#it’s not gelled up and it’s pretty soft and has a nice curl

[newlyy]

My new doll came today, how gorgeous is this face mold

When Mattel’s been giving us this shit for years

[mcdonaldsnumberone]

SLOW DOWN!

being a pro soccer player, it’s no surprise that isagi has his fair share of promotional events and galas he has to go to. he’s lucky to have you by his side to keep him company. but obligation quickly turns to temptation as he finds himself unable to keep his hands off of you, whisking you away where no one else can see...

gender neutral reader

content warning(s): future au, slightly suggestive content

“Y-Yoichi, someone’s going to see…!”

The black-haired soccer star practically on top of you didn’t stop for a moment, and his lips greedily claimed yours. Your voice died out to the kiss, your arms curled around his shoulders as if you weren’t sure whether to push or pull at him. His hands slid up the pretty formal clothes that you had spent days skirting around, too scared of ruining them if you were to touch them. 

Well, you couldn’t get too mad at him for that. He was the one who paid for it, after all.

As if to affirm your words, you held your breath as a flurry of voices narrowly missed the two of you. Your heartbeat hammered between your ears, your entire body set on edge as Isagi simply ignored the situation, grabbing at your body with a desperation that he normally reserved for behind closed doors.

“Sorry, love,” he laughed weakly against your mouth. His voice sounded low, hungry, desperate—horribly unlike the quiet and reserved boy that you were used to. He swallowed, and you could see his neck strain against the tight collar of his suit. “You look so good. I’d go crazy if I waited any longer.”

You knew you left any semblance of an ordinary life behind the moment you fell in love with Isagi. The boy craved soccer like it was air to him, and him becoming a professional player who would constantly be thrust into the spotlight was only one of many givens for him. As long as he got to continue his fight to be the best in the world, Isagi didn’t care what the situation around him looked like. But for you, it meant that you had to adjust to the sudden media craze and the luxury life that came with dating a professional player. 

Truth be told, you would be more than happy to just be with Isagi. The nice life was a plus.

“We’re at a fancy gala,” you breathed in between his starved kisses. You prayed that he hadn’t crinkled your clothes too badly. “We’re as good as dead if people catch us acting like animals here!”

Isagi simply pressed his lips against yours again, and you whimpered quietly when his teeth snagged at your bottom lip. With enough pressure to serve as a warning, his usually calm blue eyes swirled with a kind of demonic desire. 

“That’s an easy fix.” His hands squeezed at your waist. “We won’t get caught.”

“Yoichi!” You gasped. He grunted, and when he kissed you again, you shuddered when his tongue dragged slowly across the places on your lips where he had teased with his teeth. The whiplash between the suddenness of your situation and the way he haphazardly flitted between being kind and being brutal made your head spin.

“I could barely think straight earlier, did you know that? You always look breathtaking, but something about tonight… seeing you all dolled up in the clothes I got for you, clinging to my arm while you smiled at all the cameras…” Isagi’s fingertips buried themselves into your soft flesh, pinching at your body. You felt utterly debauched, already falling apart at the seams thanks to a handful of kisses. Since when had you gotten so weak for this boy? 

He cleared his throat. Some of his expertly gelled hair had fallen out of place, sweeping across his forehead in sensual tendrils. He pushed them out of the way, and Isagi stared at you, taking in all the details of how you looked right now, within his grasp.

“I want you.” Isagi leaned in close to you again until your bodies were connected, chest-to-chest. If the devil was a person, you swore he was there, in the form of your boyfriend and whispering words that sent shivers down your spine against your ear. “Now more than ever, love.”

“W-We can do all of that and more at home…,” you futilely pleaded, trying your best to hold onto the crumbling dregs of your rationality. “It’s too risky here.”

“Only if you make it that way.” His lips quirked upwards into a devilish smile, and he reached for his collar. Unloosening the once crisp and clean tie with a rough yank, he kept you pressed up against the wall with his strong thighs and hips as he practically ripped the top of his formal outfit apart.

“God. Much better,” he grumbled. “Could barely breathe in them.”

You did your best not to think about how expensive his clothes were. You hated the thought of being caught by some fancy executives like this, having snuck away from the important event to make out in some room in one of the winding hallways, your reputation as Isagi’s supportive partner hanging by a thread. But more so than the hatred, you couldn’t deny the growing heat tugging at the insides of your stomach and chest, egged on by Isagi’s irrational behavior.

And god, was he tempting you too.

Isagi always looked charming when he was off the pitch. Dressed in modest clothes and not one to flaunt his wealth too much, he resembled just about any other man his age. Yet there was the rustic and comforting side to him that drew you to him, and you’d be a horribly, horrible liar to pretend like you weren’t drawn to that Plain Jane aspect of him. But even on the pitch too, the exhilarating gleam in his eyes and the greedy way his body yearned for a goal, his sweet demeanor swapped out for one that was insatiable and downright mean at times, were all parts of him that you found terribly attractive. 

But the Isagi right in front of you right now? He was a different beast altogether. 

He noticed the way your trembling eyes were still drinking up the sinful sight in front of you, and the laugh he let out made your knees go weak. “You’re staring at me too. Don’t act so holy, dearest. I know you want to be good, but you’re just the same as me.”

“Don’t say that…,” you exhaled. You couldn’t deny him. Isagi had looked drop dead handsome earlier, dressed to the nines in an expensive suit and sparkling shoes, his staff working their magic at gelling up his hair and making him look like a model straight off a runway rather than your everyday boyfriend. Even you, who had gotten used to seeing all sides of Isagi at this point, found it hard to look him in the face and speak without your face heating up.

But this Isagi would put his earlier good boy image to shame. There was something about the way his suit was all disheveled, the tie hanging shamelessly from his throat and the collar of his white shirt thrown back to reveal his neck and the top of his chest. Even his tousled hair had you drooling, the still gelled parts begging for you to mess them up by burying your fingers into them. His lips were swollen from making out with you in such animalistic fashion, and his chest rose and fell with each deep breath he was taking. His pale cheeks were flushed a rose pink, and a kind of drunken stupor glazed over his eyes.

There was something so wrong yet so provocative about him looking this good yet run through in formal wear. The sight was bewitching you.

“You want me. Don’t lie. It’s written all over your face.” His mouth trailed down, his lips kissing across the shape of your jaw and attaching themselves to your neck. You held back a whimper as his mouth teased the sensitive skin. His teeth ghosted over your throat, and you wondered if he could make out your wildly pacing pulse from where he was.

You wrapped your arms carefully around his neck, pulling him closer to you. You clenched your eyes shut as the boy pressed seemingly innocent kisses all over your neck, collarbones, and face, almost like he was surveying your bare skin to see where he’d strike. You could feel whenever he was smirking into your skin, the striker becoming keenly observant of every little reaction you were giving him.

Your stomach turned as you heard another wave of loud voices and applause, and it appeared like the main event was starting to reach its peak. How long could you continue at this before someone would notice that Isagi had disappeared, and conveniently, so had you? You grabbed at the back of his suit, trying to tug at him, but Isagi ignored it.

“Quit thinking about other people,” he muttered. “Right now, all I want you to focus on is me, got it?”

“But we’ve been gone for so long… We have to make ourselves look presentable and go back, or else we’re gonna get in so much trouble…,” you protested. You squealed through gritted teeth when one of his hands trailed down to rub circles into your thighs, his grip on you heavy and loaded with implications.

“I said to quit thinking about everyone else.” Isagi could feel you shiver, and the sadistic streak in him purred at the thought of you so torn between being good to him or sticking to what you should be doing. “I don’t even want to think about going back there and having to share you with everyone else. I want to be the only one who can see you like this, all messed up… I want it obvious that you’re mine.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his dark words, his voice dragging up against your ears like velvet. You were fighting a losing battle, and with how scrambled up your thoughts were getting and how you were quivering like a newborn deer against your boyfriend’s muscled body, your mind and your heart were screaming two very different answers. Isagi wasn’t helping you one bit, already testing your limits and pushing you so close to the breaking point that all you wanted to do was forget the rest of the world and completely give in, just the way he wanted you to.

“My perfect baby…,” he whispered into your collarbones. You craned your neck slightly, giving him better access to your bare skin. Your shirt was yanked down to reveal more of yourself to him, and the strands clung feebly to your body. It wasn’t like the thread could offer you any protection against Isagi at this moment, and when Isagi nipped at your skin without any warning, you unconsciously jerked against his chest.

“Yoichi…!”

“You’re overthinking. I’m not asking you to make a hard decision. You’re already practically there.” His fingers traced the pattern of a small heart into your inner thigh, the sensation tingling as if it were a permanent mark. When you looked at him with eyes blown over with a desire that was threatening to consume you, barely able to resist him, Isagi couldn’t help but admire his handiwork.

This was how he liked you best. Completely at his mercy, a fool hopelessly in love, just like him. You were always so good to him, even when he was asking you to be the worst.

“Give in to me.” His teeth were ready to sink into your skin the moment you’d give the clear, to mark you up the way he wanted to and show off to the rest of the world that his love for you ran deeper than what everyone else thought. Your resolve was crumbling, and you were glad you had Isagi to cling to for support, even if it meant letting him wash everything else but him away from your line of sight.

You nodded weakly, your overwhelmed body begging for him. Being conservative would get you nowhere.

Isagi smiled like an angel, and the small chuckle he let out was all the confirmation you needed to know that you had gone past the point of no return. 

“I promise I’ll take good care of you, love.”

x

[sailorkamino]

3. Picnic

Written in the Stars masterlist

relationships: Stucky x fem!reader

word count: 1.7k

chapter summary: you go on your first date with Bucky

warnings: some making out, jokes about sex (at the end)

Bucky wakes up slowly, a little ball of warmth curled up on his chest. He stretches out his legs, lazily scratching behind Kiwi’s ear. He smiles, raising his head to bump their noses together. Her big green eyes blinked open, tail flicking questioningly.

He understands her confusion. Bucky rarely sleeps well, but last night he had a good dream instead of the usual nightmare.

He dreamt of you and Steve at Coney Island, of course he hadn’t been to Coney Island since before the war so that’s how he saw it in his head. Steve, in his old military uniform and gelled hair held his left hand (in this reality he still had both arms), and you, in a pretty blue dress with red painted lips, held his right hand.

Bucky spares a glance at the clock. He doesn’t hear you moving around the apartment yet, you must still be in bed. “Should I try to make her some breakfast?” He asks Kiwi. She tilts her head in response, meowing softly. Bucky gently moves her off his chest, “I’ll take that as a yes.”

He gets up, rubbing a hand over his face, shocked at how soft his skin felt. He had to admit, your spa day yesterday was pretty effective.

“Alright, which animal do you want?” You ask, pulling out an assortment of colorful, stretchy headbands. He looks confused so you decide to elaborate, “they’re for holding your hair back, aren’t they cute?”

He looks at the many options: rabbit, cat, dog, sheep, bear, crab, frog, and some kind of pink horse with a horn. “You have… a lot.”

You stare at him, deadly serious, “self care is very important, James,” you chide, grabbing the frog headband for yourself.

He runs his fingers over the soft material, deciding on the brown bear. “Aww, you look cute Bucky bear,” you smile, pleased with your own joke.

“Ok, we start with cleanser,” you move on, presenting the bottle. He looks at the product with curious eyes as you select a chill playlist on your phone. You hum the tune of Brooklyn Baby, rubbing the gel on your face. Bucky watches your actions closely and tries to do the same when you hand him the bottle.

“Ok good, now wash it off.”

He frowns, “why? We just put it on?”

“Because if you leave it on too long your skin will be dry,” you explain, wiping off your own face. He grumbles something about cleanser being stupid but follows your instructions anyways.

You smile in amusement, “great, now a mud mask.”

He tenses at the word mask but reminds himself that the hair mask wasn’t that bad. “Isn’t mud dirty?”

You smirk, “usually, but this kind is great, trust me.”

He nods, glad that he shaved before this. He was a little nervous about how he looked but when you brightly said “now I can see more of that pretty smile,” any insecurities washed away.

He walks into the kitchen, thinking about how he wants to take you on a date today. Only one problem, he has no idea where to take you. He pulls out his phone, Steve is in England, which is five hours ahead of New York, so he should be up by now.

It rings for a moment before a familiar voice answers. “Hello.”

Bucky smiles without realizing it. “Hey, Stevie.”

“Hi, Buck.” In the background, Natasha makes kissing sounds.

“How’s the mission going?”

“Good, but I miss you guys. I should be home by tomorrow.”

“I miss you too, I actually called to ask you something.”

“Oh really?” Steve asked, sounding intrigued.

“Where should I take our girl on a date?”

Steve grinned, loving the sound of ‘our girl.’ “Well wherever you go you’ll probably be recognized so it’s good to plan for that. We’ve been to the New York aquarium a few times, it’s dark and not too crowded on weekdays. The coffee shop around the block is nice, we go there a lot so the workers know us.”

Bucky hums in thought, “I wanna take her somewhere new though, so it’s more of a surprise.”

Steve chuckles, “well why did you call me then?”

“For new ideas, come on Stevie, you’re the creative one.”

“Alright, alright, I have one…”

‎⍟ ✪ ‎⍟ ✪ ‎⍟ ✪

That night, when you ask Bucky what he wants for dinner, you've met with a surprise.

“Actually, I have something planned.”

You raise your eyebrows, a smile spreading across your lips, “oh?”

“Yep. And I promise it’s better than my gourmet breakfast of reheated pizza.” You giggle at that, Bucky smiling sweetly, “get ready then we can go.”

“Wait, where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise.”

You pout, “well how do I dress?”

“Casual. You look good in anything anyways.”

You grin at the sentiment and go to your bedroom to get ready. You decide on your favorite top tucked into a long skirt with a slit to show off your legs. You go through your normal makeup routine, complete with red painted lips. Steve has a penchant for the color on your mouth and you’re hoping Bucky does too.

You slide on some comfy sneakers and enter the living room where Bucky is waiting for you on the couch, fiddling with his phone. He instantly stands up when you enter, flashing a bright smile you can't help but mirror. He’s wearing a dark henley and snug jeans that show off his impressive muscles, complete with a leather jacket. Maybe it’s possessiveness, maybe it’s your inner sugar mommy, but seeing Bucky in things you bought him is very satisfying.

“You look amazing, doll.”

As you get closer, you can smell his aftershave. "So do you, Sarge.”

He grins at the nickname, “alright, lets take your car. Oh, and don’t forget Mango.”

You tilt your head, looking at the dalmatian who had perked up at her name. “We’re taking Mango?”

“Yep!” He nods, grabbing her orange leash, adorned with little cartoon fruits. You follow him to the garage where he asks for your keys. You look at him nervosuly, “please tell me you didn’t learn to drive in Nazi Germany.”

He laughs loudly, climbing into the driver's seat. “I’m taking it that Steve’s driving hasn’t improved over the years?”

When you pull up to central park, Mango is practically vibrating with excitement, her black and white tail thumping loudly. You look at Bucky with quirked eyebrows, watching him reach to the backseat to retrieve a blanket.

“Are we having a picnic?”

He looks sheepish, “yeah, I called Stevie, he gave me the idea. We can do something else if—”

You cut him off by pressing a kiss against his cheek. “A picnic sounds lovely. Thank you, baby.”

He grins, your eyes darting down to his pink mouth. You’re starting to lean in when your moment is interrupted by Mango’s excited bark. You hold back a disappointed groan as Bucky exits the car. You turn to face the dalmatian, “please don’t ruin my chances with your new dad,” you softly plead. She sneezes in response.

The brunet opens your door, offering a bashful smile. Your lips quirk up, “what a gentleman,” you coo, taking his gloved hand. Bucky moves to the back seat, grabbing Mango’s leash in one hand and the blanket in the other.

“Why don’t we find a place to sit then I’ll get our dinner?” He suggests. You hum, taking the blanket so you can hold his hand. “Ooh, what are we having?”

“Steve suggested the Thai place across the street,” he answers, letting you lead him through the park.

You tilt your head, “you like Thai?”

“Well, I’ve never had it, but Stevie said you like it.”

You grin, stopping and facing him. “That sounds great, love. Do you need my order?”

“No, I, um, asked the building,” he awkwardly explains, looking at his boots.

You spread the blanket out on the grass, “the building? You mean Friday?”

“Yeah, her.”

You smirk, looking at him playfully, “you know Friday is Vision’s sister?”

Bucky looks at you in shock, “wait, really?”

You laugh loudly before you can stop yourself, “no, bubba, I was just kidding.”

He blushes, looking away shyly. You pull him closer, kissing the edge of his mouth. “Sorry, Buck, you’re just too cute.”

‎⍟ ✪ ‎⍟ ✪ ‎⍟ ✪

After dinner you’re in the elevator, on the way to your apartment.

The date was great, Bucky was still shy but he was slowly opening up, although he preferred learning about you. After you ate you walked around the park, hand in hand, he even gave you his leather jacket when you got cold. There’s only one problem, you haven’t kissed yet.

You’re studying his side profile when he suddenly looks at you. “Got something on my face?”

You smirk, “no, you’re just pretty.”

His eyes widen, “Jesus, doll, you lay it on thick, don’t you?”

You giggle, cupping his reddening face, “Buck?”

“Yeah?” He breathes out, playfulness gone, his nose brushes against yours.

“Can I kiss you?”

“Yes.”

That one word is all you need, you press your lips against his, dropping Mango’s leash. You’re in the elevator anyways, she’s not going anywhere. It gets more heated, Bucky placing his large hands on his waist, through his gloves you can feel the weight of his metal hand. You suddenly wish there were no layers separating you.

You slip your tongue in his mouth, gently pulling his long hair. You get an appreciative groan in response.

“Oh God!” Sam’s disgusted voice makes you jump apart. “Come on, we all have to use the elevator. I know you’ve had like a 70 year dry spell, Buck, but could you at least wait until you get to your room!?”

Your boyfriend glares, but with the messy hair and smeared lipstick on his face he’s somewhat less threatening. “Don’t call me Buck.”

“That’s all you’re going to say?”

Bucky rolls his eyes, jamming the close door button, “I’m sorry that no one wants to have sex with you, Sam.”

You snicker as the elevator shuts, cutting off Sam’s offended shouts. You try to look disapproving, “Bucky, that wasn’t nice,”

“Bucky, that was hilarious,” he counters, kissing your smiling mouth.

___

next part

tag list: @spookyparadisesheep @moonstuffsteve @thatcrackheadsadbitchtm @officialfictionalwreck @rowenaravenclaw2-blog @lets--be-honest @aikeia @mikariell95 @bananapipedreams @mollygetssherlockcoffee

[ptergwen]

hi are your requests open ? if so can i request something w arvin where he’s constantly giving the reader kisses no matter the location .. i feel like that would b rrly funny and cute 😭 thanks !

they are ! and wow wow wow this is so :,(

if there’s one thing arvin is gonna do, it’s kiss you. the boy has his lips on you all the time, everywhere, in front of anyone. you’re not opposed because how could you be? it makes you feel so loved. you find it insanely sweet, that he wants to be close to you and isn’t afraid to show it. he’s yours, you’re his, and he reminds you of that any chance he gets.

“arvin... arv, hey,” you giggle out quietly, head tilted to the side as he kisses down your neck. you’re seated in the last pew for church this morning. it’s empty since the other folks like to be up front, listening with full intent to your preacher. you and arvin don’t care much for this stuff. however, your families do, and you’d rather not get a lecture from yours about proper service behavior.

“arvin,” you repeat, his teeth nipping playfully at your skin. “that’s my name,” he hums back and cups your jaw. his thumb traces over it while he continues kissing over to your sweet spot. “gotta be careful... my parents...” your eyes flutter shut when he finds it. you can feel him smiling against you in satisfaction. “what about ‘em, baby doll?” his lips never leave the spot, arm moving down to steady you by your hips.

he’s wicked, riling you up so much in a church of all places. you’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy the thrill of it.

you’re done for, arvin kissing his way up to your mouth. his own is ghosting over yours now. “never mind,” you decide in a whisper. he lets out a low chuckle before capturing your lips in a soft kiss. your preacher drones on about morals or integrity or something while you two make out right in front of him. he’s pretty damn clueless.

arvin’s teeth graze your lower lip suddenly, like they did to your neck earlier. you use his shirt collar to pull him closer. “you like that, huh?” he mumbles into your mouth, breaking the kiss so you can answer. “i, um, yeah,” you pant in response and dig your fingers into him. “do it again,”

“later, honey. think my grandma’s spying on us,” arvin tells you lowly. with a gasp, you push him off of you and sit up straighter. your reaction earns a few laughs out of him, his fingers tangling with yours, hands resting in his lap. “i’m playin’, i’m playin’. service is over soon, though.” you click your tongue at him, but grin anyway.

