#i will eat cookie dough until i drop dead

[nanadoesart]

Fav ice cream flavor??

cookie dough cookies and cream being a very close second

[clarawatson]

It Only Takes a Taste

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x [Fem]!Reader (GN pronouns, fem coded stuff, but I’m not sure where this is going as a larger work so we’ll say Fem!reader to be safe) Summary: You work at a diner. Aaron Hotchner falls in love with you. We’re not kidding around trying to make us all sound like profilers, just accept the diner life, we love it here. W/C: 1498 Warnings: none yet!  A/N:  First chapter of that diner!au i was talking about here! AO3 ps. I forgot to tag people, so: @willowrose99 & @genevievedarcygranger my beloveds. If you want to get added to the tag list jump in my inbox and i’ll try to remember to add tags every time i post. Where am I in this series?  01 | 02 | 03 | 04 |

~

When you first meet him it’s 5am and raining. You’re switching over shifts for your friend, Rita, because she’s been doing night shifts at the diner. This late into her pregnancy she shouldn’t be working, not technically, but she needs the money and she’s got insomnia because of the baby, so she works nights now. There’s always someone working with her, be it Joe (who’s got far too much muscle for a chef) or Lola (who can beat anyone to a pulp with a pie tray). In the early hours of the morning a bunch of tatt’ed bikies come and sit and talk about their extracurricular activities (definitely not legal) because one time there was an armed hold up and the police didn’t turn up until two hours after it had happened. People don’t like holding up a diner full of men who eat their own motorbikes for breakfast.

But when he comes in, he’s not any of them. He’s not even one of Lola’s nightly hook-ups (she needs the money, you don’t ask). He’s too well dressed in a grey suit (or is it black? Maybe it’s black), trying desperately to shove his I.D. badge in his pocket. He has a look about him that says ‘I’m part of one of the alphabet soup agencies’. A smile on his face, dead in the eyes, and the weight of the world on his shoulders. He fumbles with his wallet as he squints to read the menu behind the counter. The rain’s stopped dripping from his hair, instead he’s got droplets like his woken with the morning dew upon him.

“Hi love,” Rita coos as she hangs her apron up. She has a look about her that says she’ll eat this man for her breakfast. It’s an effort not to curse those pregnancy hormones some days.

“Go home,” you tell her, swatting her arm. “Put your feet up, rest, sleep while the baby does or some shit.” Rita sticks her bottom lip out and pouts, but she’s making grabby hands for her purse, which is stored where the tea towels used to be. Far too high to reach even when one’s not pregnant. You grab it down for her, ignoring the showering of thank-yous.

The new guy (who is getting more and more handsome by the second) is still looking at the menu. He doesn’t look like he’s going to stop looking and order any time soon.

“Are you sure you’re fine to take the metro in this weather?” you check. She’s rubbing her swollen belly and looking longingly at the booths that haven’t had anyone sit in them for hours now. 

“Wait forty-five minutes and I’ll take you!” Joe yells. He’s slaving over something in the kitchen even though it looks like no one’s ordered in hours. “Wife gave me the car ‘cause of the storm!”

“Forty-five,” you repeat and point her towards the seat that she’s been eyeing off. Rita sighs, nods, then goes out to the seat. “What can I get you?” Usually when addressing the customer you’d add something gentle like ‘sweetheart’ or ‘love’ or ‘dear’ because the customers like it and they come back because they think you’re treating them like a long lost friend.

He bats his dark eyelashes and rubs at his forehead.

“I don’t know.” He sounds tired, balancing on the very edge of exhaustion. He might just fall off into a pit of sleep that he won’t wake up from. Been there, done that. “Do you guys do coffee?”

You laugh and point to the brewed pot beside you. There’s one for each table, free refills with a pie purchase. It’s written in decorative lettering right above you on the blackboard.

“We can put it in a take-away cup. It’s before six so it’s free anyway,” you offer. The last bits a lie, but Joe doesn’t care about a cup or two of coffee going missing. He’ll catch it up later when he flirts with all of the mom’s coming through after school drop off. The new guy nods and pulls out a ten dollar note and shoves it in the tip jar. You raise an eyebrow at him, but he nods anyway. He’s like a broken bobblehead.

“I know.” He goes to the sweets display and searches through it like he’s looking for something specific. Maybe he is. You’ve not seen him in the diner before, and neither has Rita, but maybe he’s one of Lola’s regulars. Maybe you’d judged him wrong. 

“Anything caught your eye?” you ask, leaning over the counter as if you could see it from his angle too. Maybe you do it to show off just that little bit of cleavage. He notices, then looks like he’s done entirely the wrong thing as he licks his lips and blinks like a school boy.

“S-sorry,” he stammers, and Rita giggles. You point at her and give her a stern look, but she just puts her hand over her mouth and lies down on the seat. She’s still silently giggling because her belly keeps bobbing above the table. 

“I just…” he has that exhausted look on his face again.

“Long day at work?” The answer is always yes for the people who work at the alphabet agencies. He nods. “Take a seat, grab some coffee, take a minute. It’s only just gone five, you’ve got time.” 

He nods. He looks like he’s gotten his words all mixed up and they’re just sitting in his mouth, refusing to leave. Tongue tied doesn’t exactly encapsulate what looks like is going on inside his head. He sits at one of the chairs in front on the counter, and takes the coffee cup gratefully as you pass it to him.

He’s definitely an alphabet soup man. He sits in this weird stance like he’s countering his weight against a gun. His shoulders are hunched forward as if he spends hours a day doing paperwork. He’s got a nervous twitch in his hands like sitting still is only going to bring the next case.

You think about making a joke about turning on the cellphone jammer, but last time Joe made that joke the whole place ended up swarming with cops. Absolute disaster. No one’s going to do that one again. 

“Cherry, berry or apple?” you ask, grabbing a plate.

“Sorry?”

“Cherry, berry or apple?” Rita repeats from her booth. “For the pie, sweetheart.”

“Uh, I didn’t—“

“Eat it,” Rita growled. You pull a face at her even though she can’t see you. The guy smiles.

“Apple, please.” Well mannered. Sweet. He looks elated as you slide the apple pie to him and hand him the canned cream.

“Not as good as fresh, but it’s better than nothing.” 

He puts a generous amount on his plate. You half think he might like it more than proper cream. Rita leans up just enough to look at him as he digs in, fanning herself playfully before sighing and collapsing back down.

Joe brings out his tray of caramel salted cookies. They’re thick enough to look like cakes with a gooey caramel center, and they usually sell out pretty quickly. The new guy watches them intently.

“How much trouble am I going to get into if I give those to my son?” 

“How old is he?”

“Ten.”

You smile. That’s a good age. “How much do you hate his teacher?” 

He considers this with a gentle tilt of his head. “Not a lot. I’ll give it to him after school.” He pulls out his wallet again and Joe looks like he’s just hit the mother lode as he grabs one of the cardboard boxes. 

“If you really want to spoil your kid, y/n here can write really pretty on top.” You glare at Joe. He shrugs. He’s covered in cake batter and cookie dough, and smells like pancake batter. He’s always smelling sickly sweet, and like a well lived in home, despite looking like the living embodiment of Gaston. “She does it for my wife all the time.”

The handsome man’s phone buzzes. He checks it, then shovels the rest of his pie in his mouth like a starved man. 

“I have to go,” he says. He gives Joe another ten and tells him to keep the change. Joe looks like he’s about to break into a song and dance. You pour a fresh cup of coffee into a take-away cup and slide it across the counter to him. He thanks you a thousand times over then goes. With his cookie.

“Are you FUCKING KIDDING ME?” Rita screeches the moment the door shut with it’s little jingle. “I’ll-show-him-my-cleavage-but-I-won’t-ask-his-name?? No wonder you can’t get a date!”

“I’ll do it next time.” Not that there’s ever a ‘next time’ for these alphabet soup agents. They’re always looking for the next place to go to so they don’t have a ‘regular place’ that can be ambushed. 

But in a perfect world... you’d see him every day.

[tpwkjerii]

strawberry kisses

you and felix have a longstanding tradition of baking the day after finals. usually, it’s the best method of relaxing after long hours of studying. unfortunately, you find yourself rather tense this time — after all, it’s always fun to spend an entire day in a cramped kitchen with your crush, isn’t it?

pairing: lee felix x reader

warnings: fluff and kissing, mild angst, reader likes strawberries (sorry if you’re allergic skdlsd), ex boyfriend (but supportive bestie) minho, reader has low self confidence :(, like two curse words, kisses!!

genre: friends to lovers au, kinda idiots to lovers, mutual pining

word count: 2.9k+

a/n: short fic for Felix hehe

Your eyes glazed over as you reviewed the last response of your final exam of the term. After two long hours of plugging equations you hardly understood into your nearly-dead calculator and speed-writing to the point where you’re sure you’ve bruised your dominant hand, you finally finished. At lightning speed, you gathered your exam papers and submitted them at the front with a quick prayer to the universe.

A few other students followed your rushed pace out of the large lecture hall, all of you eager to finally get out of the stuffy room.

As you stepped out of the packed hall and into the cooling outdoors, you checked your phone, which was filled with texts from the one person you were trying desperately to get out of your head (and miserably failing at that).

felix (strawberry head) <3

5:23 PM

did you finish your chem final ???

hyunjin and i just submitted our video for our dance performance

your editing was very good btw :D

5:35 PM

y/nnnnn you’re taking forever :(

we’re waiting at the quad for you !!

5:40 PM

*i am waiting at the quad for you

the others got too hungry and left, but i’m waiting for you!

pls hurry it’s cold :[

You bit back a laugh at his texts, his heartwarming tone filling you with a familiar fuzzy feeling. You pushed the feeling aside as you texted a reply.

y/n

5:43 PM

be there in 2 :D

You stifled a smile as you rushed towards the quad. Soon enough, you saw Felix and his bright, red-dyed hair (you first noted that it closely resembled a strawberry). The moment your eyes met his, you felt your heart skip a beat and heat spread across your face. This was the common reaction you’ve had for the past few months whenever you see Felix.

He rushed over to you with a giddy smile and his arms outstretched. Quickly, he barrelled into you and pulled you into a tight embrace.

“You took so long,” he whined, his chest vibrating as he spoke.

“I know, I know. ‘M sorry,” you responded, your voice slightly muffled by his shirt. You took a second to enjoy his hold and the comforting warmth that Felix always provided you whenever he was near. Over the past few years, you’ve grown accustomed to the scent of his sweet floral perfume, the feeling of his tight hugs, and the way he played with your fingers when he was bored.

All the things you were fond of were now extreme nuisances in your life. Not because they were annoying or because you disliked Felix, but rather the complete opposite; you were completely, helplessly, and foolishly in love with him.

“You ready to go?” Felix asked suddenly, breaking you out of your thoughts. He brought his arms down from around you, and you looked down at the ground as you nodded, hoping that he didn’t see the intense blush that was spreading from your face to your neck.

You are so fucked for tomorrow.

After an entire night of tossing and turning in anxiety, the next day finally arrived. To say you were nervous was a massive understatement.

The minute you woke up, you began to anxiously clean your apartment while your roommate Ryujin laughed at you. As you wiped down every visible crevice, she made sure to pester you about a “missed spot” or tempt you with sweets.

“You’ve never cleaned this much whenever Felix came over before,” she pointed out with a laugh while you wiped down the kitchen counters for the fourth time.

“What do you mean?” you asked, your voice uncharacteristically high-pitched.

Ryujin scoffed. “It is so obvious that you like Felix, there’s no point in lying to me,” she stated bluntly.

Your hand froze mid-wipe on the counter. You looked over at your blue-haired roommate nervously. “Is it really… that obvious?”

“Yes,” she deadpanned.

You winced and dropped your head onto the smooth stone countertop. “Do you think he’s noticed?” you moaned into your arms.

“If he hasn’t, I will personally pay for his glasses prescription.”

You whined again as you lifted your head up to look directly at Ryujin. “If he’s noticed then why hasn’t he said anything?”

She stood up as she answered, “Not sure but you could always ask him today.”

Your mouth dropped in horror at the suggestion. “I can’t tell him how I feel! That would completely ruin our friendship!”

“So you’d rather continue tip-toeing around him and never get a clear answer?” she questioned, her arms crossed.

“Yes.”

Ryujin sighed and started to collect her things. “You can do whatever you want,” she started as she placed her papers in her backpack, “but I recommend you tell him soon.” She stood up and headed for the door. Just before opening it and leaving you alone with your thoughts until Felix arrived, she turned around and said, “I won’t be home until late, have fun.” With that, she winked and walked out of your shared apartment.

You scoffed at her suggestive tone and stood upright to check the time.

10:08 AM

You gasped. Felix said he was going to arrive at 10:30, but knowing him he would be at least 15 minutes early, meaning you only had 7 minutes to get yourself together!

You cursed and rushed to your bedroom. Switching out of your wrinkled pajamas, you opted for a random hoodie you grabbed out of your closet and jeans. After you changed, you made a beeline for the bathroom and fixed your appearance. You quickly brushed through your hair and washed your face, hoping you removed all remnants of your restless sleep.

Just as you predicted, you heard four distinctive knocks on your front door right at 10:15.

“Coming!” you exclaimed as you rushed out of your bathroom.

Right before you opened the front door, you placed a hand on your beating heart and mumbled words of encouragement to yourself. Then, after deciding that you were probably taking too long, you pulled the door open.

Immediately, Felix, covered in a large hoodie and arms filled with large bags of baking ingredients, greeted you with a large grin. Like every other time, you felt your heart skip a beat when you made eye contact with him.

“Hi,” you said simply, a smile on your face.

“Hi,” he responded. He looked you up and down, asking, “Are you wearing my hoodie?” 

You paled and looked down at the large pink hoodie, immediately recognizing it as the one that Felix lent you almost one year ago when he dropped you off at the airport since you forgot yours in the car. Once you got back from your trip, you’d forgotten to give it back to him.

“O-oh,” you stuttered, looking down at the oversized sleeves. “I didn’t even realize,” you continued awkwardly. “You can ha -”

“It’s fine,” he cut you off, the smile never leaving his face. He shrugged. “You look better in it anyways.”

Your mouth dropped and you found yourself unable to respond for a few moments. Felix laughed at your dumbfoundedness and gently pushed you aside to walk into the apartment. Once he set the bags down on the kitchen counters, you returned to your senses and closed the door to walk over to him.

“So, what are we making today?” you asked, trying to keep your voice as level as possible. It wasn’t an easy task to do, considering his proximity to you.

You held your breath as he grabbed your hands and looked into your eyes. “What’s your favorite fruit?” he asked excitedly.

“Er, strawberries?” you answered, tilting your head to the side in mild confusion.

At that, Felix let go of your hands and quickly pulled out a carton of fresh strawberries from one of the bags. You gasped in delight at the sight of the bright fruit and immediately thanked him.

“It’s no big deal,” he responded while sliding the fruits into the fridge. “I’m gonna eat most of the tarts and choco strawberries anyways,” he added with a sneaky laugh.

You scoffed. “You always say that but you always end up giving me the most.” You smirked at him while taking out the baking materials.

“I don’t give it to you,” he countered. “You steal them.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” you told him with a sing-song tone. He laughed from your side, and you swore that you heard actual sparkles, as if he were a fairy, when he did.

You cleared your throat, hoping to rid your mind of distracting thoughts that could be potential problems during the next seven hours that Felix would be at your apartment. “So, master chef Felix,” you started, lowering your voice like a TV show announcer. “What are you going to do first?”

“Well, my fair announcer,” he began, holding up the silicon whisk like a microphone. “I think we should start with preparing the shortbread dough, what about you?”

“Ah, you are the chef. Lead the way,” you responded with a wide smile.

You both laughed together and actually began the baking. Like usual, Felix did most of the work while you played music and assisted from the side. You worked together seamlessly, and soon enough the shortbread cookies were done and strawberry jam cooling to the side.

While you taste-tested the jam, Felix began to whisk the melted chocolate, and you took this time to admire him. You stood at his side, allowing you to admire his side profile.

Felix was easily one of the most beautiful individuals you ever laid your eyes on. But his appearance wasn’t the only part you fell for — he was one of the few people whose inside beauty matched their outside beauty.

Felix was kind, funny, optimistic, and just about every positive adjective you could find in a dictionary. After every failed test, he was there with a cup of strawberry ice cream and a shoulder to cry on. When you landed your first job, he was there to celebrate with you even when your own family wasn’t. And when you and Minho mutually broke up, he was there to give you advice as you coped with the end of your first relationship.

How could you not fall for him?

And sometimes you had the feeling that he liked you back. The touches that would linger for just a few seconds too long, the soft smiles that Chan claimed he only ever gave to you, and his late-night texts all spurned a tiny hopeful fire in you that kept your crush alive.

No matter how many times you tried to get over him and convince yourself that your crush didn’t exist, the tiny voice in your head still spoke. “But what if he likes you back?”

Now, as Felix stood by your side with a soft smile on his face while he whisked the chocolate, that voice screamed louder than ever.

And just as you gained a sliver of courage, the same paralyzing thoughts that have held you back for the past few months returned.

Felix was out of your league in every way. He was social and easily commanded the attention of an entire room with so much as two words. His outward beauty matched his insides, and everyone on campus reached a collective agreement that if angels ever existed and walked among us — Lee Felix was certainly one of them.

And those things were only the tip of the iceberg that is Felix. He was talented, sensitive, supportive, passionate, and everything you could ever ask for and then some.

You then thought back to all the people he rejected - kindly, of course - and how you matched up to them. If Felix didn’t choose to go out with all those beautiful and talented people, what on Earth made you think you would choose you?

At this point, Felix picked up on your sudden silence and how your breaths grew heavy and uneven.

“Are you… alright?” he asked carefully, his own chest beating heavily.

You stared at him, panicked that he caught onto your apprehension. “Um…” you started, trailing off as you met his gaze.

Felix let go of the whisk and grabbed your hands. “You can say whatever you need to.”

“I uh,” you started after a few moments, internally battling yourself to gain courage as you realized that it’s now or never. “I kinda like you,” you admitted quietly, looking down at your intertwined hands anxiously. You waited for him to pull his hand away in disgust and start to kindly reject you like he did to all those other people, but it never came. After a few seconds, his hands still the entire time, you looked up at him with glassy eyes in confusion.

“What?” he finally said, his deep voice softer than ever.

You looked back down at your hands shamefully. “Do I really have to repeat it?” you asked weakly. “I like you, Felix. I have for the past few months and it’s been driving me insane because it feels like my heart’s about to stop dead whenever I see you and I can never think straight when you’re with me. Apparently, it’s been pretty obvious and I really tried my best to get over it so it wouldn’t hurt our friendship.

“Trust me, I really wanted to get over it but I couldn’t, and I know you don’t like me back so it’s ok. I can deal with it on my own and you can just leave a -”

“Y/N,” Felix said suddenly, his voice firm. You looked up, tears rolling down your face as you were sure that he was about to reject you.

“Felix please don’t interrupt me. At least let me finish what I have to say,” you pleaded softly, removing your hands from his.

“Y/N,” he repeated, his voice much gentler. He carefully wiped the tears from your face and took your hands into his again. “Can I say something before you finish?” he requested.

You choked back a sob as you nodded, certain that he was just going to let you down kindly.

“I like you too, Y/N,” he said shyly, a blush spreading across his freckled face.

Your entire body froze.

“I was too scared to admit it because I didn’t think you liked me back,” he continued, the words slowly registering in your mind. “To be honest, I thought you still liked Minho.”

You blushed at his words, thinking back to all the times you would pull Minho, your ex-boyfriend, to the side to talk about Felix these past few months. You didn’t realize how it must have looked to Felix or your other friends.

“I was also… afraid of ruining our friendship, so I’ve just kept it to myself the past two years.”

You gaped at him. “Two years?” you sputtered, causing him to laugh at the way your eyes widened comically. “That’s when we first started uni!”

He shrugged. “What can I say? I was instantly attracted to the way you fought Chan on why you should be allowed to keep the minifridge in your dorm,” he joked.

You blushed at the embarrassing memory, although it wasn’t completely regrettable as it was how you met most of your current friends — including Felix.

“I’m surprised,” you voiced simply. “I didn’t think you would ever like me back.” You breathed out, your muscles relaxing instantly.

Felix grinned again and he moved slowly to envelop you in his arms. He rested his hands on the small of your back and his head on the crook of your shoulder.

“Does this mean that I can take you out on a date?” he whispered.

“Will you promise to stop taking unflattering pictures of me and sending them to me in the middle of the night?” you asked, your head resting against his and arms around him.

He sighed. “Fine,” he answered reluctantly with a whine.

“Then sure,” you responded and pulled your head back to meet his eyes. His eyes shined from the sunlight pouring through the windows and his freckles glimmered like stars across a canvas. Felix was truly beautiful inside and out.

“You have some strawberry jam on your lip,” he said after a few silent moments where you both admired each other.

“Really?” you asked. Your hand moved from his back towards your face, but Felix caught your hand in midair and returned it to its original position.

“I’ll get it,” he murmured with a gentle smile before closing the distance between your lips.

You held your breath as he pressed his soft lips against yours. You instantly recognized the strawberry chapstick he uses and the taste of the shortbread cookies. He swiped his tongue against the corner of your lip, and the sudden sensation caused a shiver to run down your spine.

You brought your hand up to his hair and gently tugged at his dyed locks. Felix brought you closer to him and massaged your back as he deepened the kiss.

When you finally pulled away, your face was burning red and you were completely breathless. Felix was smiling giddily, his arms still around yours.

“I think there’s still some jam left,” he told you, not even giving you a second to respond before he pressed his lips against yours once again. This kiss was much more playful than the last as you giggled against each other in the kiss.

“Did you get it all?” you asked him, your voice reduced to a murmur as he continued kissing your lips.

He hummed, kissing you once and twice in between, before responding, “I don’t think so.”

You laughed against his lips. “Well, I guess you better get it all. I can’t have strawberries stuck on my lips all day.”

He laughed with you, and true to his words, he eventually did get all the strawberry jam off (an extra two hours and an uncountable amount of kisses later).

[flightfoot]

Greeting the New Dawn

Set post-Reveal in @buggachat Bakery Enemies AU, whenever that ends up being.

Thanks to Queenie for betaing!

AO3 ---------

“If you want me to leave, I will.”

Adrien looked off to the side, as if he thought that he wasn’t even worthy of meeting her gaze. As if already looking elsewhere, trying to impose on her as little as possible. “I can put in my resignation and tell your parents I found a different opportunity elsewhere.”

Marinette’s mouth went dry, her stomach dropping into a cavern. He- he couldn’t- not again- he couldn’t leave her- she’d only just got him back!

She willed desperately to say something, to stop him. 

Nothing happened.

Instead, she felt her mouth move, saying words she didn’t want to say. “I think that would be for the best.”

Adrien’s face fell further, his breath hitching slightly.

He didn’t say anything. Marinette suspected that if he tried, that hitch would devolve into full-on sobbing.

He turned around, heading for the door. 

