go ice skating at Rockefeller Center.”

“Mark, c’mon, you know stuff like that is overpriced. And besides, I can’t skate to save my life. Remember—”

“That time in sophomore year? You bet I do,” he laughs as he remembers how you clumsily fell not even two seconds after stepping onto the ice with your skates, and then refused to let go of the railing for the rest of the day. The elevator whirs to life, climbing floor after floor with ease.

“Hey,” you offer, “we can still go and watch people skate, I’m sure there’s some place to sit.”

“And we can look at the Christmas tree, too,” Mark adds, eyes brightening at the idea.

“Right. I forget you haven’t seen it in person before.” The cabin doors open with a ding and you step out, your eyes landing on the door to your apartment a few yards away.

When you turn on the TV, Mark becomes mesmerized by the movie that’s playing, since it takes place in NYC and he recognizes so many places from actually being there. He scrambles to remove his jacket and beanie, plopping down onto the couch once they’re safely hooked on the coat rack.

Watching him, you sigh. Would anything really change if you were dating? Assuming your feelings were returned, of course, but you can’t imagine that your relationship would differ much. You certainly wouldn’t go on extravagant dates, or buy expensive gifts for each other, but that’s not what love is about, anyway. With the exception of a few extra hugs and the addition of kisses, along with more forms of physical affection in general (actually, scratch that, Mark’s always been awkward with those kinds of things), you’d still be by each other’s side just like always.

As you sit down next to him and feel an arm wrap around your shoulder, you don’t shrug it off, instead embracing the warm and fuzzy feeling in your heart that you can’t blame on the holiday season this time.

Mark’s glad, too. He’s been working up the courage to do that all day.

Late that night, you quietly tiptoe into the living area, retrieving an old box from your move-in last year that will fit his gift perfectly, and won’t give away what’s inside. Your hands fold and tape the wrapping paper with care, tying a neat ribbon once you’re done. Sure, you had to give up something that meant a lot to you in order to afford Mark’s present, but the gains outweigh the losses. You find comfort in imagining the way his face will surely light up with pure joy on Christmas morning, drifting off to sleep with ease once you’ve hidden the rectangular parcel back underneath your bed.

A few days pass and soon it’s the 23rd, and you join Mark at the railing of the ice rink, of course on the side with solid ground. “Ice is solid ground,” Mark had corrected, but you stood firm in your words. “More like slippery ground, if you ask me.”

Luckily you had been allowed to stand here for free, because god only knows what small, simple thing someone would be charged for in New York. It’s happened to you before, and you’re not even a tourist.

Mark’s dark eyes gaze up at the 75-foot-tall tree in wonder, pupils dilating and reflecting the tens of thousands of bright lights strung through the dark green branches. They seem to sparkle with sheer amazement. Just then someone skates a little too close to the section of railing you’re leaning on, startling Mark out of his LED-induced daze and putting the most adorable look of surprise on his face.

His focus shifts to the people on the ice, wearing sweaters and jackets of every color imaginable, and the sight is still as beautiful as the looming Christmas tree above. He notices some couples, holding onto one another or skating hand-in-hand, and it makes him wonder if that could be you two someday, at a future Christmas, or if it’s an idea absurd enough for an alternate reality.

Mark sees you shiver out of the corner of his eye, and it’s his cue to suggest returning home for the evening. In a very cliché and boyfriend-esque gesture he offers you his jacket, but you decline, insisting that it’s not far and assuring him that you’ll be okay.

Back in your heated flat, you twist open the lid of the eggnog carton and pour a small glass for yourself. “Are you sure you don’t want some?” You call out to Mark from the kitchen, snatching one of the cookies you made the other day and finding a paper plate for the thin shortbread wafer, lined with elegant white icing and dusted with sprinkles.

“I already told you, I don’t like eggnog!”

“Have you even tried it before?” Mark grumbles at your nagging. You really sound like his mom right now.

“No…”

You appear at the other end of the couch, holding out a small cup with just a sip or two of eggnog in it. “Try it. You never know.”

He knows you won’t leave until you see him lift it to his lips for yourself, so he does. Immediately the sweet drink overwhelms his taste buds, and also leaves a slight sting on his tongue.

“What’s in this stuff?” He coughs, nose scrunching a bit from the strong taste. Surprisingly, though, he doesn’t hate it. Following you back to the kitchen, Mark pours a full glass this time, already gulping it down.

“Uh,” you scan the ingredients on the back of the carton once he sets it down on the counter, “milk, cream, sugar, eggs…”

“...whiskey? What the hell?”

“It has alcohol,” Mark slurs, his giggling interrupted by a hiccup. Having never drank before, he’s undeniably a lightweight, and even a little bit can get him wasted almost instantly.

“Mom and Dad must have mixed something up, because they definitely didn’t mean to send us alcoholic eggnog.”

Sure enough, back home in Canada your parents are wondering why they only have the kid-friendly stuff in their fridge.

Mark latches on to you, arm curling lazily around your waist. Great, he’s one of those people that gets clingy when they’re drunk. “Try some,” he whines, nuzzling into your shoulder a little.

“Are you crazy?”

“No one will know,” he laughs, hiccuping again. Giving in to his adorably drunken pout, you take one sip from your original glass but no more, an unpleasant buzz taking over your whole mouth.

Not looking forward to finding a hangover cure on Christmas Eve of all days, you pray that you’ll stay sober enough to take care of the tipsy boy, who’s currently pressing his face into the back of your neck and—shit, did he just kiss you there? You really don’t need this right now.

“Mark, you’re drunk, okay? Stop it,” you caution.

“But I love you,” he murmurs, warm breath fanning your skin, and you want to kick yourself for almost saying it back. Does he even mean it, though? Alcohol makes people say crazy things, things they don’t mean, so you shouldn’t get your hopes up. You unhook his arm from your torso and turn around to push against his chest, frustrated. “Let’s get you to bed.”

He seems to have just remembered something, because he ignores you and instead goes over to where the care package was still sitting, digging into the bottom and pulling out something you hadn’t noticed before. “Look,” Mark declares in a nasal voice, “mistletoe.”

You exasperatedly hang your head, desperate to slam it into the nearest wall. With much difficulty, you eventually manage to get him tucked underneath the blanket, leaving a glass of water on his nightstand for when he wakes up. “Get some sleep,” you say simply.

He tells you goodnight with a fond mumble of your name as you shut the bedroom door behind you. Rubbing your eyes, you yawn before turning off the lights and heading to bed yourself, trying to block out the events that had just taken place.

Your head aches when you wake up the next morning, and you feel like garbage, so you can only imagine how much worse Mark must be doing. Quickly chugging a water bottle, you reluctantly go to knock on his door, hearing a pained groan once you enter. He’s sitting up, chin resting in one hand and the other anchored onto the heavy comforter covering his legs.

“How are you feeling?” The obvious question with an even more obvious answer makes Mark wince. “Awful.”

“Sorry.” It’s silent for a moment, Mark pressing three fingers to his throbbing forehead and you staring aimlessly at the wall. “I knew that eggnog was a bad idea.”

“You were the one that told me to try it!”

“I didn't know it had alcohol in it!”

You sigh, dejected. Something tells Mark that your head isn’t the only thing hurting.

“Hey, I know that look. What’s wrong?” He prods, voice soft and gentle and altogether unlike how it had been last night. You meet his eyes for a moment, about to speak but biting your lip at the last second. Mark’s brain puts two and two together at your expression.

“Oh god, did I say something? Do something?”

“Yeah, actually,” you reply in a huff. “First you kissed my neck, then you told me you loved me, and then you held up a clump of mistletoe and implied that we should kiss underneath it.”

His memories of the previous evening are all a blur, so he truly would have no idea what happened if you hadn’t just said something. Mark knows he screwed up, bad.

You tense when you feel him place his hand over yours, but you don’t snatch it away. After collecting his thoughts, Mark clears his throat.

“Look, I… I know that’s not the best way for you to find out how someone feels about you. But I’m completely sober, and I can tell you that I meant what I said last night.”

“You promise?”

“Promise,” Mark replies.

“...Can you say it again, then?”

He blushes, “That I…?”

You nod, the corners of your lips lifting into a small smile.

“I love you,” Mark tells you for the second time in the last 24 hours, but this time you know you can believe him. The pain of your hangover goes away for a moment as he takes your jaw in his hands and connects your lips, just barely retaining the buzz of the alcohol but not enough to bother you. Slowly you kiss him back, sinking down onto the mattress beside him.

Mark pulls away for air a few seconds later, thumb grazing your cheek lovingly. “Does this mean we’re—”

“Dating? If you want it to, then sure,” your finger traces swirly shapes on the small of his back while you assure him that neither of you need to rush into anything if you aren’t ready.

“I don’t want things to change, though.”

“Who said they have to? I’ve been thinking about it for a while, and we’re already pretty close, you know? Making it ‘official’ doesn’t necessarily mean ‘different,’ so...”

Mark hums in agreement, “You’re right. Okay, I can live with that.”

“And I can’t live another second without food. I’m making breakfast,” you quip, reverting back to the usual banter between you and him.

