#i’m not saluting you living room people i promise

[hyper-fixates]

Visions of a Life

Old Man!Logan x AFAB!reader (no pronouns/gendered language).

Explicit content (18+)

Word count: 5.7k

Tags/warnings: age-gap due to logan’s mutation (reader’s age not specified), established relationship, mutant!reader, not canon-compliant, fluff, domesticity, explicit language, dry humping, brief unprotected sex, angst (and i’m not joking), soft!logan, groping, a few uses of “baby”, mentions & allusions to death (no one dies tho), descriptions of blood (kindly let me know if anything was missed!).

Summary: What does an animal do when he’s sick? He goes away to die.

Notes: this was supposed to take a different route, but it just didn’t feel right as i went along…forgive me for being a bit of a LIAR 🙃

The dry Texas heat faded with each kilometre you travelled. The desert slowly turned into rangelands, and the rangelands eventually became the frozen, snow-covered ground of Alberta. 

The trip was only a couple days, and the stark change in weather almost made your bones nearly seize and shatter when you stepped out of the truck and were met with the sharp winter wind. 

The cold definitely made Logan’s bones ache more than they already do. 

Not even his red flannel and jean jacket can offset the negative temperature in the slightest. 

“Hm…wow. Cute,” you say in succession, taking a few slow steps toward the quaint cabin. 

It’s all dark, smooth wood that stands out amongst the bare, white birch trees and blue spruces that are covered in a light dusting of this morning’s snow.

The second thing you notice is the quiet. 

It’s so quiet. No neighbours, no highways—just silence, and the slight rustling of the wind through the tree branches. 

You’re deep in the bush, a spot near the south-west border that gives a partial view of the Rockies.

“Grab your bag,” Logan says as he shuts his door, the sound cutting violently through the still air. 

It’s almost eerily quiet. No chirping birds, no chittering squirrels, no howling wolves in the distance. Just you and Logan. Isolated. 

It’s everything he’s been yearning for since living in Mexico and spending more than enough time working in El Paso. 

It’s what he’s been missing desperately ever since living down south—Alberta—his real home. Yet it’s a place that holds no significance to you.

“Yes, sir,” you remark with a lazy, mocking salute of your hand, smirking at how Logan glares at you harmlessly as he walks by you to the cabin.

Logan decided it’s time. Time to come back. Time to be realistic about your future, or lack of, together.

He decided that he’s done fighting himself, and that there’s nothing left for either of you in Mexico even if it’s all you’ve come to know. 

He refused to let himself die in the desert and leave you with nothing but sand. There was no comfort there. No semblance of a promise.

The light snow crunches under your steps back to the truck, your breath swirling in small clouds around you. You yank your bag out from the backseat and slam the door as Logan did, hearing the sound echo into the wind before dissipating into nothing. 

If you focused heard enough, you could probably hear your heartbeat. That’s how silent it is.

“Creepy,” you mumble to yourself as you follow the imprints of Logan’s footsteps back to the cabin.

You go up the few rickety stairs, stomping your shoes clean on the equally rickety deck, and open the squeaky door. 

It’s definitely not a space that’s meant for more than two people.

It’s one level, open concept, and surely not heated by a furnace. The living room is directly to the left—you’re basically already standing in it—and a small kitchen is off to the right. The single bedroom straight ahead is the only room besides the bathroom that’s hidden behind walls and a door. 

And that’s it. Simple. Efficient. No walls, no doors, save for the bedroom and bathroom. It’s surprisingly intimate. 

“Please tell me there’s heat,” you lament, watching Logan dust off the few surfaces of fixtures and furniture as you toe off your wet shoes. 

Logan gives you a look. “There’s a fireplace.” He gestures to the barren, ash-filled pit that sits at the bottom of the chimney in the corner of the room. 

Above it, a mantle with a little T.V. “Cable?” You wonder aloud. This place is already more luxurious than what you had in Mexico, but at least in Mexico you didn’t have to worry about freezing to death in your sleep.

Logan limps along to the bedroom with his bag. “Satellite.” 

You suck your tongue against your teeth, following Logan to the bedroom. When you step through the doorway, you almost cackle. 

“Oh for fucks sake. We are never gonna fucking fit on that, Logan. Oh my God,” you moan in disbelief at the size of the bed. “You’re probably not even gonna fit on it.” Your voice pitches a little in exasperation. 

The mattress was maybe a twin. Maybe. It’s propped up on a thin metal frame that creaks and groans as you experimentally lean forward on your hands and bear some weight on it. 

“I do.” He tosses both your bags on the outdated armchair in the corner of the room. 

Your entire lives are in those bags. You only brought what you needed and what could fit. There wasn’t much to bring along from Mexico besides clothes and the necessary toiletries anyway. Anything else can be found and replaced back in town if needed.

He steps back to the bed next to you. “Relax. There’s always the couch,” he points out. “We don’t have to sleep together.”

You have never slept apart—he knows that—and that’s definitely not going to start now. This time is precious. 

You briefly recall the worn couch sitting in the middle of the living room in front of the fireplace: it’s a brown and red plaid pattern, probably from the 80s, and four cushions long. 

This cabin was stuck in time just as much as Logan likes to say he is.

“Help me grab some wood to get a fire going,” he says, giving the top of your head a chaste kiss. “It’s supposed to snow again tonight.” He slips past you out the doorway, the warm, lingering touch of his hand on your shoulder sends a shiver through your body. 

You saw a decent stack of pre-cut logs piled in the other corner of the living room when you came in, and you wonder who’s been taking care of things here while Logan’s been down south. 

The wood looked fresh, but the dust on the coffee table and window ledges suggests no one’s been here for months.

You figure that dust is the least of Logan’s worries right now.

━━━━

The fire crackles and pops softly, the bright light from the T.V. illuminating the dark room as you comfortably watch the Flames game horizontally—on Logan—from the outdated couch. 

The warmth from the flickering orange blaze in the chimney blankets you both, almost trying to melt you together like wax.

Logan lies on his back, legs spread to accommodate your body as you lay stomach-to-stomach, using his chest as a pillow while he uses the well-worn armrest as his. 

It’s the middle of the second period and the game is tied 2-2. You can feel yourself drifting in and out of sleep even though the analog bird clock hung next to the T.V. shows it’s barely 11 p.m. 

You know Logan isn’t asleep because he’s tracing a finger slowly up and down your spine. That’s what’s putting you to sleep, but the obnoxious ads pull you back into consciousness when the game cuts to commercial each time. 

Despite the volume of the T.V., you can still hear the rattling in Logan’s lungs with each breath he takes. 

The ear that’s pressed against his chest picks it up easily; it’s otherwise undetectable if you aren’t right up against him. 

You don’t want to forget that this isn’t, in fact, a fun little vacation that you’ll both return to Mexico from. This is where Logan will spend the rest of his days with you. There is no going back to Mexico, no future anywhere but here within these walls. 

Logan will die here. Like he wants to—at home, with you, surrounded by snow.

“Are you tired?” You say quietly. Your eyes aren’t even open as you ask.

A small chuckle makes your head vibrate. “I’m always tired,” he rasps, his voice rumbling deeply in his chest against your ear.

“Want me to put you to sleep?” You offer, thumbing the material of his flannel, eyes still closed.

He shifts, adjusting his neck. “No. I’m fine,” he explains, and you’re curious to see if he will fall asleep as easy as you can make him.

All it takes is a touch of a finger and a whispered command for him to slip into near unbreakable unconsciousness that lasts throughout the night. 

You hum. “If you need it, just wake me if I’m asleep,” you reassure. 

Almost every night in Mexico you’d knock him out cold, only you didn’t have to use a punch to do so. The press of your finger against his temple was enough. If he was in better health maybe it would take a bit more concentration and demanding, but it’s quick, nearly effortless.

Somnous is all you need to say—sleep. And his body can’t resist the surge of the pseudo-sedative that comes from within you.

━━━━

A chill that you’ve never felt before wakes you. It’s one that can only come with negative temperatures seeping back into the cabin.

Your body tenses and you peel your eyes open. The faint glow of red coals pulsing in front of you quickly tells you that no one made it off the couch last night, that no one slept on that sad excuse of a bed in the next room.

You and Logan are right where you left each other.

Logan breathes steadily under you, that rattling in his lungs still present even in sleep. It never wavers. It will never go away.

You try to carefully peel yourself off of him, stifling a groan as your limbs stretch and twist for the first time in hours. The tightness in your shoulders makes you clench your teeth. 

A few pops and cracks release from your joints, and then you’re free from Logan’s warmth. From the looks of it, he seems comfortable, but you know he’s going to complain about his back and neck as soon as he wakes up.

Thankfully, you’ll help him with that, just like his sleep. Just like you do with everything else. 

Remedium, you’ll mutter as your fingers trace along his temple. Relief.  

You can fix the superficial—a sore neck, a headache—but you can’t fix something that’s as embedded and chronic as what’s killing him.

You’re the cure. The cure for everything except whatever is festering inside him. He says it’s the adamantium, that it’s poisoning him, but you can’t say for sure. 

The early morning sun, all pinks and oranges, shines brightly through the large windows around the cabin. Then you see the snow falling.

You tip-toe to the window across from the couch. It’s been snowing since 3 a.m., but you weren’t awake to see it start.

Thick, fluffy snowflakes wisp around in the light wind and you lean closer to the window to get a better look at the scene outside.

You arrived late in the afternoon yesterday, missing the morning snow that blanketed the ground and decorated the trees.

Logan’s seen many winters come and go, and you’ll see just as many after he’s gone. Well, maybe not as many.

A deep groan fills your ears. “Ah—fuck,” Logan growls, pulling himself to sit up from the couch.

You skip excitedly over to him, bending down to cradle his head in your hands and press your thumbs against each temple, your lips meeting the top of his head in a brief kiss.

“Remedium,” you whisper into his hair, and he makes a satisfied sound in response as his body adjusts and fixes itself.

You move down to kiss his forehead, ruffling a hand through his bushy grey hair before pulling away and going back to the window to watch the snow spiral and churn in random shapes and patterns.  

A grumbled “thanks” is heard over your footsteps. He’s probably not even fully awake yet. 

“Look at the snow. Look,” you say in awe when you hear him shuffling along the creaky floor behind you.

It doesn’t look like anything special to Logan. He’s seen every type of snow, every type of storm Alberta has to throw his way; however, this may be the most mundane snowfall he’s seen that he can remember.

“What about it?” He says. He doesn’t know what’s got you so excitable. 

You look at him over your shoulder. “I’ve never seen a snowfall before,” you explain. “The snowflakes are so fat,” you chuckle as he comes to rest a hand on your lower back, peeking through the window over your shoulder at the snow dancing in the wind.

“Mhm, it’s nice.” He still doesn’t get it. “Go get ready. There’s more wood coming in a bit,” he dismisses with a gentle kiss to your cheek, dense beard poking into the plush skin.

He goes to the bedroom. You should follow, but you keep watching the snow.

In the moment, you don’t realize that while this is your first snowfall, it’s probably Logan’s last.

━━━━

The man who brings the firewood is also the one who’s been “looking after” the cabin for Logan.

They’ve known each other for years, decades, and the man has been doing monthly check-in’s despite Logan not even being in the country.

Logan muttered something about cage fighting, explaining how he knows the man and the bar he owns in town.

You make a face, one filled with curiosity and confusion. “Cage fighting?”

“It was a long time ago,” he defends, tossing the last logs onto the now vast pile in the living room. You now understand why the room is as big as it is.

“Still keeping secrets, huh?” You joke, wiping your hands on your sweater.

A new fire burns strong in the chimney, preparing the cabin for the wind storm that’s meant to hit in a few hours.

“It’s not important.” Logan unbuttons his flannel—today it’s a dark red one; truly Canadian—and strips to his white tank-top underneath. 

It’s almost jarring to see him in anything other than a white dress shirt and blazer.

He throws the flannel on the back of the couch, overheated from the fire and throwing logs. A vicious cough catches in his throat for an exhale or two before it finds its way out.

“You okay?” You ask calmly, walking up to him and rubbing a hand up and down his bicep. His skin clammy and damp from sweat.

“I’m fine.” Another aggressive cough. “I’m fine,” he emphasizes, mostly to reassure himself.

You both know he’s not okay. That’s why you’re here, after all. But you can’t stop yourself from asking.

━━━━

The wind storm knocked out the power.

The raging fire will probably be your only source of light for the rest of the night and into the morning.  

So, without power, there’s not much to do. But, you and Logan sit on the floor with him resting against the front of the couch. You sit between his legs, feeling the heat of him on your back while you watch his arms reach over and around you to set various sized coins on the coffee table to entertain—and educate, as he would say—you.

“That one’s so big,” you point out, reaching for the gold coin. 

Logan wants to make a joke so badly, but he settles for a small smile at what little he can see of your perplexed expression from the side, resting his chin on your shoulder every couple minutes and occasionally pressing little kisses to your neck and jaw just to remind himself you’re actually here.

You pick up the gold coin and turn it over in between your fingers, watching it shine in the firelight. 

The bird on the face of the coin is unfamiliar, and it’s dated “2000” on the back below the Queen’s face. 

“It’s a loon,” Logan clarifies. “One dollar.”

“It’s pretty.” 

“We call it a ‘loonie’,” he explains, “and this is a toonie.” He picks up the other large coin, one that’s silver with a gold center. 

You take it from him. “A polar bear?” You observe the face of the coin. “There’s polar bears in Canada?” You turn your attention to him, nose almost grazing his.

“You…didn’t know that?”

“Why would I know that?” 

Logan chuckles, snaking an arm around your waist. “Well. It’s where most of the population lives,” he defends, his hazel eyes almost looking as confused as yours.

“Good to know,” you mutter, placing the coin back on the table.

He shakes his head. “Quarter, nickel, penny, dime.” Logan identifies the rest of the coins for you, pointing to each from biggest to smallest.

“The dimes are cute.” You push the thin, silver coin around on the table.

His tattered wallet sits on the corner by your arm, and something peeks out from the bill slot that you paid no mind to before. 

“You have Canadian bills?” You ask as you pinch the thing between your thumb and forefinger, snatching it before he could answer or stop you.

You unfold the worn thing with ease, holding it with both hands and expecting to see a historic figure or a bold number printed somewhere, but there’s neither.

The paper is a little thicker than a bank note yet it’s almost the same size, but it has Logan with a young girl plastered on it in black and white.

An old photo, folded up and kept in his wallet as a reminder of something, or someone.

“Who’s that?” You question, analyzing the picture with a seizing heart.

Logan doesn’t answer right away, but he doesn’t move to take the picture from your hands. 

It’s him, decades younger, giving the young girl a piggyback. An uncharacteristic smile on his face that you’ve never seen before while the girl peeks her head out beside his for the photo. 

“Marie. She was a kid I, uh, helped, I guess.” The deep timbre of his voice is enough to tell you that he’s suddenly forlorn. “One of Charles’ students.”

“You’re so…young,” you consider quietly, eyes filling with adoration and fondness at the boyish Wolverine in your hand. 

You never knew what Logan looked like in his younger years, and it never occurred to you to be curious about that. You’ve grown so used to your Logan that nothing before all this mattered much to you.

Still, there was someone else who got to experience the younger, more spirited version of Logan that only exists in pictures now, and you long to have been that lucky someone just to be able to have had more time with him. 

But this is your Logan; scarred, aching, dying. This Logan was meant to be yours. 

The Logan that stares at you from the wrinkled picture is barely recognizable against the one behind you, yet he’s still somehow the same. It’s like seeing a ghost after saying you don’t believe in them: you don’t really know how to explain it.

“And your hair is…” You squint at the photo, as if that will help you to find the right word to describe the quaffed points peaking from his head.

“Fucking ridiculous?” He finishes. 

You laugh. “Well, I was maybe gonna say majestic. Or even sublime,” you correct. 

The photo is creased along the edges and down the middle from being continuously opened and refolded, and you wonder how old it is—if it’s older than you.

“Yeah, well, that was a long time ago,” he exhales, stealing the photo from your fingers and folding it back up, making sure to bury it completely back in the wallet this time.

“Where is she now?” You know you shouldn’t ask but the curiosity is clawing at you. What you know of Logan’s past is extremely limited, but there’s a reason for that. You’re hoping he can at least give you this.

Logan’s shoulders grow taut. He debates lying, but he doesn’t. “Dead.”

━━━━

“Logan?”

No answer.

“Logan,” you say more firmly.

No answer.

“James,” you throw at him, watching his head quirk to meet your voice. 

“What?” He barks, quickly averting his attention back to whatever holds his attention in his lap.

You hesitate in the bedroom doorway, afraid of what you might see if you take another step, but you already know what it’s going to be. It was only a matter of time before Logan fell back into himself.

Logan sits on the creaky, old bed with his back to you, a tremble in his shoulders that no one else besides you would notice. He hates that you notice.

You lightly tiptoe around the bed and drop into a squat between his legs, resting a hand on his knee.

Three adamantium claws occupy the space between you, blood slowly dripping from his knuckles and staining the wood floor. His eyes stay on the claws, but you keep your gaze on his face anyway.

His fist shakes, either from the pain of pulling his claws out or the atrophying muscles.

“There’s no reason to keep doing that…that’s not what we came here for,” you gently scold, watching him take a shaky breath while you try to control your own.

You came here to escape the pain, even if you’ll inevitably face something far worse down the road.

He does this when he feels helpless. You don’t know what it achieves, but he seems to believe it does something other than marring his skin even more and making his forearm burn with white-hot pain from metal sliding against his aged tendons and ligaments.

“Put them away. Please,” you encourage, squeezing his knee comfortingly.

Logan closes his eyes. He doesn’t nod or say anything as the claws retract back into his skin, albeit at a snails pace. You worry that one day they’ll just get stuck in or out forever.

You can’t influence his body to physically repair itself or heal faster—you can only provide a barrier to the pain while it subsides on its own.

You stand, hand reaching for his temple to whisper the magic word like always, but Logan’s bloodied fingers wrap around your wrist.

His eyes finally meet yours. “No. Leave it,” he dismisses, sliding his hand up into yours and smearing the warm blood between your joined palms and linked fingers.

It’s futile to argue against him, so you let him have this; the pain he hasn’t been able to shake for years, the pain you can’t entirely stifle and fade, the pain he would never wish upon anyone, the pain he will only escape in death.

━━━━

“I can let you go,” you cry softly. 

He presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, letting his lips linger when he feels your hot tears fall against his bare chest one after the other. 

It’s one of those mornings—where everything just hits you out of nowhere. One of those times where reality has set in. 

Logan doesn’t say anything because he knows there’s nothing he can say to comfort you. He will die. And nothing can change that.

You lie on him, your cheek to the middle of his chest, unable to stop the silent, persistent tears.

The rickety bed, in fact, holds both of you, and a soft cotton blanket does little to save you from the frigid morning air that has snuck into the cabin yet again.

“I can’t do it,” you whimper quietly, shaking your head against him. “I can’t.”

He wraps both arms around you tightly, squeezing around your shoulders so snuggly that your lips form one of those sad, downturned smiles you make when you’re overwhelmed—happy or sad. 

“We don’t really have a choice, baby,” he mutters against your head. 

A gentle finger traces along the textured, angry scars over his bicep. There’s one that’s older, almost entirely white from the trauma to the skin. A small, round one sits directly above it—most likely from a bullet—and you know it’s more recent from how raised and pink it is.

It feels wrong to have Logan comforting you over his death when it’s him who will be the one dying, but he hasn’t shown any panic or sadness over it.

He’s ready to die. For some reason, that hurts you more.

Maybe he will make it long enough to see the first flowers of spring; those that are strong enough to brave the Canadian frost. 

Maybe, somehow, he will get better. Heal himself from the inside out. 

Maybe he won’t end up buried underneath the birch trees.

━━━━

You both barely left the bed today.

You let each other mourn, and Logan didn’t protest. He let you take the time to process what you were feeling. It felt good for him, too.

He reluctantly had to get out of bed to stoke the fire a few times, and now he’s gone to do so again before you call it a night. An early night. You’re worn out. From crying, from feeling, from everything.

The wind has picked up again, howling and whipping harshly against the cabin. It’s supposed to snow in a few hours, but you don’t feel excited for it like you did a few days ago.

“That should burn all night,” Logan says as he comes back in the room.

You shuffle over on the bed for him. You don’t really fit, but you make it work by half-lying on each other. Either your upper body lays on his chest or his upper body has you almost tucked underneath him while he spoons you.

“Thank you,” you murmur with your eyes already closed, ready to forget about today.

The bed frame groans as Logan shuffles in beside you, slipping an arm around your midsection to pull you to tight against him. 

Despite the cold, and the fact that you both should definitely be wearing fleece pyjamas or something, you’re both almost entirely bare. It’s just habit. You usually opt to wear one of his tank tops while he just keeps his briefs. It’s familiar. It’s comforting. The skin-to-skin reminds you both that you’re real.

Tonight, however, you chose his white t-shirt. As if that will do you any better. Logan runs fairly hot on his own, so you ultimately trust him to keep you warm either way.

He nestles into you, curling his body around yours. He slots a leg between your own and situates you so that your ass is pressed against his front. You know it doesn’t mean what you think it does, but you can’t help yourself from jokingly wiggling back and forth against him a few times just for fun—just to lighten the solemn mood.

Logan kisses your shoulder, the hand around your midsection squeezing the flesh of your stomach through the shirt affectionately while pushing you tighter against him. 

“Yeah, yeah. Get some sleep,” he dismisses. He knows you’re just fucking with him.

You giggle quietly, interlacing your fingers with the ones he has against your stomach and turning to look over your shoulder at him. “Love you.”

His face softens. “Love you.” 

You pucker your lips dramatically. He gives you an eager kiss, placing small pecks gently down along your cheek and jaw when you break away to smile. 

Logan will never deny you of his attention when you ask for it. 

━━━━

Something pushes you out of a heavy sleep. You figure it was maybe the wind or a dream, but you feel it again. Something literally pushes you.

You blink a few times, trying to wake yourself up. Logan’s arm is still thrown around you, but it’s now fallen down over your hip. The weight of it keeps you in place.

Another push. 

Logan’s hips shove against your ass. You furrow your brows. 

You know he’s sleeping without needing to look or ask, so what the fuck is he doing—

A more delicate thrust rolls against you this time, then you realize. “Oh, Jesus Christ,” you sigh.

“Logan.” You poke his thigh. No response.

“Logan,” you growl, reaching back and pushing a hand against his firm stomach to shake him a bit.

A series of grunts and groans are his response. He pulls back from you a little, hand tightening against your hip.

“Mm. What?” He mumbles, eyes still closed.

“Stop trying to fuck me in your sleep,” you hiss through a breath, repositioning yourself against him.

“I’m not,” he says, nuzzling up to your back and ass again, half-asleep.

You roll your eyes even though he can’t see it. “Yes, you are,” you counter.

It’s probably just some sex dream that got him a little too excited. The thought makes you smile. 

It has, in fact, been longer than usual since you’ve fucked, the last time being in the truck when you pulled over at a rest stop in Montana, and you wonder if he’s starting to feel the effects of that. 

By the time you reached Montana, you were both antsy and restless. The days, and even nights, were naturally spent just sitting in the truck for hours on end with nothing to do—no way to stimulate or tire your bodies.

The final night in the state was the breaking point. You had unburned, pent-up energy and cramping muscles that needed to be worn out if you wanted to survive the last day on the road before you got to the border.

So you pulled over and fucked in the passenger seat. 

Logan let you bounce on his cock until the lactic acid in your thighs made you cry out in pain and you physically couldn’t ride him anymore.

He made you drag it out—for both of your sakes. He wanted your hearts to pump hard and your lungs to sting with each inhale. He wanted your bodies to be fucked into a state of relaxation afterwards.

So, he didn’t help you ride him like he usually does. He didn’t help guide you by your hips up and down his cock. He let you do it all by yourself while he licked and sucked over your collarbones and teased your clit with his fingers.

You both came hard, laughing at the fogged-up windows while cleaning yourselves up with those rough, brown napkins everyone has in their glove compartment for some reason.

Then you continued on, satisfied.

All of this has kind of thrown off your sense of normality. Sex went with that. It’s hard to be horny when you’re sad all the time.

You suppose you don’t need to wonder if he’s feeling the effects of no sex because you’re feeling them for him; his hard cock rests in his briefs against your ass, and you debate doing something you know you’re gonna do anyway.

Just like earlier, you circle your ass over him lightly, hopefully just enough for some payback for waking you up. You assume he’ll tell you to knock it off.

“Baby,” he mutters against the back of your neck tiredly, and you can tell he’s in need of a release.

You smirk. “Hm?” You rub harder over him.

He subtly joins in with your movements, rocking in time with you. His cock feels warm and heavy against your ass.

“Good dream?” You ask, a smile evident in your voice. 

Logan grabs at the meat of your thigh, measuring his thrusts. “It’s…been a while,” he deflects, but you know that just means he’s in need of an orgasm.

“I know. I’m sorry,” you apologize, swallowing a gasp as he ruts harder. 

“Not your fault,” he breathes, too preoccupied with kissing your neck softly. His beard tickles you, grazing against the slope of your neck with each kiss he drags over it.

His broad, warm chest keeps you from drifting off too far. Your cunt pulses and aches from the tease of his cock, undoubtedly soaking your underwear as he rubs along the space that’s just shy of your cunt. This is somehow more erotic than if he was actually fucking himself over your pussy between your thighs.