Marinette regained control of her limbs. She reached out to grab him, to stop him from disappearing-

Her vision turned black.

-----

Marinette happily hummed as she kneaded some dough, her father joining her song. She’d missed spending time with her parents while she was in New York. 

*ding ding*

A customer?

Moments later, Sabine walked through the entryway to the kitchen. Marinette relaxed.

Until she got a closer look and noticed her eyes glistening.

“Maman?” 

“A-Adrien- he- he-!”

She burst into tears.

Marinette saw it then. Adrien desperately scrounging out of garbage bins to survive, getting thinner and thinner, having been unable to find another job. Losing his apartment, being forced out onto the streets.

Until finally someone had caught him going through their dumpster, recognized him, and decided that trash like him was unworthy of even having those rancid scraps. 

Adrien leaning against the dumpster, beaten and bloody as the rain came pouring down. Slowly closing his eyes.

He didn’t open them again.

-----

Marinette looked out the window at the rain. She’d given him her umbrella, he’d be fine. He said so himself. She didn’t need to do anything more, right? He could walk straight, he hadn’t even been slurring his words, he was coherent. Everything would be fine.

------

“Don’t be bemused, it’s just the news! Today, Adrien Agreste, son of the infamous supervillain, Hawkmoth, was found bludgeoned to death in an alley. The weapon of choice? An umbrella given to him by my favorite babysitter, Marinette Dupain-Cheng! Let’s give her a round of applause for helping set up the circumstances that allowed Paris to get rid of that loose end, once and for all.”

-----

Faceless masses quietly muttered all around Adrien.

A person would occasionally glance at him. Their face would twist up, fear and anger warring over their features.

Until they’d just walk away.

Leaving him alone, crying, desperately trying to reach someone, anyone.

They all slipped through his fingers like water, leaving nothing behind.

A flash of yellow. A defined figure. The last friend Adrien had.

“CHLOE!”

She turned around, gave him a glance.

Her hair swished as she turned back.

She didn’t look back a second time.

------

“Don’t be bemused, it’s just the news! Today Adrien Agreste was found dead in his apartment. Police are currently treating the case as a suicide-”

Marinette turned off the TV, getting back to designing her new outfit. It was sad what happened, but right now she wanted to concentrate on something more hopeful. 

She smiled as she looked at the red dress she’d just finished, its black accents making the bright red pop that much more.

Her Kitty was out there. She just needed to find him.

------

Marinette jolted awake, panting heavily. She threw off the covers, shakily getting to her feet. Stumbling forward, she reached out for the light switch.

It took her several tries to hit it. Her arm was shaking so badly she just kept on missing. 

Taking the stairs two at a time, she rocketed down. She really missed being Ladybug right about now; she could’ve just swung down to the first story.

A seeming eternity later (36 seconds later, to be exact), she rounded the corner into the kitchen.

The light was on, the sound of dough being rolled out punctuating the quiet of the early morning. 

Please let him be there please let him be there please please PLEASE-!

A blond-haired man turned around. “Mari-?”

She hit him like a freight train.

Instinctively Adrien wrapped his arms around her as they rolled to the side, dough spraying everywhere. 

She couldn’t bring herself to care.

“MARINETTE!” Adrien shouted, anxiety tinging his voice. “What’s wrong? Is someone hurt? Did anything get on you? I’m so, so sor-”

She just pulled him even tighter against her, muffling his voice with her shoulder. 

*thump thump thump*

Adrien was alive. He was here. He wasn’t in an alley or a grave or… or ALONE.

Not anymore.

“Ni-nightmare,” she choked out, trying not to cry. 

The blood drained from Adrien’s face. “It was him, wasn’t it?” He asked quietly, his voice quavering slightly. “I- I should’ve known, I wish I’d-”

“NO!”

She was NOT letting him take the blame for this. 

“It wasn’t your fault kitty, NONE of it was your fault. It was his, ONLY his, you did everything you could to stop him.”

Adrien frowned. For a minute she thought he was going to argue, but he seemed to think better of it. 

“And- and it wasn’t him anyway. Not really. It- it was you.”

“I- I’d never try to hurt anyone here, I’d never try to hurt you, regardless of what happened with Mother I-”

Marinette winced. Foot, meet mouth. Again.

“It wasn’t the Peacock nightmare. It- it was-”

She took a deep breath, pressing her head into his neck, feeling his pulse. “There were so many times when things could have gone worse than they did. Where you could’ve gotten hurt or killed. And- and I would never even have known I lost you.”

“I’m not going anywhere, My Lady,” he murmured into her ear. “Not unless you want me to.”

“If you want me to leave, I will.”

“NO!” She shook her head violently. “Never. I- I couldn’t stand it if-”

If I never saw you again. If you killed yourself because you thought no one wanted you around. Because you thought you deserved it. Or that you deserved to be out on the streets, struggling to survive, because of who your father is and how people see you because of it.

“I want you here,” she told him more calmly. She needed him to know that. To internalize it. “You deserve to be here. You deserve happiness and safety and people who love you and- and just every good thing in the world!” 

She’d tell him this every day if she needed to, until he believed it.

“I- I dreamed that you’d died those times. Like- like when you asked if I wanted you to leave. Or- or thinking back on what could’ve happened if you’d walked home while drunk. But the worst one? Was where you committed suicide before I ever ran into you as a civilian.”

She needed to bake Chloe some cookies. ALL the cookies. She’d probably comment about how she was only tolerating Marinette’s cooking in order to seem nicer to Adrien or something, but she didn’t care. If it weren’t for Chloe, then Marinette’s best friend, the love of her life, would probably be dead.

“In that nightmare, it barely even registered that you’d died. Just- you were just some stranger. Some stranger who was dead now. That- that was most horrifying of all.”

Her hearing about him dying and barely even caring because she didn’t know him - it terrified her more than anything else. Logically she’d known that was a possibility before she’d found out Adrien was Chat Noir, but- well she’d never really seriously thought about him dying. And- and part of her thought that because of how close they were, she’d just know if he was hurt, if something had happened to him. Would recognize him on sight if the worst happened.

But neither of them had known the other when they ran into each other at the bakery. And she’d never had a clue that the boy on the billboards was the same boy running alongside her on rooftops. 

Adrien held her tighter. Something wet dripped onto her neck.

She didn’t comment. His shoulder was damp from her own tears.

“It didn’t happen.” He told her. “It could have, but it didn’t. I- I know what it’s like to have those ‘what ifs?’ running through your head. Sometimes, the best you can do is tell yourself that everything did work out. That it’s okay. I- I tell myself that all the time. Every time I think about what could’ve happened if I never met your parents- if I’d never started working here. If I’d never seen you again. Never met Nino or Alya.”

“Adrien…” 

“It doesn’t help. There’s nothing that can be done about ‘what ifs’. It may not make those thoughts go away, but- but at least it doesn’t matter what could’ve happened, because it didn’t. And thinking about it in circles won’t help.”

He grinned at her. “You know what will?”

She blinked at him, lost for words.

Until she felt something sticky on her forehead.

Reaching her hand up, she got the substance off. 

Dough coated her fingers.

Her partner gave her a shit-eating grin. “Ooops.”

“Oh you are ON.”

As she chased her kitty around the kitchen, trying to tag him with bits of the fallen dough, she smiled.

He was alive. 

Maybe he wasn’t okay yet, but he would be.

And so would she.

[slasherbastard]

Chocolate Chip Cookies || Brahms Heelshire x Gender Neutral!Reader

(gif credit: thankgodimnotabaker)

Warnings: no warnings, cute, fluff Word count: 834 Summary: Reader got hungry and decided to make cookies Notes: That one video of that lady trying to make cookies with her grandson (? I think ?) and he’s just eating all the ingredients, that’s what inspired this

What you’d expected to take at least 30 minutes turned into a 2 hour frenzy, you had a midnight craving for homemade cookies and you tried to sneak out of bed when you thought Brahms was knocked out for good but the second you stepped on the wrong floorboard, he was up and ready to fight. After reassuring him that there were no intruders and you just wanted to make cookies his face lit up and he obviously asked if he could help. You didn’t think letting Brahms be your assistant would be such a bad idea but you were dead wrong.

‘Brahms you can’t eat that it’s raw!’ you’d exclaim and reach for the bowl of mixed sugar and butter before he went off to find something else to eat. Baking with Brahms was definitely a chore and you knew that when he asked to be your helper, he meant that he wanted to help eat everything. 

You’d turn around for a second to put away the milk or throw broken egg shells in the bin before finding the older man pouring chocolate chips into his mouth straight from the bag. There was a brief moment where you thought that putting the chocolate chips on one of the higher shelves would be fun until you realised that this man towered over you, and you would need his assistance putting the bag on the shelf itself - so that idea was obviously scrapped.

‘Pass me the flour, and don’t eat any of it.’ 

‘Why?’ 

‘It’s raw. I don’t want you getting sick.’

‘But you ate some of the cookie dough.’ 

‘That’s besides the point. Now, the flour.’ Brahms pouted and handed you the bag and watched as you spread it on the counter before splitting the ball of dough and dropping half of it onto the counter and grabbing the rolling pin, also coating that in flour. 

Brahms continued asking questions after that - most of them about why he couldn’t eat everything, the other questions were about when the cookies would be done and why you decided that midnight would be the perfect time for baking and of course, if he could help with the cookie cutters. 

‘Hey Brahms? When was the last time you baked something?’ You asked him as he pressed a heart-shaped cookie cutter into the dough, he stopped midway and looked over/down at you. 

‘I don’t think I’ve done this before.’ 

He moved out of the way and you grabbed the cookie cutter and brought it over to the tray and pushed the heart cookie out. ‘Really? Well, you’ve clearly got beginner's luck then.’

‘Not beginner’s luck, I’ve got one of the best teachers.’ 

‘Who taught you to be such a gentleman?’ You smiled, he wrapped his arms around you and lifted his mask high enough for you to kiss his lips. The kiss evolved into a short but steamy makeout session that ended up being cockblocked by the oven ringing a few seconds later. You quickly broke apart at the loud noise but laughed as you threw on an oven mitt and took the cookies out - ‘Brahms these are hot so don’t touch them’ - and put in the next tray of unbaked cookies. That was when you noticed that Brahms’ deep green cardigan was covered in flour. You stifled a laugh and took the mitt off. 

‘What?’

‘Nothing. I’m gonna go to the bathroom, just finish cutting out these cookies and then I’ll put them in the oven. Deal?’ 

‘Deal.’ The two of you exchanged one last kiss before you disappeared to the bathroom upstairs, where you noted that neither you nor Brahms were clean bakers and that your pyjamas were also covered in flour as well. You quickly finished your business then cleaned off as much of the flour as you could before heading back to the kitchen. 

‘Brahms? Did you finish cutting out the cookies? If you want you can eat the extra dough because-’ You paused as you walked into the kitchen to see the dough missing and Brahms standing there, mask half off with a hand full of dough. You couldn’t see his full expression but you knew he was embarrassed. 

‘Sorry.’ The child’s voice peaked out through the mouthful of dough. You couldn’t help but laugh as you walked up to him and wrapped your arms around his torso, he didn’t return the hug since he didn’t want to get cookie dough all over you, so he continued eating what was left of it quickly but not so subtly. 

You took a step back and reached over for a cookie and took a bite out of it, pretty much moaning at how good it tasted. ‘Come on, let’s make more dough, you can never have too many of these things. ‘ He tried to grab one as well but you smacked his hand away. ‘And if you get sick from eating all that, don’t come crying to me, Brahmsy.’ 

Spoiler alert, he did get sick.

[dickwheelie]

this is a few days late but it’s still technically Hanukkah, so! here’s a fic about Jon and Martin celebrating Hanukkah in the safehouse (shhh timelines aren’t real) because I like to project and I really like the idea of Jon being Jewish. a lot of us are having weird holidays this year, away from friends and family, so the boys having a weird one too seemed appropriate. in particular, Jon not having a menorah because I don’t have one this year either :(

the stuff in this is based on my own experiences celebrating Hanukkah growing up in a pretty secular household, so if you see anything that’s “wrong” then that’s why, lol. the prayer is accurate as far as I know though, it’s the same one my family and I sing every year.

(also this is not a good representation of how to make rugelach! if you really want a good recipe, hmu and if you ask nicely I might share my mother’s 😁)

enjoy and Happy Hanukkah!! 💙🕎✡️💙

___________

“I just feel bad,” Martin said, watching from the sofa as Jon put the challah in the oven. “You’re doing all this cooking, and I’m just sitting on the couch like a lump. And this is supposed to be your holiday.”

“Martin, for the tenth time, it’s fine. Besides, the holiday doesn’t actually start until sundown,” Jon called, cheerfully enough, from the kitchen. Jon liked cooking, Martin knew, and he didn’t really see it as a chore in the same way Martin did. Still, this was a special day for Jon (well, eight days, really), and Martin wanted to be of some use. He’d offered to do everything from peeling potatoes to rolling matzoh balls, but Jon, ever the control freak in the kitchen, had stopped him at every turn. Still, he couldn’t help but feel a bit guilty about not helping out as Jon bustled about, trying to make Hanukkah dinner for the both of them.

More than helping out, really, Martin just kind of . . . wanted to share this with Jon. The way Jon talked about it, it sounded as though he’d had more Hanukkahs alone than with friends or what little family he had. Martin wanted to make Jon feel like he didn’t have to be alone this year, and even if Martin was new to this, he was game to learn. Jon had already told him about the holiday and all the different foods he was making, but there was still some distance there, a disconnect, that Martin knew Jon wasn’t putting between them on purpose. It seemed to Martin more like a force of habit than anything else.

After setting the timer for the challah, Jon nodded, satisfied, and came over to join Martin on the couch. He slouched against him comfortably, and Martin automatically put an arm around his shoulders. Jon had a bit of flour on his nose, and Martin gently swiped it off, which made Jon’s face wrinkle up like a disgruntled cat. Bloody adorable, Martin thought.

“I get a bit of a break before I have to start on the latkes in a few hours,” Jon said. “Got to make those right before dinner so they’re fresh.”

“Can I please help with those?” Martin said, half-joking.

“Fine,” Jon laughed, “yes, Martin, you can help with the latkes.”

“You won’t regret it.”

“I’m sure.”

“Is there dessert?” Martin asked, offhandedly. He hadn’t noticed Jon getting out any sugar or making anything sweet that day. “Do people eat anything sweet on Hanukkah?”

“Well, there’s gelt,” Jon says. “Chocolate coins. But the grocer’s didn’t have any. Unsurprisingly.”

Martin laughed. “Yeah. Probably not a huge priority in the Highlands.”

“People also make rugelach, sometimes.”

“Arugula?”

Jon laughed, not unkindly. “Rugelach. Different from the vegetable. Very different,” he said. “It’s a pastry. A kind of holiday cookie, I guess you could call it. Sweet dough with chocolate or cinnamon inside. It’s simple to make, but I didn’t buy the right stuff for it, and honestly I have enough cooking to do.”

“Yeah? How d’you make it?” Martin asked, innocently enough, though an idea was brewing.

As Jon explained, he waved his hands in the air, miming the process. “You just roll out some pastry dough, cover it with chocolate or cinnamon or walnuts or whatever you like, cut it into strips, and roll them up.” He thought for a moment. “They look a bit like seashells.”

“Huh,” Martin said. “Seems easy enough.” He’d never made dough before, but how hard could it be, really. The hardest part, he figured, would be actually making the things in their tiny cabin and even tinier kitchen without Jon finding out.

Soon after that, the oven timer started beeping, announcing that the bread was done. Martin took advantage of Jon busying himself in the kitchen to slip out the door, giving him some offhand excuse about wanting to get some air, to which Jon waved him off.

In the baking aisle at the grocer’s, Martin quickly realized he was out of his depth. He stared at the display of flour and sugar and baking powder and all sorts of other stuff, utterly at a loss as to what one needed to make pastry dough. He tried, once again, to Google a recipe on his phone, but once again, there was no service and no wifi.

Well, there was always pre-made, frozen dough. Not ideal, but it’d probably work in a pinch. Much faster to make, too, Martin thought as he dropped a couple cans of it into his basket. The filling, at least, he knew he’d be able to handle; he grabbed a few bags of baking chocolate and a shaker of cinnamon, and brought everything up to the checkout counter.

Martin didn’t even know which lucky stars to thank when he arrived back at the cabin to find the kitchen empty, and Jon passed out on the bed in a post-challah, pre-latke cooking nap. Martin gently closed the bedroom door and immediately set to baking.

Going by Jon’s vague descriptions, he rolled out some of the dough into a flat oval shape, but the pre-made kind wasn’t meant to be used all at once, and the end result was a sort of lumpy mass. Digging around in the cupboards, he was able to find some flour, which helped make the dough less sticky, at least. Eventually, he was able to get it flat enough to cover it with the filling, like Jon had told him. Half of the dough he covered in cinnamon, liberally shaking it out all over the dough. The other half he covered with the baking chocolate, which came in little chunks, but he figured it would melt in the oven just fine.

Next, just as Jon had described, he cut the dough into even strips, thin and rectangular, and rolled each of them up, so the filling made a little spiral shape inside. The chocolate ones were a bit chunky and awkward-looking, but, well, it was the taste that counted, wasn’t it.

Martin turned to face the oven, realizing he had no idea how long they ought to bake for, or at what temperature. He checked the instructions on the tins of pre-made dough, deciding to go by whatever they suggested. It wouldn’t do for the dough to be raw, he figured.

Soon enough, the pastries were in the oven, and Jon was still dead to the world, none the wiser. Martin felt quite satisfied as he cleaned up, mentally patting himself on the back for a job well- and stealthily-done. He’d hide them in the oven, he decided, until after dinner, and then he’d surprise Jon. Smiling, he went to join Jon in bed, curling up next to him as he slept, until he fell asleep himself.

Martin woke groggily several hours later to Jon gently shaking him awake, telling him it was time to make the latkes. He’d already got the batter done, a thick, floury mixture of potato and onion, and a pan of oil was bubbling on the stove. Jon showed Martin how to drop spoonfuls of batter into the pan, patting them down to shape them into little fist-sized “pancakes.” He let both sides brown in the oil until they were nice and crispy, before transferring them onto a paper towel-covered plate to cool. It was simple enough, and Martin was able to finish up the batch as Jon set the table, bringing out the challah and matzoh ball soup he’d made, as well as sour cream and apple sauce to dip the latkes in.

Once the latkes were done (and Martin was quite proud to say they’d come out very nicely), Jon retrieved some red wine he’d gotten in the village and poured them both a glass. Then, as Martin was getting ready to sit down, Jon glanced around sheepishly, gesturing at an empty space on the kitchen counter.

“I, ah, normally I’d have a menorah to light. But obviously I didn’t bring one when we came up. And out here, well, it’s the same as with the gelt. No real place to buy one.”

“Oh,” Martin said, heart sinking. He reached out to squeeze Jon’s hand. “That’s a shame. I’m really sorry.”

“Really, I just wish I could show you,” Jon said, shaking his head as he took his seat at the table. “It’s really lovely. You light a new candle every night, and when they’re all lit . . . I’m sure it’d look nice here, especially.” He gestured at the space in front of the darkened kitchen window.

“Yeah,” Martin agreed, wistfully. He’d seen photos of menorahs before, and he could just picture it, he and Jon gathered around, lighting candle after candle as the eight nights passed.

“Well,” Jon said, turning back to face Martin at the table, “we may not have a menorah, but I can still do the blessing.”

“Blessing?”

“Yes. You’re supposed to do it while lighting the menorah, but, well. I’m sure this will do, given the circumstances.” Jon reached his hand across the table, and Martin took it.

“Alright.” Jon cleared his throat, almost self-consciously, and then began to sing in Hebrew, a melodic, practical tune that sounded comfortable and familiar on his tongue, like a well-worn shawl. “Barukh ata Adonai, Eloheinu, melekh ha’olam, asher kid’shanu b’mitzvotav, v’tzivanu, l’hadlik ner, shel Hanukkah.”

Martin couldn’t really sing along to the words, but he nodded along to the melody, and when Jon was done he looked up at him and smiled, and Martin beamed back. They both raised their glasses and drank.

They ate heartily, or at least Martin did, because Jon kept shoving second and third bowls of soup at him, and insisting he finish off the latkes. Not that Martin was complaining, of course; it was all delicious, and Jon did praise him for how nice the latkes had come out.

They left the dirty dishes for later (or, knowing the two of them, tomorrow morning), and after dinner they went straight for presents. Though his options were limited without online shopping or anything outside of the tiny village, Martin had managed to find an adorable little painted china Highland cow in a local antiques shop.

“I know you think they’re cute,” Martin said as Jon lifted it out of the box.

“How did you know,” Jon deadpanned, but he grinned as he brought it up to his nose and stared at its little painted snout. “I love it, Martin, thank you.”

Jon had gone the homemade route, and knitted Martin a scarf. And a pair of mittens. And an entire bloody sweater.

“Oh my god, Jon,” Martin said, staring in disbelief at the mounds of knitwear before him. “How did you find time to do all this? How did you find time to do all this without me knowing?”

Jon looked away sheepishly. “I, uh, I’m a fast knitter.”

Martin shook his head fondly. Unbelievable. But he immediately took off the sweater he’d been wearing and pulled on the one Jon had made. It fit rather well and was as cozy as it looked. “Thank you, Jon,” he said, feeling the sleeves, knowing that every loop and stitch of the fabric had been purposeful. He could practically feel the care and love Jon had put into each one of them. “I love it,” he said, leaning over to kiss Jon at the corner of his eye.

“Well,” Jon said, cheeks darkening, “Happy Holidays, then.”

“Oh,” Martin said, rising from the sofa, “I’ve actually got one more thing. Sort of a last-minute gift.”

“Hm?”

Martin went over to the oven and took out the trays of rugelach. He’d checked them earlier to see if they were cooked through, but hadn’t gotten the chance to taste one yet. “Tried my hand at a bit of dessert,” he said, selecting a couple nice-looking ones and putting them on a plate for Jon to try.

Jon had followed Martin into the kitchen, and was staring at the pastries lined up on the trays. “Oh, well, thank you,” he said, surprised, taking the plate Martin handed to him. “What are they?”

Martin cocked his head at him. “Rugelach,” he said. Wasn’t it obvious?

Jon’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “Ah,” he said, voice strained with positivity. “Of course. Right.”

Martin was starting to get a sinking feeling in his stomach.

Gingerly, Jon took one of the rolled-up pastries, and bit into it.

Martin tried one as well. It was one of the chocolate ones, and it was . . . crunchy. Very crunchy. The chocolate, it seemed, had only partially melted in the oven, and the pastry dough itself was a bit hard to bite through. Besides that, it wasn’t very sweet, the chocolate being too dark and the dough being too salty.

He tried a cinnamon one. Again, the dough was crunchy, and the cinnamon was overpowering without any sweetness to it. Martin considered the possibility that perhaps he ought to have added sugar.

