#I notice they give him a rose a lot on his lapels

[fleuraimer]

i NEED to hear your thoughts on reader's arguments with boxer!carmy. what's their first argument about? who usually caves first?

you, anon, are a hero and a scholar and are about to receive the greatest blurb in the history of the the tumblr industry (pls someone understand this reference 😭😭)

BUT IT ALL SERIOUSNESS, this is fucking gold; i love you for sending this.

tw!! ooooohh they get into it yall. carmen being a man (ik, i’m sorry). some suggestive content. happy ending.

bf boxer!carmy and reader fighting!!

concept 1. concept 2. bf boxer!carmy hcs.

ok, so, me thinks bf boxer!carmy and his pretty broad actually argue a lot. so often it teeters just on the edge of being unhealthy. but, they also know each other and realize they’re two petty asf ppl (😭😭). so, even though they argue often, it’s usually over stupid shit, or their little fears (like who was supposed to wash the dishes that night, or how carmy’s profession holds a great deal of power over his life, enough to take it away—

she tries hard not to think about it too much; that argument is a losing game).

if carmy’s being frank, it’s half the reason he’s so fucking obsessed in love with her. she’s feisty—she’s trouble, and carmy’s never been good at staying out of it, even before he was the one starting the fights.

however…

when they fight—oh boy! do they fight.

i��d like to think bf boxer!carmy has a hugeeeee jealousy problem (lil insecure loser ☹️🫶🏽), and so that’s usually how their more heated fights begin.

i think their very first BIG fight has to do with a mix of his jealousy issue and the nature of how their relationship came to be.

allow me to set the scene:

so carmy wins the fight against timmy boy (surprise??) and starts talking to his pretty broad, finds out her and timmy aren’t exclusive, just messing around, and takes the green light.

a few weeks go by and everything is going smoothly—you know, the usual, extravagant dates and expensive gifts, lots of pampering and affection from both ends; the rose-hued, honeymoon stage—and carmy invites her as his plus one to some big party/event for his job.

he knocks on the front door of her apartment at 7:15 pm on the dot with a stunning bouquet—baby’s breath and lilies and anemones—of flowers in his right hand. he’s dressed to the nines; a fitted black tux—double breasted, with peak lapels, and slightly high-waisted trousers—and a brown dress-shirt, first thee to four buttons undone (whore 🥸) with a black chiffon, nearly iridescent slip over it that makes that same brown look an earthy, rich green at a swift glance. one gold bracelet, one gold ring for each hand (middle and pinky fingers), his unnecessarily attractive little gold hoop earrings, and a simple gold crucifix hangin’ ‘round his neck.

he raps his busted knuckles against the door with his left hand, and then patiently leans against the frame and awaits the telltale sign of her heels against the hardwood floors.

he counts to seventeen before her front door is swinging open.

the first thing he notices is that smile (that smile, the one she only ever gives to him—not eddie (god forbid), or nacho, or benny, or fucking timmy—just him). pearly whites, with bow and cherry gems (i loveeee teeth gems if my pfp didn’t make that clear), on display, framed by those plump, painted lips—brown liner, blackberry pink lipstick, and a nice, shiny gloss—that never seem to leave his head; burned into his memory, melded to his mind.

his eyes drop to the baby pink toes he’s become far too fond of, the white strap and silver chain of her dior heels placed prettily over top. flits his appraising gaze up to her ankles, the left one wrapped in the anklet he gifted her on their fourth date, a (boxing) glove charm hanging from the gold link. up—up, up, up—they go, trailing the soft ruffles and tedious buttons lining her long sleeve knit dress, hem hitting just at her shin, tight fitting—cinched to her figure—with a swoop neckline that shows off just the right amount of cleavage.

he stops when his eyes find hers again, brown sugar and saccharine.

he pushes off the door frame and steps through, ‘til they’re standing toe to toe and her head is awkwardly bent backward so she can keep eye contact.

“hi, bear,” she chirps, soft and taunting. grins at him while her jewel adorned hands slide up the smooth lapels of his tux.

the left corner of his mouth kicks up into a smirk as he snakes his left arm around her waist, dragging her closer.

his head spins with the scent of cinnamon and evergreen, and he wants to nuzzle in her neck because of it.

“hey, cub,” he rumbles back, and neither of them acknowledge the way she practically melts into her, she just curls her fingers into his lapels, and he tightens his hold on her waist.

she looks at the flowers in his right hand, “those for me?”

carmy turns his head to look at the flowers, lifts his hand with a noisy crinkle to present ‘em to her.

still, he shakes his head, puts on his best poker face and huffs, “nah, i’m taking that real pretty broad down the hall on a date tonight. just dropping in to say ‘hi’.”

her grin drops, face flat, eyes narrowed.

she unfurls her fists from his jacket, starts pushing him away, out from where he came.

“well, since we’ve finished swapping pleasantries—”

this time when he huffs, he’s huffing out a laugh, “i’m kidding. hey, baby, i’m kidding. swear.” he drops the flowers (unimportant; he can get more if she really wants them) to the ground at the side of their feet and wraps his other arm around her waist, crowding her space, barely giving her room to breathe, let alone slip from his grasp.

she wriggles in his hold, still shoving uselessly at his firm chest. “carmen, let go—”

and, well he’s definitely in trouble, but there’s not much to be done about that now, is there?

he takes both her tiny, pounding fists and locks them behind her back in one fell swoop “never. now look at me.”

she looks into the hallway, just over his shoulder, to piss him off.

his eye threatens to twitch.

“look at me, cub. don’t make me say it again.”

she rolls her brown sugar eyes, but does thereafter shift her gaze to look at him. raises an impatient brow.

“i’m sorry for saying that. it was a shitty joke—”

“it wasn’t fucking funny, carm.”

he grunts, “all right. wasn’t funny, i’m sorry, baby.”

she continues to glare at him for another 30 to 45 seconds, but then her shoulders are slumping and her face is scrunching in that cute little pout and she’s whining like a sweet little baby.

“wasn’t funny, bear,” she grumbles, and carmy snickers.

“y’already said that; gimme a kiss.”

she shakes her head, fussy, and now it’s carmy’s turn to raise an impatient brow.

“what was that? speak up, baby.”

“no,” she groans, stomping her foot, trying to free her hands from behind her back, but there’s no way she’s getting out now, not if she wants to act like a brat.

“try again.”

“n—”

he yanks her into his chest, “try the fuck again.”

but when has she ever just willingly rolled over?

“let me go, carmen.”

“give me a fucking kiss, cub.”

—

they show up to carmy’s work gathering an hour and a half late, but who’s fucking fault is that (this, too, is a losing game)?

when they step into the venue together, all eyes immediately fall on them. how could they not?

carmen ‘carmy’ berzatto, the bear, and his new girl.

timothy ‘timmy’ grayson’s ex girl.

they don’t let it phase them, the side eye and poorly disguised whispering, just find their way to their way to the open bar and mingle with their inner circle.

the night quickly descends from business to casual, but that could just be because they were so late. as the older patrons slip out, the inconsequential jazz humming in the background is shut off, and then the ceiling is shaking with the bass of keep it g by asap rocky.

somehow, carmy’s on his second glass of bourbon and his girl just finished her third glass of wine and they’re…tipsy.

it’s not even like the song playing is inherently sexual, at all, really, but carmy’s lips are trailing over the back of her neck, uncoordinated—messy—and his fingers are digging into her hips because the way she’s fucking grinding on him should not be legal.

“god, cub,” he grunts in her ear, rolling his hips back into her.

“mhmm,” she moans in the back of her throat, subdued, swallowed down, and places her hands over his that grip at her like a lifeline. she lets her head fall back, settle in the crook of his neck so she can nose at the hinge of his jaw and suck a pretty hickey there, too.

he fully thrusts into her, the bass of the speakers muffling the too audible slap of their bodies connecting.

she squirms and squeaks, “bear!”

he growls, “what?”

she giggles in the shell of his ear. “down, boy. i gotta hit the restroom.”

carmy, very reluctantly, lets her slip from his grasp and venture to find the woman’s room. he nurses on another drink—whiskey, this time—but paces himself as he waits for his girl’s return.

that is, until he sees his girl in question talking with timothy fucking grayson. then, he downs the rest of his drink like water and calmly—calmly—walks up to them.

now, if (and this is a very big fucking if) carmen wasn’t being a complete a***** ******* ****** ***** *****, then maybe he would’ve noticed the rather unkempt state of his pretty broad, her soured expression and guarded body language.

he was being a complete redacted though, so he just steps behind her with his chest puffed and his jaw set, just itching for timmy to say something fucking stupid.

and that stupid fucking smirk on his stupid fucking face might scratch that itch just enough to satiate him.

“what’re y’doin’ with my girl, timmy?”

he doesn’t register the way she bristles against him at the term.

my girl.

“just makin’ friendly conversation,” he shrugs, still smirking, and carmy has never wanted his knuckles to split so fucking bad.

“friendly conversation?” he nearly coos back, the condescending, possessive prick. “why don’t y’find someone else to go make friendly conversation with, yeah? fuck off.”

he walks away before timmy boy gets the chance to respond, dragging his girl behind him.

when they make it back to the bar, he finally has the decency to assess his pretty broad. or, hound her, more like.

"what was he sayin' to you? and what the hell were you doin' with him in the fuckin' first place? if he bothers you again you come straight to me, understood?"

he's met with silence.

he frowns, looks down at his girl to find the same expression on her face, and goes to repeat himself. "i said, underst—"

"take me home, carmen."

his frown deepens. he bends in the knee to try and catch her eyes, but she turns her head away as soon as he glimpses her brown sugar irises.

"cub—"

"take me home, carmen. now."

and they've fought, all right? small tiffs here and there, "pick your fucking shoes up, carmen!", "stop fucking touching shit, carm!", "god, carmen, just leave me alone!" but this is different. deeper.

he's still frowning as he nods, mutters "okay," softly, as to not upset her any further, and places his hand on the small of her back to guide out of the venue doors and out to the valet.

usually, after a date, carmen will pull in to a parking space and get out first to open the passenger door for his girl and walk her up to her apartment, before either getting sent off with a goodnight kiss or getting tugged through her front door to continue where they'd left off.

this time, though, she out the door before the cars even full parked.

carmen rushes to keep up with her takes the stairs to her apartment two at a time.

"cub, wait up!"

she does no such thing.

in fact, she only seems to move faster in lieu of his request (brat).

he nearly misses his window to at least say goodnight to her, with the way she quickly keys into her home and tries to slam the door in his face, but a foot in the frame easily rectifies that.

"hey!" he barks at her, shoving the door open and slamming it shut after him.

"don't slam my damn door, carmen!"

"don't try to slam your damn door in my damn face, then!"

she frustratedly groans, arms flailing in exclamation. he watches her cautiously as she looks frantically for something—something, anything—before she's bending down to take off her dior heels.

clearly, something has pent up—boiled, festered—within her, because she chucks a shoe at his head (and for someone so unassuming, she has a damn good arm).

he ducks just before it can hit him, instead banging into the wall.

"what the fu— ow!"

she doesn't miss the second time.

"fuck you, carmen!" she screams at him.

"fuck you! you just threw your fucking shoe at my head! twice!"

"and you fucking deserved it," she cries, taking a step closer to him, pointing an accusatory finger. "you dick!"

"what the fuck did i do?" he shouts back, taking a step forward himself, brows furrowed in frustrated confusion.

"you— y-you—"

he takes another step toward her, "huh? i what? spit it the fuck out, baby."

not for the first time, she pouts like a kicked puppy, and her hands brace on his sturdy shoulders, and she pushes at him, angry. but, certainly for the first, carmy actually loses his balance. nearly trips over his feet with the way he stumbles backward.

"ugh, asshole! you made a bet!"

he frowns, bewildered. "what?"

"don't fucking lie to me, carm—"

"baby, what the fuck are you talking about?"

"stop fucking calling me that!" she screams, "with timothy! you made a bet with him before the fight, a bet on me!"

carmy's mouth hangs open, forming to phantom explanations that all fall too short or get too intimate—personal; she doesn't need to know the backstory, the why in his road to success. she can't, not yet. not so soon.

she shoves him again at his lack of response, and, for the second time, carmy stumbles back.

"fuck you, carmy!" she screams, eyes brimming and— fuck, she was not supposed to find out this way (well, ever, really, but surely not in this way). he racks his brain for sufficient a justification.

"fuck you, fuck you, fuck you! is that how you fucking see me? i'm just another belt you meatheads pass around and compete for? fucking kill yourselves over?"

"that's not true, baby—"

"i'm not your fucking baby!" she goes to shove him again, but he's ready this time, steeled. she throws her weight into each nudge and push and shove she gives to him, grunts and grumbles through the exertion of it, but he's stock-still like a statue now, and immovable force to be reckoned with.

"you done?" he mutters when she's huffin' and puffin' too hard to keep going.

her eyes snap from his chest to his baby blues, glaring. "fuck—!"

"—me? yeah, you've already said that, several times actually. now are you gonna let me explain, or do you wanna keep screamin'?"

her eyes, somehow, narrow further, teeth barred.

carmy prepares himself.

"do i wanna keep screamin'? well, since you fucking offered," she gripes, pounding her fists into his chest again. and he lets her. "you don't fucking think, do you? just puff your chest and fucking take it if you want it, right? god, carmen, i'm not some fucking toy—"

"i never implied that you were—"

"so you didn't bet you could fuck me better than timothy at the weigh-in?"

he snaps his mouth shut.

she scoffs, shakes her head. "un-fucking-believable," she mutters under her breath.

she sighs, and the (arguably) worst is over. but it's not like he necessarily welcomes the tears, either.

she sniffles, red-rimmed eyes sparkling in a pool of saltwater, and weakly shoves at his chest again.

"f-fuck you, bear," she weeps softly, voice cracking, head hanging, and carmy's never wanted to fix something so badly in his whole goddamn life. more than mikey. "i thought you fucking liked me—

"i do—!"

"stop lying—!"

and suddenly, carmen's had enough.

"be quiet," he barks.

the room falls silent.

he sighs, grips hers arms to keep her close and up right. drops his head to rest on hers, eye-to-eye, and she's too tuckered out to fight it.

his adams apple bobs, "i'm sorry, y/n," he whispers, and she doesn't think she's ever heard him so earnest before, so sad. "i'm sorry i made a bet on you, and hurt your feelings because of it. you're not a toy, or a belt, or any other prize, boxing or not; you're a human fucking being. and i'm sorry."

she sniffles again, and he takes her lack of shoving and yelling as clearance to continue.

"i'm not fucking sorry it worked, though." he can feel her tense, so he hurries on before she gets the wrong idea. "i'm not fucking sorry i saw you in that damn pink dress, in your damn pink heels, with you fucking pink toes. i'm not sorry that i talked to you after the match, and made good on my promise to timmy."

"carmen—"

he squeezes the sides of her shoulders, "i'm not sorry 'cause i do like you, cub, so fucking much."

she lifts her head, teary eyes blearily finding his, and she frowns up at him, like she doesn't believe him.

"why're lying?" she whimpers, all watery and sad sounding, and carmy just wants to swaddle her in a blanket and kiss her tears away.

he smiles gently at her, "m'not lyin', baby. do you think i'd still be here if all i wanted was a fuck and duck? that's what the ring girls are for, cub."

she makes a face at him, "ew! g-ross, carmy, don't—!"

he bites back a smirk. "you drive me insane," cuts her off, sliding his hands from her arms to her shea butter smooth palms. "you drive me up the fuckin' wall, actually. but i love that about you. i love that you don't take anyone's shit, including mine. love that you put me in my place, and tell me off when i step out of line." his tongue peaks out to lick his chapped bottom lip before he continues. "i love the way you curl up in a ball every night before bed because you can't sleep any other way, and i love the way you bitch and moan about your bones feelin' too stiff in the morning because of it." he regards her fondly, eyes flitting over every feature. “i love your teeth gems, and your long ass nails. i love it when you’re bare-faced and bushy-tailed, or when you’ve got a— what is it?”

she chokes on a snotty laugh, “a full beat?”

“a full beat!” he repeats, enthusiastic and beaming. they both take a moment to giggle, carmy’s hands finding purchase on her hips to draw her in, chest to chest. “i am sorry i hurt your feelings, cub, so fucking sorry. but i would make that bet ten fuckin’ thousand times over if it meant i’d end up anywhere with you.”

and now she’s crying for a whole different, much sweeter reason.

she pouts at him cutely, “bearrr!”

and it’s like nothing even happened.

“whaaat?” he groans, feigning annoyance. “snotty girl, look at those tears,” he tuts, “such a crybaby.”

“that’s not fair—!”

“hush,” he muses, walking them back toward her bedroom, deft fingers working to unfasten the many buttons of her dress. “you talk too much, anyone ever told you that? whatever, you should let me fuck you.”

“what?”

“you should let me fuck you.”

“you literally ate me out for an hour before we left, that’s why we were so fucking late. and who says you fuckin’ deserve it?”

carmy smirks, that’s his girl.

fuckin’ trouble.

he quirks a brow at her, fingers pausing their decent.

“you gonna let me earn it?”

—

a/n: hope u like it babies bc getting this done made me SICK (im serious i can’t fucking breathe right or swallow properly anymore 🙂‍↔️🫶🏽)

not proofread!!

[ambrozjas]

“thought you said you hated valentine’s.” you crossed your arms, leaning against the doorway as you looked at dallas. his fist was clenching a bouquet of crumpled up pink roses against his side, averting your gaze.

“yeah, whatever man. johnny said i should give these ta’you or somethin’.” he thrusted the flowers in your direction, finally looking up at you as his thick brown eyebrows furrowed with deceit when he tried continuing his grumbles of lies.

you merely stepped down your steps, softly resting the door back on its hinges as you step in front of dally, whose eyes never leave your frame.

as you stood in front of him, you looked down at the flowers in his hand, taking notice of the purples and yellow bruises littering his knuckles. the bruises that you so carefully cleaned up the night he came home to you, pressing soft kisses to each one in between mutters of reassurance, which surely but slowly lead to you being sprawled out on the couch below dallas. no matter how much dallas thought it was cheesy, you loved to annoy him with your sappy words of encouragement because although he claimed to hate it, you never missed how the tips of his ears grew red.

“y’know, you didn’t have to—“

“i told ya, johnny told me to drop these off. ‘s not like i’d actually go to the store jus’ for flowers.” even as a ‘hardened’ criminal, he had never managed to convince you whenever he lied.

you know he’d never admit it. you know that you should be grateful for whatever he’s said to you, because it’s likely that he’d never say it again. dallas didn’t love like a normal man, he loved like dallas. and that was okay with you.

so instead, you just smiled at the sentiment as you grabbed the flowers delicately, careful so as to not ruin them.

looking up at him through your lashes, you admired dallas. you had to admit, this was a pretty big step for him. yeah, he would sling an arm over your shoulder lazily and walk around town with you in a protective sort of way, but even doing small gestures like gifting you flowers was different for him. it almost made him feel small, and you were proud of him for it.

“you gonna kiss me, or what?” he teased, tilting his head up and looking down at you with a glint of smugness in his eyes. you scoffed amusedly and shook your head, pulling on the lapel of his leather jacket as you slammed his lips on yours. you can tell he’s been picking at them again because of the shaky thin ridges that outlined the untainted skin on his lips as they moved on yours.

you could call dallas winston a lot of things. he was brash, he was a criminal, he was aggressive, he was violent.

but that didn’t matter to you, because you called dallas, ‘dal’. and when he was ‘dal’ he was no longer any of these names that fell from the lips belonging to the judgmental eyes surrounding him. he was just dally, and that’s all that mattered to you.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ STOP BECAUSE I POURED MY HEART AND SOUL INTO THIS LITTLE BLURB FOR @rumble-aint-a-rumble-without-me’s VALENTINE’S EVENT !! HOPE YOU GUYS ENJOY !! CHECK OUT THEIR STUFF TOO 🫶🫶

kiss kiss ˗ˏˋ꒰ 🍒 ꒱

[gottawriteanegoortwo]

Mayor Attorney - The Charity Gala

Tonight was the night of the charity gala, one that had been highly anticipated for some time now. There had been a large drive across the city to organise small events to raise money for a good cause, and this gala was no different. The organisers had put a lot of care into making sure everything would go just right. The guest list included both the Mayor and the District Attorney, along with names that Damien eagerly reminded you of. People that had supported him in his campaign, patrons, and not a single person that would give him a stress headache trying to avoid for the entire night.

It was strange to know it was one that Damien had no direct involvement in, but that was a nice relief knowing that he might actually be able to enjoy himself. As Mayor, he would have to socialise and make his presence known, but you hoped he would have time to just be Damien for a little while.

It would be nice. The previous few weeks were too busy for both of you to find time for a date, and you had already agreed to attend this event together. Would it be wrong to make the most of the night?

-

You stood in front of the bathroom mirror so you could make the final adjustments to your hair. Your choice of outfit was a simple one - neat and black, plain and simple. It had been Damien's idea to co-ordinate with only black, but you couldn't ignore the suspicion bubbling up. Damien, a man who loves the chance to dress up nicely, the man who had once confessed that doing so was a 'guilty pleasure', opting for something ordinary? He had something planned.

But what? Damien wouldn't want to do anything that would throw him in the spotlight when he didn't want to be. He also wasn't someone who would add a flamboyant flair to his outfit. 

Before you could mull further on what said 'plan' could be, there was a knock on the door. He was here. Your hair would have to do. A coat with money in a buttoned-up pocket was plucked off a chair on your dash to the door.

Damien stood in the doorway like a lingering shadow. He had kept his side of the deal. His black suit was pristine, with barely a crease in sight. The mayoral ribbon he wore for public events was the perfect shade to blend in with the material. His shoes were barely visible thanks to your shadow obscuring them. Even his shirt and bowtie were barely discernable from the jacket. What you did notice was the lack of accessory on the right lapel. He was known for wearing a flower, and you had expected him to find a black blossom.

The cane was neatly tucked under his left arm so he could carefully hold a small bouquet of white roses with both hands, as though afraid a mere breeze would damage them.

"I'm sorry," he smiled bashfully when he noticed your eyes drop down to the flowers, "I know we had agreed that we weren't to give any gifts ahead of our 'date' but… they were in their prime, and I couldn't help but be reminded of your sweet smile. You look perfect tonight, my love." 

Ah, Damien. Roses might be a symbol of love, but you knew they were one of Damien's favourites, even before you two started dating. Once you let slip that you preferred the white blooms over the red ones, they became a reminder of you. You playfully rolled your eyes, accepted the bouquet, and invited him in so you could fetch a container of water to house them in. You would never be forgiven if they were left to dry out in the open air all night.

As you began placing the stems into their temporary, watery home, your gaze drifted over to Damien. He had stayed near the entrance, staying quiet so you could focus on your task and occupying himself with admiring the pictures on the wall. It was a common tactic he used for the sake of good manners. You waved a rose to get his attention, joking that you thought he had long lost 'guest' privilege by now.

You hit the nail on the head as he sheepishly chuckled and scratched his cheek.

"Ah. Yes. Well… This is a date, and I don't wish to behave so casually when it is the first time we've been together in a while." He paused as he noticed your wave beckoning him over. Who was he to argue with that? Slowly, he crossed the space to where you were working. "I simply want to make this a special night, and make sure you know how thankful I am that it is me you love." Your hands were preoccupied, and he took advantage of this to kiss your cheek.

The wall of formality was finally lowered, as Damien relaxed enough to engage in casual conversation about how the day went for both of you. His cane

For those few moments, you had forgotten the purpose of the night, until you glanced in his direction and was reminded of the empty lapel. You were quick to point this out.

"I did think one of my flowers would be a little too 'much' for a night that I have no involvement in. However, I did have an idea." He put his hand inside his jacket and pulled out two small, heart-shaped pins. One was red, the other was green. "A little gesture to show support, wouldn't you say?"

You flashed him a knowing smile. Your hunch was right, but you never would have expected how simple the act would be. He handed you the green pin so he could set to work putting the red one on your outfit.

"Sometimes, we have to remember the purpose for an event like this. It isn't merely to show how 'good' we are, or to make ourselves feel better. It's to help those who need it, and show that they aren't alone when it feels otherwise." With both pins in place, Damien stepped back to admire his handiwork. "There. Perfect."

You had a playful grin as you shook your head. You couldn't go just yet. His pin wasn't perfect, you claimed, as you reached back to the pin you had just put on him. He believed you, and that was his mistake. It left him open for your hands to swiftly move to either side of his face and pull him toward you for a kiss. When you leaned back, you saw a familiar lovestruck expression plastered on his face that you adored.

You asked if you should both get going to the gala. He nodded, leaning forward to close that gap between you one more time before it was time to go.

-

-

Do you want to help make a charity gala a success? Why don't you go check out Heropliers4Palestine, a week-long event dedicated to raising money to help the Palestine Children's Relief Fund (PCRF). Click here for more information on how you can support a good cause or help raise awareness, and get yourself something special and made just for you in return!

[sasuhinasno1fan]

Wish come true - Adrien AUGreste Day 7+8

So I'll be honest, I was a little hesitant with this chapter. It mainly came about because I wanted there to be a chance for them to take the Peacock, if to make things harder for Hawkmoth, as well as cover some events - because I totally forgot the Hero Day episodes happen at the end of s2. Side note, my time line is going to be all over the place. A lot of people during the Volpine episode pointed out that Plagg should of recognized the Peacock and the Grimoire but I believe Plagg is smart, he just does it in different ways. But when you mess with his kitten, that's when his smarts come out. Not to mention, Fu never gave Adrien the same respect he did Marinette because of some assumption that Plagg was bad. And that had to of pissed Plagg off, especially seeing how he was ready to just give up because he wasn't being respected. It's always my favourite thing in rewrite fics where the Ladybug - be it Marinette or a new holder - won't stand for their cat being pushed to the side. I was also worried about how easy things worked and how the kwami's worked to get what they wanted, so let me know what you think. 

