hit her with a pillow!

When Duty and Desire Meet Chapter 4

Art by @edendaphne , words by moi!

Summary: After their accidental kiss on Valentine’s day, both Marinette and Chat Noir have to deal with the emotional fallout of their actions.

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Valentine’s Day Part 2

“So, let me get this straight,” Alya said, leaning back against Marinette’s desk chair and steepling her fingers. Beside her, on a little table-cushion Marinette had made, Tikki slept soundly, having already heard the story a thousand times over. “You’re in love with Chat Noir.”

“You already knew that,” Marinette groaned from her chaise, hugging a cushion to her chest and leaning back like a Freudian patient. Lord knows she was about three sentences away from a therapy-inducing hissy fit regardless, so it was probably prudent of her to be lying down in such a way. She was preparing for her inevitable breakdown that’s all. It was the smart thing to do.

And she rarely did the smart thing nowadays it seemed, so she really needed this.

“You’ve been in love with Chat as Ladybug for like a bajillion years,” Alya continued, ignoring Marinette as she continued to rehash pointless details. Details which made Marinette want to bludgeon herself to death with her cushion.

It was most likely impossible to do such a thing but she was never one to back down from a challenge. Death by cushion- she’d find a way.

“Yes. We’ve already established that,” she replied through gritted teeth, said cushion slowly creeping up to cover her face.

“But last night you kissed him by accident,” Alya said.


“As Marinette.”

“That is correct sir,” Marinette wiggled a finger.

“And he gave you a rose and kissed you back.”

“Tru’ dat.”

It was indicative of Marinette’s deteriorating mental state that she’d said “Tru’ dat”. She’d never said “Tru’ dat” in her whole life.

“I see,” Alya nodded a few times. The fact her tone had remained neutral the whole time was doing nothing to help Marinette’s poor nerves, and so she swung her legs over the side of her chaise, sitting up to get a better view of Alya’s twinkling eyes. A sense of dread settled in Marinette’s stomach. Alya’s eye-twinkles were never a good thing, at least when they were directed towards her.

I see?! Is that all you have to say? Seriously?! I thought you’d be freaking out right now, I mean I’m freaking out but then I ALWAYS freak out. You not freaking out is making me freak out harder! Can you please freak out with me? Join me in the freak out zone already!” Marinette blabbed, waving her arms and promptly dropping the cushion to the ground.

Alya said nothing, instead choosing to raise an eyebrow at her and cross her legs. At least she’d stopped steepling her fingers, Marinette thought gruffly.

After a short pause, Alya finally spoke, but her voice wobbled and strained unnaturally, her lips thinned in a way that was entirely too suspicious. “Firstly, stop saying freak out, secondly I’m not freaking out because this is the funniest thing I’ve ever heard.”

She barely made it to the end of her sentence before she doubled over and descended into giggles.

It was in that moment that Marinette realised Alya’s peculiar behaviour had been due to her hiding her amusement, and she felt fully justified in yanking the cushion from its position on the floor and hurling it towards her supposed ‘best friend forever.’

Unfortunately, Alya dodged the fluffy projectile with ease.

“Come on, this is serious! I’m in hot water here!” Marinette cried, crossing her arms across her chest.

“When are you not though? Let’s be real,” the redhead shot back with a wry grin, twirling in the chair and kicking backwards to check her hair in the small vanity mirror on Marinette’s desk. The sight made Marinette relax a little. Alya only checked her hair with such scrutiny when she was seriously contemplating something.

Suddenly missing the comforting embrace of the cushion, Marinette flopped down once more. As her back hit the large pillows adorning her chaise, she let out a long sigh and all the fear, the panic, the fight, left her in one fell swoop. Only tiredness and uncertainty remained.

“How am I going to face him?” she whispered. Her head tilted towards her small, round window, to the afternoon sun beaming down in a total antithesis to her feelings. She wondered where Chat Noir was at that moment.

Did she cross his mind?

Over the years Marinette had asked herself that question more times than she could count. But it was different now. Now she wondered if Chat thought of her, of Marinette, not of Ladybug. Did he dwell on it- how they’d kissed? She had. She’d thought about it all night, until exhaustion had finally overcome her and she’d woken up late, cold, wanting something she could barely comprehend.

For years, she’d thought about what it would mean to kiss Chat Noir, Dark Cupid incident aside considering she couldn’t even remember it.

A small, involuntary whimper left her when she recalled the night before. The kiss had been an accident… at first. But the second she felt Chat’s lips press into hers was burned into her memory, playing over and over again. The moment he returned her kiss had ignited something dormant inside her and she felt raw, emotions exposed and unlocked, with nowhere to hide.

She considered her question again. How on earth could she face him as Ladybug, knowing what she did, knowing him the way he didn’t know he knew her (and god wasn’t that sentence confusing in and of itself)?

For God’s sake Marinette, it was a peck of a kiss at the most, pull yourself together!

“You’ll figure it out.”

Alya’s voice sounded lightyears away, so stuck was Marinette in her own musings. She jumped, a little sheepishly, and realised she hadn’t noticed Alya coming over to her until the spinning desk chair was pressed right by the chaise. The next moment, Alya’s hands were in her hair. Having thoroughly fixed her own short curls, she now concentrated on the silky strands of Marinette’s loose locks, braiding little plaits as if they were children at a sleepover.

Marinette let her. Two perfectly groomed heads were better than one.

“You think you can talk to him about it? As you I mean, not Ladybug,” Alya suggested, quickly clarifying her meaning whilst tugging the red ribbons loose from Marinette’s dark hair.

Snorting in response, Marinette couldn’t help but roll her eyes. Talk? To Chat? The very idea…

“Yeah sure, let me just tweet at him Ayla. Hashtag balcony make-outs,” she giggled, feeling a little better as her hair fell around her shoulders.

Foregoing the braids, Alya reached up and began tying something new into Marinette’s hair, tutting in disapproval. “Slide into the DM’s at least girl, I raised you better than that.”

They shared a laugh, settling into a comfortable silence as Alya worked on both sides of her hair. Marinette sat back and mulled over her options. Truth be told she didn’t have many. She couldn’t talk to Chat, after all it wasn’t likely he’d be back and she had no idea who he was in real life. The notion that she could talk to him as Ladybug, thus revealing herself, made her rapidly descend into a panic so sharp that she quickly pushed that thought to the side.

Really there was nothing else to do but call it what it was. A blip. A crazy alignment of stars which had given her a taste of everything she’d wanted for the past four years, a reminder that it was probably all she was going to get.

She tried not to let the disappointment settle in her bones, yet it was fruitless. Her chest ached as though a hole had been carved there.

Suffice to say it was a familiar ache where Chat was concerned, but it was bigger now.

“There. Done,” Alya pulled back, pleased with her work, and Marinette stood. Stepping over to the vanity mirror, she leaned down to check her reflection. “Matching colours for you and the bae,” she teased, eyebrows wiggling from underneath her rounded glasses.

Marinette threw the cushion at her again, feeling a smug sense of satisfaction as it smacked her right in the face.

At the very least, she had the Gaming Club that night, that would provide a very welcome distraction.


Adrien was on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

Which was ironic, considering he’d joined the Gaming Club to avoid that exact thing from happening.

“I can’t do this, I’m going to cancel,” he whimpered, hiding out in the bathroom a floor above their usual meeting place like the coward he was.

“So cancel,” Plagg shrugged, busy amusing himself with unfurling a roll of toilet paper- as per his usual hobby.

“I can’t cancel!” Adrien replied, horror struck as he gazed at himself in the mirror. His fingers gripped the sides of the sink so hard that his knuckles turned white. “Are you insane?!”

“So don’t cancel,” Plagg’s disinterested monotone was really starting to grate on him. “Honestly kiddo what do you want me to say and will it get me food faster?”

The resounding groan from Adrien’s throat was so despairing in nature that he was afraid he’s start rumours of a ghost haunting the building. He leaned on his elbows, burying his face into his hands.

Stupid. He’d been so, so, stupid. And reckless! Totally reckless. What had he been thinking?!

It was worth it though, a small, unchecked part of him thought. Adrien squashed it flat in an instant. After all there was no time to consider the fluttering in his chest, the pleasant swoop of his stomach. Now was the time to face the consequences of his actions. His incredibly foolish, totally moronic actions.

Because, although a part of him ignited, burned in the best possible way, at the memory of Marinette’s lips against his own, another part felt thoroughly ashamed. It felt like he was tricking her in some way. Granted that had never been his intention. His plan had been simple. Leave the rose on her balcony for her to discover. She’d never know it was him and be happy at the gift from a secret admirer. Obviously, things hadn’t worked out the way he planned, though he should have anticipated that.

When had things ever gone the way he planned?

He needed to apologise to her, as Chat, and he was going to do so that night in fact. But before that Adrien needed to pretend, he needed to lie, to Marinette. To the girl he loved. He needed to act like he hadn’t heard her soft sigh, felt the warmth of her skin and the taste of her cherry-blossom lips. He had to fake it, act like it had never happened.

He had to pretend he didn’t desperately want it to happen again.

The idea of being so fake made him ill, and so he placed his hands under the cold water tap to splash his face, allowing the iciness of the water to penetrate his senses and offer him some much-needed clarity.

It didn’t really work but it was the best he could do.

When he entered the Gaming Club, Plagg tucked securely inside his jacket pocket, he was relieved to see Marinette talking to other people. He could barely look at her, the meagre glimpse he’d gotten from across the room had sent his heart cartwheeling down the corridor and somewhere into the next arrondissement.

