#(i spent way too much time and effort on him. i had like three tabs for human anatomy references open haha)

[smile-files]

goodness gravy why did i stay up past midnight drawing wally darling with his guts spilled everywhere. what the bug

[neonun-au]

still in love | nakamoto yuta

pairing: yuta x reader genre: angst, fluff, exes to something more warnings: alcohol consumption, mild language word count: 2.2k song: still in love - jahkoy

for @hyuckdove​ thank you so much for requesting, sukie! i hope you enjoy it~

Friday night. Another night spent in your sweatpants on the hand-me-down couch in your small studio apartment. The city lights filter in through the windows, illuminating you from the side as the flashing of another Netflix show plays on in front of you--a show that you have seen before and definitely were not paying any attention to now. 

Instead you find yourself swiping through dating apps, staring blank-faced into the eyes of boy after boy without anything even remotely close to interest stirring your thoughts or your heart. 

Another gym selfie, another picture posing with a dog that probably was not theirs, a group photo with no indication as to which bleary-eyed goon was the owner of the profile. Swipe left, swipe left, swipe left, block. A buffet of options with nothing even remotely appealing on offer. 

Just as you move your thumb to close the tab your eyes land on a face smiling at you through your screen and you feel your heart lurch to a stop in your chest. 

Yuta, 25 New in town. Leader singer/guitar for Open Air.  Let’s hit up some cafes and talk tunes

A short bio, but paired with the small gallery of photos it brings a flood of memories rushing through to the forefront of your mind. His hair was longer than it had been the last time you saw him--windswept and dyed in a myriad of colours depending on when each picture had been taken. Some on stage, some standing with friends, some just him alone in a record shop looking through vinyl like he was one the cover of a rock magazine. You flip back to the main photo and lose yourself inside of it. 

His deep brown eyes stare back at you through the screen, stirring a pang of familiarity in your gut as you remember the last time you saw them--glancing at you through the window of a bus as he left home for bigger things. His broad smile reminds you of all those hot summers you spent together driving aimlessly through back roads and listening to the same three CDs on repeat. 

Summers that, at the time, felt like they would never end; filled with so much love and affection that felt like it could stretch that time to eternity. Warmth from the sun, warmth from his arms, and the warmth that stirred in your heart at every touch. 

A warmth that was now leeching its way back into your heart as you sat in silent awe, staring at this ghost from your past resurrected on your phone screen. With some effort you break the hypnosis and shake your head with a sharp inhale. ‘Just swipe left,’ you coach yourself mentally, hovering your thumb over the profile for a brief second before finally taking action. 

Swipe right. 

‘Shit.’

It’s A Match!

‘Fuck.’

Your heart seizes in your chest in panic and you race through your list of options. Block? Too extreme. Delete the app altogether? Coward. Unmatch? That’s an option. 

Just as you move to press the button to try and salvage some modicum of dignity, a notification pops up indicating a new message. Too late, might as well open the message and see where it leads. 

[Yuta] hey

You hesitate as a surge of bitterness swells inside of you at the message. Five years of silence and all you can get is ‘hey’? As if in answer to your growing anger, another message blinks to life on the screen. 

[Yuta] what are you doing right now? 

Curiosity overwhelms and before you can think better of it you type in a response and hit send. 

[you] nothing

Maybe you should have made something up. Waited a while and then pretended like you were out with friends or at some event or another. Feign the illusion of a more interesting life than the one you were currently living, decked out in baggy, sauce stained sweatpants. 

[Yuta] great! wanna meet for some drinks? 

[you] now?? 

[Yuta] yeah! well tonight. whenever you can meet me :) 

You run through a laundry list of excuses in your head but as if your fingers have taken on a mind of their own, you find yourself replying before you can settle on anything. 

[you] sure. where? 

[Yuta] meet me at zoetrope at 10 :) 

[you] ok 

The second you send the final confirmation your head swims with a rush of anxiety. Addled thoughts and worries race through your mind and you lean back across your couch cushions with a dramatic groan. ‘What am I doing?’ you scold yourself, before glancing at the time and heading towards your closet to dig out an appropriate outfit. 

The minutes tick by as you sort through shirt after shirt, discarding them all as either “too casual” or “too try-hard”. What exactly was an appropriate outfit for a spontaneous meet-up with an ex-boyfriend you hadn’t seen in five years? An ex-boyfriend that you were still very unfortunately in love with, and at this point it looked as though those feelings were terminal. As in you were stuck with them. Forever. And this sudden meet-up was only going to further seal your fate in that regard. 

It felt too late to back out now, though, so you trade in your sweats for a pair of tight jeans and a modest, yet flattering top--hoping that it would suffice for the occasion. 

“What am I doing?” you grumble the repeated thought out loud into the mirror as you brush back your hair and wash the lazy day from your face. 

“What am I doing?” you sigh as you climb into the taxi and give the driver the address to the bar. 

“What the fuck am I doing?” you whisper under your breath as you alight on the pavement outside of the trendy bar. The windows are tinted, only emitting a faint orange glow from the dim lighting inside, and you inhale the crisp night air in a steadying breath before heading towards the massive copper doors and stepping inside. 

A wall of noise hits you the second you step in--a cacophony of voices, chatting and laughing, mixing with the ever-present nu jazz filtering out through the speakers at a steady volume. It takes you a moment to hear someone calling your name through the crowd, but eventually you do, following the voice with your eyes until your gaze lands on Yuta. 

He waves you over, grinning, and you feel yourself hesitate once again. Seeing him on the screen was shocking enough already, but seeing him standing before you--flesh and blood dressed in a smart coat and slick jeans--sends your mind (and heart) reeling. You plaster a smile on your face and weave your way towards the table he’s waiting at, tucked near the back of the bar. 

“Hey,” he greets as you arrive, wrapping his arms around you in a hug that feels all too familiar. You allow yourself to sink into it, for a second, wrapping your arms around him in kind and inhaling the deep scent of his cologne. The same one he had been using since high school. The scent encircles you, comfortable and friendly, and you remember how even weeks after his departure from your life, all of your clothes still smelled like him. “It’s great to see you again,” he releases you and settles onto the leather barstool across the table from where you take your own seat. 

A waitress swings by the table and you each order a drink; a momentary distraction before the inevitably awkward conversation begins.

“So,” he drawls, leaning back in his seat, “what have you been up to these days?” 

The drinks are deposited on the table in front of you a moment later. You take a sip and as the last bit of hesitation drains from you, you tell him. 

You run through your biggest experiences, achievements, disappointments; filling in the gaps of the last five years for the man that was supposed to be with you during them, but who left on a bus before they could even begin. And you listen to his as he does the same. His hopes, his fears, his dreams both realised and unrealised. 

As the night drags on later, and the empty drink glasses accumulate on the stained walnut tabletop, your fears of the awkwardness that must surely exist between you slip away without ever materializing. Apart from one, massive unspoken question thrumming through your mind as you watch him throw his head back in laughter at one of your college stories, it felt as though things had just picked up exactly where they had left off. 

It was comfortable. Almost too comfortable, and that was beginning to worry you more than anything. It felt like stepping back into dangerous territory. The potential of having your heart broken again was too real, too insistent, but the liquor coursing through your veins and the curiosity humming through your thoughts pushed you forward in a boldness uncharacteristic to how you usually acted. 

A natural lull in the conversation comes after a time and you lean forward, draining your cocktail of the last of it’s liquid, and study Yuta’s face in the dim lighting. His eyes are closed as he momentarily loses himself in the swell of the music surrounding you. He looks relaxed--jaw unclenched, fingers tapping mindlessly against the hardwood of the table along with the melody, hair mussed after repeatedly running his hands through it throughout the night. 

Why was he so relaxed? 

You ponder the thought, rolling it over and over in your mind and each time you turn it over you come up with the only logical explanation. 

He doesn’t feel anything towards you anymore. 

Friendliness? Sure. A shared history and a familiar face in a new city offering a beacon of hope for him? Maybe. But love? Not at all. 

He shakes himself out of his reverie as the song changes to something more upbeat and flashes you another pearly white smile and you feel your heart sink into your stomach. Of course he doesn’t feel anything for you anymore. 

The waitress walks over with the bill, indicating that closing time was fast encroaching on your reunion, and you thank her with a smile before Yuta slips out his wallet and tucks some cash under an empty glass to cover the charges. “I guess that’s our cue,” he smiles, and you try to decipher the emotion behind it. Regret or relief? Through a slight haze of whiskey it was hard to tell. He slips his coat back on and you follow suit, weaving after him to the doorway and stepping out into the frigid air outside. 

“This was nice,” he says, as you stand at the curb and watch the streets for a taxi to hail down. 

“It was,” and, despite the worries and concerns still swimming through your mind, you mean it. 

“We should do this again,” he grins and you feel your heart lurch in your chest. A fool’s hope rising up at the words despite them being a line spoken so often at the end of dates and so rarely followed through on. But was this even a date? If you were just friends, no feelings, did that mean it was more or less likely to be followed through on? 

The questions crash through your thoughts and Yuta stands, watching as your internal crisis comes to a head before him and you finally give voice to the question you had wanted to ask since you matched him on that godforsaken dating app, “why did you break up with me?” 

Subtext: when did you stop loving me? 

His smile falters and he casts his gaze towards the sky. You feel your fingers grow numb from cold and from nerves as you stand and wait for his answer. Taxis pass, spitting up water from the recent rainfall underneath their tires as they drive by, and you wait in bated silence as he finds the words to say. 

“I think,” the words finally find him and you snap to attention, ears straining to catch every syllable as they fall from his lips, “I think we had to grow apart. For a while.” 

“Oh,” the brief hope that had burrowed it’s way into your heart slips free from you and you nod. Maybe you would cry later, but for now you just wanted to sink into the worn out seats of a taxi and speed away from this bar. 

“But honestly,” he laughs--a short, strained chuckle, “I still wonder why I did it, too.” 

“Oh,” a taxi pulls up to the curb and Yuta opens the door for you with a soft smile, brown eyes fixed on yours as you slide into the back of the yellow car. 

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” he says before closing the door and it takes some gentle prompting from the driver for you to snap out of your stupor and finally offer up your address. A confused mixture of tears prickle at your eyes as you watch the city lights flash by through the window of the car as it weaves through street after street. A buzzing sounds out from the pocket of your coat and you slip your phone out to find a new message waiting for you. 

[Yuta] and for the record, I never stopped loving you

© 2021, neonun-au

taglist: @itsapapisongo @infnteen​ @peachjaem00​ [if you want to be on/off the general taglist for my fics just let me know!]

[weelittleweasley]

bar maid (b.w.)

prompt: a long night at the leaky cauldron and the late shift can only mean one thing: a boring night. but when a new face pops into the bar, the mood shifts drastically.

pairing: bill weasley x fem! reader

warnings: drinking, mentions of the war, language (literally once), sexual references

word count: 4.5k

taglist: @harrysweasleys​ @gcdric​ @lumos-barnes​ @whizboingies​ @lumosandnoxwriting​ @pxroxide-prinxcesss​ @c-t-h​ @another-lonely-heart-blog​ @starlightweasley​ @parseltongueswriting​ @shilohpug​ @peachypotter​ @vogueweasley​

“Another round of ale, Albert?” you ask with a smile as you wipe down a section of the bar from its previous attendants. The damp dish towel wipes across the mahogany bar, leaving streaks that shine underneath the bar lighting, the faint smell of chemical lemon lingering in the air mixes with the overwhelming scent of lager and spirits. 

Albert flashes you a toothy grin and gives you a shrug. “Eh, why not. It’s a Friday, isn’t it?” Albert laughs before sliding you his brass mug down the length of the bar as you stealthily catch it in your hand. You fill the mug with amber ale, teeming with white foam, smelling of wheat. “You’re too good to me, (Y/N),” Albert tells you with a grin before taking a sip of his usual drink of choice. 

You were a bar maid at the Leaky Cauldron and Albert was one of your regulars. Now, you didn’t think that you would be a bar maid after graduating from Hogwarts and trying to become a professor, but the world had a funny way about it, didn’t it? Being a bar maid meant you got good tips and had the luxury of creating your own schedule, but it also meant when you worked, it was long hours of standing on your feet and serving cheap ale and lager to annoyed businessmen and exhausted workers from the hours of five o’clock to two o’clock in the morning. Work was grueling, but you tried to make as much fun of it as you could.

“It’s the least I can do, Al,” you sigh, flopping the dish towel over your shoulder as you lean over the bar. “Any juicy gossip for me today? I’ve been bored out of my skull since I clocked in and I still got another five hours ahead of me. I need some entertainment,” you groan, cracking your knuckles against the wood of the bar. The thought of another five hours dealing with more alcohol, more grumpy patrons, and another tired night made your head ache. 

Al takes a long sip from his mug, wiping the foam from his upper lip before speaking, “Not much gossip, I’m afraid.” You throw your head back and groan, taking an annoyed sip from your water. “Nothing interesting has happened, my dear,” he huffs in just as much annoyance as you. “We’re living in dark times, all news is usually disappointing, scary, or both. I’m looking for something hopeful just as much as you are,” Al confesses.

You tighten your ponytail and push your baby hairs away from your face, hands flopping on your shoulders as you slump over. Albert was right. The thought of a looming wizarding war over everyone’s heads was enough to keep everyone living in fear of when it would all come to a head and pop. At least working at the pub took your mind off of things, even if it was just for a few hours of the day.

“However,” Albert’s tone changes as you dart your eyes to him, curious. “I’m not sure if you’re familiar with the name Fleur Delacour? I heard through the grapevine that she has recently started working at Gringott’s. Desk job, but people were confused as to why should would come all the way to London for a silly desk job,” Albert explains before sipping from his ale again.

Your eyebrows furrow as the name does ring a bell. “The name sounds familiar. I certainly didn’t go to school with her or else I would know who she was. But the name is oddly recognizable...I’ll ask my younger sister when I speak to her next. She’s at Hogwarts now. I’m sure she’d know,” you tell Albert. “Anyone else take up a job? Familiar names or faces?” 

Al searches his memory for anything else. He presses his tongue to his cheek. “Yeah, there was someone else. William...I don’t remember the surname for life of me, but it was William something...” he trails off.

You think for a moment, trying to scan your brain for a William that you might know. But you drew blank. It had been so long since you saw anyone from your graduating class. You had spent most of your time in the pub or studying or applying for new professor jobs. But no one was looking to hire an under-experienced professor in these times, no matter how good your marks were at Hogwarts, regardless that you were top of your class in Defense Against the Dark Arts and Potions. The thought makes you infuriated because you knew you could teach this new generation of wizards better than anyone else.  

Shaking your head, “Well, whatever, if he was important, you would know his name.” Albert shrugs. “I need to go bring in some kegs from the back, I’ll be back in a second,” you tell him before go around the bar, walking to the back of the Leaky Cauldron, hearing snippets of conversations here and there, most people talking about the news or their families. It was sad; just two years ago people would be roaring with laughter, telling stories and jokes, recounting happy times. Now, everyone was so focused on how the world as you knew it may be crumbling around you. 

The cool fall air wraps around you as you push the door to bring the kegs from outside in as you pull your jumper over your hands to make some make-shift mittens. “Bloody hell,” you whisper to yourself as you see three kegs lined up outside for you to bring in. “Seriously, Tom?” you groan as you grab one keg and start dragging it. “I don’t get paid enough for this, I swear,” you grumble. 

“Need a hand?” a voice interrupts you as you drag the steel keg across the cobblestone. 

You look up and your eyes meet a pair that you haven’t seen in years. An instant smile rises on your lips as the all too familiar red hair is swept in the wind. “You’re kidding,” you laugh as you stand up straight, brushing off your jumper as he smiles widely at you with a chuckle. “Bill Weasley as I live and breathe?” you laugh as you run towards him, Bill engulfing you in a large hug. Your arms wrap around him tightly as he picks you up, your feet leaving the ground as you giggly madly as Bill sways you back and forth. 

It had been years since you had seen Bill Weasley. The two of you had attended Hogwarts together in the same year and became fast friends. You had always admired how Bill was so smart and confident in himself (borderline arrogant, but in the sexiest best way). Bill was a popular one at Hogwarts, but through it all, he always managed to make time for you since you liked staying out of the lime light. Bill was well-loved and revered at Hogwarts, so it was obvious that he became a prefect during your time. And that’s when you two started to drift apart. He became busy doing his things and you became busy with your own studies. After graduation, the two of you went your separate ways, but you always wondered where he had gone. 

Bill sets you down on your feet, his hands still on your hips as he smiled brightly down at you. He looked so mature now, longer red hair tied back in a ponytail, but he was still tall, thin, and undeniably handsome. The hunter green jacket he sported clung onto his tall figure, underneath a button down that was unbuttoned just enough so you could see the chest hairs that poked out from the loose material. Hanging from his ear lobe was a fang earring that wasn’t there before. Bill had changed, but in a way that caught your eye in a way that has never happened before. You gulped. 

“Godric, (Y/N), you haven’t changed one bit,” Bill laughs as he takes a good look at you as you mentally curse that you had been wearing something different than your old blue jumper and leggings with stained boots from the bar. “How long has it been? Seven years?” he speaks as you nod. “Bloody hell, it feels like yesterday we were at Hogwarts,” he recounts the memories fondly as your heart warms to the same memories.

You smile brightly, “Time flies, Weasley.” He chuckles. “We can talk more about it if you help me bring in these kegs and I’ll treat you to an ale on the house. Or are you more of a lager man?” you ask as you walk back over to the steel kegs that wait to be dragged into the pub. 

Bill chuckles as you grab one keg, starting to drag it into the pub. Without any hesitation or effort, Bill picks up the remaining two kegs in each of his hands, muscles flexing underneath his jacket as he shakes his head. You gulp and avert your eyes, trying not to focus on the way he so effortlessly carried the heavy steel kegs as you pushed yours in. “More of a whiskey kind of guy if you got any of that,” Bill tells you as you push the kegs towards the back of the bar, Bill places his two next to yours. “I didn’t know you were working at the Leaky Cauldron.”

Walking back to the bar with Bill by your side you speak, “Yeah. Been working here for a while now since there seems to be a hold on hiring newer, younger professors,” you roll your eyes as Bill laughs. Bill remembered how badly you wanted to be a professor and teach the younger generations of wizards and witches magic. It was your dream, but now it was on pause. “What about you? Why are you back in London? Last I heard of you, you were in Egypt!” you nudge his arm with your elbow.

He gives you a smile, happy that you had been keeping your tabs on him. “I was in Egypt for a long while. Loved it, really. But I came home to help my family out with the Order and such. I’m working at Gringott’s now at a desk job. Very exciting, I know,” he rolls his eyes as you giggle, making your way behind the bar.

A William working at Gringott’s. I should have known, you think to yourself. “Hey Albert,” you call over the man who sits just a mere stool away from Bill. “That new William who's working at Gringott’s now? It’s not just any bloke, he’s a Weasley,” you smile at Albert who looks over to Bill with a look of realization. “Bill, this is Albert, one of my regulars. Al, this is Bill Weasley, we went to Hogwarts together.”

Bill gives Albert a firm shake shake and warm smile. “Nice to meet you, sir,” Bill beams. “You’ve been in good company with this one, I’m sure,” Bill winks as Albert chuckles lowly.

“That I have been. She’s great company and serves an even better mug of ale,” Albert speaks as you smile sweetly at him, Bill laughing. “I would love to stay and chat longer, but I gotta get home to the family,” Albert tells you and Bill, putting on his coat before digging into his pockets and places and handful of coins on the table to pay for his drinks and tip you generously as he usually did. “I’ll see you on Monday, my dear,” Albert calls as he walks towards the door, you giving him a salute goodbye.

Bill speaks, “He seems like a good guy.” You nod as you take out a glass and start to pour him a generous glass of Fire Whiskey before placing it front of him. “How did you know I take it neat? What if I wanted it on the rocks?”

You give him a knowing look. “I know you, Bill. Last time I checked, you were drinking Fire Whiskey straight from the bottle at your graduation party,” you recall with a light chuckle as Bill groans at the memory. “You were off your rocker that night, I’m tellin’ you,” you start to laugh harder, remembering how Bill stood up on the dining room table of the Burrow, singing along to music that he blasted as everyone laughed and sang along with him. Graduation was such a happy time in your young adult life, you wished you could go back and relive it.

He rubs his face with one hand and speaks, “We were a mess that night, weren’t we?” 

“We? Don’t drag me into this, Weasley! I was perfectly happy having one drink, but it was you who made me drink bloody Daisyroot Draught! The smell now makes me sick,” you contort your face with disgust as Bill laughs. “I will admit though, I’ve missed you quite a bit,” you confess, playing with the edges of the dish rag in your hands as you look up at Bill.

Slowly, a smile finds its way onto Bill’s lips as your heart flutters gently as his eyes look into yours. He still had the same eyes that you adored so fondly as a child and teen. In his eyes contained all the memories of Hogwarts and late nights and sleepover at the Burrow. His eyes had laughter and joy in them that you so missed during times like this. You missed Bill Weasley. For more than one reason.

“I’ve missed you more than quite a bit,” Bill reveals as you allow heat to rise to your cheeks. “I missed having my partner in crime around. Sneaking into the kitchens and then getting caught by McGonagall,” he recalls.

You laugh, “Stop, and then she asked if she could join us!” The two of you are in hysterics at the memory of eating leftovers and sweets in the kitchens with Minerva McGonagall as third year students, chatting about school and life after Hogwarts. McGonagall had always taken a liking to the two of you. She always said that you two were peas in a pod.

Bill smiles and takes a sip from his whiskey before speaking, “How long are you working tonight? I’d be happy to stay with you until you clock out.”

Your eyes widen and you shake your head, “Oh no, I couldn’t ask you to do that. I’m the closer and we don’t close the bar down until two in the morning.”

With a cheeky smirk, Bill huffs, “Well, we’ve got a lot to catch up on and we got...” he looks at the clock on the wall, “four and a half hours to kill. So, start talking, (Y/N). We’ve got all night,” he speaks, dropping his left eye in a wink as you smile with a blush. 

-----------

For the next four hours, you and Bill caught up on everything. And by everything, you mean everything. His life after Hogwarts sounded much more interesting than what you had been doing to keep busy. Bill had been spending his time as a Curse-Breaker for Gringott’s, going on missions throughout Egypt, coming home to London here and there. You smiled as he recounted his stories with such passion and love in his eyes. It was evident that Bill loved what he was doing and he was sad that he couldn’t continue doing his job, now being stationed back in London at a boring desk job. Quite the downgrade from fighting and defeating mummies to working an office job.

Soon, people were filing out of the bar as closing time approached until it was just you and Bill in the pub. You had moved from standing behind the bar to sitting on a stool next to Bill, leaning on the bar as you listened to his deep baritone voice speak to you. 

Bill placed a hand on your knee, giving it a squeeze. “(Y/N)? Tell me something,” he speaks.

“Anything, Weasley,” you smile at him, sleepily.

Bill chuckles, “Why are you working as a bar maid when you could be going out and doing what you love? Teaching. You’ve always wanted to teach students magic and it doesn’t seem fair that you are parked behind a bar pouring ale and lager to lazy blokes.” You roll your eyes and shake your head. “I’m serious. What’s stopping you?”

You sigh and recount everything that has held you back from doing what you want. First off, no wizarding school in the United Kingdom was hiring any professor right now due to the climate of the wizarding world. The only other option was moving to America and maybe teaching there at Ilvermorny? Maybe Beauxbatons in France? But it wasn’t a guarantee that you could find a job with such little teaching experience under your belt. “Besides the hiring freeze? I have no experience teaching, Bill. Plus, I want to make money for myself right now so I can save it up and move into my own place rather than living in my small flat with a bunch of my mates. The only other jobs are abroad and I do not have that much money to make a move like that. Besides, my whole family is here. My friends. And you’ve just come back now and leaving just seems illogical,” you sigh, knowing that your dream would have to wait.

He shakes his head, “Excuses, excuses.” You shake your head and take a sip from the whiskey that you had poured yourself, the amber liquid warming up your chest and stomach. It tasted like graduation. “If I can teach a year at Hogwarts, then you certainly can. Besides, you were just as good, if not better, than me in Defense Against the Dark Arts. I’m sure they could use your help more than ever right now.”

Looking up at Bill, you see how tender and soft his gaze is on you. He really meant every word he spoke to you with genuine honesty. Looking at Bill now was like looking at someone who you had known forever. He really hadn’t changed one bit. He was witty and kind and smart and sweet. Your Bill. But at the same time, he was different. He had become so mature and ruthless and brave. It was a new Bill, a Bill you could get used to. 

You look down and see that his hand was still placed on your knee. Clearing your throat, you shift in your seat and Bill retracts his hand, digging it into the pocket of his jacket again as you take a sip of your whiskey. “Well,” you start, “I know I would be a better professor than you...I’m better at a lot of things than you,” you tease him as he rolls his eyes. 

“Oh yeah? Do I smell a challenge?” Bill laughs as you shrug. “Ah, ah, don’t start something you can’t finish, sweetheart,” he leans back in his chair, tongue pressed to his cheek as you gulp, the nickname making your palms sweat. “Go on,” he speaks, daring you to challenge him. “You chose.”

Trying to ignore the rapid increase in your heart rate, you swallow hard. “Fine,” you smile before reaching over to the other side of a bar, grabbing a jar filled with a red liquid and multiple bright red cherries. Twisting the cap open, you pluck out two maraschino cherries, one for you and one for Bill. “I can tie a cherry stem with my tongue faster than you can,” you smirk, flirtatiously biting the cherry of its stem as Bill’s eyes widen and he gulps, shifting in his seat.

He clears his throat, “Yeah? How much you wanna bet?” 

You think for a moment, trying to find a wager that would make this worth your while. “If I win, you pick up the tab from tonight,” you smile.

“I thought this was all on the house?” he scoffs with a smirk.

“Not if you lose,” you sing song, making him roll his eyes. “And Albert told me about a new worker at Gringott’s. Fleur Delacour? Yeah, you’ve gotta ask her out on a date,” you smirk. 

Bill’s eyes widen. “Fleur?!” he exclaims with a laugh. “She’s my co-worker! Plus, we’re just friends. Nothing’s there,” he reasons as you shake your head.

You laugh, “Well those are my terms if I win. Gotta get you out on the dating field, Weasley.” You tease him as he smirks, looking down at the whiskey glass in his hands. “And if you win?”

He thinks for a moment, swirling the whiskey around and around in his glass, pondering what his terms would be. Bill bites the cherry off the stem as you watch his lips move carefully, like you were in a trance of some kind. You quickly shake it off, trying to keep yourself from getting distracted by him. “If I win,” Bill huffs, “then first of all, the drinks are on the house. Second, you’ll have to stop by the Burrow because once Mum hears that you’re in London, she’ll have a cow,” he laughs as you giggle. Molly Weasley, what an angel. “And third of all,” he speaks, leaning forward on his elbows so he’s closer to your face as you inhale sharply, “I’ll ask whoever the fuck I want on a date.”

Your heart stops for a moment as your whole body tingles as the words all from his lips. You can’t take your eyes off of his you are frozen. Bill smirks at your reaction before slowly leaning back in his chair, biting down softly on his lower lip as you gulp. “O-Okay then,” you manage to make out, trying to reorient yourself as Bill chuckles. “Count of three?” you speak before placing the cherry stem in your mouth as Bill does his. “One...two...three.”

With that, the two of you start twisting your tongue around the cherry stem, trying to tie it before the other could. Your heart is racing a mile a minute and your stomach is doing flips as your mind is screaming what the hell is going on. The entire time Bill doesn’t take his eyes off of you, staring into yours. The act felt so inherently sexual that you could feel your palms sweat and a second heartbeat between your thighs grow. This was a terribly good idea. 

You can feel the cherry stem in your mouth finally slip into a knot as your eyes widen in victory, hand flying up to your mouth so you can show Bill the work you have done. As you hand reaches your lips, Bill’s fingers slyly pull his cherry stem out of his mouth just mere milliseconds before you. “I win,” he speaks.

“You cheated!” you instantly accuse him, pointing your finger at him.

Bill chuckles, “How did I cheat? I won fair and square and you know it, you sore loser.”

You shake your head, “I clearly won, you saw me! You had to have cheated, just so you could get free whiskey out of it!” Bill just shakes his head and grabs your chair, pulling you closer to him as you fail to notice as you keep rambling nervously. “Admit it, Bill, you just don’t like to admit that you’re not Hogwarts’ golden child anymore. You’ve out grown that title. Step aside for the new winner which is me, of course. You know I won, come on, Bill. I def-”

“(Y/N)?” he asks softly.

You realize that you are mere inches away from Bill now, his hands resting on either side of your stool. You inhale slowly and gulp, trying to calm yourself down to prepare for the inevitable. “Yes, Bill?” you respond just as softly.

“Shut up,” he whispers with a smile.

“Okay.”

Without further hesitation, Bill leans forward and connects your lips together as you inhale deeply, kissing him back and wrapping your arms around his neck instantly. Bill’s hands slide around your sides before hoisting you onto the bar, him standing between your legs as he kisses you deeper. You wrap your legs around his torso, drawing him closer to you, needing to feel his body pressed against yours. His lips move against yours with deep desire that he had been saving for so long and finally, you both were getting what you wanted for so long. His mouth tasted of the whiskey as you took more and more of it, drunk off of his kiss. 

