#give me the ginormous boots and leather jacket from who you back

[seokmatthewz]

[thinks lim jimin thoughts]

[musette22]

Burning For You

Title: Burning For You Pairing: Chris Evans x Sebastian Stan (Evanstan) Rating: Teen and up Word count: 3.1k A/N: Written for Evanstan Week day 6, a late fill for the Alternate Universe prompt. This silly piece of fluff is entirely inspired by the wonder that is the Mountain Lodge candle from the Yankee Candle Company. Yes, the one that inspired this iconic Tumblr post. The one that smells like Chris Evans. 

I was lucky enough to receive one as a gift from the wonderful @howdoyousleep3 and my life hasn't been the same since I smelled it for the first time. Thank you for introducing me to such delights baby K, ilyyy 💖 Also BIG thank you to the @evanstanweek​ team and to my beautiful beta @rainbowsandcoconut who came up with the outline for this fic when I told her my idea! Love you, boo 😘

Summary: Evanstan AU. Sebastian gets a little carried away when raving about the Mountain Lodge candle to a friend. It leads to an unexpected, fragrant encounter.

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“Listen, D. You’ve gotta smell this candle.” Sebastian leans in closer, nearly knocking over his - third - glass of red. “You know I’m not usually a scented candle kinda guy, but this one…” He closes his eyes and tips back his head, an expression of pure bliss on his face. “Incredible. Glorious. Magnificent.”

“You look like you’re about to pull a Meg Ryan in When Harry met Sally over there, Seb.”

Sebastian straightens, giving Deirdre a meaningful look across the table at the low-key SoHo bar they’re having drinks at. “You kid, but I’m this close. It’s that good, not even exaggerating.”

“Sure you’re not,” Deirdre huffs, lifting her glass and taking a sizeable gulp of her Cosmopolitan.

“Fine, don’t believe me,” Sebastian shrugs. “You know, I pity you for not having experienced the delights of the Mountain Lodge candle, really. If you knew what it smelled like, you’d be singing its praises too, believe me.”

Deirdre rolls her eyes good-naturedly. “Fine, I’ll bite. What does it smell like, Sebastian, pray tell.”

Sebastian sits up eagerly. “It smells…” he starts, “like an evening in that lodge in the Green Mountains we rented with the others a couple of years ago. Remember that? How it felt to relax by the fire after a long day of hiking, the scent of cedarwood and toasted marshmallows in the air?”

“Hmmm,” Deirdre agrees. “That was nice, yeah. But hardly worth busting a nut over, I’d say.”

Sebastian holds up a single finger. “I'm not done. Because this candle doesn’t just smell like the lodge, it also smells like the lumberjack living at the lodge.”

Deirdre frowns. “There was no lumberjack living at the –”

“The metaphorical lumberjack, D, god. Work with me here a little.”

“Oh right, okay. Gotcha.”

“It smells,” Sebastian continues, undeterred, “like soft, worn flannel. Like beard oil and a hint of clean sweat. It smells like a big, strong, gorgeous man who just got done hewing a ginormous tree with his massive axe and cutting it down into firewood, which he’s now using to light the very fireplace in front of which he’ll make sweet, sweet love to you, on the rug that’s actually the skin of a bear that attacked his rescue dog and which this man fought off and killed with his own bare hands.”

“Whooofffff,” Deirdre says, fanning herself with a napkin. “Fine, I’m starting to see the attraction.”

“It smells…” Sebastian goes on, pausing for dramatic effect before delivering his clincher, “like Chris Evans.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then Deirdre groans loudly, sagging back in her chair. “Ughh, shoulda known this was coming. For chrissake, Sebastian, you literally cannot go even one night without bringing up Chris Evans, can you?”

“I totally can,” Sebastian protests, like the mature, professional, Times-employed literary critic he is. “But you don’t understand, D. This candle, it’s actually like they bottled the very essence of Chris Evans and then infused a candle with it. It’s life-changing.”

“Yeah, yeah, you have a permanent boner for Chris Evans, you wanna marry him and have his little bearded babies, tell me something I don’t know,” Deirdre sighs, draining the last of her drink and immediately starting to look around for the waiter to order a new one. Distantly, Sebastian notices the song playing in the background changing to The Smith’s ‘Please, Please, Please, Let Me Get What I Want'. Ah, if only.

“Listen to me,” Sebastian insists, unconsciously starting to speak louder, like he’s some small-town preacher trying to make his ignorant clergy see the light. “Deirdre, darling, you’re one of my oldest friends. I wouldn’t lie to you. I swear, when you smell this candle, you too will feel like you’re being engulfed in the embrace of the brilliant, spectacular, totally unique smokeshow that goes by the name of Chris Evans. It’s as if the man himself is wrapping those huge, muscled arms of his around you, crushing you to his wide chest as you tuck your face into the crook of his neck while his beard brushes your temple and you inhale his masculine scent of cologne, sex and clean, honest sweat, I swear to god – D, are you even listening?”

At some point during the last part of Sebastian’s homily, Deirdre’s eyes drifted to a point over his right shoulder and got stuck there.

“Did you just- zone out?” Sebastian asks indignantly, waving a hand in front of her face. She doesn’t even blink. “Hello? Earth to Deirdre.”

“Seb,” Deirdre says, still not looking at Sebastian.

“Oh, I see,” Sebastian barrels on. “Here I am, pouring my heart out, telling you I found a candle that smells exactly like the man of my dreams and you’re just… What are you doing, actually? Are you okay?”

At this point, Deirdre’s eyes have gone comically round, mouth hanging open just a little. “Sebastian,” she repeats, more urgently now – and just as he’s turning his head to find out what put that dumbfounded look on her face, someone nearby clears their throat.

Sebastian startles, looking up at the man who’s appeared next to their table.

“Hi,” the man says in a deep, rich voice.

A deep, rich voice that Sebastian knows all too well. A deep, rich voice that belongs to none other than Chris Evans, Hollywood heartthrob and actual smokeshow, himself.

Oh.

Sebastian gapes while Chris, dressed in dark wash jeans, a red flannel shirt and a brown shearling jacket, smiles at him patiently. He’s all soft-looking beard and strong nose and bulging biceps and long, lean legs, and Sebastian has died and gone to heaven.

“I’m sorry for interrupting,” Chris says, “but was just sitting a table over and I couldn’t help but overhear.”

And from one moment to the next, Sebastian crashes forcefully back to earth. His whole body goes cold, the blood draining from his face so quickly he feels dizzy with it.

Fuck. No. No, no, no. This can’t be happening. There is no way this is actually happening.

Except it is.

Sebastian had just been extremely, loudly and publicly horny about the very guy that’s standing next to him right now. The guy who is no doubt about to give Sebastian a piece of his mind at best, and a right hook to the jaw at worst. And honestly, he’d deserve it.

Since Sebastian wouldn’t even know where to begin apologizing, he says nothing. Just keeps staring at Chris in ever-growing horror, his pulse pounding in his ears so loudly it almost drowns out the miserable sound of Morrissey still pleading in the background.

Chris clears his throat. “So,” he says, bringing up a hand to rub the back of his neck. “This candle smells like me, huh?”

Sebastian groans, hiding his face in his hands. “Shit. Fuck. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean- Oh my god, please, please, please just forget you heard any of that.”

“Why would I want to do that?”

Puzzled, Sebastian chances a glance at Chris from between his fingers. He’s partly still covering his face out of embarrassment, and partly because Chris is so gorgeous in real life that Sebastian isn’t sure he could look at him directly without spontaneously combusting. It’s like staring at the fucking sun. He doesn’t seem too angry, though, thank god. In fact, there’s an amused twinkle in his blue eyes that makes Sebastian’s shoulders relax infinitesimally.

“Because it was incredibly inappropriate?” Sebastian suggests, honestly a bit confused about having to explain this to him.

“I don’t know,” Chris shrugs. “It sounded pretty great. Kinda want to smell it for myself now.”

For some unfathomable reason – probably because unexpectedly seeing his long-time celebrity crush in the flesh broke his brain, Sebastian blurts out, “Oh, I don’t have it with me. It’s back at my apartment.”

Slowly, Chris raises a single eyebrow. The look sends a shiver straight down Sebastian’s spine, from the crown of his head right down to his toes. “Is it now?”

“Yeah,” Sebastian replies breathlessly.

Chris’s gaze drops down to Sebastian’s brown leather boots before slowly travelling back up to his face. “I gotta say, normally someone would at least have to buy me dinner first, but…” He trails off, looking Sebastian straight in the eye before finishing, “I am really curious about this candle.”

