#see my whole thing is that jean fits this concept PERFECTLY to me but he's not on my fuck list

[woahjo]

you think tendou would do it? i was also thinking of tadashi, but idk i feel like the guilt would be too much for him?

see i ALSO think tendou would fuck his stepsibling but i think he doesn't have an ounce of shame in his body to feel all THAT guilty. like sure he feels it, but it's a secondary thing to him once he realizes that he can't control how people think about him. plus i think he gets off on it BIG TIME. shamelessly jerks it into your panties type, rather than jerk it into your panties and be like "what am i doing?"

LMFAO YOU'RE SO RIGHT. tadashi would crack under the guilt of it, he's too sweet i think to be able to carry on that way, though he does have the right disposition. love him to DEATH though. real bad.

[brothersonahotelbed]

sleepover ask game!! tell me abt ur day and an unpopular opinion <3

hi dominic!!!

my day was really fun actually :D it was my little brother's birthday so he, my dad, and i were out almost the whole day. we went to build-a-bear and my brother & i got matching frog plushies and then we went to this mall i i haven't been to in the loooooongest time which was so fun. it has this 2-storey carousel on the second floor that was my favorite thing in the whole world as a kid, and i rode on it again today for the first time in. god maaybe 5 or 6 years? it was sooo much fun for me but it was also really cool to see my little brother enjoy it too :] and then we got dinner and i ate eggs benedict for the first time ever and then had ice cream cake at home <3 and my brother loved the gift i gave him (my old mp3 player with a shit ton of songs on it) and so i sort felt like the best sibling in the world. so yeah really good day :)

an unpopular opinion! i don't think this is considered an unpopular opinion on tumblr/the internet tbh but in real life i've met next to no one who agrees with me so. ummmmmmmm i fucking detest the "boyfriend fit" style of clothing that's become popular these days esPECIALLY in plus-size clothing companies. i think it's really fucking stupid & boring & lame & most of all cuntless that we've created a style of clothing that mimic this phenomenon of girls wearing their boyfriend's clothes that are supposedly "oversized" and make her looked smaller and all cute. aside from the outright rage i feel toward this concept (the stereotypical girls are smaller so their boyfriend's clothes will look oversized and baggy and "masculine" (NOT AT ALL)) it just really pisses me off because clothing companies now are replacing perfectly good and fine styles (more specifically styles that i, as a fat person, enjoy!) to cater to people who want to look small and dainty and cute in their "boyfriend's" clothing. all the stores i frequent for clothing are replacing my favorite style of jeans with boyfriend fit and hot topic's new favorite thing is making t-shirts ONLY in the boyfriend fit and i bought a mcr one last year because the design was too cool to pass up and i fucking regret it every time i wear the shirt because the fit is cut slimmer than the usual tees but the arms fit fine, even when it's in my usual size, so i'm stuck with a really awkward looking shirt and incites dysphoria for me personally and it JUST LOOKS BAD IN MY OPINION??? and so yes. i have so much more to say on this topic but my unpopular opinion is that the boyfriend fit style should kill itself or at the very least companies should put BACK the regular styles i know and love because if it wasn't hard enough for me to find clothes in my size that don't exacerbate my dysphoria, now i gotta scour ebay for discontinued jeans styles because they've all been replaced by the boyfriends. I HOPE JAKEY FUCKING DIES !!!!!!

[scuttling]

(Not So) Casual Friday

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Female Reader Word Count: 4,456 Tags: 18+, NSFW, Dad Bod Hotch (it's not a main component but he very much has the tummy here), Pining, Accidentally admitting attraction, Embarrassment, A little angst, Oral sex, Protected sex Summary: Your best friend Derek finds out about your feelings for Hotch and teases you mercilessly. You can manage it, though, until the first ever Casual Friday, when Hotch shows up to work in a black polo and jeans and you kind of ruin everything. Or maybe you don't? *Requested by anon Link to A03 or read below! “Okay, girlie, today’s the day,” Derek says when you set your bag and coffee cup on your desk on Monday morning. You shoot your best friend a tired smile and wonder for the—you’ve worked at the BAU for almost two years, so it’s probably the 500th time—for the 500th time why he has to be such a morning person when you would prefer not to have a conversation until at least 10 AM.

“Today’s the day for what?” you sigh, asking out of obligation, because it’s obvious that’s what he’s waiting for; he smiles, picks up your coffee and hands it to you, which must mean you sound bitchy. You take a grateful sip, close your eyes and exhale through your nose.

“For you to admit to me that you’re in love with Hotch.”

You spit out your coffee—only all over yourself, which is great, wouldn’t want to inconvenience Derek at all—and then cough so hard he has to thump on your back to help clear your airway.

It draws some attention; Hotch comes out of his office, takes a look at the two of you and probably regrets hiring the both of you, then walks down the stairs to make sure you’re okay.

“What happened? You’re wet,” he says a bit gruffly, looking at the coffee all over your chest and sleeves. You glare over at Derek, who’s clearly trying not to laugh.

“Derek made me spill my coffee.” You grab a handful of tissues off your desk and pat at the wet spot, trying to soak up the worst of it, but it’s not salvageable. You’ll have to change your shirt.

“And then you… choked on it?” Hotch asks, to clarify. Derek does laugh at that; the things Hotch is saying happen to have dual meanings, slightly sexual, and now that Derek knows—thinks he knows—about your thing for Hotch, it’s clear he finds it all so hilarious. He’s a twelve year old boy in a grown man’s body.

“Okay, I didn’t spill, I spit,” you correct, looking up at them, and Derek makes an exaggerated face of disapproval.

“Should have swallowed,” he says, trying to sound serious, and you shoot him an irritated look and reach out to slap him in the chest. Asshole.

“Do you need help getting cleaned up?” Hotch’s expression is kind, sweet, but you’d sooner die than have him blot coffee off of your boobs. It would be mortifying, especially in front of Derek.

“No, no, I think I’m okay. Thanks,” you add with a soft smile, and then you reach up and pull your sweater over your head, unzip your go bag, and search for another top.

For some reason, Hotch has a coughing fit scarily similar to the one you just had, and you turn to pat his back like Derek did for you.

“Are you alright?” you ask, looking up into his face, and he nods despite his watering eyes.

“Fine,” he croaks, and he leaves as quickly as he came. You sigh, because it’s not even nine and your day has already been so weird.

You’re wearing a tank top, and thankfully the coffee didn’t get through to that layer, so it’s quick and easy to throw another lightweight sweater over top of it; you ball up the wet one, shove it in the dirty clothes portion of your bag, zip it up and stash it under your desk. Derek looks like he’s having the best day of his life.

“You realize you just undressed in front of Hotch,” he says with a tone you don’t appreciate. You roll your eyes.

“I did not. I had a tank top on underneath.” You almost always wear an undershirt, because you’ve been a cop long enough to know that sometimes your clothes get torn or messed up in the line of duty, and you’re not trying to offer a free show while taking down an unsub. Derek wiggles his eyebrows, points at your chest.

“Yeah, one that put those little boobies on display. His eyes bulged out of his head like a cartoon character.” This time, you punch him in the arm, hard. It’s too goddamn early for this.

“Can you please shut up already? I don’t have a thing for Hotch.”

“Ah, I didn’t say you had a thing, I said you’re in love with him. And I have evidence; lots of it.” You tip your head back, groan, wondering what you did to deserve a best friend who is also such a pain in the ass, and it’s that moment that Hotch chooses to rejoin you; he looks a little flushed, probably from the coughing earlier.

“Uh. We have a case; I know not everyone is here yet, but you can head up to the briefing room, I’ll grab the others when they arrive.”

“Sure thing, sir,” you say easily, grabbing your tablet and what’s left of your coffee; you gesture for Derek and he follows, laughing and shaking his head. “Okay, what is it now? I’m so glad you find me entertaining today.”

“‘Sure thing, sir,’” he says with a high, breathy voice you assume is supposed to mimic yours. “You want his dick so bad.” You narrow your eyes at him as you head upstairs.

“Uh, because I was being respectful? I know that’s a foreign concept for you, the world’s biggest asshole, but you don’t have to read anything into it.” You take your usual seats at the table, pull up the note-taking app on your tablet, and Derek sits back, crosses his arms behind his head.

“Well you’re not calling me ‘sir’, and I’m the sexiest piece in the office, so it’s hard not to read into it.” You look over at him, elbow on the table, chin in the palm of your hand.

“Sexy is subjective, and you don’t do it for me, sorry to break it to you.” He scoffs, laughs, and you laugh too because you both know you see each other as brother and sister, buddies, and fellow former cops, and absolutely nothing else.

“Yeah, I get it, only Hotch does it for you; he’s not my type, but I can see how a young lady like yourself could be drawn to his brooding exterior.”

“I’m not drawn to his exterior!” you practically growl, and then you’re joined by Spencer and JJ.

“Good morning. What’s going on with you two?” JJ asks, loading up the monitors for the debriefing, her eyebrows raised.

“She’s in love with Hotch,” Derek says completely nonchalantly, and you rest your head on the table, on top of your forearms, and sigh.

“She’s what?” JJ’s whole face lights up, and you seriously regret everything.

“I’m not in love with anybody!” you mumble against your arms, and then you sit up, because you’re clearly going to have to defend yourself. “And I’d appreciate it if you quit saying that I am.”

“I told you I have evidence,” Derek reminds you, leaning back in his chair a little. One swift kick would have him toppling ass over tea kettle, but you’re too nice, even when he’s actively trying to ruin your life. “Shall I go over it while we wait?”

“I’ll be an objective third party,” Spencer says with a brief smile, and you sigh, wave your hand toward Derek.

“Alright, let’s hear it. I’m sure I have a perfectly reasonable explanation for whatever evidence you might think you have.” He grins like this is the moment he’s been waiting for, and you feel a little stupid for encouraging this.

“For one, you always look at him. When I’m delivering a profile, I notice you watching the locals, making sure they understand what we’re going over, since you're the queen of analyzing the micro expressions. But when Hotch is delivering a profile, your eyes are on him the whole time. Same goes for discussing theories on the jet; anyone else, and you’ve got your face in your tablet, scribbling notes, but you always look at him when he speaks.”

Your cheeks get hot. He’s a captivating speaker, is all, with that deep, velvety voice, and you can learn a lot from him, so you pay attention. That’s just being smart.

“Second, you tense when he gets close to you: not like you don’t want him to touch you, but like you’re halfway to jumping him already and trying to control it. I could probably put my hand in your pocket and you wouldn't even flinch, but if he leans over you to point at something you look like you’re about to cream your pants.”

“I have seen that, actually,” JJ offers, and you look over at her, betrayed. Sure, you get a whiff of his clean, crisp cologne, or feel the heat of him at your back, and your body reacts, reminds you that this is your boss and you’re at work and you can’t get turned on by the way he smells, but that’s actually a good thing, not an indicator of feelings or anything.

“Third, there’s something up with you and the gray suits. I can literally tell that he’s wearing one before I even see him, all because of the look on your face. It’s like you’re drunk on the gray suit.”

“Okay, that’s not true,” you say with a roll of your eyes—the gray suits are god tier, but there’s no way you’re that obvious—but it’s Spencer who speaks up, this time.

“You know, I have noticed that. Your pupils tend to be more dilated when his suit is gray or blue than when it’s black.” Fuck. You sigh.

“He barely ever wears the blue. It looks so good on him,” you murmur, and then you snap your eyes shut, cover your face with your hands. “Fuck. This is so embarrassing.”

“To be fair, we are profilers,” Derek says, leaning in to pat your back. “But also to be fair, he’s been a profiler longer than any of us, so if we know, he definitely knows.”

“Not helping, Derek,” you grind out, and then you’re joined by the rest of the team. Penelope takes the seat next to you, leans in with a worried tone of voice.

“Is everything okay?”

“She’s having a small crisis, but she’ll be fine,” JJ says with a smile, and you don’t miss the way Hotch looks you over when she says it, concern in his eyes. “Alright, so we’re headed to Arkansas…”

Later that morning, when you’ve been given your instructions—yours are heading to the crime scene with Emily and Derek—Hotch pulls you out into the hall, rests a gentle hand on your arm.

“Are you alright? JJ mentioned you were having a crisis earlier. This is the first time I’ve been able to get you alone, and I wanted to check on you.” You take a deep breath, look up at him, so handsome in a black suit, white shirt, green tie—he almost never wears a green tie, and you absently think it brings out the more golden tones of his eyes—and smile softly.

“Yeah, I’m fine. It’s really nothing. Personal stuff, and I’m dealing with it.” If by ‘dealing with it’ you mean you’ve been repressing it, shoving it down day in and day out until your feelings are choking you, then yeah, you’re dealing with it. “Thanks for checking, though, that’s kind of you.”

“Of course. I’m here to help in any way I can, if you need me.” Good god, do you need him, emotionally, physically, but that’s fantasy, and this, what he’s offering, is rooted in reality. Good things do happen, but not to you.

“Thanks.” Your voice is weak to your own ears, and he swallows, nods; you see Derek hovering by the door, waiting for you, and you pull away to join him, plastering a smile on your face. You don’t talk about it again until Friday, and at that point it’s extremely unavoidable.

It’s Casual Friday, newly implemented by the bureau as a way to boost morale, and while it doesn’t really excite you, because you’re fairly casual anyway, others take full advantage of it. Others, including Hotch.

He shows up to work wearing a black polo and dark jeans, his usual watch. It’s easily the most simplistic, basic outfit a man could decide to wear on Casual Friday, but this isn’t just a man, it’s Aaron fucking Hotchner, and so naturally, you lose your damn mind.

It wouldn’t be so bad if the damn polo didn’t fit him perfectly, tight across his shoulders and chest and the little tummy he has that makes you want to be under him so badly, your stomachs pressed together while he thrusts inside you, holding you tightly, his strong thighs working against yours…

“Hello, are you alive in there?” Emily asks, waving her hand in front of your face; the two of you, along with Derek, are in Penelope’s office for lunch while Rossi, Reid, and JJ are out of the office for a seminar. You blink, shake away your thoughts and hope and pray they don’t come back—but they’ll come back, they always do.

“She’s just short circuiting because of Hotch’s Casual Friday look,” Morgan says with a wink, sitting backward in his seat. “She’s been drooling so much I’ve had to follow her around with a mop to clean up after her.” You push your wheeled chair away from them with a groan, needing space and air and, potentially, a brain transplant. You’ve gotten nothing done all day long.

“Can you blame me? The man comes in here everyday, buttoned up tight, looking incredible in a suit and tie, and then he shows up in that black polo, all snug and hot and delicious, and you expect me not to freak out? You guys are lucky I didn’t pass out.” You’re met with silence, and you blink, confused, at your friends, but they’re all just kind of staring with looks of barely concealed humor. “What? It’s not like it’s a secret that I want to climb him like a tree.”

“Pretty sure it was a secret to him,” Penelope says, looking shocked, and you whip around in your chair to see Hotch standing in the doorway, wide-eyed and a little flushed.

“Oh my god. I’m so sorry. I, uh—” He raises a hand, waves you off.

“It’s okay. No harm done; thank you, for the, uh. Compliment.” He steps forward, hands a manila folder to Penelope. “Thanks for taking care of these,” he says softly, and then, unsurprisingly, he gets the hell out of there. You wish you could disappear off the face of the Earth.

“Fuck, holy fuck,” you mutter when he’s gone, leaning forward with your head in your hands. “That’s it, I’m quitting. It’s been nice knowing you guys.”

“Okay, don’t be dramatic,” Derek says, and you look up to glare at him; he’s the one that started all this in the first place. You were fine, feelings tamped down and suppressed, until he brought it up and then told everyone you know.

“Don’t tell me not to be dramatic, Derek! This is all your fault. You never respect my boundaries, you never know when to just let me be, you always have to pick and pick until you wear me down. Maybe I had a reason for wanting to keep my feelings private, did you ever think of that?”

“I know you're upset,” Emily begins softly, because there’s some pretty thick tension between you and Derek now, but you stand up, push your chair across the room, and shake your head.

“I’m not upset, I’m fucking humiliated. I’m going home; let him know I’m sick, will you?” You exhale deeply, storm upstairs and grab your stuff and drive home with tears in your eyes. You’ve never been so embarrassed in your life, and add that to the absolute heartbreak you’re feeling? You’re just happy you make it to your apartment, so you can break down with cheesecake and a sappy, romantic comedy with a happy ending: those perfect, fictional worlds are pretty much the only place one is guaranteed. You are, as planned, hunkered down on the sofa in your softest pajamas, watching You’ve Got Mail and eating the center out of an entire cheesecake with a spoon when there’s a knock at your door. You groan, pick up your cheesecake tin, and walk over to it, fully expecting it to be Derek come to beg for forgiveness for ruining your life, so it’s no surprise you drop your dessert on the floor when it’s actually Hotch on the other side.

He looks down at the tin, then up at your face, cracks the barest hint of a smile.

“I thought you were sick; I brought soup,” he says, holding up a paper bag, and your heart thumps in your chest. You wipe a hand over your face, because you haven’t been exactly neat in your heartache cheesecake consumption, and then you kick the tin across the floor and invite him in, closing the door behind him.

“I thought it was obvious that I wasn’t actually sick, just… really embarrassed,” you say when he turns back to look at you. “I can’t believe you heard all that stuff I said… I’m really sorry I made you uncomfortable.” You take the bag from his hand and invite him to follow you into the kitchen, where you set it on the counter, lean against it. He comes close, but not so close you can’t function, which is good; your comfy pajamas are shorts and a loose tank top, so you feel a little exposed already.

“You didn’t make me uncomfortable,” he says softly, and you frown, must have heard him wrong. He presses his fingertips against the counter, as if for support. “You didn’t make me uncomfortable. It was… unexpected,” he explains, “very unexpected, but I’m not uncomfortable.”

You flush hot, and you can feel the bad decision part of your brain switching on, warning bells ringing in your head.

Whatever you do next has the potential to be extremely stupid, and you would like to avoid that at all costs; you love your job, after all, despite how physically and emotionally exhausting it can be, and you love your team. Time to think with your upstairs brain only.

“That makes me feel a little better,” you say truthfully, and despite the pep talk you just gave yourself, you move closer to him like there’s an invisible magnetic force between you; you would imagine a guy like Hotch would step back, keep his distance, but he only cranes his neck a little so he can look down at you more easily.

God, he’s tall. And he smells good, and his face is perfect, and that goddamn polo...

“Good, I’m glad. I don’t want you to feel bad about this. I’m not uncomfortable, it’s not… it’s not unwanted.” You swallow audibly, looking up at him, wondering if he knows what he’s saying, what it sounds like.

“It’s not?” you ask, and it comes out breathy; he takes a small step closer to you, brushes his fingers over your arm, peers into your eyes.

“No, it’s not. I’ve been thinking of you, too; I know you know you’re beautiful, but you’re also so smart, and strong-willed, and a force to be reckoned with. I’m proud to have you on my team, and I’d be proud… to have you climb me like a tree.” He smiles again, just the barest hint of one, and you put your arms around him and pull him closer for a kiss.

One long, slow, perfect kiss turns into another, then another, and he presses your back against the counter, his hands on your face and your hands on his thick waist; you hum into the kiss, revel in the feel of his lips on yours, his tongue sweeping past them, and when you pull back for air it feels like there’s only one question that needs to be asked.

“Bedroom?” you breathe, and he nods, and you take his hand and pull him in that direction, pausing to kiss him several times before you get there. “You don’t happen to have a condom, do you?” you ask, breathless, guiding him to the bed, and he frowns, shakes his head.

“I didn’t want to seem presumptuous.” You grin at that, lean forward and kiss him, your fingers in his hair.

“I find it so hot that you even say presumptuous. I might have one here somewhere.” You open your nightstand, move around books and toys until you find a couple; you flip them over, checking to see if they’re expired, and offer him a couple options. “They’re still good, surprisingly. You can, uh. Choose the one that would work best.”

He looks them over, picks one and hands back the rest, and you throw them back in the drawer and slide into his lap, wrap your arms around his shoulders.

“I’ve wanted you for so long,” he says, holding your waist as you look down at him, completely in awe that this is happening. “But I want to clarify: if you’re looking for something casual, I don’t think we should go any further.” You inhale softly, surprised by his straightforwardness, and you lean in, kiss him slowly.

“I don’t want casual. I want to be with you.” His eyes are so brilliant, dark in the dim light of your bedroom, and he nods, presses his lips to yours and slides his hands beneath your top, guides it over your head. Then they move to your shorts, slipping them gently off your hips, and you stand so he can push them to the ground.

You’re both breathing heavily, a little rough, and you step between his legs, kiss him again, run your hands down his chest, closing your eyes with a sigh because you finally get to feel him after a year of just imagining what it would be like. After a beat, you open your eyes, look into his, smile.

“Really grateful for Casual Friday,” you whisper. “Otherwise you might never have found out I’m kind of in love with you.” You ease the polo over his head, drop it on the ground and encourage him to stand so you can take off his pants; he does, but before you can drop to your knees as planned, he takes your face in his hands, presses one soft kiss against your mouth.

“I’m more than kind of in love with you.” Oh, if that isn’t the greatest sentence your ears have ever heard… You wrap your arms around his neck, kiss a little more, forgetting that you planned to finish undressing him; when you remember, you make quick work of it, then have him lay back against the bed and settle between his legs.

You put your mouth on him because you want to, more than anything, and his hand drops to your hair, caressing you while you suck slowly, deeply, holding him with one hand and pressing against his stomach with the other. His moans are soft and gorgeous, his body tense beneath your hand, and you’d do this all night, but he murmurs your name, coaxes you up, puts his hands on your back as you settle against him.

“You’re so incredible. I never would have imagined I’d get this, get you,” he breathes, skimming his hands over your sides and hips, and you kiss softly, steamy and sweet.

“Me neither.” You lean up, make space for him to roll on the condom, and then press him inside; your breath hitches, and so does his, and you lay on top of him, chest to chest, stomach to stomach, arms around each other tightly while you move. “Hmm. Aaron,” you sigh, hair falling around him, and he groans, digs his fingertips into your hips.

“Sounds so perfect coming out of your mouth.” You smile, but it slips away when he surges up to kiss you, leans up so he’s sitting with you in his lap. He slides a broad hand up your back, wraps it around the nape of your neck, and pumps his hips up as you sink down, eliciting a series of soft, eager moans from the both of you.

“Feels like I’ve waited so long; I’ve never wanted someone as badly as I wanted you,” you tell him, chest heaving, and he brings you to him for a kiss, something a little rougher, less refined. He’s getting close.

“Never. You make me feel so much.” You reach back against his leg for support, work harder to bring him off, and when he comes he crushes his mouth against yours, delicious and more uncontrolled than you’ve ever seen him. He chants your name, so soft and sweet rolling off of his tongue, and then gets you on your back so he can press deeply inside.

You feel so incredibly full, panting beneath him, your hands on his waist and your feet on the backs of his thighs; his perfect face is inches from yours, all shallow breaths and decadent, passionate kisses, and when you climax you pull him closer, sigh, unravel completely in his embrace.

Maybe good things do happen after all. You hold each other and talk for a while, after a quick pitstop to the restroom, and then your stomach growls—understandably, since the only thing to fill it since lunch was that stupid cheesecake—and Hotch orders takeout on his phone from bed; god bless technology.

There’s a knock at the door twenty minutes later, and you know that’s quick for your favorite Thai place, but you’re not complaining because you’re officially starving. He offers to grab it, throws on his boxers and heads for the living room; after a few minutes, you wonder what’s taking so long, pull on your robe and go to check on him.

Hotch is talking to Derek, who is standing in your living room with a piece of cheesecake and a shit eating grin.

“I came with a peace offering, but now I think I’ll wait for a, ‘Thank you, Derek,’” he says, and you roll your eyes, stalk over and take the cheesecake out of his hands. You give it to Hotch, lean up to kiss Derek on the cheek, and push him toward the door.

“Thank you, Derek. Go away, Derek,” you say with a smile of your own, and he raises his palms and retreats down the hall, laughing as he goes.

This is just one more thing he’ll tease you mercilessly about, but this time the benefits outweigh the costs. Taglist ❤️: @arsonhotchner @mrsh0tchner @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads @mintphoenix @meghannnnnn @disgruntledchowchow @azenpal @g-l-pierce @my-rosegold-soul @ssamorganhotchner

[udonthreens]

top 5 disco elysium moments i have never played the game but ithink you should explain it like i know everything already anyways

anon uve triggered my autism beam

these r vaguely ranked but also i. i dont promise coherency and if i thought abt it with more brain theyd be different.

5) ok this is the last one im writing and idk. theres so many good scenes and moments and nevermind. the chair. the fucking CHAIR and evrart. it took me 200hrs to see what happens when u PASS the composure check like. tbh failing this check is basically canon. slide down it like a jello shot. again like the megarich container guy this is one of those possible early moments of 'ou this games a fucking weird comedy' and i just. best way to assert dominance with the corrupt commie boss like 'what a great display of... idek what that was' and im pretty sure u lose a rep point with kim if u fail it too like. kim dont be mad this is just my interogattion technique im not giving the rcm a bad rep i promise kim

actually some honourable mentions: lamby, boardgames with kim, joyce pale convo, kim voice dilligent boy, THE CHURCH I DIDNT MENTION THE CHURCH i love doin the dance after gettin shot its so funny. love the rave kids. shivers voice theres a hole in my heart. the fucking 'lookin to score some d girl!' bit with kim & acele thats comedy gold actually. thats brilliant. i might just start listening everything. pinball with kim when u pass it im just like. kim why dyou sound so smitten . the piss and fuck jackets. actually i really like the whole bit with the working class woman that was Devasting. even more so when i realised u could actually tell her ud look for her husband ...... i liked the jamais vu viscal pleasure wheel bit after (i think that was added with the update? yes it was) altho i dont remember specifics just. his brain reconstructin smth as idk.. smth to make him feel better? felt bittersweet. i should go see that scene again.

ok ill fuckin wrap this up. 'are u... a really good detective?' great line and not a moment per say but. the fact that jean just. hangs around the whirling for several days in that fuckin wig like, obvs he doesnt move spots bcs its a video game (despite the edc lines showin that he does do other shit) cuz u need to know where to find him. but he just fuckin commits like. the character building from all this shit for whats technically a minor character. brilliant. doesnt HE have a fuckin job to do. also titus is always in the whirling for the same video game reason so like. yes. yes to that rarepair.