His hands held onto you tightly, not daring to let you go as you lightly moaned into his lips, making him smirk. Bill’s tongue was cool against yours as he massaged yours with his, snogging you right in the middle of the bar. Your mouths moved together, lusting after the other’s touch. You hands ran down his chest and his abs as he groaned gently into your mouth, making your stomach flutter as you smirked softly. Bill’s hand cupped your cheek before making its way to the back of your neck, pressing your lips harder against his. 

You wanted to take him in this pub just like this, but Bill pulls away before you can push off his jacket. The two of you are breathless from kissing, chest heaving up and down, a smile on both of your faces as you blush a wild crimson. “You win,” you surrender to Bill who chuckles.

“I always win, sweetheart,” he winks before kissing you again, this time short as you whine when he pulls away. “And since I won, that means that this whiskey,” he points to his glass, “is on the house, you’ll be joining the Weasley’s for Sunday dinner, and on Monday night, you’ll be taking the night off so I can take you out on a proper date rather than just snogging on the bar of the pub,” he speaks as you laugh.

You run your fingers through his hair, “You mean you do like snogging me on the bar?” you tease him.

Bill furrows his brows, “Hey, hey, slow your roll. Don’t put words in my mouth now.” You laugh, placing your hands on his shoulders. “There’s nothing I’d rather do than snog you in every location of his pub,” he winks as you roll your eyes. “But I reckon a girl like you should be taken out on a proper date by a bloke like me, eh?” 

Pressing a chaste kiss to his lips, you speak against them, “It’d be my honor.”

“Wicked,” he smirked, giving your sides a squeeze before hoisting you down from the bar. “How about you lock this place up and I’ll walk you back to your flat. Can’t have precious cargo like you roaming the streets alone,” he speaks with a gentle tap on your bum as you roll your eyes.

You shove his shoulder teasingly, “Hey, just because you came back from Egypt, Mr. Big Shot, doesn’t mean you make my decisions for me.” Bill chuckles as you smile, “But yeah, I’ll let you walk me home, Weasley.”

[januaryisnotanartist]

KanSang Week Day 03: Sharing Clothing

Pairing: Kan Jian/Liu Sang (established)

Genre: Uhhhh, that’s a good question Trope: (pre-) their boss has booked a table at a fancy restaurant for the team Summary: (Side A) Kan Jian has some self doubt, Liu Sang helps him feel fancy (Side B) The weather is hot, Liu Sang just looks like that lbh Word Count: 2,180 ish

-

Kan Jian frowned at his appearance in the mirror, brows wrinkling together as he looked himself over. He looked fine. He was clean and neat, and he looked like he always did. Admittedly this was his nicest vest, he fancy vest, worn only for formal occasions but...

He lifted his hands tentatively to cover his bare arms.

It was only a dinner with friends and co-workers but...

Mr Erbai had booked tables at a real fancy restaurant. Like, Xin Yue Restaurant fancy. While he'd worked for Mr Rishan at the Xin Yue, he'd been encouraged to wear sleeves more often than not.

Normally Kan Jian wouldn't even think about whether or not his bare arms were against some unspoken dress code, but Liu Sang had done a thing with his hair and shiny hair pins and...

Kan Jian couldn't embarrass him.

He remembered the first time he'd seen Liu Sang, in his grey suit, hair so vibrant in the sun. He'd looked so professional Kan Jian hadn't even doubted this was the master expert he'd been instructed to pick up.

Liu Sang always looked so nice, and Kan Jian, well Kan Jian was good looking too, but he never looked fancy like Liu Sang.

Mind made up, Kan Jian returned to their bedroom to search through his side of the closet.

-

Liu Sang wasn't worried when he hung up on Pangzi, because Kan Jian had been fine when Liu Sang had left him in the bathroom to finish putting product in his hair. Liu Sang was merely... concerned by the sudden and unexpected sound of tearing fabric from the bedroom.

When he opened the door and found Kan Jian frozen with a mortified look on his face and a white, long-sleeved button-up shirt with a tear at one of the shoulder seams in place of the fancy black vest and shirt he'd been wearing earlier, well, that's when he began to worry.

“Kan Jian?” Liu Sang crossed the room to Kan Jian's side, and reached out to help when Kan Jian's arm got stuck in the shirt as he tried to yank it off too quickly. “Hey, what's going on?”

Kan Jian looked at the floor, bunching up the torn shirt in his hands. Liu Sang didn't let himself be distracted by the lovely way the action made Kan Jian's muscles move.

Kan Jian shrugged and shook his head. Liu Sang waited.

“I just...” Kan Jian said after what felt like a long silence, “it's a fancy restaurant, what if... I'm not fancy enough.”

“Of course you're fancy enough, you looked very handsome in your outfit.” Liu Sang reached out and put his hands over Kan Jian's, subtly stroking his fingers to get Kan Jian to loosen his grip on the shirt which had now become quite condensed. “Hey,” Liu Sang tilted so his head was closer to Kan Jian's downcast line of sight. “What brought this on?”

Kan Jian shook his head and sniffled, “I don't know, I just... I suddenly started thinking about how you always looks so fancy and how I...” he shrugged.

Liu Sang eased the shirt from Kan Jian's grip, “you looked really good, but it's okay if you want to try something different too. Just tell me, I'll help. We still have plenty of time if you want to try another look for tonight.”

Kan Jian shrugged again, running his now empty hands up his bare arms.

“That was the only long sleeved shirt I have that isn't... wasn't wrecked somehow.” He sighed, and sniffled again, annoyed at himself how close to crying he was over something so... so dumb.

“Do you want to try one of my shirts?” Liu Sang asked, already stepping towards his portion of closet, the torn shirt was flung onto the dresser and promptly forgotten. Kan Jian almost said 'no' as Liu Sang flicked through his shirts, but he kind of did still want to try looking fancy like Liu Sang.

Barely a minute later Liu Sang was returning to Kan Jian with three shirts. All were shirts he'd seen Liu Sang wear before, Kan Jian knew these ones sat baggier on his boyfriend's slimmer frame. Liu Sang held the three up beside Kan Jian and hummed quietly as he seemed to consider something, then suddenly he threw two of them down on the bed and handed the third to Kan Jian with a “here, try this one.”

Kan Jian obliged, pulling the soft and surprisingly stretchy shirt over his head, not even worrying about his hair which he'd spent so much time on earlier.

“Hrmg,” Liu Sang made a sound in his throat as Kan Jian smoothed the borrowed shirt over his body. Kan Jian smiled, he didn't know what he'd done to provoke it, but that was the noise Liu Sang made when Kan Jian had done something to earn enthusiastic kisses.

Liu Sang's eyes were trained on Kan Jian's arms where the material sat snugly against his skin. Kan Jian realised Liu Sang must have been concerned about the fit, so he moved his arms around carefully, he didn't want to pop the seams of this shirt like he had the last. The seams held, and Liu Sang made another 'enthusiastic kisses to follow' noise, so Kan Jian figured he must have guessed right about Liu Sang wanting to check the fit.

“Does it look okay?” Kan Jian asked, and Liu Sang replied with a very breathless “oh yes.”

Kan Jian looked down at the shirt which clung to his torso, “it doesn't look too plain does it?”

Liu Sang cleared his throat suddenly, startling Kan Jian. Kan Jian looked up to see Liu Sang shaking his head.

Kan Jian felt like he'd missed something.

Liu Sang started walking towards the door, calling back “grab the vest you were wearing earlier, and one of your silver bracelets and meet me in the bathroom.”

A little confused, Kan Jian complied. It took a few minutes, but he settled on a bracelet that kind of matched the abnormally shaped zipper tabs on his vest.

By the time Kan Jian arrived in the bathroom, Liu Sang had removed all the clips and pins from the right side of his hair, letting it hang down. The pins had left gentle waves in Liu Sang's hair and Kan Jian wanted to reach out and play with it, so he stepped up behind Liu Sang and-

Kan Jian caught sight of himself in the mirror, Liu Sang's shirt hugging him like it was deliberately and lovingly painted on.

'Oh,' Kan Jian thought, 'that's why I'm getting enthusiastic kisses later.'

Kan Jian certainly wouldn't call the look 'fancy', but he did look undeniably hot in his boyfriend's shirt.

Liu Sang turned to him, several hair pins in hand and said, “vest on please.” Kan Jian didn't know what Liu Sang planned to do with the hair pins, Kan Jian's hair was way to short, but he complied and pulled on his vest.

Then he held up the bracelet he'd picked out and Liu Sang nodded in approval and tapped Kan Jian's left wrist. While Kan Jian slipped the bracelet on, over the sleeve because otherwise what was the point, Liu Sang began sliding his hair pins onto the right hand side of the collar on Kan Jian's vest.

When Liu Sang was finished he stepped around Kan Jian to stand behind him, out of the way of his reflection. “Is it okay?” he asked, hand's smoothing over the back of Kan Jian's vest.

Kan Jian didn't look much different from before, but between the deep colour of his borrowed shirt and the extra shiny of the bracelet, somehow he felt like he looked a lot different. His fingers reached up to trail over the pattern Liu Sang had made on his collar.

It was pretty, and familiar and...

Kan Jian looked at Liu Sang's reflection and grinned.

It was the same pattern as the one in Liu Sang's hair.

“We match,” Kan Jian said and turned to face his boyfriend.

Liu Sang nodded, “if you're not fancy now, then I'm not fancy either, and if I'm fancy enough, then you must be fancy enough too.”

It was terrible logic and yet...

Kan Jian felt giddy like he'd swallowed the sun, “I look so fancy right now!” He lean forward to kiss Liu Sang, who leaned forward to meet him -

> PING <

The phone Liu Sang had placed by the sink startled them.

“Ah, the 'ten minutes to get in the car or we'll probably be late' alarm,” Liu Sang said.

Kan Jian frowned, “you said we have plenty of time though, before?”

“Yes, and we do,” Liu Sang nodded, “we have as much time as you need to feel like you're ready to go.”

“I'm ready,” Kan Jian told him, giddiness bubbling up again, “just look how fancy I am.” He giggled, wrapping his arms around Liu Sang, who curled his arms around Kan Jian's shoulders and joined his mirth.

Until the 'five minutes to get in the car or we'll probably be late' alarm went of.

They sobered instantly and Kan Jian fixed his hair as quickly as he could  before the duo bolted.

-

Once they arrived, Kan Jian's nagging concern that he hadn't looked fancy enough in his original outfit was proven well unfounded. Kan Jian's vest and pants were clean and neat and had absolutely no blood stains in  the seams.

Unlike Hei Xiazi's leather jacket.

On the other hand, Kan Jian earned several double takes and plenty of compliments and Liu Sang kept running his hands down Kan Jian's arms throughout the night, so the fancy outfit was good too.

-

Side B

-

The most recent job had been taxing on everyone, though it had been a good result and well worth the effort put in, when they'd returned to Hangzhou, everyone had simply stayed at the Wushanju because they'd returned so late at night.

A few days on and not everyone had migrated back to their own houses and apartments. Part of that was because they were still sorting through the pictures and recordings they'd taken at the site, and part of it was because it was just too hot for anyone to muster up the energy to leave.

Kan Jian didn't think he'd be much help with that, so he helped make sure everyone was staying hydrated. He brought a tray of icy cold drinks to the room everyone had been working in, but found only Wu Xie.

“Laoban? Where's Liu Sang?”

Wu Xie looked up, startled, then looked around, confusion evident on his face as he found the room empty.

“Ah, uhm...” Wu Xie's attempt to puzzle out the mystery was interrupted by some faint knocks. “Oh! Liu Sang says he's on the terrace in the next courtyard over.” There was another round of knocking, “oooh, apparently the shade over there is much nicer.”

Wu Xie spotted the drinks and took one with a quick thanks before turning back to his work. Kan Jian took one to bring to Liu Sang and went to find him.

He hadn't seen his boyfriend all day, it was a travesty in need of correction.

Kan Jian stepped into the next courtyard and looked around. He froze as his eyes caught on the lone figure leaning against one of the walls, nestled deep in the shade of the verandahs.

Liu Sang was barefoot, his hair wrestled into a messy bun atop his head from which several strands were escaping only to curl in the humidity. His legs were half bare, his soft pants drawn up to expose his skin all the way past the knee. One of his legs was propped up to support one of his arms, the one with the fan he was lazily wafting air over himself with.

The biggest crime though, was his shirt. Or more correctly, Kan Jian's shirt. The neck and arm holes, large enough to fit Kan Jian's muscles and still leave room to move comfortably. On Kan Jian they fit well, on Liu Sang...

Even from halfway across the courtyard, at this angle, Kan Jian could see not only the tantalising dip between Liu Sang's collar bones, but a salacious sliver of Liu Sang's chest.

'Side boob,' Pangzi had called it once.

Liu Sang whined lightly and opened his eyes a sliver, fixing Kan Jian with a look that made Kan Jian think he should bundle Liu Sang away and back to their room before anyone else stumbled across him looking like the he belonged in the kind of magazines good boys weren't supposed to read.

Liu Sang raised one hand toward Kan Jian and made a grabby motion before he whined again, “iiiiiice.”

Kan Jian startled, the ice in the drink he was carrying clinked together and he hurried over to his boyfriend to deliver the drink, suddenly very parched himself.

[batarella]

3 birds 1 stone - chapter 13

‘Dick, Jason, and Tim. Supposed brothers 'till the end, until all three fall in love with you. Who wins your heart?

The man who earned it, the man who stole it, or the man who always had it?’

A/N: Last chapter until the pre-finale!! I can’t believe we made it this far. This might be the series I’m most proud of! I love you guys so much. HAPPY NEW YEAR

WORDS: 10,448 WARNINGS: mentions of trauma

MASTERLIST | 3 BIRDS 1 STONE MASTERLIST

-----

Tim:

Perhaps it wasn’t best that he asked her to come over, instead of it being the other way around. But what good were customs when it meant seeing that very smile he’d grown to work for tirelessly, the same when she’d be stricken with the best, most pleasant surprises? She did love surprises, as he’d learned to know. Whatever it was he’d give her, whatever the gift, her eyes shone just a bit brighter when she hadn’t expected what he brought her, whether it be just a cup of her favorite drink he’d stopped to get along the way or a client that wanted to pay her five times her usual price.

But maybe he should have at least sent for a car to pick her up, with his many drivers and a limo that would have made the trip more convenient, instead of having to hail for some stinky cab and go through the horrors of Gotham traffic, but he wanted nothing more than for this to catch her when she least expected it, never mind how it was on that very day itself, and how calling her this day asking to spend it together would have been a dead giveaway, but he’d prepared for that. He’d asked her to come over to the office more times over the past month for the most stupid reasons not even he would have come up with, but she never grew irritated. She just went with it, without much question, as if she truly did enjoy his company. Every day for the past week. Hopefully, today, she’d think nothing of it and that it was, in actuality, just like any other day.

He looked like a creep as well, looking over the large, glass window behind his desk. He fixed his suit, tightened the tie around his neck, and made sure his hair was combed over the back of his head. His hands turned for each other for some comfort, something to hold onto, when he watched every taxi that drove by hoping it was hers, hoping that it’d stop in front of the building and put an end to this torturous waiting. When was the last time they spent Valentine’s day together? Years, at least. Of course, this made him more nervous than when he had to face a whole conference room full of people, if they even were to be called that, from the likes of Lex Luthor and Maxwell Lord and even Roman Sionis. That didn’t even do so much as raise a hair at the back of his neck.

This, on the other hand, made his hands shake so much, his palms sweaty and uneasy.

Tim looked out the window and he didn’t even give his work a glance of attention until he saw that cab, which he knew just had to be hers, that stopped right in front of the building’s entrance.

Y/N walked out of the car, and the wind decided to be nice to her and her hair, her flowy blouse, her pants that flared to her feet, and her graceful demeanor.

Tim loosened his tie. It had gone too tight. And he never allowed himself a second away from watching her look around the street, at the people that were nothing more than ants to him at that point when all he could look at was her, and he didn’t even have a lot of time to enjoy that view when Y/N walked into the building and disappeared. That’s when Tim realized he had his hands pressed up against the glass window trying to look past the corners just to have her in his sight.

A few minutes after, there was a knock on the door.

“Mr. Wayne, Ms. L/N is here to see you.”

His throat had clogged up and he had to take a few seconds just to clear it. “O-of course. Bring her in.”

His secretary shut the door, and he tidied himself as if he hadn’t already done enough of that the whole morning. Did he look too groomed? Would that give it away?

Too late. She was here. Even more beautiful up close, as she often is. He quickly took his seat and pretended to be so invested in whatever tab was open on his laptop, which was nothing more than the Google homepage.

“Mornin’, Drake.”

“Morning, L/N.”

He sounded casual enough, didn’t even look up from the screen to greet her, but when she walked closer to where he was sitting, not even a Kryptonian would have the strength not to look up and get lost in this seemingly infinite depth of a gaze.

Tim almost jumped out of his seat when Y/N leaned over to kiss his cheek, then she pressed her back against his table to rest. “Happy Valentine’s day.”

“Happy Valentine’s day, Y/N,” he sighed, then he relaxed and sat back against his chair. Idiot must have been smiling his face muscles off.

“Are you really gonna spend the day strapped to your desk?”

“It’s not like it’s Christmas.”

“And are you absolutely sure everyone in this building is as bitter as you?”

“Offices don’t celebrate Valentine’s.”

“You could have at least pasted cut-out hearts over at the hallway.”

He snorted. “Cut-out hearts?”

“Doesn’t match the boring gray?”

Tim playfully rocked her leg over to her side. “No. It doesn’t.”

She stood up from his desk, went over to the window to watch the streets, and Tim could look at her from the reflection of his laptop screen.

“So this is all you got planned for yourself today?”

“Pretty much,” he lied.

“You’re lucky you have me then,” she said. “Sorry I was late. I sent three commissions over to my clients so I won't have to work all day.”

“What were they?”

“Gifts. As usual. For their spouses.”

“Good for you.”

11:30 AM. Should be the right time now. Fuck, what did he just spend the whole morning rehearsing over and over again?

“Fine. Y/N. You got me.”

“I got you?”

Shit. Reverse. Reverse.

“I, uh, meant maybe I should take a breather. Just for today. Wanna go up to the balcony? I have one of your sketchbooks you left. We can spend a few minutes up there.”

She shrugged. Yes. “Sure.”

He pretended to spend just a few more minutes on his laptop, then he stood from his desk. She smiled at him and right then he knew she wasn’t expecting anything at all.

Oh, man. Oh, man. The veins in his neck should have popped out bleeding by now. Even the ride up the elevator felt too tight, tight, whatever the hell that meant. He just knew it was true, like some unknowable force had their hands all over his throat and there was no easing it until this whole thing blows over, which he definitely didn’t want to happen so soon. Even when he knew the longer this lasted, the more chance of him screwing up, even when this shook every core and nerve in him so much he had to be so cautious of everything he said and did, he wanted to drag this on so it lasted for so long as he was awake.

When the elevator doors parted, he couldn’t bring himself not to hold her hand, as he often couldn’t, and she welcomed it so naturally, too naturally, the kind of comfort that was none he could find in another. They walked down the halls, and when they reached the end of it, he held his breath.

He let her open the door, still holding her one hand, and when she did, he couldn’t miss a detail on her face even if he tried. The soft smile that immediately dropped, her mouth parting without her knowing, her eyes so wide they were wonderous and unreal, and the light that touched her face, the light he’d strategically placed just for that consequence, it made all else stop the way he knew it would.

He prepared for it all night, told her it was all for work when really, he wouldn’t trust any of his employees to do it the way he specifically wanted it to be. And it had to be perfect.

It would have been a lot better at dusk when the sun would have set so perfectly on the horizon before them, but that noontime light didn’t exactly do much to diminish its beauty. It was simple, really, with it just being one small table set at the center, two chairs laced with white and red cloth, flower petals on its surface, trays of food waiting for them on opposite ends. And outside of it, four poles on four different corners, with a vine of roses suspended from each end, forming a square that housed their space much like a little escape from all else around them, even the winds and the rushing sounds were to no effect. It was peace, beauty, and it was all so simple but it was that simplicity that made it so breathtaking.

At least, from what he could see out of her, it did take her breath away.

She let go of his hand and stepped under that archway, head up so one of the petals would fall onto her nose. He wanted to remember this picture of her until the end of time.

She whispered. “You did this?”

Tim’s head was bashfully held down, he couldn’t bring himself to be so smug when he should be proud of all this, but he kept his hands deep into his suit pockets, and still that itch in his throat no amount of tie loosening would fix wasn’t much he could ignore, but none of that mattered. All he could stare at was her, and that smile, that same when he catches her off guard of the many surprises he’s given her, it will forever make his day for every day he was awake. Because one day, the start of many days, this one might be all he’ll have.

Every day might be the day she makes her choice, and when she does, he’ll never have this again. He’ll never have her again, and be able to just call her into his office or visit her at home without it bearing so much more meaning than it should. And as much as it broke his heart, he distracted himself with his own efforts. He had to make this count. And perhaps, it already did.

He wanted to kiss her, right then, in the middle of her marveling over the tables and the flowers and everything. But he didn’t. He couldn’t.

But he could hold her hand. He went up to her and took both of them, and the way she welcomed them was incomparable.

And the way she looked at him, even more so.

“Is this alright with you?”

She smiled so brightly. Nothing has ever felt warmer. “Alright?”

“It’s not weird?” He held her hands tighter. “Or uncomfortable?”

“Tim, this is…”

She looked at the flowers, the table, the view that was just made for them, just for that moment. “This is everything…”

“Good. I was nervous.”

“You’re nervous?”

“Yeah. Believe it or not. I am.”

The way she swayed their arms together like nothing could ever pull them apart, not the sun’s hot rays nor the winds that wanted them to part, she was right. He couldn’t remember what he was so nervous about.

“You know you never have to be afraid of anything with me.”

“I know.”

Y/N had on the kind of smile that would have cured the Black Plague, as it cured every bit of doubt and darkness that had been left over in him that he didn’t even think to fix himself. Tim couldn’t fight it, even when he probably should, but he brought her hands up to his lips, and that smile grew even brighter. He wanted to whine when she let go of his fingers only to lean in even more when she had them holding the sides of his face. “Thank you,” she whispered.

He wanted to kiss her, again, but it wasn’t as if the warmth of her embrace was any worse. In fact, it grounded him.

Nothing he could ever think to accomplish could haul him up to the top of the world, no well-doings well enough that would make him soar to such great heights, as much as having her so close to him that he could feel her hair within his fingers, face to his shoulder. And he’d give up everything, the whole company even, if it meant having this kind of contentment for every day he was alive.

He didn’t let his mind trail off to even more buts and what-ifs. He just took this moment for the whole of what it was. And it was perfect. He didn’t even have to try. She was there. He was there. Tim could have this day and make it last for as long as he wanted it to, even when it wasn’t possible.

“So,” she loosened her hold around him and went over to the table, arm around his waist. “What do you have for me?”

“Pasta. Roast beef. And whatever side dish you want.”

He took the two lids off their plates and her face lit up even more as if it were possible.

“You’re a saint.”

“Thank you.”

He pulled her seat for her to take, and he sat down across from her. Even if she weren’t prepared, still she looked so radiant and perfect, and not even the flowers could grow into such bloom, going against the lights like she were a reflection from every bit of serenity there was to be seen, a mirror to the world.

He had to stop staring. He was starving.

Tim poured her a glass, then they clinked their glasses together at the brim.

“You know,” she took a sip. “I don’t remember you doing anything like this when we were together.”

He started slicing his beef, but he knew he was in for a whole day barely getting a bite out of their plate. “Come on. I wasn’t that bad.”

“I didn’t say you were. Just that it wasn’t anything like this at all.” She held her hands holding her knife and fork up to point at the flowers. “And it’s highly unlike you.”

He shrugged. “You welcome to change?”

“Oh, I do.”

He wanted so badly to reach for her hand over the table. “So what did I do for you all those years ago?”

“Mmm,” she chewed on her pasta and swallowed. “Let’s see. We were together for two years, but we made it through three Valentine’s days.”

“The first one?”

“The first one you took me to the zoo.”

“Ah.”

“We spent the whole day there. And in the petting area, you almost got mauled by a kangaroo.”

“Kangaroos are assholes.”

She laughed and took a bite out from her fork. Her hair fell to the side of her cheek. He resisted pulling it behind her ear.

“I loved that day,” she sighed, eyes on her plate. “It was my first Valentine’s day with someone else.”

“Mine, too.”

She twirled her fork around her pasta. “I remember it started to rain, and you gave me your jacket even when I told you it wasn’t cold. It was our first month together.”

“I was nervous.”

Her smile grew wider.

“Then we spent almost an hour under that shed. It rained pretty hard, but we didn’t even care. We just sat there and waited until it stopped, and after that, we kept walking around even with our shoes wet.”

He could think about that day until it grows dark. They were still so young, yet he never could say he was any less in love with her now, maybe even more.

Tim swallowed.

“The second year was that time we went to New York.”

She sighed as if looking back to a time so light and free, which it certainly was. The amount of begging he had to go through with Bruce. It was immaculate. Just to have a day in New York, to an art gallery that went on that didn’t often happen in Gotham, and so many other places after that.

“Not gonna lie, you surprised me with that.”

He shrugged like it was nothing. And compared to the results it yielded, it really was. “New York always has been so romantic.”

“I loved it. So much.”

He drank half his glass just to ease that pain that eventually faded away, and it was easier when he had her to look at.

It was nothing more than a few seconds, maybe even less than that, but when Y/N pulled a strand of her hair behind her back, pulled it up so no longer would it frame her face and instead, expose her skin and the radiance of her cheeks, her eyes now shown under so much light, the amount it truly deserves so not a speck of it wouldn’t be shown, Tim almost dropped his knife on the ceramic plate, and that would have stopped her tracks. But, thankfully, he didn’t, and he got to watch her fix her hair, eyes down on her food, and when she looked up, her smile completely destroyed him.

Fuck everything. He can't hold back from this.

“You look beautiful.”

So many times, he’s said that, but never enough. Never as often as it was true. Because if he were to say it as often as he’d like to, he’d say it every hour of every day. He’d say it when she was fresh out of bed, a bed they’ve slept in together and her skin would be dry and itchy, hair messed up in all places. He’d say it in the middle of a conversation and it would be so out of nothing that it would surprise even her, perhaps make it weird even when it never was when it came to her. He’d say it to her in a million circumstances a million times, and not one of them would be from a lie.

She reacted the same way she always does, with a bashful grin, soft, proud, but not smug about it, and with her head down as she’d instinctively look at her feet. Y/N coughed. “Thank you.”

Maybe it had been too much.

But what was so wrong about telling someone so beautiful that they were just that, other than to make the world an even more wonderful place with the smile it would cause?

“Uh,” she gulped. “The third year.”

“Right.” He forced his attention back on his plate. “The helicopter ride.”

“Yeah…”

That Valentine’s day was just three weeks before he’d break it off, which was why it wasn’t often what they talk about, even when it was all the more something to remember.

“That day was…” she smiled looking down at the table like it was anything to smile about. “That day was something else.”

“It was…”

He wasn’t in the best place that day.

He didn’t know how many calls of hers he hadn’t returned because of work, because of Bruce and his place in the company they had to cover up and explain after his disappearance. There was so much to do, and every day the work just never seemed to end, and there won't be an end for a long time.

But that day, he remembered, he told himself he would have that day just for her, even when it hurt the company and possibly lose them a few thousand just for leaving the building. But he forced himself not to care, told himself she deserved this so much more than he had.

A few hours with their helicopter going a few rounds around Gotham, with her in his hands strapped to their seats, looking out their windows much like they used to, at the top of the world. Just how they’re meant to be.

The last day, in fact, that was the happiest in their relationship that still could have been salvaged if he was strong enough.

Like a shard lodged up his throat, he didn’t know if it was something he should be asking. Yet, he did.

“We could do that again sometime. Whenever you're free. If you want.”

Whenever she’s free. When he still could. When she still hadn’t chosen someone else and forever change what they have, which he’ll ultimately accept for so long as it’s what she truly wants.

“I would love that.”

“Great,” he smiled. “It’s a lot easier now. Since I have, you know, my own helicopter.”

She snorted.

The smile she had on, the longing in her eyes, the sheer appreciation she showed just to have him for herself that one day out of many when she didn’t, it haunted him for years. It haunts him until now.

When he looked up from his plate, he thought he’d catch her wiping a tear, or frowning at him for bringing up such a memory.

Still, with the softness that glowed, she smiled, because as Tim should as well, she appreciated every bit of time she had with him no matter what surrounded them, no matter the history of hurt and whatever happened next. She didn’t see it as a day to dread or a day to despise. She saw it as a day to look back to when she wanted to remember what it was like to be content.

So suddenly, it was what he felt, too.

Y/N looked up at him, caught his eyes, but she didn’t say anything. He didn’t have anything to say either. But they locked eyes longer than any two normal friends should, with that subtle burning in his chest that wasn’t something to physically feel, yet still know that the flames went on, scorching his flesh. Her eyes were longing, knowing, and he looked back at her wanting so badly to take her hand.