“I’ll cook the eggs,” Mark insists as you both make your way out of his bedroom and into the kitchen.

“You absolutely will not!”

The night before Christmas had started out unlike any that you’d ever experienced before, with you confronting your now-boyfriend about a drunken love confession the previous day. But now, it’s ending just like every year, with you cozy and curled up in front of the television as the last few segments of the news play.

It’s the coldest Christmas Eve in years. You learned this after the meteorologist had informed viewers of the record only a few minutes earlier, inadvertently planting an idea in Mark’s mind.

Right as you’re about to turn in for the night, setting a plate of decorated cookies and a glass of milk down on the end table (as is tradition in your families, no matter how old you are), Mark holds out his arms like a child might. “Can we…?” He asks in a quiet voice, nervous to finish his sentence.

“Huh?”

The boy inhales sharply, “It’s freezing. Do you wanna sleep in my bed tonight?” His cheeks flush a deep red that’s almost the color of Christmas itself.

You’re slightly taken aback, and then you remember it’s just Mark. “Sure, why not,” you answer with a light shrug and a smile on your face.

“But no funny business,” you inform him as you climb under the sheets together, instantly happy with your choice to join him because double the people means double the body heat. “I wouldn’t dream of it,” Mark replies, pecking your lips. His wrist finds the warm skin of your neck and you flinch away.

“Your hands are cold!” He just snickers at your whining.

The two of you fall asleep more quickly than you ever have on Christmas Eve, usually overcome with nerves and excitement, but now, as two college-aged kids, you’re comfortable and not rushing the morning’s arrival at all, content in each other’s arms for the moment.

You feel like you’re 10 years old again as you rush into the living room at 8am the next day, the bright, early morning sky lighting up your entire apartment. At the base of your Christmas tree sits a humble amount of presents, composed of the two that you bought for each other plus the half-dozen small ones from your parents.

You hand Mark one of the cookies from the end table and grab one for yourself, taking a bite of the sweet treat as you sit down and motioning for him to do the same.

“Open yours first,” you say eagerly, referring to your gift for him. Mark shakes his head and points to what he got you, “No, you go first.”

“Fine, we’ll open them at the same time.” Mark nods, satisfied with the compromise and handing you both the packages.

“On three. One, two…”

The final number barely leaves your lips before you both begin tearing into the paper excitedly, Mark reaching for the flaps on the box and you unfolding the tissue paper.

When you each see what the other gifted you with, it’s completely silent, save for the TV playing a Christmas Day special in the background.

He gazes blankly at you, licking his lips as his eyes dart between the guitar case and your expression.

“I appreciate the gift, but I…” Mark pauses, unsure how to tell you this.

You don’t say a word, raising your eyebrows as a signal for him to continue.

“I sold my guitar to pay for your gift,” he breathes.

“You what? Mark, that guitar means everything to you! Why would you do that?”

“Because you’re worth it, of course!”

“Well, I did the same thing,” you break the news with an unamused expression. “I sold my letter box to pay for that case.”

His eyes become impossibly wider at that, nearly bulging out of their sockets. “Are you serious?”

“Dead serious.”

You groan and lie down on the floor, beyond discouraged. “Let me guess, the pawn shop on 23rd?”

“Yep.”

“Hey, wait a minute.” An idea hits Mark like a rush of cold air. “Maybe we can work out a deal or something.”

“Meaning?”

“We go back and see if we can trade in our new gifts for enough money to get our old things back.”

“One, I doubt it’s that easy, and two, pretty much everything is closed on Christmas Day.” You’re half tempted to laugh because of how ironic this situation is.

Mark sighs, “I guess that makes sense.”

“We can still try, though.”

Sure enough, the pawn shop is dark, even more so than usual, and the door doesn’t budge. A sign taped to the window from the inside confirms your fear: Closed on Christmas. Gloved hands pressed onto the glass, you and Mark admit your defeat. You had been bested by the giving spirit of the holiday season, almost too generous for your own good.

But it’s the message that the day itself stands for after all, for putting aside material value and doing something out of the kindness of your heart just to make someone else happy. That’s what it’s all about, and you and Mark had personally experienced it this year.

So you’re surprised to find two boxes leaning on the wall beside the door to your apartment the next morning, shapes oddly familiar. Could it be?

Just hours earlier, the hallway surveillance cameras caught a tall man striding down the corridor, carrying those exact packages under his arms. In the video he pulls out a scrap of paper and a pen from his coat pocket, scribbling a short message before tucking it underneath the ribbon of the larger parcel and leaving the building just as quickly as he came.

You and Mark’s only clue as to who had returned your items is a messy ‘J’ at the end of the note attached to the box containing his guitar. Exchanging knowing glances, you both grin, squeezing your intertwined hands with the same name in mind.

...So what if Johnny had to take a bit of money out of his own paycheck to cover the cost of the items? Besides, it’s Christmas. And his boss never has to know.

[ddarker-dreams]

🎀 scarlet ribbons.

ITS SELF INDULGENT FRIDAY BOIS !! time for scarlet ribbons headcanons that i’ve been working on in between commissions, this is essentially just a reverse harem ...  there’s no yandere here for once, just some vibes... click here for an explanation ! the reader described here is the same in all the scenarios. i’m using she/her pronouns for this reader.

Bruno Bucciarati;

He forms a special kind of attachment to you, seeing as you’ll be the second person to join his team. You won over his compassionate heart, preventing a much crueler fate. As a foreign exchange student, you had taken out a loan with Passione to complete your education. The problem is, the egregious amount of interest being too much for you to pay back on time. Bucciarati had been ordered to collect your debt. Instead of following through with his orders, he used his favor with Polpo to let you pay back your debt by working for Passione under his leadership.

Appreciates the dynamic and resolve you bring to the group. While he tries his best not to show favoritism to any members of his team, you’re someone he always looks out for extra much. Not because he thinks of you incapable, but because his care for you runs deep after knowing you for years. He’s definitely going to catch onto the others holding similar feelings for you though.

Acts a bit different towards you in one on one scenarios, versus when the others are around. He’s more relaxed when it’s only the two of you, speaking of matters not relating to work and checking up on your well being. Bruno realizes he could listen to you for hours, enjoying your unique perspective. He also finds your foreign accent endearing, and has mentioned it to see how you blush at the compliment.

Super sweet with you, always has looked out for your best interest. He’s your go to when you feel stressed about your situation, providing the support you need, since he’s the only person aware of your circumstances. Bruno is reassuring, helping you in the moments the debt to the organization feels impossible to overcome. He’s offered to help pay for part of it, but you always refuse, feeling grateful enough to him as is. It pains him to see you hurting, but he does anything he can to make you feel better. Always pays for your meals though, no matter how much you raise a fuss about it. 

Giorno Giovanna;

There’s a certain warmth in you that he wasn’t sure what to think of at first. Giorno is an astute individual, making observations from afar, watching you joking and smiling with the rest of the team. He eventually comes to the conclusion that your presence fills his stomach with butterflies, seeing your more lighthearted approach to life. There’s something intoxicating about it, and he’ll jump for any opportunity to spend time with you much to the annoyance of everyone else, they already had enough competition wtf.

He’s a coy little shit at times. Giorno sees how the others look at you, especially how obvious Narancia and Mista are. When they get defensive over how much Giorno is talking to you, he’ll just flash a faux innocent smile and ask what the problem with it is. It’s more effective on Narancia, who just ends up sputtering before slinking away in defeat. Mista can kinda deflect the accusation better, though there’s still a blush on his face. Giorno knows what he’s doing lmaoo

It infuriates Abbacchio how obvious he is with you, like, the audacity of this man. Just swinging into Bucciarati’s team, trying to woo you away. Giorno is always asking for your opinion on how to proceed with certain things, even if his mind has already been made up. Anything just to talk to you. Most likely going to receive Abbacchio’s scorn the most for this, especially since Giorno will lean closer to you when you’re answering his questions. Giorno is just going :) , meanwhile Narancia is furiously taking notes. (”Okay, so if I ask [First] about this, I have an excuse to get closer to her...!)

He did strongly in school, maybe not as well as Fugo but is definitely academically gifted. So that means when he enters the picture, Fugo has some Competition for the English speaking buddy role. Giorno can understand most simple phrases and is capable of following the conversation, occasionally interjecting when he feels confident enough. Fugo might try and make his conversations with you more complicated because of this, since he’s petty and wants all your attention. You’re meant to be his English speaking buddy >:( !!

To be honest, Giorno’s not really sure what he’s doing, despite the suave impression he gives. Giorno has charisma, sure, but this is all very new to him. He’s still learning as he goes, and pays very close attention to how everyone else interacts with you. Anything to see your preferences, so he can use it to his advantage later. Has a large mental file on you, that comes in handy. He isn’t so much flirty, but more seeking out your company and thoughts on things.

Guido Mista;

Poor Mista almost friendzones himself in a way... he doesn’t mean to, but he wants to warm up to you in his own way!! And that way is through joking around and a lot of “friendly” banter. The friendly banter is more like thinly veiled flirting. He tries so hard to act cool and mysterious around you, like a Clint Eastwood character. Ends up being super goofy, though it works in his favor since he gets to see your cute smile!!! Victory!! 