“we should get out there,” he continues on. “but, do we have to? wanna stay right here,” you try to convince him, raising a suggestive eyebrow. arvin considers it, and you can tell by the way he looks around to make sure no one is watching. they aren’t. people are starting to get up from their seats, though. “wish we could, but you know how everybody gets.”

arvin laces your fingers tighter together. “i’ll make it up to you after, okay?” he kisses your cheek, a lingering kiss that makes a smile light up your face. “ok. i won’t let you forget it.”

-

you’re hanging out by arvin’s locker before school starts. he’s always waiting for you either here or at yours so he can say good morning. he hugs your waist, peppering your face in kisses, no spot missed. “baby, i have to go,” you grin at him, scrunching your nose up. that prompts him to kiss down the bridge of it gently. “mm, you’re so damn cute. i could just-“

“russell, get to class,” his english teacher sighs as she passes by you. she shoots him a knowing look, arvin scratching at his gelled hair. “on it,” he mumbles, then presses one last kiss to the tip of your nose. you’re now smirking at him, pushing a stray curl back with your fingers. “you heard her. better be on your way.” you wait a second before adding, “russell.”

“that name’s gonna be yours some day,” arvin insists and tilts your chin up to him. “think it’ll fit you real nice.” you lean into his palm with a smile. “y/n russell?” “mhm. i love the way that sounds, don’t you?” he steals another quick kiss from you, this one on your lips. you nod and place a hand on his cheek as you kiss back. it’s slow, sweet, arvin tapping under your chin as he pulls back.

“alright, pretty thing. you have a good day.” he puts his hand over yours on his face, taking it in his own and giving the back of it a kiss. “you too. such a gentleman,” you beam at him and get a breathy laugh back. that’s your arvin.

[generous1ty]

so. hi. my goal is to turn 87% of my following into Hajime simps and i hope this content will do that

if not then i guess i'll have to go and post that one NSFW Hajime request i got too 🙄 /hj

pffjahdJHSDAKDHKJS

✑         ✑         ✑         ✑         ✑         ✑         ✑         ✑         ✑         ✑

Random Fluffy Hajime headcanons (aka me not doing prompt requests AGAIN)

genre: fluff. just pure fluff warnings: half of this post is me keyboard smashing and crying abt hajime, sorry (ugh gene do your prompt requests)

◇         ◆         ◇         ◆        ◇         ◆         ◇         ◆         ◇         ◆         ◇

he knows how to style hair-- whether it be gelling your hair, tying it up, or just brushing it-- he does it so gently and it always comes out nice afterwards.

loves to curl hair- he doesn't care if your hair is short or long, curls your hair either way(master with the curling iron).

if you don't have any hair(and even if you do!), he buys the sweetest fucking headbands and hats for you AAAHDKSKSMS-

Hajime probably works a part-time job, even before dating. despite that, he always saves up to get things you want. he loves seeing you smile and happy. spoils you so much...

as i said, literally tries to buy you anything you want/need with his half-empty wallet. </3

he rambles about video games and things of the like to you!!

he loves to play video games, and sharing/playing them with you gives him so much serotonin-- bc not only is he sharing one of his favorite hobbies with you, but you’re also playing them with him and indulging yourself in his interests??? wow what an amazing person ily

loves to dress up!! aaa

would totally hold a mini-fashion show in your room or something, but be very hesitant to do it at first

either way, he likes looking nice for you. :)

DATES OMG

dates would be so cute

he'd bring you somewhere quiet and talk about his day, what he's been thinking about, or just cuddle with you AAAAA

he'd stare at you as you talk, smiling as you rambled on and on about things.

he would laugh at your jokes bc he seems like the person who would laugh at almost everything--

AGFKSKDJKDBDB

he's the type of boyfriend who would go to the amusement park with you and try to get you any prize you want and actually get it despite the games being rigged </3

he... doesn't like roller coasters that much. but he'll ride them with you! just because he doesn't like them, doesn't mean he won't ride them.

you know those spinny teacup/sitting rides omg he hates those

i feel like he has such a bad experience with them, and the result of getting on with his friends was him puking SHDJSKD

pls don't expose him to such torture again if you do decide to go on them

his kisses are so soft and like-- gentle?? but an embarrassed gentle

like, he’ll quickly peck your lips then power walk away

run after him and catch him!! then french kiss him. he’ll be so red and kiss you back :)

i already did cuddling headcanons with Hajime but HJSDADJS

casually self-promotes in the headcanons

ANYWAY TO ADD ON TO THAT POST

Hajime would cuddle everywhere. on the couch, in a chair, on the bed, while you’re cooking/baking/doing a hobby, in the bathroom while you’re brushing your teeth or something-- his arm is ALWAYS around you one way or another

AHJSAKJSKJD

he loves snaking his hands through your arms and hugging your back. his chest would be so firm but soft, so it’d feel amazing against your shoulder blades.

Hajime Hinata... why couldn’t you just be real

he’s so pretty auuuughhhhHHHH

he always smiles when he stares at you. its always so full of love and longing, and he just feels so safe and so at home seeing at you smile, talk, ramble, literally anything omggshdka

which is why he cuddles/holds you so much. you’re literally his safe space

he loves you so much auuuughhhjdsk

[softcallofdutyimagines]

The squad with a curly haired gf

Adler

Can you say, iconic hair duo?

Because, yeah lol

Russell is the rare example of a man who won’t give you shit for taking extra time to get ready to go out

Primarily because he also requires extra time to get ready to go out

It’s not that he makes a big deal of trying to ensure every last strand of hair is perfectly in place, mind you

More so that there’s a lot of steps in between when his hair is freshly washed, and when it’s ready to go, all gelled up and styled like it is

The cabinet under your shared sink is divided right down the middle with yours and his hair products

Of course, you would have no problem sharing, and you do in fact share certain things that you can

But your hair simply has different needs moisture and support wise, so you get all your own stuff

However, you have put some curling gel in his hair at least once, just to see how he'd look

It was not a very good look, but you both had fun trying it

Hudson

The exact opposite of Adler lol

While you and Adler would draw appreciative looks, you and Hudson get more like bewildered stares

It makes a bit of sense, considering just the powerful contrast between your glorious mane and his stark baldness

Hudson doesn't mind however

In fact, if anything, he finds it quite amusing

However, he could live without you draping your hair over his head now and then to "see what he'd look like"

Regardless, he does love your hair

It's so different from what he's use to, namely his lonesome bald himself, that is

He likes the soft texture between his fingers and against his stubble, and the fruity, flowery scent it always carries

Hudson has about zero skill with hair care, but if you're patient and willing, nothing would make him happier then learning how to help

This may come as a bit of a surprise to you, but he really is glad to do it...

As long as you can keep his secret safe ;)

Lazar

As an ethnic Jew, I think Lazar would have a lot more experience with luscious, curly hair then you'd think

He is undoubtedly a master braider and knows exactly what kind of protective styles would look good on you

Additionally, he loves doing this for you!

His mom has basically been preparing him for this all his life, so he's excited to flex his skills

And, while he doesn't necissarily use them himself, he has great recommendations for what kinds of creams, oils, and gels you should try

Personally, I suspect Lazar also has naturally curly hair, he just brushes and gels it to match the current style

However, if you encouraged him to go natural, he totally would

You'd be kind of like the sign he's been waiting for to do it lol

With a little shape up and some care, he looks amazing with his little floof top

From them on, the two of you strut around as the epitome of curly haired couple goals

And yes, you both do take great joy in telling people this is your natural hair when they ask where you got your perms from

Mason

Mason, sort of like Hudson, is a big of the unique smell and texture of your locs then anything else

He finds it comforting, and before long he starts to identify the most prominent smell from all your creams and oils as the smell of home

It's hard to explain, and he's afraid you might think he's strange for it, but...

Something about the reminder of you brings him to a safe place in his mind

The kind of place he didn't even think he had up there anymore

However, you don't find it wierd at all, quite the opposite in fact

You're glad that something as silly as the smell of your hair makes him feel at home, both physically and mentally

So, you makes sure to keep that particular product in your rotation whenever you can

Alex is not very good with hair care/styling however

He will try to learn if you want to teach him, but it just doesn't seem to click

So try not to expect much more then him helping you administer product and brush it through

This plays to his advantage though, as he's able to learn what it is that makes that smell he so adores

I say advantageous, because when he has to be away for longer periods, he buys one for himself, just to have

When he particularly misses you, he puts a dab of it in his own hair, just to have the smell follow him around

And why not? If nothing else, his justification is that it keeps his hair just as nice and silky too

Park

She's. In. LOVE

I hope you're ready to have your own personal stylist, because that's exactly what you'll be getting with Helen

Growing up, she was a big fan of playing dress up and princesses with her dolls

Now imagine how she'd feel as an adult with such a gorgeous head of curls in front of her

Unfortunately, doll hair and human hair care are quite different, and while she's easily able to grasp this of course...

She will need a bit of guidance on your hair care needs

But no matter how complex, she's game

It's very hard for her to pick out one thing she loves about your hair tbh

But, if she had to choose, she enjoys braiding it the most

It's also quite nice because, while her own hair is rather low maintenance, she does pick up a few useful tips and tricks from you on hair care

Of course, she does also appreciate that you don't mind returning the favor and giving her hair a bit of love

Before long the two of you would be walking around with absolutely perfect, hydrated and glowing locs

The effort may be a bit time consuming, but all that time together, and particularly the result it has, are so worth it

Weaver

He thinks your hair is the most gorgeous thing he's ever seen

If you two wanted to/were able to have kids, he'd be the type to pray all the kids get your hair

That's not to say he dislikes his natural, smooth and straight hair, that is

Just that he'd feel like quite the proud dad to have his beautiful little floofy haired family running around

But for now, he's more then happy to dote on you and your hair

He can manage a very basic braid, which might come as a shock to you, but if you want him to do anything more complex, he's going to need a minute or three

Also, he's quick to be proud of your hair on your behalf when someone compliments it

Considering perms were all the rage in the 80s, you basically get worshiped and for your curls and asked where you got them done a lot

It's funny at first, but a little tiring after a while

However, Weaver never seems to get tired of bragging on you

After a while, he's pretty quick to be the one saying "It's all natural" to those who inquire

You find it a little funny, but it does feel good to be appreciated so

Woods

Of all the others, he'd be the one to tease you a bit

Nothing all that mean or rude of course, more like in an endearing way

He nicknames you "Curls" almost immediately

At first it runs you the wrong way, and so he has to dedicate some effort to prove that he doesn't mean it like that

But in the end, he does manage to pull it off, and his teasing becomes something of an inside joke to you two

Only he is allowed to make jokes like that though, anyone else who tries it, even in a friendly way, gets snapped at

You do wish he'd ease up a little about it, but he can't help but be protective of you

Frank is a total lost cause when it comes to styling your hair

Honestly, you're lucky to convince him to even consider doing up your hair, but that's another story

He's one of those where if he can't get it right the first or second try, he gets to frustrated to keep going

With a little encouragement, he might be able to manage a basic braid

It does not look very good at all, but he tried

At first, he's a bit pissy over all the "girly" smells from your products overwhelming his living space

As well as the amount of time it takes for you to get ready in the morning

But he grows accustomed to it after a while and it doesn't bother him anymore

In fact, he goes down a similar route as Mason, and starts to identify the smells with a feeling of security

Woods would never go so far as to put scented anything in his hair, even as a token reminder of you, but...

He has been known to swipe one if your conditioners before a deployment, just to bask in the comforting smell now and then

It's probably stupid, but he likes to think it brings him luck, having that tiny piece of you with him out in the field

Just a little something to remind him to come home safe <3

[yeah-all-of-it]

“Hey, sleepyhead! Get up! Busy day!” Ian calls from the bathroom.

He hears a grumpy, incoherent groan come from somewhere underneath the pile of blankets on the bed. After he finishes fixing his hair, he walks over to the bed. He perches himself gently on the edge, slowly sliding his hand underneath the bright white, high thread count duvet, a housewarming gift they had treated themselves to several months ago along with a new mattress and some sheets. After having to bang in walk-in coolers and dugouts and sleep on old mattresses and prison bunks for years, they wanted their bed to be a haven.

He has to feel around but Ian finally finds the waistband of Mickey’s boxers, and slips his hand in. This elicits a more pleasant groan from the pile of blankets.

Ian leans down and whispers softly, “We don’t have time now since someone decided to sleep in so long, but if you get up now, I promise I’ll make it worth your while later.”

“Ugh, fine,” Mickey grumbles, throwing off the covers and rolling out of bed. He stumbles to the bathroom, still half asleep, and shuts the door. Ian continues getting ready as he hears Mickey’s usual morning ritual; taking a piss, washing his face, brushing his teeth. He emerges from the bathroom several minutes later, decidedly more alert, and stops dead in his tracks.

There, standing in front of the full length mirror affixed to the back of the bedroom door, is his husband. He is dressed in a navy blue suit that looks like it was crafted just for his body. A slim fit jacket that enhances his broad shoulders and hugs his muscular arms. Slim leg trousers that show off his perfect ass, still deliciously thick from a few remaining quarantine pounds. Underneath the jacket is a crisp white dress shirt with a burgundy tie, and he has a pair of wing tips the color of caramel on his feet. He has put some gel in his red hair, not losing his curls, but styling them a bit more than normal. In short, he looks fucking incredible.

Once Mickey is able to breathe again, he manages to get out a flirty, “Hey there, Mr. Milkovich,” while very blatantly panning his eyes up and down Ian’s body.

Ian glances up at his husband, standing there in nothing but his ratty boxers, and grins at him.

“See somethin’ you like?” Ian inquires.

Mickey nods his head and smiles that million watt smile of his.

“C’mere.”

Mickey does as instructed and saunters over to Ian, who wraps Mickey tight in his arms and presses a kiss onto his mouth, gently sucking on Mickey’s lower lip. He lets his hands wander aimlessly all over Mickey’s bare back and Mickey melts into him with a soft “hmmmm”.

“Okay okay okay,” Mickey finally interjects, and pulls away. “You’re turnin’ me the fuck on and unless you want that fancy fuckin’ suit ripped off’a you right now, we gotta stop.”

Ian steps back and holds up both hands in mock surrender.

He then walks over to the dresser to grab his wallet and phone. “Mick, you got about forty five minutes to get ready before we have to leave.” He kisses Mickey on the cheek and steps out of the bedroom door, yelling from the hallway, “I’ll brew some coffee and we can take it with us. Lip will kill me if we’re late for his wedding.”

Forty minutes later, Mickey walks out into the living room where Ian is waiting on the sofa, playing some stupid game on his phone. He has poured two travel mugs of coffee that are in front of him on the coffee table. He looks up when he hears Mickey enter the room.

Mickey has on a modern dark gray suit, black dress shirt, black tie, and black wing tips. He’s gelled his jet black hair and it harkens back to years ago, when he was younger and wore his hair gelled every day. His brushed white gold wedding band gleams in the sunlight coming in from the window as he reaches up to adjust his tie. His bright blue eyes pop against the dark color of the suit. Ian sets his phone down and stands up slowly, unable to take his eyes off of his husband.

“Hell-o, Mr. Gallagher,” Ian purrs, while strutting up to Mickey, placing his hands on either side of his freshly shaven face. He slides his hands down Mickey’s arms and buries his nose in the crook of his neck, breathing in deeply. He smells of shampoo and Irish Spring soap, fresh from the shower, not yet tainted by the scent of cigarette smoke. He kisses Mickey’s neck gently, sighs, and reluctantly pulls away.

“We have to leave right now if we plan on being at the church by noon for the first round of pictures,” Ian states, double checking his watch.

“Alright, well let’s get goin’, GQ,” Mickey says with a sly grin and a quick raise of his eyebrows, grabbing his coffee on the way out.

Ian’s close behind and smacks Mickey on the ass before closing the door behind them.

———

“You’re early! I’m so fuckin’ proud!” Lip exclaims as the Gallagher-Milkoviches walk into the church.

He steps up to Ian and gives him a tight hug with a firm pat on the back; actually shakes Mickey’s hand. “Hey, you shitheads clean up pretty nice!”

Ian and Mickey both give him synchronized middle fingers.

“Uncle Mickey! Uncle Ian!” Franny yells and runs up to them, jumping into Mickey’s arms. She’s wearing a burgundy sparkly dress with a poofy tulle skirt and gold Doc Martens.

“Hey, kid!” Mickey says sweetly, swinging the tiny girl into the air, causing her to squeal with delight.

“Franny, you look beautiful!” Ian says to her once Mickey has set her down. “I love your dress!”

“It’s like the one I wore when you married Uncle Mickey!” she chirps cheerfully.

“It sure is!” Ian exclaims, giving her a big hug.

“Hey, Lip, where’s the newest little Gallagher?” Ian inquires. “Gotta get some snuggles in before things get busy.”

“She’s right over here, man. Tami’s got her. She’s gotta go get dressed anyway. Come on.”

Ian walks with Lip over to Tami, who is holding a snuggly baby in her arms, dressed in a soft cotton burgundy colored dress and a white cardigan, with little gold moccasins on her feet. Tami gives Ian a big hug and passes the baby off to him before heading elsewhere to put her gown on.

“Hey, there Sophie Gallagher. Uncle Ian missed you!” he coos. “I can’t believe you are three whole months old! And your mommy and daddy are getting married today!”

He glances up and sees Mickey standing off to the side, looking at Ian holding the baby with nothing but love in his eyes. Ian can’t wait to have kids with Mickey, but there is no pressure. They’ll get there one day. Right now they’re just enjoying being husbands and uncles. Mickey’s still nervous around babies, but Franny and Fred adore him.

“Okay okay, my turn!” Debbie interjects. She carefully takes Sophie from Ian and goes to sit down.

Ian spots Fred and heads over to him. “Freddie, my man, what’s up!” he says and picks up the toddler in the matching tiny blue suit who wraps his arms around Ian’s neck, saying, “Hewwo, Uncle Een!” in his sweet little voice. “Where’s Uncle Mickey?”

“He’s right over there. You wanna go tickle him?” Ian asks playfully.

“Yeah! Wet’s go!” They run over and wrap Mickey in a big bear hug. The tough guy can’t help but melt into a big puddle around his nieces and nephew.

“Hey, buddy!” Mickey exclaims, laughing at Fred’s small fingers tickling his sides.

Typical Gallagher chaos is happening. Liam is trying fruitlessly to convince Franny to go potty before things start. Debbie and Lip are arguing about something, as usual. Carl can’t find his suit jacket.

“Alright, we’ve gotta get this show on the road, people!” the photographer yells over the noise.

The photographer attempts to line up the bridesmaids - a couple of Tami’s childhood friends, Debbie, and Cami as the maid of honor, all dressed in burgundy chiffon floor length gowns. Debbie continues to gripe at Lip from her spot in line.

He then tries to get all the boys to line up - Ian, who is the best man, Brad, Carl, and Liam the groomsmen. The photographer has to shoot Ian a look as he puts Carl in a headlock when they are supposed to be lining up.

“Sorry!” Ian yells, straightening his suit and stepping into place.

Rounding up Franny and Fred and getting them to stand still proves to be easier than getting the adults to cooperate.

Mickey just sits back and watches the Gallagher shitshow with a huge grin on his face.

———

“You ready to do this, big brother?” Ian asks while standing in the hallway behind the sanctuary. The faint sound of people finding their seats and conversing quietly fills the air around them.

“Absolutely. Tami’s a good woman, ya know? She calls me on my bullshit, which is something I really need. She’s fuckin’ beautiful and she’s an amazing mom to Fred and Sophie. I’m really fuckin’ lucky, man,” Lip says, and Ian thinks he sees tears forming in Lip’s eyes. “I love her.”

Ian just smiles. “Soft motherfucker,” he jokes quietly and wraps his big brother in a hug, squeezing the back of his neck.

They hear the wedding march begin and know it’s their cue to step out into the sanctuary.

As they stand at the front of the church, the doors open and reveal Tami on the arm of her father, wearing a white beaded gown. It’s strapless and form fitting til it gets to the bottom where it fans out. She has her long blonde hair pulled up into a soft chignon, wispy hairs around her face, no veil. Simple. Lovely. She has a radiant smile on her face as she looks at her husband to be.