Who were they kidding, calling themselves best friends for so many years, when in fact they were two people who used to be so in love and definitely still are? Two exes who couldn’t move on, two halves of a relationship that had the strength to last forever but didn’t.

And it still possibly could, if it’s what makes her happy. It might.

All those years, they weren’t best friends. They were two people holding onto what they used to have in a form of another, masking it over with another type of bond when they just wanted each other’s presence the way it used to be, even when it couldn’t.

Tim didn’t take her hand, and it added one to the many regrets that’ll continue to despise himself for.

They spent the whole of the afternoon that day up on that balcony, and he didn’t even care if there were mounds of work to be done just waiting for him at his table. And when the sun started to set, when he realized that time was tapping onto his shoulder telling him that there was, in fact, an end to this day, he never thought he’d accepted it the way he did.

Outside the elevator doors on the floor of his office, it took a while for them to wait.

But that while was all he had.

He had to make it count.

Once again, possibly for the last time, Tim took both her hands and looked into her eyes like he was purposefully trying to get lost.

“Y/N…”

It was in his bag. He held off too long. He should have given it at the balcony while he still could, while he still had even more time to watch how she’d react instead of going out the coward’s way and hide behind what he thought to have been safe, even when it clearly wouldn’t be worth missing out. The elevator was coming up to their floor.

“I have something for you…”

She didn’t look surprised, but was skeptical, though that wasn’t what he was trying to do anymore.

He took a mustard-colored sketchbook from the sling bag over his shoulder. She looked confused when he handed it to her.

“What’s this?”

He just shrugged. Her eyes were so soft and yet so enticing it burned him in the chest.

Y/N opened the first page of the sketchbook and he saw her visibly catch her breath. For the second time that day, she couldn’t speak.

“I know I’m not usually there with you when you paint and draw…” He gulped. “But I thought, if I learned how to draw myself, even when I’m not so good at it, I’ll be a lot closer to you. We’d have one more thing in common.”

His drawings.

Most of them were of her, her face, her lying on the couch, painting on an easel, smiling at the flowers, or of them both with their arms around each other. Some of her favorite flowers, her favorite spots at the manor, scenes from her favorite movies, her favorite skyscrapers around the city.

Everything was about her, everything he could ever draw was about her, because, as he’d realized, he never could draw anything if it wasn’t.

She was his muse, just as he had been hers for a time.

He had his time with her, and even with the chance that that’s all that it will eventually be, his time with her, he’d grown to appreciate it more than if there wasn’t a time at all, just to ease the pain.

“Tim…” she choked.

Her embrace was that peace he will forever miss, and without wasting so much time he pushed his face into her shoulder so he could take in every bit of her depth, every bit of her scent, her form. She was here. She was here.

“Thank you so much…”

“You don’t have to thank me…”

“I do...” she breathed. He couldn’t even look at her face. “I do…”

This wasn’t nearly enough time for him to be with her. Nothing could be enough time when it comes to her. How could this day, as something he didn’t always come to appreciate, pass by so quickly, quicker than a rabbit’s thump of its foot, and without anything he could do about it?

Nothing, nothing else in his whole life, will be a bigger mistake than when he left. Now, he pays the price. This might be the last day he gets to hold her like this.

“Y/N…”

He loosened his embrace just to hold her cheeks, and she returned that hold by grabbing onto his wrists.

“Whatever you choose to do, promise me I’ll still be your best friend…”

She laughed through the tears, which he wiped off with his thumb. “That’s the most stupid thing you’ve ever said. Of course, I will.”

He laughed as well. Or pretended to. He wanted so much to cry.

‘No. You don’t understand. You won't want me this way any longer. Everything is going to change.’

‘But I’ll accept it. For you. It will all be worth it.’

‘Choose me, so you won't have to promise me this.’

But he didn’t say any of that. He didn’t have to.

He just held her tight, foreheads touching like a lifeline’s hold.

It was a lie telling themselves they were best friends all those years.

But it won't be from now on. They’ll be best friends, whether she chooses him or not, and he’ll hold onto that if it meant everything to her.

“I promise you. I’ll still be here, even if you don’t need me.”

“And I’ll be here for you.”

To just lean in and kiss her. It would have all been too easy.

But the elevator doors parted open, and with it, the end of his time.

He’ll accept this.

He accepted this.

He has to.

And frankly, with the smile she had on the whole day, he’d wish for nothing more than for it to last, even when it meant it wasn’t with him.

He kissed the tip of her forehead, just as she loosened her hold, and with their fingers lingering as they held onto each other’s warmth, he stepped into the elevator and their hands let go of the other.

She waved him goodbye, and just as the doors closed, he waved back.

-----

Dick:

It wasn’t the best idea he’s had.

But he wasn’t at his prime either, and neither should he even be in his prime. He shouldn’t, for all good cause, do anything that could possibly take this out of hand, far beyond what should be thought of as normal. Because as he’s sought out to remember, and remind himself for so many days and weeks and months, their friendship was what he should put before anything else.

And thus, he cannot possibly screw this up. It might be a tad more romantic than it should, but it was Valentine’s day. Of course, he was expected to be romantic at the very least, as everyone else should.

He just didn’t expect his hand to be shaking so much when he raised it against the door of her apartment to knock. He held his wrist, forced the tremors to stop before it’d possibly show. Would it even show? Would the knocking be any different if his knuckles weren’t stable?

It wouldn’t, actually, but it wouldn’t hurt to be careful either.

He forced his spine straight, head held up as he shut his eyes closed hopefully to ease what was dreadfully whirring about in just about every nerve cell in his body, then he breathed.

Just before his fist hit the door, he heard her voice.

“Thanks!” Y/N called out to the cab driver, then she stepped out of the car door and immediately caught her smile. It was nighttime, the sun had just set, still, she looked as bright as day. And perfect. And beautiful.

Dick stopped shaking. He stopped moving altogether.

“Dick?” She stepped over the puddle and he immediately regretted not rushing to help her. But she didn’t seem to mind. “What are you doing here?”

He took the steps down until his feet reached the sidewalk, then she was in front of him. Oblivious. Unknowing. Happy. She was grinning so much it took every bit of breath leftover in his lungs until eventually, he’d die from suffocation without there being a physical stimulant.

Dick swallowed.

“I thought I’d… visit you. On Valentine’s day. I didn’t want you to be lonely.”

Bold of him to assume she would be, of course. Judging from how she looked, where that cab came from, she was with Tim.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have. You just got home. I should be on my way-“

“No! Not at all!” She grabbed him by the jacket and he prayed to the angels above she didn’t catch how he almost choked on his own tongue.  “I could use the company. Wanna stay over?”

Okay. Okay. That would be okay.

But it wasn’t what he had planned for them. At least, he could try to ask. If it was okay with her.

“I,” he started. “Actually, I had something planned for us. Tonight. If it’s alright with you, we can head out now.”

She stood there with her mouth open.

“Or not. I should have called.” Rubbing the back of his neck wouldn’t do much to ease that strain. “I’m sorry. We can-“

“No! Dick, please.” She grabbed onto his arm and led him to his car, which he’d parked over at another block. “I’d love to go with you. Take me anywhere. I promise, I’ll love it.”

He wasn’t even sure if he’d already messed up at that point and that was just her trying to salvage his own dignity or if he hadn’t done anything at all. But her smile seemed genuine. He’d know if it wasn’t.

It warmed every bit of him when they continued to walk, and he was just letting her lead the way, take him like he was made of sand stuffed into a bag or a sack. He was limp, weak. And he couldn’t have had it in another way.

Dick laughed. “Alright then.”

So lightly did it start to drizzle, and the droplets visible on their light sweaters and clothes that tickled their skin like a feather’s cold touch. He didn’t know where to start, even though, in fact, he knew exactly where to start. Is this all going to backfire?

No. It won't. Not this time. He knew what to expect, and nothing will be out of hand and nothing will have to set him back two spaces backward.

Through the sidewalks full and the lively streets, with others hand in hand with their partners and gifts being given, surprises being held and smiles and cheers for all around, it was difficult not to feel bitter being the only one who wasn’t holding a spouse or a partner.

But even if she weren’t his, she was still the woman he loved. And the fact that she was here at all, holding his arm as they turned over to the corner of the street for his car, he was the luckiest out of everyone in the block, in the whole mile’s radius. Hell, the whole city.

They got to his car and already he missed her when she let go of his arm and he stepped into the driver’s seat.

Traffic was bad, but it didn’t even matter. She was looking so brightly out the windshield, at the edge of her seat and wonderfully appreciating all else around her. It was hard not to feel the same, to be so excited for life, and even when the world had tried to pull all of her spirits down, she didn’t let it.

And he could admire all else there was if he had more time than he already had, and he had lots of time. He won't let a minute go to waste. He already had the food, the mat, the movie, everything was at the back of his car.

Thankfully, that dark, secluded spot that wasn’t exactly a hotspot for muggers in the corners of Gotham Central Plaza was still free. He had to hold back a yelp as they parked. It was perfect. Too perfect. Any sane man would suspect there possibly was something more in store than he would have hoped. But that didn’t even cross his mind.

“Alright,” he turned his car key to turn off the engine. “Close your eyes and promise me you won't open them until I say so.”

“Dick.” She looked around. “Where are we?”

“Come on. Close your eyes. Please.”

Rolling her eyes over to the other side of the window, he wanted to playfully pinch her chin. But she did as told, closed her eyes, and laid her head to the back of the car seat. He had to move fast.

He went over to the back, took everything out of the trunk, and never has he worked so fast yet so cautiously, even compared to his stealth work in the middle of a raid.

He laid out the mat and dusted the ground off of any critters that might have been littered about. He took too much time at that. A few minutes at least. He looked back at the side mirror on the passenger seat.

“I said don’t look!”

He heard her laugh so hard she had to snort, then she covered her eyes with her palms.

Okay. This should be okay. She’ll love this. He hoped. He laid out the finishing touches and turned on the projector.

He knocked on her window, then she stepped out. He put his hands on top of her eyes, as cheesy as it was, then led her over to the back. “Where are you taking me, Grayson?”

“Just trust me.”

“I don’t think I should.”

“Yeah, you shouldn’t. But you don’t exactly have a choice.”

She snorted again, then when he stopped her in place, he walked over in front of her. “Okay. Now.”

Y/N opened her eyes.

Dick wished he had a camera to remember her face by.

Always the one to appreciate the little things, the details, every bit of effort. That night, it was no different.

The first thing she turned to was the quaint little picnic he’d set up, with a red and white plaid at laid out on the grassy floor, two cushions for them to sit on, and a basket full of their food, some of which he’d already placed in plates around the mat.

In front of that mat was the trunk of the car, on top of which he’d placed a white sheet over to cover the back, making it a flat surface where the projector, that he’d placed over behind the mat, would shine on. It played the first scene of the movie 10 Things I Hate About You.

And the final piece he hadn’t thought about until the last minute, were fairy lights in two separate strings, running from the back of the car over to the tree that stood right by the picnic mat, where it would shine for all of that night.

Dick wished it were daylight, just so he could see her a bit clearer, but he was thankful for the string lights he placed, or he wouldn’t see just how much her face lit up and her eyes widen beyond what he’d often remember.

“Dick-“

“Not like what I usually give you on Valentine’s?”

Y/N’s smile softened, and she just looked at him disbelievingly.

“I’m kidding. Come on. Food’s getting cold.”

His hands were shaking but thankfully they didn’t show. And he held it out for her to take one of the cushions. She sat down, but her neck was going to hurt soon at the way she was craning it up, mesmerized over everythin he’d set up.

“This is amazing.”

“Wait ‘till you see the movie. Again, that is. For the fifth time.”

“You know exactly how to please me.”

He does.

In every way, if only he could, he would. He’d give her everything she wants, even if it were a flower on top of a cliff.

And if only there weren’t anyone else out there who loved her just as much as he did, then the only thing that would stop him was if he’d die trying to bend the world over for her. Because then he wouldn’t be there to make sure she doesn’t prick her finger on a needle when she’ll be too old to clearly see, or that she doesn’t slip on the floor when her bones grow too weak, or when she needed someone to pick out the grey in her hair when she no longer could with her shaking hands. When they grow old, and he won't be there to make sure she’ll be okay, it’ll be the only thing that stops him.

But that wasn’t the case. There was someone out there who loved her just as much as he did. Two, in fact.

Which meant that nothing, not even his death, is going to stop him from doing whatever it took to give her what she wanted and needed. Because, even then, he was sure she’ll be okay if he was gone.

He wished he didn’t trust those two enough for it to be true, but he did.

The movie went on. Heath Ledger. Julia Stiles. The dialogue over the two’s arguments that he’s learned to memorize over the many times he’s watched it with her. He didn’t even pay much attention, not when the light from the projected screen lit up her curving lips. She didn’t even look tired.

They bit into their sandwiches and he inched himself closer to her.

“What do you like most about this movie?”

Slowly, she turned her head over to him, still with her eyes on the screen like she didn’t even want to miss a minute of it.

“I like how you’d first think it’d be centered on Bianca and the two guys, but then you’d realize the story is really about Patrick and Kat. And the fact that it’s accidental, which ends up being the better romance out of everyone else.”

He finished his sandwich, and he didn’t even pick out another. He listened as if she spoke music. Nothing felt better than that moment right then.

Except, maybe, when she leaned on his shoulder, and he realized he'd never actually felt like he’s sunken so deep into a place he could never think about escaping from, a place he dreaded himself for even thinking about escaping at all, never mind how much more pain it yields and the risks to be taken.

She shifted and he could feel her hair rub itself into a tangled mess onto his shirt. And his selfishness overtook him when he leaned his head on top of hers as well and closed his eyes.

It was a shame, truly, that movies had to end at all. If he’d known, he would have played The Ten Commandments or Cleopatra or any other movie there was that lasted five hours. He would if he had to if it meant she’d stay longer that way.

It was so magical that when he’d tidied up the place and they both got back into the car, he almost forgot his actual gift for the night.

Something he wasn’t so sure about at first. Though, if it worked, it would undoubtedly mean everything.

He shut the car door, and Y/N didn’t know that when Dick looked up the windshield, up at the cloudless sky, that he was actually checking for any signs of heavy rain. Which there was, but thankfully won't be for a few hours.

“So,” she cheerfully exclaimed. It was almost midnight, and still, she didn’t seem the least bit tired. “Are you taking me home?”

“Not yet…”

It will be worth it if it works.

Just do it.

“Y/N…” he said. “Remember that time you told me you wanted to fly again?”

Y/N, as she’d expectedly reacted, looked out her window. “Yeah?”

“I have… something planned for you. But if it makes you uncomfortable, I completely understand-“

When she turned to catch his eyes reassuring him that everything he was mumbling about could only make her smile, immediately he calmed. “What are you saying?”

“It’s in the back. Hold on-“

He moved in less than five seconds, heading over to the back seat, fumbling through his bags, then he sat back down on the driver’s.

“Here.”

He handed a bag to her, and she looked at it confused. She won't be for long.

And that theory was proven true when she unzipped the bag and saw, what was most probably facing up inside the bag, her Falcon domino mask.

Two years ago, she lost her left leg.

And with that, her wings.

She couldn’t fly for a lot of reasons. One, with her being the Falcon, nightly crime-fighting wouldn’t do her any good. The nerve endings on the one leg she had left had been burnt off, and the bionic one couldn’t even move much without it straining and pulling just about every muscle she had. It broke her heart, as if it hadn’t already broken so much of her, that she couldn’t even walk the same way as before.

The other reasons were a lot more complicated, but all the more understandable. The nightmares, traumas, everything else, it would have driven her mad if she hadn’t stopped.

She couldn’t fly anymore. At least, not by herself.

He could help her fly again.

Y/N pulled out her suit, turned, and saw Dick putting on his Nightwing gear.

“We have the whole night,” he said. “If you let me.”’

It was a risk. A dangerous one.

Which made it even more rewarding when he earned a smile from her so wide that it brought tears down her outstretched cheeks.

Yeah.

This was the right choice.

A bag of art supplies would have been plan B. Thank god, he didn’t go through with that again.

Her real Falcon suit was put on display back over at her apartment, behind a hidden door in her closet she hadn’t touched for years. This one was just a black slip-on that covered most of her skin, a hood over her head, and her domino mask. Dick took her up Queen Industries, a tower that soared up the skies rivaled only by the likes of Wayne Enterprises. She picked that tower as if none of this scared her at the very least. Even when it should. Hell, it even scared him.

This won't nearly be as freeing as her wings when she’d soar through the skies and clouds without the confines of a grappling rope tying her down to the realities of human capacity, when she truly could feel like a falcon, the one thing she loved so much about her days as a vigilante.

She was nervous, he could tell. She hadn’t jumped off a building in so long, even when she loved risking her life just about every night just for the feel of it.

But this was a scene he’d longed to see, to have her in his arms on the rooftops of skyscrapers and have her to hold on to, to hear her screams of joyous bliss not just from a safe distance away, and to only have her to himself. No one else.

This was what Tim had back then that he never did, and never will have. Perhaps, except now. It wasn’t the same. But it was all the more beautiful.

She was beautiful, up the starless sky so near to the clouds where the air was thin, the bustling noise nothing more than a distant blur, and her face lit up by the many specks of light littered about this wondrous city.

He saw her clench her fists the way she did when she was excited. Dick took it as a chance to hold it. And she welcomed him like it wasn’t at all out of the ordinary.

“Ready?”

From thin air, he could make out the smoke she blew out of her chapped lips, which curved up a smile as she glanced up to his eyes, then back down on the streets that awaited them below.

“Yes…”

He didn’t let go of her hand. Instead, he held it tighter.

“Jump…”

Like she didn’t even wait for his mark.

Dick has soared off buildings more times than any bird has leaped off their nests, more times than a cat has jumped off a rooftop’s ledge. Every night since he was given his first grappling gun, the rushing wind that pushes onto his face would be the most addicting experience not everyone would know about. He knew what it was like, how close it was to flying.

But he never could call it flying, never truly felt like he had wings on his own. More like barring what the winds allowed him and glide like some limp piece of paper floating about to the wind’s direction. He always thought flying was defying those rules, defying how the earth pulls them down to where humans truly belonged. On the ground.

But flying was so much more than that. And he only realized that now, now that he was with her.

He might as well be in a bubble floating across space because never has he once experienced this kind of high in his life. and it wasn’t the wind or the heights or the risks it bore. It was her.

She made him fly.

The Falcon was never known to be a great fighter. At least, within the family, everyone knew combat wasn’t her forte.

But she did love to save people.

That was what made their dynamic with Tim so perfect. Tim handled the bad guys, roughed them up, used his brute strength to take them down, all the while distracting them from Y/N saving the hostages, from a small child kidnapped to the commissioner himself.

She was an alright gymnast, and most of the time she used it to her advantage. But she wasn’t the best.

She was never the best gymnast, never the best fighter. Everyone knew that before, and only fully realized that when it was too late.

But she was, as everyone in Gotham could plead, the best savior.

She’d save everyone in the scene and wouldn’t miss so much as a cat from a burning building, make sure everyone makes it out alive from a hostage situation, and every kidnapping in Gotham could be tracked from her computer network at home. The people were her priority. And with the loss of the Falcon, the loss of her wings, with it came the loss of a savior.

At least, it should have meant the loss of a savior.

But who was to say she hadn’t stopped saving lives? Doing what she did best? Making sure every life was accounted for and saved, even for just a little girl in a burn unit?

This was flying, and it could only be with her. She saved him. And she’ll continue to save him no matter what she chooses to do, or who she chooses to have.

He heard her delightful cries, and he could thank himself later for having it in him to take a glance, take in how she looked right then, and remember it for every time he needs more saving. Her arms were up, flailing about with the air’s upward push. She could only look everywhere else but at the ground. And with the kind of beam she had on, it was apparent she hadn’t smiled like that in so long.

Yards above the floor, he took her by the waist.

Then he shot his grapple up to the building across, and she held on with her arms wrapped tightly around his neck. Don’t let go. Don’t ever let go. Forever.

She didn’t.

They shot up to the next building but he didn’t allow them to land on the roof just yet.

With an arm around her waist, the other holding both their weights as if it were nothing at all, it wasn’t him who was carrying her, holding her up to fly. It was none but the other way around.

Dick shot his grappling hook even more times, each time just before they were about to reach up a ledge. Y/N didn’t have her eyes closed for a second. He could feel her. He could feel her take in the air and the rush and everything she’s longed to miss. Everything there ever could be that used to mean so much.

It was the same music that played at the back of his ears from when they kissed up on that hill. This soft, serene piano playing without a tune he could point out but couldn’t get out of his head, that same melody so beautiful that as soft as it was, blocked out everything else within a mile’s reach.

He allowed them to reach a dome-shaped roof, and he reached down to carry her legs as well so she wouldn’t have to run or suffer the impact. Like she was made of glass, he carried her, ran across the rooftop.

She pressed her forehead tight against his cheek, and on his jaw, Dick could feel her smile. It urged him on. He leaped off that rooftop and shot up his grapple again.

Her laughter could have been heard from everyone below, and her eyes couldn’t leave the wonders that surrounded them, at the concrete jungles, the choppers in place of the birds, the beautiful noises it made from people and everything else.

Close to where they started, Dick carried her like he would if she were his bride, cradled her in his arms as he landed on a rooftop, and finally stopped. Her nerves were buzzing. It was all he could feel. Her hair was a mess. Her eyes were so wide. Her hands were in tremors uncontrollable.

But she laughed so hard and never has he heard that kind of laughter out of her from anyone else. The kind of laughter he’d grown so addicted to, that he couldn’t stop but draw it out of her every chance he got.

Then she hugged him so tight, so quickly did his own nerves calm. She was so warm, he couldn’t help but feel grounded.

This.

This was what it was like to see her up close.

Years of watching, to see her soar and not be there to hold her hand as he flies with her, to see her kiss another’s lips while they stood at the literal top of the world, at a skyscraper so tall with the world under their feet, on the most gorgeous city there was, with the bustling streets and the nosy citizens and the lights that continued endlessly.

To see her this close, to be with her, and actually be with her. To have their two souls put together and have that kind of high that couldn’t possibly be gotten from another.

If Y/N chooses him, he’ll make her fly every day. He’ll never let her forget being the flying guardian angel of Gotham. He’ll never let that image of the city taken from up above the cloudy mists be rid from her mind.

And if she doesn’t choose him, he’ll make sure that whoever it was that was going to be her eternal happiness, knows all those things and more, knows how much flying meant to her. He’ll make sure they’ll take his word to heart, so he never has to doubt her contentment again.

Y/N held him in an embrace so close, the smell of her lemony scalp and her arms so perfectly warm, he held her back immediately and shut his eyes so he’d only know the feeling.

“Thank you for giving me my wings back.”

It wasn’t even about her choosing him anymore. It wouldn’t change a thing.

Whatever happens, he’ll be there making sure she’ll go on to fly, that she never forgets the rush of the wind or the mist of the clouds.

Already, he was used to that feeling, of watching her from such distance, that it won’t be such a change if it happens again. She’ll find her happiness. She’ll choose her happiness. And all the while, he’ll be there to make sure she’ll have that and more.

No longer does he hope that she chooses him, as he selfishly longed for after so many years.

He was happy. He was content. Whatever comes out of this, it’ll be for her happiness.

And that’s all there is to it.

-----

Jason:

God Almighty, this was stupid.

And he should have known that hours ago. Three hours up on that fire exit, not once did he think this through enough to escape, as he hadn’t thought since the start of the day and he just happened to pass by the many flower shops suddenly rising out of nowhere down the street where he lived.

It was three am and still, she hadn’t come home. And all those hours, instead of finally knowing the risks of all this and back up before it was too late, he impatiently waited for her, booted soles tapping onto the ground, thinking ‘where the hell is she?’ as if he had no idea at all. He did have an idea. He just didn’t think to dwell on it.

Seeing Dick’s car pull up in front of her door, he only had such a window. Everything in him shattered. His head so light. Everything so hopelessly weak. To just flee and never come back, it would all have been so easy.

But as he selfishly allowed himself that kind of hope, as no one in their right mind should if they were anywhere near his place, he stayed. Because even in the middle of such darkness from whence he’d come from, from whence he was born into this disaster of a life, he let himself, albeit unconsciously, hold onto the fact that she still hadn’t chosen either of his brothers and with that, she might choose him, like he had such a speck of a chance, one too much than what he should have.

And it was because of that selfishness, that grandeur delusion of hope proven to be such a luxury for someone from the likes of him, that brought him to this exact place on this exact night.

And seeing that she’d just spent this hell of a day with his brothers, each one with a present for her grander than the last, what he’d done was some sorry excuse of a joke even he wanted to laugh at. This was ridiculous. And humiliating.

But it was far too late, with him standing so frozen with his hood up and the rainfall stronger, he let his clothes be drenched, didn’t care for the cold, not when all he could see was her stepping into her studio and taking off her coat. She had on a smile like no other.

A year ago, he was in that very room, and did the most selfish thing he ever could do to his brothers that he yearned to be forgiven for but still did not fully regret, not when it sparked a love for what was the brightest little star in this hellish earth, not when it was a time so wonderful that none of it left his head even after such a year.

He had that time. He had his time. Which was why he shouldn’t have this kind of hope for himself, not when it was the only time he ever had, which makes all this all the more impossible to go his way. Or at least, the way he dreamed for it to be.

All that thought changed, however, when she came into her room, stopped over her desk, and saw what he’d left for her.

It was a dangerous game, breaking into her house. And if it had gone on just a bit longer, he’d have thought all this was a messy screw up no U-turn was going to fix. Maybe he’d finally did it this time, destroyed everything with these overwhelming feelings he had no idea how to control. He didn’t know how to play this game if it was even a game at all. He’s never loved before. He doesn’t know how to love. He doesn’t know what to do after he falls in love.

She was confused. Jason could tell with the way her eyebrows bunched up at the center. Then she looked out the windows. Thankfully, he was hidden too far into the dark for her to see.

But she held that rose as if it were so much more than that, and when she let her fingers draw on the edges of the petals once so fresh, everything in him ceased. He couldn’t stop watching.

It was all there is really. A white rose.

The first Valentine’s day gift he’s ever given.

He knew his brothers would go all out, give her the world, give her the whole of Gotham, show her the heights of their immense love so undeniable. It was what she deserved.

But he couldn’t let this day pass without at least giving her something.

He still loved her, after all. Even if it wouldn’t lead to anything.

Y/N’s smile made him feel like the dorky kid at school in love with a girl he’s never talked to, leaving a flower in her locker without letting her know who it was from. And he was just that, in fact. There are no inaccuracies.

And he knew, without a doubt, that she’d get his message.

As she always does, with them having this bond, this connection like no other. Jason was, after all, the one who understood her best.

He understood how the most horrific thing that could happen to someone could end up being the one thing that takes over the rest of their identity. He died, and that’s what people ended up knowing him for. The Robin who died. And Y/N, no matter how much she works or achieves, will be the girl who lost her leg. But she was so much more than that. In every way.

A white rose was what she was. This beautiful, untainted slate, fresh without a single flaw no matter how much those flaws seem to be so obvious, and she does what she makes of her identity no one will be able to dictate. She wasn’t her trauma. She wasn’t her past. She was her.

Maybe he did look into it too deep, but he couldn’t help with seeing the way she smiled and took the rose to bed, laying it beside her as she changed and got under the sheets.

Maybe he should have done more.

But not even he could help grinning his cheeks off when he finally left that place, so swiftly no one would have seen even if they tried.

It was enough. At least, for him.

More so when he felt his phone in his pocket.

Y/N: ‘Thank you for the rose. Happy Valentine’s day, Jason.’

He snorted and audibly laughed, staring at his phone reading the message five times in a few seconds. He didn’t even leave so much as a note. How was she so sure it was from him?

Because she understood him, too. More than anyone. It went both ways.

It will hurt like a bitch when she ultimately chooses another. Because as much as he hates to admit it, not to others and especially not to himself, he needed her a lot more than she needed him. Even when they only had so much time, it was that time he realized he wanted that for the rest of his life.

But he’ll get through it. Somehow. Like he always does.

-----

For so much of this love that came from the purest hearts, it never calls for what was easy.

And it wasn’t at the least.

But with difficulties and trials, the triumph will be the reward that brings all else to its place. A place of peace. Contentment.

Seven days after, the story comes to an end.

An end too long-awaited but has taken the time for it to be right.

Seven days after,

She makes her choice.

-----

MASTERLIST | 3 BIRDS 1 STONE MASTERLIST

-----

A/N: WHO’S READY FOR THE PRE-FINALE AND THE FINALE!!! I’M SO EXCITED AHHHHHHH

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[regrettablewritings]

Slapped By Legal (Matt Murdock x Reader)

@locke-writes​ S u f f e r

‘Twas four weeks before Christmas, in a Hell’s Kitchen home, where you sat in the kitchen, feeling downtrodden and boned. Your laptop was open, the window filled with tabs Of all the potential gifts you could feasibly nab. But this was three hours into searching and nary a perfect gift could be found As your brain began contemplating just burning the building to the ground —

Okay, maybe don’t do that. But you would’ve been lying if you’d claimed you weren’t tempted to at least fling your laptop out the window. Buying gifts for one’s boyfriend was usually a point if glee for most couples. You had coworkers who would gush about what they’d gotten their partners, eagerly asking you if you wanted to see it. Even without you courteously saying yes, they would shove their phone into your face, forcing you to not only pretend to be interested, but also to remember that the clock was ticking — and you still didn’t have anything for your own partner.