Plagg

“It’s so stupid!” Adrien complained, dropping himself onto Luka’s bed. “How on earth could she think this is a good idea, put all that information about Miraculous and its connections to some secret society, not to mention how it could be connected to that missing Tibetan temple? It’s like she didn’t even think about Hawkmoth being able to see this stuff. Thank god we stopped her from posting about it. Alya is at risk of getting banned from a phone if she can’t control her urge to post everything she hears about Scarlet Bug and Catseye. How did she think she’d be helping to unmask Hawmoth if she’s handing him information?”

He looked over to Luka, who was plucking strings on his guitar, with large headphones over his ear. Noticing he was being stared at, he looked up, surprised to see Adrien.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, pushing his headphones off, the faint music of Jagged Stone spilling from it.

“I’ve been here for 5 minutes.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Luka apologised with a guilty look.

“It’s fine. I needed to vent. I kinda didn’t realise you had headphones on anyway.”

“Still, I should make it up to you. you sound upset.”

“Just Alya jumping into doing something without thinking again. I got it solved, so it’s fine. though,” Adrien shuffled closer, leaning in, “if you really want to make it up, I could think of something.”

Catching onto what Adrien meant, Luka put his guitar down and took his headphones off. “Oh? What did you have in mind?”

“I could go for a kiss.” Since the two finally had the chance to have their first kiss – and Adrien realised that kissing a person with snake bites was just as fun as a person with a tongue piercing – Adrien usually looked for any excuse to kiss Luka, who was more than happy to allow it.

“Well, I think that’s a fair trade for what I did.” He pressed a quick peck onto Adrien’s lips, smiling when Adrien pouted at him.

“I think I deserve more than that.”

“I suppose I could be convinced.”

Adrien took no time, dragging him in by the lapels of his jacket. He tilted his head, threading a hand into the blonde hair, sure he was messing up the pins he had in them. he felt Adrien’s lips tick up into a smile when his other hand found a place on his waist

“Whoops!” Rose said loudly, causing the two to pull apart. They watched her push Luka’s sister back out and towards the door. “That room is occupied.”

“Hey,” Adrien said, using a finger to pull Luka’s face down to stare at him, “I wasn’t done getting my apology.”

“How dare I. let me make it up to you.”

While both siblings were busy with the significant other, they didn’t notice their kwami’s whispering in the corner.

“You heard him, right? It’s Feast!” Plagg said. “We need to do something.”

“Well, it’s different than last time. Alya’s video wasn’t posted.”

“Yeah, but he was still at the unveiling with Nathalie. I realise now she must have figured it out as the peacock holder but she still had to of seen the marking on its forehead.”

“Yes, but she might not be able to do anything about it. the last Hero Day pushed her into putting it on, because even with Lila’s help, he was losing. He didn’t have Lila this time and he ran off when Luka and Juleka were able to stop all the Scarlet Akumas from even affecting people.”

Tikki was right. Last Hero Day went the way it did because of Lila. For some reason, this time, Lila hadn’t ever been akumatized. There was no incident to allow the Scarlet Akumas to take the control they did. Seeing Scarlet Bug and Catseye going around, capturing them and saving others from being caught by the reminded the city that they had to believe in their heroes. He still came out, attempting to use his power he gained to get the upper hand but with the help of Rena Rouge, Caprise and Queen Bee, they had him on the ropes before he disappeared. No Sentimonster appeared to help him get away, no Sentimonster had appeared at all with any other Akumatization. The Peacock was never used.

“But it might be this time. If it is, Fu is gonna run again and before you know it, it’ll be forcing a child to take the role of Guardian. Our kids were brave then, still jumping in without their Miraculous and I have no doubt these kids will do the same, but they’re smart this time. They’re not giving in as easy to following Fu’s rule. Are you really going to tell me you wish they didn’t do the same back then?” Plagg asked.

He knew she did, that Marinette opened up and asked Chat Noir for support instead of shouldering everything by herself. That she didn’t push him away so much. Plagg had told her what Adrien was going to do during Syren. He could have done it, he should of. Maybe it would have kept the ring away from Lila if someone else had it.

“You know, more than anything, that I selfishly want something to go wrong to where Ladybird and Blacky have to switch the holders, so I can get Adrien back. But I don’t want it at the risk of him losing his happiness. Right now, he’s kissing the daylights out of Ladybird and he couldn’t be happier. He has parents who love him, a life that he has control over. I want him back, but I also want him this happy.” Plagg confessed.

“I know. Trust me, I know.” Tikki said. “I want Marinette back too but her life is so less stressful without me there. She’s happier. Even if it’s without Adrien’s love.”

Plagg let out a scoffing laugh. “Honestly, I think at that time, those two wouldn’t have worked. They still put each other on pedestals. I wondered if Adrien would ever be in a really happy relationship, since Kagami wasn’t going anywhere much. I mean, they didn’t get farther than kisses on the cheek. It’s different with Luka.”

Tikki giggled. “Marinette almost got there with him, but her feelings were too strong for Adrien. Your right, maybe after time and growing, trying to see the other like how Chat Noir and Marinette saw each other, it could have worked, but maybe not. I guess we’ll never know.”

“As happy as we were with them as our holders then, they’re happier now without us. Even if eventually, we land back with them, that’s not going to happen for a while. But to keep it from happening sooner, we can’t let Gabriel figure out Fu now and he will if Feast is released.”

“So, what do we do? If the same thing happened as last time, they’d go after it tonight and Fu would take us back then.”

Plagg thought. He hadn’t heard much since he was with Juleka but he had her taking a call from Alix. She told her about what Alya had discovered about the different heroes throughout time and the mark of the Guardians they all wore. She’d been going on about how Adrien read Alya the riot act about posting sensitive information where Hawkmoth could see it, stopping her from actually posting her video explaining her findings.

“We might have the advantage. Trixx’s kit never posted the video this time, Adrien stopped her.”

“That’s right! So, Gabriel wouldn’t see it. and if Nathalie didn’t use the Peacock, if she still hasn’t, she wouldn’t sense the amok. But they have the Grimoire, the mark of the Guardians is on it, what if they realise it’s the same?”

Plagg thought harder. There was still so much he didn’t know about Gabriel and how he came to be in possession of the items. If their final battle had involved him and not Lila, maybe he’d know more, but for right now, he was going off what he learned about Adrien’s father.

“He could, but he’s smart. Without knowing about Feast as a Sentimonster, he’s not going to risk going after it. he’ll want to do research, maybe he’ll find out about the missing temple and that’ll get him curious but we don’t know. What I do know is this, we gotta tell the kids about this. and…we got to get the Peacock.”

“How? We can’t fix it without the Grimoire and we can’t read it. plus, how do we know Lila will let Juleka inside?”

“We get Fu to read it, once the kids threaten him. Oh, come on sugar cube,” Plagg said, seeing the scandalized look she got, “they already don’t trust him. If anything, this will get him to ease up. He’s still stalling in keeping Blacky in the loop. I won’t allow him to make another Adrien out of her.”

“You seem to have a plan already. so, what do we do? Tell them to keep an eye at the Louvre and wait for Juleka to go in for a meeting?”

Plagg shook his head, “No, modelling is dealt with through Nathalie. He might give the orders, but Gabriel leaves all that to her. She’s just direct Juleka to location. No, we need something else to get inside. And honestly, Lila might be the thing to do just that.”

“Lila? How?”

“Well, I know you said she wouldn’t let anyone near the house, but let’s be honest, he has to be wanting something to better her standing with her classes and everyone. Maybe such as a Student UN?”

The scandalized look got even bigger. “You want to send Adrien?”

                                         _____________________

“Please tell me you’re joking.” Adrien begged, staring at Mme. Bustier and M. Monlataing, who gave him both pitying looks. “Lila Agreste is participating in Model UN? She hasn’t been to school in two weeks.”

Mme, Bustier handed him a printed email. “Headmaster Damocles sent this to me. Apparently, Mlle. Sancoeur called and asked for her to be included. He agreed and is asking she be brought up to speed.”

“Who am I supposed to pair her with?” Adrien asked, still trying to wrap his head around Lila of all people, being involved in this. Lila? The same girl who yelled and snapped at him for no reason? Same one who seemed to have a mental breakdown the last time he really saw her? He knew her dad was something and no doubt wanted her to better her image, but there was no way this wouldn’t end badly.

“leave that part to us,” M. Monlataing said. “We just need you to go drop off the paperwork for her.”

He gave the art teacher Marc had become close with a look that asked if he was well. “I can’t stand her. You want me to go over to her house and give this to her?”

“Adrien, all you need to do is just pass the paperwork to Mlle. Sancoeur. She’ll get it to Lila and the only other time you’ll have to deal with her is during the Student UN. Besides, even then it’ll be minimal with all the other students and visiting students.”

Adrien threw his head back and groaned. He didn’t want to do this! he didn’t want to deal with her. There was the spoiled rich girls he’d dealt with his whole life and then there was her.

“fine.”

He took the papers and left, the teachers thankfully letting him leave. If they had anything else to say, they were smart enough to let him cool off first. Nino was waiting outside the classroom, blowing bubbles as he leaned on the railing as Adrien stormed past him.

“Can’t believe this. they couldn’t send someone else or just email them to her? What did I do to be punished like this?”

“Do you want me to come with you?” the DJ called as Adrien stomped down the stairs.

“Yes! If anything, to make sure you call my mom if I’m in there too long and the police start to show up.”

Nino thankfully was quite, letting Adrien vent as they made their way to the Agreste mansion, unaware Adrien had a hitchhiker. Plagg hid inside Adrien’s bag, being sent back to when he hide inside during school hours, before he started sneaking out and getting himself and Tikki into trouble. He’d learnt his lesson and hadn’t caused a Kwamibuster, though he was sure it would still come with the science teacher’s still present theory she kept with. He listened to Adrien curse, slipping into Italian as he did and thought about the few times Adrien would get angry enough to slip into other languages. Chinese, Japanese, English. He knew more languages now that he wasn’t forced to learn them, but Italian was the one that cropped up the most. It made him happy to see Adrien exhibit more anger, to really let lose. He knew it was a risk, making Adrien go to the Mansion that had once been his prison with Lila there, but he needed an in. it felt slightly like he was using him, but he also felt confident Adrien would be ok. He wasn’t like before, willing to back down for someone else’s happiness unless threatened. He was much stronger now. He wondered if Adrien had been like this back then, if he could have escaped earlier, set out on his own, away from his father and everyone who wanted something from him and really live. It probably would have been harder, but it’d be so worth it. more than anything, he wished he could have made Adrien that happy. He just had to hope that back then, even when he messed up, that he made Adrien happy. Thinking of the thankful smile Adrien had given him back then when they played the piano, he thought it was possible.

“Mio dio, I can’t believe I’m doing this.” Adrien complained as they arrived in front of the opposing gates.

“Dude, just ring the doorbell, explain you’re here to drop off paperwork and I’m sure this shoot will open and we can be on our way. Marinette’s helping Alya with more hero research and I want to go check out this new DJ set up at the music store. I’ll buy you so many cannolis after you do this.” Nino bribed, throwing an arm over his shoulder.

“It’s cannolo, and fine. let’s get this over with.”

Inside, Gabriel sat at his desk, staring at his computer screen, his fingers pressed together. Nathalie had taken a picture of the statue that had been unveiled the day before and just as she’d pointed out, it matched the mark on the book. The book held so much about the Miraculous, but it was all coded and throughout the years he hadn’t gotten close to figuring it out. All he knew was that the mark was the mark of the Guardians, the one who protected the Miraculous. But any trace of them vanished 200 years ago so any research was sketchy and unclear. Nooroo was no help, unknowing of the language it was written in. the statue had to be important though. If only he could figure out why.

“Sir,” Nathalie started, standing in her usual spot on the other side of his desk, “we could investigate it closer. Either through a private tour or even late at night.”

“Hawkmoth seen sneaking around the Louvre? Nathalie, I’d be arrested in seconds, or at least attacked by those two do-gooders.”

“Not Hawkmoth.”

“No!” this was a conversation that had been had multiple times since Hero Day, when he’d nearly been beaten by that superhero team. He had Nathalie, but her power boost could only do so much. He’d managed to disappear before they really defeated them only to find that Nathalie had taken the Peacock Miraculous ready to use it. “The Miraculous is broken, has been since Emile got it. I watched my wife get weaker and weaker with each use, getting dizzy until she was placed in the chamber below. You really think I’d let you put yourself at risk like that?”

“But sir!”

“Lady Nathalie?” Nooroo poked out from behind Gabriel’s chair. “I know you want to help but you have to listen. You could die if you use it too much. Duusu couldn’t stop it from hurting Lady Emile. Master can’t bring you both back if something were to happen. You’re a better help fully functioning and able to be akumatized. What would happen if you got a spell during then and Master had to pull back, even if he was right there?”

“He wouldn’t-”

Gabriel stood up, sending the chair back slightly. “Do you really think I wouldn’t? that I’d choose your health over anything else? Emile is the way she is because of the Miraculous. I won’t have it do that to someone else I care for. And if Nooroo is right, it will be worse and faster acting. You’re a better help to me healthy and in control.”

Nooroo took in Nathalie’s faintly red face as she looked down. he felt bad playing them like this, but with what he knew, he knew he could change things. His friends couldn’t save him and it led to Lila winning. This time, he had to try and save himself. He understood his master’s wish, but he also remembered what his Lady wanted and if he wanted to keep his promise from all those years ago, he needed to fix the game in his favour. Hawkmoth needed to be stopped from gaining more power.

“Of course, sir. I apologise for thinking such a thing.”

Gabriel cleared his throat, his neck turning slightly red himself as he pulled his chair in and sat down. “Yes, well. you have a point though. I can’t leave the house however, to many people will gawk. It would be better to akumatize you and send you in. perhaps I can do like I did with Vanisher to keep you invisible, but we’ll need a way to have your phone with you without it becoming national news of a floating phone.”

Before anything else could be discussed, the doorbell rang. Both pulled up the video feed from the front gate, sharing surprised looks at the person standing in front of the camera. What was Adrien Rossi doing there?

Opening the camera, Nathalie opened the mic on her iPad. “Yes? What is it?”

“Hi. I’m Adrien Rossi. I’m in class with Lila?”

“We know who you are Mr. Rossi. Why are you here now?”

“Right. Um, Mme. Bustier got your email about Lila joining the Model UN, so I’m just here to drop off the paperwork.” He explained, lifting a small stack of paper.

They shared looks again. Lila joining Model UN? An email sent to state that?

“Sir?” she asked, muting the mic.

“I leave all school things to you. this is the first I’m hearing about this.”

Unmuting the mic, Nathalie asked, “We have no record of this.”

“Uh? Are you sure? I have a copy of the email the headmaster sent her.”

They watched the feed as the young teen dug around his bag and pulled out another sheet of paper, holding it up to the camera. Nathalie examined it, zooming into the parts that listed the emails.

“That is the headmaster’s email. Could it be possible it was hacked?”

“To send my daughter to Model UN?” Gabriel asked sarcastically. They both knew it sounded like a long shot. “Have him come in. she needs to go back to school and better her standing. Perhaps this will help.”

Nodding, she unmuted the mic again. “Please come in so we can discuss this. just you.” she said, seeing the other person behind him. Nino Lahiffe, he DJed the show Style Queen had attacked.

“Oh, no. I was just dropping this off.” He seemed distressed at the idea of coming inside.

“I’m afraid I must insist.”

They watched his head tip back, the mic just picking up his groaning. Clearly, he didn’t want to come inside. They couldn’t hear what Nino had said to him as he stood back far enough but eventually, the blonde turned to the camera again and agreed. She had Gorilla lead him into the atelier. The two took him in, his muscle shirt almost exposing him had it not been for the crop top he wore underneath it, the flannel wrapped around his waist. His wrists were covered in many bracelets, many handmade and his scuffed sneakers squeaked slightly as he shifted his weight. His bag rattled with bells, most hanging from the many pins on display.

“Mr. Rossi, a pleasure to meet you in person.” Gabriel said, walking out from his desk to stand in front of him.

Looking at the two and glancing at the picture that hung up, Nathalie could almost believe they were father and son. While the boy shared similarities in looks with Emile, there was something about the way the two stood that screamed something. But she knew that wasn’t possible. Lila was their only child, gaining the red-haired gene through her father’s side and her green eyes from her mother, though her tanned skin didn’t fit fully. it had confused the couple not long after she was born that they even did a paternity test just to be sure they didn’t receive the wrong child, but she was 100% biologically theirs.

“So, what’s this about a Model UN my daughter is in?”

Adrien handed the email over. “I was just told after class that the headmaster was told by your assistant that you wanted Lila to join. I’ll be frank and tell you it’s a horrible idea because no one wants to work with her.”

“I seem to remember you not getting along with my daughter.” He said, taking the email.

A blonde eyebrow lifted, “She insulted my mother and I on my first day with no explanation. Trust me, we aren’t becoming friends anytime soon.”

He had guts, Nathalie will give him that.

“So, how is it you came to be the one to deliver this news if you don’t get along?”

“I’m heading the Student UN, so I was given the task. I was just told to give it to your secretary.”

“Except this is the first we’re hearing of this. Nathalie hasn’t heard anything about this, especially since she hasn’t been to school recently.”

Adrien also handed him the stack he’d been holding before, crossing his arms and rocking on his feet. He didn’t say much, but Gabriel got the point. Such rudeness would usually gain a reaction from him and it would be so easy to akumatize the teen in front of him but he knew his current mood stemmed from his daughter, still locked in her room upstairs. Since she’d started modelling, he’d been having to give passes on people’s reaction to her behaviour.

Plagg slowly peeked out of Adrien’s bag, watching the designer pace slightly as he read the papers. He glanced at Nathalie, who stood next to Adrien. She was sharp, rarely missed a thing so he was going to have to be careful. The plan was risky for getting them out of the room, out of the house really. It had barely worked the first time he went against Style Queen. It tended to get out of control and this was one of those times he needed it to be in control. But he needed to wait until they were distracted for him to get out. It was weird though, seeing Adrien in this same room that was so full of hurt and dismissal and acting like a regular teen. It was fulfilling.

Adrien took in the mosaic picture that hung up. “Is that your wife? Emile Graham de Vanily?” at the designer’s look, Adrien shrugged. “I saw Solitude. She was really amazing.”

“It’s quite hard to get that movie. There’s only one DVD copy.”

“When my mama was restationed in Italy for a few months, there was a film festival in Sicily she took me to as a gift for missing the chance to see Jagged Stone. They were featuring private production studios and Graham Films was one of them. it was my favourite movie of the night. the opening scene always resonated with me for some reason.”

As everyone focused on the painting, Plagg darted out and into a nearby plant. Nathalie did turn her head at the sound but seeing nothing, she brushed it off.

“Yes. She was quite amazing in it. now, this seems like it would be a good fit for my daughter. If I can guarantee she’ll be on her best behaviour, will you accept her? I’d also be willing to make a donation towards anything needed for the event.”

Adrien frowned but sighed. “The donation might not be necessary. The Italian Embassy as well as a few others are sending supplies. There’s also a possibility of the actual UN sending something as well, that’s still up in the air. But yes, if she can keep her comments to herself, she should be fine.”

Just then, the whole house shook, leaving them scrambling for balance.

“What’s going on?” Adrien asked.

“An earthquake?” Nathalie questioned, looking as everything shook around them, spotting a few cracks appearing in the walls. “We need to evacuate, quickly!”

“But-” Gabriel started, looking at the painting, knowing about the things behind it. the people behind it.

“Sir now!” Nathalie ordered, grabbing Adrien and leading him to the door, Gabriel following after. Gorilla met them halfway, gesturing to the door before heading up the stairs to Lila. The shaking slowly came to a stop once outside in the driveway, standing in the centre away from anything. A few trees outside the residence were tilted, phone lines and wires drooping as well. it was silent of creatures though nearby car alarms blared. “Are you alright?” she asked Adrien, who was looking past the gate for Nino. One of the gate sides had tilted off its post, leaving room that Nino was squeezing through. “Be careful!” she called to him.

Gorilla came out, looking behind him, stopping when no one followed. Gaberiel started back towards the house when Lila finally came out. Her hair was out and she was dressed in a hastily thrown on dress and her eyes narrowed at the sight of Adrien and Nino, who came running over.

“What is he doing here?” she demanded.

“Lila, where were you?”

She ignored her father, instead glaring at Adrien who rolled his eyes and turned his back on her.

                                    _______________________

Back inside the office, Plagg waited from the table he’d knocked the vase from to get Lila to come by the office. It was a risk; on the chance she could take advantage and take something but she seemed to think better of it. getting into the safe was risky without the code, seeing how it was still hanging. But if things went how he planned and Gabriel realised it was missing, he’d have to suspect people who weren’t with him and Lila took the longest to leave.

“Plagg?”

He turned, letting out an elated cry at the sight of Nooroo. He slammed into the purple kwami, holding on as tight as possible. He was sure he’d be with Gabriel; he wasn’t expecting to see him.

“You’re ok! I mean, you’re still with him, but you’re ok!”

“I didn’t think I’d see you this time.”

“I’m sorry! I should have known! I was right here and I didn’t even notice.” He started to apologize, pulling away. “Only when Adrien found the crypt and his mom did, I realise. But he needed to get out before his dad found him and he was my kitten and I had to.”

“I know! I was down there. I had to tell Master what Adrien had found. Maybe if I didn’t, he wouldn’t have gotten Lila akumatized again to get the Miraculous. He was so sure she’d answer his call to the letter, he couldn’t waste time when Adrien knew. He had to make the wish to make things better.”

“Seeing him hurt like that…it killed me. Killed me more watching her knock him around after she knocked him out but I got her in the end. She hasn’t shown up as an akuma. How?”

Nooroo gave a slight smirk. “Me. If I was going to be controlled by him again, I was going to have him play by my rules. I convinced him that she wouldn’t listen if he did. She practically did the work for me with how she acts. She still hasn’t learned no one will play to her rules.”

Plagg gave his own smirk. “Well, she does think she has Adrien’s life. She thinks it automatically means respect and people believing in you. that wasn’t his name, that was all him.”

“You don’t belong to him, do you? wait, don’t answer that. I almost forgot you can’t tell me anyway. It doesn’t matter. He’s happy now, right?” Plagg nodded. “Then that’s all that matters. Now why are you here? I know you, you’re impulsive but you wouldn’t risk this with Lila so close by. Is this about Feast?”

“Its release gave him information about Fu, helped him focus on tracking him down. the kids don’t have the Grimoire, it never left the mansion so Fu never got it. only met the kids because Tikki got sick again. I’m not gonna let him run again and make him force guardianship onto a kid again.”

“You need them both? The Peacock and the book?”

“I’ll return the Grimoire, but we’ll need to keep the Peacock. The extra boost it gave him, he can’t have it.”

Nooroo looked worried. “But, if you remove the feather, it’ll reverse everything, the Temple will return, along with the Guardians. What if they reappear sooner to take you back?”

“Those old farts listen to us. They’ll listen even more once they realise a wish has been made. It’s a risk, might make him want to find out more but if it can keep him from Fu a bit longer, it’ll be worth it. come on, if they can stop him faster, isn’t that what you want?” Plagg asked.

“I want to stop hurting people.” Nooroo admitted. “I can tell you how to fix it if you want to do it before dealing with Feast, but it’s expensive without Gaberiel’s connections.”

“Fu will deal with that later. Can you help me get what I need?”

Nooroo looked to where the main camera was. It wouldn’t catch them, but it would catch a floating book and broach. Plagg was right though. Finding Fu had made Gabreil stronger and if they could stop it this time, it would be a godsend. He took Plagg in, looking at the more serious and focused than he ever had before.

“You’ve changed. I know we both have, but I wasn’t expecting this.”

Plagg looked wistful. “If I had it my way, I’d have my kitten no matter what. But even though this wish changed everything, he’s happier than he’s ever been and I’m not going to let him lose that.”

“Not without you. I saw how he needed you then. He might be a different happy, but I don’t think he’d ever be happier than when he was with you. I felt his emotions go from sad to happy in moments, even feeling happiness mixed with frustration that always seemed familiar amongst your holders. You made him happier than you could ever know. Come on, I’ll get the picture off and the safe open, you mess with the camera up there.”

                                 ________________________________

“Late last night at the Louvre, the Tibetan Statue that was said to be connected to a missing temple came to life. Security cameras caught the statue crumble to pieces before a blue creature came crawling out. It seemed to struggle with something, even attempting to run away when it burst into bubbles, leaving only a staff. The familiar figure of Scarlet Bug was then seen breaking the staff, capturing an item that escaped. People are now questioning if Hawkmoth had managed to Akumatize that statue or if the statue itself had always been an akumatized item. In other news, in the same area the statue was said to of been found, a temple has reappeared in perfect condition after it disappeared nearly 200 years ago. We’ve been unable to approach the temple as the Chinese Government who has control over the country refuse to allow entry to the mountain it is on. it begs the question of its reappearance being connected to the same possible akuma Scarlet Bug was seen dealing with the night before.”

Fu watched the news cast on his phone, biting his lip. When he’d seen the news of the unveiling, his heart stopped. His biggest mistake, there for the world to see. He looked up at Luka, who stood leaning against the wall glaring at him.

“I know I caused a mess.”

“I get why it happened. really, I do. You were put into the worst situation and you reacted with what you could. But you messed up and then you ran from it. be honest, would you have run again?”

“Yes.”

Plagg was with Luka instead of Tikki, looking at him like he knew all the answers. He looked at him in a way that reminded him that Plagg was a god.

“You do not entrust two school age kids with a powerful object, turn your back on one of them for the stupidest reason and then try to run when it gets hard. Do you want to make it up to the Guardians for what you did? Make up for losing the Butterfly and Peacock, which my sister – the same girl you refuse to allow to learn about the things she can do – used last night to fix your mistake by the way.”