Jon, for his part, was doing his best impression of a person who was very much enjoying the pastry they were eating, honest. “Mmm,” he said, demonstratively, as he swallowed one of the cinnamon ones. “Thank you, Martin, these are . . . delicious.”

Jon was actually reaching for seconds, which Martin knew he was only doing to make him feel better, so he reached out a hand and placed it on Jon’s, stopping him short.

Jon looked up at him. Martin shook his head wordlessly. Jon cracked a smile.

“They’re not good,” Martin said, putting them back on the trays one by one.

“Martin--”

“It’s okay,” Martin said, smiling back at him, “I know. They’re rubbish. I didn’t even use a recipe, of course they were gonna turn out--”

“Well,” Jon said, stubbornly, “you tried. It’s the thought that counts. Thank you, Martin, really,” Jon said, bringing up Martin’s hand to kiss the back of it. “It was very sweet of you to put all this effort into it.”

“Next time, I’ll look up a recipe,” Martin said, bringing one of the trays over to the kitchen bin. Jon was quick to assist him.

“There’s seven nights of Hanukkah left,” Jon said, after a moment’s thought. “We can always try again. Tomorrow, we’ll get more ingredients, and I’ll show you how to do it properly. It really is easy, you just need . . . well. Sugar, for one.”

Martin laughed as he tossed the last of the batch away. “Okay. We’ll try again tomorrow.”

“I mean it, though,” Jon said, looking at him fondly. “Thank you. For this, and for the cow, and for sharing the holiday with me. It’s . . . this has been really . . .”

Jon was gesturing in the empty air, struggling for the proper word, but Martin understood well enough. “Yeah,” he said. “And thank you, for sharing it with me.” He pressed a kiss to Jon’s cheek.

“Happy Hanukkah, Jon.”

[rainygothherowolf]

Jasonette/Daminette- Little Sister Pt.2

Previous ~ Here ~ Next

Marinette was in the kitchen, preparing herself some hot chocolate. After the drama at Wayne tower, Jason insisted she stay with his family. Her older brother seemed to loathe the class with a passion, refusing to let her near them. Marinette's parents were hesitant at first, not trusting some random Gotham boy to take care of their daughter but eventually they were persuaded. Where she would be staying was definitely a factor, where could be safer?

"I don't see how you could stand to drink such sugary poison." Damian stated making her jump, he was right behind her. He reached past Marinette and to the cupboard she was in front of. He grabbed a teacup before pulling his arm back, his eyes never straying from her own.

"Well then... what do you suggest I drink?" Marinette's hot chocolate sat on the counter behind her, forgotten, as she turned and faced Damian. The Parisian crossed her arms defiantly, Damian looked down at her like she was a cute puppy.

"Tea has been known to calm frayed nerves, perhaps I could prepare you some?"

"W-why would I need to calm down? I feel perfectly fine!" Marinette declared, refusing to give in. Her stubbornness seemed to amuse Damian, he reached out and just barely brushed her cheek with the back of his hand.

"Well, you've been blushing since you noticed I was here, for one. Now, would you like some tea? How do you take it?"

"I don't usually have tea. I tried making myself some a few times but always thought it tasted like bitter water."

"You haven't had my tea yet." Damian challenged, "You wouldn't be scared to try something I made, would you?" Marinette was coherent enough to see what he was doing, even if his imposing and, frankly, distracting physique was only a hair's breadth away.

"Only if you have my hot chocolate. Or are you scared of the 'sugary poison'?" Marinette offered, Damian leaned his head down just a fraction of an inch closer to Marinette before catching himself pulling away. He retreated back a few feet before turning to the sink.

"Alright then, it's a deal. I'll try the wretched holiday drink if you have my tea." Damian spoke with his back to her as he filled a kettle with water.

"Deal." Marinette agreed before heading to refrigerator, she's get him to admit her hot chocolate was good. No one called her favorite drink 'wretched' and got away with it.

"Deal." Damian reaffirmed.

By the time the drinks were done Marinette was thirsty, she would have had her own hot chocolate but Damian demanded she leave it, claiming it would cloud her pallet. She rolled her eyes at that but by the time she finally got past Damian's joking defense the drink was cold.

Marinette sipped from her cup first, Damian watched, both amused and attentive as she took a sip of the tea.

He laughed at her wrinkled nose, just for a moment- one could hardly call it a chuckle, before adding the cream.

"Try it now." Marinette looked at Damian hesitantly before taking another sip, this time he noticed her relax as a small smile graced her lips. Damian smirked at his little victory.

"Alright, your turn Monsieur." Damian rolled his eyes as Marinette watched him lift the mug. He felt she looked over excited for something so silly but found it strangely endearing.

The warm, smooth liquid made it's way past his lips and while it was a little too sweet for his liking, it was still good and he told her so.

"Fine, it was adequate." Marinette rolled her eyes before taking a taunting step toward him.

"Yeah right! That was some of my best work, you don't get to get away with calling it 'adequate'" Damian scoffed, taking a more intimidating step towards the short girl, one upping her in their little game of chicken.

"Then what do you suggest I call something I found too sweet but bearable?"

"Good! You call it good, it's important to be polite, Damian!" Marinette took another step forward forgetting how close they already were, refusing to back down. Damian had to look further down than usual to meet Marinette's passionately determined eyes.

He took his opportunity, using his right hand to tilt her chin upwards, smiling slightly, only slightly. They were so close, he could feel the warmth of her body from where he stood. Damian was about to speak when they saw someone walk into the kitchen, it was Jason.

The teenagers separated themselves quickly but it was too late, the damage was already done. The taller boy immediately scooped Marinette up and slung her over his shoulder. Jason was glaring daggers at a smug Damian before waking out of the room with Marinette. Damian waved goodbye to a blushing Parisian, she followed her old brothers lead and glared at the annoyingly smug boy.

The rest of Marinette's stay was an amusing balance between getting to know the Wayne's, spending time with Jason, and sneaking off with an unrepentant Damian.

Whenever Jason was around they kept their distance but were caught more than enough times.

"And you eat this?" Damian asked, bewildered at how anyone could consume something so unhealthy.

"Yes. It isn't that bad if you have it every once in a while. Sometimes the calories are worth it! Worth the satisfaction of indulgence." Damian scoffed from his seat on the counter opposite to Marinette, who was baking chocolate chip cookies.

"Why don't you help me? That way they're done sooner." Marinette offered, not realizing how disastrous the question was.

"I think it would be best if I didn't. Things tend to go wrong when me or my siblings attempt to do anything in the kitchen." Marinette giggled, she thought Damian was great. He was a good listener, funny, smart, and on top of that he was drop-dead-gorgeous. Marinette knew he wasn't just being friendly, no, he'd made his intentions perfectly clear when they first met but she didn't want to become a problem. Jason seemed to hate the idea, so she did her best to keep it friendly- unfortunately, Damian was persistent.

"It's just rolling the dough into balls, it's not even real cooking!" Marinette countered and Damian relented, getting up and watching her roll the dough before following suit.

At first, everything went suspiciously well. Damian did a good job rolling the dough and there was a period of comfortable silence, the problem with that was that it was too comfortable. Marinette began to hum, softly at first before it got a little louder. Damian didn't comment but eventually Marinette realized what she had done and blushed, her hands going to her head- accidentally getting flour on Damian's (NOT distracting) tight black turtleneck.

Marinette apologized repeatedly but noticed Damian was trying to smother his laughter.

"What? What is it?" The Parisian demanded, her accent thickening as she got more and more worried about what he was laughing at. As it turned out, the in her state of embarrassment she had not only dirtied Damian but also herself. She had cookie dough smeared across both cheeks. She blushed a deep red, making the cookie dough even more visible.

Eventually, Marinette moved past her embarrassment and spoke to a working Damian as he loaded the cookies in the oven.

"Oh Damian~" The boy turned, his eyes still amused.

"Ye-" Damian was cut off by a cloud of flour, she'd thrown the powdery substance at him as he turned. While blinded by the thick cloud of white Marinette was able to get close enough to get some cookie dough on his forehead.

"Oh it is on, little one, and I don't loose." They spent the next ten minutes throwing flour, extra dough, and water at each other, in a world of their own.

Reality didn't come crashing down on the teens until they saw the flash of a camera.

It was Tim and Stephanie.

Marinette blushed as she tried to dust the flour off herself, embarrassed that she'd made such a mess in someone else's home. Damian seemed to be torn between being amused at Marinette's embarrassment and trying to salvage what was left of his reputation.

"Jason's gonna lose it."

"Todd doesn't need to know."

"What's in it for us?" Stephanie countered, using her hand to lower Tim's hand as he tried to call Jason.

"Cookies?" Just as Marinette spoke the timer went off and she went to take the treats out of the oven. The warm chocolate-y smell filled the room as both Steph and Tim began to drool.

"Todd doesn't need to know?"

"Jason doesn't need to know." Tim seconded as Marinette fanned the cookies. When they were cool she handed them all the cookies on a plate. All but one that she negotiated for Damian to try.

Dick, Tim, Steph, Selina, even Bruce found it hilarious, they understood why Jason hated it, but they also saw that she brought out the best in Damian. It pissed Jason off, Marinette was off limits. Damian was frustrated because had Jason not been so annoying he'd have asked her out already, but watching the second robin get so riled up also made the chase that much more fun (not that Damian would even consider perusing her without her explicit encouragement).

Damian was taking Titus out for a walk on the grounds when he heard a familiar hum, he followed the high, sweet tune to the rose gardens where a small Parisian sat, sketching.

Marinette sat on a small bench for two, her hair in loose waves. She wore a black skirt that ended just above her knees and a deep red halter top with matching red flats. She looked stunning, surrounded by the vibrant rose bushes. He studied her for a moment more before making his presence known.

"What are you drawing?" Damian asked as he approached the girl. Marinette wasn't as jumpy as when they first met, getting used to his sudden appearances.

"A new design, a dress." Everyone knew she wanted to be a designer but no one knew she was MDC yet. Marinette convinced herself that was because it hadn't come up yet but in reality she was embarrassed. She'd heard Tim say they were his favorite designer and that if he ever met them he'd either fall in love (Stephanie slapped him across the head at that) or pass out.

Marinette didn't look up until Damian's shadow blocked the light. Marinette decided to tease him and ignore the boy in favor of his dog.

"Hello again, Titus! What a good boy, so cute!" She poured all her attention onto the animal who took it in stride. Damian didn't like being ignored but humored her, petting Titus.

"You like to design." It wasn't a question, Damian remembered what Grayson told him about conversation. He tried to find a relevant topic that would allow him to compliment her.

"May I see your sketch?" Damian asked, still paying attention to Titus. Marinette blushed as she quickly shut her sketchbook.

"Uh... hehe- maybe another day." Her logo was on the corner of each page and Marinette didn't want to risk it. Damian thought she looked adorable, blushing deeply, but he also thought it was uncalled for- he hadn't begun his teasing yet. This caught his attention and curiosity, he had to see the book.

"What? Why are you blushing?" Damian teased but he saw she was getting uncomfortable, he had done it in good fun but he saw he'd overstepped.

"Apologies- I'm sorry if I crossed a line I was just teasing, you don't have to show me- I didn't mean it." Damian was at a loss, he didn't think before he spoke and ended up stringing together apology after apology. Marinette giggled.

"It's okay, you don't have to blush!" Damian hadn't even noticed how hot his face was, this only embarrassed him further.

"Oh~ Do you need some tea? To calm the nerves?" Marinette teased, earning a half-assed glare from Damian, who was still trying to fight his blush. Finally, he got it under control. Despite the sidetrack Damian persisted, trying to start up another conversation just like Grayson told him to. He sat next to Marinette on the bench.

"The gardens are beautiful this time of year, are they not?" Damian offered. Marinette hummed in agreement, studying her surroundings before her eyes met Damian's.

"Breathtaking." Damian complimented, making Marinette blush heavily. Damian glanced at her full, pale rose lips, unconsciously licking his own. The Parisian seemed to notice and she tilted her head upward slightly, only slightly, with her eyes half-closed.

Damian summoned his courage and leaned in closer, they both closed their eyes. Just as they were about to close the gap, his hand was about to hold her check. Damian swore he felt her soft lips barely brush his when they heard Jason yell.

"AH! Get off her! NOPE NOPE NOPE!" Jason was a few meters away but both teens obeyed, embarrassed. Jason grabbed Marinette’s hand and quickly, but carefully, pulled his little sister away from Damian. "From now on, you two aren't allowed in the same room anymore. Except diner. Keep away from Nettie, Demon Brat."

Damian saw Jason's face, this wasn't just because he thought it was weird to see Damian try to date someone he saw as family- no, it was something else entirely. It was because he saw Marinette as too good, too pure for Damian.

Jason didn't want Marinette to be dragged into the mess that was Damian's life.

Jason didn't want Marinette to suffer because Damian didn't know how to deal with his emotions.

Jason didn't want Marinette to be hurt by Damian, he didn't want to see someone he loved hurt. It wasn't just because it was Damian, it was because he didn't want to see Marinette's heart get broken.

Damian, shockingly, backed off- hardly even acknowledging the girl on the few occasions they crossed paths. He wasn't outwardly rude like he was with his siblings but Marinette seemed to catch on. At first she was a little dejected but was adamant about keeping positive.

Jason spent as much time as possible with his little sister, making sure to watch movies, tour the city, and just hang out all the time. He also made sure that she got to know the rest of the family, except Damian. And the fourth robin let it happen, he kept to himself and let her spend time with everyone else.

And then family night reared it's ugly head.

Marinette was sitting with Alfred the Cat and Cass on the sofa, Jason on a chair near Marinette, waiting for everyone else to arrive for the movie.

The Parisian beamed when she met Kor'i and Mar'i, quickly bonding with both. Marinette was quickly dubbed Auntie Nettie by an Auntie Steph and Uncle Timmy. Dick was about to play the first movie when Kor'i spoke up.

"Where is the little D?"

"Yeah! Where's Uncle Dami?" A four year old Mar'i asked from her father's lap. Jason scoffed, he was about to speak when someone walked in.

"Has anyone seen Alfred the Cat?" Damian asked, before he saw Jason and Marinette. Damian was about to say never mind- noticing Alfred purring in Marinette's arms, but Mar'i beat him to it.

"Uncle Dami!" The half Tamaranian announced, jumping from the couch and flying into her uncle's arms. Marinette was quick to catch onto the families nightly activities and let them catch her talking to Tikki. Jason clearly wasn't happy, neither was Damian, but on the bright side they didn't have any secrets. Kor'i and Mar'i were briefly discussed but Marinette didn't pry.

"It's been forever, like a whole week! You have to come watch the movie with us, it's family night! You can sit next to Marinette! Isn't she pretty? And nice?" Mar'i chattered and waited for Damian to respond.

"Yes, she is very nice." Damian spoke as carried his niece to her father who gave him an encouraging smile before Damian sat between Marinette and Cass. Mar'i spoke up just before Dick could play the movie.

"And pretty! Right Uncle Dami? Isn't she really pretty? Like momma!" Kor'i gave her daughter a quick kiss on the cheek, distracting the girl from Damian and Marinette's panic- and Jason's low growl.

Dick played the movie and gently shushed his daughter, stopping her from asking Damian again. Telling her she did a good job and would get extra popcorn.

The movie was some children's story that Damian couldn't seem to pay attention to, all he could seem to think about was the Parisian next to him- cuddling Alfred the Cat with her knees practically tucked to her chest, her back to him.

Damian took notice of Marinette's drooping shoulders and yawns as the movie progressed, but he hadn't expected for her to suddenly turn and cuddle onto his side, grabbing his arm as she and Alfred slept. Jason clearly didn't like it but Marinette was immovable, sleeping peacefully against a tense Damian. The boy did everything in his power to not sink into the warm sofa and nap alongside her, exhausted. He fought his tired eyes as best he could but it was a losing battle.

Eventually the movie faded away, his head rested upon something soft.

Jason wanted to be mad, he wanted to move Marinette so she rested against him- she always used to as a little girl but he saw she was clinging to Damian, whether it was intentional or not. Jason knew Damian hadn't done anything to give Marinette reason to cuddle him, finally understanding that Jason just didn't want to see Marinette hurt. Unfortunately, neither could do anything about it. 

Jason also knew he couldn't blame Damian for passing out, knowing as well as anyone that finals and patrol were a bad mix but that didn't mean he didn't want to slap him for passing out and unconsciously cuddling with Marinette.

Alfred the cat eventually woke from his nap and moved from his warm spot between the two teenagers and left the room to do only God knows what. The sudden lack of warmth seemed to stir both Marinette and Damian. The Parisian whined softly as she nuzzled closer to Damian, her legs ended up across his lap as they snuggled closer. Jason clenched his fists and jaw before bringing his attention back to the movie, trying to think of what to do.

By the time the movie ended, Jason was at a loss- at some point Cass left the room so Damian and Marinette were literally lying on each other, limbs entangled as they slept, blissfully unaware of their compromising position. Everyone softly laughed and took pictures of Damian sleeping and Marinette lying carefully on top of him, his arms wrapped around her with her head tucked under his chin. Their their legs tangled.

"Jay, I'm sorry but they're so cute together. And they really seem to like each other, I know it's weird for you but let them be." Dick tried, he'd been rooting for them since Damian started to ask about how to start a conversation, lines you don't cross, how to tell if a subject is off limits. The first robin prayed to whatever god was out there that his brother would finally see that their dating wouldn't be the end of the world.

"I know." Jason noticed Damian back off when he realized why Jason didn't want them to date, it wasn't just because Damian was an ass, if something ever happened to Damian- Marinette would be a mess and he couldn't stand to see the broken look in her eyes ever again. Jason knew it was a shitty reason, she'd probably be a mess no matter what, but he couldn't help it. He just wanted to protect Marinette. Jason finally knew what to do, but until then he'd let them sleep.

Jason walked out of the room, annoyed- the brat won. Damn their stubbornness. Hopefully it would make Damian more bearable...

Damian woke up with the sun, but for once wanted to stay in bed. He was warm, and a calming, steady breathing tried to lull him back to sleep- wait. Why would he feel someone else's breathing?

Damian's eyes snapped open and scanned the room, he was lying in the living room with a blanket on him and- 'No. No. No. Of all the times to pass out, of all the people-'

Damian's mind went into overdrive trying to remember how he'd gone from sitting with Marinette leaning on him to falling asleep with her. He knew he was dead, but suddenly his mind focused on the even sound of her breathing, she was still sleeping- dead to the world. There was no reason to wake her, so Damian closed his eyes, pulled Marinette closer, and allowed himself to go back to sleep. Enjoying his last moments in the land of the living.

Something made a noise, Damian opened his eyes again. This time Marinette awoke with him, propping herself up on his chest and rubbing her eyes with a tired yawn.

"Good morning." Marinette froze at the sound of Damian's deep, rough, sleep-filled voice as she took in a messy haired, tired Damian. She blushed, hard, morning Damian was officially her favorite Damian.

"D-Damian- w-what happe- did I- I'm so sorry!" Marinette sat up, not thinking about what she was doing. She continued to apologize while Damian panicked, if Jason walked in right now- he'd die for the second time. Breaking the family record, sure, but that certainly wouldn't be worth it. Well... No, not worth it- unless someone brought him back again... No, no, Todd would likely make it painful. Definitely not worth it.

"Marinette-"

"No, this is totally my fault! I'm so sorry. I really didn't mean to fall asleep on you, you were probably really uncomfortable with me leaning on you like that!"

"Marinette really it's alri-"

"No, Damian! It's not alright, I- Jay probably got really mad at you, I'll- I'll talk to him make sure he knows it wasn't your fault."

"Marinette?" The Parisian seemed to be done with her ranting and was staring at Damian again, she for some reason, hadn't noticed earlier but Damian wasn't wearing a shirt. In Marinette's sleepy state she just stared unabashedly. Damian's voice seemed to get her attention.

"Perhaps you shouldn't sit like that..." Damian refused to call it what it was. Had he wanted to be more accurate, and he didn't, he would have asked her to stop straddling him.

Marinette froze, blushed, and then started whining in embarrassment. Her head in her hands. Damian was having a difficult time holding back his own blush but was managing alright.

"Marinette?" Damian asked, she peaked out from between her hands and realized she had yet to get off him, finally he sat up on his own and gently pushed her off him. They sat next to each other, Damian refused to look at Marinette in her beautifully flustered state.

Jason walked in with his arms crossed, he leaned against the door-frame.

"Awake are we?" He asked, not expecting an answer, he didn't get one.

"Well, Demon Spawn, let's just say your reputation is effectively ruined. Steph and Selina got more than enough pictures to get even you to blush." The two teenagers refused to look at Jason, he pinched the bridge of his nose, letting his annoyance surface.

"I can't even-" Damian waited for the inevitable outburst, for once. " I can't believe I'm fucking doing this- You two were cute or whatever but word of the wise, brat- hurt her and I'll kill you. Got it?" Both teenagers heads snapped up, Marinette blushed. Damian nodded a mischievous sparkle in his eyes.

'FINALLY' Was the only thing Damian thought in that moment before he began to plan how to ask her out. He needs to speak to Grayson again, unfortunately.

And with that, their banter and teases began again. This time there was no bribery to keep Damian's siblings quiet and no Jason to stop their kisses. The young couple went on dates, watched movies, laughed at the put off look Damian’s family would have when he said something awkwardly funny. Of course, Jason was still insistent on sibling bonding, stealing Marinette as often as possible- that became their new game: who could get Marinette for the day.

Of course, there were some close calls. Jason had walked in on Damian and Marinette kissing... for an extended period of time... he stood frozen and watched in horror as they made out on a chair in Damian's room, Marinette's hands in Damian's hair with his hands at her hips, keeping her pressed against him as her legs bracketed his hips.

Damian noticed Jason first, immediately pushing away and inwardly cursing. Marinette blushed furiously and had to stop Jason from killing Damian but her messy hair and slightly swollen lips didn't help.

Of course, everyone else thought it was hilarious.

As they say, all good things must come to an end. After three weeks of freedom from her class, their trip finally came to an end and so did Marinette's reunion. By the end of her stay Marinette knew why she'd be okay, from now on she had a family four times as big as before. The Parisian couldn't be happier: she reunited with her brother and has an adoring boyfriend. All she had to do now was survive the last few weeks of the school year before transferring to Mme Mandeleiev's class.

I’m gonna be okay, Marinette thought that to herself as they made their way to the airport. Damian didn't want her to leave, no one did, he held Marinette's hand while she spoke to Jason who promised to visit often.

Everyone hugged her goodbye or said so from a respectful distance before she passed through security and rejoined her class.Both Damian and Jason glared at the class in warning, they still seemed to be reeling from the discovery that the Italian was a liar. People called out to the girl, shouting apologies. Marinette just walked past as if she couldn’t hear a thing. 

And then she was gone. Damian and Jason pouted, they already missed her, luckily summer was right around the corner. They'd get her to visit soon, or if they had to they'd go to Paris.

After all, family is supposed to stick together. And despite their attempts at denying it, they were clingy.