“You are?” Sebastian says dumbly, and then “Ow!” when Deirdre delivers an impressively precise kick to his shin under the table. He turns to give her a betrayed look, but when he meets her eyes, with which she’s clearly trying very hard to communicate something to him, he finally catches on. “Oh!” Sebastian whips back around to Chris, staring at him with wide, disbelieving eyes. “I- you- you mean like…” He swallows hard. “You wanna come back to my place to, uh, smell the candle?”

Although Chris’s expression remains amused, there’s a hint of trepidation there as well. “Sure,” he says, smiling crookedly. “If… that’s something you’re up for?”

Sebastian’s mind races. The way he sees it, there are two possibilities. Either Chris Evans is actually standing here in the flesh, propositioning him, or Sebastian hit his head in the bathroom earlier and is actually just lying on the dirty tile floor, hallucinating as a result of severe head trauma. The second option seems by far the most likely, but then, his shin does hurt like a sonuvabitch.

Well, fuck.

Sebastian clears his throat and sits up straighter, running a hand through his longish hair. “I mean, yeah, that’s- wow. That. That would be okay with me, uh huh. You mean like, now?”

“If that works for you?”

Without thinking, Sebastian says, “Well, I’m here with Deirdre –” before letting out another sharp yelp as said Deirdre crushes his toes under her heel. “Jesus, D!”

Deirdre ignores him. “Ohhh, would you look at the time,” she exclaims, holding up her wrist which very much doesn’t have a watch on it. “Boy, it’s much later than I thought. I really oughta get going, early start tomorrow.” She yawns theatrically, then grabs her purse and throws down two twenties on the table. “It was lovely seeing you, Sebastian, Chris… Evans,” she adds, with a wooden nod in Chris’s direction. “Hope you two have a lovely evening, bye now!”

And she’s gone.

They both stare after her for a second, and then Chris chuckles – a low sound that reverberates pleasantly in Sebastian’s chest. “Well,” Chris says, turning back towards him. “It’s nice to meet you, Sebastian.” He holds out his hand. “I’m Chris.”

Sebastian stands, taking Chris’s hand, which is warm and big and ever so slightly calloused, and exactly like Sebastian always imagined. “Yeah, I know,” he says, because he’s cool like that. And then, in a show of bravura that surprises even himself, Sebastian holds Chris’s gaze, tilts his head a fraction, and says, “So uh, my place?”

Chris smiles, casually dropping a few bills on the table, more than enough to cover their drinks, before taking a step to the side to let Sebastian pass. “Lead the way,” he says, lightly resting his hand on the small of Sebastian’s back as they make their way towards the exit.

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It’s only once they’re outside and the cold February night air manages to cool down Sebastian’s overheated brain somewhat that it occurs to him to ask if Chris wasn’t at the bar with anyone.

“I met a friend for drinks but he just left,” Chris explains. “I was just waiting for the bill when I overheard you guys.”

“And you’re sure you don’t have any other plans?” Sebastian asks, because he’s nothing if not a self-sabotaging idiot.

They’re still standing outside the bar, the golden light radiating from a nearby lamppost decorated with a cluster of luminous orbs making Chris look softer, somehow. Still a Hollywood heartthrob, but also charmingly human. Unfortunately, it does absolutely nothing to make Sebastian any less infatuated. If anything, it only endears Chris to him more, which he really didn’t think was possible.

“Not really, no,” Chris replies, amusement in his tone. “I was just gonna go back to my hotel and read for a bit.”

Sebastian perks up at the mention of his area of expertise. “Oh, yeah? What’re you reading?”

“I haven’t started it yet, but it’s this history of space travel? I read a great review of it in the Times the other day, so I thought I’d give it a go.” With a self-deprecating smile, Chris adds, “I’m kind of a space nerd.”

Sebastian blinks. “Not ‘To Infinity and Beyond’, by any chance?”

“That’s the one,” Chris confirms. “You know it?”

“I wrote the review.”

Chris’s eyes go round. “You did not.”

In lieu of replying, Sebastian digs up his wallet from his pocket, takes out his Times-employee card and holds it up for Chris’s inspection.

“Huh,” Chris says, studying the card. “What are the odds.” When his eyes turn back to Sebastian’s, he suddenly breaks out into a grin, wide and boyish. “Well, I guess that explains a thing or two.”

“How do you mean?” Sebastian frowns.

“I mean, that review was brilliantly written so you clearly have a way with words.” With a sly look, Chris goes on, “which explains your colorful descriptions of that candle earlier. The masculine scent of cologne, sex and clean, honest sweat was especially vivid.”

Sebastian groans, dragging a hand down over his face. “Jesus Christ, this is so embarrassing.”

Chris eyes shine with genuine mirth as he laughs, “Hey, come on, don’t worry about it.” He takes a step closer, ducking his head to try and catch Sebastian’s eyes, which are now firmly fixed on the pavement in an attempt to conjure up a hole to swallow him. “Call me a narcissist, but I didn’t exactly hate overhearing a gorgeous guy describing me as the man of his dreams.”

“Oh god,” Sebastian mutters, feeling himself turn a fetching shade of crimson. Trying to hide his blush, he turns around abruptly and nearly walks into the lamppost.

Chris, his savior, his knight in shining armor, manages to grab him by the back of his coat just in time to avoid the imminent collision. Sebastian still stumbles, but strong, capable arms wrapping securely around his waist keep him upright.

Carefully, Sebastian turns in Chris’s embrace so they’re facing each other, though he can’t quite make himself look Chris in the eye yet. “I’m guessing you caught on to this by now,” Sebastian tells the St Christopher pendant resting on Chris’s sternum, “but I’m kind of a disaster.”

Chris just hums, lifting a hand to tilt up Sebastian’s chin with his index finger, a small smile playing on his lips. “A beautiful one, though,” he whispers into the negligible space between them, before he closes that space and presses soft, full lips to Sebastian’s own.

Sebastian can’t suppress the small sound that escapes him when their lips meet, eyes closing on instinct as he lets himself sink into the kiss. Lets Chris take charge and coax open Sebastian’s mouth by running the tip of his tongue along the seam of his lips. Sebastian doesn’t think twice about letting him in. When their tongues touch, sweet and soft and languid, he trembles, pressing closer. Chris tastes a little like beer, and while Sebastian’s never been overly fond of beer, it takes approximately two seconds of being kissed by the hottest man on the planet for it to magically turn into Sebastian’s new favorite taste. Ever.

The kiss starts off slow; a little cautious maybe, as if Chris still isn’t entirely sure it’s welcomed. But then Sebastian’s hands find their way to Chris’s waist, fingers gripping tightly, and Chris slides a hand into Sebastian’s hair, angling his head gently to the left to deepen the kiss – and suddenly, Sebastian’s entire body feels like it’s on fire. He moans, relishing the feel of Chris's soft beard scratching at his clean-shaven cheeks, and way Chris takes control of the kiss, like something right out of every embarrassing fantasy he's ever had.

When Chris hums against his lips, as if he’s enjoying this just as much as Sebastian is, Sebastian’s knees go all weak and useless. It’s a good thing that Chris is there, tightening his left arm around his waist and pulling him more securely against the hard lines of his own body – which actually doesn’t do a thing to help Sebastian’s current knee situation. He whimpers, curling his hands into the fabric of Chris’s coat to anchor himself.

When Chris finally breaks the kiss, he doesn’t go far. His breathing has deepened, warm puffs of air caressing Sebastian’s tingling, wet lips. Sebastian exhales shakily. The way his head is spinning might be partially due to the wine, but it's definitely mostly because of Chris sweeping him off his feet with his smooth, movie star ways.

Needing a moment to gain his composure before he speaks, Sebastian buries his face in the crook of Chris’s neck, taking a deep, steadying breath –

Oh.

“I fucking knew it,” he groans.

Sebastian feels rather than hears Chris’s quiet laugh; feels the vibrations of it shake his broad chest under Sebastian’s palms. “Yeah? Do I really smell like your candle?”

“Better,” Sebastian mutters. On instinct, he presses his lips against Chris’s exposed neck, eliciting a shiver from him.

“You know,” Chris rumbles into Sebastian’s ear. “I still think I need to smell this magical thing for myself. Make sure you’re not just flattering me to get into my pants, y'know?”

Christ.

“Yeah,” Sebastian nods. “Definitely, good thinking. Empirical evidence is paramount. In fact, it’s totally possible I’m just mixing things up right now because my brain’s all” – he makes a poof motion with his hands, trusting Chris will get his drift – “so I think maybe I’ll need to do some comparative research.”

Chris tilts his head in though. “Hands-on research?”

“I think that’s best, yes,” Sebastian concurs.