3) communist book club and the tower building that was soooooo cool not to mention the fuckin hilarity of readin bout inframaterialism for the first time nd going "???? is this pseudoscience in the game or can it ACTUALLY fucking happen like wtf"

2) karoke. pass over fail tbh limbic system KILLS it (and its more lyrical spoken word doesnt fit the song nd also i thot id actually hear harrys voice during that scene and we kinda did but like thats a different tangent) and kims support 'detective du bois... it was down right tragic' and the edc or concept check? concept i 5hink that was like 'to him that represented being an rcm member perfectly' like HELLO??? kim bestie its not 2 late for a career change. AND not to mention gartes reaction to it like... u really get the feeling that he Will get rid of the machine if harry fucks it up. however i do like the pass as well bcs a) harrys had enough cringe fail b) jeans deadbeat litany of 'yeah its shit it sucked awful' like. thats how he talks 2 harry when hes being NICE its so funny. het life partners <33

4) mega rich light bending guy. AGAIN the weiss thingymay coefficent where ur like 'is this an actual Thing or is harry just fuckin insane' nd also i crit succeeded on my first playthru real early on when i hadnt seen any of the wacky shit yet nd it just. the -2 if u have the artcop thought the fuckin ultralib shit . u get like 4 ultralib points at LEAST if u pass/fail the right concept check. god not to mention kim earnestly suggesting rcm reforms like kim bestie kim kim my bestfriend kim its not 2 late for a career change. also if u get the 100 real and kims like 'ur full of surprises most of them bad but some of them good' soooo true <33

1) salami man.

[alecmagnuslwb]

Love Me Tinder - @doubleredweek Day 5

Read on AO3

Roy doesn’t know why, but he’s fairly certain that Jason Todd is trying to kill him. There’s no other explanation for the scene before him. Firefighters don’t actually do this; he should know he’s been one since he decided to drop the sidekick gig at eighteen and never once before has he seen a firefighter actually wear nothing but tight-fitting jeans and suspenders while washing one of the firetrucks.

It’s just not something they actually do except maybe for the annual charity calendar which it’s nowhere near being the time for that photoshoot and no one has a camera. Well no one except those two girls he saw across the street about twenty minutes ago that were definitely not being subtle as they took a few shots he’s sure will make their way onto Instagram and then from there turn up in some tabloid later.

He can see the headline now: Bruce Wayne’s sexy ward gets wet. It’s like a bad porn he kind of wishes he was starring in.

For a brief only slightly insane moment he contemplated chasing after the two women and asking them to forward him whatever videos and photos they took for his own personal use. Luckily his logical brain took over for his horny brain before he could do anything so absurd.

Roy lets out a literal groan when Jason pauses in his work and runs a soapy wet hand through his hair the little white streak near the front being pushed all the way back.

“Go to your bunk if your gonna start making noises like that,” Dick says as he leaps up beside him twisting himself into an impossible sitting position on the picnic table out in front of the station that Roy’s been happily planted at for forty-five minutes now pretending he’s reading the book in his hand.

Haley, their own personal little firehouse mascot comes trotting out. She pushes up with her three strong legs and settles on the bench beside him.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Roy says indignantly looking down at his book that he realizes now is definitely upside down. Dick chuckles clearly seeing the realization cross his face. Roy hastily flips the book right side up ignoring his best friend.

“If you’re gonna ogle at least make your decoy convincing,” Dick says reaching down and picking up Haley cradling her in his arms like a baby.

“I am not ogling your brother,” Roy huffs casting his eyes down to his book. He starts reading and realizes he has no clue what’s going on, he’s pretty sure he just kept turning pages to seem like he was accomplishing anything but daydreaming about Jason’s six pack.

“You are totally ogling my brother,” Dick says as he starts literally rocking Haley to sleep. “You should just ask him out already, I’m like 99% certain he’d say yes.”

Roy gives up on his book tossing it off to the side. The thud of it against the table disturbs Haley from her drifting slumber the small grey pup giving him a warning look. He scratches behind her left ear the way she loves in apology before looking up at Dick.

“You want me to ask out your little brother?” he says in disbelief. He always assumed Dick would be very much against the concept of his best friend and his little brother.

Dick just shrugs. “Yeah, why not? Little Wing’s been a hell of lot better off since he finally quit the whole Outlaw gig and if it weren’t for him randomly running into you that never would have happened. Your good for him and considering how lovesick you look all the time when he’s around I’d say he could be pretty good for you too.”

Three years ago on a random chilly Gotham night Roy walked his way into a hostage situation by accident, the infamous Red Hood had broken it up, but not without a little help from the former Speedy.

Jason had been grateful for the help, but behind those eyes he could also see a hell of a lot else going on. He looked tired, worn down by life. Roy knew the look well; it had hit him before he could even legally rent a car. Mostly Jason looked like he could use a friend, so Roy decided then and there to be one.

Within the year Roy knew more about Jason’s life since being brought back from the dead than even his own brother and six months after that he’d convinced Jason he didn’t have to hit the streets anymore if he didn’t want to.

Getting him the training and into the vacancy in their firehouse had been easy with Dick vouching for him as well.

“Batman might beat me up though,” Roy says leaning back and finally letting his eyes stray back to Jason who it seems has sadly finished his job. A dry t-shirt now covering his Adonis like chest, suspenders hanging at his sides.

Dick whacks him on the shoulder with a huff. “Batman will not beat you up, I’ll beat up Batman if he even thinks about it.”

Roy chuckles at that his eyes still following Jason as he talks to a few of the other guys.

“Okay, since you’re willing to protect me from the big bad bat I’ll ask him to have dinner or something sometime,” Roy concedes looking at Dick with a ‘does that make you happy’ face.

“Fantastic,” he says with a big grin slapping Roy on the shoulder once before tumbling gracefully off the picnic table to stand in front Roy, Haley still perfectly held in his arms. “I got a shift with the other job,” he says with a wink lifting his shirt to reveal the Kevlar of his Nightwing costume. Roy gives him a playful salute that Dick returns as he wanders over past Jason.

“Hey Jay!” he shouts as he passes him by. “Roy wants to ask you something!” And then he’s off blowing Roy a condescending kiss before he disappears into the firehouse.

Jason turns his attention to Roy those perfectly white teeth showing as he makes his way over to the bench. He sits down straddling the same side of the table where Roy sits those tight pants stretching perfectly over Jason’s thick thighs that have been the star of some of Roy’s most pleasant dreams of late.

“What’s up?” he says ruffling out his rapidly drying hair. He’s so bright, so much happier than the fatigued anti-hero Roy met all that time ago.

He’s also annoyingly handsome with his hair sticking up in an array of directions from drying in the hot summer sun. Roy thought being best friends with an absolute smoke show for years was frustrating, this is so much worse. One day he wants to ask Bruce if there’s some sort of pre-requisite that Robin’s needed to look like they’d grow up insanely handsome to get the job.

For a moment Roy pauses and considers chickening out, Dick ran off so it’s not like he can force this to happen.

The thing is Roy really wants this to happen, plus Dick will continue to stick him in situations like this if he doesn’t just bite the bullet so he takes a deep breath and the biggest leap he’s taken since he was literally jumping across rooftops.

“You want to get dinner with me some time?” he asks holding his gaze with Jason those blue green eyes of his shimmering in the slowly waning evening sun.

Jason squints one eye at him the start of a smile on his lips. “Dinner as in a date or dinner as in two friendly firefighting friends?”

Roy smiles. “While I find your alliteration fun I was thinking of it more as a date.”

Jason’s half smile grows full and he swings one leg over the bench. “Sounds great, it’s about time you asked.”

He stands and starts walking backwards eyes still on Roy’s.

“Well you could have asked me,” Roy says holding his hands up in a why not gesture.

“Pfft,” Jason says still cautiously walking backwards. “I’m way too emotionally stunted for that and you know it.”

Roy huffs out a little laugh kind of in awe that Jason had ever considered asking him out first.

“You still off shift Friday?” he asks just as Jason has one leg in firehouse the other out.

“Yep.”

“Good, I’ll pick you at seven,” Roy says catching Jason’s bright smile and nod of agreement before he disappears inside the firehouse. Roy opens back up his book with a smile starting it from the beginning knowing good and well he won’t comprehend a single word of it once again. Just this time his distraction won’t be watching Jason, it’ll be thinking about Friday.

[misssophiachase]

Under Your Skin

Happy B’Day, @galvanizedfriend I am LATE, soooo LATE but this means the birthday celebrations just continue, right? I have a friend who celebrates her birthday for the whole month so....  

I made you a little thing in honour of this auspicious occasion (also, please tell me you got cake on the day, otherwise I will send you some lamingtons). This is part 1 with part 2 on its way. 

Thank you also to the lovely and talented @diaz-eddie for making sense of my pics and putting them together when I couldn’t. 

(Nik)

Monday

“Get your ass out here pronto, Nik!”

Who needs the snooze button when his employee is threatening to knock down the door with nothing but her fist. He’s seen Anna in action on her roller derby team and is fairly certain she can kick his ass today and probably into next week as well.

He begrudgingly leaves the warmth and comfort of his bed dressed in nothing but fitted, grey boxers but instead of answering the door he decides to make a detour. Eyes still firmly closed, he makes his way blindly to the bathroom and splashes some much-needed water on his face at the basin.

“You realise we can hear you, right? There’s no amount of pampering that’s going to make that face pretty enough, Niklaus,” he winces, knowing she’s using the full version of his name to invoke his absent sister on purpose.

Apparently Anna has recruited Lexi to torment him as well. Given her mixed martial arts training he doesn’t want to mess with her either. All he needs now is…

“Afraid of some girls, Mikaelson?”

Like clockwork, Bonnie makes up the trio. Given her psychic abilities of course she knows he’s afraid of them. She practices magic, probably has a list of his future mistakes documented for blackmail purposes and may or may not have a voodoo doll with his name on it.

Growing up he thought having Rebekah as a sibling was tough but now he has three more and all are ready to converge on him as soon as he opens the door. It’s lucky he decided against giving them keys. Granted he’s their boss and lives upstairs from his establishment but Nik isn’t a fan of the sleeping with one eye open concept.

“We have an incredibly opinionated, talkative and highly-strung person who would like to make a formal complaint to the owner about a certain tattoo from the weekend. Also, Enzo called her gorgeous and let’s just say it didn’t go down too well.”

“Oi! I can hear you, Bennett, given I’m standing right here. In my defence, Niklaus, she is gorgeous and what woman doesn’t love a compliment?”

His friend from college in Rhode Island, while being extremely talented, has little-to-no customer service skills. Nik also, rather unfortunately, noticed a spark between him and his younger sister during her last visit and has been trying to block it from his memory ever since.

“Uh, when they’re making a complaint and are seriously pissed. I say we muzzle him for good,” Anna offers.

“I second that,” Lexi agrees.

Nik wonders if any of his employees actually work given their current and incessant bickering at his front door. He decides then and there a move might be a good option.

Like most, Monday is his least favourite day of the week but he’s fairly certain it isn’t for the same reason. Nik likens it to the moment a weekend hangover finally passes and clarity makes an unwelcome return, complete with a litany of regrets.

Being owner of one of the top tattoo studios at Venice Beach, Nik doesn’t see tattoos as regrets. Far from it. He has a plethora, all telling a story.

His story.

The good, the bad and the downright ugly.

Unfortunately, others don’t see it the same way, much like the person downstairs ready to ruin his day and all before he’s ingested some much-needed caffeine.

“Happy Monday to me,” he mutters, not bothering to look in the mirror before scrambling to find some clothes.

Ten minutes later he appears in his usual uniform of fitted jeans and a suitably hued henley, probably more disheveled than he’d like but given his unorthodox wake up call, it’s hardly surprising.

As he makes his way down each step toward the studio floor, his eyes immediately dart towards an impatient looking blonde at the front desk. Blonde waves caressing her shoulders, pink lips and blue eyes that perfectly match her shirt. She’s standing there impatiently while tapping her perfectly manicured nails on the front desk.

He isn’t blind, she’s beautiful, but at the same time there is something in her eyes and overall body language that spells the bad news he’s expecting. He’s disappointed but when their eyes lock, he does his best not to betray his real feelings.

This is business, after all.

“Well, finally,” she snaps. Even with that frown, he’s trying to reconcile the fact she’s complaining but he’s extremely attracted to her at the same time. “I’ve only been waiting for fifteen minutes. I hope you enjoyed your sleep-in while I’ve been languishing out here.”

“Thank you, I did,” he murmurs lazily, noting the way she purses those lips while her eyebrows rise curiously. “So, what can I help you with Ms…”

“Forbes,” she utters and he doesn’t miss the way she fumbles something so easy as her surname. It’s cute, but he isn’t supposed to think that. He’s also not supposed to be perusing just how well she wears fitted denim either.

Read the rest on AO3 HERE

[1994sunflower]

heaven to you. (m.c)

pairing: michael clifford x reader

genre: smut, fluff, angst (if you squint)

word count: 8.1k

involves: bad boy!michael, college!au, jealous!michael, established relationship, a lot of cursing, oral (m receiving), unprotected sex, daddy kink (really mild), choking, dirty talk, pain kink (slight), size kink, thigh riding, face slapping (consensual), hair pulling, spitting kink, throat fucking, impregnation kink, praise, degredation/name calling, innocence kink, virgin kink (kinda), smoking, mentions of drugs/drinking, maybe more but nothing too big just pretty filthy ngl

summary: your high school classmates come over to michael’s house in hopes of being friends with the famous bad boy on campus. this includes your one-sided high school crush that may not have been so one-sided after all. unfortunately for him, michael is not someone to piss off. fortunately for you, michael’s anger and jealousy isn’t always so bad, at least for you.

part two

+

“Tell me again why we’re going to this guy’s house?” Justin asked his two childhood friends. At least, they were up until high school. Now, as they went to different colleges, they felt more like strangers. But that was part of the reason he took the multi-state trip down to their university: to mend that rift.

“We’ve been telling you man, Michael is the man on campus to be friends with.” Chris punched one of his hands into his other palm for emphasis.

Charlie nodded beside Chris, both standing in front of their front door, ready to go. “He gets into the best parties, gets the hottest chicks and is the most feared guy on campus.”

“And that’s a good thing?” Justin raised his eyebrows.

Chris opened the door, shaking his head. “Yeah, dude. No one messes with him because he’ll beat the shit out of them.”

“He’s done it a few times already.” Charlie added.

“There’s rumors he used to be involved in a gang or something and that’s why he’s like that. Either way though, he gets whatever he wants.”

Justin’s lips curled up a bit in disgust. He came from a wealthy background, wealthy family and wealthy school. Though he never let that get to his head and he never looked down on someone because of it, this stark contrast to his normality was difficult to shrug off.

But he did as he followed both Charlie and Chris out.

Charlie was still raving about ‘Michael’ as they walked out of the cramped dorm room to the unfamiliar winding paths of their university. “I mean, imagine being friends with him. You’ll get all the benefits he gets.”

“I’m sorry, if you aren’t friends with him, how are we going to his house?” Justin trailed behind the two slightly.

Chris looked back, “Turns out his best friend is in my accounting class and he invited us over to play video games. How lucky is that?”

“Yeah, lucky.” Justin looked away. He wasn’t going to admit that as they crossed the street across the student union, the whole concept of meeting someone with a reputation as rough as this Michael character was daunting and just a bit scary. In fact, it didn’t take a genius to look at the three boys all wearing vineyard vines khakis and polos, and know they didn’t mesh well with what he supposed Michael was like.

They didn’t even mesh well with the college neighborhood they were entering. The small houses looked worn and crumbled down and the streets were even worse. The only thing that calmed his nerves was the knowledge that the scariest people on the block were tired college students.

“Have you even talked to him before?” Justin kept asking questions to calm himself down and stop himself from looking around at the neighborhood in disdain.

Charlie shrugged, “I talked to him at a party once, he didn’t say much though.”

Chris smirked, “I walked with him to class once.” He paused. “Well, I was walking with his friend, Ashton? And he joined. But it still felt cool. Everyone was staring and making way for us - well him”

They filled in all the holes in knowledge of Michael. How he never lost a fight (even though he was involved with them often - evidenced by his perpetual bloody knuckles), how he rarely went to class (and when he did, how he sat alone, always), how his fashion consisted of black, chains and more black and finally, how he would go home with a different girl every party (but how that didn’t happen anymore as he had a girlfriend, though her identity to them remained a mystery).

Justin nodded as he listened. But as more and more was added to the infamous Michael, he felt less and less inclined to meet him.

Time, however, to turn back had run out. Because as his friends turned into a rubble pathway leading up to an equally rubble house, he knew he was about to be face to face with the myth, the legend, Michael himself.

The things he would do for his friends. If he didn’t hold such a sentimental place in his heart for the boys he had grown up with, he definitely wouldn’t be there, standing in front of a (turning green) door, waiting for an answer. They were different, it was obvious in high school that they had become different types of men; he valued education, science, and was a romantic at heart while they valued alcohol, parties and were willing to screw anything they found ‘hot’.

But that didn’t deter him from valuing their friendship.

It occurred to him that the only thing his friends had failed to fill him in on was Michael’s appearance. So, when the door opened and a boy slightly shorter than even Chris, the shortest of them (though Justin was 6’5 and Charlie was 6’0 so really, Chris being 5’11 wasn’t that short) and messy brown curls covering his head and forehead, he was shocked to say the least.

But that didn’t last long as Chris dapped him. “Ashton! What’s up man?”

Ashton smiled big and nodded in acknowledgement to the rest of them. “Nothing much bro, took you a while.” But he moved back into the small house, a signal of welcome for them to come in but close the door behind them.

So, as Chris and Charlie followed Ashton in, talking about who knows what, Justin made sure to shut and lock the door before trailing behind.

The house was bigger than he pictured in his mind. The living room and kitchen were divided by only a pillar and the counter. But it was spacious enough to fit a flat screen (granted, it was on the floor) and a black winding couch (granted, it had cracks all over it). The only light came from the kitchen and the tv, which was set to the beginning of the game.

Ashton already sat down on the couch, grabbing a game controller casually from behind him. He was wearing a black t-shirt that had it’s sleeves cut off to the point where you could see his whole side torso through the giant holes. His gray jeans were equally ripped and Justin was sure his shoes would be too, if he were wearing any but just gray socks adorned his feet. He had spiked bracelets on his left wrist. Maybe this was the reason his slightly tanned, innocent face looked strange. His big eyes and friendly smile was a stark juxtaposition to the rest of his body.

Chris looked around as his large figure slumped beside Ashton, “Where’s Michael?”

Ashton didn’t look at him when he answered, “In his room with his girl. He’ll be out soon, I think. That is if they don’t start going at it.”

Charlie laughed as he sat on the other side of Ashton, picking up a controller from the ground. Justin was left to sit awkwardly on the edge of the couch, closest to the kitchen. He felt out of place, just like he suspected and it didn’t help the darkness that surrounded the room, even through the lit kitchen and blue tv screen.

He didn’t get to think much on it, though, because not a few minutes after he sat down, did the bedroom door behind the couch open up. Light streamed into the dimly lit room.

Justin stood. It was a force of habit, really. He was used to standing up whenever someone knew came into the room to introduce himself. But when no one else stood, with Ashton not even bothering to look behind him, he felt awkward. It was too late to sit back down, though.

Charlie and Chris looked back, though, with big grins. “Hey, Michael! What’s up, man?” They said as if they were close friends.

And thus, Justin came face to face with Michael himself. And this time, he looked exactly like what he expected.

Michael was towering, though his height was nearly equal to Justin’s. His shoulders so broad that they nearly filled up the entire doorway of his bedroom. His t-shirt was plain black and so were his jeans, which had three chains adorning them. Two sleeves of tattoos ran down both of his arms to his hands and fingers , one of his hands reading F U C K in big bold letters, with a few peeking out on his neck as well. His black messy hair matched him well and fell onto his forehead.

But through that intimidating appearance, none of those things were what caught Justin’s attention. No, it was Michael’s eyes that did it. Though they were light in color, somehow they still seemed dark. The coldness in them was frightening. There was no hint of warmth, of friendliness, in them. In fact, as Michael held direct eye contact, saying nothing at the still standing Justin, the aggression his eyes held was enough to make Justin take a step back.

It was that step that seemingly broke the trance Michael had put him in. Because just like that, Michael looked away and moved forward into the living room. He nodded in acknowledgement at Chris and Charlie, still silent, before shouldering past Justin to go to the kitchen. He grabbed a bottled beer, opening it with his bare hand on his way back.

Justin was going to sit back himself as he saw Michael head to the couch but was stopped by a second, much smaller figure exiting Michael’s room.

The girl was petite, especially compared to Michael, standing at a proud 5’1. Her straight black hair was parted down the middle and hung perfectly over her shoulders. She wore a dainty white sunflower dress that contrasted beautifully with her olive skin which made her, along with her kind smile and bright brown eyes, look like the epitome of innocence. Quite the distinction from Michael who seemed to personify danger.

She was beautiful.

And she was his good friend.

“Y/N?”

+

Your legs were stationed at each side of Michael’s torso as you straddled him. Your hands were cupping his face and while one of his hands was on your ass while the other was gripping your long hair, pulling just enough for it to be pleasurable.

Your mouths melded into each others deeply and you couldn’t tell which one of you were more desperate for the other. You’d been making out for a while and your body was on fire. You felt like his touch was both burning you and exactly what needed at the same time.

It only took one slow grind of your hips against his that did it for him. He flipped you over so that you landed directly on one of his thighs, the chains of his jeans rattling in the process. His body was flush to yours, you could feel his hardness against you.

You looked up at him with wide innocent eyes, just how you knew he liked it. And you were awarded with a deep groan and a taunting smile before his lips returned to your body, this time to your neck. You moved your head to give him more access and as he got more into it, sucking and biting, you couldn’t stop the moan that escaped. You knew he was going to leave a mark (probably many) because he liked to have something that claimed you as his.

One of his hands wandered to your lower body, traveling under your flimsy dress to flip it over. He gave your ass a swat to command you to move. He didn’t have to tell you twice. Your hips starts moving, slowly at first against his jean-clad thigh. But as the pleasure started to build up at the friction, you began moving faster, desperately, moaning loudly.

Michael watched you silently, a smirk on his face. The only touch was his hands on your hips, guiding your pace and your movements. Otherwise, he just watched you get off on him.

“Did you wear this dress for me?” You nodded desperately against him, wanting nothing more than push against his finger but knew better.

His hand pulled your hair harshly, hard enough that it hurt but that just made you moan louder. “I asked you a question.” He growled, he had begun to move his leg up and down, making everything that much pleasurable.

Fuck. “Y-Yes, all for you, daddy.”

“Good girl.” Was all he said before his lips claimed yours again. His kisses were fervent as he bit and sucked on your bottom lip. Your hips were still moving violently against his thigh and you could feel your climax start to build up. It was almost too hot for you to handle. But you could tell he was going to give you what you wanted soon.

Or he was. A loud banging came from his bedroom door across the room. “They’re here!” Ashton’s voice rang to you from behind the door.  

You sighed deeply as you pulled away from Michael and away from your release. Michael groaned and fell, face first, into the mattress. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

“Maybe later.” You giggled, pushing him up to lay on his back. He looked up at you and a mischievous smile, the one you had grown to love, adorned his face.

“Or we can continue.” His hand was already reaching to your wrist to pull you up to straddle him again but you held back, shaking your head.

“Mikey, you have guests.” But still, you leaned over and pecked his lips quickly.

Michael groaned again, this time out of annoyance. “Fuck them. I don’t even know who they are, they’re Ashton’s friends.”

You smiled at his attitude. Your hand was tracing his neck, following the ink lines. It was a vulnerable position he was in, and something he only ever allowed you to do. When he was with you, it was so easy to forget how different he was with other people. How mean he could be. It was almost comical to see the difference in how he was right then to what he was just a few minutes ago.

“Be nice.” You chastised. “They’re here for you too, don’t bother trying to kid yourself.”

You heard Michael whine, “Come on, baby girl.” He took a hold of your wrist again. As he pushed himself up to a sitting position, he easily towered over you and he used that to his advantage. Pushing you against the wall next to his bed, he cupped one of your cheeks. His hand took up much of that side of your face, “Let me get you off.” His voice was deep with want.

You’d be a liar if you said that you weren’t wet. The way he was looking at you, the way you felt so small in front of him, you wanted to let him do whatever he wanted with you. But as you heard the front door close, you couldn’t. Not only would it be embarrassing because you were never quiet, Michael made sure of that, but it would be impolite.

Michael would never admit it but you both knew the guests were here for him. He was somewhat of a legend throughout the campus, especially among frat boys and wannabes. No matter your disdain for people like that, they came all this way for him.

So you pushed against his chest just slightly, knowing that would be enough for Michael to let you go. And when he sighed and moved away, you got up from his bed and moved to where there was a mirror hanging next to his closet. Your hair was a mess and so was your makeup. You looked fucked out and you were in awe for a moment at how Michael managed to make you this way with just a make out session and a dry hump.

Fixing yourself, you couldn’t help but smile at the pouting boy, still cross armed on his bed. Turning to him, you motioned for him to get up. “Come on Mikey.”

He stood and immediately, you had to crane your neck to look up at his big height. Even his shoulders engulfed your entire figure. Michael knew what he did to you so it wasn’t much a surprise when you felt one of his hands wrap themselves around your neck, the one with his bruised knuckles, but not hard. “After this, you’re mine.”

You think your smile was enough to tell him how excited you were at that prospect.

Michael gave you a weak smile. He didn’t tend to smile much, even when it was just the two of you. In fact, except the fact that he was a lot chattier and warmer with you, he was still always in his head and rarely expressed much emotion outside of bed besides anger, horniness and the rare affection. But you were okay with that. Your emotions were enough for the two of us.

He gave you peck on the lips, “I’ll see you out there.”

You nodded up at him, smiling before going back to fixing your makeup and adjusting your dress. Ashton had a couple of friends over ever now and then. Most, if not all, coming to see Michael. Though, you tried to not be there whenever they came over, Michael seemed to prefer it for you to be with him. To give him something to actually look forward to. He hated meeting new people and he hated their interest in him. He was popular without wanting to be. So you were often there to remedy that and you became the center of his world in those moments. Though, really, that was how you were most of the time you were with him.

Only a few minutes passed after he left the room that you followed him out.

But as soon as you left the room, you stopped when you saw someone standing in the living room, looking at you. In that same instance, you recognized him. Justin. A good friend from high school and an even better human being.