“Where did you find it?”

“I didn’t find it, Plagg did.”

“And I’m not gonna say where. You have a habit of keeping secrets when you shouldn’t from us cats so we get to keep secrets now.”

“Hawkmoth must have had it! you must tell me.”

He stopped at the sight of Plagg’s eyes glowing. “I don’t have to tell you anything. You answer to the Kwami, not the other way around. I let you underestimate me because I couldn’t be bothered, but you’ve hurt my kittens before and I’m not going to let you do it again. So, things are going to work differently now. Luka?”

“We have all the pages from the Grimoire. The Kwami only know certain things, like Wyazz knowing the powerup spells and Plagg knowing how to fix the Peacock. You are going to teach us, both of us, how to read it. you aren’t going to keep secrets. If we need you, you have to answer. We’re the ones you sent to go fight a mess you made, so you don’t make final decisions, not anymore. And if the Guardians come, you will explain what you did and convince them to help us. Remind them that their ways made the mess and if they want it fixed, it’s gotta to change. Including how you treat my sister. If it wasn’t for Plagg, there’s a chance Hawkmoth could have gotten to Feast. So, stop looking down at him.”

“Don’t worry.” Plagg reassured, a smirk on his face worthy of a God of Chaos. “he knows better now.”

                                       _________________________

“You really didn’t have to scare him.” Tikki said, looking down at Juleka, who was still laying in bed but with her female friends and girlfriend around, including Kagami. The whole class came to visit and were taking turns.

“Yes, I did. Thanks to him, two of my kittens have gone through things that could have been avoided. I know, I know, if he didn’t mess up, I wouldn’t have met Adrien. And yeah, Fu didn’t make Adrien’s dad the way he was but his obsession with the Miraculous didn’t help.” He looked over to the side of the room where Luka was leaning against the wall on his side, Adrien leaning against him. He was talking softly to Luka who still had the same worried look he had when Juleka dropped her Peacock transformation, coughing and complaining of a dizzy head. And he thought seeing Adrien collapse after using Cataclysm and Black Hole was scary. Adrien had seen Nathalie and his mother do it and his concern was brushed off. Watching him with Luka now, he knew Adrien wouldn’t brush the worry off.

“It’ll be ok. You said Nooroo was playing him?” Tikki reassured.

“Yeah, but he’s smart and Lila…”

“Until we’re certain, all we can do is protect them, just like we always do. And if things go wrong, we’ll be ready.”

They would be, they had to be.

[clatoera]

Chapter 7: All These People Think Loves for Show

Heeeeeey besties. Sorry for 1. this being late and 2. this being one of the shortest chapters yet. I had the busiest week of my life, and also, changed the direction of the chapter.  Originally it covered a lot more, however, it covers the immediate night following the last chapter.  It is shorter (12 pages) but it is very very important. It is a wakeup call. 

I do want to put a TW on this chapter because there is a recounting of the sexual abuse victors face (It’s not cato or clove, but its in here.)

Chapter title from Peace (t swift)

AO3

Masterpost

Alright. Here we go. 

The falling of their feet is the only sound as they are led down long marble hallways, neither daring to even breathe out loud. Their interlaced fingers are the only way they allow themselves to touch the other, otherwise their bodies are locked with straight backs and straight faces. They are deeply trained in composure, never wavering from the militant composition of the career victors that they are.

If Clove feels the way his hand trembles just a little, she responds only by holding tighter and steadying him.

If Cato notices the way her breathing increased, just so imperceptibly that only someone who knew her habits better than she herself did would notice, he just brushes his thumb over her knuckles.

They’ve done nothing wrong, they’ve done nothing wrong, they’ve done nothing wrong.

She gives him a side glance, and while anyone else would see the fiery victor expression on her face, Cato notices something he never wanted nor expected to see in the eyes of Clove Kentwell.

Fear.

Sure, they had grown up knowing the glory and pride of being Victors, but it did not quell the anxiety and tension that results from being called into the President’s office. Nothing good could come from an audience with President Snow, no matter if you were the perfect, most ideal Victors in Panem or not.

They are placed before a heavy oak door, and their hands fall to their respective sides. The look on their faces is one of intention as their impeccable training comes to the forefront of their demeanors.

The double doors swing inwards away from them, and they are led inside with heads held high, hiding  the wave of nausea that hits Clove and the chill that runs down Cato’s spine.

The makings of an office has been set up, with a sturdy mahogany desk and two cushioned chairs. A full, lush vase of white roses sits to both the left and right of the desk, a horrifying frame to the face of the man sitting on the other end of the desk.

President Snow is an impeccably dressed man in  pressed, baroque, black on black suit with a shimmering white flower in his lapel. His grin is wicked, more serpent than man, and if he had drawn back his lip neither would have been shocked to see fangs pierce through.

Clove feels her feet slow, her body begging her to turn and run, run far far away from this python and his suffocating grasp.  There is a metallic tang in the air, the smell of blood and venom.

There was no good intention in calling this meeting.

They are led by two guards to the plush seats across from their president, and from the tension she sees feels in Cato’s shoulders, she knows he’s on the defensive, like he would catch the snake in his bare hands if it lunged at them.  

There is no way to do that, not with the power their host holds.  

“Mr. Hadley, Miss. Kentwell. It’s lovely to see the two of you.” And oh, when the man smiles at them Clove’s blood runs as cold as the reptile’s itself. “Tell me, how have you two enjoyed the privileges and spoils allotted to you by the grace of the Capitol.” He pulls a ceramic, floral tea cup before him, stirring absently with a little golden spoon. “You share the home, of course,  but I’m sure you are certainly getting good …use…out of the space, yes?”

Neither Cato nor Clove get the chance to respond, to question how he knows such intimate details of their lives, and Clove is thankful considering her mouth is dry simply from the sneer of the man before them.

“Who lives in that other house, then? Is it your family, Mr. Hadley? That little sister of yours..so young, isn’t she?”

Clove sees the way Cato’s knuckles lose all the blood, flushing pure white as he absolutely grips at the arms of the chair. He is not one to hold himself back, he has never been capable of suppressing his rage.

She knows he is using every semblance of self control that he has, and she can’t help but wonder if it was intentional to provoke him, knowing he has the temper of a petulant child and the hands of an experienced killer.

She reaches out and places her hand on top of Cato’s  fist, squeezing not only to cover the way he is grasping at the wood, but also to both warn and assure him.

I know, I understand, but you can’t.

“We are so thankful for the generosity and opportunities granted to us by the Capitol.” Clove assured diplomatically, strumming her fingers on top of her boyfriends, a soothing, calming cadence to them both. “We know how fortunate we are, we don’t forget that.”

“And it would serve you well not to forget that.” Snow raises the porcelain cup to his lips, and Clove for a second would swear she saw the familiar tint of blood in along his teeth.  

Cato flips his palm and threads his fingers through hers, tightly squeezing until he can feel the bones under her skin shift, the message he wordlessly sends her clear. A united front, no matter what comes their way.

“Our two newest victors..do you believe they will be happy sharing a victor’s home in their district, as well?” His eyes narrow as he glances between them, the smile that grows on his face unnaturally tight– inhuman, really.

Clove knows that no, after watching those little District Twelve kids, that the girl especially would rather be on her own. She has a family back home, that was her whole angle, of course she’d want her own space. Maybe the boy would like it. He seemed earnestly into that girl, but he also doesn’t seem the type to push her into cohabitation or encroach on her personal space outside the games.

Clove can hear a voice in the back of her head, back from her tour, Victors take care of each other.  Those kids, bad acting, fake love or not, they were part of that now.

“I’m sure they will be very grateful for whatever they are given–”

“Don’t lie to me, Miss Kentwell. It doesn’t suit you.”

She is absolutely frozen, but she is thankful that her body did not betray her by trying to crawl out of her skin. Truly, her bones felt like they were trying to escape her flesh, to run and hide far, far away from the look of this man.

“Do you truly believe that story of the star crossed lovers from district twelve?” He hisses in their general direction, and it is Cato now who chimes in.

“No…I don’t.” Cato admits, leaning back in his chair, crossing his left ankle over his right knee now. It’s a far more relaxed posture, but that's exactly what it is- posturing. “It seemed forced.”

Clove shoots him a side glance, worrying what hole he is burying them into, what grave he is digging for them both. The briefest of glances he shoots her way tells her all she needs to know. Cato always had nothing if not excellent self preservation skills. The two of them are going to survive this, and there is nothing and no one he will spare to keep them safe.

“Exactly. And do you think the people watching saw that it was forced?”

“Some did.” Clove admits, shaking her head earnestly. “Some people believed it, they had to. But there are some who saw through her.”

“And that's my concern.” President Snow warns, pushing his cup and saucer away before folding his hands over the table. “What do you think those who don’t believe this little fairy tale saw? Not childish love, no-”

Clove knows what they saw, because she herself saw it. She saw the spark of resistance in the girl on fire, the glint of something deeper, far beyond teenage love in the handful of berries.

He does not need her to fill in that blank.

Cato and Clove sit silently, staring with wide, bewildered expressions at their leader. He did not bring them here to talk about Katniss Everdeen, surely?

Unless that is exactly why he brought them before him.

“What can we do?” Cato offers, leaning back in to rest his elbows on his knees. “Why are we here?”

“You’re going to distract from them.” He instructs, leaning back in his chair. “You are going to remind the world of what an honor and a privilege it is to be victors, and victors together at that. The two of you…represent exactly what it should mean to win the Hunger Games.”

Clove shifts uncomfortably, her heart racing in the cage of her chest at the realization that despite all they have won, their lives are not going to be the peaceful post-games haze they had planned. The shift is imperceivable to Snow, but may as well have been a leap to Cato.

“Everything they do, you will do. Every picture of them, there will be one of you. Every step they take, you will take it grander, bigger, and brighter. You two are where we want the attention to be. You will remind Panem, what it means to be Victors. You will remind Panem what it looks like to be young and in love.” He leans back in the desk chair, removing the flower from his coat jacket. “You understand me, yes?”

Clove nods, Cato pulling her to her feet as the guards approach them and indicate it is time for them to rise to leave.

“We understand.”

“Understood.”

“Good. After all, You do have that little sister, don’t you Cato? It would be a shame if you were to let her down.” Clove grabs Cato’s arm just at the time she feels his body clench to lean in towards the President.

As they are ushered out of the room, Cato swears he can hear him laughing to himself.

–

The second they are back on the District Two floor, his fist is through the mirror hanging just inside the door.  The glass shatters through the door and slices through his skin, rivulets of blood running down his forearm.

Enobaria and Brutus are on them in seconds, just as her hand wraps around his bleeding wrist.

“Hurting yourself isn’t getting us out of this, dumbass.” Clove snarls, though she is already picking the minute splinters of glass out of his hand with the tips of her finger nails. “It’d probably make it worse, if you did.”

“What did he want?”” Enobaria takes Clove’s face in her hands, tilting her to look at her and, if Clove didn’t know better, she’d assume she was looking for any injuries or marks on her face.

“Are you two okay?”

“He wants to show us off like little fucking show ponies, thats what he wants.” He rips his hands away from Clove, flexing and extending his wrist to bring back the feeling in his fingers. “Use us to distract from those twelve idiots. We did not win the games to be fucking distractions for district fucking twelve.”

“We’re supposed to…I don’t know. Be the antithesis of Katniss and Peeta, I don’t know.” Clove shakes her head, the reality of it slowly coming down onto her shoulders. “I don’t know he just..he wants us to like..”

“He wants us to never have a day of fucking peace.” Cato snaps, holding his bleeding hand against his shirt to stave off the bleeding. “I thought the whole point of winning the games was to have the life you wanted after-”

“That’s where you’re wrong.” Brutus places a hand on Cato’s shoulder, steading and calming him at least long enough to hear the conversation before he goes about destroying the rest of the apartment. “The games don’t just end. Once you win..it’s for life.”

“You knew this was going to happen, once you became mentors, your private life will never be private.” Enobaria notices then, the way Clove is nearly translucent pale, swaying ever so slightly back and forth. She braces her shoulders, holding the girl both steady and upright. “Cato, go fix your hand, Clove come with me.”

“I’m fine Enobaria-”

“I said go fix your damn hand!” Enobaria pulls into her bedroom, shutting the door just in time to see Clove on her knees gagging into the nearest trash can.

“Oh…Clove.” Enobaria slides to her knees beside the girl, gently gathering her dark hair to the nape of her neck and holding it out of the way. “It’s going to be okay.”

“No it isn’t” Clove heaves, violently grasping for anything to hold onto and landing on the free end of the trash bin. “It’s not okay.”

“It’s just a little while..” Enobaira coaxes, though she knows she’s lying to the girl. It’s forever, and they both know the harsh reality of it.

“He threatened Cato’s little sister. You know, Cora? She’s four. He knew about her and he all but said that if we don’t-” Clove chokes out, her body desperately trying to rid itself of anything that will hold her down in the case she needs to run. “Do you think he’d actually-”

“Yes.” Enobaria wraps her arms around Clove’s back, rubbing little circles between her shoulder blades and taking herself back sixteen years. “That’s what happened to Johanna. And how he threatens Finnick to keep in line. I think you need to talk to them.” She feels Clove’s torso tense with another heave and simply holds her tighter. “I’m sorry, Clove.”

“We never get out of this, do we? This is forever now, huh?” Clove whines, laying her head on the rim of the plastic receptacle. “If it’s not Cora it’ll be you or his mother or– no one will be safe from us.”

“No, you don’t. You just play the game, kid. You just play the game.” Enobaria rests her head on top of Clove’s shoulders, holding the girl through every wave of debilitating nausea that overcomes her. “And we survive it. That's all we can do.”

Clove groans, leaning back into the arms of her mentor as she tries to hold herself upright. “I didn’t know that was the life we were signing up for.”

“None of us did.” Enobaria agrees, leaning against the wall to support them both. “You know, the last time you got so upset you threw up, you were twelve.  You were so pissed that you were told you didn’t get to volunteer, even though it was your first year of even being eligible-”

“I was the best then, too.” Clove teases, a shaky breath escaping her as she brings her head to rest on the wall next to Enobaria, half on the wall half on her shoulder. . “Not my fault I thought I had it in the bag.” She shutters, her body coming down from the adrenaline rush that had her on her knees moments ago. “It was the smell, Enobaira. And the way he looked at us.”

Clove thinks back on being a child, of how desperately she wanted to prove she could win, prove her mother was just a fluke, and she can’t stop her mind from wandering to exactly what their lives would have been had her mother won or had she won as a child. She surely would not have been spared the fate of the Finnicks and Glimmers if not for her very public connection to Cato. LIkely, neither would her mother, for even having been the teenage mother of a toddler likely would not have shielded her from the prying eyes and demands of the capitol.

No, Clove can’t put into words the relief she has that she was shielded from this reality for as long as she was.

The sound of the main door opening has Enobaira lifting her head, but Clove doesn’t have the energy. She keeps her head nested between the wall and Enobaria’s forehead, focused on bringing her heart back to a stable rhythm in her chest.

“Your friend’s here.” Enobaria slides her arm out from under Clove’s head, and pushes herself to a standing position. “She thought you were getting told about a…different assignment. She wanted to come talk to you about it..”

“My friend? Assignment? What?”

Clove’s –begrudgingly to admit- blonde friend stands in the doorway to Clove’s room, having been directed by either Cato or Brutus. Enobaria sees herself out, shutting the door behind them to give the two young girls time alone.

“Hi, Clove.” Glimmer gracefully lowers herself to the ground, kicking her long legs out in front of her and crossing her heels. She tosses her hair behind her shoulder with a melancholy, sympathetic smile. “It won’t be as bad as it seems, I promise.”

“Glimmer I don’t think-” She shakes her head, though the rapid motion sends her barely grasped stability out the window and has her bend back over the trash can.

“Oh, ew, okay. Why are you throwing up-” Glimmer’s mouth falls open in a gasp, as she leans in forward. “You’re not like-”

“No! Glimmer!” She chokes out, rapidly shaking her head in the negative. “I just got so angry– god and the smell, glim, he smelled like–”

“Corpse and flowers. I know.”  Glimmer sits on her feet, now her turn to reach in and hold back Clove’s dark hair. “It’s not that bad though. Well. It is bad. But it’s only a few days a month, and most of the time if you just close your eyes and fake it it’s over fast-”

“What are you talking about?”

“The sex, Clove, the sex isn’t-”

Her eyes go incredibly wide as her head shoots up, a look of indescribable horror on her features “You’ve fucked the president-”

It’s Glimmer who’s pretty face twists into one of complete horror, her turn to shake her head violently. “What? No. Absolutely not. Well, he’s the one who requires us to do it.” Glimmer gently and quickly likely braids back Clove’s hair, using one of the braid loops to secure the rest at the base of her neck and out of the way. “It’s…It isn’t good, Clove, but. You just have to lay there. Most of them don’t even care if you react, I don’t. And maybe they’ll even want you to cut them up, considering who you are.” Glimmer leans against the wall, side by side with Clove, their shoulders touching but not looking at each other. It’s as close to physical touch as Clove allows, but for some reason, she thinks Glimmer may actually need the comfort of it right now.

Clove doesn’t have it in her to cut off Glimmer yet, not when she was willing to come share something clearly traumatizing for her. Not when she came to her, probably at great risk to herself.  

“It’ll hurt, sometimes. A lot of the time. It’ll hurt.I won’t lie to you, because that’s not fair to you. Mostly you just lay there, but sometimes Clove.. and sometimes you’ll go home with bruises, but they’ll make sure to get rid of anything that can scar.” Glimmer’s voice wavers, far quieter than the bright and bubbly soprano sound Clove is so used to hearing from her. She pulls up the hem of her sparkling, shimmering pink skirt and tugs it up just a few inches, and if Clove weren’t out of stomach contents she is sure she would be sicker than before.

“Oh my god Glimmer what happened to you?” She takes in the finger print shaped bruises that litter her tan thigh, in various stages of healing. One hand is clearly old, green and yellow in tones, while another is bright, screaming purple and blue, very very new bruises. “Who-”

“I told you. They leave bruises.” She pulls down the hem, and instead pulls up the bottom of her shirt, revealing to clove the distinct bruises of hands that clearly grabbed her hips a little too tightly. “Clove it’s terrible but please, if you fight back too much they’ll hurt you more. I know that's not you but..”

“Glimmer, he’s not-”

“I’m sure he threatened your family, right? Between me, my sister, and my brother.. There’s too much at stake. Marvel doesn’t get it as often as we do. They’re not as bad to him. Finnick gets it worse than anyone.. He has a lot to lose, too.”  Glimmer drops her shirt, and curls her knees up to her chest before closing her eyes. “I don’t think it ever gets easier but…you go home after and you smile and pretend it didn’t happen, you know? If you’re lucky, which you are, you get to go home and at least be treated kindly by someone who loves you, and you get to not think about it for a few days, and you get to think about how it doesn’t always have to be bad..but you never stop thinking about it, not really. Just..the two of you be kind to each other.”  Her voice breaks, her hard fought back levee breaks, and Clove hears Glimmer’s tone flood with grief.

It is uncharacteristic of her, unlike her, and she’s never felt the need to do it before, when Clove reaches down and takes Glimmer’s hand. She’s never been a toucher, a comforter. But the girl risked a lot to tell her this, and it was clearly at the expense of her own stability.

“You’re going to hate me when I tell you that he’s not doing it to us.” Clove admits, holding onto her new found friend and ally, swallowing hard. “He’s just making us publicize everything. He wants us to be like…I don’t know, better than those twelve kids, distract from them or something.”

“Oh..Clove, I'm so sorry. That might actually be worse.” Glimmer admits, giving Clove’s hand a gentle squeeze.

“What? That’s worse than what they do to you? They hurt you, in the worst way you can hurt someone..” Which says a lot, from one child killer to another.

“...that's just a couple hours a month, Clove. At least my private life is my own.”

Clove certainly didn’t expect Glimmer to give her a look of pity.

-

Later that night, after stitches in the kitchen and Glimmer’s considerate warnings, hours have passed and they are alone, both unfortunately aware of exactly how rare those moments of isolation and peace together will become as soon as even the next morning.

They are wrapped around each other, legs intertwined, his arm around her back holding her flush against his side. Her head on his shoulder, arm wrapped as close around his torso as she can reach. Inside the room it is silent, save for the raucous post-games partying coming from the Capitol streets not that far below. Despite the lack of silence, neither are asleep.

Cato stares at the ceiling, drumming on Clove’s lower back, the other hand bent behind his head on the pillow.

She stares at the wall on the opposite side of the window, nails just ever so lightly scratching at his side, holding tightly onto him.

They had been like this for hours, maybe, neither really knows how much time has passed, just clinging to the feeling of life in the other.

“....what have we gotten into, Cato?” Clove finally asks, propping her chin up on his shoulder so she can see his expressions. “What happens to us, now?”

“....I don’t know, babe.” He brings the hand from her back to her face, stroking at her cheek with his thumb. “I really don’t know.”

“Our lives aren’t ours now, are they?” Clove wonders aloud, bringing her hand up to match his, running through the hair on top of his head. “We aren’t ours.”

“We’ll always be ours, Clove. We’ll give them the minimum, but we won’t give them everything.” Cato shrugs, bringing his other hand up to rub over her shoulder, trying to get her to release the tension she carries so physically. “Those kids, they aren’t going to give much, it won’t be much for us to push back with. Nothing more than we already do..”

“We won, how did they take our entire future from us? Whatever happened to just training, and getting to do whatever we wanted? We have been model careers, model victors and now we have to what? Act as little marionettes? Let them publicize and take the  life we fought for and earned?” There is deep remorse in her voice, and she shoves her face into the side of his neck to avoid the sorrowful look he gives back to her.

“They didn’t take it. We aren’t letting them.”

“They’ll kill us, they’ll kill your family if we don’t. Do you know what Glimmer told me?” Clove unlaced her leg from his, instead hooking it over his hips and pulling herself to a sitting position straddling his torso with her hips. “The things they do to her Cato, the things the people in this town do to her–”

“I know. Marvel was with her. You don’t have to tell me about it because I know.” His hands settle on her hips, squeezing gentle circles into her skin. “They aren’t doing that to us–”

“That's the point! They aren’t doing that to us and she looked at me with pity. She told me that what they do to her is only a few nights a month, but she still has her private life! We don’t! We aren’t sacrificing everything for those fucking kids from twelve. We have to suffer because of those fucking idiots and their little scheme to survive. Why couldn’t she just fucking kill him, and then we could go back to how things are supposed to be.” Clove presses her palms firmly into his chest, leaning forward. “We were supposed to just mentor, and be together, and show up once a year for the games and smile. I was supposed to get to have the things my mother died wanting me to have.”

“We were never going to just live our lives Clove, you know that. That was never us.” Cato  reminds her, gently bringing his lips to her jaw. “I hate it, I hate that they’re taking our choices from us.”

“Promise me they won’t make us do anything. Anything we have to do is because we want to.” Clove asks, leaning  down into his arms, allowing him to wrap his arms around her and hold her to him. “We only do things we want to.”

“When has anyone EVER made you and I do something, baby?”

[unhealthyfanobsession]

Do you think you’ll continue with the lawyer Nessian fic. It was so amazingly written I’d love to read more! I love all your writing anyways I’ll be happy with anything❤️

Ok not *technically* a Drabble request BUT I’m not ready to commit to a full lawyer AU that happens in order however I did just drum up a part 2 that we’ll say is several years before the previous lawyer AU. Nessian teasing in a bar and Rhys being a dumbass.

FYI the lawyer Drabble I’m talking about can be found HERE.

“I’m in love,” Rhys slurred. Cassian, a decent bit bigger than his brother and two drinks behind him, had a gentle buzz so he could only surmise that his brother was well passed sober.

“Congratulations,” Cassian grinned, clapping his hand on Rhys’ shoulder. “May I lay eyes upon the future Mrs. Dumbass.”

Rhys stared at him flatly. Blew a laugh out of his nose. “She’s not marrying you, brother.”

Cassian snorted, casting his eyes around the elegantly decorated little lounge they’d stepped into for the night. Lounge, not bar. Because they were mature adults now looking to take the edge off after a long day of work, not college students looking to get fucked up.

It was different.

It was different because the cocktails cost $20 and were served in actual stemware instead of red solo cups. They were evolving. Growing. Cassian was a lawyer now and Rhys was supposed to be doing actual work for his dad’s company so… no more dive bars.

Now they frequented little lounges where accountants and lawyers and bankers sat in tailored suits and discussed… adult things.

It was all very civilized.

And yet here was his brother. Every bit the horny college student they were trying not to be. Oh well, old dogs and all that.

“End of the bar.” Rhys jerked his head to the left and Cassian grinned.

“Might be a little old for you, champ.”

Rhys wrinkled his brow and turned to look at the grandmother doing a crossword puzzle on the far left side of the bar. A martini glass in front of her. Good for grandma.

“Other end of the bar!”

Cassian smirked. He didn’t need to turn his head, since he’s noticed her the second she walked in, but he still did. Just so he could look some more.

“Ah, you mean the deliciously dishevelled leggy brunette with her suit jacket on the chair beside her who just ripped the pins out of her hair like they personally offended her and then laid them in a neat little pile beside her Kobo?

“Mmm,” Rhys grinned, “I’d like her to rip those fingers through my hair.”

Cassian rolled his eyes. “Go for it, brother.”

Rhys grinned wider. “I think I will.” He straightened up, ran a hair through his artfully mussed hair, and pulled on the lapels of his Gucci suit jacket until they were even again.

Cassian snickered into his Old Fashioned. Rhys could straighten his jacket all he wanted. He could pretend he wasn’t drunk all he wanted. It wouldn’t matter one bit.

Not with Nesta Archeron.

Nesta Archeron who hated men that stunk of trust funds and privilege more than anything else in this world.