“Right. Well, out of the two of us, you’re definitely the higher educated one, so I’m just gonna take your word for that.” After a beat, Chris adds, “as long as I get to test a theory or two of my own.”

“Oh?” Sebastian licks his lips. “Such as?”

The wicked glint in Chris’s eyes is the only warning he gets before Chris is sliding his hand back into Sebastian’s hair and giving it a firm, experimental tug.

“Ah,” Sebastian breathes, his eyelids fluttering, the blood rushing south so fast he feels dizzy – again.

Chris grins smugly. “Such as that.”

“Okay,” Sebastian croaks. “Yeah, that seems fair.” Wasting no more time, he reaches out to grab Chris’s free hand and starts to pull him along the pavement in the direction of his apartment.

Chris, laughing as he squeezes Sebastian’s hand, follows closely behind.  

🔥 🔥 🔥 🔥 🔥

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[teenytinystorage]

Operation Double Date

Remus wants to ask Deceit out on a date, and he attempts to do exactly that in quite possibly the dumbest way ever. Logan and Virgil are there too.

Warnings: Multiple food mentions, multiple death mentions (but just as humor, no one actually dies), cannibalism mention, censored cursing, inappropriate remarks, Remus being Remus (aka one murder mention & a non-descriptive amputation mention), minor anxiety/panic depictions

Word Count: 4,720

Genre: RomCom

Pairings: Demus/Dukeceit + Platonic Analogical

I hope y’all like my first comedy-centric fic!! Enjoy :>

-

Virgil scoffed. “You do realize this is a terrible plan, right?”

Remus started to pace.

“Quite so,” Logan added, “Why can’t you just court him yourself?”

“Because, uh… I don’t know! I don’t know if he likes me or not and this just seems like a better solution!”

“First of all, me and L aren’t even together,” Virgil leaned his head back onto the couch, staring up at the ceiling.

“And even if we were,” Logan started.

“--Theoretically.”

“--Yes, theoretically romantic partners, I wouldn’t surmise that either of us would be content with going to a clamorous production for our first outing.”

“It’d give me too much social anxiety and Lo just isn’t the type for loud metal music. And ‘Cobra’ would totally get suspicious about it! He may be a clueless moron, but he’s not a fool.”

“Hey, only I can use Cobra for his nickname! It’s mine,” Remus pouted, hurling his hands towards the ground.

“Virgil’s correct, though. So why is this a better solution again?” Logan raised an eyebrow.

“Listen, could you guys just do this one favor for me?” Remus threw his hands up. “It’ll work great. He loves spying out and being all sneaky and cute and stuff. Virgil is his nemesis and Logan, you’re my nemesis, so it’ll be a great spying session together! It’ll be perfect! It’ll be like we’re not even on a date at all. Casual.”

Virgil and Logan still weren’t convinced.

“You guys still owe me for the bottle of Hidden Valley ranch I chugged last week that you bet I couldn’t chug,” Remus aimed an accusatory pointer finger at Logan and Virgil.

“We never bet that,” Logan pointed out. “You just wanted to guzzle ranch dressing like you would a glass of water after a temperate summer day, and we watched you do it, in front of us. It was deplorable.”

“I still have chills from seeing that,” Virgil shivered. “Ugh..”

Remus defeatedly sighed. “Okay, okay, I get it. You guys are right. But please? I really want to go out with him but I have no idea how he feels about me and I’m too scared he’ll say no. Could you just please do this for me?”

“Wait, let me get this right, let me make sure I’ve got this one-hundred percent down,” Virgil lifted his hand. “So you want me and Logan to go on a concert ‘date’ to see bands we don’t know and don’t care about when we aren’t even together just so you can convince Deceit to come spy on us with you so you can nonchalantly go on a casual date with him and then… what, go out with him?”

A pause. “Yes.”

Logan immediately replied “No.”

“Please! I’ll pay for the tickets. And the concessions. And the band shirts too! It’ll be fun! Please???”

The two started to consider it, albeit reluctantly.

“And I’ll never drink another bottle of ranch ever again.”

“You got a deal,” Virgil nodded.

Remus lit up with a beaming smile, shaking his arms and squealing, almost bouncing right off the carpet.

Virgil leaned over to Logan. “It’s weird to see him excited like this. It’s like he’s Patton or something.”

“Agreed. Him being expressive in wholesome emotions is as common an occurrence as aerodynamic swine.”

“Thank you so so so much!” Remus cheered, running over to the couch and lifting up both Logan and Virgil in a ginormous bear hug. Swol.

“Yep-- sure thing, can you please put us down now?” Virgil choked out.

“Oh. Right.” Remus dropped the two of them back onto the couch.

“So this shall be occurring Friday evening?” Logan confirmed, fixing his glasses that were askew from the landing.

“According to the schedule, yeah! I’ll bring over the tickets by tomorrow. Thank youuuu~!”

“You’re, reluctantly, welcome,” Logan nodded.

“I’ll take it!” Remus shouted as he immediately sunk down into his room.

And thus began the terrible plan.

-

It started off simple enough. The plan was set into motion the day Remus bought the four tickets, two for the “couple” and another two for himself and Deceit. He then decided to approach the matter of asking Deceit to go spy with him in a nonchalant, calm, put-together, casual way.

“Deceit, Deceit, you won’t belieeeeve what I heard Virgil and Logan are doing this Fridayyyy!” Remus yelled, just having risen up into Deceit’s room.

Deceit set down the book he was in the middle of reading. “What did you hear?”

“Oh my gosh!” Remus pranced over, rolling himself over the top of Deceit’s couch and collapsing onto its cushions stomach-down, holding his chin in his hands and waving his legs back and forth. “I heard that they’re going out on a date together!”

Deceit crossed his left leg over his right one, holding his hands together in his lap. “Really?”

“I swear, it’s true! I just overheard them. Oh it was so sweet and adorable and disgusting. You should’ve heard the cutesy things Virgil said to Logan, you would’ve love-hated it so much.”

Deceit started to smirk. “Truly horrid. Did you happen to hear where they were going?”

Remus cackled loudly. “Ohohoh, you bet I did! They’re going to the punk band concert across town. We have got to go and see what they’re doing out there!”

“Certainly,” Deceit agreed. “I remember the outdoor concert stage has a chain-link fence around it that we can hide behind to watch through. You remember, from the other time we spied on Virgil?”

“There’s no need for scouting around fences and thorny bushes!” Remus grinned, flaunting two tickets in his hand. “I already bought us tickets.”

“My my, Squid, such a rascal!” Deceit teased. “We are absolutely going.”

Remus smiled pridefully. His plan was working!

Now all that was left was the entire rest of the plan and making sure this thing didn’t hit the fan. Oh, right. Whoops. Remus forgot about that.

-

About a half-hour before the performance was when the actual plan’s doings started.

Remus, Logan, and Virgil all met outside the concert entrance by the chain-link fence. And Remus, to say the least, was disappointed.

“You two look like this is some Saturday lazy-day shindig!” Remus scoffed.

“I thought this was a casual gathering, wasn’t it?” Logan asked, dressed in a checkered flannel short-sleeve and denim jeans.

“Yeah, but you’re too casual! Where’s the style, the finesse, the pizazz? I’d wear these outfits to my own court trial, and that is not a good thing!”

“What’s wrong with casual?” Virgil asked, dressed in an oversized black hoodie and black jeans.

“You’re supposed to be going on a date together!”

“So?” Logan continued.

“These outfits!” Remus gestured madly. “They aren’t date-worthy!”

“You’re not that fancily dressed either, Mr. Only-Tuxes-On-Dates.”

Virgil was justified in that comment, seeing as Remus was dressed in a thin gray tank top and short black biker shorts, the combat boots he wore not adding anything to his leg coverage.

“Deceit doesn’t know that this is a-- oh whatever. You two know what to do, right?”

“As in what to do in order to imply that Virgil and I have romantic relations with one another?” Logan affirmed.

“Yes. Holding hands, leaning on the shoulder, maybe a peck on the cheek if you’re feeling a bit special. Got it?”

“Sure. Don’t expect me to be all touchy-feely, though,” Virgil shrugged. “That’d just make Deceit even more suspicious.”

Remus peered over his shoulder and quickly panicked. “He’s coming!”

“Speak of the devil,” Logan commented.

“Here’s your twenty bucks, spend it on whatever you’d like,” Remus shoved a twenty dollar bill towards Virgil, who grabbed it hastily and stuffed it in his hoodie pocket. “Ok, good? Go to the stage! Quickly!” Remus stammered out, shoving Logan and Virgil towards the concert entrance that was decked out with metal detectors and security and all.