The bed creaks with his shifting weight, filling the silence in the room as the wind still beats against the cabin.

It’s never mindless, chaotic sex with Logan. Technically, this isn’t even sex. 

He always gave you an appropriate fucking. Not too much, not too little. It was always just exactly what you both needed at the time of doing it. This feels no different.

You can feel your underwear sticking to you—it no longer slides with his desperate movements. You’d be content with finishing whatever way Logan wants. These days, you take what you can get.

“Too tired.” For sex, he means. “Just wanna feel you.” He caresses his hand along your thigh appreciatively. 

You grab his wandering hand. “That’s okay,” you soothe.

His hips have slowed to a gentle rock, intent on taking a bit of the edge off without wanting to fully commit to chasing an orgasm and needing a clean-up. 

Logan isn’t really one to drop everything for sex. Maybe he was like that at some point, but that’s not who he is now. 

He’ll gladly blue-ball himself for some sleep. He knows you’re not going anywhere.

You let him feel you up for a bit, and his movements stop altogether after a few gropes to your chest and thighs—purposefully avoiding anything directly below your bellybutton. 

He rests behind you tightly, pelvis somehow closer than before. You still throb a little, but the warmth from Logan gradually pulls you back to a state of exhaustion.  

━━━━

It’s never been lost on you that you are the only one to have experienced a full, complete relationship with Logan. 

You didn’t die, or get killed. You didn’t leave him or grow old. You are the only one to have this moment. The seemingly immortal Wolverine has someone at the end of his life when he thought he never would. 

He never expected to be the one to go first. It was always the other way around. That’s how it was always supposed to be. 

Yet, there is a spot slowly thawing for him underneath the white birch trees.

here’s the photo reader pulled out of logan’s wallet <3

[selfconsumerofmywoes]

been seeing a lot of magpies in front gardens recently - wonder if people chilling in their living rooms are confused as to why a stranger has supposedly saluted at them as they walked past their windows

[pbaz7]

It’ll Always Be Her Chapter 18

AN: Well that game was something. In all honesty it wasn’t completely terrible and Paige did what she could with what she was given but I really wish we would stop over helping and leaving shooters open ✨. Anywho here’s the next chapter to brighten the mood around here. Let me know what you think and leave comments or live reactions if you can. Only one more chapter after this

Word Count: 6.2k

The day had finally arrived. UConn was set to face South Carolina in the NCAA Championship—a showdown the entire country had been anticipating. Up in their hotel room, Paige and Azzi were getting ready in their usual contrasting styles. Azzi stuck to her serious game-day routine, meticulously going through her steps to prepare. Paige, on the other hand, was her usual goofy self, bouncing around the room and yapping Azzi’s ear off about random things that would barely make sense to anyone not named Azzi who knew the blonde like the back of her hand.

"Okay, but hear me out," Paige began, lying upside down on the bed, legs propped up against the headboard. "What if I started wearing sunglasses on the court? Would that count as a performance enhancer? Like, would the refs freak out, or would they just assume I’m too cool to care?"

Azzi popped her head out of the bathroom, her expression one of amused disbelief. “Paige, you can barely see the basket as it is without your contacts. Add sunglasses, and we’d lose by thirty and you’d play the worst game of your life.”

“Rude,” Paige shot back, rolling onto her stomach. “But think about the drip, babe. The aesthetic. The world wouldn’t be ready.”

Azzi disappeared back into the bathroom, muttering, “The world isn’t ever ready for your antics, that’s for sure.”

Paige grinned, hopping off the bed and trailing into the bathroom doorway. “Speaking of antics, I was thinking—TikTok time! We haven’t blessed the fans in a minute.”

Azzi groaned audibly, stepping out with a towel draped around her neck. “Paige, we’re about to play the biggest game of our lives. I don’t think TikTok is on the priority list.”

“But that’s exactly why we should do it!” Paige countered, her voice rising with excitement. “Last UConn game day. Gotta give the people what they want!”

Azzi paused to unpack her suitcase, carefully placing items back in their designated spots. “The people want a championship, not a dance video,” she said dryly, not even looking up at her being so used to the girls' antics.

Paige pouted, pulling out her secret weapon: wide, puppy-dog blue eyes that Azzi could never say no to. “Please?” she pleaded, her voice soft and sugary. “Just one? For me? I promise I’ll stop bothering you for the rest of the day.”

Azzi glanced up briefly, then sighed, shaking her head. “You’re a liar. You’re definitely going to bother me again.”

“Okay, maybe,” Paige admitted with a sheepish grin. “But I’ll try really hard not to.”

Azzi shook her head, a small laugh escaping despite herself. “You’re impossible. Fine. After we’re ready.”

“Yessss!” Paige celebrated before darting off to finish getting dressed, leaving Azzi to shake her head in fond exasperation.

Once they were both ready, Paige eagerly dragged Azzi into the TikTok operation. It took some time, mostly because Paige kept breaking out into giggles whenever they messed up the moves, and Azzi—ever the perfectionist—insisted they start over until they got it just right.

“Paige, focus!” Azzi said, trying to stifle her own laughter as Paige flopped onto the bed mid-dance. “We are never going to finish this.”

“I am focusing!” Paige argued through her giggles. “It’s not my fault your serious face is hilarious. You look like you’re plotting world domination.”

Azzi crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow. “Do you want this TikTok, or do you want me to pack my bag and leave you here?”

“Fine, fine, I’ll behave,” Paige said, standing up and saluting. “Captain Serious, reporting for duty.”

Eventually, they nailed the routine, with Paige cheering triumphantly as she hit the post button on Azzi’s TikTok account—a rare move, given how private Azzi usually was online. They captioned it simply: “Last UConn game day.”

The comments came pouring in almost immediately. Paige leaned over Azzi’s shoulder, reading them out loud while Azzi scrolled.

“‘Omg, queens blessing us before the game 😭😭,’” Paige read in a dramatic voice. “‘Good luck!! Bring that trophy home!!!’” She grinned. “See? They love it. I told you this was a good idea.”

Azzi rolled her eyes but smiled. “Let’s just hope they’re this excited after we win.”

“They will be,” Paige said confidently, grabbing her bag. “Because we’re awesome. And by ‘we,’ I mean me, obviously.”

Azzi smirked, grabbing her own bag. “Keep talking like that, and I might pass you the ball once tonight.”

“Gee, thanks, MVP,” Paige said with a mock bow as they headed out the door. “Remind me to show you how much I appreciate you later.”

Azzi laughed, shaking her head as they made their way toward the team bus. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And you love it,” Paige shot back with a wink, earning another groan from Azzi as they stepped into the hallway.

As the elevator doors slid open, Paige and Azzi stepped out with their security team, immediately greeted by the buzz of a crowd gathered outside the hotel. Fans were lined up along the barricades, yelling their names, holding up posters, and waving phones in hopes of snapping pictures or getting autographs. The energy was electric, but Paige felt the subtle shift in Azzi’s demeanor instantly.

The playful, relaxed Azzi from just minutes ago was gone, replaced with someone more guarded. Paige knew why. Ever since the stalker incident, these moments had been difficult for Azzi. The overwhelming attention wasn’t just part of the job—it was a trigger. Paige, ever attuned to her girlfriend’s moods, reached out instinctively, her hand brushing against Azzi’s back as she tried to gently guide her forward, like she always did.

But this time, Azzi didn’t move. She stood firm, her eyes scanning the crowd as if lost in thought. Paige stopped beside her, lowering her voice. “Azzi, you don’t have to do this. We can head straight to the bus.”

Azzi turned to her, her beautiful brown eyes filled with a mix of determination and vulnerability. “I have to get over this hill eventually,” she said softly, but with conviction. “The fans deserve it.”

Paige studied her for a moment, then nodded, offering a small, reassuring smile. “Alright. But I’m right here, okay?”

Azzi’s lips twitched upward in a faint smile, and together they approached the crowd. The fans erupted as they came closer, the excitement palpable. Paige took the lead, chatting easily with the fans, signing autographs, and taking selfies. All the while, she kept a careful eye on Azzi. At first, Azzi was tense, her movements measured, her smile polite but a little forced. Paige recognized the unease in the way her hand hovered over the sharpie she was holding, hesitating before signing anything.

But as the minutes passed, Azzi started to loosen up. A fan complimented her three-pointer in the last game, and she finally cracked a genuine smile. Another asked for advice on shooting form, and she launched into a quick explanation, her voice steady and confident. Paige watched as the Azzi she knew—the Azzi who loved connecting with people and sharing her passion for the game—slowly emerged from behind her cautious exterior.

It was going smoothly until a group of fans got a little overzealous. A couple of them jostled forward, eager to get Azzi’s attention, and in the commotion, one bumped into her. Azzi stumbled slightly, her balance wavering. Before she could even fully react, Paige was there, wrapping an arm securely around her waist and pulling her close.

“Hey,” Paige said, her voice low and steady as she looked her over. “You okay?”

Azzi blinked, looking up at Paige. Her eyes softened as a grateful smile spread across her face. “Yeah, I’m okay. Thank you,” she murmured, her voice laced with admiration.

Paige nodded, her hold on Azzi lingering for just a second longer than necessary before she loosened her grip. She offered the fans a calm but firm reminder to be careful, her usually playful tone replaced with quiet authority

Azzi seemed more at ease now, laughing with fans and joking with Paige who easily switched the mood back to playful.

“Alright, who’s ready to see the future champs?” Paige teased, earning a cheer from the fans. She turned to Azzi with a smirk. “That includes you, obviously.”

Azzi rolled her eyes but smiled, letting out a small laugh. “Glad to know I made the cut.”

Paige shot her a look. “Barely. Gotta see how you play tonight first.”

The fans around them chuckled, one yelling out, “Don’t listen to her, Azzi! You’re the real MVP!”

Azzi grinned at the comment. “Thank you! At least someone around here appreciates me.” She side-eyed Paige with mock offense, and Paige raised her hands in mock surrender.

“Okay, okay, she may win the MVP,” Paige said loudly, pretending to announce it to the crowd. “But only because I taught her everything she knows.”

Azzi turned to her with a raised eyebrow. “Oh, really? You’re the one teaching me?”

Paige shrugged, her grin widening. “You’ve seen my highlights.”

Before Azzi could respond, a fan jumped in with a sly smile. “Is this how you two always are? Like, this constant back-and-forth?”

“Pretty much,” Paige said without missing a beat. “I can’t help it. She makes it too easy to.”

“Right, because you’re so much harder to deal with,” Azzi replied dryly, crossing her arms.

A younger fan, barely holding a sign steady, piped up nervously. “You guys are so cute!”

Azzi glanced at Paige, her cheeks flushing ever so slightly, but Paige didn’t skip a beat. “You hear that, Az? I’m cute. Not annoying, cute.”

Azzi shook her head, the corners of her mouth twitching up. “I think they’re talking about me, not us as a whole. You’re still annoying.”

They continued signing autographs and taking selfies, Paige taking the lead in conversations. She joked with fans about their favorite plays, hyped up UConn’s chances in the game, and teased Azzi at every opportunity.

At one point, a fan handed Azzi a poster with her own face on it. Paige, standing nearby, immediately burst out laughing. “Wow, Az, they even brought your headshot. Is this for motivational purposes or—”

“Unlike you, I’m not obsessed with myself and don’t need extra motivation,” Azzi quipped, cutting her off. “But I’ll sign it anyway.”

As Azzi scribbled her signature, another fan boldly asked, “So, uh...are you guys, like, dating?”

At the fan’s bold question, Azzi paused for a brief moment, glancing at Paige with a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. Paige caught her gaze, her own smile widening into something mischievous yet soft.

Neither of them said a word.

Instead, Azzi turned her attention back to the poster she was signing, her cheeks faintly tinged with pink, while Paige let out a light chuckle and moved on to the next autograph. The fans around them buzzed with excitement, catching the silent exchange and immediately reading into it.

“Did you see that? They totally just gave each other that look!” one fan whispered loudly to their friend.

“I knew it!” another said, practically bouncing with joy.

Paige, overhearing the comments, glanced up and raised an eyebrow at the fans. “What are you guys whispering about over there?”

“Nothing!” one of them squeaked, clearly lying, which made Azzi smirk as she handed back the signed poster.

“Uh-huh,” Paige said, her tone playful as she moved to take a selfie with a group of fans.

After a little more time they made their way to the bus. As they waited for the rest of the team to join them, Paige leaned against the side of the vehicle, her eyes still on Azzi. “You handled that like a pro,” she said with a grin. “Proud of you.”

Azzi tilted her head, her expression soft. “I had a good safety net,” she replied, her voice warm. Paige smirked, nudging her shoulder playfully, but inside, she was beaming.

As they finally stepped onto the bus once everyone was there, the buzzing energy from the fans still lingered in the air. Azzi and Paige settled into their usual seats, a comfortable quiet replacing the chaos of earlier. Paige glanced at Azzi, who was already slipping on her headphones, and gave her a small, knowing smile. She resisted the urge to tease her girlfriend for the first time all day, understanding how focused Azzi became as they got closer to game time.

Instead, Paige popped in her own headphones and leaned back into the seat, keeping her energy more subdued. Azzi, letting out a soft breath, leaned her head on Paige’s shoulder. Paige didn’t move, letting her rest, her hand casually resting on her knee as the bus rumbled toward the arena.

The surreal weight of the day settled over them both. This was it—their final game in UConn jerseys.

In the locker room, the air was electric, the quiet tension almost palpable. Paige and Azzi sat next to each other as they laced up their sneakers. Paige, ever the goofball, nudged Azzi lightly with her elbow.

“You nervous, superstar?” Paige asked, her voice teasing but soft.

Azzi glanced at her with a raised eyebrow. “Nope, not as nervous as you should be. You’re the one with all the expectations.” she quipped back, tightening her laces.

Paige smirked, leaning back against the wall. “Please, I was born for moments like this. You, on the other hand…” She let the sentence hang, drawing out a reaction.

Azzi rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide the small smile tugging at her lips. “If you spent half as much time focusing as you do bothering me, we’d already have this game won.”

“Yeah, but then who’d keep you on your toes?” Paige shot back.

Azzi chuckled, shaking her head. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love it,” Paige said, grinning.

Azzi didn’t respond, but the warmth in her smile said enough.

When they stepped onto the court for unofficial warm-ups, their usual routine took over. Among the drills and team stretches, Paige and Azzi made time for their tradition—a quick game of one-on-one. It had started as a way to loosen up and get in rhythm, but over the years, it had become their thing.

Today’s match-up was particularly playful, with Paige trying to trash-talk Azzi as she drove to the basket.

“Told you you can’t guard me” Paige teased, sinking a fadeaway jumper.

Azzi smirked, taking the ball and stepping back to the three-point line. “Keep talking. You’re about to regret it.” She drained the shot effortlessly, holding up three fingers as Paige groaned dramatically.

“Okay, okay, calm down, Steph Curry Jr,” Paige said, shaking her head with a laugh. “Save some of that for the actual game.”

Azzi grinned, tossing her the ball. “I don’t need to. I’ve got plenty.”

Their banter drew a few laughs from their teammates, who were used to their antics but still found them entertaining. By the time warm-ups ended, they were both grinning, their energy high and ready for the game.

As they stood in the huddle just before tip-off, Paige gave Azzi a quick pat on the back. “One more,” she said, her voice laced with determination.

Azzi’s gaze hardened with focus, but her lips quirked into a small smile. “One more,” she replied.

And with that, they stepped onto the court, ready to make their final game one to remember.

…

The championship game against South Carolina started with an intensity that promised a battle until the final buzzer. South Carolina’s size and defensive pressure gave them an early edge, forcing UConn into tough shots. On the other end, their star forward dominated in the post, scoring on back-to-back possessions to give South Carolina a quick six-point lead.

But UConn was no stranger to adversity. Paige and Azzi, as they had done all season, answered the call. Paige got things going by splitting a double team and sinking a floater in the lane, drawing a foul in the process. She stepped to the free throw line and sunk the shot, cutting the lead in half.

On the next possession, Azzi picked off a lazy pass, sprinting down the court for an uncontested layup. As she backpedaled on defense, she glanced at Paige, who gave her a pat on the back in approval.

South Carolina responded with a three-pointer, but Paige wasted no time striking back. She dribbled up the court with a defender hounding her, then threw a perfect no-look pass to Azzi in the corner. Azzi caught it in rhythm and drained the shot, sending a ripple of excitement through the UConn bench.

The game became a tug-of-war, with neither team able to establish dominance. South Carolina used their height to crash the boards, earning second-chance points, while UConn relied on quick ball movement and the undeniable chemistry between Paige and Azzi.

Midway through the first half, Paige took over. She drilled two deep threes in a row, the second coming off a screen set by Azzi. On the next possession, Paige returned the favor, threading a bounce pass through traffic to Azzi, who finished with a reverse layup that drew gasps from the crowd.

South Carolina adjusted their defense, throwing double teams at Paige and switching on Azzi to limit her opportunities. But the two stars adapted just as quickly, finding ways to free each other up. When Paige was trapped, Azzi slipped into open spaces for quick jumpers. When Azzi was blanketed on the perimeter, Paige drove to the hoop, forcing defenders to collapse and creating openings elsewhere.

By halftime, Paige had 22 points on an array of dazzling plays, including a transition three that left her defender stumbling. Azzi added 14 points, most of which came off assists from Paige. Despite their heroics, South Carolina’s relentless play and physicality gave them a 46-43 lead heading into the break.

As the UConn players headed to the locker room, their faces were a mix of determination and exhaustion. The crowd, buzzing with anticipation, knew the second half would be just as thrilling.

Inside the locker room, the tension was palpable. Players stretched, drank water, and wiped sweat from their faces as they prepared for Geno’s halftime speech. But before he entered, Paige found Azzi sitting at her locker, adjusting her shoe.

“They’re crowding you up top every time,” Paige said, sitting next to her. “Let’s hit them with those back cuts we talked about. I’ll find you.”

Azzi gave her a knowing smile. “And if they collapse, I’ll kick it back out. You’ll be open.”

Paige bumped her shoulder lightly. “Classic two-for-one special.”

Azzi laughed softly as Geno walked in

The second half began with the same ferocity as the first. South Carolina continued to dominate the boards, their bigs muscling through traffic for contested putbacks. But UConn’s pace and precision kept them in the game. Paige opened the half with a step-back three that sent the arena into a frenzy, followed by Azzi cutting behind her defender for an easy layup.

Each possession felt like a battle in itself, with the lead shifting multiple times. South Carolina’s star guard hit a clutch jumper to give them a brief advantage, only for Paige to answer with a quick crossover and a pull-up jumper.

By the final minute, the score was tied at 87-87, both teams trading blows like heavyweight fighters. The tension was almost unbearable as UConn had possession and called a timeout with 5.6 seconds left on the clock.

Geno grabbed his clipboard and began to draw up a play. “Here’s the plan. Paige, you’ll take the ball out. Pass it in to KK, and then get it right back. South Carolina’s going to double you, no doubt about it. That’s where Azzi comes in.” He pointed to the baseline. “Azzi you’re going to fake ball side but you’re coming off a screen on the backside baseline. If we do it right they’ll get stuck and be too many steps behind. As soon as Paige gets doubled, she’ll find you. Quick release. Game over. Simple” Geno describes the play as if it’s the easiest thing in the world as he has complete faith in the two girls who’ve led the team all season.

Paige and Azzi exchanged a glance, their confidence in each other unshakable. This was the kind of moment they had trained for thousands of times. All the time they spent in the gym together passing to each other, making up scenarios, all for this moment they dreamed about.

The players broke the huddle and took their positions. The arena was deafening, the crowd on their feet, the tension so thick it felt like time had slowed. Paige stood on the sideline, the ball in her hands, her face calm but determined.

The referee blew the whistle, and the play began. Paige passed the ball in to KK, then darted to the wing. As Geno predicted, the double team came immediately when she got the ball back, two defenders swarming her. But Paige didn’t panic. She knew where Azzi would be—she always did.

On the opposite side of the court, Azzi cut hard off a baseline screen from Ice, her defender trailing just a couple of steps too late. Paige spotted her, their connection automatic, and fired a perfect pass.

The ball sailed through the air in what felt like slow motion. Azzi caught it in stride, her feet set behind the three-point line. Without hesitation, she rose up for the shot. Her release was quick, smooth, and precise.

The ball arced high, the crowd holding their breath. It swished through the net without touching the rim.

The buzzer sounded. UConn had won.

As the ball swished through the net and the buzzer sounded, the entire arena erupted in cheers. Azzi stood frozen for a moment, her mind still processing what had just happened. They had won. The NCAA Championship was theirs. But before she could fully take in the moment, she felt a body collide with hers, Paige running toward her at full speed.

Without a second thought, Azzi’s arms went around Paige, who pulled her into a tight embrace, lifting her off the ground for a brief, euphoric moment. The crowd roared around them, but all Azzi could focus on was the weight of Paige's arms around her, the feel of her steady heartbeat against her chest.

“WE DID IT!” Paige shouted, her voice muffled slightly as she buried her face in Azzi's shoulder.

Before either of them could process much more, the rest of the UConn team was pouring onto the court. They huddled together in a jumble of players, screaming, jumping, and celebrating, all of them caught up in the emotion of the championship win. Azzi’s heart was racing, but there was no time to catch her breath—there was still the handshake line ahead.

Paige, always the leader, was the first to move toward the line, her infectious smile lighting up her face. Azzi followed, her heart swelling with pride as she watched Paige lead her team with such confidence and grace.

After the final handshake, Paige immediately found Azzi and pulled her into another hug. This time, they both held on a little longer, savoring the moment of the win and everything it meant. Azzi melted into the embrace, her heart racing as she buried her face in Paige’s shoulder.

“You’re amazing,” Paige whispered, her voice full of pride.

Azzi pulled back just enough to look at her, smiling in that soft, quiet way that always made Paige’s heart skip a beat. “Yeah, right. You’re the superstar here.”

Paige chuckled, brushing her hand gently on Azzi’s face. “Nope we’re a team, remember?”

Azzi smiled, her eyes full of love as she whispered, “I love you.”

Paige’s eyes softened. “I love you too.”

Just as they were about to pull away, the entire team surrounded them, pouring water on both of them in celebration. Azzi laughed, shaking her head as the cool water drenched her, but she didn’t mind. This was their moment, and she couldn’t have been happier to share it with Paige.

…

After some time celebrating on the court, the team finally began to settle into the moment. Hats and championship shirts were handed out, each player eagerly pulling them on over their jerseys. They posed for pictures and cheered, and the energy remained electric. When the stage was ready, the announcers ushered the team forward, and the crowd roared as the official ceremonies began.

After a few words honoring their incredible season, the team was presented with the championship trophy. The players exchanged glances, everyone hesitating for a moment—until Ice, KK, and a few others practically shoved Azzi forward to claim it. Azzi stumbled slightly, laughing nervously as she walked up to receive the trophy. She held it up high for the crowd, her usual serious demeanor softening as her teammates cheered loudly behind her.

Shortly after, the announcer called Paige’s name as the tournaments Most Valuable Player, listing her impressive stat line that night: 37 points, 8 rebounds, and 7 assists. The arena erupted once again as Paige stepped forward, a mix of joy and humility written across her face. She accepted the MVP trophy, glancing back at her team as they clapped and hollered for her some even throwing confetti that they collected in their hats.

Paige raised the mic and spoke with her usual poise. “Thank you,” she started, her voice clear but humble. “This is a huge honor, but I want to make it clear—I couldn’t have done any of this without my team. Every single person here contributed to this win and this season. We did this together.” She paused, smiling at the group behind her before continuing. “And I want to shout out Azzi specifically. She was incredible tonight, just like she’s been all year after battling back from tough injuries. I’m extremely lucky to play with someone as amazing as her.”

The team whooped loudly, laughing as Azzi groaned and buried her face in her hands. Paige grinned at her reaction before finishing, “Thank you all for the support, and let’s celebrate together Husky nation!”

The crowd cheered, and as the announcer handed the mic to Geno, Paige stepped off to the side. She immediately made her way over to Azzi, the MVP trophy still clutched in her hands. Azzi, already shaking her head, started to back away playfully.

“Nope,” Azzi said firmly as Paige held the trophy out to her.

“Come on, Az,” Paige teased, her eyes dancing with mischief. “You deserve this as much as I do.”

Azzi crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow. “You know that’s not true. You earned this. Ms.Thirty-seven points. Don’t even try.”

Paige shrugged dramatically, still holding the trophy between them. “Fine, but I’m letting you get the next one,” she said with a sly grin.

Azzi smirked, tilting her head. “Oh, you’re letting me win now?” she teased, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

Paige chuckled, nudging her lightly with her shoulder. “I’ll give you a head start.”

Azzi laughed, shaking her head as the playful banter between them faded into the background of the ongoing celebration.

…

The atmosphere was electric, a mix of celebratory chaos and genuine happiness. Paige, now a little more than tipsy, had stationed herself next to Azzi at the bar, fully committing to her self-assigned mission of making Azzi blush. Azzi, who had only had one drink, was clearly enjoying Paige’s antics, though she tried to maintain her usual composed demeanor.

“Okay, okay,” Paige started, holding her hands up like she was about to say something profound. “How about this one, Az? If beauty were time, you’d be eternity.”

Azzi snorted mid-sip, nearly choking on her second drink. “Are you Googling these? Be honest.”