This would be fun to watch.

Watch her try to ignore him at first. Eyes glued to the page of her book, hand reaching up to wave through the air like Rhys was an annoying fly she could swat away.

Rhys, to his credit, was a clever little bastard. He asked the bartender for a refill of her drink and set it down in front of her then sat himself one stool down from her.

He didn’t move her jacket to sit next to her, which would have had her going feral. He just sat there, waiting.

After a few moments Nesta let out an exacerbated sigh that Cassian could hear from across the room. There was his girl.

Well, not his girl. Not even a little bit his girl, but… someday.

Cassian decided that he was going to Marry Nesta Archeron the first time she kicked his ass up and down a negotiation meeting. It was a couple years ago now. He’d been young and new at his firm. She was young and new too, but the words learning curve were not in Nesta’s vocabulary. Everything she did, she did with perfection.

Including getting rid of men she didn’t want hitting on her.

She said something to his brother that made Rhys’ half drunk, cocky, smile fall halfway down his face.

Cassian would’ve given his left eye to know what she said in that moment. She had a knack for jumping at the jugular and Rhys… oh Rhys. So obvious.

After a few moments and the continual fall of Rhys’ face, Cassian decided it was time to intervene. He knocked his drink back and straightened out his own suit jacket. Armani, still overpriced and designer but not so obvious or try hard as Mr. Up On The Trends with his Gucci. Nesta appreciated classics.

Simple. Clean lines, solid colours, classic. Which was why it was so fun just how attracted she was to his half wild self.

Unlike Rhys, Cassian plucked Nesta’s light grey suit jacket up off the stool beside her and reached over her head to hang it on a coat hook at the end of the bar. Settling himself into the chair beside her like it was exactly where he belonged. Which it was.

She turned around with an indignant shriek and a fire-breathing snarl that narrowed into just a hard glare when she realized it was him. Touching.

“This guy giving you trouble, Nes?”

Rhys choked on his whiskey and Cassian fought his hardest to keep a straight face.

“I so don’t need your saviour complex right now, Cassian.” Nesta scoffed.

“No,” Rhys rolled his eyes. “She was doing perfectly well scaring off everyone in a 10 mile radius all on her own.”

Nesta smiled sweetly, “I was just playing your game.”

Rhys sputtered again. Looked up at his brother. “This devil woman that you apparently already know,” he glared, “is all yours. I’m going home.”

“Be sure to drink plenty of water!” Nesta sing songed after him. Rhys flipped them both off on his way out.

“What’d you say to him?”

Nesta smiled. A pretty, feline little thing. “He said he wanted to chat. Suggested 20 question, which is the lamest, oldest, crustiest line in the book. So I went first. Asked just how small his dick was that he felt the need to overcompensate with the swagger and the gratuitous displays of wealth. He thought he was quite clever to use his question to ask if I wanted to check for myself how not small his dick was and then I asked if his daddy never loved him and that’s where all of that machismo masking painfully obvious and deep seeded feelings of inadequacy and insecurity came from. I was going to offer him my friend’s number before you showed up. She’s an excellent therapist.”

Cassian laughed. Hard. For a very long time. He loved Rhys, but sometimes the kid could use a nice set down. It was always sweeter when delivered by a beautiful woman. Not to mention, Cassian himself had gotten the same ice cold rejection the first time he met Nesta. When he asked if she wanted to get a coffee and she looked at him like something she’d scraped off the bottom of her shoe. That Rhys was chased off so easily just proved he couldn’t take the heat.

“You know the walking trust fund, I presume?” Nesta boredly sipped the drink Rhys had bought her. And even that was somehow amusing.

“Only for the last couple decades or so,” Cassian grinned. “He’s like a brother to me.”

“Explains a lot.”

“Your insults are more impactful when you clarify which person is being insulted.”

“I was going for the two birds one stone method.”

“In that case, consider me wounded, sweetheart.”

Nesta scoffed, “Unfortunately not mortally.”

“Oh Nesta, if I weren’t here you’d die of boredom and you know it. No one else can run you up and down the courtroom like I can.” Now. Cassian grinned as he watched the word flash across her eyes. He’d never live that first blunder down.

Nesta rose an eyebrow. “Bold of you to assume you present any challenge whatsoever.”

Cassian signalled for another drink and leaned forward. “Alright, I’ll bite. Who in this entire city can give you more of a run for your money?”

“Vanserra.” Nesta looked him dead in the eye. And managed to keep a straight face. As if that wasn’t the funniest fucking thing he’d heard all day.

“Oh yes, Nepotism and Nepotism LLP certainly has us all shaking in our boots,” Cassian blew out a breath. “What are you working on now?”

“I’m working on upholding attorney-client privilege.”

“So, the Suncurser merger.”

Nesta looked up. “How did you-”

“Helion and I are old friends. I checked the zoning on the lots he was buying before the merger went ahead to make sure the expansion was even feasible. But, as you know, M&A isn’t my thing. So I may have… given him a referral.”

“Are there any rich playboys in this city that you aren’t friends with?” Nesta finished off her drink and pointedly didn’t signal for another. “And if you think I’m going to be grateful to you for sending this my way you’ve got another thing-“

“Helion is my friend.” Cassian repeated, cutting her off. “He believes in this merger and he wants it done right. You’re the best, Nesta. Why wouldn’t I send him to you?”

“It’s not just to get in my pants?” She narrowed her eyes.

Cassian laughed again. “Oh no, sweetheart. When you invite me into your bed it will have nothing to do with work. It’ll be because you’re tired of denying how much you want me.” Cassian leaned in closer, one hand resting on the back of her chair. “Tired of denying the thrill that shoots through your whole body when we lay into each other. In the court room or out.” His nose brushed against hers, just a little, and Cassian felt Nesta tense up. He smirked, mouth just inches away from hers. “Tired of denying how right this is.”

Nesta’s voice was rough, husky. “So your plan is to wear me down?”

Cassian smirked. “My plan,” his hand came up to stroke the silk covered expanse of her upper arm, “is to marry you, Nesta Archeron. But sure, we can start with wearing you down.”

***Feyre and Nesta look physically similar so you can’t tell me drunk Rhys wouldn’t hit on Nesta in a bar before realizing he’d made a terrible mistake and running away thank you***

Also tags yourself, I’m the grandma doing the crossword puzzle with a martini. She’s an icon and she is the moment.

[the-iceni-bitch]

Hi love! I spun the wheels for your 3k celebration and here are my results :)

- one night stand/anonymous sex

- bryce langley

- i’m here to fuck your brains out

- i’m not here for small talk

- tell me why i just found them in your drawer

Ok, ok, ok. I can so see this for Bryce! And I was a little unsure how I was going to fit in the third prompt but I think I'm happy with my solution.

Straight smut and semi soft!dark (non-con panty stealing, stalking), so no minors!!!

God, you hated charity events.

If you had to listen to one more rich asshole talk your ear off about the plight of the white man you were going to jump off a balcony. The complete lack of self awareness as they wrote giant checks to help feed starving children in third world countries would have been laughable if it wasn’t so depressing.

At least there was an open bar, which you were taking full advantage of. You weren’t entirely sure how many whiskey sours you had tossed back, but you were actually laughing while some salt and pepper asshole who was definitely having a midlife crisis regaled you with stories of sailing around the world. Maybe you should slow down.

“Christ’s sake, Dick, you lying to another pretty thing about sailing to Brazil?” You felt a warm hand on the small of your back and turned to see a very pretty, younger man smirking at the dumbass who was trying to impress you. “He barely made it to South Carolina before running back with his tail between his legs.”

“Oh no!” You fully turned away from the older man with a sloppy grin, placing your hand on the new guy’s chest as you giggled. “That’s so pathetic.”

“Uh, excuse me.” Dick did not look happy with this turn of events, pouting when you glanced at him sideways.

“Go back to your disappointed wife, Dick.” The way his eyes were raking over you made you shiver, arousal flooding your panties as you sucked your bottom lip between your teeth. “What’s your name, gorgeous?”

“It’s Y/N.” You gasped softly when he stepped closer, his hand running up your spine until he was running his fingers through your hair. “Yours?”

“Bryce.” His lips brushed against yours and your knees buckled, your hands gripping his lapels to keep yourself upright. Yeah, you definitely should have slowed down. You had never come apart so fast for anyone in your whole, kinda slutty adult life.

“Hi Bryce.” How were you supposed to focus on anything when his mouth was tracing your jaw like that? “Um, enjoying your night so far?”

“Listen, gorgeous, I’m not here for small talk.” He pressed you even closer and leaned forward so he could murmur right in your ear. “I’m here to fuck your brains out.”

“Oh.” Your voice was upsettingly small. “Cool.”

Neither of you said anything for the next two hours. Not when he had you pinned to the wall in the corridor and devoured your mouth with his while the two of you dry humped each other. Not when he drove the two of you through the city in his Porsche at an inadvisable speed while you swallowed greedily around his cock. Not even when he ate you out like a starving man while you were sprawled across the stairs to the second level of his penthouse apartment, but that was mostly because he had shoved your panties in your mouth to gag you.

You finally made it to his bedroom and he ripped your dress down your shoulders, leaning back to let you step out of it while he worked on stripping off his tuxedo. The tiny huff you let out when he tossed you on the bed made him grin, each small wanton sound that feel from your lips only serving to make his cock ache even more. And, god, what a fantastic cock it was. You practically started drooling when he finally stepped out of his pants and you got a good look at it, it had been to dark in the car for you to really appreciate just how yummy he was.

“Wait, Bryce.” You placed a hand on his chest when he bent over you, not wanting to lose yourself in another one of his kisses before it was too late. “Condom?”

“Are you fucking serious?” He looked slightly annoyed when his eyes met yours, but you weren’t backing down from this one. “You didn’t seem to care about a condom when you were swallowing my cum an hour ago.”

“Yeah, well I can’t get pregnant from swallowing.” You murmured, trying not to moan when you felt his shaft ghost over your clit. 

“Aww, pretty thing like you isn’t on birth control?” The smirk he was giving you was absolutely wicked. “That seems awful irresponsible.”

“Bryce, ah, shit.” His mouth started tracing your throat and made it very difficult to stay firm in your stance. “I’m serious, if you don’t have a condom, I’m pulling the plug.”

“C’mon gorgeous, I just wanna feel you.” He flicked his tongue out to lap up an errant bead of sweat and grinned at the whine you let out. “What if I pull out?”

“Oh god.” You were practically suffocating from the attention he was lavishing on you, finally grabbing his hair and yanking his head up so you could look him in the eye and regain some control of the situation. “No condom, no pussy.”

“Ugh, fine!” He pouted when he rolled off you, pulling his nightstand drawer open and drawing out a small foil packet. “Happy?”

You just grinned at him when he knelt between your legs again, brushing you fingers over his nipples and running your knees up his sides while he rolled the condom over his length and scowled at you. That scowl disappeared pretty fast when he gripped your hips tight and pulled you down on his length, his eyelids fluttering as a low groan left his throat while he curled over you. 

When his hips finally met yours you dropped your head back against the mattress, locking your heels together at the small of his back and letting him nip at your throat as he started moving his hips. It was just enough to drive you crazy, but all you wanted was for him to fuck you like an animal until you were screaming.

“Goddamn it.” You dug your fingers into his scalp and yanked his face back up to yours. “I thought you said you were gonna fuck my brains out.”

The only warning you had was his feral snarl and the way his pupils dilated even further and then every thought was flying out of your head when he bent you backwards and shoved your chest into his face, his teeth digging into your soft flesh and making you scream while his hips started slamming into you violently. 

His teeth were marring the soft curves of your chest as he fucked into you viciously, the tip of his cock punching you in the cervix with each brutal shove. It barely took anything for you to come apart with a sharp cry, your vision whiting out as your entire body tightened around him. The way he was holding you to him had your body bent in a series of odd angles, making every wave of pleasure that coursed through your system feel a thousand times more intense. 

Your orgasm didn’t even faze him, his hips still pistoning into yours at a wild rhythm that pushed the breath out of your lungs until you were a panting mess. He just kept sucking and biting at your breasts, the skin of your chest slick with your sweat and his saliva as your cunt throbbed around him.

One of his hands moved under your hip and tilted you so he could somehow drive into you even further and a coil you hadn’t even realized was gathering snapped. Your body jerked frantically underneath him, your pussy clenching around him so hard he couldn’t stop himself from filling the condom with a muffled growl. 

“That good enough for you, gorgeous?” He was grinning wickedly when he lifted his face to gaze at you. “C’mon now honey, did I fuck you stupid?”

“No.” You panted, returning his smile when he moved to the bathroom to dispose of the condom. “But maybe we should go another round so you can try again.”

“Oh, I knew bringing you home was a good idea!” He called from the bathroom. “I’m gonna turn that pussy out.”

You were still smiling when you moved to grab another condom from the nightstand, your face freezing when you got a look at the pair of soiled panties that was nestled inside. That wasn’t totally weird, lot’s of guys probably kept little souvenirs from their sexual conquests. 

What was weird was that they looked an awful lot like the panties you thought your washer had eaten a few weeks ago, and when you picked them up to examine them closer you felt bile rise in your throat when you spotted the tiny rip you had told yourself no one would notice because of the pattern of the lace.

“Bryce.” You rose on unsteady legs and staggered to the bathroom, confusion and fury coursing through your veins. “I’ve been missing these for weeks, tell me why I just found them in your drawer.”

“Ah, fuck.” He only looked mildly perturbed when he got a look at what you had clutched in your fist. “Why’d you have to go snooping, baby?”

“Don’t call me baby, how did you get these?” Your chest was starting to feel tight as panic took over your system. “Have you been in my house?”

“Do you really need me to answer that, Y/N?” 

You realized you didn’t. You’d noticed weird shit happening for a few weeks. Things not being where you’d left them. Pieces of clothing missing. Weird deliveries of flowers or fancy pastries from a supposed secret admirer that you just chalked up to the slightly creepy guy who had been flirting with you at work.

“But, why?” You had never even seen Bryce before tonight, this didn’t make sense.

“I saw your photo from the save the polar bears, or whatever, event last month in the Times.” His shrug was dismissive as he started stalking towards you. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen someone so beautiful looking so annoyed at one of those things. Mostly because they’re all hookers.” He didn’t seem to mind that you were in the middle of an anxiety attack, wrapping an arm around your waist and shushing you softly as you started to cry. “But you weren’t a hooker. You were a little spitfire. Everything I found out about you just made me want you more, which reminds me, you’re gonna need to make some serious updates to your online security settings.”

You were sobbing into his chest now, only barely registering what he was saying as he moved a hand up to run through your hair absentmindedly.

“I still remember the first time I was in your house. I admit, I lost myself a little once I was in that cute little bedroom of yours, thought for sure you were gonna notice how messed up your sheets were after I jerked off in your bed.” You cringed against him at that admission, you were pretty sure you remembered that day. “It was so hard to keep myself from just taking you right away, but I wanted to make it organic. You know, have our relationship grow and evolve the right way.” He gripped your chin and tilted your head back so he could glare into your eyes. “Then you had to go and ruin it.”

You whimpered when he suddenly lifted you and started to carry you to the bed again, your body frozen in shock. He basically threw you onto the bed, the look of rage on his face softening slightly when he watched you curl around yourself then climbed in next to you. 

“Oh, shh, it’s ok, honey.” He cooed against your hair, stroking your arm softly as you continued to cry. “I forgive you. I’m gonna make you so happy.”

[cinebration]

Thief’s Kiss (Remy LeBeau x Reader) [Request]

Hi! Can I send a request too? I really wanna something about Remy / The Gambit, please. Maybe a date 😁 A romantic dinner with a make out session after (It doesn't need to be like a real smut) 😉 A lot of neck kisses, plese! 🥰🥰🥰 — Requested by anon

Tagged: @illbegoinhome​ (since you expressed an interest in him before)

Warnings: none

Gif Source: monikanarnia

Remy LeBeau was trouble incarnate if ever you saw one. His name was LeBeau, after all. But it wasn’t just his roguish smile, fabulous hair, buttery accent, or those enchanting black-and-red eyes. It was in the way he carried himself, the swagger, the confidence. It told you he was most definitely a man who walked around in his boxers at home—or in the nude.

You knew this at first glance, but when he asked you in that drawl of his, “My, my, chère, tell me you’d be willin’ ta be my date for tonight,” you said yes without reserve.

Arriving a few minutes late to the semi-upscale restaurant, you found him already seated outside on the veranda, looking fine in a tailored suit. He had ditched the tie, the top button undone to reveal some of the skin underneath. You paused for a moment to admire the tableau.

As though sensing your appreciative gaze, Remy glanced up in your direction and grinned, flashing perfect teeth in an even more perfect face. Fighting the tingling in your stomach, you joined him at the table. He jumped up to pull out the chair for you.

Chivalry, you thought. I have to watch out for this one.

Settling back in the seat across from you, Remy took a moment to return your appreciative glance. “You look magnifique, chère.”

Heat flushed up your neck and cheeks. What were you, a schoolgirl? You’d been on plenty of dates before; why the hell were you so nervous around him?

His smile widened.

I’m in for trouble, you thought, and you smiled back.

After placing your orders with the waiter, Remy segued into small talk. “So, what do you do for work?”

“I work for Lawson Stettler of Stettler, Inc. I procure items for him for his collections.” You smiled, chuckled to yourself. “They call me the Finder of All Lost Things.”

“Sounds like my job.”

“Oh?”

“Procurin’ things that are difficult to get ahold of. It’s my specialty.”

Your eyebrows arched. “It takes a special kind of skill set…and mind set.”

“We’re all made for somethin’.”

“I agree. So, do you work for anyone in particular? Or are you a freelancer?”

“I prefer freelancin’. Providin’ for myself is half de fun.”

You shook your head. “I’m on call at all hours, because Mr. Stettler has sudden urges to acquire things—and sure, I don’t like that—but I’m not sure I could handle not having the security of a permanent job.”

“Security ain’t all it’s cut out ta be.”

Laughing in agreement, you felt your nerves ease. The waiter brought over the meals a few moments later. Moving your clutch from your lap to the table, you dug into the food with as much daintiness as you could manage, despite the fact you were actually quite famished. Remy ate heartily as well, keeping you engaged with a rollicking story involving the acquisition of some pearls for an unnamed client. You had the feeling he was deliberately hiding things, but you avoided the sensation and focused on enjoying the outrageousness of the story. His energy had you buzzing with excitement.

Dessert arrived shortly after you finished your meals. Instead of sharing, you had each ordered something different: créme brûlée and a sense, moist chocolate cake. Remy reached over and sliced off a small piece of your brûlée with his fork.

Chuckling, you batted away his fork with your own when he reached for another bite. A woman with a basket hanging off her arm wandered over to you. A fresh set of various roses lay nestled in the wicker basket.

“A rose for the lady?” she asked.

“He could use one for his lapel,” you quipped.

“Me? Am I not already handsome enough?” Remy fished out some change from his pocket and paid for one rose. Instead of presenting it to you, however, he took his butter knife to it, cutting away nearly all of the stem and its thorns.

You watched with interest, curious.

“Voilà,” he cried, flourishing it, “now it can complement your hair.”

“Oh?”

Remy stood, moved his chair closer to yours, and gently reached forward, his smile soft, though his eyes were sharp with amusement. “May I?”

“Sure.”

His fingers brushed through your hair, curling stray strands behind your ear. Electricity sparked through you at the touch, warming your skin and sending a tingling sensation down to your toes. Trying not to lose your head, you tipped back under his ministrations as he tucked the rose over your ear and into your hair.

His lips ghosted over your neck just below your earlobe, trailing down your throat. Your breath caught as his touch, as light as a feather, skimmed over your skin. Fire followed in its wake, your nerves alight with it.

“There we are, chére,” he murmured against your skin, gently ghosting back up to the spot below your ear. He pressed a gentle kiss there, humming low in his throat.

Eyes fluttering shut, you tipped your head back, giving him better access. He peppered kisses down your throat, each touch of his feather-soft lips blossoming fire beneath your skin.

It wasn’t until the touch of his tongue laving over a spot near your collarbone sent a delicious jolt through you that you remembered you were out in public.

Pulling back with reluctance, you smiled at his bemused expression, trying not to notice his dilated pupils, and murmured, “You’re forward, aren’t you?”

“Some opportunities can’t be given up, chère,” he answered, his voice husky.

Swallowing thickly, you returned your attention to your brûlée. It felt cold on your tongue, especially when Remy seemed to be more than dessert enough for you. He paid for the meal and escorted you back to your car, where he paused to give you a proper kiss on the mouth. His tongue swept into your mouth, sending electric shocks through you. When you pulled away you could hardly catch your breath.

“My thanks,” he murmured, bowing his head with a rakish smile. “I will be de gentleman tonight, but perhaps another time, non?”

The words tumbled out of you. “Yes, definitely.”

“I look forward to it.”

With a bow, he walked off into the night, leaving you by the car. You watched him disappear past the reach of the street lamps before sagging against your car door and digging around in your clutch for your keys.

You pulled them out, then hesitated, frowning. Glancing into the clutch again, you shifted its spare contents around.

Your keycard was gone.

That cheeky bastard, you thought. Then you smiled, the curve of it vulpine.

He wasn’t the only one who had tricks up his sleeve. He had made a mistake stealing from you.

You could track him down with your mutant ability. You were, after all, the Finder of All Lost Things.

It gave you an excuse to see him sooner than he expected.

[lesbian-deadpool]

Take A Slice

Part Seven: Goodbye, My Love

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Words: 2,002

Warnings: Blackmail, angst, talks of drugs, talks of cheating, forced break up.

Summary: You should have known that it would never last.

A/N: Bold and italics = Text Messages.

Ko-Fi

(Not My GIF)

***

It had been three, anxiety-filled days since you had received that last text message.

Yet you could feel your time left here counting down.

"Y/N?" Where are you?"

Natasha's soft, husky voice draws you out of your mind.

"Sorry," you say, blinking back into reality. "There's just been a lot on my mind lately."

She made a pitying sound in the back of her throat. "Anything I can help with?"

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Wade give you a pointed look. As he set up another round of the game, he and Natasha were playing, on the console, he brought over to her apartment.

"No," you shook your head, "I'll sort it out."

"Well, if you ever need me, just ask."

"I know, babe."

"You two are so sweet together. It's sickening."

Your girlfriend laughed at your best friend's dry words, happily taking the controller from him.

Natasha's attention was drawn over her shoulder, watching as you read a message you had just received. The pure look of dread, that you had attempted to hide, covered your face. Causing her eyebrows to scrunch up in curiosity. Anxiety flowing through her, at what might be happening with you.

Little did she know what the message read.

You have two days to get on a plane and never show you face here, ever again.

You didn't want to leave. That much was obvious.

But you had no other choice. You were stuck between a rock and a hard place.

You had to leave.

For Natasha.

"Who are you texting?" Natasha asked, making you snap your attention up to see her face you already.

Wade's eye's bulging in the reflection of the TV, knowing who it probably was.

"It seems important."

"Hmm? Oh, it's just my cousin, ranting about school. He wants me to go see him soon."

Nice lying, Y/L/N.

Natasha nodded at your lie, turning back to the game at hand. Still suspicious.

"So, how was the test?"

A sense of dread washed over you at her words. You hadn't briefed Wade on the lie you had told her, before rushing from her apartment, a few days ago. And he was far too into his game, to be able to think on his feet.

"What test."

Here we go.

"The one you reminded Y/N about, a few days ago," she clarified, with a small smile.

"I never did that."

You could have stopped him.

You should have stopped him.

But you were stuck to your seat, watching it all unfold before your eyes, unable to do anything to stop it.

"What?" Natasha slowly turned on her spot, beside Wade on her coffee table, to face you. "Y/N? What's going on?"

"Natasha, you're dying-" Wade said, thumbs moving over the controller, with practised speed.

"Why did you lie to me?"

"Natasha-"

"Where did you go that night?"

The dread that previously filled you grew like no other, as Natasha rose from her seat, now facing you head-on.

"Babe, it's a complicated story."

"You don't think I can handle complicated?"

"No, of course, you can-!" You rushed to say.

"You're getting annihilated, Natasha. What are you doing?" Wade save a small chuckle.

"-It's just... it really, really sucks."

"I'm an adult, Y/N," Natasha stated, folding her arms across her chest, "I can handle whatever it is."

You were just about to tell her when she cut you off before you got to say a word.

"Y'know I wouldn't have cared as much if you were fucking other women before we got together. But how dare you cheat on me?"

Of course, she went there.

Who wouldn't, really?

"Wait." You raised your hands. "What? What? You think I'm cheating on you? I wouldn't do that, Nat."

Wade cringed when he suddenly came back into the real world after the game had finished. His shoulder's tensing and eye's bulging.

"I uh..." he drawled, placing his controller down onto the coffee table below him, "I gotta go." And then he ran from the apartment, without a bat of the eye, from either of you.

"Well, what do you expect me to think?!" Natasha yelled, "You lie to me about your test just so you can leave. You've been looking at your phone like you've got some hidden secret- Were you even texting Wade, that night?"

It was time.

Time to be honest. To come clean about everything that had been going on, behind her back.

"No." You shook your head slightly.

"Then who was it?!"

"I'm being blackmailed!"

Well... maybe you could have said it better than that.

Natasha looked at you like you had grown another head, mouth bobbing as she tried to find the right words to say. That is until she just blurted, "What?!"

"I got a text a few weeks ago from someone- Rumlow! I got a text from him! And he. He somehow had a copy of the video we made together, I'm pretty sure he hacked my phone. But he's been blackmailing me."

"Y/N. Y/N. What are you talking about?" She stopped your rambling explanation. "This is crazy. If this is just a lie, so I won't think you're cheating on me-"

"It's not! You know me, I wouldn't do this shit. And even if I did, I'm fucking smart enough not to use this as an excuse."