As your name left his mouth you grinned, coming closer to hug him. It had been so long, years, actually. The last you saw him was at your graduation when you swore you’d miss him. And you had. After all, he was the boy that plagued your heart all throughout high school - not that he’d known.

“Justin!” The hug was quick and you had to get on your tip toes to do it. You could tell he was just as surprised to see you. He was smiling wide and his eyebrows were shot high like they did whenever he was interested in something.

But just as soon as you pulled away, the weirdness of the situation seeped in, “What are you doing here?”

Justin blinked as if he, too, just became aware of the weird circumstance you were meeting in. “I, uh” He scratched the back of his head, unsure of how to answer and gestured to the couch. “I came with Chris and Charlie.”

Your brows furrowed further as you glanced at the couch where, sure enough, your high school classmates sat, looking back at you. They waved, slightly confused. You tried to ignore the fact that even Ashton had torn his eyes away from the tv to stare at you two. Which, considering how hard it was to take Ashton away from his video games, was saying something.

All you could think was that you wanted to crawl into a hole. The boys that you always said peaked in high school and made you so upset when they transferred to your university were now at your boyfriend’s house, trying to be his friends. It was truly a worst case scenario.

Excluding Justin. It’d been so long since you saw him, it felt nice to be in his presence again. You appreciated him as a person and the kindness he radiated - even to you, someone so much lower in economic status than him.

“But I thought you went to Washington?” You fiddled with one of your bracelets as you spoke.

Justin nodded, stiffly. “I do, we’re just on Spring Break a few weeks before you so I thought I’d visit.”

You smiled, “You should’ve gotten in touch!”

You think the situation had gotten a hold of him because while he otherwise would be rambling on with questions and stories, Justin had gotten quiet. “But why are you here?”

You blinked. Now you felt uncomfortable. It was as if you finally noticed everyone’s eyes on you, including Michael’s glaring ones. Yeah, this is definitely the last time you were going to be there when someone else was coming over.

Ashton turned back to the tv and scoffed, “Please, she practically lives here.”

Your nose crinkled when you smiled and made your way to Michael, who had taken a seat and motioned you into his lap. You shrugged, looking at your high school classmates. “This is my boyfriend’s house.”

Justin sat down slowly, his eyes just as wide as Chris and Charlie’s. Most people on campus knew you were Michael’s girlfriend. So the shocked reaction had been diminishing. You were almost starting to become used to not seeing it.

Almost.

You don’t really blame them. You are very different. Michael is aggressive, angry and cold while you tended to be bubbly, shy and school-oriented. But that’s what you liked about each other. You just fit so well together. Opposites attract, right?

Ashton spoke up again, knowing Michael would likely not talk the entire reunion if he could help it. “How do you know each other?”

You took one of Michael’s hands in yours, your hand looking almost minature in his large one, and traced the tattoos you loved so much, “We went to high school together.”

Ashton nodded, “Oh the private one?”

Charlie nodded, glancing at Michael before looking at you, “I didn’t know you were dating Michael Clifford.”

You smiled weakly, we’re not friends, that’s why you didn’t know is what you wanted to say.

Michael took a chug of the glass bottled beer in his hands. It was like a silent signal because after, the three boys began playing their game.

You made a grab for the beer but Michael moved it out of your reach, his free hand slapping the side of your thigh in warning.

Your eyes widened. “Michael!” You hissed under your breath. Not in front of everyone. But he just stared at you, unsmiling. The only hint of humor came from his twinkling eyes.

He didn’t like you trying anything he was into: drugs, cigarettes, weed, alcohol. It was all off limits to you and he made sure everyone knew it. It was his way to preserve your innocence, even if dating him made that seem sort of like a paradox. Sometimes, though, it was fun to mess with him even if you were never interested in actually experimenting with the things he did.

“So, Michael…” You were brought out of your own little world by Charlie. “Are you going to Epsilon’s party tonight?”

“No.” Came Michael’s curt reply, his thumb drawing lazy circles on your arm.

Ashton was the one who saved the moment (and Charlie’s feelings) by filling in Michael’s blanks. You think that’s why they were such good friends. “Michael hates parties. He’d rather be here with Y/N and do it like bunnies.”

You weren’t sure if you wanted to die or if you wanted to kill Ashton. Maybe both.

Because as soon as those words left his mouth to your high school classmates - and high school crush - you felt your face heat up. You didn’t have to look to know that Michael was smirking.

You saw Justin blush and look away and for a moment, you felt worse. There was something about feeling completely humiliated in front of someone you hold at such a high regard that does that to you.

Ashton and Chris both exclaimed at something on the tv at the same time your phone chimed. You unlocked it to read the text.

kelly (stats)

hey girl! are you on campus? i’m at the library and wanted to see if you wanted to work on the project.

The project. It was due in a few weeks and while you had finished your portion, the rest of it was definitely not done. You sighed, knowing you’d have to go and lose the rest of your day with Michael.

You felt Michael shift under you, moving up from his slouched position to be able to read your text fully. He kissed your shoulder when he did.

“I’ll be right back.” You whispered to which he nodded. You got up from his lap and moved to the kitchen, moving to call Kelly and sort out the details.

“Hello?”

+

Justin’s eyes followed your movements as you left to the kitchen, though certainly not missing the way Michael’s hollow eyes watched his every move. Michael, sitting slouched, didn’t even stop staring when he took a chug of his beer, the red of his healing bloody knuckles on full display.

Justin definitely understood what made Michael so scary on campus. What he couldn’t understand is why Y/N was with him. Sweet, innocent Y/N. Had you changed so much in three years that this is who you would fall for?

He could feel Michael radiate hostility but Michael remained quiet, simply choosing to observe Justin, which somehow seemed more terrifying.

When you came back into the room, Justin actively tried not to watch you. He kept his eyes on the tv with his only glimpse of you being your bottom half as you walked by him, your dress falling to just below your mid thigh. He couldn’t help but listen to his friend’s chiming voice as you spoke in a lower tone.

“I’m going to go to the library to finish up a project.” He couldn’t hear what Michael answered, if he even answered. But he heard you continue. “No, I might just walk. It’s still light out. I’ll call you when I’m heading back.”

Then, as if the afternoon didn’t already feel surreal enough, he saw you out of the corner of his eye, bend down and plant a kiss to Michael’s lips, one of your hands were on his abdomen, holding you up. It almost felt jarring to witness. Not only to see Michael allowing such a thing but to see the girl that had taken up much of his mind, and heart, in high school willingly put herself in that position with a man like Michael. It had taken him a while this afternoon just to put the pieces together and understand that Y/N was Michael’s girlfriend but to see it laid out in front of him was disturbing nonetheless.

When you straightened up again, you regarded the boys in front of you with the kind smile Justin knew so well. “I’m heading out, nice to see you guys again.” Though you didn’t really sound like you meant it.

Justin didn’t think his next actions through. All he was thinking was that it was an out. An out to leave this house that made him so uncomfortable and an out to not be in the same room as Michael without you to mend the tension.

So he stood up without much thought, “I’ll head out with you.” And as the words left his mouth, he wanted to take them back immediately. They came out wrong. He knew it and so did everyone else in the room, evidenced by the pausing of the video game and the multiple set of eyes on him.

You blinked up at him, processing what he said for a moment before he quickly added, “I mean, I left my phone back at Chris’ room so I was going to leave anyway. I was just thinking I’d give you some company.” That didn’t sound any better either.

But he trudged through the awkwardness of his phrasing by refusing to look at Michael. Justin had a feeling that would make everything a million times worse.

But you didn’t fail him, “Oh, sure.” You smiled warmly, looking back at Michael quickly before moving towards Justin and the door, “We can catch up on the way.”

Chris and Charlie were looking at him with wide eyes as he left, likely cursing him out in their heads for messing up any chance they had at being Michael’s friends. But as he followed his friend back out to the open world, outside of the dark and cramped house, he couldn’t bring himself to care.

+

You looked up at the tall blond boy beside you as you walked down the sidewalk that would lead back to campus. You were still in awe that he was there beside you, walking and talking to you after so long. Well, not so much talking. You think he was still up in his head about the situation.

“So did you really leave something in Chris’ dorm room?” You smiled knowingly up at him.

To which he let out a chuckle and lowered his head sheepishly, “No, I…I just had to get out of there.”

You nodded like you understood, which you did. You talked a lot when we were in high school and you knew his limits, what he was used to. “Yeah, I know that house can be a lot for some people.”

“It’s just cramped.”

You didn’t say it but that kind of bothered you. It wasn’t a mansion and while it wasn’t exactly nice, it was cozy and it felt like home. Michael made it feel like home. But you knew Justin couldn’t see it that way. He was the richest boy in high school, after all. And popular because of it. Though, looking back, you couldn’t think of a time where he had let that get to his head.

“So, you and Michael, huh?” He shoved his hands in the pockets of his khakis and looked over at you. His blue eyes clouding with worry.

Now, it was your turn to chuckle. “Yeah. It’s okay, a lot of people have the same reaction.”

“It’s just different, I guess. Have you heard his reputation at all?”

You got on the bus that would lead straight to the middle of campus at that point and found two seats right next to each other.

You nodded, “I guess. But Michael…Michael’s different from what you think. He can be sweet. You just have to get to know him.” You tried to tame the big loving smile that was threatening to explode at the thought of Michael, the version of him that you knew. You were well aware of how vicious and even cruel he could be, gaining him the rumors that constantly swirled around him and now even you. But he wasn’t like that with you.

“I heard he’s in a gang.” Justin whispered.

Your eyes shot up at him in alarm, “Of course he’s not.” Unfounded rumors like that did bother you, they whittled down all of Michael’s past struggles to be theatrical entertainment for those looking in, not to mentioned demonized him even further for no reason. Though they never really bothered Michael, you had too much respect both for him and for yourself to be okay with them.

“I just don’t think I expected him to be your type.” He explained, trying to diffuse the situation.

“Well he wasn’t, not at first.” You calmed down and instead bit your inner cheek, trying to decide whether you should let him in on your little secret. “Actually, you were my type. I had a huge crush on you in high school…”

“What?-”

“…Don’t worry, I’m over it now.” you quickly added in when you I felt him freeze behind you in surprise. It was embarrassing but it didn’t make much sense keeping it from him anymore.

“I had no idea.” His voice dripped with honesty. He pulled at the collar of his polo shirt.

You shrugged, “I made sure of that. I don’t know, you were just so nice to me even though you were so out of my league. You were rich, popular but so respectful and socially aware. Plus you weren’t a republican.” You laughed before looking down, “And I was the shy scholarship kid.”

It was obvious Justin was trying to think of what to say so you helped him out, “But you know three years of college really changes you. I’m a lot more outspoken now and I found a great boyfriend.”

Justin nodded, still seemingly shocked, “That’s great.” His voice was soft and, as you made eye contact, there was something more in his eyes that you couldn’t read.

But you didn’t have to think of it much because you got to our destination and you both made your way off the bus, onto the campus you loved so much.

“Okay, I guess I’ll see you around?” You were already moving back slowly, desperate to get to the library quickly so you could head back to Michael faster.

Justin nodded, not moving to go to the dorms, “Yeah, I’ll be here for two weeks or so.”

+

You practically skipping when you reached Michael’s house again. The sun had set and part of you were upset at how long it had taken you in the library. But as you opened the door to Michael’s room and saw him laying on his bed, headphones on and wearing a black hoodie with only the tattoos on his hands peeking out, those feelings disappeared and were replaced with much more primal feelings.

Michael, slipping off his headphones gently, seemed to mirror your feelings because just a bending of his index finger in a ‘come here’ motion, was enough to have you closing the door behind you and nearly jumping onto him.

You were smiling but asked before anything else, “Ashton-?” You always felt bad he had to deal with you constantly at each other with only thin walls separating Michael’s room from his.

“He went to that frat party.” Michael muttered, uninterested. His eyes were instead trailing your body, figuring out which way was best to take off your dress.

You were on all fours as you crawled your way to him, stopping when you were in between his spread legs. “You should’ve gone.” Even if you didn’t love parties, they were still a big part of who he was, before dating you he would be at them drinking the night away every other day, and a part of you felt bad for taking them away from him, even if unintentionally.

But still, he couldn’t look like he care less when he reached over and pulled your dress up to uncover your ass, his hands trailing down the curve of you sensually before giving you a small spank that made you jump in surprise. “I have better things to do.”

Now that deserved a reward. Your hand rubbed over the noticeable bulge in his jeans. Michael’s hands undid his belt, the sight of that action almost making you want to moan right then and there. Your hands trailed up to undo the button and zipper. He eagerly pushed his hips up to help you take his jeans and boxers off.

His long and thick length stood out horizontally and you felt your mouth watering already at the thought of taking him in your mouth.

One of his hands took a hold of the gold necklace you were wearing, twisting it and pulling at it to force your face closer to his.“Are you gonna be a good girl for me?” 

When you first started having sex, you were shy and inexperienced. Words and talk like that would have had you shaking nervously. And while you would still likely react that way in public, with enough time with Michael and in the privacy of his room, you didn’t even blink when you answered.

“Always.” Your hand wrapped around him before you took his dick into your mouth. Michael groaned immediately and threw his head back, eyes closed. This only proved to spur you on. You took him as deep as you could, stopping only when his tip hit the back of your throat, causing you to gag and pull back.

But the vibrations only seemed to have him moaning louder and led to one of his hands to collect your hair and push himself back into your mouth. “Fuck that’s good, take it.”

You didn’t even notice when he had taken off his shirt and hoodie. His tattoos, which ranged from his fingers to his entire torso and neck were on full display and you felt yourself get wetter at the intricate ink that adorned his beautiful body. It was a contrast to your body that was completely bare of any tattoos.

Up until then, he was still controlled. When you looked up at him with the innocent eyes you knew drove him wild and moan against his length as you bobbed your head, his control snapped. There was something about you looking pure, especially in that angelic-looking white dress, at the same time you were doing something so dirty with him that sent him ablaze. Even more knowing that you were only like that for him.

Immediately, he tightened his grip on your hair with both hands, holding you in place. He thrust up into your mouth at a fast pace, fucking your mouth harshly. His groans increasing in volume. He thrust into your mouth deeply, your nose nearly touching his stomach, and kept himself there. Your throat closed tightly against him.

“Do you like that?” Your jaw hurt and you felt tears in your eyes as he pulled out enough for you to breath, his cock was messy with your spit. Then he continued, thrusting into your awaiting mouth and murmuring dirty nothings under his breath. You wanted to trail your hands down to your pussy to soothe the ache it had for him but you refrained. “Do you like me using your mouth like a dirty fucking slut?”

You moaned involuntarily. You needed him. You could feel yourself soaking through your panties. Michael gave a sharp tug at your hair and pulled you off of him. He tilted your head back painfully to lock his eyes with yours.

“Do you like being used like a toy?” His voice was cold and mean but it was a turn on. You nodded your head submissively and one of his hands reached down to your cheek, giving you a sharp slap. Enough for you to feel the sting and enough for it to feel good. “Open your mouth.”

You did what he said immediately. Your tongue poking out in anticipation. Michael leaned down before spitting into your mouth. You closed your eyes, moaning when you felt another slap at your cheek.

“Dirty whore.” Michael muttered under his breath before pinning you down to his bed, tearing your dress off as soon as hit the mattress and then doing the same to your bra and underwear.

Part of you wondered what had gotten into him. Being rough and kinky in bed isn’t something out of the ordinary for you two but he usually wasn’t like this out of no where. Not that you were complaining.

On all fours, you swayed your ass to him enticingly and looked behind you with a virginal smile, “Fuck me, daddy.” You said innocently.

He didn’t say anything as he flipped you over quickly and ran the head of his dick teasingly along your entrance, slapping it onto your pussy twice. A load moan of his name left your mouth when he finally entered you. He wasted no time in thrusting at a rough pace into you. Your moans were cut off and stuttered at the pleasure.

“Fuck, you’re so tight.” One of Michael’s hands reached up to your throat and pressed tightly. The feeling of his inked hands around your throat amplified the pleasure. Your walls clenched around him. “No matter how many times I fuck you"

You saw his eyes be fixated on your breasts, the way they bounced up and down fully in pace with each of his thrusts. He leaned down and wrapped his warm mouth around one of tits, flicking and twirling his tongue around your nipple.

Your eyes closed involuntarily and your back arched in pleasure as he continued to slam his hips into yours. The only sounds in the room were the sound of skin slapping, your moans and his grunts.

“If only those boys could see you now, their innocent little classmate, so submissive and desperate for my cock, letting me fuck you like my bitch.” Michael’s voice was taunting and you could barely get your mind out of the haze of pleasure to question what he was talking about.

“But they’ll never see you like this. This is the only cock you’ll ever get, your first and your last. No one will ever be able to please you like I can. Do you think that blondie can make you feel this good?” You closed your eyes in pleasure, too far lost to even understand what he was saying, just shaking your head in answer. You were blushing like crazy at his words, which only served to make him thrust faster.

“Look at me.” He hissed and you did just when his thrusts’ vigor increased even more which left you whimpering and writhing underneath him. But still, you opened and kept your eyes on him, your mouth open as moans filtered out of you. “Tell me you’re mine.”  

Though your mouth was open, you couldn’t formulate words. But Michael’s hands on your throat pressed harder and his other hand slapped your cheek as a warning, “Tell me.”

“Y-Yours. I’m yours, Mikey. Only yours.” His mouth was on yours in a heated kiss while his pace never faltered as he pistoned in and out of you.

“That’s right.” Michael praised, “Mine.” Then he said something he had never said before. “I’m going to knock you up, get you nice and pregnant. Everyone would know then, that you’re fucking mine.” He almost sounded delirious with the prospect.

He didn’t mean it, he couldn’t mean it. Even if he did, you were on birth control. But you moaned loader just at the thought of his love for you reaching those lengths.

“You want that, little one? Want me to fill your tight little cunt with my cum?”

A chorus of “Yes, yes, yes” left your mouth, you couldn’t speak anymore than just repeating that. The thought of being pregnant with his child and the reminder of just how small you were compared to him was enough to put you on another planet.

“H-Harder.” You were shaking as he complied with your request, his thrusts moving faster and rougher into you. Your arms wrapped themselves around his torso and scratched at his back, desperate for a way to express the nearly overwhelming pleasure you felt. He hissed in pleasure at the pain, his body above you engulfed nearly your entire figure.

“Open” His rough voice commanded and you opened your mouth obediently. Moaning again as he spit into your awaiting tongue once again.

Your throat was starting to be raw with your screaming and begging to come. “Cum for me, princess.”

You clenched your walls as you came around his big cock and that seemed to be the only thing that took for him to release after you.

He released inside you, filling you and leaking out after he pulled out. “Such a good girl.”

He was still coming when he pulled out and ribbons of cum adorned your face, which you graciously accepted. Michael watched your face and groaned to himself when you licked some of his cum off that was at the corner of your mouth and swallowed.

His eyes were closed in pleasure for a moment before he released his grip on your throat. You didn’t doubt the image before of you, blushing and covered in his cum did wonders for his libido.  

He cleaned you up but you had a feeling it was just an excuse to be able to give you a passionate kiss. “You did great, baby girl. I love you.”

His praise made your heart swell. “I love you, too.”

Before you knew it, your kiss had gotten much more frenzied and his hand was trailing to your sore entrance. But you stopped before it could lead to a round two.

“I’m sore.” You mumbled before nuzzling into chest. His arms wrapped around your body protectively and kissed the top of your head, gently, so different from how rough he was just a few moments before.  

You looked up at him quizzically just to see that he was already looking at you. “So, are you going to tell me what that was about?”

Michael looked genuinely confused, “What do you mean?”

You rolled your eyes, moving up so you were at eye level with him. You ran your fingers through his soft black hair, noting how his eyes fluttered at the sensation. “You know what I mean. What wound you up so bad?”

“Nothing” But at your pointed look, he sighed in defeat and muttered, “Those little rich boys. The tall one, he’s into you and I couldn’t do shit about it.”

You sputtered, “Justin?! No way is he into me.” You shook your head, giggling as you leaned back to lay your head on his shoulder. “Actually, in high school, I was the one into him.”

You probably shouldn’t have said that. You knew it as soon as Michael’s eyes hardened and his body stiffened. “What?”

Shaking your head, you stuttered out, “But I got over that years ago, he’s just a friend.”

But Michael couldn’t let it go, “You liked him and he was in my fucking house? He left with you for fucks sakes Y/N.” He moved as if he was getting up and you placed a hand on his chest to stop him (only doing so because he let you, otherwise his strength would quickly overpower yours). If he were to go after Justin, there would be little you could do to stop him from beating him to a pulp.

You kissed him deeply to calm him down because you saw his eyes start to shut down. They started to look like the same eyes he had in public, the cold, angry ones. And you couldn’t let him go there, not with you.

“We were only with each other for a few minutes, we took the bus.” You reasoned with him.

Michael locked his jaw tightly but he was starting to calm down, “That bitch ass couldn’t even look at me but I was watching him. He kept looking at you like he knew you, like he knew you how I know you.”

He looked at you then, with a mocking smirk. “Like he knew how sweet and moral you are and that you shouldn’t be with your big bad boyfriend. Too bad he didn’t see you begging to have your mouth and pussy filled by your mean boyfriend’s cock. Or that he didn’t know I was the one that took your virginity,” He moaned at the memory, “What do you think he would say if he saw innocent little Y/N like that?”

You didn’t have to be looking at him to see the delight in his bright eyes and sneering smile. It was obvious he enjoyed corrupting you.

You whined at his words, embarrassed, as if you didn’t hear much worse things come out of his mouth when you were underneath him or even when he was in fights with others.

“Are you sure Ashton isn’t home?” You changed the topic.

“He’s out.” Michael repeated, “Why, did you want him to join?”

He was teasing you, you knew he was but you whined again, blushing (something you knew he loved) and shook your head no.

He chuckled, a warm and joking chuckle, “Good, because I’m not sharing you. Remember that.”

Michael settled you in between his legs comfortably, giving you his phone to busy yourself with games or take photos. He kissed the top of your head, that reached just to his chin. Meanwhile, he grabbed a cigarette and a lighter from his nightstand, placing the white stick in his mouth and lighting it. The scent overtook your senses uncomfortably. But you were used to it so you didn’t do much besides raising your hand jokingly, to ask for a puff.

But Michael, who never took those things as a joke, squeezed your thigh. “I don’t want you getting into the shit I’m into.” He said, “I want to keep you pure for me.”

Because as much as he loved corrupting you, he loved your innocence even more.

+

so i think i’m going to make this into a two part series with each part having two stories involved. if that makes sense, let me know what you think!

[alienheartattack]

To All Of Us, From 2000 Years Ago

I got so mad about 139 and the leaks that I banged out my own 3000+ word ending to the manga today. Please keep in mind that this is a non-shipping story. Although I’ve exclusively written Rivamika before, this is not a Rivamika story, and although there’s an Eren/Mikasa scene at the beginning. there is no relationship between them, only the implication of feelings that are not quite reciprocated. I also threw some Levi fan service in there because why the hell not?

CW: There are references to and non-detailed descriptions of rape in this story.

You can also read this on AO3!

"You know what you have to do," Eren says. Mikasa pretends not to hear him over the rush of the little creek they're sitting by so he says it again, louder.

"I know," she sighs. "Even now, knowing that you've done something so unforgivable, a part of me doesn't want to."

"You're a good person, Mikasa. You'll be even better without me."

She snorts a laugh. "I've killed people, too. Just not as many as you did."

"You always had the weirdest sense of humor." Eren puts an arm around her, presses a kiss to her cheek. "I'm going to miss it." That's what finally brings him to tears, the thought of not seeing Mikasa again. Or Armin. Or Connie, or Jean, or Captain Levi, even the rest of them. He's had plenty of time to accept that he'd die at nineteen, was always going to die at nineteen, but now that the moment has arrived he wants to hold on just a bit longer.

Mikasa doesn't cry, at least not the way he expects her to. Tears stream down her face but she doesn't sniffle, doesn't sob, doesn't rage or scream the way she’s done in the past. He sees them both, Mikasa the girl and Mikasa the soldier, perfectly coexisting in the inky blackness of her eyes. She has made her decision. She made it before she even stepped into the mouth of the Titan.

"Kiss me one last time," Eren weeps. "Please."

"Okay," she nods, cupping his face with one hand and leaning in close. "See you later, Eren."

When Mikasa pulls away from his lips, the deed is already done. His severed head feels sickeningly heavy in her blood-stained hands. His eyes gaze beyond her, beyond the veil of this world, clouded with the knowledge of the void. The Titan around her begins to disintegrate in plumes of white steam. Mikasa swears she can smell wildflowers.

"Mikasa Ackerman," a girl's voice echoes. Mikasa whips her head around, looking for the source of the sound. Someone seems to materialize from the steam, swirling eddies of smoke coalescing in the form of a small girl, scraggly blond hair falling into her eyes, barefoot in a dirty white dress. Her face is blank, her eyes downcast.

"Ymir," Mikasa says, the name forming in her mouth before she can think of it.

Ymir nods, then points to Eren's head. "You loved him. Why did you kill him?"

"I had to."

"Why?"

"Because some things are more important than my love." Ymir stares blankly, seemingly confused. "The millions of people who died are more important. The world is more important. Besides, what kind of person would I be to stand beside someone who could slaughter so many people so senselessly?"

"You… don't love him?" The little girl blinks quickly, white lids snapping over black eyes. Something about it seems inhuman, wrong somehow. Mikasa cannot help but think of insects.

A tear falls from her face and lands on Eren’s, snaking a trail down his cheek as though he'd shed it himself. "I can never forget what he did and I don't know if I'll ever be able to forgive him for it, but I'll always love Eren."

"You wouldn't die for him?"

Mikasa answers without hesitation. "Never."

Ymir's gaze snaps up to Mikasa's, and she feels sick from what she sees in the girl's odd, dark eyes: a hunger, almost starvation, for the scraps of affection Karl Fritz would throw at her; a longing to be treated well, to be fussed over and doted on and adored. Ymir would close her eyes and dream of a shining, beautiful man when the king held her down and fucked her, made her recoil, made her bleed, beat her when she cried out or complained of the pain. She carved out a space in her mind for him where she sculpted him into her ideal. Sometime between that first bloody night and the day the assassin's spear pierced her chest she invented a Karl Fritz out of whole cloth, a man whose cold entreaties and brutal assaults were proof of his undying love.

Mikasa sees these things from Ymir’s eyes, feels the bruises forming on her back, the tearing and bleeding between her legs, the rotted wine breath of Karl Fritz in her mouth.