“You’re welcome,” Virgil snidely remarked, before walking away saying “You know idioms, L?”

“I do know some.”

Remus then started to nervously whistle as Logan and Virgil entered the stage together, his whistling having added nothing to the cool persona he tried to assume as he leaned on the chain-link fence, one foot up and the other on the ground, and tilted his head up towards the starry night sky, a.k.a. Cool Guy 101, despite being in Florida heat and not being any bit ventilated whatsoever.

He quickly snuck a few glances at Deceit, who slowly approached the stage with his hands in his leather jacket pockets, his Converse-clad feet stepping against the sidewalk, his black jean-clad legs swishing against each other, his hair that was tucked into a floppy black hat waving slightly as he walked, and he still didn’t notice Remus yet on his way over.

He then, soon after, did notice Remus and lit up with a sly smile. Remus, in turn, gave back the same sly smile. Or at least he thought it was sly; maybe his smile pertained more to those exuberant drool-dripping bulldog beamings than it did a smile of a Cool Guy 101.

“Can you believe that they’d have such good taste for venues?” Deceit greeted. “I’d suspect they would’ve taken a spot at the local Barnes & Noble for their first date, if not a dusty old library filled with mites.”

“Right? That or an abandoned haunted house,” Remus added, causing Deceit to add a chuckle in response. “I just saw them go in!”

“Well then, we have to follow along!” Deceit locked his arm in Remus’s and speedily guided them over to the concert entrance, to which Remus immediately panicked because OH GEEZ ALMIGHTY HE GRABBED ONTO MY ARM ALREADY THIS IS GOING WAY BETTER THAN I THOUGHT IT WOULD.

They handed over their two tickets, explored the concessions venue and the merch stands, both of which being insanely overpriced (as Deceit put it, “I could buy a car for the same price of this whole merchandise stand,” and as Remus put it, “I could bail myself out of jail for manslaughter with that much”), and eventually grabbed their standing spots near the back left of the crowd, a perfect viewpoint for the middle right spot Virgil and Logan managed to nab.

Perfect! The plan was going great. Now just to make sure the concert went well, and that Virgil and Logan didn’t mess this whole romance thing up before Remus did (or more than Remus already had). Oh boy.

-

As the night continued and as the real spying began, it became painstakingly obvious that Deceit could tell something was off.

“They aren’t even holding hands,” Deceit whisper-yelled under the blare of the speakers that just were starting to rev back up once another punk band took the stage, dyed mohawks and piercings and all. “You’d think they’d be more like--” Deceit quickly grabbed Remus’s hand and lifted it in the air, cheering loudly “Wooo!”

And as Deceit grabbed his hand and lifted it into the air, Remus started to feel himself slip into what is diagnosed clinically as the terrifying “gay panic,” and if the crowd cheering and the guitar riffs weren’t as loud, his cursed emoji heavy breathing would be the loudest noise at the concert.

Deceit then quickly let go of Remus’s hand afterward, giving Remus a moment for his heart to restart from its brief 5k marathon inside his ribcage.

There were a few of those moments interspersed between blaring music and Deceit’s skittish gossip, such gossip being:

“Do you see that? Only halfway through do they even brush palms. What is this, some sort of middle school dance?” Deceit chittered.

Remus, of course, laughed and agreed outwardly, but inwardly he ran over to Logan and Virgil and slapped them so hard their faces turned as pink as a rare-cooked filet. No, not rare, an uncooked filet. How could they mess something as easy as holding hands and shoulder leaning up so bad?!

Although, thankfully, Deceit never seemed suspicious of this activity or doubtful of them going out together; he just gossiped about it and made scathing commentary of the two sides, which was pretty funny to listen to.

It was also strangely personal and revealing as well.

“If this is the stuff that passes for a romantic relationship, we might as well already be married,” Deceit commented at one point during the show when the final band was being announced.

“Hah! Right?” Remus agreed, but he was, once again, dying of gay panic internally. Did Deceit mean anything by that, getting married?! Send some clear signals here, dude, Remus cursed internally, ‘cause right now they’re more mixed than a Russian roulette bowl of M&Ms and Skittles and aquarium gravel! And Remus would only willingly eat one of those! (Hint, it’s not the edible options.)

Deceit gave a short chuckle in response before ushering him and Remus out of the concert hall so Logan and Virgil wouldn’t find them spying.

“Thanks for taking me along to spy,” Deceit bopped Remus in the arm, grinning, as they walked out. “That was fun!”

“Yeah!” Remus smiled widely, his teeth shining through his pointed lips. “We’ve got to do this again!”

“For sure. Let me know when they’ve got another ‘date,’” Deceit used air quotes, causing Remus to let out a hearty belly laugh in response.

“Seeya,” Deceit waved his hand and started to walk back home.

“Bye.”

Remus stared in lovesick longing, holding onto the part of his arm that Deceit bopped. Remus wondered if he could amputate the arm and keep it in his room to admire. He can regenerate limbs, right? He’s technically imaginary. It’d be like refusing to wash your face after someone pecks you on the cheek, except even gorier and also very much creepier.

Before he could decide that, though, the concert hall emptied into the sidewalk and across the various crosswalks around the busy street. And soon enough Logan and Virgil walked out together, arm-locked-in-arm, talking together.

They then spotted Remus and saw no Deceit around. Virgil slipped his arm out of Logan’s and headed over.

“So how was your ‘playdate’?” Virgil mocked.

“Hah!” Remus cackled, “If anyone was play-dating out there, it was you two. I can’t even count the number of times he pointed out how virginal you both were for holding hands!”

“Personally I thought we were quite convincing as a romantic pair,” Logan commented, “Not all couples have to be favorable towards PDA, you know.”

“Sure, sure. But where’s the fun in that?” Remus shrugged.

“Whatever. We went to your concert and did your date thing,” Virgil grumbled. “At least it’s over now.”

A car zoomed by, kicking loose gravel up onto the sidewalk.

“Go on another date!” Remus blurted out.

“What?” Logan and Virgil uttered at the same moment.

“You have to!” Remus started. “I told Deceit that we’d have to go on another one of our spying sessions and it’d be stupid to say that you went on just one date together!”

“We only acceded to one date,” Logan started.

“And if you aren’t little b*tches, you can go on another,” Remus scoffed. “How hard can it be?”

“hOw hArD CaN It bE?” Virgil mocked. “I think I’m gonna lose my hearing by 40 thanks to that scream-fest if you’re that curious.”

“That still means you got a good 10 years left. And you might as well go on another! It’ll be fun. And hey, you guys can go somewhere you’d like this time. My treat.”

“Your treat my a**,” Virgil huffed.

“I’m assuming nowhere in the house nor at any public library counts as an ideal date spot to you.” Logan rolled his eyes.

“No, actually, those could work.” Remus’s eyes brightened up. “Yeah! Those could work!”

“Wait, really? You were just talking about how we were supposed to be wearing suit-jackets to this concert thing, like, 2 hours ago.” Virgil tilted his head. “How can either of those places meet your standards, oh modern reincarnate of Eros himself?”

“I’m flattered by that, Virgin Sanders,” Remus bowed, Virgil grumbling all the same, “but really, where were you thinking of inside the house?”

“I’m not entirely sure. Your room, Virgil?” Logan turned to the anxious side, who just shrugged and mumbled in response “Sure.”

“Great!” Remus clapped. “This’ll be great. Me and Dee already know the best hiding spots there where no one can find us, so that’ll be a piece of cake.”

“How do you know th--”

“That’s beside the point!” Remus interrupted. “That is a fabulous idea! Oooh, I’ll have to tell Dee all about this. Thank you thank you thank youuuuu~! Toodaloo!” Remus cheered, waving his hand and briskly walking down the sidewalk and back to the house, thinking all the while about the next date.

“Seriously, how do Remus and Deceit know where to hide in my room?”

-

Now, of course, the second date went on as the first did. Deceit and Remus spied on Logan and Virgil doing vaguely friend/couple things, Deceit mocked them a few times and Remus narrowly avoided death from gay panic much more than a few times.

But, of course, there had to be the inevitable “Let me know when they’ve got another date” from Deceit at the end of the spying session.

And, okay, sure, Remus and Logan and Virgil only agreed on one more date, but Remus thought that it should be fine to violate that plan for just one more, right? Also Remus has no self-control and it’d be easier for him to find a frog with sixty legs than to deny himself.

“No! How many times do we have to tell you this?” Virgil groaned.

“Pleaseeee!!!” Remus whined, “I swear, this’ll be the last oneeeee!”

“That’s precisely what you promised when you brought a raccoon into the living room last week before you proceeded to bring in four more throughout the rest of the week.” Logan regarded. “How can we possibly confide in your claim this time?”