[roguerogerss]

Sorry is a Sorry Word

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Henderson!Reader

Plot: Steve fucked up - bad. He doesn’t really know how, or if, he should say sorry, until Dustin gives him a pep talk.

W/C: 3.1k

A/N: Just now realising how long this is oops, sorry. My first Stranger Things fic! Finally. (watch this flop so hard lmao) Remember to like and reblog if you enjoy! It really helps me out. As always, requests are open and any and all feedback is appreciated <3

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"Dustin, Please, just leave me alone." She lay back on her bed, tears streaming down her face and hair amiss from where she'd run her fingers through it. "I'm fine, I just...give me some time."

"But, we tell eachother everything." Her little brother sounded so small and defeated that it almost broke her heart in two. She could hear him leaning his back against the door, the back of his head thumping dully against the wood a second later. "I feel like we're drifting apart. You don't talk to me anymore."

"Dustin-"

"No, it's okay. Don't worry." Dustin cleared the remnants of his upset from his throat, "We can talk later. I get that you need time."

And with that, he'd left. She could hear his muffled footsteps on the carpeted floor of the hallway, walking away from her bedroom and back to his own. She knew that she wanted to talk to him and vent about all of the happenings of the day, but she couldn't bring herself to let her walls down in front of anyone about her current situation just yet.

It was Steve. And it was bad.

They'd been together for a year and ten months. He'd been there for her through thick and thin. Whenever their mom went MIA, something that happened more often than not, during the days and weeks and months that Y/N was left to take care of her thirteen year old brother on her own with no notice whatsoever, Steve was there. And he'd take Dustin out to the cinema, give him free ice cream, play Dungeons and Dragons with him and his friends - even though Steve had no idea how to play Dungeons and Dragons. He'd sleep over, make her feel like she wasn't alone. It filled her with pride to see him taking Dustin under his wing, more like a dad than even an older brother.

When they lost Hopper, who'd become more of a parental figure than she and Dustin's mom was to her, he was standing by her side at the funeral, hand grasping her own smaller one with force and squeezing it every so often, just to remind her that he was there. He was there after the funeral, too, when they went to the cabin and went through Hopper's things. He was there when she found the birthday present that Hopper had bought for her, a necklace with, 'you're pretty cool, kid', engraved on it. Hopper's way of saying that he loved her. It came with a letter, one that she cried so hard while reading that she couldn't see the words on the page.

The point was, that Steve had been there through everything. And now that they'd had a huge argument over - of all things - Nancy Wheeler, she was unsure of whether or not she'd have Steve to lean on anymore.

It wasn't so much a stupid argument as it was a stupid mistake on Steve's end. He even admitted to himself that what he'd done was more than a dick move. Tina was having a party, a big one, for old time's sake. Y/N wasn't invited, having been socially considered as 'uncool' while in High School, while Steve was invited. He said that it wasn't a big deal, it didn't matter, he wouldn't go.

Except that it was a big deal, it did matter, and, well, he did go.

He'd gotten really drunk, so drunk, in fact, that he had no recollection of the night at all and managed to stumble to Y/N's front door at five in the morning.

He'd told her that he went to the party, that he was sorry. She'd been mad, but she was so tired that she said she'd deal with it in the morning and told Steve to sleep it off on the sofa. Before going to sleep, however, Steve had told Y/N that he 'thought he might've kissed Nancy' that night.

They'd argued about it the next day. She'd dropped him off at home, neither of them speaking at all in the car, and they'd screamed at eachother in Steve's living room. Little did either of them know, Steve hadn't actually kissed Nancy, he was just so drunk that he made himself believe that he had. And then, Y/N told Steve that they were done, and he'd said 'fine', and she'd left and cried in her car for an hour.

And now, she was here. Crying on her bed, little brother probably thinking that one of her friends had died or something.

She hated herself for blowing up and flying off the handle and literally breaking up with Steve. Steve, on the other hand, hated himself for even going to the party, hated himself for - possibly - kissing Nancy, hated himself for going to Y/N's front door and waking her up so early in the morning.

In the grand scheme of things, Steve Harrington had been an asshole. And he was all too aware of it.

It had been around half an hour since she got home when Dustin knocked on the door again. This time, she'd managed to calm down enough to allow him to come inside. She looked horrifying, hair messed up, tear stained face, cuddling a pillow and wearing one of Steve's shirts, but Dustin was her brother, he had no right to judge her.

The door swung open slowly, and Dustin was there, grinning and holding two pints of ice cream, spoons, and some movies. "Thought we could put a movie on and eat. And you can tell me about your problems and I promise I'll listen."

"Is the ice cream cookie dough?" Y/N asked, sniffling, and a watery smile crossed her face. Dustin laughed, happy to see his sister perking up at least a little bit, even if it was over ice cream, and turned the carton to reveal to her that it was, in fact, cookie dough.

"Only the best." He tossed one of the cartons and a spoon at her, and turned on the TV set that sat across from her bed. "Besides, I know it's the only one you'll eat when you're sad."

"You know me entirely too well." She hugged her knees to her chest and dug into her ice cream, relishing in the taste of it for a second, "Oh my God, I haven't had this in so long. And the Scoops cookie dough is so bad."

"Right? I know Steve thinks it's the best, but he is so wrong." Little did Dustin know, one mention of his name would make Y/N's meltdown begin all over again. Soon enough, she was crying hot tears into her ice cream, and she allowed Dustin to lay his head on her shoulder while she explained everything.

"Okay, I have to go somewhere." Dustin knew what he had to do, and Y/N's eyebrows furrowed as he got swiftly up from her bed. "I'll be like, maybe half an hour. But you can eat my ice cream if it starts to melt."

"Dustin! Don't leave me!"

"Watch the movie!"

And then he was gone, and she was by herself, with only some ice cream and E.T. to keep her company.

Meanwhile, Dustin had found Steve at work. He was insanely hungover - although, the headache and sickness had gone away thanks to Robin and her Tylenol, but the tiredness still remained - and reminded Dustin faintly of a particular zombie in Day of the Dead when he walked into Family Video to find him leaning on the counter. The grim look on his face wasn't so much because of the hangover, though, it was more to do with the fact that he and his girlfriend of nearly two years had broken up half an hour ago, and he'd been forced to go to work.

"If you're here to talk to Steve, I wouldn't. He nearly punched me when I asked him if he wanted Tylenol. And I'm a girl." Robin stopped Dustin at the front door, a serious look on her face, but he shrugged her off.

"It's fine. He won't do anything. Besides, I know what this whole thing's about. That's why I'm here." He tried to walk off again, but Robin grabbed his upper arm, tugging him back and making him elaborate.

"Is it Y/N? I think there was a fight between them or something. He’s never looked this rough.” Robin looked concerned, and she was. She’d never seen Steve so upset before. “He was crying when he came in.” She added.

Dustin shrugged, “Yeah, I’m gonna talk to him. He’ll be fine tomorrow.” He decided not to give Robin any more information on the situation in case Y/N or Steve would've gotten mad at him for it.

"Henderson, hey." Steve said quietly when he noticed that Dustin had entered the store. He looked like he'd been crying, and Robin was definitely right when she said he’d never looked rougher. "If you're here to hang out-"

"I'm not here to hang out, Steve. We have to talk." Dustin crossed his arms sternly over his chest, raising his eyebrows and nodding his head in the direction of the store room. Steve grumbled and complied, unlocking the door and ushering Dustin inside.

"You have to apologise."

"Apologise? Apologise for - what exactly are we talking about?" Steve rubbed a hand exhaustedly over his face, leaning against a sealed box of movies that he was supposed to have put away by now.

"You know what for, Steve. Y/N. You hurt her. Like, really badly. I don't think I've ever seen her so upset." Steve already wanted Dustin to stop, but he continued, really wanting him to get the message of just how hurt his sister was. "She cried in her room for half an hour before she even let me talk to her, and now she's at home by herself, probably crying some more because you went to a stupid party. I mean, seriously man, couldn't you just have stayed home? What was so important about it?"

Steve threw his head back and hid his face with his hands, wanting the floor to open up and swallow him whole. He knew that he'd been a dick, he knew that he'd hurt her, but, Jesus, knowing the details made his heart flip in his chest and his stomach hurt. He hated seeing Y/N upset at the best of times, nevermind when it was his fault.

"Yeah. Yeah, I should've just left it. Jeez, Dustin, I'm such an asshole."

"Yes. An asshole, you are. And what was that other shit? About you kissing Nancy?"

"I didn't kiss Nancy, okay? My drunk mind just kinda...made me believe that I did. I called her today just to confirm." Steve swallowed, suddenly having the nausea of his hangover coming back to him.

"Does Y/N know that?" Dustin had his arms crossed, back against the wall, looking unimpressed as Steve shook his head. "Seriously man? Don't you think that the first thing you should've done after finding out that you didn't actually cheat on your girlfriend, was tell your girlfriend that you didn't actually cheat on her?"

"My head's all over the place, Henderson. Cut me some slack, okay?"

"You have to come say sorry, you know that, right?"

"I will. I will, I promise. I finish in an hour, why don't you go home, I'll buy some flowers, take a shower and get changed, and I'll come chap on your door like none of this even happened." Steve had suddenly perked up, gesturing with his arms and almost getting excited to initiate his plan.

"Yeah. Sure. But it better be good, Harrington. You better make her happy."

Steve didn't even have time to respond before Dustin was running off, getting on his bike, and cycling back home to his sister. He promised himself internally that he'd do all it took to make her happy.

Y/N had finished her ice cream and Dustin's had started to melt by the time he got home. She hadn't cried any more, had been too focussed on the movie, and Dustin was relieved to see her laughing at something on the screen when he entered her bedroom.

"Hey." She smiled. "Your ice cream's melting, you'd better eat it."

Dustin smiled and bellyflopped onto her bed, sending her into a fit of laughter. They both laughed so hard, in fact, that they barely heard the doorbell ring, and Dustin almost got up to go and get it.

He stopped himself though, not wanting Steve to call him an idiot or something along those lines. "You should go. I have to eat my ice cream before it melts." He said sheepishly, sitting back down from where he'd jumped up. Y/N rolled her eyes and threw the pillow that she was holding at Dustin's face.

"Alright, make your sad sister get the door because you have to eat ice cream." She stood up even as she spoke, knowing that Dustin wasn't going to budge. "Nice one, asshole."

Y/N had left her bedroom before Dustin could retaliate, bounding down the stairs and realising that, if anyone saw her the way that she looked now, they'd probably never respect her again. The doorbell went again, and she sighed quietly at the lack of patience from whoever was on the other side.

She - stupidly - didn't even bother to look out of the window that stood next to the door to check who it was before opening it, and nearly closed it again when she realised who was standing there.

"Hey, woah, don't close the door yet!" It was Steve, his eyes widened from the possibility that he'd come all the way to her house so that she could slam the door in his face, holding white lilies and a box of chocolates, which was - in Y/N's opinion - the cheesiest apology ever. "Just...listen? For like, a minute."

She slowly let her hand slide off of the door knob, watching as Steve relaxed a significant amount even from seeing her do that. "A minute." She crossed her arms over her chest, chewing her cheek. "You have a minute."

"Okay, uh, yeah, okay." Steve began his rambling. "Listen, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I know I shouldn't have gone to that party, I know I shouldn't have gotten so drunk that I managed to convince myself that I kissed Nancy. Did I already say that I didn't actually kiss Nancy? I called her, and she said we didn't even speak. Bottom line is, I'm an asshole. I know that, and I hate myself for hurting you. Dustin told me how upset you were and I...I couldn't even comprehend the fact that I did that."

He paused, looking down at his feet and waiting for Y/N to say something. Something that didn't come, she simply stood, looking at and biting her fingernails, trying to figure out whether or not she should give in and forgive him or not, so he stopped waiting and spoke some more.

"I'm sorry. I love you. I love you so much. And I know that I fucked up, and I don't expect you to forgive me-"

"Steve." Y/N stopped him. He looked up at her, expecting that she'd look upset or annoyed, but she was smiling and shaking her head. "Come here."

"Seriously?" He already wished he hadn't said what he did before he'd even finished speaking. Seriously? What kind of thing to say was that? "I mean, you know-"

She was already hugging him before he could finish speaking. She knew that he'd ramble on for hours if he could, but she also knew that she already forgave him and didn't need to listen to his rambling. "It's okay. I forgive you."

"Oh, thank God. I thought I'd lost you, really, I did." He sighed into her hair, realising that he was probably ruining the bouquet of flowers with the way that he was crushing them against her back.

"Well, you were an asshole. You had every right to think you'd lost me." Steve had always loved her subtle sassiness, it was a habit that she often fell into unknowingly, but it made him chuckle.

"Yeah. Yeah, you're right. I was an asshole."

She let go of him, finally, and stood back. He was wearing his light blue jeans, a black t-shirt and belt, with a blue jacket. It was an outfit that she'd seen him in before, quite a few times, but he never failed to look good in it anyway. His hair was slightly amiss, as though he'd gotten ready as quickly as he could - which was true, but she didn't know that for sure - but it still had his Steve 'the hair' Harrington charm.

"So, can I come in, or are you just gonna stand there and mock me?" He grinned and she stood to the side, allowing him to join her in the hallway. He went straight for the kitchen, taking out a vase and filling it up with water, then placing the flowers in it and leaving it on the kitchen counter.

"I didn't say you could-" She was trying to joke with him, but he didn't seem to care much, as he cut her off by dipping his head towards hers and kissing her passionately. He hated to admit it, probably something to do with the small part of his King Steve persona that he still carried around with him, but he'd missed her, and it had only been a few hours.

"Woah, easy tiger." Y/N laughed, pulling away when Steve's hands started to travel downwards. "We haven't even properly spoken yet."

"Yeah. Sorry." Steve said sheepishly. He pushed his hands into the pockets of his jeans and smiled down at the floor. "Do you wanna talk?"

She shrugged. "Not particularly."

"So, really, it's okay for me to do this," He closed the gap between them again, beaming at her while he searched her face for any sign of disapproval and admired the little flecks of contrasting colours that danced in her eyes. And then he kissed her again, lips soft against her own, gentle - something that wasn't widely believed, Steve Harrington was actually one of the most gentle people that Y/N had ever met.

"Well, yeah." She grinned, breathless. "But I'm sort of in the middle of watching a movie, wanna join?"

And so they spent the rest of the day, wrapped in the blankets on Y/N's bed and Y/N wrapped in Steve's arms, watching movies that Dustin fished out from the cabinet under the TV that Y/N didn't even know that they had.

She had to say, Steve's apologies were often cheesy and terrible, but this one wasn’t so bad as it was enjoyable.

[abused-sides]

Virgil Comes Home [Roommates AU]

Trigger warning: This au follows most of the sides in the aftermath of surviving abuse (domestic, parental, etc). In this particular fic it’s not stated explicitly, but it’s an instrumental part of the story and if that bothers you, then please not only scroll past this fic, but block my blog as well. 

More tws: All sides are sympathetic, mentions of living in homeless shelters, poverty, a lot of flinching (though no actual danger), food, descriptions of severe eczema, please let me know if i missed anything. If there are any other preventative measures I can take to keep people safe, also please let me know. 

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

Ships: Endgame romantic intruloceit, romantic prinxiety, queerplatonic royality 

Words: 1729 

Virgil’s hands trembled as the elevator climbed. 

He was still in a sort-of trance, ready to wake up back home with his boyfriend on his way and waiting for dinner. He wasn’t convinced he was moving into his new apartment today, wasn’t convinced he was starting a new life. 

He flinched, the elevator ding sharp. He adjusted his backpack and ducked his head as he tiptoed down the hallway. He reached the door, but before he could knock, the door behind him swung open. 

“So you’re the new one!”

Virgil whipped around and puffed his chest out, squaring his shoulders. 

“Remus,” a bored voice said, “leave him alone.”

Remus stared with a manic, unblinking grin. His face was covered in stubble and his dark hair fell in oily, tangled curls down his face. Dread settled deep in Virgil’s stomach. 

“Remus.” Another boy appeared at the door, a delicate, scab covered hand wrapping around Remus’s shoulder. The new boy’s face was red and blotchy, covered in angry scabs and dead skin. A glare twisted his face. “You’re going to be late for work. Want me to finish, or not?” 

Remus’s face melted into a pout. “You’re the one that insists I put it up in the first place!”

“That’s because you look like you never made it off the streets.” The boy flicked one of Remus’s curls, his mouth quirking into a barely-noticeable smile. 

The door behind Virgil swung open, and he leapt back so his eyeline could catch both threats. 

“Are you two seriously trying to scare him off?” A boy who looked strikingly similar to Remus, only more… Put together, glared at the neighbours. 

“Don’t lump me in with him,” the boy said flatly. 

Remus giggled and kissed the boy’s cheek. “You’re stuck with me, Jan-Jan!” 

“I’m sorry about them,” his new roommate huffed. “I’m Roman. Come on inside, I’ll help you get the rest of your stuff.” 

Virgil’s heart pounded. He couldn’t get himself out of fight mode, even as Jan pulled Remus back into their own apartment and slammed the door. “This- This is it,” he managed. “This is all of it.”

Roman poorly masked his surprise. “Oh! Okay, well, travelling light has its pros, too, I’m sure.” 

He gestured Virgil inside. The apartment was exactly how he remembered it; warm, a little cluttered, covered in frames of photos of the three of them, beautiful homemade artwork, to-do lists, and schedules. Patton, the one who interviewed Virgil, stood in the kitchenette over a sizzling pan of bacon. 

“Virgil!” He cried happily and bounded over. 

Virgil stiffened as Patton pulled him into a tight hug. He marginally relaxed when Patton pulled away. “You’re just in time, breakfast is ready!”

Shrieking sounded through the apartment— Everyone flinched, and Virgil covered his head as the smoke detector wailed. A boy in glasses came out of one of the closed doors, disabled the smoke detector without stopping, and headed for the front door. 

“Thanks, Logan!” Patton straightened up and grinned. “Breakfast is ready!”

“I’m okay, I’ll grab something on the way.” He stopped in front of Virgil. His face was guarded, unreadable. He stuck his hand out. “My name is Logan. Virgil, I presume?” Virgil managed a nod. “Welcome. I won’t be back until tonight, but Patton works from home, so he should be able to help you settle in.” 

“Mister, your schedule is self-imposed,” Patton said with a scowl. “You’re eating breakfast! I know you won’t actually grab something on the way. Do you think I’m stupid?”

The smallest of flinches tensed Logan’s shoulders. “Of course not.” 

Patton scraped the burnt bacon into the trash. “Ro, set the table for me, love? Logan, show Verge to his room and get cleaned up for breakfast.”

Logan pursed his lips and nodded. “Come with me.”

Virgil followed Logan into his room. It was bare, walls empty and carpet vacuumed. There was a mattress and a desk with no chair. 

“We wanted to get you started with more, coming from the shelter and all that, but we’ve been short on rent the last couple months so we could only spare so much.”

Virgil was shaking his head before Logan finished talking. “It’s everything I need. Thank- Thank you.”

Logan glanced at him from the side of his eyes. “No trouble at all, Virgil.” 

Logan left. Virgil shrugged his backpack off and set it on the mattress. It was covered in what was clearly spare blankets, and a dirty pillow without a case. It was both so much less and so much more than what he left behind. It was his. 

From his backpack, he pulled out two t-shirts, a pair of jeans, a sleep shirt, a teddy bear, a stress ball, and a bag of cash. This was all he owned. It was all he needed. 

“Virgil! Breakfast is getting cold!”

He shook off the panic crawling up his spine with the realization that he did nothing to help. He just got here— How was he meant to help? 

He steeled himself, forced up a scowl, and headed into the kitchen. He fought not to melt at the amazing smell coming from the stack of pancakes, warm bacon, and hot coffee from the table. 

“Coffee, Virgil?” Roman asked as he poured Logan some. 

“Uh, sure.” He refused to admit he’d never had any before. “Thank you.” 

“Milk and sugar’s by the bacon!” Patton handed out napkins and took his head. 

“I’m fine,” he mumbled. He wrapped his stiff fingers around the hot ceramic and pulled it close to his face. It smelled like hazelnut and vanilla. 

Don’t cry. 

Don’t let them see you cry. 

“So, Virgil,” Roman said after downing half of his coffee, “Patton’s been talking about you nonstop, but we still don’t know anything about you.”

Virgil hummed noncommittedly, not sure how to answer. All the eyes on him made him want to crawl out of his skin. 

“Don’t be invasive,” Logan mumbled. He cut his pancakes into perfect squares, piling up the round edges on his fork and dropping them onto Patton’s plate. Patton immediately soaked them in syrup. “He doesn’t have to talk about anything he doesn’t want to.” 

Roman pouted. “I know that! But, well, he can at least tell us what job he plans on getting.” He peeked at Virgil nervously. “Right?” 

Virgil’s heart was in his throat. Was he supposed to know that already? What jobs were even available in the city? 

“Roman.” Patton gave him a look. 

Roman huffed and continued eating. “Well, if you’re stuck, the theatre is always hiring for the crew. We can’t get anyone to stick around that long.” His eyes widened. “Not that it’s a bad job! We just don’t really have enough money to pay more than minimum wage, and there’re limited hours. You can volunteer more time if you want, but we wouldn’t be able to pay for it.” 

Patton dumped approximately half a cup of sugar into his mug and stirred it with a child’s spoon, a frog at the end of the handle. “How about this: Virgil, would you want to walk around the city with me later? I have a few orders to finish up and then I gotta drop them off, so I’ll be walking around for a few hours. We’re sure to pass tons of help wanted signs, and we’ll see if anything pops out at you. If nothing does, maybe you’d want to go to the theatre with Roman tomorrow and see if you like it better there.” 

Virgil nodded slowly. “Sure. Yeah, I can do that.”

They finished eating, Virgil silent while the others engaged freely. Roman was louder than Virgil appreciated, constantly making Virgil flinch or go into defence mode. Logan occasionally noticed and gave him a small nod, or an eye roll in Roman’s direction, and it almost made Virgil feel better. 

Logan hurried out the first chance he got, claiming that he was behind on schedule and he really needed to get to the library. Roman was out shortly after, declaring something about the play they’re doing that Virgil couldn’t understand as much as he tried. 

On autopilot, Virgil picked up all the dishes and balanced it all in his arms. Patton looked at him in surprise as he carried them to the sink. 

“Wow, that’s- That’s impressive!” He laughed. “But you don’t have to do that!” 

Virgil’s face heated up as his actions caught up with him. He scrambled for the upper hand, “Yeah, I drop in short on rent, don’t help cook, eat my share, and I don’t have a job to get to, but sure, I’ll go fuck off and you can do them.” 

Patton’s giggling surprised him. “Well, I won’t complain! Thanks, Verge! I’ll just get started on my orders.” 

He pulled out the flour, sugar, and other baking supplies while Virgil washed the dishes. When he finished drying and putting them away, he went to leave, when Patton stopped him. 

“Oh, Verge!” Patton smiled sheepishly, his fingers covered in sticky cookie dough. “Could you grab the chocolate chips for me before you go?” 