“Nope.” Paige tapped her temple with a sly grin. “All me. Original content.”

So, Az,” Paige began again, leaning closer and resting her chin on her hand. “Do you believe in love at first sight? Or should I walk by again?”

Azzi rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide her smile. “You’ve used that one before. Try harder.”

“Alright, alright,” Paige said, straightening up like she was about to deliver something groundbreaking. “If you were a vegetable, you’d be a cute-cumber.”

Azzi groaned, shaking her head as laughter bubbled out of her. “That one’s worse.”

Paige smirked, undeterred. “You’re laughing, though. Admit it—I’m charming.”

“Charming? Sure,” Azzi teased, taking another sip. “But I think the alcohol is doing most of the work.”

“I don’t need help to be charming,” Paige shot back, gesturing dramatically before leaning closer to Azzi again. “But if you think this is bad, wait ‘til I really start trying.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying herself. “This isn’t you trying?”

“Not even close,” Paige replied with a confident grin.

Azzi doubled over, her laughter drawing the attention of their teammates nearby. KK and Ice walked over, clearly amused.

“Paige, are you seriously trying to pick up Azzi right now?” KK asked, shaking her head in disbelief.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Paige replied innocently. “I’m just admiring the most gorgeous woman in the room.”

“Uh-huh,” Ice said, smirking. “How many drinks have you had, P?”

“Not enough,” Paige shot back, grinning as she leaned into Azzi again. “So...do I have a chance, or are you out of my league?”

Azzi rolled her eyes, her cheeks hurting from smiling so much. “Definitely out of your league.”

The team erupted into laughter, the lighthearted banter filling the air. Paige pretended to be wounded, clutching her chest dramatically. “Ouch, Az! That’s cold.”

“Don’t worry,” Azzi replied with a smirk. “I like a a good challenge.”

Aubrey who was on TikTok live sauntered over with her phone. She panned the camera to Ice and a few other teammates who cheered. Then she moved to Paige and Azzi. Paige immediately straightened up, leaning into the frame with an exaggerated smile.

“Hellooo, internet!” Paige said, waving dramatically. “Your favorite champs reporting live.”

Azzi shook her head, already sensing where this was going. “Don’t let her talk too much,” she warned Aubrey.

The live chat exploded with comments as KK laughed, reading them out loud. “Oh, they’re already asking about y’all. ‘Paige and Azzi look so good together.’ Pazzi confirmed?’”

Paige leaned closer to read the screen, squinting slightly. “Pazzi? That’s… creative,” she said, clearly a little slower than usual as she casually addressed her and Azzi’s rumored relationship.

Azzi chuckled. “She’s not drunk, I promise,” she said, addressing the camera before turning to Paige. “Right?”

“I’m not drunk,” Paige insisted, pointing at Azzi. “But you’re dodging the important questions.”

“Oh, yeah? What questions?” Azzi asked, humoring her.

“Like… how do you look this good after playing 40 minutes?” Paige said, her tone teasing but genuinely impressed.

KK groaned, dramatically tilting Aubrey’s phone away before bringing it right back. “Y’all are too much.”

Azzi laughed as Paige blinked at the phone, trying to think of a comeback. Before she could, a fan comment caught her attention.

“‘Who’s the better shooter?’” Paige read out loud, turning to Azzi. “Obviously me, right?”

Azzi smirked. “Yeah, if we’re talking about shots you’ve taken in the bar. On the court? Me, all day.”

The team burst into laughter, Ice shouting, “She got you, P!”

Paige, undeterred, grinned and pointed at the camera. “Alright, internet, I’m gonna remember this moment when I outshoot her in our next game together.”

“Sure you will,” Azzi said, still smiling as she reached over and gently covered Paige’s mouth not wanting her to say anything about Golden State. “And on that note, we’re taking a break from the live.” She pulled Paige slightly out of frame, ignoring Paige’s muffled protests.

The celebration continued, with Paige and Azzi rejoining the team. Drinks flowed, the music thumped, and the energy only grew as more fans and family filtered into the space. Paige eventually returned to the bar with Azzi, her tipsiness making her even bolder.

“I’m just saying,” Paige started, leaning against Azzi with a dramatic sigh. “You’re lucky I love you so much.”

“Oh, yeah?” Azzi asked, tilting her head and raising an eyebrow. “And why’s that?”

“Because otherwise, you’d never survive my charm,” Paige replied with a wink.

Azzi laughed, leaning closer to whisper. “Your charm is dangerous, alright. But not for the reasons you think.”

Their banter was interrupted by KK, still on live and now moving the camera back toward them. “The people want more of Paige and Azzi,” KK said, grinning. “What do y’all have to say to the fans?”

Paige leaned into the frame again, this time draping her arm over Azzi’s shoulders. “Hi, fans,” she said with a dramatic wave. “We love you. Stay hydrated. Be great. Go UConn.”

Azzi, smiling but exasperated, pulled Paige back slightly. “She’s had enough screen time for one night.”

The live chat erupted in protest, flooded with “Noooo, don’t let Paige leave!” and “We need more MVP content!”

Azzi, amused, glanced at the screen. “Oh, the people are rioting.” She laughed, shaking her head. “Guess they’re not ready to say goodbye to you, huh?”

Paige grinned triumphantly, leaning closer to the phone. “See? They love me.”

As Azzi tried to nudge her away, Paige’s eyes locked on a specific comment. She tilted her head, then read aloud with absolutely no filter, “‘Y’all should just kiss already.’”

The room fell into a momentary hush as Paige’s words hung in the air. Realizing what she’d just said, Paige’s eyes widened, and she immediately slapped her hand over her mouth. “Oops,” she mumbled, muffled by her fingers.

Azzi stared at her for a beat before bursting into laughter. “Oh my God, you’re unbelievable.”

The live chat exploded: “DO IT!!!” “Paige drunk and exposing herself lmao.” “Azzi, please end us with this kiss and we promise we’ll never complain again!”

Paige, her cheeks flushed from both embarrassment and the drinks, dropped her hand and looked sheepishly at Azzi. “Uh… sorry?”

Azzi chuckled, shaking her head as she turned to face her girlfriend. “You’re a mess,” she said softly, though her tone was warm.

Azzi glanced at the phone in KK’s hand, her eyes narrowing playfully at the sea of messages. She reached out, gently nudging Paige aside, and leaned slightly toward the camera. “This is never happening again on social media, so don’t get used to it.”

Before anyone could react, she turned to Paige, who was still blinking in a mix of tipsy confusion and nervous excitement. Without hesitation, Azzi reached out, cupped Paige’s jaw with a gentle but assured touch, and pulled her into a kiss.

The bar erupted into chaos as cheers, whistles, and laughter filled the room. KK nearly dropped the phone, shouting, “No way! Yo, they really did it!”

The live chat exploded: “OMG THEY ACTUALLY KISSED!!!” “PAZZI IS REAL!!!” “WE WONNNNNNN!”

When Azzi finally pulled back, Paige’s cheeks were flushed, her expression a mix of awe and giddy disbelief. Azzi smirked at her and leaned in close, murmuring just loud enough for her to hear, “That’s for making me deal with all this tonight.”

Paige’s grin spread wide as she stammered, “Totally worth it.”

Azzi straightened, glancing back at the camera. “Alright, now she’s really done for the night.” She waved at KK’s phone with a chuckle. “Bye, internet.” Then, taking Paige’s hand, she tugged her out of frame as the live chat continued to explode.

KK turned the camera back to herself, laughing so hard she could barely speak. “Y’all, you saw it here first! The MVP and Ms. Azzi Fudd. I can’t believe this!”

The team swarmed Azzi and Paige as soon as they returned, cheering loudly and teasing relentlessly. Paige, still tipsy and smiling ear-to-ear, leaned against Azzi, her voice light with laughter. “You really kissed me in front of everyone.”

Azzi smirked, her hand slipping to Paige’s waist to steady her. “I did,” she said, her voice low and teasing. “So let’s go, and you can thank me properly back in the room.”

Paige’s cheeks flushed, though whether it was the drinks, Azzi’s words, or both, she wasn’t sure. Without hesitation, Azzi took her hand, gently pulling her through the crowd.

The team called after them with a mix of cheers and playful jabs. KK’s voice rose above the noise, shouting, “Don’t forget to hydrate, lovebirds!”

Paige turned just enough to stick her tongue out at KK, making the team laugh even harder. Azzi shook her head, her smirk never fading as they made their way outside.

The cool night air hit them as they stepped out of the bar, the sounds of celebration fading behind them. A sleek car pulled up to the curb, its driver stepping out to open the door. Azzi helped Paige in before sliding in after her, the door closing softly behind them.

Paige leaned her head against Azzi’s shoulder, her giggles subsiding into a contented hum. “I can’t believe you kissed me in front of everyone and on live.”

Azzi glanced down at her, her hand finding Paige’s. “I told them it wouldn’t happen again,” she said, her voice warm. “But you? You’re worth it.”

Paige smiled, her fingers lacing with Azzi’s as the car pulled away, leaving the celebration behind.

[mrs-pianofandom-98]

aaa week day 2:Agatha Harkness has never enjoyed the holidays. She always though it was a money grab from company’s and lies about a jolly fat man to get children to behave. But this years is her Frist year with people who are spending the holidays with her and she is trying to grasp the domestic and peaceful holiday spirit. Even if it is messy at times..

“I fucking hate snow.” Agatha grumbled as she walked in their flat Rio and Alice trailing behind her trying to stiffen their laughter. Agatha was covered in snow as Rio and Alice ambushed her when she was walking in with grocery’s for Lilia and Jennifer to make their dinner. She shook the snow off herself as she took off her scarf and coat hanging them up knowing Jennifer would have a fit if Agatha tracked water all over her clean floor.

“Agatha dear-“ Lilia came into the living room wiping her hands in her apron when she seen the mess her lover was. And her other two loves behind Agatha trying to not burst out laughing at Agatha’s pout. “What happened here?” Lilia leaned against the kitchen door frame as she looked over the scene with a smile.

“Our two elves over there decided to ambush me with snowballs when I came back from the store.” Agatha grumbled. Lilia chuckle as she stepped forward and brushed snow off Agatha’s shoulder onto the mat. Agatha relaxed as she leaned into Lilia’s warm hand when she cupped her cheek. “I’m sure our troublemakers will apologize luv.” Lilia gave Rio and Alice a look that left no room for argument.

Rio huffed as Alice gave a small sheepish smile. Rio leaned on Agatha’s back with a sarcastic smirk “I’m so sorry luv. I’ll behave teh rest the day.” Rio mocked saluted at her false promise. All her partner knew she could never behave unless she was sleeping. Alice leaned her head on Lilia’s shoulder Infront of Agatha. “Sorry Aggie. Me and Rio will go get the grocery’s from the car.”

Alice bargained as she kissed Agatha cheek and grabbed rios hand ignoring the muffled protest from her. Lilia chuckled as she looked back at Agatha “Come into the kitchen with me and Jen dear.” Agatha went with her without a word always weak to Lilia’s welcoming and comforting aura. When they entered the kitchen Agatha immediately let her shoulders relax when the familiar scent of Lilia’s cooking and Jennifer’s baking hit her nose.

“Well don’t you look like a soaked puppy.” Jennifer playfully jabbed as she was piping icing on her cookies. Agatha rolled her eyes as she went over to Jennifer and swiped her finger in the bowl of icing as she met Jennifer’s gaze with a smile. “Agatha don’t you dare-“ Jennifer was cut off as Agatha swiped her finger across Jennifer’s forehead.

Agatha was laughing when Jennifer grabbed a handful of powder sugar and blew it on Agatha. Lilia was watching from a distance with a fond eye roll at the two going back and forth. Alice and Rio came in and sat the bags on the table when they noticed Agatha and Jennifer throwing sugar,icing and batter at each other. Rio immediately smirked as she grabbed Alice’s hand and they snuck behind the two. Rio grabbed a handful of sugar and Alice grabbed a handful of flour. They met eachothers eyes with a smirk. As they both dumped their handfuls onto of thier already bantering luvs.

Agatha immediately turned to Rio “Rio Maria Vidal!” Rio just smirked and ran her and Agatha going in circles around the kitchen island. While Alice was looking at Jennifer with a innocent smile Jennifer grabbed her pipe of icing as she met Alice’s gaze. “I’d start running luv.” She said with a smirk. As soon as Alice took off she looked at Rio and they both ran behind Lilia.

“Oh come on! That’s not fair!” Agatha huffed as she seen them hiding behind Lilia. Lilia chuckled as she looked at her girls “You two need to stop coming to me when you provoke them.” Lilia looked down at Alice and Rio who looked at her with innocent eyes. Jennifer rolled her eyes as she leaned against the counter “Brats.” She muttered with no real bite.

“You and Agatha are no better.” Lilia pointed out as the two looked away from her with pouts. “Now. Get to cleaning my kitchen before I make all of you clean the whole house before we open presents.” Lilia said as she rose an eyebrow not expecting any reluctance. As the group started picking up and wiping away their mess.

When they were all done Agatha was sitting in her recliner wrapped in a blanket as she scrolled through her phone. As Rio and Alice were sitting on the floor Infront of her messing with one of Rios diamond puzzles she talked Lilia into getting her. A new hyperfixation she had been on for months. Agatha hand was subconsciously running through Alice’s hair as she was reading an article on her phone.

When Jennifer came in the living room and leaned against the frame of the kitchen as she looked at the scene. A small smile of the peace she was witnessing. When she felt someone lean on her she looked down to see Lilia looking at scene with the same calm and loving expression she wore. She kissed the top of Lilia’s head knowing she could get use to these moments for the years to come.

[totallyunidentified]

Auntie Omega

A/n This is dedicated to my best friend who gave me this idea and let me run with it.

Omega lives to see the fall of the Empire and the rise of the First Order. She joins Leia and helps train pilots for the resistance. 

This is a part one of what I’m hoping to make a longer series

I hope you enjoy!!

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

“Leia, I'm just about done.”

Omega looks at her old friend who she had been fighting alongside since the early days of the Rebellion. In the years between the Empire’s fall and the first order’s rise the two had always been friends. Wrinkles had started to show on her face as much as they did on her own.Growing up and old together. Leia had accompanied Omega to visit Pabu many times, and was with Omega when she returned home the three times when it was the hardest. She had held her as she cried and reminded her that, though her brothers were gone, she was not alone. She would always have her fellow Rebels and she’d always have Leia.

“I don’t know why you would think that, You know as well as I do these pilots aren’t gonna train themselves. I need you here, Mega.”

“I know, I know,” Omega chuckles. “I just want to retire to Pabu, like my brothers did. I’ve had twice as many years as they got, I want to be able to put fresh flowers on their markers and watch Batcher’s great grand pups play on the beach. Wrecker’s kids aren’t getting any younger, I want to see them grow.”

They’d had this conversation before, sitting at this very briefing table. Omega felt done. The First Order was relentless and she didn’t want to lose any more people she loved. She fiddles with the necklace around her neck as Leia speaks.

“How ‘bout this? I’ve got this one kid — huge pain in my ass,you’ll love him — he needs training. He’s already good but you can make him great.”

“You are trying to appeal to my ego,”

“Is it working?”

“….yes,” Omega grumbles as Leia laughs

“Listen Megs, this kid is crazy. You were trained by crazy.”

“Hey!”

“You said that yourself! Crazy knows crazy so I need you to train him. You’ll like him, I promise. You’ve trained all my best pilots. Who was that last girl? Hillary? Holland? Oh, Holly! That’s it. You made her one of our best. She’s just about as good as Luke was, you know.”

Omega sighs, leaning more onto the table.

“Fine. But if he's a little shit then you owe me dinner.”

“Add it to my tab,” Leia laughs and stands up, motioning for Omega to follow her. They walk out of the briefing room and down the hall to the hangar, passing many who either greet or salute them as they pass. Both women smile and salute in return. Everyone on base had almost grown up with Aunt Omega and General Leia. If they hadn’t then they were surprised to find that Omega would adopt them eventually.

If Omega didn’t personally adopt you then she found you others who would be your family. She knew what it felt like to be isolated while surrounded by people. If she saw you sitting by yourself then she made sure to send someone else over and would make you start talking to each other. Omega always had an uncanny ability to bring people together exactly how they needed it.

As they walk into the hangar they squint as the bright sun comes through the open hangar doors.They hear it before they see it. Two figures, one man and one woman, both human,both in flight suits. Pilots. The space between them narrows as their voices get louder.

“You can’t shut off the karking engine mid-flight!” the woman yells up at the man in front of her.

“With enough altitude and, oh I dunno, life and death, then yes! I can!” the man yells back.

The pair is nearly nose-to-nose by the time Omega steps in.

“You two! Holly, you’ve got a cooler head than this.Tell me what's going on.”

“This nerfherder thinks that shutting the engines off would make for an effective escape strategy.”

“In the sky, or out in space?”

“In the sky, Aunt Mega. He’s got a kriffing death wish.”

Omega looks at the young man,standing there with his arms crossed and chest heaving. He’s ready for a fight.

“Well? In the sky would you turn your engine off?”

“He said tha—”

Omega holds up her hand, quietening Holly immediately.

“No. I want to hear this from him. It is his idea after all. So Mr. Trouble-maker…”

“Poe.”

“Gesundheit. Mr. Trouble-maker, care to explain why you think killing your engines in the middle of a battle would help you in any way?” Omega questions.

Poe thinks over his answer before beginning what she knew would be a long-winded speech bloated with chest-puffing and exaggeration. She knew both well.

“Well, as I was saying to my lovely acquaintance — Holly, was it —,if you’re skilled enough, a pilot could kill your engines only halfway and dropped behind enemy fighters and become the one doing the chasing.”

He finishes his explanation with a nod to a glowering Holly and turns his gaze back to the woman in front of him.

Poe had heard of the “Aunt Omega” of base camp. In her eyes there was a sparkle that spoke of wisdom, kindness, and love. Her hair is white as Hoth, held back by a red bandana,her face covered in laugh-lines that were evidence of a good life full of happiness. Everyone said that she was kind, loving, caring, and more. They also said she was hard-headed, extremely quick, and took no bullshit from anyone.

“Your response, Holly?” Omega turns to Holly looking to create a discussion instead of an argument.

“I said bullshit because your engines wouldn’t be able to turn off and then back on quickly enough to escape.”

“Half off,” Poe snaps back.

“Oh yeah well I’m gonna cut half your—“

Holly isn’t able to finish her sentence before Omega stops her once again.

“Thrusters.”

“Pardon?” Poe looks at Omega incredulously

“Not the engine but the thrusters. You have to lower the thrusters and pull back if you even hope to dream of finishing that tight of a turn.Technically, it could be possible if you lowered your thrusters to slow down already but kept the engines primed when you shut them off. And then turned them back on and immediately throttled all the way up.” Omega says, rubbing her chin in thought, though she already knows the answer. Her brother had taught her this years ago.

Poe turns to Holly and very maturely sticks his tongue out. She flips him off in return.

“All right, all right. Since you two have decided to be as immature as possible, why don't you test this out?”

“Mega, I don't know if that's a good idea,” Leia tries to start before Omega shoots her a trust me look.

“Those two x-wings have your names on them. Troublemaker, you get to test your theory and if you’re wrong, Holly you get to take out your frustrations in a game of tag,”

“Tag? What are we, twelve?”

“Did you play tag in x-wings at twelve years old?”

“Wouldn't you like to know, flyboy”

“Real mature.”

“You’re one to talk.”

Leia and Omega watch the two bicker before looking at each other and laughing, grinning at the next generation of youngsters who would be taking their places.

“If you two are done, I want to see what you’re made of. Go.”

The pilots shoot one last glare at each other before racing to their x-wings,throwing on their helmets, each one trying to beat the other to their ship. They carefully race through their pre-flight checks obviously safety is a large concern when playing tag with an X-wing.

“I’ll give you a couple seconds head start, Troublemaker.” Holly can be heard throughout the hangar, Omega turns and sees that there is a group starting to form around a radio connected to the com systems.

“The name’s Poe.”

“Is it?”

“Fifty credits the new kid eats it, Holly’s got this,” one mechanic says as he and another pull up crates for the growing crowd to sit on.

As Holly takes off she makes eye contact with Omega, giving her a two fingered salute.

“See? Crazy needs crazy,” Leia comments as they turn their attention to Poe who had been doing some tricks to warm up.

“You said he could fly, what is it that he's doing now? That's just fancy flippage and twirling.”

“Meh, he's got the foundation. I need you to help build the rest.”

They both practice for several minutes, getting comfortable in their fighters before hearing Omega’s voice through the speakers.

“Alright, I want a nice clean game. The guns are set to simulation so you can shoot as normal without messing up those beautiful paint jobs. Three tags and you're out. Got it?”

“Affirmative Auntie.”

Silence…

“Troublemaker?”

“It's not— ugh! Nevermind, yeah got it,”

The two fighters swing away from each other. The crowd on the ground cheers as Holly spins and hits the accelerator immediately closing in on Poe,

“Tag! You’re it!” Her joyous shout can be heard over the coms. The responding muttered string of curses isn't heard as clearly over the audience’s cheers for their friend.

“That’s one for Holly! Troublemaker, I’m still waiting to see that fancy trick of yours.”

The two fighters round back at each other, playing a game of chicken before they pull away and turn in opposite directions. This time it’s Poe chasing Holly as they zoom through the sky. She manages to evade him for a while as the sun gets lower and lower.

Leia and Omega sit by the radio as more people drop off, leaving to go finish work or rest in their quarters. Finally, after ages of cat and mouse, Holly makes a mistake and Poe lands a tag on her.

“Ha! Tag! How's that feel?

Holly scoffs in frustration as they return to the starting points.

“Alright kids this is taking a while. Next point wins, free for all. Go!”

At first Holly has the upper hand and chases Poe across the sky. Both pilots maneuver their fighters through tight turns and large loops, trying to get the other in their sight.

Eventually Poe gets tired of being chased. It’s time to test his theory.

He makes sure Holly is still behind him before opening a private com channel to her.

“Ready for that special move?”

“Never gonna work, I’m gonna have to fish you out of the jungle after this,” she says confidently as she narrows in on him.

Poe grins under his helmet as he locks the brakes slamming the throttle back, cutting the thrusters off, killing the engine, and spinning around full force before tagging Holly and slamming the thrusters back on and shooting right past her. Spinning around 180 degrees and tagging her before she can even turn her head.

Holly’s frustrated yell can be heard as Poe whoops in celebration.

“Great flying kids, come back in for a landing. We need to talk,” Omega says into the coms.

“That's totally not the scariest phrase in the galaxy.”

“I’m sure you hear it a lot, Troublemaker,.”

“You know what, I'm gonna come up with a name for you and you are not gonna like it.”

“I'd love to see you try.”

The two continue to bicker as they come in for a landing, parking side by side.

Holly jumps out of the x-wing and holds her helmet to her side. She walks towards the two older women still sitting on crates, now the only spectators left.

“Ho-ly shit,” is all she can say as she shakes her hair out and joins Omega and Leia as the sun starts to envelope the room in a golden glow.

“I have to admit Aunt Mega, he is pretty good.You could make him great though,” Holly admits, grinning and giving Omega a hug.

“Not you too! Leia put you up to this didn't she?” Omega realizes she walked straight into a trap as Leia and Holly exchange a knowing look.

“Who, me? Conspire with our favorite General to make sure my Auntie stays here for a little while longer? I would never.” Holly keeps her eyes wide and pouty for Omega who can't help but laugh.

“You little shit, you lost on purpose didn't you?” Omega shakes her head as Poe lands and hops out of his own X-wing. He saunters over, helmet on his hip, winking at Holly as he joins the group.

“Seeing as I won and my nerfherder theory was correct, what’s my prize?”

Holly looks from the General to Poe smirking.

“Lessons with the best.”

“If the lessons are with you, Pretty girl I will never be late to class.”

“Pretty Girl. That's all you got?”

“You don't like it? How about—smart girl?”

“Funny, the lessons are with Auntie Mega. She’s the best around here.” Holly informs Poe who spins to look at a smug Omega who simply waves at him. Holly waves goodbye to the small group as she runs to escape Omega’s glare.

“Alright then, what kind of lessons are we having? You gonna teach me any more tricks? I like that spin, you got a name for it?” Poe questions Omega, rapid fire.

“First you are gonna go get cleaned up, then you are gonna meet me up on that cliff in 15 minutes. I need to destress after dealing with you children.”

With these words Omega turns headed towards the end of the hangar, ready to go to her special place. Her shadow long behind her as the sun continues its descent into the horizon.

[breakfastteatime]

The Force has many ways of imparting its message. Sometimes it nudges. Other times it bellows. Now, very (very) early in the morning, the Force is a feather brushing across a bare foot. Jaro awakens with a smile and a certainty.

Cal needs him. Why, he does not know. It is not a bad feeling. Just the knowledge that Jaro’s presence is required.

Leaving the comfort of his bed, Jaro slips on his robe, clips his lightsaber to his belt, and heads out. Cal’s room is nearby, and the hallways are quiet this time of night, the distant and ever-present hum of the engines the only sound to hear.

Reaching Cal’s room, Jaro opens the door and immediately sees he has a problem. It is not an unexpected one, it is merely one he has not had to deal with before. It reminds him of how short a time Cal has been his apprentice. He had been warned the day he took Cal from the creche. Master Entola, noticeably red around the eyes, looked across her desk at Jaro with a fond smile.

