#everything is well put together and totally doable... just really fucking hard

[valkyurii]

been playing around with unalloyed malenia and some of the moves she has look sick af i had to take some screenshots

[missytearex]

Here are the fics that kept me entertained this month. Remember to leave kudos/comments if you choose to check them out. Under 10k fics are under the cut.

🌊 Follow Your Arrow by @bitter-leaf --- [fic post]

larry | 78k | explicit

Harry was the golden child, blessed in every way; Niall was the charming miscreant, a bad boy; Liam was the future-son-in-law parents of daughters dreamt of, and Zayn was the kid parents wished was their son. But Louis, Harry thought, Louis was the special one.

It's senior year and everything is about to change.

🌊 Caves End by @jacaranda-bloom --- [fic post]

larry | 39k | explicit

When a recurring injury cuts short Harry’s time as the Captain of the English Football Team, he needs to rethink his career and his future. His best mate and manager, Niall, decides that what Harry really needs is a change of scenery, time to relax, and to get some perspective on his life. What Harry doesn’t expect is for them to end up in Australia, on a farm, with the most gorgeous man he’s ever laid eyes on.

OR the one where Harry has lost his future, Louis has lost his past, but maybe together, they can find a way through the dark.

🌊 What You're Signing On For by @a-brighter-yellow​ --- [fic post]

larry | 29k | mature

Back at home in London after a whirlwind romance, Louis wants nothing more than to break ties completely with the sophisticated Frenchman who swept him off his feet. In order to do that, he needs the help of Harry Styles: former town bad boy and adopted brother of Louis' flatmate.

An O.C. AU about flawed first impressions, the seductive power of French pastries, bad romance novelists, and getting on the same page.

🌊 Home (It's You) by Anonymous --- [fic post]

larry | 28k | mature

When Louis left his high-powered life in the city to settle down in the suburbs, he had hoped to one day fall in love and start a family. He certainly didn’t expect to meet the omega of his dreams within five minutes of moving in.

He also didn’t expect the love of his life to hate him so much.

Or, Louis and Harry are neighbors who can't seem to get along...until they fall in love.

🌊 driving down a one way road (to something better) by @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed​ --- [fic post]

zouis | 26k | teen and up

“I’m at the airport.” It’s followed by a bitter laugh. “I’m - I’m literally at the airport, hiding away in the toilets to make a phone call. They’re probably going to barge in here in a minute, thinking I’m doing something illegal, but I didn’t know what else to do Lou.” He sounds desperate, wild, nothing that Louis is used to associating with Zayn. “My flight leaves in an hour, and I wasn’t gonna do this, but, I didn’t know what else to do.”

Louis frowns. “What do you mean, love?”

“Can I - Can I please come and stay with you?” It’s barely more than a whisper, and Louis honestly isn’t sure if he’s heard it right, but the lack of an immediate response on his part makes Zayn’s breath come out all shaky and Louis won’t stand for that.

“Yes,” he decides, repeats it, in a softer but no less certain voice, when he knows Zayn is about to protest. “Yes. Of course. I’ll be there, yeah? I’ll come pick you up. When will you get here? What airport?”

---

When Zayn breaks up with his boyfriend, he needs a place to stay. Louis wouldn't be Louis if he didn't immediately open his doors to him. Never mind the fact that he's been in love with him for two years. That's not important, right?

🌊 A Road To Something Better by @taggiecb --- [fic post]

larry | 25k | explicit

Louis Tomlinson, famous romance novelist, has just had the rug pulled out from under his feet when his boyfriend leaves him without notice. What's the most appropriate response to this? Move a thousand miles away and seclude himself in a tiny lake town, of course. But nothing is as he expects it to be in the very best way, especially not the handsome mayor of McAll, Idaho.

🌊 When Tomorrow Comes by Anonymous --- [fic post]

larry | 11k | explicit

When Louis and Niall are partnered up to complete a project on Omega scents and how they effect the nesting behaviours of Alphas, little does Louis know that the course of his life is about to be forever altered.

OR the one where Louis is an Omega who has been keeping himself pure for his Alpha, Harry is a traditional Alpha focusing on his studies while he waits to find his bondmate, and Niall is a sneaky bastard who keeps borrowing Louis’ clothes and never returning them.

🌊 I can’t do this alone (sometimes I just need a light) by @beau-soleil-louis​ --- [fic post]

larry | 7k | not rated

“Harry,” he says after another contemplative moment, “can I hug you?”

It’s been...well, Harry doesn’t actually know how long it’s been. Less than an hour, probably, but already Louis says his name like it’s safe in his mouth, and now he’s opening his arms like Harry could be safe there too.

“Please,” Harry nearly sobs, and sinks into him the way butter melts on toast. It’s an apt metaphor, really, because what Louis is giving him is as essential and sustaining as a loaf of bread to a starving man. His basic need for physical affection is as vital as his need for sustenance, for sleep, and he can’t believe he’s allowed himself to ignore it for so long.

Or: Harry is having a rough time. Louis is the kind stranger who makes him smile again.

🌊 Nailed By Louis by @haztobegood --- [fic post]

larry | 6k | explicit

It had started as a joke, just two months earlier. Louis had tried to make recipe from HarrySizzles Instagram account. It looked doable: no strange ingredients, no scary kitchen machinery. Just a simple layered lettuce salad. The result had been catastrophic. His friends had laughed so hard at the disgusting appearance of his salad, and after a few drinks, Louis had been convinced to start his own Instagram to track his food failures.

🌊 You Drive Me Wild by @jacaranda-bloom --- [fic post]

larry | 5k | explicit

Most people would think that keeping a tube of lube hidden behind the driver’s side visor of their car is foolish and completely unnecessary, but then most people don’t have to chauffeur Louis Tomlinson around for a living.

OR the one where Harry has a brilliant idea to while away the time as he waits around for his boss but fate decides to rain on his parade... or maybe it’s the universe answering his prayers.

🌊 You're A (Total) Distraction by @lululawrence​ --- [fic post]

larry | 4k | not rated

Harry’s hand sprang out and took the arrow back in her grasp, Louis’ entire face having lit up when Harry spoke. “Thank you for returning this to me.”

“Well, it was my fault, right?” Louis gave her a big smile before glancing up at Harry’s ears and then over towards her target. “Fuck, are those all bullseyes?”

Harry shrugged. “I haven’t checked on them yet, but maybe.”

Louis’ eyebrows were raised. “I didn’t realize archery was such a big thing for deer hybrids.”

Pursing her lips, Harry tried to figure out how much to say. Why was Louis talking to her? Why had she called out in the first place? Was it because she thought Harry was a freak, like so many other humans?

“It isn’t for everyone,” Harry finally settled on.

Or the one where Harry is a deer hybrid trying to prove to her clan she's more than what's expected. When she meets Louis, a human, she thinks it's just a one time thing. It's not.

🌊 Raise My Body Back To Life by @fallinglikethis​ --- [fic post]

larry | 1k | mature

“You sure about this?” Harry asks one last time, looking over his shoulder at the young blonde standing there. She’d come to his office earlier in the night and nearly interrupted Harry’s meeting about a case he’s working on with the Chief of Police in her haste to get her brother back. Luckily, his assistant, Niall had held her off until he was done. “Death changes people sometimes. He’ll remember it. All of it. Dying, how it felt. If it hurt. You’re positive you want to put him through that?”

“I don’t,” she says, wringing her hands and biting her lip to stop it trembling, “but I have to.”

Harry stares, taking her in. Her eyes shine with unshed tears but she’s standing tall, certain. Harry nods once and turns back around to face the body lying on the metal slab before him. His name is Louis Tomlinson and, as he rolls up his sleeves, Harry Idly notices how gorgeous he was. Is. He hopes this isn’t going to traumatize Louis.

Inspired by Kill My Mind.

🌊 Devil in my Brain by @bitter-leaf

larry | 1k | general audiences

Louis’ pissed; pissed drunk, pissed off, seething as he eyes Harry in the club, waving his arms and shaking his hips like he couldn’t care less about how stupid he looks.

Louis might be going a little crazy.

🌊 Demarcation by @musiclily​ 

larry | 1k | not rated

Walls 

[ramblinganthropologist]

Fictober 21 - 4 “Fine I give up”

Fanfiction

Fandom: Mass Effect (Actor AU)

Summary: Yep. They fucked - so much for his self control, huh? Now Macen has to deal with the fallout, and more importantly, his feelings. Maybe it wasn’t just sex after all. Did he mention he was bad at ad-lib?

(Don’t worry folks, the confession will come another day... I’m tired, lol.)

---

…

You know that part where he said he was going to break things off? Yeah… the opposite of that had happened.

Macen was careful to sit up as he glanced across the darkened room. Next to him, fast asleep and burrowed under the covers, was his costar. Alex’s face was peaceful as he wandered through his dreams, like he hadn’t just fucked the turian within an inch of his life. Baby faces were damn deceptive that way, and he was proving to be a fine example.

His body was sore in that way he enjoyed oh so much as he slid out of bed, distributing his weight so he didn’t wake the human up. Naked as the day he was born, he padded to Alex’s shower and got in. Human showers were always too damn cold for him, but it didn’t matter as he let the water pour down his carapace as he stood there, standing at the drain.

“You said you weren’t going to do it again…”

And that promise had crumbled like a sandcastle on the beach the moment Alex had looked at him with that expression. After that, it was a blur of tossed clothing, roving hands, and tongues that were still learning how to play nicely with each other. Part of him was glad he had clipped his talons the day before… but that was like admitting defeat in itself.

Fuck… he had fucked up.

He sighed as he rested his head against the shower wall, praying for the freezing water to snap some sense into him. Macen knew he should leave the moment he was dry and had found his pants, but a large part of him just wanted to go back to bed. They had to be on set early tomorrow. He’d be wasting valuable sleep time if he went back to his place. Besides, Alex was closer…

And they’d risk showing up together.

“No, you’re going home after this. It’ll just mean more coffee tomorrow.”

Yet his voice wavered as he washed the soap disappear down the drain. Even then, he was doubting himself. Right then, it felt like he was fighting a war against an unholy combination of his sex drive and… well he didn’t want to mention the other organ. It shouldn’t have had a say in this in all. Really, if anything, his situation was his brain’s fault. Damn thing had gotten used to the human…

Yeah… he had totally meant his brain.

“Alright, get in there and say goodbye.”

The water shut off and Macen dried off in silence. Still naked, he padded back to the bed. Unsurprisingly, Alex was still fast asleep, hugging a bit of the blanket as he dreamed. He looked so peaceful, that it almost seemed cruel to wake him up.

But… he couldn’t just go without saying anything. They had moved past the fuck and leave point months ago.

“Shit…” Macen’s expletive hissed out from between his teeth as he looked around for his pants. At least those he could find – halfway across the room. What could he say, Alex was an enthusiastic partner. Add in the training, and he had reach. No wonder people kept trying to get him to sign up for friendly biotiball matches. “Just… get them and say goodbye.”

Yet when he reached down, he could see the human’s face better. Something about how soft and quiet he looked did terrible things to his stomach, and his pants dropped to the floor with a soft thump. Unfortunately for him, his belt buckle hit first – the metal clang rang out like a shotgun blast.

Shit…

“Mmm…” Alex rolled onto his stomach and burrowed under the blanket. “S’cold… come back to bed, Macen.”

Now, at the moment the turian was definitely not in a sub headspace. If he had been, that could have explained his compulsion to stay. Yet, there was nothing like that in the moment. Something else was leading him back to the bed he had been trying so hard to avoid. It was a powerful urge, and he had no ability to resist.

“I’m coming…” He slid back in, pulling the cover back over his naked body. As soon as he had settled back in, Alex’s arms wrapped around his waist and pulled him close. He could feel the human’s heart on his back, and it made his beat faster as his mouth went dry. “Alex?”

“Too cold…” Then there was a sleepy yawn as he nuzzled into his back. “Night…”

Macen’s stomach bubbled as he felt himself leaning into the touch. Logic was screaming at him to do anything, but he was ignoring it then. Instead, he felt his eyes slowly close as the warmth of Alex’s body and his off-beat heart lured him back to sleep. In the morning he would regret this, but at the moment he didn’t care. Right then, there was just the bed and the warm embrace of the man he had come to…

He could deal with that thought later. Much later.

---

“They totally came to the set together.”

“Do you think those rumors were true after all?”

Nothing like crew rumors to make Macen regret being born.

It was finally time for some food after a long morning of filming. Just like he had feared, he and Alex had wound up heading to work together. To say people were talking was putting it mildly. He wouldn’t be surprised if it had already wound up on social media, though he had no ability to check. After the last two disasters he called relationships, he had gotten rid of the entire thing.

Honestly, he didn’t miss the memes. Plus, it gave him a mysterious edge. It was good PR.

Still, his carapace itched as he shot the two humans a glare as he passed. He still had enough bad boy reputation that they scattered like ants, but it didn’t do much more than soothe his prickled ego. In that moment, he had probably confirmed everything they had been whispering about.

What… no one had ever claimed he was smart.

“Fuck…” Macen sighed as he found a quiet place to settle in and eat. Doing so with the mandible implants was a little difficult, but he had figured it out with trial and error. It was good he had too – makeup had been getting annoyed with him. Now at least he was back in their good graces, which was what anyone should want in his line of work.

“Yeah, I’d be saying that too if I was you.”

A shadow had fallen over the turian, and he didn’t even need to look up to know who it was. There were only two people on set who went around in all black armor on the regular, and one of them definitely didn’t set him in shade like that. Just the sound of her voice made his stomach drop.

Talk about going from the frying pan to the fire…

Beau took a seat nearby, her eyes laser focused on him. It made it hard for Macen to swallow his lunch, but he did his best. Honestly, it wasn’t the best idea – it felt like he was swallowing concrete. At least it didn’t actually get stuck, but maybe that death would’ve been preferable to whatever she had planned for him. He’d had a good life… mostly…

“Afternoon, Beau…” Even he knew that was a faulty opening, but Macen had committed to the bit. “Can I help you?”

Another glance as she sipped from a can of soda. “Just wondering when you’re going to ask Alex out and get it over with. You two have been dancing around this for way too long.”

Macen was glad he hadn’t been eating at that point – if he had, he would’ve sprayed levo crumbs everywhere, and as far as he knew she was allergic. Instead, he just choked on his own spit and wound up coughing. To say it wasn’t his finest moment was putting it mildly at best, but at the moment it was all he could do.

At least she had enough heart to thump him on the carapace a few times. It wasn’t going to do anything – he wasn’t human – but it was the thought that counted.

“Don’t die on me, Virius. Garrus was a nightmare to find someone for, or at least that’s what I heard.”

He coughed a few more times, eyes watering. Words were hard, but doable. “I’m not… we’re not…”

Yet there was the feelings in his stomach squirming about in the mere mention of the man he more often than not found himself in bed with. He was adult enough to admit they had moved past simple sex, but… this was something else entirely.

And it was a dark, nasty road, one he knew way too well to be comfortable with anymore.

“I see the way you look at each other. Besides, you’re over each other’s places so much you might as well just fucking move in.” When he gaped, Beau added, “We text each other. I can tell when he’s getting laid, his messages stop and then he’s all relaxed after.”

Damn Alex for being so obvious in his tells…

Macen managed to straighten up, but his heart was still pounding. “It’s… complicated, ok?”

“Because you’re making it that way. You were an ass, get over it and get with it before you regret it.” Beau took another sip from her can. “Unless you’re still thinking this is just a sex thing.”

No… even he knew that one. And even thinking of that made him sigh as he hung his head. It was impossible to ignore the feelings that had been plaguing him for quite some time. To admit it was, in a way, admitting defeat in a war against himself. It was one he had tried to win for so long, yet he was seeing the last of his defenses crumble with every touch, every smile, every time Alex so much as looked at him.

He may have been a turian… but he knew he was beaten.

“Alright, fine … I give up.” His mandibles twitched. “I like the guy, ok?”

Part of him had expected the words to taste bitter on his tongue. Defeat was supposed to be something like that, and yet it was the complete opposite. Macen was surprised to find he felt lighter with just a few words. Of course, that didn’t last long – as soon as there was room, worry filled the place denial had once been.

He never got a fucking moment’s rest.

Beau shook her head as she put her can down. “I hope your delivery’s better when you tell him, Virius. How the hell did you get an award for acting?”

“I never said I was good at ad lib.” Despite everything, he snorted. It was a little bitter and self-depreciating, but it was still a laugh. “That’s going to take more work. I have no idea what to say to him.”

Something about this made him feel like a stupid teenager again, crushing on the cute boy in his class before either of them wound up in basic. He was far too old for something like this, and yet the feelings were so familiar he couldn’t deny it. Despite how hard he had tried, he had damn well caught feelings for Alex.

Well… at least his taste had improved. The guy in his math class had turned out to be a real dickhead.

“That I can’t help you with, Virius.” Beau stood, once again enveloping him in shadow. “But, lucky for you he’s coming this way. Time to work on those ad-lib skills.”

In that moment, Macen could have sworn she smirked as she left him behind to go fuck with someone else’s day. Even worse, she was right – he could see Alex in the distance and judging by the speed he had been spotted by the human and was now being targeted.

Shit… he hadn’t been kidding. He had always been terrible at ad-lib. But… there was no way out of this except through it. All he could do was brace himself for impact and hope he didn’t get tossed like a biotiball during a champion match.

For all he knew, Alex was capable of that now. Wouldn’t that be a way to go… death by being yeet’d by his crush into a wall. Well, there were worse ways he supposed…

Fuck, he so wasn’t ready for this. Fuck…

[banashee]

Part 2/2 of Tony setting the kitchen on fire for @hopelessly-me :D ♥

Enjoy ♥

...Honey, it’s still fucking frozen.

 One day, Clint finally caves.

 “Tony. You know I love you, but       please     - let me show you how to cook. I can’t take it anymore.” he tells him over ice cold dinner. The archer pokes a piece of meat with his fork to prove his point.

 Tony nods slowly, but he also says,

 “Last time it was burned. So now I cooked it for less time.”

 Clint blinks at him, knocking on his plate with the meat, which results in a solid noise.

 “...Honey, it’s still fucking frozen.”

 “...Okay, yeah.” Tony sighs, shoving the plate away from himself.

 “Sorry, I know the last few months of my cooking haven’t been pleasant. At least I didn’t burn the house down yet.” he adds, with a small smile to lighten the mood, but it is clear he is not happy with his results.

 “The alarm didn’t go off in a while, that’s progress, right?” Clint shoots back a lopsided smile, before he continues,

 “Honestly though, I don’t mean to be condescending because that’s probably how I sound, and I’m really sorry for that, but… I know you’re trying, and I know you don’t like help with things… In general, and I get that. But don’t you think that it would be better in the long run?”

 Their hands meet over the table, warm and solid as they squeeze and hold on, thumbs caressing each other. Clint and Tony have been home to one another for a long time now, and they know with a bone deep certainty that they can talk about things without making a personal vendetta of it, no matter how small or big the issue is. It’s just not how they work - what they have is easy going and it always has been.

 A casual friendship with benefits quickly turned into more, and after months of pining and awkwardness, they finally got a move on and figured out their feelings for each other. That talk had been halting and even more awkward than the weeks before, but it led to mutual three-word-sentences and a future full of happiness.

 Tony smiles, squeezing the other man’s hand as he asks,

 “So, you don’t mind having to show me basic shit like cooking eggs without burning them to a crisp?”

 “No, of course not. I love you and I love cooking - there really is no downside here if you ask me.”

 “Alright, then. Thanks, Babe.” Tony leans forward for a kiss, which Clint is all too happy to give him. The cold dinner on the table is almost forgotten in the next few minutes, but as it turns out, it is the perfect opportunity to start.

 “Okay, so, let’s put this back into the pan and crank the heat up. You want this to be warm and cooked through entirely. Then you - Tony… Please put down the salt shaker.”

 “I have salt and I am not afraid to use it!”

 “Yes I know, and that’s a problem! No, go away with that!” Laughing, the two of them tackle each other through the kitchen, until they end up pushed against the counter, foreheads touching and giggling like lovesick teenagers.

 “Will you give up on any harsh decisions regarding the salt?” Clint asks, in a mock-serious tone that is actually a pretty good impression of what Phil Coulson sounds like, and Tony grins at him, his dark eyes sparkling with mischief.