“Uh- Sure.” Virgil found the bag with Patton’s direction and poured them into the bowl until Patton said. “Anything else I can do for you?”

Patton looked at him in surprise. “Well, if you really don’t mind, I’m going to have to use the bowl and other stuff again right after I get the cookies in the oven. Would you mind washing those, too?”

He didn’t have anything better to do, and he wasn’t even paying the full rent. “Sure.” 

He got those washed up, too, and once again asked if Patton needed anything else. He ended up helping Patton through the rest of his orders, getting powdered sugar and flour and cinnamon all over his clothes and hair. He knew more about baking than Patton had expected— Much to Patton’s delight. 

“Okay,” Patton said once all the treats were packaged up in pastel boxes, “I’m going to go clean up, and then I’ll be ready.” He threw his arms around Virgil, who flinched, but found his arms wrapping back around him. Patton squeezed him and buried his face in Virgil’s sweaty neck. “Welcome home, Virgil.” 

And then he’d skipped back into his room, door shutting behind him. And Virgil was left alone with the butterflies in his stomach. 

[idk-maybe-i-did-it]

Scars: Year five, Chapter seven

Remus Lupin x Reader

Warnings: Kissing, swearing, bruising, mentions of abuse, implied self-harm, tell me if you find more!

" No no Remus love you're doing it wrong."

Y/n giggled when Remus started to hug her from behind instead of mixing the cookie batter.

" Can you two stop kissing and make us some lunchhhhhhh, Jamal and I are hungry."

Y/n turned to look at the little boy standing by her feet tugging on her shirt. She gently turned around in Remus's grasp and grabbed his jaw lightly, " I'm going to make some sandwiches for them, how about you work on making their cookies."

The boy begrudgingly let go of her waist and dipped down to kiss her again before she was dragged off by a little child wanting lunch.

Y/n stood at the table making sandwiches for them all while Remus stood by the counter making the kids cookies on a pan and inserting it into the oven.

After he'd finished doing that, he left to help Y/n gather glasses for juice.

As she was slicing the sandwiches in triangle he heard her ask, " Can I ask you a question Remus?"

The boy turned around and nodded before he went and placed the four cups on the table, moving over to grab the jug of juice from the fridge.

" Why did I wake up in the hospital wing? I could've sworn I fell asleep in you guy's room and I woke up in the hospital wing at school. Pomfrey said I'd been out for a month but I don't even remember getting hurt."

The boy almost lost his grip on the cup he'd been pouring juice into at her words.

" Wait- You, You don't remember what happened?"

He watched as she shook her head and winced, bringing a hand up to her head before moving back to slicing the sandwiches, bring them over and setting the plates down by where the children sat as Remus brought their juice.

After she'd made sure they were fine and secure she moved and walked back over to the kitchen, sitting in the chair beside Remus's while the boy sat dumbfounded.

He stared at the girl as she peered over at him through her lashes and watched as she began to eat her sandwich, gently pushing Remus's plate towards him.

" Eat Remus, you look like a stick. And no, I don't remember what happened. The last thing I remember fully is being in your room, doing homework, then it got fuzzy, then I fell asleep. Madam Pomfrey told me I should remember everything in three days time and Professor Dumbledore told me that I would be staying at your house after he dropped me off here. I don't understand why I wouldn't just be allowed to stay at home with my mum and dad though."

She looked over to see Remus scarfing down the food on his plate and she internally frowned.

Remus looked up at her and scowled.

" Y/n your mum and father abused you your entire life, why would you want to go back?"

Her eyes widened and she quickly began to pull off her jacket and shirt, looking at healing, scarred, skin covering her abdomen.

" Is that where I got all these scars from?"

Remus almost choked on his air at the sight of her uncovered skin. Where burn marks and bruises, knife wounds and engravings used to lay laid healed skin. Of course there were scars where some things would forever stay but they weren't puffed up and red like before, they looked like a part of her skin. Like birthmarks.

Remus quickly turned and grabbed Y/n's shirt from the floor and tossed it in her lap. " How about you put a shirt on and stop joking around Y/n."

The teenage girl made slow movements to pull the shirt over her head before looking over to her boyfriend. She looked personally offended at the fact that he'd thought she was joking.

" Remus I'm not kidding, I don't remember any of that. Mum was always nice and dad would never lay a hand on me. Why are you trying to say they abused me? The only time they even raised their voices had been when they fought at nighttime in the kitchen while Liz and I sat in her room."

Remus almost laughed.

She had to be joking. I mean her not remembering the fight with James was logical because it happened right before she was knocked out but this, this is just impractical.

" Yeah okay Y/n, so you don't remember that your mum is dead and that you were adopted by some lady who is your step-mum and her and her husband beat you?"

Remus regretted speaking his words as soon as they left his tongue. The look of absolute horror on her face, having to watch as her breath hitched and her eyes glassed up again.

He hated having to watch that happen again.

" Oh Godric, you have amnesia." _______________________________

After Remus explained a simple, non detailed outline of her family life situation and managed to coax her from crying again they had to take the sheet of cookies out of the oven.

Y/n sat comfortably beside Remus on the floor of the living room, the two eight-year olds were asleep on the couch, flipping through the cookbook he'd used to make the cookie dough.

" Where'd you get this from Remus? It looks new, is it your mum's?"

The boy doubled back and wrapped his left arm around her waist, resting his chin on her shoulder with a quiet, deep laugh. " You did Y/n. Don't you remember Christmas at home last year?"

Remus's voice came out with a playful, joking ease before if became suddenly serious. He moved his arm off of Y/n's waist and moved her body towards his.

The boy brought his hand up to her jaw and gently moved her face to face his; her eyes previously being trained on the boys in the living room.

Her naturally s/c face was unusually pale and her eyes were glassy as Remus gazed into them in concern. His voice came out smooth next, calm and truthful; but it also sounded rhetorical aswell.

" You don't remember Christmas do you?"

She quickly shook her head and Remus pulled her closer, guiding her to rest her head on his shoulder where she had to hold back tears.

" I've tried Remus, nothings came back. The worst part is that Dumbledore never said how long it would take for these memories to come back."

Y/n took a moment to enable the calming scent of Remus before retracing her head and looking the other way, keeping away from his gaze. Remus. on the other hand, closed his eyes and leaned backwards until laying on the floor and banged his head against the wooden floor once. He would've bruised his head again had Y/n not moved over and placed her legs where he'd intended to drop his head.

" Look Remus, I'm sorry that I can't remember a few things but don't be mad at me about that. It's not in my control."

The teenager quickly sat up and his eyes showed panic at the saddened and distraught tone of her voice. He looked away and raked a hand through his hair.

" I'm not mad at you love, I just really want to punch James right now."

" Why?!"

Remus turned his head towards Y/n's and looked her in the eye before glancing away again.

" Let's just say that James is the reason you lost all of the memories of everything and I'm mad at him because-

" Because he shoved me into a shelf and put me in a coma?"

Her voice came out hesitant and Remus was surprised to hear that she knew as much as that.

" Well, it was a dresser actually but yes. I'm- I know it's not his fault because he'd been drinking and it just made him do it but I still can't push back the fact that he knocked you, my girlfriend, into a coma for a month and unintentionally knocked off half your memories."

Remus looked back at Y/n and was anxious to see her quietly fidgeting with the ends of her hair, her knees pulled up to her chest. He moved to lean on his wrist and gently brushed back the hair from her eyes, caressing her jaw in his hand.

" What's wrong darling?"

" I don't like alcohol and drinking... that's what the bad people always did before they did the bad things..."

It took Remus's brain half a beat to understand what Y/n had meant by the sentence before he was engulfing her in his arms, smoothing down her hair. He took a moment to smear his lips across her forehead before speaking in a loving and caring manner.

" Hey baby, don't think about those people okay. We got you away from them. You won't ever have to see them again sunshine, never ever again. They're gone now baby, they'll never touch you again. We made sure of that earlier okay."

Remus pulled her head back into the crook of her neck again as he felt wetness begin to lightly gather on his neck.

Of all the things for her to remember it had to be that.

And soon Remus figured out why Y/n had seemed so much brighter, happier, earlier when she'd first came.

She had forgotten all the things that made her dull. ______________________________

To say she was surprised would be an understatement.

Remus's normally clean, organized bedroom looked as if a tornado had hit it and his bedsheets were crinkled and unfolded, his bookshelves weren't even lined with books anymore because the books were thrown around the room in piles. His desk was still in the same spot and position as last but there were clothing articles thrown all around it. About the only thing in his room that had stayed the same looked to be the two trunks at the end of his bed, one strewn open and the other neatly kept clean.

Y/n felt a small click in her brain, almost unrecognizable but it was there, the second trunk seemed familiar. She had recognized Remus's immediately but the second one took a few moments to register in her brain.

She took a step closer to it and soon found herself crouching next to it and examining the polished wood of the frame.

It looked so familiar yet at the same time it felt so far away. Like a distance memory one could say.

She knew who's it was, of course she knew who's trunk it was. But she couldn't remember their name.

Suddenly, Remus placed a hand on her shoulder. " I kept your trunk here, mum said it was fine as long as I didn't go looking through your things much."

This is mine?

" Oh."

Remus took that as his cue to show her the pictures he had grabbed while she had been observing.

They were pictures that had been taken while she stayed at the Lupins household last Christmas.

Remus pointed out each photo and explained the story for each.

There was a picture of a h/c girl in a weird outfit, being held by Remus as he twirled her lightly. He explained that story, Ky and Jamal wanted to play dress up and dragons and knights and she was the damsel in distress.

" Do you remember that day Y/n?"

She bit her lip and shook her head no, taking the picture in her hand.

" I only remember skits of it. I remember making blanket forts, I think, and a flower crown and falling asleep with you and the other two but that's about all."

Remus nodded and took the picture from her grasp pulling another one out.

" I'm sorry Remus, I'm trying but it's all just out of my reach or not even there."

This next picture was a picture Hope had taken while they'd slept on the couch and watched old films on their television set one day.

Y/n was wrapped up in a blanket and Remus was laying in between her legs as they watched a moving picture box with a lady flying with an umbrella on it.

She almost jumped with glee with that picture.

" I remember that one Remus! I remember you sat me down and threw a blanket on my face and I hit your arm with a book after you got back from putting it in and I remember that I got tired and laid down and you wanted to be warm so I laid down and you laid down with your head on my stomach in between my legs while I wrapped us up in the big blanket you brought to begin with!"

Remus chuckled at her enthusiasm and felt happier at just the look to her face.

Instead of talking about the film he opted to showing her another picture.

This one was of Sirius, James, Remus, Ky, Mare, Y/n and Jamal as they all stood in the snow. It looked as if they'd had a snow fight and were attempting to catch their breath.

Remus looked over at Y/n to see the same joyous, giddy smile on her face as the last picture.

Oh how he loved that smile.

Y/n quickly grasped Remus's jaw and pulled him downward into a kiss, crashing their lips together. He reacted almost immediately and moved to wrap an arm around her waist, pulling her body against his again as he did earlier that day and moved to push her into a sitting position on his desk chair where he continued to kiss her until a knock sounded at the door and Mare came in, her sentence cutting abruptly off at the sight before her.

" Remus I was let out early, you watched the kids righ- Oh My Goodness. Remus when did Y/n get here?! Oh my lord Y/n you're awake again. Oh, Y/n come here. Let me look at your face kid."

If Y/n had been embarrassed by Mare walking in on them she hadn't shown it, unlike Remus who was a blushing mess, now trying to distract himself by cleaning his clothing off the floor.

Mare went over and held Y/n's face in her hands, smiling as tears pricked the edges of her eyes. Soon though, Y/n found Mare sobbing into her shoulder and crying.

The younger girl began to gently rub Mare's back and coo lightly. " Hey I'm here now Mare, you don't need to be sad anymore." ________________________________

" Read me a bedtime story pretty lady."

The child's sentence was punctuated by a wide yawn as he fisted his blanket lightly. Y/n moved over to thread her fingers through his hair gently as she whispered the words to a book he had previously picked out for her.

Remus stood leaning against the doorframe, watching the interaction between the two of his loved ones before Y/n started her way towards him, taking extra care to be quiet with her steps.

Y/n stood beside him as they just looked at the kids sleeping, they seemed so at peace with the world. Remus longed for that kind of sleep, it had been forever since he'd been able to sleep at peace without nightmares being his constant reminder that she wasn't in their world.

Hopefully he would be able to sleep better with her back again, and in the same room as his.

While Y/n put on one of the shirts in her trunk Remus changed into more comfortable sleep-wear before opting to sleep with a shirt on instead.

Of course Y/n noticed this gesture and moved over to her bag to retrieve the special gel Madam Pomfrey had instructed her to use on her arms and body twice a week for scarring.

The woman moved and sat on her knees on Remus's bed, patting the spot next her lightly as he shuffled over. The male soon took his shirt off and looked away from Y/n gaze as she lightly traced the newer, deeper, worse cuts and self-inflicted wounds littering his chest.

After Y/n had finished lathering his chest and arms with the gel he began to notice subtle changes in the skin of his scars.

As she went back to returning the jar to it's original place Remus asked her a question, " How did you know that there would be more?"

" Because I know you Remus, you tend to take it out on yourself when things go wrong."

" Yeah... So anyways, how about you just go over there and cut off the light and then you can come over here and just lay down with me in the bed and I'll just kiss your forehead and maybe your lips a couple of times and then we can try and go to sleep yeah?"

Y/n laughed lightly before she turned off the light and moved over where Remus was holding the bed cover out for her to lay in, curling up against his side as he secured his arm around her waist.

It seemed a perfect moment as they sat there, in each other's embraces. However nothin could ruin the moment like Mareabella did by bursting the door open only moments later.

" REMUS WHERE THE CRAP DID YOU PUT MY PEN AT!"

" OH MY GOD CAN YOU LET ME KISS MY GIRLFRIEND IN PEACE FOR ONE DAY STRAIGHT?!"

" OKAY BUT ONLY BECAUSE Y/N IS GOING TO BE MY SISTER IN LAW SOMEDAY!"

" Stop fighting kids!"

" Yes ma'am!" _______________________________ Yayayayayay I also haven't proof read this yet so yeah :) __________ Drop a vote, drink some water, eat some food and remember You Are Loved! ^ - ^

[playitaagain]

Masterlist

Pope shakes the snow from his coat, stomping his boots before he slips them off, sticking his feet into the warm slippers by the door. The coat is discarded on his labeled hook - Papa - followed by the outrageously colored scarf around his neck and matching hat, gifted to him by their little girl only last Christmas. 

The smell of warm spices and molasses hits him as he steps further into the small house, smile tugging up his lips as the excited chatter of their little girl echoes into the living room. It’s quickly followed by the frustrated groan of their son, so much like JJ’s even without genetics shared between them. 

“What do we have here?” Pope smiles, leaning against the door frame. The kitchen is an absolute mess. There is flour covering every surface, bits of gingerbread dough glops sticking on cabinets and hanging off the edge of the counter. Pope even spots a few pieces in every head of hair in the room, the dark brown a stark contrast to JJ’s blond hair.

Their faces are covered too. JJ has frosting smeared across his nose and cheek, specks of brown covering his pale skin and flour lines across his face, running from forehead to chin, suspiciously shaped like small fingers. Their little girl has the white flour covering his dark curls, gingerbread dough stuck to her cheek and nose, one placed strategically on her nose accompanied by a few dollops of frosting. Their little boy is a complete and utter mess. He looks like he just about fell in the bowl of dough, gunked in his light tresses, pale skin practically smudge with brown dough and frosting. He doesn’t seem to mind though as his tongue sticks out between his lips in concentration as he holds a bag of frosting in his little fingers to draw crooked lines on his gingerbread person. 

“We’re baking cookies!” Ellie cheers, splattering frosting on the ceiling when she throws her arms up in excitement. Pope eyes it wearily, wondering why he left his husband alone with the kids in the first place. He should have known they’d make a mess when he suggested it on his way out the door to do some Christmas shopping. JJ’s always been a wild card in the kitchen and this was no exception. 

“”Ookies!” Joey shouts, the cookie in his hand flying across the room and smashing against the wall. Pope doesn’t understand how someone who isn’t genetically related to JJ could have so many of the same mannerisms. The innocent look on his face is the exact same as the one gracing his husband’s features when Pope turns his gaze toward him. 

“It looks like you’re making more than cookies,” Pope comments, finally stepping into the room. JJ, crouching behind the two occupied chairs, stands up to full hit, clapping his hands together to rid of some of the excess flour on his fingers. It doesn’t work as the normally powdery substance seems to have cakes onto his skin. 

“I’ll clean it up,” JJ promises, but Pope doesn’t miss the quick movement of his hand, fingers reaching into flour before they flick at Pope’s face, covering his cheeks with the white substance. Pope stands in shock for only a moment, the room waiting for his reaction with baited breath. 

“Oh, you’re dead,” Pope smiles and finds himself a handful of flour as he dumps it on JJ’s head, arms wrapping around Ellie’s waist to pull her up and against his chest. She squeals in excitement, as flour covers her back, face pressed happily against Pope’s neck. 

“No using our kids as shields!” JJ laughs, picking up Joey to do just that with a laugh. The little boy has a handful of frosting that Pope finds flung at his face and he can’t help but laugh as the fight continues until the oven timer chimes and the whole family is trying to catch their breath. 

Pope can’t help the laugh that leaves his lips as he places Ellie in the ground, fingers brushing her hair back as she hugs at his waist, craving the closeness from her Papa like usual. JJ doesn’t put Joey down on account of the three year olds dropping eyes, face pressed to JJ’s neck and fingers tangled in JJ’s locks in a comforting grip. 

“I think we can decorate these with Papa after we get cleaned up,” JJ smiles, using his free arm to pull the oven open and place a tray of mishaps cookies on the stove top. 

“I’ll take care of those. Go clean up Joey and put him down for a nap.” JJ nods in agreement, stepping closer to press his lips to Pope’s in a late welcome home gesture. Pope smiles at the taste of frosting, pulling back with a hum and a wide grin from JJ. 

“I’ll be back down to clean up in a bit,” JJ promises, taking a nearly sleeping Joey upstairs for a nice bath. 

“Daddy! You said I could eat one when Papa got home!” Ellie calls after him. JJ stops in the door with a chuckle, turning toward their daughter with a nod. 

“I’m sure Papa will help you pick a good one. Make sure to find one for me too. I’ll try it after I give Joey a bath.” 

Ellie cheers in her excitement, scurrying over to the table to exam each cookie for just the perfect one. Pope exchanges a smile with JJ, heart filled with more happiness than he ever thought possible.

[inkribbon796]

Ring out the Old, Ring in the New Ch. 1

Chapter 1: White Christmas

Summary: The Lost Ones have their first Christmas with Wil and Dark, it’s as chaotic as every other part of their lives.

A/N: Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to all. I bring good tidings of fluff this year.

Chapters: 1, 2

~::~ 13 Years Ago ~::~

Snow blanketed over the city and it was the first winter that all the Lost Ones had with Dark and Wilford.

Typically Dark liked to start decorating the Manor around the second week and usually it was all done magically over the course of one night.

He took a day to himself to stay in the Manor and get everything right and then while the kids were asleep. The tree and little ornaments went up first. Then the tinsel around the banister. A pine wreath hanging on the inside of the door, and little decorations strewn around the house. In one room was a well furnished Christmas village with a model steam train running through it. Dark had been collecting and building up the village over the last five years and within the next fifteen years would grow to incorporate all types of building that the Lost Ones, particularly Illinois would find and add to it. It even had a little small skeleton figurine that had a Christmas hat hidden somewhere within the village and the first person to find it without powers would get to put the star on the tree that year. And over the fireplace, which was lit by magic so it would burn and the kids could stick the hands in the fire without burning skin or needing to be fed every so often, was not three stockings, but eight stockings. Each with and initial on it and their names on the cuff so there was no confusion.

The children would wake up to a holiday wonder and the adopted child would stare at it in awe. Arthur would, after getting over the shock start eating the popcorn off the string decorations and Dark would replenish them. Kay would hold his chest, afraid to touch anything but as the month continued on Dark let him hold the little snow globes and even move around part of the village whenever he wanted.

When Wil got home he and Arthur would play baseball with some of the dingy old, already half-broken ornaments.

A week out from their first Christmas at the Manor, Yancy and Yan started to get excited. Wil was back wandering around the Manor trying to find something.

Christmas Eve Yancy was bouncing and couldn’t stay still, he was looking at Dark who was sipping on some hot chocolate with a healthy dose of coffee mixed into it. The kids all had little mugs of hot cider for them to sip on. The base of the tree was still devoid of gifts but Dark knew that was about to change. He’d been planning gifts for them for months.

“Santa’s coming?” Yancy asked in excitement.

Arthur made an angry scoff, the young author talking around a sugar cookie, “Santa’s a dumb story adults make up to get kids to do what they want.”

“Arthur,” Dark warned sharply. “Stop teasing him and chew with your mouth closed.”

“No, he’s real,” Bim said as Yancy looked upset. “My dad shot him in foot last year and then hit him with a plastic deer.”

“Santa’s real?” Illinois gasped, poking his head out above the banister. “Why hasn’t he ever given me presents?”

Dark pulled out a long list of paper with each of his Lost One’s names on it and a long list of crimes that Dark had noticed just by watching the children: anxiety, anger issues, apprehension over Dark even being in their space. King’s was currently the longest one but Illinois wasn’t too far behind. From his already scant investigation his previous guardians could have more than afforded to toss at least one gift Illinois’s way.

From up the stairs, Wilford was coming down with Illinois not far behind him. He had an old fashioned, flintlock shotgun in his hands as he walked up to the chimney, “Stand back kids, Daddy’s got this.”

“Is it Santa?” Arthur asked, coming to stand next to his adopted father. “Is he real?”

“Oh he’s very real,” Wil promised. “But don’t worry that capricious bastard better show his face with some real gifts, or I’ll deck his halls.”

“Wil,” Dark called out, a warning.”

“What? He gives Bim coal,” Wilford scoffed. “Can you believe it? But don’t worry I won’t let him give any of you kids coal.”

Your son’s a cannibal, of course he gets coal, Dark thought, he had his head in his hand, “Wil, I ask so little of you, if you get me one thing for Christmas, don’t shoot him.”

“If he calls you a bitch again I’ll knock his teeth out,” Wilford promised. “You have my word.”

Dark made a pained groan, sighing. He looked at Wilford for a second before saying, “Go make some cookies or something.”

Wil frowned before he was convinced to put the gun away and started pulling out ingredients for sugar cookies. He pulled out a whole plastic box of cookie stamps and The kids were all looking at him in a mix of apprehension until Bim walked over and let out an excited squeal.

“Cookies! Cookies!” Bim cheered and Kay slowly walked over to watch but hesitantly kept back.

“Yes, Junior,” Wil smiled. “You want to pick out some shapes?”

Then he noticed Kay watching them from the other side of the counter.