“Cal will sleepwalk every now and then. There’s no avoiding it,” she told him. “Not far, and you’ll usually find him talking to a wall, but it is something you should be aware of.”

This morning, Cal has made good on Master Entola’s promise. He is not in his bed. He is not in his room at all. His blanket his strewn across the deck, along with a datapad. His boots are neatly placed alongside the rest of his clothes, meaning wherever he is, he is barefoot.

Knowing he can’t get into too much trouble – there are literally thousands of people aboard this ship, and Cal is likely to bump into at least one of them – Jaro does not immediately rush off or send out a ship-wide announcement telling everyone to keep an eye out for the boy. He shall spare his Padawan whatever blushes he can. Instead, Jaro reaches into the feather soft Force and seeks out Cal’s presence. Shrouded in sleep though he may be, Cal is still Cal.

He is also several decks below Jaro.

Curious, wondering what dream could lead Cal so far away, Jaro takes the nearest turbolift down to where Cal is. He nods to every clone he walks past, all of them snapping to attention and saluting. Jaro does not particularly like it, finds their pre-programmed reverence somewhat distasteful, sentients should be free to choose who they dedicate their lives and loyalty to, yet he does not ask them to desist.

The ‘lift deposits him in a cargo bay. There are many aboard the Brave, but this one is reserved for emergency supplies should they need to evacuate civilian populations. Winding his way through the crates, Jaro becomes aware of a small voice.

“…so tall, you can’t miss him.”

Jaro turns a corner and there he is, Cal, and as promised he is talking to a wall. Well, no, not a wall. A container, apparently containing emergency clothing supplies. From the big smile on Cal’s face, what he sees in his dream does not match the mundanity of reality.

…unless the boy has a fondness for ponchos and rainboots.

“Should I wake him when I find him?” Jaro had asked Master Entola.

“No. Best to simply take him back to bed. He will stay there once you put him back. One little nighttime stroll is all he ever seems to need.”

And so Jaro crouches down and speaks softly. “Cal?”

The boy looks up (and up) to Jaro, smiling brightly. “Here he is!” Cal tells the crate. “See? He’s very tall.” He nods as though the crate is passing comment on Jaro’s height.

“Come.” Jaro places a hand on Cal’s shoulder. “And bring your new friend.”

This, apparently, is precisely what Cal’s dream expects. He chatters brightly, telling his imaginary friend that they’ll be safe now, Master Tapal is a very good Jedi.

“What happened?” Jaro asks, guiding Cal onto the ‘lift.

“She got lost,” Cal tells him. “In the woods. She couldn’t find her family. She found me instead. And then we found you.” The sleeping boy frowns. “Or you found us. I’m not really sure.”

“The outcome is the same either way,” Jaro says as they board the turbolift.

The ‘lift arrives on the residential deck and he and Cal step out. The troopers all salute again, greeting Cal, but Cal is too busy talking about trees and getting lost to notice. Of course, he is also quite literally asleep on his feet. Given that he would have walked past all of them on his sleepwalk through a dream forest, Cal either said enough to silence any concern, or they assumed he was on Jedi business and let him get on with it.

Back in Cal’s room, Jaro steers him back into bed with lots of reassurances that his new friend will be safely escorted back to her family. He tucks him in and opts to remain in the room until, as advertised, Cal simply drifts off into standard Human sleep, the type where he remains in bed with his eyes closed and his voice silent. The Force settles around him, a quiet hum to match the engines, and Jaro finally feels it is safe to leave Cal for the rest of the night.

At a civil hour, Cal emerges from his cabin bright-eyed and completely unaware of his earlier excursion.

“Are you okay, Master? You look tired.”

Oh, to have the energy of youth. “I am well, Padawan.” And will be even better once he consumes a small bucket of caf. “You look very well-rested.”

“Uh huh!”

And, as Jedi tradition dictates, a Jedi Master is allowed to have a little fun in the name of education. “Perhaps you would like to go for a run after breakfast,” Jaro suggests. “A lap of the nearby cargo deck before we resume lightsaber training.”

“Okay!”

Jaro sighs. He cannot win. Perhaps when Cal is in his teens a task like that will result in much stifled complaining and malicious compliance.

[la-rougo]

*SFW*-

“Welcome back,

my King.”

Hades x God of revival Reader

With the power of God of revival, hades was able to return as well as the others

Tags: angsty but happy ending

A/n’s note: this is a cure for my broken heart and soul after his death🤠

A brief of silence was a presence, sword of the King of Man slit to the left of the King of Neither’s body, everything happened in a single moment. Pure despair can be seen from afar in the king of neither’s fiancée eyes

As hades’s body was about to collapse, (name) was already running down to him, keeping the promise that they made to each other

“I promise, that we’ll stay together til the last breath of our lives”

Those words were lingering in (name)’s head, heart pounding as fast as their speed, arriving at the right time as he collapsed in their arms. Looking up to his fiancée

“You kept our promise..”

Tears ran down their face, dropped down on the dying god

“Smile, i want to see your smile as the last thing of my life”

(Name) didn’t force a smile, they smiled bravely seeing their husband still wanted (name) to stay strong even in the darkest moments

“Say farewell and apologize for my brothers, I failed as an elder brother,… King, and as a husband..”

(Name) tensed up their grip as their tear running down even more, in a smile

“You never failed, never. You’ve struggled and work hard for us, you’re the best king, husband that I could ever ask for. I’m sure that your brothers agree that you are the best of all. Maybe it’s the fate that decided to let you rest for eternity”

(Name) and Hades share a chuckle together, (name) leans down to kiss his forehead, as the crowd was tearing up.

A flash of ceremony as he lifted their hand up to slid a ring into their finger, kissing in a promise to be together til their last breath. Crowd cheering for the couples

(Name) lift their head back up to look at their husband for the last time

“I love you, my king”

“I love you too, my queen”

(Name) help him lift his body up, and lifting one of his arm up as the gods, goddesses salute for the glory of the king of the underworld. As his body was turning into a shade of green, cracks began to form

“For the glory of the King of the Underworld, Hades”

With last glance of each other, Hades had went to the afterlife… or the world of nothing

Tears ran down the face of the several people in the arena, (name) smiled through tears as they walked back inside

All alone at the back of the arena, gripping their heart as they feel the clenched of pain, throbbing. Even if death is unavoidable, losing someone you love is still the biggest pain to ever felt.

Present

(Name) discussing with zeus about bring the dead heroes back to life

“Surely it won’t effect anything, right?”

Zeus hesitated for a while and thought that, maybe it wouldn’t be a bad thing?

“Alright, I do felt a bit sorrow. Damn him, he even apologized at the last moment of his life”

(Name) relieved that they can bring back all the sacrificed heroes back to life

Their souls, their ambitions. Are strong enough to not let go

(Name) went back to their realm as they searched for any clues of information about bringing a soul back to life, it was a long time since they did so.

“Where the heck is that book…”

(Name) was slightly frustrated, looking around trying to find the revive book in their quiet large room. They decided to search in Beelzebub’s room

“Barging in without any knock, what seems to be in hurry?”

“I miss his face”

Beelzebub’s eyes widened slightly, knowing completely what you meant. He knows you’re not going to revive only one person which made him worried

“You know that reviving cost your power?”

“It’s fine I can just recharg— a- HAH!”

(Name) found their revive book and ran away from Beelzebub’s room, many thoughts lingering in your mind, mainly about their husband

“Hades…”

Once (name) arrived in their realm, they saw a figure of a guy sitting on one of their couches. The figure spoke up

“If you’re going to risk your life on this then I’m not letting you do it”

How the heck did beel got here before you? Anyways, (name) furrowed their eyebrows, walking past Beel completely ignoring him, but he use his skull cane to stop you

“One life for seven lives, these people means so much more to everyone.”

Beelzebub sighed, lower his cane down reversing it into a skull

“If that’s what you desire then, fine. I’ll help you with it”

(Name) smiled in relief, they turned to their book and read all the instructions and prayers

(Name) was excited even if they might get weaker, but they barely have any concerns for themselves

“Make it quick, I’m going to fight for the next round”

(Name) nodded as they gained a buff from Beelzebub. (Name) started to pray, harnessing the souls of the dead heroes. Perking up and close their eyes

“Heavens. All thy souls of the lost heroes, …….

(Name) went on as they felt weaker and weaker, but a process was forming as a green dust particles began to form slowly, figure by figure, one by one. (Name) smiles brightly as they went on til the last of the seven, Hades

The lost heroes was now standing in a range of the prayer

“(Name)… you did it”

Beelzebub smiles slightly at the sight of his friend succeeding after what felt like eternity.

“Yeah! Haha… I really felt refreshed and tired..”

(Name) tried to get up but they fell back down on the floor due to the exhaustion but they were quickly caressed back up

“You really are incredible dear…”

(Name) heard an extremely familiar voice, a voice that they’ve been wishing it for their return, looking up to see none other than their husband as tears began to form, they immediately hugged Hades and he quickly pull Poseidon from behind and hugged together. Smiling together

Heracles and zero felt a bit emotional so they joined the group hug

Adam also didn’t want to stand there and watch, he walked up and hugging them

Raiden and Lu Bu was standing, watching and smiling but quickly got pulled by Adam into the group hug. Tears running down (name)’s eyes, feeling warm and welcome all the heroes back to life

Beelzebub smiled and walk out to prepare for his match.

The heroes had a little chit chat together as time flies, each of them leave one by one, leaving (name) and hades

“I still can’t believe you risk your life to bring us back to life, dear”

(Name) chuckled

“If it weren’t for beel, I would’ve been dead”

Hades caresses (name)’s cheek and pulls them closer to him

“No wonder why I’m so in love with you, still keeping my little promise til the last moment”

“I miss you so much”

“I can tell”

Hades chuckles as they kiss and enjoying their peaceful moment together

“Welcome back, my King”

[fandom-gt]

FANDOM: MCU

REQUESTED SUMMARY: ”This story would be set in an MCU alternate universe where tiny people are viewed as pets/toys for normal-sized people. During a gathering at the Stark cabin, Peter and Steve are accidentally shrunken with Pym Particles in a lab accident (testing an invention Peter made for Steve). They make it to the living room after everyone else has left and are soon found by Tony and Pepper, who think they're normal tinies and believe Steve and Peter left the party early. Pepper ends up claiming Peter for herself, picking him up and heading for her and Tony's bedroom to "break him in". Tony promises to join his wife later, opting to play with his new toy by dropping Steve into the front of his underwear.”

CHARACTERS: Peter Parker, Steve Rogers, Tony Stark, Pepper Potts

WARNINGS: Unaware, Noncon, Entrapment

COMMISSION TYPE: Full Page + 1 Add-On

——

So, there stands Peter Parker on the most mortifying day of his life, face in his hands, feeling about an inch tall – like, emotionally, but also… physically, because he is actually about an inch tall. And so is Actual Captain America, who stands just a few inches (Millimeters? What scale is he supposed to use in this situation?) away with his hands on his hips in that ‘I’m not mad, just disappointed’ pose. Peter can feel his insides shriveling up, he can feel his soul leaving his body, he is a husk. A teeny, tiny, spidery husk.

“Look… I don’t mean to knock- whatever it is you accomplished here, Pete, but- uh…” Steve starts, and Peter starts shaking his head immediately, desperately holding up his hands, waving them around to try and cut him off.

“No- no, no. Mr. America, I mean- Mr. Rogers-”

“Steve,” Captain America corrects, for the millionth time.

“Mister Steve, this is not how it was supposed to go. I swear, I’ve tested this like a million times, and it worked every single other one. Like- so many times, one hundred percent success rate, I don’t understand how- it was only supposed to do the shield, but I-” And then the lightbulb goes off. “Ohhhh…. Oh no. I think it’s the serum in your blood, I didn’t factor that in, I think it’s an adverse reaction- oh, crap. Wow, that’s actually so cool, if you think about it, that means it’s probable that Pym particles are a derivative of-”

“Pete,” Steve calls, patient but stern, dragging his sporadic attention span back on track. Low-key, he’s got to wonder if anybody ever had this kid tested for ADHD. If they get out of this, he’ll make a mental note to talk to May about it.

“Right. Sorry. Um- the good news is, it should be totally reversible. The bad news is, I think we’re gonna need to get Mister Stark, because I don’t- I don’t think I can do it like this. The logistics just aren’t… you know. Possible.” He shrugs helplessly, and Steve sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose and resigning himself to a good twenty to forty minutes of jokes at his expense from Tony.

“Alright. Well. The good news is we’re both durable, huh? It should be mostly safe, as long as we stay sharp. Let’s get to the living room, grab Tony’s attention, and then you can explain what happened, alright?” Steve says with all the confidence and reassurance that comes naturally to him, leaving Peter in a kind of starstruck celebrity awe for a whole two seconds before he awkwardly salutes.

“You got it Mister Captain America, Sir!” Peter calls back cheerfully, despite Steve’s sighed insistence to call me Steve for the million-and-first time. Pressing the issue feels like a decided waste of energy and time, so instead the pair of them set off at a brisk sprint. It’s a good thing they both have so much stamina; covering this much ground as a normal person or even a normal tiny would’ve been absolutely exhausting and it would’ve taken forever.

They slip beneath the lab’s door frame a little too easily; it towers over them like a monument, and only cements their diminutive status when they wriggle their little bodies flat beneath the half-inch gap. By the time they make it down the hall and into the living room proper, it seems the guests have just filtered out.

They’re treated to the sight of Pepper calling out a polite goodbye, and shutting the door behind the last person. The heavy sound of the wood slamming and door latching reverberates through both of their ears, causing them to wince and wither in on themselves just a little. By the time this is all over, they’re both likely to have a pounding migraine – though not, perhaps, for the reasons they might expect.

Subsequent rhythmic booms echo around them again. This time, it isn’t doors, but rather footsteps. Heavy, expensive shoes slamming down one after another, rattling the ground beneath their feet, and Steve only has time to think about how he’s glad he doesn’t get motion-sick anymore before the shoe itself finally slams down directly in front of him, making him stagger back instinctively. A mile above them, Tny stares down at the pair of them, spotting them instantly on the white rug.

“Oh, thank god,” Steve sighs, waving his arms over his head. “That was easier than I expected.”

Tony’s voice rings out, deep and echoing, bassy and slow and utterly surreal to their ears, “Hey Pep, look what somebody left behind. A couple of party favors.”

For a moment, Steve really thinks Tony’s screwing with them – right up until Pepper’s loud, clacking heals cause the ground to quake in her approach, and they too slam to a stop in front of the tiny pair. She stares down at them without recognition, and unlike her partner, she isn’t the type to joke like this.

“Aw, they’re cute,” she coos, trailing her hand along Tony’s expensive suit for a moment. “I think we earned them for hosting, don’t you? I like that one more.”

Peter’s eyes go wide as those enormous blue orbs fixate on him, and it occurs to him a split second before it does Steve – they’re too small to see. Their faces, their features, they must be blurry and indistinct to anybody that doesn’t have senses like him and Steve have. Especially if the person staring down at them has been drinking; and nearly everyone at the gathering certainly had.

“No- wait, Ms. Potts, it’s me, Peter-” he calls out frantically, watching her perfectly manicured hand descend to pluck him up off the carpet. Her fingers squeeze him gently, or at least he’s sure she thinks it is, but it’s still strong enough to knock the wind out of him and leave him wheezing too hoarsely to call out to her anymore.

“I’m gonna go break it in. Do you wanna join me?” She asks as she rights herself, slipping her high heels off her feet and settling her pantyhose-clad toes on the soft carpet. Tony’s lips quirk up and then he, too, ducks down, snatching the last remaining tiny up from the floor. Unlike Pepper, Tony doesn’t bother bringing his any further than his waist.

“Sure, I’ll be there in a few minutes. You go ahead. I wanna play a little first,” he says, and Steve can only stare forward in horror as Tony pulls his waistband back and, without ever bothering to look at the tiny’s face, drops him into the cavernous pit of his designer underwear.

[sephirthoughts]

Vincent's New Kid Just Dropped CH 14: Deepground Flashback, a big fight happens, Rosso collects a baby duck, special cameo appearance by everyone's favorite good, good boy.

RATING: mature for a non-explicit sex scene

WARNINGS: hojo, canon-typical violence, scarlet being a creep to sixteen-year-old Weiss

prev. chap

everyone's best friend Zack

“What did I tell you,” Hojo said smugly, to Lazard, who was looking understandably ill-at-ease.

“I don’t listen to half of the deranged shit you say,” Lazard answered irritably. He pressed the intercom button, that linked them to the training arena, where Weiss was pulling Genesis to his feet, after having thrashed him soundly, for the third time in a row. “Genesis. Report.”

Genesis tossed the camera a jaunty salute. “As you’ve certainly deduced, by now, I deem this candidate fit to participate in a sparring contest, with my fellow SOLDIER First Class, Sephiroth.”

“But how are you? Are you injured?” 

“You know what they say,” Genesis replied, with a rueful laugh. “Nothing bruised but my pride and internal organs.”

“Alright, then,” Lazard sighed. “It looks like you’ll have your fight, Hojo. I’ll give the green light to the Marketing Department, and set things rolling.”

“Stay close, when you fight him,” Genesis advised Weiss, back in the boys’ quarters. “He’s a skilled spellcaster, and you are best at close range, so don’t let him use his long-range advantage. He’s the most dangerous at mid-range, because of that huge sword, though, so hem him in tightly, if you can. Don’t give him room to use it effectively. Most importantly…keep your eyes open, little brother. I have an uneasy feeling about all of this.”

“I will,” Weiss nodded dutifully. 

“Good,” Genesis smiled, laying an affectionate hand on his cheek. “I’ll be cheering for you.”

“Will you be there, to see the fight?” Nero asked, tugging Genesis’ other hand. 

“I’m afraid not. I ship back out to the frontlines tomorrow. But I’ll be watching the live satellite feed. Unless there’s enemy activity, then I’ll have to watch the recording, later.”

“When will you come see us, again, big-brother?”

“I won’t make any promises as to when, because I can’t say what things will be like at the front, but it will be the soonest that I can. I’m going to look into our blood connection, too. Hopefully I’ll have some answers, by then.”

Nero’s crimson eyes were large and round, in his pale face, and he was still clinging to Genesis’ hand with both of his. Moved by his childlike earnestness, Genesis took the smaller boy in his arms and pressed kisses to his silky, black hair. 

“Worry not, little one. Though the morrow be barren of promises, nothing shall forestall my return.” 

Within an hour of the famous SOLDIER’s departure, personnel were sent to restore and repair all of the destroyed surveillance equipment in Weiss and Nero’s room. This mattered very little to the two boys, who were indifferent to being observed, and communicated silently, anyway.

After all that, months passed, before anything progressed regarding the planned duel with Sephiroth. During that time, rumors began to reach Deepground that something big had happened, in SOLDIER. People were even saying that some top-level people had betrayed Shinra and defected. Nero couldn’t reach Genesis through the darkness link at a distance, like he could with Weiss, so they wouldn’t be able to ask him about it, till he visited again.

Meanwhile, they continued training and living pretty much as normal. Hojo went away to do whatever he did. The girls he’d brought for Weiss were still there, but one had broken away from the main pack and begun hanging around wherever Rosso was. Rosso responded much like Weiss had, when she started following him around, which was to ignore the girl and go about her business, but make no objection to her presence. 

As per their usual, Weiss and Nero didn’t care even a little bit, and so the new girl gradually became part of the Deepground group. She was always muttering to herself and making notes and sketches in her little notebook, but otherwise, she was generally inoffensive. 

At long last, Hojo called to say that the fight with Sephiroth had been scheduled, and was to take place a week hence. There was to be a huge live audience, including the entire Shinra board of directors. He assured Weiss that Sephiroth was aware of their purpose, and wouldn’t embarrass him.

Later that evening, Nero lay splayed out in the tumble of white sheets, black marks writhing and dancing all over his slender body, while Weiss’ hot tongue coaxed and teased him open, sometimes gentle and patient, sometimes urgent and demanding, but always an act of abject worship, a zealot before his god, demonstrating his fanatic devotion on his hands and knees.

Nero bit deep into his brother’s neck, coiling his legs tightly around his waist, as he pushed himself inside. Their souls connected as their bodies moved together, slick with sweat, giving and receiving, fucking and being fucked, joined at the white-hot nexus of pleasure, merging deeper and deeper into one another.

The primary goal of their sexual unions was not orgasm, though they enjoyed that part, too, but rather the relief of the ache of emptiness, that would grow and grow, the longer they weren’t fully merged, until it became a howling void of agony and need. 

Their psychic connection provided some relief, and slowed the process, but eventually, they would have to be united again, or the pain would become maddening and unbearable, and much like the pain of a phantom limb, without any remedy, other than the re-attaching of the missing part. Fortunately, they were also a couple of hormonal teenagers, and so the necessity of merging their being accorded well with their biological drive to be constantly fucking.

“I’m sorry they won’t let you go with me,” Wiess sighed, when Nero lay in his arms, after their amorous activities. 

“We’ll be watching, here,” Nero said, nestling more securely into his brother’s broad chest. “If you need me, just use the darkness. I look forward to witnessing your victory.”

“Genesis doesn’t think I’ll win.”

“You only used half your strength to fight him. Of course he doesn’t.”

Weiss laughed and pressed a kiss to Nero’s forehead. “I couldn’t tip my hand to Lazard and Hojo. Besides, don’t you think he’ll be surprised, when he sees me kill Shinra’s big hero, on live television?”

“We don’t even know where he is. He might not be somewhere that he can watch it, live. If he doesn’t, he’ll certainly get word of what happened, before he sees it, and it’ll ruin your surprise.”

“I think he’ll still be surprised.”

On the morning of the fight, they transported Wiess like a max-security prisoner, in a fully closed capsule reminiscent of a coffin. Thus, when he stepped out into the massive stadium, from the locker-room staging area, it was the first time he had ever laid eyes upon the sky. 

What he could see of it, through the halfway open stadium roof, he found to be rather disappointing, overall. Just a dull, grey dome, not too unlike the ceiling in Deepground, only a lot bigger and higher up. 

Back in Deepground, everyone was gathered around different video screens, all watching the live broadcast. Nero was with Rosso, who was visibly anxious, and the other girl, who was doodling in her notebook. After a lot of unnecessary music and chatter from the presenters, the feed finally cut to Weiss, entering the stadium.

“He’s so beautiful,” Nero murmured, with an adoring sigh.

He did cut a rather imposing figure, both from afar, and on the huge screens, with his handsome face, wild, white hair, and tall, broad frame. The long, white jacket they’d given him billowed and blew in the wind, while he strode confidently out to his position, in the football-field sized ring. 

He wore no armor, so the sum total of his equipment, aside from the jacket, amounted to his usual white dojo pants, black boots, modeled after a samurai’s kegutsu, with a flexible, rubber shaft, and metal knee guard, and a pair of agile katanas. 

When he threw off the jacket to strap the katanas to his bare back, exposing his heavily muscled torso, there was scattered whistling and catcalling, amongst the gigantic crowd. He was a total unknown, however, here to challenge the greatest and most beloved hero in the world, so most of the positive reaction was drowned out by the voluble booing. 

“Why are they booing him?” Rosso demanded, indignantly. “He should slaughter all of them, for their impudence.”

A moment later, the crowd went absolutely roaring mad, further offending her, as Sephiroth dropped into the arena, from some concealed platform high above. He landed lightly on his feet, black coat and silver hair flowing majestically about him. His nearly seven-foot height made Weiss look less impressive, by comparison, especially bulked up as Sephiroth’s silhouette was, by those huge pauldrons.

“He is very big,” Rosso remarked, apprehensively. “Bigger even than Commander Weiss.”

“His size won’t matter,” Nero assured her. “Weiss is stronger. He’ll win.”

The presenters were making some effusive, overblown introduction of the great war hero, and gushing about his merits and achievements, but Weiss heard none of it. He was a hunting lion, that had sighted prey, and he neither heard nor saw anything but his opponent, from that moment on. 

They stepped forward and clasped hands, after the manner of warriors, then returned to their positions. There was a long and breathless moment, during which the crowd fell nearly silent, then the starting bell sounded and both men simply vanished. 

That is to say, they both moved faster than the human eye could perceive, and clashed like a burst of fireworks, sparks flying as swords collided, the ringing clangs as rapid and staccato as machinegun fire, their movements an incomprehensible blur, till they leapt apart. Gazes locked, they circled one another, like a pair of wolves. 

Weiss saw Sephiroth’s catlike pupil slits, rapidly dilating and contracting, as he reassessed his opponent, and laughed. “Hojo told you to go easy on me, right? Well, consider this a gentleman’s warning. You had better use your full strength to fight me. Because I am here to kill you.”

By way of reply, Sephiroth narrowed his eyes, and dropped into his fighting stance.

Blades sang as they clashed again, and this time, Weiss locked Masamune in a blocking hold, with his dual blades. His silver-blue eyes were alight with the joy of battle, and literally illuminated by the bright-gold rings that were beginning to glow faintly, around his pupils.

“What are you?” Sephiroth demanded, as they grappled.  

Weiss bared his teeth, in a savage grin. “I’m you, but better.”

Sephiroth gave a roar and threw him off, and they were back in the fray, flying around the arena, trading rapid bursts of blows, in blurred flashes of white and silver light, that could only be properly deciphered when they were instant-replayed in slow motion on the big screens, for the benefit of the spectators, and those watching at home.