Reaching into your pocket you griped your phone, pulling up all of the texts between you and Rumlow, starting from the beginning. "Here, see."

"You fucked his girlfriend?" Natasha asked after a few anxious minutes of her flicking through the texts.

"Yes, but that was so long ago, I totally forgot about her up until now. She told me she was single! I'm not a fucking homewrecker."

"Well, what does he want from you? Money?"

"No. At first, he made me drop off drugs for him-"

"He did what?!"

You ignored her yell, instead choosing to continue your sentence.

"But now he just wants me out of the school."

"What?" she asked, breath stolen away by the shock you statement had caused her.

"I've already put in my transfer- I know I'm an asshole! And an idiot, and I should- I should have told you all of this way before now. I should have told you the day I got the first texts! It's just..." you heaved a great sigh, "I wanted to spend as much time with you, in denial to the real world, for as long as I could. It was selfish of me, and it wasn't fair to you. And I'm sorry about that. I truly am, Nat."

Tears welled up in her eyes but never trailed down her soft, beautiful face. One of the only other trace of the salty drops, was evident in her voice, as she spoke.

"Why? Why? If you would have just told me all fo this was going on, when it first began, it could have been fixed by now. You wouldn't have to leave."

"Well, as I said before," you started, "I'm an idiot... I thought I could handle it myself. Turns out, I could only make things worse."

So much fucking worse.

Natasha chuckled wetly, "You think?"

"I'm sorry." Tears began to roll down your face. "I'm so fucking sorry."

"I know you are."

***

The last two days you had together went quickly.

Way too quickly.

And now it was time for you to say goodbye.

Natasha had offered to drive you to the airport. Which you gladly took.

You had said goodbye to Wade before you left. He almost wouldn't let go of you, as he hugged you goodbye, tightly.

Anxiety and dread filled you, causing you to fiddle with anything and everything. Eye's filtering from one thing to another, and another, and another. All the while, Natasha locked up her car. The red-head coming to stand beside you, noticing your state right away. Instinctively you pulled your cigarettes from your pocket, before realizing you were trying to quit, then pushed them back into their previous place.

"For God's sake, Y/N. Just have a smoke."

"But you don't like-"

"Just-" She pulled your packet of cigarettes out of your pants, and gently pushed one into your mouth, "You're stressed. You need to calm your nerves."

You nodded after a few moments of your eyes shifting from side to side as you thought before you gave in and lit the stick.

The walk from the car towards the airport, and then to the gate you were meant to board your plane on, was simultaneously the longest and shortest walk of your life. And before you know it. It was time for you to leave.

"If you don't let go of me now, I'm not going to be able to leave."

"Good. Don't go. Stay," Natasha was so incredibly close to begging you, holding onto the lapels of your jacket, hoping that that small action would get you to stay with her.

"I can't," you whispered hoarsely, tears burning your eyes, "You know I can't, I have to go. I can't ruin your life, Natasha."

"I don't care! I want you."

"Don't be stupid. This is what you're destined to be. You love your job, and you're a fantastic teacher. I can't take that away from you, and you know that."

"But I don't want to lose you." Tears poured from her eyes, and down her soft milky cheeks.

"And I don't want to lose you. But sometimes we have to lose what we love."

"What?" Natasha asked breathlessly.

"What?"

"You love me?"

"I... yes," you whispered, "I do. I love you."

More salty tears spilt from her eyes, but you didn't have enough time to even try to wipe them away before you were pulled into a passionate kiss.

"I love you too," was husked against your lips, "I love you, so much." Then her lips returned to yours.

Peck after peck. You both took as much as you could, until the moment you were dragged away.

The last boarding reminder rang in the air.

"I really have to go now."

"I know. I know."

But Natasha still never let go of your jacket.

Your eyes were full of sadness as you raised your hands and gently pulled hers from you.

"I love you," you said one last time. Getting the same back.

The red-headed woman never once stopped crying as she watched you board the plane, and then when the plane took off and disappeared from her view.

That's it.

It was over.

You were gone.

***

Stepping off of the plane, and into the large airport. The warm sun, flowing through the shiny floor to ceiling windows, as you walked through the crisp white building, spotting the one person who promised to meet you when you got there.

"There's the troublemaker!" Tony smiled, playfully, "It was only a matter of time."

"Do you ever know when to stop?" You asked the man who threw his arm around your shoulder's, pulling you into a side hug as you walked to grab you bags.

"Nope. You should know this by now."

You let out a humorous sound that seemed to be a mix between a scoff and a chuckle, as you shook your head.

Looking over, Tony could tell you were heartbroken. And he would be here for you.

Every step of the way.

"C'mon, there's a room all set up for you in my place. You'll have a good home there."

"Thanks, Tony," you said, staring him in the eyes, yours showing him just how grateful you were, "I like the beard you're growing in." You poinded to your own chin, in reference to the mans newly sprouted stubble.

"It's actually a goatee, thank you very much."

"Oh, my mistake."

Maybe. Just maybe, things would be so bad here in L.A..

This might just be the fresh start you were craving for.

You were kidding yourself by dating your teacher, anyway.

Things like that never worked out.***

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@wannabe-fic-writer​, @ohfuckno​, @uglipotata72829​

Permanent Tag List: 

@imnotasuperhero, @veteranwerewolf95, @natasha-danvers, @marvelfansince08love, @higherfurther-romanova, @lesbian-x-blackwidow, @sestra-inestro, @thelastavenger-3000

[siriushxney]

: ̗̀➛ searing light | chapter two

— pairing ; darkling!dream x sun summoner!reader

— au ; shadow & bone

— wordcount ; 2.6k

— warnings ; fire, reader gets pushed around, rude soldiers/commanders

— note ; welcome to chapter two of searing light! I actually really enjoyed writing this part and coming up with how to twist the original story in my own little way — I hope you enjoy!

previous | next

when the moon was high and the sound around you was minimal, thoughts flowed easier — flowed into the streams of what if’s and premature regret and mourning. whatever happened the next day would either be a successful day — one to be celebrated with a feast unlike any other, or it would be another tick carved into the wood, next to the dozens of them that already were scratched in. you were sure that even those numbers were off, for when a certain number was reached without success, people started to lose faith.

this skiff however was designed for greatness — made by the hands of the second army, reinforced with grisha steel and said to be lighter — faster.

something wasn’t right.

if there is one thing that you had learned through your tough life growing up in ravka, it was that when your gut told you something — you trusted it. if your gut told you to avoid someone, you avoided them; if it told you to take a different path, you took the next path over; if it told you that no matter what anyone said, something was going to happen — you had to do something to stop it.

if not for yourself, for wilbur.

—

when the sun rose, and your boots were laced tightly — you made your way to the tent full of maps, careful to make sure your superiors were nowhere to be seen. the lot of them were seated in the food tent as they discussed today's trip and how long they thought it would last in the fold.

they had no shame when it came to talking about the failure of the second army when it came to this, and had even less shame when talking about the lives of their own people being lost. if ravka didn’t lose the war from the raging countries surrounding it, the fold was guaranteed to do the job for them.

walking into the tent that looked the exact same as it always did, despite being situated in a different part of ravka that you were used to. there were maps of different sizes displayed and thrown about, a rough and stained carpet laid on the grass and uncomfortable benches that you had known all too well pushed underneath tables.

quick feet brought you to stand in front of a cabinet which held map’s upon map’s — some of this part of ravka, and some of the ravka on the other side of the fold. the ravka that people on that side referred to as west ravka.

free from the royal blood on ravka’s soil that sat stuck behind the black barrier, west ravka sought out to become their own standing country — a hope that the fold would vanish, no longer clouded their minds. only the thought of independence and selfishness flowed through them.

“where are you…?” your tongue poked slightly out of the side of your mouth as you sited through the heap of yellow tinted paper, hoping to find anything and everything you could on what laid on the other side of the black wall.

beyond the fold - ravka

“aha,” the text at the top of the map caught your eyes. sifting through the numerous ones below it, you confirmed that you had found what you had come looking for. taking the maps in hand, making sure each was rolled up tightly so you could fit as many as you could into the small space, you rushed over to the trash bin in the corner.

with a look around the tent, and several peaks over your shoulders, you pulled out the box that weighed heavily in your pocket, despite weighing nothing compared to what you were used to carrying around.

what you were about to do would either get you a one way ticket to see the generals or aboard the skiff — either or, you could end up dead as a result.

a sharp flick of your wrist, a spark, and a light flowed from the tip of the match — the wood below it becoming charred as the flame ate at the wood with every second it burned bright. with one last look at the fully pieced together maps, and your ticket onto the skiff — you let the match fall — turning your back to it immediately, and not wasting any time as you fled the scene.

the sight of smoke wafting from the top of the tent, group’s of gasps and hurried feet rushing to it sounding from behind you.

blue eyes watching as you paced away hurriedly.

—

“well I don’t know what we're going to do.”

“we have to do something!”

“you think I don’t know that?!”

“we need to re-draw all those maps or the general will have our heads-“

“excuse me?” heads snapped in your direction, all your superiors looking at you with harsh eyes and deep frowns.

“what?”

you held back the scowl that wanted to cross your face at the women's tone, but for the sake of winning them over, you held yourself back. “If I may, I volunteer to go through the fold,” they looked at you with wide eyes. “i’ll re-draw everything-“

“you’re merely one mapmaker with thousands of miles to cover — we need more than one cartographer,” the woman shook her head as she looked down, her words directed at her fellow generals.

the other general thought, his eyes darting between you and the woman. “you’ll board the skiff shortly — alongside the rest of your squadron,” you fought to keep the look of shock off your face. “alert your tent of the decision immediately, you are dismissed.”

“sir, with all due respect-“

“you are dismissed soldier, that is an order.”

you couldn't fight orders — with a small nod and downcasted eyes, you shuffled your way back to your tent full of guilt and mind racing with second thoughts. all you wanted to do was get onto the skiff alongside wilbur, just you and youself alone — but in the process of doing so and with a selfish decision on your part, you had just put people who you had spent the last few years with in jeopardy.

it wasn't your intention at all.

lifting the flap of material that acted as a makeshift door to the tent, you walked in quietly, unsure of when to break the news or even how to start.

carey, a boy that you had gotten to know well over the years and someone who you considered to be one of your only friends alongside wilbur, stood at your arrival. his smile was bright and large.

“hey Y/N, do you wanna go for a walk? maybe watch the send-off together-”

“we have to board the skiff.”

heads around the tent shot up at your words, some eyes of questioning and confusion, others full of fear or anger.

luna shot up and paced to you hastily, giving you no time to react or prepare yourself as she grabbed you by the lapels of your uniform and swung you around so your backside was against the table.

with the force that she had shoved you into the hard wood, utensils and paper had gone flying — and your hands found purchase on the rough and spilled wood as you tried to steady yourself — jagged and pointed pieces pricking your skin.

“what did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything-” you tried to pry her hands off of your uniform, but the sheer power she had was nothing you could fight with.

she was like a mouse who could kick a cats ass.

“luna let them go-”

“can it carey! they aren't into you so why don’t you just mind your own business and find someone else to fawn over,” it was no secret the boy had a crush on you — but in the heat of war and the constant fear for your life, there was no room for him or anyone else.

her fists still gripped your jacket harshly — your body jerking with every movement she made. “now, tell me what you did to get us all on that death trap, or saints help me-”

“whats going on here?” luna’s head had snapped over immediately, her hair whipping behind, and her hands disappearing just as fast as she turned.

tilting your head to the side, the first thing you noticed was the colour that stuck out like a sore thumb in the tent — bright purple. eyes trailing up the figure, you next noted the blonde hair that was draped over their shoulders. and lastly, the blue eyes that could hypnotize anybody they were simply batted at.

it was the grisha that you had made eye contact with a few days prior.

“nothing-” the grisha sent one look to luna and the girl immediately quieted.

“are you okay?” the grisha questioned you suddenly — the harsh look that once covered her face now melted into something more sincere — more concerned.

you pushed yourself up from your uncomfortable position that luna had managed to bend you in over the table, carey’s hands helping you in any way he could despite being brushed off. “I’m fine, thank you for your concern,” you stepped away from luna hesitantly — unsure of what the girl would do with her eyes still holding a deadly intent.

“I was sent here to lead you to the skiff — the group of you are running behind,” the girl mainly spoke to you, her eyes wandering as she spoke however. “I’d advise you to get your materials and get to the skiff immediately — anybody found at the camp who should be on the skiff will be punished.”

carey rushed to collect his things as soon as the words were muttered, luna trailing behind stubbornly, only leaving behind a glare directed at you, before her back was fully turned.

with the bag on your hip containing everything that you had needed, you made a move to exit the tent — the grisha following behind you immediately.

“you know I do have to ask — what were you thinking?” she asked as soon as the two of you had exited the tent.

“excuse me?”

“you exited a tent that had smoke pouring out of it, and didn't bat an eye when panic washed over everyone — I wanna know what you were thinking setting whatever was in there on fire-” you hand gripped her kefta quickly, your eyes wide and mouth opened in shock.

“be quiet would you?! I’ll explain everything if you just keep your voice down,” her eyes didn't meet your own, only observing your hand that wrinkled the tough purple fabric on her arm. you released it immediately with a short and quiet apology.

the blue eyed grisha looked up to you, to the skiff, and back to you — her eyes holding a glimmer of amusement. “I know you did it, and I have a feeling I know why you did it too — your lover boy is on the skiff.”

lover boy?

looking at the skiff, you could see wilbur, plain as day, looking at the two of you with confusion — or more to say confusion towards the grisha stood by your side, and anger towards you and your appearance.

“I don’t have a lover boy.”

“the tall curly haired one — it’s not hard to tell.”

you grimaced at that. you and wilbur were nothing more than friends, siblings to say the least — raised at the hip with minds so alike it was scary.

“that so-called ‘lover boy’ you speak of is wilbur, and I can guarantee there's nothing going on there.”

the grisha hummed quietly, her eyes bouncing between the two of you before finally sighing. “If you say so,” she offered you her hand. “I’m niki.”

as you went to introduce yourself, the harsh call of your name interrupted you — wilbur yelled your name as he dodged and squirmed his way through the crowd of people who made a move to board the skiff. you turned back to niki with a bashful smile.

“why am I being told that you're crossing the fold?” wilbur distanced himself from niki — unsure and untrusting of anyone who was gifted in the small science.

“because I am?”

“no you’re not.”

“yes they are.”

you knew wilbur wanted to snap back at the girl with a ‘I wasn't talking to you’ card, but the coat that adorned her body stopped him in his tracks. he had told you once before when the two of you passed a group of grisha women at your old camp that “grisha women were scarier then grisha themselves.”

wilbur was scared of the grisha in front of you.

“yes I am, and you can’t do anything about it,” you tried to bring the atmosphere to somewhere different — wilburs eyes coming back to you instead of the offput stare he was once giving niki.

“all aboard! skiff is leaving in t-minus two minutes!”

“well, that's our que,” niki gripped both your sleeve, and wilbur’s and dragged you to the bridge that led up onto the skiff. bodies rushing up, and some attempting to rush down — hands dragged them back on.

some people were in a frenzy to get off the skiff, while some stood stiffly looking out into what they were about to enter — eyes holding nothing more than fear and questioning.

questioning if they would return.

“you have nothing to fear, I promise — the new skiff was built by my colleagues and me. it was built to go faster,” niki spoke, her hand laying gently on your shoulder as she guided you and wilbur to stand on the side of the deck. “all you need to remember is to stay quiet, don’t light any lanterns, and most importantly — keep your head down.”

the squeak of the bridge’s hinges echoed throughout the skiff — the wood and steel alike being pulled up to close the entry and exit point. there was no way off unless you made a jump.

in less than a moment after the bang sounded from the bridge closing entirely, your body was jerked into niki’s — her hand coming to steady you, much like she did with wilbur as he swayed slightly.

every second you inched closer and closer to the fold, the unwelcoming and crip air nipped at your nose, ears, and cheeks — the sound of screeching and echoing howls the monstrosities that lived within let out, made your knee’s feel as if they would give out any minute.

being on the outside had been scary enough — but going in, head first was unimaginably more horrific. no nightmare or intrusive thought could have prepared you for what you were about to enter.

what you were about to experience.

the grisha and first army soldiers alike that stood near the front of the skiff disappeared into the black smoke when the skiff had finally breached the darkness, and second by second, that darkness had grown closer to you.

with her hands on your shoulder blades, and your wrist held tightly by wilbur — you took a deep breath.

the light disappeared and the air grew thick — breathing needing more forces, and your head beginning to pound due to the pressure drop.

you were in the fold, and there was no turning back.

—

crowds of soldiers and grisha gathered on the dock, watching as the skiff was engulfed by the black smoke — whispers of worry, reassurance, and mourning echoed about. they would wait for the news of the skiff not returning, or they would wait for a skiff full of allies and friends to return — goods in hand and smiles on their faces.

but he didn’t pay mind to any of them.

he stood tall against the harsh wind — the black cloak and kefta flowing with it, and hair blowing wildly. his eyes never leaving where the skiff had entered.

“general, the first army’s headman would like to speak with you before you leave for the little palace.”

“of course, tell him to meet me in my tent,” the grisha hummed in response and turned to relay the message to the leader of the first army. “oh and sapnap?”

“yes general?”

“tell george to keep his eye on the fold — I have a good feeling about this trip.”

if only he knew what would unfold inside of the darkness only miles ahead of him.

— authors note ; I didn’t want to put this at the start as to not spoil the meeting of a character, but I wanted to clarify that niki and wilbur are not love interests. strictly platonic. the dynamic will remain there however!

— taglist ; open

@dreamslittlebitch //

[grellestan]

Not As Beautiful As You- Tamaki/Kyoya OHSHC Oneshot

“We’re going camping!”

Tamaki’s excited cry was met with the faintest ripple of acknowledgement. Seven glances were shot his way, but nobody stopped what they were doing or even praised- or more likely, disapproved the idea. Not even Honey paused eating his cake, just blinked and looked up at Mori with an eyerow raised.

The prince scowled at the blank room.

“I said, we’re going camping!”

Haruhi wearily turned towards him, raising her head out of her book. “Senpai, yesterday you said we’d go to the zoo. The day before that, it was paintballing. And last week, you were going on and on about… what was it again?”

“The Bahamas,” Kyoya chimed in, his glasses reflecting the light in a chilling fashion as he looked up. “Where you expect some of our members to get the funding for that is beyond me.” Haruhi winced at the pointed statement. Tamaki took zero notice.

“Oh please, this time is different! See, Kyoya’s family has just bought an acre of land, a forest with a simply beautiful lake flowing through it to build a campsite! Ah, it is most lovely there, almost as gorgeous as me!” Tamaki spun around, producing a rose from his lapel, just to embellish his point.

“We could even do it the way the commoners do! In a tent, with sleeping bags, as an homage to our own commoner!”

He looked around again, expecting some kind of a reaction, before sighing at the blank looks, and slumping to the ground to begin growing mushrooms. Kyoya stared disdainfully at him for a second, praying the idea would be dropped for not wanting to bother hs father by using the not-yet-opened facilities.

No sooner had he fell, however, a grinding of gears and a familiar, shrieking laugh pierced the air. Renge appeared from under the floor in a bright pink, glittery parka and canary wellington boots, clutching a tent bag and sitting on a camping chair. Haruhi did a double take, still not entirely used to the stunts that the club somehow found a way to both fund and pull off without failure.

“Ahahahaha! How foolish you all are for not heeding this idiot’s words! He’s usually a totally terrible excuse of a leader, but he’s onto something with this plan!” She brandished an umbrella from inside her parka, and pointed it at Kyoya. “Kyoya-Senpai! Don’t you see this could be a brilliant marketing scheme? All the outdoor photo shoots and camping brands you could be promoting in exchange for club funding?”

She was right- even Kyoya couldn’t shoot this down. The twins had already started to jump on the idea, joining Renge on her pedestal. Somehow, they were both already in hiking boots and waterproof trousers.

“She’s right.”

From the back of the room, even Mori had put in his twopence. Kyoya couldn’t deny it- it was a perfect way to generate some funding for the club. He gave a tired smile, and made some quick notes down on his clipboard. The whole room was looking towards him now, waiting for approval from the man. Kyoya drew in a long breath. “Fine, you lot. I’ll work my father and make him come around to the plan.”

His statement was met with cheers from the members. Haruhi glanced at everyone, still dumbfounded by how quickly situations at the club could change. How was the place even real, with this level of madness? She was lost in thought when she felt Kyoya’s breath on her cheek.

“Not to worry, Haruhi. I’ll add your expenses to your debt.” She rolled her eyes. He was never going to let that debt go.

The issue of tent-mates had occurred almost as soon as the group of loveable idiots arrived at the Ootori family’s luxury campsite. The twins had attempted to purloin Haruhi into their tent, insisting that they “definitely had space for all 3!”, much to Tamaki’s disdain. Haruhi had taken none of this, and stated calmly that she and Renge had already agreed to share together.

Really, Haruh enjoyed the twins’ antics and knew nothing bad would ever come of hanging out with them, but if Ranka had caught wind that her sweet daughter was camping out with filthy boys Haruhi would never hear the end of it.

After squabbling for a half hour, it was decided that the twins would stay in one tent, Haruhi and Renge in another, Mori and Honey would steal the luxury camper that Kyoya had planned on using alone, and he would be left in the last and smallest tent with Tamaki.

It wasn’t the worst arrangement, and it was only for a night. Kyoya couldn’t help feeling slightly bitter about his campervan, but it would be better for him to stay with Tamaki, however cramped, rather than incur the wrath of a sleepy Honey-Senpai.

It took them a further 3 hours to set up the tents, while Honey and Mori watched them all struggle from the comfort of the van. Tamaki had refused to use the pre-set-up tents that the Ootori family staff would provide, saying that he “needed the full commoner experience”. It went without saying that he would come to regret this immensely, having multiple temper tantrums when the flimsy tent material wouldn’t bend to his will. Renge and Haruhi were a surprisingly nimble and efficient tem when it came to the construction of their tent, and they ended up begrudgingly setting up Kyoya and Tamaki’s after a flood of begging and crocodile tears from the boss. Kyoya had refused to help with any of the tent-building process, under the grounds that it wasn’t his job after he had managed to wrangle the whole campsite for them to roam for pratically no fee. By no fee, he meant affordable for all club members besides Haruhi, for whom it was an unspeakable amount.

During the tent session, Honey and Mori had dug a pit and had started collecting firewood for a campfire. Rather, Mori collected wood, and Honey found sticks that were the perfect size for roasting marshmallows- “A total essential for the outdoors!” -and organised the snacks he’d stashed in his bag for that evening. By the time the tents were set up in a neat semicircle, there was a roaring fire and even wide logs for them to sit on around it that had been dragged around the woods by Mori.

Their campsite overlooked the still lake, and the moon reflected high in the sky above the friends. Fireflies buzzed around and glowed gold in the night, hovering just above the fire’s smoke, their light bouncing off the group’s faces. Their cheeks and noses were pink with cold and they were huddled under layers upon layers of blankets. Tamaki was sittig next to Kyoya, squashed against him penguin style, sharing the blanket and body heat. Kyoya couldn’t help but note Tamaki’s familiar vanilla cookie smell over the green, clear scent of the woods.

He inhaled before he could help himself, feeling a familiar swell in his chest. There was something about Tamaki, there always had been, from the moment they met and every minute since. He would never admit it- he hardly even let himself entertain his thoughts- but Tamaki was a beautiful, shining beacon radiating warmth and love for his friends, his family, the world. Kyoya privately wished he too could exude this kind of emotion, but more than that he wanted to absorb it from the blond boy. He wanted to soak in every part of Tamaki and then more. There was an unnameable emotion swelling within Kyoya with every glance at his friend, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to hide it for much longer.

He stood abruptly, shedding the blanket onto Tamaki. The feeling in his chest was too much; he couldn’t remain so close to the boy he was trying so desperately to ignore his love for.

“Excuse me- I think I may have to take my leave, everyone. Lots of budgetng to do.” He brandished his clipboard and gave a wan smile. Tamaki looked heartbroken.

“But Kyoya! We haven’t even finished the marshmallows, you can’t possibly pass up smores for work!” The blond boy protested. He knew how to get round anyone but Kyoya knew he wouldn’t be able to stand another minute by his side, feeling his warmth just centimetres away from his heartbeat.

“No, no. Please enjoy the sweets without me. Somebody has to take care of business in this club after all.” He scurried into the tent before anyone could try to stop him, leaving behind the chattering group and the glow of the fire.

Kyoya tossed and turned in his too-short sleeping bag for hours, listening to the crackling fire and sleepy laughter of his friends. What was he going to do? Why couldn’t he love some noble’s daugher and make his family proud? Why was he cursed to love those he would never be able to have?

These thoughts plagued him long into the night, and angry tears escaped from his eyes. He was a failure, a terrible son and an even worse friend to Tamaki for having such terrible feeligs towards him. Eventually, with his mind spitting thoughts that ricocheted round his head like bullets, Kyoya fell into a restless sleep.

“Okay everyone! I’m off to bed. Hopefully Mommy won’t snore!” Tamaki rose from his space on the log after swallowing down his sixth smore.

Honey was leaning against Mori, breathing deeply and clutching at Usa-chan, dreaming of sweets. Haruhi had long gone to bed, and Renge soon followed. The twins were soaked through, having thought it would be hilarious to throw each other into the lake fully clothed. They hadn’t brought towels, the unprepared idiots, so now they had to dry off next to the campfire before they were able to crawl into bed.

A sleepy chorus of “goodnight” echoed around the fire from the remaining group members as Tamaki slowly unzipped the door to his tent, trying his hardest for once to be quiet as to not wake Kyoya up. He’d acted kind of strange earlier, and Tamaki couldn’t help but wonder what could be going on for his oldest and dearest friend. Tamaki was hesitant to give time to the thought, but he was finding himself having different kinds of feelings towards Kyoya recently, just here and there. At first, it was just that he notced a little more than usual when Kyoya had cut or styled his hair differently, then it was that he was almost hyper-aware of Kyoya’s features and how beautiful he was- he looked chiseled, like a marble statue with his clear, glassy skin.