"I would never have jumped in front of that spear," she says, more confident than she’s ever felt. "I wouldn't even have considered it." Ymir frowns, cocks her head like she's trying to understand. "You thought you were doing the right thing, but you protected a man who never loved you. You laid down your life for a man who forced your daughters to consume your body. He didn't even mourn you."

A flash of anger contorts Ymir's face. Her eyes dart around wildly, turning Mikasa's words over in her mind. "But he loved me," she insists.

"Did he ever tell you he loved you? Or did he treat you like a slave?" Mikasa's voice wavers at the word slave, at the memory of Eren screaming at her across that restaurant table; the moment her wall of denial came crumbling down. No matter what his plan was, it became clear that day that he would step on any of them to achieve it. She had no idea how true that assessment would become, millions of bodies crushed into the contaminated earth beneath the feet of Eren’s Titans.

She wonders if things would have happened differently if he'd just admitted once that he loved her.

"You are free," she tells Ymir. "You choose your own destiny. I am free, and I chose mine."

Ymir says nothing, her eyes luminous with tears, and then dissipates into the smoke. Mikasa is vaguely aware of the wavering steam around her, of Levi flying on Falco's back and pulling her out of the Titan's mouth before everything turns hazy and white.

She can see the scene from two thousand years earlier as clear as though she were there, floating above it all: the crowd come to see King Fritz's speech, the hooded assassin's arm pulling back, the tip of the spear glinting in the daylight. The assassin lets the spear fly, its arc perfectly aimed at the heart of the tyrant. His wife Ymir, older and slimmer than the girl Mikasa met but still with those same sad, black insect eyes, watches in horror as the tip of the spear flies closer and closer; but she does not move, not even when it impales her husband through the chest and the light in his eyes is snuffed out.

In time-lapse, Mikasa sees it all: the accession of Queen Ymir, wise and fair, and the moderate reigns of her three daughters, and their daughters after them. The power of the Titans remains within the royal family, passed down from mother to daughter, a shameful, secret birthright. They create diplomatic ties with other countries, offering succor and counsel, avoiding the path of war so as not to reveal their ultimate power. There is no Great Titan War, no walls, no telepathic manipulation. The world moves forward in fits and starts as it always has, small skirmishes and occasional wars, but the Eldians remain steadfast and committed to peace. Satisfied with Ymir's choice, Mikasa finds herself closing her eyes, opening them for the first time again in the year 835, in her parents' house just outside Shiganshina, as a new doctor pulls her into the world. He is not Grisha Yeager, she notes, and then she forgets who Grisha Yeager is entirely.

In the year 845, there is no Wall Maria for the Colossal Titan to breach, and no Colossal Titan to breach it.

Inside one of the cities in what was once Wall Rose, a history teacher writes notes on a chalkboard before his first class arrives for the day. He draws a crown in the middle of the board and writes the subject of the day's class inside of it: QUEEN YMIR THE WISE. The teacher is startled by a noise behind him; he turns to find one of his students, a shy girl called Sarah, taking a seat at her desk.

"School hasn't started yet," he says. "You're supposed to be outside."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Smith," Sarah replies. "I was looking at a really interesting bug and the other girls started making fun of me."

The teacher nods. "All right, just this once. If you’d like, sometime I could teach you how to stand up to those girls."

Hundreds of miles away, the forests of Dauper ring with the whoops of an exuberant girl, triumphing at having killed her first deer with a bow and arrow she carved herself. She doesn't care that she's scaring the other game away with her commotion, or that she has no idea how she'll lug a hundred-pound carcass all the way back home.

In Trost, a young boy lingers over his breakfast; not because he wants to miss school, but because his mother's omelet is the most delicious thing he's ever eaten and probably ever will eat. His mother ruffles his hair and pinches his round cheek, then gently chides him to eat faster or he’ll be late.

A little boy in Ragako District, a few inches shorter than his friends, demands another explanation of the multiplication tables. He doesn't quite understand the concept, goes blank when his friends try to explain arrays of rows and columns, but he believes that he can pass today's test if he tries hard enough.

Across the sea in Marley, the prosperous Eldian District is strewn with streamers, celebrating the 2000th anniversary of the assassination of the cruel King Fritz. The children have the day off from school and are gathering in the streets, purchasing candy and ice cream from vendor stalls and exchanging them as gifts to celebrate the sweetness of life. A little blond girl receives an extra coin from her father, who tells her to get something special for herself.

A few blocks away, a doctor fills his medical bag and sets off to see his first patient of the day. As he walks through the crowd of happy children, many of whom he’s delivered himself, he hopes that his only son will change his mind and join the family business.

In Mitras, a shopkeeper opens his door for the first time, pausing for a moment in the early morning sunshine to admire the wooden shingle hanging by his doorway, gently swinging in the breeze. It depicts a hand wrapped around a mug of tea, wisps of steam rising into the air above it.

The door opens while he's adjusting the canisters on the shelf behind the counter, making sure their labels face perfectly forward. His heart leaps at the tinkle of the doorbell. He picked the most musical one, the one that made him happiest when he heard it, and he feels very good about his decision.

"Hello, welcome to Ackerman Tea— Mom!" His voice takes on an adolescent whine when he addresses his mother, which makes him feel like a child and impossibly old at the same time, despite his twenty-six years.

"Did you really think I wouldn't be your first customer?" she asks, beaming. "Of course I'm going to come support my sweet boy." Her gaze sweeps over the shop, its walls painted a deep forest green, the mahogany counter polished to a mirror shine. "I'm so proud of you, Levi. You've worked so hard and it shows." Her voice quavers, her eyes filling with tears.

"Moooom," he trills, softer this time, quietly moved. Her presence feels like an auspicious omen, a reminder from the universe that someone will catch him should he fall. "Is there a tea you’re interested in, or would you like me to help you choose? We have more than thirty varieties."

"You've been practicing," his mother notes with a nod.

Levi shrugs off her comment, feeling a bit bashful that she’s noticed his hard work. "I've never been great with people, and this job is nothing but people. At least until I can hire someone to cover the counter while I blend tea in the back."

"You'll get there soon," she says, pulling a few coins from her purse. "Get me something you'd think I'd like."

He thinks for a moment, his brow furrowing in concentration, before his face lights up and he grabs a step-stool to reach a canister of black tea flavored with strawberry and rose. "This one is sweet and floral, but it becomes so much more when you add a bit of milk. You don't even need any sugar."

"Perfect. You even thought about how I take my tea." She places a few coins on the counter, watching her son approvingly as he scoops the tea into a bag, folds it closed with surgical precision, and ties a blue ribbon around it. "You're going to be a success, my love. I know it."

"That makes one of us," he smirks, then scoops the coins into his palm and puts them in the cash register, enjoying the feel of the heavy keys under his fingers, the spring-loaded pressure of the drawer. He hopes he gets to use it many more times today.

"Will you be home for dinner?"

"I should be. I can't imagine people will want to buy tea at night."

"Good," his mother says. "Because now that you're in business, we should talk about finding you a wife."

"MOM!" he exclaims, a furious blush coloring his face.

Further south in Shiganshina, Mikasa sulks as her mother walks her into town, not wanting to leave the safety of her parents' cabin to learn and play with the other children. She is perfectly happy to do chores on the farm, to learn the simultaneously mundane and arcane secrets of coaxing a plant from seed, to throw feed to the chickens and pull weeds in the garden.

"Mikasa, you're ten years old. Your father and I can't teach you everything," her mother says.

"I can learn from books. I don't need to go to school."

"The fact that you're saying that means you need to go. There's more to the world than just our farm, my sweet. You might want to see the world someday."

The little girl huffs. "I doubt it." Her mother simply shakes her head and smiles, ruminating on her daughter’s impending teenage years, a possible hint of rebellion, but finds that hard to imagine. Mikasa is usually a calm, easygoing child, though perhaps a bit too inquisitive and stubborn for her own good.

Mikasa hugs her mother fiercely at the school gate, watching as she turns and walks back up the road that leads to their farm. She’s excited to make new friends and learn new things, but she misses her home more than she ever thought possible. She lets out a soft sigh, then turns to face the crowd of running, yelling children; her new classmates.

She trudges around the grassy schoolyard, dodging groups of kids chasing each other or playing impromptu games. Everyone seems to know each other already; even if she did feel comfortable enough to go up to someone and introduce herself, she has no idea who to approach first.

"Hey! Give that back!" someone screams behind her. Mikasa turns around to see a small blond boy jumping up and down, reaching for a book that a larger boy dangles just above his grasp. The larger boy just laughs at him, taunting him with the book, threatening to tear it from its spine.

Mikasa frowns, balling her fists at her sides, then approaches the boys. "He said to give his book back," she says to the bully. "Give it back."

The bully laughs. "You think you can tell me what to do?"

"I think you should give the book back if you know what's good for you," she snarls, putting her hands on her hips. The bully laughs again and shoves Mikasa out of the way with one hand, making her stumble backwards, tripping over her own feet until she lands on her behind in the dirt. She gets up, dusts herself off, and runs up to the bully, punching him square in the nose. He falls to the ground, dropping the book. Mikasa tosses it to the blond boy. The bully grabs his nose, tears welling in his eyes, and lets out a wail when he sees his hand smeared with blood.

"You leave him alone!" Mikasa threatens, looming over the bully, her dark eyes shining. He scrabbles to his feet and runs away and she lets out a relieved breath, her heart hammering in her chest.

"That was amazing!" the little boy says. When he approaches her, she finds that he's not actually that small, only a few inches shorter than her. "I've never seen you before. Are you new?"

"It's my first day," she replies. "I've lived here all my life but I haven't been to school yet."

"I'm Armin," the boy says. "What's your name?"

"Mikasa."

"That’s an interesting name. Are you from Hizuru?" Armin asks, his eyes wide with curiosity. He holds up his book, a thick, leather-bound tome, A Brief History of Hizuru and the Minor East Sea Islands written in gilt lettering. "My parents told me that the whole country is built around a volcano. A big mountain filled with liquid fire! Well, technically it’s molten rock."

"My mom's family is from Hizuru, but I’ve never been there and I don't know anything about any liquid fire mountains," she says tentatively.

"It's real!" he gushes. "I'm reading about it now. I could tell you about it more at recess if you want. I like to sit under that tree over there." He points off in the distance, at a huge pine tree that shades a corner of the yard. "They're going to ring the bell soon, otherwise I'd tell you now. Volcanoes are so cool. Sometimes they explode and shoot the liquid fire into the sky like a firework."

"Wow!" Mikasa marvels with a smile. "I can’t wait to hear about them."

[astrovian]

the official ranking of RA photoshoot outfits (pt. 1)

as @dykethorin​ said when I first proposed doing this particular ranking,  “Some real Decisions™️ were made” with these shoots y’all

all photoshoot outfits (for part one) under the cut

the official ranking of Daniel Miller outfits here

the official ranking of Adam Price outfits here

the official ranking of Claude Becker outfits here

guys, I’m crying with laughter

hey quick question: what the fuck was this photoshoot??? (and also I need current RA in these poses)

it’s real nice to see a fun, loosey-goosey RA (before he established himself in the broody-character archetype) but there are so many questionable fashion choices here

when I started this list I had two options:

1)     allow some leeway to the older photoshoots because, let’s be real, the early 2000s were an atrocious time for fashion that a lot of us would most rather forget we participated in

2)     judge them by today’s standards, which is harsh but some of these outfits deserve it

naturally, I chose option #2

It’s so hard to even pick where to start. the too-loose pants? the ill-fitting suit jacket? The untucked dress shirt that is for some god-forsaken reason undone in two separate directions??

I have chosen one thing that sums the outfit up as a whole: what monster decided to put the shirt collar over the suit jacket????

the jazz hands scream “hey I’m a FUN guy” but the suit screams “I’m the yo-pro asshole at the office who is so unreliable you’re pretty sure some nepotism must surely have had an influence during the hiring process”

I originally said ‘I guess we should be glad there’s no surfer necklace’ but then I had the horrifying realisation that it’s a 50/50 shot as to whether that would improve this outfit or make it worse. and you know when there’s even slimmest chance a surfer necklace could improve an outfit somehow that it’s time to take a good hard look at yourself

1/10 just because this photoshoot made me genuinely laugh out loud

wait I’m sorry, what-

how on god’s green earth is this the same photoshoot (?) as guys, I’m crying with laughter????

the great thing about these lists is that you are getting my genuine reactions as I progress down the images. I had no idea this was the same photoshoot (?) until approximately 10 seconds after writing guys, I’m crying with laughter

this perfectly encapsulates the duality of man – one moment it’s all goofy jazz hands and the next it’s a hunk-of-the-week moment

this man and guys, I’m crying with laughter are the equivalent of looking at pictures of yourself in high school vs. in your 20s/30s/at your prime. the whiplash is insane

and why is he in front of barred windows?? it appears they were afraid of what would happen if this hunk escaped into the general population

I still can’t believe they kept the collar over the suit jacket though

I’m so conflicted guys, the urge to numerically rank this terrible outfit is strong but uh… as per usual shirtless ones aren’t fair/10

revenge of the killer surfer necklace

do you ever look back at a specific moment in time and are so thankful that someone took one tiny action? one small thing they did in the heat of the moment that probably seemed innocuous at the time but had far-reaching consequences? for example, it might something as simple as deciding to take a umbrella on a bright sunny day only for it to be extremely useful on the way home when the weather turns

this is how I feel about the person who decided RA could leave that top button closed for this shoot

if you squint, you can see the surfer necklace under that top button. and thank god you have to squint

this is such an early 2000s look though. that shirt by itself is fine and would actually look killer with a properly fitted suit nowadays. it’s the shirt dress and loose denim look with makes no sense to me

2/10 for a pretty uninspiring early 2000s outfit

revenge of the uh… 

from the same shoot as revenge of the killer surfer necklace this loses .1 of a mark for adding a jacket, while pretty innocuous, to an already busy outfit

1.9/10

were we really that afraid of legs?

why were we, as a society, so obsessed with loose, ill-fitting pants? why were we so desperate to conceal legs from the general population? what secrets were we trying to hide? I understand the comfort factor on the hand, but on the other did anyone actually have eyes

the sneakers/suit combo I can definitely live with. but those pants (that I’m convinced must be pyjama pants in another life) turns it all into a sloppy, blurry mess

2.7/10

is it a bird? is it a plane? no, it’s… a floating RA?

what is it about photoshoots in the early 2000s where they just make no damn sense. it’s my opinion that the theme/concept of a shoot should not overshadow the subject, and that’s the correct opinion (as well as being the exact opposite as to what’s happening here)

maybe there was a hint or reason as to why floating wizard RA exists in the article that this shoot presumably came with, but I don’t get it. clearly I’m far too literal of a person and need to embrace my inner artist

looks pretty, still weird

moving on the entire point of this post, the outfit, I uh,… oh god

I’m pretty sure this the same (and similar, if not) outfit RA wore in the North & South behind-the-scenes, and how we as a society went from John Thornton’s stiff collar and top hat to this is amazing

maybe we were so obsessed with period dramas back then because it was a nice alternative to indulge our eyes in when we had to face the harsh, cold reality of modern fashion at the time

anyway – trust me, while I am all for a man in a necklace, let’s pray surfer necklaces never come back 2.9/10

I genuinely was looking up “pinstriped jacket jokes” because I couldn’t think of anything off the top of my head but then I realised I don’t need a joke here because pinstriped jackets are a joke all by themselves

I feel like there may be a situation where pinstriped suit jackets might grow on me, but this is not that situation

also I don’t really know where I stand on the belt, but I certainly think I’m leaning towards the ‘why’ part of the scale. if you’re gonna make a belt that prominent in a photoshoot, at least make it a fun belt

3/10

I’m noticing a trend in these photoshoots and it’s these horrific backgrounds

I will admit that the non-patterned suit jacket is going with the jeans a lot better here. but now that my attention isn’t focused on that, all I can see are the dress shoes. WHY DID YOU PUT DRESS SHOES WITH STRAIGHT-LEGGED JEANS???

please someone I am begging you, can we as a society get to tapered jeans already

3.3/10

did RA genuinely ever get put into any clothes that actually fitted him properly at this point in time?

look, I know I’ve been picking on the bootcut jeans & loose attire that plagued us in the early 2000s (or 2006, to be specific to this photoshoot). what can I say, it’s the low-hanging fruit. or loose-hanging, as the case may be

I do appreciate that rich brown leather jacket and that smile. but that’s where it stops. someone take dress shirts and dress shoes away from bootcut denim PLEASE

3.5/10

this is the bad-boy from your hometown in every rom-com ever

as with well this in an interesting development that I can’t say I disapprove of below, the lower rating is simply because from what we can see, it’s just a plain shirt. however, that dipped v-neck? mm-mmm

look at that smirk. this man knows what he’s doing to us, dammit.

why do you persist in hurting us this way 4/10 

well this in an interesting development that I can’t say I disapprove of

god bless the person who said we need this shirt wet and clinging and only half-soaked

I’m so sad that I have to give this such a low ranking because uh… we’ve established I have a weakness for those biceps

this does also get bonus points for the creativity of “only this portion of your shirt needs to be wet for your close-up” but at the end of the day it is a solitary grey t-shirt even if it is floating in an attractive sea of muscles

4.5/10

the photographer really said ‘who gives a crap about the clothes’, huh?

an interesting shirt! but as much as I love RA’s face, we should be able to see more of the shirt (and the outfit) because uh… it’s hard to make a judgement call on a photoshoot outfit without that

also, it’s just so hard to concentrate on some of these with RA staring into my soul like that

*sigh* 4.6/10

hello sir, are you as kinky as your shirt?

this is one of the few occasions on which I will give the bootleg baggy jeans a pass. interesting choice to go shoeless for all outfits in this shoot – but the way the shirt is all crumpled is annoying me an incessant amount. I am begging you, someone pass this stylist an ironing board PLEASE

4.7/10 for a crinkle-cut RA

all that’s missing is the beer cans

I’m not sure of the short sleeves here. I think with the shirt open as well my brain doesn’t know where to look

HOWEVER, this is an RA from the early 2000s that I can get behind – largely because he’s not drowning in his denim

the nice, plain belt which matches with the shirt? excellent

interesting choice to go with the bare feet – this entire look (and the quality of that concrete floor) screams ‘we’re chilling at a summer party in your parent’s basement in the early 2000s’ if not for one thing – that couch is way too nice looking. am I being too pedantic about this? no. If you’re gonna go for the whole basement party look, you need a couch that’s falling apart and has at least one questionable stain on it

that being said, I would hang out in this man’s basement

it’s a shirtless one so once again, I cannot give a numerical answer/10

I’m not sure if this man is dangerous or is just an idiot

they may have been wanting RA to embrace his inner Daniel Miller here but that is NOT a jacket that should have its collar popped or if it is, it definitely should not be popped that much. just turn the intensity of that pop down by… at least 35%

this look is telling me to embrace my inner lacy, ruffled collar that men in England used to wear around the 1500 - 1600s. I hate it and refute it with every part of my soul

this is what happens when you embrace your inner Daniel a little bit too much 5.6/10

the return of the leg monster

not much to say about this except once again we are terrified to put RA’s legs into well-fitted pants. what secrets are hiding underneath those voluminous billows? will we ever know?

5.8/10

the one that crushed my hopes and dreams and then spat on my corpse

so I admit it, I got really excited because I thought that this was a leopard print shirt and I was like “this is something I did NOT know that I needed until right now”, even if I would argue that it could have been nice in a little bit of a brighter colour. no matter, I thought it was a nice subtle addition to this plain suit and was just very excited at the prospect of RA rocking leopard print even though I almost always hate leopard print in single every form it comes in

and then. upon zooming. a disappointing paisley. sorry, paisley lovers. I hate it

I would also argue here that the pocket square would have been nice in a plain, bright colour rather than another patterned item thrown into the mix. come on stylists, stop letting me down with your pocket squares

also if there is a point where a suit can be too shiny, I think we’ve found it. I could wax floors with that fabric and I’d rather be thinking about RA’s talent & good looks rather than imagining him being used as a human mop

the hand porn is uh… strong with this one 6/10

the hand porn one

the ring is a nice subtle touch but I can’t decide where I stand on this tie. for me, the checks are just a *wee* tad too small. so small that it I’m scared it will turn into one of those optical illusions with a number in it if I stare at it the tie for too long

the pocket square could also have not tried so hard to blend in with the rest of the suit jacket. give me some colour, baby!

Richard really needs to put his hand down so I can actually concentrate on the clothes 6.5/10

 I’m just dotty for this one (I’m so sorry y’all)

so suave. so shiny. I wanna stroke that fabric so bad, it looks so soft

the dots bring a nice yet understated touch to a monotone outfit and GOOD LORD those thighs

they just had to pose him like this to torture us, I’m convinced. also they call him a “commanding gentleman” in the subtitle which is really just unnecessary to verbalise when he’s sitting like this

Someone put me in a rom-com with this man 7.2/10

the modern magician (at least he ain’t floating this time)

I know that the hat should be the focus of this shoot but I can’t get over those shoes

tangentially related, I have never understood why they make men’s dress shoes so excessively long and pointed. these certainly aren’t a good example of this but uh… I don’t understand why men’s dress shoes are clown shoes

I think part of what’s throwing me off is the sockless look. normally I can handle (and even love) it with some shoes but there’s something about the hem of those jeans and those shoes that turn them into slippers when worn sockless

I love the two-tone scarf but what really excites me is the plaid shirt that we can barely see. I’m eternally sad that they had RA hid it in this pose. and also, come one. you could’ve at least gotten a chair with an actual back to it. that can’t be good for his back at all

the one bonus of this outfit is the hat because when do we ever get RA in hats?? and hats that aren’t baseball caps?? a nice, rare touch. but also one which hides most of that face so…

can we talk about the fact that my gut tells me those jean cuffs have been deliberately turned up at the front and all I want in life is to reach into this image and flip them down 7.5/10

*pterodactyl noises*

holy macaroni. that demin shirt. and this shirt’s even a nice lighter denim colour??? and the v-neck?? SIR

I know he’s worn some faux-denim shirts in the last few years (see: Uncle Vanya rehearsal pics) but as outerwear? knocked it out of the park in this one

also I know this is a shirt not a jacket, but this shirt made me think about how I never realised how much I needed RA in jean jackets until today

It could be argued that a nice crew neck cut would work slightly better than the v-neck but that’s really a personal choice

a lovely respite for my weary eyes 7.7/10

a truly, truly blessed image. the sort of image that would bring you endless good luck

I know I’ve given a lot of pants crap on this list but these. these are the ones. these are doing the lord’s work for sure. and god bless the person who decided to shoot from this particular side angle.

and then the shirt?? I’m honestly afraid it may rip if he moves. I could leave or take the tie though. it’s not adding a whole lot to this outfit and I would much rather that shirt be uh… open at the top for a glimpse of uh… well. you know.

this RA outfit laughs in the face of all those early 2000s RA outfits 8.1/10

me running to open my phone every time an RA-related notification pops up

my only sadness is that this shoot was in black & white. we need more action-shot RA shoots!

also the subtle plaid?? *chef’s kiss*

well, I said ‘my only sadness’ but is it also me or are both ends of that tie strangely square? that is throwing me off from an otherwise spectacular photoshoot outfit, I won’t lie

8.5/10 for a man of action

this is what we all like to think we look on the way to work. hate to break it to ya - we don’t

god, that wind-ruffled hair. the rustic look provided by both the suit material & the photo editing. that stare over the top of that coffee mug. the casual ‘I just picked up the paper on my way out this morning’

words fail me

would it be weird if I said I would pay money to be able to run my hands through anyone’s hair that looks as soft and wind-swept as that 8.9/10

the comfiest RA

I love. love. love this outfit, especially the sweater. the pant colour goes extremely well with this one and I’m so glad they didn’t just stick him in jeans. the is the softest, comfiest RA and I love it. this is an RA who you can simultaneously share a beer and takeaway with at home, cuddling up on the sofa while you watch a film, as well as an RA who will take you out to eat fancy pasta at an upscale restaurant.

the choice of sitting on a stool is also great. my only real gripe here is the watch (and even that’s a minor one, really). the watch isn’t THAT bad, but it’s chunky face reminds me slightly of the watches boys in my class would wear in middle school. the watch could be a *wee wee tad* slicker, but really, I’m nitpicking here (and this is the only time I will admit to it)

the more I look at it, the more this becomes one of my fav RA pics. the slight smile. the relaxed pose. the hint of hand porn

weirdly, for some reason this picture gives me the exact same comfy and ‘just chilling out’ feeling as when I hear the song “Kiss Me” by Sixpence None the Richer 9.5/10

[scottymcgeesterwrites]

Some Goddamn Curtains

When I was in college, I kept getting the compliment, “Wow, your room is really nice for a guy.”  I never understood what that meant for the longest time.  Then I actually paid attention to how most guys kept their dorm room. I once waited for a guy to get ready to head down to an event. I realized that I had never actually stepped foot in his room, much less even glanced inside of it. So when he stepped out and said he was ready to go, I leaned to the side over his shoulder and oh my god it was like downtown Baghdad during the worst of the Iraq War. Damn bruh, you live like this? I liked all my college roommates but the most untidiest one was in sophomore year. He left his toothbrush lying around in the open in a sock drawer, and it would end up somewhere else each night. Maybe he liked to play scavenger hunts to keep himself on his toes? He never put the DVDs back in their respective cases. I once couldn’t wait to watch Iron Man with a friend at their dorm, only to open the case once I got there and realize that my roommate had replaced it with Season 1 of Martin. He would also do this thing where he would drink a can of Coke (that I bought), not finish it, put it back in the fridge, then later open a new can of Coke that he didn’t feel like finishing, and rinse and repeat. First year roommate wasn’t that bad. Third year roommate was nearly as tidy as I was. Then in my fourth and final year I lived alone,  so my sense of the idea that “guys were messy” didn’t really hit me because I’ve only had one bad experience and chalked it up to “It was just that one guy”. I’m 31, and by now I have noticed people saying things like, “Oh my God I was actually thinking about what curtains I liked and I’m such an adult. This is what adult thinking is like. I’m adulting now.”