Sephiroth’s usual expression of casual indifference had given way to a look of grim concentration, which was proof enough of how he was faring in this fight. Weiss, on the other hand, seemed to be growing more energetic and elated, his laughter rolling like thunder in the vast arena, as the two performed their bloodthirsty dance. 

Sephiroth did manage to put distance between them, a few times, and threw fire and thunder spells at Weiss, which slowed him down, as he had to block or evade them, but he always managed to close the distance again, too quickly for it to become a real issue.

“Range, he needs range. That is the sword’s major weakness,” Rosso’s little acolyte muttered to herself, as she hurriedly scribbled something in her notebook. Rosso and Nero ignored her.

The tension and excitement in the crowd was nearing its peak, as it became increasingly clear how closely matched the two opponents actually were. They collided once again, in an explosion of blows. The shriek of metal on metal rang out, where the blades met, sliding along each other, throwing off a shower of sparks, then a sudden spray of crimson, as both leapt back, landing on their feet many meters apart. 

When the cameras caught up, and their images reappeared on the big screens, the crowd gave a collective cry of dismay. Blood ran along the edge of a gleaming blade, held aloft for all to see. The blade in Weiss’ hand. 

To the horrified disbelief of the spectators, a corresponding bloody slash had appeared across Sephiroth’s chest, from which the crossed leather straps had been severed and now hung loose. Sephiroth! The greatest hero in the world! How could he be wounded? How strong must this other man be, to have wounded him? Many of them began to look at this interloper with new eyes.

“So you can bleed,” Weiss said, with a deranged smile.

In full view of the cameras, while his image was still up on the big screens, he drew his sword along his tongue, licking Sephiroth’s blood off the flat of the blade. The crowd rumbled disapprovingly and some of them booed about it, but Weiss had no interest in their opinions. He was here for one reason, and one reason, alone. 

“What’s the meaning of this, Hojo?” Heidegger demanded, from his seat behind President Shinra, in the executive box. “Have you set your boy up to be beaten?”

“I’m all for you embarrassing yourself in public,” Scarlet chimed in, “but it’s Shinra that loses face, if Sephiroth looks like a fool.”

“Is Sephiroth really hurt? Is he in danger?” asked Reeve, the only one who looked genuinely concerned for the young warrior.

“I’ve got a big bet riding on that boy, Hojo,” Palmer cut in angrily. “You’d better tell me if I’m about to take a bath!”

“I wonder, I wonder,” Hojo said, cackling gleefully to himself. 

It is important to note, however, that President Shinra neither joined the others in questioning the Director of his Science and Research Division, nor did he appear particularly perturbed by Sephiroth’s struggling in the fight.

Back in Deepground, Rosso was over the moon, and even Nero had a bloodthirsty smile on his face. It seemed that his brother’s victory and Sephiroth’s death were imminent. 

Out in the ring, Sephiroth ignored the crowd, the taunt from Weiss, and the wound on his chest, and readied Masamune again. Weiss knew that the time had come to press his advantage. If he hesitated now, he may never have another chance to kill Sephiroth. 

They locked blades again, and this time he forced Sephiroth backward, until he dug his heels in, and pushed back. Weiss pressed on, gritting his teeth, pushing Masamune closer and closer to Sephiroth’s face.

Suddenly, he felt a strange sensation of heat, at the base of his skull. At the same time, his arms went weak, like the blood had been drained out of them. His stance sagged, as he found himself having to exert many times the effort, to hold off Sephiroth’s blade. 

“What…what did you do to me! What’s happening to my body!” Weiss snarled, through his clenched teeth, his muscles shaking with the strain of resisting the now-advancing Sephiroth. 

Their blades ground together, faces so close they could have kissed. There was a look of eerie calm in Sephiroth’s brilliant green eyes, and a slight smile tugged up the corners of his lips. 

He spoke for his opponent’s ears only, far too softly for even the most sensitive microphones to pick up. “You may possess more brute strength, but all means of achieving victory are valid. Including deception and betrayal.”

Weiss lost the struggle and stumbled back, his legs heavy and clumsy, as if he was wading in wet concrete. With that, the fight became a rout, Sephiroth tossing Weiss around the arena, toying with him, as he strove desperately to fend off the relentless storm of attacks, with his suddenly lax and unresponsive body. 

He felt a surge of support come from the darkness, across the void. It comforted him, but had no effect on whatever was happening to his body. Weiss was still Weiss, however, and his mental fortitude hadn’t deserted him, with his physical strength. No matter what the odds, or how certain his death, so long as he had breath in his body, he would never give up. He would keep fighting, to the bitter end, despite knowing the contest was lost.

At long last, battered, bruised, and bleeding from the nose and mouth, as well as sword wounds all over his body, he collapsed, unable to even lift his arms, let alone get back to his feet. His swords, one broken off halfway down the blade, and one chipped and blunted, clattered to the ground, beside him.

The bell sounded, the match was called for Sephiroth, and the crowd went wild, whooping and cheering for their beloved hero, while many among them booed and taunted the arrogant upstart, who had dared think himself a worthy challenger to the great and mighty Sephiroth.

Sephiroth gave a low bow, in the direction of the Shinra executives’ box, then waved and smiled for the crowd, before he hauled Weiss to his feet, supporting him with Weiss’ arm hooked over his shoulders, as if they were friends. About a hundred camera drones swarmed them, clamoring for a statement. 

“My opponent fought well and honorably,” said the beautiful, silver-haired hero, who wasn’t sweating or disheveled, after the prolonged, energetic fight. “I believe Weiss is the most skilled fighter I have ever faced. I’ve learned a lot, from our match today, and I look forward to testing my skill against him again. But let’s not trouble him to make a statement, at the moment. I think he’s a little fatigued.”

The crowd roared with laughter, as if that were the cleverest joke they’d ever heard, and then burst into applause, moved by their hero’s generosity and humility in victory. 

Weiss couldn’t have spoken if his life depended on it. He was too stupefied to even be certain what was happening was real. His head lolled to the side, and his limbs had turned to stone. His eyes felt gritty, like they were full of sand, and his vision was blurred.

Sephiroth half-supported, half-carried him from the arena, through the heavily guarded doors, into what was essentially the backstage area. The moment the doors slid shut behind them, he let go of Weiss, who reeled to the side, staggered a few steps, then sat down hard on the floor, leaning heavily against the metal lockers.

“You fucking coward,” he sneered, struggling to focus his eyes on Sephiroth. “You have…you have no honor.”

“I am a soldier, not a dancing puppet!” Sephiroth exploded, shoving away the bottle of water someone was trying to hand him, and striding over to look down at Weiss, green cat-eyes ablaze with wrath. “I was called back from an active operation, to have this farce of a contest with you! That is enough of an insult to me, already! Was I also to lose the fight, and destroy the morale of all the hundreds of thousands of Shinra troops who look to me, for hope?”

“Fuck your false hope,” Weiss slurred out. “They all think you’re a god. They should know you’re just a f—a fucking cheater.”

“Warfare isn’t a game! Do you not understand that? On the battlefield, no one cares about honor! Honor doesn’t blunt blades or stop bullets! The only rule is do not let your opponent win, because if they win, you die! No one cares if you fought fairly, when you’re dead!”

“Sephiroth, stop!” a voice called out, as booted footsteps approached.

“Zack,” Sephiroth said, his demeanor instantly softening. “What are you doing here? I thought you’d gone, already.”

Another tall, blurry figure appeared, looming over Weiss. “Mission got delayed. Waiting on the Turks to get their shit together. Why don’t you come have lunch with me.”

“I’m not done, here,” Sephiroth said, turning back to Weiss.

“Come on, man,” Zack interposed. “You already beat the shit out of the kid, just leave it at that.” 

“Not a fucking kid,” Weiss protested, all inebriated indignation. “I’m sixt…sixteen.”

Sephiroth looked startled, then disgusted. “Hmph. I should’ve known. You may look like a grown man, but only a child would’ve fallen for a double-cross so simple. Here’s a piece of advice, that may aid you in the future: never try to beat an old snake at his own game. You’ll only wind up humiliated, or dead.”

“You’re wasting your breath,” Zack said, laying a hand on his shoulder. “Can’t you see he’s completely out of it? Come on, let’s hit the road, before the execs catch up.”

Weiss was hazily aware of the two towering figures departing. Then there was some kind of commotion, and all the other blurry background figures scattered, scurrying out of the immediate area as fast as they could. He could hear lot of footsteps approaching. Heavy boot-treads, from a large group of guards, lighter taps, from men’s formal shoes, and even some clacks from high-heels.

Two soldier-colored blobs darted ahead of the approaching group and grabbed Weiss by the arms, intending to haul him to his feet, which, as it turned out, was quite ill-advised. Even in his severely weakened and half-conscious state, he swatted them away like flies, sending them sprawling across the slick, tile floor. 

“You call that under control?” a stocky, bearded blob thundered. “You said the President would be safe!”

“Oh, he’s perfectly safe,” Hojo’s weaselly voice replied, with a chuckle. “Allow me to demonstrate.”

A weird, all-black blob stepped out of the group blob, and Weiss felt that hot tingling on the back of his neck again. Immediately, his vision cleared and the heavy, drunken feeling dissipated. But as he leapt to his feet, the black-cloaked and helmeted figure barked, “Down, dog! Do not move or speak until you’re ordered to!”

To Weiss’ shock and revulsion, his body obeyed, dropping him to his knees, where he remained, red-eyed with rage, but unable to move or make a sound. 

“Ooh, now, that is interesting,” Scarlet crooned, sauntering over to look down at him, with unconcealed lust. “What an amusing toy he is. Make him strip, I want to see the rest.”

“Scarlet, what the hell are you doing?” Reeve exclaimed. “He’s a person, not a toy!”

“Oh, please, Reeve, get off your high-horse,” she scoffed, with a dismissive wave of her hand. “He’s not a person, he’s a SOLDIER, which makes him a weapon. As Director of Advanced Weaponry, I want to inspect the product thoroughly, before I form a conclusive opinion.”

“Strip!” the black-cloaked figure barked at Weiss. 

Weiss strained against the compulsion with all his will, but that barely slowed his fingers, which were already unbuckling his knee guards and pulling off his boots. His chest was heaving with ragged breaths, from the effort he was making to resist, beads of sweat rolling down his forehead, as his body got to his feet, and his hands went to his waist, to untie his belt.

“That’s enough,” President Shinra cut in. “I’m convinced.”

“Stop,” the black-clad man commanded. “Dress yourself and await orders.”

Weiss left off fighting, which he now knew was only a waste of energy, and let his body mechanically pull his boots back on, and refasten his knee guards. The sensation was bizarre and disturbing.

“As I promised, Mr. President, the perfect SOLDIER,” Hojo announced, with a grand flourish in Weiss’ direction. “Not only is he at least as strong as the successful S-type specimen, he is perfectly compliant and controllable. I imagine—especially in light of recent, embarrassing incidents—you would appreciate never having to doubt the obedience or loyalty of your SOLDIERs. With sufficient funding, I can create a whole army just like him, in Deepground. A second, superior SOLDIER unit, to report only to yourself, through the Restrictor, who is linked directly to the control chip, via—”

“Enough ballyhoo, Hojo, I said I was convinced,” President Shinra interrupted, impatiently. “Consider your project funded, at your discretion. Whatever you need, to get this up and running. But I want full functionality in six months.”

“Hm, hm, such a tight deadline,” Hojo said, pretending to deliberate. “But…if I’m not interfered with, I believe I can make that work.”

“Good. See that you do.”

While they talked, Scarlet had come over and was tracing her crimson-nailed fingertips over the flawlessly sculpted muscles of Weiss’ bare chest and abdomen. He couldn’t move to do anything about it, so he ignored her and focused on running some calculations in his head. 

“You know, he only looks like an adult,” Hojo said aridly, to Scarlet, who had hooked her finger into Weiss’ waistband, and pulled it out, to peer down inside. “He’s sixteen years old.”

“Sixteen is an adult. Or have you already forgotten the measures we pushed into law, so you and Heidegger could get younger conscripts.” Scarlet arched her eyebrow at the impressive view she’d treated herself to, before she let the waistband snap back into place. “I think I’ll come visit Deepground sometime, soon. Just to see how things are developing down there.”

Weiss had been engrossed in his thoughts, and aware of none of what was happening around him. He had analyzed the situation, and extrapolated all the potential results, but no matter how he approached it, he kept arriving at the same solution: Deepground was fucked. And it was his fault.

“Nero. I’m sorry,” he whispered to the darkness. “I’m so sorry. I ruined everything. Please, forgive me. ”

He felt Nero’s confusion and anguished worry, and also his comforting aura, reaching out to coil around him, across the void. 

“It will be alright, my love,” came the answer. “Whatever is coming, we can face it, together.”

NEXT chapter

[mariaofdoranelle]

Look at Us Now — Ch. 10

Fic masterlist

*Nods to Nonnie who sent me a prompt the other week*

Warnings: language, mentions of thiefs and orgies

Words: 3,7k

“OH MY GOD.”

Aelin’s screams made Rowan jump out of the couch, pulse racing as he sprinted towards the sound. He didn’t mean to fall asleep there, it must be the middle of the night already.

His shoulders dropped in relief when he found her safe, just whisper-yelling with her head sticking out the window.

“What’s going on?”

Aelin had her eyes narrowed, arms crossed. “We have a thief.”

“A thief?”

It’s not that Rowan thought she was lying, but breaking into anything military-related was a suicide mission. This house was as safe as it could get.

“Well, it has to be a thief, since he’s climbing into windows like one,” Aelin explained in a voice higher than necessary for Rowan to hear.

“Oh, come on!” Said thief protested from the outside.

When Rowan approached the window to assess the situation, his whole body froze. Obnoxiously shiny black hair, sapphire blue eyes and taller than he liked to imagine. Rowan hoped he’d never meet Dorian Havilliard, his baby mama’s ex-boyfriend, but there he was, about to climb Fenrys’ window

“Front door, now!” Aelin’s voice was commanding, and apparently her ex knew when there was no fighting her.

She didn’t wait for him to grab her snack bowl and storm down the hallway, which was good, since it gave Rowan space to strangle his roommate.

He elbowed his friend who’d just left his room and whispered, “What the fuck did you do?”

Fenrys had the gall to do a military salute. “I stole her man, like I promised you I would.”

Yes, he did promise that when Rowan was in jail. No, it didn’t make him feel better.

“Seriously? Of all the people in the world, him?”

Fenrys’ shoulders dropped like a child’s when being scolded. “But he’s so hot!”

Rowan could take this argument further, but that’d entail admitting Aelin’s ex was hot. Instead, he moved to the living room to find her bickering with Dorian.

Aelin had her arms crossed over her heavy bump. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t know you were staying here!”

“Then why didn’t you just use the front door?”

“Fen told me not to!” Dorian pointed at his pants. “Do you think these were made for climbing windows?”

Fenrys moved closer to them and cleared his throat. “Aelin, I really appreciate your friendship, but I won’t apologize for stealing your man.”

Her eyes widened, and her head tilted back a beat later, a loud laugh booming out of her. She held a finger up for a few seconds, silently asking them to wait until she recovered. “Fen, I wouldn’t care if you fucked him when we were dating. I definitely don’t need an apology from you now.”

Dorian clutched his chest in a wounded stance. “Ouch!”

She rolled her eyes, chuckling. “Oh, come on.”

Rowan’s narrowed eyes darted between Fenrys and his boy toy. “So you two are a thing now?”

“Not really.” Dorian shrugged. “I’m kinda going through a slut phase now that I’m single.”

Aelin clamped her lips together as she tried not to laugh again. “You were always in a slut phase.”

Rowan crossed his arms, assessing those two. He knew they had an open relationship, but he was starting to grasp how open it was.

This was so hard to understand. If Rowan had the chance to tie Aelin down, he wouldn’t even give her time enough to see other people, let alone almost every day, like she did with Rowan months ago.

He wasn’t trying to judge their previous relationship, but it was really hard to understand someone who had everything in his hands and still seeked other people.

Now that Aelin seemed calmer, Dorian gave a pointed look to the snack she left at the coffee table. He inched closer and picked the food Rowan made for Aelin, inspecting it from every angle imaginable.

“Pregnant women are so weird.” He sniffed the dried mango with mustard and gummy bears and wrinkled his nose. “Is this even edible?”

Aelin drew a slow smirk and wiggled her eyebrows before saying, “Not the kind of edible we’d eat when we were residents.”

The ache from Rowan’s tense jaw spread to his other muscles as well. His hands twitched as he held back from grabbing Aelin’s ex by his shiny dark hair and—

It didn’t matter. Aelin was single, and she decided to do a friendly co-parenting thing with him. Her previous relationship didn’t matter now.

~~

Rowan: What do you usually buy for Girls’ Night?

Rowan: I mean snacks.

Completely at loss, he wandered around the store closest to his home, only taking note of what was available until Aelin replied to his texts. Fenrys and Lorcan were currently at his home watching Maisie, and they had kicked Rowan here because, apparently, the snacks at his house were too organic and lame.

The thing is, Rowan’s never hosting parties, he’s usually dragged into them. But their therapist told him to do something with the sole purpose of having a good time, so there he was. Even though he didn’t know exactly why. He thought therapy was supposed to be about his family. Why was Yrene trying to give him homework that doesn’t involve Aelin?

Rowan felt his muscles loosening when his phone pinged with Aelin’s notification. It was torture to tone down his previous multiple calls a day, but at least she became more receptive when he reached out.

Aelin: can’t tell

Aelin: the girls’ night lore is exclusive to ellie and i

Aelin: but it’ll be passed down to maisie when the time comes

He trailed his eyes on the ceiling. She had to be joking, right?

Rowan: Please?

He frowned at his phone when she stayed too long without replying. Maybe that wasn’t a joke after all.

Rowan: Aelin?

Aelin: sorry

Aelin: i was driving

Rowan: And texting.

Aelin: just in the red light. don’t fuss.

Aelin: at least until i find some good dry shampoo. i can’t die with greasy hair.

His fingers hovered over the keyboard as an idea struck him. Rowan was pretty sure people bought those at pharmacies, and he knew the one she frequented the most is on the same block he was at.

Rowan: Are you close to home?

Rowan: I’m at the convenience store

Rowan: Maybe you could come by and help me out?

Yes, he knew she could very well just text a suggestion on snacks to buy. It fleetingly crossed his mind, but it didn’t sound near as nice as the idea he proposed.

It seemed like Aelin didn’t agree with him, by the way the typing balloon popped in and out of his screen many times.

Rowan: But that’s not very practical, now that I think about it.

Rowan: I hope you find your dry shampoo.

He pocketed his phone and focused back on the food shelves, trying to ignore the feeling of his dropping stomach. What was he thinking? Of course Rowan could buy drinks and snacks by himself. He was an independent man, he didn’t need Aelin to host anything.

After gathering half of what he needed to make a decent charcuterie board, the fridge with the drinks caught his eye. He’d follow the rule he established with Aelin and not drink while being in charge of Maisie, but maybe Fenrys and Lorcan would want some.

Rowan never knew how much pressure to apply to break the refrigerator’s vacuum seal, so he was met with the sound of bottles clinking together as soon as he opened the beer fridge. He used his hand to steady one of the shaky bottles when he noticed its design. Grabbing it to exam it closer, he noticed its unusually bright colors, and—

“Be careful, that’s a gay man’s beer,” an older man beside him warned, looking at the colorful beer bottle as if it was a bomb.

Nodding tightly, Rowan felt his body temperature rise. He knew he looked unapproachable to strangers, so it was a mystery why this stranger thought he’d be a good buddy to insult minorities together.

“That’s good, then.” Rowan schooled his body into a relaxed expression. He wore a lazy smirk while added some of the controversial bottles into his basket. “Because that’s not the gayest thing I’ll be putting in my mouth tonight,” he lied, but the horror on the stranger’s face was worth it.

The man blanched, his mouth opening and closing until he sputtered, “Um, sorry… yeah.” And left.

However, behind the stranger, there was a very shellshocked Aelin. Her eyes were bulged out of her face, mouth hanging open.

“I don’t think I was meant to hear that,” she said in a shaky tone.

he knew he needed to reply to her, but it was hard to gather words. Aelin was wearing a golden, metallic cropped top along with some tailored white pants. He swallowed, feeling his now erratic breathing worsen the warmth spreading over his body. This was some unusual attire, and his unusual reaction was proof of that.

“Where are you going?”

“Out.” She glanced around, scratching the back of her neck, before giving his basket a pointed look. “You’re doing great there, with the snack shopping. I’ll send you some pictures of Elide’s table from last Girls’ Night. You’ll know what to do.”

When Aelin turned around to leave, Rowan froze. She was wearing a bun, probably because of the dry shampoo situation, and Rowan could see every freckle on her back. His eyes widened with the sight and he flexed his hands, trying to get rid of a sudden ache there. Aelin wasn’t wearing a shirt, this was a scrap of golden fabric being held by three thin straps in the back.

Why would Aelin come here just to tell him that and leave? And why did she look so flustered after—

She didn’t think what he said was real, did she?

Feeling his heart beat out of his throat, Rowan fumbled with his phone, almost letting it fall at some point, to type the only thing he could think of.

Rowan: I am NOT going on a gay date

Rowan: Aelin

Rowan: Talk to me

Typing. Not typing. Typing. Not typing. Typing… Aelin was going to kill him like this.

Aelin: it’s okay, rowan! we can pretend this didn’t happen if you’d like. i’m sorry i overheard, you can talk to me about it when you feel ready.

He groaned, banging his head against the beer fridge.

˜˜

Fenrys cackling had always been a good indicator that Rowan was going through one of the lowest points of his life. As a rule, the intensity of his laughter was directly proportional to the amount of shit Rowan was in. Today was no exception.

“She-“ Fenrys held a finger in and grasped both knees, wheezing. “She didn’t know it was just us here?”

“I checked the text thread already. I didn’t tell her.” Rowan closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Did Elide say anything?”

Lorcan shook his head. “Ellie refused to tell me about Aelin’s plans. She’s telling us to mind our own businesses.”

Rowan’s knee was bouncing as he stared at Maisie’s drawing of Aelin on his wall. He had been acting weird the entire night, and his friends called him out on it the second his daughter went to bed.

“So we still don’t know where she was going dressed like that.” Rowan didn’t meet anyone’s eye. He knew it was a silly statement.

Fen chugged his beer. “We all know what she’s doing. Like I told you the other day, she’s on the hunt for Mr. Right.”

Rowan’s chest was an adjustable knot, and it got tighter every time someone mentioned this in a violent tug.

Lorcan narrowed his eyes at Fenrys. “She’s not. Ellie would’ve told me.”

“Are you sure? Because the last time Elide told you something about Aelin’s love life, you didn’t waste a second before you opened your mouth.” Fenrys turned to Rowan. “Did you download Tinder? We might need to rush with the plan.”

“The what?” Lorcan blurted before Rowan could tell he hadn’t downloaded any dating apps yet.

Fenrys smirked like the devil and hooked an arm around Rowan’s neck, smudging his cheek with tomato sauce from the bruschetta he was eating. “Tinder. After six years, Hoey Rowie is alive and breathing.”

“Hold on, I haven’t made a decision yet,” Rowan said while cleaning his cheek with a napkin.

“That’s the worst idea Fenrys could ever come up with. Why would other women solve your problem with Aelin?” Lorcan clasped his hands together and supported his chin in the space between the thumb and index finger. He gave Rowan a look that was so hard to decipher, he wished he could be inside his friend’s head. “Dude, you should just talk to her.”

Fenrys lifted a finger. “And by her, he means the hot redhead I’m setting you up with.”

”By her, I mean Aelin.” Lorcan had his signature judgy look on. “Have you ever stopped to think about why he wants to go on dates?”

”Because he’s a single DILF!” Fenrys exclaimed, arms flailing. “Dude, you’re being a Love Grinch.”

Lorcan pointed at his wedding ring, eyes narrowed at Fenrys. “If anything, I’m the Love Santa. The only thing I’m trying to ruin here is this bad decision. I’m the Mistake Grinch.”

Rowan picked a mini bruschetta from the coffee table, carefully weighing his friends’ words. “So you think I shouldn’t date yet?”

Lorcan shrugged, but his earnest eyes portrayed all the concern he was trying to conceal. “If you want to date, you should do it for the right reasons. Have you even thought of the reason why you suddenly want to date again?”

Because Aelin said she wanted more kids, which implies seeing someone. He freaked out, and then freaked the fuck out when he saw her in a sparkly night outfit. But did Rowan want to delve deeper into why he was getting these reactions? No, not really. He’d just fall into a rabbit hole of heartbreak, and there’d be no going out, just painfully shutting out.

Today, Rowan was choosing slutty dilfhood instead of his usual pathetic single co-parenthood.

He cocked his head into Fenrys’ direction. “Tell me about the redhead.”

˜˜

When Rowan said he’d go on a date with Fenrys’ friend, he didn’t mean immediately. However, here he was. In Doranelle City’s new hottest spot, or so his friend—and the huge line at the front door—told him.

Apparently, his date knew people, so he gave his name at the front and was allowed to cut the line.

The music Rowan was being forced to listen to outside got louder when he walked in. There was a sea of people dancing, yelling, making out in the corners, and the place reeked of a mix of beer and sweat.

Rowan had been here for a matter of seconds, and he already missed the comfort of his home.