At face value, Matt would presumably be a relatively easy man to but for. He lived well within his means, both to regard his disability but also because he was just simply a humble person. Most people like that would’ve been satisfied with, like, a bottle of wine.

But not your Matt: Your Matt was Matthew Michael Murdock, a man both blessed and cursed with sensitivities that made his tastes particular — literally. You had to sit on the side of caution when it came to nearly everything: Certain materials felt scratchy on his skin; certain foods and drinks tasted like every step of the factory that had contributed to their production; cologne bothered his nose; and he didn’t much listen to music anyway, so a radio or stereo would’ve been mostly pointless.

You released a loud, aggravated groan as you flopped in your seat. You were pretty positive that no matter where Matt was at this point in time, he probably heard you. Even if it was from Queens.

Fuck this, you thought as you grumpily scrolled further along your current tab. That bastard is getting a gift card. Or a wine-stopper. Or —

And that’s when you saw it. In an instant, your posture turned upright alongside your sense of hope.

— Or that!

Everything about it was perfect: The price, the content, the opportunity -- you simply had to have Matt have it!

Christmas tended to be a rather small affair for the Nelson & Murdock crew. With nobody having any real family to speak of (or, at the very least, any family worth visiting), the four of you were more than happy to make do with your own little traditions: Ordering Thai from down the street, drinking yourselves silly without the guilt, and just plain enjoying one another’s company. Oh, and opening presents together, of course.

And the entire while Foggy and Karen expressed excitement over their gifts, you sat there with a slight hint of smugness just barely nestled inside of you. When they gave Matt his own gift, you couldn’t help but feel some relief: A mug and a paperweight in the shape of an apple. Sure signs that even after all this time, they, too, struggled with what the hell to give the guy who generally wants for nothing.

You didn’t want to silently toot your own horn, but you already knew you had them beat. Hence why you saved the best for last. And although you weren’t quite certain as to how his innate lie detection worked, you couldn’t help but suspect that he was on to you. It was subtle, but it was like it was hidden in the crook of his brow every time he happened to face your direction. Not that he said anything, of course. He wasn’t new to your breed of mischief, after all.

Two could play at this game. All he needed to do was wait patiently until your dramatic self became too overwhelmed with eagerness to bear it.

The gusto with which you presented the parcel was met with further brow-cocking on Matt’s part.

“Matthew,” you spoke, enforcing an exaggeratory accent befitting of an American’s idea of a British butler, “your Yuletide endowment.”

Matt huffed with amusement. “‘Endowment’? What, are we living fancy now?” You made no response, perfectly content to simply watch him rip apart the colorful paper with anticipation. To be perfectly honest, Matt wasn’t entirely sure what to expect from you. Normally, he could tell what something was at a distance. But once boxes and further packaging got involved whatever his senses reported back to him got all fuzzy and muddled.

But surely whatever you’d gotten was something you were proud of. After all, he’d spent the entire gift-unwrapping listening to the small, telltale signs of your excitement.

“It’s a . . .” He lifted it from the ruins of tissue paper. “. . . T-shirt?”

“Uh-huuhhh!” you chriped. He could hear you practically vibrating. Matt wasn’t averse to t-shirts. But he had to admit, it was a bit of a strange thing for you to get so excited about. Though, feeling about the cotton, he could sense some roughness. Ink. Was there a design on this? Was it a graphic t-shirt?

“Put it on, put it on!” you cheered. He did so, not able to think of a reason why he shouldn’t. Besides, well, the fact that he knew you were being highly suspicious. The brief moment it took for him to pop his head through the neck hole, he could hear rustling coming from your part of the little circle. He also heard Foggy snort before weakly attempting to stifle his obvious laugh. He heard Karen’s breath hitch as well, though not in any way that denoted discomfort. In fact, he heard heartbeats quicken and lungs practically spasming.

What the hell had you done.

“Okay, I give up, what does it say?” Matt demanded.

“Nothing!” Foggy squeaked.

Matt’s lips pressed into a thing, unimpressed line. “Yeah, that’s bullshit. I don’t even need to hear for a lie, what is it? What does it say?”

“It, um,” Karen offered fruitlessly, “It says ‘World’s Best Boyfriend’, that’s all.”

“Seriously?” Matt sighed, though not without cracking a hint of a smile. “You’re going to lie to a blind guy? And to me of all blind guys?” He heard you shuffling towards him, walking on your knees. 

“Don’t worry about it, Babe,” you insisted, pressing a kiss to his scruffy cheek. In the moment you leaned towards him, he could smell a new smell on you: It wasn’t unlike the one that belonged to his brand-new shirt.

But before he could demand the truth any further, Foggy cut in with a giggle-wobbled, “Time for Christmas photos! Say cheese, Lovebirds!”

Matt could only give in; there was no point in trying to wedge the truth out of any of you. All he knew was that he knew you three were lying about . . . something.

Ah, well, he decided as he heard the click of Foggy’s camera phone going off. Perhaps there was a way to get the truth out of you . . .

It didn’t work. In spite of his best efforts (and damn, were they his best), he couldn’t get it out of you. However, that wasn’t to say that he didn’t get anything he wanted out of you. And as he began to fall prey to his exhaustion, the events of the day finally catching up to him, he snuggled his naked form loser to yours. Perhaps the truth would have to wait for another day . . .

For your part, you were proud of yourself. Admittedly, part of the pride’s source came from the fact that you were able to hold your ground in the end (Matt was just too giving of a lover to be good at torturing you). But for the most part, it came from the fact that you were able to execute your plan as you intended it. In a way, it was also like a little bit of revenge: Revenge on Matt for being one of the absolute worst people to shop for. And for that, maybe you’d hold on to your not-so-secret secret. Just for a little while longer . . .

But first, one last relishing in your success before you succumbed to sleep.

You carefully and slowly made your way to your side of the bed. Not enough to properly wake up your sleeping boyfriend, but just so that you could reach your phone from its resting place on the nightstand. Once acquired, you pressed the home button and set your sights aglow with the image you had last had your phone on before your and Matt’s little session.

It was the picture Foggy had taken earlier of you and Matt, dressed in the matching T-shirts you had acquired for yourselves. You grinned cheekily at the camera, making sure that the bubbly white writing on the black fabric was perfectly legible: “My Ass Got Slapped By Legal.”

And next to you was Matt, a smile planted on his handsome face but altogether tainted with confusion and growing insanity over what the hell you had him wearing -- an equally black t-shirt with equally bubbly white writing: “I Am Legal.”

Oh, yeah, you decided as you smiled to yourself. This was going on the Christmas cards next year.

[lady-divine-writes]

Kurtbastian fic “Always and Forever” Chapter 3

Summary: After the death of their daughter Grace, Kurt and Sebastian drift apart. Kurt wraps himself up in his grief so tightly he starts to push Sebastian away, and Sebastian, feeling himself shoved aside when he needs Kurt most, cheats. They make the decision to start over, to leave New York City and their pain behind, and start over again in a house Upstate. Sebastian buys Kurt a "fixer upper" and gives him free reign. While redecorating the room that will be his studio, Kurt comes across something interesting underneath the wallpaper. It starts to become an obsession for Kurt - an obsession that begins to replace Kurt's love for his husband, which Sebastian is holding on to by a thread. Can Kurt and Sebastian break through the pain and the hurt and find a way to fall in love again?

Read on AO3.

Chapter 3 (4753 words)

Kurt stares out his studio window at the neighborhood below. It’s 10:15 a.m. and a Tuesday, so it isn’t as if the place is teeming with activity. Everyone living on Colony Lane seems content to stick to their own spaces, abide by their own schedules, and go about their lives without much interference from the world outside.

Kurt hates to hand it to Sebastian, but that’s what he wants as well. Isolation in a quaint fixer-upper is precisely what he needs.

Another point for Sebastian. 

Damn. 

He seems to be racking them up lately, while Kurt…

Kurt can admit that he’s not trying as hard as he should be, but he’s giving himself permission to be selfish. There shouldn’t be a timetable for bouncing back from loss, and Kurt got the double-whammy. 

Sebastian gave him betrayal to get over, too. 

Kurt knows that he should deem repairing his marriage a priority, but he also needs to do what’s right for him. 

He hasn’t figured out what that is yet, but it'll come to him.

Underlying childhood guilt has him believing that he should introduce himself to the neighbors. Etiquette and all that. It’s what his mother would do. Every time his family moved, and there had been a handful of times, Kurt’s mother would bake a batch of cookies for the neighbors. She'd put a baker's dozen into colorful cellophane bags, tie the tops with curled ribbon, and take them door to door to say hello. She wouldn’t wait for people to show up on their doorstep with a casserole and a smile. She believed in being proactive. She would tell him, “New neighborhood, new life. Go out and be a part of it.”

But Kurt doesn’t want to, and the neighbors seem fine with that. 

It’s been three days, and Kurt and Sebastian have only gotten one visitor – the technician who came to fix the heating. Of course, the neighbors could be waiting for them to get settled. Then they’ll pounce over with perfectly iced Gingerbread Bundt cakes and Chicken Kievs, church invites, and Girl Scout cookie order forms, like a swarm of Stepford Wives. 

Kurt doesn’t care about being proactive, and his mother isn’t around to scold him for behaving like a hermit. 

That may sound harsh, but it's true. 

The clouds pulling together in the sky overhead, threatening rain, give Kurt an excuse to shut himself away and work on the house - an excuse he can ply without the assistance of a tragic backstory. With his laptop open on the floor in front of him, he browses those websites that feed his design fetishes: Ethan Allen, Neiman Marcus, Anthropologie. 

But he's not the least bit inspired. 

He’d decided to start small, take things room by room instead of attacking everything at once. But he gets stumped, staring at the screen in front of him, unsure whether the chair he’s been mulling over for the past half hour is gorgeous or gaudy. 

He should focus on bringing the living room together since it’s where they do the bulk of their entertaining, provided they ever start entertaining again. And he should do something about the master bedroom, which, for the moment, houses a bed, a TV, and a dresser within the confines of four ashy walls. 

Opinions on the topic vary, but Kurt has always felt that the bedrooms are the heart of the home. They’re sanctuaries where dreaming, planning, and affirmation happen. He only has the one to worry about, so he should put extra effort into making it comforting, relaxing, sensual on the off chance he ever plans on touching his husband again.

The jury is still out on that one, unfortunately. 

The kitchen, he’s not looking forward to decorating. Aside from his studio, he and Grace spent much of their time together in the kitchen. They baked daily: cakes, cookies, bread, and anything else they could slop onto a baking sheet and shove into the oven. They also made jam, pickled fruit, and taught themselves (using YouTube videos mainly) to prepare various types of cuisine. Some were a hit, others a miss, but it was always an adventure. 

Kurt had done something similar with his mother and her collection of vintage cookbooks, congregating around the kitchen island in the afternoons to shed the angst of public school, and spread the wings of his stifled creativity. He and his mother discussed everything in the kitchen while sifting flour and creaming butter. It was a tradition he had so looked forward to continuing. 

Now, he’d rather not be bothered going into the kitchen again.

He could pick a page out of the IKEA catalog and recreate it. That should offend him. It did when Sebastian suggested it the first time Kurt redecorated their penthouse. But Kurt hardly cares. It doesn’t matter as much as it did. He can’t remember the last time he stepped into the kitchen and prepared anything more elaborate than toast and coffee, maybe dry scrambled eggs. Sebastian took over cooking duties after Grace died, which, nine times out of ten, means ordering out, if for no other reason than he gets to leave the house to pick up the food.

He knows Kurt appreciates the time alone more than he does a home-cooked meal.

Then there’s Sebastian’s office, which Kurt is decorating for the first time. He has tried to start a shopping cart for it numerous times, but, unlike the windfall of ideas he had for his studio, he can’t get into a groove. He remembers a time when thinking about decorating Sebastian’s office put a hundred ideas into his head. 

Currently, he has only one.

The cheap, vomit-worthy, knock-off furnishings of the no-tell hotel room he pictures whenever he thinks of Sebastian sleeping with another man. 

Kurt shivers in disgust. He wouldn't wish that on his worst enemy. 

The room or the infidelity.

But how would Sebastian react if Kurt decorated his office to look like the business suite at the Marriott?

Kurt snickers, envisioning the sitcom-worthy shock that would erupt on Sebastian's face if he presented that to him.

"As you can see," Kurt would say, strolling through the room with his head held high atop the straightest spine pettiness can deliver, "I have chosen the most flame-retardant carpet available in subtle hues of tan and beige, a color combination well suited for concealing cum stains. This ergonomic, curved leather loveseat, for when you want to get adventurous with your afternoon romps, which, at your age, requires plenty of lumbar support. Plus, it cleans up in a snap with just a Clorox wipe, so that's a useful feature. Faux fireplace, faux aquarium, faux chandelier... are we sensing a theme? And in the corner, I've provided you a foldout of your own, for when you bring... ahem... work home."

The grin on Kurt's lips slides when Sebastian, wearing a gutted expression, pops to mind. It's an expression that Kurt didn't believe possible for Sebastian till their daughter died. He's only seen it once. He doesn't want to bring it back.

He sighs. 

Revenge-dreaming isn't helping. 

It isn't as satisfying as he thought it would be.

He’s not breaking through his creative block anytime soon. He puts his plans for the other rooms on the back burner and decides to spend time picking out furniture for his studio. With the exception of his sewing machines, he didn’t bring anything from his penthouse studio here, so he’s starting over fresh. He switches tabs and starts filling his online shopping cart with the basics: a new drafting table, a cabinet, a chair he’ll have to custom-upholster, a bolt of drapery fabric he can repurpose to make a bedspread (if he goes through with his plans for a foldout), and a few other miscellaneous odds and ends, nothing worth wasting too much brain-power over.

The clunk-clunk of Sebastian stacking cans in the kitchen cabinets reaches Kurt upstairs, as does the water running in the sink while he washes dishes and the squeak of the sticky pantry door when he fixes it. Kurt plans on redoing the kitchen and giving the entire room a facelift. Sebastian knows that. But repairing the door gives Sebastian something to do.

Sebastian has been considerate enough to let Kurt do his thing undisturbed for the morning. Kurt’s reluctance to talk to anyone extends to Sebastian, which Sebastian understands. He’s keeping his distance. But it’s nice to hear him puttering around the house. It gives Kurt comfort, the same way listening to his father snore in the middle of the night helped Kurt feel less alone after his mother died.

He may want to be left alone, but it’s nice to know that he’s not alone.

Especially not today.

Today did not start out good for Kurt.

Kurt woke up later than he’d intended, and when he did, he couldn’t remember where he was. Sebastian had woken up and gotten out of bed hours earlier, leaving Kurt alone to sleep in. Kurt climbed out of bed and wandered around frightened, hands crawling along the walls, searching for something familiar. Footsteps passed somewhere underneath him, and he froze. He didn’t want to venture downstairs because he didn’t know who could be there. Maybe someone had broken in, or worse - this was somebody else’s house, and Kurt was the intruder. 

His heart raced. He started hyperventilating. He went from room to room, trying to figure out where he was and why he was there. It wasn’t until the second time he went into his studio that he began to remember. He saw his bag on the floor and, beside it, his sketchbook. He remembered sitting in there the day before, making plans. He remembered the wood grain of the floor, the dusty glass, the tree outside, the wallpaper, and that ripped corner by the window, which Kurt refuses to acknowledge any more than he has to.

He feels it behind him, like the sun on his back, trying to get him to turn his face to it, but he refuses. Of all the things he needs to deal with, that ripped corner and the word beneath it don’t make the list. It isn't doing the palpitations in his chest any favors.

It confuses him. 

It angers him. 

It saddens him.

It makes him consider what could have been, forces him to face everything he's lost. He didn't succeed in running away from his problems. He ran headlong into brand new ones.

But this is his house. He has to get used to it.

These episodes aren’t uncommon. They crop up whenever Kurt needs to adapt to change. They’re unexpected, like mines in fields he discovers he’s been running through when a second ago he was picking flowers in the park or strolling down the street.

It's their unpredictability that is the true torture. 

They show up even on his good days.

His life for the last ten years revolved around his daughter. When she was a baby, he adjusted his work schedule to match her sleep schedule. They had the money to afford the best nurses in New York, but Kurt didn’t want that. He didn’t want his daughter raised by a governess. He was as hands-on a parent as there ever was. 

As Grace grew, her schedule changed, and Kurt adjusted: daycare, Gymboree, kindergarten, ballet, elementary school. He dropped her off in the mornings, then picked her up in the afternoons. They spent the rest of the day going over her homework until it was time to make dinner, which they did together. 

That was the great thing about being a designer and freelance editor. Kurt could work from anywhere, and, aside from doing consultations at Vogue, he could work any time. 

When Grace became sick, her doctor visits and her medication regimen dictated Kurt's schedule, then her chemo.

Towards the end, there was only one item written in Kurt’s schedule - lie beside his daughter in her bed, holding on to her for dear life. 

And not just her life.

His, too.

In sickness and in health, Grace kept Kurt’s life regulated. 

Things flipped drastically when she died. 

He felt adrift. Detached from the life he had gotten used to, he didn’t know what to latch on to. His internal clock would wake him up at six to get Grace ready for the day, only to find himself walking into a vacant bedroom. At the supermarket, he would grab her favorite cereal out of habit and put it in his cart, even though it wasn’t on the list. He would jolt when he'd come across a song he thought she’d like or saw an advertisement for a movie he thought she’d enjoy. 

He has yet to stop the automatic deposits from his bank account to hers, her weekly allowance piling up on top of birthday and Christmas money. She had earmarked it for college (her decision, not his). Now it waits to be donated to the children’s hospital that took such incredible care of her. He doesn’t have the heart to empty it. She was so proud of it.

He doesn’t know what it will do to him to see the balance at zero.

But the worst moment of all, the absolute worst, was when he tried to go back to work right after they lost her. 

There are many moments after Grace’s death, during Kurt’s own struggle for acceptance, that blur together, but this one he remembers so vividly, it brings a lump to his throat and tears to his eyes. 

He was in the middle of a brainstorming session with his team. His boss Isabelle was there. She had dropped by with a box of cronuts and a grande nonfat mocha. Kurt hadn’t been eating. Everyone could tell. But Kurt overlooked the signs – the sharper than normal angle to his cheekbones and chin, his collarbone that showed through his skin a little too much, his hands that never stopped shaking. He had waved the food away when she offered. 

An hour later, he was on his third one.

The tension of his presence in the office so soon after his daughter’s death slowly dissipated, making way for the familiar, though attenuated, back and forth banter he had so missed. Without knowing it, he was paving the way for a potential comeback. He wouldn’t have a line up for a while, and he would need to keep an eye on fashion trends as they came and went in his absence. But this, this felt so natural, so normal, it almost seemed like it was. He got caught up in the rhythm of this impromptu jam session. He smiled, he laughed.

He felt alive again.

Somewhere in the middle of outlining a rough schedule, he glanced down at the time on his phone. Mid-sentence, he got up from his chair and walked over to get his coat off the hook by the door.

“Alright,” he said with a chuckle over Chase’s last clap back at a jab from his boyfriend Ian, “thanks for everything, you guys, but I’ve gotta run. We’ll talk about this more when I come in tomorrow.”

The room went pin-drop silent. Kurt didn’t notice.

“Where are you going?” Isabelle asked, getting up from her seat on the corner of his desk and approaching, knowing that he would need her in a second, the way she always knew. Kurt has referred to Isabelle as his Fairy Godmother ever since he first walked into Vogue fresh out of high school and trying to find a foothold in the hectic Gulf Stream that is New York City. She became his pillar of support, a sympathetic ear, and a clear head whenever he needed one. She had thrown his bachelor party. Hers was the condo he stayed in the night before his wedding. She’d hosted Grace’s baby shower.

Also, Grace’s wake.

She didn’t have children of her own and didn't plan on it, but she loved Grace as much as anyone.

And hers was the shoulder Kurt cried on when he found out Sebastian had cheated. 

Kurt looked at her, confused, wondering why it was that everyone around him seemed to be holding their breath. “I just… have to go pick up Grace. From school. I’m going… I’m going to be late.”

Isabelle shook her head and put a hand on his. “Sweetie… ”

It took Kurt a second. 

Even after one person gasped and another sniffled, with Isabelle’s sorrowful eyes staring at him, begging him to remember so she wouldn’t have to say it, he didn’t catch on.

When he did, it hit him like an electric shock straight through his body, rendering his muscles useless, and he crumbled to the floor. Isabelle held him for over an hour in that spot until Sebastian arrived. Kurt didn’t want to leave. He didn’t want to go to their empty penthouse and face the truth about his empty life. He wanted to stay at Vogue with Isabelle and live in that moment where everything was alright again for one shimmering second, even if it wasn’t real.

But he had to go. He had to leave with Sebastian, who had hurt him, back to his home, even if it killed him because even though he felt like his life was over, everything else continued on. People lived, and people died. The sun set in the evening, but in the morning, it would rise again.

He just didn’t want to be a part of it anymore. 

Not without his Grace.

He was cried out by the time Sebastian got him home. Sebastian undressed him, helped him with his cleaning and moisturizing routine, and then put him to bed. It was Friday evening when Kurt shut his eyes and went to sleep. He lived that horrible moment at his office over again a hundred times before he opened his eyes. And when he did, it was Sunday morning.

Like this morning, but to a greater extent, when these attacks happen, locked in his own brain, sifting through the pieces to find one big enough and sturdy enough to hold on to, Kurt loses time.

In a blink, hours go by, sometimes a day. He’ll climb in the shower in the morning, turn the water on hot, and by the time he realizes it’s cold, it’s close to noon. He has sat at the dining room table for breakfast, staring at a bowl of oatmeal, and when he found the will to pick up the spoon, the oatmeal was old and stiff, and it was dinner time. He’s gone to bed on Monday and stared at the black behind his eyelids till Wednesday. 

As far as Kurt knows, it’s only around lunchtime, but he glances at the clock in the corner of his screen to make sure. 

12:45.

He breathes a sigh of relief. He double-checks the date to make sure he has a reason to and sighs again.

Still Tuesday.

Kurt switches back to the IKEA tab he’d been laboring long but not hard on earlier. He looks at the shopping cart he’s been steadily filling, scrolls through his selections of personality bereft, assembly line furniture, and groans. This isn’t him. This house, this blank slate, should be an endless fount of motivation. 

But he's numb. 

Maybe he's rushing into this. He should give this house and the neighborhood time to grow on him before he sentences it to the mundane.

He needs a break. (Kurt Hummel need a break from shopping? Since when?) He flips to a new page in his sketchbook. For shits and giggles, he tries drawing a sketch for his husband’s office. He starts with the easy part – Sebastian’s desk. Sebastian didn’t leave that in the penthouse, so Kurt will make it the linchpin and design around it.

Things flow surprisingly easily from there once he gets started, with a pencil in his hand writing on paper instead of working on a screen: an ornamental rug, a matching leather chair, burgundy velvet curtains, a chainmail style Tiffany desk lamp, 1930s art deco décor with a soupcon of Persian flair. But he doesn’t want the room to be too dark. No. Kurt wants nothing in their house to be dark. He adds a Salento chandelier over the open portion of the room and a sweep of color – one wall, opposite a window, a lighter shade than the rest. He doesn’t know what Sebastian’s office looks like, but there has to be a wall in there that will fit the bill. 

An enamel and copper vase, a Khatam inlaid photo frame, a few Negar Gari…

Kurt stops.

Would Sebastian want that? The softer elements countering the strict lines of the art deco pieces, what could be described as feminine influences, are Kurt’s signature touch. But might Sebastian prefer the art deco without Kurt’s fingerprints all over it? Isn’t that what Sebastian meant by Kurt being heavy-handed with the pastels? 

Back in high school, Kurt had decorated his bedroom so that he and his stepbrother could share it. He'd skipped school so he could complete it in one day. He’d worked hard on it, trying to fuse a masculine air with his theatrical influence. What he thought was an eclectic representation of the masculine and the feminine turned into a Moroccan-themed disaster.

The word his stepbrother chose to use at the time was faggy, but there were ulterior motives behind it.

Sebastian made jabs in high school about Kurt not wearing boy clothes, comments that adult Kurt recognizes as the teenage boy equivalent of pulling Kurt’s pigtails. But at the time, they stung. Sebastian wouldn’t have made those comments if there weren’t a grain of truth to them, would he? 

Sebastian has never retracted those statements, so as far as Kurt is concerned, they stand.

Kurt flips his pencil over and starts erasing. He’ll pare down the extras – trade the Tiffany lamp for a banker’s lamp, replace the rug with something more Brooks Brothers than Pier 1.

Maybe he should just opt for another IKEA recreation, but that feels like copping out, going back on his word. 

He could always ask Sebastian. He swears his husband has passed by a few times, his footsteps rising and falling outside his door, but Kurt didn’t think anything of it. He figures Sebastian is passing through on his way to get something from the bedroom that he needs downstairs. Kurt doesn’t imagine the man is pacing the hallway, even if he is, trying to find a way to tell Kurt that lunch is ready. Little things like lunch, innocuous things, have become huge divides over the past few months. With anyone else, Sebastian has a history of railroading over them, hurt feelings be damned.

But Sebastian has learned his lesson. He paid a hefty price learning it, too.

Contemplating between clearing his throat so that Kurt knows he’s there and letting another meal go cold, he sees Kurt’s head lift up. It seems like an opening. Whether or not it is, Sebastian takes it.

“Lunch is ready.”

“Mm-hmm,” Kurt mumbles, brushing eraser shavings aside.

“Are you… are you coming downstairs?”

Kurt erases again, then pencils something on a sheet of paper that Sebastian can’t see. “Hmm… mmm?” 

It sounds like a question and an answer, but since Kurt doesn’t follow it up with anything, it most likely means that Kurt will be skipping lunch… again. Sebastian knocks idly on the door frame, giving Kurt a second longer to tell him for sure.

“Alright.” Disappointed, he turns to leave. “I guess I’ll come back up at dinner then.”

Kurt doesn’t know why the thought returns when he wasn’t even thinking about it, why it decided to nag at his brain when he had been able to ignore it for this long, but that’s the way his brain works now. His thoughts don’t always travel straight paths. They twist and turn, taking one thing and linking it to something unrelated. Erasing the ideas he’d sketched out, removing every inch of himself from Sebastian’s office, made him think about how eager he was to be rid of that word darling from above the window, and that ripped corner returns to his mind with a vengeance.

Well, as long as Sebastian is there, he might as well ask.

“Sebastian?��

Sebastian pauses in the doorway, not daring to move. “Yes?” 

“When was the last time you were here?” Kurt raised an eyebrow at the idea when it originally came to him. When would Sebastian have come to this house that Kurt didn’t know? They traveled Upstate once a year, but they always did it together as a family. And while they were here, Sebastian rarely ventured out alone. Sebastian isn’t the kind of person who would buy a house sight unseen. 

Unless he had found it during one of his outings with Grace. Which would mean that Grace had seen the inside. 

Grace would have seen this room and thought it would be hers, thought that they would someday live here, and Sebastian hid that word darling by the window for her and not Kurt.

The thought is so painful, it makes Kurt want to tear his nails out with his teeth so he’ll stop thinking about it.

Sebastian keeps his eyes locked to Kurt’s profile so he won’t miss the moment Kurt decides to look at him instead of the floor, the wall, or the ceiling.

“I found this house online. It wasn’t even on the market when I stumbled on it. To be honest, I’d only driven by it once. I hadn’t been inside until we moved in.”

“But you saw the inside,” Kurt asks. “Otherwise, how would you know about this room?”

“I took a virtual tour,” Sebastian admits sheepishly, “but it was extremely thorough. I’ve seen the blueprints, gone over the permits and the zoning. I had Tristan from the office look over the place when he came up to visit his folks. He facetimed me while he was here.” Sebastian furrows his brow. “Why? Is something wrong?”

Kurt’s heart beats regular again. Grace hadn’t seen it. 

Thank God. 

His eyes find the torn section of wallpaper, but they don’t stay there. He doesn’t want to clue Sebastian in about it if Sebastian doesn’t already know. He wants to uncover this mystery on his own. If Sebastian gets to keep secrets, big ones at that, then Kurt wants this one for himself. 

“No, no. Nothing’s wrong. I was just curious, you know. Wanted to understand your process. Why this house, why this neighborhood, that sort of thing.”

Kurt’s sentence comes out choppy. It’s odd how awkward talking has become for them. Sebastian used to think that the two things they had mastered were talking and fucking. They did both together with such ease. There were never any boundaries between them, emotionally or physically. Even when they were cutting each other down, which they did in the beginning, they did so with such finesse.

Not like now, when Sebastian is walking on eggshells and Kurt doesn’t want to hear half of what he has to say.

“If you come down for lunch, we can talk about my process. If you’re curious, that is.” Sebastian watches Kurt expectantly, waiting for an answer. 