Mista has no shame. He’ll show up outside your apartment, food in hand, saying he wants to come over and hang. He even lets you pick the movie if that’s what you want to do!! A true honor, since Mista is willing to sit through stuff he wouldn’t normally be interested in all for the sake of winning you over. <33 

Probably tied with Narancia for the most Unfortunate Mishaps to occur when attempting to woo you. Some favorites include, but are not limited to: when he tried giving you flowers but they kept making him sneeze, that time he was leaning against your door frame and fell over, and basically anything that happens when the Pistols come out. They wanna be his lil wing men, but they keep screwing him over... :< 

“[First]!! [First]!! We’re bored, come hang out with us instead!!!!” You’ll end up with a flurry of Pistols swirling around you very often, putting Mista’s affection for you on full display. It irritates Fugo the most, he almost wants to smack them away like they’re flies lmao. They might start sweatin’ when they see Fugo’s eyebrow twitch, the Stand often interrupting your conversations with the blonde. Mista tests his patience for sure. 

Pannacotta Fugo;

A bit of a typical tsun towards you at first. He’s all acting high and mighty, huffing about the newest member of the team not being as bright as him. In reality he just thinks you’re vvv cute, and doesn’t know how to process it. You greet him and his brain just kinda short circuits, and he gives a standoffish insult before running off to hide his blush. Bruno would find it endearing if not for his feelings for you lmao.

How he gets over this initial stump at the start of your relationship is by acting like you need his help. Especially if you stumble over any Italian words, namely Naples lingo being more difficult to master. He takes it upon himself to help you out... in reality he just really wants to spend more time with you. Also, seeing you stumble over words is precious, he tries not to tease you about it though. Does occasionally...

You end up being roommate at the start!!! To save money, but it’s whatever, who cares about the practical reasoning behind it. What matters is that he gets to spend even more time with you than the others. The problem is that Narancia and Mista make a point to come by often, which he finds to be very irritating. They even crash at your shared apartment at times, but because of how messy they are, don’t get an invitation to live permanently. Fugo is smug about how you picked him due to his cleanliness >:)c

English speaking buddies !! He might not be fluent in it, but he’s better at it than everyone else. Also a lot more capable of learning it, just for the sake of impressing you. Gets this very pleased look on his face when you two speak in simple English, Narancia staring over, pouting for being left out. It’s like a special connection or something, not that Fugo would ever admit to saying that to you. He’s flexing his academic muscles. 

Narancia Ghirgha;

Anyone could look over at Narancia and see his huge heart eyes for you. You like the same foreign music as him!! You can speak another language!! He wants to learn English from you, and keeps asking. Sometimes butchers the pronunciation but god it’s so cute who cares. Teach Narancia one phrase and he’s gonna be saying it nonstop for the rest of the week. Fugo, the only other member to understand English on a decent level until GioGio, is gonna be miserable whenever this happens. That’s his thing with you! Why can’t Narancia get something else, smh ...

If you recommend him a song he will not stop listening to it. Also expect a lot of discussions about different artists, mostly hip hop ones when Narancia is leading the conversation. He thinks it’s so cool you understand what they’re saying!! Is gonna ask you to translate them a lot. He kinda just stares at you, mouth agape when you’re singing along, like woah!! His crush is so talented. 

His most treasured moments with you, is when you recommend one another music, and share headphones. Sometimes you just bob your head to the rhythm, or sing along. Whatever the case, he gets to be close to you, and his brain is practically turning to mush at the fact your thighs are touching. 

Fugo did him dirty once in the past. Before Narancia realized he had Competition for your affections, he went to Fugo, asking how to compliment you in English. He should’ve known by how Fugo was staring at him with the most malicious smirk that he made a mistake. The next day, when meeting up at Libeccio, he came up to you. Chest puffed out, proud after a night of practicing his phrase. Then proceeded to say to you in English, “I am a fucking idiot!!!!” looking all smiley and excited. Needless to say, you almost spit out your food and laughed about it for a long time. Narancia has been planning his revenge on Fugo ever since...

Narancia follows you around like a lost puppy at times, but he’s a lot of fun to hang out around!! He’ll buy you gelato, and even lets you have a bite of his food if you ask. No one else has this special privilege. There is a time you offered to let him try a sip of your drink, and he almost melted. All his brain could think of is, indirect kiss, indirect kiss!!!! One of the best moments of his life tbh. 

Leone Abbacchio;

Abbacchio put a lot of effort into distancing himself from you. Why do you smile so much?? It makes him uncomfortable being around you, someone who is basically sunshine stuffed into a human body. It reminds him of all his shortcomings, which he feels he has no shortage of. But when you make the initially irritating decision to keep speaking to him, only giving space when you felt he really needed it, it won over his little grinch heart. 

He’s been wrapped around your finger ever since. Unlike the other bumbling buffoons who are tripping over themselves to get an ounce of your attention, he plays it cool. More of a Bucciarati approach to things. Asking about your interests, letting you do most of the talking so he has no chance to embarrass himself (like *cough* Narancia *cough*).

Next to Fugo, is most likely to call other members out on their nonsense. He wouldn’t dare do so for Bruno, but everyone else is fair game. The main victim to this treatment is Giorno. Abbacchio might even offer some “advice” to him, giving false information all under the guise of assisting Giorno’s pursuit of you. He takes a more hands off approach on everyone else. 

He doesn’t want to invite you over to his place because of how dreary it is, so he has to find other ways to get one on one time with you. This mostly happens by talking about things no one else finds of interest to you, namely makeup or other fashion things. 

You are the only person who gets to call him any nicknames, the one you lean towards typically being Abba. Narancia once made a mistake of calling him this, only to earn a very threatening glare. When you do it though, he has to push down the urge to smile. How cute!! 

Trish Una;

Gay rights time . Trish looks at you and immediately thinks wow, perfect girlfriend material right there. Still acts a bit reserved at first, considering her complex situation and how she’s still piecing it all together in her heard. Since you’re the only other girl on the team, she gets the benefit of Bucciarati assigning you to be extra close to her. All according to plan heheh >:) 

When she flirts, she goes all in. Asking about what kind of perfume you wear, your favorite shade of lipstick, what kind of outfits you like the most. All of it is under the pretense of getting to know you better, and while she does enjoy that aspect of it, she might start adopting some of the things you find appealing. She is 100% gonna ask to borrow your shirts and makeup, and extends the same offer to you. 

Trish is far more playful with you than the others, who all just kinda stare at the interactions like ??? When you were her bodyguard, she always subconsciously went to sit down next to you. No one else on the team can say anything, since she’s the boss’ daughter after all !! She considered you more of a distraction from her anxiety inducing situation at first, seeing as you had shared interests to speak about. Over time, your doting nature over her won out. 

Would be pissed if you ever got hurt trying to defend her. You might joke around about how you’re her bodyguard, not the other way around. Trish just can’t bear the thought of losing someone important to her, after all she’s already lost. 

Her phone background is a selfie the two of you took, even after she eventually distances herself from Passione to advance her singing career. Expect lots of texts messages, checking up on how you’re doing!! Trish unfortunately has a busy schedule, that requires a lot of traveling for her concerts and other bookings. Though anytime she is near Naples, she’s messaging you and asking to meet up. <33 

[gryffindors-weasley]

Where We Belong

Draco Malfoy x Reader

Summary: Amongst all the lavish luxuries at his parents estate, there’s one place Draco feels he truly belongs.

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: mentions of the war, brief mentions of alcohol, slight angst, fluff, kissing

The ballroom was decorated floor to ceiling in only the most expensive of luxuries, down to the very goblet in Draco’s hand, encrusted with crystals amongst pure gold. Malfoy events were never modest in the slightest, anything borderline simple would never suffice. A pianist sat in the far corner, though the instrument’s melody had traveled across the entirety of the grand room. He should know, he’s spent years dancing his fingers over the sleek ivory keys when his father wasn’t around to scold him for it. 

Dozens of conversations mingled in the space, ones he could only assume didn’t hold any true meaning. They were his parents acquaintances after all, they never had much more to talk about other than their estates and business dealings. He felt rather grateful he hadn’t been subjected to talk about such things, for he’d gone a different way with his life. One that was better suited for him. He doesn’t feel as though they’d be interested in the subject of healing sick and injured people with magic; if his father frowned upon his career choice surely they would too. But that wasn’t of importance to him now, not really, he had better things to concern himself with.

Perhaps the most enamoring part of this evening was you. Well, it was most definitely you. Granted, he’d wished that you weren’t as much of a socialite for just this evening, because he’d much rather be with you than stand along the same gray wall sipping his wine. He’d been doing that all night but still he settled for admiring you nonetheless, he could never tire of that.

You were singlehandedly the best thing to happen to him and he’d say that with absolute certainty. You knew him when he was a boy who made all the wrong choices, and you know him now as a man trying to make better of them as best he can. He felt he had many flaws for you to overlook, all of which you did in fact set aside because you couldn’t hold him to his mistakes forever. You’ve shown him love when he had none, and for that he was forever grateful.