They begin to recite their vows and Ian notices they have chosen traditional vows. The same ones he and Mickey said to each other almost two years before.

“I Phillip, take you, Tami...”

“I Tami, take you, Phillip...”

“In sickness and in health...”

Ian can’t help but find Mickey in the crowd, locking eyes with him.

“For richer or poorer...”

Mickey softly smiles at Ian, and Ian just knows that sensitive asshole’s eyes are tearing up.

“Til death do us part.”

Ian is smiling at his husband like an idiot now, unable to take his gaze off of him. He can’t help but think of the day when they said those same beautiful words to each other, meaning them with their whole hearts. They had already been through most of it; sickness, poverty, better and worse. And they had made it. Making those promises that day just cemented that they would always go through those inevitable things together.

It was the best day of Ian’s life. The beginning of their forever. No more forced separations. No more goodbyes. No more lonely nights, wondering if the other is safe and okay. He has to fight back tears; this is Lip and Tami’s day after all.

Lost in thought, he’s startled back to the present by applause as Lip dips Tami for a kiss that’s a little too hot for church. This elicits a standing ovation and whoops and whistles from the guests. Ian can’t help but cheer and clap for his brother and his new wife.

———

After another hour of pictures, these including the bride and groom, they all head to the reception hall.

It’s decorated with white and burgundy linen tablecloths and elaborate floral centerpieces. There are Edison bulb strings hanging from the ceiling. A DJ is spinning beside the parquet dance floor, disco lights flashing away. There is a large table full of chafing dishes and a three tired cake on a separate round table.

“Man, the Tamiettis really went all out,” Mickey says to Ian, grabbing a carrot stick off one of the veggie platters with his fingers, sticking it into the bowl of dip, and shoving it into his mouth.

“Like you have room to talk, Mr. Gold- chiavaris-with-the-white-cushions,” Ian jokes, to which Mickey responds with a light hearted “fuck off”.

After filling their starving bellies with meatballs, chicken wings, finger sandwiches, and cake, the Gallaghers take to the dance floor. They know how to party and they’re not about to let this amazing night with music, free food, and an open bar go to waste.

The whole family is dancing to YMCA, a wedding reception staple, when the end of it fades into a slow song. Ian and Mickey lock eyes. Ian raises a quizzical eyebrow and Mickey nods, almost imperceptibly. Ian slowly walks over to him, gently grips his hips, and pulls him in close. Mickey snakes his arms around Ian’s waist and grasps his hands together at Ian’s lower back. Ian slides his hands up Mickey’s arms and wraps them around his shoulders. They sway slowly to the music, bodies pressed together so closely they can feel each other’s hearts thrumming in their chests. Mickey nuzzles his face into Ian’s neck as Ian rubs his hand on the back of Mickey’s head. They are intoxicated by each other, the romance of the day, and the few Old Styles they’ve shared from the bar.

“Hey, Ian?” Mickey inquires, a little muffled, not bothering to move his face from its place in Ian’s neck.

“Yeah, Mick?” Ian questions, talking into Mickey’s hair.

He hesitates for a second, like he’s trying to think of the right words. “Maybe... maybe it’s the beer, or… or just this day, or maybe being married to your ass is making me fuckin’ soft...” he drifts off.

“Out with it, Mick,” Ian sighs calmly.

“It’s just... I love you. So fuckin’ much. I feel like I don’t say it enough, man,” Mickey finally confesses.

Ian stops swaying, pulls back, and tenderly holds Mickey’s head in his hands. Looks him directly in the eyes. “Mickey. Listen to me. No, you don’t say it very much. But you don’t need to. Because you show me every fuckin’ day. And that’s so much more important and meaningful to me.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I mean… you got me to stop wallowing on the couch when I lost my job, paid enough attention that you knew where that could lead. Stopped it before it got bad. Checked in with me. Don’t know where I’d be, ya know mentally, if it wasn’t for you. Worrying about me and shit. Fuck, I probably would have fallen through the cracks years ago without you. And… and you created a job for me so we could work together. You planned a surprise anniversary party for me. You moved to the fuckin’ Westside because I wanted to. You agreed to buy a duvet, for fuck’s sake, and helped me pick it out,” Ian laughs.

“Okay, yeah, I guess I am a pretty amazing husband. You really fuckin’ lucked out, Gallagher.”

“Yeah, damn straight I did,” Ian smiles and pulls his husband back into his arms, thinking the matter settled.

There’s a short beat before Mickey says, so quietly Ian almost doesn’t hear it, “I fuckin’ lucked out, too, ya know.”

“Ya did?” Ian asks casually, expecting a snarky answer. Another slow song has begun so they stay where they are, in each other’s arms on the dance floor.

“Yeah, man. Like… like with my fuckin’ dad?” Mickey begins.

Okay, not where Ian was expecting this conversation to go.

“You… you found nurses for him and shit… and kept trying when they… didn’t work out.” Mickey keeps pausing, like the conversation is making him uncomfortable, but he can’t stop. “He was an evil prick that didn’t fuckin’ deserve our help… but you helped anyway… for me, ya know? ‘Cause it was important to me.

“And then… when he…” Mickey sniffs uncomfortably, reaches up and scratches his nose with his thumb. “…you just let me cry for like, 4 days. Didn’t make fun of me. And you held me. But you didn’t let me forget what a monster he was, no matter how hard I tried to only remember the good shit.”

“Mick, it’s okay, we don’t have to talk about all this, not here anyway —,” Ian begins but Mickey interrupts him.

“No, I wanna… I spent so much of my life never saying what I fuckin’ feel and I want to tell you right now how I fuckin’ feel,” Mickey declares, determined but still so tender.

Ian just nods for him to continue.

“Look, all the shit with my dad is in the past. But I’ll never forget the way you were …just, there for me. Through all of it. It just… it meant a lot to me. It meant everything to me, man. I just… sorry, all this wedding shit has me all fuckin’ emotional and I just needed to let it out. Tell you what you mean to me, that’s all.” He clenches his eyes shut, and squeezes the bridge of his nose with his fingers, only briefly. “Just… don’t fuckin’ get used to it, okay?”

Mickey grins after that last statement, relieving some of the tense emotion of the last several minutes.

Ian smiles back and replies sarcastically, “Wasn’t planning on it, softie.”

“You’re a fuckin’ dick,” Mickey laughs and draws Ian in close, starts to sway to the music again.

“Hey, Mick?” Ian whispers into Mickey’s ear as the song finishes. “I love you too,” and he feels Mickey’s smile light up against his skin.

Ian and Mickey dance and drink the rest of the evening away, celebrating not only Lip and Tami, but also the freedom they’ve found in being so emotionally vulnerable with one another. There is a lightness that comes after getting things off their chests, sharing their unfiltered feelings with one another. This might not have been the ideal occasion to share such heavy stuff, but Ian doesn’t want Mickey to ever be scared again to just blurt out how he fuckin’ feels every minute.

———

They aren’t completely wasted, but are definitely drunk enough that they shouldn’t be driving home. They grab an Uber and Carl, who has an early shift the next morning and quit drinking around 9, drives the ambulance to the Gallagher house where they’ll pick it up later.

Feeling no pain, they laugh and joke and sing like when they were just drunk teenagers, arms tangled around each other, up the elevator and down the hall. It’s nearly 1am and they aren’t exactly being quiet. Their neighbor across the hall, an older eccentric lady named Rhonda, pokes her head out to see what the commotion is, catching the two men pressed up against the wall outside her door in the middle of a steamy kiss.

They finally notice her presence, break apart and Ian blurts out, “Heyyyy, Ms. Rhonda! So sorry to bother you!” as their cheeks turn bright red. They’re not embarrassed that she caught them making out in the hallway, they’re embarrassed because this isn’t the first time she’s caught them making out in the hallway.

“Oh, you beautiful boys are no bother!” she laughs. “Wish I had someone to throw me against a wall and kiss me like that. Shew! You two crazy kids have a great night; god love ya!” and retreats back into her apartment with a friendly smile and a wave.

They laugh, bid her good night, and decide they should probably go inside their apartment before they encounter one of their less friendly neighbors. Ian fumbles around with the key for what feels like an eternity before finally getting the door open. They stumble through the door, slamming it shut loudly behind them, Ian reaching up to lock the deadbolt.

He stops as soon as he throws the keys onto the entry table.

“In case I haven’t told you yet, Mick, you look hot as fuck in that suit. But…,” he steps closer to Mickey. “I think it’ll look even better on our bedroom floor,” Ian teases.

“‘Ey, you look pretty fuckin’ hot yourself,” Mickey responds, biting his lip.

They just stare at each other for a moment, appreciating the sight before them. Suits and ties and dressy shit don’t happen around here that often.

“S’you remember your promise from this morning, right? That if I got outta bed, you’d make it worth my while later?” Mickey asks playfully.

“Yeah?”

“Well, it’s fuckin’ later, Gallagher. Time to pay up,” Mickey declares with a flirty grin.

Ian doesn’t even hesitate. Grabs Mickey around the waist and pushes him back toward their bedroom, to their bed with the cloud mattress and the bright white duvet, to their haven.

ETA: Check out Ian, Mickey, and Rhonda’s friendship origin story here!

[jtrbluv]

resolutely, yours. | kth

summary: When your best-friend slash pain-in-your-ass, Kim Seokjin, drags you to a New Year’s Eve party that you didn’t want to go to in the first place, what better way is there to pass the time than to stay sober and watch all your classmates go berserk? Well, that is until Kim Taehyung steps into the picture, of course.

pairing: taehyung x reader

genre: fluff

word count: 2.7k+

warnings: profanity, slight alcohol consumption, implied drug usage (two words only, i swear), college party antics should say enough

A/N: first fic of the year! W O O! this was supposed to be for tae’s birthday but i guess it’s fitting since it is the new year. a special thanks to miss mei @sugacouture for her likeness and @koushiningg aka the eternal hypewoman. this fic (drabble) is rly short but i do have a lot coming up in store! for now, hope u enjoy and happy new year everyone!

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You are going to murder Kim Seokjin.

The spiked punch that fills your red solo cup up to its brim has been waiting to be quaffed down for thirty-seven minutes now. Roughly five minutes before that, Seokjin had somehow managed to drag you through the front doors of the fraternity party he’s been wanting you to accompany him to for weeks now.

And it only takes ten minutes for the proclaimed party animal and people-person, Kim Seokjin, to vanish from your side. He leaves you to fend for yourself in a jungle full of plastered college students—priorities at the moment are to either drink so much liquid regret that they can’t even remember their own names, or to find someone to make out with when the clock strikes at midnight. From simple observation, you notice that most, if not everyone here, fall under both categories.

Well, the exception being you, of course.

One thing to note is that you actually do have a decent tolerance for alcohol. You were no stranger to it, and it would serve as a dutiful companion to you when times called for it. Like last week after your last final that you knew you fucking bombed.

However, the humidity of the room due to the accumulation of bodies that left little to no room for fresh air, in addition to the strong stench of alcohol mixed with sweat mixed with God knows what, just was not the ideal place for you to get wasted. It didn’t stand close in comparison to drinking with a solid group of close friends, or by yourself in the comfort of your bed while a shitty rom-com plays in the background on your laptop.

The atmosphere is suffocating all of your senses— tears pricking at the corners of your eyes due to the strong odor of the room, the curled front pieces of your hair dampening and sticking to your temples, your mouth and throat dry as the Sahara Desert because, of fucking course, there is absolutely no water to be seen.

The small black dress and heels that Seokjin forced you to wear was worsening the situation greatly—your legs practically glued stuck to the stool you were sitting on, leading to ugly red marks and stinging skin if you tried to stand up.

You could not take being inside any longer. Instead of passing out from being piss drunk, you were almost adamant that you were going to pass out from the grueling mix of heat exhaustion and secondhand high.

Your grip on the solo cup significantly tightens, nearly crushing the plastic in half. You quickly stand up from the stool you were sitting in, the sensation akin to getting your legs waxed as you take a deep inhale through your nose, mentally preparing yourself to dive into this sea of financially obligated, depressed monsters.

Peculiarly, you manage to shove your way through a good chunk of the mass, your eyes set on the door that leads towards the balcony. Your ankles almost completely give into your weight a concerning number of times, and if it wasn’t for all of the arms of oblivious partygoers that you had clung onto for dear life, you probably wouldn’t be able to stand on your own two feet by now.

Solely occupied with trying to navigate your way through the crowd, you don’t even realize that someone bumped into you and spilled your drink all over your dress until you reach the balcony. The cold, night breeze passes over your body, leaving chills on the huge wet patch on your dress. The one goddamn time your dress sees the light of day, you just so happen to find a way to ruin it.

“Fucking hell!” You holler into the vacant balcony, your hands coming up to carefully poke at the wet patch on your dress. You wince as the soaked, freezing fabric comes in contact with your bare stomach. Angry, you chug down the rest of the drink inside your cup and chuck it off the balcony, too enraged to even react to its strong taste.

Shivering, you walk deeper onto the balcony, cradling yourself and staring at your shoes, a string of curses spewing from your lips. You scold yourself for not bringing a jacket while simultaneously plotting your revenge against Seokjin. A pair of black loafers intrude your vision, accompanied by a husky voice that calls out to you,

“Oh shit, are you okay?”

Your head shoots up, your eyes meeting the ones of the man standing in front of you. He towers above you significantly despite you wearing heels. His eyes are only a tad obscured by the soft, brown curls of his hair, perfectly styled and gelled to have that ‘purposefully messy’ look. The only difference being that models stood no chance against him when he was the blueprint himself. The black button up he’s clad in exquisitely accentuates every crevice of his lean, chiseled body. And his eyes that were already alluring on their own, were adorn with hazel-colored contacts that you swear you could stare at for hours upon hours. He is so otherworldly beautiful, you temporarily forget to breathe.

And you also forget that you are just staring at him, and he is staring back at you with a smile.

Times like this is when you wish you were at least a little buzzed. Sober ‘you’ is way too socially inept to fend for themself sadly. “O-oh i’m fine, someone just spilled their drink on me.”

Maybe it’s the way the moon sits behind him and casts a halo-like glow around his figure or how he’s just been staring straight into your eyes this whole time, like it’s second nature whilst you can only hold eye contact with him for two seconds before instinctively shying away. To say that his presence frightened you was an understatement. You were about to take cover and hide under the patio table like a five-year-old if he kept looking at you like that.

He blinks, his mouth stretching into a wide grin, rectangular-shaped and having the ability to ease your nerves. He places his drink on a patio table, dusting his hands on his pants, “Here, I’ll get you some napkins, just stay here.”

Stunned, it isn’t until he leaves that you yell out to him as he steps back inside the chaos, “Thank you!”

You carefully sit down on a patio chair, your arms still wrapped around your shivering torso while you try to breathe warm air into your cupped hands.

The man steps out onto the balcony minutes later, his fists full of paper towels as he hands them to you. “Here you go.”

You graciously take them, blotting your dress with the paper towels, your nose scrunching at the scent of alcohol that you had no choice but to inhale. “Thank you so much, really.” You say— still very much shocked to know that chivalry isn't quite dead yet. “It’s Taehyung, right?”

He nods, “Yeah, and you’re Y/N?

Your pause, your hand hovering over your dress as you look up and nod with a forced smile, “No but really, thank you. You didn’t have to.”

“Don’t worry about it, I’m sorry that it happened in the first place,” he says apologetically, as if it was his fault, “it seems like everyone’s already out of their minds, and it isn’t even midnight yet.”

“Hey, don’t apologize,” you assure him, which seems to work because his eyes soften a bit, “besides, I guess it’s my fault for coming here in the first place. I knew something like this was gonna happen and now here I am, smelling like cheap, convenience store vodka.”

He chuckles, and you swear you’ve never been so elated to make someone laugh until now, “I somehow managed to beat the crowd. I’ve literally just been standing out here by myself for a good hour now.”

You sigh in envy, “Must be nice.”

“Too bad you couldn’t make it, it’s been awfully quiet up here.” He says, pivoting on his heel to look at the rest of the empty balcony.

Your eyes trail to the commotion inside the house, the crowd still going strong, “Are we really the only sober ones here?”

He shakes his head, “Nah, we’re just the only ones stupid enough to show up at a college party on New Year’s Eve, expecting to have a good time sober while everyone’s getting plastered.”

The unexpected truth pill causes you to enter a fit of laughter, small clouds of air leaving your mouth every time you exhale. He laughs along with you. “Yeah we are pretty stupid, I do admit.” You concur, while rubbing at your arms that were covered in goosebumps.

“Do you want my jacket?” He asks you while pointing to the black blazer that’s slung on top of the chair next to you.

You wrinkle your nose, “Are you sure?”

“Yes, before I put it on you myself,” he giggles with a roll of his eyes.

Shaking your head, you grab the blazer and wrap it around your shoulders. You stand up from your seat and turn towards him, brow quirked. “A-are you not cold? It’s fucking freezing out here.”

“I’m fine, I swear,” he counters, reaching out to help you slip your arms into his huge jacket sleeves, “I’m also not wearing a sleeveless dress.” He teases, eyeing you up and down as he takes in how oversized his jacket is on you. He thinks it looks much better when you’re wearing it, but he won’t tell you that.

“Right…” you drag out, following his footsteps as he motions you to follow him towards the edge of the balcony.

You two stand next to each other, leaning against the edge, arms nearly brushing against one another.

“So Taehyung, what brings you here in the first place?” You ask, knowing that he seems just as displeased to be here as much as you are.

“I got dragged here by a friend, Park Jimin, in particular.” He responds with a frown, “I have no idea where the fuck he is now, he literally left me as soon as we got here.”

Turning towards him incredulously, your brows raise and the corner of your lip curls into a smirk, “You don’t say.”

Confused, but also curious about the expression painted across your face, he quirks a brow, “Hm?”

You close your mouth, crossing your arms tighter around yourself, “I got dragged here by a friend too. Kim Seokjin. That asshole left me as soon as we got here too.”

He steps back, scoffing in disbelief, “Wow, we really just got stood up by our own friends.” Taehyung proclaims into the vacant balcony, for both him and you— the thought of it sounding even more pathetic after being said out loud.

“They’re pretty goddamn close to losing that title now.” You quip, shaking your head in dismay.

His head rocks back, a lively laugh leaving his lips due to your comment which makes you smile at the fact that you are even able to make him laugh like this.

“Damn it Y/N, you should’ve came out sooner, we could’ve been having a good time out here.” He tells you with a pout as his laughter starts to dwindle.

Sighing heavily, you too, feel regretful about the missed opportunity, “I really should have.”

He nudges you with his elbow, “At least you’re here now.”

The bass-boosted music from inside the house ceases, the room becoming momentarily quieter while someone bellows out, “Hey look, it’s the countdown!”

Everyone’s focus shifts towards the gigantic flat screen TV that hung above the fireplace, making you realize where the fraternity funds truly go to. You and Taehyung exchange glances before shrugging and moving closer to all the commotion since it was New Year’s Eve, above all.

He leans against the doorframe and you stay close to his side, the number ten flashing brightly on the screen—the crowd’s shouts getting louder as it reaches the final ten seconds of the year.

Instead of shouting out the numbers with the rest of the mass, you and Taehyung are simply witnessing it all fold out in silence.

“EIGHT!”

‘You got any New Year’s resolutions?!” You nudge him while attempting to yell over the noise.

His head whips towards you, “Me?!”

“SEVEN!”

Your brows furrow, “Does it look like I’m talking to anyone else?!”

His mouth splits into a grin once more, folding over in laughter just enough to meet eye-to-eye with you.

“SIX!”

“I mean! I didn’t have one originally!”

The crease in your brows dissipate, “Well, what changed?!”

“FIVE!”

His head tilts to the side, “I came here!”

You mirror his head tilt, confused as ever, “Um, so you wanna go to more parties next year?!”

“FOUR!”

He slaps a palm against his forehead, “From what you know about me, does it look like I like parties?!”

“How the hell would I know?!”

His jaw drops, “Y/N—!”

“THREE!”

“—I wanna get to know you better Y/N!”

Your jaw drops as well, “What?! Me?!”

“TWO!”

“Is there any other Y/N standing in front of me?!”

“I– oh...”

“ONE! HAPPY NEW YEAR!” The crowd shouts together in unison despite all being under the influence. A confetti cannon erupts, flying around the room and falling into people’s hair as the mass starts to split into pairs, all partaking in the traditional New Year’s kiss that you personally haven’t had much luck in participating in yourself.