And while Sebastian does, Kurt looks at his sketch – Sebastian’s office, the same way Sebastian always has it decorated. This is Sebastian without him and Grace: bland and emotionless, no light, little color, and no joy. Nothing exciting, nothing nuanced, nothing to indicate that he and Sebastian are together.

Not even those snapshots he’s so proud of.

Kurt hasn’t decided whether that’s a bleak picture or not. 

“Sure. I’ll be down in a sec,” Kurt decides because he does and doesn’t have an answer to that one. It changes as the day changes, and the days change too quickly. 

“Alright. I’ll be waiting.” Sebastian walks away, or Kurt thinks he does. He checks the time on his clock. It’s closing in on 2. 

Kurt glances up at the window, the dangling wallpaper bouncing with the breeze coming from a draft near the ceiling. It would be so easy to tear it down – grab an edge and rip, be done with it once and for all. It might even feel cathartic, exposing whatever is underneath it. But lunch is ready. He’s already left Sebastian waiting long enough.

He leaves that mystery for another day.

[erensnubs]

𝑩𝒆𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒚 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑩𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒕

Oikawa x F! Reader

Chapter 3

Word count: 1.7k

Random posts:

"So… Sho how's school been?" You ask him as you're pinning up Natsu's hair into "fairy braids".

They were essentially little flowers braided into sections of her hair.

Sho looks occupied. You think its his volleyball team.

"School's okay I guess. But volleyball is SOOO COOL! I NEVER KNEW YOU AND DAICHI-SAN, AND ASAHI-SAN AND SUGAWARA-SENPAI WERE CLOSE?!"

You start laughing, "Sugawara senpai what?!?"

Shoyo looks at you quizzically, "What do you mean? That's what he said to call him."

You giggle. God that man is too funny, you think.

"Okay enough about my upcoming volleyball career," Shoyo says while you roll your eyes.

"How's your manager life?"

You shrug your shoulders as you delicately place a flower into Natsu's hair.

"Well, me and the captain are on good terms now. And I think I'm somewhat friends with people on the team," you say thoughtfully.

Yesterday, you and Oikawa studied over the weekend at the coffee shop. It was surprising for you to see the proud captain turn almost submissive when you studied with your project together and when you talked about volleyball. You knew in the back of his mind he still felt bad about the way he mistreated you, but now you were fine.

"Well guess what? Daichi-san and Asahi-san want you to go out with them sometime! They miss you," Shoyo adds.

When you first came to Karasuno, you quickly became friends with Fuki and Riki. You were your own separate group, the artsy bitches who liked editing and drawing random shit, making concept art and scribbling doodles on each other's papers.

Then one day you decided to sit next to the shy boy-man? Man-boy? The boy with the man bun? Whatever. You decided to sit next to him during lunch, because your regular seating area was taken.

Next to the man bun boy was, stoic boy and beauty mark boy.

You didn't know that these boys were going to be the next best friends of your lives.

There you formed a friendship with three of the sweetest men you've ever met in your life.

It started off with talking about how brown is actually a good ass color, then to how the school lunches could have better milk, to groaning about essays together.

To them supporting you with your family, and you with volleyball.

"You're so stupid Riki!! Its the answer B obviously!!" Sugawara says slamming his hand on the lunch table.

You and Daichi start giggling as Riki rolls her eyes.

"What if it's not B, huh Koushi? What if it's actually C?!?" Riki retorts.

You chuckle with the memories of lunch arguments, walking together, and trips to the city with each other.

Later, you helped Daichi find a manager for the volleyball team, Kiyoko Shimizu and later became a friend of yours.

You never wanted to admit it but all of them became a found family, a fantasy that you recreated in your head over and over when you spent time with them, just because of how fucked up yours was.

You loved Suga's laugh and the way he held you while you were boisterously laughing about something stupid, but you hated the way that you knew that it was something friends did. And not what family did.

You loved it when Riki, Fuki and Shimizu came over and did your face with makeup because it made you feel like you were being pampered by aunts and sisters you didn't have.

When Asahi and Daichi constantly checked on your wellbeing, even until now, when you moved schools for Christ's sake. It made your heart clench in pity, because you know this is the closest thing to parents checking up on you.

The sad thing is? Is while you're over here playing found family, the rest of them were just doing something that friends do.

That's why you distanced yourself from all 4 of them when you moved schools.

But Shoyo, he had to remind you about them.

"Yeah.. I.. Uh… I miss them too," you say slowly, braiding the rest of Natsu's hair.

Natsu leans back against you and hands you your phone.

"You don't wanna play minecraft anymore?" You ask.

She shakes your head, "No Kiyoko is calling you!"

She waves the phone in your hands and you feel the vibration of the call.

Oh god, did Kiyoko figure it out?

With shaky fingers you pull the phone from Natsu's grasp and answer the call.

"Hey Kiyoko-"

"I'm outside your house…"

You sputter your words out, "What?!?! Kiyoko?!"

"I'm waiting for you so we can finally go out together."

She pauses.

"Just you and me," her soft voice carried comfort to you.

"Okay… I'll go soon. I'm outside with Sho and Natsu," you say picking yourself up and turning off your phone.

You wave goodbye to them and gesture with your other hand to the phone.

Shoyo gives you a thumbs up and goes back to playing outside with Natsu smiling.

You run back inside and grab your shoes and jacket and throw them on. You flung the door open and see Kiyoko Shimizu in all her grace, beauty and splendor.

"Kiyoko-"

She grabbed your hand and pulled you close to her chest and squeezed you tight.

"Me and Daichi were scared, you know. We all were. Very worried about you," she starts off quietly.

"Tell us, [Name], when something's wrong. It hurts us when you don't."

You sink into Kiyoko's arms and relish the feeling of them.

"I will. I'm sorry for not doing that."

She pulls away and gives you a soft smile, her beauty mark perking up.

"It's fine [Name]... Now get in the car! We're gonna go eat out today!"

"I'll have meal 1 please," you tell the waiter.

"Meal 5 with a side of tofu as well," Kiyoko adds.

The waiter leaves and now it's just you two You were at the ramen shop near Seijoh.

Which just so happened to be the Ramen shop that was close to the convenience store near Seijoh.

The convenience shop that you and Oikawa went to.

You shake your head to get him out of it.

"Uh…You okay?" Kiyoko said questionably.

You wave her away, "Yeah I'm fine. Just remembering something weird."

She leans forward,"Hmm okay. But hey. Heard you became a manager at Seijoh.. You trying to one up me or something?"

She smirks and you scoff.

"Kiyoko please. I learned everything from you. I don't know how I would manage this great team without your prior knowledge I would have never survived," you say.

You sigh and look up, "They're one of the best in the whole prefecture and I'm in charge of them. The pressure is real."

Kiyoko pats your hand affectionately, "I bet. I mean Oikawa and this other dude from another school have been butting heads with each other ever since middle school. It's his last year so Oikawa is probably incredibly stressed."

You raise an eyebrow, "I mean Oikawa has been a little on the edge, but I didn't know it was from some dude since fucking middle school."

"Yeah. Ushi-Waka from Shiratorizawa. He's also from a powerhouse school. The best in the prefecture. They've gone to Nationals, multiple times. Ushi-Waka is in Japan's best under 18," Kiyoko says softly, like she was passing secret information to you.

You not, sipping your water as you let her continue.

"Oikawa has always been beaten by Shiratorizawa and has NEVER made it to nationals. Once! So this year is his last year, he gets 2 chances and then poof!" Kiyoko says.

Her hands are in a circle and they suddenly break.

"Bye bye volleyball career."

You were taken aback.

No, you were stunned.

You always knew Oikawa was determined but God, this puts it on a whole nother level of determination. You wonder how stressed the team was when Oikawa supervised. Or vice versa. You wonder how stressed Oikawa was when he supervised.

Is that why Iwaizumi encouraged you to book practices with college volleyball teams? Probably. The more practice the better, you remember him saying.

Oh and how could you forget the dark circles under his eyes.

You lean back and exhale, "Wow. I feel horrible for not knowing."

Kiyoko sighs, "You should know as a MANAGER, but didn't you have a rough start with him?"

You nod and recount the events that took place as the waiter sets down your food.

"But that was yesterday so I guess we just started our 'working relationship'", you finally say.

Kiyoko lets out a low whistle, "Looks like you got your work cut out for you sweetheart. Our team is in the works."

Her voice drops lower and she grins evilly,

"We'll beat you, [Name], I have hope for this team."

You grin back, "We'll see about that."

The two of you talk back and forth about other things for a while, laughing about the dumb shit Sugawara pulled and the new students.

You pause, "How's Hinata doing? I don't know if you remember him but he's a family friend."

Kiyoko smiles, "He's doing wonderful. Had a rocky start with another 1st year but they're friends now."

"Oh I remember him telling me that. Kageyama?"

"Yes. He was a middle school prodigy. Came from the same school as Oikawa and most of the Seijoh players actually," Kiyoko informs him.

"Huh," you say mentally noting that fact into your mind.

"Anyways, I'm glad we…you know. Got to talk. Hopefully we can go and hang out again with the others," you say as both of you clean up your table and walk out.

"Same. But Karasuno is gonna beat you at the practice game next week," Kiyoko says with a wink.

"Pfft Seijoh will wipe your asses over the gym floor," you say.

You're in your bed, covered in blankets and half asleep from your eventful day. When your eyes finally fluttered to sleep, your phone buzzed.

Buzz, buzz, buzz.

You pick up your phone lazily and open up the messages.

Oikawa?

You groan. What is so goddamn urgent that he wants to meet with you so early in the morning?

You push the thoughts and the judgements out of your mind and go to bed early.

So much for a day out to relieve stress.

[Name] and Kiyoko both have a slight obsession with milk tea

IMPORTANT INFORMATION TO DISCLOSE

Kiyoko introduced [Name], to the more traditional Japanese food when she moved here rather than the trendy ones portrayed in the Media

Unbeknownst to [Name], Kiyoko keeps tabs on the Seijoh boys just in case something bad happens.

Prev/next

Taglist: @tanakasimpcorner @zukoslosthishonor ​@saladskittles​

A note from Chef Tina: ty for sticking with me everyone for this fic! I feel like my efforts on writing this are paid off! Pls like, reblog or comment! It would help a lot! 

[futurewriter2000]

Close Friends - pt.2

A/N: Okay I don’t really know how this ended up like this but I think I have some idea where I want to take this. Next part is gonna be cuter? Better? I don’t know the word but probably better written than this one????

XX

“All I do is flirt with her and she just doesn’t get it! It’s like- like-” Sirius started to get frustrated, venting to his friends.

“Like you’ve been flirting with her all Hogwarts years and dating other people meanwhile?” Remus quirked an eyebrow at him. 

“She probably thinks it’s a normal thing with you.” said James beside him, peering out of his magazine. “Do the opposite. Don’t give her any attention.”

“Or just tell her the truth-”

“Shut up, Moony. I think James is on to something here.” he sat on James’ bed and stared at him. “Go on, mate.”

James chuckled and straightened his posture. “I’m just saying, maybe if you ghost her for a while, she’ll come running to you-”

“And eventually you will have to tell her you fancy her for two years now.” Remus continued but both Sirius and James ignored him.

“Or I could wait for her to realize that she needs me!” Sirius jumped from the bed triumphantly. “That’s a great plan.”

“That’s such a bad plan.” Remus shook his head at the idiocy. “If you ignore her, she’ll be confused not in love.” he continued to speak but they were already whispering something in each other’s ear, plotting. “What am I? Invisible?” 

---

To be honest, you didn’t much notice the first two days as Sirius was avoiding you, ghosting you and ignoring you, which pretty much meant the same thing. He hasn’t talked to you in class or sat next to you at the table. 

It only meant one thing; he got another girlfriend. 

So you brushed it off because that was the usual pattern you had to go through through the first week of him and his brand new grilfriend. Sirius was just like that. He disappeared and then he appeared again. So you brushed it off and focused on your studies. 

Meanwhile Sirius was glaring at you from a far. 

“She’s just studying.” he grumbled, gritting his teeth.

“What would you expect her to do?” 

“We haven’t talked in three days and she’s not even a bit worried about me? Like what if I’m dead.” he scoffed, throwing his arms in the air and pouting. 

“You’ve been the one avoiding you, Sirius. You. Just go talk to her.” 

“No.” he scoffed again, turning away and feeling the hurt eat away his soul. “I wonder how long will it take her to notice. I mean if she cared, she-”

“She cares!” Remus tried to convince you. “She just-”

“I don’t get it. We’ve poured each other’s secrets to one another and there she is, studying. Doesn’t she miss me? Like not even a little.” 

Remus just stared. It was as if he was talking to a wall. A solid, rock built wall. “You’re joking?” 

“I’m not.”

“Then tell her that.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to see if she cares?”

And you did care. You cared a lot for Sirius and you missed him dearly, so later when days turned into a weeks, you were starting to get more confused. 

Why was he not talking to you? Why was he avoiding you? Did you do something wrong?

But you were done being the one to always reach out first. You knew him and his little games he played. He was alright with you and then few days he disappeared and when you asked him what was wrong, he snapped at you. It happened so many times and since then you learned that it’s best to leave him alone and figure it out by himself. 

So you waited and he waited and both of you... waited. 

---

“I know he broke up with Callie and all, he’s not dating any other girl but why is he not speaking to me?! Did I do something wrong?” you ranted to your friends, pacing up and down your room. 

“No, you didn’t do anything wrong.” one of them said and the others nodded. “And to be honest you always cared for him way too much than you should-”

“He just cut all connections! I wanted to talk to him today after school but he just left! And then again I saw him at the courtyard and we made eye contact- WE MADE EYE CONTACT-” you shouted at them. “AND AS SOON AS I STARTED APPROACHING, HE LEFT!” you started to feel something burning in your throat, sorrow filling your heart. 

“He doesn’t care about you. He’s a dick and he’s an idiot and you shouldn’t be worrying about someone like him.”

“You’re right. I mean if he doesn’t care, then I won’t care.” you huffed, throwing yourself on the bed and thinking. “But... I miss him.” you grabbed the pillow and squeezed it. 

“Yeah, I know but he’s not worth it and it’ll pass.” 

“Do you think I should send him a letter?”

“No!” all of them spoke in unison. 

“Show him what he had lost.” 

And you did. This time you put effort in it as much as he did, which was none. Week after week, you stole glances of him, finding him careless and free without you. He flirted with other girls, he laughed with his friends- there was nothing that could even tell you that he cared. Nothing. He cut you off. He just cut you off like that. 

He did and he felt incredibly guilty about it. But if you really cared about him then you would go over the mountains to get to him, which you didn’t. James would go over the mountains and the seas but not you. You were sitting there with your friends planning another Hogsmeade trip. 

He kept tabs on you. Every time but he felt like something was missing. There was this missing piece inside him where it hurt and ached. That piece was you and whenever he felt it, he couldn’t bare it. 

It hurt. 

It hurt for you because you missed him so much. He was someone you told everything to. Everything and now he’s just... there. He’s just there and he’s there so many times that it makes you furious. You’re so angry at him because you really thought you had a close friendship with him- and he, well he just left it to rot. 

---

When you heard that he was going to Hogsmeade as well, you made it your mission to look incredible. Not beautiful, not hot but beyond believable outstanding. 

You didn’t know why you cared so much for how you looked in front of him but maybe- just maybe he will start talking to you again and explain why he had cut you off as he did. 

You pulled out your most uncomfortable jeans that outlined your legs so nicely, toned your thighs and butt. You tucked in a black Rolling Stones shirt and pulled it out so that it looked a bit baggy. You grabbed hairspray, brush, ties and pins and spent half an hour on your hair. At the end, it was slicked back in a tight, high pony tail with the front hair falling in front of you. You grabbed a pair of sunglasses and put them on top of your head. Makeup was gentle, foundation, eyeshadow and transparent lipgloss that made your lips look glossy and juicy. Mascara was the final touch and when you looked at the final result you were more than pleased. 

Grabbing your jacket, you put your puma shoes on and ran outside where everybody was gathered. 

You found your friends first, them gaping at you and your look. 

“Holy shit- you look like you’ve walked out of an american teen movie!” one of them smiled and they all giggled as you turned around to show off. 

“Thank you. Thank you. I don’t know where I found this outfit but I am glad I did because I am prepared to catch some fish.” you winked at them and interlocked your arms with theirs. 

You haven’t seen Sirius your whole way there but he sure had seen you and words couldn’t describe that watching you was not enough. He wanted to go up to you so badly. He dreaded being stuck behind and not being able to flirt with you, smell which parfume you had or see up close your eyes. 

“Still think it was a good idea, cutting her off?” Remus smirked beside him as Sirius rolled his eyes.

“I cut her off becasue she clearly does not care enough for me.”

“Mate, she is looking-”

“I know, Prongs. I know how incredibly hot she is right now but can I do something? No. Why? Because I have an impecible amount of pride and stubborness.” 

“So you admit, finally.” 

“Yes, I admit but she’ll be back. She will.”

“It’s been weeks, Sirius. She’s moving on.”

“She’s not. She’ll come back, I’m telling you- she just-”

“She what?” James asked and Sirius stopped, turning his head to him and smiling. “She will see that I’m fun and irresistable-”

“Sirius.” Remus put his hand on his shoulder. “What if she finds what she’s been looking for.”

“What do you mean?”

“A boyfriend because right now I’m seeing loads of boys pining after the girl.” he nodded at the group of Ravenclaws at the side. 

“Oh, I’m not worried mate. She won’t go out on a date with these stuck-up losers. “ 

“How are you so sure?” James asked and Sirius tapped his shoulder.

“Because she told me herself she’s waiting for the perfect one, and if there were any of them in our school, she would be dating them and she’s not.” he continued to smile, watching you turn into one of the shops. 

After a while of stalking you on the map, he finally decided to “accidentally” bump into you in Three Broomsticks. 

You were already drinking your butterbeer with your friends, your lipgloss already printed on the glass and the foam on top of your lips. One of your friends pointed it out and all of you giggled at your mustache. 

He could hear your laugh from a far and his heart leaped a few beats when it did. “I’m going to talk to her.”

“You are?” both Remus and James asked in unison.

“I have to. It’s my fault we’re not talking.”

“What about the not caring?” 

“JAMES!”

“You’re right!” Sirius straightened his posture, meanwhile James was getting some deadly stares from Remus. 

“You’re being stubborn, Sirius.”

“So is she?”

“And what happens when you both wait it out and neither of you make a move- then what?” Remus asked and for once Sirius listened to him, wavering his head and sighing. “She’ll move on and both of your prides and stuborness will just leave you without each other.”

“He’s right, mate. I know I didn’t agree earlier but you really aren’t the same since you stopped talking to her.”

“What if she’s pissed?” Sirius looked at them. 

“Just tell her the truth.”

“But what if she’s pissed?” Sirius asked again and continued to see you walk to the bar. 

“You two are friends. It’ll come around.” Remus put his hand on Sirius shoulder and gave him a simper. 

Sirius mirrored his expression and stood up. “Guess I’ll annoy her until she forgives me.” he winked at them and started walking to you. 

You on the other hand were just ordering another four butterbeers for you and your friends, waiting for the waitress. 

Except it wasn’t a waitress that you saw. A man, tall and handsome walked out of the back, trying to tie his apron as he did. He had a buzzcut, dark hair, thick eyebrows and extremely dark eyes. He continued to suffer with the apron and as he was about to give up, you decided to lend a hand. 

“Need a hand?” you smiled and he looked up, clearly a bit embarrased but smiling back at you with perfectly white straight teeth. 

“I don’t really need an apron when my boss leave but when a beautiful girl like you asks, how can I decline such offer.” he grinned and you felt yourself blush. “Just go around the counter-” he said and you did as you were told, taking the two strings from his hands and as touch of his fingers brushed yours, your whole body electrified itself, letting go of the strings. 

“Oh-” you took a step back, a bit shocked from the sudden feeling in your body but quickly grabbing the strings again. “Sorry about that.”

“Told you that it’s a figter.” he joked and you laughed, tying it into a bow. “Can you do it tighter, just in case?” he asked and you laughed, untying the bow and redoing it, tightening it with all your might.

“Demanding, are we?” you started to tease and he laughed, letting out low, smooth chuckles. 

“First time a customer is helping the worker. Have to exploit it a bit.” he turned around leaning on the counter with his large arms as you made your way to the other side. 

“Didn’t know you were the bar had another worker?” you quirked an eyebrow and he smiled yet again showing those perfect teeth. 

“I have to get some money for college-”

“College?” you asked and he shook his head, licking his upper lip. 

“I’m no wizard, beautiful girl. I have to do it all the Muggle way.” he leaned on the counter. “So what can I get you? Butterbeer?” 

“Four actually. It’s for me and my friends over there.” you said, pointin to the giggling girls behind you. 

“No boyfriend?” he asked, grinning.

“Depends on who you’re asking for?” you leaned back and he opened his arms, gesturing at himself.

“Who do you think?” 

“Then, yeah. No boyfriend.” he smiled wide at your answer and turned around to make you some butterbeer. 

“Don’t get the wrong idea. Promised mum I won’t be dating any of her customers.” he gave you two of them, looking so damn gorgeous as he pressed his arms on the edge of the counter, his eyes locked with yours as they gazed into you. He pushed himself away and turned to make another two. “If I want to keep this job, I have to follow the rules.”

“Wait... your mum as in Madam Rosmerta?” 

“The one and only.” he turned his head over his shoulder, smiling heavingly before his whole face expression dropped. 

“I thought the weiters are supposed to work, not talk.” Sirius goaded as he sat beside you. 

“I call it multitasking.” the weiter put one beer first before turning to the other, clearly buying himself some time. 

“Four butterbeers.” said Sirius, looking at you from the side and changing his tight-lipped frown into a soft simper you usually got from him. “Hey, stranger.”

Surprised by his appearance, you exchanged glances between the two boys, grabbed the butterbeers and gave him a soft smile. “Hi, Sirius.” you said before turning to the boy and smiling more brightly at him, which Sirius noticed quickly. “Thank you for-”

“Of course, and don’t worry. It’s on the house.” he gave you another smile before turning to make four more. 

Sirius saw you leave back to the table, finding your friends whispering, giggling and laughing with you. 

Hi? All he gets is a hi? You’ve held a whole ass conversation with a stranger and all he gets is a hi. 

---

Your whole group of friends were teasing you and the weiter, building you hope and creating scenes in your head as him as your handsome new boyfriend and the very jealous Sirius that angrily made his way as he saw you flirting with the new boy. 

Of course, you only rolled your eyes at their little fantasy ideas and laughed along. Sirius would never be jealous. The two of you were always friends. Close friends and he had dated so many girls and managed to be your friend all along- except were you in love with Sirius? 

The thought rushed so fast in your head you had to stop. You’re not. You’re just not. The two of you are far away from happily ever after. He’s not your type even and he’s- he’s- he’s just a no. No. 

You should think about Madam Rosmerta’s son, you had no idea existed- but he said he was a Muggle and Rosmerta is a witch, then why?

He’s a Squib. - it rang in your head and you felt extremely sad over that realization. Being a witch is one of the most amazing things in your life and he didn’t get to experiance that. 

Good thing you haven’t mentioned the fact that he’s the owner’s son to any of your friends. They are quick gossip and you just didn’t want to say something that wasn’t yours to say. 

“Hey, (y/n)!” Sirius shouted and all of your friend group turned around to find him running after you. 

You nodded at your friends and smiled. “It’s alright.” you said as their cue to leave you alone. 

You waited for him, seeing the group moving as you stood in your place. When he finally caught you, he stopped. The two of you were simply standing in silence, not even looking at each other. 

“It’s my fault.” he said and you looked up, listening. “It’s my fault and I know it is. I just- uhm- I thought maybe if I started ghosting you, you would show me how much you cared for me and when you didn’t after three days and a week and a month it felt like you didn’t care at all for me and I was so furious because I miss you but I was also too stubborn to be the first one to break this silent treatment.” he took a deep breath, waiting for you to respond but you continued to watch. “I’m sorry.” he finished and continued to watch you watch him. “That’s it.”

“That’s it?” you asked, clearly unsatisfied. “You wanted to see if I care when you ghosted me and when I didn’t climb up to your window to get your attention, you thought I didn’t care- Sirius what were you thinking?!” you started to explode. “You think that everything is about you?! That every day I worry about how you’re feeling and how you are doing because I do! And I did! And when I did try to talk to you, you left. You left and sorry not sorry Sirius but I won’t be running after you and your little drama you like to start up. You cut me off and I’ve been overanalyzing and overthinking and overfeeling things because of you. What did I do for you to cut me off? Because I have my own life, Sirius and my own problems and stress to deal with and just because I didn’t go to the ends of the Earth to talk to a person who didn’t even want to talk to me, didn’t mean I didn’t care!” you pushed your finger into his chest as his head dived down into the guilt. 

“I know- it was immature, childish even but- I... When it started it kept going on and after today at the bar I just- I want my best friend back.” he said and you continued to watch him. 

That charming little fucker in front of you was giving you the eyes. You turned around, huffing and rethinking everything. It really wasn’t worth arguing about this, was it? 

“Here’s how it’s going to be.” you said, turnng around. “I’ll slap you and kick you for being an enormous ass towards me and then I’ll hug you because I missed you so much and after that we’ll talk about you being a dumbass.” you said and he started contemplating.

“Does there have to be a sla-” he was cut by your hand on his cheek and when that was over you just jumped into his arms, bringing him so close to you that it felt his energy was pouring with yours, hugging it, feeling it- it felt like all the miss and the dread that came from this whole silent treatment was replaced by having him in your arms. 

And for him the slap was the least thing to worry about because now he was holding you and that was all he needed. He needed you and he needed your touch, your warmth, your energy and your scent which was the winter parfume you bought in November last year. He would notice it anywhere. 

This time he was sure not to let you go. “I love you.” he mumbled into your neck and you smiled, pulling away and cupping his cheeks.

“I love you too, Sirius.” you tapped his cheek and started walking after the group that distanced itself so far from the two of you. “Come on now, let’s catch up with them.”

Sirius sighed as he watched you walk away. “Not like that.” he mumbled under his breath, slowly walking after you. You still didn’t get it. He loved you. 

[geeks-universe]

Veritas Vos Liberabit II

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Tag List: @the-british-koala @ilearnedthatfromethepizzaman

If Sherlock was being honest, the free minutes of thought between the few rapidfire cases in the past week had all turned to you.

You were a walking contradiction. Everything you said- did, even- pointed to a million and one different options of who you were. He was trying his damndest to figure you out, like he had for everyone else, but he just couldn’t.

John and Mrs. Hudson had taken to you quickly, like you were a saint there to bless their lives, but Sherlock couldn’t shake his suspicions. You seemed innocent enough. The way you talked about people, like you actually cared.

There was something he was missing though.

And he was far too cautious to think that you were sincere.

Thus, while John was more than happy to accept the dinner invitation you extended to them exactly seven days after you officially moved in, Sherlock saw it as an opportunity to learn more.

Sherlock sniffed the air, taking note of a new fragrance. He furrowed his brows, watching as John brushed invisible dirt from the shoulders of his freshly pressed shirt.

“Is that a new cologne?” He asked, not waiting for John’s confirmation.

The man in question stuck close behind Sherlock as he made his way out of the door. Mrs. Hudson was waiting at the bottom of the stairs looking particularly pleased with herself. She, too, was dressed a fair bit nicer than normal, and sporting a bolder shade of lipstick than she normally did.

“A new shade?” He muttered, “What is wrong with you two?”

“Oh Sherlock,” Mrs. Hudson waved him off with an eye roll, “She’s a nice young woman, we’re just trying to make a good impression.”

John nodded a little too enthusiastically for Sherlock’s liking. If you were trying to wrap the occupants of 221B Baker Street around your finger, you were going to have to do a lot more.

“Right,” he cleared his throat, “On we go then.”

Mrs. Hudson and John were far too eager to scurry towards your door, reeling in their excitement to knock a few times. He really didn’t understand it. As far as he knew, you had only interacted with Mrs. Hudson and John three and four times, respectively. They were never exceedingly long interactions, and besides your ‘friendly’ attitude, it wasn’t like you’d been particularly serviceable.

So why did they like you so much?

As if on queue, you opened the door to your freshly furnished flat. The sudden exposure to a million different deductions filled his mind.

You were dressed nice, not over the top though. Despite the outfit not being too flashy, it still spoke of money. Considering the newspapers and many tabs open on your laptop, which were all messily placed on your coffee table behind you, you were still looking for a job.

Odd, that. He couldn’t quite pinpoint what kind of job you were looking for, or what your qualifications were.

The light smattering of makeup on your face and the relative neatness of your hair suggested a certain amount of effort being put into your appearance, though the flyaways and minimal smudging showed it had been done hours ago.

The furniture you decorated your flat with displayed an evident love of history and antiques, however the various books aligning the shelves of your living room didn’t really confirm the initial deduction. The necklace you seemed to be overly attached to might, as it was either a family heirloom or something particularly sentimental between you and your father. You kept it out of sight though, and the intelligent spark behind your eyes told him you’d more than caught on to his line of thinking.

“Mrs. Hudson, Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson,” you greeted them with a wide smile, opening the door even further in greeting.