You had been weaving in and out of clusters of forest green dresses and pristine black suits, attempting to hold a conversation as best you could. It was proving to be rather difficult because you didn’t revel in overly expensive mansions and finely manicured gardens; you reveled in your cozy cottage with imperfectly perfect flowerbeds and old wooden shelves crammed with worn books. So, you felt it best to keep it moving throughout the room in hopes someone would say something of interest. With the war having been concluded, there was no looming threat over your head to hide your relationship with the Malfoy heir, but a small part of you had still wanted be on good standing with everyone. However, it seemed as though your efforts may have been futile the more you spoke.

Narcissa adored you, and that was good enough for you.

Your eyes eventually landed on Draco’s in your periodic scan around the large room, a soft smile tugging at your lips as you sigh. You were tired of being social, you had done more than your fair share for the evening. He’d been eying you ever since you left his arms just short of an hour ago, it wasn’t hard to notice after all. After being discreet in his admiring all these years, he no longer cared about being obvious.

“Here I thought you’d abandoned me, love,” Draco says, feigning hurt as you take the goblet from his hand and set it down on a nearby table.

“Now why would I do that?” 

A smile was quick to grace his lips as he looked down at you, a chunk of his icy hair dipping into his eyes at the action. His mother had scolded him for ignoring her wishes on cutting his hair for this event, even just a trim or to simply slick it back, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. You liked it like that anyways.

“You look beautiful, you know,” he murmurs in your ear, dropping a sweet kiss just below it. A familiar heat began to burn in your cheeks as his lips ghost over your skin.

“I believe you’ve told me that quite a few times,” you smile, a laugh leaving your lips when he nipped the lobe of your ear in a playful response to your teasing. You quieted when it drew a few stares that were just as quickly averted.

“I mean it,” he sighs, his hands squeezing yours.

A deeper blush stains your cheeks and you will yourself to look away from him momentarily, the bout of jovial laughter ringing through the room giving the perfect excuse to do just that. Draco was growing tired of the bustling atmosphere, though he supposes he had been even since the two of you had arrived at the Manor. Elegant parties were no longer something he particularly enjoyed, only tolerable in small doses. He was tired of sharing your attention; he’d wanted you all to himself and didn’t find it in him to care if he was being selfish.

You turned back to him, the fondness of his gaze still very much there and you can’t help but lean on your toes and kiss him softly. The tender action seemed to have solidified his ideas, ones he’d pondered the entirety of the night and he found himself nodding towards the double doors without second thought. A smile tugs at the corners of your mouth in a wordless agreement, and his hand is quick to envelop yours fully as he gives the room one final glance before tugging you along.

The halls were nearly vacant as you hurried through them with a practiced ease, his hand never leaving yours. Smiles were fought to be contained as you passed by a few staggered guests, sharing an adoring gaze as he tightened his grip on your hand. The only sounds to be heard were the giddy laughter leaving your lips, mingled with the fading commotion of the crowded ballroom and of course the clicking of your heels. The two of you disappeared around a corner, apparating to the only place you’d wanted to be that night, home.

—

The change of scenery was much needed, and very contrasting at that, your home far warmer and welcoming than the Manor could ever be. The scent of cinnamon and sugar was immediate upon walking through the door, a warm glow of miscellaneous lamps illuminating every room. Every shadow seemed far less mysterious and cold, the feeling of prying eyes within them no longer present. It was refreshingly quiet save for the pattering of the rain outside and the ticking of a few clocks, it was serene and it was home. No bad memories were housed here, and hostility was not welcome if you could help it. There had been enough sorrow and guilt in Draco’s not-so-distant past to last a lifetime or two, and he didn’t want it to tarnish your home. It was peaceful and it was shared with the love of your life.

“Are you ready, darling?” Draco calls out from the bottom of the stairs.

You appear at the very top with a smile on your face, Draco’s soon to follow as you made your way down the creaky wooden steps to him. It was tradition; after ever ball, every party, every fancy dinner at his parents estate—you would always come home to enjoy a night alone, away from elegant luxury, and away from the need to be proper. For an event like this in particular, it was always customary to share a dance.

Draco’s pristine black suit was discarded in favor of his plaid pajama pants, his hair a ruffled mess of platinum from apparating in the rain. Your silky gray dress had since been abandoned in a crumpled pile on the bedroom floor, his old quidditch sweater hanging comfortably from your shoulders in heaps of tattered deep green yarn. He hadn’t worn the thing since sixth year, but you had always taken a liking to it so he couldn’t bring himself to get rid of it.

“I’d argue that you look even more handsome right now,” you state.

“And here I thought you liked my signature suit,” he scoffs in faux offense as you join him at the bottom of the stairs, a bright smile on your lips.

It was true, he was always dashing in his rather monochromatic suit, it was impossible for him not to be. But his current attire was much more preferred, he looked much more comfortable. Not so rough around the edges and intimidating, not that you ever considered him to be. He was rather soft under all those layers of defense and angered sorrow even if he didn’t want to admit it.

He offers you his hand in a playfully mocking attempt to be proper, leading you to the living room. It was lit with just about every single candle he could find, the varying scents not necessary mingling very well with one another but the effort was enough to outshine it. The fireplace melted away the nagging chill of the rainy evening, and a single flower was held in your direction. It’s ruffled pink petals dripped with raindrops when you take it, and you laugh softly at the sweetness of the gesture.

“Have you always been so romantic?” You jest, his eyes narrowing at you in a lighthearted glare as you smell the lingering floral smell.

“Only for you, my love,” he says with a soft smile, tugging you close. “Not a word of it to anyone else.”

You laugh at the words quietly spoken against your lips, though you’re quickly cut short when his own meld with yours, his hand settling on your flushed cheek tenderly. His soft sigh tickles against your skin and you couldn’t help the giggle it had elicited, the flower in your hand now fluttering to the floor as you wrap your arms around his neck. He continued his affections across your cheek and over your jaw, your smile never faltering. 

“Is something funny, darling?” 

Amusement laces his tone as his words muffle against your skin, the feeling sending a shiver up your spine and an eruption of butterflies in your stomach. Your breath hitched in your throat at the single kiss pressed there. He knew that very fact quite well, taking great joy in the effect of such a simple action.

“Yes, actually, there is,” you state matter-of-factly, attempting to stave off how flustered you were becoming.

He looks up to meet your gaze, his brow raising as the corner of his mouth quirks up. “Do enlighten me.”

“I believe the tradition is to dance with me, Draco, not kiss me,” you laugh softly.

His hand drops from your cheek and joins his other around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer.

“This is the first moment I’ve got you all to myself, pardon me if I want to kiss you all night,” he quips, his smile fond as he looks at you. “Besides, traditions don’t always have to be set in stone, do they?”

You smile and he kisses you before you can argue his reasoning, though you don’t think you can find a plausible counter for it with the way his breath mingles with yours in the close proximity. He breaks from you too soon with another quick kiss, and you take the opportunity to rest your head on his shoulder. 

No music was needed as you swayed about the cozy living room, the candlelight flickering against the sage-colored walls. No music was ever needed when you found yourselves in your own little world as you so often do. A moment alone to dance with you in the privacy of your own home, in the comfort of your pajamas at that, was far better than some elaborate ballroom in ridiculously expensive clothing. It will always be better, for your company would always be enough for Draco no matter the circumstance.

A smile graces his lips as his cheek rests atop your head, and the platinum hair that poked in his eyes and tickled his nose was only a minor inconvenience not worthy of interrupting moment like this. He still wonders how he’d gotten so lucky as to steal your affections, and not a single day goes by where he doesn’t feel fortunate for it. You were wonderful, you were warm, you were radiant, and you were his.

He’d dance a thousand dances with you in this very living room, because this was where the two of you belong.

—

Tags: @theweasleysredhair @lunalovecroft @amourtentiaa @hahee154hq

[anextraordinarymuse]

Waiting for your thoughts on last night's WCTH. Still not over that opening scene.

NONNIE. THAT OPENING SCENE. 

I feel like I was blessed and assassinated all at once. Like ... *le sigh* Do I even have any thoughts after that? I’ll try to string some together. This is so long ... are they ever not at this point?

Everything about that opening scene is absolutely fantastic. Playful, silly Nathan? Please me with more of this for the rest of forever. This is what we’ve been missing this season: the fun, the levity, the cute little moments of flirting and happiness. This moment was so fun and lighthearted. It was entertaining to see Elizabeth kind of put her foot in her mouth and be awkward for once although who can blame her for telling Nathan to undress because, same, girl. We’re so used to seeing Nathan like this that it’s fun to see the tables turned for a minute. More than that, though, this moment feels like a return to the Elizabeth we’ve known for so many years. She notes that Nathan is cold and instead of ignoring it, she immediately offers relief. There’s also a naturalness to Elizabeth, and Nathan, and their interaction in this scene. Elizabeth doesn’t seem nervous about offering Nathan something hot to drink, or a pair of Jack’s gloves if she has them, or even offering to warm up his serge. She’s nervous about her little Freudian slip of telling him to take off his serge, but only after it occurs to her how it sounds because Nathan’s reaction is so taken aback. Then, when she asks Nathan about the bouquet and he tells her he forgot to give it to her - this moment is so reminiscent of a husband telling his wife he forgot to do something. Even the way Elizabeth looks at him and then chuckles when he sheepishly answers her question is so ... intimate. It’s just the cutest damn thing.

