iluvroadrunner6: ([leverage] the hitter and the grifter)
Emily ([personal profile] iluvroadrunner6) wrote2015-08-02 12:55 pm
Entry tags:
impetere: (it's hot here hot here hot here hot here)

cora/abigail/alek | monkeybars | 323 words

[personal profile] impetere 2015-08-02 05:01 pm (UTC)(link)
Cora isn't really sure when she, Alek and Abigail became whatever it is that they are, but she doesn't make a habit of questioning it. They don't give it a name, or a label, or even consciously decide that it is a thing that is happening, they simply fall into a rotation of sorts. It's almost become this unspoken thing whenever Alek or Cora are fighting with their brothers or ghosts from Abigail's past land on the temple steps.

(They become each other's safety net, the ones they won't admit they need, because it's easier to not need anyone. People want to be islands, isolated and alone so they don't have to rely on anyone else, but it's almost impossible not to. Werewolves certainly weren't meant to be solitary creatures, and humans really aren't either.)

Cora isn't really sure who kisses who first. She knows that she kissed Alek, and she and Abigail met somewhere in the middle, but she doesn't ask about Alek and Abigail. All she knows is that Alek yields where Abigail takes and if they don't talk about it then they don't have to ruin it. They can just be until the Two decide that that they're done with their part in the experiment.

It doesn't become clear how dependent on it all she is until she comes back from a bad mission, not just because of what happened, but because of how she and Derek fell apart on it. She doesn't think of the other people she could go to, other pack members, other friends, she just finds her way to Abigail's and is relieved when Alek is already there.

They clean her up and put her in bed, sandwiched safely between them like a cocoon. Alek's lips brush against her shoulder and Abigail's are against her forehead, and for the first time in longer than she can remember, she has a place that finally feels like home.
Edited 2015-08-03 16:17 (UTC)
impetere: (you're a hideous thing inside)

alek/cora | psl-land | 603 words

[personal profile] impetere 2015-08-02 05:01 pm (UTC)(link)
Cora Hale is not particularly adept at physical affection.

It comes part and parcel with not really having any in her life since she was a child. She spent most of the years between eleven and seventeen running and hiding from most people that she didn’t really have the opportunity to be on the receiving end, and Derek wasn’t exactly breaking out the hugs when she returned to Beacon Hills. That kind of trust takes time and friends, and time and friends were exactly what she didn’t have.

Chicago is different, though. (She’s beginning to learn that in most instances, Chicago usually is.)

Chicago means pack, and while it takes her a while to warm up to that particular idea as well, in a lot of ways the Chicago Hales make it easy. Adam is a little crass and rough around the edges, but he has good intentions (most of the time). Ethan and Logan are incredibly easy to talk to without even trying, and Cora isn’t particularly adept at talking either. Even Connor is starting to grow on her, and Alek …

Well, Alek is the reason why she’s there. He’s the reason why she’s painfully aware of how bad she is at the whole being a girl thing, and the reason why she wishes sometimes that Lydia (or Laura, but that’s a hope against hope) might come tumbling through the rift to help her figure all of this out. She wants to be better. She wants to not feel like she’s floundering completely when it happens and she wants to at least seem like she knows what she’s doing. Even if she doesn’t.

(Part of her almost hates him for making her flounder around like an actual teenage girl, but the way he twists her stomach into knots when he smiles at her almost makes up for it.)

Things are almost easier as wolves. It’s an instinctive kind of ease, the comfort of pack and safety that makes curling up against his side after a run or nuzzling against his shoulder when they’re coming back in simple and uncomplicated. It probably shouldn’t surprise her that the wolf in her is better at communicating her feelings than she is as Cora fails at communication in general. She’s blunt force object in something that requires a little more finesse. Still, she tries it anyway.

She skips handholding, leaps over hugs, jumps around snuggling and turns their first kiss into almost a literal collision, foreheads colliding with a hard crack.

“Ow.”

“Ditto,” Cora sighs, silently berating herself at the same time. Good job, Cora. A+.

Alek rubs his forehead for a moment, quiet contemplation from his seat next to her. “Were you trying to … ?”

He lets the question hang silently in the space next to them for a moment and she ducks her head a bit, giving a small shrug. “It’s okay. Forget it.”

There’s another small pause and he reaches over and takes her hand gently, giving it a soft squeeze to draw her eyes back to him. She almost doesn’t let him, but eventually she has to look up, a small shade of hope in her eyes, and he gives her a small smile before leaning in to kiss her gently. It’s soft and slow and good and everything she wanted hers to be. He has the finesse she lacks and when the kiss parts she stays close, letting her hand rest against his chest gently.

“You’re way better at this than I am.”

There’s a moment of quiet before his voice teases against her ear. “Don’t worry. We’ll practice.”
Edited 2016-01-10 18:23 (UTC)
impetere: (we've got till noon)

cora/peter | (could have been) teleios | 741 words

[personal profile] impetere 2015-08-02 05:02 pm (UTC)(link)
The problem with Cora and boys is that she doesn't exactly know what the cue is to push things from two people who like each other to two people who like each other, and are both aware of that fact, and who maybe casually make out every once in a while.

Or something.

It's the kind of feeling that makes her feel inadequate as a teenage girl because she's pretty sure that this is something that girls like Lydia and Faye mastered freshman year and when she was supposed to be in her freshman year of high school, she ... had other priorities. She would be lying if there weren't moments where she wishes those priorities were different so that she would know the answers to these questions and not feel like an idiot for having to ask him.

There's also a part of her that tells her that she shouldn't want this, because Peter is her friend. Her good friend. The kind of friend that she hasn't really had and the pragmatic side of her says not to risk it. Because if she takes the risk and she's wrong, she loses him, loses this thing between them that makes everything else easy, and she can't figure out if that will hurt more than not trying at all.

The problem is, the teenage girl part of her, the one with no logic and no remorse makes her feel like if she doesn't just kiss him sometimes, that could kill her. The need makes her feel like she can't breathe and it's only gotten worse the more time she's spent with him. It's gotten to the point where it's all she thinks about when she's with him which is distracting because she should be paying attention to what they're doing and what he's saying, because Peter can get into the kind of rambles where if you get distracted for two seconds you could miss an entire tangent and Cora doesn't want to.

She likes his tangents.

(He also never seems to catch that her attention somehow always drifts down to his lips when he talks. Honestly, when he's talking is when she thinks about kissing him the most which seems pathetic and obvious and being a teenage girl sucks.)