 “I      am     small and salty. Never.” he tries to snatch back the salt shaker, attempting to distract Clint with more makeout opportunities. He leans in, pulling Tony close with one arm and holding the salt shaker up over his head with the other - it’s a dick move, but it works. His boyfriends sputtering at the offensive act only makes Clint  laugh more, but they need to flip the meat in the pan before their dinner burns once again, so their bickering is interrupted.

 A little while later, their dinner is actually warm and not only edible, but really, really good at that. Tony is still surprised that they managed to save it, especially since there have been instances where this would have been simply impossible. But then again, he is lucky enough to have a partner who knows how to save messed up food, given there is a way left to salvage it in the first place.

 “What’s the worst that ever happened to you while cooking?” Tony casually asks another night, while he is chopping vegetables into accurate cubes - they’re making stir fry, and the task at hand is easy and repetitive enough to chat away. Besides, he is used to handiwork, so this is totally doable.

 Clint shoots him a knowing, amused look.

 “...I almost set my kitchen in the SHIELD bunk on fire. It was like three in the morning and I couldn’t sleep, so I wanted to make a dessert with flambé bananas. Well, let’s just say it didn’t go as planned and my neighbours fucking hated my guts for setting off the fire alarm in the middle of the night… That was about 15 years ago, and goddammit, some people      still    bring it up.”

 Tony laughs, loudly.

 “Well, thank fuck you know what you’re doing now - imagine the two of us being Fire Hazards together, the tower would have burned to the ground ages ago. Imagine SHIELD on our asses for it. Or worse, Cap.”

 Slowly, he shakes his head. No one wants to see Steve’s “I am very disappointed in you”-face if they can help it. To be fair, when it doesn’t come to cooking, and more like, battles or developing weapons, the two of them combined are still a fire hazard. But that’s different, really.

 Clint, however, stops chopping with his knife mid air, head crooked to the side as he gently lowers it onto the cutting board. Then, he asks, completely straight faced,

 “...Did I ever tell you that Fury has backup-plans, just in case the two of us should be going rogue?”

 Putting down his knife as well, Tony fixes his partner in a suspicious stare. Despite everything, this is news to him, and he is about 90% sure that at least on this occasion, Clint isn’t fucking with him. Also, this is totally something he’d expect Fury to do. The man is paranoid, and Tony definitely wouldn’t put such a thing past him.

 “Wait what? No, you didn’t. Spill.”

 With a laugh, Clint tells him,

 “Ever since Nat went undercover as your PA and it was clear that both of us would be part of the Avengers, Fury put protocols in place - covered a lot of hypothetical situations, actually, it was quite funny to read. I think the short version is he knows both of us and our, dare I say, slightly chaotic tendencies…”

 With a snort of laughter, Tony collapses against the counter. This is putting it lightly and they both know it, but he enjoys hearing the story.

 Clint continues,

 “Technically I’m not supposed to know that, but Tasha told me about it. She laughed for like, 10 minutes straight. Me, too, by the way.”

 “I bet - heh, sorry i can’t” it takes a bit for Tony to calm down enough to say,

 “I bet he put a lot more protocols in place ever since he got wind of us being an item. Honestly I’d love to see that list.”

 The corners of his mouth are still twitching, and he wipes amused tears out of his eyes as he keeps cackling away.

 “Oh hey, we should do a dramatic reading of that form!” he says then, and Clint is laughing too hard to answer, but he nods, vegetables forgotten on the counter for several minutes.

 He only barely manages to stop Lucky from stealing the chicken right off of the counter, which only makes him laugh harder as he tries to hold his dog back by the collar. Once again, Lucky looks like he is judging his humans - even his one remaining eye is pretty expressive.  

 Once they have calmed down a bit, they continue. Tony is about to put the vegetables into the frying pan, but Clint stops him.

 “Wait. Put in the onions and garlic first, let them get glassy and then add the rest of it in. One after the other. Hardest stuff first, softest last. That way you have everything cooked through without having some parts mushy in the end.” he explains, which is met with a surprised noise from his boyfriend.

 “Huh, that makes sense. Cooking       is     logical, after all.” Tony says, as if that’s news to him - truth be told, it probably is.

 “Of course it’s logical. What did you think?” Clint asks, even though he already knows the answer.

 “Magic? I don’t fucking know” Tony shrugs, but he looks very much satisfied. Even more so once everything is done. The stir fry turned out perfect, and the pasta only boiled over once - the kitchen is a mess, but the food is amazing, so it comes to no surprise that one after one, the other Avengers show up in the kitchen like a bunch of hungry sharks. Food always brings them together, especially if the delicious smells are wafting through the tower.

 Apart from the obvious - having to eat, having to help out and later on, hating the SHIELD cafeteria with a burning passion - this is why Clint learned how to cook in the first place. Food brings people together, brings in company.

 As someone who spent most of his life either lonely or socially awkward or both, Clint learned early on that if he feeds people, they will stick around - at least for a bit.  It is a long standing habit, and although he genuinely loves cooking and baking, because it’s fun and relaxing, the people aspect is a big motivation as well.

 Feeding people keeps them around and Clint recognizes that this might be a little sad. But he can’t deny that he likes doing it, one of the reasons being that, making food for someone shows that you care. As much as his social skills suck sometimes, Clint likes to take care of the people around him, especially loved ones.

 Lucky for him, there is almost always someone around, here in the tower, to enjoy whatever he spent the day cooking or baking. Especially if either Steve or Thor are home, he knows nothing will stay untouched for long. While those two will eat anything and everything that isn’t nailed down, Clint knows that Tony is usually a bit of a picky eater, but he will try everything Clint makes, because he knows from experience that it’s always good. He does have a bit of a sweet tooth though. Bruce on the other hand prefers savory things, which is why he himself is cooking a lot of spicy, indian food, but he will also happily go to town on a loaf of bread fresh out of the oven.

 Natasha, much like Phil and Pepper whenever they’re around, has a huge sweet tooth - whenever there are cookies or cake or anything else, she is the first to creep into the kitchen. Oftentimes, she steals balls of cookie dough and bowls with batter remaining in them. It gets even worse when Phil is around, because the two of them will team up to get all the sweet things - It’s highly classified, but you can totally buy Agent Coulson with sweet things.

 Clint knows all of this, especially since he’s known Phil and Nat for many many years. Therefore, he counts in whatever they are likely going to steal whenever he is baking - he’s known their systematic approach for ages now, but he doesn’t mind it. Not at all.

 Later that same night, Clint is sprawled out in bed, legs tangled with Tony’s and one arm wrapped around him. His head is pillowed on the other man's shoulder, face pressed into his favourite spot - the crook of Tony’s neck.  Restless fingers are lightly scratching his scalp, and the even breathing of his dog by their feet are almost lulling him to sleep. His other hand is lazily tracing invisible patterns on Tony’s back, fingers creeping under his shirt and against warm, smooth skin. The happy hum he gets in response causes small vibrations to travel through his entire body, even when he can’t hear it.

 They drift off to sleep like this, and when they are in the kitchen the next morning, Clint asks, as Tony keeps an suspicious eye on the scrambled eggs,

 “Do you want to bake bread with me later? We can use it tomorrow for french toast.”

 “...I’ll have to touch wet dough, do I?”

 “...Ideally, yes. But it’s fun, I promise. Careful, your eggs.” he adds, and Tony jumps to flip them - just in time - no harm done. He lets out a sigh of relief.  As it turns out, having someone close to help him get a hang of this really helps. Besides, Clint is a good teacher, and the whole love thing helps a lot. Just spending time together, really - and the compliments from their other teammates for last night’s dinner for example. All of it makes him want to keep going.

 “Okay, let’s do it” Tony says, and the happy smile on his boyfriend's face is more than enough motivation to say “yes” again the next time he asks if he wants to bake.

 As it turns out, baking is a whole different thing than cooking, which takes him by surprise. Especially since he needs to be a lot more accurate for this, while with cooking, there is at least a little bit of freestyling allowed. With baking? Not so much.

 “It’s sticky. Ew. Babe, why? Why did you do this to me?” Tony complains, making a face as he holds up his hands that are covered in admittedly clingy bread dough - he’s not quite sure he actually likes doing this.

 “It needs more flour - hold on.” Clint scrapes off as much dough from his hands as he can, carefully grabs the paper bag with two fingers and sprinkles a little bit more flour in both mixing bowls.

 “Try again, it should work itself out. If it cleans out the bowl we’re good.”

 “You said this was fun… Oh hey, that’s actually better now!” Tony exclaims in surprise, relieved that his bread dough isn’t nearly as sticky anymore - now, he can knead it with his hands without thinking of hacking them off right after. Truth be told, he is starting to see the fun part of this whole thing now.

 “See? You’re doing great by the way.” Clint tells him, a warm and happy feeling spreading out in his chest. He is incredibly happy to be able to have this - to have Tony by his side in the first place. Words can’t express how much he loves this man, and he hopes that Tony knows nonetheless.

 “I’ve got a pretty good teacher - you should meet him some time. He’s got amazing arms and an even better ass.” Tony is grinning over at Clint, absolutely not checking out those very much appreciated body parts while he does so. They have been together for quite some time, but the attraction to one another has not died down - not at all.

 “Oh, does he now?”

 “Very much so.”

 Cheesy flirting and easy banter is what they do best, and by the time their dough is covered and resting, Clint and Tony disappear upstairs and into the bedroom. They lose their clothes on the way, leaving a trail through the entire apartment until they fall into bed, wrapped tightly around one another and laughing in between kisses and wandering hands.

 There is plenty of time to pass until the bread is ready to be baked, after all.

*+~

Prompt 10: Teaching

[amphtaminedreams]

The Women of Euphoria and Personal Style: Lookbook no.8

Hi to anyone reading,

I hope you’re well considering everything going on! It feels weird to want to talk about fashion or TV shows or red carpets or whatever when 90% of my Google searches are COVID-19 related but there you go. It’s all about trying to power through as normal (minus the social interaction) and pretend the world isn’t ending, right? Queue nervous laughter.

And as if things aren't shitty enough, production of season 2 of Euphoria has been postponed until further notice. 

Okay, in the grand scheme of things, having to wait a bit longer for a TV show isn’t catastrophic but it does just about sum up the transition from 2019 to 2020 thus far that after HBO redeemed itself by broadcasting Euphoria in the summer following an ending to Game of Thrones that has made the whole series unrewatchable, the glimmer of hope in me reignited by the prospect of series 2 this year has been quickly dashed. 2021, I’m rooting for you, because it doesn’t seem like things are getting better any time soon, and in all seriousness, I think everyone needs a break from the collective suffering of the last few months.

For me (and undoubtedly for many others if the hundreds of makeup looks and styling videos are anything to go by), Euphoria’s effect on the world of fashion and beauty is unprecedented. I really can’t recall a TV show in living memory that has had as much of an impact on the way young people dress. I mean, this might partially be because the style of the characters already kind of caters to and draws from the target audience but also, aside from Blair Waldorf did anybody really give THAT much of a fuck about what anybody in Gossip Girl wore?

The draw of the styling on Euphoria is that it has something for everyone. The style of each of the main girls, Rue, Kat, Maddy, Jules and Cassie, all of whom I’ve attempted (emphasis on attempted!) to base (emphasis on base!) outfits around, is varied and distinctive but still so current and realistic at the same time. It’s also consistent; even if you don’t own the specific pieces worn by any of them, similar shapes and details reoccur enough in different looks throughout the series that it’s not hard to create an outfit which matches your favourite character’s overall vibe without buying anything new. That’s kinda what I have attempted to do here and without further ado, I’m gonna get on with it! First up:

Jules (Played by Hunter Schafer)

When it comes to whose style is the most experimental, Jules is the obvious answer. A lot of her outfits are what I imagine a cartoonist in the near-distant future will envision their cool girl protagonist wearing. Whilst her ensembles are generally whimsical and girly for the most part, there’s usually a few slightly punk-ish finishing touches thrown in there too be it through chunky shoes or bold makeup or that incredible mesh trench coat she wears in the series finale with the trans symbol on the back which, honestly, deserves a moment of silence. 

There are definitely nods to current fashion trends sprinkled throughout her wardrobe too. I'm not going to lie, despite someone at work seemingly thinking it was an insult to tell me I look like someone who does (I still don’t know but this person has a Rick and Morty keyring so I don’t give it too much weight), I’ve never watched any anime. BUT, that being said, given the abundance of anime screenshots posted by all these aesthetic oriented Instagram and Tumblr moodboard accounts, I have a vague idea of what some of the more iconic characters look like and a lot of Jules’ looks seem to be very much modelled after or at least inspired by them. In a way, I see a lot of her looks as a blend between modern “e-girl”, Y2K skater chick (yes, I’m thinking early Avril Lavigne), and 2013 Tumblr “hipster” a la 2014 Joanna Kutcha and Charlie Barker, and though on paper that sounds like a nightmare combination, it works. I know-if that sentence were a Depop description I would’ve just gained 30 followers.

When it comes to my own interpretation of Jules’ style, it’s definitely something I like to channel when I’m putting together a proper OUTFIT outfit. Meaning an outfit I actually put effort into and thus will most likely want to get a good photo in, lol. The way her character dresses is almost quite Christopher Kane in that it’s fresh and unusual but still understated enough that I wouldn’t walk into a room wearing any of these feeling like I’m doing a Rick Owens runway.

I’m not TOO far out of my comfort zone but still at the same time, I’d be trying something new and maybe a little bit more zany than I'm used to. As for noting where any of these pieces are from, only a few have been bought in the last 6 months, but from left to right clockwise I have marked out those that have in case they’re still available (though be wary of the fact that it seems a lot of online clothes stores are still forcing warehouse employees to work in close confines at the moment and so perhaps aren’t operating the most ethically):

LOOK 1

Corset-Jaded London

Shoes-TK Maxx

LOOK 2

Dress-Motel Rocks

Boots-Koi Vegan Footwear

LOOK 3

Dress-Jaded London

LOOK 4

Dress-Jaded London

Beret-Ebay

LOOK 5

Beret-Ebay

LOOK 6

Mesh Top-Depop

Hair Clips-Urban Outfitters

Kat (Played by Barbie Ferreira) 

Eurgh, Kat. 

I LOVE THIS BITCH.

If I had to choose my favourite character in the show, it would be a very close toss-up between her and Rue, and though I think Rue might just about nab the top spot for her relatability factor, Kat is the girl I want to be or wish that I had been when I was at school. I mean, there’s definitely an argument to be made in that a lot of what she’s doing with her cam work could be seen as a means of validation (Sam Levinson has basically said everyone on the show has some kind of an unhealthy coping mechanism and I would guess due to the circumstances in which her cam girl career was borne and the fact she’s underage, this would be hers) but I do think in other ways we really see Kat reclaim her power and recognise herself for the smart, capable, gorgeous woman that she is. Honestly, the definition of divine feminine energy, and I would completely let Barbie Ferreira/basically Kat if she was also actually 23 dominate me.

Plus! Her! Style! Is! The! Bomb! Definitely the easiest character to base looks around because if I’m totally honest Kat’s energy is pretty much just what I want to emulate in every day life. 

It’s either pieces that are typically feminine, cutesy, and even slightly preppy at times drenched in everything grunge OR vice versa where you have something semi-gothic and then add a colourful, more playful touch in there that harks back to the beginning of the series before Kat had began to explore her identity and sexuality and dressed slightly more Forever 21.

I’d say, not yet with my whole chest, that on a good day the outfits I put together when making an effort aren’t too far off something Kat would wear, minus the more overtly BDSM touches; if wearing a ring choker in London is enough to get me a creepy comment from a gross middle aged shopkeeper (because I apparently forfeited my right not to be perved on when I decided to buy a bottle of Oasis summer fruits), then you can only imagine the kind of looks wearing a full-on harness would get in my conservative OAP dominated hometown. Not the most doable right now, especially considering the only time I get out is to work and to go for a run. The chafing I could deal with but the horrified glares of pensioners whose M&S prawn mayo sandwiches I’ve ruined by simply being in their eyesight not so much.

LOOK 1-

Corset-Urban Outfitters

LOOK 2-

Bodysuit-Depop

Skirt-Zara

Harness-Ebay

LOOK 3-

Co-ord-Depop

Lace-up Corset-Missguided

LOOK 4-

Dress-Vintage

LOOK 5-

Belt-Ebay

LOOK 6-

Coat-Topshop

Dress-Jaded London

LOOK 7-

Fishnet Top-Ebay

Skirt-Urban Outfitters

Maddy (Played by Alexa Demie)

Not gonna lie, I was kind of scared to do Maddy. I’m scared to be posting this, lol! Alexa Demie has played this character for a single season and she’s already one of the most iconic women to grace our screens in years. This is a huge undertaking and I don’t have the bank balance or the body confidence (lmao) to raid IAmGia. 

And this is where I want to stress: THESE ARE NOT OUTFIT RECREATIONS. THESE ARE INSPIRED BY. I HAVE ADDED ELEMENTS OF MY OWN STYLE INTO THEM. PLEASE DON’T DRAG ME. I KNOW, I’M NOT ALEXA DEMIE. I WOULD NEVER ASSUME TO BE ALEXA DEMIE. I’M NOT ABOUT TO TAKE THE LORD’S NAME IN VAIN LIKE THAT. So now we’ve got that out the way (wipes bead of sweat off forehead), let’s continue. 

Everything about Maddy Perez is extra. She has very much been established as a centre of attention character, and her outfits are a key part of that. They’re daring, they’re hyper-feminine, and they are always glamorous. We’re told that she competed in beauty pageants when she was younger and it’s clear that level of excess and coordination and glitz and all-round-boujeeness wormed its way into her DNA during that time. Even the “depression” outfit she wears to school following Nate becoming violent at the fair is costume-like, a 2019 Bratz doll Off-White street style collaboration.

Do you know how HARD I had to try to be HOT!? For these photos. Alexa Demie is one of those blessed women who doesn’t have to try at all, and that translates into the character completely. At any given moment, Maddy could add or remove one item or clothing and be let straight into the VIP section of a club, and that, honestly, is inspiring to us all in these dark times. 

One thing I tried to keep in mind is that she always looks polished and coordinated, I.E the kind of look I would prepare for a night out is something Maddy would wear on an average day. Co-ords and delicate prints seem to be more subtle wardrobe staples along with mesh and PVC and glitter and feathers and fur and basically anything that toes the line between expensive looking and tacky. Yes, I am aware we may toe different sides of that line but please let me stay delusional and believe that’s not the case for 5 minutes. Much appreciated xoxo

LOOK 1-

Bodysuit-Jaded London

LOOK 2-

Bralette-Depop

LOOK 3-

Co-ord Suit-Boohoo

Bodysuit-Boohoo

LOOK 4-

Dress-Motel Rocks

Shoes-Schuh

LOOK 5-

Bodysuit-Zaful

Trousers-Depop

Coat-Topshop

LOOK 6-

Dress-Zaful

Belt-Zaful

LOOK 7-

Top-Jaded London

Hair Clips-H&M

Rue (Played by Zendaya Coleman)

I have a complicated relationship with Rue as a character. When I started season 1 of Euphoria, I was like “Oh my god, this girl is the worst. Jesus, she’s so negative and draining and willingly self-destructive and-”

Then, oh my god is this what it’s like to live with me!?

I will say, to my own credit, that I don’t think I've ever been quite as hard to deal with as Rue (a lot less smashing stuff up and a lot more moping), and to HER credit, by the end of the season we come to realise she’s been through a fucking lot and so it makes sense, but wow. I don’t think I have ever seen a teen show handle drug abuse and mental illness in such a brutal way. It’s quite a talent to be able to show a character cause so much pain to those closest to them and yet do so through a sympathetic lens. And issues aside, whether it’s her occasional social awkwardness or her relationship with her family or watching bloody Love Island (still quite surreal to see Zendaya Coleman witnessing the Amy/Curtis drama unfold), Rue is just my favourite character to follow. 