Now, I’ve seen a lot of different reactions to this scene. One that caught me off guard is that some people are upset that Elizabeth mentions Jack here. “I used to do this for Jack on chilly mornings.” People seem to be upset that Elizabeth mentions Jack in this moment, and saying that this is an indicator that Elizabeth will always equate Nathan to Jack, or that the two men occupy the same place in her mind and heart ... and I have no idea where they’re getting that. I don’t feel that way at all. I had the opposite reaction. When Elizabeth made that remark, I thought to myself: this is what she’s missing with Lucas. She never mentions Jack to Lucas, or talks about her past, or anything like that. Elizabeth is comfortable with Nathan; she’s secure in their bond and their relationship, even though both of those things have taken a hell of a beating this season. And Nathan isn’t upset by the comment at all: he looks peaceful, and touched by the thought of it. Watch the little snort/chuckle he gives as he watches her. Elizabeth is sharing something of herself in that moment. It’s not huge, it’s not a crazy admission or even an overtly emotional moment. Just something quiet and honest. Also, expecting Elizabeth to just never mention Jack again is neither realistic or healthy. 

Her mention of Jack doesn’t disrupt the moment or their comfort/peace with another at all. You know what does? A rather subtle mention of Lucas. When Nathan says “I guess she thought that you were the next to be married” there’s a hidden gravity to it because Nathan is making a veiled reference to her relationship with Lucas. At this point, Elizabeth and Lucas have been courting for a few months, so if Florence thinks that Elizabeth is the next one to get married the natural assumption is that things with Elizabeth and Lucas are further along than we (or Nathan) think they are. It's this reference to the (uncertain) future that breaks the moment, not Elizabeth's mention of Jack.

Everything in this scene comes naturally to Elizabeth. She's acting by instinct. The way she helps Nathan into his serge isn't remotely forced, and neither is the way she runs her hands over his back to smooth it down, or grabs his lapels and begins to help him put the serge back on. This is part of what makes this moment feel so intimate: this is a glimpse into the future. It feels like we're looking in on a moment between a wife helping her husband prepare for his day. You know what else I found striking about this moment though? Elizabeth and Lucas have been dating all season, yet Elizabeth isn't comfortable with and doesn't really allow/invite much physical contact. We have repeatedly been shown that she struggles with that. Lucas wants to touch her; he wants her to be comfortable touching him. But that never happens. The few times Elizabeth does allow that physical contact it feels ... maybe not forced, but deliberate. Like she's making a conscious effort to let it happen and be okay with it. It's not natural, it's not a compulsion. In fact, when it comes to Lucas Elizabeth's instinct is not to let him touch her - to withdraw. We have a great example of that in this episode, when Lucas is at the schoolhouse and goes to help her hang the banner and Elizabeth immediately withdraws from him. They hardly touch at all in that moment; Elizabeth immediately pulls away the arm of hers that is closest to him and then walks away without even so much as a brush against him as she passes.

This is the first scene that Elizabeth and Lucas share in this episode. Timeline wise, we can also reasonably assume that this moment comes not long after the moment she shares with Nathan in her house. It's an interesting juxtaposition: Elizabeth can't seem to keep herself from touching Nathan. She does it without thought or hesitation - in fact, it takes conscious thought to stop herself. But the opposite is true with Lucas: her natural inclination is to keep her distance with him, and it takes conscious thought to allow or initiate contact with him. Elizabeth's actions and instincts give her away. Her heart belongs to someone else, and she's instinctively trying to preserve the sanctity of that bond and that relationship (as in, you don't let someone else hold your hand or be in your physical space when you're in a relationship with someone else). The roles should be flipped - Elizabeth should be withdrawing from Nathan and any opportunity for closeness with him, physical or emotional, and seeking them out with Lucas - but she isn't. She says she's in a relationship with Lucas, but she behaves like she's in a relationship with Nathan. And this has been the crux of her struggle this season: this misalignment between word and deed, between heart and head. Nathan and Elizabeth haven't went on a single date this season, shared a single meal, etc. but we have undoubtedly been watching their relationship grow and progress and struggle all season.

And Lucas has finally allowed himself to acknowledge that. He goes to Elizabeth's house in the morning only to find Nathan already there (and inside the house); he goes to the schoolhouse later (and he says he decided to stop by on a whim, but we know that's not true - he stopped by because Nathan was at her house that morning) and catches Elizabeth staring at Nathan as he rides by in a moment where Nathan is oblivious to her regard. When Carson is talking to Lucas about his struggles with Faith, Lucas removes the veil he's put over his eyes. Elizabeth has never been in this with him - not really. He's in the middle of what's basically a lovers' quarrel. I think he's always known it on some level, which is why he's never accepted any of Elizabeth's invitations to enter her home. Lucas doesn't feel comfortable in such a private, intimate space because that space isn't his to occupy. When he finally breaks up with Elizabeth, he uses very deliberate wording: what he says tells both the audience and Elizabeth that Lucas understands and accepts that he's stepped into a place that he shouldn't be in. Let's break that breakup scene down:

Lucas: "Elizabeth, you've always maintained that love is worth fighting for. And that includes when it needs defending."

Emphasis is mine. Now, Lucas leads with this which sets the tone right out the gate, because we know that Lucas doesn't share Elizabeth's sentiments here. He hasn't fought for her at all this season; when Nathan confronted him and told him that he hadn't given up on Elizabeth, Lucas tells him to do whatever he wants and walks away. Lucas has been on offense all season.

Nathan, however, has been on defense. Nathan and Elizabeth actually, though they've been defending from different angles and against different things. Nathan has outright been defending himself as well as his love for and relationship with Elizabeth against everyone; but, in a more subtle way, Elizabeth has also been defending herself, and Nathan, and their relationship. We see some of this onscreen: Elizabeth declines Lucas's offer to confront Nathan about the Jack situation, rebuffs Lucas's attempts to show her physical affection, keeps her and Nathan's issues/conversations/interactions mostly private ... but this next bit of conversation makes me wonder about something else.

Lucas: "... And while I'm not resentful, from what I've seen, and from what you've told me, I believe that you and Nathan still ... Love is not just an emotion. It's also an act of will. It can't be demanded. It can't be forced. I want you to find your true love. And in order to do that, I want ... I need to set you free."

This was such a strong moment for Lucas. He is telling Elizabeth in a direct but compassionate way that he understands that she's not really in this with him - and that it's okay. He's bowing out with grace. But, this also makes me wonder how those conversations between Elizabeth and Lucas went that we didn't get to see onscreen. We know from things we've seen on screen that at least two of Elizabeth and Lucas's conversations were pushed off from the moment so that they could be discussed later. One of those conversations was about Allie after the stunt she pulled at the adoption ceremony. While it's subtle, Elizabeth does defend Allie when she's talking to Lucas by saying something about how she doesn't think that it's just a matter of explaining to Allie why Elizabeth and Nathan weren't together. How did that conversation go later? Has Elizabeth been quietly defending Nathan, and Allie, and her relationship with both in private moments with Lucas? Because it has been made clear this season that Elizabeth's relationship with Nathan, and Allie, is private and she doesn't really allow anyone else to get involved with that. Not really. Elizabeth and Nathan deal with their own relationship and issues, and they co-parent Allie and discuss her behavior and relationships, but no one else is really welcome in those conversations. We don't see Nathan even attempt to have those conversations with anyone else, and any time Lucas tries to talk about it with Elizabeth she shuts him down or deflects. And I do say that Elizabeth and Nathan are still co-parenting Allie, though we've mostly seen Nathan doing it alone this season. Still, it was no accident that when Elizabeth and Nathan were arguing at the parade she says "WE have to find a way to make things alright for her." That wasn't the royal we. Elizabeth means we as in her and Nathan.

And there's the rub, my friends. Elizabeth tells everyone that she and Nathan are not in a relationship but she never stops acting like they are. She chooses Nathan (and Allie) over and over again, without fail. Because love isn't just an emotion, it's a choice (or an act of will, as Lucas says). Elizabeth keeps choosing Nathan. Whether she means to or not, whether she's even consciously aware she is doing it, even in moments where she tries to do the opposite, the result is always the same.

And Lucas has finally accepted that. More importantly, Elizabeth has finally accepted that. She's finally made it to the place where choosing Nathan is no longer frightening. It's no coincidence that Elizabeth isn't ready to remove her wedding rings until Lucas breaks up with her - until after she's offered to give a pair of her late husband's gloves to Nathan. She is finally ready to let Jack go, and to stop hiding behind Lucas. It has been a long, rough season for those of us who have wanted Nathan and Elizabeth together, but we've made it! There is nothing in their way now; we, and they, have made it through all of the obstacles. The only thing left now is one last declaration of love: Elizabeth's.

And I just can't wait!