She could ask Faye or Sarah for advice, see what they would do in this situation because they both have more experience with boys than she does, but she doesn't. Vocalizing it makes it real and there's still that part of her that's terrified of rejection, one way or another. She could just talk to him about it, like a normal person, but she can't do that either, because she can never figure out how to start.

Cora isn't really a person for words anyway. She's impulsive and does before she thinks, so in the end, that's what she does. He's talking about a movie or something with genetics - she lost track somewhere in the middle - and she moves before she can think about it too much, her hands coming to rest against his chest for balance, closes her eyes, and -

- her forehead collides with his nose. She's really supposed to be more coordinated than that.

The silence that follows is deafening, Peter pulling back just slightly, looking at her in confusion, his eyes scanning her face as though he's trying to see what she can't manage to say. Her cheeks feel like they're on fire and she can't hold his gaze, glancing away first before starting to pull away, but his hand catches her wrist and holds her in place.

"Wait."

Her eyes go back to him again, equally confused, but she lets him pull her back in, his hands moving to her waist. He nudges her in gently, not stopping until her hands were back against his chest again, lingering so closely in her space that she can't misinterpret it any other way. Her eyes look up at him, darting between his eyes and his lips, but he doesn't come the rest of the way and kiss her. She still gets to take the initiative and for some reason, that endears her to the moment even more. She takes a breath, takes her time, and slowly - carefully - leans in to kiss him again.

It only takes a second for him to kiss her back. She's never been so relieved to have a risk pay off.
Edited 2015-08-13 18:33 (UTC)
nelipot: (Default)

hana/rafe | monkeybars | 794 words

[personal profile] nelipot 2015-08-02 05:03 pm (UTC)(link)
There are certain things about being an angel or a demon that Hana envies. She knows she’s not going to live as long as those friends, or age nearly as well. She’s not a normal human, but she doesn’t have that level of power or community either. There is something about the status of angels and demons that evoke a kind of respect, no matter how begrudging, and shapeshifters simply aren’t offered that level of protection. However, she’s also spent enough time around angels and demons both to know that the downsides outweigh the benefits by a vast margin. The damage Callings do to both yourself and others is undeniable, and she certainly wouldn’t wish for one of her own.

She’s happy with the abilities she has. She just wishes she could live a little longer.

That being said, being in Teleios has opened up … opportunities without her really realizing it. The regular gifts from the agents and favors done on their behalf gives her the chance to pick up a few new extra talents beyond her usual shapeshifting, and it takes a bit of trial and error to make sure she gets things exactly right, but at the end of the day, she’s collected herself her own means of protection.

(This isn’t to say that she thinks she needs to protect herself from Rafe – she trusts Rafe implicitly and knows that he would never do anything to hurt her. But it isn’t always Rafe’s choice, and she doesn’t want to be a temptation, doesn’t want to put him in that position where he might. She doesn’t see it as protecting herself, she sees it as protecting him to keep her fears hidden, even out of the reach of his demon.

To be the safe port in the storm.)

She’s also been around long enough to know the signs of a reset when she sees them. She knows the signs of when it’s getting worse and she hates that she doesn’t know what to do for him. She knows he has to use his Calling, because the cost if he doesn’t is himself, and that cost is far too high, but how do you tell yourself that? How do you decide who gets to be unfortunate enough to lose their mind in return?

Callings aren’t meant to be fair, she knows that. The best she can do is try and fix things when they’re done. It’s why her brief little rotation through the infirmary had been very, very useful. It’s why when Noah calls her and the dam has broken, she doesn’t even hesitate, and will quickly make her way through the streets of Teleios to find her boyfriend.

“You shouldn’t have called her,” is what she hears as she makes her approach, seeing Rafe sitting with his back pressed against the wall of the bar, looking upset, but far better than he had when he left the house that morning. Across the way from him is a man sitting on the ground, staring back at her with blank vacant eyes. “I didn’t want her to see this.”

“It’s okay,” Noah says gently, like he didn’t put Rafe in this position for his own good to begin with. “She can help.”

Rafe looks confused, probably because she hasn’t told him about this yet, but that’s again, because he tries to shut her out of this. He doesn’t want to be a monster and while she can’t change that about him – she can’t take his Calling away, she can at least try to make sure it does less damage.

Hana drops onto her knees next to the man, reaching forward and placing her hands against his temples gently. She closes her eyes and concentrates feeling the warmth run through her and into the man and slowly but surely she can feel the tenseness in his mind start to ease and some of the life come back to him. A few minutes later he’s scrambling away, making a break for it without even bothering to question what happened and when Hana looks back at Rafe who just seems exhausted, both emotionally and physically.

She waits, seeing if he’ll say anything before making her way closer and sitting down next to him. Then stillness again, before she reaches forward and takes his hand gently, if he’ll let her. He doesn’t at first, but after a few moments his fingers curl around hers, but he keeps his eyes dead ahead.

“This doesn’t change the fact that I did it.”

“I know,” she says softly, before pulling her hand back and pressing a kiss to the back of his hand. “I know.”

But hopefully the fact that it wasn’t permanent would at least make it a little easier.
Edited 2016-01-09 23:09 (UTC)
epistemic: (Default)

derek/phoebe | psl-land | 500 words

[personal profile] epistemic 2015-08-02 05:03 pm (UTC)(link)
If anyone asks Derek, Phoebe kissed him.

Not that anyone would believe it if it were the other way around (which it wasn't). Derek is pretty sure that most of the McCall pack is convinced that he's been through enough relationship disasters that he's set out to become some kind of monk, and while that isn't truly the case, it's close enough to the truth to be real. Atonement through deprivation is a tried but true tactic, and one he's probably not going to let up anytime soon.

That, and Phoebe is lovely Phoebe, and totally the kind of girl to make the first move. It's an easy lie to tell, so when Stiles and Scott find them in the middle of the preserve, a dangerous looking tripped booby trap to their left and Derek and Phoebe in a pile on the ground, inexplicably kissing each other. Derek is flat on his back from where he fell after he yanked her out of the way, and Phoebe is resting on top of him and very eagerly kissing him back. In a lot of ways, it's like a dam burst, deprivation and denial making him a little too pliable, and his hands slide down her back, smoothing over her shirt, he knows that he could happily keep doing that for a while, were it not for Scott clearing his throat over their heads.

"Uh ... Derek?"

The kiss breaks, along with the spell, and both of them lift their heads to look back at the two teenagers standing behind them. Stiles looks a little too amused. Derek sort of wants to punch the look off his face.