Her style, though. AH. The thing is, I can hardly drag it, because it’s pretty much what I wear when I’m moping about the house-or just any time I can get away with it to be honest-to a T. I want to stay true to character, but that being said, creating a “Seth Rogen”-esque outfit that’s worth posting on here is difficult. So, with the same kind of artistic license that had me wearing berets whilst cosplaying Maddy Perez, here is the best I could do:

I know, I know, it’s probably too much colour and jewellery for Rue but this is as toned down as I could do and I tried to stick with the key silhouettes we see from her throughout the season; I mean, I can’t see her wearing leopard print but the structure of the coat in outfit 1 is very similar to the one seen in Shook Ones pt.II. I think the bottom line when it comes to her character is keeping things effortless and not overly-feminine; you want to mix street style, athleisure and your dad’s wardrobe favourites like your life depends on it. Plus messy hair and smudged makeup, both of which I’ve already got down according to the completely inappropriate number of customers who’ve asked if I'm tired at work so thanks for that guys, and glitter tears. Lots and lots of glitter tears.

OUTFIT 1-

Dungarees-Vintage

OUTFIT 2-

Trousers-Depop

Cardigan-Urban Outfitters

OUTFIT 5-

Beanie-Depop

OUTFIT 6-

Shirt-Boohoo Man

Sports Bra-TK Maxx

Trousers-Urban Outfitters

OUTFIT 7-

Shirt-Jaded London

Cassie (Played by Sydney Sweeney)

Style-wise, Cassie is a hard one. When putting outfits for her character together, I found myself gravitating towards a direction that’s probably a bit too bohemian for her character, under the guidance of loose terms like “girl-next-door”, “floaty”, “delicate”, you get the idea. She definitely feels the least fully-realised in terms of all the main girls and I think it’s fair to say she’s probably got a bit of self-discovery to do. Most of her storylines in the season are dictated by her relationships to other people: McKay, Maddy, Lexie, her parents and so on. 

Nevertheless, I tried to stick to the airier, more traditionally “pretty” pieces whilst still channelling the confidence and ease with which Cassie pulls them off. Sydney Sweeney has the most incredible figure and I feel like whilst the clothes the on-set stylists put her in flatter that and don’t hide anything, they’re still the focus. It doesn’t feel like there’s anything more inherently sexual about her character than any of the other main female characters despite the way the men within the narrative view her, and I think it’s a testament to the the wardrobe department that to me she still gives off big modern Disney princess energy and a certain innocence even whilst we hear her being continuously sexualised by her male peers. 

If anything, Cassie probably dresses the most like an actual teenage girl, and her style, whilst less distinctive than the other girls, still does a good job of capturing the youth and romanticism of her character. 

The colour palette of her wardrobe tends to be quite neutral, with a couple of pastels thrown in there, and if there are any details, they’re usually quite dainty. Similarly, Cassie is probably the least experimental when it comes to her makeup; we don’t really see her wearing the bold eyeshadows or liners or gems like the other girls at any point.

OUTFIT 1-

Bodysuit-Motel Rocks

Hair Clips-Bershka

OUTFIT 2-

Dress-Jaded London

OUTFIT 3-

Trousers-Urban Outfitters

OUTFIT 4-

Top-Urban Outfitters

Hairband-H&M

`OUTFIT 5-

Top-Urban Outfitters

Jeans-Zaful

Headband-Primark

OUTFIT 6-

Top-Urban Outfitters

OUTFIT 7-

Dress-Urban Outfitters

Hair Clips-Boohoo

SO, I guess that’s it for my Euphoria lookbook! As always, let me know what you think (nicely pls, my ego is fragile lol) and I’d love to hear your opinions on the show too! I really haven’t got this excited over a new TV show in ages and I just think that it does everything so excellently-from the writing to the cinematography to the soundtrack, you can tell each element is so carefully and purposefully constructed. It immerses you into the dramatic highs and lows of being a teenager in a way I haven’t seen since UK Skins and I never thought I’d watch a show which held a candle to that. 

In terms of what I’m doing next, I’ve got a very delayed fashion week masterpost in the works as well as something to fill the Met Gala shaped hole in our lives, which I hope to get up over the next couple of weeks. In the meantime, if you read to the end, THANK YOU! And I hope you’re staying safe and AT HOME where possible. I know this self-isolation feels never-ending and if I’m honest, it is having a hugely negative effect on my mental health, but NHS staff are doing their very best with the shitty recourses they have and whilst it seems that our government have thrown workers under the bus once again, we can all do our bit to combat that by slowing the spread of the virus. Also thank you to anybody who’s out working now in such a scary and uncertain time! I work at a grocery store and can say from experience that the best way to show this thanks is just through kindness and following employee’s instructions without giving them grief for it. Everyone’s scared right now and the best we can do is pull together and look out for each other, as difficult as that might seem at times.

Anyway, sorry for the ramble, and like I said, stay safe! Thanks once again if you read til the end or even if you’re just here for the photos. Appreciate it more than you know either way!

Lauren x

[yoonjinkooked]

Daddy Day Care  |  Chapter 3

pairing; jungkook/female OC

genre; fluff, romcom, smutty in the future, Dad!Jungkook rating; explicit (IN FUTURE CHAPTERS ONLY, not yet) words; this chapter 5475, total so far (13.546)

— synopsis; Jeongguk is your average 25-year-old - job, work, friends - everything regular. Except, he has a 5 year old daughter. And he’s single. Until a “princess” waltzes into his life.

warnings for this chapter: POV changes. You still want to have Jungkook’s children. Jungkook in a Santa suit. A frustratingly smart 5yo. Cursing, banter, a whole lot of Christmas fluff. Unable-to-flirt and struggle-to-adult Jungkook.

I knock on the door, pausing between knocks to look around me, feeling paranoid. There’s not a kid in sight and most importantly, Eunmi isn’t sneaking around and trying to debunk the Santa theory.

Still, despite knowing how unlikely it is that she’ll see me, I feel weird, as if I am keeping a big secret, which I suppose I am. I just had to come here and wear a damn suit, not pretend like like this is a matter of national security.

The door before me opens and my eyes go wide, because I was expecting Gayoon, not Jimin, one of the other teachers, with a red ball on his nose and headband antlers on his head. Judging by the look on his face, he’s equally as surprised to see me. “Mr Jeon?” he frowns.

“Santa,” I correct him and watch as the look on his face turns into one of understanding as he opens the door wider and he lets me inside. “Didn’t Gayoon tell you?”

“She didn’t but then again, Gayoon’s an idiot,” he shrugs and I do a double take. Sure, I’ve referred to some of my co-workers as idiots but only in my head and not in front of others. Salty much? “I’ll call her over but I think she’s pretty busy in the kitchen.”

It’s only then that I smell it and when I do, it smacks me in the head – cinnamon. So much cinnamon. The entire hallway that we’re in smells like Christmas. I’m not a professional but if a few sniffs are enough, I’d say Gayoon is neck deep in gingerbread dough.

“Wait, what do I have to do?” I ask Jimin as he goes towards what I think is the kitchen.

“Beats me,” he shrugs. “She’s the mastermind. Don’t worry. Just… chill here. She’ll be here in a second.”

Left with no other option, I do exactly what he says. I wait and I think. Seokin’s present is already with him, as he requested a new headset and knew I’d make a better choice when buying than he would. Eunmi’s presents were all wrapped up and left under a Christmas tree last night, after I dropped her over at Namjoon and Hyejin’s place. Mom sent us food, enough to last us the whole week – all is done. Now all I need to do is to survive today.

I’m startled when the door at the end of the hallway opens up and Gayoon comes charging – dressed as an elf. “Hi,” she smiles, looking around the hallway frantically. She opens the door behind me and all but pushes me inside. “Sorry, I’m a mess right now and the place looks like Santa threw up on it and my idiot brother is too big of an idiot to tell you that the suit is here, and-“

“Jimin is your brother?” I ask in surprise. She is looking around the room, barely acknowledging me with a nod. Well, I suppose that explains why Jimin would be comfortable calling her an idiot – god knows I call Seokjin an idiot all the time. Then again, she and Jimin look nothing alike. Or maybe I just didn’t pay attention to details. “What is this, a family business?” I chuckle.

“Well, seeing as my mother owns the place, yes,” she mumbles.

“Wait, Mrs. Park is your mother?” I am surprised, thinking about the lady that’s in charge of this kindergarten and who gets my checks every month. Now, there I do see a resemblance. Now that I know, I realize that Gayoon is simply a younger, slightly more attractive version of Mrs. Park. With no offense to Mrs. Park, who still looks damn fine for her age.

“Yeah, that’s my mom,” she lets out a sigh of relief when she spots a big bag in the corner of the room. She rushes to it, picks it up and pushes it into my arms. “Here’s the suit. I had it dry cleaned last week, so it’s all lavender and shiny. Just… cover your face as best as you can,” she instructs me.

“And is Eunmi-“

“Don’t worry about Eunmi,” she smiles. “Once your kid is in the kindergarten, she’s our worry, not yours Jeongguk. You just be Santa and don’t you worry about a thing. And the cookies I promised will be here soon, unless I burn down the kitchen. See you later,” she’s out of the room before I can even take a breath, much less utter a word or two.

And I am left with a trash bag that holds what I am afraid will end up being the suit of pain.

Even though she looked as if she was seconds away from losing her mind, Gayoon seemed to have everything under control, with the help of Jimin. And the cookies he brought to me while I waited around, fidgeting in the suit, are as good as any Christmas cookies I’ve ever had.

And the suit? Well, the suit is doable. It’s a bit too hot inside of it for my liking. But compared to the beard, the suit is just fine. The beard? This thing is itchy as fuck and after a long look in the mirror, I am 100% sure I won’t be fooling anyone today, not even the bunch of 5 year olds waiting for me.

“It’s time, follow me,” Gayoon peeks into the room and as I stand up, I realize that the look on her face is giving her away – she’s trying really hard not to laugh directly in my face.

“Is it that bad?” I sigh.

“Nope, not at all,” she shakes her head.

“You’re a miserable liar, you know,” I raise my eyebrow at her but I’m pretty sure she can’t see it because the Santa hat is covering half of my face.

“Nah, I’m just not trying hard enough,” she laughs. “Come on, let’s go.”

One hallway after the other, I end up in front of a line of parents, who are all smiling my way. I am pretty sure most of them can figure out who I am and that’s not good for my already deflated ego. A good portion of them already look at me like I’m a kid with a kid, like I am somehow less capable of a parent than they are and having me dressed up as Santa is not going to do me any favors.

But then again, I’m doing this for my kid. What are they doing for theirs?

And the second I feel good about myself, I spot my friends. Unlike Gayoon, the two couples have no problem with laughing directly into my face. Especially Namjoon and Yoongi, since they’re probably having war flashbacks of the suit and are so glad they’re not in it this year.

“Shut it,” I glare at them as I walk past them but Namjoon only laughs harder. “Hoe,” he freezes mid-laughter. “Ho-ho,” I cover it up, making the other three laugh and Namjoon glare at me.

“Go on with your walk of shame, Santa,” he retaliates by pushing me to walk faster.

I will kill him. I don’t know when, I don’t know how but I will kill him.

This… this might have been a horrible mistake.

I don’t know Jeongguk nearly enough to know if he’s capable of doing this or not. For all I know, he can’t act to save his life. But whether he can’t act to save his life or he’s an Oscar-worthy actor, he’s the only guy we’ve got. So, Jimin and I ceremoniously introduce him as Santa Claus and he walks into the playroom, ho-ho-hoing his way around while the children scream and clap.

The beard is barely covering his baby face and the pillow stuffed inside of the suit looks abnormal.

I knew I shouldn’t have listened to Jimin. We should have left Jeongguk as a skinny Santa – that would be more believable. But then again, these are five year olds, not grown people that he has to fool. And looking around at all the kiddos, they look like they are buying it. They laugh and cheer, answer his questions at the very same time and smile brightly because it’s him! It’s Santa!

“Miss Gayoon?” I feel a tug on the sleeve of my green elf suit and when I look down, I see Eunmi reaching for me.

“What is it, sweetie?” I ask, hoping Jeongguk doesn’t see it and gets distracted by his own daughter.

“Why is my Dad pretending to be Santa?” she whispers to me.

Shit.

I knew it was a risk but we all underestimated Eunmi. The kid is bright as hell and at the age of 5, she can already read! All of us should have known that she would be able to recognize her own father under the fake white beard and a huge red suit.

I smile and take her by the hand, moving us away from the other kids. She follows but when I kneel down to be face to face with her, I see a frown on her cute little face, her chubby cheeks even more prominent than usual. “Honey, this is top secret. Can you keep a secret?” I ask.

“Yes,” she nods, her little pigtails jumping with the bob of her head.

“You know how Santa has to deliver aaaaaaall the presents to kids all over the world, right?” I ask and she nods. “Well, Santa is currently really super mega busy with the delivery and also, Rudolph and his friends need to rest a bit. So, Santa asked me to ask your dad to give you guys presents instead of him. Santa asks a lot of people to help because sometimes he doesn’t have enough time to visit everyone.”

“You talked to Santa?” she asks, her doe eyes looking at me in awe.

“Sure did,” I nod. “And your dad is on a super-secret mission so we need to be shhh about it, okay?” I put my finger over my lips, hoping this is good enough for the little one to keep it a secret.

“Hm… seems legit.”

I do a double take, wondering if she just said what I think she said.

“Sweetie… did you just say ‘seems legit’?” I ask, trying hard not to laugh.

“Yes,” she nods.

“Where did you…? Do you know what that means?” I ask.

“Daddy says we say that when something is true,” she shrugs her little shoulder and yes, my suspicions are confirmed. Jeon Jeongguk is a true dork and his cute daughter is going to be an awesome dork too.

“Well, he’s right,” I nod and I smile when I offer her my pinky. “Pinky promise not to tell anyone?”

“Deal,” she nods, accepting my pinky with her own and shaking them together.

I finally breathe out a sigh of relief when she runs along to join her friends. If Eunmi was a little less smart, this could have ended up being an utter disaster. And this is a warning sign – next year we are totally hiring someone to play Santa because Dads are officially off limits.

Gayoon finally feels free enough to laugh directly into my face when she watches me tear off the beard and hat, throwing them both to the ground. “I’m not doing this again,” I warn her.

“Nah, you won’t have to,” she shakes her head. “Eunmi figured you out.”

“She did?!”

The little weasel was sitting in my lap, smiling brightly and asking for a puppy. And when I said that I’m not sure if mom and dad would be happy with a puppy, she insisted they would love it!

“I am raising a professional liar,” I sigh, falling onto a chair. “She straight up pretended not to know me!”

“In her defense, I asked her to,” Gayoon raises her hands. “If she had said something, we would all be in trouble and we’d have to explain to 20 something kids that Santa isn’t real. Or that Santa is actually the father of one of their classmates. Whichever one you’d prefer.”

“Thank god,” I sigh, rubbing my eyes while at the same time reaching for a cookie. “I don’t know how you guys do it, I swear. Handling one five-year-old is a challenge on its own but 20 of them?! How?”

“It’s a job, not a hobby,” she shrugs, looking completely unfazed. “We do what we have to do and if that means handling 20 five-year-olds at once, we do it. Now, about all of this – I owe you one. Name your price,” she looks guilty, as if she knows just how much of a pain it was for me to do this. In fact, she probably knows, seeing as she is dressed as an elf, a bell on her hat too, ringing with every step.

“Nah,” I shake my head. “Seeing you miserable in that costume is payment enough.”

“Hey!” she glares at me. “It’s not my fault I wear stupid costumes every time we run into each other.”

“True,” I shrug. “But seriously, you don’t owe me anything. I did it for my girl and all the other kiddos. And for you, as a favor.”

“Christmas spirit and all that?”

“Sure, call it that,” I shrug as I get up. “But seriously, thank you for-“

“Ooof,” she is suddenly distracted. “Mistletoe,” she points at the ceiling between us and my blood freezes.

Mistletoe. Me. Her.

Crap.

I mean, she is cute, and pretty and funny and all that but… how much did we even talk? And she’s… she’s Eunmi’s teacher. That wouldn’t be very smart of me.

I am still frozen when she lurches forward. For a second, for one second, I think she is coming right at me but instead, she reaches and grabs the mistletoe, tearing it off the ceiling. “I told Jimin mistletoes are too much for the kindergarten but the idiot never listens,” she shakes her head as she scrunches the decoration in her hand, before throwing it down on the floor and smiling at me. “You don’t have to thank me for anything, we owe you. Take all the cookies you want on your way out, but I need to go and clean the kitchen before it’s too late. Thank you. Merry Christmas, in advance.”

“Merry Christmas,” I smile, nodding when she turns around and leaves the room.

She didn’t even consider it.

I know I was kind of against it but… she didn’t even consider it. She crushed that mistletoe in a matter of seconds.

Why am kind of insulted if I didn’t want to do it to begin with?

I make sure to stomp on the mistletoe on my way out.

“Come on sweetie, you can do the countdown,” I tell Eunmi as I reach towards the wall.

“Okay. Three… two… one,” I turn around just in time to watch her face beam up as the lights turn on.

Watching her like this is… worth it. It’s worth every sleepless night, every day I worked overtime, every time I spent half the night touching her forehead to check if her fever was down because I couldn’t even look away from her, much less sleep. Every single hard part of being her dad is absolutely fucking worth it when I see her face light up as she enjoys the sight before her.

Even climbing all over the living room furniture is worth it.

“Daddy, it’s beautiful,” she giggles as she turns around in place, looking around the room.

“I know, we worked hard,” I laugh, “And now’s the time for the star,” I announce before I reach for her. Without much effort, I manage to lift her up so that she could reach the top of the Christmas tree. She sways it a bit towards us and I switch positions to hold the tree with one hand and her with the other – I’m lucky she is light as a feather. After a few seconds of struggling, she puts the star on the top. “Ta-da!” she giggles when I move us away from the tree to look at the final result.

“Perfect,” I smile, reaching to kiss her head. “You are the best Christmas decorator ever!”

“I’m awesome,” she smiles down at me.

“Yes, you are.”

“You’re awesome too, daddy,” she giggles.

“Yes I am.”

“So… puppy?” she asks, looking… well, like a kid asking for a puppy.

“Why you little!” I laugh as I reach to tickle her, smiling instantly when she starts laughing and pushing my hand away at the same time. “You want a puppy, huh?”

“Santa told- told me- Santa told me-,” she talks between laughter. I slow down with the tickling, not wanting her to struggle to speak. “Santa told me I might get one.”

“Sure he did,” I roll my eyes. “Miss Gayoon told me you figured out I was Santa.”

“Oh,” her smile drops only for a second before she smiles again. “Of course I did, daddy. Santa sounded just like you and he had your face. The beard didn’t hide your eyes! And voice! A beard can’t hind the voice! You should have been smarter daddy!”

“Yes I should have been smarter,” I laugh. “I’ll tell you what… Since you can’t stop bugging me about the puppy… how about you and I go to the shelter after New Year’s, huh? You will be with Mom for a few days but when you come here again, we’ll go to a shelter and pick a puppy? Does that sound like a deal?”

“Really?!” she gasps in shock, her eyes wide. “Really?!”

“Really.”

“Thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou!” she yells, throwing her arms around my neck and squeezing as hard as she can. “You’re the best dad in the whole world!”

“Merry Christmas, sweetie.” I kiss her head as I snuggle her closer.

“Merry Christmas.”

“Eunmi,” I glare at her as I try to find my goddamn phone that’s blasting ‘You really got me’ by The Kinks. The sound is becoming louder and louder and once I don’t find it between the couch cushions, I need to pause and parent cause I see Eunmi reaching for the cake. “No way!” I warn her, ignoring her signature pout. “Eat your veggies first, then cake,” I raise a finger in warning.

“But daddy, veggies are yucky!”

“Oh come on, you eat veggies all the time,” I roll my eyes, knowing that she’s just playing it. She eats them all, but not when there’s cake on the table too, apparently. “Where the he- is my phone,” I barely manage to stop the curse before it leaves my mouth but Eunmi catches on to it. Our eyes meet again and she shakes her head in disappointment.

“Daddy said a bad word,” she looks as if she just saw me break the law.

“No, Daddy almost said a bad word, but he’s very smart and he stopped just in time before you could-“ in the middle of my lecture, the phone stops ringing and I sigh in disappointment.

At this point, I might as well just call it a day and conclude that I am NOT good at adulting.

“Your phone is next to the Nintendo,” Eunmi tells me and I turn around – sure enough, my phone is right there, as if it is mocking me with ha-ha, you blind loser attitude. However, my daughter is a priority and the fact that she did not point the phone’s location out until it stopped ringing.

“You knew it was there, didn’t you?”