[wh6res]

Aggressive 10, Lucas

power trip | lucas

synopsis. where's your place, if not kneeling before him?

warnings. bullying, yandere themes, swearing, bones breaking, violence, slut shaming, lucas is a major asshole

for the most part, it was your fault. because as the saying goes, what you allow will continue. and fuck, he’s been getting away with how he treats you for the last four years.

the first time you step foot in the school, you immediately knew his name. it was impossible not to know lucas when he’s such a model student, how intimidatingly perfect he seemed to be—he’s smart; top of his class, athletic; he won the mvp award in basketball last year. his face and physique is a bonus in all its entirety. not to mention, you heard he's quite the sweetheart, always smiling, charming, with a loyal and dedicated fanbase. you thought these stuff can only be seen in dramas, but of course, the world works in such strange ways.

he was always aloof whenever he striked, pretended to be innocent with those huge eyes of his, partnered with the faintest pout on his lips as he preaches about doing no harm when he literally tripped you purposely only seconds ago. he’d say stuff like “you need help?” “are you okay?” “let me help you get to the nurse’s office” “i’m sorry, if it's my fault” all the while staring down at you with this dark glint in his eye buried deep from the surface of his facade, a look only you can recognize.

you doubt his friends were any help. after all, there’s no hope that lies on the people who look the other way. pieces of shit who lack the heart to help you. but then again, why would they, anyway? it wasn’t as if you could offer them anything, while lucas on the other hand, has everything they’d ever want to have—connections, reputation, popularity, money, the list can go on and on.

“i just don’t understand why you want to help me all of a sudden.”

because you don’t. you truly don’t. it’s been four years—you’re all graduating on the next month—and only now did hendery want to extend his help to you? is this some kind of joke? is this all part of one grand scheme, one last kick for lucas to enjoy seeing your crying face before going your seperate ways?

you didn’t want to trust him, not one bit. but he’d somehow won you over when he talked about all these plans of lucas messing with your college applications, about how easy it’ll be to talk to their deans regarding your “shady” high school life, how they’d be better off “giving the slot to a student more deserving” and hendery had even showed you screenshots and pictures of the evidence all found in lucas’ house.

and it was as if luck was finally shining down your path. finally, proof of all the horrible things lucas has done to you. although there is no hard-rock evidence of the four years of bullying, emotional trauma, and anxiety he gave you, this last plan he had of thoroughly ruining your life forever is a good enough manifestation of his true nature. and for once, you’re finally going to fight back.

there were no more students loitering in the school by the time you and hendery met up at the student council’s office now turned yearbook committee headquarters. you had snorted at the name they gave it and hendery, too, found the name rather comedic in a sense.

you were both here to print the photos you’ll use to show the principal to plead for lucas’ suspension or extermination. the both of you were in the middle of a lighthearted conversation when the boy got a phone call. he had quickly excused himself, giving you a good-natured pat in the head as he stepped out of the room to take the call, thankful with his back turned or else he would’ve felt the blazing heat off of your cheeks from where he’s sitting across you.

you’ve grown incredibly close to hendery for the last few weeks leading up to graduation as he played double agent between you and his friends. shooting you quick winks and small smiles whenever he thinks no one is looking—but of course, there will always be someone looking.

“of all my friends, baby? kunhang? i’m a ‘lil disappointed. that guy can hardly even act, much less help you devise a good plan to bring me down.”

it felt like a cold bucket of ice water had been dumped onto you when you see lucas walking through the doors, sporting casual clothings rather than the school uniform. has he been waiting this whole time? how did he know you’d still be here?

the foldable seat underneath you topples over when the back of your knees hits it. you try to remain indifferent, tried to square your shoulders as you stand a few feet away from your bully, hands braced against the table as you cover the few pictures splayed out.

“there’s no use for that,” lucas retorts, scoffing. “i already know everything. kunhang is…”

he trails, looking down on the rings on his fingers as he twirls one of them thoughtfully. you don’t like the smirk that starts stretching on his lips, his head shooting up to look at you with a gaze that sent great fear down your spine.

“he’s being taken care of… all because a stupid little bunny thought she can get away from all this.”

“what the fuck do you even want from me?!” you scream, taking steps back when he took steps forward. “i’ve never done anything to you. what the fuck is your deal—”

“my deal is how much of a bitch you are!”

you yelp when his hands darts out to fist the collars of your shirt. there’s a sting from the coming onslaught of tears but you don’t let it fall, refusing to give him the satisfaction.

“you walk around here looking at everyone and everything with this air of arrogance around you. thinking you’re so fucking high and mighty with that cold person act but i can see how much you’ve rolled your skirt up. it’s a;; pretty amusing, actually. what are you, a fucking whore? a slut? trying to get my attention is that it?

ah, there it is. the lovely, lovely sight of your red face and the crocodile tears streaming like waterfalls down your cheek as you fought against him. it gives him such a power trip to see

“THAT’S NOT TRUE!” you fight, voice barely stable. “i’m not a sl… slu…” fuck it, you can’t even say it. “i don’t want your attention! you’re a fucking bully!”

he laughs condescendingly, dropping you to the ground. “see, that’s where you’re wrong. i’m not a bully…”

you groan aloud in pain when you hit the floor and you sobbed louder when he harshly steps on one of your hands as you try picking yourself back up again. you shoot him a pleading look, one that sent jolts of sick pleasure down his stomach, but he doesn’t relent until he hears the joints of your fingers cracking under his boots.

“i’m a god. and that’s where you belong, worshipping me on your hands and knees.”

[zeldas-cigarette-holder]

Ahh, your headcanons! <33 Thank you for sharing them. I was wondering (after reading that one about Zelda unexpectedly finding herself somewhat dreaming about the idea of having children with Faustus) if you have any headcanons of that actually happening? Spellwood or, with a little help of a bit of magic or something, Madam Spellman?

Thank you!

I’ve planned on writing a fic that ties into both of these sets, but for now have some headcanons! Gonna stick these under a read more & two separate categories because this got long and also make their own separate posts if people wanna save/rb just one pairing! xx

Spellwood + a baby(ies)

- Where their relationship is concerned, everything is measured out and carefully calculated — it’s just the way they are. While I’m not entirely sure how witch birth control works, I’m sure she’s extremely diligent about her medication, potions, whatever it may be — she’s not the sort of person to have any sort of accidents, especially those she can control. Zelda hides her careful planning, weighs out every pro and con before even considering bringing it up to him.

- When she does decide to bring it up to him, she has a piece of scrap paper with unintelligible scribbles all over it and the sheer look on her face, her hands trembling holding her little scrap of wobbly, folded a million times piece of paper makes Faustus chuckle. She takes it as a bad response, retreats into herself and decides to table it — he mustn’t be too interested anyways, life is good with Leticia and Judas, Ambrose and Sabrina, why would they change anything?

- Faustus knows something is bothering her, and she blatantly lies through her teeth every time he asks. It only serves to frustrate him more, and drives him to tangle with sex demons at Dorian’s Gray Room. When she catches him (because she always will), she’s absolutely devastated because she has the same crumpled paper of pros and cons in her hand, tosses it at him and storms away before she lets the tears fall. It isn’t that she feels like he’s cheating on her, it’s the fact that she feels like he couldn’t have one serious conversation with her (because she sucks at feelings and would never actively start the conversation).

- She’s hurt, and it takes her a long time to come back from that sort of hurt. It’s the kind that makes her ache for a future lost even though she never tried to actively discuss it. But she’s stubborn, and she knows that he knows and it somehow makes her feel worse. He knows the deepest maternal desire she tried to hide for centuries and she isn’t quite sure how she feels about it.

- Of course she wants kids with him, and he feels so stupid that he didn’t realize sooner. She’s always been so maternal, such a good natured person (though a bit brash and irrational at times). Faustus knows he fucked up, carries around the tattered paper with him tucked in his pocket and it feels like lead. Her scratched out writing with little doodles of hearts is enough to melt his heart, and he knows just how lucky he is that she even allowed herself a moment to fantasize about a family with him.

- Faustus seeks out Hilda for help because she is the only person (other than him) that Zelda has ever divulged anything remotely personal to. She isn’t happy with him — especially not when he recounts how she threw the paper at him, though he suspects she’s known for a while by the way she raises her eyebrow — but she does try to help him, but she’s adamant that she won’t do it for him. She reminds him of how Zelda is, how she feels things with her entire heart and soul, and that she’s probably embarrassed that she felt shut down.

- It takes Faustus a few torturous days to think of what to do to make it up to her — to bring the conversation to the table again — and every passing day feels worse. She’s not talking to him, turns the other way when he comes to bed, and he pretends he doesn’t see the mascara streaked down her face. He settles on making his own list of pros and cons — his side of cons is much shorter than hers, and he knows she’ll think it’s because he’s irrational — leaves it on her desk tied with a ribbon, a box of truffles, and a fresh bouquet of white roses.

- Zelda doesn’t acknowledge it for a few days, needs her time to go over his list in comparison to her own because she’s nothing if not careful and methodical in everything she does. She sleeps at the mortuary and it’s torture — she hadn’t had a good night’s sleep since before he found her list — and she realizes that after all this time, she can’t sleep without his stupid snoring in her ear, her head nestled in the crook of his neck. What finally makes her crack is when the sun is rising and she hadn’t slept for the third night in a row, and she knows she needs him regardless of everything else.