You rip your gaze away to look at Taehyung. He smiles, pulling a piece of confetti out of hair, making your cheeks flush. “Happy New Year, Y/N.”

“Happy New Year, Taehyung.”

The small amount of alcohol you consumed when you first stepped foot onto the balcony leaves you slightly buzzed. Just enough to leave you with the right amount of courage to vouch for the nickname.

You take a daring step towards the man in front of you, “I also have a resolution of my own, Taehyung.”

He takes an even more daring step towards you, having the audacity to lean down— your faces only inches apart. “And what is that, may I ask?”

Grabbing onto the collar of his shirt, you close the gap in between the two of you, locking your lips with his. The kiss isn’t short enough to be a peck but isn’t long enough to be considered making out. You pull away enough to be able to see his face, “Is to get to know you better too.”

He chuckles, “Y/N, your lips taste like spiked punch.”

Pouting, you bump your forehead into his, “All I drank was whatever you saw me have at the balcony, I swear.”

He pecks your nose, your frown immediately wiping away as he does so, “I trust you.”

You smile, giving him a peck on the mouth, “As you should.”

“I’d kiss you again, but you probably can’t stand being here any longer. Let’s get out of here.” He tells you, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

You slide your arm onto his, interlocking his fingers with your own, “I think you’ve already completed your resolution Taehyung. You seem to know me so well already.”

Pushing through the crowd, he hooks an arm onto your waist while he shoves a path for you two to get through, “Too bad I don’t know where you wanna go though.”

You hum, thinking for a moment before your grumbling stomach answers for you, “I’m hungry, let’s go grab burgers or something.”

You don’t see the way Taehyung is fondly staring at you because you’re too busy trying to open the front door. At last, you manage to pry it open, stepping back outside while Taehyung’s holding you in his arms. It’s not that cold this time.

Taehyung’s hands land on both of your shoulders— turning you around to face him as he swiftly latches his lips onto yours. You stumble back, but his hand is quick to support you as he kisses you deeply. You kiss him back, letting your fingers curl around the curls of his hair.

He pulls back this time, letting his forehead rest on yours, “Y/N, I think you are the one that’s completed your resolution. How the hell did you know that I fucking love burgers?”

-

-

MASTERLIST

[the-rat-eating-birthday-cake]

Part one- dinner for 2 <3

- [ ] You are in the kitchen preparing to cut of some vegetables for dinner, Tonight was supposed to be a simple meal for the both of you, putting the main course into the oven you hear the sound of Saeyoungs car pull into the garage. Today was very important, he had to leave for a meeting to the main company to check on the progress of one of his new toy designs. After everything had settled with his brother he had planned to open up a toy store, he followed through with this dream. Spacing out the click of his keys in the lock brings you back, hearing him quickly opening the door and rushing in to close it. His shoes clacking against the hard wood floor as he makes his way to the kitchen, you turn your head slightly to look at him, he is wearing this fancy black suit with a red button up underneath, his hair that was nicely gelled back this morning has some loose strands now. like he had been brushing his hand through his hair like he does when he’s stressed or nervous, taking in his features you notice that his face has a slight dusting of pink. Without saying a word he walks to you his hands instantly wrapping around your waist, pulling your hips back into his, his hands gripping the apron around your hips. His face pressed against your neck, with a hum “I missed you so much” is said as he presses a kiss on your neck. You grab a near by towel and dry your hands, taking one and putting it on the back of his neck while your other went to hold his hand. Saeyoung’s teeth graze the soft skin of your neck, sucking a bruise into the skin, a small sigh leaves your mouth and you feel his grasp tighten on your hips. You can hear a quiet groan leave his lips. In a soft voice you whine to him about needing to finish dinner. He pulls away from your neck the bruises already forming, you turn your head to look him in the eyes, his pupils blown wide and his face is now beat red. His lips parted as he stares at you for a second, before he says that he needs you, his voice slightly wavering at the statement. His face pressed back into your neck you can hear him say in a muffled voice, “can I fuck you? please I need to feel you around me I’ve been thinking about you all day..” he presses your ass into his crotch you can feel his hard cock twitch against you. You rub his hand and give him the okay feeling his breathing pick up. You feel him pull away and hear the clicking of his belt come undone. He pulls his pants and boxers down his jacket off next, throwing it onto the floor. You pull down the shorts you were wearing, now only in a bra and apron you hear him suck in a quick breath taking in your form. “were you waiting for me to get home?” He says leaning over you grinding his cock into the plush of your ass his hand curling back around your to your front his fingers grazing your sex. A moan leaves your mouth it ending in a higher pitch when his middle finger circles your clit. A hand is placed on your stomach holding you close to him. His fingers continuing to assault your core. Small gasps and moans leave your mouth, your hands gripping the counter in front of you trying to steady yourself. His fingers dip into your entrance your body tensing as they thrust gently into you. His head is resting on your shoulder a smile forming on his lips when he feels your cunt clench around his fingers, your juices coating his hand. “Your so pretty, so good for me you know that right?” A whine escapes when you hear his words pushing you closer to the edge. Your moans picking up when his fingers quicken in pace, pressing a kiss to your cheek he whispers “cum for me love” his words effortlessly push you over the edge, the coil in your stomach snapping as tears fall down your cheeks. He presses more kisses to your face, each time his lips touch you Sae calls out a praise for being so good to him. After a minute he asks you if your alright to continue, his cock pressed against your inner thighs precum smeared all over them. You nod your head and turn to press your lips to his. He hums, taking his cock and runs it along your slit, collecting your cum

[the-sympathetic-villain]

Chaos Reigns

Prompt: The Light Sides react to Logan becoming a dark side.This one-shot is a continuation of my one-shot ‘Choking In The Dark’ inspired by the animatic, "Wires" by Anna Midnight. I would recommend reading that one before reading this one in order for the context to make sense. Prompt from iheartsolangelo

AO3 | First | Next | Masterpost

Word Count: 2955 Chapter Warnings: Food, All of the characters have some less than sympathetic moments, DarkSide!Logan, Horror Elements, Somewhat graphic description of rotting food/bugs, Spit/Wet Willy, Threats, Angst, Unwanted physical contact (non-sexual), Anger, Mentions of Death, Lashing out, Electric shock, Passing out, Swearing (Let me know if I missed anything!)

---

    Patton bustled about the kitchen, shifting between his various dishes as he prepared dinner for his family. Warm, humid air carried the scent of his fresh, baked bread down the hallways of the mindscape and Patton smiled knowing the lovely scent would start to draw out its residents as they sensed dinnertime approaching.

    “Virgil, could you please set the table?” Patton called out at the sound of a soft shuffling behind him. A soft groan behind him let him know that his shadowy friend had heard him.

    “Why’s it always me that gets stuck with the chores, padre?” Virgil drawled grumpily. “Can't you get princey to contribute every once in a while?”

    “Now, Virgil.” Patton started, pulling out his best dad voice. “You know we all have to do our part to contribute.”

    “Yeah, right.” Virgil groaned, pulling his headphones back over his ears as he moved towards the cupboards. “When was the last time you saw Roman wash a dish?”

    “Silence, foul demon.” Roman's voice echoed against the walls as he appeared in the doorway of the kitchen. “How dare you besmirch my royal name in my absence! Where is the honor in such a cowardly action?”

    “Cute, princey." Virgil rolled his eyes, pulling a stack of plates from the shelf. “How about you defend your honor by taking these while I grab the silverware?”

    “Oh, no.” Roman deflected his attempt to hand him the plates as he flitted over to Patton. “I can't do that.”

    “—and why not?” Virgil let out an exasperated sigh as he brushed past Roman and dropped the plates on the table with a loud clattered.

    “Why not?” Roman smiled, flipping his hands towards Virgil. “Well, because that’s peasants’ work, of course.

    “You’re insufferable.”

    “Now, boys.” Patton interrupted as he brought the steaming casserole to the table. “I need you to play nice at the dinner table.”

    “Patton, this isn't fair.” Virgil muttered, gesturing to Roman’s smug expression as he stared at him across the table. “He's just standing there watching me work.”

    “Patton asked you to set the table Virgil.” Janus' hiss made Virgil jump as the man came up behind him. “Surely the task is not too labor intensive for you to handle on your own.”

    “It's about the principle, Janus.” Virgil muttered, slamming open the drawer as he grabbed the silverware. “He could be helping, but he's not.”

     “And yet, by some miracle, you seemed to have finished all by yourself.” Janus drawled as Virgil set out the silverware on the table. “Outstanding.”

    “You’re the worst.”

    “I do make an effort,” Janus replied dryly, frowning as Roman snickered from across the table. “but don’t worry, Virgil. Your complaints have been noted and Roman will be doing the dishes after we eat.”

    “What?” Roman’s jaw dropped as Virgil’s face lit up. “Doing the dishes is twice the work of setting the table!”

     Janus rolled his eyes, dropping into his seat at the table. “Well then, I guess you should have helped Virgil when you had the chance. Shouldn't you have, Roman?”

    “I'm sorry, Janus.” Patton smiled empathetically as he came up behind Janus, leaning over to place the last steaming dish on the table. “I'm sure this wasn’t what you signed up for when you decided to move up here with us.”

    “Oh, please.” Janus smirked up at Patton as Roman and Virgil took their seats. “Neither of them has started throwing food yet, so this is already a step up from handling Remus.”

    “Good. I'm glad you’re fitting in okay, kiddo.” A smile twitched at the corner of Patton’s lips as he glanced around at his family. “Now, let's eat. I'm sure everyone is starving. Has anyone seen Logan?”

    “Geek's been quiet for a few days.” Roman muttered impatiently. “He's probably in his room making a schedule for when Thomas is allowed to breathe.”

    “Roman, be nice.” Patton chided him quietly. “Those kinds of words are hurtful.”

    “Come on, pops.” Roman pressed. “You know the Microsoft Nerd can barely function when he's not micromanaging the rest of us. Guy sucks pretty hard sometimes.”

    “I know Logan can be a little overbearing sometimes, but you still don’t get to call him names.”

    Roman sighed, muttering under his breath. “I didn’t hear a disagreement in that statement.”

    “Maybe I should go grab him—”

    “Do you have to, Pat?” Virgil asked, absently sipping at his water. “Can’t deny it's been nice to eat a few meals without a lecture.”

    “Both of you are done speaking until you can say something nice.” Janus snapped with a quick hand gesture, silencing them both simultaneously. “I don’t know what’s gotten into either of you but I've had enough of it.”

    Patton shifted nervously, feeling an uneasy chill run up his spine as he took a step towards Logan’s room. “I'll be right back. I'm going to go get him.”

    “Oh no, Patton.” The lights flickered and dimmed as an echo of Logan’s voice chilled the air, sending shivers down Patton’s spine. “I really think you should sit.”

    All eyes turned to the head of the table as the air seemed to be sucked from the room, leaving them breathless as they stared at Logan. His now jet-black hair was perfectly gelled back. Not a hair was out of place as his eyes glimmered with a danger fire as he straightened the tie on his charcoal-grey suit.

    Roman was the first to shake his shock, turning back to the rest of the table. “Will someone explain why the professor is trying to out-edgelord our own resident killjoy?”

    “Lay off, princ—”

    “Oh, Roman.” Logan’s threatening drawl filled the air with an ice-cold chill, stopping Virgil’s protest in its tracks. “You have such a pretty face. It's too bad you have to ruin the illusion with the words that come out of your mouth.”

    Roman stalled for a moment. “We have the same face—”

    Logan grimaced, sending a sudden shudder of fear straight to the hearts of the other sides. “Truly, what an awful, grating noise you make.”

    The other sides watched in horror as a unsettling grin spread across Logan’s face as he held up his hand and snapped. In an instant, Roman jumped out of his seat knocking his chair back as he batted at his arms. The creative side immediately looked to Logan for mercy as a bright, red crystal crept up his arms but his eyes were cold as he ignored Roman’s pleas for help. Within moments, he was completely frozen in place, completely encased by the crystal.

    “Would anyone else care to interrupt me?”

    Logan stare turned to each of his former friends’ faces. Silence quickly dampened the room as his empty stare crept up into an unsettling smile.

    “I thought not.” Logan continued in a hushed tone. “There are going to be some changes in the way Thomas operates and I don’t particularly care whether any of you like what I'm doing or not.”

     Silence hung in the air between them for a long moment before Janus leaned forward on his elbows, bringing his hands together in front of him as he stared down Logan from across the table. “What about Thomas? Surely, you don't believe our creator is going to support your little coup.”

    “I'm so glad you asked, Janus. I intend for keep Thomas distracted until it’s too late for him to change anything.” Logan’s white teeth glistened in the dim light as his dark eyes locked onto Janus. “Fortunately, I have a little help in that department.”

    A sudden gasp and a shriek for Virgil and Patton respectively surrounded Logan on both sides as the room dropped into darkness. The darkness only lasted a few short seconds but reprieve did not follow as a subtle green light started to radiate from the table. Logan let out a hollow chuckle at Patton and Virgil’s horrified expression as their beautiful dinner turned to rot. Maggots curled in the casserole and the plate of vegetables Patton had spent so much time on oozed a steaming green liquid that seemed to be creeping closer to its maker as Patton edged away.

    “Remus, enough.” Janus reached his hand up and snapped, expecting  the illusion to fade away. The look of shock on Janus’ face was met with a knowing smirk from Logan across the table as the feast of horrors remained.

    “Oooooh,” Remus cooed in Janus’ ear, coming out of the shadows. “Looks like the dirty light-sider doesn't have control of me anymore.”

    “Don't underestimate me.” Janus scoffed nonchalantly as Remus leaned over his shoulder. “Controlling you was always about more than just my powers.”

    “Oh yeah?” Remus purred into Janus' neck. “If that was true, could I do this?”

     Janus flinched as Remus popped his pointer finger in his mouth before shoving it in Janus' ear, still glistening with spit.  “Remus, you undignified ball of waste. I’ll kill—"

    “Don't touch him.” Logan’s calm voice distracted Janus' rage as he attempted to shove Remus away.

    Remus smirked as Janus hesitated, side-eyeing Logan as he gauged the situation. The moment's hesitation drew a giggle from Remus. “Well, what do you know? I might like it when Logey-Bear gets possessive.”

    “I'll give you a chance, Janus.” Logan stated plainly, rested his hands in his lap as he ignored Remus’ statements. “You still have the potential to be of use to me. Join us and you can spare yourself a lot of trouble.”

    “I don't think so.” Janus stated, glaring at Remus as he stood up out of his chair. “In fact, I think I'll go have a word with Thomas about your actions and see what he thinks of your attempt mutiny.”

    “That’s an unfortunate choice, but not unexpected one .” Logan smirked leaning back in his chair as he shared a knowing glance with Remus. “I'm sorry, Janus, but I forbid you from speaking to Thomas.”

    Janus turned his cool gaze back to Logan. “Don’t play with me, Logan. I'm the only one with the power to prevent sides from reaching Thomas.”

    “Not anymore. You should have taken my offer.” Logan sneered back at Janus as his eyes darkened and he raised a hand up in the air. “Look like this is a benched trial for you, Janus.”

    Logan snapped his fingers and the others jumped as Janus let out a yelp. The logical side’s face was void of emotion as the wires that had bound him for so long jumped at his command, dragging a swearing Janus into the hallway.

   “Patton, don't!”

   Virgil’s worried voice drew Logan’s attention to Patton as he jumped out of his chair. Logan let out a long breath as Patton glanced back at him nervously.

    “You’d do well to listen to Virgil, Patton.” Logan muttered darkly, lifting his eyes to Patton in a subtle warning. “Unless you want to share Janus' fate.”

    “Why are you doing this to your friends?” Patton started to shake as he turned back to Logan’s vacant stare. “Logan, you’re better than this.”

    “You’re not my friends.” Logan whispered, ignoring Patton taking a step back as if he'd struck him.

    “Logan—”

    “Keep my name out of your mouth.” Logan snapped, pushing his chair over as he rose to his feet. He stepped forward, looming over Patton as he backed into the wall. “I should never have given it to any of you."

    Patton flinched, making himself smaller as Logan slowly raised a hand to his face.

    “Don’t touch him—”

    Logan glanced over his shoulder lazily as Remus shoved Virgil back down into his seat.

    “Ah, ah—” Remus grinned, wrapping his hands around Virgil’s collar as the anxious side squirmed against him. “The adults are talking right now.”

    “Logan, please.”

    Logan turned his gaze back to Patton as his wide eyes lifted up to him.

    “You don’t have to do this.”

    Logan scoffed, tucking his hands in the pockets of his dark suit. “What exactly don’t I have to do?

    “Hurt people, Lo.” Patton whispered, glancing around at the trail of destruction left in the new dark side's wake. “This isn’t you.”

    “You’re wrong, Patton.” Logan muttered, taking a step forward as he crowded Patton into the wall. “This is necessary for my survival. Not that you would care about that.”

    Patton whimpered as Logan hooked his chin with his finger, guiding his face up.

    “I tried to be nice—to let everyone have their say, but I won't take your abuse any longer.” Logan let out a long breath as he leaned in, inches from Patton’s face. “I lost so much of myself to the rest of you that the subconscious tried to tear me apart.”

    “Oh, Lo—” Patton’s expression softened as his eyes glistened in the dim light.

    “I almost died, and not only were my so-called friends not there to save me, you were the ones who led me to the gallows.” Logan’s eyes glittered like fire and his face twisted into a snarl as a raspy laugh passed his lips at the sight of the sudden guilt on Patton’s face. “Congratulations. Your friend is dead and you were the one to kill him.”

    “Logan, I'm so sorr—”

    “Stop. Your apology is too little and too late, Patton.” Logan cut him off, baring his teeth at Patton as waves of anger radiated off of him. “Now, I've had enough of this conversation. So, if it’s all the same to you, I think we’re going to skip the rest of this dialogue.”

    The lights flickered as his statement finished and in the blink of an eye, Patton was gone.

    “Patton—No!” Virgil’s cry rang out behind him as Logan turned to watch him struggle in Remus arms. “What did you do to him?!”

    “I sent him into his worst nightmare.” Logan muttered. His voice held a bitterness as he nonchalantly brushed off his sleeves.

    “Which is what?” Virgil muttered, shuddering and squirming as Remus licked a long strip up his neck. “Get him off me—”

    “No.”

    “No? What the hell is wrong with you?” Virgil hissed as Remus pulled him to his feet, curling an arm around his waist to hold him in place. He hissed, spinning on Remus with bared teeth. “Why are you even helping him?”

    “Are you kidding?” Remus ran a hand through Virgil’s hair as he breathed into emo's ear. “Dr. Doom is the most interesting thing to happen around here in years. Of course, I wanted in on that action."

     Virgil let out a breathy whine, relenting to Remus' grip. “Just—Fine. Where’s Pat?”

    “Our dear, pun-loving father figure is in a place of my own creation, deep in the outer regions of the imagination. He's wandering the forests of guilt.” Logan whispered with a sense of finality. “Now, if he was capable of growing a spine and confronting his own feelings, I might be worried he would simply walk free, but I think we both know he'll be walking in circles trying to help the lost souls in the trees forever.”

    Virgil sucked in a breath, closing his eyes as Logan stepped toward him. “Where are you sending me?”

    “Oh, Virgie.” Remus purred. “What makes you think you get to leave?”

    “What?” Virgil blinked, looking up at Logan. “Y-you got rid of the others.”

    “They've served their purpose, Virgil.” Logan smiled, feigning innocence as he ran his fingers along Virgil’s jaw. “You still have so much to give.”

    “No.” Virgil muttered, staring at him incredulously. “I won't help you.”

    “Don’t misunderstand me. I'm not giving you a choice.” Logan whispered, gripping his chin as he forced Virgil’s chin up. “In fact, you’ll only become more useful the harder you choose to fight me, so go ahead and resist with all your might. You’re nothing if not persistent, Virgil.”

    “Why me?” Virgil’s shoulders slumped. “What could I possibly do for you?”

    “Without Roman's dreams or Patton’s misguided attempts at morality, Thomas will need another reason to stay motivated.” Logan whispered, gripping Virgil’s collar as electricity flickered on his hand. “So, I think we're going to get those neurons firing and stir up a little panic. What do you think?”

    Virgil’s eyes widened as the electricity crept up his body, pulling a groan from his lips as his body lit up in a blue light. His knees collapsed as the light flickered and faded, barely held up by Remus' arm wrapped around his torso.

   “You won’t get away with this.” Virgil moaned, feeling his vision start to fade. “We won't let you hurt Thomas.”