Not wanting to look suspicious, and fully admitting that he was stalling for time, Adrien wandered over to the desk where Nino was hooking up an old Nintendo console for one of their signature Mario Kart nights.

Mario Kart…Marinette…partners… sitting close together… oh no.

“Hey bro!” Nino chirped, offering Adrien a fist to bump, clearly not noticing how the blood had completely drained from his friend’s face. “Everything ok?”

“H-hey! Everything’s good!” The first lie of the evening. How could Adrien have forgotten it was a Mario Kart night? More importantly, how was he going to survive the evening now? Sitting next to Marinette, shoulders pressed together, watching her tongue poke out in concentration like it normally did? How could he concentrate on anything knowing how close he’d been to said tongue the night before?

Grow up Adrien! You aren’t some horny teenager and Marinette isn’t a prize to be objectified. Show her some respect already!

If Nino had thought Adrien’s reaction was strange, he didn’t show it. Together they settled into an easy conversation, Adrien helping his friend set up the old console. Focusing on such a menial task did wonders for his nerves. He was almost starting to feel normal. Almost.

Of course, just as he was beginning to relax, Marinette had to tap him lightly on the shoulder.

She might as well have given him a 1.21 gigawatt electric shock, given his reaction to both was about the same. If he’d been Chat Noir at the time, his superpowers might have actually propelled him through the ceiling.

“A-Adrien?” Marinette tilted her head, taken aback by his startled shriek. “Are you ok?”

Subconsciously, Adrien’s hand reached up and he clutched his chest, fingers burying into his jumper as if it would cure the frantic beating of his wild heart.

Because she was there, right in front of him. Marinette. The girl he’d kissed last night.

His eyes flicked down to her lips before he could help himself.


The second time her voice permeated through his cloudy mind, something snapped inside of him. It was as if he were a character in a film, once played in slow motion, now fast-forwarding.

“Hey!” he cried, louder than he intended, and the people around him turned to stare. He looked at her eyes instead, with far more intensity than normal, mainly because he was so intent on not looking at her lips any more. “Marinette! It’s my friend- Marinette! My good friend, I’m good! How are you? You good- good? Yeah, I’m good, friend. How are you? Did you have a good Valentine’s day?”

WHAT?! Adrien’s brain-filter kicked in far too late, but began screaming at him nonetheless. Why would you ask her that? WHY?! You know how it went! YOU WERE THERE!

Marinette blinked, and it proved just how far gone he was that he found her blinking adorable.

Her blinking.

“Umm,” she blushed, unsure of what to say and, honestly, Adrien couldn’t blame her. He sounded insane even to his own ears, and he’d just asked her something quite private. Actually, he was surprised she wasn’t berating him for it. Then again, she thought he didn’t know about her encounter with Chat Noir.  His words may have seemed innocent to her ears.

What a mess Adrien had gotten himself into, and it only seemed to grow worse with every bit of word-vomit he expelled.

(Was it bad that he felt a tiny bit of pride at her blushing? Probably. But he was going to hell anyway so he might as well enjoy the slow descent at least a little bit.)

Tucking her hair behind her ear, Marinette glanced baffled at Nino, whom Adrien could see shrugging from his peripheral vision.

But he couldn’t care less.

Because he’d just noticed her hair. Or, more specifically, how she was wearing it.

In place of the red ribbons usually tied into her loose black locks, were two green ones instead. Vivid green. Chat Noir green.

His brain collapsed in on itself.

“I’m good-good too.”

Marinette was teasing him. She was grinning and she had green ribbons in her hair and Adrien was going to DIE.

“Good! That’s good!”

Great. He’d always wanted to die sounding like a partially strangled mongoose.

Marinette, mercifully, took pity on him and waved a controller in his face, offering him a place in the first race of the evening. He sighed, relaxing a little, but only a little. Gaming was fine. It was a welcome distraction, as long as he didn’t sit too close to her he’d be fine (who was he kidding? Of course he was going to sit close to her). At least, when he was focused on blue shells and Bullet Bills his brain couldn’t fixate on the meaning behind Marinette’s ribbons, if there was any hidden symbolism he was missing.

Suddenly the thought of seeing her that night, of apologising, seemed that much more dangerous- forbidden almost. But he had to do it. He owed it to her as her friend. Even if that’s all he could ever hope to be.

Nino still hadn’t finished setting up, and a few other members began helping him in their eagerness to get started. As a result, Adrien found himself more alone with Marinette than ever.

They sat down on the floor, controllers in hands, side by side. Their shoulders brushed, like they always did.

Adrien swallowed, wishing he’d worn a t-shirt instead of the woollen monstrosity currently overheating him.

He was fairly sure he was going to lose the game spectacularly.

His fears were proved right when, later that evening, Marinette’s knee brushed against his own and he ended up sending Donkey Kong careening off the end of Rainbow Road.

It was going to be a long night.


For the fifteenth time that evening, Marinette called herself an idiot.

Because she was an idiot. An idiot for standing on her balcony, an idiot for hoping lightning would strike twice in the same spot, an idiot for following her heart…

Tightly wrapping her cardigan around her, she gazed out into the mocking skyline. The bitterness of the cold February air was nothing compared to the bitterness she felt building up like sludge in her chest. Bitterness in her fortunes, bitterness in her decisions, bitterness in her own feelings.

Distantly, Marinette thanked the stars that at least it wasn’t as cold as it usually was. She was thankful she had a tiny shred of dignity left at least- that she wasn’t freezing to death in the vain hope that Chat Noir would show up again.

She reached up, fingers brushing against her lips, and remembered.

Furious with herself, Marinette shook her head, as if the rough gesture would expel all the unwanted memories from her mind. Honestly what was she doing acting like a silly sixteen-year-old with a crush? Again?! It was desperate, obsessive, ridiculous-

And totally in character if she was being honest with herself.

She needed a break. A breather. A respite from her own whirlwind emotions regarding the man in the black mask, the man who’d held her heart for longer than she cared to admit to anyone- not even Alya.

Stuffing her hands in her pockets, Marinette let out one last frustrated sigh before turning on her heels and making her way back to her room. Maybe her room would be less of a reminder, would save her from her torment.

But, as usual, fate had other plans for her.

Because, of course, Chat Noir happened to be standing there as if he’d suddenly popped into existence.

The shock of seeing him sent Marinette stumbling backwards with a cry, tripping over a flowerpot and tumbling to the ground.

“Whoa!” Chat called, rushing forward to catch her just in time. One hand gripped her flailing wrist, the other pressed against the small of her back as he pulled her towards him.

For a moment, both of them froze in place. Chat’s fingers splayed across her back, and she briefly felt the edges of his clawed-gloves scratching gently against the fabric of her cardigan. An involuntary shiver ran up her spine before she could control it.

Chat’s eyes widened and he stepped out of their half-embrace with awkward, jittery movements, casting his face away from hers. “Sorry,” he mumbled, scratching the back of his head. “Sorry I shouldn’t have startled you. I guess I have a bad habit.”

Bad habit huh? Marinette had one of those too.

The silence which settled on them both was heavy, uncomfortable, and borderline unbearable. It was laden with memories of the night before, swirling around them, echoing in their minds as though they were standing in an empty theatre, watching their mistakes projected on a screen with no means of escape.

Because it was a mistake… wasn’t it? She hadn’t meant to kiss him, he probably regretted kissing her back. That was why he was here- of that she was sure. To think he was here for any other reason was just asking for a broken heart.

But, oh god, it hadn’t been a mistake. Not to her. She couldn’t ever consider it to be such.

Finally, Marinette could take the silence no longer. Taking a deep breath, she fixed a smile onto her face, painted a picture of a girl who had herself together at least a little, and placed a hand on her hip.

“No rose tonight?”

Chat’s cat-ears twitched. He peered over at her with a puzzled frown before he realised she was teasing. Something dark crossed his eyes and Marinette forgot how to breathe. The look was gone before she could concentrate on it fully, and she found that he was smiling back at her.

“Err, n-no. No. That is- I mean- unfortunately not,” he replied with his signature bow. “But I do have something far more important.”

“Oh really?” Marinette squeaked, inwardly cringing at how lame she sounded. She’d wanted her voice to be sensual and teasing, but instead it sounded like she’d inhaled a ton of helium instead. Clearing her throat, she tried again, arching her eyebrow for good measure and all the while thrilled at the fact that he was simply there. Chat Noir was there. He’d come back to her. “What’s that?”

“An apology.”

Marinette’s blood ran cold.

“About last night,” Chat continued, shuffling from foot to foot, completely unaware of how Marinette’s body, mind, and heart had seized up all at once. “I feel like I made a terrible impression. I- well- I’m not the type of guy to do… what I did.”

From the depths of despair and panic, Marinette felt the faintest hints of confusion. She latched onto it. Confusion was better than rejection.

“What do you mean?” she asked, her voice small and vulnerable, wrapping her arms around herself.

“Well I’m not really a playboy or anything, despite what the media likes to speculate about me. I don’t kiss strangers on balconies. I guess, I didn’t want you to have the wrong impression about me.”

When Marinette hung her head, Chat felt a wave of regret wash over him. He’d practiced what he wanted to say, over and over again but it never seemed enough to fully explain himself- not without revealing to her that he was Adrien Agreste and he’d been lying to her this entire time. He was too afraid of the ramifications of that- so he needed to end this now- before he hurt her.