- She slips into their bed and curls against his sleeping body and satan, it feels like everything good in the world — he feels like coming home, smells like all of her favorite scents, feels so strong and safe — and she’s suddenly sobbing into his chest without restraint. Faustus wakes enough to rub her back and let her cry it out — knows she won’t be able to speak past the knot in her throat until she lets out all of that pent up emotion, knows the tears aren’t all because of the situation — and presses gentle kisses to her hair when she’s finally out of tears and sniveling herself to sleep in his arms.

- They don’t get a chance to sit and talk until the next evening, and it’s torturous for them both. They’re both rational and mostly level-headed, and knowing there’s so much to say but no time or privacy to say it is the worst part. She works later than him, despite him being the High Priest, and he takes the opportunity to make her a nice dinner with her favorite aged bourbon and fresh flowers.

- There’s a secret smile when she sits down and picks up her glass — tells him that would be the last bottle of bourbon she drinks for a while. He’s not sure it’s an answer so much as a joke, cocks his head in confusion over the way she laughs at some joke he doesn’t entirely understand, but Zelda has always been an enigma in and of herself.

- Zelda, in true Zelda-like fashion, isn’t completely sure — even when the answer from both of them is a yes. She needs time to roll it around in her head, to decide if it’s something she truly wants. She’s afraid to bring it up again — afraid that she took too long and will be shut down — but she lets herself sink into that secret fantasy of having a true family, growing his child. She contemplates going about it irresponsibly, not taking her birth control and being a little reckless, but ultimately decides against it. She isn’t the same level of desperate as she was when she stole saved Leticia, she wouldn’t dare betray his trust again.

- When Zelda finally lets it slip that yes, she wants his child more than anything, it’s in the throes of passion and he thinks she’s joking. It’s a rare instance in which they’re making love, not fucking, and he’s whispering in her ear — crooning about how perfect she is, how perfect their life is, how he can’t wait to spend the rest of his earthly life with her. She’s sure, knows that she can’t imagine anything but this perfect life with him, and tells him to cum inside of her, to get her pregnant.

- He doesn’t believe her at first, but she’s so earnest and trusting with wide, sparkling eyes and this passion and he knows, he knows she’s sure. They spend the rest of the night making a baby in various positions. It’s a lighthearted they haven’t experienced in ages, and Zelda can’t help but fall a little more in love with him.

- When she’s finally pregnant, after what felt like months and months of trying, she’s filled with some sort of renewed hope she didn’t know she needed. She has to refrain from running to him with the positive test, wants to make sure everything is okay first.

- She doubts a lot — her body, her mind, her ability to be a good mother, the fact that she’s even pregnant to begin with — but it’s easier when he knows. It brings a softer side to their relationship, not the same biting remarks and constant teasing they’re both used to. He’s good to her — sweet and everything she needs — and she almost feels guilty when she snaps because he forgot to get her a snack or a drink.

- It turns out twins run in Faustus’ family. Zelda wishes she knew before she got pregnant, though she wouldn’t change a single thing — is finally blissfully happy.

Madam Spellman + a baby

- It takes Zelda a long time to even be open to discussing getting pregnant, after everything that happened with Faustus, Leticia, baby Judas, and Sabrina’s raising. There are variables to consider, and she’s very cautious and careful about everything she does. She trusts Lilith with her entire soul and being — trusts Lilith so much it scares her — but she trusted Faustus too and that makes it even worse, knowing that at any point she could betray her the same way he did.

- Their relationship develops after Sabrina’s death, and though it’s been years by the time they’re married and ready to settle down, the wounds are still there. It’s something Lilith brings up in passing while rubbing Zelda’s feet on the lounge while drinking and enjoying the rare free time they got, and Zelda finds herself more and more open to the idea of a child — especially with Lilith.

- Lilith is good and sweet and kind and everything Zelda wants to spend the rest of her life with — Satan, she married her after she swore to never marry again — but the idea of children together is quite honestly terrifying. This is still the same Lilith who killed baby Adam, though it was for good reason, and she’s still the same Zelda who stole saved baby Leticia only to pass her along to Dezmelda.

- The wounds from Sabrina’s passing are too raw for them to consider it seriously for years, but Lilith likes to remind Zelda that they have time. Still, it’s like things never get truly better. Zelda grieves her daughter, and Lilith grieves just the same for that maternal relationship she developed with Sabrina. She loved her so much it hurt, despite every single horrible thing she had done and regrets so deeply that it keeps her up at night

- In true Sabrina fashion, she is the catalyst for almost everything in Lilith and Zelda’s relationship, and a child is no different.

- They had tried to summon her several times over the years, to call on her in any way they could — witching board, seance, trying to reach into that in between and pull her out — but nothing ever seemed to work. They never gave up hope, and when she does come to them it’s with her blessing to move on, to move past their hang ups relating to her, to be happy and start the family they’ve both always wanted.

- It’s easier said than done, and there’s still so much hesitation. Would the universe truly give them happiness after everything they had been through? It takes lots of long conversations and tears — so many tears for everything they had sacrificed, everyone they had lost, and everyone they had loved — before they come to the decision that they would try for a baby, they’d allow themselves the shred of happiness they had always wanted.

- There’s still so much to consider for Zelda and Lilith just doesn’t understand why. She feels everything with her whole heart and she’s impulsive, falls in love with ideas and follows through before thinking of the practicality behind it. It’s how she ends up in so many tricky situations — rash ideas and passionate thoughts fueled by love or self preservation— but Zelda is rational and collected even with the most passionate subjects, she needs to think of every possible outcome.

- Zelda is the one with hard limits and ultimatums, especially because of Sabrina. She blames the entirety of Sabrina’s death on the fact that she was a gift from Lucifer Morningstar combined with her being half mortal. It makes choosing a donor for their baby so difficult, and it makes choosing who would carry even more difficult. It causes arguments that end with both of them in tears because Zelda is so scared and Lilith doesn’t want to think of every single bad thing that could potentially not even happen.

- When they finally come to some semblance of a decision, they settle on the fact that Zelda would carry for a multitude of reasons. She had never carried her own child, she wasn’t of divine origin, it was the safest bet.

- Deciding on a donor was even harder. Zelda originally wanted to use Dr. Cee, because she was comfortable with him and could have some fun out of it, but he was ordinarily mortal (given the gift of immortality by Lilith, because she knew how much he meant to Hilda) and they were terrified of having a half mortal, half witch child. Faustus was another option presented by Lilith, but she didn’t want the first thing to do with him, nor a child of his origin. Several handsome demons from hell were also mentioned, though Zelda was adamantly against those as well. Lilith thinks she’s being purposely combative, it stirs up a lot of feelings in them that are hard to push past. They flip through the people that they’d feel comfortable with using and no one seems quite right. It puts them at an impasse for several months. No one is good enough, and they won’t compromise in either direction — it leads them to spend ages looking over ancient textbooks for an answer that would seemingly never come.

- There was one option they hadn’t considered — Melvin — and when Lilith suggests it, Zelda balks at her. But it’s a viable option, albeit uncomfortable, and they decide that he would be a suitable donor for their baby. Their coven is mostly females, and he’s one of the only sane options.

- Zelda is adamant on legally binding contracts signed by all before anything can be put into motion, because having a sense of solution and finality on the situation is scary for her, and Lilith is — again — unsure as to why it even matters. That’s the hard thing about being married to Zelda, she can’t believe the good in Lilith even though she’s proven time and time again that her anxieties are rooted in a past with someone who was much worse than her. It’s another point of conflict, and it stirs up a lot of passionate tears. Zelda cries because Faustus loved her and he still ripped everything away from her — the children she loved, the home they shared — because she was suddenly unworthy and Lilith cries because she thinks Zelda doesn’t trust her.

- In the end, Lilith decides that it’s only fair to agree to the contracts Zelda is so adamant about. It makes sense when she thinks about it, but she loathes to admit it. Melvin can’t have any rights — nor does Zelda want to think about him as the father, but it’s better than not knowing who it is — Zelda and Lilith have equal rights. The thought makes Zelda smile this sad, watery twitch of her lips that breaks Lilith’s heart, and she realizes that every child Zelda had ever dared let herself love was brutally ripped from her. After Zelda falls asleep that night, once the contracts were signed by all, Lilith excuses herself to the porch and cries openly and unabashedly — she cries for Zelda’s losses, for her own losses, for the pain and anguish and unbearable pasts they both had — and she finds Zelda sitting at the kitchen table with a tear streaked face when she finally gathers herself enough to go inside.

- They’re both fucking terrified from the moment their daughter is conceived until the day she’s born. Hell is no place for a newborn, and Lilith is afraid of having to step away and relinquish control, even if only for a few weeks. Zelda is scared of childbirth, of their daughter dying, of Lilith leaving her, of the issues they’d face raising their child. Lilith assures her everything would be okay, and she’s cautious to believe it.