“But it’s fuuuuuuun for you twooooo…” Remus fussed, collapsing onto the floor like a toddler having a tantrum in the middle of a grocery store because mom said no fruit snacks. “And it’s fun for me and Deeeee…”

“You know what?” Virgil threw his hands up. “Fine. If we go on another date and it’ll make you stop whining, we’ll do it. But just one more.”

Little did Virgil know him and Logan would proceed to go on three more dates together.

The whole situation escalated from a movie date to hanging out in Logan’s room playing board games to a high class dinner, fancy clothing requirement and all. How Remus convinced them to go? No one knows.

(He said he’d pay with Thomas’s credit card and he dressed them both up all fancy-like for free with the finest of the mindspace boutique, aka Roman dressed them and Remus dolled over them the whole time.)

In the end, Logan and Virgil did indeed end up going on a “date” to an ornate restaurant together, dressed in usual navy blue tie and black polo with an added white suit jacket and a purple button-up with a black tie and a black suit jacket respectively. The shiny crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling and the dainty white tablecloths and the five types of forks and spoons on the table that were ultimately exactly the same made the fact that the date was forced slightly more bearable. But not by much.

“Can you believe this? Virgil fumed, seconds away from chopping himself in half like a piece of Wagyu filet. “We only ever agreed on one, and now we’re on our fifth date, thanks to that dumb duke.”

“Personally I don’t entirely mind these get-togethers. In essence they’re more platonic dates than anything.”

“But he’s making us do this! Go on dates! Act like a couple, like we’re some sort of— puppets!” Virgil whisper-yelled, clutching his fists together on the dainty table cloth.

“I really don’t understand what’s the cause of your endless frustration, Virgil. Sure Remus has been a bit critical of our ‘performances,’ if you’ll call them that, but these are really just friend hangouts. We don’t even go out much anyways,” Logan reasoned, stirring around a gold-trim patterned bowl of French onion soup.

Virgil grumbled, putting his head down on the table.

Meanwhile, Remus and Deceit sat a few tables across and watched the madness transpire like you would watch a matador from the spectator stands let chaos run face-first into them, except replace the matador with someone from the stands and that’s more accurate to the kind of madness that was going on.

“I wonder what dear Virgil is so upset about?” Deceit pondered, his chin resting in his hands as he watched, not at all discreetly, the two dining.

“Oh pFF, he’s probably mad that he’s here instead of at his MCR concert,” Remus sputtered out, anxiously watching Logan and Virgil bicker senselessly a bit across from them.

Virgil, at the same time, felt himself slipping into hysteria. “This is all Remus’s fault! He’s doing this for himself! Doesn’t even care how we feel—”

“Virgil, calm down—”

“I do not need to calm down!”

A waiter walked by Deceit and Remus’s table, refilling their water glasses.

Deceit watched Logan and Virgil in what seemed like excited delight, a rather creepy sight for anyone at the nearby tables, while Remus, the obviously creepier one of the two, watched in anxious wait, bouncing his leg up and down on the softly carpeted floor.

Up and down went Remus’s leg, over and over, as his mind started to race. Would Deceit catch Remus in this lie? Would he finally found out that this whole mess was a contrived scheme in order for Remus to stealthily evade Deceit’s possible rejection? And what if Deceit did reject him once he found out? Would Remus die of grief? Would he spontaneously combust? Would he have to get a new identity and move to New Jersey?!

“Remus,” Deceit interrupted, and Remus’s head twisted back over quickly.

“Huh?”

“You seem uneasy,” Deceit said, his concern lacing his words like ribbons on gifts. “Are you quite alright?”

“Huh? Lil ol’ me? Of course!” Remus smiled lopsidedly, his leg still bouncing on the ground.

Deceit tapped Remus’s leg with his foot. “If this is any proof, you very clearly aren’t.”

Remus mounted his leg on the ground. “Just excitedly waiting in anticipation, that’s all! I can’t wait to see what will happen next with Logan and Virgil.”

Deceit squinted his eyes. “I hope you think I’m not stupid enough to believe that.”

“No, uh!!-- I don’t think you’re stupid--” Remus stammered out.

“Come on, let’s go outside for a minute, shall we?” Deceit stood up from the table, brushing off his suit jacket buttoned tightly over his yellow button-down.

Remus stood up as well, twisting the edge of his black suit jacket around his fingers.

Deceit led Remus outside, and at that point the moon had already awoken to begin the night. A dark cloak blanketed the sky as tiny snowflake stars dotted the night. A light breeze flowed through the air as Deceit and Remus walked over to a white metal bench in front of the restaurant. They both sat down as a car drove past.

“Should we have not come to spy here?” Deceit asked.

“No, no, it was a great idea,” Remus reassured, eyes fixed ahead.

Deceit frowned. “You can tell me if it wasn’t.”

Remus took in a breath, about to admit to Deceit the whole reason these spying sessions existed, aka about to do something without thinking, aka about to follow the same line of thinking he has when he does anything. “Dee--”

That is, he was going to do that, until a scream shattered the air. “DECEIT!” it cried.

The yell came from Virgil, who had madly burst through the doors and approached their bench, and Logan was not far behind.

“Oh sh*t,” Deceit cussed under his breath. “Our cover’s blown.”

Remus, meanwhile, was wondering if a bolt of lightning was about to hit him because of the awful luck he was having.

“You never had any ‘cover’ to begin with,” Virgil huffed. “We’ve known that you two were here since the beginning.”

“What?” Deceit stared confusedly. “How?”

“How? HOW?! Are you really that dumb?!?” Virgil accused, causing Deceit to gasp daintily and, of course, in great offense to Virgil’s statement. “Remus forced us to go on these dates so he could avoid asking you to go out with him! Me and Logan aren’t even together! So now you two spy on us while me and Logan were dragged along to be the reason you two could hang out!”

Deceit raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t know you wanted to be a comedian, Virgil.”

“He’s right,” Remus admitted, his head slumped towards the ground.

“Wait, really?” Deceit turned towards Remus.

“Yeah..” Remus frowned, looking up at Deceit.

“So you set up all of these dates for Logan and Virgil just so we could hang out because you were scared that I’d reject you otherwise?”

Remus nodded shamefully.

“Oh, Squid,” Deceit whimpered. “You know I never judge you for anything, right?”

Remus turned away, his head pointed back at the ground.

Deceit sorted through his words, assembling them into meaningful sentences like scattered puzzle pieces into a complete picture. “What I’m saying is, yes. I will go out with you. And…” Remus turned to Deceit. “...I’m rather honored to have been given this much of your dedication.”

Remus met Deceit’s eyes and brightened up immediately, his smile resembling those wide, cheery smiles of dribbly-drooly but still charming bulldogs.

Deceit gave a small grin back in return.

“Alright lovebirds, are we going back inside now or what? A bowl of French onion soup is waiting for me and I wanna get my money’s worth.”

“Hmph. Fine,” Deceit pouted. “Let’s go then. I personally want to try some Wagyu beef, don’t you, Remus?”

“Yeah! Say, have you seen that video where people talk about if there was a Wagyu program for humans and if they’d join it or not?” Remus stood, taking Deceit’s arm in his.

“I haven’t, please tell me more,” Deceit stood as well, him and Remus walking back inside the glassy restaurant doors.

“Alright,” Virgil started, “Now that that’s sorted, let’s get back in. It’s cold and I saw they have pasta here, and you know that I’d die for good pasta,” Virgil headed back towards the door, hands stuffed in his dress pants pockets.

“I certainly do know that,” Logan trailed behind. “What kind of pasta do they serve?”

“Get this, spaghetti carbonara.”

“That’s it, we’re ordering two plates,” Logan declared.

Virgil raised an eyebrow.

“Okay, possibly three. The third being for takeout. If they offer that option.”

“There’s my pasta nerd,” Virgil smirked.

The two of them headed back into the sparkly clean restaurant doors, no longer as a pretend couple but now as friends, and really, that was quite a relief.

-

The rest of the meal went well. Deceit and Remus were pleasantly surprised by the Wagyu (although Remus did make an offhand comment about the portion size of the steak being smaller than cow d*ck and how it probably actually was cow d*ck) and Virgil and Logan did indeed order three plates of pasta and managed to finish all three since the restaurant didn’t do takeout and because they didn’t find that out until after they got their food and they weren’t about to waste a good plate of pasta.

After the meal, instead of Deceit’s usual comment of “Let me know when Virgil and Logan go on another date together,” Deceit just smiled and said “This was fun!”

“Yeah, it was!” Remus smiled back, his teeth beaming through his pointed lips.