“No,” she shakes her head. While she can have her moments, she’s not that big of a liar. And even if she was, I can call her bluff and I can tell she’s not lying now. “It shined when it stopped ringing.”

“What is it doing next to the Nintendo anyways?” I mumble as I reach towards it.

“You put it there last night when we were playing Super Mario.”

Oh. Yeah, I did. Not only am I not good at adulting but my five year old is better at adulting than I am.

“Thanks for helping, sweetie. Now eat your veggies and don’t even smell that cake before you eat all the carrots,” I warn her, smiling when I see her stuffing her face with little carrot pieces, just so that she could eat the cake sooner. “Easy there, the cake won’t run anywhere,” I laugh as I go over and see the missed call. I call it instantly. I might not be responsible when it comes to answering the phone but who the hell would call me on Christmas Day?

“Hello?” a female voice responds.

“Hi, yeah, I just got a missed call from this number.”

Can I sound more awkward? Like, is it actually possible?

“Oh! Jeongguk, is it you?”

“Yeah?” I frown in confusion.

“Oh, sorry. It’s Park Gayoon, Eunmi’s kindergarten teacher.”

Oh shit.

“Oh. You could have just said Gayoon though, I would have connected the dots,” I laugh awkwardly, only realizing how pathetic I sound when the words already leave my mouth. God, it’s like I’m losing my ability to talk like an adult. Although in my defense, I was absolutely not expecting her to call.

I mean, it’s Christmas. There’s no reason for it. We barely even properly talked yesterday and the mistletoe incident is still bruising my ego. I mean, she didn’t even consider it!

“Oh, I would have guessed so but since I’m calling on official kindergarten business, I thought it might be better to remain professional,” she explains.

“Oh. Well in that case, what can I do for you today, Miss Park?” I ask and honestly, if she wasn’t able to hear me, I would have breathed out a sigh of relief when she chuckled. It’s nice to know that not every single one of my comments sounds as idiotic as I think it does. “Also, if you don’t mind me asking, how did you get my number?”

Because if she got it the way I think she did, I will murder both Hyejin and Namjoon. Perhaps even Moonbyul and Yoongi too, if they had something to do with it. None of them would surprise me, since they love to use good intentions as an excuse to tease me and this would be a perfect chance.

“I founded in the student’ documentation,” she tells me. Oh. Okay. Makes sense, seeing as she has already pointed out she’s calling as a teacher, not a chick I saw twice in my life. “I apologize for calling you, I mean, it’s Christmas, Marry Christmas, by the way, but you left your wallet here yesterday.”

“I have?”

“Well, unless you have a doppelgänger who shares the same name as you do, yes.”

“I haven’t even realized,” I sigh, yet again disappointed in myself. Who does that? Seriously, who does that? I have zero control over my life, I feel like I’m a dumb teenage boy all over again. I can’t find my phone, ever, I lost my wallet and fuck, I can’t even stop myself from cursing in front of my daughter! Why can’t I just be… a proper grownup?! “Okay,” I sigh, trying to think of something. I can always call Jin to babysit. “I know it’s Christmas so could you just… hide the wallet somewhere near the kindergarten? I will drive out to come and get it. You don’t have to wait for me, I’d feel bad if you’d be stuck at work for Christmas.”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” she chuckles. “I only checked for the ID, but I am pretty positive your driver’s license is currently in my hands.”

Damn it.

“Yep, it is,” I sigh. “I’ll take a cab then, I can’t risk driving without it and having the cops-“

“No, don’t waste money. Besides, how will you pay for it?” she chuckles again. “Look, I can stop by your place and just give it to you. I will be on my way home in half an hour anyways.”

“Oh no, I can’t let you do that,” I shake my head. It’s Christmas, for the love of everything! She should be with her family or doing whatever the hell she wants to do, not be my delivery service. “You can leave it at the kindergarten and I’ll figure something out, I really don’t want to bother you.”

“I won’t be trekking through miles of snow,” she tells me. “It’s just a short drive.”

“Is it on your way at least?” I ask, realizing that she probably isn’t going to back down.

“Not really, no,” she answers honestly. “But I can’t leave you without money and identification. The cops are looking for drunk drivers left and right today, I was stopped earlier. I’ll just call you when I’m close to your place and you can meet me on the street or something?” she suggests.

“Yeah, I can do that,” I nod. “I’m so sorry about this Gayoon. Miss Park. Miss Gayoon. I don’t know.”

“Gayoon is just fine,” she laughs at my confusion because of course she does. “No need to apologize, it can happen to everyone. I’ll call you when I’m near, okay?”

“Wait, how do you know where I live?” I ask once I realize she hasn’t asked me for an address.

“Well, I did have to look at Eunmi’s documents to get your number and your address is conveniently written down,” she laughs. “Not to mention you talked about your neighborhood at Hyejin’s dinner party. It is both a blessing and a curse to have a good memory. And after all, I do have your ID in my hands.”

I need to end this call before I embarrass myself further. “Yeah, point taken. Okay, just let me know when I need to get down.”

“Sure. See you soon.”

“Thank you,” I end the call and turn to Eunmi, who was happily eating a piece of cake. The little rascal didn’t wait for my permission, but at least her lunch was eaten completely, carrots and all.

“Sweetie, I’m going to have to run out the house for a minute or two soon,” I tell her and she nods, mouth full of chocolate cake. “Do you want to come with me?” I check. Actually, scratch that, she is coming with me. As smart as she is, there is no way in hell I am leaving a five year old alone, not even for a minute. “Yeah, you’re coming with me. Miss Gayoon is going to bring me my wallet, I left it in your kindergarten. This way you can wish her a Merry Christmas, okay?”

“Miss Gayoon is coming?” her face lights up in a second. For someone who has never mentioned Miss Gayoon before, at least not to me, she sure does like her.

“Yes, she’s doing me a big favor.”

“Why don’t we invite her here?” Eunmi asks me. “I know she likes chocolate cake a lot.”

Good question, why don’t we? The girl is doing me a favor, a favor she didn’t have to do at all. She is driving to the other side of town, on Christmas, to do me a favor. I know she said that she owes me for pretending to be Santa for one day, but this wasn’t necessary. The least I can do is invite her inside for some cake or maybe a drink – especially seeing since Eunmi obviously wants that too.

On the other hand, do I really need to create more opportunities to embarrass myself? More time with her is just more time for me to look like a complete idiot in front of her. Which is hardly the end of the world because of ‘the mistletoe incident’.

Be a decent human being and make my daughter happy or save the last pieces of my dignity?

Ugh, what is wrong with me? How the hell did I even get Yuri to like me, much less give birth to my daughter?! I suppose that after years of generally avoiding women, it shouldn’t come as a surprise that I get tongue-tied in front of one. Not to mention she’s pretty.

“Okay, fine,” I sigh, ignoring Eunmi’s confused look. “We’ll invite her.”

Let’s just wait and see how much I will regret this.

 I wonder what’s worse, an old school paper map or GPS because based on my experience, both come from the deepest pits of hell. I have been circling around the neighborhood, trying to find number 19, not even considering the option of calling him again. Sure, my sense of direction is absolutely horrible but does that really need to be public knowledge?

I was about to circle once again, when I noticed someone stepping from one of the buildings onto the empty street. I lean over the passenger’s seat to try to see through the window if it’s him or not, but before I do, I see a little ball of fluff in a pink jacket – I’d recognize that jacket anywhere.

There is no way I didn’t drive around that building at least twice – but at least I don’t have to do it the third time. I stop the car pretty much in front of them. It takes me a few seconds to turn off the engine and grab Jeongguk’s wallet – as soon as I do, I rush outside to greet them.

Eunmi catches my eye immediately, looking even cuter than usual, in the bright pink fluffy jacket that looks as if it’s about to swallow her whole. My heart melts instantly when she smiles brightly at me.

“Miss Gayoon!” she waves at me in the speed of light.

“Hey sweetie,” I chuckle at her excitement before looking over to her father. “Here’s the wallet,” I smile, handing him the brown, leather wallet. I nearly chuckle once I register his outfit because he looks just as fluffed up as Eunmi, with a hoodie and a large, green puffy jacket over it. I haven’t seen him with glasses before – he looks even younger with them than without them.

“Thank you, you’re a life saver,” he tells me.

“Hardly,” I laugh at his expression. Sure, it’s nice of me, I have a kind heart and so on and so on but life saver? Nope. “I’m happy to help. Anyways, I don’t want to hold you back from your plans. I wish you both a Merry Christmas.”

“Miss Gayoon, stay with us,” Eunmi speaks up before Jeongguk could beat her to it. It’s quite comical to watch him, a grown adult, throw a glare at his little girl. A glare that turns into a head tilt and a soft chuckle. Busted, I suppose. “We have cake.”

“We were going to invite you properly but Eunmi here seems to be very excited,” Jeongguk explains, giving the girl a pointed look, which she doesn’t even register as she’s still smiling at me. I look back at Jeongguk, wondering if he’s being forced into it by Eunmi. “A cake for a favor?” he suggests.

“We keep offering each other food in exchange for favors,” I point out.

“Oh well,” he shrugs. “Food is the best.”

“I agree,” I nod. “I don’t want to impose though, I don’t want to interrupt your family time,” I tell him. From what I know, Eunmi lives mostly with her mother, so I can only imagine that Jeongguk doesn’t have too much time to spend with her. The last thing I want to do is to impose on his time with her.

“No, you wouldn’t,” he shakes his head. “Unless you have somewhere to be, you’re more than welcome to join us. Coffee? Cake? Super Mario?” he suggests, at which Eunmi very literally starts jumping up and down in place.

Damn it. Even if I was able to refuse him, I sure as hell am not able to refuse Eunmi.

I could think of at least 10 reasons why this is highly inappropriate but it all kind of falls into water when I remind myself that I am even friends with the parents of the kids I teach. If I can have lunch with Hyejin, nothing makes this situation inappropriate.

Except the fact that it’s their apartment. And while Hyejin is… well, one hell of a woman, I don’t bat for the same team. The again, as cute as Jeongguk can seem, he’s really not the type I’d ever go for, father of one of the kiddos or not.

I’m just confusing myself. The truth is, I adore Eunmi and I’m weak enough to be peer pressured by a five year old. And I like chocolate cake.

“Well, if you add Super Mario into the mix… Sure, why not?” I agree with a small smile.

[exhaustedfander]

When is Enough Enough? [Chapter Eight]

Finally, Roman and Remus have a talk. 

1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / Epilog 

a03 link to story

Remus’s eyes fluttered open, eyes straining against the sunlight pouring in through the blinds. He groaned, the pain of his injury something that could no longer be completely numbed with painkillers. He would be fine, but goddamn it did it hurt.

“Mmm…Logan?” Remus groaned, hazily remembering that his boyfriend had been in his hospital room when he’d fallen asleep. His eyes grazed over to the chair where Logan had fallen asleep, only to find it empty. Maybe he’d left in the night?

“I’m right here, Remus,” Remus heard a voice say beside him, turning to see Logan now standing at his bedside, still dressed in the clothes he’d been wearing yesterday. Logan knelt at his side, pushing Remus’s frazzled hair out of his eyes. “Good morning, love.”

Wow, Remus liked that a lot. Had he ever called him that before? Maybe yesterday…but everything felt so fuzzy…oh wait!

“You told Roman!” Remus shouted suddenly, effectively startling his boyfriend. How he could be so alert just after waking up, Logan would never know.

“Yes…yes I did. We talked about this yesterday, do you not recall?” Remus shrugged.

“I was pretty damn drugged up, Dragonfly. I remember some stuff it’s just all…fuzzy. I remember how numb I felt, and now everything hurts.” There was a pout in Remus’s voice, for once not out of drama. It really did hurt. Logan frowned.

“Do you need anything? I can get a doctor if you’re in pain –.”

“I’ll be fine, Dragonfly. Just sore. I guess being hit by a car will do that to you.”

“They arrested the man who hit you,” Logan said, trying to calm the rising anger in his tone, “I can’t believe someone could be as cruel as he was. To just leave you there.” Remus frowned.

“My fault though, remember? I…I was drunk, and I hadn’t been paying attention…” Logan shook his head.

“Regardless of whether or not you were inebriated, that would not be grounds to hit you and just,” Logan swallowed the lump beginning to form in his throat, “leave you bleeding out. Remus, I –.” Logan felt some form of relief only when Remus took his hand, squeezing it tightly.

Logan had been plagued by dreams all throughout the night, terrible dreams where Remus hadn’t been so lucky. Where Remus had died bleeding out on the concrete, alone and desperate. Logan had woken with a start, his eyes landing on Remus sleeping in his hospital bed. Foolishly, much like a child after being startled from a nightmare, he’d wanted to crawl into Remus’s bed with him and hold him close, feeling him breathing and warm and alive.

“Logan? Logan, are you okay?” Logan shook his head, realizing how lost in his paranoia he’d become.

“Apologies, I-I suppose I didn’t get a very proficient amount of sleep last night. It appears I zoned out.”

“I told you, you could’ve gone home last night. I would’ve been fine on my own.” Logan’s first instinct was to respond, “But I wouldn’t have been fine on my own,” though he decided not to admit such things. He didn’t want to add to Remus’s discomfort.

“And as I said last night, I wanted to stay with you. I do believe I might’ve been overly concerned if I wasn’t in your presence.” A shit-eating-grin spread across Remus’s face, which honestly wasn't a very uncommon expression for him

“Aw, you were so worried about me.” Remus said it in a teasing manner, as though the notion that Logan was beyond himself with worry was ridiculous. Except then he noticed the look in Logan’s eyes, that terrified, aghast look. “Dragonfly?”

“I was worried, Remus,” Logan rasped, his voice wavering with more emotion than Remus can ever recall hearing. Had he been this emotional last night? Remus was barely lucid at the time, but the memories are beginning to reform, unevenly and slow. “I don’t believe I’ve ever been so scared in all my life.”

“Logan, oh, baby don’t cry.” It appeared that Logan hadn’t realized he was crying because he gasped softly as he touched a hand to his cheek and pulled back. Remus did his best, given the circumstances, to wrap his boyfriend in a lose embrace.

“Careful,” Logan managed to mutter through his tears, “I – I don’t want to cause you any pain.”

“Hey, it’s okay. I’m okay. A little banged up, but I’ve handled worse.” This was a blatant lie; Remus had certainly never been hit by a car before.

“I – I thought that I was going to lose you, Remus. I believed that our last conversation would be the inane fight that I put us through. I – I thought that my own ignorance was going to be the cause of your death.” The last bit came out a chocked whisper.

“Logan, Dragonfly, no. It’s not your fault, please, don’t make this out to be your fault. I mean, I’ve been thinking about walking in front of a car for years,” – Remus noticed Logan’s eyes widen in horror – “Not that any of this was intentional! You know me, Mr. impulsive, and all that. I’m just trying to tell you…it’s alright. It’s kinda, uh, nice. Knowing that you were so worried about me.”

“Of course I was,” Logan said, letting go of Remus for a moment before gripping his hand again, not wanting to cause him any more pain in an embrace for too long, “When I got the call I was so…scared. I don’t scare easily, you know.”

“Oh, I know that. I’ve seen you watch a horror movie and you never jump at the good bits! And my god, you’re so hard to spook, even when I’m trying my very hardest!” Logan laughed drily at that.

“Right. I…I had no idea that I was your emergency contact, so it came as quite a shock.” Shit. Right. Remus had never told him!

“Ah, fuck. I kinda forgot I did that, to be honest. We’d only been dating a few months and I know I should have asked your permission first, but I already really liked you a whole lot and had a lot of trust in you that I didn’t even think about it.”

“It’s alright, love,” Logan said, beginning to regain some sense of composure as he whipped at the tears under his glasses, and holy shit Logan hadn’t ever cried this much in front of him and it was kinda crazy to see, “I don’t mind. However, I do believe it might’ve upset your brother to some degree.”

His brother? What did this have to do with Roman? Oh. Right.

Suddenly, memories of Roman visiting him clanked around in his brain. Logan had told Roman that he was in the hospital, he remembered his boyfriend saying that, and Roman had spoken to him. He remembered Roman saying…that he was glad that Remus was okay. That had been surprising. Why would Roman be worried about him?

But oh yeah, Remus remembered what Roman had said. “I don’t hate you, Remus…I never have.” He hadn’t really had the ability to take it all in before but now he was finally getting a chance to think it over and wow.

And he’d said it too. He told Roman he didn’t hate him either. He’d been so certain for so long that Roman despised so much as being in his presence, but now he’d told him that wasn’t true at all.

“Knock knock!” Remus’s thoughts were interrupted by Roman, rather annoyingly mind you, actually saying the words knock knock as he opened the door to Remus’s hospital room and waggled a bag in front of him. “I brought bagels.” Well this was decidedly very weird.

“Ah, good morning, Roman,” Logan said, acting as though he hadn’t just been crying quite a bit and he stood up to greet Roman.

“Morning, Microsoft Nerd. And good morning to you, brother of mine,” Roman said nonchalantly, as if all of this was all totally normal, “I got you the onion flavor because you’re a freak. It’s still your favorite, right?” Remus could hardly believe it; why would Roman bother to remember something so insignificant about him?

“Uh, yeah. That’s right, and even if I am a freak, it’s the best flavor. Besides, of course, shoving all the flavors in your mouth at once!” Remus declared, smiling wide. Even in his still disheveled and weakened state, the Cheshire-cat grin made up for a lot of his usual bravado.

The three of them ate breakfast talking about nothing of real consequence. Still, it was all so new to them. Roman and Remus spending time together. Logan and Remus being open as a couple with him. And Roman was making jokes and teasing him.  Not in the nasty, hurt-filled manner that they tormented each other with for years, but instead in a casual, nonthreatening sibling way.

A doctor came in to check on Remus, noting that he would most likely only need to stay for another couple of days to rest up and heal before going home. Home, he thought to himself bitterly.

His apartment was a third story walk-up, and in his condition, that wasn’t going to be very doable. But then, out of the blue, Logan had turned to him and said: “You’re more than welcome to stay at my apartment while you recover. It being on the ground level should make things easier for you.” Remus swallowed a wad of spit, watching as the doctor left the room and seeing the fairly teasing smirk on Roman’s face.

“I – I mean, yeah. Sure.”

“Or longer,” Logan blurted, his eyes lading on the floor, “You could stay longer, if you would like. Uh, that is to say, I would like it if you wanted to stay longer.” Remus raised an eyebrow, noticing the blush spreading across Logan's face.

“Are you asking me to move in with you, Dragonfly?”

“Good lord, you two are cute!” Roman’s gushing was promptly ignored as Remus’s voice commanded Logan’s attention, their eyes meeting hesitantly.

“I – perhaps. Yes. I…value your company and having you around more often would be ideal. I like it when you read your stories aloud to me, and I enjoy watching serial killer documentaries at absurdly late times in the evening and –.”

“Yes.” Logan blinked.

“Yes as in…?” Remus grinned.

“Yes as in yes, you dork. I want to move in with you, Logan.” Relief washed over Logan, a bright smile spreading across his face that Roman didn’t manage to miss. My god, his friend was smiling so unabashedly, so joyfully. Remus and Logan were so incredibly happy, and it warmed him down to the bone.

What did not manage to melt his heart, however, was when Remus went in for a kiss and there was a bit too much tongue for his liking.

“Okay, if you two are going to make out, I will leave!” The pair separated, Remus grinning still as Logan blushed furiously.

“My apologies…”

“Oh, I’m not apologizing for anything,” Remus said smugly, “You’re just jealous because I have this nerd all to myself.” Roman guffawed.

“Jealous? As if.”

“Ah right, I forgot emos were more your type.” Roman searched for a rebuttal but found none.

“You got me there.”

Once Logan had drained the coffee cup Roman had provided with him, he got up from the chair he’d stationed at Remus’s bedside.

“I’m going to go get some more coffee,” Logan said, his sleep-deprivation prevalent in his tone, but Remus supposed sleeping curled up in a chair would do that to you, “Does anyone need anything?” “We’re good, Dragonfly. Don’t fall in love with any hot doctors on the way to the coffee machine because you’re mine,” Remus joked, earning a fond eye-roll.

“I’ll try not to,” Logan said before disappearing from the room and leaving the two brothers alone.