“Hey there,” Wil smiled encouragingly, “come over here and help my boy, we’ve got plenty of shapes and we’ll have plenty of dough.”

Kay shyly and slowly came over and slowly Wil started making cookies but Bim was a bit more excited to decorate and eat cookie dough rather than help make anything. But Kay watched with awe as Wil turned a couple ingredients into dough.

The kids had never seen Wil or Dark physically make any food. Dark always procured food from somewhere, the kids never knew where and the fridge was always full.

But as they would start to learn with this Christmas, Wilford Motherluvin Warfstache was a connoisseur of all things sweet. He could make magic out of confectioneries, even if he could only manage to not to set everything else on fire.

This year was simpler than all his other endeavors, simple sugar cookies. But to Kay they were amazing.

During the creation process Dark had taken out a camera and started taking pictures and recording them working on cookies. Arthur got bored quickly, only caring if he could play in the flour or sugar, or even eat more of the popcorn string until he would inevitably get a sugar rush and drive Dark up the wall before dropping to the ground in a sugar coma, complaining of a stomach ache before falling asleep.

All of the kids would get to make at least a couple cookies but Kay would stay and slowly as the years went on compiled an actual cookbook of everything they made.

But tonight it was just Wilford and Kay and a dozen soon-to-be cookies in front of them.

“You’re doing very well,” Wilford praised as Kay stamped out the sugar cookies. Kay’s eyes went huge with pure adoration as he looked up at Wilford.

Then soot and ash fell onto the fire and Yan began cheering in delight.

“It’s Santa!” She cheered.

Wilford stopped dead and ran into the living room. “I’ve got him! I’ve got him!”

“Wil!” Dark yelled, leaving the camera still rolling on the counter as he chased after his boyfriend as Wilford was literally bending the gun like he was in a cartoon so it could point up the chimney.

From the camera’s position there was a gunshot and it caught a man in red being chased by a rifle wielding Wilford while Dark was chasing after him. There was a lot of screaming and cursing before Dark could finally return and turn the camera off.

[coffeeandcalligraphy]

Wicked Child | Feeding Habits #2

Hey People of Earth!

I’m back with another writing update for Feeding Habits (Moth Work #2) at last!

A few things since the last update: this project is 100% going to be a novel and also has a title (Feeding Habits)!

Chapter two has been sort of strange to write as I actually had written a majority of it before starting over after realizing the events I’d written needed to happen later. This is why it’s taken me a while to update on this book, but I’ve finally completed the chapter and am now here to share it with y’all! 

Here’s a scene breakdown of this chapter, which is probably the longest chapter I’ve written in years (6300 words). Buckle up, this update is THICC.  TW: lots of religious content in this one.

Scene A: 

We go through Lonan’s lonely morning routine (lol) that’s interrupted by Anya, a neighbour he vaguely recognizes. She’s there to take him up to her apartment to paint her kitchen as her husband is away and can’t do it, a plan he was not aware of! (Eliza’s voluntold him to hopefully distract him from wanting to help his friend which is outlined in update #1). 

Scene B:

Anya dips before the scene starts to grab some extra supplies to make Lonan some sourdough so Lonan is tasked with watching her young son Joey while he tapes up the baseboards. This is where the “wicked child” aspect of this chapter comes in as he compares the wickedness he feels he and others in his life possess to the full innocence of Joey.

Scene C:

Anya gets back from running errands and at first, seems to be a *chill mom* but as she and Lonan interact more, we get to see that something isn’t fully right with her. From some observation, Lonan finally figures out Anya’s husband is actually dead and she’s struggling with grief.

Scene D:

Lonan is back in his apartment, filling up his bathroom sink. We know from Moth Work that one of Lonan’s hobbies is holding his breath underwater, and he does this in this scene to think. In the middle of this ritual, Eliza gets home and speaks to him as she unwinds, reading rather cryptic notes from fortune cookies she’s brought home with takeout.

Scene E:

Unbeknownst to her, Lonan’s not staying for dinner as Anya invited him to her place as a thank you! However this news doesn't break well and the two bicker until they’re both successfully upset.

Scene F:

Instead of going to Anya’s for dinner, Lonan finds himself at a church confessional. He stumbles through reconciliation in a bit of a haze and eventually heads outside where a concerned mother and her two kids ask if something’s wrong. His thoughts from scene D overwhelm him and he eventually sort of gives himself up to the moment in a bit of a chokehold with the sun.

Though this chapter took a while, I’m happy with the threads I introduced and really got to see Lonan’s mind at this point in time--a sort of lonely state of living. There’s also a lot of religion related stuff in this chapter which is always interesting to write as someone who grew up Catholic, and I was surprised at how pertinent these themes are in this book.

Excerpts:

Here’s the opening bit:

The next morning, Eliza leaves two energy shots on the counter for him, along with a slice of sourdough she bought from the bakery across the street. Both sit on a breakfast tray, room temperature from sitting out too long, icebergs of ginger floating along the glass’s surface, butter on the bread gone pallid and spongy. Next to it, she’s left a note, as she usually does: green casserole in the fridge, running low on OJ.

Lonan retrieves the television remote from the nook between the knife block and flicks the TV to life as he drinks the first shot. Gingerroot—and this morning, a new addition, carrot stems—mush against his incisors, and he swallows just as the TV brightens to an image of some amphibian, a leafy looking treefrog. The crank of their calls bulge like each red eye, the familiar husk of narration outlining the workings of mating. Lonan scoops up the second shot with his pinky and the saucer of sourdough with his index finger and thumb, takes both to the couch where he sits.

Classic Lonan (TM) interaction:

He’s mid chewing the stale crust when he opens the door, expecting a package delivery, an unaddressed sympathy card. Instead, a woman stands in the door, her hair damp and smelling like the coconut salve Eliza rubs onto her kneecaps. He recognizes her face in a fleeting, neighbour-like way, someone he might’ve held the door open for, or let step off the elevator first.

“Breakfast?” She points to the crumb stuck to the corner of his mouth.

Lonan swallows the remainder of the sourdough quickly, combing off the crumb with a shallow smile.            

“Sourdough.”

“Did you make it yourself?”

“It’s probably from the back of our medicine cabinet.”

The woman laughs at this, though he’s not fully meant for it to be a joke. 

Apparently a new motif in this book is the word stunning that both serves as a descriptor for something magnificent/dazzling and the process of subduing an animal (love being heavy handed about this lmao):

She peers at their half-bloody kitchen wall. “You’re doing red?”

“Eliza’s vegetarian.” At the woman’s blank stare, he turns to look at the wall, examining each plane of his throat as hot embarrassment makes him red like the paint. “Her favourite colour. We’re trying something new. Avant garde.” All things he’s heard Eliza say.

“That’s unique. Very. So unique,” she says, adding, “It’s so kind of you to offer some help while you’re in the middle of painting your own kitchen. When Eliza told me about your offer, I danced in my living room. Is that weird? I danced because I’m going to have a green kitchen—a green one.”

Lonan nods, and steps farther back into the apartment, toward the stack of paint rollers, one of many rolls of tape. “Of course,” he says.

“It makes you feel alive,” the woman says. He forgets what she’s referring to, doesn’t know her name, only vague details like the jeweled bangles she wears on one wrist, the shiny cast of hair gel stirruped around her curls, her teeth, white, like the canines of a wolf. But she doesn’t seem to notice, a starriness in her gaze as she says, “The paint. The green. It’s stunning. Isn’t it?”

Anya’s initial dialogue is some of my favourite I’ve written. Probably because of the moon mention lol. Also Joey’s just chillin and I love him for that!!

The woman’s name is Anya, and she lives three floors up. He finds this out at the same time he finds out Eliza offered to paint her kitchen on his behalf, though what Anya says sounds more like “When Eliza told me you’d paint the wall, I could’ve—what is that saying? I could’ve jumped over the moon. I would’ve. The entire thing. All its phases.”

Anya’s got a toddler named Joey. He’s turning two next month, a little boy with a curly halo for hair, two dimples Lonan sees whenever he glances up from his tape-job of the baseboards. Joey eats apple slices dipped in almond butter and watches cartoons with both feet propped onto the couch cushion, too short to dangle down. Ever so often, he laughs, a shimmery sound, like the inside of a snow globe. Lonan half-watches him, as Anya’s asked—He’s good, don’t stress—if he cries, he wants you to turn up the TV—because she’s out of bread flour and insists on making Lonan two loaves of sourdough.

Some Joey:

“Joey’s good, isn’t he?” she asks, her fingers curving around the tape company’s logo. Lonan inhales. Anya smells like Eliza sometimes does, vaguely floral, like jasmine, or cherry blossoms. “Children are little blessings. Powerful little blessings.”

Of course, he should say. There’s no other way to describe a child—he’s a blissful little thing, his only purpose to keep his feet in his two-inch socks, to stare wistfully at a television like it’s telling his fortune in a language of pictures. Of course a child is a blessing—soft cheeks like the belly of bread dough, pinchable, kissable, thumbable, hands dipped into glittery tempera paint and fingers that make chicken scratches that will never be anything but art. Of course, he should say. He knows that, he should say. But Lonan’s vision fuzzes. He sees little of the TV colours projected on the walls like a hypnotic, technicolour exorcism; he doesn’t remember what it’s like to be that small, what it’s like to have his hands expand right in front of him, like seedlings. 

Here’s the title drop ft. a rewritten Bible verse (Revelation 21:8):

He wants to believe children are always powerful little blessings that stay good. He doesn’t know why he doubts her. Joey is just this—a blessing on her couch, smiling at a screen because it’s all he needs to do. But he knows better, knows the cowardly, the faithless, the detestable exist, where they all live, and how they all start—as little blessings. He’s met murderers, liars, sorcerers in the shape of his father, sisters, mothers, all the wicked things that emerge from their second deaths unscathed. He doesn’t know what makes a child wicked. If he is one. If he’s been one. How many wicked children he knows. 

Eliza hasn’t returned any of Lonan’s phone calls since he tried dialling somewhere between the first and last half of the wall. It’s obvious Anya knows he wasn’t aware of the plan, which is why every few minutes, she states new reasons for her forgetfulness with the time. “Eliza ran into me in the hallway, and I’m so bad at hallways,” she said, while rolling the dough between her knuckles. “So many turns.” Brushing her benchtop with more flour: “Time as a mother is such a commodity. It’s like, what’s the down payment for five minutes alone? But Joey’s worth it. Joey’s always worth it. He’s just magnificent. Can’t stay away from magnificence.”

More interactions I adore:

“You want some OJ?”

Lonan looks up from the paint blankly, focusing on Anya in an embarrassingly slow haze. “What?”

Anya reaches over to the fridge and tugs on its stainless-steel handle. It gives with a haunted sound, a subtle sort of groaning, and emerges with a glass bottle of orange juice.

“OJ,” she says, and shakes the bottle so the liquid froths.

“Oh,” he says. Green casserole in the fridge. Running low on OJ. “We’re low on that.”

Okay sorry but I’m so in love with Anya and Lonan’s interactions lol:

“Where are you from again?” She undoes her apron from the back with one hand. It falls, a lilac clump, onto the tile, and she leaves it there, only nudging it slightly with her toe.

Her eyes are golden too. Everything in her apartment. Even the silver parts are somehow gold. How much she could pawn off for eyes like those, like individual buttons of solid gold. Anya squints, and there the gold goes, focusing on him until she leans forward and plucks a strand of hair from his jaw. It sags with green paint, and before he blinks, she’s clipped it with a pair of kitchen shears.

“You got some paint on you.”

“Oregon,” he says. “Boston. New York.”

“What?”

“You asked where I’m from.”

Anya pockets his hair. He’s sure it’s a subconscious tick—she hasn’t even realized—but still, he wonders what she’ll do with it. If she’ll send it somewhere to get scanned, bagged, tested. How much you can find out about someone with just a nib of hair.

“That’s a lot of places,” she says. “You’re basically transcontinental.”

From her pocket, Anya’s hand twitches. He wonders what she’s doing, if she’s touching the hair, or flaking off its paint, or simply flattening out her pocket.

“Are you going to clone me?” He gestures to her pocket.

Anya doesn’t look.

“I could.”

“Why?”

“You paint walls fast. You’ve got nice hair.”

“Do you collect hair?”

“Just from the people I like.”

We get to see Anya unravel a little here as she and Lonan share a drink:

He’s always been good at watching. This is what he does as Anya pulls a miniature bottle of a deep amber liquid from her fridge along with the orange juice, mixing them together so what he pushes toward him smells like ammonia. She drinks half, an easiness as she swallows, and then slides the glass to him.

He leaves it there for a while. He watches Joey, how he claps when more animals show up on screen and gets quiet during the wrangle of commercials. He’s gold just like his mother, with a gap tooth that matches the man’s who grins in every photo hung neatly on the walls. A face he doesn’t remember, not even in the hazy slots he reserves for what he remembers working the hardware store. No evidence of him anywhere else, the shoes on the front mat only women’s heels or child-sized sneakers. One hook that holds one set of keys. Only the photographs.

“Where is your husband right now?” he asks. One wine glass in the sink. One coffee mug. One saucer.

“Businessman. Very busy.”

“I don’t remember him coming into the store.”

Anya takes another sip of the orange juice even though it’s Lonan’s turn to drink. Anya looks at Joey, a desperate fondness that answers Lonan’s question for him. She looks at him like she’s searching for the face of the man in the pictures, searching because she hasn’t seen it in years.

Anya really unravelling:

Anya’s face is bloated and red, a soreness in her eyes like she needs to blink but can’t. Lonan instinctually reaches for her hand, and it’s then that he notices it—two wedding bands on her ring finger. Her fingertips jolt him, but her palms are warm, the skin there taut, like she’s been clutching it for years.

“I thought the wall would help. Green means new life. Doesn’t it? I read that in a magazine. That it brings new life, I mean. New beginnings. New, new, new.”

Lonan getting existential ft. the first Harrison mention so far tho I’ll probably cut it because I want it to be a little more impactful and also half of this makes no sense oops:

His father is a dead man. Just like Anya’s husband is a dead man. Lonan knows so many dead men. Some that matter more than others, some names he revisits sometimes at the graveyard when Eliza thinks he’s out to run an errand as innocent as replacing a bad container of cottage cheese. He knows of men who are dead but still living, like Harrison’s father who no longer exists as a person in his dimension, but a corpse, hanging around in unnecessary things like a last name, an eye colour. Beyond men, he knows of many other dead things: dead pets, dead street names, dead countries, dead houseplants, dead first ladies.

He knows what a dead father does, what a dead heart does, that these things are meant to die—an inevitable thing; a sort of giving up of flesh, burying, toiling into new soil.

This is basically a monologue:

Lonan is in love with Eliza. He always has been. He always will be. There is nothing better than being in love with Eliza. There is nothing wrong with being in love with Eliza. There is no reason to not be in love with Eliza. Eliza is intelligent. Eliza is driven. Eliza is sensitive. Eliza tries to listen. Eliza knows how to take care of him. Eliza knows how to spell words like zolpidem, wears lipstick in the shade Very Vermillion and is delighted when it rubs onto her teeth. Eliza is lucky. Eliza is hypnotic. Eliza is a holy woman, a sacred woman, a careful woman, a wicked woman. 

Lonan gulps water. Too much to keep himself controlled; he sputters, splatters the mirror. He hooks his fingers over his waterline, tugging until water falls out. He paces, chews his palms like Anya did, and steadies himself slowly from the counter to the tile. He is a wicked child. Eliza is a wicked child. Everyone he knows—all wicked children.          

“Accept what comes to you each day,” Eliza says, which means she’s opened three of four of the cookies. “That’s truthful. That’s raw. That’s all you need to do.”

Some Eliza dialogue I like in reply to Lonan’s statement that he can’t do things since she bars him from driving:

“You don’t need a car to do things, Lonan.” She stirs her bowl of congee, the plastic spoon scraping against the Styrofoam. “You need hobbies. Like cross stitch. Pickling. Painting neighbours’ walls.”

Lonan and Eliza being Lonan and Eliza:

Lonan secures his fingers around the tin of madeleines and shifts once more, only for her to mimic his movement. They dance like this for a moment—his shuffle left matched by her shuffle left, his step up matched by her own. More of her mascara has smudged from where she unclumped her lashes, a lazy slash of colour like a samurai belt. Even their stares match each other—as he bores through her with a nimble focus like it’ll move her somehow, she does the same.

Here’s a line I like:

As she reddens, he adds this to his list of synonyms for baptism: to tame. 

Here’s an excerpt featuring self indulgence and proof I miss Harrison:

The confessional smells rank, like rotting paper and expired cologne, all of its corners seedy with overuse. Scratches mar the fabric he rests his elbows on, like someone clawed into it while reliving their sins, track marks on the floor from a rainy day. He can’t imagine anyone else but him in this small box, caged in by the lattice, mumbling incoherent sins to the priest he hasn’t even committed. Stealing a set of glass eyeballs from a garage sale. Forgetting his wedding anniversary. Missing Easter Sunday mass to go whale watching. He doesn’t sign himself at the right times or speak at the right times or thank the priest at the right times. He lies when he’s asked if he’s lied since his last confession. He mentions nothing of drinking with Anya, of not saving the sheep or the bunnies even though he knew the outcome of their lives without finishing the program. Of being a wicked child, of knowing wicked children, of not knowing the difference between wickedness and innocence, and which one he learned first. He says his name is Luka. He works at a law firm. He’s married to a Harriet, a seamstress or a stock broker or an antiques trader—he doesn’t know. He likes golfing, parcheesi, drinking martinis on yachts. He’s never overindulged, he’s loyal to his woman, he wants three kids and a house with finished floors and no neighbours. He’s a good father, a gentle father, a careful father, no wickedness, just an empty shell of goodness, like a father should be. His father is retired, and visits him on weekends—they play checkers, paint birdhouses, keep a distance but toast with spirits he can’t pronounce. Everything is good—it’s all good, all good. That’s not a sin, the priest should say but they laugh—it’s good to be good. Children are good, marriage is good, fathers are good, everything an iteration of good. By the time his confession is over and he’s well on his way out of the church mumbling I am heartily sorry, he believes his lies are true—he’s absolved into someone new, Luka married to Harriet, three kids, an empty shell, dreamily stumbling through a house with finished floors that’s actually just the sidewalk until a woman passing by with a two small children has to help him sit on the curb.

This image gives me Forever & Ever More by Nothing But Thieves vibes (music video was def inspo):

She asks if he needs something to drink, if he needs someone to call, and emerges with a half-empty bottle of sparkling water and a cell phone. She asks what’s wrong with his eye, and he doesn’t know what’s wrong with anything—with eyes, with children, with sins, with confessions, with baptisms, with orange juice, with madeleines, with wickedness, with practicing how long he can breathe underwater because he knows it’s possible just like walking on it.

One of the children, hair pulled into two plaits secured with pearlescent butterfly bobbles, pokes at her mother and asks if he’s crazy. Her mother shushes her at the same time her older sister shows him a cool trick she learned with a toy convertible. Its wheels whir. Lonan gasps. The girl says, “Even crazy people think I’m gifted,” and wheels the car again. People stop to watch. Church bells gong an elegy he’s sure he’s heard before. The woman’s sparkling water dribbles from his mouth and dampens his dress shirt. Sun eclipses his face and eats at his throat like a parasite, like it knows all the unclean things about him, a watcher, an eyeball, a scorching little thing that bullets through his neck like the tooth of a wolf. The woman shushes her children and asks if he’s got a health problem, a drug problem, any problem, and he could say yes to all three but instead keeps repeating I am heartily sorry, I am heartily sorry. And when she does call someone, no one he knows, he leans against the cool pavement, cranes his neck to the sky, and parts his lips so the sunlight fills his mouth.

So that’s it for this update! I haven’t really been drafting lately, but I hope I can get more of this written because I love sharing!

--Rachel

[freemanverse-casualcomp-au]

Cookies (?)

John trying to make cookies under Ross’ supervision. It goes very, very wrong. Someone please evacuate Ross from breaking down and dying please-

"Why the fuck you wanted to make cookies again?" John's eyebrows twitched upon hearing Ross' question, putting down their groceries on the top of their kitchen counter. Pulling out a box of instant cookies mix, the rattail-tied haired man paused for a moment to take a good look at the box and then to him, his usual grumpy face now had a hint of concern. "You better not burn the fucking kitchen like last time, I'm tired of eating outside and it's a waste of money."

He sharply nodded, eyes focusing at his laptop, its screen displaying a simple step-by-step to make cookies for amateurs using its instant mix.

He was determined to make these warm and sweet delicacies of Barney’s favourite kind; plain, dark brown sugar-infused cookies with chocolate chips sprinkled on the top of them. His long-time teammate’s birthday is tomorrow and he wanted to make the man proud of him for baking these bad boys, maybe even letting him help inside the kitchen.

(Looking at his captain’s inner flame lit up, Ross silently grabbed a fire extinguisher under the sink to the closest place he could grab on for safety measures.)

“Sheesh, can you not making that face?” He looked up from the screen, his green eyes meeting Ross’ unfriendly (not cold, just unfriendly) lighter ones. The ace frowned before he took a deep breath and passed the box to him. “Just check behind for additional ingredients. I’ll be helping if you break shit or something. I’ve preheated the oven so you couldn’t burn down this place again.”

(Looking out for his captain’s attempt to bake somehow made him nervous as hell. He decided to sit on a chair near the counter so he could immediately intervene if John screwed up on something.)

He gave another nod, his hand grabbed the box firmly and flipped it. He could see all of those needed steps and its wet ingredients. All he needed to do is to put a stick of softened butter and a large egg.

...softened butter?

He took a glance at the counter where Ross lastly put out all the groceries. Sure enough, a stick of butter and a carton of eggs were left there for easier usage. He grabbed the solid dairy product and squeezed it gently, his face slightly soured when he found out it’s still hard to touch.

How to soften a butter...maybe he could use-

“Cap, I know what you’re thinking right now from the look of your stupid face and no, you can’t use your damned crowbar to soften the fucking butter.”

John silently groaned upon hearing the ace’s blunt and harsh statement, but it’s true. Barney never let him in the kitchen when he saw John with his crowbar. It means that he needed an alternative to soften this thing up, but how?

(Ross saw how his captain trying to think other solutions to soften a single butter without using his favourite weapon and huffed in slight frustration. How is this so-called “FPS Expert” man also useless at normal things?)

“Use the fucking microwave, dumbass!” He could detect a bit of anger behind Ross’ statement as he pointed up above John’s head, at the top cabinet to be precise. “You grab a microwave-safe bowl from there and put the butter in there, then you put it into the microwave and use 500watt power for fifteen seconds. The butter will soften from the heat and you can use it for your stupid cookies.”

John didn’t want to admit it loudly, but Ross was being incredibly nice to him today.

He quickly did the things Ross had told him. Fortunately, Barney taught him how to use the microwave when he was still living together with his vice-captain, so that’s one thing he could do himself. As the result, he managed to get the butter softened and ready for use. He put the bowl on the counter and stared at it for a second before grinned widely and went over to his laptop screen for the steps.