I hate hearing shit like that. I grew up blithely admitting liking things that an adult would “normally like”, such as curtains. The curtains thing came up in high school when I hung out at the senior lounge. The senior lounge was this bare room that looked like it was meant for old people to sit and play bingo. It was boring and dull and I hated it. It felt more lke a prison cafeteria really, with some worn out couches. I would bring my video games to that lounge, namely GoldenEye 007, to play with friends during our free period.  The room didn’t have any curtains, so at a certain time in the afternoon, the sun would beat down directly onto the screen, making it difficult to see properly. A lot of us would squint and move closer or lean forward.  I then said, “This room needs some curtains.”

A pause, and then someone replied, “Did you just say this room needs curtains?” And I was like, “Yeah. Maybe something blue. Something dark.”

And he looked at me and scoffed, and all the other guys did the same - they gave me this funny sideways glance and scoffed. I asked what the problem was, but they mostly shook their heads in disbelief. I was frankly annoyed by their response. So I said, louder, “This room needs some goddamn curtains”, because I thought it was perfectly fucking reasonable that a person would logically do something about the fucking glare from the fucking sun. Maybe they liked blinds better. Who knows? But it took me ages to fully realize two things:  1. It’s not socially acceptable for boys to be interested in style - whether it be about living spaces or clothes. I was fiercely made fun of for the clothes I wore as a kid throughout young adult life. I hated all kinds of t-shirts. I think growing up thin and gangly made me too self-aware of my arms. But I never specifically wanted to wear anything that had a band name or a company logo or even my favorite video game or movie. I would feel like a walking advertisement, and that would piss me off. I often liked ties, long-sleeved shirts, and sweaters. I never left the house in sweatpants or pajamas. I always had to comb my hair and put on a good shirt. Sweatpants were when you worked out or worked around the house fixing things.  I grew up in Catholic school, so we had uniforms. On dress down days, my classmates would come up to me and say, “Eddie, you were supposed to dress DOWN, not up” or “I can’t believe you’re wearing that on a dress down day!”.  I didn’t have a problem with people dressing how they dressed. Sure I was never into the goth thing, but I didn’t want to judge. I just wanted to dress how I wanted to dress. And maybe I was influenced in some way by how my parents dressed me up, and maybe other times I did feel embarrassed, but I knew that at the end of the day I would wear what felt most comfortable to me. Sometimes my mom would give me a sweater that was a tad too bland, so I went to the bathroom once I got to school and took it off. I would like the polo but untucked it and unbuttoned the top buttons. Half-and-half. Right idea, but lemme wear it like this instead. College was really when I started to develop my everyday style, my “main outfit”, like a video game character. I always wore some untucked button-down shirt with a tie, jeans, and sneakers. I liked it. It was this weird blend of dressing up and dressing down. People my age thought I was overdressed but my parents and people over 50 complained that I was underdressed. It was great! It feels so special to piss off both sides! My parents still remember the time I got an award at college and I went up the stage wearing that getup. You look at the picture and see the students standing side-by-side in nice dresses and dockers, and then there’s me wearing jeans and sneakers with a shirt and tie.  There always seemed to be this false dichotomy for how men should look and be - either the dapper “metrosexual” man who was slightly effeminate or the rough-and-tumble strong man who didn’t need to use an umbrella when it rained and never cared to fix his hair because that’s some “gay shit” for silly city folk. That false dichotomy is always played out in media. There’s a million buddy cop movies about the book-smart guy who is suave and sophisticated teaming up with the street-smart guy who is all muscle and manly and goes for the more practical route. Yin and Yang. Hot and cold. Good cop and bad cop. Lucky and Wild. Tango and Cash. But growing up I thought, “Why not both?” I loved watching James Bond as much as I loved watching Indiana Jones. Why couldn’t I be both if I really wanted to? It fit me best to play both roles. I AM GOING TO MIX THESE TWO THINGS AND YOU CAN’T FUCKING STOP ME! I WILL BE BOTH BOOK-SMART AND STREET-SMART. I KNOW THE QUADRATIC EQUATION AND HOW TO CON SOMEONE. THE ULTIMATE LIFEFORM.  The fucking worst though is being an adult now and hearing women wish they knew a guy who “dressed properly”, and men complimenting my clothes saying I look sharp.

Fuck all of you, honestly. 2. Young people are afraid to admit they like things that adults like. I grew up with extended family members living in cozy homes. I liked to admire their grandfather clocks, their decanters, their entertainment center, their offices and their chairs. I liked to wander around their houses during the holidays and poke my nose into their closets and admire old things. Maybe it’s something that an only-child might relate to the most. I wasn’t required or asked to be upstairs to attend a younger or older sibling. The adults just did their own thing and so I wandered off. Ikea always tickled my fancy as a kid. I would wander through the model rooms of offices and bedrooms and bathrooms, and I found whatever felt coziest to me and pretended that I was home. Better yet, I sometimes daydreamed that the entire Ikea facility was my home. How about that? Tired of sleeping on the bunk bed? Go to the next room to the big bed. I feel like cooking in that kitchen today, not this one. Some days I’ll feel more serious and work in the wooden office desk and other days I’ll feel silly and be in the kids room. I’ll take the whole building, please. This is where I live now. Swedish meatballs for dinner and creamy European chocolate bars for dessert every day. Young people fear being old and facing responsibilities. That doesn’t mean you liking these things makes you older. Taste and style is part of who you are, and there’s no shame if you have an interest in some bath mats or a nice decanter when you’re 20 or 17.

When I lived in my single dorm back in senior year of college, I realized that I was truly living alone for the first time. It brought some sanity to me that I didn’t know I needed. I was able to organize things how I saw fit, and hosted parties whenever I wanted. If I felt like something needed adjusting, I didn’t need to ask anybody’s permission. I really started exploring my sense of style and taste. As I grew up, I developed really specific tastes about where I would live: 1. Everything has to make sense. The placement of shelves, TVs, desks, dressers, paintings, pictures, all have to feel like they are easily viewed and accessible without needing to awkwardly turn to face them or reach them.  2. Symmetry is not always necessary but still good to fall back on when you don’t know what to do. 3. I never liked to sit with my back to the window(s) or the door. I always needed to see who or what was going to approach me or look at me.  4. TVs should never go on top of fireplaces.  5. Always have some kind of drawing room for guests to wait.  6. Never put your keys or sensitive documents in the foyer, drawing room, or wherever else strangers can easily find them the minute they walk into the house.  7. Open concept is pretentious.  8. It is far easier to cook if you have an island in the kitchen.  9. McMansions are the bane of style. Fake balconies, fake shutters, brick facades - everything about them is evil.  10. Get some goddamn curtains.

[lnarizakis]

critical thinking | a. keiji

masterlist | cards against humanity x haikyuu!!

pairing: akaashi keiji x gen!reader

foreword: this is around 2k words and honestly I’m kinda proud of myself like i think this is the longest fic I’ve written on here!! I hope you guys enjoy hehe

look out for: no warnings!

PREFACE. The setting: Akaashi Keiji and (L/N) (Y/N), with a painfully obvious crush on the former, are studying in the library. It’s one of the only days where the setter’s not practicing hard for nationals after school. They’re not really aware of the time, but it’s probably around 4:30. The sun’s shining brightly through the window, hitting all the right spots on Keiji’s face perfectly. He’s such a gentleman for choosing to sit facing the sun. It’s awfully quiet in the surrounding air, but between the two of them hushed whispers fill the atmosphere. From afar, it could be assumed that they’re having a heated discussion about the literature homework in front of them, debating the true meaning behind the significance of the light in the character’s eyes, but they’re discussing something a little unrelated. Well, perhaps the concept of “true love” could have been branched out from how (Y/N) suggested that the light in the character’s eyes could have been lit up because of the love he had for the deuteragonist, so in a way they’re still discussing the literature homework. But, no. Not really. I mean:

“Wait, so you don’t believe in true love? Like, the kind where you look into someone’s eyes for the first time and think— ‘Wow. I’m in love with them,” blurted out (Y/N) in a hushed whisper, absolutely exasperated with the fact that Keiji outrightedly stated that he does not believe in true love. Well, as far as (Y/N) interpreted the words “I really don’t think there’s such thing as love at first sight” goes, Keiji does not believe in true love.

“No, you’re getting the two mixed up. The kind you’re thinking of is love at first sight, as I’ve previously mentioned. True love is something else. True love is…” Keiji thought for a minute. He stayed silent, wondering what true love really is. He tapped his fingers on one hand, and played with his pen with the other. The notebook underneath both remained blank.

“True love is critical thinking.”

(Y/N) sputtered out, “You thought for a good one minute, and all you could think of what true love is is critical thinking?! You weren’t critically thinking there, Akaashi-san.” Keiji chuckled. That was funny. He smirked, as he let his eyes bring themselves down towards his still-blank notebook.

“We should get back to work, (L/N)-san. We’re here in the library for a reason,” Keiji stated, as a matter-of-fact. Dejectedly, (Y/N) muttered out that he’s right, and they get back to work. They agreed to disagree with their previous argument, about the significance of the light behind the main character’s eyes, and decide to write their own answer in their notebook.

After a good fifteen minutes, (Y/N) let out a sigh as they dropped their pen onto the table. They stretched out their arms, cramped from being used to write several paragraphs of pure BS-ing. Impulsively, they suggested, “You think true love is critical thinking, huh? Is there any way I can show you that it’s not all that?”

Keiji thought for a couple seconds, then pointed his pen towards (Y/N).

“See? I had to think for a minute if you were asking me out on a date. Critical thinking at its finest.” Oh, how he loved to tease (Y/N). They playfully rolled their eyes. “But alright. I’m game. Convince me, with everything you can, that true love isn’t all critical thinking.”

ONE. The setting: Akaashi was in his room, staring at his closet. It’s a neatly done closet, with all of his clothes sorted by color. He had just come out of his shower, and he had just finished drying off. His hair was still a little wet, but since it’s several hours before his first date with (Y/N), it’ll dry beforehand. He just needed to find an outfit. He had planned on doing so last night, but extended volleyball practice called and asked for all his energy to be spent. Bokuto just had to get those cross spikes in before nationals. He couldn’t forget, like last time. That was… a little embarrassing, to say the least.

He pulled out a pair of black skinny jeans along with a gray sweater that he hadn’t worn since his first year in high school, but it seemed to him that his shoulders have gotten a little too broad to fit loosely into that sweater. Looks like it won’t do; he might feel a little uncomfortable with the snug fit, and (Y/N) might feel a little odd with his constant shuffling, attempting to stay comfortable throughout the date. Back to the closet those two went.

Oh my. Black joggers and a hooded sweatshirt. Absolutely not. It was too casual. Keiji imagined himself wearing that while (Y/N) was wearing the nicest thing in their closet (well, perhaps not the nicest thing, but something still pretty first-date nice).

Keiji found a pair of looser jeans— but what to pair them with? He found a collared shirt and a lighter-colored sweater to go on top. In the depths of his closet he also found an overcoat, as well as an expensive belt the third-years of his volleyball team bought him for his birthday. He would definitely look nice with this. But wait— what were they going to do again? Just a simple outing at the cafe, right? This outfit was definitely too fancy for something like this. He couldn’t simply wear something like this at a cafe like that. Nope. Definitely not. Back to the closet the whole outfit went.

He gave up. He decided to go with the first outfit, the skinny jeans and the sweater. He was going to have a collared button-down underneath. He thought this would be best. Definitely. No doubt about it.

—

Walking towards the cafe, Keiji felt more uncomfortable by the minute. He felt his pants were too tight, or his collar kept unfolding itself every time he moved his shoulders. He felt like a clown in a circus; with everyone staring at him as he walked by different people on the sidewalk.

When he opened the door, he found (Y/N) sitting at a table by themself. They hadn’t ordered anything yet, but they were on their phone. Oh gosh, they’ve been waiting for him. It was all because he spent too long finding an outfit to wear. He really shouldn’t have put so much thought into that outfit. It was so unnecessary to think that much!

“Hey, you.” It was (Y/N). They stood up from where they were sitting, and beckoned Keiji to come closer, as he was currently blocking the entrance. He followed the little hand wave, and profusely apologized for being late, to which (Y/N) replied that it was completely fine; they actually had just arrived.

“You look nice.” (Y/N) broke the silence once more. They scanned Keiji up and down, smiling softly.

TWO. The setting: The sun’s setting and the sky’s a really pretty purple and pink. They’re walking home after what seemed like their fourth or fifth date. They weren’t really sure themselves, since (Y/N) keeps spontaneously asking them out on several dates. So maybe it was even the sixth. But who was he to judge, because right at this moment he stood underneath a street lamp that shone a bright yellow light with the love of his life. He was so proud to call them his. What he wasn’t so proud of, however, is how they haven’t had one, single kiss yet. That’s a little embarrassing. However, right here, seemed like the best opportunity to share his first kiss with (Y/N).

Uh-oh. How was he supposed to kiss them? Does he… place a hand on their shoulder? Or does it go on their waist, as he leans in and softly kisses them? No, that didn’t seem right. Maybe he places that hand behind the neck and brings them closer to him? No, that didn’t sound right either. Where does his other hand go? Does he keep it hidden in the pocket of his coat, or does he hold their hand? You know, for support? Or maybe he uses both hands to hold them by the waist. That seemed like the best option.

But wait— how does he… lean in and kiss them? Does he do it slowly? Just quickly give them a little peck on the lips and look away like a tsundere? Oh gosh, his lips were chapped; maybe he shouldn’t kiss them after all—

He’s given no time to think any more before (Y/N) leans towards him and places their lips against his. The kiss was a little forceful, and he felt their teeth, but it was still nonetheless wonderful. Once they pulled away, Keiji softly placed the tips of his fingers over his lips, ghosting the touch of what he had just felt.

“You just… kissed me,” he stated.

They smiled a toothy grin. “I did. You were taking too long; you were staring at me like a dead fish. Critical thinking, aren’tcha? It doesn’t get you anywhere,” (Y/N) taunted.

THREE. The setting: (Y/N) and Keiji stood outside the door to the gym, hand in hand. It was some time after practice had ended. The former felt Keiji’s hand getting clammy and sweaty, a result of keeping their relationship hidden for so long. Currently, they were about to announce to Bokuto Koutarou, proud captain and ace of their volleyball team, also being Keiji's best friend and closest confidant, that they were dating.

What was he to say? Akaashi was to word it in the most precise way, or else (Y/N) would get the wrong idea about what they meant to him, and their relationship might be extremely damaged. Or Bokuto might think that Akaashi’s setting volleyball secondary on his list of priorities, which is extremely worrying as part of the starting line-up for nationals.

Right on cue, the doors to the gym swung open. It was Bokuto. His skin glistened with sweat, a product of his hard work. He gave a long sigh, exclaiming his thanks for the cold air outside. His eyes were closed. Bokuto opened his eyes to see his junior and someone else that he had never seen before holding hands. Akaashi looked worried, to which Bokuto expressed his concern with an “Oya? Akaashi, what’s the matter?”

“Hi, Bokuto-san. My name is (L/N) (Y/N), and Akaashi and I are dating. We just wanted to tell you that.” (Y/N) blurted out, and Akaashi felt his cheeks grow slightly warm because of the sudden outburst of their confession. To Akaashi’s surprise, Bokuto laughed heartily. The ace clasped a sweaty hand on the setter’s shoulder.

“Oh! I’m proud of you, Akaashi. You managed to get ‘em! You’ve been crushing on them since forever.”

FOUR. The setting: It’s late at night. Akaashi’s older now; he’s a little more experienced with all of this “dating stuff.” He’s getting the hang of it— well, he should be, since there’s a little black velvet box sitting in the drawer of his nightstand in his bedroom. Akaashi has his own little apartment now, and (Y/N) has their own. They haven’t moved in together yet. Akaashi’s ready to propose to them. He’s got the best plan ever. He knows exactly what to do. There’s nothing that can disrupt the plan. First, he’s going to walk over to (Y/N)’s apartment, and they’re going to spend the whole day together, out and about. He’s then going to treat them to a nice dinner, which once they’re done, he’s going to present to them the ring. It’s going to be beautiful and meaningful. Memorable, even. Or, well, it was going to be beautiful and meaningful.

“You can’t sleep?”

“No… I had a nightmare that you left me.”

“Okay, come over and we can sleep together.”

Akaashi hung up the phone. Around ten minutes later, he heard a knock at his apartment door, and there he saw (Y/N), cold and out of breath. He let them in, and he led them into his bedroom.

—

And so we have it: Akaashi and (Y/N) were lying side-by-side on his bed, neither of them being able to go to sleep. The former setter turned to (Y/N) and they replicated his actions. He stared into their eyes.

“You know I love you, right? I could never leave you,” Ever the stoic boyfriend. (Y/N) still smiled softly, though, knowing he meant every word he said. Despite his cold exterior, his eyes radiate warmth.

“I know. I love you too,” they whispered.

“I want to marry you,” Akaashi accidentally blurted out. His eyes widened, and so did (Y/N)’s. Oh God, did he really just say that? Did he really mean it? Of course he meant it, what was he thinking?

Still in shock, (Y/N) asked, “Wait, do you really mean it?”

“I just… said that, right?” Akaashi let their question slip in and out of his ear.

“Yes. To both questions.”

Getting out of bed, Akaashi lowered his voice as he asked himself as well as (Y/N), “You’re serious, right? This is super spontaneous…” He reached for the closed drawer of his nightstand, and opened it up. He grabbed the black velvet box and opened it. Behind him, (Y/N) was sitting up in bed, wondering what he was doing.

And there he was, inching his way closer to (Y/N), holding out their engagement ring, to which they held out their ring finger. He slowly eased the ring onto their finger, face flushed with warmth and love while doing so. He looked up into their eyes.

“Looks like I wasn’t critically thinking there. Thank you for teaching me what it means to love from not just the mind, but also from the heart.” (Y/N) playfully slapped him on the arm.

“Keiji, you’re supposed to say that at our marriage, not right now!”

[foreverwcnter]

small favors

pairing — peter parker x reader

requested: @goldenpete “ roommate!peter where he comes home and the reader did his laundry because he was having a hard week or something. he is like so grateful and she's like oh it was nothing and he realizes right there he's in love love

warnings — none

summary — when a few simple favors was enough to make peter realise he was in love with you. 

author’s note — this was supposed to be a concept, but it’s such a cute idea that can go in so many different ways. I’ve poured my heart and soul into writing this.

══════════════════

Have you ever felt that feeling of just pure and genuine joy when you first step into your new home? Even when it’s small, simple, basic, you still find it just captivating. You always get the feeling that you can organize your life with a new home. You have the ability to create a home for new memories and house them in your mind, holding them tight to your chest. 

That was how you and Peter Parker felt when you both moved into the apartment you would share? From the beginning, your friendship with Peter sparked like those sparklers from the Fourth of July. The ones that kids would run around with, laughing and shrieking when the sparks got too close. The day you and Peter met was unlike any other day. It all seemed but a dream to you both now. It was as if you had known each other for ages, for centuries, when only a few years passed. 

“Peter Parker, get your head out of the clouds and back on your shoulders,” Mrs. Warren's stern snap brought Peter out of the daze he found himself in. It was no surprise that Peter was daydreaming again. He yearned to be out swinging in the streets. Letting the wind blow past him. It was an exhilarating feeling. It felt like he was a knight in shining armor when he was out saving lives. It made him proud.

Once the bell had rung, a shrill sound that was painful to the ears, Peter had rushed out of class, ready to just get to the next one and get the day over with. Ned had run up beside him, going on an on about something Star Wars related before his voice pitch heightened and he nudged peter in the arm painfully.

“Who is that?”

Looking across the hall, you stood in your pale jean overalls, a plain white shirt tucked under it. Your soft and combed locks of hair were tied back in a braid, which fell against your shoulders neatly. You were graceful. You looked poised and sophisticated but you had a soft and awkward expression. It was odd that such conflicting characteristics fit so perfectly together. You seemed to walk out of a fairytale book. 

“I think-” Peter paused. “That’s the new student Mrs. Warren told us about. She’s from like Washington or whatever. Supposed to be really smart.”

“Let’s go talk to her.”

Before Peter could even utter a word from his thin lips, Ned grasped Peter’s left hand in a steel grip, dragging him to where you stood, examining your schedule as if it were a diamond you found in a cave. 

“Hey, I’m Ned and this is Peter. We heard you’re new and were wondering if you wanted to have someone to help you around the school,” Ned explained, his cheerful and bright personality shining through his dashing grin and small eyes.

A delicate smile pulled on your lips. “That’d be great. This school is huge and I have literally no idea how to even get back to the entrance,” you chuckled, greeting the two politely. “Oh! I’m y/n by the way.” 

You and Peter managed to unpack all your belongings and decorated the apartment within a week. While Peter was in charge of unpacking all the heavy things, you were in charge of the details. You made the apartment cozy and quaint. You always dreamed of living somewhere beautiful, like a cottage in a meadow full of flowers and a small stream nearby. You tried to make the apartment similar to that setting and it fits in perfectly. 

The next few weeks went by smoothly. Peter and you soon started college together and living together was a breeze. While you were getting a degree in botany - no doubt because you had a love for plants and flowers - and Peter getting his in engineering, things weren’t so bad. you often helped each other study, sometimes while you were patching Peter’s wounds up from his patrols.

“Hold still, Peter,” you snapped at the boy as he squirmed on the bed. You were giving Peter the stitches he needed in his shoulder, but he kept moving and flinching from the pain. “I know it hurts, but it’ll hurt worse if I rip your skin.”

Peter flinched harshly as you pulled the needle through his bruised skin. The fight he had gotten in was rather nasty, leaving him with more wounds than usual. He had instantly come to you for you to help stitch and treat the wounds, but also just for moral support. A simple favor was all he asked for.

“Thank you,” he sighed as you finished, pulling the top of the suit that was clinging to his waist up over his arms and shoulders. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, y/n”

“You’d be a mess without me,” you chuckled, playfully and lightly punching his uninjured shoulder. “But you’re welcome.”

The thing was, living with Peter as his roommate, could be a risk, especially if someone were to find out you were both friends. Peter made it very clear to you that he faced a lot fo unwanted dangers, unwanted enemies, and so much more and that could put you in danger. There had been a time- a day- where your life was in danger, but you didn’t care because you helped your best friend that day.  

Running down the street to where the fight was, you clutched a small container of web fluid in hand. Peter had run out in the middle of the battle with the Green Goblin and was in desperate need of some more. You went as fast as your legs could carry you and you finally arrived in time square where people were screaming, running and hiding as Peter fought the man on the glider. 

“Spider-man!” You called, looking up at the fight with concern written in your soft gaze. “Spider-man, catch!” 

Peter turned in time and as you threw the vial into the air, he caught it, finally being able to swing once again. But of course, the inevitable happened.

“Spider-man’s got a friend I see!” the enemy laughed, swooping down at you. You couldn't even look in time before arms scooped you and you were going hundreds of feet in the air by that point in time. You had been this high before but in safe arms. These arms that held you were not safe whatsoever. The whole situation reminded you of those fairytales of princesses being kidnapped, but their knight in shining armor would save them.

Peter was swinging frantically up to where you were, calling out your name as if it was the only thing he could ever say. 

“Don’t hurt her, just let her go!” Peter yelled, making his way over.

���Whoops!” The green goblin laughed as he dropped you. A scream left your lips as you began tumbling through the air. A sense of dread and panic washed over you as you fell through the thin air, the screams of people from below getting louder, but your scream was all you could hear. This was it. You were going to die. 

Of course, like any cliche movie or novel, you felt something stop you from falling. Someone had caught you. Your immediate response was to cling to whoever it was, thinking it was Peter but it wasn’t. 

“Hey kid, I caught her,” Tony Stark’s voice sounded and you opened your eyes to see the familiar red and gold suit. The man soon landed on a balcony, setting you down just as Peter swung over, tackling you in a strong hug. When he hugged you, you could hear the small sniffles from his crying and how his breath hitched in his throat. It made your heart tighten and you hugged him back tightly.

“Don’t do that-” 

“Nuh-uh, don’t give me that stupid talk about how I shouldn’t have come out here and not have helped you. You were out of web fluid, I could tell so I got you some,” you cut him off, pulling from the hug and giving him a stern look.

He hesitantly whispered,” Thank you.” 

Now, it was your second year of college. You and Peter lived together peacefully as very close friends, but while things were going well for you, Peter was having a very tough week. For starter’s, he completely forgot about a test he had and struggled to find a time to make it up. Second, his patrols were getting longer and it was obvious he wasn’t getting enough rest. He missed two other days of classes before you finally decided that you should help him out with some simple things.

Folding the last clothing item he had stashed away in his laundry you finished washing, you heard the glass balcony door open and close. Turning to face Peter, you frowned at how tired and exhausted he looked once he took off his mask. His eyes softened almost when seeing the basket of folded laundry on the table and his lips tugged on a frown.

“Y/n you didn’t have to do that,” he began, a certain sadness in his voice. “I could have done it earlier-”

You shook your head, walking over to him and taking the mask that he held in his hands. “No, Peter. I was happy to do it. You’ve had such a hard week. Let me just do something for you. I made dinner and after you shower, we can eat dinner and watch Star Wars or something. You need a break.”’

Peter’s eyes glinted with gratitude and he nodded lightly. “Thank you, y/n. Thank you so much. I don’t deserve you.”

“It was nothing. Now go shower,” you smiled, walking back to where the laundry basket was and setting it by his bedroom door before heading back to get the dinner ready. You may or may have not stolen a certain recipe from Aunt May, knowing it was his favorite. You wanted to cheer him up, so you put lots of effort into making him happy that night.

About fifteen minutes later, Peter came in dressed in a plain t-shirt and some sweatpants, taking his seat at the table across from you as he began to eat. He glanced over at you, watching you eat so mindfully and silently before beginning to realize something.

No matter what, you had always been there for him. There was the time he forgot his science project and you brought it for him because he was once again fighting crime before school. Then there was the time you stitched him up after big fights, taking care of him when you needed to. Another favor. Then the time you risked your life to get him his needed web fluid. You almost died and it scared him to death because Peter knew for a fact he couldn't lose you. And now, you had done his long-overdue laundry and made dinner for him. Peter was soon coming across and realization, something he should have noticed sooner.

He loved you.

It made so much sense to him. The fact you never left his side for anyone or anything. You did such kind things for him even when he didn’t deserve it. It also explained how his gaze always softened when looking at you almost as if you could relax him without putting any effort to. You were the one person who looked out for him because even when you couldn’t you still tried. He loved that about you. You were the only person that kept him going. That allowed him to have the strength to stand back up against his opponents.

All it took was a few small favors for him to realize that. 