Damn it, he’d gotten so close though. So close to knowing what they could have- what they could be.

But it was a fantasy. Chat Noir was a large part of him, but it wasn’t all of him. The person he was behind the mask was locked away from Marinette, was a separate entity in her eyes.

Who was he fooling? They couldn’t be together. Not like this.

He had to try harder as Adrien and if she rejected him he would simply pick up the pieces of his broken heart. He would respect her, be her friend, move on, and certainly not use Chat Noir’s hero status as a means to trick her into loving him. She deserved better, deserved the world, even if he wasn’t the one to give it to her.

That’s why he had to leave. Right now. Being here, being this close to her, was crumbling his resolve. Every cute gesture she made was another step closer to his damnation. He had to leave before he said or did something he’d regret, before his principles were lost to the wind.

“It was Valentine’s day. I guess… it’s easy to get swept up in the romance of the day, right?” Marinette said. She was smiling, but the sparkle in her eyes was dulled somehow. Once again Chat’s attention was drawn to the green ribbons in her hair, as she quickly tucked a few strands behind her ears. He couldn’t bring herself to speak as she grew distant, deep in her own thoughts, and her shoulders raised. “But if we’re being honest Chat, I was worried you’d see me in a bad light too. Like- I mean- I’m not the kind of girl who kisses random celebrities and I’m certainly not the type to blab to the press about it either.”

“I didn’t ever think you were,” he uttered, swallowing thickly, and a little bit of sparkle returned to Marinette’s eyes. Her cheeks turned pink again.

Chat felt his claws digging painfully into his palms.

“Well… that’s a relief. I mean I always admired you,” Marinette stammered out the confession before she meant to, quickly covering her blunder with half-truths. “You know you saved me once- from an akuma. You didn’t notice me at the time, and it was years ago, but I never forgot.”

Chat felt as though he’d been physically struck by her words.

He’d saved her? He’d saved Marinette? And he hadn’t noticed her?!

“I wish I’d seen you,” he said before he could help himself. The rest of his desires remained unsaid, as new possibilities, new what ifs, formed in his mind- like an alternate reality.

Chat inwardly cringed. No way in hell was he going to get any sleep that night.

“I wish you’d seen me too,” Marinette admitted.

Chat’s hand was halfway to hers before he yanked it back, his heart beating wildly, his mind screaming at him to leave. The pull was almost tangible, magnetic, drawing him closer to her. It was dangerous, and he needed to leave.

“I hate to be a sundae, but I have to split!” he laughed, high and fake, all the while cringing at what was perhaps the worst pun he’d ever made. And that was saying something.

Marinette didn’t say anything, but laughed once.

Ok, she thought, maybe she was ridiculous, but he was equally so. Maybe that’s why she loved him so much.

She watched him make his way to the edge of the balcony and something stirred inside her, the raw feelings which had sparked when their lips had met woke from their slumber, and she reached out to touch his shoulder.

“Chat?” her voice matched the soft tremors echoing through her body, and she tried to remember to breathe. She couldn’t let him leave like this, she’d been so close. “How about…one last kiss?”

Chat stilled, statue-like. His lips parted, and Marinette panicked.

“I mean!” she corrected, face turning to flames, “I mean sorry that was dumb- so dumb. It’s just that I- I liked that kiss and I thought- I don’t know what I thought- but I wanted to-”

His lips crashed into hers, and the rest of Marinette’s sentence was lost forever.

Chat kissed her, kissed her with a resolve thoroughly destroyed and a heart so indescribably owned; owned by her, possessed by her, consumed by her. His hands were frantic, and Marinette matched him in every way as they pressed into each other. Her fingers gripped the back of his head, tangled in his hair, and pulled him closer.

Like he needed an excuse to get closer to her.

The pair of them moved apart to breathe, great shuddering breaths, and then their lips were together again- as neither of them could stand to be apart for a moment. Chat’s fingers slid from her hands to grip her hips, a primal, dark part of him triumphant as he heard a moan slip from Marinette’s mouth.

They stumbled backwards, towards the wall, and Chat pressed her against it, hands roaming her sides- never going too far- always listening to her reactions. Desire coursed through him, a need to please her, to make her moan again, without pushing too far.

She must have sensed him falter, sensed his caution, as a frustrated hum rose from the back of her throat, almost like a purr of her own. Her hands moved from his hair, gripping the bell around his throat, and she tugged him down towards her, kissing his neck.

Chat was having a hard time not passing out from that alone, but then she rolled her hips, making it so there wasn’t a sliver of streetlight between them, and he was fairly certain he died and was reborn on the spot.

Dangerous was the word whispering in his mind, the word he was ignoring as his hands cupped the sides of Marinette’s face, tilting her head back. She arched into him again, countering his movements like a dance, and he gasped.

It felt too natural, too perfect… almost…familiar.

Dangerous he thought as his tongue flicked against her lips.

Dangerous- he thought as her mouth opened and he was rewarded with another moan.

Stop. Stop before you can’t, he pleaded with himself as Marinette’s hands wrapped around his shoulders, her fingernails scratching against his neck.

He didn’t stop.

They kissed for what seemed like hours, passion moving from an explosive force to one of slow-burning sensuality, settling into a rhythm that was far too natural, but neither of them could bring themselves to mind.

It was a long time before Chat could bring himself to leave her, to stop kissing her. It was addictive, intoxicating, and filled with promise. For months his heart had been starved, yearning and wishing, and now it was real. Their kisses were real, her affections were real.

And so was her voice, ringing out in the coldness of the night, in answer to his question, “May I see you tomorrow night, Princess?”

There was a pause, both of them treading on thin ice, ice which slowly creaked and groaned beneath their feet.

“Yes,” she breathed, and the ice shattered, plunging them both into unknown depths.

(art to follow)


L-Corp stands tall and bright, not quite looming overhead, but there’s no mistaking it. Usually when Kara flies over at this time of night, only a few lights are left on, but now it’s a beacon against the stars.

There’s a faint heartbeat in her ears, steady and sure, and Kara follows it as she steps through the doors. The guards barely offer her a glance anymore, waving her through after she steps through the detector. 

Her back aches, and her shoulders protest as her arms hang by her sides. She needs to go home and curl up under the blankets, hide away from whatever is her fate at the hands of Snapper in the morning.

She wants to go see Lena. So she does.

Keep reading

If I Had A Star (Lin x Reader)

Word Count: 9,636 (YIKES)

Warnings: swears, little nsfw


Summary: a series of short stories to your forever. 

(each bolded word starts a new short story, the horizontal lines also divide each story.)

Dedicated to:

@hamilton-noodles Jo is a blessing to this earth. THE MOST eloquent person I have ever come across. I personally give this story to her, and all the stars in the sky. I want to publicly thank her for being one of the best people I have ever met (PERIOD) I love her so much and she is my bestest of the best friends. 

@adolescenthowell RACHAEL was my first friend on this blog and I want to thank her for reading my shit, facetiming me when I need motivation to write, and most importantly sticking by me. She is so talented and I love her. 

@fanfrickinhamiltasticimagines Sophie is the kindest human being alive. I want to give her all my thanks for proof reading for me. She is an amazing human being and so so out of this world talented. Love ya girl!

@whatdimissmotherfuckers Ruby for being such an adorable little bean. She’s the most giving yet still sassy person ever and I admire her self confidence. I hope you keep doing you babe. Her art and writing is the BESTEST. AND I ALSO LOVE HER DEARLY.

Not requested


If life had worked out perfectly; you would have never met him. You took the wrong train going downtown. Stupid, you knew, but being a first time New Yorker was hard. You wandered the streets aimlessly until you found a subway station late at night, hoping and praying you’d be able to find your way back home, your phone having died hours ago. You sat on a bench tapping your foot anxiously waiting for your train going up when a subway car rattled its way to your station. You were passing the doors when you saw a man runselfning down the length of the aisles in the subway car, singing loudly with a pair of headphones on. He didn’t notice you immediately, but when his eyes finally fell on you he practically tore off his headphones and stopped dead in his tracks. You gave him an awkward smile before he blushed red and returned one.

“Can you help me with directions?”

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Alex is out with some friends when some creepy guy starts hitting on her so she just grabs whoever is closest and says that they are her boyfriend/ girlfriend to get the creep to go away but has to kiss them for extra measures, could be a surprised Maggie who she is "only friends with" or someone else who makes Maggie jealous even though they are... you know.. "only friends"

Lucy’s closer to her. 

Physically, anyway.

Maggie is on the other side of the table – though her body is stiff and she’s more than ready to step in.

But Lucy’s closer to her and J’onn will put her on probation if she breaks someone else’s nose, so instead of decking the frat boy with alcohol on his breath and sex on his mind, Alex tosses her arm around Lucy and tells the guy she’s taken.

Lucy catches on immediately, nodding and slipping her arm around Maggie’s waist.

The gesture looks too familiar, too intimate, and Maggie is bristling, now, for an entirely different reason than she was a moment ago.

She and Alex are just friends – hell, Alex and Lucy are just friends – but Maggie can’t take her eyes off the way their arms are wrapped around each other, the way Lucy looks protective, the way she stopped into the bar to meet them before changing out of the military uniform that is so much more intimidating-looking than the lowly detective shield on Maggie’s belt.