(The sight of his captain grinning just for successfully soften a butter almost made him laugh out loud hysterically. Thankfully his common sense shook him out from that feeling before he explode from laughter. But really, he just noticed his captain is one simple normal man outside the gaming scenes.)

The first step; put all the ingredients into a bowl and mix until homogenous.

Huh, sounds simple enough.

He opened up the box and pulled out some packages containing the powdered mix and chocolate chips. With help from a pair of scissors, he cut the packages open and poured both of the contents into the bowl of softened butter. Finally, he grabbed an egg from the carton and tapped it on the counter’s rim, creating a small crack that he then used to easily cracked it open into the bowl without any mess.

He took a quick glance at Ross, eyes pleading for approval. The man looked at the contents of the bowl and gave him a thumbs-up, fueling his pride of success.

(...He swore he heard a slight squeal from John after that. A fucking childish happy squeal from the usually stone-faced captain of his. What the fuck.)

Now, to mix all of this...maybe now he could-

“Cap, I swear if you’re thinking about using your fucking crowbar to mix those, I’ll forever ban you from using the kitchen again.”

Welp, time to think of another option.

He scanned the kitchen for a stirring tool and his eyes landed on a big wooden spoon near the sink. With that, he managed to turn the pile of ingredients into a dough with no difficulty.

Perfect. Now to add my personal touch-

“Ah, sonovabitch, I need to make a call to somebody first.” Ross’ sudden voice startled him out from his focus. The ace got up from his chair and walked to the balcony while pulling out his phone from his bomber jacket pocket. “Be right back after this, and don’t put the cookies before I told you to.”

And with that, Ross was no longer in his sight.

...Is this means...

As if he was possessed, he ran into the pantry and grabbed a tube of tomato paste, a jar or dark brown sugar, and small can of sea salt. At the same time, he opened up the fridge and grabbed a can of Monster and cracked open the fizzy energy drink. He put all four items into the counter near the dough bowl and began to dump them all inside the bowl without any kind of self-preservation whatsoever.

A small laugh escaped his lips, and it’s not the good one.

(Holy fuck, why the air is getting chilly all of the sudden? Ross tightened his grip on his warm phone as he put it back inside his jacket and went back inside.)

“Yo, I’m back from doing shi- what the fuck are you doing?”

His head immediately snapped at the voice’s direction, eyeing at horrified-looking Ross. His signature grumpiness was replaced with a face of disgust and fear. “CAP WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU PUTTING- OH FUCK IT SMELLS LIKE SHIT!!!”

He shrugged him off, grabbing an empty baking tray with a sheet of parchment paper and put big dollops of the “dough”, even he wasn’t sure if it’s still considered cookie dough, but he feels like he did the right thing.

(He bet his dumbass captain thought he did the right thing, judging from his slight pride smirk plastered on his face right now. Hell, he’ll put all his PC setup inside that fucking bet.)

Ross gritted his teeth but didn’t say anything else. John knew his ace was in deep stress seeing what he did but didn’t say much. Barney loves food with tomato paste and he saw an article that chocolate chip cookies are better with sea salt added. He didn’t know about Monster drinks in them, but he hoped that they’ll turn up good.

After finishing up putting out all the dough, He put them into the preheated oven and put on a timer at ten minutes, then walked away from his crime scene calmly, knowing that Ross wouldn’t do shit to his masterpiece.

(If he managed to find Barney before his captain did, he need to warn him about John’s freshly-baked death in a form of reddish-looking cookies with chocolate chips)

-------------------------------------------------------------------

“Cap, I’ve put your crap in the cooling rack now.”

John’s ears perked up upon hearing Ross’ voice and hurriedly blitzed from the sofa to the kitchen, eyes sparkled with delight. He could smell the sweet scent of the sweet brown sugar, along with the tomato paste and the overpowering Monster. To be honest, it’s not too bad of a smell.

(OH SHIT OH FUCK THE SMELL IS SO FUCKING HORRIBLE, BARNEY PLEASE COME HOME-)

“Oh, you looked so damn proud of yourself for not burning the kitchen.” The ace commented, putting all of the dirty dishes into the dishwasher and turned it on. “Those craps better not be deadly or I’ll call the poison control crew.”

The captain slightly nodded his head, a small doubt landed on his mind. What if the taste wasn’t as good? He shook out those thoughts and focusing on those normal-looking reddish-coloured cookies. From a first glance, people might think these were just a batch of red velvet cookies with chocolate chips until they got a whiff of the smell.

Yeah, he needed a guinea pig to taste test one of them.

And the perfect candidate is just staring back at him with his usual grumpy face.

(...Why he felt like death is visiting him?)

“...What are you staring a- HURMPK!”

(WAITWHATTHEFU- Holy fuck he could see his entire life flashes before his eyes-)

With a speed of Lion’s EE-One-D*, John snatched one of the cookies and stuffed it into Ross’ mouth, which then the ace instinctively chew and swallow. His eyes widened and he seems to freeze for a moment before he dropped down to the floor and passed out.

...Is he dead? Did he just kill a man with food? Should he call an ambulance?

“Hey, I’m home- what the hell is happenin’ here?”

John froze when he heard that Southern-accented voice and slowly turned his head towards the source of the voice. Barney was standing near the counter, his brown-green heterochromia irides* eyes staring at them like he’d found a crime scene.

Well, he’s not wrong, it looks like a crime scene.

And he needed to silence the witness.

“...Gordon? Why are holding that cookie- URK!”

Like Ross, he stuffed his weapon to the vice’s mouth and made him writhe in disgust first before meeting his fate like his other unconscious teammate.

.

It was a usual Monday at the team’s apartment, with an addition of the team’s duo chef banned John from using the kitchen ever again, and the reddish-coloured cookies got disposed in an open dumpster fire and forever gone from their sight.

-------------------------------------------------------------------

Footnotes:

- Lion’s EE-One-D: Basically a gadget from R6S’s attacker Lion, used to detect enemies by movements and its detection is almost instantaneous.

- Heterochromia Irides/Segmental Heterochromia: When a patch of a different color appears in one iris. In Barney’s case, he got a patch of green on both of his brown irises.

[emmerrr]

omg em ❤️ if you can you could write about pynch snowed in + lynch brothers

anonymous asked: prompt: adam and ronan snowed in at Christmas and using the time to bake and watch bad Christmas movies and be soft and make out, please?

anonymous asked: pynch baking cookies, but Ronan is allergic to cinnamon and Adam doesn’t know that and Ronan doesn’t say anything because he doesn’t want to ruin the moment

(i’ve merged all these prompts together into something that’s kind of what you all wanted, i hope it’s okay! also this is also on ao3 here)

-

When Adam was finally home for the holidays, he and Ronan still had three full days alone before Declan and Matthew were due to arrive on Christmas Eve.

Adam planned on making full use of them.

Day one involved doing very little. They had a lazy morning, trying — albeit not very hard — and failing to get out of bed several times, alternating between coaxing the other back into the warmth whenever one of them got even close to getting up. Tired, unhurried kisses were shared under the covers, hands wandering slowly, fingers grazing bare skin, muffled laughter into necks. Quiet, nonsensical conversations that tapered out until one and then the other drifted back to sleep, before rousing again some time later, limbs entangled in the little cocoon they had created.

Eventually, hunger motivated them to move downstairs, where they cooked up a mountain of breakfast food in the kitchen before heading to the living room to make a blanket fort and watch Christmas movies for the rest of the day.

They’d made it through Elf, Gremlins, The Nightmare Before Christmas, and — because Ronan inexplicably loved it — The Holiday, before they stopped to make another mountain of food, for dinner this time. Once they’d eaten their fill, dishes were thrown into the sink to soak (probably overnight as it was highly unlikely they’d get to them before heading to bed), and then, arms slung around each other, they retreated back to their living room blanket fort for more movies.

Adam couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a day like this. A nothing day. Even the blissful summer with Ronan had been interspersed with work, and they’d spent most of their free time outside anyway. Today, Adam had barely even looked out of the window, too busy soaking up time missed, time with Ronan, time he wasn’t going to take for granted.

They were so full they could hardly move, but they still lay sprawled over each other in their blanket fort, made even softer by all the cushions Ronan had scattered. They watched both Home Alone movies back to back, Adam drowsily and unnecessarily pointing out all the ways in which Harry and Marv should be dead, if not incapacitated at the very least. When Marv got hit in the head by the fourth brick in Home Alone 2, he threw his hands up in exasperation.

“This is ridiculous. Just one of those from that height would kill him, and I’m supposed to believe he can take four and just walk it off?”

Ronan laughed fondly; Adam felt it rumble through where his head was rested on Ronan’s chest. “See, Parrish, this is what’s called a ‘movie’, and in movies, we’re supposed to suspend our disbelief.”

Adam rolled his eyes, lifted his head, and shoved a cushion in Ronan’s face, all in one smooth movement. “I know what a movie is you patronising ass. I’m just saying. They’re asking me to suspend an awful lot of disbelief, that’s all.”

“Okay, college boy,” Ronan said with a sage nod, before Adam shut him up with a kiss.

Between make-outs and more movie complaints, they ended up falling asleep down there before Adam rolled over and onto the hard floor and woke himself up. He dragged a disgruntled Ronan up to bed with him where they fell asleep again almost instantly, clutched close together, sharing warmth.

The next day was a shopping day, as tempting as a repeat of the day before was. Ronan had already got the essentials before Adam had got there, but they needed a few extra flourishes, snacks and drinks.

When they got back to the Barns and unloaded the car, Ronan stopped before reaching the porch steps. He tilted his head back and took a deep breath, eyes closed.

“It’s going to snow,” he said.

Adam looked up at the sky. It was undoubtedly cold and grey, but there had been no snow forecast. He remained dubious.

“You think?”

“I do.”

“Why?”

Ronan grinned. “Because I really, really want it to snow.”

It didn’t snow, not for the rest of the day, nor was there any sign of snow when they awoke the next morning. Ronan’s good mood was unaffected, however, and as he set about farmyard chores, Adam took over the kitchen to make gingerbread cookies.

He’d found a recipe that seemed simple enough online, and there were Christmas themed cookie cutters in one of the drawers, so he was all set. The dough didn’t take long to bring together and while it was chilling in the fridge, he went outside to help Ronan.

Ronan was almost done so Adam just waited for him to finish tidying up one of the barns and then they leisurely walked back towards the house. Halfway back, Ronan complained that he was tired and couldn’t possibly go on, so Adam gave him a piggyback, which involved a lot of swaying and almost overbalancing as Ronan was pretty heavy.

When they reached the porch, Adam dropped Ronan unceremoniously and went to lean against the railing, looking out at the grounds. There was a crispness in the air, and Ronan’s cheeks and nose were pink from being out in the cold for a while. Adam could see his breath mist in the air as he took in the view. It struck him that he’d never seen the Barns in snow, but that he’d very much like to.

Strong, sturdy arms enveloped him from behind, and he felt Ronan perch his chin on Adam’s shoulder. He twisted a little, enough so that he could reach to kiss Ronan’s cold cheek.

“What’re you thinking about?” Ronan asked.

Adam smiled. “I’m just wishing for snow.”

“It’s coming, Parrish. Trust me.”

Adam pressed back, snug in Ronan’s arms. “I do.”

Back inside, Ronan went to shower to warm up, and when he didn’t reappear, Adam found him napping, half-dressed on top of the bed. Adam threw a soft blanket over him, pressed a kiss to his temple, and left him to it.

Reasoning that his cookie dough had chilled long enough now, Adam set about rolling, cutting, and baking. There was enough dough to fill two baking trays full of cookies of various shapes; Christmas trees, snowmen, reindeer, and stars.

When they were out of the oven and cooling, Adam made some icing to decorate. There were only two food colourings to be found in the pantry, but luckily they were red and green, which seemed appropriately festive.

Using those two colours, plus a plain white, he set about decorating. They weren’t the neatest, but they were bright and cheerful, and clearly very homemade, which was exactly what he had been going for. He was just finishing icing his last one, a nice red star, when Ronan walked into the kitchen, pulling on a hoodie.

He yawned and smiled at Adam, adorably sleep-rumpled. Then he clocked the iced cookies on a plate.

“Oh, jackpot.” He grabbed a Christmas tree one and took a giant bite before Adam could stop him.

“Hey, I’ve only just finished them, the icing won’t even be fully set yet,” he said.

Ronan grinned, unapologetic, then took another bite. “S’good, Parrish,” he said with his mouth full.

“Good. Save the rest for tomorrow when your brothers get here.”

“Yes, boss,” Ronan said. He’d slowed down chewing his second bite, and he gave the cookie a closer look. Then he put it down, unfinished, and got himself a glass of water.

Adam frowned. “What is it?”

“Nothing, nothing,” Ronan said airily, then cleared his throat a couple of times. “Just…they don’t have cinnamon in them, by any chance, do they?”

“Of course they do, it’s gingerbread. Why?”

“No reason. I’m just like, mildly allergic to cinnamon. It’s no big deal.”

“Did you just say you’re allergic?”

“I said ‘mildly’.”

“Fuck, Ronan! Do you need to go to the hospital?”

Ronan was rooting through the cupboards until he finally found a little packet of tablets. “Nah, it’s fine, I’ll just take an antihistamine.”

He swallowed a tablet with water, and Adam watched him warily. “Your throat’s not gonna close up then?”

Ronan shook his head with a smile. “No. I told you, it’s a mild allergy. It just makes my throat itch and maybe irritates my eyes a little or makes me sneeze. But I only took two bites of one cookie so it’s fine, it’s not like I ate a whole fucking spoonful.”

Adam crossed his arms. “Why didn’t you ask if there was any cinnamon in them before you took an enormous bite? And for that matter, why, when I said I was making gingerbread cookies, did you not say not to put any in because you’re allergic?”

Ronan cocked his head to the side, crooked smile on his face that would have a different effect on Adam if he weren’t already annoyed. “Do I look like I know what goes in gingerbread cookies?”

Adam sighed. “Ronan it’s a pretty standard festive spice, it’s in almost everything this time of the year. And anyway, why didn’t you tell me you had an allergy? Is there anything else?”

Ronan shrugged. “No? Don’t think so. And I didn’t tell you because I didn’t even think about it. It’s not a Gansey allergy, it’s not gonna kill me.”

“It better not, because if it does, I’ll kill you.”

“Fair.”

Adam finished the cookie Ronan had half eaten, pleased that it did actually taste nice. He’d have to make some normal sugar cookies now as well, that Ronan could eat.

“You wanna help me make some more cookies?” he asked. “I promise I won’t poison you this time.”

Ronan mulled this over, finishing his water as he did. “Do I get to decorate?”

“Yes.”

“Then yes.”

Baking, Adam discovered, was more fun when Ronan was there. It was messier, and it took longer thanks to impromptu powdered sugar fights followed by make-out truces, but infinitely more fun.

He went to bed that night feeling full and festive and excited for the next few days.

The next day was Christmas Eve, and Declan and Matthew arrived at around midday. An hour later, it started to snow.

Ronan ran outside, whooping delightedly. “What did I tell you, Parrish? What did I fucking say?”

Declan looked up at the sky with a frown. “I hope it doesn’t stick. I need to be back in DC on the 27th.”

Adam looked across to where Ronan and Matthew were chasing each other around, slipping where the snow was starting to stick. The flakes were thick and fluffy and falling fast with no end in sight. He shrugged. “That’s three days away, I’m sure however much sticks will be gone by then. And you’ve got nowhere better to be now, right?”

Declan was watching his brothers too, and he half smiled. “No, I guess not.” He turned to Adam. “By the way, were those gingerbread cookies in the kitchen? Because Ronan can’t have one, he’s allergic to cinnamon.”

“God, yeah, I know that now, he took two giant bites of one before he realised what was in it. It wasn’t actually my intention to poison him for Christmas.”

Ronan and Matthew had circled back around, and were in earshot again so Ronan caught what they were talking about. He hopped up to the railing of the porch where Adam stood and kissed him on the cheek.

“For the last fucking time, I’m mildly allergic.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Adam said fondly, catching his hand in Ronan’s collar to pull him close and kiss him properly.

Back inside, Declan made hot drinks and Ronan made a fire, and they all settled down in the living room to watch more Christmas movies

“Can we watch Home Alone next?” asked Matthew after they’d finished The Muppets Christmas Carol.

“No, because otherwise Parrish will literally never shut up about medical inaccuracies.”

But they did watch it again, because it was Matthew’s favourite, and Adam napped through it anyway, cozy under a blanket with Ronan’s arm around him.

Declan disappeared for a while to make them all dinner, and after they’d eaten they played a few old board games that Ronan had found buried in a cupboard somewhere.

It grew late, and everyone started yawning, and eventually they all trickled off the bed.

And all the while, the snow continued to fall.

On Christmas Day, they woke up to picture-perfect views outside, pristine snow that had been undisturbed. They spent the morning eating Adam’s homemade cookies, drinking coffee, and opening presents under the tree.

Ronan had got Santa hats for everyone that he insisted they all wear; Adam’s was green, Matthew’s was red, Ronan’s was black, and Declan’s was blue. There was music and laughter, and wrapping paper crushed into balls and thrown around for Chainsaw to chase. There was thank you’s and hugs and headlocks. Given that there were only four of them, cooking dinner wasn’t particularly an ordeal, and they all helped, and they all cleared up afterwards before finally piling outside to make their mark on the snow.

It had been stopping and starting again all day, and was already very deep. They didn’t venture far, sticking close to the house as they built snowmen and had snowball fights. Adam ducked as Ronan threw one at him, and it instead hit the shed behind him. A whole chunk of snow from the roof of the shed dislodged with the impact, fell forward and cascaded down over Adam, getting freezing snow down his coat and soaking his hat.

He dusted himself off and glared at Ronan, shivering. “You’ll pay for that.”

Ronan laughed, but it faltered a little when Adam started rolling up a giant snowball. “It was an accident, babe, I’m sorry — Parrish, truce!”

When all four of them were soaked through with chattering teeth and it was starting to get dark out, they traipsed back inside for warming baths or showers, and by the time they were all, the snow was falling heavily again. Declan made them all leftover turkey sandwiches, and then it was another night in the warm living room with movies and games and stories, and laughing so hard it made their stomachs hurt.

It was a family Christmas, the way Adam had always imagined family Christmases to be.

It snowed all through the night, and Boxing Day greeted them with snow that was well over Matthew’s knees when he went out to investigate. The cars in the driveway were well and truly covered, and Declan spent a large part of the morning trying to dig them out, and also clear some of the driveway, before they heard on the radio that the road beyond the Barns was currently impassable, so there didn’t seem much point.

Matthew and Ronan were very keen to go sledging down one of the hills that backed onto the property, but it was incredibly difficult to try and wade through the deep snow, and when one of Matthew’s wellington boots got caught on something resulting in him accidentally stepping out of it, they decided to give up and try again when some of the snow had thawed.

They went back to the house, cold and wet with freezing, soaked jeans stuck to their legs.

“Whose bright idea was that?” Ronan said as they all stood in front of the fire, getting some warmth back into their bones.

“Pretty sure it was yours,” Adam supplied helpfully.

“What? Nah, all my ideas are fucking great. This has Matthew written all over it.”

“That’s fair,” said Matthew sagely. He looked up at Declan. “Do we still have to go tomorrow? I don’t want to leave before we get a chance to go sledging.”

Declan ruffled his brother’s curls amiably. “Don’t worry, I’m pretty sure you’ll get your chance. Looks like we’re stuck for at least another couple of days.”

Ronan looked up sharply before schooling his expression. Adam thought he was trying not to look too invested in this development. “What about work?” he asked carefully.

Declan shrugged. “I already emailed them. Not much I can do about the weather, is there?”

Ronan nodded, then looked back to the fire, a tiny smile on his face. “Guess not.”

“There’s not something you can do about the weather, is there? Magic up a heating fan for me?”

Ronan snorted. “A heating fan big enough to melt enough of the snow to get you to the interstate? I mean, I could try, but I’m not gonna.” He elbowed Declan playfully. “Think you should stick around here and have fun instead. It’ll do you some good.”

“Yeah, Declan,” Matthew said.

“Yeah, Declan,” Adam added.

He rolled his eyes. “Alright, point made. Now,” he clapped his hands together, “who’s up for a game of Monopoly?”

“Oh finally, Fun Declan has entered the building,” Ronan said, and Matthew burst out laughing.

“What? It’s the Pokémon edition, it is fun.”

“Really?” Ronan said, suddenly serious. “Fuck yeah, let’s play Pokémon Monopoly.”

After two games, of which Adam won both, he and Ronan wrapped up warm and went outside again.

It took them the better part of the afternoon, but they managed to build a pretty stable little igloo, just big enough for two. They crawled inside, careful not to accidentally take out part of the ceiling, and Ronan pulled a bunch of dream lights out of his pocket and threw them into the air.

They hung there, giving the space a warm glow entirely at odds with how goddamn cold it was. Ronan wasn’t wearing gloves, so Adam covered his hands in his own and rubbed them gently.

“Is this romantic as fuck or what, Parrish.”

“It’s romantic as fuck,” Adam agreed. “You should probably kiss me now, before we get frostbite.”

Not needing any more encouragement, Ronan leaned forward, cold noses on cold cheeks, smiling into kisses, huddled close for warmth.

Adam pulled away with a lazy smile. “Ready to go in?”

Ronan sighed. “I guess.”

“I can kiss you better in the warmth.”

“You’ll have to prove it to me.”

Crunching footsteps outside sounded, approaching fast, before Matthew called out, “Oh, an igloo, cool!”

“Matthew, wait!” Ronan yelled quickly, but Matthew was already trying to crawl through. He wasn’t as careful as Adam and Ronan had been, and, bear of a boy he was, his shoulder barged through one side of the entryway, and then the whole damn thing caved in, collapsing snow soaking them to the skin yet again.

“Oops,” Matthew said. “Sorry! I’ll build a new one.” He stood up and reached a hand out to both Adam and Ronan, helping them up from where they were now half-buried in the snow.

“You fuckin’ better,” Ronan said, then lunged for his younger brother, who leapt away with a delighted laugh. Ronan chased him back towards the house, Adam following at a slower pace as he dusted himself free of as much snow as he could. Cold and soaking wet was a feeling he was becoming entirely too familiar with, but he couldn’t find it in him to mind. Not when fun was the cause, and when warming up again was so nice.

The next day, the sun came out, and the thaw began.

They finally had the chance to go sledging, although making it over to the hill Ronan had in mind was still a bit of an ordeal as the snow was still fairly deep. There were only two sledges, a traditional looking wooden one, and a red plastic one. Ronan had also brought some plastic bags with him, stuffed into his coat pocket, which apparently worked just as well. Adam wouldn’t know; he couldn’t remember if he’d ever been sledging before.

Declan went first on the wooden sledge. He picked up speed so fast that when the ground leveled off he went flying over a small bump in the ground and into a copse of trees, disappearing. A moment later, he emerged looking sheepish, holding the now very broken sledge in his hands.