"Yes?"

"Nothing," Scott shakes his head, at least having the decency to look awkward. "Just ... we heard the shot go off. Wanted to make sure you two were okay." He pauses, before awkwardly swallowing and rubbing the back of his neck. "Which ... you are. So we should go."

Phoebe tosses them a bright smile before nodding. "Yes. You should do that."

They leave shortly after that - though the leaving is more Scott hauling Stiles away - and she moves to sit back on her knees so that Derek can sit up, and she studies him closely. "So are we going to talk about this?"

Derek just glances back to her as impassively as ever, feelings being driven back down so that they don't bubble to the surface again. Admitting feelings is still a little too dangerous, even for him. He isn't sure he can start here.

Phoebe simply squints back at him, the judgment held mostly in her gaze for a moment, before she shakes her head and pushes up reaching out a hand to help him to his feet.

"Next time you want to kiss me? All you have to do is ask."

"I didn't."

She glances back over her shoulder at him and smirks knowingly in a way that's going to drive him crazy later.

"Yeah. Sure you didn't."
Edited 2015-08-03 17:39 (UTC)
thebeatofherheart: (because as of this day)

ava/connor | riftverse | 609 words

[personal profile] thebeatofherheart 2015-08-02 05:04 pm (UTC)(link)
THUMP!

CRASH!


“Shhhhhh!”

Trying to be sneaky when your drunk is difficult. Trying to sneak into a house full of werewolves when you’re drunk is downright impossible. Even when they’re sleeping, she makes far more noise than she should. It doesn’t matter that she knows this house like the back of her hand, she’s bound to stumble into something.

(She also really shouldn’t be drunk at the moment. She is a little too young to be drinking, but it was a bad Calling day, and as far as she’s concerned, she’s earned it.)

She moves one hand out ahead of her, trying to navigate her way slowly to Alek’s bedroom so she can crash into bed and curl up next to him, but before she can make it to the stairs, her hand strikes against something warm and solid in front of her.

“When did you guys get heated walls?”

The words slip past her lips before she even really thinks about it, as the wall steps forward and into the low patch of light in the middle of the room. That’s when she’s able to see that the wall isn’t a wall at all, but more of a person.

“Ava?”

“Oh.” She blinks for a moment, letting her hand continue to rest there for a moment, before she slowly withdraws it and flashes him a lazy smile. “Hi, Connor.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I was drunk.” She always had a tendency to be more honest when she’s drunk. “And I didn’t want to go home to my grandma so I decided to come here instead.” And before he could protest her driving: “I took an Uber.”

“Good,” he says gently. There’s clear concern in his eyes as he moves closer, wrapping an arm around her shoulders to move her ahead of them. “Come on, then. Let’s get you to bed.”

“’kay.”

It takes them another five minutes to wrestle her up the stairs, and another two to get her out of her shoes and into bed, and Connor is ready to tuck her in and head back to bed himself, but before he can get too far, her hand stretches out to grab his wrist.

“Wait.” She wrestles her way out of the blankets into a sitting position. “Can you just stay? For a little bit?”

He glances back to her for a moment, before nodding, and moving to sit on the bed next to her, leaning back against the pillows as he does. “Alright. Just for a little while.”

Ava looks briefly grateful, before she shifts closer, curling up against his shoulder. “Thanks.”

“Why were you drinking?” The question isn’t asked out of judgment, but more concern, and she can pick up on it coming off him in waves. She wrinkles her nose as she debates how to respond.

“I had a bad day. Calling wise.” She wrinkles her nose. “It was a bad emotional day, and I was … taking it out on other people.” It’s not something she’s proud of, but it’s what was happening. “Sometimes being drunk makes everything seem a little more … floaty.”

“Why was it a bad day?”

That’s she’s a little less forward about, just staying quiet against his shoulder. But after a moment, the need to get the words out overrides everything else. “Anniversary of when my mom left.”

Connor, thankfully, doesn’t press her for more information about that. He just turns and presses a kiss to her forehead. “Just get some rest. I’ll make you some breakfast in the morning.”

She smiles softly at that, before closing her eyes and drifting off to dreamland. “You’re the best.”
Edited 2016-04-27 18:31 (UTC)
lightingtheskies: (pic#6554512)

apollo/elena | teleios | 627 words

[personal profile] lightingtheskies 2015-08-02 05:04 pm (UTC)(link)
Apollo has never understood the hold that Hades has on the world, the power he has simply by existing, but he always insists the debts owed to him are paid by the debtors, either in life or in death. Somehow the Indebted who owe him are never released by Teleios until his debt is fulfilled, even when Teleios no longer exists.

The Two end the second city, all of her friends and family are gone, but Elena can still not go home.

He loses track of her for a few years after the end of Teleios, going back to his duties in Delphi while she travels, probably spending time with the vampire friends she made after she was turned. He's happy for her, really. She always had an explorers heart, wanting to reach out and grasp the world while she had it, and he wants her to have that. He always wanted her to have that.

He doesn't see her again until she and the Kirkpatricks crash a gala event his father is throwing on Mount Olympus. He's not entirely sure how they got an invitation (though he can guess - Elena and Kenny's sister are beautiful girls, and this is Zeus we're talking about), but he comes across her sneaking desserts off in one of the corridors, wearing a very familiar dress and smiling.

It's such a relief to see her smile.

"You know, the rest of the party is out there," he says, tipping his head back over his shoulder as he leans in the doorway. "Though I also don't think they'd notice if you stole all of their desserts."

When she looks up at him, he's expecting a flinch or for some of that excitement to drain away, but it doesn't. Maybe it's a sign that she's finally adjusting or at least that she's ready to forgive him, but either way, it makes things feel a little lighter.

"What fun is crashing a party if you act like a regular guest?" She offers one of the chocolates up to him, almost like a bribe to keep her secret and he grins as he reaches for it, popping it in his mouth.

"I guess you do have a point. But if you're out here, that means a distinctive lack of dancing. I vaguely remember that being your favorite part."

She glances back to the ballroom, where music is wafting from the band playing, and she places the tray on the side table, taking a curious step closer as she does. "Are you telling me that you, the god of music, can't improvise outside a ball?"

His eyebrows go up in return, one hand extending out to her as she gets closer. "Are you asking me to improvise?" She smirks and her hand lands in his palm, and he takes that as a yes. A moment later he's pulling her into a spin, bringing his arm over her head and pulling her in close almost as though they hadn't lost any time at all.