↳ taglist — @hey-its-grey @starklovebot @glimmering-gamora @lovesick-valkyrie @pufflypuffle @uglypastels @learning-howto-be-myselfx3 @spidermansmj14 @simi11 @abby-blxck @pxterbpxrker @softboydeacon @scoobieboobiedoo @euphoricmads @not-jay-c @marveley @jammelchinas @sadgirlhours247 @neverlandparker @fairytaleparker @bbyaubergine  @daphsingsalot 

[withyounct]

What’s wrong kid? (6)

Reader x Single dad!Jaehyun

Genre: Fluff

Words: 4.7k

Prompt: You notice a child crying at a school playground. You decide to see what’s up and meet an extremely stressed/extremely handsome father.

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A/n: This is ridiculously long… holy shit. Enjoy!

Pulling up at Jaehyun’s office building two emotions ran through you. One, you were irritated. You had been up for the past 48 hours working on a twenty-page paper. Albeit it was your fault for waiting till the last minute to write it. Two, you were confused. Jaehyun had sent you a vague text to meet him at his office after class, that you didn’t need to worry about picking up Hyunjin today. You looked up at the tall building and on any other given day you would stare and gawk at it, but today you just wanted to figure out what was going on and go home. Walking into the lobby, you dialed Jaehyun’s number. It went to voicemail and you paused and sent him a here text. A few minutes went by and no reply. You noticed how everyone that passed by would look you up and down as you were dressed in ripped jeans and an MCR graphic tee. You silently cursed to yourself for not having any of his friends’ numbers and walked over to the receptionist.

The lady had her eyebrows raised at your presence, but still asked if she could help you.

“Hi. I'm here to see Jung Jaehyun.” You smiled, trying to sound like you belonged in such a building.

“Do you have an appointment?” She asked pulling up a screen on the computer without looking away from you.

“Well no, bu-”

“I'm sorry, but Mr. Jung is a very busy man. Please come back when you have an appointment set.” She smiled before returning to her computer. You stood there and weighed your options. You could one, wait for Jaehyun to call/text back. Or go home and take a nap. Choosing the latter, you were in the middle of telling the lady to have a good day when Doyoung entered the lobby. He scanned the area and smiled when his eyes locked on yours.

“My child!” He yelled happily as he approached. You flinched and glanced around at the other people looking between you two. Before you could say anything he took your hand and dragged you to the elevators. He pressed the button and lightly tapped his foot until it arrived. He held his arm out for you to go first and you thanked him.

From your handful of encounters with him you noticed that he was more on the talkative side of the spectrum when it came to Jaehyun’s friends. So, you knew something was wrong when he stood there quietly.

“What’s going on?” You squinted at him. He plastered on a smile and look innocently at you. Not buying it, you folded your arms over your chest.

“All I can say is that it’s Johnny’s idea and I apologize for my part in advance.” He sighed, running his fingers through his hair.

You nodded and pouted. “Okay…can I go back down and leave or is that not an option?”

“It’s not.” You guessed, but tried anyway.

The lift dinged and you were ushered into the hallway. You were barely paying attention, but you figured that you were on the top level. Doyoung led the way and you glanced at the gold plaques that every door had with names and positions in the company. He stopped at the door that read conference room and opened the door for you. Looking up at him, you peered into the room.

Everyone, but Jaehyun was present. You liked his friends, but your guard was immediately up. Doyoung walked past you to join them at the round table and gestured you to come sit. Hesitantly, you did.

Johnny cleared his throat as you surveyed their serious expressions.

“Jaehyun wasn’t the one who texted me, right?” You said before Johnny could get anything out. You looked everyone in the eyes. Before landing back on Johnny. “You guys are about to do that thing where you ‘interrogate’ me and see if I'm truly a good fit for Jaehyun and by extension Hyunjin. You’re doing this because you care about them and that’s sweet. I was expecting this sooner if I'm being honest, but I just finished a twenty-page paper and I'm tired and slightly more irritated than I’ve ever been. So, for the sake of our growing friendship and my sanity can we please cut the bullshit?”

Everyone, including yourself, was taken aback. It came out harsher than you wanted it to, but you were working on two hours of sleep and an outrageous amount of caffeine.

You were about to apologize when Taeyong smiled and Sicheng and Yuta busted out a laugh.

“Wow she saw straight through your plan in like five seconds.” Yuta cried at Johnny. Taeil chuckled alongside them and asked how much sugar do you like in your coffee before going to make you some.

“That was unnecessary, I'm sorry.” You rubbed your face and groaned.

“Don’t worry about it. We like you.” Johnny comforted, patting your back.

“Where’s Jaehyun?” You asked as Taeil handed you your cup.

“We ditched him with one of the shareholders. Johnny stole his phone before he left.” Taeyong informed. You hummed and sipped on your coffee. Was it a good idea to add more caffeine to your system? No. But, Taeil was nice enough to make it for you.

“So,” Taeyong started grabbing everyone’s attention. “I think I can wrap up everything and everyone’s concern in one question. Do you see this relationship lasting?”

The first thing you noticed when you first met Taeyong was his sharp features. Everything about him was clean and cut like someone took centuries sculpting him perfectly. However, they forgot about his eyes. They were soft, warm, and a welcome contrast to him.

The strictness of his tone lost its severity when you looked in the eyes that conveyed hope from your answer.

“Yes.” You smiled simply.  

Collective breaths were released, and a smile made its way on everyone’s face.

“Thank god.” Doyoung leaned back in his chair as if the tension left him weak.

You laughed at how easy that simple answer calmed their hearts. They didn’t ask any other question which you appreciated because you weren’t ready to give them a ‘I don’t know’ answer.

You were in the middle of talking when the door slammed open.

“You guys are a bunch of asshol-.  Y/n?” Jaehyun closed the door confused.  Once again you were faced with two options. You could play up the situation or say hi like normal. You glanced at Doyoung and a mutual understanding was made.

“Jaehyun.” You started sadly looking pitiful at him.  Doyoung rushed to your side burying your face in his chest. You stifled a laugh that threatened to break through.

“Johnny has just been the absolute worse.” Yuta chimed in, happy to play along.

“He stole your phone and has spent the last thirty minutes hounding Y/n.” Taeil surprisingly joined. He walked over and soothed your back for added effect as collective nods and fingers were being pointed in Johnny’s direction.

Jaehyun’s head slowly turned from you to Johnny the look of murder being conveyed.

“You guys are fucking liars.” Johnny hissed, flustered at Jaehyun’s growing anger. “Listen they’re over exaggerating. I only did it because you threw us all off with the whole lov-”

Taeyong quickly pushed his chair and kicked Johnny hard. You looked between them confused before scooting away from Doyoung.

“He’s right we’re over doing it, nothing actually happened.” You smiled. You got up and walked over to Jaehyun, kissing him on the cheek. “I would love to stay and chat, but I'm tired so I'm gonna go.”

“Let me walk you down.”

You told him that it was unnecessary, but he did it anyway. When you reached the ground floor Jaehyun pulled you over to the receptionist desk and told the lady to put your name down in the system as VIP entry. She looked skeptically at the two of you, but did it anyways. Jaehyun interlocked your hand as he led you to your car. You tried to fight back a blush due to all the people staring at you. Like usual Jaehyun gave you a goodbye kiss before sending you on your way.

When you reached your apartment, you cut off the engine and sat there in silence. You weren’t dumb so you could guess what Johnny was about to say and why they were concerned about if you were ready to be this involved with Jaehyun. But, you also didn’t want to jump to conclusions.

Way too tired to think about anything, you got out your car and after a lot of effort made it into the apartment. You were glad that Kun and Ten weren’t home yet and went straight to the freezer. Grabbing Ten’s ice cream, you wrote a ‘I’ll buy you another one’ note on the fridge before going to your room. You ate the container until you couldn’t feel your cheeks and passed out.

“Y/n you’re dissociating again.” You looked away from the window to find Lucas staring at you. “Are you okay?”

You pondered for a moment. “No.”

That got everyone’s attention. You were always the type to say you were okay even though you weren’t because it was just easier. But, you needed some advice, so you told them about yesterday.

“I don’t want to put words in his mouth or jump to any conclusions, but what if he really did tell them that he’s in love with me?” You sighed.

“Well, how does that make you feel?” Mark asked.

You just shrugged your shoulder weakly because you didn’t know. You’ve never been in love before. Nothing past the platonic love that you have for your friends. Romantic love was a foreign concept for you. You were doing down the deep hole of over thinking when Jeno cut through.

“Talk to him.” He suggested. “This isn’t anything you’ve experience before, so it would help to talk about it and work out your feeling together. It’s obvious that you more than like him, but that doesn’t mean its love yet. If he says it don’t feel pressured to say it back, okay?” Jeno reassured.

“I'm changing your name to Jeno the Wise.” You smiled, pulling out your phone.

“What was it before?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

It was a rare event when both you and Jaehyun could put Hyunjin to bed. He claimed that since the guys ditched him earlier that week he could be petty and leave when he wanted to. Hyunjin was a bouncing mess and you read half her library before she finally fell asleep. Jaehyun was reading through some documents on his iPad while you mindlessly scrolled through Instagram on his bed. The conversation from earlier replayed in your mind and you accidently let out a heavy sigh.

“I'm being boring, sorry.” Jaehyun sat down his tablet and pulled you onto his chest. You slid your phone into your back pocket and smiled up at him.

“No, it wasn’t you, but I'm glad I have your attention.” You giggled.

Jaehyun wasted no time pinning you to the bed and sealing your lips together. You sighed into the kiss as he ran his hand down your side. He butterflied kisses from your jaw down to your neck. You stifled a whimpered that threatened to slip through as he bit down at a sensitive spot below your ear. He kissed the bruise and went on to make more around your neck and collarbone.

“It’s getting late, you should get home before I don’t let you leave.” He whispered against your skin.

“What if I don’t want to go?” You brought his face up to yours again and slowly kissed him. You waited until he took control before pulling away. “But you're right it is late, and I don’t have a change of clothes. Pity.” You laughed and rolled off the bed.

“God you're such a tease.” He groaned into the pillow and followed you outside.

“Clear up your weekend for me.”  He said as you unlocked your car. You turned, looking at him confused.

“Do I get to know what for?” You asked wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Nope.” He smiled down and lightly kissed you. “Drive safe.”

Instead of going home like normal you made a detour to Renjun, Jeno, and Jaemin’s shared apartment. Renjun was confused when he opened the door, but let you in when he saw the array of snacks in your hands.

“Okay I have a mysterious date this weekend, so I propose we move the Stranger Things binge sleepover to tonight and skip our morning classes.” You announced to everyone in the living room. They looked amongst themselves before sending you a thumbs up.

“Kun can never know.” You shuddered, remembering last time you got caught skipping with your friends.

“Trust me. I rather die than sit through another Kun lecture.” Jaemin agreed, taking the popcorn bag from you and wandering into the kitchen.  

Friday came along and you were packing. Jaehyun was reluctant to tell you anything, but you needed to know what to pack for. He eventually gave you a vague ‘casual and cool’ which was little help. Sighing, you settled with a few spring attire and called it a day. As you were grabbing your toothbrush you received a ‘here’ text from him. You said your goodbyes to your roommates and met him outside.

“Hello beautiful.” He greeted as he kissed your cheek and took your bag from you.

“Someone is in a great mood.” You laughed getting into the car. Jaehyun hummed as a reply and drove off. He informed you that it was going to be a long ride and if you wanted you could take a nap. You of course declined and told him that you wanted to keep him company; only to fall asleep an hour into the ride.

“Y/n wake up. We’re here.” Jaehyun lightly tapped you awake. You looked around confused in your current groggy form as he wandered over to your side and unbuckled you from the seat. You looked past him, and your eyes widened.

“Whoa.” You whispered. You looked out at the beautiful view of the ocean ahead of you. You heard Jaehyun chuckle, calling you cute, and grabbed the bags. It took you a second to collect yourself before you followed him into the beach house.

“Since its pretty late I'm gonna start making dinner and you can go take a shower and relax for a while.” He stated after putting away all the luggage.

“I can help.” You offered and was met with a shake.

“Nope. I'm pampering you on this trip. Now go relax.” Jaehyun shooed you out the kitchen and into the hallway. You pouted for a second and decided fine. You walked through the house and found the master bedroom. You got desensitize with how nice and expensive everything was around Jaehyun, but this room changed that for you. You whistled when you entered the master bath and smiled gleefully at the jacuzzi type bathtub. The inner child in you demanded a bubble bath and you were happy to appease it. As you set into the hot bath you turned on the Bluetooth and zoned out with your chill playlist surrounding you.

After an hour and a sufficient amount of wrinkles on your fingers and toes you got out, changed, and found Jaehyun in the kitchen.

“You’re still not allowed to help.” He warned pointing the spatula at you. You laughed holding up your hands in surrender. You slid into one of the stools as Jaehyun poured you a glass of wine. You looked at the glass and started to giggle. Earlier that day you were eating chili cheese fries with Yangyang and now you were drinking wine that probably cost the same as tuition.

You got bored and started pestering Jaehyun. You hopped down from the stool and hugged him from behind. He snickered as you followed him around the kitchen without letting go.

“Have I ever told you how cute you are?”

“Several times a day.” You teased. He turned around in your arms and placed a chaste kiss on your lips.

“Go out to the terrace. I’ll bring the food out.” He pinched your cheek and sent you away. You skipped outside and smiled at his set up. It was a simple candlelight dinner with light stringed around the terrace. The main appeal was that it overlooked the ocean. You sat yourself and sipped on your wine. Jaehyun came out a few minutes later and set a plate in front of you. It was French pepper steak dinner. He poured you more wine and the two of you talked over dinner.

You were a notorious light weight, so you were a bit tipsy. You knew Jaehyun was a funny guy, but you found yourself giggling at everything he said, and you were too busy laughing to see the hearts in his eyes. He held your hand and interlocked your fingers on the table. You smiled at him then out at the sky. The stars were out, so you started to name the ones you knew. Jaehyun sat quietly listening to the sound of your voice and the calm sound of the ocean mixing together in perfect harmony and smiled fondly.

Jaehyun proposed walking on the beach after dinner and you happily agreed. You ran to find your sandals and met him outside. You walked down the little trail to the private beach and skipped around. Determining that the sandals just got in the way, you took them off. Jaehyun took your hand in his and held your shoes for you. As you walked down the shore you collected seashells. You told Jaehyun that it would be a fun activity for you and Hyunjin to make stuff out of them.

“I've never seen you this happy. Did you come to the beach as a child?” He asked swinging your arm.

“Nope. Sick kid remember.” You bent down and picked up another shell. “The first time and only time I went was senior year. It was a graduation trip my friends and I set up. Growing up I always wanted too, so when we went I had so much fun. I'm a sucky swimmer and everyone was scared shitless because I would go too far or run into a wave with reckless abandon and threw caution to the wind.” You laughed. “Haechan had to sit me down and put me in ‘time out’ because I was under the water for too long. I'm pretty sure I raised all their blood pressure that day.”

“I can only imagine.” He chuckled next to you.

“I cried when it was time to go. It was childish, but it was before I knew that we all got into the same university. So, that trip was like our last goodbye in my mind. I guess they couldn’t stand seeing me like that, so Mark let us stay longer.” You smiled. “I felt bad afterwards since he had to drive us back at night. I apologized the whole way back, even though he said I was worth it.”

“Because you are.” Jaehyun stopped and spun you into his arms. “We can go swimming later in the day tomorrow.”

You walked back to the house and got ready for bed. A wave of shyness smacked you when you exited the bathroom. It was stupid, you thought, you had literally slept in his bed on multiple occasions. But, now you were suddenly shy? 

“I um set up another room if you don’t want to sleep here.” He said his voice laced with the same shyness.

‘Ah we’re both stupid. Nice to know.’ You thought. Laughing, you got under the covers and beckoned him to do the same. He clicked off the lights and wrapped his arms around you like normal. There was an awkward tension in the air

“We’re idiots.” You laughed into his chest, efficiently killing the tension.  Jaehyun laughed alongside with you and you felt him relax.

“I won’t do anything until you’re ready.” He reassured.

“I know. Thank you.” You lightly kissed him before resting your head back on his chest. You fell asleep to the sound of his steady heartbeat.

You woke up to see Jaehyun smiling down at you as he caressed your cheek.

“Good morning creep.” You yawned.

“Morning beautiful.” He beamed. It was already noon so you both got up and got ready to explore the little town near the house. You finished before him and sat on the porch swing and waited. You were playing with the hem of your dress when he walked out. He placed a sun hat on your head, called you cute, and led you to the car.

The town was your stereotypical ocean town. Beautiful and colorful. The first thing you did when you arrived was found an ice cream parlor. Walking around with a cone in hand you dragged Jaehyun into every store that caught your eye. Seeing the smile on your face he was happy to obliged.

Jaehyun had stopped to call and check up on Hyunjin who was with Johnny for the weekend. While he was on call, you spotted a small jewelry shop and wandered to it. There was an elderly woman running the store that smiled at you when you entered You looked around not really looking for anything in particular. Your eyes landed on a necklace set and you picked it up. It was simple; two silver necklaces with a half circle pendant that when combined made the moon. It was your style and you fell in love with it. You bought it without giving it an afterthought and rejoined Jaehyun outside.

You were done shopping and ready to go swimming. So, when you got back home you changed into the bathing suit Jaehyun had bought you in five seconds flat. You bounced around while Jaehyun got all the things ready to take down to the beach. A few minutes later you headed down.

“When you say reckless aband-” He started while setting up the umbrella.

“No regard for my own life.” You stated bluntly. You wasted no time peeling off your dress and skipped over towards the water.

“Stop.” Jaehyun called and you halted your step. You turned towards him and noticed his ear become red at your half naked form. He was flustered, but persisted. “Be careful. I’ll join you in a minute.”

You nodded and continuing over. The moment you enter you were taken down by a wave. You laughed as you resurfaced.

Leaning back, you floated around until you felt Jaehyun’s arm around you. Turning yourself upright you leaned into his embrace, securing your arms around his neck. He was about to lean in for a kiss when you dropped your arm and splashed him in the face.

The war that commenced was one of unnecessary magnitude and left you both exhausted. You crowned yourself the victor and swam circles around him. Laughing at your childishness he grabbed you and finally kissed you.

He left you to float around in peace while he chilled on the beach. You leaned back again and stared at the pristine and clear sky, thinking about everything and nothing at the same time. Jeno’s words once again infiltrated your mind. You were in some weird in between limbo with your feelings. You didn’t even know why you bought the necklaces earlier.

You let a particularly large wave take you under before resting your thoughts and getting out the water. You wrapped yourself in a spare towel and laid down on another one next to Jaehyun.

“How’s Hyunjin?” You asked.

“She conned Johnny into taking her to the ice rink, so she's living her best life.” He laughed.

You tried not to, but you ended up, taking a nap. The ghost feeling of the waves pulling you into the realm of unconsciousness.

You woke up again to Jaehyun lightly shaking you. You turned to him and he pointed forward. Sitting up you looked forward and watched the sun descend below the horizon. It created a wide line of orange that contrasted beautifully with the blue and purple hue over it. You stared in awe at it before turning back to Jaehyun. He was looking at you with the same look from the garden, but there wasn’t a Hyunjin to interrupt. The overwhelming feeling of shyness made its way through you again at the sincerity of his eyes and it was hard to look away.

Jaehyun was the first to break away.

“We should go and get you properly dried before it gets too cold.” It took you a second to leave the trance and you scrambled to collect yourself and helped him take everything inside.

You were again pushed out the kitchen and was told to shower, relax, and wait for dinner. After your bath you sat on the bed instead of venturing downstairs. You held both necklaces in your hands. You wanted to give him his half, but you didn’t know how too; you didn’t even know how to bring up a conversation to led to the necklaces. You flopped back on the bed and screamed into a pillow.

“Dinner’s ready.” He yelled from downstairs.

“Be down in a sec” You called back. Sucking it up, you clipped on your half and went down. You smiled at him as you walked onto the terrace.

Dinner was similar to the day before, but it was a lobster dish. You tried to engage in conversation, but your anxiety prevented you from doing so. You were too busy biting your bottom lip to notice the full moon, the stars that shined brighter than yesterday, and Jaehyun’s hand holding yours.

“Are you okay?” He asked. You glanced up at his worried expression and your heart stopped wavering.

You nodded and looked up at the moon for the first time that night, finding clarity in its presence.

“Whenever things were shitty growing up I would always wander to this playground near my house and lay down on the slide and stare at the moon. It was weird, but I found it comforting. One of the defining moments of my friendship was when I was given the nickname moon. I was glad that I was their source of comfort the way they were for me. And this is a roundabout way to tell you that you’ve become my source of comfort and I wanted to thank you for that.” You went into your pocket and pulled out the other necklace. “I know its lame, but I got this for you.” You gently flipped his hand and placed it in.

Jaehyun slowly held it up and glanced at yours. He was silent for a moment before breaking out a laugh.

“How do you do this every time? How do you keep surprising me with how amazing you are?” He smiled and you released a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

He clipped on the necklace and smiled down at it. He took your hand in his again and the look was back in his eyes. There was a pause.

“I love you.”  He declared simply without any hint of doubt.

“I know.” You replied back breathlessly because you did. He was very transparent with his feelings, but that didn’t mean it lost it sincerity and severity. Hearing him actually say it to you made your heart jump and flutter.

His face fell and your heart jumped in panic. “Johnny’s little almost slip up gave you away.” You continued.

You held his hand tighter and looked him in the eyes. “Jaehyun I have to be honest. I don’t know if I love you yet. This is my first real relationship and what I feel for you might be love, but I can’t be certain, and you deserve more than a maybe.” You finished quietly.

Jaehyun had a small look of disappointment, but nevertheless smiled “Take your time.”

“I'm really sorry.” You whispered sadly, feeling bad.

Jaehyun got up and walked over to you. He gently grabbed your face and kissed you. “Don’t be. I love you, so take your time Y/n. I promise I'm not going anywhere.”

[vicunaburger]

Admittedly, I’m Hard to See

Fandom: Beetlejuice the Musical Chapters: 13.1/? Pairing: Beetlejuice x OC (Holidae) The Players: Beetlejuice, Lydia Deetz, Holidae Bell Word Count: 2,301 Warnings: M for Suggestive Content and Language

Notes: I had to break this one up because it was getting away from me. Part 2 coming soon~

Chapter 13.1 - In Which the Mind is a Terrible Thing to Use

Time was a weird concept when you were dead.

Minutes, hours, days: none of them really had any meaning anymore. They were just arbitrary things that kept the mortal realm in line, dictating the daily lives of those still living in it. The Neitherworld time difference was one of the hardest things for the Recently Deceased to grasp upon entry, and it was part of Beetlejuice’s job as a guide to break it down in simple terms. Congrats! You’re dead, do what you want because you’re here forever. Take up a hobby or something, it makes the days go by faster.

When he was in the mortal realm, he never really paid attention to the passage of time, but he knew it happened.

It had been dark when Holidae had dragged him topside, and now her room was brighter with sunlight peeking through dark curtains. He wondered if Holidae even realized time had passed that much, since she had her nose buried in the Handbook for a while now. She had let him sit with her this whole time, occasionally leaning against his shoulder to find a more comfortable reading position.

When he realized it was already nearing the middle of the day, he offered to leave her alone so that she could sleep, something he knew breathers had to do, “Hey, your eyes are gonna cross if you keep that up. Go to bed or something, I gotta check on a project back on the Other Side anyway.”

Holidae looked up from her reading, blinking at him to let her eyes adjust, “You’re leaving me?”

Beetlejuice had been lighting up a cigarette, but her question made him pause, the unlit smoke hanging from the corner of his mouth. Something in that tone of voice was… familiar. A little nagging worm in the back of his mind that he couldn’t quite pin down.

“I won’t stay away too long, babes. You won’t even miss me that much.” He chuckled, resuming his task and taking a long drag, puffing out jagged little smoke heart in her direction. “I know how eager you are to have me all to yourself. I don’t blame you; all this sexiness within arm’s reach for so long… your willpower it amazing, ya know?”

Frowning, she waved the smoke away, “Not going to miss the crushing weight of your ego, that’s for damn sure.”

Chuckling, Beej snapped his fingers, vanishing with a soft pop. Holidae rolled her eyes, sliding off the bed and going over to check the alarm clock on the dresser, wincing when she noticed it was already the afternoon. Hearing movement from downstairs, she quickly changed out of her pajamas, heading down to see what Lydia was up to.

Lydia was by the front door, one foot planted firmly on the top of an overstuffed suitcase as she attempted to close it, struggling with the zipper. Holidae skipped down the stairs two at a time, going over to kneel down and help to make sure nothing was being caught in the closure.

“Jesus, Lyddy, you’re going away for one night. Do you really need all this stuff?” Holidae mumbled, stuffing a frilly lace skirt back inside the suitcase. “Are you going for a fashion show?”

“Hey, you never know what can happen in the uninhabited part of the woods at night. What if some cryptid comes out and want to borrow an evening look? I’m not going to be rude, Holli.” Lydia snickered, managing to secure the small padlock on the closure.

Laughing, Holidae helped to lift the suitcase up onto its wheels, “I can’t argue with that logic. Just make sure you take the dress to the dry cleaner’s afterwards. Might have fleas.”

“Speaking of fleas, it’s your turn for chores this weekend. I’ve already seen this house looking like a Halloween haunt once, don’t let it happen without me, okay?” Lydia grabbed the car keys of the entryway table, dragging the suitcase behind her as she headed outside.

———

Holidae spent the rest of the afternoon cleaning the house from top to bottom; mainly not wanting to incur Lydia’s wrath should the house get another inch of dust before she returned, but it also served to take her mind off of other things. Her sudden burst of confidence in inviting her ghostly roommate to spend the weekend with her… alone… she wasn’t normally such a forward person. Her brain was having a time of it; trying to decide if she should try and politely rescind the invitation, or just jump in with both feet.

Reading the Handbook hadn’t really done much to ease her fears, seeing as there was absolutely no useful information on whether or not such activities were even allowed, let alone possible. Were the going to be consequences? Did they need to take any extra precautions? How did he even retain a sex drive with no functioning organs? Obviously, Beej wasn’t shy about getting a little frisky with her, but was it done through some sort of non-biological means?

Over-thinking about such things were probably why she hadn’t slept in the past 24 hours.

Holidae halfheartedly pushed the broom around the outdoor deck, trying to gather the fallen leaves into a pile. A sudden breeze kicked up some fallen foliage, disrupting the progress she had made in sweeping the porch clear of debris. Groaning, she knelt down and picked up one of the leaves, glaring at it as though it were the sole cause of her internal torments.