“Just John is fine,” he assured you, then nudged Sherlock, “and he prefers Sherlock, otherwise people will start mistaking him for his brother.”

Sherlock shuddered at that particular thought, sneaking in behind his friends to get a better view of the place. It was organized and clean, far different from his own space, though a few particular areas seemed to be assembled in a hurry. More than likely, you were a clean person without a good sense of time. 

“It smells delicious, dear,” Mrs. Hudson gushed, quick to find her seat at the table.

You had cooked a big dinner, far more than just the four of you could eat, but he felt as if that was intended. There was a wide spread of food, from pasta dishes to a full glazed ham. Cooking may have been a hobby, but the state of your kitchen paired with the frazzled expression as you did a once over to ensure it all looked good made him second guess that. Perhaps you were just trying to learn?

Curious, it seemed you were doing that with practically everything.

“Have you been cooking all day?” John laughed, looking at the dishes before him like he hadn’t been fed in a month.

To be fair, he either cooked- which he wasn’t even close to good at- or ordered takeout. Home cooked meals were a rarity at 221B Baker Street. 

“Basically, yeah,” you smiled, gesturing so that the three of them began to help themselves.

Sherlock was quick to take the seat opposite you, and while he certainly didn’t turn down the opportunity to have some of the food you so graciously provided, he was more focused on you.

“I love the decorating you’ve done,” Mrs. Hudson commented, cutting Sherlock off before he had a chance to begin his interrogation.

He scowled momentarily as you thanked her, still all smiles and twinkling eyes. He didn’t understand how you could look so happy and positive, especially when he knew you were hiding something.

“Lucifer Morningstar,” Sherlock finally said, narrowing his eyes as he waited for your reaction.

You didn’t look particularly put out by it. In fact, the corner of your lips turned up even more, and he saw a hint of affection on your face.

“That’s my dad, yeah,” you nodded, taking a bite of your meal. “You’ve been doing some research.”

John flicked his gaze between you and then Sherlock, trying to interrupt before the latter began, but failing miserably as he took control of the silence.

“Colorful moniker, that.”

“Unfortunately, it’s his god-given name.” There was a certain amusement about you, clearly a joke he was missing.

“Poor man,” Mrs. Hudson commented regretfully, almost imagining as if she spent her life with the name of the Devil.

“Family’s not particularly religious,” Sherlock noted quietly, though you clearly heard him. He ignored the swift kick John sent his way under the table.

“Actually, they’re more religious than most,” you corrected.

Again, you seemed entirely genuine. Sherlock nearly growled. How did you not follow the normal patterns? Every human followed the normal patterns.

“And I thought Sherlock’s parents came up with funny names,” John joked, hoping to pull the conversation back to safe territory. 

You went to reply, but stopped short when Sherlock was quick to speak up.

“Why Lucifer then?”

There was a twinkle in your gaze, and he found it absolutely frustrating, but entirely fascinating that he just couldn’t read you.

“Maybe the Devil is more than we think,” you countered, shrugging. 

John let the silence permeate for less than a moment before he picked up the conversation, ever eager to retain a particular amount of sensibility and cordiality. 

“What about your mother?” He inquired, though it wasn’t in the same regard as Sherlock. He asked more out of an interest to know more about your life, and not like you were a puzzle to solve.

“Oh,” you weren’t really grabbing anything with your fork, more like using it as a way to keep your hands occupied. “Well, Lucifer Morningstar,” you shot a quick smirk to Sherlock, “isn’t my actual father. He sort of adopted me.”

Adoption hadn’t crossed Sherlock’s mind, but now that you’d brought it up he was beginning to make a few more deductions. Still, none seemed quite fitting for you. A brief flick of his glance in the general direction of both Mrs. Hudson and John confirmed that it was just you, and not his own mind beginning to malfunction.

“I’m glad he did so,” Mrs. Hudson proclaimed, a wide smile on her lips as she took a large sip of one of the many wines you’d left out for your guests.

“Didn’t have much of a choice, I suppose,” you laughed softly, a sound Sherlock found most peculiar. It sounded so gentle and melodic, like you were expressing exactly what you felt- nothing more, nothing less. “He’s my older brother, actually.”

“Christmas dinner must get complicated,” John teased goodnaturedly.

Sherlock could see that his two companions were very much indeed falling for your charms and grace. They wanted your attention, and actively seeked out your smile. It’s like you had pulled them to your side so quickly. 

“We don’t really celebrate Christmas,” you admitted, a sheepish smile.

Sherlock, finally at a point he could no longer hold in his frustration, let it be known to the entire table.

“You don’t make any sense.”

It was a simple enough exclamation, one that he uttered in a voice that was tinged with a seething anger. His eyes were narrowed and pinning you to the spot.

“Oh dear,” Mrs. Hudson murmured apologetically.

You paused, furrowing your brow like you couldn’t quite work out where his frustration was coming from. There was a hint of hurt, and it spurred his anger on even more.

“You’re hiding something.”

Once more, Sherlock pushed. He needed to know what it was he was missing. It was just out of reach, and if he could just dig a little further, the mystery could be solved.

“Sherlock,” John hissed, dropping his fork with a loud clang.

“Oh come off it,” Sherlock argued, pushing his chair back and resting his hands on his chin. “It’s obvious you’re running from your old life because you were unhappy, hm? Were they abusive? Or maybe you’ve just grown bored of the easy, spoiled lifestyle? So you come here, of all places, and just happen to move right next door to me? I don’t believe-”

“Sherlock, enough,” John had moved from his seat at some point during his monologue, and had grabbed a hold of Sherlock’s arm. He was pulling him up with more force than normal.

Being the more reasonable of the two, John was profusely apologizing for his friend’s behavior. Mrs. Hudson was thanking you for your hospitality, as well as the meal, as she led the small group out of your apartment, hoping to spare you the torment of Sherlock’s unwavering gaze.

By the time he’d been pulled to the door, Sherlock had managed to brush John off, sending one more glare in your direction.

“Who are you?”

You had barely moved from your spot, taken by complete surprise by the turn of events. Whatever you’d been expecting, it hadn’t been what was happening. Seeming to shake yourself out of the momentary confusion, you turned to the three you had hoped to begin a friendship with.

“I’m trying to figure that out myself,” you admitted quietly, almost to yourself.

Sherlock hadn’t expected that.

Nor had he expected the sad, faraway look in your eyes.

You looked so small then, and fragile, like the world was a big, scary place and you had no idea how to navigate it all alone.

Regret filled the air as John uttered one last goodbye before closing the door in an attempt to stop Sherlock from doing anymore damage. It wasn’t necessary though, as the consulting detective realized, though far too late, that his interrogation wasn’t needed.

You were a mystery, yes, but not because you were some massive threat placed precariously there to strike when Sherlock least expected. Rather, you were someone who genuinely didn’t know exactly who you were yet.

John’s angry rant went ignored.

Mrs. Hudson’s sad exclamations weren’t even given a proper listen.

Sherlock went directly to his room, and upon trying to sleep, found all he could see was your eyes and the sadness that permeated so deep it was like a root in your soul.

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

A Little Bit Like Home

You moving to school has been tougher than Calum would like to admit but there are some moments that make it easier to bear, there are small moments where it’s not so bad. 

A continuation of these two blurbs (Blurb 1 and Blurb 2) Again it’s hella self indulgent. Inspired what really happened to me in my DnD campaign, see this post.  

**Contains spoilers for the Waterdeep Heist from Dungeons & Dragons if you are currently playing that module!!!**

Enjoy my masterlist!

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___________

“Can I make a perception check on the walls? See if there’s anything else funky in this room?” you ask, clicking over in your browser tab to the dice roller. The DM allows you to make that call and you click on the d20. 

“Your the only one rolling well on those things tonight,” one member of your party, playing an Orc sent out to learn magic and getting packed in with your ragtag group, notes after their failed attempt to pick the lock. You managed to pick that that too, but you chalk it up to you being a Drow Rogue and lock picking being one of your skills. 

“18,” you call out, looking back at your character sheet to make sure you’ve done the math correctly. 

“18?” The DM asks, just to be sure. You nod. “Okay, so you look around the room and there’s not really anything worth noting besides some dirt and blood. But no traps, no buttons in this room.”

“This room,” the entire party echoes laughing. The six of you have just survived barely a lightning trap. Which you still refuse to admit to setting up, but it was definitely you since as the marching order had you in front. 

“We’re going to have to go back to that mimic room,” the paladin of your group declares. Your party was warned that the room at the start of your adventure in this hell of a magic maze could be a trap and a mimic could be in the depths of it. But there was a chest still yet to be opened. However, you took the advice of your Orc and backed out of that room to avoid a fight just yet. 

Your previous encounters in other rooms leaving some of your party is better shape than others. This early in your adventure together the five of you didn’t really want to risk loosing anyone just yet. Lightening and your pirates love of ale seemed to be your only foe at the moment. 

“We should maybe just see what’s in here first,” Calum, playing as a Druid, counters. “Though it seems like if we find yet another key to a door that’s already been picked, it’s might be useless.” 

You know the tease is directed at you. “Hey, look here buddy, I will not hesitate to shoot a quiver into your ass. I see a lock I’m going to pick it,” you defend. 

“Besides,” your party’s pirate starts, “we’ve ducked a lot of rooms afraid of getting into another fight. If they pick a lock or two and we find the key later, at least we can add to the Bard’s collection.”

“Thank you,” you laugh. 

Soon your party’s able to direct their attention back on the adventure and magic maze you’ve found yourself in. You and Calum end up smashing mirrors in a room to avoid any sort of magic in them that would cause your party to fight your soul doubles. This leads to a five minute debate of how to leave said room that didn’t involve shoving the unicorn that your party was tasked with finding up someone’s ass due to a riddle unveiled, Everything you see is mine.

“Wait,” you say, laughing at the argument about who can fit the unicorn into their mouth. It was deemed to be more dignified. Your pirate waits outside the room, still naked thanks to the magic that rips all the clothes, weapons, and armor off of anyone that attempts to leave the room. “Everything you see is mine. If the mirrors are smashed, then nothing can be seen right?”

“No, shards can be face up, so technically things can be seen,” the party’s Bard counters. 

“No, no, you’re onto to something,” the pirate starts. 

“Oh my god, we’re so fucking dumb,” the orc hollers. “Someone cover their eyes. You means us. Anything we can see can’t leave the room.”

Thankfully, you’re still dressed having only attempted to leave the room and letting others continue with their naked escapades. “Holy shit,” you shriek as you direct to your DM how you cover your face with your hood and hold it tight around your eyes so you can’t see anything and step through the door. You’re able to cross completely clothed, swords, crossbow, and pack still in tact. 

“We’re so fucking STUPID,” you laugh. 

Calum’s giggle cuts through the speakers of your laptop. “How were we so prepared to just be fucking naked through the rest of this maze?” He directs to the DM that he redresses, having also attempted several times to brute force the magic door with no success. 

“We never speak of that,” the orc demands through their own laughter. “Never.”

The party comes to a stopping point about another hour later, saying goodbyes before leaving the Zoom meeting. Not even thirty seconds later after ending that call, an incoming FaceTime call comes from Calum. You answer it, wiping at the corner of your eyes. He’s grinning as the call finally connects. The weekend that Calum came up to visit, a friend in the cohort asked you if you’d be willing to going a beginner’s campaign. You had wanted to give the game a whirl but you knew it would be a time suck and asked if it was okay to bring someone else along too. 

After getting a yes from the DM you know you had to convince Calum to join in. It took less effort than you thought for him to join in and the two of you spent a couple hours the night before picking out your characters before you emailed the information back to the DM. Now every Saturday night you and Calum spend about three hours in a Zoom getting into all sorts of trouble. He settled easily on the Druid but spent forever trying to find an artist rendering of his character, Okolian, that felt right. Long black hair with streaks of white was a must along with a single braid as well, which he stole from your character’s look though your hair is all white. 

Slowly, it was decided that Okolian would have blue skin muscular, but not overly buff and refused to wear sleeves in order to wear leather arm bands around his biceps which could easily be mistaken for tattoos or markings of his people. Okolian prefers his staff but is also armed with a sickle and mace. The Calum touch of course was to add ferns rather than feathers. 

“I can’t believe you were going to let me be the one to have to figure out the unicorn,” Calum teases. 

“Hey, it was only six inches. Not that bad.”

He sputters his laughter. “Is that payback for calling you out for picking all the locks?”

“I would never do such a thing but maybe.” 

“Anything else on the agenda for tonight?”

“No not really. Whatever work there is out in the world, I’ll get to it tomorrow. What about you? The night’s still young.”  

Calum shrugs. “A friend was supposed to get back to me about drinks tonight,  but I haven’t heard anything yet. If he gets back within the hour or so, I’ll probably tag along but if not, it’s not a big deal. But you never did tell me about last night. How’d that go?”

You cover your face for a second, remember how many drinks were consumed the night previously. Calum laughs at the slightly panicked look that crosses your face. “There was two drinks too many past my usual limit and I felt it. Big time,” you answer. 

He’s glad to hear you getting out more. It’s in turned made him feel a bit better about getting back to his normal routine, getting dinner more with the guys or other friends. Missing you doesn’t hurt so bad anymore for Calum. He feels most often right before he’s going to bed, when he’d normally curl up into your side and open his arms wide for you to curl up into him. But it hurts less during the day. 

Getting used to the cohort and getting out a couple Friday’s in the month has helped you as well. You don’t feel so chained to your phone, don’t feel so beholden to being there for every text right away. It’s still hard when you start to cook dinner and almost reach out for a second plate still by habit. And in the morning when you’re fixing your cup of coffee your brain still wants to pull down a second cup. Sometimes you do. Sometimes you just give in because you need it. Need to let yourself sit with those feelings. 

“I’ll be sticking with cider after last night,” you tease. “Wine makes me myself too much. Never doing that again.”

Calum’s been privileged to see you wine drunk a couple of times and he can already imagine the type of trouble you nearly got yourself in. “Is your picture on the wall at the bar?”

“Not that bad, but close,” you giggle. 

“What am I going to do with you?” 

It’s just a joke but for a moment it makes you pause--what’s going to happen when you go back for break? Are things going to be different? Most of your clothes and things are still there though slowly more and more has been shipped to you. Is Duke going to remember you? Miss you too?

“Promise me the house isn’t too different?”

Calum furrows his brows, head titling just a little to the side. “What do you mean, baby?”

“Like without me, is it all going to be different when I come back?”

“It’s all pretty much the same here. Duke’s the king of the castle. Still have plenty of hoodies for you to steal and your side of the bed still misses you. I still miss you.”

“No, I--I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like I don’t want you to find ways to cope but I don’t know. What if it never feels right? Like so much has been missed that I just won’t ever fit in again?”

Calum shakes his head. “Babe, no. You still belong. Your shoes still have space in the closet. Your mugs still sit in the cabinets. There is so much of you still here--it’s how I get through the days.”

Maybe that’s what’s rough for you. There’s not much of Calum at your place. There’s none of his dirty laundry that’s halfway hanging of laundry baskets and there’s no bass rumbling and there’s snoring next to you at night. It’s all you, which is nice. But you wish you had a little bit of Calum too. 

“There’s none of you here,” you say softly. 

“I can fix that.” It’s a steady confidence, a nod of his head at statement. “Don’t you worry.”

You two steer the conversation to something lighter before you call it a night. And it’s harder to get up the next morning, to peel yourself out of the sheets. But you do it, you push up with a grunt and get your day started. Coffee, a quick bowl of cereal and fruit. You call Calum right before lunch to check in and then get back to work. 

As the days pass, the conversation the ache gets buried in some stress. However, you get a text about a package to get from the lockers at the front of your complex so shuffle down the path thinking it’s the new mattress pad you ordered. It shipped late last week but you hadn’t expected it to arrive this soon. 

As the door swings open to the locker you spy Calum’s handwritten on the label of the package. What the hell had be gone and done? You pick up the box and kick the door close with your foot before taking it back up to your apartment. Setting the box down on the kitchen counter, you find the scissors and cut into it. Right on top is a small envelope with your name scribbled across it. 

You said you didn’t have anything of me. So I knew I had to correct that. I hope they help. And a little thing from the old man, well not from him. But you’ll understand when you get to that. 

Love you. 

Digging into the box, you notice a few guitar pics, a couple extra t-shirt and then a long thin box. You pick it up, noticing it looks like a necklace. But with Calum you never can be sure. As you crack it open, you laugh, finding a gold chain staring up at you, attach to it is a tiny locket that as a paw print on it. You crack it open though and find a tiny picture of Calum and you inside of it and your eyes well with tears. It’s from your last vacation before you left for school, just two of you reclined on the beach and Calum kissing your temple. 

You draft a text to Calum. Tell Duke it feels like home now. 

[lyssismagical]

8 and 59 iron dad?

“Do you hate me?” & “Don’t you think you’ve done enough?” 

(This one kinda got away from me idk how it happened but this ended up being 3k lmao) 

Tony was grieving. That’s all it was.

Peter repeated it to himself over and over again, all day everyday, to convince himself it wasn’t actually his fault that Tony kept lashing out at him.

It wasn’t easy to feel like an intruder in what was meant to be his home, but it wasn’t Tony’s fault. He was grieving, that was all.

It had been four months since Pepper died doing the snap to win that battle.

Tony was grieving the loss of his wife. His best friend. The mother of his child. The one who’s stood by his side for decades.

The lashing out, the anger, the cold shoulder, it was fair. Tony was grieving.

If Peter felt hurt by any of it, he refused to show it. He would hold his chin high and meet every emotion with meek apologies and offerings of anything he could think of.

Peter had been living in the cabin for all four months, taking care of Morgan by himself while her dad was more or less MIA, in the throes of guilt and grief and anguish. Happy and May were grieving in the city, picking up her life. Rhodey was busy with work, helping rebuild the broken world.

It was down to Peter to take care of the five-year-old and her grieving father.

But that didn’t mean it wasn’t taking it’s toll on him.

He hadn’t slept well for as long as he could remember. He was trying to catch up in the missing five years, dealing with the nightmares and the obvious signs of PTSD after back-to-back wars he fought in, not to mention trying to stay on top of his school work at Midtown without actually going to school, and trying to keep tabs on everyone he cares about without them worrying about him.

It wasn’t easy work, that alone. But he’s also being a parent by himself.

It’s tiring. He’s a kid too, but he has to continue growing up too fast for everyone around him.

“Petey okay?” Morgan asks, crawling onto the couch next to him.

He blinks back the sleep that tries to take over his vision and forces himself up into a sitting position. “Yeah, I’m good, Momo, just a little tired. You want breakfast?”

“Pancakes!” she exclaims, hopping up onto her feet again. “With chocolate chips! And juice pops!”

Peter smiles and drags himself to his feet again. He slept for maybe an hour, trying to finish his reading for English along with all the projects he has to complete before midterms.

He gets Morgan situated at the table with a coloring book while he makes a batch of pancakes for them, setting aside a few for Tony.

“I’ll be right back down, alright?” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Eat up and then go get dressed, alright? I’ve gotta drive you to the city in a few hours for your appointment with Miss Sarah.”

Thankfully, he got his driver’s license before the snap, so he can take her to her therapy sessions in the city three times a week, along with play dates, birthday parties, grocery shopping, and everything else Peter has to remember.

Morgan obediently shoves another piece of pancake in her mouth and grins up at him.

Tony’s room is dim, only the warm lamp light filling the room.

“I brought you breakfast and a coffee,” Peter murmurs, settling them down on the nightstand. Some days, Tony’s better at pretending for Morgan’s sake at being okay. Today’s not one of those days.

He opens the thick curtains and pushes the window open, letting in some spring air, before cautiously touching Tony’s shoulder. He’s awake but unresponsive.

“Mister Stark?” Peter tries. He grabs the coffee off the nightstand and offers it out to Tony.

But his foot catches on the edge of the bed and the coffee spills over the white sheets.

The reaction is instant.

“Fucking hell, Parker!” Tony shouts, shoving the sheets off his legs to avoid burning his skin. “Had to go fuck this up too?”

“Mister Stark, I was just- I was just trying to help,” Peter says, caving into himself as he tries to clean up the coffee with his own sweater sleeves. It burns at his skin, but he doesn’t stop, movements panicky and shaking.

Tony shoves at his hands, getting to his feet. “Haven’t you done enough?”

Peter would’ve preferred it to be screamed at him, to be grabbed and shaken, to be punched. But it’s said quietly, cold, and something breaks in his chest.

“I was just trying to help. I’m sorry,” Peter repeats, blinking back tears. “It was an accident.”

“An accident? A fucking accident?”

Tony looks angrier than Peter had ever seen him. Angrier than the day of the ferry. Angrier than when he found out about the warehouse. Angrier than the day of Pepper’s funeral when he threw a fit.

“I’m sorry, Mister Stark.” It seems to be the only thing computing in his brain, anger slowly simmering because he doesn’t deserve this. He doesn’t deserve to be shouted at after all the work he’s constantly putting into the family, after taking over all of Tony’s responsibilities.

“Stop fucking apologizing!” Tony shouts, throwing his hands up in anger. “Stop fucking things up! Stop being a fucking nuisance! I don’t need you to bring me coffee and breakfast like I’m- like I’m a damsel in distress!”

Peter goes to snap at him, opens his mouth to shout that if Peter weren’t here, Morgan would be all by herself. That if he stopped being a ‘nuisance’, Tony would’ve starved to death and Morgan would’ve been alone because Tony isn’t being much of a role model right now.

But a quiet, “Petey?” stops him from going farther than opening his mouth.

“It’s okay, Momo, you wanna meet me at the car? I just gotta finish this up, alright? And then I’ll go take you to see Miss Sarah.”

“Daddy?” Morgan tries again, searching their faces for help, for some sort of clue for what to do.

But Tony doesn’t say anything. Just stands there, chest heaving for breath and tears burning at his eyes. So Peter takes the responsibility, like he always does.

“He’s okay, Mo, just sick, ‘member?” Peter says. “Go put on your shoes, okay? Meet me out at the car. You can choose which ones you want to wear.”

This seems to catch her attention because Peter hasn’t let her wear her sparkly new light-up shoes because of all the spring mud. She takes off from the doorway, disappearing from their views.

“Peter, I- I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have-”

“I’m going to take Morgan to the city,” Peter interrupts, trying his best to blink back tears. “She has an appointment with her therapist and it’s grocery day, so…”

It’s not Tony’s fault, Peter repeats in his head, he’s just grieving.

But there’s only so many times you can play the grief card, especially as an adult. There’s only so much Tony can do before it becomes inexcusable.

“Kid-”

“I’m seventeen,” Peter says, too much anger and venom filling his voice because Tony hadn’t been there for Peter’s seventeenth birthday after they got back from the Snap in late July. Tony hadn’t left this bed that day. Morgan didn’t know it was his birthday, nobody could take care of her, so Peter spent his birthday doting on Morgan like he was her parent, like always.

Tony flinches, sitting on the edge of his bed and cradling his head in his hands. “I’m so sorry, kid, I know I’ve been… I’ve been awful, I just-”

“It’s hard, I know,” Peter says, trying so hard to keep the bitterness from his voice. “I know what grief is like.”

Eyes wild and upset, Tony looks up from his hands, something too similar to the anger from before burning in his expression.

“You didn’t lose everything!” Tony says. “She was- Pep was my everything.”

It’s not his fault, Peter repeats like a mantra. It’s not his fault he thinks his grief is the end of the world, like the worst thing to have ever happened, grief has its ways of working like that.

“Well you have a daughter who lost her mom and now she’s lost her dad too because you won’t even show your face!” It’s a low blow and he hates himself for it, but he’s so sick and tired of carrying everything by himself. “She’s got me right now, and that’s it. All she’s got is a nuisance who can’t stop fucking up.”

The words to their job though. The anger from Tony’s face disappears like it was never there in the first place.

“Peter-”

“I think it would be better if I took Morgan and we stayed at May’s for the night,” Peter says. He has to be the adult.

He doesn’t want to leave Tony. Grieving alone. But he’s not going to let Morgan stay in a house that could be dangerous. Not that he doesn’t trust Tony, but he doesn’t want Morgan to be yelled at for any mistakes, not like he was.

And this is the breaking point for Peter. He’s spent months doing everything in his power to make sure Morgan and Tony are okay, but Tony hasn’t made any efforts to meet him halfway. All he’s done is throw anger and give the cold shoulder.

Peter knows what grief does to people. He’s seen it firsthand. When May lost Ben, the same scenario as Tony losing Pepper, May took care of Peter. She made sure that Peter was okay, and she got them both therapists and she met everything headstrong and chin held high. She grieved but she never made Peter feel like he wasn’t important, she never made Peter feel like a nuisance.

“Kid-”

Peter shakes his head, steels himself, and heads out of the cabin, refusing to look back.

*Peter waits in his car during Morgan’s session with Miss Sarah and cries.

And he knows he looks like a mess when he goes in to pick her up ninety minutes later.

Miss Sarah sees it immediately and she ducks her head to look at him properly, worry creasing her face.

“Are you alright?” she asks.

On one hand, the last thing he needs is to be scrutinized by a therapist, but on the other hand, she’s the first adult who’s sounded like they genuinely cared about his well being since the snap’s reversal.

Just that alone makes him want to break down.

“I’m okay, yeah. Just a rough morning, I guess,” he murmurs, trying to get a hold of himself. “Is Morgan doing alright?”

“She’s making stellar progress, Peter, but I’m worried about you and about Tony. From what Morgan tells me, you’re under a lot of stress.”

Peter shrugs, trying to look nonchalant as he looks over Sarah’s shoulder into her office where Morgan’s finishing up a coloring. “Tony’s dealing with a lot right now, so I’m stepping in as a caretaker, I guess. It just takes its toll.”

“You know it’s not your responsibility to take care of her, right? You’re not the adult,” she says. “You’re shaking, honey, do you want to sit down?”

He shoves his trembling hands into his hoodie pockets. “We should really be going. We’ll see you Sunday?”

“Of course,” Sarah replies, looking back at Morgan. “You know, I can always talk to you as well. I’ve always got room in my schedule for you, Peter.”

And Peter nods like he’d really accept the offer.

Instead, he takes Morgan’s hand, leads her out to the car and takes off to May’s apartment, refusing to let the tears bubble over.

They do, as they always do, you can’t stop tears forever.

Luckily, the tears wait until Morgan’s tucked into Happy’s arms and May’s got her arms around Peter.

And he breaks.

His head falls onto her shoulder and her arms wrap around his waist, soft shushing noises escaping her mouth as she looks over at Happy for help.

“Tony, he- I just- May, I can’t- I can’t do it anymore,” he cries. When the words start, they never seem to stop. “I fucked up and he yelled at me. He told me- He told me I was being a nuisance, that I shouldn’t be there anymore. He- I couldn’t stay. I couldn’t leave Morgan.”

“C’mon, kiddo, let’s go play in Petey’s room, okay?” He hears Happy say, leading Morgan out of the foyer.

Peter can’t stop shaking, can’t stop crying, can’t stop sinking under the weight of the world on his shoulders. “I can’t do it anymore. I can’t sleep and I can’t eat and I’m so tired, May. I’m so tired. Please, I can’t-”

“This never should’ve been put on you, kid,” May says, voice soft and gentle. She steadies him and leads him to the couch, letting him curl into her side. “It’s not your job to be the adult, to be Morgan’s parent. That’s not on you.”

“I just wanted to help,” Peter says, feeling pathetic and messy, like his whole being has been torn to pieces and strung across the world.

May nods, tipping her head down to look at him properly. “Get some rest, baby. We’ll take care of Morgan and I’ll call Tony, okay? He’s going to come through.”

Peter sobs, hiding his face in shame. “I can’t, May, I can’t sleep. I always have nightmares of- of Titan or the war or- I just- Please, I can’t sleep-”

“Peter, honey, I know you’ve gotten used to doing this alone, but I’m here now. If you have nightmares, I’ll be here to help.”

And that’s what he needed.

He needed an adult to tell him it would be okay. To hold him close and tell him that he didn’t have to do it all on his own. And May was there, she always was.

“Rest, honey. It’ll all be better soon, I promise.”

It had been weeks since he’d gotten good rest, always up at dawn for Morgan and always awake until the early hours of morning for Tony or schoolwork. His eyes closed on their own accord, slipping shut as May pulled a blanket around his shoulders.

And he believed her. He trusted her. He was still just a kid and when an adult says it’ll be okay, it has to be, right?

*He wakes crying, hands fumbling in the air to fight an invisible threat, but his hands are caught in the air.

“Hey, hey, hey, you’re alright, take a breath.”

And that certainly wasn’t May’s voice or even Happy’s.

“Tony?” Peter asks, voice breaking as the tears refused to slow.

“I’m here, kiddo, I- I’m sorry. I couldn’t possibly be more sorry than I am now. I really messed up and I’m going to fix it, alright?”

The living room is still bright, thankfully. Peter doesn’t know if he told anybody about his fear of the dark ever since he was dusted, but he’s glad he doesn’t have to spill those secrets now.

“I can’t do it anymore,” Peter admits through his tears, sniffling miserably as he pins Tony’s hand between Peter’s cheek and the cushion, closing his eyes. “I can’t do it.”