“So, would next Tuesday work for our next outing?” Deceit asked.

Remus nodded excitedly. “Yep!”

“Perfect. Say, how about we go to the reptile expo across town? I heard it was going to be all next week.”

“I love it! They won’t notice if we take a python or two home with us, will they?”

Deceit burst out laughing. “Oh Squid, you’re such a hoot!”

And Remus just smiled and laughed along, because now this wasn’t Logan and Virgil’s date anymore, it was their date and their date alone.

-

[bazypitchandsimonsnow]

Watford Cove

Chapter 1: i got that summertime sadness

Rating: T

Genre: Fluff/angst

Word count: 3097

Chapter: 1/13 [All chapters]

Summary: Baz Pitch only cares about smoking, skipping school, and riding his motorcycle. That is, until he meets a beautiful new kid who is bright everywhere Baz is dark. But a lot of things stand between them. Can they find a way together? Or will it keep them apart? Based on "Punk/Pastel AU" request.

Read on AO3

AN: IT'S DONE!!! IT'S FINALLY DONE!!! If you’ve followed me for awhile, you know this fic has taken a few months, what with it's length, my stupid job, and my stupid health problems. But I did it!!!! And I really hope it's worth the wait. Despite obstacles, I certainly enjoyed writing it, and I’m glad it was requested. I'm going to try to post a chapter twice or three times a week, but with all my stupid shit I can't guarantee a consistent schedule. I'll try though. Everything is already written. I just need to edit and tighten it all up. But I also sometimes work ten hour shifts which suck ass. Real life is terrible. Finally, ginormous thank you to @carryonmylovelies. I know I thank her a lot, but I really do mean it. I struggled a lot, both with actually writing and my self esteem as I tried to get this finish. She encouraged and helped me so much. There were many low points, but she helped me out of them every time. I never would've finished this fic without her there. Thank you sweetie. Now, finally, enjoy the punk/pastel au! :D

———————————————-

Baz

“Stop blowing smoke at me, Baz,” Dev grumbles.

“I’m not blowing at you,” I say plainly, “you’re just sitting downwind.”

“Then stop smoking.”

I take a deep drag and blow the fumes out slowly. Dev waves his hand as he glares at me. “Make me, cousin.”

Dev keeps glaring, but soon moves to my other side. I chuckle and offer him my Marlboro pack. He snatches it like a child grabbing a toy. Niall takes a stick as well.

This is our morning routine, now restarted with the new summer term. Sitting on the picnic bench under a tree, watching our school entrance, smoking like the cool teenage delinquents we think we are. Most people look at us for only a moment then scuttle away. The leather jackets and combat boots really up the intimidation factor. It’s the way I like it. Everyone fifteen feet away and properly scared of me. As they should be.

“Hey,” Niall says, “is that kid new? He doesn’t look familiar.” He points his cigarette towards the sea of kids at the entrance.

“Which one? Be specific, Niall,” I reply.

“The one with the pink sweater and practical fucking halo, that’s who.”

He points more insistently, and I look harder. Then I nearly drop my own cigarette.

At first, his back is to us, but then he turns, and I swear it’s in goddamn slow motion. Niall’s right. The light shines through his messy bronze curls, making them glow like a halo. His skin is another shade of gold and covered in freckles and moles. It looks like someone ripped the stars out of the sky and put them on his face. And his smile is so bright it’s like staring into the sun. The pastel pink sweater, faded cuffed jeans, and checkered Vans only help his angelically soft appearance. And his eyes, holy shit. They’re not even a typically interesting blue. Not cornflower or navy, not with a shot of hazel or violet. They’re just...blue. Yet, they’re perfect.

My pulse is beating in my ears. The world has narrowed down to just him. I’m so enthralled that I don’t notice him looking back. He’s blinking in confusion, probably wondering why this leather jacket wearing punk is staring at him. But surprisingly, he doesn’t turn away like most people. He just keeps looking, big blue eyes roaming over me repeatedly. He’s not afraid. Not like everyone else knows they should be.

I used to be known for my careful decision making. But that’s been out the window for awhile. So I meet New Kid’s gaze from across the field, and unabashedly wink.

His entire tawny face goes bright red. He turns back to whoever he was speaking to, and is soon getting dragged into the Watford School building. I quickly see that it’s Penelope Bunce hauling him in. She glares at me viciously. I scoff. Bunce has always hated me, even before I became like this. We were academic rivals until last year. Now she probably thinks I’m just a bad influence on whoever she’s been contracted to welcome to our institue. And she’s probably right. Though, I wonder if her new friend would agree...

“Hm,” I say quietly, “new kid is cute.”

“Dude,” Dev sighs, “he’s like, a fucking bubbly sunshine Instagram model. You have literally zero chance.”

“Still cute.”

“You have the most masochistic taste in men, mate,” Niall unneededly interjects before taking a drag.

I take a drag myself, smirking around the smoke. “Don’t I know it.”

———————————————-

“Mr. Pitch,” Miss Possibelf says with utter exasperation, “I’m glad you’ve finally decided to join us.”

“Apologies, Miss,” I reply smoothly as I stroll into the room, twenty minutes late. “Traffic is an absolute nightmare today.”

She sighs, shaking her head. “Just take your seat please.”

I do as she says, taking the one empty desk pair. Dev and Niall aren’t here so I prefer to sit alone. I kick my feet up on the table, putting my arms behind my head. Miss Possibelf doesn’t look angry at me though, just...disappointed. I try to ignore the way that makes my gut twist. Miss Possibelf has been here for ages. She knew my mother. And out of all the teachers at Watford, she views me with the most sadness. I fucking hate it.

Miss continues her lesson. I have to make a stubborn effort not to listen, but it’s effective. I keep my eyes closed and mentally go over my violin practice, the calming music swimming through my brain with ease. I can practically see the see notes behind my eyes. It’s one of the few things I haven’t dropped since entering this “rebellious phase” as my father calls it. Besides, I probably already know what Miss Possibelf is talking about. I was very far ahead last year.

“Ah, hello, can I help you?” Miss Possibelf says.

“Uh, is this Miss Possibelf’s year 12 English?” A nervous, rough accented voice asks.

“Yes, it is. And you are?”

“I-I’m Simon. I’m new, and my schedule says I’m in here.”

“Oh, I’ve been expecting you. Come up here and introduce yourself please.”

There are quick steps moving towards the front of the class. New kid? Hm, Watford isn’t a very big school. And I would’ve noticed anyone else new. I wonder...

I let my eyes half open, and they immediately focus on a baby pink sweater. I open them all the way. He’s standing at the front, books in hand, smiling nervously. He looks like an adorable, broad shouldered, puppy.

“Uh, hi,” he says shakily, “my name is Simon Salisbury. I-I’m from Lancashire and I’ve just moved. Um, I like pop music and scones and old swords. And...yeah, that’s pretty much it.”

Miss nods politely. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Salisbury. Please take a seat. I’ll give you some catch-up work after class to make sure you’re up to speed.”

Miss Possibelf gestures to the room. But the thing is, the desk next to me is the only free space. Simon obviously notices, considering the way his eyes go wide and his cheeks go red. Miss Possibelf gives me a look that says, “play nice, Basilton.” Please. I’m an arsehole, not a monster. And besides, Simon’s too pretty to mess with. Not in any permanently damaging way, that is.

I give Simon the biggest shit eating grin and wiggle my fingers. His face gets even more red. As if he can get any more adorable. He scurries towards me and takes the seat, but doesn’t look up. Poor nervous thing.

“Hello again,” I whisper, as Miss Possibelf has started lecturing again.

“H-Hi,” he replies in an equally hushed voice. “I’m Simon.”

“So you said before.”

“Oh oh, right. Uh, what’s your name?”

“Baz.”

“Huh, that’s a weird name.”

I let out a small scoff. “Gee, thanks.”

“Sorry!” He says hurriedly, picking at his sweater sleeve. “Sorry, I speak without thinking a lot.”

My mouth quickly forms into a half smile. I can’t help it. He’s too cute. “It’s alright. I think I can find it in my heart to forgive you.”

He flushes even more. “Okay, sounds good.”

“Basilton, stop distracting Mr. Salisbury,” Miss Possibelf sighs, back still turned.

“Will do, Miss,” I reply. I flick my eyes over to Simon and mouth “sorry” with a smirk. He shrugs, smiling shyly as he mouths back “it’s okay.”

Simon looks back at the board, opening his notebook to take down Miss Possibelf’s loopy cursive writing. I close my eyes again. But I can't think of notes, only the pastel pretty boy right next to me. So every time I open them, I slide them over to Simon. He’s usually looking at the board, but a couple of times, he’s looking back. He always immediately looks away when our gazes meet. Hm, he’s even cuter up close. That may mean trouble for me. And I’ve come to quite enjoy trouble.