“Nah, you two are just friends, I didn’t see you doing any couple-y things bef – “

But then Maggie’s stomach is sinking and her brain is exploding, because Lucy is turning Alex’s face to hers, and she’s closing her eyes and she’s parting her lips and Alex is kissing her back and Maggie doesn’t know if she never wants to stop watching or if she wants to run out the door and never look back.

She settles for stepping around the table, putting her body between the gaping guy and the woman who’s supposed to be her best friend.

The woman who – she can’t deny it anymore, not now, not the way her stomach is churning and her eyes are burning to see her kiss another girl who’s just a friend, just a friend, just doing her a favor, just a friend, but god are they using tongue? – she can’t deny anymore than she’s solidly in love with.

She puts her body between Alex’s and the guy’s, and she stares coolly up into his face and she decides that if she has to take her anger out on someone, he’ll do just fine.

“Lady’s clearly not interested, man – move along.”

She fingers her badge and he practically snarls, but he obeys.

Maggie’s eyes close and she savors the moment before she has to turn around and watch the aftermath of… whatever just happened between Alex and Lucy.

“You defended me,” Alex’s voice jolts through her spine, and Maggie almost jumps.

“Lucy seemed to have it under control. I was just insurance,” Maggie shrugs, and she wavers, unable to decide whether to sit back down or to plead some excuse and leave to hit up the gym, to cry alone in her bed. To scream into her pillow and to bathe in her own pain.

Lucy and Alex exchange a glance, and Alex reaches for Maggie’s hand. 

Maggie pulls back.

“Mags, you… are you okay? Did that guy hurt you? Did – “

“Well you wouldn’t know, would you, you were too busy making out with someone who’s just supposed to be your friend.”

“Maggie, what – “

“Sawyer, listen – “

“No, it’s whatever, Danvers, I didn’t mean… you know what, I shouldn’t have said anything, I’m sorry, obviously you can kiss whoever the hell you want to, and you know I love you, Lucy, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean – “

“What did you mean then, Maggie?”

Alex is standing, now, hand still extended, still reaching for Maggie’s, and Lucy watches them with a small smile on her face.

“I’m gonna… go find my own date,” she murmurs, knowing full well that neither Alex nor Maggie fully registers her words, and not minding in the slightest.

“Maggie, what did you mean?” Alex wants to know, because Maggie is still just staring at her.

Staring at her like she’s wavering on a precipice, and Alex is the wind.

But Alex is also the parachute, the protection from the fall.

“I meant it should’ve been me, Danvers. Because I… I want to be the one you kiss, and not just because some guy’s hitting on you. I… I wanna kiss you, Alex. I wanna do so much more than kiss you.”

It takes Alex so long to respond that Maggie almost goes into her bag for an anti-anxiety pill.

It takes Alex so long to respond that Maggie can hear her own heart beating, her own blood pounding through her veins.

Her own fate being decided by this woman, this incredible fucking woman.

“Then kiss me,” is what Alex ends up whispering, and when Maggie does – god, god, when Maggie does – Lucy whoops loudly from across the bar, and tells anyone who will listen, and even the people who won’t, that those are her girls, her friends, she got them together, she did it, she gets all the credit, she knew it all along, and aren’t they just the cutest?

nightmares & daydreams // stiles stilinski

Summary: Stiles comforts Y/N when she can’t sleep & discovers that nightmares & daydreams may be equally as dangerous 

Requested: no

Pairing: Stiles & Y/N 

Warning: yes, mature language, themes & smut 


His fingers mindlessly played with her hair as her head rested in his lap. The glow from the television illuminated the room, as it was the only source of light in the pitch black house.

“You tired yet?” He yawned.

“No.” She hummed, struggling to keep her eyes open. Her eyes were heavy with sleep as she tried to pay attention to the blurring tv screen.

“Did you just lie to me?” He smirked, knowing that she was about to fall asleep at any moment.

“Maybe.” She shut her eyes softly as she snuggled closer onto his lap.

“Oh no you don’t.” He told her as he reached for the remote, bouncing his legs up and down startling her. “Don’t you start getting all comfortable now or else you won’t want get up and you’ll end up falling asleep on me again.”

Keep reading

title: baby it’s you
rating: T
pairings: sasusaku
summary: thirty kisses challenge
author’s note: so i saw this thirty kisses challenge thing, so i’d thought i’d try it out for sasusaku. i’m gonna try to post five at a time and we’ll see where these go

i. kiss on the hand: hold your partner’s hand with yours and kiss the back of their palm. this is a chivalrous kind of kiss that depicts your likeness and trust for someone.

Sasuke never had a place he could call home.

No matter how hard Naruto tried, Konoha never truly felt like home—it held too many dark memories, too many secrets, too many fears. He’d grown to find comfort in the people rather than the city; he’d learned to accept the title of brother from his blonde haired best friend, he’d agreed to be equals with Kakashi, he’d agreed to be friendly with those who gave him the chance. He felt comfortable, and it was nice, better than he’d ever thought it could be, but it wasn’t home.

But here, with Sakura in his arms, her rose hair in a small ponytail and her green eyes fluttering shut, he begins to feel differently. Here with her back in his chest, small, calm breaths reminding him of that she was here and alive—that he was here and alive—Sasuke thinks, maybe this is what a home is.

Maybe home is splays of pink hair on white sheets in the morning and a smile to rival the sun. Maybe home is small medical scrolls scattered in the living room after a long day’s work. Maybe home is his favorite bento box waiting for him when he wakes up at noon, despite her being a mediocre chef at best. Maybe home is her temper, unmatched by the most vengeful of gods and the most wicked of storms, that somehow, brings him the strangest sense of peace. Maybe home is little kisses on his jaw at four in the morning.

He looks down at his wife, her small frame beginning to curl into his, as if she was meant to fit there. Sasuke takes her limp hand in his own, gently curling his calloused fingers through hers and raising their hands. He brings the back of hers to his lips and let them linger as he reaffirms his conclusion.

Sakura stirs a bit and he swears she smiles (—and he does too).

Yes, Sasuke decides, Sakura is where home is.

Keep reading

bugheadjonesiii  asked:

I will set the scene with my words. Betty is sleeping and she gets awoken suddenly by a certain pupper licking her face and there is a gift attached to his collar that she doesn't see immediately and behind the dog is jughead and child presenting her with breakfast in bed on Mother's Day. If this is too specific ignore me

While I love the finale, and Serpent!Juggie and Dark!Betty, and Bughead smut, I think I needed to take the time to just write something a little shorter and fluffier - hope you enjoy!
(I couldn’t resist the tiniest bit of angst so there’s a very brief mention of pre-natal depression, just as a warning.)

Betty’s mind clung to the quiet depths of peaceful slumber. Sleep was a luxury these days, and while the wakeful hours brought her nothing but joy she was definitely grateful for the moments her head finally hit the soft feather pillows of her bed. She welcomed the snug cocoon her duvet provided her, wriggling further into its embrace and pushing her cheek into the pillow in an attempt to stay asleep just that little bit longer.

The rough, sandpaper tongue moving incessantly against her cheek had other ideas, though. She sighed through parted lips as she let her eyelids begin to flutter, knowing this was the beginning of the end for her Sunday lie-in. Why does he never lick Jughead’s face first? Betty thought with drowsy affection, picturing the shaggy fur of their beloved sheepdog awaiting her. She lifted the arm that was hanging off the side of the mattress, her hand feeling like a slight dead weight from where it had lost circulation in the night, to pat his soft head.

“Morning, Hot Dog,” she rasped, throat thick with sleep as she scratched behind his ears, the sound of his rhythmic panting finally making its way through her sleep-addled brain.

“Morning, Mommy,” a voice replied. Betty jumped in surprise, rolling onto her back and lifting her eyes to glance down to the foot of the bed. The sight that greeted her filled her chest with warmth, all traces of sleepiness vanishing in an instant. A bright grin spread across her face as she stretched, one fist coming down to rub at her eyes.

“Hi, baby,” she cooed at the little girl who was bouncing in Jughead’s sturdy hands. Juliet let out a happy gurgle at the sight of her mom, reaching out to Betty with chubby fists. Betty scooped her up, pulling her close to nuzzle her nose into the soft fuzz of her hair. There was nothing quite like the scent of babies, it was genetically intoxicating.

Both parents laughed as Juliet began to blow bubbles from between her rose petal lips, her spit joining Hot Dog’s on Betty’s cheek. Betty couldn’t help but melt as her daughter flashed a toothless smile, her attempts at giggles filling the room. Jughead stared at them fondly, still unable to believe his luck.

Betty looked up at him, beautiful even with a million fly-aways from her bun surrounding her bare face. She was radiant all on her own, no matter how she looked, no matter the time of day. Her every flaw made her perfect.

“Good morning,” she murmured bashfully, still unable not to blush under his gaze, even after all these years - he wouldn’t trade that for the world. It gave him a certain pride to know that he could invoke such reactions without even a touch of his fingers, his lips, to her skin. Jughead crawled up the bed, bouncing next to his wife on the mattress in a mess of long, graceless limbs. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders, pressing a delicate kiss to her temple as she leant into his side.

“Happy First Mother’s Day,” he said into her hair, unquenchable smile on his lips. Betty stilled in his arms for a moment before letting the tension leave her frame. She turned to look at him with wide, unassuming eyes.

“My first one,” she whispered, awe colouring her voice. Jughead tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, fingers trailing down to trace the marks left by the pillow on her reddened cheek.