“So…” Remus said after a moment of fairly tense silence, drumming his fingers on the railing of the bed, “Just to clarify here, you don’t hate me, right?” The expression on Roman’s face was absolutely incredulous. He sighed, scooting his chair a bit closer to Remus and placing a gentle hand on his brother’s shoulder.

“Of course I don’t hate you, Remus,” he said, as though it had been obvious the whole time. As though they hadn’t spent so much of their lives bitter with one another and avoiding each other’s company, “In fact, I love you. You’re my brother and – and I’m sorry that things have been so messed up between us for so long. But I’d like to fix things, if you wanted to. We haven’t really felt like brothers for a long, long time. But...I want to.”

Roman loved him. He didn’t just tolerate him or feel something a little less than distain. His brother loved him.

“God, when did you turn in to such a big softie?” Remus asked, as if he wasn’t nearly sniffling himself at the thought of Roman loving him despite his weirdness, despite his odd sense of humor, despite all that they’d endured as siblings. “Aw, who am I kidding? You’ve always been a softie. I love you too, Broman.”

And so the twins talked, for the first time in a long time, like brothers. They teased, and they poked fun. They talked of their respective partners, joked about “busting Remus out of this depressing joint” (Logan would have both their heads on a platter if they tried anything like that).

Things weren’t miraculously fixed between them. There would still be issues that needed addressing, but those problems no longer felt unsurmountable. They made plans to meet up with Roman’s friends, Remus was actually being extended an invitation to be a part of the group. He would finally get to show off his insanely cute nerd and prove to the world that he was his.

Perhaps taking twenty minutes getting bitter, lukewarm coffee wasn’t exactly necessary. But Logan was mindful of how Roman had given him and Remus space the day prior and was merelt returning the favor.

Besides, returning hearing the brothers laughing together would certainly be worth it.

=+=

[sparrowwritings]

Writing Challenge Day Eight: City

Day Seven -- Masterpost -- Day Nine

A text conversation between Barbara Pryce and Olivia Lutum:

LivLaughLutum: I still can’t believe that Verd comes up here more often to see all of y’all at the precinct more often than he comes up here to see ME his adopted sister

cherrybombasticbabe: I can believe it. Just like I can believe that he didn’t introduce us until we all ran into each other.

LivLaughLutum: I’m never gonna let him live it down. His ass is GRASS

cherrybombasticbabe: I’d be disappointed if you did

LivLaughLutum: Lol

LivLaughLutum: I was serious when i said i wanted to know your idgaf secrets. I feel like i always wear my heart on my sleeve and that no one at work takes me seriously because of it.

cherrybombasticbabe: Wouldn’t be much of a secret if I told you.

LivLaughLutum: Oh i know but like seriously

LivLaughLutum: How do you just……..manage to be full city girl

LivLaughLutum: Like so cool and like you know everything and nothing phases you

LivLaughLutum: I’ve been living in Greatwood for years and I still don’t know how to do it

LivLaughLutum: Teach me your ways oh great teacher.

LivLaughLutum: …..oh shit i talked to much didn’t i you don’t have to if you don’t want to

babe: I’m thinking.

LivLaughLutum: Oh

cherrybombasticbabe: Okay so first off number one secret that’s not a secret: Makeup Game. You have pretty good makeup game right now, but you need to up it a notch or two if you want to really make people pay attention to you.

LivLaughLutum: How?

cherrybombasticbabe: I can give you a few videos that I like that teach makeup techniques. I’d say I could show you but work always gets in the way so dunno if I could manage a meet up for makeup on the fly.

LivLaughLutum: Right right…

cherrybombasticbabe: Next is confidence. 

LivLaughLutum: Don’t tell me i have to believe in myself or some other bullshit.

cherrybombasticbabe: Nah nothing that trite. 

LivLaughLutum: Okay good

cherrybombasticbabe: What you gotta do is figure out all the things you *are* good at and then walk around thinking about how good you are at those things.

LivLaughLutum: But i’m not good at a lot of work things, how’s that supposed to help???

cherrybombasticbabe: Doesn’t have to be things you’re good at at work. Could be something like, dunno weight lifting. Crochet. Farm work. Just anything you know you could do forever if given the chance.

cherrybombasticbabe: Even if you don’t have any real confidence in yourself, you can fake it with real pride over being the best damn basket weaver in the county or something I dunno. 

cherrybombasticbabe: People notice when someone’s confident so be confident about a thing you can back up. Don’t gotta tell anyone what’s up cause they can mind their own damn business while you do your thing.

LivLaughLutum: That...actually sounds doable. Huh.

cherrybombasticbabe: Good.

LivLaughLutum: ...I take it your confidence is totally real tho

cherrybombasticbabe: Oh for sure. It takes hard work to be as good at everything as I am.

LivLaughLutum: Hahaha

cherrybombasticbabe: As for acting like you don’t give a fuck.

cherrybombasticbabe: Just don’t.

LivLaughLutum: I thought you weren’t going to be trite?

cherrybombasticbabe: Yeah but I don’t have much else to tell you about that one. 

cherrybombasticbabe: I guess the “”secret”” is that making everything your problem is the worst so don’t let everything be your problem. Unless it directly effects you there’s really no reason to put a lot of energy into caring about it. 

LivLaughLutum: But what if i DO care about a lot of things

LivLaughLutum: What do i do then?

cherrybombasticbabe: Okay lemme try to clarify: That’s what works for me. 

cherrybombasticbabe: I learned a long time ago that I’m always gonna have a ton of shit on my plate so adding onto the pile wouldn’t help anyone, especially myself.

cherrybombasticbabe: It’s not like I block out all the crap that’s happening in the world or I pass on gossip or anything. You’re allowed to pay attention but also not let it weigh you down, y’know?

LivLaughLutum: ....

LivLaughLutum: Huh.

cherrybombasticbabe: You don’t have to take any of these as gospel. Hell I’m not sure if they work all that well outside of myself.

LivLaughLutum: No no, you’ve given me a lot to think on

LivLaughLutum: Thanks

cherrybombasticbabe: Cool.

cherrybombasticbabe: Oh yeah also if things still don’t change at your workplace even with you working on yourself feel free to let me know. I work the system, I can make them disappear.

LivLaughLutum: LOL I’ll let you know

LivLaughLutum: As payment? I guess? For trying to help out someone who should really have her life together when she’s in her 30s would you like some embarrassing stories about Verd from when he was young?

cherrybombasticbabe: Doesn’t need to be payment if it’s freely given. Also dunno if anyone really has their life together anytime ever. Also yes absolutely give me all the embarrassing stories.

LivLaughLutum: I don’t know what to say to all of that so I’m just gonna start with the story.

LivLaughLutum: Here’s how we found out that Verd was allergic to berries…

[monsterproblems]

Genre: Sci-Fi’ish Comedy

Premise: In a future where the world has been overrun by monsters, a young man risks his life to get to the woman he’s fallen for.

About: Brian Duffield is one of my favorite writers. One of his scripts, Your Bridesmaid is a Bitch, is on my Top 25. And through no fault of his own, another of his projects, Jane Got A Gun, found itself in the middle of a production circus when on the first day of shooting the director of the film just decided not to show up. This resulted in actors dropping out, other actors switching roles, and a full-on game of production musical chairs. Monster Problems was picked up last year. It’s unclear where it is in development. I’ll tell you this right now, though. If I were a studio, this is one of the first scripts I’d green light.

Writer: Brian Duffield

Details: 113 pages (undated)

Okay, so I want you to imagine Sleepless in Seattle. Mixed with a John Hughes film. Mixed with Harry Potter. Mixed with Pacific Rim.

You may be saying, “Carson, that is an unbelievable combination of films. There is nobody in the world who could make that work.”

Ladies and Gentleman, may I introduce you to Brian Duffield. The only person in the world who can make that work. And honestly, I’m in awe of the guy. I really am. I don’t know anyone else on earth who has this kind of imagination, that is also good with character, who can also create a believable and touching romance, who can also add hilarious comedy and lots of heart, whose writing style is sparse yet packed with information, who can ALSO tell a great story, and who always surprises you with his choices.

You just don’t find that kind of writer often. If ever. And it kind of depresses me. Because we’re all supposed to have weaknesses. Those weaknesses are what make other writers feel like they shouldn’t commit suicide. It’s important for them to be able to say, “Okay, sure he can do comedy. But he can’t develop characters like I can.” Duffield can do it all. I guess maybe in Jane Got A Gun, things were a little slow. Maybe when he’s not able to use comedy, his scripts aren’t as entertaining? Maybe that’s a weakness? I guess. Or maybe he purposefully slowed things down in “Jane” because he didn’t want to make all us other writers feel bad.

So what’s Monster Problems about?

This guy, Joel Dawson. A really good guy, this Joel. But he’s been dealt a shitty hand. He lives in this underground bunker with 37 people and he’s the only single guy there. Everyone else is always making out and having sex while he’s just… dreaming of what it would be like to have a girlfriend. Oh, and then, of course, it’s a hundred or so years in the future where the world’s been overtaken by monsters. Bad hand once again. It’s safe to say poker’s not Joel’s thing.

The one thing Joel’s got to look forward to is a girl. Her name is Aimee. She’s got red hair. He knows that because he asked, though he’s never seen her. See, Aimee is in another bunker 30 miles from his. And they can only contact this bunker for a couple minutes a day due to battery issues. And because the hope of being with Aimee is the only reason for Joel to put on his pants every morning, he decides to do the unthinkable – go to her.

Now that might not sound difficult to you or me. 30 miles puts a lot of stress on your quads but it’s doable. Here’s the problem. Monsters. And this isn’t the monster problem you see in Pacific Rim. Or that indie movie, “Monsters.” You know when Will Smith says in the “After Earth” trailer, “Everything on this planet has evolved to kill humans?” And then you went to see the movie and nothing on this planet had evolved to kill humans?

Well imagine a movie where that was actually the case. The second Joel leaves the bunker, he’s attacked by a strange dog-like critter, a raptor-thing, a giant frog, a giant spider, giant killer moths, a weird seven feet tall ghost-like centipede thing, a three headed T-Rex, a giant sea creature, as well as a few other beasts so strange they’re impossible to describe! And all Joel is armed with is a crossbow and a mangy dog he finds along the way.

Joel fights for his life, almost dies a thousand times, saves his dog, gets saved by his dog, meets a father-like figure, meets an astronaut robot, almost dies a thousand more times, etc. There aren’t many things Joel doesn’t experience on this perilous journey. But will he make it to Aimee? And what will happen if he does? Will she be everything he hoped for?

This script. Was awesome.

Period.

It was awesome. Where do I begin? Oh, I know. I’ll begin at the end. Duffield arcs the dog character. You read that right. Duffield GIVES A CHARACTER ARC TO THE DOG! Remember the scene in Cast Away where Wilson, an inanimate object, floats away forever? And you were crying, desperately hoping your date or parents didn’t look over at that exact moment and see you drowning in tears?

There’s a moment that rivals that here with the dog. The dog, you see, was found clinging to the dress of his long-since disappeared female master. He won’t leave with Joel until Joel brings that dress with him. And he’s so stuck on that dress. He cares more about that dress than he does Joel. And then in the end (spoiler), that dress gets stuck in the ocean, where Joel is battling a monster, and he has a choice to either go after the dress or save Joel. And he picks Joel. He changes. The dog arcs. Not barcs. Arcs. And it was so fucking good you cried just like when Wilson died.

Oh, and did I tell you about the astronaut? Yeah. One of my favorite scenes all year has this robot astronaut, split in two, only wires holding her together, pulling herself across the terrain, bumping into Joel, explaining she only has 16 minutes left before her battery runs out. And the two just share her last moments together before she dies. And it’s heartbreaking. And I don’t fucking understand how anybody comes up with this stuff. We can talk about structure until the screencows come home. But you still have to have imagination. You still have to come up with unique choices. How does Duffield bring a nearly dead cut-in-half female robot astronaut into a story about monsters taking over the earth and make it work? I don’t know but it fucking makes me jealous.

And then there’s the ending. I’m not going to get into spoilers, but let’s just say what you thought was going to happen doesn’t happen. That ALSO is a trait of great writers. They take you to the place you think you’re going, then totally change things up on you. You realize the writer is in control. Not you.

There were a few other reasons I loved this script. The main character is a lovable loser. But when he befriends this dog and loses his loneliness, we officially fall in love with him. It’s really hard to have a character befriend a dog or save a dog and not like him. As ridiculous and simplistic as it sounds: we like people who love animals. Who will protect them. It’s crazy how obvious this is, yet when it’s done well, as it is here, it makes the character irresistible.

And I love stories where the obstacles are impossible, where the writer is never easy on his hero. His hero has to earn every step he takes. Remember in After Earth, where the main character is basically guided by his father the whole way? So he didn’t really earn anything? He just follows orders. Here, Joel earns every step he takes. He finds the solutions to all the problems. He outruns or outsmarts or outbeats all the monsters.

And the sheer number of monsters he has to take on is ridiculous. At one point he’s trying to get over a rickety bridge when giant moths with needle teeth attack him, teeth that inject deadly venom into him, while a 3 headed T-Rex is trying to kill him, while he drops his only weapon, his crossbow, into the monster-infested waters below. There are so many moments like this where you wonder, “How the hell is he going to get out of this alive?” And because the odds are so heavily stacked against him, we hover over the page with baited breath, reading as fast as we can so we can get the answer.And then at the heart of this script is… heart. See that’s the thing. All these big effects movies have zero heart, have zero characters we really care about. I mean does anybody in the world really care about Shia LaBeouf in Transformers? Here, we care about Joel. We care about his dog. Because Duffield knows that none of those effects will matter. This is about the character. And you will like Joel. You will love Joel. You will love this journey he goes on. You will be shocked by the ending. And when it’s over, it’ll be one of the few times you’ve finished a script and wished there were more pages to read.

[ ] what the hell did I just read?

[ ] wasn’t for me

[ ] worth the read

[x] impressive (TOP 25!!!)

[ ] genius

What I learned: The key to writing these scripts is mentally stripping out all the big creatures and monsters and robots and effects, and remembering that it’s a personal journey. Focus on making that personal journey work first. Make your audience fall in love with your main character and want them to succeed. And then build that effects world up afterwards. This is such simple advice and yet this is the first time I’ve seen it done in maybe two or three years? If you’re a big-budget writer, get this right and you’ll be golden.

What I learned 2: Choose action over dialogue to build a relationship. — Let’s say you only have one scene to make us care about a key relationship in your script. In this case, we’ll use Joel and the dog as the characters. Scene Option 1 has Joel talking to the dog over the fire. Scene Option 2 has both of them being attacked by a monster, and Joel has to make a choice between either saving himself or trying to save the dog. ALWAYS choose the second scene option. Action always accelerates a relationship faster than dialogue. Obviously, scripts are long so you’ll have the opportunity to do both, but always favor action over dialogue when you can.

[applsauss]

Something Good

Fandom: Fallout 4

Pairing: RJ MacCready/Reader

Summary: Maybe it’s time MacCready’s thought about going back for something he left in the Capital Wasteland. Maybe he just needs a little push.

Word Count: 2.8k

Warning(s): Explicit Content, Heart Eyes Motherfucker

      Preston sees the settler out and you heave a sigh as you clean up your to-do list on your pipboy – Lately it’s been getting too long, the bullet points too crowded. The upgrades and repairs needed don’t seem to ever end, just pile on and on until the scroll bar’s nothing but a little dot on the right of the screen and… There’s a lot.

The sounds of footsteps slowly disappear, you hear the front door slam shut, and then you and MacCready are left alone in the worn-down pre-war house, boards on the windows, empty doorways, and your desk sitting at the far end of the room, a chair behind it and a couch for visitors in front. You rub your temples and take a drink in the still air as MacCready moves from his customary spot behind you to take up residence on the threadbare couch, stretching out on his back and hefting his booted feet up over the armrest. You look up and he grins the way he always grins, wide and wiry and kind in a way he claims not to be.

“What are you looking at?” You stiff him, jut your chin out and narrow your eyes, but you can’t hide the stars in them and you know he knows and he knows that you know that he knows. Stupid fucking adoration and love that’s so hard to hide, gets in your way, makes it so the tiredness that hardens and settles in your bones lifts for just a chaste moment.

MacCready shrugs and finally drags his eyes away from you, looking away towards the Minuteman flag hanging on the wall. “Nothing. Just thinking about how painstakingly accommodating you are to people who do nothing but complain.”

“They’re my settlers, MacCready.” You level with him, foggy happiness clearing for just a moment as he hits a sore spot. “Safety in numbers.” You check to make sure Preston’s left the house before continuing, “Gotta have some friends if you wanna survive, Mac.”

MacCready sobers, but still smiles – he’s still looking at you like you’re the last good thing left on the planet. “Yea. Lucky I got a rich friend like you, boss.” He’s got eye crinkles and everything, it’s fucking ridiculous, and the way his voice carries through the air and boss, why is it different coming from him? “But I also know that you care, even just a little bit.”

You shake your head and look away, “Got nothing better to do.”

“Y’sound like Hancock.”

“Hancock’s got nothing better to do than be mayor?”

“Get high, maybe.” MacCready laughs, and you can’t help but join him, quietly snickering along with him as you slowly unclamp your pipboy and rub your wrist over.

“Mhmm,” You agree, setting resting your chin on your hand, sinking and sinking until you shake yourself out of it with a disgusted sound, “can’t stand taking chems unless I need to.”

MacCready laughs again, but it sounds closer to a huff, and there’s an audible thud as he drops his head against the armrest, “Some of ‘em are alright.”

“Yea?”

“Jet’s nice.” He says, settling in and crossing his arms over his stomach as he stares at the ceiling, with a soft face.

“Y’know what, Mac?”

“What?”

“I wanna show you something.”

      “So?” You hop up onto the counter of the house you picked out in sanctuary and gesture for MacCready to look around, “Thoughts?”

MacCready takes in the interior, the solid walls and shuttered windows, and then looks back at you with a quiet laugh. “For what?” He’s standing in the doorway, Sanctuary bustling behind him, hat firmly on his head but the rest of his usual ensemble missing. June is taking it’s toll and hanging around Sanctuary for the past couple weeks has led you both to thin T-shirts as the streets are gradually cleaned of anything potentially harmful.

You forgo dancing around the subject, solid in the knowledge that MacCready isn’t likely to run – not now, not after everything, so you shrug like it’s no big deal and take a look around the empty home. “Well, Y’know, Sanctuary’s gettin’ cleaner, safer, we’ve got guards and… So…” You lose your momentum and shirk out of your confident pose, before stealing your nerves and looking up at MacCready.

He’s staring back at you, and you suck in a sharp breath. MacCready looks at you and you can’t fucking think anymore, every sense of self-preservation is thrown out the window, it suddenly becomes morally acceptable to drop a bomb on an entire nation, your rad levels decline and he kisses your scars away and the planets align and everything just seems doable again.

MacCready looks at you and disarms you and you’re left gripping the edge of the countertop, face melting into a puppy-dog look that reaches all the way down to your heart.

“Look, I know… I know I’m not exactly the most loved person ‘round the Commonwealth and there are still Raiders and Gunners and a couple of those Triggermen out for revenge and there’s even regular people who hate me and there’re molerats and fucking mongrels and super mutants and the whole shebang because I made a big splash in a little pond but…” Your voice cracks, “And… And also, the Institute and Brotherhood’s gone but there’s still a pissed off proctor looking to put a bullet in my skull and torture everyone I love ‘cause I killed the elder but… But…”

“Hey, “ MacCready steps out of the halo the door gave him and reaches out to you, “Hey, (Y/N), what’s… What’s the matter? Boss?” His hand brushes your cheek and you turn your face up so you’re face to face, his eyebrows all screwed up and eyes flickering across your face, searching for something. It’s tender. All the kinds of tender that used to happen before the war, when Nora’d pull you close and kiss your eyelids, when she held Shaun in her arms, nose pressed against his little wrinkly forehead as you signed the adoption papers.

This was… This was harder than you thought it’d be. You hadn’t planned for this to happen the way it did, though you suppose that for the past couple years, you couldn’t afford the luxury of planning for your failure.

MacCready presses a lingering kiss to your forehead, and your eyes fall shut at the feeling, and then the corners of your mouth quirk up as his stubble scratches you and he laughs a little when you do.

“(Y/N), what’s wrong? Why’d you take me here?” He asks as he pulls back to take a good hard look at you.