“Why must you taunt me, huh? I just get this all clear and pretty and moderately balanced in some semblance of external harmony. And now you ruin it so casually?” She tossed the leaf into the small pile she had gathered with a huff.

Not wanting to be deterred from her task, she slipped her phone from her back pocket, queuing up some music to break up the silence of the outdoors. Once she found something suitable, she placed the phone on the nearby lawn chair, turning up the volume.

It was a bouncy tune; one that made it impossible not to add a few extra flourishes to her broom strokes, sweeping along to the rhythm. Before long, all intentions of actually cleaning had ceased, and Holidae was far more concerned with pulling off fantastic moves with her dance partner. For a broom, it was surprisingly limber as she swung her arms wide, twirling in some bastardized ballroom number created just for this occasion. Waltz for an autumn cleaning spree.

“You’re making a mess.” A familiar, gravel laden voice cut over the music.

Holidae looked around wildly, clutching the broom to her chest in surprise, noticing the ghost casually lounging on the lawn chair. He held her phone in one hand, scrolling idly; a half-finished cigarette burning in the other.

“Holly-baby, you’ve been holding out on me. All these cute underwear pics… and you never bothered to share? I’m hurt. Who’s been seeing these if not me?” Beetlejuice waves the phone around for emphasis. “Do I need to remove some dude’s eyeballs now?”

Her face cherry-red, she marched over and snatched the phone away, “Hey, that’s private stuff, jerkass.”

Upon inspection, the phone was set on the lock screen, meaning he hadn’t been browsing her private photos as he had claimed. Beej sat up with interest, laughing at her panicked state.

“Ah-ha! So you do have sexy pictures on that thing. Give it here… don’t you know sharing is caring?” He held out his hand impatiently. “Call it a sneak preview.”

Holidae shoved the phone into her pocket, “Whether or not such pictures exist is none of your concern. And please don’t go around removing eyeballs. Or at least don’t tell me about it. I don’t want to be complicit.”

“It’s very much my concern, babes. I should be the only one getting the honor of seeing every bit of you from now on. But fine, I will keep you out of my eyeball collection.” Beej reached up, hooking a finger through the belt loop of her jeans, tugging playfully. “So, Cinderella, you done playing housekeeper? I could always get you a little maid outfit for authenticity.”

“Well, technically I’m done, but there’s always- eep!” Holidae was cut off, having been picked up and thrown over Beetlejuice’s shoulder like a sack of flour. “Put me down! This is undignified!”

Beetlejuice ignored her struggling, humming a nonsense tune as he glided through the house, heading up the stairs. Holidae kicked her feet in protest, stringing a few choice words together as she was carried around with little effort. One of her kicks landed dangerously close to a rather sensitive area below his belt, earning her a sharp smack across her backside.

“Ow. Fuck you!” She hissed, gripping his coat as he floated up the stairs. “I don’t like this one bit! Put me down or I’ll kick you again, and I won’t miss.”

Undeterred by her protesting, the ghost continued all the way into the attic, unceremoniously depositing her on the ratty sofa; having been folded up at some point. She sank into the half-stuffed cushions, propping herself against the arm of the sofa, angrily scrunching herself as far into the corner as she could fit. The ghost settled himself into the opposite corner, amused with how flustered he had made her in such a short time.

“Holli~” Beetlejuice was purring deep in his throat, “Babydoll, look at me.”

“No,” Holidae kicked at him with her feet.

He chuckled, “C’mon. Look, I’ll apologize if you just look at me. I don’t say sorry often, so I think you should take advantage of this opportunity. Look look look…”

With a heavy sigh and a roll of her eyes, Holidae turned to look at him, “You are such a pain in the- JESUS CHRIST.”

Beetlejuice was sitting with one leg folded over the other, his arm draped across the back of the sofa. A perfectly normal pose… save for the fact he was stark naked. His pale coloring covered his entire body; the bits of green-tinted mold dotting various parts of him. A thin smattering of chest hair - green of course, matching his hair - made a trail down his pudgy stomach, the rest hidden by his crossed leg. She could only assume that all of his hair sported the same color-changing hue, but wasn’t about to ask. The only thing really out of place about him was the fact there was a brutal looking scar in between two of his ribs.

Holidae stared, slack jawed like a fish, unable to look away for far too long; desperately keeping her eyes locked onto his face. Beej waggled his eyebrows in an exaggerated manner, gesturing over himself with his free hand.

“I’m sorry I made you undignified or whatever.” He attempted a sorry look, “I take it you like what you see? All this can be yours~ whenever you want. As an apology.”

“I… I can’t look anywhere but your face.” Holidae stuttered, a flush of color spreading out from her nose across her cheeks. “P-Please put on pants. At least pants.”

The ghost mumbled disapprovingly, but complied with her request to a degree; a pair of boxer shorts covering the most scandalous bits of him for the moment. Breathing a sigh of relief, Holidae allowed herself to relax against the arm of the sofa, running a hand through her hair as she gave him a better look-over this time.

“Ah, good, my plan worked.” Beej crawled over to her side of the sofa, squishing her playfully between his body and the cushions.

Holidae head-butted him, “The plan to embarrass me to death?”

He shook his head, conveniently resting his face on her chest, “My ice-breaker. Getting naked. You ever heard of that old thing where if you’re awkward about something, you picture people naked? I cut out the middleman. You’ve now seen me naked, so it you won’t be embarrassed about later, and now we just gotta work on getting you naked.”

“That’s an ice-breaker to you? That’s… that’s like final step territory. What kind of person just immediately disrobes like that? Okay, well, not everyone can just magic their clothes away like you, but it’s the point.” She pouted, brushing through the shorter hairs at the nape of his neck with her fingers.

“...hookers?” He offered, taking a moment to adjust her legs so he was between them, using her body as furniture instead of the sofa.

“Ah, good point, but you don’t strike me as a street walker.” Her skin grew warm under her sweatshirt, fully processing the mostly naked man lounging with her. “Even then I think there’s a least a few minutes beforehand where it’s all business transaction talk. So, being naked immediately is optional. Plus, what if the client wants to keep their clothes on? There’s too many variables, Juice. Did you even account for activities that don’t require disrobing at all?”

Holidae realized she was rambling, her nerves having set her brain on fast-talking auto pilot to cover the fact she was stalling the whole situation with him. She glanced down, finding herself face to face with a pair of molten gold eyes, practically glowing in the sunlight in the attic window. It was so easy to forget how inhuman he was; things like that were a stark reminder.

Beetlejuice had a lazy grin on his face, a few sharp teeth peeking out from the corner of his mouth, content with watching the breather talk circles around him.

Not the breather. His breather.

As much as she tried to ignore him, or refuse his playful offers, he could see it in her face as she stared back at him. Who else would let him lie around like this? Who else would validate his need for constant attention without even realizing she was doing it? This was not a bestest best friend: he already had one of those.

This was a Holidae: and he only wanted one of those.

Before he could utter so much as a snarky quip, her hands grabbed the sides of his face, pulling him close, and she closed the gap between them with a kiss.

Writing Tags: @mr-geuse @paxenera @leiasolo77 @go-commander-kim @ashemspirit @asriells

[neverlearnedtoread]

The Lies of Locke Lamora

⭐⭐⭐; a mafia au wrapped up in a fantasy cloak that tricked me into thinking it was going to be a heist story

Oh?? 👌😉😏

an incredibly rich world - this guy did not slack off on worldbuilding!! he put a lot of work into it and i appreciate the fact his characters were described with different body types and on some level, varying skin tones

i did like the setting - it took me SO LONG to figure out it was meant to be Fantasy Venice, but i got there in the end, and that’s what matters. plus, the wildlife! every time the author was trying to have some sneaky stuff happen i was trying to find out more about the marine biology. what can i say? i love a good murder fish. sharks?? even better

jean tannen is a selling point because i say so. soft and nice + ready to murder for a friend = perfect man. i dont make the rules

No.. ❌🤢🤮

the story first gets interesting more than a third of the way through the novel. that’s way too long for me not to be able to guess at what this story’s supposed to be about

what’s worse - unimportant female characters, or no women at all? somehow this book managed to tick both boxes for me. though i do like to think that in a guidebook about Camorr there’s an extravagant two-page spread dedicated to the unionized prostitutes and their apparently booming business

most of the characters weren’t half as developed as i needed them to be. none of them had clear motives or goals i could vicariously root for, so what was the point of them failing?

there’s torture in this book in a couple scenes, gratuitous violence throughout, and swearing in art form. none of these things are technically bad, but if you’re not into it, be forewarned

Some spoilers under the cut!

Summary: Locke Lamora leads a gang of con-artists who specialise in stealing exorbitant amounts of money from rich people while pretending to be average two-bit thieves, all the better to avoid the pressure of living up to anybody’s high expectations. Unfortunately, their long-perfected ruse is in danger of being exposed when a shadowy figure, aptly named the Gray King, blackmails Locke into being a part of his super secret plan to take over the city’s criminal underworld. Around the same time, Locke receives orders from Capa Barsavi, the current criminal overlord of the great city of Venice Camorr, to help him get rid of the Gray King. Desperate to avoid being murdered by either of the two most powerful criminal lords in the city, Locke has to come up with a plan to wriggle his way out of his unwanted responsibilities without anyone being any the wiser about his involvement on either side.

Concept: 💭💭💭💭

Let me preface this by saying that I love a good heist story, but that my standards are also very high. So there was a lot riding on this book. I’m all about a found family swindling some rich assholes out of their fortunes from right under their noses; however, the writing style of this book was rather...extensive with its descriptors. I like extensive worldbuilding! but I find that the storytelling style of a lot of male authors in fantasy is often...very similar, and reads too much like a textbook. Give me the emotion, man! Where’s the panache behind the 345 individual pennants you painstakingly went through in three pages? Are they special pennants? Does it matter to the plot? Please sir I’m tired after a long day just tell me what is happening in this scene..

Execution: 💥💥💥

Once the book hits the drop and the plot starts going, it revs its engine like anything and is a fun romp through the city narrowly avoiding death and destroying many public establishments. The only problem is it takes 266 pages to get to the drop. Before that? I was so bored. I like when I can sort of see the outline of the plot at the beginning, because then I can get hyped for future developments, but 200 pages in and I was still at a loss as to what exactly the book was gearing up for. If I hadn’t been buddy reading this, and had it on a 2-week loan from the library, I wouldn’t have forced myself past the dawdling beginning into the actual start of the story.

Personal Enjoyment: ❤❤

This is a little harsh, because ultimately I did enjoy the book, but I have some strong Disappointed Feelings. First of all: I didn’t care about anyone except for Jean Tannen, and he survived; which, to me, is a total waste of several death scenes! The problem was you could tell who wasn’t gonna survive by the amount of effort the author put into describing them. The most I felt was a sort of ‘aw, man’ - not the reaction you want from the deaths of characters that are supposed to be near and death to the main character’s heart, and therefore, should be perfectly capable of ripping out mine! Plus, the heavy handed #imwithher moments irked me, since the few female characters we had were either evil (with no nuance whatsoever), unceremoniously murdered off-scene, or never even bothered to show up. Thank goodness for Jean. I would die for Jean Tannen.

Favourite Moment: Can a whole chapter count as a moment? Because the moment we hit the chapter titled ‘Jean Tannen’ I was on board. Jean’s backstory and introduction to the gang? What a good babe. What a fantastic hunk of a man. Get you a guy who can tailor your clothes to perfectly fit your scrawny, skinny ass. If we wanna be specific, I’d say the part when Jean is flat-out booking it to save Locke’s ass. Which part, exactly? Yes.

Favourite Character: Jean Tannen owns my ass and hopefully will own Locke’s ass in the future, if you know what I mean... seriously though, I was joking at the beginning, but this book came through with the shipping fodder. All I’m saying is that Locke should consider the pros and cons of ditching his supposed one true lady love who dropped him like a hot potato to never show up as a character in her own right, for the man whose entire role in Locke’s little gang of thieves is to literally run to his rescue while he’s getting his ass beat to shit. I’d also like to point out that Jean’s very strong. Simply a casual observation.

[lovelylogans]

love light gleams

previous chapter | chapter three | next chapter

part of the wyliwf verse.

the sideshire files | read my other fics | coffee?

warnings: food mentions, complicated parental relationships, teenage emancipation, emotional abuse, mentions of being disowned, mentions of transphobia and homophobia, classism, mentions of past underage drinking, crying, religious content (church, going to confession), remus cameo, mentions of choking/killing someone, something similar to the canon “have you thought about killing your brother?” monologue, please let me know if i’ve missed anything!

pairings: gen 

words: 57,686

"patton,” meredith says warmly, “and logan, too! come in, come in, let’s get you both out of the cold.”

“hi,” patton says, and shuffles into the diner. “um—sorry i’m late, but, you know. babies.”

“oh, they’ll need something right at the moment that’s most inconvenient, won’t they?” meredith says. “and no worries, the time’s really more a suggestion anyway—most of the rest of the kids aren’t here, but let me introduce you to my son, wyatt—”

mark, who’s sitting at the counter, looks like the man at the counter copy-pasted, except mark’s aged about twenty more years and is a bit softer around the belly. wyatt sets aside his fork and turns to more fully face him—the only difference, other than age, are the perfectly circular glasses that wyatt’s wearing, making his brown eyes overly large, like he’s looking through two magnifying glasses.

“hi,” patton says. “i’m patton, this is logan.”

“hello, patton,” he says, and, equally seriously, “hello, logan. may i hold him?”

“oh! sure,” patton says and passes him over. 

wyatt holds logan a little far away from his body, surveying him. logan surveys him back. wyatt tilts his head for a moment.

“he’ll suffice,” wyatt says decisively, hands logan back, and turns back to his breakfast.

“um,” patton says, juggling logan in his arms so that he’s comfortable. “thanks, i think?”

“you’re quite welcome,” wyatt says. he continues to eat his eggs.

“hey, patton,” virgil says. “merry christmas eve.”

“merry christmas eve,” patton says.

“can i get you anything?”

patton chews at his lip, and says, “hot cocoa/coffee?”

“you know the whole spiel, i’ll spare you,” virgil says.

“it’s a christmas miracle,” patton says.

“yeah, yeah,” virgil mutters, and pours him a mug.

“thanks,” patton says, accepting it. “is there a plan for the day?”

“cook a lot,” virgil says vaguely, “which we’ll eat throughout the day. um, christmas cookies, at some point.”

“oh, sugar, before i forget, you should bring in the movies from the car, so we can start the marathon,” meredith says. 

“after breakfast?” wyatt says.

meredith pauses, sighs, and says, “all right, after breakfast.”

mark says, “patton, would you like some pancakes? i’m thinking of making some and only meredith’s taken me up on it.”

“oh, i’ll eat anything,” patton says quickly. “pancakes sound great, thank you.”

“but, yeah,” virgil says and shrugs. “christmases are pretty relaxed, around here. we tend to work for half the day in the diner, but since the vast majority of my family are no longer child laborers—”

“hey,” meredith says, jokingly indignant.

“—it’s probably mostly going to be me, down here, but who knows,” virgil says. “maybe nostalgia will work in my favor, and i’ll get some unpaid laborers, and i will be shot when the revolution comes, rightfully destroyed under the hammer and sickle. anyway, we close after lunch so we can do a big dinner, we open one present of our choosing before bed. not much else goes on, for christmas eve.”

patton thinks of his past christmas eves, crammed with making appearances at holiday parties and going to church and sitting through teas and brunches and cocktail parties with business partners of his father’s, women in the same societies as his mother. 

you know what? he can take a lazy day and good food and christmas movies. that isn’t strenuous at all. he shouldn’t miss the rush of small talk that felt more like an invasive interview than anything—he’d hated it then, why is he missing it now?

“it’s the first christmas eve without a house here, though,” meredith says, cutting in, “so i’m afraid you’ll have to suffer through our various experiments on how to make all of us fit into virgil’s apartment with some degree of comfort.”

“oh, hey, speaking of comfort,” virgil says, and digs out the baby carrier, which meredith picks up before patton can even try to adjust logan to reach for it himself. 

“thanks,” patton says, and carefully settles logan into the carrier. logan babbles his thanks, and patton digs around for the new pacifier he’s just gotten him, one of logan’s admittedly few christmas gifts—logan’s old one met a bit of a dismal end in the inn’s garbage disposal—and pops it into logan’s mouth. 

for the first time since coming to sideshire, patton’s facing two days off work, and responsibilities, other than logan. it’s probably a good thing that he’s got built-in plans, because if he didn’t, he’d be sleeping for two straight days, only waking up for logan’s crying and maybe food, like, a hastily made peanut-butter-and-jelly or just whatever bag of junk food’s cheapest and closest. 

and now, he’s got a freshly-made stack of pancakes (from scratch, no less) and people to fawn over his baby and, apparently, christmas movies to watch. 

oh, huh. he hadn’t even thought about it just now—when was the last time he’d watched tv? when was the last time he’d lounged on the couch, and snacked on food, and watched tv? certainly not since logan was born. probably not even before that—patton had spent a lot of time in his room, during his pregnancy. it felt like whenever he ventured out to sit in the living room all he got were disappointed looks and irritated snaps.

months, patton decides. it had been months. maybe even a year.

so, with that strange feeling sitting heavy on his chest, he digs into his pancakes with maybe a bit more aggressive fervor than he usually does.

“thank you, mr. danes, this is delicious,” patton says, by rote, after he eats one bite. he’s still going to be polite, even if he feels funny about thinking about what he’s lost—even little things, like tv. 

losing bigger things, like his parents, potentially for forever, make him feel things a lot worse than funny.

but he’s not going to think about that today or tomorrow, he tells himself firmly. after christmas, he’ll have six days between christmas and the new year. he’ll think about it and make a decision then, even if the thought roils his stomach and makes the pancakes a little more difficult to swallow down than usual.

“mark, please,” mark says, looking pleased with himself.

“good luck with that,” virgil says dryly. “i think the only reason i’m not mr. danes is because you didn’t find out my last name until a couple weeks after we met.”

“it’s polite.”

“it’s not a sin to call people by their first names,” virgil counters.

“it’s a sign of respect to call people by their title,” patton counters. “you know, for my elders.”

“ elders!” virgil squawks indignantly. “i’m not an elder, i’m twenty-three!”

“and i’m sixteen! therefore, you’re an elder.”

virgil mutters something along the lines of when you’re twenty-three i’m reminding you of this conversation, which is an absolutely mind-boggling concept. twenty-three. that had never sounded like a year patton would make it to. even seventeen seems practically insurmountable.

patton manages to say something along the lines of “yeah and when i’m twenty-three, you’ll still be my elder,” even while he’s thinking about it. twenty-three. logan would be… six, seven . walking, talking, reading, writing. in school. he’d know what foods he’d like and hate and have favorite subjects and least favorite subjects and if he preferred math to english or science to history and he’d have friends and maybe even a crush.  

logan growing up— that’s what’s insurmountable. not this tiny little baby who, currently, seems to be estimating how far he can throw his pacifier and if papa will go and get it for him, pulling it up out of nowhere. patton would know if logan’s eyes, now that shade of brown that matches his, will have stuck around, if logan will favor him or christopher or both or maybe even neither. if he’ll be tall or short, athletic or academic. if he’ll grow up with or without grandparents.

logan can stay a baby for quite a while longer.

patton is saved from this particular line of thinking when freddie arrives and immediately pounces onto wyatt’s back with a holler of delight, which wyatt tolerates with what patton’s starting to think is his typical placidity. 

freddie then proceeds to pepper him with questions, hiking up the leg of her jeans to proudly display a massive bruise on her knee that her parents exclaim over. 

“can you check it?” she asks, but wyatt’s already patiently taking her knee between both hands, adjusting his glasses.

“does it hurt very badly when i do this?” wyatt says, pressing his fingers to it lightly.

“no.”

“how about now?”

“other than it just being more pressure? no.”

wyatt looks at her over his glasses, unamused. “you’re just doing this to see if, in my medical opinion, this might possibly be the biggest bruise i’ve ever seen, aren’t you.”

freddie grins at him beatifically.

“a choreographer wanted to do a number where i never touch the ground and they just hurl me in the air the whole time, from person to person,” freddie says. “i’ve got tons.”

wyatt sighs. “i anticipate more demonstrations forthwith.”

“no showing off battle wounds in my diner!” virgil shouts from the kitchen.

freddie pouts.

“my apartment,” virgil says, emerging, “is right there. do your weird world-record-seeking stuff away from the food.”

“world record?” patton asks.

“it’s freddie’s not-so-secret ambition to do a world record, of some kind,” virgil says. “i’m not even sure if she cares what it is.”

“preferably something with acrobatics, but i’m flexible—“

“no physical puns!”

“you never let me have fun!” freddie sulks, but she is lowering her arms from where she’d been about to interlock them behind her back, to do something incredibly weird with her body because her bones seem like they’re made of rubber, patton’s guessing.

“do you need ice?” mark asks freddie, frowning at her in concern and passing a hand over her hair. “you’ve been icing and bandaging everything properly, right?”

“...yep,” freddie says.

“winifred,” wyatt says, handily polishing off his eggs, “i will offer you an escape from parental smothering by means of asking if you would like to help me carry in christmas movies from my car.”

“oh, thank god,” freddie says.

“my name is wyatt,” he says. patton isn’t fully sure if he’s kidding.

“i know, big guy,” freddie says fondly, and meredith rolls her eyes even as her children both make their getaways.

“what on earth are we going to do with that girl,” she comments to mark.

“she’s run away to the circus, dear,” mark says, “i don’t think there’s much else for us to do.”

a pause.

“i’m going to send her back with a care package of ice packs and ace bandages, though,” mark decides. “just to be safe. it never hurts to have them.”

meredith smiles and rubs his arm. “that’s a good plan.”

parenting, patton thinks. just to be safe seems like a pretty integral part of parenting, planning too. it’s good advice, even if they didn’t mean for it to be advice. the danes’ seem like a good example to follow.

logan bops at his pacifier hard enough that it falls out of his mouth and onto the counter, with a delighted babble at the demonstration of gravity.

he guesses he’s got a while to go before he has to worry about all that, though.

  patton has never seen the diner so crowded.

he and annabelle have managed to lay claim to one of the tiny tables in the corner—well, “lay claim,” they were there before any of these people—and patton watches. 

they were going to watch a movie, but after all the siblings got there meredith ended up helping out a waitress who looked ready to tip over under the weight of all the plates she’d been carrying, and then one thing led to another, and now patton and annabelle were watching the danes family at work, like none of them had ever left.

meredith and freddie are a rapid-fire chatty team at the counter, with frequent gales of laughter from their customers.

essie and wyatt flit around the diner, taking orders and making well-timed quips (essie) or observations (wyatt.) wyatt doesn’t even need a pen—he just remembers everyone’s orders, down to the condiments.

silas, who is apparently much stronger than he looks, is toting the weight of two fully-loaded trays at any given time for the elder two siblings.

virgil and mark occasionally emerge from the kitchen, but patton can hear sizzling and knives chopping and the smell speaks for itself—spices and sugar and so much good food that patton’s considering—

“brunch?” annabelle asks.

“oh, thank god,” patton says, “it smells so good in here, i was getting hungry again.”

“do you wanna each get something and split it?” annabelle says. “just so we have some options.”

“that sounds great,” patton says. “um, is there any food you don’t want to get? like, allergies, personal preferences, that kind of thing? that seems like the easiest place to start.”

he and annabelle slowly whittle down the menu—it turns out annabelle’s very open to just about every food option—and annabelle waves enthusiastically to essie, who perks up and prances over to their table.

“hey,” she says brightly.

“hey,” annabelle says, smiling, and accepts the kiss that essie presses to her cheek. 

“you guys doing okay?” essie asks, sticking her pen into the knot of brown hair piled on top of her head. “i kind of got sucked back in, sorry.”

“i’ve got patton to keep me company, we’re okay,” annabelle says, smiling.

“oh, right, good,” essie says. “patton, this exact thing happened last year and i felt so bad, annabelle was just sitting alone in a corner for half the day, but—“

“hey, it’s cool,” annabelle says. “i had a book to read.”

essie frowns. “still—”

“you’re spending time with your family,” annabelle says. “go fetch us some french toast and waffles and caffeine, and i’ll consider forgiving you.”

she’s clearly joking, and essie smiles, relieved.

“love you,” essie says.

“i love you too, babe,” annabelle says, and essie’s smile widens before she practically floats back to the counter to turn in their order.

“how long have you two been together?” patton asks annabelle.

“oh, years,” annabelle says. “seven or eight, give or take.”

“wow,” patton says softly.

“yeah,” annabelle says, and a goofy kind of grin spreads across her face. “she’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me, i can handle a morning watching her have fun with her family, y’know? it makes her happy. plus, i’d be useless doing anything with... that.”

“me, too,” patton says.

“and, i mean, now you’re here,” annabelle says. “so i’ve got someone to chat with, which is good, because i forgot to pack a book this year.”

patton laughs, mostly to be polite, and says, “i guess that is good, yeah. um, so, how did you and essie meet?”

“college,” annabelle says. “we were roommates, and then, well. one thing led to another. best random assignment i could have gotten.”

“that’s really awesome,” patton says sincerely, and that sets annabelle off on a “I Love My Fiancée” tangent which patton is really happy to listen to. essie is, according to annabelle, the sweetest, most thoughtful, caring, wonderful person that she’s ever met, and she’s so excited to spend the rest of her life with her, and she can only hope that she will stack up so that she’ll be able to deserve her, and when essie is approaching to drop off their food, she’s blushing, so she must have overheard, and annabelle grins.

“you really don’t need to be so shy,” annabelle quips, and essie blushes a little more.

“well, you don’t have to be so loudly happy about it,” essie mumbles.

“of course i’m going to be happy about you, why wouldn’t i be happy about you?” annabelle counters. “you’re going to be my wife.”

essie beams at the very idea, and, with another kiss on the cheek, she floats back toward the counter, where freddie clearly begins teasing her, complete with heart-clutching and dramatic fake swooning.

“so,” annabelle says, after patton takes a forkful of french toast, “what’s your story? virgil hasn’t really told any of us much.”

patton slows his chewing as much as he can, trying to formulate an answer. well, see, i got pregnant and ran away from home and now i’m torn between breaking my parents’ hearts or mine, depending on the choice i make?

“well,” patton begins cautiously. “i’m, um, it’s—well, i, um. it’s.”