“The first of many,” he confirmed with a gentle smile. Betty turned from him to look again at Juliet - she’d already learnt to sit on her own and was grasping at the sheets with curious hands.

Jughead slipped one of his fingers between all of hers, shaking it playfully when she clasped on. Betty bit her lip as she watched the scene before her, unable to believe some days that they’d made it to this place. It was an uncertain road, from that day she invited him to write for the Blue and Gold to them sitting here on their bed. It had been unimaginably hard at times - Betty would never forget the almost crushing weight she’d felt throughout her pregnancy, the doctor’s assuring her that pre-natal depression was a common occurrence. But Betty knew that after all the loss that she’d already faced in her life that it was more than that. It was on her, it was all on her, to make sure this baby made it safely into the world. After such uncertainty plaguing their lives Betty wasn’t sure she could do it.

And then there was Jughead. Oh, how much she needed Jughead. The intensity of her feelings for the boy who climbed through her window to slay all of her demons alongside her still took her breath away. They were so in tune; he always knew when to stay away, when to drift closer. He’d coaxed her out of the darkest times during those nine months, drawing her into the light in the way he always told her she had done for him in their youth.

The light had never shone brighter than when she was born - Juliet. Betty’s fondness for the name had made him laugh, his heart fluttering in his chest at the memories it held for both of them.

“We made her, Jug. We made her together,” Betty kept repeating incredulously as they stared down at the bundle in her arms. Jughead had placed a kiss against her still damp forehead, tears beginning their trail down his cheeks.

“Always together.”

Betty was brought out of her reverie by the squeals filling the air, Jughead having lunged forward to blow raspberries against Juliet’s little, round belly. Betty let out a joyous laugh, shaking her head at the childlike quality she hoped her husband would never grow out of. Jughead glanced over his shoulder at her, features slightly obstructed by the dark curl falling into his eyes.

“Hot Dog was supposed to bring you your gift,” he began, sitting up to come closer to her ear as he dropped his voice. “But I guess you just taste too good,” he murmured, delighting in Betty’s involuntary shiver. She swatted his shoulder playfully as he smirked.

“A gift?” she asked cheekily, not-so-subtly bringing the conversation back to the topic of her present. Jughead rolled his eyes affectionately, lifting Juliet into his lap.

“Check his collar.” Betty’s brows furrowed as she leant over to where Hot Dog was standing with two paws on the mattress, watching his family interact with glistening eyes. Betty peered around his head, fingers reaching to unclip the box she hadn’t noticed from the leather strap.

Upon opening it she gasped, hand coming to her chest.

“Look inside,” Jughead encouraged, pleased with her reaction. Betty’s fingers trembled as she lifted the delicate silver pendant out of its velvet bed, twisting it back and forth so the early morning light could illuminate the intricate engravings on the metal. She fiddled with the clasp, popping it open to see what Jughead had filled it with.

There were two pictures. The first was of Betty and Jughead, curled around each other as teenagers in a booth at Pop’s - their safe place. Betty could still feel the vinyl beneath her fingertips if she focused hard enough, the smell of fries and the taste of whipped cream clouding her senses. On the other side was a picture of Jughead, handsomely dishevelling in his first few days as a father, gazing down at a soft pink bundle in his arms.

“Now, no matter what happens, you’ll always have us with you,” Jughead told her, smiling hopefully. Tears brimmed along Betty’s waterline, threatening to fall as she held the jewellery close to her heart. She brushed her lips tenderly against Jughead’s, closing her eyes tightly against the overwhelming sweetness. When she pulled back she ran a soothing hand over Juliet’s head, taking in her family before her.

“Always together,” she repeated their phrase. As if it was written in the very foundations of Riverdale, they would always be together.

Sleeping Bags

Avengers x reader

Warnings: heavy mentions of sexual abuse. some fluff at the end.

Words: 1k

Disclaimer: I know many fic writers do not write things like this and I myself would not normally write something like this. However, this was written for me by me to help not only wrap my mind around what I have experienced in the relationship I was just in, but to also make me feel as if I’m not alone and I have people to lean on (which I do not in real life because my now ex-boyfriend made me give them all up.)

All credit goes to Marvel.

Originally posted by multi-fandom-imagines13

She sat on the edge of her bed, knees pressed to her chest as she stared out at the night sky from her window. The moonlight did little to illuminate her room, the darkness masking Steve’s shadow as he stood in her doorway. He watched her, waiting. He knew this was wrong, but he didn’t believe that she was keeping it together as well as she claimed to. Her shoulders raised in what looked like a sob, and as Steve was getting ready to rush into action and console her, she let out a long breath, dropping her head back and lolling it around in a stretch. Steve pressed his lips together in a firm line, before exiting the room, quietly closing the door on his way out.

Y/N bit her lip to remain as silent as possible until she was sure Steve was out of ear-shot.  That’s the thing about him- when he’s not on a mission, when their lives weren’t on the line, he wasn’t stealthy. At all. The dark might have masked the shadow, but his reflection in the window was still visible.

Sighing, which she seemed to be doing a lot of lately, she crawled into bed, Bucky’s sweatpants and a t-shirt he had brought home for her after a simple mission covered her body, but she still felt uncomfortably exposed, even after tucking the blankets as close to her body as possible. She checked her phone, hoping to see at least one text message from an old friend, but nothing. She shoved it off the bed and it hit the ground with a loud thud. Burying her head in her pillow, she tried a million different things to distract her of what he had done to her and her life, but no dice. He was all she could think about.

She felt betrayed. She felt violated. She felt hurt. But most of all, she felt dirty. It seemed like all she had been doing lately was taking showers, hoping that somehow it would wash away the mental scars she had been harboring.

While she was happy and proud of herself for getting out of the relationship, she wished she had gotten out of it before this happened. Or in this case, before the past 6 months happened. She itched at her skin when her skin crawled at the thought of him touching her again.

She nearly jumped out of bed at the overwhelming thoughts and began pacing around her room quickly, as if she was looking for something. Her hands went up to her ears and she could feel a scream coming on and she bit the insides of her cheeks to suppress it. She dropped to the floor, bent over with her face to the ground as she willed the memories to die off. Her whole body felt the pain of the thoughts radiating through her.

Sniffling, she pushed herself off the ground and onto her feet, wrapping her blanket tightly around her. She walked out into the hall where all of her team’s bedroom doors were. 10 doors, 5 on the left, 5 on the right. On the left was Bruce’s, yours, Nat’s, Clint’s, and Bucky’s. The right was Steve’s, Sam’s, Thor’s, Tony’s, and Wanda’s.

Y/N knew that her team had opened up an “open-door” policy where she could come in any time of any night if she couldn’t sleep. Usually, she’d sleep with Bucky or Wanda. But tonight, she felt so lost in her own thoughts that she couldn’t even decide that. She looked sadly at each door, tears forming in her eyes out of pure exhaustion. It was only one in the morning, an early night for the Avengers, but tonight, they were all snug in bed, sleeping blissfully, and Y/N envied them. Not being able to decide and certainly not wanting to go back to her room, she plopped onto the hallway floor in between Nat and Clint’s doors.

Using the fluffed up corner of her blanket as a pillow and the rest of it to keep her warm, she forced herself to close her eyes and slowly but surely drift off to sleep.

30 minutes later found Sam and Bucky walking back from an evening sparring session, laughing quietly to each other as they entered the living hall. Sam was the first one to stop when he saw Y/N sleeping, her back pressed as close to the wall as possible and using a portion of her blanket as a pillow. Bucky stopped second and they looked at each other, knowing what this was about. He went to approach her, but Sam reached his hand out, putting it against Bucky’s chest to stop him from getting closer. “I think she’s saying something.” Bucky gave Sam a look and pushed his hand off, slowly getting closer until he was kneeling next to her. He leaned in closer and as soon as he heard the words rolling loosely off her lips, he sat back, looking at Sam with a look that said it all.

Sam followed Bucky, and he felt his heart break. She was repeating, “ruined” like a broken record. Bucky pursed his lips together and put his arms out, ready to grab her and take her back to bed with him, but Sam stopped him.

“I have a better idea.”

The next morning, Y/N quickly felt all the bones in her body hating her for sleeping on the floor before she had even opened her eyes. She turned to roll over and face the wall when she heard snoring coming from next to her head. She peeked one eye open, confused.

And that was when she saw it.

Each and every Avenger, including Vision, were positioned like a Tetris board beside her. Each in their own sleeping bag and pajamas.

Nesta’s Not-So-Secret Weakness

Here is a short fluff fic in which Cassian discovers a weakness that Nesta has tried to keep hidden. Of course the Commander of Illyrian armies is putting plans into action to reveal the secret in their bedroom. But Nesta isn’t to thrilled by the idea. And she won’t be making it easy for Cassian.

“Don’t. You. Dare.” Nesta raised the pillow over her head. Fully intending to use it if needed. Cassian almost chuckled at how she wielded the soft object like a sword. Brandishing it as if it was the most dangerous weapon in all of Velaris.

 “Oh come on sweetheart,” Cassian stalked across the room in only a loose pair of pants. “I promise it will be fun.”

 “Maybe for you, but not for me,” Nesta stood up on their shared bed. Her bare feet sunk into the comforter making her balance uneasy, but she was determined not to let Cassian catch her. If she had to launch herself out the window in her nightgown then so be it.

 “Nesta,” Cassian purred. His eyes trained on her and the silk gown she wore that ended just above her knees. Cassian immediately flicked his sights back up to her face. He couldn’t let himself get distracted. Right now he was a Commander on a mission of utmost importance.