    Remus' giggle in his ear made his heart drop. “You better focus on surviving first, edgy boy.”

    Virgil shivered, feeling himself sinking in Remus' arms.

    “Don't worry, Virgil.” Logan’s ice-cold voice drew his attention up to the bitterness in Logan’s eyes. “At least I haven’t threatened to prohibit you from breathing yet.”

    “I didn’t mean it, L—"

    “Too little, too late.” Logan interrupted as Virgil’s eyes fluttered closed. Letting out a long sigh, he turned his eyes up to Remus with a devilish smile. “Are you ready, Remus?”

    “You better believe it, white and nerdy.” Remus grinned, flipping Virgil over his shoulder. “I'm ready to wreak a little havoc on Tommy boy's brain.”

    “Good.” Logan smiled as he straightened up, adjusting his glasses. “Then, we move on to phase two. Your particular set of skills will be essential for our plan to succeed."

    Remus grinned. “That's a lot of fancy words for you to say you’re excited to see me fuck things up, teach.”

    “Indeed.” Logan’s devilish grin widened as he glanced around the abandoned meal, letting out a chuckle as he turned to follow Remus as he carried Virgil out of the room.

---

General Taglist:

@somehow-i-got-an-account @justanotherhumanstuff @im-an-anxious-wreck

[p-artsypants]

I’ll Handle This (6)

In Which Plagg is Annoying

So, my beloved Fiancé really likes Magic: The Gathering. He’s taught me how to play it, and talks about it a lot, but I still don’t really understand it. It’s a complicated game. So this chapter has sections of me purposefully badly explaining the game, sorry if that bothers you lol. 

Ao3 | FF.net

—

Adrien awoke curled in a ball. His bed was extremely soft, and he sunk right into it. 

Oh, except it was a pillow. He was still in Plagg’s tiny Kwami body. Great. 

He yawned and stretched, realizing that he was alone in his bed. 

“Plagg?” He asked the room. 

There was no answer, but the bathroom door was closed. 

Plagg was most likely getting him ready, or his human body, ready for school. 

Before Adrien could imagine the worst case scenario, the bathroom door opened, and Plagg emerged. 

Adrien stared, and then declared loudly, “NO.” 

“Yes!” Said Plagg, flouncing into Adrien’s closet. 

“How—why? When?!” 

Plagg brought his pre-chosen outfit into the main room, and started to get dressed, carefully slipping the purple tiger striped shirt over his expertly gelled Mohawk. 

“Did you not see me buy that ultra super strong hair gel yesterday?” 

“I didn’t see anything you bought yesterday,” said Adrien with frustration. “I was in your pocket the whole time, remember?” 

“Oh, then you’re in for a treat!” He slipped on an over shirt, that was black with orange leopard spots. 

“Oh god...”

“You should have been more careful about what you brought home from shoots,” Plagg sang. “Love the leopard spots. Though I’m just a black cat, mixing up my coat on occasion would be fun.” 

“I kept that shirt because I thought it was funny, or it would be good for a costume. You can’t honestly wear it!” 

Plagg blew him a raspberry. “Oh suck it up buttercup! It’ll be fine!” 

Adrien watched with other things on his mind as Plagg finished dressing. Brown pants, rolled up with mismatched argyle socks, and then the same green sunglasses to cover his cat eyes.

“I think I have a photo shoot with Lila after school,” said Adrien. 

“And?” 

“And you should probably attend it. I know you want to piss off my dad and blow off responsibilities that aren’t Miraculous related, but modeling is my job. I’m still under a contract and I get paid for it. That money goes to my college fund, which I intend to use to pick my own career.” 

“What’s one missed shift to the son of the company?”

“A strike against me, and a loss of around a thousand euros.” 

Plagg swiveled his head to look at him. “That much? Is Lila making that too?” 

“No.” Adrien chuckled. “I am in high demand and so I make more. She makes around 15 euros an hour. That’s why she always drags photoshoots on for so long. Me and some of the other models get paid per gig.” 

Plagg scoffed. “That’s stupid.” 

“So will you behave for three hours?” 

“No,” said Plagg, smoothing his shirt and hair. “But I’ll participate in the shoot and play nice with the photographer. Lila, on the other hand, I have plans for.” 

Adrien looked at him warily. “...alright.” 

Doing a once-over, Plagg declared, “just one more accessory, the piece de resistance...” he reached into a plastic bag from his shopping yesterday. 

Adrien gaped in horror. “NO. NO NO NO!” 

—

Gabriel walked from the kitchen back to his office, coffee mug in hand. Dealing with Adrien’s rebellion had been a PR nightmare, but he was able to spin Adrien’s outfit yesterday, as out of character as it was, as merely a phase. A phase which he would grow out of soon, but one that was necessary for Adrien to grow, to explore his own style, to learn fashion in his own mind. The media ate it up, and several articles would be coming out in the next week or so. 

Then the boy in question streaked by him in a kaleidoscope of color. 

Gabriel sputtered on his coffee, staining his suit with the brown liquid, but not caring a bit.

“Adrien?!” He shouted, beyond horrified. He couldn’t tell what was worse, the patterns? The colors? The hair? NO. 

“Where did you get crocs?” Gabriel asked, as Adrien reached the unfortunately unlocked door. 

He turned for just a second, long enough to shout. “Ask my butt, old man!” Before the door shut behind him. 

Gabriel had to call those magazines back. 

—

Plagg arrived at school, drawing the attention of every student mingling there. Some stared in horror, while others held in laughter. 

A student passed Plagg and raised a fist. “Nice duds, dude! Stick it to the man!” 

Plagg responded with a gleeful grin and matching fist bump. 

“Oh my god,” said Nino, as he arrived. “You look amazing.”

“My dad spilled coffee on himself this morning, and the look on his face was totally worth it.”

“God, I wish I could have been there.” Nino sighed. 

“It was pretty amazing, not going to lie.” 

“Oh, while we have a second...I was hoping to have a sleepover this weekend. Marinette and Alya would come over for the evening, and then leave in time for dude’s night. You in?” 

“Just you and me?” 

“Yeah, if that’s cool.” 

“Absolutely! After school tomorrow?” 

“Yeah! Marinette said your schedule was open.” 

“Marinette knew that? I didn’t even know that.” 

“I think she keeps track of that stuff for class activities.” He cleared his throat, not looking at him. “And for no other reason besides that.” 

Plagg chuckled to himself. God, Nino was the worst liar. “I understand. Someone’s got to know my schedule if I don’t.” 

“Marinette is the best, after all.” Nino puffed up his chest, doing his damndest to be a good wingman. 

Plagg didn’t think he needed to try so hard, but props. “She is the best, isn’t she?” 

Nino smiled widely, like he had a secret joke that wouldn’t make sense to anyone. 

A pair of arms wound around his own, squeezing tightly like a boa constrictor. “Good morning Adrien!” Lila chirped. 

“Morning,” Plagg returned, playing casual in front of Nino. 

“I need to talk to you about the photoshoot after school.” She turned to Nino. “Can I borrow your buddy for a minute?” 

“You can have him for five minutes.” Nino winked. 

Lila giggled, sounding pretty realistic to an untrained ear. “Thanks Nino!” Without waiting for Plagg’s permission, she dragged him away to a sequestered corner of the courtyard. 

Before Plagg could even ask what was in her mind, she turned and faced him, expression full of vitriol and rage. It was not a face he’d seen on many mortals. 

“Don’t think I can’t see what you’re trying to do, Adrien.” Her voice was cold, sharp, and harsh. 

Adrien shivered in Plagg’s pocket. 

“And that would be...?”

“Trying to weasel your way out of our little agreement.” 

Plagg blinked, remembering the arrangement they had prepared a while ago. It’s what had gotten Marinette un-expelled. Just schmooze with the brat and she’d leave Marinette alone. But it was very apparent she was ready to take any violation of this agreement as an invitation to jump right back into her conniving ways. 

Plagg would hold out for now, play the long game. He had a plan, and if that failed for some unexplainable reason, then he had another one lined up. It was just a matter of finding out what bait Lila would take. 

He feigned a gasp, as well as she would, and laid a hand on his chest. “Oh Lila, whatever are you talking about? I’m just having a little disagreement with my dear old dad. It’s nothing against you! Honest!” 

She squinted at him. “You’re still on the schedule to model with me later today, so I’m assuming you didn’t actually quit modeling. If you had, this would have turned sour.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Modeling is our ‘fun friendship’ activity, and if you try to get out of it, I’m going to assume you don’t care about Marinette after all.” She shrugged. 

He laughed, a dark sinister laugh that didn’t belong on his handsome, sweet, cherubic face. “You mortals are just so cute when you think you can win against me.”

The look on Lila’s face was perfect. Part confused, part terrified. “What?” 

He spoke with a voice older than time, conjuring magics from the ancient unknowns. “Dos valok th’um krosis!” 

“Did...did you just cast a spell on me?” 

“I don’t know, you tell me. How do your lips feel?” 

She pursed her lips. “I don’t know, a little—“ 

“CHAPPED?” Provided Plagg, with a shit-eating grin. 

“Oh my god.” 

“Do not test me, Lila Rossi. You won’t win.” He gave her a pleasant little smile. 

She stared in bewilderment, before chuckling right back. “Boy, you had me for a second.” She pulled out a tube of chapstick and applied some. “Are you trying to psych me out? Cause it’s not going to work.” 

“Well darn,” said Plagg with a little snap of his fingers. “Thought my necromancy could spook you off. Well, if that didn’t do it, I guess you really do want to be my friend, no matter how quirky I can be.” He gave a happy little sigh. 

Lila was immediately suspicious. “Sure, I want to be your friend...?” It wasn’t supposed to be a question, but Lila wasn’t convinced. 

Unless Adrien really was that naïve. 

“Great!” Plagg clapped. “I have to go talk to Marinette, but we’ll hang out at the shoot! It’s going to be so much fun!” And he hurried off. 

Lila narrowed her eyes back in his direction. There was definitely fishy about that exchange. She couldn’t very well text Gabriel and say, “there’s something suspicious about your son. He actually wants to be my friend. Also he chapped my lips.” That would be too confusing and send all the wrong messages. 

So she resigned to wait until the photoshoot after all. Since, of course, he couldn’t keep up this act for several hours in a row. She could, but she was a professional. 

Her musings came to a halt as she heard the wonderful noise of Marinette’s scream. “MY EYES!!” 

Lila hurried from her nook to find out what had happened. Had someone sprayed her with mace? Pocket sand? 

No. Adrien was merely striking poses in front of her, and she had recoiled in horror. 

“Adrien!” She stated, aghast. “How could you?!” 

He posed again, butt in her direction. “You like?” 

“It’s foul. Are those crocs?!”

“Yep! I contemplated on getting the little ladybug plugs for the holes, but I didn’t really think it was worth it. After all, how often do you look at a man’s feet?” 

“In that outfit, it’s going to be too hard to tell what part is the worst.” Her eyes bounced over the competing patterns and made her dizzy. “Well here,” she handed over a hanger covered with a trash bag. “Your sin against fashion has been committed. I’m willing to do more, but don’t attach my name to it.” 

Adrien just laughed. “Don’t worry, Pooh Bear, your secret is safe with me.” 

Lila’s lips curled in disgust at the nickname. Obviously, she would tell Gabriel that Marinette was enabling his behavior. Maybe she could spin it as her influence all together. Yes, yes, that would work. Two stones and all that. 

—

After school, Lila rode with Adrien to the photoshoot. 

Boy, if she wanted a taste of what the day would be like, she certainly got it. And she should have taken the chance to run. 

“So Nino and I started playing this game with the guys in class,” Adrien had begun, without so much as a greeting. “Have you heard of Magic: The Gathering?” 

“...no?”

“Oh okay, so I’ll tell you all about it.” 

As a master manipulator, Lila understood the masterful art of conversation. There were several strategies she had developed over the years. Her favorite was ‘talk passionately and allow for natural lulls in explanation so they can ask questions’. It made people feel engaged and kept them coming back for more, while she was perceived as interesting and smart, but also humble.

However, it seemed that Adrien was utilizing the beginners mistake of ‘poorly explain a subject you’re not really passionate about without letting the other person talk’. Like an underpaid substitute teacher filling in for a class they don’t know much about.

“So like, there are these cards with different landscapes on them, and they’re all different based on color, right? So there’s water or islands for blue and mountains and stuff for red, right? And each one is worth mana. And you have to use mana to play a card. Except for lands, I think. You can play those whenever, except you have to draw them, you can’t just go searching through your deck. Unless a card tells you you can.” 

Finally, they arrived at the shoot, and Lila nearly fell out of the car in her haste to get away for some peace and quiet, just for a second. 

Who knew that boy could talk so much? 

—

Plagg and his mohawk were led to the makeup trailer. Thankfully for the hairstylist, it came with a salon sink, so Adrien didn’t have to go home and shower. 

“Sorry, Mr. Agreste,” the stylist said as she draped a cape on him. “We have to flatten the mohawk.” 

“That’s alright,” Plagg assured with a polite smile. “It served its purpose.”

“It was very well done, honestly,” she said with a laugh. “For not having the sides of your head shaved, that is.” 

“I had to work with what I had.” 

The stylist just hummed in understanding, as she started to rinse his hair, the gel melting and washing down the drain. 

The stylist sighed, and gave a little huff to herself. 

Plagg normally wouldn’t care, but if his meddling had inconvenienced someone else’s job, that would reflect poorly on Adrien. So, he asked. “Is everything alright?”

“Umm...” she paused, biting her lip. “Look, we’re friends right?” 

Plagg didn’t even know this person’s name. “Of course.” 

“Are you close to Miss Rossi? I know you guys are friends...” 

“I hate her guts.” Plagg declared with a broad smile. 

“Oh good!” She relaxed. “I really really hate working on her. And so does everyone else, and last time she was here, she was just—Ugh, the worst. I got so frustrated because Giuseppe and your father like her, so even if I complained, nothing would happen. Likely, I’m the one that would get in trouble. You remember Alexander, right? The lighting assistant?” 

No. Not one bit. “Yeah?” 

“Well, she yelled at him one time during a shoot, in the back. Apparently, she wanted coffee and he wouldn’t get it for her, even though that’s soooo not his job. So she complained to Giuseppe and got him fired! Honestly, I don’t know how he didn’t get akumatized over that.” 

“I don’t either!” Plagg said, with surprise. “I knew she was a pain, but yikes...” 

“I think you’re a really cool kid, Adrien. But she’s going around and telling everyone you got her this job and—“ she sighed. “People are getting resentful.” 

Now Plagg was mad. It was immediately apparent that Lila had a ‘if I can’t have them, no one can’ attitude, turning the staff on Adrien if she couldn’t win them over with her outlandish lies. Adrien couldn’t afford having that many enemies. He was too soft. 

“Actually...” Plagg began to explain how Lila had wound up with her job, lying to Nathalie and Gorilla to get access to his house, lying to his father to get on his good side, and all the things she did to Marinette, who he took the bullet for to protect. “She means a lot to me,” Plagg said, in regards to Marinette. “So I didn’t mind having to pretend to be Lila’s friend if it meant she could come back to school and not be harassed anymore. It seems that Lila has a loose form of friendship.” 

The stylist wiped her eyes. “Oh Adrien, you’ve got such a heart of gold. I’ll set everything straight with the team. Don’t you worry!” 

“I actually have a plan, that you might let everyone in on. And I apologize in advance.” 

“Lay it on me.” 

—

By time Lila was called in to get ready, Plagg had been groomed into a normal looking boy with normal looking hair and clothes. Though normal protocol usually had Lila in hair and make-up alone with the stylists, Plagg sat in a chair nearby, separated from her by a curtain. 

“Adrien? Shouldn’t you be out there?”

“Oh it’s okay, I wanted to keep telling you about this game.”

“Oh, well, you shouldn’t keep Giuseppe…”

“He won’t mind. So, there’s a bunch of colors, right? Red, Black, Green, Blue, White, and…one more. I think there’s one more.” 

A sigh was heard from the other side of the curtain. 

“No, no I was right, there’s only five. But you can combine them. But not like, mix them? It’s like, Blue-Black, and Red-Black. And Green-Blue. And so different colors have different themes, right? And the themes are different based on the set. Oh yeah, there’s different sets and Wizards of the Coast release like, two or three sets a year. I think. Like they had this one that was all about Dinosaurs and pirates. But they usually aren’t that wacky. Unless it’s a joke set. Which that one wasn’t. I can’t remember the name of it right now, but it started with an ‘I’.” And he was off, explaining all he could remember of the game, from what Adrien had told him, to what he had heard while the boys played at school. If he could find a point to elaborate on, he did. 

Every once in a while, he’d make eye contact with a staff member, who would in turn grin and give a secret thumbs up. 

He started to run out of steam while Lila was in makeup. 

Thankfully, one of the technicians with a grudge noticed, and helped him out. “Would you ever play competitively?” 

Through the mirror, Plagg could see the lightbulb go off over Lila’s head. “You know, my grandfather was one of the chess masters of the world. He won lots of tournaments, and I’m sure he’d love to give you some pointers if you were interested, Adrien.” 

The technician answered for him. “Chess? We’re talking about Magic: The Gathering. Two totally different games. The tournaments are pretty fun too, but I really enjoy playing at pre-releases. They usually only allow you to play with the set you’re buying, so you can’t look at them beforehand…” 

Plagg beamed at the guy, thrilled with how quickly he had shut Lila down. 

Lila, however, was undeterred. She met the eyes of the female stylist and just shrugged. “Boys, right? So, this weekend—“ 

“Shh,” the stylist hushed. “I’ve been trying for weeks to learn this game.” 

Lila crossed her arms and sat silently for the rest of the session.

Once the models were all dolled up, they were escorted out to the set, and Giuseppe got to work with posing. 

Here’s where Lila tried to make up for lost attention. 

“Oh Giuseppe! I had such a wonderful idea for the shoot today! Since the gardens are in full bloom—“

“Which reminds me!” Plagg snapped his fingers. “Green-Black combination cards are really unique because they create a bunch of minions. Like, the cards in them have the ability to spam the battlefield with like a bunch of little guys called tokens that take a lot of extra work to get rid of. Well, like, not a ton of extra work, because they only have like one HP, but like, it's more work then you would have had to do. Wait, white, not black. Actually, I think white is the best at tokens, my mistake.” 

Despite her best efforts, Lila could not suppress a full body eye roll. 

It was exactly what Plagg was waiting for, and he jumped in for the finisher. He turned his sad kitten eyes to her, looking like Puss in Boots from Shrek, and asked, in the most pathetic voice he could muster. “Am I annoying you?” 

Lila stared at him, as the staff and Giuseppe looked right at her, to see her response. 

“I…I…” she stammered. “N-no, not at all, Adrien. I…love hearing about this game.” 

He beamed. “Good! Because I have to tell you about my favorite combination of Blue-black. It’s really high in conditions and making things difficult for the opponents, right?” 

Lila’s nostrils flared, but she held back any other sign of frustration. It was remarkable, really. 

Plagg was quiet while Giuseppe gave directions, and during the actual shooting, but in between takes, when he didn’t have to be ‘professional’ he filled in the silence with whatever jargon he could find. He was wearing her down. 

“Alright,” Giuseppe finally said. “We’re all done with you, Lila. Now it’s just Adrien’s solo shoot. But you can stay if you like.” 

Lila was already halfway to the trailers. “I’m so sorry Giuseppe, I have somewhere I have to be this evening, so I’m going to head out. I’ll see everyone next time!” And she practically sprinted off set. 

Once she left, Giuseppe gave a loud sigh of relief. “Now let’s get some real work done.” 

—

Later that evening, when Adrien and Plagg had returned to the mansion, Adrien sat on the desk as Plagg scrolled online. Homework had been completed with ease, and it was still too early for bed.  

“What are you reading?” Adrien asked. 

��I’m trying to slog my way through the lore of that video game you like, the one with the Dragons. I have to have more ammunition the next time I deal with Lila. I almost ran out today.” 

“Is that what I sound like?”

“What?”

“You today, when you were talking about Magic. Is that what I sound like to you? Do I ramble on?” 

Plagg screwed up his lips in thought. “Mmmm, sometimes.” 

Adrien hunched in on himself. 

“But look. Culture and creative medium has grown astronomically in the last 200 years since I’ve been asleep. I want to know about what’s out there. I like hearing about things that you enjoy. Even if it is annoying sometimes, I still care about you. The reason I pulled this strategy is because Lila likes to talk, and she doesn’t like to listen. Even if I was talking passionately about something I knew a lot about, I doubt she would have cared. I hear how often she interrupts class.” 