It was one thing to say he’d decided to date again, and another to actually go on dates. Worse, a date at a club. He needed mental preparation, but of course his extroverted slut friend wouldn’t understand that. Of course he’d schedule a date for the same night and ruin Rowan’s chances to rethink and potentially balk.

That was only happening because Fenrys stayed with Maisie, who was already asleep when he left, and Rowan would definitely be there when she woke up. Lorcan went home as soon as the date was set, asking, in his words, to be excluded from this stupidity.

A girl in a tight black dress, who looked very close to the picture Fenrys showed him, tapped his upper arm.

“Rowan?” She screamed through the loud music.

“Ansel?”

She smiled. “That’s me.”

Her brown irises had some red tones to it, but it was probably the strobe lights fooling his senses. He stared deep into her eyes for longer than was socially acceptable, more out of curiosity than anything else.

Ansel smirked. “At least buy me dinner first!”

Rowan’s eyes widened. “That was rude, I’m sorry.”

The woman cackled, somehow finding something to be amused at about him, and tugged on his arm. “Come on, I found a table in the back.”

Rowan’s shoulders loosened when he saw the back of the club. After the suffocating dance floor, there was this outdoorsy area with quieter music and actual tables with menus. This was a lot better.

The silence was absolutely painful after they ordered beers and fries.

“So.” Rowan cleared his throat. “How did you meet Fenrys?”

“At an orgy.”

The beer he was sipping went right back through his nose, making him choke on it.

Ansel’s laugh boomed through the open room, and she made soothing motions on his back as he recovered from the surprise. “Don’t worry, Big Guy. I’m not dragging you to one.”

“Thanks.” He coughed a little, clutching his chest. ”I didn’t mean to sound judgy. I narrowed my… activities down to two people after being done with university.”

Ansel reassured him she wasn’t offended, then silence stretched again. Conversation with Aelin just flowed so easily, and this was a painful reminder every date he went. Which was why Rowan had a reputation in his twenties. He wasn’t good at making conversation, but he was young and good-looking enough to skip that part, if the person was interested.

35-year-old Rowan didn’t find that option satisfying anymore.

He cleared his throat. “What’s your favorite color?”

She snorted. “You can talk to me about your ex if you want to. I’m a bartender, which means I’m the fun kind of shrink.”

Rowan opened his mouth to speak, but stopped. “How do you know there’s an ex?”

She shrugged. “Fenrys has a big mouth.”

“It wouldn’t be very nice of me to talk about someone else while on a date with you.”

Ansel leaned back on her seat, twirling the glass beer bottle in her hand. “I’m not looking for anything serious, so I’m not offended that you’re still hooked up on your ex. You can tell me about her, pay me a drink…” she swept an appreciative gaze over his body. “And we can still go somewhere else if we’re in the mood later, but I can’t offer you more than that.”

After debating this idea in his head for a moment, his conclusion was a big fuck it. He told her everything, from the night he met Aelin to the present day, and received back a lot more reactions than his certified shrink’s neutral expressions.

“Oh, boy.” Ansel blinked, mouth hanging open. “You’re so fucked.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Don’t I know it.”

She slowly shook her head. “I mean, it’s been fucking years, and you’re still in love with her?”

Rowan’s pulse immediately picked up. “That’s not what I told you at all.”

“You said some deep love shit, man. Literally, everything but the words.”

This was a nightmare. Tonight was supposed to be about forgetting Aelin, but somehow he ended up discussing with his date whether or not his co-parent had feelings for him five years ago. Rowan ran a million worst-case scenarios for this date, but his imagination wasn’t near as bad as the real thing.

“I’m sorry, but I need to ask you something.”

Rowan sighed. “Go ahead.”

“It’s been five years, and not once you thought of asking her the reason why she left?”

“Being rejected was humiliating enough already.” Feeling his insides tighten, Rowan crossed his arms and carefully kept an even tone. “I don’t need details on how much she didn’t care about me.”

“She cared.” Ansel sipped her drink. “Did you help her out with the baby?”

Rowan nodded. “When I wasn’t at work, yeah.”

“I’ve never heard of a new mom who’d just reject help. If she didn’t care about you, she’d enjoy the free labor and let you be. But she asked you to leave, which means you probably fucked up.”

Rowan felt a lump forming in his throat, but he focused on keeping a steady face for this stranger. He took in the string lights and the distant sounds of a crowd yelling, scrambling his mind for something to say.

This wasn’t true. He remembered everything, and Rowan wasn’t perfect, but he didn’t do anything big enough to make her leave.

In the end, Ansel didn’t know him or Aelin. She wasn’t there to know Aelin’s feelings better than he did.

Rowan opened his mouth, but closed again. God, he never should’ve started talking about Aelin in the first place. He pointed at the direction where he could hear some occasional applause. “Is there another dance floor over that door?

“Oh.” She looked over her shoulder. “Fridays are karaoke nights. Do you wanna take a look?”

He’d do anything to avoid that awkwardness.

There was a small stage where people could sing and an employee in the corner taking care of the song requests. The place was cramped, a lot of people cheering and singing along with a guy performing a Spice Girls song. All of the tables were taken, but they managed to find stools in the bar near the door.

Rowan was begrudgingly admitting to himself that watching such an alive crowd was lighting up his bitter mood. But the thing that grabbed his attention the most was when Lysandra, one of the moms from Maisie’s soccer class, got up on stage. They weren’t exactly friends, but he caught her chatting often with Aelin and a few other moms during games.

“Oh, hi!” She waved at the crowd, then tugged her skin-tight green dress. “I’m trying to get my friend Aelin to sing with me, but I think she needs a little encouragement.”

Rowan felt his stomach bottoming out. The crowd erupted, but not near as much as one table by the front, full exclusively with women he recognized as soccer moms.

Aelin was easily spotted among them, cackling with her flimsy golden fabric that was definitely not a shirt.

Shit. He was in such deep, unending shit.

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[power-rangers-side-force]

Chapter 2: Periwinkle Introductions

*Warnings: light swearing, fainting.

The voice that interrupted him was bubbly enough. “Yea, yeah I did, It’s kinda awkward to admit, but they’re my idols.” Why he mentioned it, he didn’t know, but he did. Today was only getting worse. How much had his classmate overheard?! He turned to the voice to see a boy practically bouncing on the seats, round glasses almost falling off his face. His hair resembled spun sugar, from its colour, to its density, to even its wispy pieces in the sunlight as the bus bobbed along. Roman hoped that this was a reflection of the boy's personality and not a disguise. The excited and genuine voice he spoke with more than cemented that Romans' first interpretation was true in his mind. “No way! Mine too! When I was little, I’d always run around and pretend I was a Pink Ranger. You’re Roman Crown and Logan Orchid, right?” Both were taken aback, not even expecting to share interests with this stranger, let alone have him know their names. But then again, they attend the same school, and were seemingly close to great rangers, so it’s not that shocking. “I’m Patton! Nice to meet you. And this,” he gestured to the boy next to him, that they hadn’t even registered was there, “is Virgil!” As if on cue, the other boy sat up and took off his headphones, giving them both a small nod and salute. “Sup.” He was head to toe in black and purple. Boy was he gonna die in this weather.

The drive to the museum was nice enough, with the four boys chatting and deciding to stick together for the day. They exchanged hopes. Dreams. Lives. They found unusual connections too. Like Patton liking Sherlock Holmes as much as Logan, ironic considering the former's last name. Or, how Roman shared the same guilty pleasure band as Virgil, strange considering their polar opposite styles. They also lived close to each other, they’d all learned, as well as deeply idolising the power rangers, even if some hid it more than others. Even if Patton and Virgil had heard about the other two’s previous conversation on the bus, they either respected boundaries enough to not ask, or already knew but didn’t want to bring it up until they got closer with one another. Either way, these two were becoming Roman and Logan's new favourite people, with Logan already making room in his schedules for hangout time, and Roman already memorising their hobbies, likes, and dislikes off by heart.

The museum trip overall had been… uneventful for Roman at the very least. History was boring, mostly. He knew this, but he promised Logan to come with him, and goddamn it is he going to keep his promise. Patton and Virgil had gotten distracted on the way, and Logan, being so fixated on the current exhibit they were in, quickly lost the two in the sea of people. Virgil had only just begrudgingly told them about his issues with anxiety. Roman really hoped he was okay and didn’t think they’d just ditched him and Patton. He wasn’t keen on losing the emos' friendship so soon. Despite his annoyance of the day, it soon had flown by. Whilst leaving the museum through their gift shop, he couldn’t help but see some stunning crystal jewellery. And then witness the robbery of the exact beautiful jewellery in question. “Come on Lo! We gotta stop it!” Grabbing Logan's wrist, he triumphantly gave chase, despite the poor geek's defiance.

“I’m sorry Roman, but what the hell are we chasing?!” “The thief!” “What thief?! We’re gonna be late for the bus- Whoa!”

Swerving past a sharp corner, they slammed straight into their seatmates, who were, unfortunately, holding ice cream. Whilst Roman and Virgil had had a minor collision, Logan had practically flung into Patton's arms due to momentum, leaving little protection available for their frozen desserts. Roman and Virgil had remained standing throughout the crash, but Patton and Logan weren’t so lucky, sliding onto the floor together in a messy heap. “Roman, what the hell man,” Virgil was only partially worried about the ice cream, anxiety peeking from the sudden scare but not yet fully processing everything. Patton on the other hand, was a bit more concerned about the wrong issue. “My ice cream!” “Sorry Patt! We’ve got a robber to catch!” Panting, Logan slowly but silently got up and glared at his supposed best friend. Once up, he offered his hand to the other bespeckled boy, who took it whilst still mourning the loss of his sugary meal. Today was quickly brought back to bad for Logan as he snapped at his brash friend. “Roman, who are we chasing, and why did you drag me with you?! I was perfectly content looking at the geodes they had on display at the gift shop.” Roman’s grip slowly loosened on the purple boy once he realised how much he held onto him. Taking the most regal, brave pose he could, he announced, “We’re chasing a robber who stole some crystal jewellery from a small company that provides them to the museum!” “Do we have to, Princey?” Virgil just wanted to go home at that point. “Come on! We’ll be like the power rangers!”

Soon, all four of them were in on Roman's idea, somehow. Logan had no logical explanation why. It didn’t make sense to him, but here they were. And here they were, following his plan due to his knowledge of the museum's layout. He’d constantly played strategist as a kid, to connect with his father when he was home, so much so that he’d become actually good at it. Roman was the individual who had chased down this robber, due to his track experience. The rest spread out and waited at certain points, cutting pathways off and hopefully cornering them at a final, walled-off location if his plan was followed correctly, which left just Roman to confront the thief. Standing next to the dinosaur fossils now his role was over, Logan could only hope Roman wasn’t a complete overconfident dumbass, and actually knew what he was doing. He didn't want to play a hand in his closest friend's death.

“Halt you thief!” Roman had the person and their cartoonishly oversized cloak and hood completely cornered. “I suggest you return those dashing pieces of jewellery before going on your way!” He hadn’t even noticed the ranger pose he assumed yet again, or how the stranger's hand began to glow a red colour after his heroic proclamation, or even the stranger's sudden concern at the new glow from his hand. “You’re out of your depth kid, you don’t know what these things can do.” The voice definitely belonged to a man, and was strained, as if they hadn’t spoken for years. He could only be more intrigued as he approached the stranger, a sense of familiarity washing over him like a river of nostalgia. Roman softened his fake hard exterior. “Hey, just give the stuff back, and I’ll be out of your hair, alright?” His hesitancy of violence was only met with a strike to the ribs, barely blocked by him. He didn’t want a fight, they were late enough as is, and him being hurt would drive Logan insane. “If you don’t give it back willingly. I’ll just take it back!” He warned, clasping the stranger's fist containing the jewellery in his hand. His fingers dug into the man's fist, attempting to pry it open enough for a dive-and-pinch approach he’d just come up with on the spot. As he strained, Roman looked back up at the stranger, now with a clear view of his face. The stranger was definitely a he. It was eerily similar, being lit by green and red light from somewhere. A face similar to his own. A face that littered his home's halls, covered partially by his recognisable grey hair streak and moustache that was never found on his own face. “Remus…?” Everything went black.

---------

Leave it to me to continuously forget this exists in terms of posting, huh? I really should set alarms to post this thing... - Sparrow

[pages-of-us]

Overcooked Frenzy

The Zane household was unusually quiet that Saturday evening—an ominous calm before the inevitable storm. Plates of snacks and glasses of juice sat untouched on the coffee table, the living room dimly lit by the glow of the TV. The kids were already gathered, curious and a little apprehensive. Their father, Ralph, had promised a family game night, but this wasn’t just any game night. Tonight, they were diving into the frenzied world of Overcooked!

“Listen up, team,” Ralph began, standing in front of the television with a laser pointer in hand. On the screen, a colorful PowerPoint slide titled 'Mastering Overcooked: The Zane Strategy' glowed brightly.

“Daddy, you made a presentation?” Yaz asked, half-amused, half-incredulous.

“This game isn’t just a game,” Ralph replied with utmost seriousness. “It’s about strategy, communication, and precision. If we want to win, we need to be prepared.”

Andrew, perched on the couch with a cup of tea, couldn’t suppress a laugh. “You’re taking this way too seriously, hon.”

“That’s because I’ve seen what happens when people don’t take it seriously,” Ralph retorted. “Utter chaos. Burned soups. Relationships ruined.”

The kids exchanged excited glances. This was going to be fun.

**********************************************************************

Ralph clicked to the next slide, which showed a diagram of a kitchen layout with color-coded stations.

“Overcooked is not just a game—it’s a test of teamwork, communication, and efficiency,” Ralph began, pacing in front of the TV like a general addressing his troops. “To avoid utter chaos, we need roles. Yaz, you’re the fastest, so you’ll handle deliveries and running ingredients between stations.”

“Got it!” Yaz said, sitting up straighter.

“Ellie, you’re on dish duty and plating. Clean plates keep the kitchen running.”

“Ew, I’m on dishes?” Ellie groaned.

“Yes, and you’re going to do it well,” Ralph replied, unfazed.

“Elliot, you’re our coordinator. You’ll call out orders and make sure everyone’s on track.”

Elliot nodded thoughtfully. “I’ll try my best.”

“And Dadda and I will handle cooking and assembling orders. I’ll also step in to fix any disasters,” Ralph concluded.

Andrew raised a hand with a grin. “What if the disaster is you?”

Ralph shot him a playful glare. “You married me knowing I’m a perfectionist.”

The kids burst into laughter, already sensing the night would be one to remember.

“Do we salute you too, General?” Andrew teased, earning a playful nudge from Ralph.

After the briefing, they settled onto the couch, controllers in hand. The game began with a relatively easy level, but chaos erupted almost immediately.

**********************************************************************

“Tomato soup! I need more tomatoes!” Andrew yelled, trying to keep the pots from boiling over.

“I said I’m chopping!” Yaz snapped, her character stuck running in circles because she’d forgotten which button to press.

“Ellie, why is there no clean plate for the soup?” Ralph asked, his tone a mix of panic and disbelief.

“I’m trying!” Ellie shouted, his character slipping on a patch of grease and losing a stack of clean plates.

“Where’s the bread for the burgers?” Elliot called, juggling deliveries and attempting to keep track of orders.

“Fire! FIRE!” Yaz screamed, grabbing the extinguisher and spraying everything—food included.

Despite Ralph’s best efforts, the first round ended in abysmal failure. The screen flashed a dismal one star, and the family dissolved into laughter.

“I thought you said this was about teamwork!” Andrew chuckled, wiping tears from his eyes.

“It is!” Ralph replied, shaking his head. “We’re just... finding our rhythm.”

**********************************************************************

Determined not to let the game get the best of them, the Zanes regrouped. Ralph switched up the assignments, making sure everyone was in a role they felt comfortable with. Yaz thrived in her new role as the delivery runner, darting around the kitchen with precision.

“Ellie, plates are stacked. You’re doing great!” Ralph called out as he tossed chopped onions into a pot.

“Tomato soup’s ready for delivery!” Andrew chimed in, his character sliding across the kitchen to add the finishing touch.

“I’m on it!” Yaz replied, grabbing the soup and dashing toward the serving window.

“Next up: burgers,” Elliot announced, keeping a close eye on the orders.

By the end of the second round, they had earned three stars. The kitchen hummed with efficiency, and the Zanes cheered as the final score flashed across the screen.

**********************************************************************

As the game wound down, the family sat back, exhausted but exhilarated.

“That was amazing!” Yaz declared. “We make a pretty good team, huh?”

“You’ve definitely improved since the first round,” Ralph admitted, ruffling her hair.

“Daddy, were you this intense in college?” Elliot asked, his curiosity piqued.

“Worse,” Andrew interjected with a grin. “He once made his dormmates practice for a tournament by playing for ten hours straight.”

“It was necessary,” Ralph said, unabashed. “Amara, Gunho, Hansel, and I took our esports very seriously.”

“Remind me to never join one of your squads,” Ellie joked, stretching his arms.

Andrew leaned against Ralph, his voice soft but amused. “You know, you’re kind of adorable when you’re in your element.”

Ralph chuckled, placing an arm around him. “And you’re surprisingly good under pressure, chef.”

As the kids drifted off to bed, buzzing with excitement, Andrew and Ralph stayed back to clean up and share a quiet moment.

“Think they’ll remember this?” Ralph asked, glancing at the now-dark screen.

“Absolutely,” Andrew said with a smile. “It’s not every day you get a masterclass from the Overcooked champion himself.”

[saratogaroadwrites]

For King and Country (37/122)

For King and Country | saratogaroad rating: T total wordcount:  280,466 characters: Evan Pettiwhisker Tildrum, Roland Crane, Aranella, Batu, Tani, Lofty, Leander Aristidies, Bracken Meadows relationships: Roland Crane & Evan Pettiwhisker Tildrum, Aranella & Evan Pettiwhisker Tildrum, Roland Crane & Aranella, Batu & Tani, Batu & Evan, Tani & Evan, Evan Pettiwhisker Tildrum & Lofty, Rolander other tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Mother-Son Relationship, Father-Son Relationship, Place Slowly Becomes Home People Slowly Become Family, Found Family, For Want of A Nail warnings: none

Pulled from his world by mysterious powers, former president Roland Crane finds himself caught in the middle of a coup meant to take the life of the young King Evan Pettiwhisker Tildrum. Joining forces with Aranella, the pair of them set out to aid Evan in making his dream of a kingdom where everyone can live happily ever after a reality.

But the road to peace is a long and treacherous one and there is no promise of success in a world where darkness spreads ever thicker with each passing day. If they are to stand a chance, they must stand together, for king and for country.

(A retelling.)

=

"Jack’s intel checked out, your Majesty,” General Gao Jia said seriously, tapping fingers along the ridges and dips of the map they had of the Rolling Hills. “The scouts found army encampments all along the ridge line, each of them bearing the banner of Dell.”

“Are they…doing anything?” Evan asked, stomach twisting. “They aren’t preparing to come here, are they?”

“It did not appear to be so,” General Bai Gon added in his deep, husky voice. He tapped the river delta. “They are also stationed here in greater number, much like at the exit to Cloudcoil Canyon.”

“Blocking all access in or out of the Hills.” Roland said, sitting back in his chair. “Makes sense. If Mausinger put Dell under martial law like Jack said he would, he’d need to keep all incoming or outgoing people under watch.” He shook his head. “I guess the bigger question is how long is that going to be sustainable.”

“That’s Mausinger’s problem, not ours.” Nella said with a sigh. She rubbed her forehead. “I still can’t believe you got him to talk so much!”

“I have my ways.” Roland said with a smirk. Evan tilted his head, then forcibly chose not to ask. Looking back at the map, he thought over his options for a moment. If Mausinger was just having his armies prevent entrance to the Hills, and they weren’t mounting an attack or an invasion, well, that was alright. He didn’t like the idea, sure, but it was better than the alternative. Sighing, Evan looked up to his Generals.

“Thank you for your reports, General Bai Gon, General Gao Jia. Please, ensure that the scouts get good rest and keep the patrols ready.”

“Yes, sir!” They responded in unison, saluting Evan before marching from the room. When they were gone and the door to the conference room had shut behind them, Evan slumped in his seat.

“What is Mausinger even doing?” He asked the room. “I don’t understand!”

“That makes two of us,” Tani grumbled. “And Jack wasn’t even working for the guy?”

“That is what he told us,” Nella said with a glance at Roland, who nodded. Batu started grumbling all over again from where he loomed over the table. “He kidnapped Evan all for the chance at glory and title. That wasn’t even a guarantee!”

“So ‘e’s as stupid as ‘is King.” Batu grumped and finally sat down with a thud, arms crossed over his massive chest. Knowing looks were exchanged around the table as he continued, “And ye’re sure we can’t give him a dose of Sky Pirate justice, Evan?”

“I’m very sure,” Evan replied, rubbing his forehead. His back was still a little sore, and he would be lying if he admitted even to himself that he hadn’t considered Batu’s idea of justice, but going through with it…he shook his head. “We can’t go down that road. I won’t let us go down that road. If we’re going to build a world where everyone lives happily ever after, we have to leave that sort of thing behind us.”

Even if it was the only easy solution. Sighing heavily, Evan sat back up straight.

“No,” he said firmly, “We will have to honor our deal with Jack. Even if it means keeping him under house arrest until we can come up with another solution.”

Batu’s eyes were dark, but he nodded in acceptance of Evan’s plan. Across the table from Batu, Roland leaved his arms on the table.

“That still leaves us with another problem, though,” he said, “Chingis said that the bounty Mausinger set for you was worth more dead than alive, but Jack was pretty adamant about Mausinger giving him favor for coming back with you still breathing.” He glanced sideways at Nella. “Would there be a reason for that, or did Jack just get out of Dell too soon?”

“I’m not sure,” Nella replied, cupping her chin pensively. “It could be either. I’m afraid I don’t understand Mausinger’s decisions right now.”

“Urgh,” Tani groaned, thumping her head onto the table. “Can something about this whole mess please make sense? What’s he got to be so scared of, anyway? It’s not like Evan can rule two kingdoms at the same time! You’ve only got one Kingsbond!”

That was true but--Wait.

Was that it? Evan sat up straighter. Could it really be that simple?

“What if that’s it?” he asked. He looked at Nella, eyes widening. “What if he’s trying to force Oakenhart’s Kingsbond to change?”

Nella stared at him. Her mouth parted, and then she hissed curses through her teeth. “That miserable—he's after the Mark!”

Everyone stared at them. Roland looked like he desperately wanted to ask what in the world they were talking about, but Lofty beat him to it.

“Hang on, what Mark?” he asked, looking between Nella and Evan. “The flip are you two goin’ on about?! What’s some seal gotta do with ol’ Oaky-boy and his bonding, eh?”

“In Dell,” Evan said, “Whenever a new ruler is going to take the throne, they have to pass Oakenhart’s trial in the Cradle outside the city. But the doors to the Cradle are locked, and they’ll only open if all heirs to the throne are dead or with the Mark of Kings.”

“Mark of Kings?” Tani sat back upright. “What’s that when it’s at home?”

Evan spread his hands. “It’s a special pendant, passed down from ruler to ruler in Dell. It serves as proof of the right to rule and unlocks all sorts of doors. The Cradle, the Kingsway, even the main gates.” He frowned. “If he had the Mark, he could open the doors and take Oakenhart’s trial even if I’m still alive. Without it…”

“He has to kill you to force the doors to open.” Roland finished with a dark frown. “Great. I don’t suppose we can offer to trade the Mark for your safety?”

Evan grimaced and shook his head. “Unfortunately, no. It isn’t that I wouldn’t be willing if we had it, but…I don’t have it with me.” He swallowed hard and looked down at his hands. “The Mark was given to me the night Father passed away, but…” He gripped his knees tight. “Well, I…”

“Lemme guess: ye went and left it behind when ye skedaddled outta Dell, eh?” Batu asked gently. Evan’s grimace was answer enough and the big man sighed. “Alright. Where’d ye leave it, lad?”

Evan shook his head. “It’s still in the Castle,” he said, “There are hidden rooms all over, you see, and I thought it would be safer to leave it there than keep it with me.”

That, and he hadn’t been able to look at the thing. It was real, tangible proof that his father was gone, and just holding it had made him sick with grief. He’d stuffed it in a chest and never gone back for it. Small miracle that he’d left it in the hidden room in his chambers and not just in his armoire.

“I left it in the room attached to my chambers. I intended to go back for it, but…”

He looked up at Roland then, and found Aranella had as well. Roland smiled sheepishly.

“Things got a little hectic,” Roland said, “Mausinger staged his coup so quickly that all hell broke loose. We barely had time to get out with our lives, forget going back to get anything.” Batu eyed him suspiciously; one of Evan’s ears pinned back as Roland pressed on, “But that means we can’t go back and get it, either.”

“That’s true,” Nella said with a nod. “The Mark opens the Kingsway, which we could have used to sneak into Dell and get anything else out of the palace, but without it…”

Without it, they were stuck right back where they'd started. Either Mausinger needed him alive to tell him where the Mark was, or he wanted Evan dead to forcibly bring about change. Neither option was good, Evan thought. Would things always be like this? So tense that it almost hurt to breathe?

“Oi!” Tani interjected, pulling Evan from his thoughts. “This is all really interesting, but if we need to get into Dell to get this thing that’ll actually let us in to Dell, that’s not much use, is it?”

Evan laughed sheepishly.