Tamaki shook his head to rid himself of the emotion filling his mind. Not the time or place, he thought to himself, especially given that he would soon be lying right next to Kyoya. As quietly and quickly as he could, the blond boy clambered into the tent, trying hard to fit his long legs and arms neatly into his sleeping bag. He lay his head down onto the pillow and tried his hardest to fall asleep, not wanting his head to buzz with what he didn’t want to admit was love.

Tamaki awoke with a start. There was a rumbling noise, and in his sleepy stupor he couldn’t work out what the sound could possibly be coming from… Ah. After a minute of frantically whipping his head around trying to find the sure, he realised it was his friend snoring. Wow, Tamaki thought. Kyoya snores like a pig. Maybe that would be grounds to try and detatch his feelings! He couldn’t possibly fall for someone so loud- nevermind, it was no use trying to persuade himself of feeling anything other than a swell of happiness whenever he was around Kyoya.

He glanced over at the black haired boy. He was beautiful- his face was softened by sleep, making him appear vulnerable and young, almost like a baby bird who can’t yet fly. The slight tightness in Kyoya’s brow that usually marked his face was dissipated and relaxed, and he no longer showed a air of uptight snootiness. Tamaki wanted to reach out and stroke the smooth skin of his cheek, run his hands through Kyoya’s silky hair. He resisted.

Unzipping the door, Tamaki softly padded outdoors. The sun wasn’t up yet, but it was definitely too light to be the dead of night anymore. He sighed, knowing that he wouldn’t be getting any more sleep that night. No matter, he would nap when he got home.

Tamaki wandered down to the lake’s edge, to where the water lapped at his toes and brushed his heels. It was cool and comforting, softly spashing at his feet. He considered for a second before stripping down to his underwear, the early morning half-light illuminating his toned shoulders and reflecting a shade of orange onto his chest. Tamaki stepped into the water, letting it swell around his knees and thighs for a second before dipping his shoulders under the golden water. He swam with a strong stroke into the centre of the lake, treading the water and watching the sky streak with pink, yellow and gold.

Back in the tent, Kyoya had stirred from his dead slumber. He could see that the door was flapped open, letting a breeze flow into the sleeping pod. He sighed and rolled out of his sleeping bag, pushing aside the door and following the footsteps down to the lake, twigs crunching underneath his bare feet. The coals in the firepit were still faintly glowing, and he stopped a minute to re-stock the fire and get the flames going again for when the others woke up. Once it was quietly crackling once again, he walked down to the lake’s shore, looking out across the woodlands. He could see Tamaki in the middle of the lake, his bare shoulders shining with water. No sooner had he arrived at the edge did Tamaki turn around and smile, yelling something that Kyoya didn’t quite catch across the water. When he didn’t respond, Tamaki made a wide beckoning gesture with his arms.

Kyoya hesitated a second, but reluctantly took his pyjamas off and wading into the lake. It wasn’t as chilly as he’d expected, just a still coolness that slipped over his skin as he swam to his friend. As he got closer, Tamaki sliced through the water towards him, grinning.

“Hey! I didn’t know you snore, I wouldn’t have shared a bedroom with you if I’d known! You totally woke me up” he raised an eybrow and smirked a little before falling into peals of laughter, unable to take himself seriously enough to smirk. Kyoya felt his cheeks redden.

“I do not snore, Suoh. Don’t project your faults onto me.” He deadpanned before smiling to show Tamaki he didn’t really mind the dig.

Tamaki suddenly looked past Kyoya, eyes shining. “Look! The sun’s rising! Isn’t it stunning?”

Kyoya turned. He was right- it was beautiful. The streaked sky was punctuated by the shimmering sparkle of the rising sun, a giant glowing full stop. He felt a hand on his shoulder, quickly followed by Tamaki’s chest resting on his back, chin on his shoulder.

Kyoya reddened again, but this time he felt bolder.

“It’s not as beautiful as you.”

Tamaki pulled away abruptly, and his stomach tied in a tangled knot of regret. Shit. Maybe he was too bold, thought Kyoya. He bowed his head and turned in the water, slightly raising his head to look at Tamaki’s face. The boy was wide eyed and pink cheeked, staring at Kyoya with his mouth slightly ajar.

“Tamaki, I-” Kyoya began to apologise. He was cut off by Tamaki’s tackled embrace, almost knocking him backwards into the lake. He could feel his friend’s- no, his love’s- hands gripping his back before rising to his jaw. Tamaki’s eyes were hazy and dark. He was beautiful.

“Kyoya,” His voice was barely above a whisper. “I’ve wanted you to say that for so long.”

He leant forwards. Kyoya could hardly believe what was happening, and leant into the kiss that he’d waited for forever.

It was perfect. The sun was high now, and the lake was still and crystal, and Tamaki’s lips were so soft, and his hands so gentle. Kyoya didn’t know how this would pan out after this moent had ended… But he’d cross that bridge when he got to it.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Secrets ~ 7

Warnings: noncon sexual acts later in series; fingering.

This is dark!Bucky and dark!Steve and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Notes:

Will King Steve ever show up?! Haha, we’re getting there, I promise.

I love you all, I thank you for your patience and feedback as always! Please don’t shy away in the comments, reblogs, etc.

After your midnight run-in with Barnes, you hid under your covers but didn’t sleep much. The morning rose behind the curtains as you groaned and mulled over another day of royal hell. You dragged yourself out of bed on your own that day. You dressed after grumbling over the selection of pastels and print then waited for your keeper.

You could probably march right out of the palace and not be noticed, you thought. Last night, he hadn’t even heard you enter the pool room. You cringed at the recollection and pushed your legs together as you felt a tickle between them. You stood sharply and teetered on your feet. 

You marched to the door and pulled it open, intent on sneaking out in your bare feet without the annoying and unsteady click of heels. If your mother could outrun Astrania for two decades, you could probably put up a good chase.

You were stopped by the figure awaiting you on the other side. Barnes was just as surprised as you as his hand was still outstretched as if to turn the handle. He blinked and his lips curved in amusement as he looked you over. You scowled, caught before you could run, and crossed your arms.

“You’ve forgotten your shoes,” he looked down.

You huffed and turned back. You stomped to the closet and wrenched it open. You blindly pulled out a pair of white heels. He followed you and kept you from closing the closet. He bent and reached past you to reveal a pair of nude pumps.

“The white… doesn’t go,” he switched the ivory for the beige. “Are you so impatient to start the day?”

You were silent as you sat on the edge of the bed and held back a whine as you shoved your already tortured feet into the shoes. You stood and flitted past him for the door.

“Eager for it be over with,” you swept through the door.

His chuckle stoked your chagrin as he caught up to you. He walked beside you as you retraced the usual path to the dining hall where he would sit and chide you for holding your fork wrong.

“Oh yeah? And how did you sleep?” He smoothed the lapels of his jacket, “Or maybe you were kept awake… by some wandering thoughts?”

You stopped short and turned on your heel to face him. He calmly met you as he came to a smooth halt and he smirked at you. His dark hair was combed neatly but still appeared soft and his thick beard was, as ever, trimmed and clean. He watched you with an unsettling confidence. His eyes ventured further down and you smacked his shoulder.

“And what happens if I tell your king what you did last night? What you tried to do?” You challenged.

He shrugged and fixed the top of your dress as the frill that ran along the neckline folded oddly.

“You think he would be bothered?” His hand slipped down your chest and you shoved him away. He caught your hand and held it firmly. “First, you do not strike a noble.” He remanded, “Like it or not, I have my own title, your highness. Second, I have done nothing more than the duty I’ve been handed. The king wants me to present him with a fit wife and your vow includes a lot more than dining room etiquette.”

“I assure you, I have more than enough experience to guide me in those matters,” you struggled with him as you twisted in his grasp. “Let go of me, Barnes.”

“My lord,” he corrected as his grip tightened, “That is how you must address me.” He released you at last. “Not Barnes, definitely not James.” He sniffed. We have only a few more days and I have little confidence that you will retain much of our work, so if anything, you might appease the king in other avenues.”

“And you would what? Show me how to f--”

“Language!” He cut you off as he grabbed your arm and spun you suddenly. He tapped your ass harshly. “You push too far, your highness.”

“You,” you tried to elbow him but he kept your arm in place as he tugged you down the staircase. “You push too far… my lord.” You descended if only to keep from falling on your face. 

“Because I must,” he sneered and for a moment, you were proud of how you had irritated him. “Because you insist on making it so… difficult.” The pause revealed his urge to swear himself. You wanted to laugh but his hold on you had you more inclined to slap him.

“Get off,” you wiggled free as you got to the bottom of the stairs, “Lord Barnes,” you spat with spite, “You want me to be proper, you want me to act as a queen would, then you should treat me like one and listen to me.”

His blue eyes gleamed as he watched you. You shook your head and waved him off as you strode ahead of him. He followed with even steps. You refused to look back at him or slow your pace. Just a few more days, but for what end? For what would be a man just as bad, if not worse.

“You’re not queen yet,” he admonished from behind, “But… not so far as you were.”

👑

Another ridiculous dance lesson, this time without Priscilla tapping your calves with her stick, and you were ready to kick your heels off. Barnes, however, had other ideas. He ushered you from the grand hall and back up the stairs. You knew where he was taking you before you even turned the first corner. The hall of mirrors was your personal nightmare. Your flaws reflected back at you from every angle.

You stopped before the door and, with his arm still hooked in yours, you drew him back.

“Not another fitting,” you pleaded as you untangled yourself from him, “I can’t--”

“You better get used to it, your highness. All of this isn’t for nothing. This will be your life. Fittings, dancing, events… your wedding is a footnote to the list of expectations.” He pushed open the left door. “For every season, you will need a new wardrobe, and as time goes, you might need second fittings.”

“Jesus,” you sighed.

“Your highness,” he reproached curtly. “You must learn to withhold your gripes. Whenever you feel you must bemoan your unhappiness, you might instead smile and count to ten. It works well for my nephew and he is much younger than you.”

“I…” you grimaced, “How dare you--” You searched for words but all you could think was “asshole”, so instead you clamped your lips shut and stormed through the doors.

“There,” he entered behind you, “Much better but you must remember to smile.”

He poked your cheek as he came up beside you and you shook him away. You squinted as you looked to the middle of the airy hall. The mirrors reflected the lights in your peripherals as you took in the scene. A bench had been dragged out and a folding screen was only six feet away, erected beside another rack of clothing. The garments, however, were scant and made your lip curl.

“What is this?” You snarled.

“Well, we have your wardrobe sorted, your attire for your engagement, and of course, the wedding dress,” he passed you and turned as he walked along the bench, “We only need to worry about the wedding night.”

“Oh, no,” you laughed dryly, “No, no, no. I don’t think--”

“Do you think? Ever?” He scoffed. “Now, I will give you a choice. Humour your stubbornness for this one instant. You can choose whichever piece you want and try it on or I can choose and put it on you myself.” He unbuttoned his jacket and pushed it back as he put a hand on his belt, “So?”

You stared at him. Your eyes strayed to the rack of laces, satins, and silks. Your gaze was drawn back as his fingers twitched and you nodded. Slowly, you crossed the hall and swept by the end of the bench. He turned and sat, you glanced over your shoulder from the corner of your eye as you approached the hangers.

You flicked through the selection and found none of it preferable. Whatever you picked would offer little coverage and you expected, little defense to the king’s whims. You tapped your toe and grabbed a hanger without looking. You felt the heat of Barnes’ gaze as you moved behind the screen.

You paused and closed your eyes. You took a breath. Your nerves swirled amid the anger boiling in your chest. You sighed and lifted your lashes. You held up the lingerie and turned it in disgust. Something blue…

The pale blue lace was stretched between slender boning along the structured bodice. You set the set down on the small stool and stepped out of your heels. You rubbed the soles of your feet as you delayed. You wanted to moan as your thumb grazed the tender arch.

“Do you require assistance, your highness?” Barnes taunted from the other side.

“I could just check the sizing and--”

“Would rather the second option?” He called back. “I do like the pink one.” You let out a disgusted ‘ugh’ and strained to unzip your dress. “Two minutes,” he warned.

You slipped out of the pink, frilly dress and shivered as you stripped off your underwear. The panties, made of delicate lace, barely covered your ass as you stepped into them. Your cheeks peeked out the bottom as the top tickled low on your pelvis. The bodice met the upper hem of the bottoms and the cups barely covered your tits, finely embroidered flowers just big enough to conceal your nipples beneath the lace.

“I can’t--” you stood and looked down at yourself, “I can’t-- Barnes, it fits but I can’t…” You were suddenly very self-conscious. You didn’t want him to see you, or anyone else for that matter. “Can I just--”

“Well,” he startled you as he came up and peeked around the screen. You tried to cover yourself but it was of little use, “It does fit.”

“Hey,” you turned away from him and grabbed your dress.

“Mmm,” he purred, “Very nice.”

His hand closed around your arm and he drew you back. He wrestled the dress from your hand and tossed it over your shoulder. He dragged you away from the screen and turned you ahead of him. He placed his hands on your shoulders as he walked you to one of the many mirrored walls.

“Look,” he ordered, “Look at yourself.”

You blinked and raised your eyes. You made yourself focus and bit down as you faced your reflection. Your flesh was on fire as you took in the revealing lace and your exposed skin. You gulped and your gaze met Barnes’ in the mirror. His tongue glided over his bottom lip as his hands slid down your sides.

“You’ve convinced me. The blue is… nice,” he slithered as he gripped your hips. He pressed against you and rocked his hips. His arousal was obvious through his trousers. 

“What-- Hey,” you grabbed his wrists, “That’s enough.”

“His majesty doesn’t like a woman who acts shy,” his hot breath grazed your scalp.

“I don’t care what he likes. You either,” you wrenched his hands away and spun to face him. “I tried it on. We’re done.”

You shoved him but as your hands met his shoulders, he caught your wrists. His eyes were dark and dangerous as they clung to you and he marched you backwards. You stumbled, afraid you would trip, and were steadied only as your back met the cold glass of the mirror. He pushed your hands against the wall on either side of your head and leaned in. His nose met yours as he loomed over you.

“Now, don’t go making a mess,” he raised your hands up above you and held them together. 

His right hand fell to stroke your cheek as he stared you down. He played with the strap of the bodice and slid his fingers beneath as he tugged it past your shoulder. You trembled as your hands throbbed from his tight grip and you squirmed against the mirror.

“Barnes,” you warned as boldly as you could but your voice wavered tellingly. “Get off!”

“You don’t want to ruin this,” his fingers danced over your breast and along your stomach. “Not yet.”

“Let go,” you begged as he fumbled with the lace along your pelvis. 

He turned his hand and pressed two fingers down your vee. He pushed along the crotch of your panties as he forced his foot between yours. He hummed as he crushed the lace against your cunt and both felt the slickness seeping through it.

“Your highness,” he rubbed your clit and you hissed in surprise. “What did I say about making a mess?”

You could only squeak as he swirled his fingers. You turned your head away from him and closed your eyes. Your thighs closed around his hand but did not deter him. He kept his hand snug against you as he curled his fingers and teased you through the lace.

He released your hand and grabbed your chin. He turned your head as his large hand framed your face. His hot breath washed over you.

“Open your eyes,” he demanded and you whimpered. He repeated himself, his tone so deep, so dark, that you obeyed without thinking. You bit your lip as his fingers kept on. “Don’t hold back. You can’t. Not with him.” He rested his forehead against yours. “You have to let the king hear you.”

“B--” your words fizzled to a moan.

“Like that.” He goaded, “Or the king will do worse. If you do not show your pleasure, he won’t care for it.” Barnes fingers sped up and you writhed between him and the wall. “He’ll use you like he has so many, or you can make him want you, like he has never before.” Your mewls grew louder as he played with your bud. “Just like that,” he growled, “Listen to you.”

You spasmed as your climax rose at once. You braced the glass as your body tensed around his hand and you quaked through the ripples of ecstasy. You gasped and gulped for air as your nerves bounced off each other and your blood pulsed hotly in your veins. 

Barnes stilled his fingers and his other hand slid down to your throat. He tutted as he stood straight and kept you against the mirrored wall. He dragged his fingertips up the lacy panties and hooked them beneath the top. 

“We’ll have to choose another,” he tore the panties down your thighs and dropped his hand from your neck. 

He rolled the lace to your feet and tugged until you stepped out of them. You leaned against the glass senselessly as he stood and folded the panties. He felt the wet fabric before tucking them into his chest pocket and buttoning his jacket. He cleared his throat and winked at you.

“Try the pink one,” he said before he strode back to the bench, “The king likes pink.”

You pushed away from the glass and covered your vee with your hands, dazed but humiliated. Only two more days. Could you make it through?

[iclaimedtobethebetterbard]

stars in the sk(eyes)

Fandom: Sanders Sides Characters: Logan, Virgil, Roman, Remus, Janus, Patton Rating: Teen & up Relationships: Analogical, background Intrualiceit Warnings: Language, food, like 1 line that’s maybe suggestive but also said half-jokingly Word count: 5592

Read on AO3!

My writing masterpost

Starlight Universe masterpost

analogical week 2021 start - previous - here - next - masterpost

Summary: Logan has always loved stars. Virgil has always loved music. Maybe they can put those together with a little help from some friends.

Notes: Day 2 of Analogical Week 2021! @analogicalweek Takes place in my Starlight Universe, does not need context to read.  Patton, Janus, and Remus are all nonbinary folks who use he/they pronouns and masculine terms in this universe (but in the flashback scene, Janus is only using they/them); Roman, Logan, and Virgil are all men who use he/him. (I know absolutely nothing about music or concerts or anything, so please don't roast me too hard for any inaccuracies, lol.)

They were only opening the concert; the real attraction was a band from out of town with a midsize following, making a stop on their tour. Not that Virgil was complaining to have landed this gig. It would be the biggest performance his band—the band he, Janus, and the twins had formed a few years ago—had given, by a lot. And that was exciting. Sure, Virgil had absolutely spent hours stressing over how big it was, but he knew how to manage his anxiety, especially when it came to performances, and the anxiety didn’t stop the excitement.

“You’re going to do wonderfully,” Logan had told him earlier that day as he’d been getting dressed, passing his fingerless leather gloves and then holding his jacket for him to slide into. He’d spoken it with a simple, unassuming confidence, as if it were a given fact. It had been more comforting than Virgil thought Logan knew.

With the memory of his husband’s words carefully nestled against his heart, and the jacket Logan had helped him paint rainbow stripes on sitting on his shoulders, Virgil found it easier to let go of the anxiety. Some lingering tension remained as he paced backstage, running through lyrics in his head and triple checking that everyone knew the schedule, but it wasn’t as bad as usual. Most of it, if he was being honest with himself, wasn’t even about the performance—it was about the surprise the band had put together, the surprise Virgil had had to bite his tongue a couple of times to keep himself from thoughtlessly mentioning it to Logan, even though the surprise had been almost entirely his own idea and the others were just helping. But he’d successfully kept the secret, and now Logan was out in the audience, and Virgil was backstage, and there would be no more chances to spoil it.

But Logan was out in the audience, and Virgil was backstage, and the final round of jitters was setting in. And when Logan wasn’t there, Virgil’s jitters took the form of pestering the hell out of everyone in the room, to make sure everything was perfect.

He checked all the instruments, giving Janus’s keyboard a once-over without touching because he knew better by this point. Remus’s drumset was already on the stage—he was drumming with his fingers on the end of the fallout table in the corner—so there was nothing to do about that. Roman was actively tuning his guitar, so Virgil left that alone too and instead checked his bass, just in case it had gotten out of tune in the last thirty seconds.

All of the instruments were fine, great, even, and Remus and Roman were undeniably being productive; Janus, who’d been on their phone in the corner, had stepped out for just a moment, probably to get a drink of water or something.

Things were in order. Which was good. Great, even. But it gave Virgil nothing to do with his restless energy.

“Are we ready?” he asked, jiggling his leg and tracing the pattern of his fishnet tights through one of the large rips in his jeans.

Roman looked up. “Yes,” he said shortly. Roman’s nerves tended to take the form of a very short temper, which didn’t mix well with Virgil’s perfectionism.

“Yeah,” Remus agreed, running a hand through his dark green curls and straightening his denim jacket.

“We all know the order things go in?” Virgil followed up after a minute of tense silence.

“Mmhm,” Remus said easily. Remus, and Remus alone, somehow always managed to remain at ease and unbothered no matter what. Virgil didn’t know how they did it.

Virgil took stock of everyone’s outfits. He himself was wearing fishnet leggings that went all the way up past his waist. Over them he had ripped black skinny jean, and a black crop top splattered with white paint. On top of that, he wore his black denim jacket, which matched the ones the other three were wearing. Virgil’s had the rainbow pride flag painted on the front, all down the lapel area; the rest of the jacket was covered in patches. He checked his makeup, examining the black eyeshadow and lipstick in his phone’s camera; it looked fine. Perfect, even.

Roman was the neatest of the group, made to stand out as the lead singer. He wore the same high-heeled doc martens as the other three, but in white where theirs were all black. He had a tight white longsleeve shirt made of a shimmery material and a matching pair of white pants, and the black jacket contrasting nicely against it all. Roman’s jacket had the aromantic pride flag where Virgil had the rainbow, and the rest of his jacket was painted with red roses all at the ends of long, intricate, thorny stems. His eyeliner was sharp enough to cut, and his curly hair was piled up atop a black headband wrapped around his forehead like a crown.

Janus still wasn’t back, but he’d been on the neater end too, to counter Virgil and especially Remus’s scruffiness. Their outfit was sleek and all black save for a thin white belt around their waist. A black hat with a broad round brim framed their face like a dark halo. His jacket had nonbinary and pan stripes on the front, and thin white squiggly lines running up and down like warped pinstripes everywhere else. (Virgil knew where on the jacket one line ended in a tiny snake head, and where one trailed off into a tail, but you wouldn’t notice unless you knew to look.) They were wearing black lipstick to match Virgil, and winged eyeliner to match Roman, and contour that emphasized the sharpness of his cheekbones; definitely the heaviest makeup of the group.

Remus, sitting in the corner and making noises to themself, was a sharp contrast to his boyfriend Janus’s sleek elegance. His black jeans, splattered with white paint to match Virgil’s crop top, were ripped almost to shreds, open nearly entirely from mid-thigh down to his ankles, with only a few clinging strands of fabric keeping them anywhere in the realm of being pants. The tee they wore—black again, with his own name painted on it in large white letters—was also ripped full of holes, these ones much more deliberate; he’d slashed it carefully with an exacto knife, kneeling on the ground and focusing with their tongue stuck out slightly, until it was exactly how he wanted it and you could catch glimpses of their top surgery scars when they moved. His makeup consisted of dramatic green and black eyeshadow, and his jacket had the trans and polyamorous flags on it—he and Janus, who had nearly identical collections of pride flags between them, had split two and two which color schemes they wanted to use. The rest of Remus’s jacket consisted of a few jagged holes and some incredibly detailed paintings of green tentacles.

The instruments were fine. The costumes were fine. The makeup was fine. What else did that leave for Virgil to fret over as the final minutes ticked away?

“How about the blocking?” Virgil said. “We can go over it again if anyone—”

“I promise we know, Virge,” Roman snapped.

“Come on, kiddo, you know he’s just trying to help!” piped up Patton, Janus and Remus’s other boyfriend, who was suddenly somehow present and sitting in Janus’s lap, his pastel outfit completely out of place amidst the varying edgy styles everyone else in the room was sporting.

“How did you get back here?” Roman and Virgil demanded in unison. Virgil hadn’t even noticed Janus was back, let alone that he’d brought Patton, who was supposed to be in the audience with Logan until the performance was over.

“Oops,” Janus said, not sounding even a tiny bit remorseful as they played with Patton’s dark curls.

“Did you leave Logan alone?” Virgil demanded of Patton, hands on his hips.

“Only for a minute! He’s getting snacks, anyway,” Patton said, wrapping his arms around Janus’s neck. “We both know where our seats are, he’ll be fine.”

“You already have a partner backstage, stop being greedy,” Roman scolded Janus. “Patton, you know we need to focus right now, can you please not distract my horny bandmates until after the show?”

“You sound like Virgil, with all that worrywarting,” Remus commented, snickering.

“Take that back this instant!” Roman demanded as Virgil gave Remus double birds.

Remus only guffawed, looking incredibly amused.

“Seriously, though, uh, Patton, with all the love in my heart: get out,” Virgil said.

Patton wrinkled his nose, but pressed a warm smack of a kiss to Janus’s cheek and hopped to his feet.

“Do I get a kiss?” Remus asked, reaching his arms out hopefully.

“Makeup—” Roman began warningly.

“I haven’t got any on my mouth!” Remus said triumphantly. “Suck it, Jan.”

Janus smiled wryly, fingers rising to but not quite touching their black lipstick that Patton had avoided so carefully. “The prices I pay for beauty.”

Patton giggled, crossing to Remus, clasping both his hands, and leaning down to kiss him sweetly.

“Great, you’re very very cute together but now is not the time, Patton get out and stop distracting your boyfriends,” Roman said, shooing Patton towards the door.

Remus raised an eyebrow. “High strung much?”

“Not all of us possess your—your stupid coolheadedness powers, Remus!” Roman snapped.

Patton paused in the doorway and pointed at Roman, getting out his dad voice. “Hey. Be nice.” The finger moved to Virgil. “Be nice.” His eyes flicked to Remus, then Janus, and his voice shifted to a different tone, half flirty and half joking. “You two be good boys.”