Adrien hadn’t thought about it like that. 

“You know who Pavlov is, right?”

“Uh, the guy that did the experiment with the dog, right? He rang a bell and gave his dog a treat, and eventually the dog came to associate the bell with treats.” 

“Precisely. Humans are the same way. Knowing this principle is the easiest way to win people over. You have to make them associate you with good feelings. If you treat people well, be friendly, courteous, and funny, eventually, people will like to be around you. The same works in reverse. If I can associate myself with frustration and annoyance for Lila, she won’t want to be around me. Being straight up mean to her won’t work because she’ll see that as a challenge.”

“So you have to be subtle,” Adrien concluded.  “Thats…that’s genius.” 

“I know.” 

“So you don’t think I’m annoying?” 

Plagg rubbed him between the ears. “I only found you annoying when you would complain about Ladybug, your dad, or Lila. But now, in your shoes, I’ve realized how easy it is to get frustrated about these things. But hopefully soon enough, you won’t even have to worry about it.” 

Adrien smiled brightly. “Thanks Plagg. I hated this at first…but you really are making some progress.” 

“Told you. Now, help me pack. You have your first sleepover tomorrow night.” 

“My first sleepover, and I’m going to spend it crammed in a bag!”

[liemonyellow]

it will be forever

read on ao3

Summary: Janus has been waiting for months to get down on one knee and propose to the love of his life. He’s timed it perfectly: the opening night of Roman’s best and biggest role to date in the same theater where they first met. Things don’t happen how he expects them to, however.

Warnings: None

“You good, Janus? Remember to actually bring the ring?” Virgil asked for the umpteenth time.

Janus rolled his eyes and let out an exasperated sigh, his breath misting in the wintry air as he hugged himself tightly. “No, Virgil, I lost it in the five minutes since the last time you asked.” He patted his pocket, admittedly relieved to feel it was still, in fact, there. “It’s still right here.”

“First of all, you forgot your gloves, which I have never seen happen, especially in the middle of winter. Second, who was it that panic-called me just five hours ago, terrified that he lost his engagement ring?” Virgil put a finger to his chin in mock contemplation. “You’ve been planning this proposal for what, four months now? If it doesn’t go exactly according to plan you’re gonna be insufferable.”

Janus sniffed haughtily. “I found it, didn’t I?”

“I still can’t believe you actually hid it inside the snake tank and forgot.”

Virgil’s snickering was cut short by Janus’s sharp shove against his shoulder. He was about to shove Janus back when he saw something in the distance and threw up an arm and waved.

“It’s them! Over here!”

The two they were waiting for jogged up to them, joined by two others they didn’t immediately recognize.

“Vee! JD! Sorry for keeping you,” Remus grinned as he threw an arm over each of their shoulders, then added, “Someone was too busy getting mobbed by his adoring fans.”

“Oh, really?” Janus broke into a smile as he slipped out from under his best friend’s arm and into those of his boyfriend’s.

“Just a couple of old friends. I was surprised, too! You remember Patton and Logan, right?”

“Virgil, Janus,” Logan greeted with a nod, “I hope you two are doing well.”

“It’s been too long!” Patton exclaimed, smiling brightly.

“Oh, shit! Is that you, pop star?” Virgil said, grinning. “You both look so different!”

The other four chattered away as they caught up, but Janus only had eyes for Roman. He looked up at him, arms draped over his shoulders and around his neck, taking in the sight of this gorgeous, beautiful man lit by the warm, yellow glow of the marquee. Only now that he was here did Janus truly feel the weight of the little box in his pocket. Perhaps he should wait? After all, Roman had just wrapped up a busy opening night, he was probably looking forward to a nice dinner with their friends and a relaxing ride home and-

“So,” Roman said, his voice cutting through Janus’s thoughts like a beam of light on a moonless night, “what did you think?”

Janus let his eyes drift down from Roman’s warm hazel ones to the lopsided smirk he wore when he wanted to hide his nervousness, raising a hand to run his fingers through Roman’s gelled hair. The texture was stiff and still a little greasy from Roman’s onstage exertions and not the soft silkiness he was accustomed to, but Janus loved it all the same. Very much worth forgetting his gloves at home. He gave Roman a soft smile as his prince leaned into the gesture, gently grasping the hand and bringing it down to place a kiss into Janus’s palm, then held it against his cheek. The warmth burned against Janus’s frozen fingers.

“I think,” Janus teased, “I’ve seen better.”

Roman huffed at that, though his eyes remained bright and amused. “It couldn’t have been worse than my performance that first night we met.”

Janus raised an eyebrow. “I’m not sure what you mean,” he said airily.

“You don’t remember walking right into me while ranting about all my flaws as an actor to my twin brother, in this exact spot in front of this exact theater?”

“Not at all,” Janus lied, smirking. Roman chuckled and took a step back, sliding his hands down Janus’s arms to his hands, holding them gently with his own.

“I wouldn’t blame you if you did forget. We didn’t exactly start off on great terms. Which, ah, reminds me,” Roman glanced at their friends, who were still talking amongst themselves, and had apparently pulled out their phones to take and share photos at some point. Virgil winked conspiratorially at Janus. He was probably already filming them. Roman cleared his throat, catching their attention, and turned back to Janus.

“Janus,” he said, his eyes big and warm and soft, “you have made me so, so happy these last few years. You were there when I got my first major role, you helped me through the rough times where I didn’t think I would ever act again, and yeah, we’ve had our disagreements every so often, but, we’re still here. Together.”

Janus, still smiling, tilted his head and narrowed his eyes in confusion, unsure where Roman was going with this. He couldn’t be… could he?

Roman took a breath and another step back and lowered himself on one knee, keeping hold of Janus with one hand and reaching into his inside coat pocket with the other. Janus’s free hand came up to cover his mouth. Oh.

“Janus, when I fell in love with you, I knew it would be forever. Will you marry me?”

Nestled in the box in his hand was a ring, a marquise-cut yellow sapphire set into a white-gold band that curved along each side toward the points, flanked by a row of round white diamonds that tapered down in size as they swept out from the central stone and along the band. It sparkled in the glow of the streetlamps, stars dancing in each facet.

Overwhelmed with emotion and unable to help himself, Janus’s eyes filled with tears and his lips pulled into a wide grin behind his hand. He pulled away and turned around, his breath coming in short, staccato hiccups of laughter. Wiping his tears, he reached into his pocket and brought out the box, turning around to face magnificent, wonderful Roman, who was patiently awaiting his answer.

“You have the worst timing,” Janus said, opening his box and revealing the ring inside, a princess-cut pink diamond set diagonally in rose gold, two white oval diamonds at its top and bottom corners, with a row of smaller, round diamonds along the top edges and in the band along either side of the bottom gem, curls of metal shaping the ring into a crown. Roman blinked at the offering, saying nothing. Then, a huge grin spread across his face, and he rose to his feet.

“Is- Is that a yes?” he asked, starting to laugh himself. Janus nodded, his own grin preventing him from responding.

Roman slammed into Janus, kissing him greedily. He wrapped his arms around Janus’s waist and spun them in circles, lifting Janus into the air with his enthusiasm, breaking the kiss and filling the nighttime air with the combined shrieks of their euphoria.

“Finally!” Remus’s high-pitched whoop pierced the air as the observing bystanders applauded.

Roman set Janus down and they quickly placed the rings on each other’s fingers. Janus could hardly see through his tears no matter how quickly he wiped them away, yet he could not tear his eyes from the ring now adorning his finger. He let Roman guide them back to their gaggle of friends, who were all shouting happy congratulations.

“Ohmigosh, it was so hard not giving it away! A double proposal!” Patton squealed.

“You knew?” Roman asked, incredulous.

“Remus informed us of both your plans to propose when he invited us to tonight’s show last week,” Logan clarified, giving them a small smile and a nod.

“Yeah, and it was a bitch getting D.W. to let you go so early, so, y’know, you’re welcome. I only have so much say against the PSM as a lowly wardrobe tech, no matter how awesome I am.”

“And Remus and I knew four months ago, because he couldn’t keep his mouth shut,” Virgil concluded.

“JanJan and RoBro never figured it out, so I say I kept it pretty well shut,” Remus countered.

“Four months ago?” Janus gaped.

“Yep,” Virgil said, popping the ‘p’. “You two made the exact same plans at the exact same time because of course you did, you dorks.”

Janus turned to meet Roman’s eyes. They shone like copper, rich and warm and bright, lingering in his vision as he drew closer for another kiss.

[thompsborn]

sappy lines #16 and #11 with parkner please and thank you

16. “Why haven’t you kissed me yet?”

+ 11. “I thought you didn’t want me.”

coming right up babey, let’s pine lads

—

There’s that moment, the one that feels like it came straight from a movie, where time slows down and the world goes quiet and everything goes fuzzy outside of the one place that eyes linger, the focal point of attention. In that moment, there is only Peter, standing in the kitchen and tossing an apple between his hands, and there’s Harley, standing in the doorway, hands settled in the front pockets of his pants and his eyes a little bit wide.

The apple rolls across Peter’s fingertips and falls to the countertop—not that either of them notices, of course, far too busy taking in the sight of one another in a not so subtle yet trying way too hard to be subtle way.

Of course, this isn’t really the first time they’ve seen each other dressed up before—there had been the big dinner they went to for Pepper’s birthday, where they’d put on nice button up shirts and clean black slacks and the nice shoes that Tony insisted on buying them—but this is different, full on three piece suits that kind of match in a very subtle sort of way. Peter’s curls are gelled with just enough precision to make them the perfect kind of bouncy and Harley’s hair has just enough moose in it to keep it from going haywire, like it usually does within the first thirty minutes of taming it, though it still falls naturally across his forehead in dirty blond waves that still appear somehow soft to the touch. Peter’s fingers twitch, wanting to reach out and brush through the ringlets, but he doesn’t, just averts his eyes after taking in the way the suit hugs Harley’s body perfectly.

“Um.” Peter clears his throat, picks up the apple again and takes a bite out of it, just to give himself an excuse to wait a little longer, mind blank on something acceptable to say. Juice from the apple drips down his chin in his haste, quickly wipes it away with the back of his hand before scrabbling for a napkin because he doesn’t want a single drop to get in the far too expensive suit he has on. Only after he’s dapped it away with the napkin does he try to look back at Harley again, knees going a bit weak at the soft eyes smile that Harley is wearing, looking some kind of fond and amused and a little bit timid, too. Clearing his throat again, Peter crumples up the napkin and tosses it in the garbage before saying, “You look, um—you look nice. It’s a good suit.”

“Yeah, Pep has great taste, right?” Harley agrees, leans against the entryway for the kitchen and looks away from Peter with a blush that could just be makeup but could be his cheeks flushing a bit as well. “Thanks, though. And you, uh... you look good, too. Or, um—nice, not good. Not that you don’t look good, ‘cause you definitely—you definitely do, but you said nice, so maybe you just want to hear nice and not—you know what? I’m gonna stop talking before I say something even more stupid.”

Peter’s lips quirks up against his will, beyond endeared by the way that Harley ducks his head in some kind of embarrassment, scuffing his nice dress shoes against the kitchen tile as he bunches his shoulders up in a weird sort of shrug. “Thanks,” Peter murmurs, takes another bite of his apple despite not really wanting to eat it. “When do we have to head down again?”

Pulling his phone from his pocket, Harley tells him, “It starts in ten minutes, so we should probably go now. Tony said he wants us to be there before guests show up, since we’re supposed to, like, actually socialize with people and tell them about the charity and shit.”

Peter lets out a light laugh. “You make it sound like a hard thing to do when you’re the one who suggested what charity to donate to this year.”

“Oh, choosing the charity was easy,” Harley says simply. “Talking to a bunch of snobby rich people? Not so much, but, y’know, for the sake of making sure poor and homeless kids get shelter and presents for Christmas is worth it.” He shrugs, a forced sort of nonchalant attitude to his actions, and adds: “Plus, y’know, I get to spend all night watchin’ you walk around in that super nice suit, which is definitely a bonus.”

A moment of quiet passes where Peter feels his face heat up at the blatant attempt at flirting, eyes casting downward, takes a third bite of his apple before tossing it in the trash because he doesn’t think he can force down anymore. Then, when he can’t find something suitable to say—can’t grasp the right words, has always struggled to vocalize something as upfront as flirting, doesn’t have the confidence for something so blunt—he settles for meekly saying, “So, we should—we should go, then.”

Harley clears his throat, squints over at the wall with some kind fo pinched expression. “Yeah, we should, um—we should go. We should go.”

“Okay,” Peter murmurs, tried not to feel stifled by the undefinable feeling hanging in the air.

There’s that moment, yet again, where they meet eyes across the crowded room down at the charity gala, even when a sea of fancily dressed business people separates them, when music is playing through the speakers and chit chat is pleasantly filtering across the room. Peter is nodding along to something a bookkeeper for SI is saying and Harley is laughing along with an engineer professor that teaches at NYU and their gazes lock and there’s something there, an unspoken yet all consuming something that curls and twists and pleads with them without using words.

Peter looks away first, before he gets stuck there, staring into Harley’s baby blue eyes with a sense of everything filling his veins, smiles at the bookkeeper and keeps nodding despite not really hearing what it is they have to say. Harley keeps looking for a moment longer, swallows thicky before tearing his eyes away, and it’s left at that for the time being, settles in the back of their minds with an insistent sort of buzzing.

It isn’t until the end of the night, after they’ve raised over a million dollars for the charity and a majority of the guests have filed out of building to head home and the staff are starting to clean up, and they—as they always tend to do—gravitate towards each other, meet in the middle at the elevator and share little smiles but don’t talk until the doors have opened and closed behind them. Even then, it’s just Harley asking, “That wasn’t too bad, right?”

“No, it was pretty fun, actually,” Peter says with a light hum, clasps his hands behind his back because he doesn’t know what else to do with them. “I got to catch up with Harry, which was cool, since we kind of stopped being friends when his dad sent him to boarding school back when we were, like, thirteen. And the food was good, too, and, um...” He trails off, tries not to sound as awkward as he feels when he clears his throat a bit and gives himself a moment to string together his sentence. Then, a bit strained and lacking certainty, he says, “Um, it was also—also kind of nice, seeing, um—like you said before, with you seeing me in a suit, y’know, but, um, the other way, with me getting to see you in a—in a suit. That was nice, too.”

He doesn’t look over, because he doesn’t think he really can after that train wreck, but he glances at the metal elevator doors and looks at Harley’s reflection instead, sees the way the ends of his lips quirk up in a small little smile, how he glances at Peter and then quickly looks away. It’s a cute sight, Peter thinks, even if he didn’t really get the flirting thing right, but he doesn’t have time to try again before the doors slide open on the pent house floor.

Feeling sheepish and unsure, Peter ducks his head to avoid Harley’s eyes, shuffles out of the elevator with a murmured little, “I’m gonna go, um, go to bed, probably? So, um, goodni—”

“Or we can watch a movie,” Harley offers, sounding a bit rushed with his words, stepping out of the elevator as well. “It’s not that late yet, and I’m not really all that tired, so, if you want, we can—I mean, in the living room, or one of our rooms, or—or whatever. If you want.”

Peter bites the inside of his cheek, look up at Harley with a barely contained smile. “Okay.”

There’s a glimmer of something in Harley’s eyes, some kind of excitement as he bobs his head in a nod and says, “Okay, then, um—your room, maybe? Since you already have snacks in there? I can—I mean, we could—the living room, too, if you’d rather go there.”

“My room’s fine,” Peter says, tone a tad bit softer than intended. “Ten minutes?”

“Yeah,” Harley breathes. “Ten minutes. I’ll be there. And I’ll grab some drinks, too. Soda?”

Peter nods, turns on his heel before he gets sucked in by the gravitational pull that Harley has on him, and quickly scurries to his room, knowing that there’s a pile of schoolwork on his desk and a mess of clothes on the floor that he wants to pick up before Harley comes in. Not that he thinks he’d be judged for the clutter, is well aware that Harley’s room can be just as askew as his own, but he wants to impress, in even the simplest of ways.

There’s that moment, the third of the night, where that feeling settles over them, when Peter opens the door ten minutes later in his lazy clothes and with his hair still wet from quickly rinsing the gel out in the sing, a few drops of water rolling down his face as he steps out of the way and gestures inside with a sheepish little half grin, as if Harley wasn’t in his room two days ago while they studied for a test.

Harley doesn’t move for a long moment, looks a little bit ridiculous with the hem of his sweatshirt in his hand to hold four cans of soda in the make shift pouch that the material makes, hoodie pulled up over his head and hiding a majority of the blond waves that he spent a solid minute tugging at because he didn’t have time to shower away the products in his hair and hadn’t thought of rinsing it out real quick like Peter apparently did. His eyes are stuck on how the light reflects off of Peter’s curls like a halo, has to blink himself out of it in order to step into the room and forces himself to ask, “So, what should we watch?”

“I was thinking either something funny or something scary,” Peter answers quickly, because he had spent part of his ten minutes debating that very question, wanting to seem prepared because he feels anything but. “Or a Christmas movie,” he adds. “Since we just had a whole Christmas charity thing, y’know?”

“Christmas themed horror movie, maybe?” Harley offers, trotting over to Peter’s bed and plopping down on it to make himself comfortable, releasing his hold on the hem of his hoodie to let the drinks roll onto the mattress beside him. “I’ve heard of a few of ‘em. There’s gotta be something good, right?”

Eyes lighting up, Peter settles in next to Harley, pulls open the bottom drawer in his night stand to pull out the paper bag full of snacks that he keeps in his room for the munchies that always seem to wake him up in the middle of the night. “I know exactly what we need to watch,” he says, kind of giddy and excited. “Friday,” he calls out, pulling a blanket over the two of them and settling the bag of snacks on the duvet for them to easily access. “Dim the light to fifteen percent and play Gremlins, please!”

Automatically, the lights go low and the TV turns on, the movie flickering to life on the screen. Harley hums, settles back against the pillows and says, “I’ve never actually seen this, I don’t think. Heard of it, but never watched it.”

“Shh, you gotta pay attention,” Peter whispers, eyes already fixated on the TV, but his mind doesn’t focus on the movie—which he has watched a thousand times by now, always seems to rewatch it with May every December and recommends it whenever he can. Instead, he finds all his senses trained onto Harley, hearing his heartbeat, feels his body heat due to how close they’re sitting, can smell the cologne he was wearing for the charity gala and watches his reactions from his peripheral as subtly as possible, smiles when he smiles and hopes that Harley actually likes the movie and won’t think that Peter chose something dumb.

Thoughout the movie, Harley makes the odd comment here and there, jumps a bit at the loud noises and giggles under his breath at some of the scenes, but otherwise seems completely engrossed in the film, doesn’t look away, barely even blinks, keeps his reactions to a minimum. Peter is so focused on trying to figure out if he’s enjoying the movie or not that he doesn’t really notice that Harley is moving closer, not until their sides are pressed right up against each other, from shoulder to elbow to hip to knee, and then he does something odd, tilts a bit until their heads are leaning together, as well, and Peter has to hold his breath to stop himself from actually gasping in shock.

“Um...” Peter’s voice breaks a bit, cracks on the exhale and shakes when he sucks in a sharp breath to try and relax a bit. “Harley...?”

“Shh, I’m trying to pay attention,” Harley whispers, and Peter can practically hear the little smile in his voice, the little smug like edge to his tone as he presses a little bit closer to Peter, doesn’t move his eyes from the TV for even a moment, even when he slowly reaches over to hold Peter’s hand, their interlocked fingers settling atop the duvet, and all Peter can do is stare at how their hands fit together, wonders if Harley realizes that his heart is thundering against his ribcage.

He doesn’t even realize the movie’s ended until he watches Harley pull his hand away, and, without really meaning to, looks up with a shadow of disappointment settling over him at the loss of contact, turns his head to see why Harley let go, only to find the TV off and Harley moving away altogether, no longer pressed to Peter’s side and staring down at his lap with a frown that’s barely visible in the low lighting.

“It’s late,” Harley says, kind of quiet.

Peter isn’t sure what it is, but he knows he’s missing something. “Is it?”

“Yeah,” Harley nods, still not looking up from where he’s twisting the material of the blanket between his fingers. “Past midnight, so...”

“You’re going back to your room,” Peter says, doesn’t ask it because the answer is pretty clear, and he tries not to feel upset, tries not to let the disappointment double in his chest.