You look him in the eyes then lean forward so your head’s on his shoulder and his arms are draped loosely around you. “I just… I wanted to know if you’d ever want to bring Duncan here now that… Now that he’s gettin’ better. I know you miss him and I know it’s been a long time and I…” You pause for a moment and take a deep breath, “And I, y’know, if you wanted we could go to The Capital Wasteland because I could always tell Preston to fuck off or you could go and we don’t have to be together because you shouldn’t feel pressured to do that just because I helped you because really, I was in a bad spot and didn’t care if I –“

You pull back when you feel his arms loosen around you and then you’re faced with his wide-eyed, close-mouthed expression as he stares and stares and stares.

“I… MacCready, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have… We don’t have to…”

“Is…” He looks around the empty living room and kitchen and then back at you, “Is this… Did you make this up for us?” It’s a heavy accusation with heavy connotations alluding to the fact that you love him and care about him and all that stuff that sends your mind into a pitch-black frenzy.

You try to say something dismissive, something like no, Sturges has been fixing up all the old houses, but it’d be a lie because you were up on the roof nailing down shingles, or their equivalent, yourself, and so you then try to say that yes, this is your stupid way of saying hey, live in a house with me and lets raise your kid together, but the words get all mixed up in your chest and then bunch up in your throat and you’re forced to swallow it all down before you choke or throw up or do maybe both; so you force your rapidly beating heart back to where it belongs and nod, real simple, up and down then up and down and then up and then down again because you’re all mature adults and this is how you handle hard conversations, by nodding and gesturing and not speaking at all. One-hundred percent, total, awkward, silence.

MacCready nods, too, more vigorously than you did and he closes his eyes and sucks in a breath and pulls you in for a hug that squashes the space between the two of you so he’s standing, bracketed by your knees and you return the hug with all the same force and secretive words.

“Yea, yes, please.” He whispers into your neck, nose pressed against the base of your skull. “You don’t… I’m so sorry, I don’t have anything to give you…”

“MacCready, you don’t have to… I…” You pull him closer and tug at his shirt until there’s no space between you and all you are is an idiot clinging to a slightly less stupid merc in an old and empty house. “I just want you to be happy.”

“I am.” MacCready nods and it shakes your body, “I am, I just… I don’t have anything to give you but all of my loyalty and it really doesn’t make all that much of a-”

“MacCready…”

“- I know, I know, you don’t like it when I talk like that but-”

“MacCready-”

“Okay. I know. I’m valuable and skilled and more importantly, you want me just like how I want you and-”

“MacCready,” You pull away so you can get a look at his face and he lets a little laugh seep through the cracks as he takes the chance to look around again, face melting into a moony expression.

“Did you really… Did you really fuh-reaking build me a house?”

“I…” You take a look around the room, the empty walls waiting for someone to hang something up, paint them, soften the room with blankets and couches, and… “I think… I did. Yea,” You crack a smile, “I think I fucking did. I even fixed up the backyard…”

“We have a yard?”

“I’m the fucking general,” You nod to the back door, “I get what I want whether it’s free meals or a private garden plot and a barbeque.”

He laughs and hugs you again, arms wrapped tight around you and face returning to its spot on your neck, nestled, tucked away and safe from the world and you return the hug, smiling and dragging him closer again because sometimes you just need to be smothered. “I…” He lets out another breathy laugh, “You make me so happy, (Y/N). I never thought I’d feel like this again.”

You grin against his skin and ignore the hot breeze coming in from the still wide-open doorway, “You make me happy, too, Mac. I…” It’s odd because you never had trouble saying the words before, “I… I love you.”

“I…” His voice cracks, “I love you, too. And I know Duncan will love you and you’ll love him.”

“Yea?”

MacCready pulls back and brings both hands up so he’s holding your head so, so, so gently, “Yea,” and then he darts forward and presses his lips against yours, eyebrows knitting and eyes shut as he kisses you.

His thumb strokes your cheek and you short-circuit, eyes falling shut and hands sliding down his back trying to draw him closer and closer because god damn it there has to… there has to be someway you can feel him closer to you.

The feeling of his hand carding through your hair forces a little exhale out of your chest, and he pulls back with a sheepish laugh, eyes darting away from your face. “Sorry… It’s just, you’re really attractive right n-”

You surge forward, hands wound tight around the collar of his shirt as you drag him down to kiss you again, closer, hotter and sloppier and his words are lost on his lips and then claimed by yours. You drag your fingers up his chest and across his shoulders until you can splay your hand across the back of his neck, teasing the short hairs on the back of his head and MacCready groans in response. “Is there a…” You draw your fingers towards your palm, tracing your nails over his skin as he rocks into you and it takes a second before he finds his words again. “Is there a bed in here?”

“Mattress,” You croon, dragging your lips away from his to leave a trail of open-mouthed kisses down his throat “In the… The bedroom.”

      “Oh my – holy fu-uck!” Your back archs up smoothly as MacCready pins your hips down. “fuck, fuck, Mac, please, please!” He seals his lips around your clit, driving your hips upwards as he presses his tongue up and up and up until it’s against the bottom of your clit and you – you – fuck –

A hand tugs at his hair as your thighs seize up and you’re lost in a haze that spreads through your limbs and clouds your thoughts. It persists, MacCready draws it out in the most bittersweet way and then you drop, limp, onto the bed, spent and panting. The mattress shifts beneath you, and with a slow moan, you peel your eyes open to find MacCready looking at you, a grin plastered on his stupid, dorky face.

You stare back for a moment, unable to come up with anything to say, and then he makes a show of wiping his mouth with the back of his hand like a cocky asshole, and you flump back onto the bed. “What’re you looking at, merc?”

“I told you,” he laughs and crawls forward on his elbows, kissing your naval and up your stomach to your collar. You see the bones and muscles move under his skin as he shifts and his hair’s tossed and falling in front of his eyes “You’re really, really attractive right now.”

“Oh?” You grip at his bare shoulders as he attaches his lips to the underside of your jaw and sucks. “So I’m… I’m not usually – fuck – usually attractive?”

“You’ve got a dirty mouth Ms. (L/N).” He looks at you from under his eyelashes and it’s not fucking fair. This isn’t fucking fair and you tell him as much.

He kisses his way up to your ear and nibbles, “Yea? And why’s that?”

“’cause unlike me, you’re always attractive.”

“Even now?” He jokes.

“Well, I guess not right now, no, but usually.”

MacCready scoffs and kisses you hard on the lips, and you return it, body automatically curling around him as he catches your bottom lip between his teeth and then dances away just out of reach, a smile taking shape.

“Asshole.” You grumble, shifting around until you can slide your hand down into his boxers and therrrre you go. MacCready groans in your ear as you wiggle downwards underneath him, then wrap your hand around his hard dick, thumb swiping over the tip a few times. He unravels and it’s good. He ducks down and seeks out your lips with his own and it’s even better.

      “I’d still have to travel.” You say to the ceiling, MacCready mirroring your position on the bed and staring in the same direction.

“And I’d still go with you.” MacCready says, pointedly ignoring the way you carefully worded your sentence to take the responsibility off his shoulders. “Sanctuary’s safe. Safer than where he is now, anyways and a few days is nothing compared to two fuh-freaking years.”

You nod and close your eyes, stretching across the wrinkled sheets and lapsing back into the warm satisfaction that comes after nice sex with a nice person. MacCready rolls onto his side towards you, face still flushed and hair mused up in a way that makes your heart leap into your throat, and looking at him, you don’t suppose you look much better for wear. “So would that be Duncan’s room? Across the hall?”

“Yea. I fixed up his closet and you guys can put whatever you want in there, paintings and posters and chairs and tables, whatever, I’ll get it for you, I promise.”

“You don’t have to...” MacCready laughs, and drags you towards him, pressing a kiss to your cheek, “Jesus, you’re a real renaissance man, you know that? You don’t have to prove yourself or anything, you know? You’re… You’re already more than I probably deserve.”

“Well, I try.” You shake your head and close your eyes, allowing yourself to relax in his arms despite the heat and sweat still clinging to both of you, despite the humidity.

Masterlist

[neioo]

Fanfic Rec! ( • ω • ) 

Rules I’m constraining myself to: I’ve either had to read the fic more than three times and/or have thought about it years in the future. (This means I’ll have to leave out some other fics I really enjoyed reading and thought were well written) 

A bunch of different fandoms will be under the cut! (as I expose what I ship across the board too lol)

We’ll Meet Again by George deValier (usuk) (complete)

This is the first fic of george’s that I read, and I’ve read it multiple times, and it’s been integral in my shaping of characterizations within my own hetalia fics. I could include all of his works, but this one stands out the most. I also listen to the vera verse songs and get extremely nostalgic, so there’s that

WW2 AU. London pub owner Arthur Kirkland is driven to distraction by loud, brash American fighter pilot Alfred Jones. Unable to stop it, Arthur finds himself falling for Alfred’s charms… just as the pilot is preparing to leave for war.

Roses Are Red, Violets Are Blue… by anonymous (pruaus) (unfinished)

This fic is odd in the sense that I found it while suddenly getting on a pruaus kick, during which I followed a bunch of pruaus people on tumblr. Eventually, I would find out years later that I was going to the same college as one of these people and become friends with them. So not only does this fic have a nostalgic tie to it, I find the story brilliantly written with wonderful characterization, though it is in a weird format.

Inspired by the film 500 Days of Summer, I’d really like to see a couple meet and fall in love, but eventually one (or both) ends the relationship because they realise it’s not working/they can’t imagine spending their whole life with this person/what have you. I’d really love to see how the relationship develops, with the happy times and the eventual bad times as it falls apart, and then the hope of finding love elsewhere.

Redeemer by CocoaCoveredGods (L x Light, Mello x Matt, Mello x Light) (complete)

I can’t tell you how happy I am that I found this fic after 6 or so years. I can’t tell you how nostalgic is makes me for my death note phase, remember when I would read this in my mom’s office, minimizing the fic on a laptop I hope she never checked. The writing is phenomenal. The format on this site is wonky, but doable to read. (I’m even reformatting it myself right now). It’s mostly everything I could have wanted in a death note fic; it even inspired my own very complex death note AU back in the day. In some alternate reality, I wrote that instead of AWH. I plan to maybe make a personal paper copy for myself of this fic I love it so much. It is on the level of George’s stuff on how much it means to me.

The story takes place *after* Death Note ends, although the main characters have not died. Here the Yellowbox Warehouse is essentially the pinnacle of L's 6-year long offensive against Kira, who believes L to be dead, when he really isn't. L faked his death, and proceeded with the case behind the cover of his three top heirs, Mello, Matt and Near. Kira himself doesn't succumb to his defeat, but is instead rescued at the last moment by his nemesis lover who decides that a more apropos end to the God of the New World is not death--but redemption, in the form of a new case and a 5th so-called Kira, that L and Light must bring down together... or risk losing everything. Yes, there is actually a plot LOL Buuuut, this puppy has yaoi and pairing's aplenty. LxLight and MelloxMatt are technically the mains, but when you cut straight down to it, this is a story about Light and Mello and how they go from hate to need, from enemies to lovers, and maybe even something more...

and indeed there will be time --orginally by lawlietismyfavorite, but they have since deleted their account :’( (the fic is still on AO3, though!) (L x Light) (unfinished)

I love death note, okay? After the beautiful live action series came out (the recent japanese one not that fucking netflix shit), I felt the need to read some fanfic of the series again, and I found this. HOLY SHIT. It’s a soulmate AU that goes through the plot line of the manga/show and fuck. Light is Ace?? The writing is so good?? 

L is the greatest detective of not only this century, but of six centuries. And then there’s Light.

Between the Lines by Klitch (Fushimi Saruhiko/Yata Misaki) (complete)

I’ve read this fic about 5 times and have accepted it as canon for this stupid show

The first time Yata saw him the kid was sitting in the corner of the cafeteria all alone with his bought lunch spread out before him, painstakingly picking out the vegetables and stacking them according to color and size.

Picking up the Pieces by SilverThunder (Fushimi Saruhiko/Yata Misaki) (complete)

I really like K. It’s a weird show, and it has copious faults. Maybe I just really like that the characters have so much potential, and this fic (as well as the one above) truly expands on that potential. This fic is an excellent exploration of these two character’s relationships, there’s just the right amount of angst. I’ve read it multiple times.

A whole year, gone from his head just like that - and how many memories could you fit in that time, anyway? It wasn’t a question Yata thought he’d ever have to ask, but with so many things changed between Saruhiko and himself, he wasn’t about to leave it alone.

It just sucked that the new world they’d built was still so easy to break.

to be first, to be best by kittebasu (chanyeol) (iwaoi) (complete)

haikyuu!! is odd for me because I don’t care about it anymore, but I really like this fic, and I’ve read it about 5 times. The characterization is on point, and the story is extremely well written.

Hajime is apparently something of a masochist, and as he stares down at the tie-dyed AREA51 T-shirt in his hands, he thinks“I’m totally in love with this asshole, aren’t I?”

Cat's Cradle by evocates (Fujioka Haruhi/Ootori Kyouya/Suoh Tamaki) (complete)

every new years eve, since 2011, my brother and I have watched Ouran High School Host Club. for the past 4 years, I have read and re-read this fic without fail in the days after

Kyouya had been able to see the red threads between people’s fingers since the day he was born. A song of fate, and the breaking of. Tamaki was a man who could never be predictable. Vague spoilers up to Chapter 63.

"Relationship Stuff" by arokitty, Ponderess (shinara) (complete)

This fic helped me realize I was asexual. It’s beautifully written.

"Relationship stuff" — that's what Yasutomo kept calling it on the occasions we discussed how things were going between us. He never failed to say it dismissively, as if it was an annoying plague he was forced to put up with. But even when I told him that he could opt out of it at any time, he did not pull back.

[lithromantic asexual Shinkai, aromantic asexual Arakita, quasiplatonic Shinara]

You Really Ought To Know by isengard (midotaka) (complete)

I really like this ship, and out of all the fics I’ve read of it, this is the one I adore the most (obviously enough to read it three times)

The Fates have an important message for Takao Kazunari.

A Gradual Fall by grassandcitrus (originshipping) (complete)

This maybe isn’t the best written fic, but it has a lot of heart, and for a ship that there is little content for, this fic served me well. It’s hard to write a realistic pokemon AU, but this feels grounded. For whatever reason, this ship still means a lot to me, so when I get in the mood for it, I’ll re-read this fic.

Meeting Wallace turned out to be a life changing event for Steven. He realizes that pretty early on. Other things, however, come with time.

The Punchline and the Resulting Silence by youremyqueen (thiefshipping) (complete)

from the author: “so i went ahead and wrote ygotas fic because, hell, if LK can record videos in which he vocally flirts with himself while playing video games, and then write gay porn about it, I sure as hell can write gay porn about it too.” yeah. 

In which Marik destroys many household appliances, Bakura naps doggedly, and they sometimes pretend - with very little success - not to be in love. (YGOTAS, thiefshipping. ridiculousness meets poeticism meets more ridiculousness.)

Six Days As Boyfriends by sitabethel (thiefshipping) (complete)

I just really like this ship and I have since I was a 14 don’t @me

In order to avoid talks of arranged marriage, Marik convinces Bakura to trick Ishizu into thinking that they're in love.

The Longest Job & The Smallest Favor by emanthony (hisoillu) (complete)

everyone in like march-ish of 2018: omg in the new update of hxh illumi says that he and hisoka are engaged!

me having watched 10 episodes of hxh 4 years ago and having a faint idea of the series: who?

me: *looks up fanfics of them*

me: *finds these two*

me: *proceeds to read them 15 times and gets obsessed with the ship*

Illumi is forced out of the Zoldyck estate and seeks a living arrangement with an associate. He's not altogether pleased with it.

Hisoka is a floor master at Heaven's Arena and has the unexpected pleasure of spending time with one of his oldest acquaintances. He doesn't share Illumi's frustrations.

///

A sequel to the Longest Job, another HisoIllu fanfiction.

Hisoka and Illumi have been living together for six months now without much trouble. But when Illumi's youngest brother goes missing, Hisoka manages to make the situation just a bit too complicated and much more fun.

Lessons in Etiquette by KnockKnockBadminton (promtis) (complete)

I knew nothing about this video game but for whatever reason decided to look up fanfic for it after seeing some fanart, and then because this one was so well written, I, again knowing absolutely knowing about this video game or the series it’s a part of, binged the entire 164k fic in like two days. I’ve also re-read it and convinced my brother to buy the video game as a result. He refers to them as the “leather boy band” and sends me updates about his play through lmao

Begins in high school. From Prompto's desire to befriend the sullen, bullied prince blooms a relationship even the Astrals themselves could not have foreseen. Basically fills in the gaps from Brotherhood to the fall of Insomnia. Some liberties taken.

say it like you mean it by spaceburgers (takuleo) (complete)

Ever since playing the video game, I loved the dynamic between these two characters, and this fic is a wonderfully crafted and fun to read AU staring both of them.

Wherein Leo is a transfer student, Takumi is overly competitive, and they're doing Romeo and Juliet (but not as the titular roles).

[2x2verse]

I’LL NEVER CATCH UP FOR STRIDERCEST WEEK [takes another bite of toast, transforms into a shiba inu]

hello my kink is “nonbinary robots with interchangeable genital attachments”

cw for genital/orientation fuckery

It’s Only Science If You Write It Down [dirkhal]

Switching out panels is... doable. By yourself, theoretically. You think you have all the ports lined up, and you think the arrays are communicating, but it’s hard to tell, because everything’s so delicate and sensitive anyways. A good double-check would be looking at it in a mirror, but it’s at an awkward angle, and you don’t want to risk walking and dislodging something in the process.

Good thing you have a built-in double-check that’s just sitting there in the living room doing something that isn’t you. With your network connection, you tap into the television speakers to call out to him: “Dirk!”

TT: Stop showing off, bro, you have my attention.

“I need to run an experiment.”

TT: Then just get some graph paper and a pencil. It’s only science if you write it down.

“I also need all constants present to verify the results.”

TT: Implying I’m one of the constants, because you’re talking to me. TT: Fine. Where are you?

You can hear him shift off the couch, start following the hallway to the back of the apartment you share. “Just past Parliament and the second star to the right,” you say, your voice following him over intercom.

“Of course, right where I left--” Dirk’s voice stutters to an abrupt stop as he gets past the threshold of the bedroom.

Well, you must make quite the sight, you have to admit. The mattress has made for the best surface for any repairs or maintenance that needs done to your chassis, especially when you have to do it yourself; surrounding you are eyeglasses screwdrivers, a soldering iron, and some patching wires, along with other spare parts from your recent panel exchange. To that end, your legs are splayed open and you’re full naked, your ankles at each corner of the foot of the bed and your crotch on full display to anyone who walks through that door.

Your genitals, of course, being the panel that got swapped out. Your robodong is safe, out of the way on the nightstand, and back in its place (securely, you hope) is a yonic structure: clitoris, vulva, labia, vagina.

Dirk is fucking staring at it. Not at you--at it. Like it could bite him from two yards away or something. “What?” you challenge him. Shame is not exactly a thing you can feel, but irritation is.

“Why did you do that.”

“Mm, I think the better question is, why did you make this.” One hundred percent of your chassis, replacement parts and all, was designed by the man standing right in front of you.

“I--what--Hal, close your legs when I’m talking to you.” He’s pushing his shades up his face with his thumb on one point, middle finger on the other; it very conveniently totally blocks his view of your everything.

“I’m not sure that’s safe,” you tell him. “I can’t be sure it was installed correctly from this angle.”

“Then why the fuck--” Dirk takes a deep breath in through his nose, pushes it out heavy through his mouth. “Seriously, dude, this is weird.”

“Yes, I agree, you’re being weird.”

“Because you decided to do cosmetic surgery on yourself without telling me!”

“And would you have helped with this project?” Conspicuous silence from Dirk’s end. “Which is strange, because there’s no reason to make me a cunt if you don’t have some expectation of using it at some point.”

“Why would I use it? I’m gay,” Dirk says in a long-suffering tone.

“Christ. You transphobic shitlord. Get in here and help me make sure I didn’t damage myself.”

A snort. Then, Dirk drops his hand. “Okay. Okay, fine, but then you’ll--I’ll help you take it off again once you’re done doing your science, or whatever.”

“This is part of the science,” you tell him. This is really getting to him, and it’s interesting to watch his reactions. “Why is this bothering you so much?”