“Oh my god oh my god oh my god, I said to stop being horny!” Roman shrieked, chasing a giggling Patton out of the room and down the hall. He returned moments later, Patton-less and fixing at his hair to make sure it wasn’t too messy. “We had better not have any more alloromantic bullshit from any of you until after the show is over!” he announced. “Okay?” He didn’t sound quite as annoyed as before.

“Homophobia,” Remus accused teasingly.

But instead of snapping back, Roman giggled. “Oh, shut up.”

The twins began joking back and forth, Janus making the occasional amused interjection.  Evidently Patton’s intrusion into the room, although technically unhelpful, had done wonders to break the tension, and Virgil reminded himself to thank Patton later.

Virgil’s phone buzzed with a text from Logan.

Logan: Patton found me, don’t worry. Logan: How are you doing?

Virgil: hahahahahaaaa i don’t wanna think abt it

Logan began typing, then the little bubble went away; a second later, the phone began to ring, Logan’s caller ID plain to see.

“Hi, babe,” Virgil greeted.

“Hello, dear. Would you like to walk me through your plan for the performance, to reassure yourself?”

Virgil let out a small sigh of relief. “Yes, please.”

“I am listening,” Logan assured him.

Virgil took a deep breath and launched into a detailed itinerary, knowing that Logan didn’t mind if he got a little too technical in his terminology because Logan was listening for Virgil’s sake.

“And then that’s about it,” Virgil wound down, carefully leaving off the final item from his explanation. It wouldn’t do to spoil the surprise now. “Oh, looks like we’re getting ready now, gotta go.”

“I love you,” Logan said quickly. “You’re going to do a wonderful job.”

Virgil let out a short laugh. “Thanks, L. Love you too.” He hung up, set his phone down on the table, and picked up his bass.

“You ready?” Roman asked, nudging Virgil with his elbow, as the group finally headed towards the stage.

Virgil sucked in a long breath. “Yeah. I think so. Are you?”

“Oh, you know it!” Roman grinned, a spring in his step. He paused after a second and glanced back to Virgil. “Sorry for being so wound up earlier.”

“It happens.” Virgil shrugged. “Right back at you.”

Roman nodded and put a hand on Virgil’s shoulder. “Hey. He’s going to love it. Just wait and see.”

Virgil looked away, half smiling. “I sure hope so.”

“He will, I know it!” Roman insisted as they climbed the steps onto the stage and emerged into what could practically have been the eye of a hurricane, for all the noise and light that surrounded the stage.

The sky above was fully dark; bright lights everywhere in the area contrasted against it. There was a decent crowd. The venue seemed almost full, as a matter of fact. The observation added a thrill of adrenaline to compliment the goosebumps from the chilly breeze across Virgil’s bare midriff.

Roman stepped forward and spread his arms wide right as the spotlights came up. “Hey, folks, thank you for being with us here tonight!” he said, his smile gleaming in the bright lights and his voice booming in the speakers. “We have some great hits lined up for you tonight! Let’s get it started, huh?”

Virgil waited a few seconds for the cheer of the crowd to peak. Janus began the melody on the keyboard; Virgil came in with his bass at exactly the same second Roman began to sing, and Remus picked up the beat on the drums on cue.

Virgil was quickly able to get lost in the music, all his focus on playing and providing backup vocals, leaving him with no more brain space for his anxiety. This was his favorite thing about music: its ability to keep him in the moment.

They played three songs. Two covers that always went over really well, and one song that the twins had written together about family that always left Roman just a little teary. Normally that would be their closing song.

But tonight was a little bit different.

Roman took a step back, nodding at Virgil; the pair of them traded places onstage, putting Virgil front and center.

“So,” Virgil said, the mic on his cheek picking up his words, “we were thinking we’d let you all be the first to hear our new song. Uh, I wrote this one. And normally Roman does our singing, because—well, you’ve heard his voice. But this song is kind of special. I wrote it for my husband. So. We thought I’d perform it tonight.”

As Janus began playing the melody, Virgil searched the front row of the crowd, squinting against the lights, until he found Logan, sitting next to Patton and gazing up at Virgil with shining eyes. “Lo, I love you so much, babe. More than every star you’ve ever shown me.” He took a deep breath and began to sing.

***

10 years earlier

Unknown Number: Hello. This is Janus. Logan’s roommate

Virgil: how’d u get this number?

Janus: I broke into Logan’s phone after you started dating and saved you to my contacts just in case

[read 3:43pm}

[3:46pm]

Virgil: i Virgil: wtf dude

Janus: Your boyfriend has been moping in his room all day, can you please come fix it? Janus: Roman is starting to mope too for no good reason, but he’s doing it in the living room and at this point it is starting to affect my quality of life

Virgil: yk i literally could not care less abt that part u asshole <3 Virgil: i’ll be over in 15 Virgil: is he ok?

Janus: He won’t talk to me, I don’t know what happened

Virgil: i’ll be over in 10

It was normally a 12-minute walk from the dorm Virgil was an RA in to Logan’s apartment just off campus, but Virgil could walk fast when he was anxious or alone, and in this case he was both. Even taking the time to grab a jacket, he still made it to the building in nine minutes flat.

Janus let Virgil into the apartment almost the second he knocked, relief plain to see on their face.

“You see?” Janus said over their shoulder in a scolding tone. “I had to resort to outside measures to deal with your bullshit.”

“It’s not bullshit,” Roman whined from where he was slumped on the couch, scrolling aimlessly through Netflix on the TV.

“Oh? And what’s this?” Janus demanded, hands on their hips. They dramatically pushed the button to open the microwave door, revealing a limp burrito wrapped in a damp paper towel.

“Lunch,” Roman mumbled defensively.

“You hate microwave food, and it’s four in the afternoon!” Janus snapped.

“I am in a creative slump, Jan! Have some sympathy!”

“No! Get your whiny ass off the couch and stop ruining my afternoon!”

Virgil took a deep breath and pointedly walked in between the pair of them down the hall towards Logan’s room. Roman and Janus’s still-bickering voices faded into the background.

“Hey.” Virgil knocked on the door, which had a piece of printer paper taped to it with Logan’s name written on it in blue sharpie and a couple of stars, both scribbles and stickers, scattered around it. He waited, and when there was no reply, he added, “Are you okay, Lo?”

“I’m fine,” Logan said, in a voice that had obviously been crying.

“Can I come in?” Virgil asked.

“Okay.”

Virgil pushed open the door and stepped into the dim room, closing it behind him. The blinds were closed, and Logan was curled up under a mound of blankets.

“Hey, baby,” Virgil murmured, kicking off his shoes and climbing to sit on the bed beside Logan and stroke his hair. “What’s wrong?”

Logan made a muffled noise of misery into the mattress.

“What?” Virgil said after a moment.

Logan rolled over. “Teacher didn’t like my essay.”

Virgil chewed on the inside of his lip for a moment. “Okay, I promise I’m not making fun of you, but you do know that that is possibly the most stereotypically you thing you have ever said to me, right?”

Logan let out a little huff that was not quite a laugh. “I guess.” He was silent for a moment as Virgil continued to stroke his hair. “And I know it’s stupid. I still got a B+ and my overall grade in the class is fine and I know I’m a good writer and everything. But it sucks. I was really proud of it.”

“I’m sorry about that,” Virgil said, choosing to ignore the squirm in his gut that always happened when grades came up. It was so easy to compare or to worry about others comparing and then to worry about others getting upset over comparisons and—he dragged himself back to the present, forcibly setting the issue aside. “You’re allowed to feel upset,” he told Logan. “About anything that upsets you. Even if you wouldn’t choose it.”

Logan didn’t respond, but after a minute his hand snaked out from under the covers and grasped Virgil’s.

“Do you want to go for a walk?” Virgil asked, struck with the idea.

“Huh?”

“A walk. Get out of your head for a little bit and hang out. We can talk if you want, or just be together.”

Roman’s voice grew particularly loud outside, and Virgil picked out a teary, petulant, “I hate you!”

“Plus it’ll get you away from that energy,” he added wryly.

Logan drew in a breath and sat up. “Alright. Let’s do it.” He pulled out a denim jacket while Virgil put his shoes back on and retied the laces. They made their way out of the apartment, hand in hand.

Roman was on his feet now, releasing an angry tirade at Janus, hands clenched into fists and sounding on the verge of crying, the TV remote cast on the floor beside him. Janus was sitting on the kitchen counter with arms crossed and an intimidating glare on their face.

“Hey!” Virgil snapped, and Roman cut off abruptly. “Eat some food,” Virgil told him on a hunch. Sure, Roman could be a little immature at times, but this was on a whole different level, and a lack of food seemed like the simplest culprit.

Virgil looked over at Janus, to make it clear that they weren’t off the hook either. “We’re going out. You two better make up before we get back. Clear?”

“You can’t tell us what to do—” Roman began stubbornly.

“Janus literally called me in to fix all your problems, so yeah. I can. Also open your windows, it’s gloomy as fuck in here.” Virgil opened the door and held it for Logan, tossing one last glare over his shoulder at Roman, who looked dumbstruck, and Janus, who avoided eye contact.

Logan was quiet as the two of them walked down the stairs and exited the apartment building, hands in his pockets (one still clasping Virgil’s) and eyes on the toes of his slip-on shoes.

“Wanna talk?” Virgil asked.

Logan tilted his head to the side for a moment, his thinking face slipping over his features, and then shook his head.

Virgil nodded. “Okay.” He fished in his pocket for his earbuds and plugged them in. “Let me know if that changes, okay?” He received a small nod and turned on his go-to playlist—a 12-and-a-half-hour-long composition of all his favorite emo songs that he could loop without having to put any thought in.

The two of them wandered through the streets, hand in hand, music blaring in Virgil’s ears and Logan’s fingers soft and warm against his. They made their way towards downtown; their university was in a small city, and it was pretty walkable.

As they walked, weaving around and across different blocks, occasionally stopping to peek into particularly interesting shop windows, the tension in Logan’s shoulders slowly began to relax and his gaze migrated from the toes of his shoes upwards to take in the surrounding scenery. Virgil felt himself relaxing in turn. The subdued, almost sullen look on Logan’s face was beginning to shift back to his typical bright-eyed curiosity, which meant that while maybe not all was right with the world, a whole lot was right with the world.

As the sky began to darken, Logan’s pace quickened with sudden purpose—but he didn’t lead Virgil in the direction of the apartment. Instead, he headed in almost the exact opposite direction. Virgil was lost for a moment as to where they were going, until the park in the center of downtown came into view. Ah. That explained it. He was kind of glad; he didn’t feel ready for the quiet time they were spending together to be over.

A scent caught his attention as they entered the park, and he tugged gently at Logan’s arm, nodding towards the mediterranean food truck. A small smile answered him, and a nod, and the pair of them made their way over. They both ordered gyros—Virgil chicken, and Logan, who was trying out vegetarian food, falafel.

Fifteen minutes later, seated side by side on a park bench and finishing the last of their sandwiches, Logan cleared his throat. “Thank you.”

Virgil bumped his shoulder against his boyfriend’s. “Of course, babe.”

“I am feeling… better,” Logan said cautiously, as if he were testing out the words in his mouth to see if they felt true.

Virgil nodded. “Better is good.”

Logan nodded, eyes moving to the sky, which was now almost fully dark except for a streak of orange sunset leftover on the horizon. The stars were out, at least the brightest ones that could be seen even past the floodlights placed every so often across the park.

“You like space, and shit, right?” Virgil said, scooting closer to Logan and dragging his arm to wrap around Virgil as he rested his head on Logan’s shoulder. It was a bit of a rhetorical question, since he knew Logan had an astronomy minor and was the vice president of the astronomy club and had gone on no less than three eager rambles about space in the last month alone, but one could always do with a conversation opener.

Logan blinked and looked down at him. “I do.” You know this, his tone said, a little puzzled at the question.

“What star is that?” Virgil pointed at a particularly bright one, although he wasn’t paying nearly as much attention to the star as he was to Logan’s face.

Sure enough, Logan brightened, his eyes more interesting than any star. “Oh! That’s not a star at all—it’s actually Mercury!”

“Really?” Virgil asked, grinning and scooting closer.

Logan wrapped his arm a little more tightly around Virgil’s shoulders with an answering smile. “Yes, and it’s actually very fascinating…” And just like that, he was off, words spilling out of his mouth at a breakneck pace, gesturing eagerly with his free hand to emphasize his points.

Virgil listened, doing his best to follow along and asking a few questions whenever Logan started to wind down, but mostly just happy to watch his boyfriend’s lips as he excitedly infodumped, and his eyes, too, alight with delight, the frustration of the disappointing grade all but forgotten as he held Virgil and told him stories about the night sky.

It was nearly ten at night by the time they made their way back to Logan’s apartment, chatting back and forth in quiet voices and giggling. Logan broke off as he opened the door and got a look inside; he glanced over his shoulder at Virgil and put a finger to his lips.

Virgil hushed and followed him in, then saw what the need for quiet was: Janus and Roman were asleep on the sofa, Roman sprawled on his stomach on top of Janus with his limbs everywhere and his face buried in Janus’s chest, Janus with their arms wrapped around him and a throw pillow propping their head up and a worn copy of Crime and Punishment flopped over from where it had clearly been propped up on Roman’s back.

“Precious,” Virgil commented softly as Logan picked up the book, tucked a bookmark off the coffee table into it, and set it down with the tender care he seemed to reserve exclusively for books and Virgil.

Logan smiled. “They are, rather.” He looked down at his roommates. “Sometimes I wonder why I picked the two most dramatic people I know to live with.”

“Sometimes like this afternoon?” Virgil said with a chuckle.

Logan snorted. “Maybe. But then they do things like this, and I remember why I like them.”

Virgil noticed something on the tiny kitchen table. “Or this?” He pointed.

Logan came over to examine what Virgil had found. “Oh,” he breathed, a smile spreading across his face.

A plate of cookies sat on the table, together with a hastily handmade card.

“Sorry :( ❤️” it read in large, expressive cursive, and beneath it in smaller, neater handwriting, “I actually didn’t do anything wrong, but these are for you and I did the dishes, also you’re welcome for the date night.”

Logan laughed quietly, taking a cookie and offering the plate to Virgil, who accepted one cookie—they looked to be snickerdoodles. “Yes. Things exactly like this,” he said. He took a bite of the cookie and raised his eyebrows. “Not bad.”

Virgil grinned and leaned over to kiss him. “Not bad at all,” he agreed, pulling away.

“I literally gave you your own cookie,” Logan whispered, clearly trying not to laugh.

“Yeah, but it tastes better this way.” Virgil winked, mainly for Logan’s reaction—he pressed a hand to his mouth, stifling an amused smile that was still visible in his eyes. “I should go,” Virgil added, glancing at the time. It was Sunday tomorrow, so he didn’t need to worry about how late he was up, but he disliked walking home at night.

Logan nodded, taking another cookie and pressing it into his hand. “Text me when you get home?”

“I always do,” Virgil said, accepting the cookie and a goodnight kiss that still tasted just faintly of cinnamon and sugar.

And he did just that; he always felt a little awkward simply texting “I made it home,” or the like, so he usually tried to come up with interesting questions to send to Logan instead. Tonight, it was:

Virgil: hey Virgil: if u could pick one Thing u always wanted to do Virgil: and get a guarantee that u’d get a chance to do that thing no matter what Virgil: what would u pick?

Logan: Fascinating question! I would like the opportunity to name a star. Logan: I don’t imagine it will ever happen in real life, but I’ve always thought it would be… cool, for lack of a better word.

Virgil: ghfdkjghksdhj i will never be over ur love for space Virgil: u have a Brand and u stick to it

Logan: Well, a brand is important in life. :-) Logan: What about you? What would you pick?

Virgil: i think it’d be neat to be in a band Virgil: idk Virgil: like i don’t wanna be super famous or anything but like Virgil: being in a band would be neat Virgil: yk?

***

Ten years later, Virgil sang the last lines of his song looking right at his husband. “And I don’t even need to look to the skies/Because all of the stars are in your eyes.”

The noise around him didn’t fade away like in the movies; to the contrary, the cheering was so loud it was almost hard to focus. But Logan’s face was absolutely alight—Virgil couldn’t be sure at this distance, but he thought Logan might even be tearing up—and he was looking at Virgil like he was his whole world. Even with the bright lights and overwhelming sounds all around, it was easy to focus on Logan in the midst of it all, Logan pressing a hand to his mouth but smiling too wide for anything to hide it, Logan leaning into the side-hug that Patton—oh, and there was Patton, right beside him—was offering, but never taking his eyes off Virgil. Logan looked so happy, even though Virgil knew concerts weren’t really his favorite type of event, and Virgil was hit right in the chest with a renewed realization that Logan was Virgil’s whole world and damn, Virgil wanted to make sure everyone knew it.

But their time onstage was up, and the next few minutes were a bustle of packing equipment away and cleaning up the space they’d been allotted backstage, and it all went by in a bit of a blur, helped along by the remnants of Virgil’s performance mindset and slight overstimulation—though that was getting better now that he was offstage.

Virgil took a quick break, when the bulk of the urgent work was done, to just stand in the empty restroom and breathe for a moment, the noise of the other band who were now onstage thudding in the background so quietly he could hardly hear it. When he’d fully composed himself, feeling much calmer, he took a deep breath and headed back out.

On his way out, he ran into Roman, pushing a dolly with a box on it. “Oh, good, there you are,” he greeted Virgil. “Can you—oh, for crying out loud,” he broke off, looking ahead.

Following his gaze, Virgil snickered as he saw Remus, leaning against the wall with their hands clasped behind his head, grinning down at Patton, who was leaned forward, bracketing Remus with his arms, looking up at him and speaking, although Virgil couldn’t hear him from here.

“We still have work to do,” Roman said under his breath, but the exasperated gaze he leveled at the pair was altogether far too fond to have much real bite.

Virgil’s mind was on other matters; if Patton was here, that meant—

“Lolo!” Patton’s voice called brightly; he’d seen Roman and Virgil and stepped back from Remus, waving happily at the pair of them. “Virgil’s here!”

At the sound of Patton’s voice, Janus emerged from the room, a little further down the hall, that had served as the headquarters for the band. He bent to give the tiny man a kiss, then turned to Remus for another kiss.

Logan popped his head out just a moment behind Janus. “Virgil?” He brightened when he saw Virgil’s face, and stepped fully out into the hall. He hadn’t changed from his work outfit, still wearing a button down with the sleeves rolled up, a tie, and a pair of jeans, and a smile that he looked like he couldn’t wipe off his face.

He was still the handsomest man Virgil had ever seen.

Virgil looked to Roman. “Permission to get back on my alloromantic bullshit, captain?” he asked teasingly.

Roman rolled his eyes and swatted Virgil’s shoulder. “Go be cute,” he said benignly.

Virgil took off down the hallway to Logan, not quite running; Logan took a few steps to meet him, and Virgil caught him in a hug so eager he actually lifted the taller man off his feet for just a second.

Logan, half-laughing with surprise, grasped Virgil’s shoulders for balance as he regained his feet. “You wrote me a song?”

“Did you like it?” Virgil asked, holding him tightly.

“Virgil, I—” Logan seized Virgil’s face in his hands and kissed him.

Virgil wrapped his arms more firmly around his husband, kissing him back exuberantly and swaying slightly back and forth.

“It’s perfect,” Logan told him, breaking away only just far enough to speak. “You’re perfect.”

Virgil grinned, reaching up to run his fingers through Logan’s neat hair. “Careful, you’ll spoil me.”

“I don’t think I could ever do that,” Logan told him seriously. “It’s not spoiling if you deserve it.”

And really, what was Virgil supposed to do about that except kiss his husband again?

[puckngrind]

Skating Lessons: Part 33 - J. Anderson

Summary: Josh and reading tie the knot

Warning: language, quarantine, mentions of the bubble

Word count: 1,500

Series Masterlist

"J, you are sure?" You look at the pavilion sitting on the river. Josh's arms tight around you. Mason watching for the next train to come by so he can wave.

"Baby, we can get married in our living room, Cam's backyard, the rose garden. This is open but also not confined." He moves your body to focus your attention to different aspects of the brick building with windows on either side giving the best view of Columbus.

"At least if it rains we won't get wet." You move your head to attempt to press your lips to his. Josh meets them softly.

"Ew!" Mason's voice bounces off the wall making you both laugh. "So is this where we are getting married?" He spins around in the open space like an airplane.

"Do you like it?" You lean down and hold his hands.

"Yup, you can almost see the arena from here plus the train!" Mason's attention moving to the train tracks over the river impatiently waiting again.

It was settled. Wedding plans were simple and easy even in the middle of a pandemic. Beth, your parents, Seth, and Oliver were the only ones attending. Josh coordinated the whole thing from calling dress shops, having a small cake, getting a minister to perform the ceremony, and making you feel so relaxed by everything.

Josh took Mason with him to Seth's to get ready and Beth picked up your mom to get you ready at home.

"You aren't even a little nervous are you?" Beth fixed your hair after slipping on your dress. It was simple, white lace dress that hit the floor. "I'm not even going to comment on your shoes." Beth giggled noticing the new Bride converses Josh somehow found.

"What?" You fixed your dress and looked at your mom in the mirror.

"They are perfect. You are perfect." Mom interjects and you see the water in her eyes. She knew the rumors about trades. She knew you and Mason moving was a real possibility but the smile said how happy she was for you.

"Let's get you married!" Beth does a little dance in her dress and moves you all to the door where you didn't realize your dad would be waiting.

"So, Josh told me to give you this." Your dad pulls out a small box and opens it up. A blue enamel lapel pin you knew was his grandfather's placed on top of a note. "Something borrowed and blue." Your dad hands the the pin to your mom and hands you the note. While mom pins it to your dress you read Josh's handwritten note.

Today begins our new adventure together.

See you down the aisle. I'll be the tall one in a dress shirt.

Love, Josh

You wipe a tear from your eye and laugh.

Before you realize it, you are hidden behind a brick wall waiting for the music to play. The sun was setting and the sunlight danced off the glass. Mason with Josh and Seth at the front while your mom, Oliver and his girlfriend sat in chairs spread apart.

Dad offers his elbow as Beth heads in.

"Ready baby girl?" He whispers.

"I hear our song. Let's do this!" You exhale and start to walk.

🎶'Cause every single day, before I knew your name I couldn't see your face, but I prayed for you Every heartbreak trail when all hope failed On the highway to hell, I prayed for you I kept my faith like that old King James Said I'm supposed to It's hard to imagine, bigger than I could fathom I didn't know you from Adam, but I prayed for you 🎶

Josh's eyes are the only ones you see. Full of love and only looking at you. Once you get to him you finally look around. Mason's little hand holding onto Josh's suit pants waiting for his part of the giving away the bride. You lean down and kiss his forehead.

"You look so handsome!" You tug at his matching tie.

"Momma, you look like a princess." Mason's voice echoes and you hear more than the few voices in the room laughing. Josh sees the confusion and points to Oliver. There you see the Anderson family and a few of your extended family members on a zoom call.

"Josh!" You clutch the 77 necklace and wave at the loved ones.

"Everyone can be here even now." He brushes your cheek and you feel him lean to kiss you then stop. "And Mace is right. You look like a princess." His face is flush and you feel the fire in your cheeks as well. The moment is broken by the officiant clearing his throat to start.

"Who gives this woman to wed this man?" You grip the flowers in your left hand trying not to giggle at the formality.

"I do." Mason's hand shoots up like he's in class. "And my grandpa!" He points over and your dad shakes his head.

"Well, perfect." The officiant continues.

The ceremony was short and sweet. You said your vows, exchanging of rings, Josh's mom read a passage from their family bible, and then the moment you could tell Josh had been waiting for.

"Josh, you may now kiss your wife." The officiant gestured towards you and Josh pulls you in by the waist.

"Wife." He smirks and presses a kiss to your lips bending you back just slightly. Cheers erupted from those on the screen and in the pavilion. You heard the distinct sounds of his teammates at the very end too. The sound of a camera lens made you jerk your head.

"She's been here the whole time. Masked and out of our way. You really thought I was going to marry you without wedding pictures?" Josh kisses your lips again.

"I present to you Mr. and Mrs. Anderson."

"Does that mean it's cake time?" Mason looks up at the two of you.

"Yes it does Mace. Want to help cut it?" Josh puts his hand in yours and you all walk to the other end where a small cake is placed. The three of you cut the cake. Feeding each other small pieces while Mason licks the icing. Oliver hands Josh the tablet and you say your goodbyes to those in person and online.

"Ready to go Mace?" Your mom chimes in.

"Go?" You look puzzled and look up at Josh.

"I may have gotten two days off to take you on a mini-honeymoon." Josh whispers in your ear.

"What? With the pandemic?" You are sure your voice cracked.

"It's a friend's place and it's been cleaned fully plus it's close." Josh kisses your temple. "It's safe. Promise." You nod and lean down to kiss Mason.

"How did you orchestrate all of this?" You finally asked Josh as you headed out of town. He lifts your interlocked hands up and kisses the back of your hand.

"Like your band?" He moves the two rings with his finger.

"Avoiding the question Mr. Anderson." You try a stern voice but laugh as he tightens his grip.

"Well, Mrs. Anderson." He stops and looks at you. "Damn it feels amazing to say that. Well, Mom did a lot of work from home before I asked if you wanted to get married before the playoffs. So she knew it could happen. And as for this honeymoon," he turns down a dirt road you didn't even see with the headlights. "Well, a former teammate owns this cottage." You see the porch light come into view. Josh turns the car off and jogs around the car to open the door.

"What about our bags?" You question.

"Seth brought them and a few groceries for us." the look of accomplishment clear on your husband's face.

"Wow." Is all you can say as Josh turns the door knob and you try to walk in.

"Hold on!" In one motion, Josh picks you up. "Gotta carry my wife across the threshold." He plants a kiss on you as he gracefully maneuvers your bodies into the doorway and kicks it closed. You kick a little thinking he will let you down but he peppers kisses over your skin as he makes his way to the bedroom. Finally placing your feet on the ground. His hands finding the zipper.