———————————————-

Leaving school is always bittersweet. For one thing, it means leaving a painful place, where too many bad things have happened. Things I would very much like to forget. But then I have to go home, a place where I am even more of a constant disappointment.

The only good thing is riding there.

My bike is parked just off school property because Watford has some stupid policy against motorcycles. Like that will stop me. I saunter over to it with my helmet in hand and inspect it for any damage  (Someone spray painted it once and I’ve been paranoid ever since.) But it’s perfect, still stupidly large and frighteningly black as ever. I run my hand over the cool, smooth metal. It's almost electric to my skin. And to think, I used to make fun of people obsessed with their mode of transportation.

I’m putting on my helmet when my eyes catch on someone specific for the third time today. He’s standing near the school entrance staring at me, again. His blue eyes are bigger than saucer plates. The motorcycle is impressive to some, and I’m glad it’s impressive to him. I give Simon a little salute, then start the engine. It loudly roars to life. I take one last look at him as I speed away, smugly pleased at his awestruck expression.

Watford Cove, named for the small schoolhouse the town formed around and the shining ocean just to the west, is objectively beautiful. Lots of low roof fisherman’s houses, old forestry, and rolling green hills. It almost looks like a dream. And definitely looks like it belongs on a postcard. A cool breeze is almost always drifting off the water, so many of the richer folk built their houses on the hills, closer to the sun’s kinder, warming rays. My family's house falls into that category. And though I really do hate going home, the path there is as gorgeous as the rest of the town.

The straight streets turn into a winding road up our hill. I always challenge myself to see how low I can get to the ground each time. By now I can nearly kiss the concrete. I tilt so close the metal lets out a high pitched screech. My helmet hovers a few inches over the road. It’s the perfect mix of fear and excitement I like. At the top, the path becomes unpaved, dirty, and hidden by a canopy of tree trees. Wildflowers of every shade grow here too. Mother always loved the wildflowers. I try not to look, letting them just be colourful blurs as I race past.

Far too soon, I’m pulling up to the annoyingly big family mansion and parking my bike just behind the garage. Father prefers it to not be visible. He’s a true Brit; out of sight, out of mind. Sometimes I wish he used the same logic with me. It seems I’m always on his mind, unfortunately.

“Good afternoon, Basilton,” Vera says cheerily. She’s out watching my sisters as they play in our obscenely large yard. “How was school?”

I take off my helmet and run a hand over my sweaty hair. “Dreadful, as always.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that, love. I guess this is a bad time to let you know that your father wants to see you. Apologies.”

I sigh. Father wants to discuss something with me. Must be a day that ends in a y. “It’s fine, Vera. Thank you for telling me.”

She nods, and her smile says, good luck. I nod back, because I might need it, even if I don't want it.

I walk into my father’s office with all the confidence he likely wishes I didn’t have. I don’t even bother to knock. The two of us are long past those sort of polite formalities. He’s sitting in his comfy leather chair, dressed in his suit. Because he’s the kind of man who casually wears tailored jet black suits at home. He doesn’t look up at me, of course.

“Good day, Father,” I say, not even trying to hide the annoyance in my voice. “Vera said you wanted to see me.”

“Yes,” he replies smoothly. “Please sit down, Basilton.”

I throw myself into the armchair, making sure it rattles loudly against the floor. Father finally lifts his eyes to meet mine. Though it’s not much of a reaction for most people, it’s as good as yelling for him.

He leans back, fingers laced in front of him. Seriously, could he be any more of a Bond villain? “We have something important to discuss, Basilton.”

“Is this about my bike again? Because I told you, I’m not getting rid of it. It’s a total bloke magnet.” His lips press together, and I try not to smile. In the past year, I’ve found great enjoyment in getting under his stupid, prejudiced skin. Especially with my sexuality.

“No, that’s not it. I received something in the mail today.”

“Oh? And why should I care?”

“Because, it was your report card from last term.”

Shit. I resist the urge to grip the armrests. I don’t want him to see how anxious that makes me. I don’t want to be anxious. I don’t want to care at all about school or what he thinks.

“I see,” I drawl out. “Do you have an opinion or are you just informing me that it’s in your possession? If it’s the latter, you’re wasting my time.”

His lips tighten even more. I can tell he’s barely hanging onto his anger at me. I’m not sure if I should leave before the explosion or keep poking him to see how far I can get. He reaches into his desk and pulls out a small pack of stapled papers, dropping it on the desk. I recognise Watford’s letterhead, and my name of course. I try not to react to the series of Ds listed next to every class.

“You barely passed, Basil,” he says darkly. “A few points less and you would be repeating the term. Which is the same as the last few terms. I am...beyond disappointed.”

I wave a finger around with a deadpan expression. “I’ll alert the presses. ‘Extra, extra, Malcolm Grimm finds another reason to be disappointed in his fairy son.’”

He slams his hands on the table and stands up. I jolt, because that’s the most I’ve seen him react to...anything. His face is still neutral though. That hardly ever changes. But I can see a few hairline cracks in his facade. The corner of his lip twitching, his brow pulling together slightly.

“This is not a joke, Basilton. This is your future. Ever since last year, you’ve been letting everything you’ve worked for fall apart.”

“And whose fault is that?” I hiss.

“Your’s.” He points a long accusatory finger at me. “You made the choice to disregard your schooling to be some delinquent. I was only pushing you to help you do better. But you decided it was too much. And really Basil, what would your mother thi-”

It’s my turn to slam my hands on the table, which thankfully shuts him up. I meet his gaze unflinchingly. I hope he can see the fire in mine. “Don’t you use her,” I growl. “Don’t you dare use her memory for your own selfish means. She deserves better treatment than that. And I don’t give a shit about school now because of you. So do not use her to fix your fuck up.”

He glares, but I glare back just as hard. We’re both equally stubborn bastards. And he can’t intimidate me any more. I refuse to let him have any power over me. Slowly, but surely, we both sit back down, eyes still locked and refusing to concede. He weaves his fingers again. I can see the tension in his knuckles very clearly.

“My point, Basil,” he says with cold emphasis, “is that I can’t tolerate this behaviour anymore. The defiance, the truancy, everything. I’ve given you plenty of warnings, which have all been ignored. So I’m giving you a final choice: get at least a B average this term, or I’m sending you to a boarding school for wayward boys for year 13, in Switzerland.”

I inhale sharply. My whole body goes cold. I have to keep myself from shaking with fear and rage. I run through every possible scenario, every hell I’ll be subjected to. The thought of being alone in a foreign country, with people I won’t know, with adults who will try to ‘get me in line’, scares the absolute living shit out of me. My father keeps looking at me with his bored expression, and I want to sock him in the jaw. Just to make him react like the real human he supposedly is.

“You cannot be serious,” I growl.

“Dead serious,” he says. “I hate to do this, Basilton, but you leave me no choice. Just try harder at school and it won’t happen.”

I push back the chair with flourish, nearly knocking it over so I can glare down at him. “Fuck you.”

He doesn’t respond, just keeps looking at me with stupid indifference. I sneer and walk away, slamming the door behind me very loudly. I hope it rattles his bookshelves and maybe a few fillings.

I keep stomping outside to my bike, then rev the engine loud enough so Father hears. I drive too fast with no destination in mind. Just flying down backroads and letting the world blur into nothing. Pretend it fades away like I wish it would.

Soon, I find myself at the top of Mount Olympus. At least that’s what Mother called it. It’s barely even a hill on top of our hill, really. But it’s the best place to see the stars. I park my bike near the bottom and stomp to the top. I stare out into the sunset, like the tragic hero I like to think I am, when really I'm just a mopey, pathetic teenager. I feel calmer here though. There are many good memories here. Ones I’d rather think about than what my father said.

I sit down, knees brought up to my chin and arms around my legs like a pouting child. Tears threaten to spill but I don’t let them. I haven’t cried in years, and I absolutely refuse to start now. I’m stronger nowadays, or at least I think I am.

So, I’ve got three months before I’m sent away for probably a very long time. Guess I’ll see how much Hell I can raise until then.

———————————————-

AN: Hope you liked that first chapter. It mostly sets up the major parts of the story. Next time: Baz is at a new level of "fuck it", so what will he do now?

Chapter title is from “Summertime Sadness” by Lana Del Rey

[narcoleptic-hymn]

Groundhog Day

by TheNarcolepticOne

(AO3) (FF.net)

Summary: After finally being able to grab a vacation from work, Matthew decides to settle with a brief trip to Pennsylvania as a way to lay off his stresses. Upon his visit, he stumbles upon a bustling event filled to the brim with people who are watching a group of men dressed in black suits and top hats performing on a stage. What's that on about?