(That is one of the things he does love about immortality. The mortal world fades and changes, but things like this still feel the same.)

He loses track of how long they dance, listening to the music change but still pretending the rest of the world doesn't exist. Eventually, however, all good things must come to an end, and Kenny wanders back to find her, saying that it was time for them to go. She glances back at him with a small smile, one hand coming to rest on his chest.

"Thank you for the dance."

He smiles softly in return, before leaning forward and leaving a soft lingering kiss on her cheek before he lets her go. "Until we dance again."
Edited 2015-09-09 15:39 (UTC)
impetere: (try to tear my way in)

cora/sarah | canon-ish? | 605 words

[personal profile] impetere 2015-08-02 05:04 pm (UTC)(link)
Hales tend to have a close personal relationship with death. It's been said before where a Hale goes, death follows and to some extent it's true. Peter is it's weapon, a raging force that leaves silence and blood in his wake. He's a creature of habit, a ruthless, unyielding force, and the cause rather than the conclusion. Derek drowns in death, having buried more corpses than one person should in one life, and death is a constant rival, a force that he races against the clock to try and stop, but most of the time he can't.

Cora, on the other hand, is different. For Cora, death is a quiet presence. A soft hand in hers. The scent of feathers and dust and lead, melded with the soft scratch of a pencil against a sketchpad. Death comes in the form of Sarah, drawn to Beacon Hills like a magnet, almost as though the angel in her can smell the blood that's soaked into the ground like a battlefield. So many have died in this small little town that it's no surprise that Sarah finds her way there after falling through a rift, lost, confused and an odd mix of broken and beautiful that Cora can't seem to look away from.

Unfortunately for Cora, she's not very good at putting want into words when things are calm and normal. She passes the days with Sarah in Derek's loft, watching the other girl sketch or talking about things that aren't really all that important. She becomes the first real friend she's had since Boyd, but in a lot of ways she's more than that, more than a friend, more than anyone she's ever met, but actually articulating that in a way that makes sense is hard. Words are always hard, but actions in this particular case could be worse.

The thing about Beacon Hills, however, is that there will always be blood. It doesn't matter if it's the nogitsune or the dead pool or the Dread Doctors, people are always going to die. As long as the nemeton is active and the hound protects it there will always be monsters lurking in the shadows. Scott's pack tries to stop it but people still die and as people die, Sarah starts fraying at the edges. Cora can see the bits of the girl she loves slipping away from between her fingers, fragmenting more and more with each person she helps die and Cora doesn't know how to bring her back. As much as Cora has fallen for death, she doesn't want to lose another friend to it. She wants Sarah to always be there, a constant presence, quiet and calm where Cora is rash and impulsive.

In the end, it's that rash and impulsive nature that saves her in the end. It's a moment where Sarah is more angel than girl, not responding to take the hand that wants to save her, and it's taking her longer to come out of it than normal. When all Sarah can tell her is that she's not dying today, she pleads for her to snap out of it, to come back, to be Sarah again, and when all else fails, she does the only thing she can think to do. She grabs her and kisses her, warm and slow, and hope that somehow that's enough.

It's not like a fairy tale, where the spell is broken and they all live happily ever after. They still live in Beacon Hills, and there will always be another dragon waiting at their door. But Cora's willing to settle simply for Sarah kissing her back.
Edited 2015-08-27 18:17 (UTC)
kiss_evilgoodbye: * angel, + text (i am an echo of the eternal cry)

damon/buffy | bete noire/teleios-ish | 737 words

[personal profile] kiss_evilgoodbye 2015-08-02 05:05 pm (UTC)(link)
“You’re late.”

It’s meant to be a teasing gesture, because as far as Buffy knows he might be perfectly on time, but this particular set of city shenanigans have been going on for a couple weeks now and it’s taken him a while to make his way to her side if he arrived sooner. For right now, however, she’s content to just tease him and be happy about the fact that he’s here rather than dwelling too much on the negative.

Doesn’t mean she won’t get on his case though.

“Hello to you too, Buffy,” he responds as he slides onto the barstool next to her at the Dal, giving Bo a flirty smile as he waves her down for a drink of his own. “Can you be late to a metaphysical event? I’m fairly certain, belissima, that you have to arrive exactly when you’re supposed to.”

“That so,” she replies as she sips her own drink. “I will have to keep that in mind, next time I’m swept up into one.”

“Mmmm. I’m sure you will.” There’s a pause as he thanks Bo before taking a sip of his own. “Not that you’re one to just accept fate as it is.”

“Also true,” she says with a nod. “Though I have to say – I think I’m starting to like this one.”

“Really?” Damon makes a face as he shakes his head. “It was one thing being at the whims of the city. This … I’m not sure this is entirely fair.”

“Nothing is ever fair,” she points out as she takes another sip. It’s the fruity kind, not the hard kind, so she’s not expecting to really feel anything from it – it probably says more about her mood than anything else. “At least, not the way people think fair means. Fair doesn’t always mean right and right doesn’t always mean good. It just is what it is.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be good?”

“Exactly,” she teases again, turning to face him more. “I know from experience.” She glances down at his wrist for a moment, before frowning. “No bracelet.”

He follows her eyes down to his wrist, and shrugs. “I don’t think I’m meant to stay, Buffy. Just visiting for a little while.”

“I figured. That would be too much like ‘luck’ and that I have absolutely none of.”

He smiles softly, but there’s a touch of bittersweet to it, almost as though he doesn’t really know what else to tell her, but he at least feels like he should say something. “I do have some time, though. Not fading out of existence quite yet.”

“That is true,” she says with a nod. “And a wiser person might suggest that we should make the most of things while we have it.”

“That does sound like a very wise person indeed. What would you suggest we do with this time?” He raises an eyebrow in her direction, and she grins before taking his hand.

“C’mon. Let’s go see a movie.”

* * * * *


Three movies, two massive tubs of popcorn and an argument about the virtues of Christian Slater versus … literally anyone else, the presence of Damon next to her starts to get slightly fuzzy around the edges. She frowns in response, before crossing her arms in front of her chest.

“Guess it’s time for you to go.”

He glances to her and frowns, before glancing down at himself, and sighing. “I guess it is.”

“You know, one of these days I wish the universe will give us a choice about stuff like this,” she sighs, before turning to pull him into one last hug. Damon responds in kind rubbing her back gently, but his tangibility is fading fast.

“Stay safe, belissima. Try not to aim for death number four.”