 “I mean it Cassian,” Nesta braced herself. Her eyes darted to the window that would be her escape.

 That brief moment she turned away gave Cassian the opportunity he needed. He leapt forward in a powerful jump that propelled him directly toward his mate. 

 Nesta jerked around as she saw Cassian out of the corner of her eye. She swung the pillow down as she would a sword. Her Illyrian training kicked in as her aim was precise. The pillow hit knocked Cassian down just short of tackling her, but before Nesta could hop off the bed a large calloused hand wrapped around her ankle.

 Cassian pulled her down onto the bed with him in one swift tug. Nesta fumbled to right herself, but Cassian was there to make sure her back landed on the bed.

 He hovered over her body and trapped her legs down by using his own. His fingers gently skimmed her ribs through the flimsy material of her nightgown. Nesta stiffened underneath him as his fingers brushed against one of her weak points that only her sisters had knowledge of. And Feyre had told Cassian about it last night when they shared dinner at the House of Wind.

Cassian leaned his head down. His lips grazed her ear as he whispered. “Who knew Nesta Archeron was ticklish?”

And then his fingers ran up and down her sides in soft touches that made Nesta fleetingly lose control over her body. She wriggled underneath Cassian while her voice broke out in uncontrollable laughter.

“Cas-Cassian!” Nesta gasped between bouts of laughter “Stop!”

“But you’re so cute when you laugh like this,” Cassian teased. “I want to see you laugh like this all day.” Cassian resumed tickling her sides with vigor. Nesta didn’t doubt that Cassian would keep this up. And now she was at the mercy of those nimble fingers that found all her ticklish spots.

Cassian was relentless in his attack. He enjoyed seeing Nesta like this. Laughing loudly and trying to contain her smiles, yet failing to do so. By this point Nesta’s face was beat red from laughing so hard.

“Ple-please-! Cas-!” Nesta tried to talk between breaths, but found it was nearly impossible as Cassian continued tracing her ticklish spots in patterns again and again.

“Are you actually begging for me to stop?” Cassian gave his signature smirk. The one that boasted triumph. “Is that what I hear sweetheart?”

Nesta bit her bottom lip, but laughter bubbled between her teeth much to her frustration.

Cassian paused in his movements to raise a brow before his fingers twitched threateningly against her skin again. Another onslaught of tickles was on the way.

“Yes! Yes!” Nesta burst out in gasps before Cassian decided to go for a second round.

He held himself above her a few seconds longer before moving onto his side with a victorious smile. A sigh of relief escaped Nesta’s throat. Her breaths slowly began returning to normal. 

Cassian watched her with rapt attention before inching closer to press a gentle kiss to the side of her throat. Nesta’s pulse pounded beneath his lips.

“I didn’t know you were so ticklish,” Cassian murmured against her skin. Nesta could feel him smiling against her throat.

“It’s one of my few weaknesses,” Nesta said in a controlled tone. Though her voice was a bit breathless much to Cassian’s enjoyment.

“Oh? You have more?” Cassian questioned. Curiosity piqued in interest.

Nesta rolled over onto her side so she could look at Cassian. Their faces were inches apart as her eyes gazed up into his. The hazel color of his irises had provided her much comfort over the years. She reached a hand up to stroke his cheek.

 Cassian was her weakness and strength. He was her confidante and lover. A fire that burned bright enough to chase off the darkness of her nightmares.

 He was her mate.

 Cassian kept his eyes on Nesta. He could read her thoughts as if she had spoken them aloud. His fingers threaded through Nesta’s soft golden brown hair. Her blue grey eyes steadied him in ways he could never imagine.

 Nesta too was his weakness and strength. A friend and partner he trusted more than anyone else. She was the steel blade that cut his doubts and fears into nothing.

 She was his mate.

 “I love you Nesta,” Cassian kissed her brow with tenderness and pulled her closer to his chest.

 “I love you too Cassian,” Nesta ran her hands up and down his back. Almost caressing his scarred wings. She placed a kiss at the base of his throat before resting her head beside his beating heart.

 And together they slept in each other’s arms.

This fic is for @easkyrah​ and her anon that wanted Nessian fluff. Hope you enjoyed it~!

the-bookish-soul  asked:

Hi! How are you Are you taking requests Because I need some Moriel fluff

I’m not technically, but I will almost never say no to Moriel fluff. Moriel in general, really. :) I didn’t really edit this, so I hope it’s okay!


Dawn has started its birth over the Sidra, casting the lantern lights aside for a new day. The streets are almost empty and the music has dimmed to a faint melody. But Rhys and Feyre are still dancing below, her blue crystal dress shining in the soft oncoming light.

Perched over the balcony, Cassian hands Azriel a drink - the last one on this, the Night Court’s most special night. The bubbles tickle and tease going down, and Az feels warm watching his brother dance with the woman he clearly loves.

Cassian tips back a drink himself and inclines his glass towards the couple. “Do you think they’re-”

“Yes,” Az answers, before his brother can even finish.

He’s known, or at least suspected, since the day he gave Rhys the blood rubies and sensed the change in Feyre’s scent as she stepped off the rooftop. Arousal, but something else too. Something different. He’d only ever scented that once before - on Rhys’s parents, when his father would visit his mother in the camps while he and Rhys were training with Cassian. For all the cold looks, the loss of love that transpired over the years between them, that scent was always there lingering… somewhere between them.

Azriel scents it now. Every time Rhys and Feyre are close. The shadows whisper to him about the taste. It makes him happy… and a little bit sad too.

“I’m done,” Cass says sleepily, standing abruptly and clapping Az on the shoulder to say goodnight. He leaves and Azriel sees Rhys and Feyre slow far beneath him. Feyre’s head is on Rhys’s chest, and he’s sliding his arm under her legs, wings stretching wide.

Azriel stands with a faint smile ghosting his lips, glad his brother has someone at last. Starfall was truly something this year, he thinks.

He watches Rhys murmur something into Feyre’s ear before turning away, a small happy ache in his heart turning him inside, and stops when he reaches the open dining room and the scene that meets him from the settee.

She hasn’t gone to bed, but she’s fast asleep. The pale light of dawn is playing on her hair, all those gold tendrils spilled over the cushion in a delicate cascade. And that dress - Cauldron, he’d nearly toppled over when he’d seen her in it. White and decadent and slippery as silk, practically inviting him to dip his fingers past the open back and caress her skin.

But what really does Azriel in is the quiet, peaceful look on Mor’s face as she sleeps. Contented. Blissful. Whole. Everything he’s always wanted her to be every single day since that other age when he found her face quiet - quiet as she died, amid leaves of red and gold. He’s done everything he can since that day to make each new one better, like she is right now.

Az leans down, his weight going into the balls of his feet as he crouches next to her. His scarred fingers are light as he pushes back the hair from her face and brushes along her cheek. His thumb lingers an extra moment on her chin, just below her lips.

“Mor,” he whispers. He can see her eyes moving sluggishly behind her closed lids at the sound of his voice. “Morrigan, love.” It is a name only reserved for her, for when the lines feel blurred and they can pretend they do not dance around one another so carefully.

Just now, that name works. Mor gives a small shudder, her face scrunching up adorably. He hates to wake her, but it’s worth it to see that beautiful brown in her eyes finding him as she blinks herself partially awake.

“Az?” Her voice is groggy as though she’s been asleep all night and not out dancing for hours and hours - with him, with Cassian, with Rhys.

Az smiles and that hand that had rested on her face moves to her hip. His other arm’s braced to slide under her shoulder, but it stops and waits for her to catch up. Mor stretches her neck and back in a tight movement, peering around and realizing where she’s fallen asleep. Her hands reach out blindly as her eyes close again, seeking him out and clutching at his chest as he finally scoops her up, exactly as Rhys had Feyre. “Azriel,” she says, as though there should be more she will say, but can’t; she’s too exhausted. His name sounds divine off her tongue, even half-mumbled.

Azriel enjoys the way her breathing quiets out as he carries her upstairs to her room, the way her heart beats evenly against his chest as he opens the door, and the way her hands cling even in near sleep as he sets her down on the bed. He’s grabbing those hands, so smooth and clean and precious to him, with his own so he can leave her be for the morning when her fingers curl into his palm. “Az…”

He stills and watches Mor wearily open her eyes one more time, the softest sleepy little smile painting her face. Not even Velaris has ever looked so beautiful as Mor does now, Azriel thinks, his stomach doubling over. Does she even realize how wonderful she is? To him? To the world?

Mor gives a faint tug, and it’s not until Azriel is pushing his knee into the bed to climb up and join her that he sees them close again. She turns on her side, and his hands follow her lead to band around her waist. Where his nose hits on the pillow just at the base of her neck, he can smell the citrus in her hair. It smells… incredible, he thinks. It smells like home, he remembers. It smells… perfect. Gently, he squeezes his Morrigan’s fingers back.

Azriel is only allowed a few hours of sleep before the new day beckons and his family will go in different directions, but for now, they are the best few hours of sleep he has ever gotten.


Gas Station Coffee

Author’s Notes: Just a small word vomit drabble, because someone thought it would be cathartic for me to write about break-ups from a different perspective. This wasn’t what I planned to write, as is usually the case, but it did turn out to be a nice emotional release. Also helped me get some perspective. So I guess what I’m saying is – I mostly wrote this for myself. But hopefully someone else likes it as well.