A/N: This is a prompt for the word: Groundhog day. Sorry this is a bit late. My computer decided to corrupt my files, so here’s my redo of the ending again. Credits for having to do some research on this topic, and honestly, I haven’t ever seen the movie Groundhog Day and actually just had to wing the rest of whatever happened here. Hope you like it!

Warnings: None

Prompt: Groundhog Day

Paring: 1pAme x 1pCan (AmeCan)

Warnings: None. Fluff though.

Word count: 1659 

For: @setting-it-off

- - - - - - - -

It was only a few months into the cold inches of spring when Matthew decided to take his visit to the frostbitten state of Pennsylvania, taking his relaxing time outside a small coffee shop during slow streets filled with sheets of ice. He couldn’t afford to go anywhere much warmer like Cali; he was only able to snag an unfortunate break period of three days since his boss put his request as the last priority again.

The thought of returning to work was tiring to him, and Matthew sighed while taking a sip of his coffee. He shouldn’t think about it right now, not when he was supposed to relax. The heat swirled into the frames of his glasses, fogging them up like the many times they had been within the last few hours.  

After he had finished his ‘breakfast’, he started off in an aimless direction, mostly just deciding to leave his phone in his pocket. It was close to dying, as the idea of charging it was completely overtaken by his post-airplane flight exhaustion. Matthew didn’t really feel that he would be lost too far out into the countryside if he just stayed where there were people who could see him. That, and his phone could probably last itself at least a few more minutes before he could find a charging station.

Adjusting his beanie to cover his ears, he threw away the empty cup of hot drink and stuffed his semi-warm hands from the coffee into his pockets. He then set out with his boots crunching into the trodden snow sidewalk with bare trees dripping water over his head.

Crowds of people that were grouping among the streets were minimal at first, and Matthew didn’t take much notice to the numbers. He chose instead to look through the early morning windows with the smells of baked goods and freshly made products behind clean glass displays. He was tempted, yet forced his feet to walk beyond the open doors. He forgot to change his currency at the airport again. Violet eyes had barely aimed themselves on a fluffy loaf of bread that was let out for everyone to see before he ran into a woman, who had been standing still, from just behind her.

“S-Sorry!” he declared meekly, feeling his heart swell with embarrassment. The woman herself didn’t respond nor really turned around to apologize. Something common, which wasn’t a surprise. But he looked up further to see the vast amount of people who were all crowding around what looked like a ginormous event that was clearly defined by the podium that was elevated on a large stage.

Matthew squinted, craning his head upward to what he was seeing.

“Ladies and gentlemen to continue this celebration…” a blaringly loud voice sounded. It sounded so muffled; the speakers themselves were not that great. The announcer kept talking afterward, yet he couldn’t quite understand what he was saying due to mic peaking several times when he spoke.

At the front of the entire audience was a group of men all dressed in black suits and top hats, all who looked like they were about old enough to be grandparents. The one who was speaking, also dressed in that attire, instead had a younger voice, one that implied that perhaps that he was only about 20 or so.

Instead of speculating, Matthew instead opted to press pass the bystanders so that he could arrive closer to the podium. No one, again, really noticed himself going through the crowds with ease.

From what his poor eyesight was able to make out, he finally saw the sign that was displayed above the announcer reading ‘Gobbler’s Knob: Home of Punxsy Phil’. He furrowed his eyebrows, still not quite sure for himself still on what this event was supposed to entail. He didn’t think he could remember an American holiday that had the word ‘Phil’ in it.

“—need a volunteer. Excuse me, sir!”

Matthew blinked, looking up when he saw that the announcer on the podium himself was staring right at him. He felt like a deer in the headlights, zeroed in on for one of the rare few seconds he ever lived through. His eyes were the bluest he had ever seen.

“Me?” “Of course you!” the young man laughed loudly as he gave a gesture to for him to come closer. The hand he extended had a black leather glove on it. “You’re the only one I see moving through everyone, yeah? Get up here!”

He felt a blush flew into his cheeks at the sudden call out. Heads turned to him as if it were only now that they had noticed the tall man parting his way through to the front. They made room for him, and Matthew felt more embarrassed than ever. Being volunteered for something he wasn’t sure about. That was, until half way up the small staircase he noticed the large animal that was currently sitting on the podium blearily blinking at him. Was that a groundhog?

“Um,” began Matthew, only to then get interrupted by the excited American as he continued his speech. It was a lot better to hear the voice next to him.

“I’m going to have to ask you to hold Phil here.”

“Phil?” Matthew asked.

“Yep. You look like a strong fellow.”

“B-But--”

Without further argument, the large (and honestly quite light) animal was placed into his arms as the old men in tuxedos and top hats around him began to clap, stepping back as the camera men and news outlet video cameras began to start coming near them to take the pictures. The young man whistled, looking away from the cameras briefly to look at Matthew awkwardly standing there.

“Wow.”

“…w-why am I holding this…?” Matthew asked out nervously enough just for the man to hear him. The crowd behind the cameramen also began to snap their pictures, and Matthew only got the chance to glance at the man’s nametag before he was blinded by several lights.

Alfred F. Jones.

‘Alfred’ then went to put his arm around Matthew’s waist and smiled as the cameras began to direct toward them. Matthew had no other choice than to follow suit, giving the best smiles he could for the pictures.

When the flashes started to diminish, he then gave Matthew a raised eyebrow before going over to whisper to him.

“…don’t tell me that you don’t know who Punxsutawney Phil is,” Alfred said suddenly as he gave Matthew incredulous look. “Haven’t you seen the movie Groundhog Day? Even that could’a clued you in.”

“…not really, no.”

Alfred raised his eyebrows. “Oh man.”

The men then handed Alfred a small piece of parchment paper rolled in by two freshly cut branches like a scroll. He winked at Matthew. “Hold on up a sec.”

He stepped up to the podium once again, smiling as he began to continue his speech. Alfred gestured his head when he looked at Matthew, implying for him to come over and stand next to him, and he did. With that settled, Matthew tried to keep his eyes on Alfred to avoid having to look back at the crowd. But instead of feeling relieved at looking at Alfred, what he said next what was what Matthew thought was the most ridiculously cringe-worthy statement he had ever heard.

“Here ye, here ye! Now on this second day of February, before one of the largest crowds in our history of Ground Hog Day, Punxsutawney Phil has awakened from his burrow to arrive to tell us the great news!”

With his gloved hands, Alfred took the time to ‘unroll’ the scroll out, tucking his mic under his armpit to do so before taking it out again. Phil wiggled within Matthew’s arms, but the Canadian just tried to bite his tongue to prevent himself from laughing.

“Phil says: ‘This winter has come to an end. There is no shadow to be cast, and an early spring is my forecast!’”

The crowd erupted into a cheer, while Matthew himself started to break when the noise covered his chuckle. Matthew put Phil right back onto the table. The other older men began to take hold of the ceremony once again, while Alfred then went to escort Matthew back down to the audience.

“Your name is Alfred, right?” Matthew wiped his eyes as he said the next statements quietly. “That was cute.”

Alfred, meeting his gaze, just winked once more. “Stay here afterwards, okay?”

“Uh…alright.”

Matthew blinked, keeping in mind to stay in his place until the crowds finally dispersed themselves into the town once again. The men themselves went to then go into the crowds, allowing the kids to have a chance to see Phil up close. And when everything thinned out, Alfred returned to him with a more normal look to his outfit; a North Face jacket with a beanie topped with earmuffs. Red, white and blue aesthetic. Matthew spotted him quickly and went to him.

“Hi.” started Matthew.

“Hi,” Alfred extended a hand, still smiling. “Like the performance? Because honestly if it weren’t for the kids, I probably would have laughed half way through it too.”

“Well…it was a nice performance anyway. I haven’t really ever looked at Groundhog Day as being a big a deal as it is.” Matthew shook his hand. “It’s Matthew.”

“Matthew,” Alfred breathed, air visible right between them. He smelled like fresh cigarette smoke and slight mint toothpaste. “…well…since it seems like you’re new around here, why don’t I show you around?”

“…u-uh…well you don’t have to.”

“Nah. But I want to. And I’m also probably going to get your phone number after this. Because you seriously look like someone I’d like to get to know.”

“A-Ah?” this caught Matthew off guard. “My phone…it’s not…”

“Is that a yes then?” Alfred’s grin couldn’t have gotten wider. Matthew blushed. “…fine. Just get me a portable charger. And you’re paying.”

“Awesome~”