“Trust me. It is not an intentional thing.” She pulls back for a moment, before pushing up on her toes to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. He manages to catch her off guard, however, one hand coming up to cup her cheek gently and bringing her lips to his.

The kiss is slow, soft and brief and Buffy is the one that breaks it. It’s not that it’s unwelcome, but Bonnie is still her friend too, and she knows whatever universe he’s returning to, she’s probably there waiting for him. For right now, just that is enough.

“Goodbye, Damon.”

“Arrivederci, Buffy.”
Edited 2016-02-21 17:16 (UTC)
kiss_evilgoodbye: * angel (each perfect day the same)

peter/buffy | canon au | 345 words

[personal profile] kiss_evilgoodbye 2015-08-02 05:05 pm (UTC)(link)
Werewolves have always been tactile creatures.

Buffy's known that about them from Day One. It so happens that Buffys also happen to be very tactile creatures, so that's never really been a problem between them. She and Peter have always been better with the physical than the verbal, which is funny, considering how much both of them like to talk.Actual talking has never been Buffy's strong suit any more than it has been Peter's.

After the fire, touch became something different. Buffy and Peter avoided touching each other if they could help it, to the point where touch becomes a tool to control him, whether it's a distraction or a focus point, something that keeps him tethered to the here and now rather than losing himself in the chasm that has become "then." This doesn't change after Mexico - the thing that does change is how hard it is for Peter to stay.

She gets better at reading the tension in his shoulders and the stiffness in his gaze. She uses her hand to anchor him and a kiss to steady him, remind him who he is and why he's here. She knows all too well, that this won't last forever. This isn't a fairy tale and true love's kiss won't heal a broken mind because there is no spell to break. It's going to be hard and every day and in some ways that's comforting.

Her world has never been made up of fairy tales. She's not looking for happily ever after, and having Peter be perfect would be far too easy a fix.

It's not until they're in Scotland that something changes, distance and time giving them a chance to recuperate and regroup. As time goes on, he starts to reach for her, instead of the other way around. He takes her hand to draw her closer, takes the initiative when he kisses her and it feels less like she's anchoring him and more like they're anchoring each other.

It's still not perfect. It's still not easy. But for right now? It's progress.
Edited 2015-08-25 15:19 (UTC)
somanyadjectives: (Default)

stefan/sam | psl-land | 655 words

[personal profile] somanyadjectives 2015-08-02 05:06 pm (UTC)(link)
[Based off this thread]

They go to Florence.

Stefan hasn’t been back since the war, so most of his sightseeing there is new for him as well, but he takes Sam to all the old haunts – all the important things to see – and slowly they start to rebuild themselves a life again. Sam paints. Stefan cooks. Sam can’t appreciate Stefan’s cooking, but that’s not really her fault.

That being said, the life they build isn’t a bad one. When he’s traveled before, he never really had a companion, save for the brief moments he had Lexi. It’s nice to have someone to share things with, every so often.

After Italy, they swing through Greece, followed by Barcelona for a Spanish summer and Paris for a tour of the Louvre. He lets Sam choose the places and he’ll make the arrangements which doesn’t involve as much compulsion as careful persuasion and finding easy ways to transport Sam until they figure out if her kind of vampire could use a daylight ring. Calling Bonnie is Not an Option if he wishes to avoid the usual Mystic Falls drama (which he does) and from his regular conversations with Caroline, nothing they’re dealing with right now is so dangerous that they desperately need him.

For the first time in a very long time, he’s free. The only person he’s really beholden to is Sam and Sam wants to escape just as much as he does. For the first time in a very long time, he feels truly comfortable in his own skin. Not pretending to be something he isn’t, not over indulging to drown out the fact that he can’t be the person he wants to be. Just … Stefan. It’s probably been a long time coming.

Eventually they do finally make it to Reykjavik. It’s very cold.

“Quit complaining, it’s not that bad.”

“You’re from Chicago,” Stefan fires back as he continues to trek behind her. “You’re used to cold.”

The eye roll she gives under the mass of blue hair is incredibly dramatic but she doesn’t counter the point exactly. “You lived in Chicago once. Isn’t that what you and Rebekah were reminiscing about in London?”

“Yeah, for a summer,” Stefan shakes his head. “Or was it early spring?” He remembers there being a school for girls in session, but it was a different time back then. He considers for a moment before shaking his head. “Definitely not winter.”

She doesn’t seem all that impressed, just shakes her head and keeps on pulling ahead. “Quit your bellyaching. We’re almost there.”

Stefan rolls his eyes in return before following her the rest of the way to the top and stopping in front of the clearing. They’re probably going to head out soon after this but he told her they couldn’t leave until she saw the Northern Lights and it’s the first clear night since they’ve arrived that they’ve had a chance. Reaching the top, he slides his hands in his pockets and looks up so that he can see the beautiful green lines dancing across the sky. This is the first wonder of the world that neither of them have seen, so they both need a moment to just take it in and enjoy it for what it is.

After a small moment of silence, he glances over to her with a smile. “Are you going to paint it?”

She smirks back at him before shrugging. “I’m definitely thinking about it.”

“Good.”

There’s another small beat of silence and she inches a bit closer, nudging him in the side lightly. “Thank you for doing this with me. I wouldn’t have found half of this on my own.”

He glances back to her with a small smile before wrapping an arm around her shoulder and pulling her in closer, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head. “Thank you for inviting me.”

They both probably wouldn’t have found themselves again otherwise.
Edited 2016-01-03 20:13 (UTC)
dontkanyeme: (of all the lost girls who got found)

bo/elektra | psl-land | 529 words

[personal profile] dontkanyeme 2015-08-02 05:06 pm (UTC)(link)
If there's one thing that the Hand won't fuck with, it's the Fae.

It's easy to see themselves as the superior option to humans, with their abilities that resemble that of the Fae but in reality are mere imitations. Coming up against the real deal, the uberhumans that have been hiding in plain sight since the world began, and they start losing. Fast.

Bo, personally, doesn't mind the imposition. Most Fae probably would be amused by how overconfident they are right before they swatted them like flies, but Bo will give them an actual fight, tease them into thinking they stand a chance against the daughter of Death himself, but in the end, they're basically target practice.

At the same time, it's not really the fight she's after. It's the assassin clad in red leather that usually follows. Elektra is interesting in all the right ways, a complicated mix of sass, serious and badass that doesn't come around all that often and Bo can't help but be intrigued. Whether it's fighting side by side or trying to tease her out of her shell afterwards in the Dal, Elektra is certainly a challenge worth conquering.