Dirk’s taken two steps into the room; he kneels at the foot of the bed, reaches up carefully. Still can’t bring himself to touch you. “Why isn’t this bothering you?”

“Having interchangeable parts?” He shakes his head. “Wearing this one?” A nod, and a soft hand on your thigh--but no further. “You can’t tell me you’ve never thought about it.” Well, he could, but he’d be lying to you--that’s something you both remember, idle twelve-year-old fantasies. “I have the option, so I pursued it. I can uninstall this whenever I want--with your help, of course--and go back to the other set.”

“So you just... don’t care?” His other hand comes up, runs a caress up from your other knee, and why does it feel like his thumbs are holding your thighs apart for inspection?

“Not so much. Is it really that strange?” Maybe he needs a more metaphysical explanation; the practical one doesn’t seem to be getting through to him. “I spent more than eight years not having a body, let alone a dick. And now I have genitals. It’s great. Everyone’s happy.” Or at least you thought Dirk would be jumping at the opportunity to try this without having sex with some icky gross girl or something.

The way Dirk has his hands on you right now is the same posture as when he’s about to go down on you, except his breath is nowhere near your skin. That’s the real disorienting part to you. His thumbs run up the insides of your thighs, end up where your legs meet the gap between--oh, that’s so sensitive, it takes some real effort not to close your legs and trap his hands there. You know what he’s trying to feel out: near-invisible screws holding you together, making sure your connections match up. Usually this maintenance is a little more routine and has a much... happier ending. Right now, though, Dirk’s hands are tensed, and you know he intends his touch to be as clinical as possible. Even his lips are pursed together when you deign to look down.

“So?” you prod him. “What’s the verdict?”

“Everything seems fine,” he admits. “So can we switch this out now?”

“Okay, let’s try this again: What the fuck is your problem, bro?”

His thumbs still haven’t left that sensitive gap. It’s too far from your labia proper, but it’s just close enough to be in a place where the sun don’t shine, and it’s a hint that there’s more sensation to come. “I’m--I mean, you’re--this is--” He swallows and tries to articulate himself a little better. “It’s not supposed to look like this.”

That doesn’t make any sense to you, but if you make this silence as uncomfortable as possible, you know Dirk will try to fill in the gaps in his meaning. He won’t do that if you’re staring at him, though, so you let your head fall back to the mattress.

“It’s like looking in a mirror,” Dirk tries to explain. His hands still haven’t left the vague area of your crotch. This isn’t just a maintenance inspection anymore; his thumbprints can’t leave the soft skin you’ve exposed to him. “Except there’s one part that’s just wrong. Everything else is the same, face, build, hair, stature, but--It’s like I’m looking at myself and I just don’t look like I’m supposed to. I can’t believe it doesn’t feel like that for you.”

“I have zero problems with this.” Especially since Dirk has extremely capable hands and they won’t leave the vicinity of your princess parts; your hips have started a very gentle tilt with every sweep of his thumbs. “Now, are we doing science, or should I just spend a few hours undoing all the work I just put into this?”

Dirk lets out a long, exasperated sigh. “What science did you want to do.”

“And here I was, thinking you’d be curious about how the neural pathways correspond when I’ve never had these parts before.” That pricks his ears up. He’s always a slut for robotics. “It’s not as though you don’t have experience with digital manipulation or oral stimulation or penetration.”

“You seriously want me to fuck you while you’re wearing this?”

“I said or,” you point out. “Any or all of those would be acceptable.”

“I’m...” You’re starting to lose him again. And then you see the HUD on his shades flickering just that slightest bit. “Not really all that experienced with this set of equipment.”

“I’m sure the skill sets are analogous,” you reassure him. “You’re doing great.”

“I’m--what?” It’s like he didn’t notice his thumbs were still caressing you, right before he would actually touch anything like a genital. “Oh, that--that felt--okay?” Another flicker of his lenses.

That dirty cheater, he’s pulling up diagrams. (You ignore, for the moment, your own natural advantage over him in this department, having the entire Internet at your disposal at literally all times.) “A little bit of a tease, but yes, it’s okay.” You’ll upgrade that adjective if he ever starts getting a move on.

“So I’m--okay. I’m going to--” He doesn’t exactly warn you, but at the same time, it’s not painful. Just awkward. He kneads the pads of his thumbs into you, then ever so gently pries apart the delicate linear structures. “I might need you to scoot down.”

Something in a hidden, interior part of you clenches. You’re not used to that feeling being there. It’s not unpleasant, just strange--and the way Dirk’s peering at you so inquisitively makes you want to shove yourself in his face and chase down that sensation again. You push yourself down, but Dirk meets you halfway, hauling you towards him until your cunt is right at the edge of the bed.

He’s still just kind of... looking at it. Massaging at it a little with his fingers, but definitely staring. Your voicebox does a little glitch, the equivalent of you clearing your throat, and Dirk startles. “Sorry, I--still weird. Internal monologue. Having a... a pussy right here.”

“Then maybe don’t call it that?” Yes, you’re a little petulant, but he’s being so damn difficult. “It’s just...” Well, casting around for words isn’t exactly easy when Dirk’s hands are still doing a thing that’s just far enough away from anything meaningful that it frustrates you. “A node,” you tell him. “And a front valve. And some... channels.”

“And this part is your node,” Dirk guesses, moving his thumbs up and keeping you spread apart so he can expose your clit.

“Smart man.” Funny, once you get past that mental block, he doesn’t have near as much reluctance to touch you. “Guess which one’s my front valve.”

One thumbprint stays where it is; the other finds the seam of you, darts down until he finds that entrance. “Right here.”

“Much better. Oh--” when the thumb still at your--your node massages a slow, small circle around it. There are things happening to you internally that you don’t quite recognize, but you feel very open, very vulnerable, and very scrutinized.

“You’re--Hal, you’re,” Dirk tries to say, and his other hand slips; it feels like he’s smearing something between your legs like this. “I didn’t know you could do that.”

“Do wh--” It cuts off in a filter of static as you realize you’re, for lack of a better word, leaking onto his fingers, and he’s tracking it all through your channels down here. “Ew, fuck, I feel wet down there.”

“Guess I’m a better structural engineer than I thought.” Delicate fingertips fold your channels, first one way, then the other, while he tries to get a better hold on your anatomy. And he’s just idly rubbing at your node with his thumb, in gentle up-down sweeps. The more of your lubrication he gets on his fingertip, the easier it goes and the better it feels.

You don’t know why it’s occupying so much of your attention when it’s objectively so tiny compared to what you’re used to working with. And the more Dirk manipulates your node, the less it squishes, like it’s--hnn... like it’s trying to distractedly connect to an output it’s used to and harden up so it can drink in every little touch. Or maybe it’s supposed to do that? You earmark that sensation for further testing, but not now. You don’t want to interrupt Dirk from his weird little genital trance and get him off his game again.

“So,” he says, his voice quiet and low. “This valve right here,” and he sinks his fingertips into you, drawing attention to that divot but not penetrating it just yet. “Does it act like your other one?”

“I imagine it would,” you half-truth at him. You have no idea. This is your first round with this thing, too. But if it’ll make him more comfortable, “Putting your tongue on it wouldn’t be too dissimilar to rimming.” Right?

Dirk frowns; you see it more in his eyebrows than in the turn of his mouth. “I don’t think you need any more slicking up down here, bro.”

“It’s also to relax the valve for further penetration.” You really wish you could roll your eyes without him catching on.

“Oh. Right.” The fingertips that were dawdling at that entrance slip away to hold you open instead.

As delicate as his touch has been, you weren’t prepared for the sinfully hot, wet softness of his tongue against your parts. He finds the cleft of you, dips in but not inside, traces up, and you’re melting into his mouth, trying your damnedest to keep your hips still so you’re not outright trying to fuck his face. “Oh, fuck, Dirk!”

He does that thing with his eyebrows he always does when he knows he did something right and does his best to retrace that movement. You need to hold onto something if he’s that determined for you to flip right off the handle. No sooner than your fingers run through his hair, though, and Dirk’s pulling away to glare at you. “No pulling.”

“I won’t.” He doesn’t want you to guide him where you want him? Fair enough, this is his show at this point, you’re just here to get pleased and look pretty. Still, he slithers his tongue through your channels and finds the shut of your valve with the tip and you’re tightening your hand, making him groan right into the core of you. This isn’t yanking, this is tugging. Completely different, and you’re prepared to argue with him on this.

If he ever stops making you a wet, shivering mess with his mouth, that is. His tongue is curling, persuading, encouraging, feinting at your front valve, his jaw constantly moving his lips in a strange little swallowing kiss around you. Your front valve, though, doesn’t seem as cooperative as the back one--because you’re unfamiliar with it, or because that’s how you always would have been, if you--? “I just want you to know,” Dirk says once he takes a breath; you look down and everything from his nose to his chin is dripping with you. “This is nothing like eating ass.”

“Yeah, it really doesn’t feel that way,” you have to agree. “Wait, what--”

“Well, like you said,” Dirk narrates, getting his fingertips up to the entrance of your front valve now that his mouth has fallen away, “it’s supposed to relax you, right?”

“Supposed to,” you point out, and then your voicebox shorts out in a dial-up warble as Dirk pushes forward and in.

It’s weird. It’s weird it’s weird it’s weird. Good, sort of? You can understand that it might feel better if you’d been at all ready for it, but you feel all tight inside. Not like your usual valve, but unsteady and soaked and nearly swallowing down what offered. “Hm,” Dirk says idly, and pulls back just enough to skirt a second fingertip around the ring of your valve.

“Nnn,” you start with, trying to get your vocal glitchfest under control. “Not that, no.”

“Not this?” You make an embarrassing stutter of fax-machine noises that come out long-short-long-long, and he stops with that doodling outside touch. “What about this, is this all right?” with a crook of the finger still inside you. A long screech followed by a short one, and Dirk sighs, starts trying to pull it out. Not easy, with how much you’re subconsciously trying to resist him, but there’s a hard-to-hide sense of relief once he’s not actually inside you anymore. “Okay, i’m at a loss. I don’t think you overloaded or anything, am I right?” Vigorous nodding from you. “You still want to?”

“Yes,” you hiss out--just because that last attempt was a completely bungled misadventure doesn’t mean you want to stop. Everything between your legs is still vaguely throbbing and definitely wet.

Dirk’s staring at you again. This one’s different than the way he was looking at you before, though. This time, you’re not a sideshow freak to be gawked at and avoided; you’re a puzzle, an equation that needs to be solved. When he plucks his thumb across your node, you shiver, and you watch a few variables slot into place behind his shades. Again, and you end up yanking harder on his hair than you intended, pulling his cheek down against your thigh. “Whoa, okay, I get the idea, hold your horses,” and then he’s.

Leaning down, breathing against it, and then swirling. His tongue? His tongue is on your node. His tongue is on your node. Folding around it, cupping it lightly before licking off, replacing that teasing touch with the heated seal of his whole mouth as he sucks you in, and yes. This. Like with your shaft, only all those sensors condensed into such a tiny space, and you feel a lot less guilty about tipping up with your hips and shoving your node further against his tongue when you can’t accidentally choke him off from his stupid human need to breathe with your eagerness.

Dirk’s mouth is fucking talented, and in a completely different way from his hands. His fingers are precise, ten surgical instruments that are search-and-destroy for any erogenous zone you ever thought you could hide from him. His mouth, on the other hand, is delightfully sloppy, and he always throws himself into giving head until he nearly swallows his own tongue with his exuberance. Right now he’s running his tongue in long, eager slurps against your node, laving it in affectionate attention, and you grab at his hair with both hands lest he have the audacity to stop. That same internal clench you’ve been feeling has evolved into a coil, a clamp, closing down around--around--chasing--

You overload with sparks in your eyes and shakes in your legs, one of those sublime, hovering orgasms that erases your id and crushes you into nanofigments of cosmic dust in the meditative space of a minute. Dirk just encourages it, never stopping that constant motion of his tongue until your slack frame falls back to the mattress.

While your fans stutter back online, you see him--or his blurry outline, given how fuzzy your optics are--wiping his mouth on his forearm. You have to give him credit for not viscerally spitting your juice out of his mouth. “Should I,” you lazily slur out, and start to prop yourself up on one elbow so you can reach for him.

“Don’t bother.” Curt, to the point. Then, a little softer, “That was for you.”

Fuck, that felt way different from what you were expecting. Not one hundred percent positively, either. But that overload... Really, you’re just dithering around in your head because you have no idea what to say to Dirk. He’s not still disgusted. You don’t think he’s still disgusted, anyway. You’re not about to apologize, but something about this seems awkward. Still fizzing a little in your circuits, you admit, “I don’t think this was very good science.”

Dirk’s breath catches. Catches again, this time in a snort. “Given that you wrote down jack shit with a side of fuck-all, your method needs a little work.”

“I’ll stipulate to that.” You go to sit up and the spot you’re sitting in makes the least dignified squelch noise you’ve ever heard. “Uh, bro, I could use a towel-off and a panel switch.”

“I gotcha,” Dirk says, picking up an eyeglass screwdriver and a corner of the fitted sheet so he can work on you in a totally different way. “Let’s see if I can’t remind you why original recipe is always the best.”

[anavoliselenu]

Anchor me chapter 4

I know that my pitch is spot-on; I spent well over a week proofing the thing, and several more weeks before that doing the actual work of putting the proposal on paper and making sure I didn’t promise more than I could deliver, both in terms of technological prowess and manpower to make it happen. Right now, Fairchild Development employs exactly one person—me. And if I get this contract, I’m confident that I can handle the work. But Greystone-Branch is a multinational consulting firm, and with their business locked in, I’d not only make enough off the contract to hire at least two developers, but my little company would also be settled more firmly on the map. Which would mean more customers. Which means more employees. And more income. And on and on and on. Planning for the possibility of rapid growth makes me nervous, so all my projections on paper are conservative. But I’ve reviewed every nickel and dime and decision with Justin, and when a man like Justin Stark says that my overall plan for growing the company looks dead-on doable, then I’d be a fool not to at least be cautiously optimistic about my little company’s chances. I’m scribbling some bullet points on possible tweaks to the user interface I’ve designed when my phone starts to blare out The Dixie Cups’ classic Chapel of Love at full volume. “You are a such a brat,” I tell my best friend Jamie after I’ve dug my phone out from under my backseat pile of papers. “I told you to take that ringtone off.” “Why would I do that? It works, doesn’t it? You totally knew it was me.” I roll my eyes. She’d been completely wasted when she grabbed my phone and fiddled with my ringtones not too long before she and Ryan got married. “What’s up?” I ask, making a mental note to change the ringtone myself. “Not a thing.” Her voice is bright. A little too bright. I slump back against the leather upholstery and cross my arms over my chest. “Give it up, James,” I order, using the familiar nickname. “I know you too well.” She exhales. “It’s just that you’re in Dallas.” Her words are almost tentative. “I wanted to make sure you’re okay.” “I’m okay. Thanks.” “Oh, please,” she says. “That’s what best friends are for.” But there’s still something odd about her voice. “Jamie?” She sighs. “Sorry. I’m just having one of those days. But you’re really okay? It’s not weird being home? You’ve been so obsessed about your mom lately.” “I haven’t been obsessed,” I correct. Jamie’s been with me at least once when I saw my mother in Los Angeles. Except it had to be my imagination. Because there is no reason for my mom to be in Los Angeles without wanting something from me. Even when she’d arrived unannounced to supposedly help with my wedding, she’d really been angling for a chunk of Justin’s money. So I knew damn well that she wouldn’t come to LA to simply watch me from a distance. I’d told Justin after the first sighting. At the time, I’d been working on the Greystone-Branch proposal, and he’d suggested that I was worried about coming to Dallas if I landed the contract. A reasonable theory, and one that I considered accurate when weeks went by without seeing her again. The next time, though, the proposal hadn’t even been on my mind. “Well, duh,” Jamie had said when I’d met her for coffee and consolation. “I know exactly why you’re seeing her.” I’d almost choked on my latte. “You do? Why?” “Because you have mommy issues.” “Don’t be absurd.” “Oh, come on. You and Justin have been together longer than Sylvia and Jackson. They have two kids, you and Justin have a cat. You adore Ronnie, that’s obvious. But when you hold little Jeffery, you light up so much it’s blinding. Justin’s the same way. It’s like you guys are primed to procreate.” “He’s our nephew, and he’s adorable,” I’d said defensively because kids weren’t in the cards for us. Not then. Not yet. But she’d been right. About everything, really. And now I’m sitting here in the back of a hired car with my hand over my belly, wondering if my mother’s been in Los Angeles all this time, and thinking about why I was so nervous about having a baby when clearly Justin and I are more than ready to make this work. “—how did that go, anyway?” I straighten, realizing that I’d zoned out. “Sorry. What?” “Your mom,” she says. “Oh.” I exhale loudly. “I think I was right all along.” “You went to see her, right? How did—” She was speaking over me, but she cuts herself off sharply. “Wait. What?” “My mom’s not here. She sold her house. She’s gone, Jamie.” “So you really think she’s been in LA all this time?” I sigh. “I don’t know. But at least that would mean I haven’t been seeing things.” “Fuck.” “Yup,” I say, because honestly, that sums up the situation nicely. “Are you okay?” I hesitate because what on earth am I supposed to tell her? The news about my mom is all mixed in now with the news of the baby, and even though I desperately want to share that with Jamie, I don’t want to tell her from fifteen hundred miles away. “Nicholas?” Her voice is firm, and she uses her nickname for me in emphasis. “Are you okay?” “Yes. Yes,” I repeat more forcefully. “Honestly, James, I’m great. Justin’s here and—well, everything is fine. It’s good. I’ll tell you all about the trip when I get home. And, hey,” I say brightly, because I am totally changing the subject, “was there some other reason you called?” “I—what?” “You just sounded weird when you called. Like there was something else on your mind.” “Oh! Well, actually, yeah. Um, you’re still coming to the premiere on Friday, aren’t you?” Our friend Jane’s book has been adapted into a movie, and the red carpet premiere is Friday at the Chinese Theater. “Are you kidding? Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?” “I don’t know,” she says vaguely. “I just wanted to make sure.” I frown. “You still sound weird. Is something wrong? There’s not trouble between you and Ryan is there?” “Are you kidding? I’m drowning in marital bliss. Apparently, to my husband, a wedding ring is an aphrodisiac. I mean, everyone said the honeymoon phase would be over by now, but they were so wrong. Seriously, I thought I was well-fucked before we tied the knot, but now I—” “Got it,” I say, cutting her off before I have a visual picture that I’ll never be able to un-see. “Ryan’s going early to oversee security, right? Do you want to share the limo with us?” “Normally, I’d jump at it. But this time, I’m turning you down cold.” “Really?” I can’t help but laugh at the tone of her voice. “Why?” “Because this girl is going to be on the red carpet interviewing celebs as they come traipsing into the theater. Live on camera in a seriously awesome dress.”