But Tony nods. He doesn’t get angry or upset or even push Peter away. “I know, kiddo, I’m sorry you had to do it in the first place. I shouldn’t have put you in that position. I’m going to get better, okay? I’m going to fix this now. Sarah is setting me up with my own therapist and I’m going to start being a better parent, okay?”

“I’m sorry too,” Peter says. “I shouldn’t have said those things to you. I shouldn’t have taken your kid and left you. I should’ve kept going, been stronger, I just- I couldn’t-”

The silence that follows scares Peter more than he’d like to admit, blinking his eyes open as more tears spill down his cheeks and his trembling hands grab onto Tony’s sleeve.

“Please don’t- I can’t- Are you mad at me? Do you hate me? I shouldn’t have- I was trying so hard and I still wasn’t good enough-”

Tony’s thumb runs over Peter’s cheekbone, gently brushing away the tears. “I could never hate you, kiddo. You were so strong, so much stronger than I could’ve ever been, even if you shouldn’t’ve had to be. If anything, you should be mad at me, not viceversa. I saw the things you were doing for Morgan-”

“It was nothing.”

“You drove an hour into the city three times a week for her therapy. You did all the groceries, the cooking, the cleaning, the laundry, everything. Morgan even told me about her birthday party that you planned for her. You worked nonstop and all I did was be an ass to you. You had sticky notes all over your walls to remind you of the things you were doing like fucking dance lessons with Morgan. You went to mom-and-daughter dance lessons with Morgan every weekend. Don’t tell me that’s not nothing.”

“You should see our routine,” Peter says, laughing wetly. “I wear a bright pink tutu and everything.”

Tony offers a gentle smile. “You’re my kid too, Pete, not Morgan’s parent. You should be in high school with Ted and the scary girl, going out as Spider-Man, dealing with all the trauma you’ve thrown on the backburner, not taking care of the things I should’ve been doing.”

“You’re going to get better?” Peter asks, throat tightening.

“Yeah, kiddo. I think you and Morgan will stay here for a little bit while I work on getting myself in a better headspace, but May and Happy are going to be your parents, not you. And when I get better, I’m going to take over, alright? You can relax now.”

Peter hesitantly shuffles over on the couch, making space for Tony next to him with a tentative smile.

And Tony doesn’t hesitate to curl up beside Peter and hold his kid close. “Thank you for everything you did for me and Morgan, kid.”

“It’s what Pepper would’ve done.”

“I love you, you know that? And so did she, even if she was worse at admitting it than I was. She was the one who bought the matching Big Brother/Little Sister t-shirts for you two. She wanted you apart of the family as much as I did.”

“I love you too, Tony.”

This is compromise. This is Tony meeting Peter halfway. This is the first step in the right direction. And Peter believes the promises that everything will be okay. He wouldn’t trade the past few months for the world. He loves Morgan and Tony too much for that.

[astriaage]

“Let’s Have a Heart to Heart” Varric x Fem!Hawke One Shot

'“It’s good that you care, Varric. You… have a huge heart. That’s not a weakness.”

“Sometimes I wonder.” He muses under his breath.

Hawke gives his hand a gentle squeeze. “It’s not. And for what it’s worth, I’m here for you. Always. I know it’s not the same, but-”

Suddenly, their hands shift, and Hawke finds that Varric is lacing his fingers through hers seamlessly. Caught off-guard, heat explodes in her cheeks and she blusters for the words she was going to say. She finds none. His eyes are molten staring through hers when she meets his gaze. She can’t comprehend what they say.

“You’re more than enough, Hawke. You always have been.”'

-------------------

Following their confrontation with Bartrand in act two, Hawke meets up with Varric for a little heart to heart.

Aka. what I imagine would have happened if Varric had been made a romance-able option in DA2. Enjoy the fluff. 

READ ON AO3 HERE

It had been over three years since the first time Hawke had stumbled into the Hanged Man tavern, yet the stench and the sights alike hadn’t changed with time. It still served the same piss pour ale, the same drunk bastards still sat in the same beaten-down chairs, and, above all else, Varric Tethras was always in his suit upstairs, ready with a pint for Hawke as soon as she had stepped through the door.

That was a tradition that had sprung forth the very first time they had ever entered the tavern together. Varric had flagged down the waitress and told her that should she ever see Hawke enter the tavern’s doors she was to order up a pint of ale on Varric’s tab and have it sent up to his room, and she had made good on that promise. Tonight, however, Hawke figured she and Varric might want something a little harder. After all, she and Varric had finally confronted his lyrium-crazed brother after he had screwed them over in the Deep Roads; and, if Hawke wasn’t handling the memory of Bartrand’s maddened face well, she could only imagine how Varric was fairing.

As such, Hawke made her way to the bar, asked the tender for something a little harder, and then began her trek up the familiar steps of the Hanged Man, bottle in hand. She’d made this trek a million times before, which was probably about half a million times too many; a fact that was almost embarrassing to admit, though no one had ever remarked on the frequency of her visits before. No one besides her knew, after all, why she frequented the Hanged Man so often, though it certainly wasn’t for the drink.

Varric’s door was closed when she arrived at his room, surprising her. In all the years she had known him the dwarf had always been very receptive to guests, should they come during a reasonable hour and especially when that guest was Hawke. Maybe, she dreaded the thought, he did not want to see her at all. Still, she should try, as the closed-door was both a surprise and a concern. Hawke lifted a cautious hand and knocked the door twice, just loud enough that she was sure Varric would be able to hear. It was quiet for a moment before his voice rang out from inside.

“If that’s you Riviani, I’m not really in the mood to play Wicked Grace, right now.” Varric’s voice was raspier than normal and obviously laced with the influence of alcohol, though he did seem to put in some effort to steady his tone, at least.

Hawke lifted her chin, trying desperately to convey a smile through her voice as she talked. “Just me, I’m afraid.” She lifted her hand once again, fingers uncoiling and palm resting flat against the door. Her smile faltered. “I… was in the mood for a drink. Figured you might want to join me.”

Again, Hawke was met with quiet before a short “Ah” could be heard from the other side of the door. Then, there was a chair sliding out, a tankard being set down, heavy footsteps, and the click of a lock. Hawke removed her hand from the door as it swung open, revealing the man of the hour himself, in all his stupor. Varric’s signature outer layers and clunkier jewelry pieces had been shed, leaving him in his pants, boots, and his rolled-up low-cut shirt. He looked disheveled and at least a few drinks in, already, by the looks of it. Still, he mustered up a cocky smile that didn’t quite reach his sunken eyes before addressing Hawke.

“I’m afraid I might have started without you, Hawke,” his honeyed eyes met hers with ease, and Hawke could see the pain there in the span of a moment. “You know you’re always welcome to join me, though.”

Varric moved aside from the doorframe, making plenty of room for Hawke to enter. She did, of course, waving the bottle of alcohol she had acquired from the bartender downstairs in the air as an offering.

“Thought we could use something a little harder, tonight.”

The dwarf let out a small chuckle. “You know me too well, Hawke. Though I’m afraid I got the jump on you there, too.”

Hawke made her way to the table in the center of the room, setting the apparently unneeded bottle down, noting that there were in fact two tankards and a few large bottles already set on the table’s surface. Her eyebrows cocked in confusion as the door shut and locked behind her, Varric once again closing himself, and now her as well, off to the rest of the tavern. The dwarf made his way back to his table slowly, sighing and running a hand back through his hair, flattening it down as he sunk into his seat. Hawke eyed him with vague suspicion. It did not take long for him to notice.

“What, Hawke?” He began, taking a deep swig of whatever was already in his glass before cocking his mouth to the side in a halfhearted smirk. He looked exhausted. “You look like you’re going to jump me.” He said.

Hawke grumbled at that, taking her usual seat catty-cornered to Varric’s, in front of the empty, extra tankard. “Were you-” she paused, mulling it over, sending a soft glare at the cup, “-expecting someone?” She hated the inkling of jealousy she felt.

Varric, confused momentarily, follows Hawke’s gaze to the empty tankard in front of her before relaxing into a gentle laugh. Her eyes snap back to his. “Oh, no, that? That was for you, Hawke. In case you dropped by.” His demeanor shifts as he settles into Hawke’s familiar company, an easy smile painting his lips. “I wasn’t sure you’d be up to it, though. When you didn’t show up a couple of hours ago, I figured you were a no show, so I closed the door. Sorry ‘bout that.”

Hawke’s expression softens as she listens to the dwarf; he had waited up for her. The thought made her heart swell.

“Well then, what are you waiting for? I’ve got some catching up to do.” She holds the tankard in Varric’s direction, motioning for him to pour her a drink. He chuckles and plucks the bottle from where it sits beside him on the table, removes the cork, and pours Hawke a full glass until the bottle runs dry. He discards it next to the other empty bottle that Hawke now notices on his floor.

“Good luck.” He jokes.

They both take a swig. After a few moments of quiet drinking, Hawke sets her tankard, now mostly gone, onto the table. She shoots Varric a sympathetic, almost apologetic look and he immediately blusters.

“Varric-” she begins, but she hardly gets a word out.

“Now, Hawke-” he cuts her off, setting down his tankard with a flourish and waving his hands about in a rather dramatic fashion, characteristic of a man and avid storyteller when under the influence. “I know you’re not about to get all mushy with me about my previously-estranged, currently-insane brother.”

Hawke softens and their eyes meet, and she can see the hurt there in his amber gaze. Sure, he’d been playing it off; coating his pain with a thick veil of liquor and a dashing smile, but none of that would be enough to fool Hawke. Not when she had known him so long. She’d gotten very good at reading Varric’s emotions over the years; she’d had to. The dwarf loved to cover his actual feelings within a charm covered cage, but the years had taught her that his eyes tell much more of a story than his honeyed words ever could. Now, she could read them as easily as any book, though she couldn’t always tell why his eyes told her what they did. For now, the hurt she read there was obvious. Bartrand’s betrayal had run deep, much deeper than he had let on. Maybe it would have been easier for him had Bartrand not been under the influence of the idol. Maybe, if he had just been the asshole they’d spent the last few years thinking he was, Varric would have been able to let this go without so much as a hair out of place. But Anders had healed Bartrand for an inkling of a moment, and that allowed Varric to see his old brother on the inside, beneath his lunatic ravings. He allowed Varric to hope.

Hawke wasn’t sure if Bartrand would ever be able to come to his senses, but she hoped that with time and treatment Varric could have his old brother back. As much as he had disliked Bartrand pre-expedition, they were still family and she knew that Varric valued that. He had such fierce loyalty to his loved ones. To her, even.

“I think,” she begins, her eyes boring into him, “we should talk about it, Varric. I think it might help.”

“Now Hawke,” he starts, words coated with a false nonchalance that his eyes betrayed. “You know me, I love to talk. It’s kind of my whole thing; storytelling, and all that. But this-” He pauses, contemplates his ale, picks it up, empties the glass, and then lets out a mirthless laugh. “I have nothing to say.” He’s bristling under the pressure of Hawke’s stare, eyebrows come together and eyes refusing to meet her accusatory gaze. He’s lying, trying to pass this off as if it’s nothing, but even in his tipsy state, they both know it’s not convincing. Not to her.

“Varric, you know that’s not true.”

In an impulse, Hawke reaches out her hand, placing it atop Varric’s which rests on the table. His face relaxes then morphs into mild surprise in response, though he does not raise his eyes to hers. It wasn’t unheard of for them to touch like this, but it certainly was uncommon, as neither were the type to display easy physical affection. Words were much easier and harder to read. Touches like these, laced with affection, held deeper meaning and implications. Implications Hawke had never wanted Varric to read into. Sure, she flirted with him freely on missions as she did all of her companions, but to anyone outside of herself, it was nothing beyond witty banter. Something she shared with everyone for a laugh. But reaching for him, aching to touch him, to know what he felt like in a gentler sense, especially when they were alone, just the two of them, was too much, too telling. Especially when she was so certain he did not share her affections.

Not when she loved him; and she had for some time. She couldn’t pinpoint an exact moment when it had started, exactly, but her affection had plagued her for many years, at the least. Still, despite its depth, her attraction was a hopeless one. For as long as she had known him, Varric had pined over the woman who coined the name of his beloved bow: Bianca. Not to mention, she was nearly certain that he had little to no interest in humans past maybe a fleeting appreciative glance. Plus, there were his eyes. Certainly, after all these years together, she’d be able to tell if he shared her feelings. So, no, her affection was not returned, and therefore he had no need to know of hers. And there was certainly no reason for her to go out of her way to give him that suspicion.

Varric stared at Hawke’s hand where it rested on his before flashing a sad smile and looking away at the far wall. “You know I don’t really talk on my own feelings, Hawke.” His voice was quiet, gentle as he spoke. “I much prefer focusing on other people’s and then writing them down.”

Hawke gave him a small, empathetic smile. “I know. But I can tell this is hurting you, Varric, and I want to help.”

Sighing, Varric turns towards her and she can see him contemplate something for a moment before his entire face softens to match the hurt in his eyes. “Fine. I should have known you’d crack me, Hawke. Let’s talk. You always did have a way with words.”

She smiles. “Aw, you think so? Have my advances finally gotten through to you then, oh stubborn dwarf?” The joke is a little close to home for Hawke’s comfort, but the genuine grin and chuckle she receives from Varric in return proves it was worth it and causes her heart to flutter.

“Of course they’ve made an impression, Hawke,” he’s grinning now, “how could they not.”

She knows he’s joking, that he’s just responding in turn to her bit. But her heart swirls with a mixture of joy and pain, both wishing those words were true and knowing that they’re not. She can feel a slight blush heat her cheeks and she can only hope that her signature red paint mixed with a sidelong glance will cover her tracks. She forces herself to refocus.

“Anyways,” she distracts, “Bartrand.”

Varric sighs, any smile he had, dropped. “Yes, Bartrand.”

“I’m sorry, Varric.”

“So am I.” Varric meets her eyes again, and the emotions there are so raw and so many that she has a hard time deciphering their depths. “I know our relationship was rocky at the best of times, but he was still family, ya’ know? We grew up together. We were business partners. When he betrayed us in the Deep Roads, I was so ready to hate him. I thought there would be no going back. But, seeing what Blondie did to him, Hawke… How he… brought him back. Bartrand isn’t himself, wasn’t himself. Probably hasn’t been for a long time. How could I blame him when he’s like that?”

He looked so troubled when he spoke, hurt lacing his voice and sobering up the edge he had been given by the alcohol. His hand stayed beneath Hawke’s on the table, though neither dared to move them.

“You did the right thing,” Hawke began, eyes soft and boring into his, “giving him another chance like that. Letting him get help. I know you gave me the final call and all, but that was very big of you. I didn’t think the poor bastard stood a chance at survival when we first approached the mansion.”

He scoffed. “Neither did I. I was ready to kill him, Hawke. Especially after I had learned what he had done to his help. But in the end I. I couldn’t. Bartrand is a bastard but he’s still my brother; and knowing he wasn’t in his right mind when he screwed us over and hurt all those people… It really fucked me over.” He sighed.

“It’s good that you care, Varric. You… have a huge heart. That’s not a weakness.”

“Sometimes I wonder.” He muses under his breath.

Hawke gives his hand a gentle squeeze. “It’s not. And for what it’s worth, I’m here for you. Always. I know it’s not the same, but-”

Suddenly, their hands shift, and Hawke finds that Varric is lacing his fingers through hers seamlessly. Caught off-guard, heat explodes in her cheeks and she blusters for the words she was going to say. She finds none. His eyes are molten staring through hers when she meets his gaze. She can’t comprehend what they say. “You’re more than enough, Hawke. You always have been.”

To her disappointment, Varric unthreads their fingers within a moment and uncorks the extra bottle Hawke had brought, refilling both their tankards. He takes a swig.

“Blondie is a lucky man.”

And suddenly, Hawke is confused. “What?” She says, coming out of her stupor and addressing him directly, eyebrows drawn together and face screwed with emotion. “What are you talking about, Varric?”

Now it was Varric’s turn to look confused, though that confusion was quickly replaced with a cover-up smirk and false laugh. “Come now, Hawke, I’m not blind.”

Did he think she was toying with him? Her eyebrows drew impossibly closer together. “Varric, I’m not joking, I-” she began, then the realization of what he was implying hit her full force. “Wait,” she blustered, “You think I- that Anders and I are together?”

Varric, to his credit, did not miss a beat. “Of course?” He stated, nonchalant as if what he was implying was some universal truth.

It stung Hawke, deeply, to think that not only was Varric unbeknownst to her true feelings, he also was so ignorant he thought she was actually with someone else. Sure, it was true that she had shown Anders perhaps more kindness than others within their small group of ragtag friends, and there had been a short time where she had considered that they might have something together. But that inkling had gone as quickly as it had been born, squashed by her feelings for the dwarf, and if she showed him any special kindness now it was bred only out of compassion for their shared plight against the templars and the church. She could not believe that Varric, of all people, had misconstrued that into something that it clearly was not.

“Varric,” she began, voice steady and eyes unwavering on his, “Anders and I are not together. We never were.”

Varric’s eyes were wide with surprise. Unceremoniously, he stood from his chair, pacing slowly, hand raking through his hair in a stupor. “So, you’re...” he paused, turning to Hawke, finger pointed in her direction as she sat. Hawke shook her head in agreeance. “Well damn. That’s going to take a while to rewrite.” He muttered, aside.

“Sorry to add another draft to your workload.”

He did not remark on her comment and instead once again turned away from Hawke, face hidden from her view. “Is there… anyone else, then? Broody, maybe? Daisy? Choir boy?” He questioned, and Hawke could not make out what emotion was lacing through his voice. "Oh god, it's not Riviani is it?" His voice was shaky and odd, perhaps fueled by the liquor in his system, and altogether very unlike the steady, calm dwarf she usually knew and loved.

Hawke let out an empty laugh. “If you’re looking for some steamy content for your books, I’m afraid I’ll have to disappoint.” Her heart ached as she stared at his back. This was not a conversation they had ever even approached before, and Hawke wished for its speedy closure. It hurt to discuss her unrequited love when the object of her unreturned affections was right in front of her. “I haven’t been with anyone since I came to Kirkwall.”

He did not turn. “Why not?”

It was a simple question, asked concisely and to the point. Yet, the weight it held was immense and threatened to crush Hawke underneath its pressure. She struggled with the right words to say. “I’m,” she began, tentatively, “afraid I gave my heart away years ago to someone who doesn’t want it.”

They sat in quiet for a moment, Varric’s back turned, unresponsive, Hawke’s heart threatening to break free from her chest. She didn’t know why the atmosphere of the room had become so thickened, and it was impossible to tell what was going on through Varric’s head with his back turned towards her. She felt like she might explode. “Varric?” She questioned with hesitance. He answered, slowly:

“Hawke, feel free to stab me if I got this wrong, okay?”

And suddenly, before Hawke even had time to think, Varric had turned, large hands caressing either side of her face, and his lips were on hers.

At first, she didn’t know what to think as she froze to her spot. Soon, however, as reality set in, she melted seamlessly into the kiss, eyes closing as one hand came up to clutch his shirt, and her other wrapped around the back of his neck and into his hair. It felt like Hawke could finally breathe after years with no air. Varric had stolen her heart and given her renewed life within the same breath of a moment, and it was all she could do not to lose herself in it.

Soon, however, Varric pulled away, hands still resting on Hawke’s cheeks, and amber eyes melting with compassion Hawke had not been able to decipher before.

“You didn’t stab me.” Was all he could say.

“I didn’t.” Was all she could respond.

One of his hands moved to cradle the back of her neck as the other remained and stroked small circles onto her cheek. She let out a small hum from the back of her throat, leaning into his touch as her eyes drifted shut. In this position, with him standing in front of her between her legs, Varric stood over her. It was an intoxicating feeling, having him this close, eyes only for her; she couldn’t even begin to convey how long she had wanted this. He kissed her again.

“How long,” he began, lips buzzing against hers before he pulled further away, eyes hooded and taking in every inch of her face at this new distance, reading her as she had him all these years. “How long have I had my head up my ass, Hawke?”

She hummed, blush staining her cheeks as she ran her hand over his heart, eyes lowered to where it now rests. “Hard to say,” she started, “at least since the expedition. But I’d wager I felt this way long before that.”

Varric visibly flinched at that, hands starting to withdraw with shame before Hawke caught them within her own grip, placing them back where they were before he tried to leave.

“Fuck, Hawke-” he began, pity lacing his voice and hurt coating his expression. “I didn’t know.”

“I know.” She smiles, pulling him down into a short kiss, her eyes and heart full of love for him. “How could you have? I never told you.”

He sighs. “I should have seen it.”

She shook her head. “Varric, it’s really fine. I thought you had no interest in me, either.”

He startles at this, eyes wide until he breaks into a grin, a small chuckle on his lips. “Have you seen yourself, Hawke? You’re beautiful, badass, and,” he continues, planting a peck to her forehead as he speaks, “with your wit, how could I not fall for you.”

Her heart swells with his admission. “How long have you known?”

Varric laughs. “Since day one, sweetheart.” His familiar cocky smirk paints his face, and Hawke feels like she might explode with happiness. “That kid on the street stole your coin purse, and you stole my heart.”

“Maker,” she laughs, “that was horrible.”

Varric smiles a large, genuine smile. “Horrible, maybe; but it’s true.”

“And you call yourself an author.” She laughs, then says, simply: “I love you.” and saying it out loud brings an enormous weight off of her shoulders that she did not know she was carrying. “You don’t know how hard it’s been to keep from saying that all these years. I’ve wanted to tell you so many times.”

Varric’s eyes swell with emotion, as he pulls Hawke from her chair and onto her feet. Stepping backward, he leads her to his bed until they reach the edge and he nudges her until the back of her knees touch the mattress and she is inclined to sit down. Once she’s seated again, he pulls her into another deep kiss, until they part, foreheads resting together, and hands intertwined. He’s smirking at her, but his eyes are soft and telling.

“Stay with me, Hawke. You’ll have plenty of chances to tell me how you feel, then.”

He says it lightheartedly, like a joke, giving her an easy out should she want to say no. Which was, of course, sweet but unnecessary. Hawke could never deny him; especially not now. She inches herself further back onto the bed as she grabs the collar of his shirt, enticing him to join her. He crawls onto the bed as Hawke lowers herself onto her back, and Varric follows suit, his slightly smaller frame hovering over her as she lay.

“Of course.” She says, and she could almost cry, she’s so happy. Her hand traces his face absentmindedly as she takes everything in.

“I love you, Hawke.” He says, and her breath nearly stops. Sure, he had essentially told her only a moment ago, but this was the first time that had been proper and complete. She pulls him down into a kiss.

“I love you, too.” She reminds him against his lips.

Over, and over, and over again.

[starlocked01]

I Know the Stars Will Start to Fade

AO3 @tsshipmonth2020

Masterpost- Previous- Next

Summary-  Roman was born with three soul marks but now has only one. He doesn't want to ruin his last great chance for happiness but finds his final soulmate, Logan, isn't what he expected. And neither is he what he expected of himself.

Day 10 LAMP (Platonic Logince focused, Romantic Moxiety)- Soulmates are born with matching soul marks

Roman was starting to feel desperate. He had been born with three different soul marks but now was left with one. He really couldn't blame Patton or Virgil for getting upset with him. Somehow this was his fault.

The soul marks had been beautiful. Three shields with different intricate patterns inside. One had a castle overshadowed by a storm cloud. That one had matched Virgil’s. One had a heart floating in a broiling sea. That one had matched with Patton's. The last showed a brain at the foot of the mountains with a field of stars above. He hoped whoever this brain matched to would be the one who lasted and stuck around.

He'd met Virgil on an online forum for people with multiple soul marks. They hadn't talked much but Virgil went by st0rmcl0ud online and had described a soul mark that sounded remarkably similar to Roman’s. So he reached out in DMs and they swapped photos of their marks and then phone numbers and at Roman's insistence planned to meet up. He was already head over heels for his soulmate and giddy with excitement to meet Virgil in real life. Virgil and Patton had found each other through a dating app. Virgil recognized the heart shield as matching one of Patton's marks and had introduced the two of them as well.

For the first month, it was wonderful. Roman had never been so enamored, so certain of a future together with these two. It felt wonderful and nerve-wracking and exciting and passionate and everything the fairy tales had promised love would be.

They went on dates and got to know each other better. Roman went from infatuated to admiring his soulmates. He still put forth the full effort to love them but his heart wasn't behind it the way it should have been.

The stormy castle started to fade. He loved- no- cared for his two soulmates deeply. But the mark started to fade. Roman’s grand romantic vision of the future started to settle into something more friendly and domestic. He hid his soul marks, not wanting to upset either of them.

The stormy castle faded completely and the heart in the ocean was beginning to dull in color as well. Roman loved going on dates because it made his friends happy, but he felt no happier than if they had a quiet movie night at home together or spent the night video calling each other.

Roman had been frustrated, because Virgil and Patton were still head over heels for each other, in their own ways of course. Why didn't he feel that romantic spark that had pulled them all together?

One day, the heart in the ocean faded completely. Roman was terrified to tell his soulmates that the marks were gone. He was even more frightened by the realization that he didn't really love them the way they loved him and each other. He absolutely cared for Patton and Virgil with his whole heart, but the romantic vision was gone. He wanted them in his life but the idea of dating twisted his gut in the most unpleasant way.

Virgil noticed first. Roman didn't think it was possible to see the man any paler than his normal complexion.

"You lied to us…"

"No, they disappeared. They were there. They were real!"

"How do you expect me to believe that, Roman," Virgil's eyes were clouded with fear and pain. Roman couldn’t meet his gaze any longer and looked away.

"Why would you-"

"I don't know! I- you're my soulmate, Virgil… I don't know why our mark disappeared."

Virgil shook his head and pulled out his phone, dialing from memory.

If Virgil's anger had been difficult, Patton's disappointment was worse. His sad eyes bore into Roman’s soul and he couldn't even soften the blow by blaming Roman.

"Roman, do you not want us?" Roman's heart crumbled at the question.

"Patton, of course, I-"

"He was never our soulmate, Pat! I don't know how but he lied to us," Virgil hissed, pulling Patton back away from Roman.

"Guys, please listen to me," Roman was on the verge of tears.

"Yeah, Virge. I'm sure there's an explanation here that we aren't seeing. Roman, you still love us, right?"

Roman couldn’t help it. He balked and that sealed his fate. The moment Patton's heart broke was embedded in his memory, unlike the disappearing soul marks.

That was a week ago. And here he was, riding the bus to rehearsal as though his emotions weren't in shambles, one chance left to find happiness.

"Excuse me, sir? May I see your soul mark?" Roman turned to the unfamiliar voice and saw the hottest man he'd ever met giving him a difficult to decipher look.

Roman already had names picked out for the dogs they would adopt together.

"Ah, sure," Roman held out his arm and the stranger leaned down to inspect it. After a moment he pulled the sleeve of his jacket up and held up an arm with three familiar marks up to Roman's, "it's you! The brain…"

The stranger cleared his throat and pushed his sleeve back down, "yes. It appears we are soulmates. My name is Logan Crawford. What is yours?"

"Roman Prince," Roman replied breathlessly. He felt like he was on cloud nine and had his final chance.

"Well, Roman, I suppose you'll want to be in contact. Although, I must warn you that I am a disappointing soulmate and refuse date," Logan had pulled out his phone and was handing it to Roman.

"What do you mean 'disappointing'?" Roman frowned more in confusion than any negative feeling for Logan.

"I suppose you'll find out anyway. I am romance-repulsed. Even as one of my soulmates I won't date you or the others. Most everyone tells me that I will be a disappointment for you three but frankly, I know my boundaries and refuse to change them."

Roman stared at his final soulmate. He hadn't expected this. He took the offered phone and plugged in his number, taking a quick selfie for the contact photo.

"Well then, Logan, let's agree to just talk. Have you met Patton or Virgil?" Roman was met with an indifferent look that lacked any recognition.

"No, I have not. Have you?"

"Yes and I don't think you'd like them…" Roman said bitterly.

"Do you think I dislike you, Roman?" Logan said with the most emotion Roman had heard from him yet.

"No, I didn't mean that," Roman stammered, "I- I just meant that they're… very romantic. And I thought I had 'hopeless romantic' cornered!" Roman laughed to hide his discomfort.

"Wait, but you only had one soul mark. How did you meet them?" Logan asked with curiosity.

"My stop is coming up, perhaps we save the tragic backstory for another time?" Roman grinned as the bus rolled to a stop a block from the theater, "call me!" He rushed off the bus before Logan could respond, bewildered by the chance meeting with the handsome stranger.

Over the next few weeks, Roman and Logan texted and met up for coffee a few times. Roman was terrified of pushing things too fast and watched the soul mark on his arm constantly for any sign that it was fading. Logan never asked about the other two soulmates so Roman decided to not talk about them. He was still hurt but they had to be happier without him.

"So, Roman, you never told me the tragic story of how you met Patton and Virgil," Roman nearly spit out his tea.

"Do you really want to know, dear?" Logan bristled at the nickname but nodded.

"Well," Roman recounted the events of how they met and started seeing each other almost casually. He slowed down as he got to the part where the soul marks started fading. Logan encouraged him to continue but he couldn’t bring himself to say it out loud.