And she's this close to getting the other woman to come to her.

"Okay, you have to tell me what is in this." Elektra is peering down into the mouth of her glass as they recoup back in Trick's lair. Bo stole a couple bottles of the good stuff for their private victory party - the kind that will get anyone, no matter their metabolism, nice and sloshed as efficiently as possible. Bo is already feeling it, and she giggles at the look on Elektra's face.

"It's called 'Ambrosia.' Not actual ambrosia, but the closest Fae equivalent." She shifts her position so that she and Elektra are almost snuggling on the couch. The other woman curls into her side a little more, something that probably speaks more to her comfort with Bo than the alcohol in her system and Bo sighs softly as she relaxes. "I think it's the perfect drink for a job well done.

"It's certainly strong." Elektra swirls her drink for a moment as she stares at it. "But strong isn't always a bad thing."

"No it is not," Bo nods. "Besides. We're celebrating. I think we're allowed to get a little sloshed."

Elektra gives Bo a look that says she thinks she's a past "a little" but she doesn't seem to mind. It says a lot that Elektra trusts Bo to be with her like this, and Bo certainly isn't going to take advantage of it. For right now, though, she's content with this moment alone with someone she's come to value as a friend, first, whatever relationship aspirations she may have second.

There's silence for a moment, before Elektra tips her head to the side, and presses a soft kiss to Bo's cheek. The other woman closes her eyes at the touch, savoring it before she even really comprehends it's happening, and once she does, her eyes open and Bo turns to look at Elektra curiously.

"What was that for?"

Elektra just smiles softly, before nodding. "For having my back."
Edited 2015-10-07 17:23 (UTC)
dontkanyeme: * dyson (that they gave her)

bo/duke | psl-land | 684 words

[personal profile] dontkanyeme 2015-08-02 05:06 pm (UTC)(link)
“So how much of a punch do these kisses of yours pack?”

They’re sitting in the Gull after hours, a line of shot glasses between them and Bo pointedly looks at him as she picks one up to toss the shot back. It’s not that she isn’t feeling inclined to share, she just knows that he’s seen her in action before. He knows how easy it is to knock a person out with a touch, let alone a kiss.

“Previous evidence not enough for you, Duke?”

He smirks at her as he reaching over to toss back one of his own, holding the shot in his mouth for a moment before swallowing it down. There’s that brief wince at the burn before he turns and looks at her again.

“Well, yeah. I mean I know you can do that succubus thing you do, but you also like to punch people in the face a lot, so it makes me wonder. Is the Black Widow trick only for special occasions or do you just like to mix it up? Keep people guessing.”

She considers for a moment before shrugging. “Little of both, I suppose. Why so curious?” Her eyes narrow for a moment, playfully, as she picks up her next shot. “Worried I might use it on you?”

He grins at her, waiting until she finishes her shot before he speaks again. “Well, while it is safe to say that you would not be the first person who tried to suck out my soul, you are the first woman I’ve met who could actually do it literally. And while it’s a much better way to die than what I was originally told, I’d still prefer not to die at all – with a smile, or otherwise.”

“Then, I think you should make every effort to stay on my good side.” She finishes off the last shot, and pushes the glasses back towards him. “And right now? That means more booze.” He smirks at her, before reaching for the bottle and starting to fill up another line of shots. She waits for him to finish, watching him as she does, before picking up one of them and bringing it to her lips. She swallows, waiting for the burn to subside, before she looks up at him again, a bit flirtier than before. “Besides. I thought you’d rather have something a little … friendlier.”

“Friendlier,” he pauses for a moment as he considers, before turning to face her again. “I would always prefer something friendlier. Personally, I like to think I’m a nice guy. I like people being nice in return.”

He leans over the bar across from her as he speaks, and she turns to match him, folding her arms in front of her for a moment. Her eyes meet his, and she lets one hand inch up his forearm, curling into his shirt a bit.

“That’s good,” she says softly. “Me too.” As she finishes speaking, she leans in to kiss him deeply, using the hand in his shirt to pull him closer. He responds almost instantly, one large hand moving to rest against her arm to steady her while the other sneaks up to cup against the side of her face.

And it’s good.

She always thought it would be good. Duke has this swagger about him that makes him a walking temptation, especially when it comes to Bo’s particular taste. But now she knows for sure, and that’s something she’s going to relish. At least for a little while.

Eventually, she breaks the kiss, leaving him just a little bit wanting. Then she pulls back completely, taking the final shot off the bar and downing it, turning promptly on her heel as she does.

“Thanks for the drinks.”

The only sound as she crosses from the bar to the door is the sound of her heels against the wooden floor, but as she opens the doorway to head out into the rest of the world, she can’t help the grin as she hears him speak.

“That … I don’t think that was very nice.”
Edited 2016-01-05 00:21 (UTC)
bravebartender: (give up the ghost)

ethan/cami | monkeybars-ish | 1,657 words

[personal profile] bravebartender 2015-08-02 05:07 pm (UTC)(link)
The problem with Teleios is that sometimes you go home.

It’s not by choice and there doesn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason to it. You go home and you forget your life there, forget how you’re raising your friend’s daughter, or how there’s a bar of people counting on you, or how there is someone there who wants Hope dead and there’s nothing you can do to protect her. You forget your friends, forget the people you love, you just go on with life as though nothing has happened.

That is, until that life stops.

Cami wakes up on the floor of the temple a few weeks after the day she disappears, the first of the month, just like everyone else. The only difference is, when Cami comes to with a sharp gasp, feeling the tacky layer of blood coagulating around her throat (from where she slit her throat), she doesn’t have to ask the question most newbies ask when they arrive in Teleios.

(Am I dead?

Yes. Technically. Though right now, she counts as neither.)

She feels so exposed like this so she scrambles to her feet as quickly as she can, brushing off calls of concern and taking herself as quickly as she can to Rosseau’s front door. Stefan tries to stop her on the way, and when he catches her wrist, she wonders if he can see what’s happening to her, if his one hundred and fifty years as a vampire means he just knows when someone is caught in the in-between, and if she paid more attention, she might be able to tell from the look in his eyes that he does.

But now isn’t the time to talk about it. The light is too bright and sounds are too loud, and she just wants to get home to a shower and to Hope and make a decision. It’s not a decision she wants to make. It’s a decision that should be easy after all. Cami’s never wanted to be a vampire, and she still doesn’t. But Teleios isn’t New Orleans. There are different rules and a hundred different things that could force her hand, and she needs to settle this now.