Rating: PG

MSR, Angst 

Post IWTB, Pre-Revival

Her feet throb, protesting each step across the hospital parking lot. Her head started to ache halfway through her twelve hour shift, and continues to pound just to spite the eight hundred milligrams of ibuprofen she swallowed with a cup of cold coffee three hours ago.

A rumbling in her midsection reminds her that she should eat. It’s late, though, leaving her options severely limited. She can’t stomach the thought of another bowl of limp lettuce and rubbery chicken purchased at a drive-through window. She can’t summon the energy to cook anything worth the time.

Foot pressed to the accelerator, she realizes that all she really wants is a decent cup of hot coffee. Hospital cafeteria coffee is shockingly bad – bitter and thick – even  more so when she’s forced to abandon it for an hour to attend to patients.

Gas station coffee can’t be a hell of a lot better, but hey, any port in a storm.

So she stops, she buys a cup of questionable but steaming hot coffee, and hears herself request a pack of cigarettes from the girl behind the counter. “What brand?” The girl wants to know. Scully pauses, thinks of Mulder and the one and only time they shared a cigarette. It was her brand – Marlboro –  because it was her pack, and even then she knew he was only taking silent drags alongside her because she found comfort in the companionship. Needed not to feel judged after surviving yet another abduction.

“Camels,” she tells the girl.

Sitting in her car with her nose pressed into the steam rising from the foam cup in her hand, she absently flicks the filter of the not-her-brand cigarette out the window. She thinks of him anyway, of the coffee he used to make. It was terrible. Not quite hospital cafeteria terrible, but close. It was always either too weak (“Two heaping scoops, Mulder.”) or so strong it resembled mud (“Two heaping scoops, Mulder!”)

It’s been a year since she left him and their house, and all in all, she thinks she’s handling her life fairly well. She enjoys work, usually. She has a nice apartment with a suede couch and her laundry is done on time now, there are no week-old dishes piled in the sink, no will he come to bed tonight or not taunting her every time her head hits the pillow. She sees a therapist semi-regularly, writes her feelings in a journal when they overwhelm her. The nightmares haven’t stopped, but they come less frequently and without the bone rattling intensity they used to.

But it’s been an entire year, and sometimes all it takes is a cup of coffee and a fucking cigarette to stoke the good memories of him, of them, of the times when she wanted to stay.

Suddenly, she feels a drop of liquid pelt the back of her hand. Startled, she blinks, and this time the moisture slides hotly down her cheek. She’s crying, she realizes, silent tears that seem right at home in this dark, vacant lot. She catches a glimpse of a man with dirt caked across his face, clutching a bottle of liquor as he slides down the side of the building. She feels like she doesn’t deserve to cry. Doesn’t even want to.

She sips her coffee, which is surprisingly not bad – a step or two up from the swill Mulder used to concoct – and wonders what he remembers about her. The good things he remembers. The annoying things. 

Does he fight back tears when he gets a haircut, remember that he used to sit between her knees on the floor so she could cut his hair just so he wouldn’t have to leave the house? “That’s awful, Scully.” He laughed every time, scrutinizing her work in a hand held mirror. 

When he closes his eyes to sleep, does he sometimes forget she’s not there and instinctively reach to hold her in the dark? She hopes the answer is yes. She hopes the answer is no.

Her coffee has grown lukewarm, and she no longer cares. It doesn’t taste right. It tastes like it’s been made with precisely two heaping scoops.

She steps out of the car and discards the half-empty cup. She lifts the cigarette pack to toss those as well, but hesitates. She doesn’t want them anymore, but that’s because she got what she needed from them.

When she walks into the gas station again, the girl behind the counter lifts an eyebrow. Scully gives her a small smile when she buys a second cup of coffee and offers no explanation. 

“Here,” she says quietly to the bleary-eyed man in the ill-fitted coat with blackened hands, still gripping the fifth of vodka for dear life. She holds out the pack of Camels and the too-perfect coffee, and he stares up at her. “Take it,” she tells him. “Sometimes it helps.”

He pauses only a moment before retrieving the items from her hands. As she turns to leave, she hears his rough slur behind her. “Y’have a cup? S’only fair…” He lifts the glass bottle in offering. She shakes her head, and he continues. “Sometimes this helps too, y’know… helps ya forget.”

She shakes her head again, biting her lip. 

“No,” she says softly. “No, I think I’d rather remember.”


Tell Her-Remus Lupin Imagine

Request: Can you please do a RemusxReader where Remus tells Sirius that he’s in love with the reader and Sirius freaks out (like that episode of Drake & Josh where Josh told Drake that he was in love with Mindy and Drake freaked out and slapped Josh) 

Warnings: none

Requests are always open, hope you enjoy! xo

“Hey, Moony,” Sirius said, dropping his leather jacket onto his bed.

“Hey,” Remus replied, glancing up from his book. He chewed his lip, before marking his page and closing the hardcover, throwing it at his feet.

“Can I tell you something? You have to promise not to say anything,” He stuttered, turning to face his friend.

“Yeah, sure,” Sirius nodded absentmindedly, rummaging through his drawer. 

“I think I’m in love,” Remus blurted, his cheeks burning.

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I Will Protect You -Liam Dunbar Imagine

Originally posted by teenwolf-toinfinity

Request: Can you write an imagine were Liam and you are best friends but he secretly likes you. And you know about Liam being a werewolf. Him and the pack find out your next to be taken from the dread doctors to become a chimaera. They do there best to protect you but it’s not enough. You get taken and turned. And Liam and the pack help you with this new ability. And help you not lash out on people. And you become part of Scott’s pack even though you kinda were

Pairing: Liam Dunbar x female reader

Word Count: 1,636

Warnings: Talking about death, fighting, kidnapping

A/N: Thanks for requesting :) Feedback is always appreciated.

“I’ll see you tomorrow” she smiled brightly, kissing his cheek before turning around with her backpack slung over her shoulder. Liam smiled as she hurried down the hallway and out of the school, feeling happy that she didn’t see him blush. Y/N and him had been bestfriends for as long as he could remember, and he had had a crush on her for just as long. He had never done anything about it though, he was too scared of somehow ruining the thing they shared. She was his sun, the light that always led him through the darkness. Y/N was the kind of person that everyone adored, and why wouldn’t they? It was impossible not to like her. She was the definition of sweet, always there for her friends and the one that gave advice when needed. 

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Something wretched about this (so precious about this)

For anyone that missed it on AO3, here is the Klaroline Valentine one shot I wrote for @thetourguidebarbie. Includes Succubus!Caroline. Title from From Eden by Hozier.

Caroline despised being indebted to anyone.

              Being in such debt to a vampire of all creatures was even worse.

              For millennia, the vampires had been a bane to Caroline’s kind.  They became addicted to the touch and taste of a Succubus so easily, and it typically resulted in a shortened lifespan for the succubus in question.

              But Katherine Pierce had once saved Caroline’s life, and so was – begrudgingly – owed a boon.

              “Distraction.” She ran a finger around the edge of her cup.  It was a latte – a rather delicious latte – but the taste was marred by the fact that she was there with a creature that could choose to go for her throat at any moment.  “That’s all?”

              “That’s all?” Katherine raised one perfectly manicured eyebrow.  “Well, I could try and make it more complicated… but I figured that being a distraction to Klaus Mikaelson would be difficult enough.”

              “Is Klaus Mikaelson supposed to mean something to me?”  Caroline took a sip of her latte, watching Katherine over the edge.

              Katherine eyed her in return, a slow smile that Caroline knew better than to trust curving her lips, but… this would get rid of the damn favor.

              “He doesn’t need to mean a thing.  So you’ll help me?”

              “Tell me what you know.”

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Mystery Valentine

based on this post 

Marinette was completely expecting to spend Valentine’s Day alone, but things change when a secret admirer with a love of puns leaves her a mysterious box.

[Chapter One] [Chapter Three] [Chapter Four]

[Read on Ao3]

Chapter Two

Marinette woke up early for the first time in her life. This was mainly due to her excitement about opening another gift, and also thanks to a distinct lack of akuma attacks over the past few days, actually allowing her to sleep.

               Today she picked one of the smaller parcels. The heart shaped note read time stops when I’m with you. Inside the pretty pink wrapping was a beautiful silver watch. It looked antique but had a modern face. The designer in Marinette was delighted by the juxtaposition, and also noted how expensive it must have been. She quickly texted Alya, who was compiling a list of clues as to who, as she put it, the mystery lover could be.

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Dark Circles (Peter x Reader)

Anon said: Hey, I just read your pda head canon and totally agree with Peter leaving tons of hickies 😂 please could you do a Peter X reader imagine where reader has stayed the night and they’ve made out and done stuff so when they come down for breakfast the next morning she doesn’t realise she has hickies on her neck and collarbone LIKE A LOT OF THEM. And Lucy doesn’t know what they are so immediately rushes over and asks reader if she’s okay. Meanwhile Edmund and Susan can’t stop laughing and tease them

It had been one absolutely wild night for (Y/N) and Peter. They had gotten very little sleep the night before, and when she woke up all she felt was tired.

“Pete,” she groaned, nudging his shoulder. Peter refused to be woken up and just rolled away from her on the bed.

“Go back to sleep,” he mumbled into his pillow. (Y/N) sat up in bed and rubbed her neck. She stretched her back before turning to glare at her boyfriend. He opened one eye lazily.