It took him a couple of minutes to get back up the hill to the rest of them, and Ronan just raised an eyebrow in question.

“I crashed into a tree,” Declan said matter-of-factly.

Ronan laughed. “See, this is why I should always drive.” He clapped Declan on the shoulder. “It’s all good, that sledge was fucking ancient anyway. Who’s next. Matthew? Parrish?”

Matthew held out a hand. “Bag me.”

“You don’t want the red one?”

“Nah. The bags are faster.”

Ronan handed him one, and Matthew arranged it just so, sitting on it so that the handles could act as a steering wheel. Adam was curious to see how well it would work, and to be fair it really was incredibly fast. The only problem seemed to be stopping, but Matthew handled this by rocking over onto his side until he eventually skidded to a halt.

Adam gave Ronan a knowing look. “This is going to end in scabs and bruises, isn’t it?”

Ronan grinned. “All in the name of fun.” He put the red sledge at the top of the hill. “Wanna ride with me?”

“I am not getting on that thing with you.”

“Parrish.” Ronan patted the seat. “Get in there.”

Adam sighed. He got in, as he always did. Ronan immediately hopped on the back and his momentum rocketed them forward and down the hill. Ronan’s arms were around him and holding onto the little rope that passed for steering, and he let out a happy swear as they sped down the hill. Adam laughed, exhilarated by the speed and caught up in Ronan’s infectious enthusiasm.

When they approached the bottom and didn’t seem to be slowing down, Adam yelled, “How do we stop?”

“Good question!” Ronan yelled back, but he managed to turn it enough to slow down the momentum, and soon enough they’d dropped enough speed to bail out without causing any injuries.

Ronan lay sprawled on his back in the snow, still laughing. Adam crawled over from where he’d ended up and hovered over Ronan.

“Happy?” he asked.

Ronan grabbed Adam around the waist, and hugged him close. “Yes, Adam. I’m fucking happy.”

They kissed messily, joyfully, both cold and warm at the same time. Ronan leaned back and smiled. “Have you had a good Christmas?”

“The best,” Adam replied, kissing Ronan again, because he could and he wanted to. Then he abruptly got to his feet and started running. “Last one up the hill does all the washing up!”

“Parrish, wait up, no fair!”

[cali-holland]

Teenage Love Story, Part Three- S.M.

Pairing: Shawn Mendes X Reader

Prompt: Eight months later, you are still suffering from a broken heart, and Shawn’s upcoming stadium show does little to help that. 

Word Count: 4700

Warning: Angsty angst again

Previous Parts: Teaser   One   Two

Based On: Death by a Thousand Cuts by Taylor Swift & If I Can’t Have You by Shawn Mendes

~~~

Taking the long way home from the airport, you prayed for each light to be red, just as a way for you to pass the time. You sniffled, holding back your tears- you couldn’t let your family know about this, not yet.

“Will I be alright?” You sighed, talking to the red traffic light ahead of you. You needed some sort of reassurance that this storm will pass by easily, and so you accepted the inanimate object’s change from red to green as a “I don’t know”.

When you finally arrived home, you only wanted to hide away in your room and quietly cry yourself to sleep. That’s all you wanted to do until you got back to school in a week. You tried to duck into your room unnoticed, but Taylor found you first.

“Hey, is everything alright?” She asked you. Her blue eyes were covered with concern as she took in your sad eyes.

“I miss him already.” You replied, presenting her with your best fake smile- one that says ‘I’m okay, please don’t ask any other questions’.

“Come here, I’ve got some cookies that need baking and you need a distraction.” Taylor smiled kindly, putting an arm around your shoulder to direct you towards the kitchen. As much as you wanted alone time, you knew this moment with her would be better than sulking pitifully in your room.

“You want some champagne?” She asked, already pouring you a glass after she poured herself one.

“Hey, that’s illegal.” Austin pointed out as he entered the kitchen.

“Oh please. What kind of older sister would I be if I didn’t offer you underage drinks?” She teased, handing you the glass.

“Thanks, Taylor.” You replied, sipping the drink.

“So I heard you’re making cookies for tonight.” Your brother said, a smug smile on his face.

“You better not be in here for the cookie dough.” Taylor stated, protectively standing in front of the dough-filled bowl that he was eyeing.

“I’m here for quality sibling time.” He raised his hands defensively as he spoke sarcastically.

“Did you apply for that internship yet?” Taylor asked you as she began to place the cookie dough on the sheets.

“Yeah, I should hear back soon.” You answered, trying to focus on the bubbly drink in your hand.

“I thought you’d be more excited about it. Isn’t in Toronto so you can see your boyfriend?” Austin teased, and Taylor elbowed his side scoldingly as she saw the frown on your face.

“It is.” You nodded quietly.

“Are you sure everything is okay, Y/N? Did something happen between you and Shawn?” Taylor spoke tentatively, not wanting to overstep somehow.

“Everything’s fine. I’m just anxious about the internship.” You said, putting on a smile for them.

“You’ll get it, and then you two can actually move in together.” Your heart dropped at her words. She meant it innocently, but the thought of never having the opportunity to move in with Shawn now created a dreaded feeling in your gut. You would have forgotten that you never told anyone besides Taylor if it wasn’t for Austin’s reaction.

“Wait, move in?” Your brother turned to you with raised eyebrows, “You two are moving in together?”

“He asked me to move in last year, but we wanted to wait until we were older and until I had school figured out. If this internship works out, then I will.” You lied, trying your best to sound hopeful. Your siblings got caught up in their own conversation about Austin’s life, and you looked from them back down to the glass of champagne in your hand. You drank it down quickly and refilled it a few more times before they could notice.

“I’m going to take a nap. Wake me up for the countdown?” You halfheartedly asked before disappearing upstairs. You only had a few glasses, but it was enough to mentally eat away at you. Your mental breakdown was coming and you couldn’t stop it. Hiding in the comfort of your own bed, you cried yourself to sleep, thinking only of Shawn and what could have been.

“Shawn, do we really have to go exploring right now?” You asked, holding onto his hand as the two of you got into the hotel elevator.

“When else are we going to see Paris?” He said, giving you a quick kiss on your cheek while you waited for the elevator to take you to the lobby.

“We can see Paris in the morning. How are you not tired- you just had a show?” You raised your eyebrows at him, making him smile even wider at you.

“Stop asking questions and let me enjoy taking you to the Eiffel Tower at 2 AM.” Shawn teased.

“You’re such a romantic.” You smiled as the elevator came to a stop in the lobby. Shawn held onto you tightly as his security team followed you two from the lobby to the cars. The next stop was in front of the Eiffel Tower and Shawn helped you out of the car. You stared up at it in awe; you had seen it before, but never like this, never with Shawn.

“I love this. I love you.” You said, looking over at him as you gently squeezed his hand.

“I love you too.” He smiled before kissing you. Pulling away from the kiss, you pulled out your phone to turn on ‘Perfect’ by Ed Sheeran. Shawn dramatically reached a hand out to you, “Can I have this dance?”

You laughed as he pulled you into him. The two of you slow dancing under the moonlight, singing the lyrics softly to each other.

“You look perfect tonight.” Shawn sand as the song faded away. You leaned up to kiss him again, completely content.

“Y/N, Y/N!” You woke up with a start to Taylor calling out your name. When she saw your eyes shoot open, she cautiously sat beside your legs on the bed.

“How long was I out?” You asked, hoping you hadn’t missed the countdown. If there was anything you needed right now, it was a miracle for the year ahead.

“Not that long. What’s wrong? You were shaking and calling out for Shawn.” Taylor asked you, her eyes watching you intently. You sat up in your bed, sighing as you remembered the dream you had. It wasn’t really a dream, it was one of your favorite memories with Shawn. You were accompanying him on his tour and the two of you were so carefree, so happy that night in Paris.

“We- we, um-” You couldn’t let yourself say those words, fearing that would make it real- as if it wasn’t already real. You bit your lip to keep it from shaking as tears sprang to your eyes once again.

“Oh, Y/N,” She let out a shaky breath before pulling you in for a hug. She held onto you tightly while you cried onto her shoulder.

“We kept talking about the future, but it never happened. I didn’t want to move in with him, not until this summer, and he’s going to be on tour this summer. I hadn’t even told him all about the internship; he doesn’t even know it’s for a place in Toronto.” You rushed out before pausing, trying to gather your thoughts, “I love him, Taylor. I gave him everything, and I felt so sure about him. I’m sorry I put you in the middle of this.”

“It’s okay, you know I’m always going to be here for you. Moving in together is a huge step, and you’re both still so young. I’m just sorry that it didn’t work out between you two. I really thought he was the one for you, even back when I introduced you to him.”

“It was a mutual decision, but I still feel dead. It’s like I’ve been cut a thousand times and nothing can stop the pain. I want Shawn back, and I can’t have him.”

“It’s hard right now, I know. It will get better though, everything will be alright soon.” You tried to find comfort in her words, but those attempts fell short. You couldn’t think of a better future if Shawn wasn’t in it.

You hardly smiled that night. It was a holiday, a new year, you were supposed to be happy. Surrounded by your family, you knew you should’ve been happy. You tried to be bubbly with a fake smile on your face, but it didn’t last long after the countdown. Shortly into the new year, you excused yourself to your room, where you cried yourself to sleep for a second time that day.

You woke up the next morning with a groggily sigh. It was still dark outside and you checked the time on your phone. The bright numbers told you it was 4 AM. You felt tears come back to your eyes as you stared at your lockscreen. You hadn’t thought of changing it yet. Staring back at you was a picture of you and Shawn taken by Taylor. To help your sister prepare for one of her secret sessions, you and Shawn baked cookies together. The cookies were in the oven and you two were covered in flour when he sat down on the couch and you sat beside him, cuddled into his side. His feet rested on the coffee table and your legs were stretched out onto the rest of the sofa. You had a guitar in hand, lazily playing a few chords, while Shawn played with your hair mindlessly. Taylor insisted on taking a picture, making both you and Shawn step out of your trance and smile for the camera. That was the day he wrote ‘Fallin’ All in You’, the random chords you had been playing got strung into the smooth melody of his love song. The picture once brought so many happy memories to you, but now it just left a bitter feeling in your mouth. You put your phone away, not wanting to look at the photo any longer.

Yawning, you got out of your bed and made your way to the makeshift studio Taylor had in her house. You grabbed a few pieces of paper and a pen off of the table and sat on the large black couch. Your mind was racing and the only way you could collect your thoughts was to write them out. Ignoring the tears falling from your eyes, you wrote out the lyrics to your first, true breakup song.

“Hey,” Taylor said, softly knocking on the door as she entered the room a few hours later, “How long have you been up?”

“What time is it?” You asked her, rubbing your eyes and cleaning your face of any tears.

“So you’ve been awake way too long.” She laughed lightly, trying her best to brighten the situation. She sat next to you on the couch and look at the papers in your hands, “What are you working on?”

“‘Death by a Thousand Cuts’.” You said, handing her the pieces of paper. She looked at you surprised before reading the scribbles in front of her. You watched as her eyes went over each word, and each crossed out phrase too, in awe.

“This is-” She paused, taking a deep breath.

“It’s not good, but I just needed to get it out.” You replied.

“No, this is amazing. I can feel every emotion in this.” She looked back up at you, tears forming in her eyes. You pulled her in for hug, not caring that you were probably crinkling the papers by doing so. She held onto you tightly and rubbed your back reassuringly, “It’s beautiful. I’m so sorry that you’re going through this. I know how much he meant to you.”

“He is my everything.” You admitted, staying in her embrace for a few more moments before pulling away. Once out of the hug, the two of you both sniffled and wiped away tears.

“Can I- Can I use this for the album? I’ll call Jack and he’ll-”

“Of course, you can use it.” You paused, “Can you give me credit for it?”

“You want credit this time?” She smiled teasingly at you, thinking back to all of the times she wanted to add your name to the list of songwriters only to have you decline her offers.

“It was one of the things that Shawn and I argued about.” You nodded a little bit, “Might as well get credit for it, right?”

“I’m going to give you credit for Lover too.” She stated and quickly sighed when she saw your pout. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s your song.” You reminded her before quickly leaving the room. Taylor looked down at the papers in her hands and bit back her own sob as she read over all the lyrics again. She knew you were hurting, but, with this, she could feel just how hurt you were, and she knew she had to give you credit for it because, maybe then, Shawn would come back to you.

~~~

August 2019

Eight months. It had been eight whole months since you had seen or heard from Shawn. The tabloids picked up on your breakup almost instantly, and you went back to school, finishing off the year with enough credits to now only have one semester left. You were thrilled by the thought of graduating earlier, but, after finals ended in May, you were swept away to your internship in Toronto. It hurt to be in the city that reminded you so much of Shawn, and you told yourself it was for the best- he was free now, he was happier.

You weren’t happier though. You were able to hold it together through school, but being in Toronto brought those depressed feelings back to you. Still, you knew you had to move on in the long run.

At least, that’s what you told yourself. Recently, you found that you really weren’t trying to move on; you didn’t quite know if it was from missing Shawn’s birthday for the first time in years or if it was just an emotional week for you. So there you sat, in the coffee shop that he took you to when you first visited him in Pickering. The two of you always went to the quaint cafe whenever you were in town. It was your place to share quiet kisses in the corner; your place for Shawn to drag your chair closer to his because “you’re sitting too far away”; your place where Shawn got so jealous of a male barista talking to you that you literally had to drag your boyfriend out of there so to not cause a scene; your place to steal some of Shawn’s coffee because you’d never admit that you ordered something disgusting after he warned you that you wouldn’t like it; but now it was your place to sit, alone, as you bit your lip and kept your eyes glued to your phone.

The familiarity of the coffee shop comforted you, drawing you away from the worries of your internship soon ending and school beginning again for one last time. You hummed along to the song playing over the speakers before it ended and the radio announcer began to speak.

“This next song is by the local himself, Shawn Mendes. Here is ‘If I Can’t Have You’.” At his peppy words, your heart began to crack just a bit more all over again. You contemplated putting in your headphones, or leaving the cafe entirely, but you realized you hadn’t actually heard his new song. It was a couple months old, and you heard from Taylor that it was really good. You avoided listening to it, you knew you’d break down if you heard his heartbroken lyrics. You couldn’t blame him though; you wrote a breakup song too, except it wasn’t yours.

“I can't write one song that's not about you

Can't drink without thinkin' about you

Is it too late to tell you that

Everything means nothing if I can't have you?” 

You bit down harder on your lip now, trying to contain yourself. It was an amazing song, but it made your heart wrench and your stomach turn violently. All of the hurt you’ve felt for the past few months was creeping up on you. You let out a small laugh as he brought up Toronto, thinking ‘way to be subtle’, but you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t walked past his apartment complex a few times this summer. You subconsciously started to play with the chain around your neck, and hanging from it, tucked into your blouse, was the ring Shawn had given you. You told him that you wouldn’t take it off; you knew that promise probably should have ended with your relationship, but you couldn’t bear to not wear it. You wore it as a necklace, deciding that a ring on your left ring finger wouldn’t sit well with the few cameras that caught you.

“Y/N?” You heard a faint voice speak up, drawing you away from listening to the song. Looking up from the drink in your hand, you were met with the familiar face of Aaliyah.

“H-hey, Aaliyah.” You said shakily.

“What are you doing here- in Pickering?” You knew she didn’t mean anything bad by her question, but you felt so awkward and guilty, like you had just gotten caught cheating on a test.

“I have an internship in Toronto this summer, and, well, this place has the best coffee.” You offered her a weak smile. She took the seat across from you cautiously.

“Shawn was always biased towards this place. It’s nostalgic for him now.” She stated before looking at you with concerned eyes, “How is everything for you?”

“I have school again next week, and I graduate in December. It’s kind of crazy now.”

“Congratulations. I’m glad you’re doing alright. And congrats on Taylor’s album. It’s amazing.”

“Yeah, it is. Thank you.” There was a small silence that filled the air between the two of you, “How’s Shawn?” You asked, almost uncertain if you were even allowed to mention him.

“Busy with tour. We did get to see him for his birthday so that was fun.”

“That’s nice.”

“He really misses you, you know?” She said, reaching out a hand to place on yours. She gently squeezed it, “I can tell you miss him too.”

“It won’t work between us, not anymore.” You replied. You couldn’t tell if you were trying to convince Aaliyah or yourself of that.

“It could, if you’d let it. I don’t know much about love, but I know I just want something as rich as what you and Shawn had.”

“Who would’ve thought a fifteen year old would be giving me relationship advice?” You teased, lightening the mood.

“Well, take it from him then.” She nodded up towards the ceiling as the song ended.

“Is it too late to tell you that, Everything means nothing if I can't have you?” Shawn’s voice seemed to echo over the speakers as the song came to an end.

“Thank you, Aaliyah, but I have to go.” You told her. She stood up with you and gave you a quick hug. You rushed yourself out of the coffee shop and hurried back to your rented apartment.

Once inside the safety of your room, you laid on your bed and just cried, cried for everything that you’ve lost in the past eight months. Shawn’s words echoed in your head; no, it wasn’t too late to tell you that everything means nothing if he can’t have you and you wanted nothing more than to tell him that. 

Before you could stop yourself, you pulled up his contact in your messages. The last text sent between the two of you was him telling you that he had landed in Rhode Island with a few heart emojis- you two were so happy just a few days before your breakup, and maybe that’s what made it even more painful. You froze as you saw the typing bubbles appear from his side. Your eyes stayed focused on them- Shawn was typing, Shawn was texting you again? You waited, and they disappeared, before reappearing again. Then they were gone all too quickly. You waited a few more minutes, but nothing came through.

Sighing, you opened up your Instagram app, something that you’ve rarely been active on since last year. You instantly went to Shawn’s page. Your heart fluttered as you saw his icon picture remained the same as it was eight months ago- a picture that you had taken of him while he was recording his album. Neither of you had unfollowed each other, not that that makes a big difference to you, but you hadn’t seen any of his posts. 

Scrolling through it, you smiled at his posts. You went all the way back to eight months ago, and you felt relieved to see he hadn’t deleted any of your pictures. Call you childish for worrying about it, but this gave you a sense of hope, like maybe things didn’t have to be over forever. Seeing the photos of the two of you made you fall more in love with him- something that you didn’t think could happen, you didn’t think you could possibly love someone this much.

You saw he had a new story up. Curiously, you tapped on the icon and it pulled up a screenshot of him listening to ‘Lover’. It was the song, the song you wrote about him, the song that debuted you as a songwriter for Taylor’s album. He added a heart emoji to the post and, upon seeing the time on the song, you knew exactly which line it was: ‘I’ve loved you three summers now, honey, but I want ‘em all’. After spending three and a half years together- three summers exactly, you could tell that Shawn knew how much that line meant to you, and, now, you weren’t going to have any more summer with him. This summer was the first one without him in years, and it was your worst summer.

And just like that, as you sat there, the wave of memories hit you. You remembered it all, you remembered every spark in your relationship with Shawn- and every spark felt so special.

You remembered your first kiss with Shawn, back in July of 2015. It was a few days after you two returned back from Toronto. Your second date, the one that Shawn planned, was a simple movie night in his hotel room. While watching Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, you sat on the uncomfortable hotel bed next to Shawn. The popcorn bowl sat in between you two on the orange comforter. Towards the end of the film, he let out a large sigh before turning to you. You asked what was wrong, if he didn’t like the movie, and he shook his head, saying, “I chose the wrong movie. I wanted to kiss you, but Sirius dying is a bit of a buzzkill”. You let out a laugh at his pout, telling him that, while Sirius’ death is sad, you’d be happy to kiss him anyway. He finally kissed you and it was simple, just a peck. As he went to pull away, your hands went to his cheeks, pulling him in for another kiss and another one and another one. It was all innocent since you were both only sixteen, but, needless to say, you two weren’t allowed in a hotel room alone again for a while.

You remembered how you knew you were in love with Shawn when he tried to stand through your sunroof as you drove him down a lonely Tennessee road at sunset; he was singing ‘Use Somebody’ by Kings of Leon and, instead of making it out the sunroof, he fell clumsily into your lap. You hadn’t laughed that much in a long time and you loved how his face turned red- either from embarrassment or pure joy you couldn’t tell- how his smile stretched all the way across his face, how his nose scrunched up, how he felt just laying there in your lap. You teased him, saying that “it’s not that hard to stand through a sunroof” and he sat up, laughing. He calmed down and admitted he wanted to try it because you had always enjoyed yourself while you do it- you loved it and so he wanted to experience that too. You knew you loved him in that moment, even though you had only known him four short, but amazing months.

You remembered how it felt the first time telling him that you loved him. It was a few weeks after that car ride, and you were accompanying him to one of his shows. He started to panic, his anxiety was taking over and he didn’t know if he could handle going on stage. You pulled him aside and gently placed your hands around his neck, keeping his face close to yours while your fingers played with the curls at the nape of his neck as a way to calm him down. You were comforting him, telling him that he was going to do amazing and that everyone was there to support him no matter what; when you said you loved him, it slipped out. His worried expression softened as he repeated it back to you.

You remembered how it felt to fall in love with him all over again after not seeing him in person for months. You had never fallen out of love, but the reconnection made it all seem so much more passionate. Shawn surprised you in the middle of the night. You were asleep and almost freaked out when you woke up to something beside you. When you realized that a sleepy Shawn had climbed into your bed without waking you up, you calmed down. He chuckled at your actions before pulling you into his chest. You loved it when he did that, you loved the sound of his heart beating and how, sometimes if you say something flirty, you could feel it quicken underneath you. You found comfort in the way his hands would tangle into your hair.

You remembered all the times the two of you were there for each other: when you held his hand as he got his first tattoo, even though he refused to admit that he was nervous; when you were the first person that he’d run to after coming off stage and how you hugged him so tightly despite his sweatiness; when you’d call him after every exam because you knew he’d ask you about it and reassure you that you did fine; when you had a particularly rough week at school and the two of you escaped to Japan for a few days, where he wrote ‘Lost in Japan’ and dedicated it you; when he held you so tenderly after you learned of your mother’s cancer and he even took a few days off of recording to be with you in Nashville; when he first played you his third album as he needed to hear your reassurance before he released it; when you facetimed him as the Grammy nominations came out, wanting to be the first person to congratulate him even if you couldn’t be with him because of school; and when it was announced that he’d be headlining Rogers Centre and how you held him as he cried from feeling overwhelmed.

You even remembered back to the day he showed you around Toronto and pointed at the stadium, saying, “I’m playing there in October for Taylor, but one day I’m going to headline it,” and you wanted nothing more than to kiss him right then. You told him you’d be there, in the front row, when that day came. You remember the confident smile on his face as he began to tell you about all the times he’d been there. And, now, you felt heartbroken again, knowing that you wouldn’t be there, in the front row, on that day.

Overwhelmed by your resurfaced feelings, you called the one person that you felt could help you. As soon as the call was answered, you spoke up.

“Hey, Aaliyah, could you do me a favor?”

Part Four    Part Five

~~~

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