She makes her way back to Rosseau’s, closed for the day, and just slips past the door and up to her small apartment over the bar. There are a lot of things she’s expecting to find there, but what she actually finds isn’t one of them.

“Ethan.”

He’s sitting in the middle of the room with Hope, walking her back and forth and not quite facing her at first, just starts talking, his voice low and soothing so as not to disturb Hope. “You’re back. Figured you would be. She was just having a little trouble – ” He turns to face her finally, and she can see the way his eyes widen when he sees her, black dress soaked in blood (her blood), and he almost doesn’t finish the sentence. “ – sleeping.”

He watches her for a moment, and she watches him back, unsure of what to say, and instead she swallows hard.

“Yeah. I’m back.”

There are a number of different sentences he starts, until he finally settles for the one that probably has the most obvious answer, but one that almost no one back in New Orleans would ask. “Are you okay?”

“Not really,” she admits slowly, and he starts to speak again, before she holds up a hand to stop him. “I need to talk about this, I do, but … can we not do this while I’m still covered in my own blood?”

Admitting out loud is like a punch to the gut for both of them, quiet but solid, because it solidifies the reality of what happened to her. She died. And now, thanks to Klaus’ psychotic ex, she’s stuck in this in-between that she can’t get out of. But Ethan doesn’t ask for clarification. He doesn’t demand more of her before she’s ready to give it. He just nods.

“I’ll put her down. Go.”

“Thank you.”

She turns the water up so high it’s nearly scalding and scrubs every bit of blood from her body until her skin is red from the effort, and in a lot of ways, it’s sensory overload. Everything is so much sharper when she’s like this, and she almost feels lightheaded as a result, but soon she’s back in soft, comfortable clothing and making her way to the couch, looking up at Ethan as he comes to join her.

“Did she go down okay?”

“Yeah, she’s fine. I think she just missed you and wanted to be awake when you got back.”

She smiles softly and nods as he goes to sit next to her, taking her hand in his gently as he stays close. There’s a silence that follows, the weighty kind where he’s not going to force her to speak before she’s ready but he’s not going to speak first either. It’s an effective tactic too, because sooner rather than later she spits out:

“I’m in transition.”

Ethan, to his credit, doesn’t drop her hand, but she can feel the concern rolling off him in waves. While they’ve compared and contrasted the differences between his vampires and hers and how they become what they are, she knows it doesn’t stop the shock from setting in. If she hadn’t drank Aurora’s blood before she slit her own throat, as she was compelled to do, this would be an entirely different conversation. She would be talking about how she can’t go home, so she had nowhere to move but forward. She would still have her humanity.

Now, she doesn’t have that kind of choice. She can either die in Teleios, like she will probably going to die in New Orleans (she doesn’t want to be a vampire, doesn’t want to change the person that she is, doesn’t want to see if she can learn to live with being the predator, rather than the prey), or she can live on here as a vampire.

There are costs to either option, but in the end, she knows that there’s no true choice. She can’t leave Hope with no family and no protection. As much as she knows Ethan may promise to take care of her, he doesn’t know what he’s getting into. Not really.

Suddenly, as though he already knows what she’s thinking: “You don’t have to do this. To complete the transition. Not if you don’t want to.”

She glances over at him, her face softening for a moment. “I can’t just abandon Hope, Ethan. I can’t leave her alone. Who’s … who’s going to tell her about her parents? Her aunts and uncles? Her legacy.”

“They could come here one day.”

“Sure. From any time or place. Before she’s born, maybe, when they think she’s an impossibility and want nothing to do with her? I can’t … I can’t do that to her. She’s just a kid.”

“This isn’t about her, though. This is about you. You can’t be all those things for her if you wind up … resenting her for forcing you to make this choice.”

He has a point. She knows he has a point, and she agrees with him, to an extent. But she looks at that little girl, and she knows that this isn’t just about what she wants for Hope. “I want to be there for her. I want to watch her grow up and tell her about boys – or girls, I won’t judge. I want to be that person that she can count on, and can ground her when the magic gets to be too much. And I can’t do that if I’m dead.” There’s a huff of a laugh, before she shakes her head. “Besides, who knows what being dead means in a place like this anyway.”

Ethan smirks a bit in response. “It’s not as though you don’t have a plethora of afterlives to choose from.”

“That is true,” she nods as she turns to lean into him a bit. “I’m just … I’m worried about how this will change me. About the person I’ll become if everything suddenly becomes more. I don’t want to get lost in it.”

“I’ll help,” he says gently, giving her hand a squeeze. “You know I will. Whatever you need.”

“You sure?” she teases. “My new undead-ness won’t clash with your werewolf-itude?”

“You’ve been spending too much time with Stiles.” He smirks. “But I think I can make it work.”

“Good. Because I would hate to do all of this to stay here and then lose you too.”

Ethan looks over at her, one free hand coming up to brush against her cheek softly. “Never. You will always have me, Cami.”

There have been so many starts, stops and missed opportunities, and she doesn’t want this to be another one. She pauses for a moment, before pulling him in closer and kissing him soundly. Her feelings for Klaus are complicated and haven’t been forgotten – in a lot of ways they will always be there – but Ethan is the one here, and she’s sick of letting opportunities go because she doesn’t think she should have them.

He kisses her back, soundly and surely, almost as though he needs the reassurance as much as she does. When she finally pulls back, he watches her for a moment, confused. “What was that for?”

“I just wanted to do that once while I’m still me,” she says softly. “Before everything is different.”

He nods in understanding. “How much longer before you absolutely have to … ?”

“A day, I think? Not long.”

“A day’s long enough,” he says softly, before pulling her in for another kiss and relaxing back into the couch with her.

There are probably better ways she could spend her last few moments as a human, but for right now, this is good enough.
Edited 2016-02-19 20:10 (UTC)
enjoythe_ride: (threw away the cards)

damon/bela | monkeybars | 335 words

[personal profile] enjoythe_ride 2015-08-02 05:07 pm (UTC)(link)
[Follows this.]

Bela isn't a girl who's used to things going her way. After Chicago, where most could argue she had it too well, she finds herself dumped in Teleios where all of her familiar faces fail to recognize her, and all of her pillars of support are gone. She's building herself up from scratch, again, and while she didn't dislike it the first time, this time it seems like a waste when the only clear pattern is that she's going to lose it all again.

Still, she tries. She goes out to bars, attempts to be social and for the most part blends into the background. That is, when strangers aren't accosting her out of nowhere.