“complicated?” annabelle asks. “i mean, it’s—y’know. me too.”

patton blinks. 

“i’m from texas,” annabelle elaborates. “small-town texas. um. you can probably fill in the stereotypes from there. i fully cut off contact with my parents about four years ago.”

“oh,” patton says, and it’s like the word is punched out of him. “i—i’m really sorry.”

annabelle shrugs. “it is what it is,” she says. “anyway. the danes’ have been great. i’ve been coming to holidays with them since i graduated college and, you know. came out to my parents.”

patton chews his lip, and admits, “mine’s not quite the same situation, but—but close.”

“yeah?”

“yeah.”

he isn’t sure if he should say more—he has a vague feeling he should probably elaborate, but the idea of having a breakdown in the diner again is. not his idea of a fun christmas eve morning.

“that’s rough, dude,” annabelle says. “um, esther’s the emotionally capable one, so, sorry, but. you want some waffles?”

patton snorts.

“yeah,” he says. “okay, sure. i’ll have some waffles.”

⁂

"okay, so, you wanna pick, lo?” patton says to logan, holding up the cookie cutters in front of logan, but far enough away that he won’t grab at it. “stars or angels.”

logan considers his options. then, making a cooing noise, he very clearly reaches for the shiny silver star cookie-cutter.

“good choice!” patton cheers, and leans in to kiss logan on the forehead. “stars it is. it’s a shame you don’t have teeth to eat these with.”

he puts his finger in logan’s hand, so he has something to grab at, and sets the cookie cutter out of sight. logan then proceeds to drag patton’s finger toward his mouth, just to chew at it. as patton expected.

“oh, that’s a good idea,” meredith says, and then holds up a christmas tree and a reindeer cookie cutter in logan’s line of sight. with his free hand that isn’t currently holding patton’s finger to his mouth, he reaches for the tree.

and so begins a parade of people consulting the baby on cookie shape choices. granted, sometimes logan doesn’t always make a choice—at silas, logan makes a disdainful noise and starts chewing on patton’s finger with even more fervor, seeming to glower at him—but he does reach for quite a few choices, with no pattern that patton can decipher. 

at one point, he gets a bit frustrated that he can’t hold any of the things that are being held in front of him, so virgil digs up two blunt, plastic cookie cutters, which means patton is free to wash his hands as logan starts mouthing at a snowflake-shaped cookie cutter, the mitten-shaped one cast aside. 

now that the lunch rush is done, the diner’s officially closed for christmas eve and christmas, which means that it’s time for the danes’ to start making christmas cookies. they’re like a well-oiled machine—there’s tons of home-made sugar cookie and gingerbread dough, with essie and freddie making frosting together, freddie occasionally flicking dyed frosting toward her siblings, and essie would only sometimes catch her wrist with a kind of scolding laugh.

virgil, with a streak of purple across his cheek and a clump in his hair, helps patton and annabelle figure out how to best utilize the dough they have, so that they’ll have maximum cookie and minimum scraps. 

all the while, christmas music plays, filling up any noise that isn’t taken over by conversations amongst the danes’. and there are conversations. listen, patton’s used to a lot of conversations echoing around a room, but he’s used to people in his parents’ world with their quiet, politely pitched voices, so that their gossip and snide commentary wouldn’t carry to their targets.

the danes’ have no such concerns.

their loud, booming laughs and indignant squawks and clamorous chatter and roaring responses and impassioned, ranting interruptions could maybe be heard from outside, let alone within the same room. it’s cacophonous, rowdy chaos.

any unwritten, strict rules of conversation that patton’s been preached to have been cheerfully thrown out the window. he can jump from conversation to conversation as he pleases, and no one seems to mind that he does because everyone’s doing the same thing. he can join mark and meredith’s debate over what constitutes a good christmas cookie, then chime in on his opinion on a book that he, annabelle, and wyatt have all read, and back up virgil when freddie pokes fun at him.

even virgil and silas, whose argument patton remembers vividly, are bumping elbows, and silas tousles virgil’s hair as he traps him under his arm, but it’s less like a dangerous, harmful thing and more like sibling squabbling, especially considering freddie joins right in by leaping on silas and yelling “YOUNGEST SIBLINGS ALLIANCE!” and essie trying to yank her off while proclaiming about the twinly treaty, while wyatt watches calmly from the sidelines and mark and meredith break them up with the weary, well-meaning tones of parents who have done this a million times before.

patton’s never seen anything so different; he’s an only child, from such a different world, and chris, his closest friend, is an only child, too. siblings are so strange. there are no manners. there aren’t any lingering hurt feelings. it’s almost like family time out of a movie, except it’s so much more chaotic and messy.

patton loves it.

as the cookies bake, the entire family works together to start decorating the tree, placed proudly in the center of the diner. none of the matchy-matchy, expensive, fancy ornaments that patton was never allowed to touch. cardboard boxes full of past childhood ornaments made during school, which erupt into various stories and reminiscing about the sideshire schoolteachers, cheesy souvenir ornaments from the various travels of every danes, including some new ones that mean lots of questions about what they’d been doing there, a popcorn-and-cranberry garland that essie, annabelle, and silas are still making even as wyatt drapes it round and round the tree. 

somehow, the whole gaudy thing works; glinting with glittery ornaments and two strands of lights, it’s visible from the outside, when patton obligingly steps out to check and see. he helps everyone stack their presents under the tree—it turns out, the danes' have some color-coding going for their gifts. gold wrapping paper means they're presents for mrs. danes, silver for mr. danes, green for wyatt, red for essie, pink for annabelle, black for silas, yellow for freddie, purple for virgil. so patton ends up kind of organizing the presents so it's like a color wheel around the tree; everyone's presents, all together so they can just go to their color instead of hunt every present ringing the tree.

even as disorganized as they seem, it’s clear that the danes’ are a well-oiled machine, because by the time everyone decrees the tree satisfactory the cookies are cooled enough to decorate.

“i’ve never actually decorated cookies like this before,” patton says, as virgil passes him a piping bag full of icing—they’re splitting up all the icing into tiny bowls and piping bags, so everyone’s got their own little icing station. everyone's already wearing an old meredith's branded apron, from before virgil took over the diner.

“what, with a piping bag?” virgil asks. "it's pretty easy, once you get the hang of it, you can practice on some of that wax paper if you want—"

"no, i mean," patton says, "we usually order christmas cookies to send to people. like, caterers or bakeries usually take care of it. i've never actually gotten to make my own christmas cookies."

there is dead silence around the prepping station in the diner's kitchen. then:

" what," freddie breathes out, disbelievingly. "never? never ever?!"

"never ever," patton agrees. "i mean, maybe when i was really tiny, but—"

"you've never even made a ginger you?" essie says, incredulous. "or—a gingerbread house? not even one of the ones that come in kits?"

patton briefly imagines his mom's reaction if he brought in some cheap, pre-made gingerbread house to assemble. to make a mess, in her kitchen? even if she never actually used the kitchen, it’s still hers, and—

patton shakes his head, and there's an explosion of questions— have you never decorated a cookie EVER, do you even eat gingerbread, do you bake stuff usually—?

"well, i've baked stuff before, but," patton says, and swats at virgil when he snorts.

"you burned 'em, didn't you?"

patton huffs, but doesn't deny it. because, well. he did. it's really probably for the best that the professionals were in charge of these christmas cookies, because he definitely would have messed them up somehow.

"what do you eat on christmas?" silas demands.

"um," patton says, scratching at his temple, "whatever catering that people have got, on christmas eve, and my parents usually have a party on christmas that has these amazing apple tarts, i swear they're the best part of christmas—"

"well, at least there's some kind of traditional dessert," meredith says.

"not all families are so food-centric, dear," mark says.

"well, i know, but." meredith says. " still. no christmas cookies, ever?"

"well, that does it, then," freddie says decisively. "you get first pick."

there's a rush of agreement from everyone—well, silas is silent, but he doesn't disagree—and patton tilts his head quizzically.

"get a dozen of these, whichever ones you want," virgil says, gesturing to the huge amount of cookies on the cooling rack. 

"surely you're going to make a gingerbread self," wyatt says, and there's a burst of recommendations of what cookies he should get, pointing to the best specimens of each cookie shape, and patton just kind of ends up going for a little bit of everything—stars, trees, a reindeer, an angel, an ornament, a snowman, a bell, and yes, a gingerbread man—and stares, bemused, at the tools virgil sets in front of him.

"um," patton says, and virgil laughs—not in a mean way, but still enough to make patton flush a little. 

"okay," he says. "so, when you hold a piping bag, there are a couple grips you can go with, and it mostly depends on the kind of decoration you're doing... "

and so begins patton's lessons in frosting christmas cookies. 

mark shows him how to best ensure that there aren't any air bubbles in the icing.

meredith tells him about how to mix together icing on wax paper to get the exact color he wants, like he's a painter or something.

wyatt, with his steady surgeon's hands, shows him how to ice beautiful, delicate-looking flowers.

essie shows him how to best press down sprinkles without getting stray bits stuck where he doesn't want them.

annabelle, laughingly, demonstrates the best way to push his hair out of his eyes without accidentally smearing pastel blue frosting across his forehead.

freddie demonstrates how to throw cookies like ninja-style throwing stars, but that's less a decoration lesson and more of a way to directly target someone who teases her about her messy cookies.

even silas shows him how to use a toothpick to get even, straight lines.

and virgil helps him fix his mistakes, and helps him move things when his hands are too sticky to move anything without getting it messy too, and even helps break down a cookie so he can make a little gingerbread baby, for logan.

and even if patton's icing jobs look messy in comparison to mark's practiced work, or wyatt's even, steady lines, they fit right in with freddie's colorful, smudged ones, and annabelle's, which she mostly requests essie's help with.

"it's really more about the fun of the thing," meredith says, when she sees him looking between wyatt's and his own. "did you have fun?"

patton grins and nods, and she gives him a thumbs up.

"well then," she says decisively. "i mean, they're all going to have the same thing happen to them. and even if they're messy, i promise you they'll taste just as good. go on."

so patton picks up a star, the first one he'd iced—with shaky little blue swirls and silver glitter—and crunches into it.

it's just crisp enough on the outside and soft on the inside, with sugary, yummy icing, and, well. even if patton's icing might be a bit ugly, he can't deny that meredith's right.

so he picks up a blank star, and he starts icing again.

⁂

“logan,” patton says, around a mouthful of gingersnap cookie, “it seriously is a shame that you don’t have teeth to eat these.”

logan, who’s fixated on the television—virgil guesses all the colors and sounds must be super interesting, to a baby—doesn’t seem to care very much.

"these are the best christmas cookies i’ve ever had, ever,” patton says sincerely. “thank you.”

“you’ve said that a million times,” meredith says, amused. “you’re welcome.”

she passes him another as she speaks. honestly, virgil would kind of start interceding, but his mom has the same “must feed” gene that he does, except she doesn’t pay as much attention to things like nutritional value. he doesn’t blame her; patton’s wearing an old sweater that’s been handed down to him, and it's big enough that it makes him look pretty scrawny.

some danes’ (silas, mark, and wyatt) are in the kitchen, making an endless parade of appetizers and snacky-type things that are fighting for space on virgil's coffee table, shoved to the side of the room, whereas others (meredith, freddie, essie, and annabelle) are parked in virgil’s living room with him and patton to watch the collection of christmas movies wyatt had lugged in from his car.

currently, ralphie is fantasizing about going blind from soap poisoning as freddie mouths dramatically along with his parents’ wailing, she and virgil parked beside each other on the ground. freddie doesn’t move too much, though, because she’d loudly complained at essie until she’d started playing with her hair. so essie had obliged, one hand poking out from the blanket she's tangled under with annabelle, brushing her fingers absently through freddie’s hair.

his mom’s in an armchair, which leaves patton lying down on the loveseat so that logan can get some tummy time, heads turned so that they can watch tv. patton keeps absently running his hand up and down logan’s back—well, admittedly, there isn’t much to run his hand up and down, he’s a baby, and a somewhat small baby for his age, at that—and virgil can see logan’s eyes, reflecting the light of the tv.

virgil notices out of the corner of his eyes that he’s seeing less and less of patton’s eyes. they go half-lidded, then closing before occasionally opening, and then—

“patton,” he says softly, just as an experiment, and patton doesn’t so much as stir. it does, however, draw his mother’s attention.

“oh, poor thing’s all tuckered out, isn’t he?” his mom comments, in a suitable undertone.

“yeah, he’s been pretty strung-out lately,” virgil murmurs, and, hesitantly, gets to his feet, hunting for a blanket he’s got stashed somewhere. and then a little odd dance ensues; he puts the blanket over patton without covering logan up too much, and then, carefully, ever so carefully, he lifts logan from patton’s chest and secures him in his arms.

“i didn’t want him to fall,” he explains to his mom, as he tugs the blanket the rest of the way up, to cover patton.

“probably a smart choice,” his mom says. “i could take him, if—“

“no, that’s okay,” virgil says, looking down at logan as he adjusts his hold; logan seems to cuddle closer, and virgil stares as logan lets out a squeaky, strange little yawn. 

“you’re sleepy too, huh?” he asks, and logan’s tongue pokes out, just a little, just enough that something in virgil’s heart feels like it’s swelling from the sheer adorableness of it. 

so virgil settles on the ground in front of the loveseat, and keeps his hold on logan, watching as his eyes slide shut, too.

“strung out?” his mom asks, and virgil would shrug, if he wasn’t holding a baby that’s slowly falling asleep.

“logan’s got colic,” virgil explains in an undertone, “which we’ll probably hear, soon enough, and he’s been working a lot.” a beat, and then, “i think he’s having trouble sleeping too.”

honestly, virgil’s pretty relieved that he’s fallen asleep; the bags under his eyes have been growing deeper and deeper, and his requests for caffeine have started to slide from jokingly desperate to actually desperate.

his mother tsks and murmurs “poor thing” and virgil can practically see her plotting before his very eyes. you know what? not the worst thing in the world. patton could afford some motherly spoiling during his first christmas away from his family. 

hadn’t that kind of been the intention when he’d asked patton and logan to join the family christmas, anyway?

and so his mother plots, and logan snoozes, and essie and annabelle snuggle, and freddie acts along, and patton sleeps.

and keeps sleeping.

the fact that danes’ and colicky logan keep quiet for as long as they do is a miracle. they ensue in furiously silent rock-paper-scissors matches to see whose movie of choice is played next, and when they do speak, it’s in whispers. and logan—honestly, virgil’s not sure if he’s ever been so quiet for such a long stretch of time in his whole life. he’s quiet during the grinch that stole christmas, and love actually, and it happened on fifth avenue, and he fusses a little during the santa clause, but it’s easily enough fixed. well. with his dad’s help.

but patton’s nap is starting to move into full day’s sleep by the time his dad is loading in home alone, and logan lets out a piteous wail, and patton starts awake, hand going to where logan was lying on his chest, and virgil quickly turns so that patton can see logan in his arms.

“oh, hey,” patton mumbles, reaches for logan, and gets to his feet. “hey, hey, hey, you feeling okay?”

“we changed him, earlier,” virgil says, and then patton seems to notice that the sun has set, and he startles again.

“i,” he says, and shakes himself. “sorry, virgil, i can’t remember where your bathroom is—?”

virgil points, and patton goes. 

“after this one, i think it’ll be dinnertime,” his dad says thoughtfully.

“finally, i’m starving,” silas says. “did we have to delay it for so long?”

“don’t be mean, silas,” essie chides gently. “we’ve waited while you took naps.”

“yeah, when we were four,” silas says.

“silas matthew,” their father scolds wearily, and silas scowls, fixating his stare on the tv screen, effectively ignoring the rest of them. but he doesn’t shift away when essie nudges him, then puts a hand on his arm, as if to keep him on her left side, annabelle to her right.

well, essie’s always been able to get through to silas when none of them ever have. virgil guesses it’s the twin thing.

if silas stops being an asshole for one day, it’ll be a christmas miracle.

⁂

patton feels... fuzzy.

that’s the best way he knows how to put it, or, at least, it’s the best way he can come up with right now. he isn’t sure how long he’d slept—it had to have been hours—but such a huge amount of sleep at an unexpected time has patton feeling slow, and dazed, and stupid, but that that last bit isn’t too unusual.

the danes’ have kindly—what else is new, they’ve been nothing but kind—been politely quiet about how long it takes patton to catch up to their conversations, or understand their jokes, or tune in to their requests to pass coasters or if he wants a bite of the appetizers they’re snacking on as they wind down home alone.

patton’s claimed the floor. they’d tried to get him to stay on the loveseat, when he came back from feeding logan, but he’d refused. he’d monopolized it all day, and really, if he fell asleep again then patton would be kissing goodbye to any ragged semblance of a sleep schedule that he still had.

so patton’s on the floor, and mr. and mrs. danes have taken over the loveseat, with virgil beside him on the ground and annabelle in the armchair and wyatt examining freddie’s ankle flexibility, or something, on the couch, freddie peppering him with questions all the while.

essie and silas... huh. patton actually has no idea where essie and silas have got off to. last patton knew, essie had gone back to help silas make some adult-only drinks (”absolutely none for either of you!” meredith had said, clearly not aware of patton’s history with drinking adult drinks since he was about thirteen) about... well, half an hour ago, maybe, and they haven’t been back since.

it’s been easy to be distracted, though, because he’s pretty sure that mrs. danes’ favorite drink is apparently spiked eggnog, and she’s certainly had enough to show it, a pretty pink blush high in her pale cheeks. she’s leaning over, again, cooing softly at logan, who babbles gleefully and reaches for her understated, dully glinting jewelry.

“little hands,” she coos, poking him in the midst of his chubby little palms, and logan babbles, smiling, as she squishes her hands gently between her fingers. 

“little feets! itty bitty baby feets!”

logan squeals as she squishes his feet much in the same way, kicking, and patton doesn’t even realize he’s beaming wide until meredith reaches over to gently squish his cheek between her fingers, too, in a move that’s so thoughtlessly, habitually maternal, so casual in its kindness and affection, it strikes patton dumb.

affection’s been hard to come by, for a lot of his life. affection gives without expectation or later price to pay has been even rarer, maybe even nonexistent. even after his time in sideshire, where it seems to overflow, it overwhelms him.

“and,” she says, turning her attention back to the baby, “a... little... noooose!”

logan proceeds making delightful baby noises, and even tries for a few claps of his hands, the way patton’s been showing him, and patton leans in to gently clap above him again, just to show him.

“yay, logan!” he cheers quietly. “yay! can you say yay?”

he knows it’s too early to except logan to talk, but really, yay isn’t that complicated of a word. it’s just one syllable, and really, logan’s babbling in semi-recognizable syllables now anyway.  

“how about a laugh?” patton prods. “you’re so close, can i get a laugh?”

logan’s gotten so close to laughing, and he’s on track to laugh, even if it’d be early it’s not unheard of early, so maybe this’ll do it. he’d love it if he heard his son’s first laugh tonight.

he’s such a smart baby, patton thinks, swelling with pride. really, logan might just be the smartest baby that’s ever lived. he’s pretty sure that every parent thinks that, but really, patton’s pretty sure that he’s the right one here.

patton, so overcome by paternal happiness, sweeps logan up into his arms and waltzes his way to his feet, spinning, as he presses noisy kisses into logan’s cheeks, mwahmwahmwahmwahmwah! as logan shrieks and squeals and patton spins, so full of love for him, and—

and in the midst of his spin, he looks at just the right time, he glimpses a clear shot to virgil’s balcony.

well, it’s really too teeny to be a full balcony, like his balcony back at his parents’ house, so it’s really only enough space for two-ish people and a near-indestructible potted fern. it’s more of a mezzanine, or whatever the mini-version of a balcony is called.

and there are two people clustered together. silas, his arms wrapped around his stomach, and even in the low light and the distance patton can see that his face is achingly vulnerable, as he bows his head, and essie, equally obviously, empathetic, reaches out her hands to put on his shoulders, and patton just barely sees a snatch of essie pulling her brother into a hug, holding him tight, and that’s it, that’s all patton sees before he continues twirling with his son.

he doesn’t look again. it’s what he’d want, if he was silas. besides, that seems like a pretty private family thing.

⁂

patton’s sure he’s never had such a well-fed, delicious christmas eve in his life, and he hasn’t even eaten dinner yet .

everything looks absolutely mouthwatering—it’s the traditional kind of christmas day meal that he usually has at his parents’, turkey and mashed potatoes and rolls and that kind of thing, except the danes version has clear deviations: green bean casserole, which he’s never had, he doesn’t think, sweet potato casserole with brown sugar and pecans on top, fresh cranberry sauce instead of canned, homemade gravy instead of store-bought, corn made off the cob instead of canned. 

they’d dragged together some tables in the diner rather than attempt to engineer virgil’s tiny table to get nine people (plus a baby) to fit, so they're all seated beside the christmas tree. he’s got his back to the doorway leading to virgil’s apartment, so he’d be able to steal away and tend to logan faster without disturbing anyone, if logan needed it, and he probably would. he’d been so quiet when patton had napped, he’s sure that his schedule’s gotten pretty messed up, too. logan is parked in the carrier, on a booth table, clearly visible to everyone at the table.

well, really, it's mostly for patton's benefit, he's pretty sure, because once he looks away from his son to start paying attention to the conversations around him, he looks back right in time to see meredith looking at him knowingly.  

patton smiles, sheepishly, and she nods, as if to say i get it. well, she's had five kids. she probably gets it more than he does. actually, she definitely gets it more than he does. patton's absolutely clueless.

but before either of them can say anything, mark gently taps a spoon against his plastic cup—it doesn't provide as clear a ting-ting-ting as the crystal-cut glasses his parents would use—and everyone quiets down.

mark lifts his cup.

"another year gone," he says. "it's been wonderful to see you all in town again. now that we're all getting older, it hits me each and every year how precious this time is. of course, i'm proud of you— all of you—are going out there and making your own life, but i can't help but think about how bittersweet it is that family time is getting fewer and far between."

"aw, dad," freddie mumbles.

" but, " mark continues. "again. i am very proud. of all of you."

he meets eyes with everyone at the table, and, after he's inclined his head ever so slightly at patton, patton stares down at his empty plate.

not you, he scolds himself. of course he's not proud of you, he's barely known you for six days and honestly, what have you done to make anyone proud of you?

it doesn't stop the rebellious little flare of warmth that he feels, though.

"the past few days have been wonderful. i have cherished this time together. i love being your dad—" annabelle looks choked up—"whether you're with me or if you're out making your own life. so," he says, and lifts a glass. "i'll keep the sappy stuff short, as we have this fantastic meal laid out before us. so. merry christmas and a happy new year, everyone."

"merry christmas," everyone rumbles, lifting their glass, and patton belatedly does so too. mark lifts up the platter of cut turkey, and meredith helps herself, before doing the same for him, and the passing of food begins.

patton's plate just about overflows.

"you know you can get seconds," virgil says to him an undertone, amused, and patton flushes as he attempts to stack his rolls back from where they've toppled off his plate.

"everything looks so good," he says defensively. 

"again," virgil says, who really has no room to talk, his food's about to spill over the edges of his plate too, "seconds."

patton decides to do the mature thing: he sticks out his tongue at virgil, shoves one of his rolls into his mouth practically whole, and then tries not to choke on his overlarge mouthful.

virgil stifles his laughter into his glass of wine.

patton's right to have so much on his plate, because everything is amazing. patton's world full of fiddly food, more about the aesthetic and the finery than the actual taste, would have never dreamed of having food like this, but honestly, everyone might have been a bit more cheerful if they'd stooped to eating food that was prepared in a diner. 

if he'd had these warm, fluffy dinner rolls. if he'd had the fragrant, fruity, frankly yummy fresh cranberry sauce he gets to smear over his rolls. if he'd had these buttery, yummy mashed potatoes with a pool of gravy that he can soak up with his bread. if he'd had the opportunity to try green bean casserole with the crumbly little french onion bits on top. if he'd had sweet potato casserole, which patton goes back for seconds before he's even finished his first serving. if he'd had this moist, good turkey, rather than the tradition of his father having first carve and then it being ferried away for the servants to do the actual carving.

if he'd had people who, even as they gently teased him about taking more food, loaded more on his plate when he was looking away, if he'd had people who were earnest about wanting to know what he'd thought, if he'd had people who were as welcoming of him being the way he is, if he'd had people who were less critical and more accepting, then maybe he would...

patton firmly redirects his thoughts. i'm deciding after christmas. after christmas. pay attention to what's happening now. 

and, in what patton's starting to think is typical of danes style, there's a lot to pay attention to; granted, there aren't a ton of conversations happening because of the spectacular, delicious food, but there are still a couple peppering the table that jump freely from topic to topic. there's also a lot of wordless gestures for certain foods (the rolls make quite a few rotations around the table) and salt and pepper and so on, and every once in a while someone will get up to refill their drink and will be met with a flurry of requests, but for the most part, it's... quiet. easy.

warm, patton thinks. it's warm. not just temperature-wise—it is nice and toasty in the diner—but it's warm in the sense of how the danes' interact with each other. there are a lot of smiles and compliments on the food and conversation, and... and at this point on a typical holiday, patton's shoulders would be tensed up, waiting for some kind of comment, except he's never made it this far into the holiday without that kind of comment and stop stop stop.

there is one thing, without fail, that makes patton feel better. so patton gets to his feet and shuffles over to check on logan, who looks close to falling asleep, pacifier solidly in his mouth, and patton reaches out to run a thumb gently down his cheek.

"you okay?" he asks him softly, and logan blinks at him slowly once, twice, and patton feels the corner of his lip quirk up.

"yeah, you're okay," he says, in the same soft tone, relieved. and you will be okay, i promise. no matter what happens, i'll make sure you're okay.

"is he good?" comes from behind him, making patton jump. he turns back to virgil, who's looking at him quizzically, still seated at the table.

"yeah, he's good," patton says, and smiles wryly at him. "i mean, no telling how long it'll last, but—"

"yeah, he's good," virgil says, and cocks his head. "he looks ready to fall asleep, doesn't he?"

"yeah," patton says, and takes a breath. he'd been right, seeing logan does make him feel better. "i should probably leave him to it."

"he'll need you, soon enough," virgil says, so patton goes and sits back down at his spot at the table.

it has calmed him down—it's like just taking a second with logan has provided the same effect of a whole, calming day at his parents', not just a few seconds.

so patton throws himself back into the conversation, and keeps glancing over at logan, who even offers him a wave or a noise every once in a while, and it feels... right. it just feels right .