"Roman, did they hurt you?"

Roman shook his head no, not meeting Logan’s eyes.

"Can you tell me what happened?" Logan asked gently, resting his hand on Roman’s across the cafe table. Roman felt a metaphorical shock at the physical contact. He wanted a romantic connection with Logan so badly sometimes that the other’s staunch refusal to date felt like an arrow to the heart.

"My soul marks disappeared," Roman whispered, "and I couldn't promise them I was still in love, so they left."

"Disappeared? How unusual. Did they match before disappearing?" Roman looked up, surprised by the reaction. Logan just opened a new tab on his laptop and started searching a few keywords, "what? You know I don't care for sentiment. But soul marks that aren't permanent is a fascinating concept. And you say you fell out of love when the marks disappeared? Was it sudden overnight?"

"N-no… actually the marks- and the feelings- faded over time. About a week, really," Roman sighed, "actually, Logan I need to confess-" Roman pulled up the sleeve of his jacket to reveal his last soul mark, "-yours started fading a few days ago. The colors aren't as saturated as before."

Logan looked down at the mark, "and how do you feel about me? Regardless of my stance on the matter."

Roman sucked in a long breath, "I…. Honestly, I've been in love with you from that day on the bus. But I respect your boundaries and I wasn’t going to push it and as we have been talking and getting to know each other, I really value you as a friend as well. I'm still a little hopelessly over the moon about you but it's not like when we first met."

"Fascinating, it seems the intensity of your soul mark is directly proportionate to your capacity for romantic attraction. One moment," Logan turned back to the laptop and after a moment turned the screen to face Roman, "does this sound like you?"

The word and definition almost popped off the screen at Roman. Frayromantic - an aromantic spectrum identity where one feels an intense romantic attraction to strangers that fades as they get to know the person

"Yes…" Roman took a sip of tea to try and calm his swirling thoughts.

Logan turned the laptop back around and did another search. He read for a moment before reading aloud from the screen, "other frayromantics have experienced fading soul marks. Some say that the marks came back after they realized and recognized their identity or came to terms with their soulmate about it. Others never had the marks come back naturally but rather decided to get them recreated. Or they decided they didn't want the marks and carried on markless, with or without their soulmate."

"So I'm not broken, it's happened before? The marks could come back? It's not wrong to not love my soulmates romantically?" The questions spilled from Roman’s mouth before he could stop them.

"I'd actually prefer if you would hurry up and get over your crush on me, thanks," Logan said with a smirk.

Roman held back a snort of laughter. He was feeling immeasurably better.

Roman was glad he had kept Patton's phone number. After discussing it with Logan, he decided to reach back out, hoping Patton would be understanding and could encourage Virgil to be as well.

The phone rang and rang. Roman started to sweat. Logan was preoccupied with personal research but he offered a comforting hand on Roman’s shoulder. Roman was glad for his friend's support, the soul mark a faint but distinct outline anymore. It had never fully disappeared even as Roman’s crush had evaporated.

Roman was ready to give up when the line connected, "Roman?"

"Patton! Oh, thank the stars you picked up. Do you have time to talk? If not now, maybe we can meet up?" Roman grinned happily.

"Why? I thought we weren't… " Patton trailed off.

"Pat, two things. One, I figured out why the soul marks faded. Two, I found Logan. We can all know each other and work things out because despite what Virgil said, we are soulmates," Roman waited with bated breath for the response.

"Hold on a second- Virgil!" Patton pulled the phone away from his mouth as he called out. Logan squeezed Roman’s shoulder to comfort him.

"Yeah, Pops? What's up?" From what Roman could hear it sounded like Virgil had just woken up, at 3 in the afternoon. What followed was a muffled conversation from which Roman could only pick out a few words.

"Okay, Roman. Can you and Logan meet us for dinner tonight?" Patton asked brightly.

"Logan, how does dinner tonight sound?" Roman grinned as Logan nodded, "sounds great, Pat. Where do you want to meet?"

"You two should come on over here about 7, alright? Awesome, see you soon!" Patton ended the call, mind already bustling with plans to get ready for dinner.

"Roman, please don't try to speak for me tonight," Logan smiled nervously as Roman parked the car.

"Of course not. I know you can handle yourself," Roman replied.

"Yes, I just worry that you're going to try too hard to be what Patton and Virgil want, not who you are. I like you and respect you for who you are and they will too if they're smart. But in the all too likely case that you can't help trying to be a people pleaser, at least let me establish my own boundaries."

Roman gasped, "do you have so little faith in me?"

"Yes," Logan grinned and stepped out of the car. Roman started chuckling and both were smiling as the front door of the apartment duplex opened.

"Roman. And I guess that makes you Logan. Come on in, I guess," Virgil was as dour as ever as he showed them to the living room, "Patton says dinner should be ready in a few minutes so make yourselves at home."

"Virgil, it's so good to see you! I've missed your pale, crabby face," Roman grinned although Virgil did not seem amused.

Logan held out his hand, "it's nice to meet you, Virgil."

Virgil stared at the offered hand and poked it with his finger, "Nice to meet you too, Logan."

"Are they here? V, why didn't you tell me?" Patton came bustling from the kitchen and immediately wrapped Roman in a tight hug, "oh it's been too long! How ya doing, Prince?"

Roman grinned and hugged Patton back, "better now, that's for sure."

"Ah, and you must be Logan, come on in buddy!" Patton turned to offer Logan a hug.

"No, thank you. I'd rather not," Logan tried to wave Patton off.

"You sure?" Logan nodded, "Okay, dinner is almost done and we've got so much to talk about!"

Roman helped Virgil set the table while Logan followed Patton into the kitchen to help with the final preparations.

The conversation was light as they ate until Virgil asked the question no one else was bringing up.

"So Princey, why did the soul marks disappear?"

Roman took a deep breath. He could feel Logan’s hand on his knee under the table and was grateful for his soulmate’s support once again. "Virgil, Patton, I have discovered that I am frayromantic. I know that word doesn't make sense, but hear me out," he proceeded to explain, talking about how he had truly loved them when they met, and still wanted to care about them now. He even showed them the faded soul mark that matched Logan’s, explaining that it never faded completely because they had come to an understanding with each other about their relationship. He didn't bring up that the soul marks could come back, not wanting to give them undue hope or misguided ideas about his emotions. By the time he was done explaining, Patton was smiling with tears in his eyes and Virgil was nodding.

"Mark or not, I still want you in my life," Patton sniffed and reached across the table to take Roman’s hand, "we can work out the particulars later."

"Ah, Roman, I'm sorry. I was wrong to accuse you and I can't imagine how much that must have hurt you," Virgil spoke just above a whisper.

Roman nodded, "thank you, Virgil. I'll consider forgiving you."

"That's fair-"

"Consider it done!"

"Oh- kay thank you," Virgil chuckled.

"So Logan, why is tonight the first time we're meeting you?" Patton smiled at the stoic man.

"Simply put, I wasn’t seeking out my soulmates. I happened upon Roman by chance. I want to make it clear that I am not interested in dating any of you," Logan spoke with confidence. Roman was proud of him, returning the comforting hand on his knee gesture.

"Wait you two aren't dating?" Patton asked, confused.

"No. We are not dating. I am aromantic and romance-repulsed. I want nothing to do with mushy, complicated romantic emotions. However, and I hope Roman doesn't mind me saying this, I do consider him my best friend," Logan coughed, "and I actually wanted to talk with you later about a platonic partnership," Roman was surprised to hear this but more surprised by the blush on Logan's cheeks.

"Yeah, we can talk about that later, Lo. I definitely think you're my best friend as well."

"Wow, so… being soulmates isn't going to be easy for any of us," Virgil murmured.

"But we'll all work it out together!" Patton finished the sentiment, clasping his boyfriend's hand in his and smiling at the two soulmates across the table.

The soul marks that had faded completely never came back on their own. After a few years together, Roman decided to get them tattooed back on, asking the artist to match the intensity to Logan’s mark. The three faint marks helped reassure Roman that he was who he was and that he didn't need to change that to love his soulmates just as much as he could.

[holy-honeybees]

Snowdrift

AO3

Rating: T+ (for swearing)

Summary: Three friends and  their dog get lost in a snowstorm while investigating the paranormal. Amidst swirling flurries of white, some lose their way and get lost in their memories, others lose sight of their friends and loved ones, and an unforgiving winter quickly fills in the footprints one would follow to get back home.

A/N: I started this back in November 2019 but sadly never finished the work. I was thinking of holding off till it started to snow again, but figured now was as good a time as any to try and finish this.The title is taken from Snail's House song "[snowdrift]" which you can check out here!

My hopes of having a regular posting schedule were completely dashed by the disaster that is the year 2020. But I’m still here, I’m still writing, and though I don’t know when the next chapter will be, I know there will be another. Beware that from here on, there may be some slight SPOILERS for the latest MSA video, “The Future!” If you haven’t already watched it though, you absolutely should, it was amazing, and the whole team who worked on it are all so talented!!

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Chapter One

Chapter Seven

Lewis glanced behind him to watch as Vivi and Mystery disappeared into the woods, the flashlight beam wavering as his friends passed behind trees and headed deeper into the forest. His own fluorescence gave the surrounding snowdrifts a soft, pink glow, illuminating his path as he headed along where he guessed the road to be under the thick blanket of snow. The ghost fought the urge to turn around and check on Vivi and Mystery again, knowing if he gave in now he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from watching until the last glimmer of their flashlight faded from view. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust them to take care of themselves. He knew how fearsome Mystery could be, even after his injury, and though Vivi was frustrated by her lack of mastery over magic, she’d taken to it readily. If her friends were in danger, Lewis knew nothing would stop her, magic or no. It was just hard for him to give up old habits. He couldn’t help but think of being the protector as his role in the group, especially after so many years of Arthur hiding behind him. Despite his size, Lewis had never been much of a fighter when he was alive. He’d always relied on his height and broad shoulders to intimidate, whether it was Arthur’s high school bullies or whatever monster of the week had decided to pick a fight with them. His death had surprisingly come with a few benefits, the supernatural speed at which he now travelled being just one of them. Already he had come to the bend in the road where their near miss had occurred just days ago, the guardrail and sign warped out of place from the impact with the van. Lewis ran his hand along the arrow on the sign, brushing loose snow to the ground.  

It was hard to believe that they had been having snowball fights and drinking hot cocoa just the other day. The snow which had once been so entrancing to him now seemed ominous and deadly, the winter wonderland having transformed into a frozen wasteland. Lewis suppressed a shiver. He shouldn’t have been able to feel the freezing temperatures, but the cold gnawed at his bones nonetheless. He was reminded of the walk-in freezer at the Pepper Paradiso. Once, while he’d still been in high school, Lewis had accidentally locked himself in the walk-in at the restaurant. He’d only been stuck for about fifteen minutes, but the cold had seemed unbearable for even that short amount of time. He’d been lucky that Ma and Pa Pepper were so quick to get him out. He couldn’t get his teeth to stop chattering until his mom had fixed him up a special batch of her hot chocolate flavored with cinnamon and cayenne pepper. Lewis remembered sitting in the dining area, cradling his mug of hot chocolate as his dad rubbed a hand up and down his arm to help warm him up. His mother had been livid and had immediately called the fridge manufacturer to demand they send someone to replace the faulty door release on the inside of the walk-in. Despite his parents’ best efforts, the chill hadn’t left him until late that night when he was curled up in bed, bundled in extra blankets.

Lewis wondered just how long Arthur had been gone before the others had discovered him missing. He feared that the mechanic had been gone too long already. He knew now just how fragile people were, and given Arthur’s tendency to stress himself out and forgo basic needs, he worried for the mechanic more than most. Shifting his focus from his worries to the task at hand, Lewis turned to search the expanse of snow surrounding him, trying to find a sign that the mechanic had been this way at all. Each direction looked the same as the others though. It was impossible to tell if it was because Lewis had picked the wrong way to go or if the belligerent snowfall had simply covered Arthur’s tracks. Without any kind of path to follow, Lewis picked a direction at random. Phasing through the twisted metal of the guardrail, he sped away from the road into the snowy fields beyond to continue his search. The plains the ghost now flew over were as flat and empty as the rest of the landscape had been. Lewis hoped it would make the mechanic easy to spot, even with the moon covered by clouds and the thick snowfall still coming down. The snow in the distance went almost blue with shadows, but if he passed close enough to the mechanic, the ghost was sure he would recognize the bright orange color his friend so frequently wore.

“Arthur!” Lewis called. The snow on the ground muffled his shout, and the lowly moaning winds quickly drowned out the remaining sound. Still, Lewis couldn’t help but feel disappointed when he received no response. The spirit pushed onwards, constantly scanning his surroundings for a glimpse of familiar orange amidst all the white. As he rushed further away from the road to continue his search for Arthur, Lewis was struck with a sense of déjà vu. For a moment, he could have sworn that the snowy landscape had shifted, changing from a seemingly barren tundra to a familiar hallway, lined with portraits and doors that looped back in on each other in impossible patterns. The stripes in the wallpaper blurred together as he flew by, hunting down the scrawny mechanic that had betrayed him.

“Arthur!” the ghost bellowed.

Lewis skidded to an abrupt halt, shocked by the wrathful tone of his own voice. As he looked around again, he was back in the snowy field that lay beyond the bend in the road, no haunted mansion in sight. Just an endless, featureless white landscape. It had all been so real, the desire to find Arthur and punish him so strong, that for a moment Lewis had forgotten where he was. He’d forgotten himself and had lost the careful control he had on his anger. Even now that the specter had forgiven Arthur and come to peace with his own demise, the rage never seemed to go away. It was always simmering just below the surface, waiting for him to slip up and boil over. Afterall, it wasn’t just his attachment to Vivi that had brought him back, but his desire for vengeance as well. This anger was a part of him now, as much as he hated it, as much as he was afraid of it. Normally he kept it buried deep, able to force it back down whenever it reared its ugly head. He hadn’t felt such an intense flare of rage in months, and his fury had never boiled over without any provocation before. The imagined cold that had seeped into his bones was now completely burned out, the golden locket that served as his anchor thrumming with anger.

Did he really still hate his friend so much?

Lewis shook his skull back and forth, his hair flickering wildly at the movement. He had to keep it together. He thought back to all the late night conversations with Arthur that had helped to keep his loneliness at bay over the last few months. How before the cave, they would camp out on top of the van and look at the stars, guessing at the names of constellations, the mechanic at ease enough to fill the silence with idle chatter about science fiction and space travel. He remembered how his friend had helped him study for the law school he’d hoped to get into, shuffling through stacks of flash cards filled with legal jargon over milkshakes at the restaurant. Teenage years spent at each other’s houses, sleepovers filled with binge watching Sailor Moon andsuffering through Surf’s Up Pizza because he knew how much Arthur liked it. The only kid in middle school who had readily accepted that Lewis hadn’t been a part of the Pepper household up until the day he was.  

The ghost put a hand to his anchor, willing himself to calm down as he wrapped his fingers around the heart-shaped locket. He didn’t hate Arthur. At least, not anymore. Facing down a murderous, possessed kitsune together hadn’t magically spirited away the hurt Lewis had felt. His behavior towards Arthur had ranged from cold to cruel in the first couple of months following their reunion. During one disastrous case, it had gotten bad enough that the mechanic had almost walked away from the Mystery Skulls for good. While on an investigation out of town, Lewis had lost his tenuous grip on his temper and had blown up at the mechanic to a nuclear degree. Arthur had fled, even leaving his precious van behind, determined to hitchhike his way back home to Tempo. Mystery had tried to talk the mechanic out of it, but Vivi had ended up having to drag Arthur away from the roadside herself. With the mechanic refusing to talk, the blue-haired girl had resorted to taking him to a bar and had plied him with alcohol to get him to open up. Arthur had finally broken down into a blubbering mess after several drinks. Once their tab had been paid and the mechanic tucked away safely in the back of the van to sleep it off, Vivi had tracked down Lewis to give the ghost a piece of her mind with a stern lecture that Ma Pepper would have been proud of. While she was sympathetic to the ghost’s position, she reminded him that it wasn’t really Arthur who had pushed him off the cliff, and that the mechanic had been devastated and desperate to find Lewis after he’d gone missing. Vivi also pointed out it wasn’t fair to force her to choose between the faithful friend she’d had by her side over the past year and someone she had only just started to remember having loved. Faced with the prospect of tearing the Mystery Skulls apart and driving away the people he cared about, the ghost had begrudgingly agreed to try and put the past behind him.

With the winter winds swirling around him, Lewis could feel the beating of the heart in his hand slow to a steady thump, thump, thump as he reminisced. Things had been hard at first. The smallest of slights irked the ghost, and it took tremendous concentration to think before he snapped. He had still failed on occasion, with his only choice then being to leave his friends behind while he cooled off. Little by little though, he was able to box up his resentment and pack it away, having a much easier time dealing with it in smaller pieces. He then found he could control his anger, and even if it had become a part of him, it didn’t have to control him. Talking with Mystery had helped. The kitsune had centuries of life experience to draw from, and was more than happy to offer advice or just sit back and listen when Lewis needed him to. Vivi was just as willing to help, but couldn’t always stop herself from offering up ideas and solutions when Lewis talked about his problems. Sometimes it was nice to have someone to just listen without interruption. With time, practice, and help from his friends, the ghost was finally able to be around Arthur again, and being around his former friend reminded Lewis of why they had been friends in the first place. After a while, he found he actually liked being around Arthur, even in their new circumstances. He wanted to try and be friends again, but there had been so much to remedy between them. It had taken a long time for the mechanic to let his guard down around the ghost, not that Lewis could blame him. When he finally did, they had slowly begun to mend their friendship, but something was still missing. Lewis struggled at times to keep his distance, not wanting the mechanic to feel uncomfortable or threatened by his presence after so much bad blood between them. He waited respectfully for Arthur to bridge the gap, but, even now, the mechanic still seemed wary of him. Lewis had to wonder if his friend just needed more time or if he’d irreparably broken something between them. The ghost would never forgive himself if he’d missed his chance to fix things. Lewis looked at the locket in his hand and flipped it open. Eyes unclouded by anger, he could clearly see the picture of the four of them it contained. Together, just the way they should be.

All he wanted now was his best friend back.

Lewis heaved a sigh, closing the locket again as he prepared to continue his search. The sight of the golden heart had given him an idea. Concentrating, the spirit summoned his coffin, the dark lacquered wood standing out against the snow. The casket lid sprung open to reveal six purple-colored spirits, each adorned with a small golden heart of their own. The Dead Beats immediately poured out of the coffin, winding around Lewis’s shoulders and bumping up against his shins. Vivi had been enthralled to be able to study the small ghosts up close once they’d been formally introduced. According to Mystery, they were weaker spirits drawn to Lewis’s power, feeding on his cast-off energy. The kitsune had assured the Mystery Skulls that they weren’t some kind of paranormal parasite though, and no harm would come to Lewis from their presence. It was a symbiotic relationship, and while there was no direct benefit to him, Lewis did find he enjoyed their company. They reminded him of affectionate cats sometimes. Especially with the way they rubbed against his legs, humming instead of purring, as they did now.

“I’m happy to see you too,” Lewis said earnestly, patting at one of the little specters’ heads, “But right now I need your help. Can you do something for me?”

The Dead Beats harmonized in a way he knew meant ‘yes’.

“Good,” he replied, “Arthur is missing. I need you to split up and help me look for him. If you find him, come tell me where he is right away. Can you do that?”

Another affirmative humming sound.

“Thank you! Please, go as quick as you can!” Lewis set about pointing each of the Dead Beats in a different direction, one of them doubling back to see if Arthur had travelled further along the road Lewis had left behind. The others fanned out through the field to cover more ground and expand their search radius. Lewis watched as they took off in every direction, zipping over the snowbanks as they began to search for the mechanic. Satisfied, he continued forwards on the path he’d chosen for himself. There were now six extra sets of eyes looking for the lost mechanic. Lewis only hoped that if one of them did find Arthur, they wouldn’t try to play any tricks on him. The Dead Beats had quite a mischievous streak, with Arthur being the favorite target of their practical jokes and pranks. Having the extra help in his search was a huge relief, but Lewis knew he wouldn’t truly feel at ease until his friend had been safely recovered.

Please don’t let me be too late…to find him…to fix things.

There was still so much Lewis wanted to say. They never talked about that night in the cave, and though sometimes Lewis felt that they didn’t have to, he did wonder if it would help. He hoped he would get the chance to find out. While Lewis had calmed himself considerably, his worried thoughts still tumbled about like a brewing storm as he continued the search for his missing friend. He ignored that, deep beneath the hopes and fears he felt, a spark of anger was still burning in his chest, refusing to go out.

[raendown]

I was bribed in to this by @rookie-d and @sleepysenseis and I regret nothing. Show some love to Rookie’s art for this au as well!

Pairing: MadaraTobirama Word count: 1893 Rated: G Summary: Owning and running a bakery with his husband isn't exactly where he thought life would take him but Tobirama wouldn't trade this for the world.

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

KO-FI and commission info in the header!

Patissier-pation Award

The familiar chime of a bell greeted him first as he walked through the front door, eyes down to inspect the mail he had gathered on his way in. Mostly junk, a couple of bills, and a letter that he would bet his entire bank account had come from Hashirama. He would know those graceless spiky letters anywhere. Off on some nature retreat for the past month, there was little doubt this letter would be filled with the same rambling nonsense as the last one had been, lengthy descriptions of the woman he had apparently fallen in love with at first sight. 

Under the hum of halogen lights and the ever present smell of baked goods Tobirama could hear a slight groaning sound that made him smile. Instead of going to look for the source right away he continued to flip through the mail until he had sorted junk from bills, slipping behind the till counter to put everything in its right place. Running their own shop was hard work some days but always worth it in the end. While he was there he tidied a few receipts from the day before and used a nearby rag to wipe off a bit of icing probably smeared around by a customer’s child. Only when he was satisfied that everything was in order did he finally turn to look at the plush couch set just a little ways apart from the rest of the seating area. During peak hours the various armchairs and stools were usually filled with people taking a few minutes to enjoy the treats they had just purchased. 

Since right now was not peak hours the only person to be found was Madara, stretched out across the couch that Tobirama had quietly purchased just for moments like these. A fond smile touched his lips as he watched his favorite idiot rub at a full belly with furrowed brows. 

“How many of those tarts actually made it on to the shelves?” Tobirama called out to him with a lightly scolding tone. 

“Most of them!” Madara shot back. Then he groaned again while both hands paused to delicately cup his stomach. “I could have sworn I only ate a few. Just to taste test. Quality checking is important!” 

“I see.”

The argument might have been a bit more believable if Madara didn’t use the same one every time he overindulged in his own products. He was the one who initially came up with the idea for the two of them to open their own bakery and Tobirama supposed he should have known then that doing so would lead to regular episodes like this one. His husband was an amazing patissier but he was also his own biggest fan. Or his stomach was, at least, and Madara had never been known for denying whatever his stomach wanted. 

“Did you by any chance happen to find time to finish the Sarutobi order before you took your little snack break?” 

“Of course I did,”’ Madara huffed. Generously sacrificing one hand for a moment, he pointed imperiously towards the order counter where there indeed were three boxes with the shop logo printed on the front stacked neatly together and tied with ribbon. Inside there would be a dozen cupcakes each with, if Tobirama was remembering currently, blue icing and rainbow sprinkles arranged to spell out the recipient’s name. A fairly simple order. He wasn’t surprised Madara had finished the whole thing while he was gone, though he was surprised there had been enough time left over to gorge on the tarts he’d put in the oven before he left. 

Since he trusted his partner Tobirama didn’t offer the insult of going to check the order. Instead he mentally checked it off his list of things to do before heading in to the back to go wash his hands. There was still another order he needed to get a start on, although most of it would have to be finished tomorrow. He was fairly sure they wouldn’t have enough icing until their shipment arrived the next morning. 

A quick peek in to the fridge on his way by confirmed his suspicions. Although they still had a tub each of pink and white, yellow was running low and the red was all but entirely gone. If he tried to decorate anything he might have enough to use red for a couple of accents but certainly not enough to cover several dozen cookies in the pattern the order called for. It was a good thing all this wasn’t due to be picked up until late tomorrow. 

Hands clean, Tobirama tied an apron around his middle and began pulling out the ingredients necessary for making his specialty gingerbread, one of the quickest selling items on their menu every winter. When he was younger he never would have believed that life would take him here. As a child he’d mostly been obsessed with science and little else. Most of his career dreams had centered around NASA or biochemical research, plans for changing the world with his magnificent discoveries. Now he co-owned a bakery with his husband and spent most of his days rolling dough or decorating cakes, all in between manning the till and watching children’s faces light up as they picked out which treat they wanted to take home. It was hardly the auspicious career he’d always imagined but it was a good life, full and happy, one that he wouldn’t trade for anything. Not even for the trips to outer space he used to dream about. 

So lost in his own musings was he that it felt as though he’d only just begun mixing the dough when he looked down and found row upon row of perfectly shaped cookies all laid out before him. Some were made to look like people, some like trees, and others still were laid out in thick flat sheets with which he would later build a house. Gingerbread was always quite fun to work with. A quick count told him that he already had everything he needed as well as a couple of spares in case one or two of them burnt in the oven yet there was still just a bit of dough left over.

With a whimsical smile he reached for his tools again and began to shape a new pair of cookies.

Baking gingerbread didn’t take all that long, almost as much time as it took for them to cool once they were back out of the oven, and as he packaged everything to keep it safe for tomorrow he set his final two creations aside. It may have been a whim but he’d never sent anything out of this kitchen that hadn’t received his full effort and he wasn’t about to now. There was, after all, just enough red icing left - not to mention plenty of black. 

Madara was still draped across the couch in the front shop when Tobirama came out to check on him, one of their fancier order boxes in hand. The bellyache appeared to have passed and instead pulled the man down in to a light food coma. Long dark lashes fluttered against pale cheeks when Tobirama bent to stroke one of them, rousing his husband from what looked to a very peaceful if possibly undeserved nap. 

“Mnng? I wasn’t asleep.”

“Your snoring tells another story.” 

“T-that wasn’t snoring! I was just humming a song under my breath!” 

Lifting one eyebrow, Tobirama shook his head. “Mhm, very convincing.” 

“Shut up! What’s that? I didn’t think we had anything else going out today. Did I forget something?” Madara frowned and his eyes grew distant as he went over their orders for the week in his head. 

Rather than let him suffer Tobirama simply placed the box in his lap. 

“You forgot to greet me properly when I came back from running errands but I’ll forgive you for that just this once. These are for you, if you’ve still got room in your belly.” 

“Oh?” 

Always intrigued by the promise of more sweets, Madara plucked at the edge of the box to pull the tab keeping it closed out of its slot. He lifted the lid with an almost childish expression of anticipation that morphed in to a graceless full-mouthed gawk when he spotted the gift inside. Much to Tobirama’s horror, he caught sight of what looked to be tears gathering in his husband’s eye.

“Is that...us?” 

“Yes it is.”

“We’re holding hands. And you gave yourself a little fur collar just like your favorite jacket!” 

Tobirama rubbed sheepishly at the back of his neck. He really liked that jacket. “A little extra detail never hurt anyone,” he murmured as though in protest. 

He was mortified to see Madara cradle the cookies in one palm so he could use his other hand to gently stroke the little red icing lines marking where Tobirama had tattooed his own face during a rebellious youth. The number of times Madara had given those marks the same gentle attention were uncountable and it never failed to draw a little color in to his cheeks, embarrassed that his heart could be so softened by such a simple gesture. 

“Just eat them and go back to moaning about your belly,” he grumbled even as he leaned in to the touch. Madara huffed at him in amusement. 

“What brought this on, hm? I feel like I’m being rewarded for something.” 

“It was a whim and nothing more.” 

Something about that seemed the right thing to say as Madara puffed up like he’d been complimented, as though being gifted cookies made out of leftover dough were the greatest gesture of love. 

“Thinking about me, were you?” his husband asked with a sly undertone. 

“I am always thinking of you,” Tobirama admitted. It was true so he saw no reason to deny it. 

Madara blinked once. “Oh. Well...I’m always thinking of you too. So there!” 

Both of them blushing and flustered, two silly little gingerbread men still held ever so carefully in one of Madara’s palms, Tobirama was eternally grateful there were no customers in the shop to witness the disgustingly sweet scene they were surely making. With a rough clearing of his throat he pulled away and cast his eyes anywhere else in the room. 

“Right,” he said gruffly, “eat your cookies. I’m going to go take inventory so we can call in another supply order tomorrow.” Spinning on his heel relieved him of the sight of his beloved husband cradling such precious if silly gifts but it did not spare him the sound of a quiet voice trailing after his rapid footsteps. 

“I love you.” 

Tobirama wrinkled his nose against the wave of mushy feelings in his chest until the urge to turn around and throw himself down on the couch with his partner had faded. He stepped out with purpose, with dignity, with every intention of going to make himself useful for the rest of the afternoon. But he did pause in the doorway to the kitchen long enough to turn his head to one side. 

“Love you too,” he murmured. 

It felt like capitulation but, then, Madara had already won his heart many years before and the life they’d built together would always be sweeter than any treat he could bake for himself.