"Let me turn around." You whisper and turn so Josh can ease you out of your dress. He takes in your body like he's seeing you for the first time. "Josh..." You gulp.

"What baby?" He presses close to you and you slide your fingers down his buttons releasing them one by one. "Ready?" He pulls your chin up so you look him deep in his familiar pools of blue.

"For new adventures?" You cup his face and he leans into it.

"For a lifetime of me loving you? We are in this together." Josh pulls you further into him.

"Same, J. Forever." You lose your words as his lips find yours again.

[cotncandyboifics]

A Lovely Night: Chapter 5

AO3 Link

Masterpost

Chapter 1 ~ Chapter 2 ~ Chapter 3 ~ Chapter 4 ~ Chapter 6

Pairing(s): pre-established roceit & prinxiety, anaroceit, eventual anaroloceit, eventual intruality

Word count: ~2.5k

Story summary: Roman's boyfriends had had a rivalry since before either of them had actually met Roman. Running a bit late to a date night, Roman accidentally gets them to start dating too.

General CW: non-detailed description of an anxiety attack, non-detailed description of physical pain, food, kissing, potentially triggering descriptions of physical bodies, swearing, caps lock, school settings, s-xual innuendos, slight description of gore(imagery), vague descriptions of anxiety, Implications of an eating disorder, fatigue, dissociation, suppression of stimming, implied heavy restriction (ED), inner monologue-style anxiety description, eating,(will be added to as I write more)

Chapter CW: Swearing, slight description of gore(imagery), vague descriptions of anxiety, food, (let me know if i missed anything please!)

Author notes: i like this chapter a lot :) the stage has been set.

...

The next morning, Virgil had an opening shift at the knitting and sewing supply store he worked for. He'd found it the first week the three of them had moved to this town for college, and immediately took a liking to it, likely thanks to his long-lasting hobby of clothing alteration. He'd made some good money to save up in high school from making and selling custom hoodies and other clothing, even having taken a few commissions over the years.

It wasn't rare occurrence, that he was opening the store, and on this particular morning it wasn't so dreadful (once he'd pried himself away from his half-asleep boyfriends, who both vaguely grumbled protests at the incomplete cuddle pile as Virgil was getting ready). Virgil had gotten to his favorite coffee shop, where Janus' brother Patton worked, in time that it would be open and he also wouldn't be late for his shift, which was rare. It only worked out that way if Virgil's bus commute was perfectly timed.

Now caffeinated, and somewhat less-pessimistic-than-usual about the day ahead of him, Virgil retrieved the keys to the shop from his pocket, fumbling for a bit before finding the right one. He let out a breath as he found it, unlocking the door as he'd done a thousand times before and stepping in, shutting the door behind him and leaning his back against it. Virgil noted the clock on the wall, reading 5:02 am. The shop opened at 6, and he had more than enough sorting and stocking to do before then.

The next hour passed rather quickly. His co-worker Emile showed up shortly after him, and they both spent the rest of the time before the shop opened restocking and organizing the horrendous amounts of yarn and string and such supplies throughout the store and in the back room.

Shortly 6 am arrived, and it was time for the two of them to draw straws to decide who would man the register and help customers while the other continued stocking. Typically Virgil enjoyed the latter while Emile enjoyed the former, but their manager had insisted that they make the odds more random in order to get them both more comfortable in their unpreferred positions.

True to their manager's sentiment, Virgil drew the register stick. They both sighed at each other, and Emile returned to sorting through some cerulean yarn balls. Virgil made his way to the front of the store, unlocking the doors and flipping the sign to open, before making himself at home behind the register.

Generally, customers were rare at this time of morning, save for a few early-riser regulars. The bell at the top of the door chimed. Virgil didn't look up, expecting to see Margaret in her usual morning power-walk getup, coming in to check up on whether they'd gotten a shipment of lavender yarn yet.

"Morning, Marge. We still haven't gotten any lavender in, if-" Virgil halted his speaking upon looking up, feeling his throat constrict as he realized who had entered. At any rate, this person was certainly not Margaret.

The first thing that caught Virgil's attention about this new customer was their eyes. They were a burning blue, with small subtle mushes of gray here and there. Through their vaguely foggy colors, those eyes cut sharp like ice shards. The customer seemed entirely calm and stoic, however that did not extend to the ferocious - however not hostile - intensity with which they were staring Virgil down. Of course this intensity did not extend past their eyes, as the very slight twinge of a polite smile was seated at the corners of their mouth. Virgil briefly noted some seemingly familiar physical characteristics (although he was extremely wary to assume anything - what would be the chances of him and his boyfriends all meeting the same man individually, completely perchance?); shining black hair, square-framed glasses, the freckles, the pale and sunken nature of their face. Or, as Virgil certainly noticed, the subtle pronunciation of his cheekbones and jawline. They wore a black coat and a navy patterned scarf that appeared to be hand-knitted.

Virgil stumbled his way over to the closest register to the door - he wasn't sure why they even had two, they never needed to use them both simultaneously - and leaned haphazardly on the counter, propping his chin up on his palm.

"Sorry, hello, I thought you'd be someone else. Marge is usually the first in. What can I do for you?" His face felt really hot, and he was pretty sure that much was obvious to the newcomer, but he tried his best not to think about it.

The stranger didn't speak for a moment, merely leaning forward slightly with a furrowed brow. Virgil panicked for a moment, but followed their line of sight to the name tag on his hoodie. It was quite scuffed up, and the name "Virgil" was scarcely discernible through various smears of odd substances. Virgil quickly unpinned the name tag, beginning to rub away at the gunk with a sweater-covered thumb.

"It's Virgil, sorry about that," He spoke, hiding his hot cheeks behind his bangs as he scratched at his name tag feverishly. He quickly decided on just setting it down, wanting to give the newcomer his full attention.

"Good morning, Virgil," they spoke, and wow, was Virgil gay. The strangers' voice was deep and smooth, and reminded him a bit of Janus'. But this had a tactful, almost clinical and calculated sincerity, whereas Janus' was far more lilted and drawly. Regardless, Virgil felt his throat constricting a bit. He tried subtly coughing the feeling away. "I am in search of some high quality yarn, as a gift for a dear friend of mine. It is my understanding that this establishment is highly regarded for its products' quality?" Virgil tried not to stare. The stranger was running their fingers down and up the inside of one of the lapels of their coat very slowly, and that reminded Virgil terribly of Janus. He felt like he was in high school all over again, ogling over a tall pretty boy.

Regardless of his gay panic, Virgil cleared his throat. "Yeah, we try," His voice cracked slightly, and he tried clearing his throat again. "I mean, we have some pretty awesome suppliers, and we have a really, uh... Big selection of stuff. Do you, do you know what it is you want to get for your friend, exactly?" Virgil thanked any gods that existed had allowed him to formulate a coherent sentence, and he was glad to have the expectation of speaking temporarily off himself.

The customer tapped his chin with the side of his index finger, - which again, reminded Virgil painfully of Janus - humming as he continued surveying his surroundings. "I think he'd appreciate a selection of soft or pastel colors, and he adores the color blue. I think white would be a suitable addition as well. Do you sort your yarns by color?" he inquired, returning his heavy gaze to Virgil and pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. Virgil tried not to audibly gulp.

"Yeah, we do. here, let me show you to the right aisle," Virgil stepped away from the register, and tried to get out from behind the counter, only to completely trip over a cardboard box and fall directly onto his face.

"Goodness, are you alright?" the stranger paced quickly over to where Virgil was groaning on the floor, attempting to pull himself up onto his elbows. They reached a pale-white and very bony hand down to Virgil, who stared at it for a little too long before taking it gingerly.

The customer pulled firmly, and Virgil did too, and they both slightly miscalculated how much strength they needed to apply in order for Virgil to stand. Virgil stumbled forward just a bit as he rose. He looked up slightly and found himself nose to nose with the now wide-eyed man. Virgil yelped slightly, jumping away like a startled cat.

"Sh-shoot, sorry about that," Virgil took to fidgeting a bit aggressively with his hoodie strings, curling them around and between his fingers. "Uh, this way," he pushed a bit awkwardly past the man, looking at his shoes as he walked and willing away the burning heat he felt in his cheeks. Of course the first cute guy he encounters besides his boyfriends is right there when he falls on his face.

He paced over to the aisle with hues of blue and purple yarn, spotting Emile still working with a large box of cerulean. After a momentary panic and trying to wave Emile's attention without making any noise, the stranger turned the corner into the aisle Virgil had led him to. Virgil sighed to himself, annoyed at an in-no-way-at-fault Emile who still hadn't noticed their presence.

Virgil cleared his throat. "Hey, Emile, could you take register while I help this... customer?" Virgil had to take a moment to recall a phrase to describe him besides 'very beautiful man'.

"Uh-" Emile went to say he could help the customer for Virgil, since they were meant to stay in the vicinity of their assigned roles, but Virgil was looking at him with an intensity that blatantly said 'I am begging you to let me help this very gorgeous man to find his yarn and if you don't so help me god I will impale your severed and rotting skull on a rusty metal pole'. Emile chuckled a little shrilly. "Yeah, sure Virge," Emile slid past the two of them, making his way to the register as the chime of the door sounded again. "Welcome in, Margaret! Do-you-how-do?"

Virgil turned his attention back to the man looming slightly over him, leading him down the aisle to the softer and lighter shades. The customer was already scanning the shelves with a tactful intensity that made Virgil almost as anxious as it did further attracted to him.

"This variety is more than adequate," he spoke, almost under his breath, and Virgil tried not to shudder at the rumble in his voice.

"Um, great," Virgil piped up after a moment, and the icy gaze of the tall boy was on him once again. His cheeks felt real hot. "I can, get you a bag for... what you pick out? Er, a gift bag, if you'd like?" Virgil tapped the side of his fist into his hip a few times, trying to expel some of his nervousness. The stranger smiled softly.

"That would be excellent. Thank you, Virgil." He turned back to examining his options, and Virgil scurried off to find a gift bag.

The bags were all by the front register, and he grumbled a bit to himself on the way, preparing for some relentless teasing from his coworker for the next century at minimum. Emile was just waving Margaret off when Virgil rounded the corner, stepping behind the counter to rummage through some boxes for a gift bag.

"Sooo, Virgil," Emile started, tone entirely teasing as he leaned a little too far on the counter, tapping his orange pen on his lips.

"Don't. Say. Anything." Virgil hissed through clenched teeth, glancing up to give Emile another pointed glare for good measure. Emile chuckled lightly, leaning back on the counter a bit.

"Whaat? I won't! I'm totally innocent, see?" Emile puffed out his bottom lip and made his eyes look big. Virgil scoffed.

"Is that a cartoon reference?"

Emile grinned, shrugging. "Probably."

Virgil found the gift bags - finally - and began scampering off and away from the prying gaze of his overly curious co-worker.

Virgil helped the customer to find and collect the proper amount and variety of yarns that he wanted. As it turned out, it was a relatively easy task; aside from being impossibly and unintentionally charming, the stranger was mindful and courteous, and working with him was proving to be relatively easy. They bantered a bit, falling into a casual conversation as they searched for yarn, as well as while they walked back to the register for Virgil to ring his items up.

Emile gave Virgil a pointed look as he approached, trading him places as he walked with a skip in his step back to his yet unstocked shelves. Virgil rolled his eyes at him, stepping extra carefully behind the counter so as not to trip on any stray cardboard boxes. He leaned against the counter in front of the register, beginning to type numbers into it as though he knew the yarn prices like the back of his hand.

the customer stood at the counter before Virgil, vaguely examining his purchase as he watched Virgil slightly through his peripheral. He noticed the way Virgil bit at the inside corner of his mouth, worrying the flesh between his canines as he focused on adding the prices.

"Alright... your total is 82.53," Virgil said slowly, looking up at the stranger, who had - oddly enough - already been looking at him. The stranger glanced away momentarily, clearing his throat and reaching into an inside pocket of his coat for his wallet.

He produced a pristine black leather wallet, pulling a shiny navy blue debit card from between its folds and setting the wallet on the counter as he handed off the card. Virgil took the card and charged it, the customer punching in his PIN through the keypad.

A faint buzzing sounded from within the man's coat, and he reached in once more with knitted eyebrows. He pulled out what seemed to be his phone, eyes widening as he saw whatever was on the screen. Virgil couldn't see, but he figured someone must be calling him.

"My apologies, I must depart," The man spoke quietly, grabbing his gift bag of yarn and bringing his phone to his face as he made hastily for the door. Virgil didn't hear what he said when he answered the phone, but his brow was still furrowed when Virgil caught a glimpse of his face walking down the sidewalk out the store window.

"Bye..." Virgil said to the empty store front.

He looked down, seeing the customer's debit card still in his hand. "Shit." He saw the wallet set on the counter before him as well. He grabbed it, opening it to return the debit card to its proper place and see if there was a way of contacting the man within the wallet.

As he opened it, a white card similar in shape and size to the debit card fell to the floor. Virgil retrieved it, flipping it over to see what it was.

"No way..." Virgil was holding a driver's license. The name it was registered under was too familiar for it to be a coincidence.

He'd need to be giving one Logan Lattimer a call on his break.

[ashbrea381writings]

Red-Eye to Destiny: Chapter 2, The Gala

Mari and Luka texted Damian as soon as they made it back to the house just outside of town. Upon receiving the return message, they promptly fell into bed and slept soundly until late into the morning. Lazily getting dressed for the day, the pair started unpacking their clothes, setting up for laundry and airing out coats that didn’t need washing but definitely needed some care. Going into her design studio, Mari checked on her dress that she’d completed before they left for the last few concerts before their holiday break. “Luka, why does your dad want us to go to this thing again?” Mari sighed, hanging the dress up to check for any last-second alterations she might want to make.

“It’s good networking. He’s hung out with the organizers a bunch and wanted us to meet them, plus tons of people are gonna be there. He said that one of the organizers has a bunch of sons who usually cause some scene or another so it’s usually pretty funny.” Luka walked into the room and rested his chin on top of her head. “Besides, it’ll be a chance to show off your skills to some people who might want to commission something.” “I suppose.” Mari leaned back into Luka for a moment before pulling away to pull out his suit. Mari had made Luka a custom Leather Tuxedo jacket with teal trim on the cuffs and lapels, a matching teal lining and a few silver studs on the collar. His pants were simple charcoal grey with teal lining on the pockets, and subtle teal stitchwork around the cuffs and waistband. His shirt was simple black with a teal pocket square and everything. “I’m still so impressed by you, Melody.” Luka sighed, pouring love into every word through their bond. Mari just giggled in response and ran her fingers over the seams in both his suit and her dress. The dress itself was a strapless, deep burgundy dress with black cherry blossoms embroidered and beaded in a sweeping shape from the hem to the bodice of the dress where it spread out to cover most of the bust in beautiful, 3d flowers made from thread and beads. A small bit of lace rose above the bodice and, when worn, would drape itself modestly over the top of the bust making the sweetheart neckline appear more conservative than it was. The skirt itself was more or less simple, full with the aforementioned flowers down the front in a curve before meeting the black velvet hem of the skirt. Secreted around the skirts where only Mari knew the openings, were several Kwami-sized pockets. “What does everyone think?” Mari asked the room, and all of the Kwami’s looked it over, giggling with delight over the pockets and giving their approval. “We won’t be able to take everyone, but other than Tikki and Sass, who wants to come with us?” Surprising Marinette and Luka, Plagg moved forward. “I know he can’t really wield me since we don’t mesh well, but do you think you could take the ring with you? I think I’m supposed to go.” “What do you mean Plagg? You haven’t wanted to be active other than saying hello and eating some camembert since Adrien decided he needed a break away from all this?” Marinette asked, raising an eyebrow at the Kwami. “Something is different. In you two, especially scales over there.” Plaggs eyes narrowed at Luka. “I think my kitten is in this city, and you two have met him.” Luka and Marinette grinned at each other before confusion took over their faces again. “But what does that have to do with the gala?” “I can do some recon if I’m there.” “Alright then, that’s one for me.” Mari laughed and put a little clip with a black cat on the end on the edge of one of the pockets. “There are 5 in total not counting Tikki, and Luka can only carry another two besides Sass.” In the end, it was decided that Mari would have Plagg, Mullo, Trixx, Pollen and Nooroo in addition to Tikki. Luka ended up with Wayzz, Duusu and Sass of course. The others weren’t interested in going to the party and would rather hang out in the box or around the house.

***

Damian sighed and ducked around a column to get a moment to himself cursing the nosy people at the party in various languages. In his brief moment to himself, he began to notice that he wasn’t just feeling his own annoyance. Frowning in concentration, he turned to scan the ballroom, spotting them near the stage, talking to Jagged Stone of all people. He focused on them, and tried to be heard by just them across the ballroom. ‘I didn’t know you would be here.’ Both Parisians jolted, and looked around, spotting him in his little hiding spot. ‘Is there a reason you’re hiding instead of saying hello?’ Damian could hear the amusement in Lukas' voice. Both of his soulmates looked away and just quietly stepped away from Jagged, making it look like they were talking amongst themselves. ‘Yes, people are too nosy for their own good and they will ask more questions than I am prepared to answer.’ ‘Damian, we owe nobody an explanation for saying hello.’ Marinette chided gently. ‘Besides, Luka and I have mastered the art of getting people to leave us alone with just a look.’ ‘If you say so. Give me a moment.’ Damian straightened his jacket and made it seem like he’d been adjusting his wardrobe as he left the pillar. “There you are, I wanted to introduce you to someone.” Damian held back a grimace and turned to his Father. “Those camping trips I take once and a while? This is the man I go with.” Incidentally, the person Bruce was pointing to was Jagged himself. “Hell of a time getting away for both of us, but SO worth the quiet.” Jagged grinned and held out his hand. “By camping, Brucie means we go to my cabin in the mountains and sit around the fire pit complaining about life. Pleasure to meet you at last, I’ve heard a lot of good things about you.” “Thank you sir, it’s nice to meet you.” Damian’s smile in return was a bit forced, but thankfully Mari and Luka came to the rescue. “Someone interesting, Jagged?” Marinette asked as they walked over. ‘How much do you want us to say, Damian?’ Marinette added silently, her eyes concerned over how stiff he was and how tightly he was holding his emotions. Damian relaxed slightly, his fake smile relaxing into something a little more neutral but real. ‘I am alright. I will explain to the others later, but perhaps if we can get a quiet moment with my Father?’ Both Luka and Marinette raised an eyebrow at the fact that he’d left out that he was a Wayne before but took it in stride. With little more than a glance between them, Luka put a gentle hand on Jaggeds arm, and pulled the man away, asking him a couple questions about the tour they’d just finished. The man was bewildered, but Luka and Marinette planned things behind his back all the time when they felt it necessary, so he didn’t do more than give Damian and Marinette a questioning look as he was led away. “That was.” Damian commented out loud, shaking his head. “Surprisingly easy for you two.” Marinette laughed, “We’d been working together before we knew, so it took little time to figure it out. Now, Luka pulled Jagged away so the three of us could have a private word.” She turned to Bruce, glancing around for listening ears. “We happened to be seated on the plane next to Damian and, well.” She gestured between them. “I’m afraid you will have to elaborate, Ms. Dupain Cheng.” Bruce narrowed his eyes at the two of them, his face visibly confused. “What she is referring to, Father, is that they are apparently my bonded.” Damian explained. “Both of them.” He added after a moment’s silence. ‘You will explain the work you did together?’ He asked Marinette silently. ‘Soon enough, it’s a rather long story.’ Marinette’s face didn’t even change when she answered, and she started talking to Bruce over the end of her own sentence. “Luka and I had known each other for years before we found out our bond, and we’d always known that there was supposed to be a third for us. However, as we were in Paris, and Damian was apparently here, that obviously made it so that we didn’t meet until on the airplane here.” “And how did you figure it out? Not that I’m not happy for you three, but I know my son, and he tends to be reluctant to even speak to strangers.” Bruce was fishing, and Damian knew it. Marinette seemed to be able to tell too, as she was unphased by his question. “Easy, he was exhausted and fell asleep on the plane leaning on Luka. When Luka needed to move and was panicking because he didn’t want to wake up Damian, he was obviously exhausted and seemed comfortable where he was, Damian responded to his silent monologue about the situation and Damian responded in kind.” Marinette giggled, mentally nudging him when she made an edit to preserve his dignity. ‘Thank you for not going into detail.’ Damian rolled his eyes and smirked. “I had thought I’d talked to him out loud, and promptly fell back to sleep, when they woke me again shortly before the flight was over, and informed me that I had not -in fact- spoken out loud.” He then surprised both his father and himself by reaching over to put a hand on Marinette’s shoulder. “They were kind enough to give me time to process and after I gave them my phone number, texted me only to give me theirs and let me process on my own after that.” “To be fair, we passed out and slept till almost noon after we texted you, so it wasn’t restraint on our parts, just that we were too tired to stay up anymore. Especially since we didn’t sleep on the plane.” Marinette laughed dryly. “That’s an eight hour flight.” Bruce commented in shock. “You two were awake the whole time?” “Well yes, we hadn’t been up all that long anyway, and with Damian sleeping against Luka, he wasn’t sure if Damian would be offended if he woke up to a sleeping man holding him. Luka’s a cuddler and even if Damian started it he didn’t want to do anything that would make him uncomfortable.” Marinette shrugged. “If he was uncomfortable, why did he not simply move me to not be leaning on him anymore?” Damian asked, having realized that the only time he’d been moved was when Luka got up for the bathroom. “One, the only discomfort he had was not something that moving you would have solved, and two, we did.” She sighed, shrugging. “Every time he shifted you to be sitting upright, you just grabbed onto his arm and put your head back on his shoulder. And when he had to get up he tried a little harder and you got grumpy, but when he sat back down you were right there again. You were practically in his lap.” “And how many people saw this?” Damian asked with an internal groan. “If it gets put on the internet, I will never hear the end of it from the heathens.” “I think Luka and I were the only ones to notice, most everyone else was asleep.” Marinette reassured him. ‘I do have a couple photos and plan on one of them being your profile pic on my phone later.’ This was added as a teasing whisper in his mind and he internally groaned again. Luka broke into the conversation, ‘You have two guys inbound, tall, one of them is slender but muscled, the other slightly shorter and stocky.’ He added a look at where they were and what they looked at. “Grayson, Todd, what did you want?” Damian asked dryly as soon as they stepped close enough for him to hear their footsteps. “How did you do that, Demon Spawn?” Todd demanded as all three people turned to face the men who’d walked up. Marinette stiffened at the nickname, obviously offended at the nickname. ‘It’s alright, he says it because he cares.’ Damian reassured her, sending soothing emotions to her and Luka who’d been walking over as this was said. “I don’t feel like answering that question right now, Todd, but why did you come over here, this was a private conversation.” “Why did you and B need a private word with Jagged’s niece?” Grayson asked, frowning and looking between Bruce and Damian like he could figure out their secret. “That’s a conversation for home, Dick.” Bruce sighed. “And that’s when we decide to tell you, but it’s just something we needed to talk about before moving forward.” He glanced at Luka over Marinette’s shoulder, nodding at him to acknowledge that he’d walked back up. “Can you please not call her his niece? It’s rather awkward at this point.” Luka commented, putting his arms around Marinette’s waist. “She’s my soulmate, he’s my dad, it’s weird, you know?” That caught everyone’s attention, including Damian. “Wait, you’re Jagged’s son?” Bruce sputtered, his face astounded. “The way he talked about you, I figured you were like ten. Not an adult that was touring with him. He also didn’t introduce you as his son.” “I know, I didn’t grow up with him. My mom raised me and my sister, I didn’t really have any contact with him until I was a teenager.” Luka shrugged, “Doesn’t make it any less weird when he calls my soulmate his niece.” “Excuse you, I claimed her before you two even met.” Jagged laughed loudly, causing half the ballroom to look to see who was being so loud. “I think that gives me the right to keep calling her that.” “It’s still weird.” Luka shot back, shaking his head and leaning into Marinette’s hair. ‘This is why I pulled him away, he’s so loud about everything that the whole ballroom would know if he’d been part of it. You said you’d get made fun of if certain people found out.’ Damian smirked, looking down slightly, ‘Thank you, Luka.’ “Anyway, Luka, Marinette, these are two of my other sons, Jagged I’m sure you remember Dick and Jason?” Bruce pointed to each one in turn. “Wait, why does Damian call them by other names then?” Marinette wrinkled her nose a bit, trying to figure it out. “Damian… Has his own way of doing things. I’m surprised he doesn’t call you two by your last names.” Bruce admitted. “We never told him them.” Luka shrugged calmly, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Okay, I’m confused, how do you all know Damian?” Dick asked, crossing his arms as Tim came to investigate what was going on. “For the love of… Short answer, they met on the plane here, the rest of it we will talk about at a later time and place, when Damian wants to share. That is the end of it, go back to the party.” Bruce grunted at the boys, glaring at them in annoyance while keeping the rest of his face in a neutral expression that he’d practiced for years. “Alright, alright, we’re going.” Jason threw up his hands and grumbled about people being touchy as he walked away. “The one day he’s not in a grumpy mood he has to irritate the rest of us.” Damian clicked his tongue in irritation and shook his head as Dick and Tim also drifted away with shrugs and curious looks thrown at the Parisians. “Well, why don’t you guys enjoy the party, we can talk soon. After I’ve had a chance to wrangle the whole family into not bothering the heck out of Damian over everything.” Bruce gave a small, slightly sarcastic smile and then softened. “Glad things are good though. I’m happy for you.” He patted Damian on the shoulder and walked away to join Jagged who was now talking with a few women by the refreshment table. “So… I take it he approves?” Marinette asked. “Yeah, I think he does.” Damian had the urge to hug his soulmates, but he contented himself with sending as much warmth and happiness to them through the bond as he could.