She barely has a chance to respond to the sound of the name before suddenly someone is kissing her, and her fight-or-flight kicks in. She tenses at the assault, hands coming up to push at his shoulders, fingers digging into the meat of his shoulders until she gets the leverage to push him back, her hand flying across his face with a smack!

It isn't until after her hand connects with his skin that she recognizes the familiarity of the kiss. All the pieces fall into place as her hand comes to cover her mouth, staring at him in shock more than anything else, because it shouldn't be possible. It shouldn't be something she gets to regain, no matter how much this place is supposed to be perfect.

"Oh my God."

But he's there. He's real. And he called her Bela before he kissed her, not Rose. The realization that it is in fact her Damon comes hard and fast, and she doesn't give him much of a chance to be annoyed with her for slapping him. Her hands find his shirt as she draws him back in again, kissing him soundly for existing, and hoping that he won't take it too personally.

She'll probably never live it down, but that's a topic they can sort out for themselves later.
Edited 2015-08-12 17:10 (UTC)
thisholyspark: (2)

hal/olivia | canon au | 552 words

[personal profile] thisholyspark 2015-08-02 05:08 pm (UTC)(link)
Olivia walks into Christmas with the Masons with zero expectations and a whole belly full of nerves.

It’s the kind of nerves that usually come when she has to interact with normal people in the world, a kind of anxious I hope I’m doing this right that she never used to have before Hal. She never actually cared about leaving a good impression on people before but this is Hal’s family. And if Hal is going to become a more permanent fixture in her life, she wants to be sure that she’s made a good impression on his family too.

They stopped in a motel just outside Boston the night before, getting one last night alone to themselves before they are thrust into the Mason Holiday Whirlwind, and now they were getting ready to leave again. She’s standing in the front of the hotel room, staring into the mirror on the wall, playing idly with her hair as she tries to make sure she looks nice. The clothes are all new new which is weird, and she never actually cares what she does with her hair beyond throwing it into a ponytail to keep out of her face so also weird but she’s trying. That should count for something.

Hal comes up behind her and grins as he looks her over. “Jeans without holes in them, a shirt that isn’t flannel – ” He slips his arms around her waist and pulls her in closer, until she has no choice just to relax back against him and she sighs softly in return. “ – I feel like my girlfriend’s been replaced by some kind of imposter. Who are you? Where have you taken her?”

“Shut up,” she rolls her eyes as she leans into him, her eyes meeting his in the mirror. “I just want to look nice for your parents.”

He sighs softly, before glancing to the side to look at her more. “You don’t have to be nervous, you know. My parents are the easiest people to win over, hands down.”

“That’s what you said. But I still … I don’t want to seem weird.”

“You are weird.” She gives him a look and he holds up his hands innocently as she turns to face him. “I mean that in a good way! You come from an entire world of weird, and I get why you can’t tell them about it, but that doesn’t mean you have to pretend to be someone you’re not, okay?”

She sighs and nods. “I’ve just never done Christmas or meeting my boyfriend’s parents or really … being around a normal family for the holidays. I don’t really know what to do.”

“Easy.” He smirks at her. “You eat lots of food, kick my brothers asses at video games, and if you see mistletoe in the doorway, you make sure I’m around to do this.” With that, he leans in to kiss her softly. In that instant, most of the tension melts away and she sinks into him, sliding her arms around his neck.

As the kiss parts, she sighs softly in agreement. “I think I’m gonna like this holiday if I get to do a lot of that.”

“Good,” he grins, before taking her hand. “Ready to hit the road?”

“Yep,” she nods. “Let’s do this.”
Edited 2016-01-01 17:39 (UTC)
abad_influence: (just know you are not alone)

peter/el | white collar | 587 words

[personal profile] abad_influence 2015-08-02 05:08 pm (UTC)(link)
When you’ve been married long enough, big romantic gestures tend to turn into the little things. This is especially true about being married to a man like Peter Burke, who can be so detail oriented in terms of his job, but fails at interpreting them when it comes to his wife. It’s not that Peter doesn’t want to make the grand romantic gesture, it’s simply that he wants to make the right one and the right one doesn’t always turn out as well as expected.

(Though, one of the many reasons why El will always be grateful for Neal, even when he was getting Peter into trouble, is that when it came to anniversaries, Valentine’s Day, and honestly any special occasion in general, he forced Peter to seriously up his game. That? That she will never complain about.)

Their time becomes even more limited when they become parents. Not that they regret that particular choice either, but a little more of that attention to detail slips away in favor of making sure that Little Neal is safe, secure and happy. It’s what they had wanted for so long, and now that it’s finally here, they throw everything into it wholeheartedly. Jones says there’s really no one better fit to become parents (even if they name their children after trouble making, pain-in-the-ass criminals instead of the fine upstanding FBI agents that Peter works with – Clinton Burke has a really nice ring to it, when you really think about it), and even if El doesn’t always feel like the most adequate mother (normal, according to her own), most days she still manages to feel like she’s doing something right.

Still, she misses the romance. But she knows it’s always worth the wait when Peter manages to surprise her, so she does what she does best. She waits.

It’s the Friday before their anniversary, and she has spent the past hour shopping while Peter gets in some quality baby time, and when she returns to the house, she’s surprised to find it almost completely dark. Part of her is almost nervous as she walks in the door, but from what she can tell, everything seems to be in order.

And then she rounds the corner, and everything changes.

The dining room lights are set on low, and at the beautifully set table is her husband. She glances from him to the table, and then to the kitchen where she can smell something cooking. “Did you make a roast?”

“I had a little downtime.”

“Where’s Neal?”

“With Sara. She wanted to spend some time with him while she was back from London, and she made me promise to take him back in the morning.”

“Okay.” She nods as she makes her way closer, letting her hands rest against his chest as he wraps his arms around her. “So what is all of this?”

“Well, our anniversary is on Sunday. And it’s been a while since we’ve had some time to ourselves, so I thought – why not make my wife dinner and see what happens?”

She pauses, considering for a moment, before her smile widens and she pushes up on her toes to kiss him softly. “I think that sounds perfect.”

He grins in return, before squeezing her tightly. “I’m glad you think so.”

She shifts to rest her head against his shoulder, looking over everything and just letting it sink in exactly how lucky she is. “Happy anniversary, hun.”

Peter rubs her back gently before nodding in return. “Happy anniversary, hun.”
Edited 2016-01-06 16:43 (UTC)

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