Harley falters, then says, “I’m sorry.”

That makes Peter freeze a bit, confused and a little bit panicked because he doesn’t like that sad tinge in Harley’s voice. “What? For what?”

“For, y’know, the—the stupid flirting, and for holding your hand like that without even asking, even though you were clearly uncomfortable with it and I... I’ll stop. I’m sorry.”

“Uncomfortable?” Peter repeats, frowning.

Harley shifts, leans further away from Peter and crosses his arms over his chest, shoulders hunched. “Yeah,” he murmurs, eyes downcast. “You got quiet and changed the subject, and when I held your hand, you sounded weird, and just stared at our hands with a weird look on your face. Like you were disgusted, or whatever. It looked like you wanted to let go.”

“I wasn’t... I’m not disgusted,” Peter says, brows shooting up to his hairline in surprise. He thought it was pretty obvious, the fact that he’s not really good at this stuff, but he supposes he can see it, the way Harley must have misinterpreted his reactions as something negative. He closes his eyes and tries to imagine that Harley isn’t actually there, hopes that thinking he’s alone will give him courage, and meekly admits, “I, um... I’m just really out of my element right now? I’ve never—never really, um—never flirted before, I guess? I don’t really know how to—how to react, or anything. But you haven’t... you don’t make me uncomfortable, Harley. You just make me nervous, ‘cause I don’t really even know how to act when I’m around you.”

Finally, Harley looks up, glances at Peter with what might be a little bit of hope in his eyes. “You don’t know how to act around me? Why?”

Peter shrugs a bit, swallows the nervous lump in his throat and gives himself a moment to properly piece together a response. “Because, um... well, I mean, I—I thought it was obvious, to be honest. I thought you already knew.”

Harley is frozen in anticipation. “Knew what?”

“That I, y’know...” Peter trails off, shakes his head a bit, and barely manages to choke out, “That I—I like you. Like. As more than a friend. And I don’t know how to—how to act around you because I’ve never actually, um—never really ended up all that close with my crushes before, y’know? But then we started hanging out and became friends and I—I don’t know what to do when you—when you flirt with me and hold my hand because I’ve never done this before and I really, really like you, okay? And I thought you knew that because you keep flirting and stuff, and I keep thinking that you like me, too, but then you do—you do this, where you pull away before I have the courage to do anything, and I just keep—keep hoping you’ll just do something, like—like kiss me or something, so that I can stop doubting if you really like me, ‘cause I—I think you do, but if you do, then why haven’t you kissed me yet? But that’s not really a fair question, either, and I shouldn’t—shouldn’t expect you to—”

There’s that moment, not the first, not the last, where soft, slightly shaky hands cup Peter’s face and a pair of lips press to his own, open and warm and inviting, cutting off his rambling in the best possible way. His eyes are already closed, so he just leans into it with a slightly hitched breath, reaches up to wrap his fingers around Harley’s wrist with one hand, the other hesitating before settling lightly against Harley’s waist, curling into the fabric of his sweatshirt as he tried to imitate what Harley’s doing, parts his lips and moves like he does, hopes that he’s doing it right because he doesn’t really have much else to compare it to. It seems like he’s doing alright, though, because Harley makes a dizzying sort of desperate noise that rumbles in the back of his through and he moves one hand to Peter’s hair and the other to the back of Peter’s neck and tries to pull him closer and deepen the kiss and Peter’s hands are shaking but he ignores it and gets lost in this feeling, this moment.

It feels like they must kiss for years before they pull away, panting and out of breath and wearing dopey little smiles. Peter’s words, everything he wants to say, is lodged in his throat and impossible to talk around so he just kisses Harley again and again and again, little pecks that try to say everything he can’t, until he finally stop and leans their foreheads together and takes a deep, shaky breath.

“I thought...” Harley trails off, clears his throat and closes his eyes. “‘Cause of how you kept reacting, I just—I thought you didn’t want me.”

“God, I want you,” Peter breathes, shaking his head slightly. “I’ve been crushing on you for over a year, Harley. I definitely want you. Like, one hundred percent, please date me, I really want to keep kissing kind of want you, y’know?”

A heavy exhale pushes its way out of Harley’s mouth, a sound of relief and an emotional sort of happiness, and he leans in again, kisses Peter with a sense of urgency, lips moving fervently and fingers lightly brushing through Peter’s hair, fingertips skimming across his jaw and mapping out the shape of his face while Peter just presses closer and hopes that this moment never ends, wishes that all of their moment, the eyes meeting across the room, the awkward fumbling through nervous compliments when seeing one another in their fancy suits, the heaviness of something unspoken weighing them down in the elevator while Peter stumbled through a compliment, the feeling of their sides pressed close together and their fingers intertwined and this kiss, god, this kiss.

If they did nothing but kiss til the end of time, Peter would be happy. God, he could die now and he would be content, holding onto Harley and kissing him, kissing him, kissing him, until he’s dizzy and warm and he has to break the kiss because happy little giggles are bubbling out of his throat and Harley just grins, a bit dazed and fond, and he loops his arms around Peter’s shoulders and pulls him in for a hug, the two of them curling into one another and cuddling close together, and only when their little bouts of laughter have calmed down does Peter clear his throat and ask, “What do you think of Gremlins, by the way?”

“Oh, I want a Gizmo,” Harley answers instantly, presses his nose to the underside of Peter’s jaw as he snuggles into him. “The other fuckers deserved to die, but Gizmo is a precious baby and I would die for him.”

“I wanna get a cat named Gizmo,” Peter muses, eyes closing, every muscle relaxing into the mattress. “I think it’d be cute.”

Harley hums lightly. “Now I know what to get you for Christmas.”

“May and I can’t have pets at the apartment.”

“But I can convince Tony to let you keep a cat here,” Harley points out, shrugging a shoulder half-heartedly. “Don’t worry about it. Just maybe think about what kind of cat you want and let me know in time to go look around at nearby shelters. And maybe try to act surprised when I give it to you.”

Peter snorts, smothers a grin in Harley’s hair. “You’re crazy.”

He can feel the smile on Harley’s face against the side of his neck. “Crazy for you, Parker. Now shut up and go to sleep. Cuddling makes me tired.”

“Bossy,” Peter murmurs, but leaves it there, starting to feel drowsy himself, and when he drifts away, he’s still wearing a happy little grin.

[maroonmorons]

Also since you said you'd like more prompts: Buck for some reason ending up holding a baby and Eddie sees it and despite the fact that they literally just got together and it is waaaay too early to think about it, Eddie's mind is already making up images of Buck holding their child while Chris peers down at his new sibling. Orrrrrr a story where Buck grows his hair out and Eddie (again) loses his shit because CURLS and the team teases him. - cinnamon roll anon

(ok so I started writing this and it got a wee bit crazy so hopefully you don’t mind adlfkslfnsdnf)

honesty means telling you the truth (buck/eddie, T, 2k) AO3

           “No, Daddy!Like Bucky’s!”

Hesitantly, meeting Christopher’s eyes in the mirror, Eddielowers the brush he’d been gently working through Christopher’s curls.

           “Like Bucky’s?”

           “Yeah!”Christopher insists. “Down.”

He jerks his hands in a sideways motion that’s apparentlysupposed to mimics Buck’s.

           “Mijo,”Eddie sighs, “I don’t know how Buck does his hair.”

           “Why not?”Christopher demands, as if it’s perfectly reasonable for Eddie to ask his bestfriend about his grooming habits.

           “I’m notsure. You can ask him next time you see him, okay?”

Christopher sighs but immediately pairs it with a softsmile.

           “Okay,Daddy.”

           “Daddydoesn’t have these luscious curls,” Eddie teases. “Daddy doesn’t know.” Heworks the brush through Christopher’s hair carefully before putting in a littlegel and tousling Christopher’s hair.

Truthfully, he’s not sure he wants to see his tiny son withsuch an adult, pulled together style. But, if it will make Christopher happy –Eddie is more than willing to adjust.

…

The day ends up being painfully long and Eddie nearlyforgets to mention the conversation to Buck.

It’s only when Buck emerges from the shower with his curlsstill doused and a towel around his shoulders to protect his fresh grey t-shirtthat Eddie thinks of it again.

           “You know,Chris asked me to do his hair like yours today.”

As expected, Buck’s entire face lights up.

           “No way,”he grins, “really?”

           “Really,”Eddie confirms. “He said ‘like Bucky’s!’” Eddie does a purposefully silly highpitched voice to imitate his son.

Buck grins so wide his eyes all but disappear.

           “He’d lookso cute. Then again…he always looks cute.”

Eddie almost puffs up his chest with pride, even thougheveryone in the station already knows how proud he is of Christopher.

“Chris is so young though,” Buck adds, expression turningsoft and thoughtful, “he should just have fun right now.”

Eddie arches a brow.

           “So, youdon’t have fun anymore?”

Buck scoffs.

           “Obviously,I have fun, Eddie. I just gel my hair because helmet hair, duh.”

           “What aboutwhen you’re not here?”

           “I don’tgel my hair when I’m just working out or chilling at home,” Buck says, shrugging.He pulls the towel from his shoulders as he approaches his locker, snapping thetowel playfully at Eddie even though they’re not close enough for it to makecontact.

           “You alwaysgel your hair when I see you,” Eddie points out.

Buck is silent for long enough that Eddie looks back up frombuttoning his own shirt.

Is Buck blushing? The back of his neck and what Eddiecan see of his cheek are tinged pink.

           “Just usedto it,” Buck mumbles finally.

           “You justsaid you don’t gel it every morning though,” Eddie argues.

He doesn’t know why he isn’t letting it go but…well, he justisn’t.

Buck sighs, half turning to Eddie.

Yeah, he’s definitely blushing.

           “It looksbetter, alright?”

           “Awwww,”Eddie coos. “You make sure you look nice for me, Buckley?”

           “You knowyou’re handsome,” Buck says.

His mouth does a funny little thing around the word handsome,as if he’d been about to say something else.

           “Do I makeyou feel insecure?” Eddie asks, frowning now.

Buck groans in response.

           “No, youdon’t. Okay? Just. Let’s talk about something else.”

Eddie finishes his shirt, letting Buck think he’s going tolet it go. Then, he crosses to his best friend and busts out his signaturemove.

His hand meets the juncture between Buck’s neck andshoulder. He presses just hard enough to convey his sincerity.

           “You cantell me, Buck.”

Buck sighs and rolls his eyes quickly before meeting Eddie’sgaze again.

           “My parentsgot me started doing it when I was young. So, it’s pretty much ingrained in menow.”

Eddie has to run his tongue over his teeth to keep himselffrom saying something rash.

           “Well,” hesettles on, “if you ever decide to let your curls down – you’ll matchChristopher.”

It’s enough to ease a smile back over Buck’s lips and Eddiecounts it as a win.

…

>> so Friday night..

Eddie frowns at his phone screen.

Is he forgetting plans?

Friday night?

>> I could come over

Buck supplies immediately.

>> spend the night and help Chris do his hair inthe morning

Eddie smiles at the thought immediately.

sounds great

He’s definitely gonna have to take pictures.

…

The week drags its feet all the way into Friday afternoon,enough that Eddie feels like he’s going to go crazy with it.

Everything is more than ready for Buck to come over. It’s tooclean, actually.

For all the shit Eddie gave Buck about trying to look goodfor him – he’s certainly trying to look good for Buck now.

Dios mío, Eddie thinks.

It’s a good thing his best friend can be oblivioussometimes.

If only Buck knew…

But it wouldn’t be a good idea to think about that now.

Buck won’t be here in the next five minutes but he will behere soon. Not to mention, Eddie can’t sneak off when he gets here either.

So, nope. Eddie will not be thinking about what Buck lookslike fresh out of the shower. He won’t be thinking about Buck growing his hairout so it would be long enough to hold onto. No – he certainly won’t bethinking about that.

Eddie takes a deep breath and thinks about getting a glassof ice water to drink.

Yup, think about ice, Eddie. Just think about ice.

Eddie’s will is tested increasingly as the night progresses.

First of all – they have popcorn with extra butter. This hasBuck constantly touching his lips and leaving shiny smears of butter along thepink curves.

Then, of course, he’s wrapping those same lips around theneck of his beer bottle to drink from it.

And (worst of all?) when they watch Air Bud Buckcries. He tries to hide it but he’s biting at those damn lips and making theseawful snuffling sounds that make Eddie want to duck and cover his way right outof the room.

Finally, Eddie has to smack the side of his arm where it’slying across the back of the couch.

Luckily, Christopher remains oblivious between them.

What the hell? Eddie demands with his eyes.

On screen the golden retriever is eating pudding excitedly.

Judging by the tilt of Christopher’s head he’s concerned buthe’s certainly not as affected as Buck.

But Buck just squints at Eddie before hunching his shouldersand crossing his arms.

Eddie doesn’t miss the way Buck’s hand keeps sneaking up tothe corners of his eyes for the next several minutes.

Eddie doesn’t check on Buck verbally until the movie isover.

           “You good?”

There – that’s safe. He could just be asking if Buck is tootired. Right? Right.

Buck shoots him a smile that Eddie examines for a longmoment before allowing himself to relax.

           “Fine, Eds.You good?”

Eddie nods in confirmation and Buck immediately leans downto Chris.

“And what about you, Superman? You good?”

           “I’m good,Bucky,” Christopher says, only half yawning.

           “Good.”

Buck looks to Eddie again, cheeks darkening when he seesEddie still watching him.

For a split second, it sends a sliver of unease throughEddie.

Does Buck know?

He can’t.

Right?

Christopher only makes it through half the next movie beforedropping off and Eddie carries him to bed before helping Buck clean up.

He makes sure Buck’s set up in the guest room before making hisway to his own bed.

He may or may not sigh wistfully to himself on the way thereand once he’s settled in.

…

When Eddie makes his way to the coffeemaker the followingmorning he sees there’s already coffee brewed.

As he makes himself a cup, he listens to giggles coming fromthe bathroom.

By the time he walks back down the hallway there’s a smileon his face.

Buck and Christopher are side by side in the mirror,Christopher grinning into the mirror as Buck touches up the sides of hisperfectly gelled hair.

Buck’s hair is still surprisingly gel free and damp from ashower. He must have been up even earlier than Christopher.

           “Okay,”Buck says, “now for the finishing touch.”

He helps Christopher put his glasses back on, fingertipslight against Christopher’s head.

           “I looklike you, Bucky!”

           “You do,”Buck agrees, grinning right back at the boy. “And I look like you!”

Fuck, Eddie thinks vaguely.

Buck is going to be the death of him. Sooner rather thanlater it looks like.

           “Mijo, youlook so old!” Eddie teases. “When are you moving out?”

Christopher giggles.

           “Never,Daddy!”

           “Good.”

Eddie squeezes into the bathroom and sets his mug on thecounter so he can pick Christopher up.

           “I love you,Son.”      

           “I love youtoo. And Bucky.”

Christopher wraps both arms around Eddie’s neck even as hesays it, so Eddie’s not too bothered.

Eddie deposits Christopher at the table in the kitchen, arelieved smile fitting itself to his lips as he sees Buck brought his coffeeout behind them.

           “Thank you,”he says, accepting the mug. “Your curls are adorable, Buckley.”

Predictable, by now, Buck blushes in response.

           “Well, they’renot all smooshed from my helmet or my pillow. So…they look alright.”

Eddie’s not sure he’s allowed. But he’s also not sure he’llever have the chance again.

Disguising his nerves by taking a sip of coffee, he reachesout with his left hand to run his fingers through Buck’s curls.

There’s more hair than Eddie expected and his fingers curlwithout his permission.

Before he realizes it he’s got a handful of Buck’s hair anda mouthful of coffee. Eddie’s brain is painfully unable to determine what to dowith either.

Slowly, his brain starts to crank into action again.

He lowers the mug in his right hand and carefully swallows thehot coffee. Then, he forces himself to release Buck’s hair.

           “I, uh,didn’t know your hair was so long.”

           “Yeah,”Buck says, “curls are, uh, deceptive. I should get it trimmed, actually.”

           “Don’t.”

Fuck. You were almost out of the woods, Diaz.

           “Um,” Buckhalf smiles. “Why not?”

           “It…looksgood,” Eddie says lamely.

           “Does itfeel good?”

           “I…”

           “You?” Buckprompts.

           “Should makebreakfast.”

           “Okay,”Buck agrees, letting him off the hook.

Eddie has a feeling it has a lot more to do with Christophersitting at the table than anything else.

…

The locker room is empty when Eddie arrives for the nextshift and he changes perfunctorily.

He doesn’t see Buck until he gets upstairs and he verynearly stops in his tracks.

Buck’s hair is defined with gel but not brushed in anyspecific direction.

He looks amazing.

More than that though, what’s got Eddie’s stomach curling inon itself, is that Eddie knows it’s for him.

Buck has a smile that looks like it’s just for Eddie as heapproaches.

Eddie can’t help but think that yeah, that smile probably isjust for him.

           “Hey,” Bucksays.

           “Hey,”Eddie returns.

He has literally no idea who is upstairs with them. He hasn’tlooked yet and doesn’t much care.

“Your hair looks nice.”

           “Thanks.”

Buck blinks twice rapidly.

“I thought maybe if I did something for you, you’d dosomething for me?”

Even though he feels breathless, Eddie forces himself to respond;

           “Yeah?”

           “You couldask me on a date,” Buck suggests.

           “Is thatsomething you want?” Eddie can’t help but ask.

           “Don’t youalready know?” Buck demands after huffing out a laugh.

Eddie tucks his hands in his pockets and lifts both shouldersin a shrug.

           “Chim, Chim,”Hen is whisper shouting, “get up here, it’s happening. It’s happening!”

Buck and Eddie both ignore her.

           “Yes,Eddie, I would like to go out with you. Now, will you actually ask me out?”

           “Can we grabsome dinner next time we’re not both here?”

           “Yeah. CanChris come for the first part?”

He’s gonna be the death of me.

           “Yeah,”Eddie agrees faintly. “He can.”

For the first part.

Still, might not be a bad way to go…

[lukatheselkie]

HMC - Body Swap

@hetaliamondaychallenge

I’m sort of back. I still don’t feel well enough to strictly use canon characters, so have this cute oneshot of Prussia and one of my OCs.

College AU where they’re still countries and personifications. Arthur leads the Soulmate Body Swap Program.

Pairing: Prussia x Alrik (OC; Fika)

Headcanons: Gilbert often wears blue contacts to change his eyes from red to purple. The pain given from touching a scar depends on the severity of the situation that gave it, and sometimes who gave it.

Content Warning: Cussing, scars, specific sex toys mentioned but not used.

    Alrik grunts quietly when his phone blares an alarm at him. He rolls over and pokes at the screen, turning it off. He doesn’t recall setting an alarm, as he usually lets the sun wake him up, but sometimes he does stuff without realizing. He sits up with a sigh, shaking his head in an attempt to clear his sleepiness. He furrows his brows when his hair doesn’t hit him in the face. What’s with that? He opens his eyes slowly when he hears an unfamiliar voice nearby. “Where the hell am I!?” This is not his room! The door flies open and a concerned Ludwig hurries in.

    “Gil, jou’re at home, not jour dorm. Jou drank too much last night und passed out.” That explains the headache. Wait… Ludwig? Gil? He tosses his head back and groans loudly. “Gil? Are jou okay?” The gentleness in his voice infuriates Alrik.

    “Nej! Jag är inte okej! Jag kan inte tro att din dumma bror är min själsfrände! (No! I'm not okay! I cannot believe that your stupid brother is my soulmate!)” Ludwig’s eyes widen and he stumbles backwards a bit. Only one person would yell at him like that.

    “Alrik…?” He huffs and crosses his arms over his chest.

    “Who else?” Ludwig stares at him for a long moment. “Don’t just look at me!” He turns his head away, cheeks flushed in both anger and embarrassment. He will never admit it, but Ludwig is pretty attractive without his hair gelled back. “Go call Arthur! I’m going to make sure today isn’t Berty’s day as well. What a pain that would be.” Alrik sighs, and grabs for Gilbert’s phone. He grimaces when an ‘enter passcode’ message pops up. “You don’t happen to know his passcode, do you?” Ludwig shakes his head slowly.

    “Nein. But he should have fingerprint ID on.” Alrik places his thumb over the home button, keeping his expression cautiously neutral. Thankfully it works, and he navigates to the calling app. He types in Albert’s number with ease; it’s one of three phone numbers he knows by heart. The other two are his own and Berwald’s. He lifts his head up to glare at Ludwig when he hears him part his lips to say something. The German holds up a hand and backs out of the room.