“Want me to bring you up some food Sleeping Beauty?” she ruffled his already messy hair.

“Ask Su if she’ll make some bacon and eggs,” Peter grabbed her hand and gave it a squeeze. “We can split toast.” (Y/N) got out of bed, threw on a tank top and shorts, and made a beeline to the kitchen.

“Good morning,” Edmund greeted without looking up from the paper he was reading. The three siblings were seated at the dining table in front of the kitchen.

“Morning.” (Y/N) nodded in their direction and was almost past them when Lucy gasped.

“Oh, (Y/N), are you alright?” she rushed up to the older girl and grabbed her shoulders.

“I’m tired, don’t look at my dark circles,” she laughed. Using her hands to cover her eyes, she didn’t see Lucy inspecting her.

“Is that what these are?” she asked innocently, poking at her neck.

“What?” Edmund and Susan were trying not to laugh; Lucy was pointing at a hickey on (Y/N)’s neck. Really, her neck and chest were speckled with them.

“Are these dark circles?” Lucy repeated. (Y/N) had no idea what to say.

“Yeah Lu. They can occur when someone stays up too late,” Edmund smirked without looking over. Susan had to hold her hand to her mouth to hide her laughter.

“Peter’s hungry, I’m getting food.” (Y/N) practically ran into the kitchen. She rubbed her face roughly with her hands, chiding herself for not looking in the mirror before she came downstairs.

Peter waited patiently for her to come back. When the door to his room creaked open, a blushing (Y/N) appeared holding a plate of toast.

“You should have told me I had hickies all over me before I chose this shirt,” she shook her head and climbed into bed.

“I honestly didn’t notice.” He just then saw how marked up her neck was.

“Lucy thinks they’re dark circles because I didn’t get a lot of sleep.” (Y/N) looked over to see Peter smirking. She laughed and hit him with a pillow before pulling the covers over her head.

anonymous asked:

Not sure you're taking prompts, but if you are can we get a Sanvers Overprotective Maggie post 2x19 fic?

Alex rested her back against the wall next to her window. She had turned the lights off ten minutes ago, but the car was still there. It had been there for the past fifty-seven minutes. She checked her watch. Fifty-eight.

Alex looked around her darkened apartment, knowing that she could navigate it without the light. She mentally located every gun in the apartment, but settled on her favorite new toy in the kitchen drawer.

The man was sitting in the car, phone pressed to his ears when her feet hit the street. There was no way he’d seen her. Alex had taken a secure route and was hyper-aware of her surroundings. She’d be damned if she got kidnapped again.

She crept up on the car and waited, crouched near the back passenger door. When she heard loud laughing, she opened the passenger door and in one swift movement, sat in the seat, her gun pointed at the man.

He automatically reached for the center console, but she grabbed his hand and pinned it to the smooth leather between them. “Why are you sitting outside my apartment?”

Before he could answer, she saw a picture of herself taped to the dashboard just above the radio. She pressed her gun to his chest. “Tell me!” Rage and fear were coursing through her. So soon after she had been kidnapped someone was sitting outside her apartment.

The man dropped his phone and Alex caught it before it hit the man’s lap. As she caught it, she saw something shining on his belt. She moved his jacket out of the way and saw an NCPD badge. “What the hell is going on?”

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Let’s Conspire To Ignite

Originally posted by lovershub

Michael Gray x Reader

I had a few of the same prompts for a Michael fic, so I combined that with a few others. Kill 3 birds with 1 stone, if you will. 

“I haven’t slept in ages.”
“If you can’t sleep…we could have sex?”
“You can’t banish me! This is my bed too!”

Warning: Sappy, domestic Michael up ahead.

*Peaky Blinders Requests Are Open*

Michael,” Y/N groaned, her hair sticking to the nape of her neck and forehead. Her skin felt clammy, sweaty, and it just made her all the more agitated. Michael continued to sleep peacefully, without a care in the world. Y/N could practically feel Michael’s body heat radiating off of him like a furnace, which usually was nice, but not tonight. Y/N wiggled herself to the left. No. To the right. Nope. “Michael, get up!” Michael shot up in alarm, almost throwing himself off the bed.

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Skam week. Part 8

Idea explained here.

You can find all the parts here.

Tuesday 5:17pm

He would’ve wanted to go to Sana’s room earlier but his phone had been beeping nonstop. With this whole thing with Sana, he had completely forgotten that the following day was 17 mai, the national day of Norway, which meant that the boys were supposed to come over for breakfast.

He had tried to convince them to go somewhere else but it hadn’t worked. Now he had another problem, how was he going to tell Sana? He knew she was probably already mad at him for the Yousef thing.

He took a deep breath and knock on her door.

“Can I come in?” he asked

“You’re going to come in anyway so why bother to ask?” Sana spat.

“I’m here to apologize” he said entering the room and sitting by her side on the bed. “I shouldn’t have let Yousef come, but I thought you were going to be at school. I didn’t want you to see him”

“I’m not mad because I had to see him, Elias” Sana said rolling her eyes

“You’re not?” he asked confused

“No, I’m mad because I told you to leave it alone and still you went and talk to him about me. I overheard your conversation.”

“I’m sorry Sana, I really am. But you can’t expect me to sit here and do nothing when I know you’re hurting, when I know my best friend hurt you”

“See, Elias…that’s exactly what I want you to do. I want you to sit here and do nothing. I don’t want him to know he hurt me, I don’t want him to know why he hurt me, ‘cause then he’ll know…”she stopped mid-sentence, not wanting to say it out loud.

“’Cause then he’ll know you like him” Elias finished for her

She just nodded and covered her face with her hands.

“But, how are you so sure that he doesn’t like you back? I’ve seen the way he looks at you Sana”

“Believe, he doesn’t” she mumbled between her hands

“How do you know that? Does it have something to do with whatever happened on Friday?”

“I just know okay?!”she yelled looking at him

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry, I’m just trying to understand everything”

“Well, can you just believe what I’m telling you?”

“Of course. I’m sorry” he said putting his arm around her shoulder and bringing her close.

“Fine. Now leave me alone. I have to study” she said pulling away from his embrace.

“No. I’m not leaving. Not while you’re still mad at me”

“I’m not mad at you Elias, just leave”

“Nope, not buying it. You’re still mad” he stood up and grabbed a pillow from the bed “Here, you need to blow off some steam. Hit me with it. I deserve it and you’ll feel better”

He threw the pillow at her and stood there with his arms opened waiting for her to hit him.

“I’m not hitting you Elias, don’t be stupid”

“Come on Sana, I can take it. Hit me”

Sana rolled her eyes and gently hit him with the pillow.

“There, happy?”

“That’s all you can do? Come on, Sana. I thought you were a tough girl”

She hit him again, a little harder this time.

“Better but not enough, come on, show me what you can do”

She stood up and hit him with the pillow making him take a few steps backwards.

That’s what I’m talking about!” he said smiling

She hit him once again, stronger than ever.

“Okay, okay, I think you’ve got it. You can stop now”

But she didn’t stop. She hit him again, laughing when he almost fell, and then she hit him again and again laughing every single time. It had been a long time since she had been laughing like this.

“Oh girl, game on” Elias said walking around her and picking up another pillow from the bed.

She hit him again but he used his pillow as a shield to protect himself from hers.

And that’s how they started a pillow fight out of nowhere. Both of them laughing, jumping and trying to dodge each other’s hits.

The fight ended when Elias caught Sana off guard and grabbed her by the waist, throwing her on the bed and falling right next to her. They both laid there laughing and panting for the effort.

“Feel better now?” he asked her

“Yes. Thank you” she said smiling

“I like seeing you smiling. When you’re happy, I’m happy”

She just nodded and looked at the ceiling.

“There’s something I need to tell you…which is probably going to start another pillow fight”

“What have you done now, Elias?”

“Nothing, it’s just…what are your plans for tomorrow?”


“17 mai”

“Oh, with all this mess I haven’t thought about that. I guess I’ll stay at home. I don’t know if the girls are planning anything and even if they were I wouldn’t go”

Elias nodded and kept quiet, thinking about the best way to say what he needed to say. She looked at him waiting for him to continue. She frowned at his silence but then it hit her, the reason of him being quiet.

“Your friends are coming tomorrow, aren’t they?”

“Only if you’re okay with that” he said “We had made plans of having breakfast here before all of this happened. And I’ve tried to convince them to go somewhere else but you know how Mikael’s parents are, and Adam’s sister is having her friends at his house, and so is Mutta’s brother, and…you know who…his parents are having guests too”

“So he’ll come too…” She whispered

It was curious how Elias and she had silently agreed not to pronounce his name, Yousef.

“I can tell him not to come. But I don’t want the rest of the guys to suspect something’s going on and start asking questions”

“It’s okay. I get it. They’re your friends Elias, he’s your friend. Whatever happened between him and me it doesn’t have to affect your friendship. I’ll just stay in my room or maybe I’ll go with mom and dad to the neighbors’. No big deal” she said shrugging, acting like her chest wasn’t aching at the thought of having to see him the following day.

“Are you sure?” Elias asked looking at her trying to decipher her face to see if she was lying.

“Yes” she said as calm as she could.

She actually meant what she had said, she didn’t want Elias having troubles with his friends, he didn’t deserve that.

It didn’t mean that the following day wasn’t going to be hard.


*Thank you to /Norway on ao3 who told me that tomorrow is Norway’s national day! ♥