“I suppose not, no,” He said, shaking his head. “But it is something to consider for the future.”

Even if he wasn’t. Quite sure how in the world they were going to get it to offer it to Mausinger in the first place.

“Aye, that it is,” Batu rumbled, “But it don’t solve our problem now, lad. It ain't gonna be long before the rat starts sendin' actual hunters after ye, and just sittin' here? We be sittin’ waddleducks like this.”

“Lucky for us, Waddleducks can move.” Nella turned to Evan. “We have to get moving and keep moving. Sign the other nations to the Declaration and go from there.”

It was a sound plan, but one that felt a lot like running away all over again. Evan’s tail puffed up behind him and he fought to keep it from lashing. He gripped his knees tight, clenching his jaw as he forced himself to take a deep breath. He held it, then let go.

“I don’t like it,” he admitted to his closest companions. “I don’t want to be sent running from my home again!”

“It’s not running,” Nella soothed, “We’ll come back. In the meantime, Bai Gon and Gao Jia can train up more guards, the walls can get reinforced…” she shook his head. “It isn’t permanent. Besides—you wanted to see the world, right?” I can’t think of a better reason than this.”

“What, avoiding getting kidnapped?” Tani grinned, all teeth. “I can think of plenty of better reasons that that!”

“Reasons that let a King out of his castle, with a full contingent of bodyguards?” Roland tilted his head. Tani’s grin took on a chagrined edge, but Roland looked to Evan and smiled gently. “We’re not running. We’re keeping you safe until we can get a handle on the situation and we’re going to talk to the other three world leaders about the Declaration. It’s not running, and it’s not a retreat. But, even if it was,” He inclined his head. “There’s no shame in a strategic retreat. It’s better to live and fight another day, isn’t it?”

It was! Evan nodded, his tail slowly returning to it’s usually sleek state. Taking another deep breath, he nodded once more.

“You’re right,” He said, offering both Nella and Roland a watery smile. “Thank you. All of you. I don’t know…” A lump formed in his throat. With some difficulty, he swallowed it back down. “I don’t know what I would do without you all here.”

“Be bored outta youer flippin’ skull, that’s what,” Lofty chimed in with a wide grin. He padded over to stand in front of Evan, plunking his hands onto his hips. “Youer’re stuck with us now, lad, and don’t you go forgettin’ that!”

Evan’s heart swelled up inside his chest. He grinned at Lofty.

“I won’t,” he said, “I promise.”

[jvsons]

ALWAYS YOU

Dick Grayson x reader

MASTERLIST

FICMAS 2021 • DAY 11

WARNINGS • none

CATEGORY • fluff

SUMMARY •

He watched the way your eyes reflected off of the lights, tracing a sparkle and further illuminating the room whenever they went. You set down a box of ornaments and sprang up to get the next, only tripping over a bunched up piece of carpet and falling on the floor with a thud.

God, you were perfect.

The door to Wayne Manor creaked open as Dick slipped inside, immediately hearing the rise of 6 arguing voices. He sighed at the clamoring and silently thanked himself for remembering to sneak away before patrol ended and hang back. Once he was changed, the fighting had died down and only a few people dotted the front of the manor. Jason, slumped over on the kitchen counter, and you, sitting down with a box in the living room.

Upon seeing him, Jason whistled and pointed towards the massive Christmas tree in the living room and sent a teasing smile his way. Dick rolled his eyes as his brother disappeared, yet appreciated the privacy. Slowly, he leaned against the open wall connecting the living room and kitchen, eyes wandering from the top of the tree to the one below it.

Then you got up. He watched the way your eyes reflected off of the lights, tracing a sparkle and further illuminating the room whenever they went. You set down a box of ornaments and sprang up to get the next, only tripping over a bunched up piece of carpet and falling on the floor with a thud.

God, you were perfect.

“Everything alright?”

Your eyes widened slightly upon hearing Dick’s voice, throwing him a thumbs up before jumping to your feet. He was out of his nightwing costume and adorning a button-up shirt with dress pants, something you could only call casual home wear for a Wayne.

“Yup!” Your grin returned as you motioned to the boxes you had set down, a new idea sprouting in your mind. “Would you be interested in helping me decorate?”

Dick smiled lightly at you, stepping forward and admiring all of the setting up you had done that he hadn’t noticed.

“Of course. Just don’t get mad if I break anything.”

He laughed as your eyes narrowed and pointed to a particular box.

“You can accidentally break anything BUT these.”

Dick saluted a promise and unfurled the flaps of a stray box, finding inside a bunch of homemade ornaments, decorated by everyone over the years. He examined each decoration, looking at who made them and the date. Your presence soon loomed over him, and he patted the space next to him. You accepted the invitation, eyes honing in on the ornament he was holding, red, green, and yellow crayon messily covering the base.

“I thought I made the best art back then,” a small smile roused him as he took another one of his ornaments. “I knew I sucked, though. So I was just boosting my ego and trying to impress Alfred.”

You both laughed as he set the two back into the box, rummaging a bit more to pull one of Jason’s out. If it could’ve gotten any worse, it just did.

“And then I left, the second Robin came around.” The second he pulled out was Batman themed, messily cut out and colored on. “Jason was always more fond of Batman than I was.”

The next set came, neat and eye-drawing.

“And of course, Tim came next.” These ornaments looked like they had taken time, the designs on them truly creative. “I’m glad at least one of us had patience.”

“Alas,” Dick softly drum rolled with his free hand while the other placed a small wooden snowflake in your hand. “You came.”

A picture of the whole family at the time was carefully glued onto it, surrounded by a thin red heart.

“Then my life got better.” Dick continued, placing a nightwing-shaped cutout on top of the other. This one had just a picture of you two, a night out on patrol sitting on a rooftop eating fast food. “I couldn’t have had it any other way.”

“Really?” Was all you could manage to say, voice small as you realized just what was happening here. Soft blue eyes connected with yours as the ornaments were set to the side, letting Dick’s hands free as one took your hand, the other tracing one side of your face.

“Yes, really.” He smiled, unable to simmer down the pink rising on his face. “You always made me so shy, and I couldn’t get a reason behind it until I realized-”

You knew before he even said it, impatience taking over and connecting your lips. His smile grew on you, following a huff of amusement from your unallowance of letting him finish. His hands reached for you once again when you parted for air, but you smacked him away lightly before stuffing an ornament in his hand.

“We have a tree to decorate, Grayson. Don’t get distracted.”

[talesofstyles]

Drs Styles

paediatric heart surgeon harry, husband harry and dad harry. honestly the holy trinity.

warning: they did it in the car. bloody animals.

Harry

“Move your car, please!”

“What are you going to do? Write me a ticket?”

“This is in the interests of safety for the children!”

I look at the time in the car. I’ve still got about twenty to twenty-five minutes to watch this drama unfold at the school gate. I just wish we had popcorn because drop-off and parking situations at the school gates are always more entertaining than Good Morning Britain. 

The school gate is a strange social scene, and honestly, I don’t blame my wife for trying to avoid it like a plague. Sometimes, you don’t even have to talk to these people to know everything about their lives and more. I swear there are more gossips in the class WhatsApp group and daily playground chattering than in the copies of The Sun and Daily Mail combined. You know who’s married, who’s getting a divorce, whose husband shagged the au pair again, whose party you haven’t been invited to, even who’s looking for a builder. 

I see the school caretaker chuckling to himself as he sweeps the autumn leaves off the pathway, no doubt also enjoying our morning entertainment. 

“Why is Mrs Chambers screaming like that?” Alma, our eldest daughter, asks from the back of the car. 

“Because that man parks his car in a drop-off zone,” I reply, still watching him as he removes a child from his car seat. “Do you know who that is?”

“I think the boy is your classmate,” Alma turns to her sister.

Fiona, our youngest, peers over to inspect. “Oh yeah, that’s Rufus and his dad.”

“Do we like Rufus?”

“Not unless we like boys who pee down the slides,” Fiona scrunches her nose up. “He stood at the top and peed down like a waterfall. I haven’t gone down the slide ever since.”

I shake my head and let out a chuckle. “M’sure they’ve cleaned it up since, button.” 

Did you know that choosing a school for your child after nursery can be a head-throbbing, stomach-twisting, heart-pounding experience? Well, it can. How is one supposed to choose a school anyway? According to the proximity? Leavers Results? Adorable uniforms? Parents’ agendas?

After many, many discussions and visits through more schools than I can count, we ended up with Thomas’s Kensington. It’s a great school, and only ten minutes away from our home, making school runs easier. The downside of this school is the fact that it costs us an arm and a leg and that they’re always trying to rip us off any chance they get. Also, they only take the kids until 11, so after that, we’ll have to look for other schools again. But since our girls are only seven and five, we can worry about that later. 

There’s a strange mix of parents at this place. I went to school up in the North and the school gate scene is nothing like this. Here there are more au pairs, fancy cars, nicer clothes and people coming with impressive tans from their last weekend break in Antibes. The kids here are suited up too: the PE kit is the size of a small weekender bag, and we put them in uniforms that make them look smart, hoping that will increase the size of their brains. A child walks past our car with a cello case, another with a hockey stick. It’s a different land here. One that my socialist in-laws constantly tease us about and one which my mum was hysterical about because she was scared her grandbabies would be little Tories. I promised her I’d keep them grounded by only giving them plain hobnobs. None of those luxury chocolate covered ones.

Jokes aside, my girls are happy here. They’re thriving. They learn French and Spanish and Mandarin, even if they share a class with kids who have ridiculous names like Kitty and Archibald. 

A knock at my window calls me to attention. I wind it down.

“Are you Fiona’s dad?” A mum asks me.

“I am.”

“It’s about Ophelia’s riding party this Saturday at the riding stables.” 

Like I said, it’s a different land here.

“I thought we RSVPed to that?” I look at her in confusion.

“Yes, you did, but we have to change the food options as one of the partygoers is allergic to nuts. I’m making everyone aware and we need to let the guests know that they can’t bring any nuts on the day.”

A dirty joke is right there on the tip of my tongue and I’m trying my hardest to keep it in. My wife would definitely find it funny though, I’ve got to remember this and tell her later. 

“Noted,” I mean, I wasn’t going to send my daughter to a party with a packet of cashews anyway but I nod politely.

“And just gift vouchers for gifts please. Smiggle, if you can.”

Again, I nod, biting my tongue at the presumptuousness. But then I suddenly panic, because we haven’t entered the realms of pony riding just yet. Do I have to buy jods and boots? If I don’t, will my daughter be the odd one out? But Ophelia’s mum saunters off before I’ve got the chance to ask.

“Do I have to go to that party, daddy?” Fiona asks. 

“Well, we’ve already replied, poppet,” I tell her. “Did you not want to go?”

“I’ll go if I have to.”

I don’t answer because I get distracted by a vacant space. I edge the car forward so my girls can hop off. 

“I love you both. Have a good day, make good choices.” 

“Bye daddy! We’ll see you after work!”

***

Evelina London Children’s Hospital is our second home. Of course, as a children’s hospital, we try to make the place as fun as possible as not to freak those little patients out at being ill. It is bright and primary coloured, and each ward is decorated according to its own theme with different colours and lovely artworks. There are televisions and toys almost in every corner. We have a giant slide on the ground floor, and even the bins are shaped like red London buses. The aim was to help the children to forget that they’re in a hospital and take their minds off their sickness.

Since my wife and I are in the same department, our offices are next to each other, both overlooking the Thames. It’s nice up here. Would’ve been nicer if we could sneak in a quickie, but that’s practically impossible with our shared secretary’s desk sitting literally in front of our doors. 

Speak of the devil.

“Good morning. Here’s your tea,” my secretary follows me into my office with a cup of tea and a tiny plate with a couple of rich tea fingers. “Clinic until 3 pm, scheduled PDA ligation in the laboratory for 4 pm and then evening rounds on the wards.”

“Mornin’ Rhonda, you look lovely today,” I greet her cheerily. She’s a stern-looking woman who definitely likes her tea as strong as tits and who has probably never cried in her life. With such severity, she runs a tight ship, but she secretly has this affectionate side in her too. Not only is she a great secretary, but she also takes care of us in a way as a grandma does. She makes us tea, feeds us in between surgeries with biscuits or nice baby cheeses and crackers just so we wouldn’t starve. 

See that sofa over there in the corner of my office? Rhonda got me that. It was around the time when I had just become a new father with the sweetest, most gorgeous little baby who did not sleep. Alma wasn’t a fussy baby though. For some reason, she just wouldn’t go back to sleep after her midnight feed for months. Believe me, I tried everything. I changed her nappy, I swayed and jiggled and rocked and sung her to sleep. Odd nonsensical songs like, ‘Alma darling go to sleeep. Sleepy sleep sleep. Pleeeeease. I’m so tirrrred. My eyeballs may actually exploooode. I don’t want you to see thaaat.’ And she would just look at me all wide-eyed like I’d lost the plot. Those were song lyrics? That was rubbish. Please don’t give up your day job. Also, it’s not sleeping time. I’m awake. I’m ready for life. Come on, entertain me, old man. Isn’t this nice, just you and me? Tell me everything you know. EVERYTHING. 

Except of course she didn’t say all that. She would just stare at me and I had no idea what was going on in her little head. 

I took over my wife’s patients at the hospital during her maternity leave, so I had longer hours at the hospital. One day Rhonda found me napping on the floor between surgeries, so she sweet-talked some porters into looking for any old sofas on the go and paid to have this one reupholstered. She even bought me a fleece throw for it too. We really don’t deserve her.

“You hittin’ on me?” She deadpans. “Yer wife not doing it for you these days?”

“It’s the blazer. I’m a sucker for a blazer.”

“If I’d known, I would’ve worn it more often,” she replies. “Did my nice dress yesterday not give you the fanny flutters?”

“It’s schlong shiver for me,” I roar with laughter. “And it’s the tartan, makes you look well old.”

“YN, yer husband’s a bloody git, did I ever tell you that?” Rhonda says loud enough for my wife to hear, and I can hear my wife’s laughter from her office next door. “Drink your tea. Your first clinic appointment is in twenty.”

“Yes ma’am,” I salute her. 

***

The Arctic ward in the Evelina is home to many of our imaging, heart and kidney services. The name is probably giving it away, but everything is decorated in blue and white to go with the theme. We have several zones, and since paediatric cardiology clinics are held in the Walrus zone, I spend a great deal of time each day looking at walrus and snowflake decals. 

“Doctor Styles!” I hear a little voice shouts in excitement as I walk towards the waiting room in the outpatient ward. I smile, because I recognise that voice even before I see the little person.

The waiting room is very open here compared to other hospitals. There’s a sea of noise, snacks, tiny juice boxes and colouring pages. There’s also always a look of expectation, judgement on the faces of parents and guardians every time I walk in. They want to see if their doctor is old or qualified enough to see their children. There’s always one child who has the whole gang with them; parents, two sets of grandparents and even several aunts and uncles, and there’s also at least one child running around in circles out of boredom. 

This little lad bounces off his chair and hurls himself at me in a way like a little puppy would when its owner comes home from work. I put an arm out, hoping that he’ll apply the brakes but no such luck and he bundles himself into my arms. “Nice to see you, mate.”

His parents smile as they watch their son’s antics, who then runs off as I shake their hands. I turn around to see what caught his attention, and I can’t help but chuckle when I realise it’s my wife. 

“Doctor pretty Styles!” He exclaims excitedly as he bundles himself into her arms. She gets a mouthful of curls in the process. 

“Hi Rory,” she greets him as she runs her fingers through his curly mop. 

“Oi,” I pout as I walk towards them. “You don’t think I’m pretty?”

“Your wife is prettier,” he says with a shrug, his tone matter-of-fact.

She laughs and gives him a high-five. “Rory, you are officially my favourite patient.”

She is right. Rory is one of our special patients for sure. We’ve both known him for about six years now, ever since Rory’s mum gave birth to this tiny human next door at St Thomas and his heart was literally broken. I remember watching proudly from the theatre when my wife replaced two of his valves when he was born. It was in our early years of training. Long time patients like Rory almost always feel like family. We’ve seen all their parents’ tears and watched over their children throughout the years. They send us cards and wine every Christmas and despite all attempts to keep a professional distance, their kids do feel like our own.

Rory shrugs off his dinosaur rucksack and unzips it, pulling out a drawing of a blue whale and an opened packet of KitKat. I like that the whale wears a top hat and appears to also don a moustache. 

“I drew you both a picture. Only one though, because I figure you can share,” he says with a big toothy grin and hands the packet of KitKat to my wife. “And I’ve got half a KitKat here. Do you want it?”

“I’m good for now. Keep that KitKat for later on the tube,” she smiles and waves at Rory as she begins to walk away towards the fetal cardiology ward just down the hall. “Bye Rory, thanks for the picture.”

“Bye doctor pretty Styles,” Rory replies, making my wife laugh as she walks away. I give her a wave and a wink. 

“Hey Rory, did you know a blue whale has a heart the size of a small car?” I ask him and his eyes widen.

“No way! That’s mega!” He exclaims. “Do you think you could operate on a whale heart?”

“I would need a very big ladder,” I tell him. “And a wetsuit. I’d give it a go though.”

A senior nurse from the outpatient ward, Florence approaches us with a junior nurse trailing behind her. “Dr Styles, always a pleasure.”

I smile at her. “Florence. How are we today?”

“Busy as usual,” she replies. “We’re about twenty minutes behind I’m afraid. We had Dr Goodridge in this morning and you know he likes to talk.”

“He always runs over,” I chuckle. “Well, don’t worry. I’ll skip lunch and get us back up to speed.”

“I’ll make sure to send some snacks for you. Here’s your chart, your files are already in your office. And this is Alice, your nurse today. She’s newly qualified so might need some instructions.”

The new nurse looks terrified so I smile at her to try and calm her fears. I totally get that. When you work in medicine, unfortunately, you’ll realise that there are a lot of rude self-important wankers. 

I look down at my chart and find Rory’s name on the top of the list. “Well, look who’s coming with me to the exam room.”

Rory reaches out to hold my hand and we walk towards the examination room. His parents follow us closely, carrying the usual coats and devices that people do when they know they’re bound for a hospital waiting room. I see them inside and sit behind the desk.

“So, young man, I hear we’ve had a touch of drama with you. Can you tell me what happened?”

I’ve actually already got the information in the file, but I like the way this kid tells a story. He reminds me of my youngest. 

“So… I was at school and we were doing PE and I wasn’t really feeling it because it was cold and really we should have been inside but Mr Witter makes us go outside because he used to be in the Army apparently and he says we should get used to the cold but that’s what they do in prisons.”

I smile. “Go on.”

“And then my heart started running.”

“You mean racing?”

He nods firmly. Racing isn’t even the word. It sprinted to the finish like Bolt at 252 beats per minute, three times the speed it should.

“It felt like bubbles in my chest and then the school went crazy panicky and they called the ambulance and they brought me to the hospital but not this one, it was another one and it wasn’t as good because you weren’t there and they had really bad biscuit.”

His mum adds. “And they gave him some drugs to bring it back to a steady rhythm; they were close to shocking him.” Her voice trails off and both parents’ faces look drawn and pale remembering the incident.

Rory looks absolutely unbothered by this. To be fair, we have put this little man through everything. We’ve cut his chest open more times than is necessary for someone so small, we hook him up to machines and put him on treadmills. His resilience and character amaze me, and I really can’t imagine what it feels like to see your child so vulnerable and helpless, to be paralysed and weighed down with such worry.

“Alright then, little man, we need to make sure that your heart is working as it should. This is Alice, and she is going to take you over for an ECG and we just need to make sure your tick-tock is in good shape.”

Rory nods and jumps off the chair. His dad offers him a piggyback, and his mum smiles at them. I can hear Rory offering that half KitKat to Alice as they leave the room. 

His mother turns to me as the door is closed, her shoulders relaxing, allowing herself to breathe. “And how are you?” I ask her.

“You just think it’s done and then something like that comes along to scare you,” she says with a sigh.

“Let’s have these tests and then see if it’s anything major to worry about,” I try to calm her. “Episodes of rapid heartbeat is quite common in Rory’s case, and we can look into drugs to remedy that if necessary.”

She smiles, nodding.

“Did you have any other questions for me?”

She studies my face for a moment too long. “I… well, it will show up in Rory’s records soon, but my husband I are… I mean we’re getting a divorce.”

I pause for a moment. Of course, I know these things happen in life, but I’ve known this couple for years. I’ve seen them at their lowest ebb, bound by friendship and their love for that boy. I really do feel sorry for them.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I mumble.

“We just… we’re terrified about telling Rory.”

“He doesn’t know?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “We’re scared of breaking him. I mean, look at him. All of this stuff he’s been through and he carries on like nothing has happened. We don’t want to upset him.”

“It took a team of us the best part of six years to build Rory’s heart. There's a warranty on that workmanship,” I reassure her. “Have that chat with him. He’ll be fine.”

***

“Have we got time for dinner first?” I turn to my wife as we walk out of the hospital. We don’t normally have the luxury of ending our shift at the same time, but today is exceptional. We have parents’ evening at the girls’ school so Rhonda made sure to clear up our schedule after our evening rounds at the ward. 

“No, but we can raid M&S and eat in the car?”

I’m starving and I almost cry with relief at the suggestion. “Always knew I married the right woman.”

She chuckles. “Damn right you did.”

We leave the car at the hospital and she drags me along the walkways to Waterloo, the breeze biting at our cheeks. I pull her into M&S, dodging the marching commuters and grab a basket. 

“I’ll look for some wine,” she says before she saunters off. “Oh and I want sushi. None of that crap with the mayonnaise please.”

“Alright.”

I skipped lunch today so the whole place calls to me. I start taking very random things off the shelves: a packet of raspberry iced buns. That’ll do. I also take some hummus for my wife because she bloody loves hummus. I’m not even joking, I’ve seen her down a whole pot of it. Then I take some sushi as requested, some coleslaw, a family bag of mature cheddar and red onion crisps and a trifle. I hope I don’t bump into Rhonda. Next are cheese twists, noodle salad and cocktail sausages. 

It takes me a while to notice that there is a man right next to me with a roll of yellow stickers in their back pocket. Hello there, you are one of my favourite people tonight. Have I managed to find that sacred hour when all the food is being marked down? He labels some prawns with dip and even though I get a little squeamish about eating fish near its expiry date, I put it in my basket. I then follow him around the corner. Now, this is dinner. I put all sorts of random food in my basket and smile at the thought.

Ooh, knockdown pizzas. I should get a pizza. That’s tomorrow’s tea sorted, the girls will love it. Although I can’t help but wonder, what’s the limit for us to feed our daughters frozen pizza in a week before they get taken away from us? But eh, we might be able to get away with it if we give them frozen peas on the side. 

“Look at you,” says my wife, depositing two bottles of red in the basket. 

“Yes, it’s me. I’m the yellow sticker bitch.”

She snickers as we turn to head for the tills. “Excellent work.”

***

“Mr and Mrs Styles, welcome.”

“Mrs Ebner, always a pleasure,” I shake the headmistress’ hand who’s standing at the door. 

“Busy evening?” My wife asks her as she shakes her hand next.

“Always,” the headmistress replies with a smile, then proceeds to speak like she’s reading out of brochures. “But such a wonderful opportunity to connect with our parents and build on the special relationships we have with our school community.” 

Two uniformed minions appear.

“Lewis, Maggie, could you please show Mr and Mrs Styles through to the drinks reception?”

They both nod in unison. The boy holds his arms out like a waiter showing us to our table. We follow them through the school’s grand corridors to the main hall. It’s the one thing I like about this place. It’s very Hogwarts-like with hefty engraved name boards and sepia photos of successful sports teams. In the hall, a throng of parents mill around waiting to see respective teachers. It’s the same every year. We all dodge the people from the PTA trying to sell us quiz tickets, and the bowls of crisps out of hygiene concerns.

“Red or white?” Asks a lady in an apron.

This right here is the very reason we get through parents’ evening. From the look of the bottle, it’s decent wine too. I think that’s where a good proportion of our fees is going. 

“Red, please.”

We both take our glasses and walk to the corner of the hall. It’s essentially a holding area without the background music. The idea is that all the parents will get on and create a party vibe but it just becomes a strange family gathering. As terrible as it sounds, it’s sorted into cliques: parents who know each other via NCT groups, the international expat brigades who keep to themselves, the parents who’ve ostracised themselves by gossip, the ones who you know regularly brunch and ski together.

The boy from earlier suddenly appears in front of us. “Mrs Hughes is ready for you.”

I put my hand on the small of my wife’s back as we walk towards the classroom. Fiona’s teacher first and then Alma’s straight after. Right, we can do this.

“Mrs Hughes, we meet again,” I shake her hand. I’ve got no qualms about Mrs Hughes. She’s a seasoned teacher who likes a slack and sensible moccasin and we’re familiar with her since she taught Alma two years previously. When we enter the classroom, Lewis bows in reverence, taking his leave and I wonder whether to tip him. 

“It’s always lovely to have another Styles girl in my classroom. Fiona is a particular delight.”

My wife and I smile proudly. I’m sure Mrs Hughes says this to every parent here about their child, but that’s always nice to hear. 

“She talks a lot about you,” my wife says. “She seems to have settled in well.”

Mrs Hughes opens up a couple of books and it’s classic Fiona. Alma is ordered and neat—if she makes a mistake then she erases it completely and she underlines things with a ruler and listens to instruction carefully. She gets that from her mum. Fiona though, on the other hand, she’s all me. She has more wild abandon about her; no rulers, no rubbers. She puts giant crosses through things that don’t work and likes her bubble writing decorated with doodles of many, many cats.