- Pregnancy sucks and Zelda vows that she’ll never do it again as long as she lives. She hates not drinking, not smoking, gaining the weight, the fact that she can’t eat sweets whenever she wants. Lilith is doting and sweet and perfect, massages Zelda’s feet and makes her non-alcoholic drinks and watches trash television with her to pass the time. She takes up knitting for their baby — even when on her throne in Hell — and it’s so damn sweet that Zelda tears up every time she brings home a new blanket.

[unfilteredaj]

A night out (Rorschach x Reader)

(A/N- This is probably SO OUT OF CHARACTER and it's kind of dumb but I love Rorschach and wanted to write a self-indulgent ficlet)

(Warnings: EXTREMELY corny and self indulgent fluff, Cursing, mention of being followed/a stalker... nothing really that bad tbh.)

---

Rorschach wandered the streets of New York, the crisp chill of the night clearing his head more and more each second. Even though his friends had all been more than welcoming of his couch-surfing, he needed some time away from them. Time without the pressure of a case to solve.

His little bubble of quiet was burst by something odd, to say the least. A girl he'd briefly noticed a minute or two earlier strolled up to him, giving a wave and an excited "Hey!"

She threw her arms around his neck as if he were an old friend. She was wearing a small backpack over a hoodie with a band logo on it and looked no older than her early 20s.

Rorschach froze, confused. He obviously didn't know this girl.

"I am so sorry to just barge up like this but I'm pretty sure I'm being followed. Please just walk me to a bar or something." She whispered, sounding frantic. He looked around, seeing a suspicious looking guy a few hundred feet behind them. Rorschach nodded, playing his part and hugging the girl back. She looped her arm with his as they walked.

…

"What were you even doing out so late? Especially alone?” He asked after a few minutes.

"I dunno. I wanted to see the city at night, I guess. It was kinda dumb to go alone." She laughed, her tension melting. Her giggling strangely reminded Rorschach of the jingling sound her many bracelets and rings made. She un-looped her arm from his, thrusting her hand out for a handshake.

"I'm (Y/N). Thanks for helping me back there."

He returned her handshake, her fiery enthusiasm annoying and a little endearing at the same time.

"Just call me Rorschach." He said gruffly.

She flashed a toothy grin at him. "Pleasure to meet you. So.. where are we going?"

Rorschach shrugged. He didn't really have a destination. "You said to walk you to a bar..."

She groaned dramatically. "That would be so boring, though! A moody, mysterious stranger is far more interesting than a bar. I can't leave now. No way! You're stuck with me. Lets walk and talk a bit more.”

"Fine."

Rorschach let her lead, his own boredom convincing him to stick with this strange woman.

....

"Hey what's with that sign? It pretty neat, and the world IS burning... but why carry it around?" The girl asked after a few minutes of casual conversation that mostly consisted of her talking a lot and Rorschach giving small replies.

He shrugged. "Why deny the truth in the face of Armageddon?" He said rhetorically.

She chuckled, tilting her head at him. She broke into another grin. "Can I hold it?"

Rorschach looked deep in thought for a second, but before he'd thought about it for too long, she grabbed the sign anyway.

He huffed in annoyance and she just stuck her tongue out at him. But he didn't take it back. He instead watched as she twirled it around a few times and admired it.

"You are so weird. I like it!" She said matter-of-factly, handing it back.

Rorschach just rolled his eyes. He propped the sign in the opening of an alley, letting the girl take his hand and drag him along.

"How do you know someone's not gonna steal that thing? Or what if you don't remember where you left it?' She said

"I'll remember, trust me. Everyone knows it's mine."

He noted that she hadn't let go of his hand. He didn't think it meant much, and he didn't really mind, so he didn't pull away. She hummed absent-mindedly as she looked through random store windows.

A few minutes later, they came across an empty park, and the girl let go of his hand, making a beeline for the swings.

She sat, gesturing for him to follow. Under the soft glow of the park lights he could see her more clearly. Her face was flushed, her cheeks a bright pinkish-red from the cold.

“So what’s your story? Do you live here? In the city, I mean?”

Her question seemed innocent enough, but Rorschach knew the whole story seemed more sad than it actually was.

“Yeah. Somethin’ like that.”

The girl laughed again…. She was impossibly bubbly. But paired with her unassumingly pretty face, it suited her.

“And you?” Rorschach gave her an opportunity to talk more…listening was easier for him anyway.

“Oh! I’m just visiting for the winter. But…I kind of want to stay longer. There’s so much beneath the surface here… so much to see and do. So many interesting people.” She nudged him.

“Interesting isn’t the word I’d use. More like dangerous. Someone like you…this city will tear you apart if you’re in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

"....Do you really think the world is ending?" She asked after a long pause.

Rorschach shrugged. "Dunno. Probably. There's so much filth... Bad people doing fucked up stuff..."

"But there are still some good people.... You seem like a good enough guy. I mean, we've been hanging out alone for almost an hour now and you haven't tried anything suspicious. I knew my sixth sense was right."

Her eyes had the same glimmer as a kid telling a friend a secret.

"Sixth sense?" Rorschach asked, his interest piqued.

"Oh, You're suddenly curious for once?" She teased. "I have this sense about people. Like you, for instance. I can tell you're a loner. You think being alone is less complicated. You seem smart, and I think you're a good guy even though you're a bit rough around the edges."

He smiled a little at her observation. It felt strange, but good. He honestly couldn't remember the last time he'd relaxed like this.

Snow started to fall, a thick veil of white quickly covering the park.

(Y/N) tilted her head back to catch snowflakes on her tongue.

"Let's go get hot cocoa!" She exclaimed, pulling Rorschach from his swing.

"Ok..."

She gripped his hand like an excited kid, pulling him into the nearest 24 hour diner.

....

She giggled as she reached across the table, gently brushing snow from his hair.

"Why?" he muttered, cringing a little.

"Sorry." Her voice retreated with her hand. The red in her cheeks had lifted to a slight pink, but now her cheeks blazed again.

"I'm not really... good with people..." He said. His face showed no shame or remorse. This was just a fact.

"I get it. But.. why help me earlier? Why let me drag you around town all night?" She asked

He stared a her blankly for a long while. Just when she thought he wasn't going to say anything, he answered.

"You needed someone....Maybe I did too." He shrugged, mostly talking to himself.

The Waitress brought them their drinks, And they gladly accepted the warmth.

“I can’t believe you didn’t get hot cocoa! Black coffee is for Cops and School teachers running on empty.” The girl laughed.

“You like me. Why?” Rorschach said suddenly.

“Hmm… I dunno. Helping me lose that guy was the first thing…” She Began. “but you seem so confident in yourself. Like you aren’t bothered by anything. But you have these walls up to keep the world out. You seem like someone who needs help coming out of your shell. And besides, don't think you mind the company, or you’d have dropped me off at a bar an hour and a half ago.”

“I don’t have many friends. I’m not friendly or outgoing. I’m kind of a recluse most of the time. But that doesn't bother you. You’re like a tornado of post-teen energy. I can’t really look away at this point.” Rorschach admitted. And it was true. For some reason, she intrigued him.

“You’re adorable. So angsty. Like a ginger Bruce Wayne… just without all of the annoying ‘rich boy’ machismo.” The girl smirked into her mug of cocoa.

It was a strangely fitting assessment, little did she know.

“Adorable?” He looked at his companion as if she’s just spoken another language.

“Oh for sure! It’s funny though. You've got this... weirdly charming look to you.” Her analysis sounded lighthearted and informal, but something in her eyes told Rorschach that it was genuine.

He guessed if he were someone else he’d like her too. She was nice, in an energetic, ditzy sort of way. And he did find her pretty. Before he could reply, (Y/N) had her face pressed against the glass of the window beside her, admiring the snow.

He took the opportunity to change the subject.

"You like the Snow?" He noted.

"I love it. I'm from the south... We never get to see it." She said longingly.

"Maybe if you stay in the city you could see it more often." Rorschach muttered.

Her eyes were practically stars when she turned to smile at him.

"You think I should stay? But I thought you said it was dangerous."

"That was when you didn't know anyone here. You know someone now."

He sipped his coffee, his eyes flicking away from hers for a few long seconds.

“It’s getting kind of late. Whaddaya say, handsome… walk me home?” She said hopefully.

“…Ok.”

They payed for their drinks, and ventured back out onto the icy sidewalk.

(Y/N) grabbed Rorschach’s hand again as they walked. And, once again, he didn’t protest.

She yawned, leaning against him a bit.

“I’ve had the best time. I’m glad I saw you earlier.” She grinned.

“Letting you drag me around town isn’t the worst night I’ve had…” he replied.

A few minutes later, they arrived at an apartment building.

“Well…this is me. Thanks for the nice night.”

She fished a sharpie out of her backpack, grabbing his hand and scribbling her number on it.

“If you ever find yourself bored and want some company, let me know.” She said.

“I will.” He said, his hand suddenly feeling cold when she let go.

After a few seconds of tense silence, she finally balled her fists into the fabric of his coat, bringing him down for a kiss.

It was quick, and sweet… the same as the night they’d just had.

“Take it easy, Rorschach. And call me.”

With that, she gave a small wave as she disappeared inside.

“What the fuck…”

Rorschach repeated the question to himself dozens of times on the way back to Nite Owl’s apartment.