    “Hallå?” Alrik sighs in relief when he hears his brother’s voice.

    “Berty.” He puts as much love into the name as he can. “Is that you?” He can almost see Albert’s brows furrowing.

    “Ja.”

    “Oh thank goodness. You didn’t swap today. This is Rikky.” Alberts makes a quiet, shocked noise. “I know. I was hoping to have more time too. But there’s nothing I can do about it. Listen—Gilbert is in my body. I’m not happy about it, but apparently we’re soulmates.” Alrik lets out a groan. “Great. I have to make up with him.” He shakes his head. “That’s besides the point. Make sure he puts my necklace on, okay? Please. Oh, also! Wake him up rudely. He uses an alarm, and my ears are still ringing from it. He’s lucky it didn’t trigger my hearing sensory overload. Ludwig is calling Arthur. We’ll have to settle on a place to meet later. I just had to make sure you were okay, and knew what was happening. Jag älskar dig.” He ends the call before Albert can ask him to stay. He’s weak to his brother, but he really needs time to process. Ludwig peeks his head into the room.

    “Hopefully he didn’t switch?” Alrik shakes his head in response.

    “Nej.” He tosses the phone aside haphazardly. “Did you call Arthur yet?”

    “He’s not answering.” Ludwig stares at him for a long moment. “Vhy don’t jou take a shower? It vill help zat headache.” Alrik bristles.

    “As if! I don’t want to- to-!” His face turns crimson. Ludwig can’t help but smirk a tiny bit.

    “Don’t vant to see him naked?” Maybe he finds this a bit *too* humorous. “Jou vill see him like zat eventually.”

    “I don’t want to think about that.” Ludwig shrugs. “...But I’ll wash his hair. That should help clear his head. My head? I don’t know how this works.”

    “Jour head. Jou also sound more like jourself zan him. I hope Antonio und Francis don’t vant to hang out vith him today.” Alrik perks up at the mention of Francis. “Vhat? Do jou like ein of zem?”     “Not particularity. I’m hoping Francis and Berty are soulmates though. That would be nice. Good for Berty, for sure.” Ludwig smiles at him. It takes him off guard. “What?”

    “Jou und Gil aren’t too different. He often puts his brother—me—first too. Jou’re both run by emotions. Jou have a more feminine style zough.” Alrik’s head jerks up at that.

    “He better not touch my cute clothes! I spend a lot of time making sure they’re perfectly put up! And if he even thinks about touching my makeup, I’m going to filet him!” Ludwig chuckles. “It’s not funny!”

    “I know it’s not. But I’ve never seen jou zis passionate before. It’s refreshing. Und a lot like Gil. It makes sense jou two are soulmates.”

    “It does not! I hate his guts!” Ludwig sits at the end of the bed quietly.

    “But vhy?”

    “Jou know ze answer to zat.”

    “Humor me.” Alrik looks away.

    “...Fine. I’ve been unfairly rude and mean to you. Gilbert is only being a good brother by protecting you. It’s my fault things get physical.” Ludwig nods slowly.

    “Vhy do jou hate me zough?”

    “I don’t.” Alrik closes his eyes and lays back, clearly not wanting to explain. Ludwig lets the silence stretch out between them. By the time five minutes has passed, the Swedish man can’t handle it anymore. “I’m jealous, okay? I’ve known Feliciano wouldn’t be my soulmate. But I still fell in love with him. It’s completely one-sided and that’s fine. What’s not fine is how effortlessly you got close to him! I spent so long trying… Only to be pushed aside when you came into his life. I’ll never compare to you.” He turns his head into the pillow, trying not to cry. He takes a deep, shaky breath. A surprised grunt leaves his lips when he smells something sweet yet musky. “Den jäveln luktar till och med bra! Jag hatar honom så mycket! (That bastard even smells good! I hate him so much!)”

    “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be the source of jour pain. I don’t know how to fix zat. But I vill say Feli has already swapped vith his soulmate, und it’s not me. I hope jou can find some reassurance in that.” Strangely, it makes Alrik feel a bit better. Ludwig laughs quietly, and he shoots back up. His eyes land on the phone in his hand. “I had my phone ready to translate,” he explains. “I know jou slip into Swedish vhen jou’re angry. I zought realizing jou laid back on his bed vould make jou angry. I vas right, but I vasn’t expecting jou to say he smells gut.” Alrik flushes crimson, and stands up quickly.

    “I’m going to wash his hair now! And I’m using whatever I see fit. He can go one day without proper care. I never fully care for mine, and it’s fine.” Ludwig raises his brows at him, but doesn’t say anything. He practically barricades himself in the ensuite. He lets out a quiet sigh of relief when he hears Ludwig leave the room beyond the door. He takes the opportunity to study Gilbert in the mirror.

    His eyes are a beautiful, piercing red. He could swear they’re purple most of the time though… Ah, he has a pair of blue contact lenses. For some reason, the knowledge that Gilbert wants to hide his eyes makes his heart ache. There’s no need to! He shakes his head, and looks at him some more. His jaw is a lot sharper than Alrik’s. His nose is longer and more slender. He smiles, and even that’s different. Gilbert is roguishly handsome, whereas Alrik’s soft and cute. His stomach knots up; he really does look like a woman, doesn’t he? He decides to stop looking at Gilbert's facial features, and tugs off his shirt instead. He pauses at the sight of the bare torso. He had no idea he was so toned. He glances at the mirror, and feels something within him shift awake.

    “Nej! Absolutely not! Stop it, mind! I am not attracted to Gilbert! Under no circumstances will I ever be attracted to him!” His mind isn’t listening to him. But he’s not listening to his mind, either. He’s too busy staring at the scars. They’re easily hidden with a shirt, just as his are, but they’re clearly there. They aren’t quite as deep as his, but most still have a decent depth to them. He runs his fingers over them lightly. Only some cause pain to shoot through him. The majority of them either ache dully or don’t react at all. He knows the ones that hurt the most are from other personifications, or a serious happening in his country when it was around. He finds himself wondering if there’s one from being dissolved.

    “Alrik? Are jou alright? I heard yelling.”

    “J-ja, I’m fine.” It barely comes out. He shakes his head, and turns toward the tub. There’s no point in wondering when he can ask Gilbert about them later. They have to get along somehow. Whether they liked it or not, it had been decided they were soulmates. He would try it if Gilbert was willing. But that’s the thing, isn’t it? Gilbert might not be willing. He can only imagine what’s happening there. ~

    Gilbert jolts awake to cold water being poured on him. “Vhat ze hell!?” He hears a quiet laughter that gives him pause. That sounds nothing like Ludwig! And why doesn’t his head hurt? He knows he drank a bit too much last night.

    “God morgen, sleepy head,” says a voice he’s not entirely sure is there. He looks around the room, and frowns when he sees a white-blonde haired man. He has too many curls to be Ludwig. And he’s wearing big, round glasses. He looks vaguely familiar. “Your alarm nearly caused my brother to go into sensory overload. Du should be more cautious, when du know du could swap anytime.” Ah. He recognizes him now. Stockholm Syndrome. What’s his human name again? Al… Bert? Yeah, that sounds right! But why is he in my room? He runs over the words in his head. ...Unless he’s not in his room.

    “Scheiße!” He hops up, and feels sick at how close to the ground he is. His soulmate is *at least* seven centimeters shorter than he is! He has who it is figured out before he can even make it to a mirror. The mirror confirms it though. He runs a hand over his—Alrik’s—face, then through his hair. He grimaces at the rough texture. Well, it’s not really rough, but it’s not as soft or as cared for as his hair.

    “I’ll go help Berwald make breakfast.” Albert leaves the room, looking a little too smug, probably about having poured cold water over Gilbert. He goes back to his frantic inspection of Alrik. His nose is short and somewhat squat. His cheeks are pudgy, and his jawline isn’t very strong. His lips are decently plump. He runs his fingers over everything he looks at, except for his eyes. Everything about his facial features is round. That combined with his normal fashion sense and makeup? No wonder he gets mistaken as a woman. It’s rather unfortunate, honestly. He’s rather pretty, when he’s not scowling. Which he isn’t, because Gilbert’s in control. But his body can’t be so feminine people get a good look at him and think he’s still a woman, right?

    “Zis feels strange,” Gilbert grumbles as he pulls off Alrik’s nightgown. The first thing that catches his eye is his semi-hourglass shape. Guess they can. The second thing he notices is the scars. He’ll come back to those in just a moment. He pokes Alrik’s stomach, laughing a bit when it moves. He’s not quite overweight, but he’s not thin either. He might weigh more than Albert. Gilbert grabs hold of his hips, and sways around a bit. Everything about Alrik is soft. Well, besides his personality. Maybe that’s why he didn’t notice how cute the man is until now.

    He shifts his attention to the deep scars. They look painful. He lightly traces the longest one, which crosses the majority of his torso, flinching heavily at the pain it causes. Regret knots up in his gut. He knows for a fact he’s punched Alrik where this one is. Yet he continued to fight. He’s strong. Gilbert shakes his head and moves on to the next one, down his left side. It’s not as deep, but it still hurts to touch. He lays a hand over the shortest and shallowest one, on his right upper forearm, and frowns. It doesn’t hurt enough to pull away, but it still stings. “Vhere did jou get zese?” He stares at Alrik’s reflection, and notices another one on his inner left thigh. He cautiously places a hand over it, and promptly makes a strangled noise of pleasure. *That one hurts and causes arousal at the same time, got it.* He pokes around at Alrik’s body a bit more, and that’s how he finds the fifth scar. It’s on his lower back, so that’s why he didn’t see it to begin with. He examines the rest of his body, but there’s only those five scars.

    “Gilb’rt, g’t dr’ssed. P’t his n’ckl’ce on. It’s on his n’ghtst’nd.” He comes back to his senses at the gruff voice. Berwald. His eyes dart around the room. There’s a dresser and a closet. He goes to the closet first, but quickly figures out it mainly holds dresses, skirts, and super fancy shirts. There’s a pair of cream, knee-high, heeled, open-toed boots he intends to wear though. He finds the necklace Berwald mentioned, and ties it around his neck. He searches through the dresser from top to bottom, left to right. The top shelf has sweatpants, the second has large shirts, the third, fourth, fifth, and sixth have cute shirts, the seventh and eighth have skirts, the ninth has patterned pants, and the tenth causes Gilbert to flush crimson, slamming it shut. He takes a few deep breaths, preparing himself to open it again. When he does, he looks closer at the items inside.

    There’s a few boxes, each containing a different type of lube, five egg vibrators, varying in sizes and all wireless, two dildos, one of which is delightfully sparkly, one realistic thrusting vibrator, one double-sided dildo with an insertable vibrator, seven cock rings, a fleshlight, two warming vibrators, three sets of anal beads, and a large amount of suction cups to stick onto any of the dildos or vibrators with a flat or semi-flat bottom, presumably for wall or floor fun. He feels himself blushing harder by the second, but he commits the items to memory. Since they’re soulmates, he fully intends to use as many as he can on Alrik. But much, much later. There’s also a few silk scarfs in the drawer, but he doesn’t let himself think about what those might be for.

    He goes backwards a few drawers, picking out some light blue jeans with a cloud pattern, a cream skirt, and a light blue shirt with a cream squiggle pattern on it, almost like stripes. He pulls the clothes on, then the shoes he pulled out of the closet earlier. He can’t help but smile when he notices Alrik’s toenails are painted a pretty bronze. He stands up, and lets out a sigh of relief. Thank goodness! He’s back to his usual height! And the boots are wedges, so they’re pretty easy to walk in. He makes his way to the ensuite to fix Alrik’s hair. When he’s done with that he looks at the makeup, and decides to put some on.

~

    “I can’t believe him,” Alrik groans out, shaking his head at the sight of what Gilbert dressed his body in. Ludwig chuckles, but doesn’t say anything. Thankfully, Arthur let the two soulmates and their siblings skip classes for the day. Normally it’s just the soulmates that get to skip, but this is a special case.

    “I heard zat, jou know.” Alrik sets Gilbert’s face in a scowl. “Hmph. Vell I think it’s sexy.”

    “That’s exactly why I don’t like it. How many men flirted with you on your way here?” He hums in thought.

    “Twenty? Don’t vorry, none of zem zink jou’re a voman anymore.” Alrik holds up his hand.

    “I don’t want to know. Can I have my body back so I can fix… this?” He motions at the entirety of him. Gilbert places his hands on his hips and makes a kissy face.

    “Vhy? Jou look gut!” Alrik shakes his head with a heavy sigh. “Fine, fine. But jou have to promise not to upset Luddy.”

    “I won’t. We talked that through. I… was being unreasonable. But that’s in the past now. You’re my soulmate, not Feliciano.” Gilbert’s eyes widened slightly. Ah. That makes a lot of sense.

    “I’m a better soulmate zan him anyvay! For jou, at least.” His voice goes almost soft. Ludwig and Albert give each other a confused look. Gilbert breaks out into a laugh. “Being in someone else’s body lets jou get to know zem better, so of course ve’re getting along.”

    “Mm. He’s right. I feel like I know Gilbert much better than I did when I went to sleep last night.” Alrik-in-Gilbert’s-body turns to Albert. “You can go on to class, if you want. I know how much you hate missing.”

    “Ah, jou too, Luddy. Ve’re fine. I promise I von’t attack him. Zat’s in ze past.” Alrik nods along to his words.

    “If jou’re sure.” They nod enthusiastically. “Zen…” He holds out his arm to Albert. “Shall ve?” His lips part, and he nods after a moment. He cautiously takes hold of Ludwig’s arm, smiles shyly at him, and walks away with him.

    “That was uncharacteristic for Berty. He’s wearing his gloves, but he doesn’t normally touch anyone. Today must have us all frayed.” Alrik shakes his head. Gilbert chuckles.

    “Speaking of frayed… Mr. I-own-twenty-two-sex-toys.” Gilbert watches his own face turn crimson in a blush.

    “I knew I should have hidden those in my closet! I can’t believe you counted them!” He shrugs nonchalantly.

    “I vas super embarrassed vhen I found zem. But I knew I couldn’t pass up ze opportunity.” Alrik huffs, blushing even harder.

    “Shush! I don’t want to hear anymore! Let’s just get this meal over with so we can switch back. The way you did my lip gloss is bothering me.” Gilbert grins at him.

    “If jou insist. But can I kiss jou after ve switch back?”

    “You have to remove my necklace first. In this body, not mine. It’s important to me that my soulmate be the one to remove it. I’ll tell you the story later, if you have to know.”

    “I vould like to know. Danke for offering to tell me ze story. But jou’re right, ve should change back first. I’m vashing jour hair zough! Und getting jou product. Jou don’t take care of it, do jou?”

    “I don’t really see a need to. I don’t have split ends, and I don’t even get it cut professionally.” Gilbert scoffs.

    “Zat explains ze unevenness. It vas hell pulling it back, jou know! But it looks nice now. Let me take care of it if jou von’t.” Alrik makes a quiet noise of disbelief.

    “...Fine.” He turns his head away. “If you promise to be gentle.” Gilbert smiles brightly. How cute. “Not because I can’t handle it! I’d just rather not deal with my sensory overload.”

    “Ah, jou’re really cute vhen jou’re not aiming a punch at me.” Alrik crosses his arms over his chest.

    “And you better not forget it!” He closes his eyes and tilts his head back. “And you’re handsome. Don’t let it get to your head.” He opens his eyes in time to see Gilbert grin. “I said don’t let it get to your head!”

    “I’m not, I’m not.” He waves him off. “It makes me happy to hear zat zough. I’m glad ve both decided to try zis.”

    “I am too.” His voice is barely above a whisper. “You don’t plan on using my toys against me, do you?” The silence is deafening. “GILBERT!” He laughs loudly, getting a few seconds head start in running away. It’s no use though; Alrik’s legs are too short to successfully run from Gilbert’s body. But that knowledge is worth being caught.

    “In the far, far future, okay? Nothing for at least a year.” Alrik calms down a bit.

    “M-maybe before then is okay… But six months minimum!” Gilbert sticks his tongue out happily. Alrik rolls his eyes and goes back to the table, Gilbert following after. Despite their past, he’s glad Gil is his soulmate. As Ludwig said, they have a lot in common. And there’s the added bonus of two older brothers to worry over each younger brother.

[saint-patrice]

you are both so valid and i love you. 

nicklas bäckström suffers from a chronic and apparently terminal case of underrated. all anyone ever talks about is how underrated he is, yet the nhl still have the audacity to make a ‘top 20 centres’ list that looks like this. beats me. anyway, to make up for this travesty, i like to allocate 99% of the love in my tiny body to backy, and i invite you all to do the same

see here for other posts like this one! i am also taking requests for ‘em :)

a personal favourite because he looks so soft and also like an actual angel. he has his usual air of vague distrust about him, but this is one of the few photos where he doesn’t have honest-to-god murder in his eyes. he is so handsome and so clearly of the fae realm

(gif via @backiesand8) nicke’s hair is legitimately gorgeous and i’m going to start a petition for him to wear it as it really is instead of gelled back or whatever. the curls are so pretty and the golden blond? chef’s kiss

(gif via @glovesdropped) my fav thing is that backy is 100% the team dad, but very begrudgingly. like, “yes i will take care of you all, but i’ll hold it against you for the rest of your lives”. it is so endearing. he is also the King of Loving Ikea

*chanting with increasing volume* angel! angel! angeL! angEL! anGEL! aNGEL! ANGEL! ANGEL! ANGEL! ANGEL! ANGEL! i am convinced that genuine nicke smiles make the world go round

nicklas backstrom is a stanley cup champion and i will never, not even for a second, let anyone forget that fact

that’s him. that’s my elite swedish centre

and here we see nicklas backstrom in his natural habitat: trying to destroy any camera pointed in his direction with nothing but his laser-beam gaze. every single occurence of this (of which there are many) is delightful. he may hate some teams, he may hate some players, but his real nemesis is whichever camera is pointed at him at any given moment

(gif via @backiesand8) upon seeing this, i can conjure up no words other than ‘elven trickster god’. LOOK AT THAT LITTLE GRIN. HE’S UP TO NO GOOD AND I ADORE IT

a baby! just a lil circular boy! comparing baby nicklas to current nicklas is my favourite because literally nothing has changed, except for a slight mellowing of the swedish accent, and a 9% reduction in cheek chubbiness. it’s the same nicke 

there he is. my very embarassing dad

i can’t believe he threatened god into giving him anti-gravity abilities

usual nicke: calm, collected, civilised

cup celebration nicke: frat boy, unrestrained party animal, swimming in a puddle of beer, yelling 24/7. a pure delight

in which nicke gets genuinely concerned by laundry sounds whilst trying to give an interview... no one had introduced him to this aspect of the human realm, evidently

a beautiful cherub whom i love and cherish, and also fear just slightly

nicke’s day with the cup brings me such a deep level of joy.... his kids, him with that baby, him getTING TEARY WITH HIS FAMILY. it’s all so beautiful. and of course the dad instincts kicked in as he started to powerwash the cup. although given the summer that thing had, it was probably much needed 

i’m fine, breathing perfectly normally, not making a sound like a strangled goat, definitely not about to die, and by no means crying. ovi and backy love each other so fuckin much (possibly the most ever) and i’m obsessed with it

i have so many questions and whilst there are no answers in sight, my life is deeply enriched by the existence of this photo. thank you, PT_Andreas

(gif via @kailxr) kind of looks like he’s calculating the velocity at which he’d need to throw the nearest object at to crack someone’s skull open but whatever. backy gives off Big Intelligent vibes and i want to sit down at a nice bar somewhere and have a conversation with him

this photo combines what are, in my opinion, two of the best iterations of this man: Dad Nicke and Fridge Nicke. i love vince bäckström with my whole heart,, he’s so adorabLE

(gif via @backiesand8) the playoff beard was genuinely the worst. he still cute tho

this year we were treated to a wonderful off-season nicke sighting during the brynas hf black and white game. he appeared to be thriving (if a little.. toasted at times), even debuting a very exciting new celly! maybe the caps’ overwhelming chaotic energies are rubbing off on him after all this time...

here it is: the obligatory puppy photo. i think i will burst into an ungodly amount of flames if i try to voice my thoughts on this image

(edit via @tjoshbabe) this is saved to my computer as “husbANDS.jpg” and i will leave you on that note