I glance around the classroom as Mrs Hughes talks to us about standardised scores. The theme of the school is to show you how smart and educated these children are. Look at the copperplate handwriting, their reproductions of Van Gogh and our languages corner where they’ve all had a go at telling us what they like in French. I spy a contribution from my girl. J’adore les chats et le gâteau au chocolat. 

I’ve lost track of the conversation so I try to catch up.

“So to push Fiona into those top scores, perhaps we can look into tutoring? For maths, in particular, so she can grasp some of the concepts a little more tightly,” says Mrs Hughes. 

My wife and I look at each other confused. “Uh, I don’t think there’s a need, right? She’s only five.”

“It’s never too early,” replies Mrs Hughes. “We run an after-school tutoring club on Tuesdays that would help.”

Back when I was a youngster, clubs were fun endeavours that involved matching baseballs caps or were a chocolate biscuit that you had in your lunchbox. Maths tutoring session was not a club.

I ask her. “Is it free?”

“It’s fifteen pounds per session.”

See? My point being this should be a parents’ evening, not a sales session.

“Well, then it’s something to think about,” says my wife. “It could be that Fiona catches up with people throughout the year.”

“Possibly,” Mrs Hughes nods. Still, though, she proceeds to go into her folder and passes me a form. Sneaky. “Fiona has also shown great interest in languages and art. Her pictures have been a joy.”

Mrs Hughes goes to a file and pulls one of Fiona’s drawings. I glance down at it. It’s a standard child piece of art. The grass and sky are strips of colour to the top and bottom. It’s a family portrait, and we are as tall as the broccoli style trees. Wait, hang on a second. I count the number of people in the picture again. Is that-

“And Mrs Styles, I gather congratulations are in order,” she says with a smile. “Such lovely news.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Fiona told me it’s a boy,” she adds, and the sheer terror on my wife’s face at the realisation is priceless. “You must be very thrilled.”

I study the picture. There’s a house in the middle, and standing in a line in front of the house is our family. The one slightly taller than the broccoli tree is me. I’ve got my white lab coat, and I look like a serial killer because I’m holding a scalpel with the size of a butcher’s knife. Next to me is my wife, also with a white lab coat, but instead of a scalpel, she’s holding a very chunky baby who rather looks like a basketball with a head.

“Oh dear,” I chuckle. “Guess now we know what she’ll ask for Christmas.”

“Yeah,” my wife shakes her head. “We’re not expecting.”

“Oh, I apologise,” Mrs Hughes says with a sheepish smile.

“No worries, Mrs Hughes,” I tell her. “So, what else has our girl been up to here? Besides gossiping of course.”

Mrs Hughes laughs under her breath. “Well, in class, Fiona is attentive, bright and very helpful. She is a credit to you both.”

***

“I swear your daughter, Styles.”

We’re sitting in the car now. Finally done with parents’ evening, still laughing at the slightly creepy, chunky basketball baby in Fiona’s picture and the fact that three people, including Mrs Hughes, have congratulated us for the ‘baby’.

“You haven’t called me Styles in years,“ I turn to her with a grin. “Not since medical school.”

I can’t help but flashback to the good ol’ days when we had matching university hoodies and we’d test each other on the parts of a kidney whilst walking into lectures, sitting next to each other, sharing pens and cans of Lilt. 

“Well, after that I became a Styles too,” she chuckles. “Would be confusing then, wouldn’t it?”

“True,” I laugh under my breath, then I grab her hand and pull it to my mouth so I can kiss her knuckles. “Thank you.”

“What for?”

“For being a Styles.”

“Aw, aren’t we soppy tonight?” She smirks. “Alright, stop the car.”

“What?”

“There,” she points to a dark empty spot and I oblige. 

Then, before I can even ask her why, she reaches over and grabs me by the collar. Pulling me close to her and gives me a kiss. I kiss her back, and I smile when she bites gently on my bottom lip.

“Oi, oi. Something’s got you randy.”

The next thing I know, she undoes her seatbelt and then rolls her trousers down her legs along with her knickers, fumbling and giggling at the awkward movement. I push my seat back and pull my trousers down. 

“Don’t fall on gearstick now,” I joke as she climbs over to straddle me. “Well, unless you want to, of course…”

She laughs as she lowers herself over my lap. I really can’t believe what’s happening here.

“Mrs Styles, we’re about to have sex in a car. Around the corner from our daughters’ school.” 

“I know,” she says with a smile before she runs her tongue along my neck. “Not our first rodeo though.”

“Oh right, we did it in our Volvo years ago, didn’t we? Thought the suspension couldn’t take it.”

“And it turned out fine. Told you that you needed to have more faith in the Swedes, they’re a reliable breed.”

“I love it when you talk about Sweden.”

“Ikea.”

“Fuck.”

“Meatballs.”

“Billy Bookcase.”

She throws her head back in laughter and I take this as an opportunity to run my tongue along her collar bone. She gasps. I reach down to lift her before I slowly lower her over my cock. We both sigh as I enter her, a long exhalation with our lips barely touching. 

“Viggo Mortensen.”

“Isn’t he Danish?”

“Tomato, Tomahto.”

I smile at my wife and push my hips up, silently telling her that we don’t need to talk about Swedish people anymore. She grabs onto the car seat and levers herself up and down. I look at her in the eye, a goofy smile still plastered across my face.

But then I squint. Light. Bollocks, what’s that? Where’s that light coming from? Crap, that’s bright. Shit. I see the flash of a hi-vis jacket, a knock at the window and someone shaking their head.

Oh sodding fucking bollocking shit wank.

[daydreaming-away-reality]

Catching Stardust

Tadashi Hamada x Reader | ☁️ + ✨ | 3.9k

Most days, like any other university student, you would wake up tired. Unfortunately for you, that was not today. You had spent the entire night working on your lab report for one of your science courses and didn’t get a wink of sleep. At least it was handed in and done with.

(You had to double check - just in case your brain decided to get desperate and help you imagine the best case scenarios. Thinking and doing were two very different things, they were hard to tell apart when you were so dead tired though.)

It was one of those days.

“Morning, Honey Lemon,” you greeted as you navigated your way into the kitchen for some caffeine. Grabbing your travel coffee tumbler, you watched your blonde roommate in her morning stretching routine.

“Good morning, (Y/N)!” Honey cheerfully replied. “How was not sleeping last night?”

You halted your movements, looking up at her with concern. “Can you tell just by looking at me?”

Honey Lemon laughed. “No, silly. GoGo came home late last night and saw you up. I heard you shuffling around earlier this morning too. No raccoon eyes, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Thank goodness,” you said with a sigh as you continued pouring liquid energy into your tumbler. “This bio course is going to be the death of me.”

“You mean working two part time jobs will be the death of you,” GoGo corrected you as she walked out of her room. ��Girl, you need time to have fun too.”

You stuck your tongue out at her. Rummaging through backpack, you noticed a missing tome of knowledge. “Has anyone seen my Medical Terms bible?”

“Coffee table.” Honey called out from the living room as she held the tree pose.

GoGo walked over to you with the heavy book in hand. You mouthed a thank you to her before taking a sip of coffee.

“(Y/N), you need to take some time to make some more friends or meet a cute boy,” Honey Lemon brought up. She exchanged a look with GoGo. “We know someone who you might like. He’s nice and funny, good looking as well.”

You gave your two roommates a sad smile. “By the time I’m ready for a relationship, a boy like that will already be snatched up by someone less stressed about their future.”

Grabbing your premade meals and a couple of snacks, you swung your backpack on.

“I work bookstore and pharmacy today, so I’ll see you both tomorrow morning. Good luck with your projects in the meantime.”

“Bye, (Y/N)!” Honey called out.

“Keep the luck, you need it more than we do,” GoGo said with salute.

Walking out of the apartment, you checked your phone for your schedule once more. Class at nine, bookstore at two and pharmacy at six. And it was already eight thirty, yay. Just your typical jam packed day, all so that you could pay off medical school tuition in the future.

Balancing everything in life was... impossible, but you were managing. 

Full course load university student, working two part time jobs, and a very minimal but still existent social life.

It wasn’t easy, but it was what you wanted. Going to med school was a necessary path to take if you wanted to help people out in your future career choice.

Just as you were arriving on campus, a voice caught your attention.

“(Y/N)…!”

You turned to see your friend Mina, another sufferer pre-med student.

“Hi Mina,” you greeted.

“Did you sleep last night?” she asked. When you shook your head, she let out a loud sigh. “Yeah, me too. Dr. Andrews is going to kill us with these lab reports and the test Thursday. I mean, I’d feel smarter if I weren’t so tired all the time.” 

You smiled. What a mood.

“Is my make up, okay?” Mina asked. “I don’t want Justin to see me at my worse - not yet.”

You glanced over Mina’s face. She had gone through the usual effort to make herself look cute. “You look fine and I’m sure Justin wouldn’t be scared off. He knows we’re med students.”

Mina made a face. “We’ve only been a dating for two months, (Y/N), two! He doesn’t know what kind of crazy we are yet. You never know when he might get skittish and ghost me.”

If you weren’t so tired, you would have laughed. 

Linking arms with Mina, you pulled her towards the classroom. 

Today was going to be just another day.

Tadashi checked over the information on his phone as he walked off campus towards the bookstore. He had been looking up information to help his robotics project and a certain book had come up in his recommendations. Deciding that the resource was worth checking out, and was worth the price, he was determined to get his hands on the book while his robot was still in the works.

Walking through the doors, he made his way to the medical section. Browsing the shelves, he kept an eye out for the particular title.

After circling the area for a while, he let out a huff. Where was this textbook?

Noticing a girl wearing a name tag, he approached her with smile.

“Hi, I was wondering if you could help me?”

She turned to him with a smile, (E/C) eyes making contact with his brown orbs.

“Of course, are you looking for something?”

Tadashi nodded, pulling out his phone and showing her the textbook information.

"Ahhh, this one. That’s a popular book with the first year pre-med student courses,” she commented. “Everyone always asks where this one is - we organize this one by title since there’s no author.”

Leading him back into the medical section, the girl stopped in an area of the bookstore that Tadashi had missed earlier. She tapped the spine of one of the books.

“This one is good resource for in depth procedural explanations,” she explained. “Not what you were looking for though...”

Scanning the shelves, the girl paused and frowned when she stopped a particular spot. 

“Is it out of stock?” she murmured, checking again. “For a textbook no one appreciates until third year, I’d be surprised if it’s sold out...” She turned back to Tadashi with an apologetic smile. “I’ll check if we have the book in stock - give me a second.”

Pulling out her phone, she typed up some information quickly. The results of her searching seemed to yield the same results.

“It looks like we’re actually out of stock for this textbook right now, although, we are restocking it,” she explained. “Would you like to request a reserve to get a copy?”

“That would be helpful, sure,” Tadashi agreed. 

“Great, let’s go fill out a form for you,” she chirped, leading him away. “Are you a med student?”

“No, I’m a robotics engineering student at SFIT,” he replied. “I’m working on something related to the medical field though.”

“Really? That’s so cool,” she exclaimed, looking genuinely interested. “It’s amazing to think how technology can incorporated into health sciences. If you don’t mind me asking, what are you working on?”

“A healthcare robot,” Tadashi explained with a fond smile. “It’s still in the works, nothing has been finished yet, I’m still working on the programming stages.”

“I think that’s incredible. I’m sure you’re capable of amazing things.”

The sincerity in her tone brought a smile to his face. For someone who didn’t know much about his project, the kind words from her were very nice.

“What about you?” Tadashi asked. “Are you a student?”

“Yeah, over at Sato Health Institute,” she responded. Sato was the top post secondary institution for health care in San Fransokyo located nearby - it even shared some programs with SFIT as Tadashi recalled. “I’m a pre-med student - if you hadn’t already guessed.”

“I might have had a feeling,” Tadashi said with a grin. “You seemed like you were familiar with things firsthand.”

The girl laughed. “Lots of firsthand experience, trust me.”

Approaching the help desk, the girl popped around to grab a paper and pen. Scrawling down information onto the page first, she then slid the paper over to Tadashi across the counter.

“Just fill out the rest of the form and the textbook should be arriving in the next three days.” 

Tadashi looked up from filling in the form, brown eyes flicking over to her name tag. “Thank you so much, (Y/N).”

“You’re welcome,” she replied. She took a sip from her coffee tumbler. Grabbing a sticky note, she offered it over to Tadashi. “If you’d like, leave your number and I’ll text you when it arrives - I’ll be working that day. I promise to use your number for professional reasons only.”

“I’d appreciate that,” Tadashi said as he wrote his number down. As he finished his form, he noticed a large medical terms textbook behind the counter on the desk next to the computer with a ton of sticky notes sticking out. “Is that yours?”

“That’s my current bible,” she affirmed with an amused tone. “Can’t survive without it.”

The two of them shared a laugh.

“Thanks again for your help.” Tadashi repeated as he returned the form.

“Just doing my job, don’t worry about it! It was great meeting you...” Her (E/C) eyes flickered down to the form and smile appeared on her face. “...Tadashi.”

As Tadashi left the bookstore, part of him was still lingering behind, thinking about (Y/N). She seemed like a nice girl and he really hoped that they might have another chance to encounter her again.

You fumbled with the door before pushing it open, popping back into the dark apartment. Hitting the light switch, you took off your shoes and checked for signs of your roommates.

Looks like Honey Lemon and GoGo were still out.

No surprise.

The three of you were always busy, whether the other two liked to admit it or not. 

Just as you were sorting things out in the kitchen and about to grab a snack, your phone buzzed.

Mina: OMG. Did you see Terry’s SNS profile update? 🤣🤣

(Y/N): What did he do this time? Do I want to know??

Mina: He put MD CANDIDATE. The AUDACITY of this man - I got a C+ working with partner project with him. My poor GPA... 😭

(Y/N): I mean...

Mina: DON’T

(Y/N): Cs get degrees 😂

Mina: RIP me. Seriously though, are you free to study for that bio test? 

(Y/N): let me grab my snack first, I’ll see you video chat

Mina: True MD candidate here

(Y/N): HA 

Letting out a sigh, you swiped a snack from the cupboard before heading back to your room. Fingers crossed you would get some sleep tonight.

“Oh, finally!”

Tadashi wiped his hands off with a rag and turned to look at Fred. Wasabi and GoGo were also looking at the beanie wearing boy, but neither of them decided to engage.

“Something up?” Tadashi asked, speaking up.

“The comic bookstore said they were out of that new series I was telling you guys about the other day,” Fred explained. “I refused to go to Richardson’s place, so apparently, they reached out to the nearby bookstore and they have a copy! I got to go pick it up.”

“The one near campus?”

“Yup.”

Tadashi paused, thinking for a moment before making his decision. 

“I’ll come with you.”

“Let’s go then, man!”

Catching up with Fred about the current condition of Baymax, the two soon arrived at the bookstore. Fred immediately beelined towards the help desk with Tadashi trailing behind him.

Just as Tadashi anticipated, a familiar face was working at the desk. This time though, (Y/N) was fairly concentrated on the stack of flashcards piled on her space next to textbooks filled with sticky notes.

“Uh, excuse me,” Fred said, practically bouncing on his toes.

That was enough to jolt her out of her studying. Shoving away her flashcards, she offered Fred a smile. “Yes?”

“I believe someone called about -”

“Oh! I know what you’re here for,” (Y/N) said, jumping up. She got up and skimmed over the bookshelf behind the counter. “Ah, here it is. Fred, right?”

At the sight of his new comic, Fred nodded happily. He quickly accepted it from you. “Is there a comic book section?”

(Y/N) nodded. “Just straight that way, it’s not a big collection, but you might find something.”

“Alright, thanks!” 

Fred turned to see Tadashi lingering around. “You coming, Tadashi?”

“There’s something I want to check out, I’ll catch up in a bit,” the black haired male responded.

As Fred disappeared, the girl turned her attention over to Tadashi. 

“I didn’t think I would see you again so soon,” she commented. “The book is not in yet, sorry.”

Tadashi smiled. “That’s fine. I see you’re here often.” 

“Yeah, when I’m not busy with classes or my other job, here I am.”

The words piqued your interest. “Other job?”

“I also work at a pharmacy,” (Y/N) explained.

“Ahh. You must be a busy person,” Tadashi said. He tilted his head towards your desk. “Studying too?”

She flushed. “Yeah. Only because today’s pretty quiet - my manager doesn’t mind as long as I’m work as I’m needed. There’s a test coming up.”

“Good luck, I think you need it.”

“I do. Thank you.”

Tadashi watched as (Y/N) moved back to sitting at the desk. As she picked up her flashcards, she looked up at Tadashi.

“How’s the healthcare robot going? Any progress in the last 24 hours?”

“Baymax finally had some supply come in for assembling,” he responded. “So, just a little bit.”

“Baymax?” she repeated confused. “Oh. Is that their name?”

Tadashi nodded.

“Baymax… I like it, sounds friendly.”

“I should probably let you get back to studying,” Tadashi commented, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry for bothering you.”

“Not at all, I’m happy to chat with you.”

- Wednesday. 6PM. -  

Honey: (Y/N)?

(Y/N): What’s up, Honey Lemon?

Honey: I heard the pre-med students plan on throwing a party this weekend? 

Honey: Are you going?

(Y/N): Nah, I think I have work.

GoGo: You always work.

(Y/N): Huh, I never noticed.

(Y/N): Anyways, parties are not my scene. I’d be happy spending a free evening at home instead.

GoGo: Mina says she’ll miss you.

(Y/N): She’ll have Justin, she’ll be okay

Honey: Well, if you ever decide to go, we know a boy you can take with you.

(Y/N): Thanks, but I’ll pass. 🥰

- Thursday. 5PM. -

Unknown: Hi Tadashi. The textbook you wanted finally came in! Feel free to drop by anytime to come pick it up.

Tadashi: Alright, thanks (Y/N)!

Unknown: Yep, no prob!

Tadashi: Hey, is this your personal number?

Unknown: yeah 😊

(Y/N) has been added to contacts.

Tadashi: Hope you don’t mind if I contact you like in the future. 😊

(Y/N): Oh, I wouldn’t mind at all!

“Tadashi, hi,” you greeted, waving as the boy came into your line of sight. With a baseball cap on his head today, you almost mistaken him for someone else. Pulling out the textbook, you handed it over to him. “Here you go! You weren’t the only one trying to get your hands on this textbook today.”

Tadashi peered at you curiously as he accepted the textbook. 

“You look tired,” he pointed out.

You just shrugged with a half smile. “The bio test was today - that was gruesome.”

“At least that’s done with,” he encouraged you. “Week’s almost over, too.”

“Best part is I’m off in five,” you agreed.

 You could see your words caught Tadashi’s interest. 

“Are... are you still working after?” 

Shaking your head, you leaned back against the counter. “Nope, told them I was busy today so no shifts at the pharmacy tonight.”

“Would you like to go out with me then?” Tadashi asked hopefully. “We can hit up a café and grab something to eat?”

Good thing you were leaning against the counter, because the surprise you felt would have toppled you over.

“Oh, um, sure!” you agreed, cheeks heating up a little. “I’ll meet you outside in five?”

“Sounds good.”

- Friday. 9AM. -

Tadashi: I enjoyed my time with you yesterday. 

(Y/N): I enjoyed my time too! Although the cookies there were kind of hard... 😢

Tadashi: Yeah... I find us somewhere with nice cookies next time.

(Y/N): Just a warning, next time might be a while. My schedule is usually full.

Tadashi: That’s fine!! If you ever find yourself with free time, let me know, I’d like to spend it with you.

(Y/N): 🥰

(Y/N): You’re too sweet, Tadashi. 

(Y/N): How are you single??

Tadashi: Haha, I could ask you the same thing. Probably the same reasons as you though. I’m usually too focused with what’s in front of me.

Tadashi: Hope to see you around though.

(Y/N): me too

- Some Tuesday. 8PM. -

“And your total is 18.95,” you said, pressing buttons on the register to confirm the amount. The customer tapped their card for the purchase before taking their bags. “I hope you feel better!”

“Thank you,” the customer responded as they left. 

You waited until they had gone completely before heading back to find your manager. Spotting one of older pharmacy students, you decided to talk to them instead.

“Hi,” you greeted.

“(Y/N), need any drugs?” Harper asked with a smile.

“I’ll take them all,” you joked. “Let Aria know I left if you see her for me?”

“Yeah, go. You’re free,” she ushered, waving you away.

As you pulled on your jacket and stepped out of the pharmacy, a figure caught you by surprise.

“Tadashi!” you exclaimed. 

“Surprised?” he asked. “Thought I’d walk you home, not safe for you to walk the street alone at night.”

“I do it frequent enough,” you countered with a smile.

“Ooh, risk taker,” Tadashi said.

You laughed. “I appreciate this though, thanks.”

Tadashi nodded. As the two of you were catching up each other on what happened throughout the day, you felt Tadashi slip his hand into yours. Fingers intertwined, you could feel your heart racing.

This was something you didn’t want to let go of.

- Some Monday. 2PM. -

GoGo: Yo, Tadashi

GoGo: Fred wants to know when you’ll be back with the snacks.

Tadashi: Just stepped back on campus. 

GoGo: Took you a while.

GoGo: You seeing someone behind our back?

Tadashi: Ha. Does Baymax count?

- A couple weeks later. Friday. 10AM. -

“Someone looks cute today,” Mina commented as you sat down next to her in the lecture hall. She eyed you up and down, nodding approvingly. “Not working today?”

“Yeah,” you replied. “My rare day off besides class. Thought I’d put a little more effort in today.”

“Well, you look adorable,” Mina confirmed. She let out a sigh when she saw the professor walk in. “Let’s see if we can survive these next two hours.”

“Challenge accepted,” you said, bumping her shoulder playfully. “Although, I might lose you halfway.”

Mina gasped and smacked your arm.

You laughed as you pulled your laptop. Although the two hours went by at a decent pace, you were glad the course was three quarters way through. 

At the brutal pace your professor went, there was nothing but review for the few weeks before final exams. It was nice to know you didn’t have to teach yourself an entire unit in a week before your final.

Bidding Mina goodbye, you weaved your way out of the lecture hall and out into campus. At this point, most groups of students you saw hanging around were study groups. You would have been like them too, if you hadn’t worked so hard to make things work.

Balancing two part time jobs along with classes had you putting in so much extra effort that it usually paid off in the long run.

Yay.

Navigating your way through the streets with the GPS app open on your phone, you soon spotted the campus you were looking for.

SFIT.

(Abbreviated, because thinking through what each letter stood for was too much effort.)

Slowly wandering around as you pulled up the campus directory, your eyes glimmered when you spotted the building you were looking for. Popping inside, you clutched onto your bag, peering around curiously. There was so much science happening in this space. 

Lots of creativity too, you wondered why their tradition was to prank the art school.

Poking around, you soon realized you were lost among the many rooms and labs. Your mission was a failure. Pouting, you pulled your phone.

(Y/N): Help me, I’m lost.

Tadashi: What do you mean?

(Y/N): I wandered into the lab building and was going to surprise you with a visit, but I don’t know where to find you. 🙁

(Y/N): I didn’t think this through...

Tadashi: Awwww

Tadashi: What room number do you see? I’ll find you.

(Y/N): Lab 2B

Tadashi: omw

As you awkwardly waited for Tadashi to show up, you tried not to look suspicious. Although admittedly, you were sure you looked suspicious regardless since you were lost.

“There you are,” the soft yet deep voice greeted from behind you.

Turning around to see Tadashi, you smiled. 

“Sorry for the trouble,” you apologized. 

“Not at all.” Tadashi shook his head. He took a moment to take you in. Within his eyes, you were absolutely beautiful. He didn’t want to mess up, so he kept it to himself. He’d voice his thoughts one day. “Welcome to Nerd Lab, by the way.”

So this was where Tadashi, your roommates, and their friends all spent their long hours working.

Tadashi took your hand. “Come on, I want to show you my lab.”

Following after Tadashi, the two of you entered the elevator behind arriving on the floor of his personal lab space. He opened a door, showing you his tidy space.

“Baymax won’t be in the works for a while, but here,” he pulled out several large blueprints. The image of an almost plush like character was found in the middle. “This is going to be Baymax.”

In awe of all the labelled details and planning in place, you looked up at Tadashi.

“This is incredible,” you breathed out. “You’re incredible too.”

Tadashi dipped his head down and captured your lips for a kiss. 

Before he had the opportunity to pull back too far, you went in and gave him a quick peck as well.

Although the two of you were flushed, the loving gaze you could see in Tadashi’s eyes made you feel hopeful about this relationship.

“Can I see the medical programming?” you asked, breaking the silence.

Tadashi shyly nodded. “All the computer.” 

- Later. -

(Y/N): Do you think we should let our friends know?

Tadashi: Nah, they’ll catch on eventually.

(Y/N): But if they don’t should I just accept their blind date request?

Tadashi: WHAT?

(Y/N): 😂

(Y/N): I asked for more details one time.

(Y/N): He’s this handsome robotics engineering student, who nice and has a good sense of humor. Apparently he’s very dedicated to his work too.

Tadashi: …

Tadashi: They’ve tried to set me up with their friend as well. 

(Y/N): Hmm, maybe we were meant to be after all

Tadashi: I think so. 😀

(Y/N): 😘