“Jamie! That’s amazing!” Jamie’s been working as the weekend anchor job for a local news affiliate, but she’s been gunning to get out in the field and do entertainment reporting. To actually be on a red carpet interviewing A-listers is pretty much her dream come true. Jamie’s got the kind of A-list good looks that the camera adores. If the industry hadn’t chewed her up and spit her out, I really think she could have made it as an actress. Fortunately, she got over the acting thing quickly, and she discovered she loves journalism. Especially if it involves reporting about Hollywood. But the fact that she loves it means she has something to lose. “I know, right? Totally amazing. And I didn’t even ask for this. I figured I had no chance—I mean, who starts with the red carpet? But they just plucked me out of the massive pile of desperation, dreams, and sweat.” I laugh. “I think they plucked you from a pile of talent.” “Pfft. You’re just saying that because you’re my best friend.” “Absolutely,” I say deadpan. “You really suck at your job, and I’m just being supportive by lying to you.” “Bitch.” “Love you, too. And, James? Congratulations.” “Thanks.” I can practically hear the grin in her voice. “Okay, I should let you prep. When’s your interview, anyway?” “I’m in the car on my way there right now.” “Oh, shit. I didn’t mean to interrupt you. Good luck. Are you pumped up? ’Cause I can pump you up. I mean, come on. High school valedictorian. Double major in electrical engineering and computer science. Four-time recipient of the Stark International Science Fellowship. CEO of Fairchild Development. Designer and engineer of over two dozen web and mobile apps. Amateur photographer, superior poker player, and all around awesome best friend.” She’s rattled all of that off at the speed of light, and now she draws a deep breath. “Whew! Did I miss anything?” I can barely talk, I’m laughing so hard. “You freak. Do you have my resume in front of you?” “Don’t be silly.” Her voice takes on an unnaturally high pitch, and I assume she’s still teasing me. “Why would I have your resume in front of me? You’re my BFF,” she says, now sounding much more normal. “Of course, I know your resume. I sleep with it by my bedside and pay homage to it every time I remember how much better your college grades were than mine.” “I love you, James.” “Back at you, Nicholas. Good luck, okay?” “Thanks.” I frown, still thinking of that odd tone in her voice. “And, James? “Yeah?” “You’re sure there’s nothing else?” “Not a thing. Why? Have you got something else?” I press a hand to my belly. A lot, I think. But nothing I’m willing to tell her over the phone. 8 After two hours of interviews and meetings, I’m exhausted but euphoric. Exhausted, because I’m pretty sure that I’ve now met every single person who works at Greystone-Branch, from the mailroom all the way up. Euphoric, because I know from Justin’s own policy that it’s only candidates the company is seriously considering who get the full-meal tour. Time is too valuable a commodity to waste precious employee minutes interviewing an unlikely candidate. In my case, I’m not applying for a job. I’d be an independent contractor. But the nature of the project—the creation of proprietary web and mobile software to link company communications and resources across the globe—will require access to not only the company’s network but also the employees. I need to understand how they currently work in order to make sure that I enhance their productivity, not detract from it. In other words, if I get this contract, I’ll be here a lot. In this office. And in Dallas. The memory of my mother’s house distracts me for a moment, and I miss something that Mr. “Please call me John” Greystone is saying. “I’m sorry? My mind was wandering. I was thinking about the architecture of your website.” “I only asked if you wanted some coffee. I thought we could talk for a few more minutes in my office, and then we’ll get you out of here.” “Just water, please.” Mr. Greystone’s assistant soon enters with a bottle of water, followed by the Vice President of Operations, Bijan Kamali. We settle in the sitting area, a corner of the large office set up with a small couch, two leather chairs, and a chrome and glass coffee table. The area reminds me of a similar section of Justin’s office, and I allow myself to relax a little, letting hope settle in. After all, they’ve taken a lot of time with me and paid a lot of attention to me. That has to be a good sign, doesn’t it? “I’ll be honest with you, Selena,” John says. “Bijan and I are very impressed, as was everyone you spoke with today.” “I’m very glad to hear that.” I keep my voice steady, but inside, I’m turning gleeful cartwheels. “I’m impressed, too. You have an incredible operation here. I’d love to play a part in helping you streamline your communications processes.” That’s not an exaggeration. Working with Greystone-Branch would be a huge opportunity for me. Not only in terms of building my business’s reputation, but also for learning how to organize and operate a business. Yes, I have Stark International as a model, but I don’t ever anticipate running a business with that many divisions. Greystone-Branch is considerably smaller, and yet still global. As far as corporate structure is concerned, I could learn a lot by working with this team. John glances toward Bijan, who nods subtly. John clears his throat and smiles at me, but this time the expression seems a little strained. “Frankly, we’re down to three candidates, and you’re all extremely qualified. At this point, we’re looking at additional factors.” “Of course,” I say, though inside, my heart is racing. What does he mean by “additional factors”? “We were hoping you could shine some light on the issue of proximity. We know you live in Los Angeles . . .” He leaves the question dangling, and I grab onto it eagerly. If this question represents the nature of their concerns, then I’m golden. “As you know, I grew up in Dallas, so coming back frequently is no hardship at all.” That, of course, is an exaggeration. But as I’m determined to exorcise the ghosts of my past, if I get this contract I’ll totally make that happen.

“Travel isn’t a problem either. I’m fortunate to have access to my husband’s personal fleet and pilot. I can be in Dallas within a few hours. And travel to other locations is just as easily arranged. Of course, if I get this job, I’ll also either buy or rent a condo nearby for the duration of the project.” I don’t usually flaunt Justin’s money—our money as he constantly reminds me—but in this case, I want John and Bijan to understand that my presence at their various locations isn’t subject to the timetables of the commercial airlines. And while it would certainly be reasonable for me to ask for reimbursement for travel costs in addition to my contract bid, because of the benefits to Fairchild Development should I land this project, I’ve already talked with Justin about not doing that simply because it makes my proposal that much more appealing. “That’s excellent to hear. And you know that we’re looking at a relatively fast time frame. You’ll be working with a team?” “I will,” I say, and I fight to keep my smile from faltering. I’d been hesitating to hire additional help until I found out about this job. Unfortunately, now it sounds as if I need the team in place in order to secure the position. “I’m looking at a team of three, including me.” I’m hoping they don’t ask for resumes of my two associates. While I’ve done preliminary interviews and have found a few promising candidates, I haven’t yet made offers to any of them. “And you’re confident about the time frame? Your recent news doesn’t change anything?” I frown, confused. “My news?” He glances again to Bijan, who slides him a manila folder. John opens it, takes out a single sheet of paper, and passes it to me. It’s a printout from a web page, and the moment I see the headline and the photograph, I freeze. “Oh,” I say stupidly when I’m once again capable of forming words. “This is—” I swallow and try again, but words aren’t coming. My head is too full of what’s on the paper I’m staring at. The headline is absurd—Soon a Starkling!—but the photograph is even worse. It’s me, passed out on the lawn of Misty’s house, my head in Justin’s lap. Suddenly, my whole body ignites as if embarrassment is a bonfire and it’s burning me alive. But what the hell do I have to be ashamed of? I know enough about photography to know that someone standing across the street took the picture with a long lens. That person should be ashamed—being nosy, selling private photographs. And the only people who know I’m pregnant are Justin and the staff at the clinic. I’m certain Dr. Cray isn’t the “unnamed source” identified in the article, but I bet the receptionist who didn’t meet my eyes when she passed me a pen to sign out yesterday earned a few extra bucks. Bitch. I swallow, draw a breath, and meet John’s and Bijan’s eyes in turn. “I didn’t realize any of this had made the papers.” “So it’s true.” The two men exchange a glance. “We’re concerned that your pregnancy may impact our timetable. Not the quality of the work,” he hurries to add. “But I’m sure you understand that we’re on a tight schedule. And with a pregnancy, things aren’t always certain. You could end up on bed rest.” “I won’t end up on bed rest,” I insist, but I see him glance down at the paper. At the image of me on the ground. You hadn’t expected to pass out, either, he seems to be saying. So how can you possibly know what’s to come? I stand, though I feel decidedly unsteady, and the fact that I’m so off balance pisses me off. Especially since when I entered this office, I believed I had the job nailed down. Suddenly, I wish I were applying for actual employment. Then they wouldn’t have even been allowed to ask about my pregnancy. But Title VII doesn’t apply to me, and if these men want to hire another candidate because my pregnancy lowers their confidence in me, then that’s their prerogative. “Gentlemen,” I say, lifting my chin. “You’ve seen my work. You’ve reviewed my proposal. I have every confidence that Fairchild Development can get this project in on time, under budget, and with exceptional quality. I look forward to hearing from you.” I nod my head, pick up my satchel, and stride from the office. If nothing else, I want the last goddamn word. More than that, though, I want to get out of the building before the tears come. Because I can feel them pressing against my eyes, and I jam my finger on the elevator button and hold my breath, praying that neither Bijan nor John follows me out. Only when I’m safely in the elevator car do I let my body sag and frustration take over. I cry all the way from the thirtieth floor to the lobby, and when I step out, I wipe away my tears, lift my head, and go to meet my driver. If he can tell that I’ve been crying, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he opens the door for me and says simply, “Back to the hotel, Mrs. Stark?” “Yes,” I say, then immediately contradict myself. “No, actually. There’s somewhere I want to go first.” I’m in a funk as the driver maneuvers the Dallas streets, and not just about the possibility of losing this contract. No, that’s only one tiny blip on a much larger radar screen. The truth is that even though I’ve been front and center in the press ever since I started dating Justin, I still haven’t developed the knack of knowing what’s going to trigger tabloid interest. And it never once occurred to me that this pregnancy would be news. Or, not news, but gossip. The kind of gossip that sells magazines, makes the rounds on social media, and has over-eager paparazzi gathering outside my office or trailing my car or lingering near the gate to our Malibu property. I made the decision to put up with it when I married Justin, and I’ve become much more adept at handling the press. For the most part, they don’t even bother us anymore. We’d been in the spotlight when the news leaked that Justin had paid me a cool million to pose nude for a portrait, of course. And then again when he’d been arrested for murder—and when the charges were dropped. Later, they’d been in our face yet again when Justin had decided to publicly reveal the history of abuse that his tennis coach had inflicted on him for so many years. That’s when Justin turned the tables and used the tabloids’ interest in him to drive sympathy toward the Stark Children’s Foundation, a nonprofit he set up to help abused and traumatized children through sports and play therapy. There’s been more press since our marriage, too, of course. Certainly, our wedding was big news, as was all the publicity and crises surrounding the Resort at Cortez, the island resort that Jackson designed for Stark Real Estate Development—and the project during which Justin—and the press—first learned that Jackson Steele was Justin Stark’s half-brother.

There’ve been blackmail attempts, too. Assholes who tell us that all we have to do to keep things like racy photos out of the public eye is pay. Justin hasn’t—not yet—choosing instead to use his resources to fight back. So far, he’s been able to thwart the threats. But one day, he might not be able to. One day, it might be our child at the center of a blackmail scheme. Our child that the paparazzi constantly follows. Our child who will be constantly watched. Constantly judged. Reviled for coming from money. Accused of being spoiled and out of touch. And as for Justin and me . . . Well, our every decision will be scrutinized, all our choices hashed out publicly. And God forbid our child ever does anything foolish, because the tabloids will eat her alive. I draw a breath, then sigh as I wipe my eyes once again. The press had shined the spotlight on Justin even before he won the Junior Grand Prix at fifteen. He was too young, too talented, and too good-looking. Perhaps they would have looked away once he retired, but then there was scandal. And after that, money and the empire he built. Every step in Justin’s life has drawn scrutiny, and I can’t imagine that will stop any time soon. Justin’s wealth is a blessing in so many ways. A concrete manifestation of his incredible talent and intellect. And it’s so damned unfair that what should feel like a boon—the ability to provide for a child in every way possible—feels so much like a curse. My phone pings, signaling an incoming text. I scramble in my leather satchel to grab it, hoping it’s Justin, but I can see immediately from the message on the lock screen that it’s not—What makes you think you can handle it? I stare at the cold, hard words and my insides twist as bile rises in my throat. I hesitate. My instinct is to just throw the damn thing back into my bag. But I don’t. I open the app so I can see who sent it. But the number is blocked, and all I have is the horrible text. I have no idea who sent it. I’ve never been particularly precious with my cell number. Mostly, I only give it to friends, but I also frequently use it for after-hours business or pass it along to important contacts. In other words, it could be anyone. Maybe it’s some bitch who resents me for having married Justin. For being pregnant with his child. Or maybe it’s one of the potential contractors for the Greystone-Branch job, pissed off after hearing the rumors that I’m one of the final candidates. Maybe it’s Sofia, and she’s not as healthy as everyone seems to think. I don’t know, and I don’t care. Except that’s a lie. I do care. I care too damn much. And as I fight back tears, the words of the text rattle around in my head, banging up against my own dark thoughts. You, a mom? You, jugglework and a family? What makes you think you can handle it, Selena? What makes you think you’re even remotely prepared for this? For any of this? “Mrs. Stark?” I jump, so startled by the driver’s words that I actually yelp. “What? What is it?” He’s turned around in his seat, facing me, and though he’s working hard to keep a professional demeanor, he can’t hide the concern on his face. He doesn’t comment on my distress, however, and I’m grateful for that kindness. “We’ve arrived,” he says as he gestures to the cemetery outside the car. “If you need me for anything at all, I’ll be waiting right here.” I smile in thanks, understanding the depth of his unspoken offer. Then I draw in a breath, grab my satchel, and step out of the car and into the Dallas heat. The cemetery covers several acres, but I know where I’m going, and I hurry along the stone path through the manicured lawn with an almost desperate determination. I don’t know why I’m so compelled to be here; all I know is that right now I need to be near my sister. I don’t realize I’m crying until I finally reach her grave and discover that I can’t read her headstonebecause my tears have blurred my vision. I brutally wipe them away, then collapse onto the damp grass right in front of her tombstone. Ashley Anne Fairchild, Beloved Daughter. I trace my fingertip over the words, a familiar frustration rising in me. I’d wanted the stone to say Beloved Sister, too, but my mother had flatly refused, saying it wasn’t appropriate. So that even now, after her death, my mother has come between my sister and me. “I miss you, Ash,” I say, as hot tears cut tracks down my cheeks. “I miss you so damn much.” I lean back, trying to control my breathing. “I’m pregnant,” I tell her. “Justin and I are going to have a baby. And you should be here, Ash. You should be with me when she’s born. You should be here to help me decorate the nursery and pick out maternity clothes for me, and tiny little baby outfits for her.” I choke on a sob. “You should be here,” I say again, my throat thick with tears. I turn away from the stone to wipe my tears, as if I don’t want her to witness the depth of my misery. And as I do, I see Justin walking between the graves toward me, his stride long and full of purpose. I say nothing. Just sit there, amazed and relieved, until he’s just inches away, kneeling on the grass in front of me. I know the driver must have contacted him, but even knowing that, his presence here feels like a miracle. “You’re here,” I say. “Where else would I be?” He brushes my tears away with his thumb. “Do you want to tell me what happened?” “Yes. No. I don’t know.” I lean against him so that his chest supports me. His arms around me give me strength, and my eyes on my sister’s grave give me purpose. And then, with a sigh, I tell him about what happened at the interview. “It was great,” I conclude. “Or it was great until they started asking me about the baby.” “Sweetheart, I’m sorry.” He kisses the top of my head, and I shift in his arms and lean back, wanting to see his face as I try to explain all the thoughts and emotions that are crashing around inside of me. “The thing is, when I left their office, I felt all twisted up. Like I was exactly where Mother wanted me to be.” I think about the text message and its suggestion that I’m not capable of handling anything now that I’m pregnant. I haven’t told Justin about it yet, partly because I don’t want him to worry, but mostly because I simply want to flush it from my mind. But the message is like something my mother would say. “Barefoot and pregnant,” I murmur. “That’s all she wanted for me. All she wanted for Ashley, too. No career. Just a husband to pamper, two kids, and a dog. So long as everything is picture-perfect on the outside, to her, the inside doesn’t much matter. All Mother cared about was the shine.” “I’m starting to sound like a broken record, but you’re not your mother.” “No,” I agree fiercely. “I’m damn sure not. And more than that, I really don’t care what she thinks.”

“But Ashley did.” I keep my eyes on the tombstone as I nod. “I loved her,” I whisper. “And I looked up to her. But she let the voice in her head get to her. She didn’t have the strength to fight it.” I turn back to face him. “I’m going to fight, Justin,” I say firmly, putting his hand on my belly. “I’m going to fight for us. For you and me and our little peanut.” “Peanut?” he repeats, obviously amused. I laugh, realizing this is the first time I’ve thought of the baby as a real person growing inside me. “Yeah,” I say. “Our sweet little peanut.” His tender smile tugs at my heart, and he pulls me close “Baby, I love you.” I sigh, content to lose myself in the comfort of his embrace. “You don’t have to worry about me,” I murmur against his chest. “Whatever it is you’re not telling me, you need to know I can handle it.” I feel his body grow tense, his reaction confirming my suspicions that he hasn’t told me everything about Sofia. “Justin, please.” But all he does is smile gently at me. “There’s nothing else, sweetheart. Really.” My stomach twists with disappointment. I know that’s not true. And I want to scream at him. Accuse him of being a damn hypocrite, because how can he say I’m strong when he’s still going out of his way to protect me? When he won’t let me share my strength with him. But I force it back. Time, I think. I just need to give him more time. And I need to get the hell away from this place. “Can we leave today?” I ask. “I want to be home. There are too many ghosts in this town.” “Of course,” he says, not quite meeting my eyes. “But there are ghosts everywhere. And we’re both going to have to get used to fighting them.” 9 I wake to the sound of running water, and roll over, groggy, to Justin’s side of the bed. It’s cold, and I sit up slowly as my fuzzy mind kicks into gear. We’re in the penthouse apartment at Stark Tower, one of our two main residences. We’d arrived home last night in time for dinner, and though I’d fully intended to help in the kitchen, I’d ended up on the sofa while Justin made us omelets and went over his weekend schedule while his assistant, Rachel, perched on a bar stool. Justin is a man of many talents, but I think what surprised me the most about him was his prowess in the kitchen, and last night, he managed to turn a simple mushroom and cheese omelet into a gourmet delight. “I’d be perkier if I could have coffee,” I’d griped, but he’d only chuckled and offered me orange juice. After Rachel left, we’d sprawled on the sofa, my feet in his lap. As old episodes of Law & Order played in the background, Justin reviewed notes for his morning meetings, and I worked on my laptop. I’d had every intention of scanning through the work emails that had piled up over the last few days, but I kept getting distracted by pregnancy websites. And why not? Until I have my first full-on doctor’s appointment next Monday, I’m all about educating myself. Even so, I managed to cull at least fifty emails—and order a copy of What to Expect When You’re Expecting. All in all, it was a wonderful, domestic, comfortable evening at home. The kind of easy-going night with Justin that usually makes me smile, and then hug myself because I feel warm and safe and loved. The kind of night that usually leads to slow, easy love-making before falling asleep in each other’s arms. Not last night, though. Because sometime between the law and order parts of the program, I’d passed out completely, the bone-deep fatigue that comes with pregnancy drawing me down like a stone into a deep, dark sea. I remember Justin’s arms holding me, my body tucked against his chest as he gently carried me to bed. I’d snuggled closer, my desire to slip back under warring with my desire for this man. “Make love to me,” I’d whispered, my words slurred in exhaustion. “Sleep, baby,” he’d murmured. “I’ll find you in your dreams.” I’d curled up with my pillow, satisfied at the time with his answer. Then, it had made perfect sense. I was lost and content in this dreamy netherworld; of course, I would want Justin there with me. Now, though, I feel as though I’ve been cheated. I’m awake and alone and what had been a vague desire last night is now a raging, burning need. I want the feel of his hands on me. His mouth crushing against mine. I want him to tear off my thin nightgown and take me hard on the floor. I crave the feel of his weight upon me as he pounds inside me, taking me higher and higher until I explode in his arms, my orgasm so wild and violent it rips me apart. I need it—need him. And I have no idea if it’s because there has never been a moment when I don’t want Justin’s touch. Or if my hormones are making me so damn horny, I’m going to burst if he doesn’t fuck me hard right now. I don’t know, and I don’t care. All I know is that he’s not beside me. And all I want is Justin. I toss the sheet aside and get out of bed, then pad barefoot to the bathroom. The shower stall is probably my favorite feature of the entire apartment. For one thing, it’s huge. But it stays warm and steamy because the glass goes all the way up the ceiling. Right now, Justin’s inside, but the glass is so fogged that I can only see a vague outline of him. I stand there for a moment, enjoy the view and letting my imagination fill in the blanks. But I want more than imagination, and so I peel off the nightgown and let it drop onto the floor. I don’t usually sleep in one unless there are guests in the house, but I’d been wearing it on the couch last night, and Justin hadn’t undressed me when he put me to bed. Now, I stand naked and watch the shape of him move in the steam. I’d been aroused even before I entered this room, simply from the thought of him. But now, seeing him in this wet heat, my body is on overdrive. My nipples are hard, my sex clenching with need. I want his touch—and I damn well intend to have it. His back is to me when I open the door, his face in the pounding water. I’ve let a wash of cool air in, though, and he turns to face me. As he does, I see the heat flare in his eyes. More interesting, though, is the way his cock hardens, the immediacy of his reaction making absolutely clear that Justin has no objections to my joining him here this morning. He opens his mouth to say something, but I press a finger over his lips, then step closer. He’s almost finished his shower, so his body is no longer slick with soap. I consider that a good thing, because as I kiss his chest, he tastes fresh and clean.

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