#usually this pairing falls squarely under the heading of 'perfect for me on paper but in practice does nothing for me'

[verecunda]

Can't believe I'm actually sitting here with a fucking Celebrimbor/Annatar fic idea. That is how good their dynamic in ROP is, I'm actually considering writing Silvergifting. XD

[vesuvianmess]

Popsicles?

Art by @jilljoycearts Drexxel is @vesuvianmess Vell is @deathbyarcana

A short fic recounting how these two met, pulled (with some edits) directly from a currently running roleplay.

Quick Warning: Contains mentions of stalking and harassment

"You are very welcome, have a good rest of your day!" He waved the group off with a smile. "Hiya, what can I get you?" He asked another.

Flitting back and forth from group to group, he greeted every single person with a genuine smile. There was nothing more satisfying than seeing others light up with joy. He’d taken up working at the bakery part time to help with some expenses of running his own shop. And he had to admit, the smell of fresh baked bread may have influenced that choice. The job was never boring as the market was always flooded with people, locals and travelers alike, all looking for something. Still, he only worked with Selasi during the mornings and early afternoons. When he’d had his fill, he would return home to open the doors to his own little business.

But today, he had something a little different in mind. Instead of selling little animal pelts, herbs, bits, and bobbles, he was in and out again in a flash. Having changed into something much more comfortable for the heat, he pulled a wheeled cart behind him to the town square. Near the fountain, he’d found the perfect spot and pulled the cover off the cart. It would take him a little time to set everything up, but once it was done, he noticed people already beginning to gather around. Some faces he'd seen many, many times before. Others, much more new. Taking a seat on an overturned wooden bucket, he twirled a pair of drumsticks between his fingers. 

“Hello Vesuvia, I’m bringing you a special late afternoon show! Now then," he sat up a little, the line of his back straightening. "For those of you new to my show, we have fun here! Here's how this goes!" making a grand sweeping gesture to the gathered crowd, he continued on. "You may request a song but there is no guarantee I will play it. I will not tolerate pushing, shoving, or otherwise harmful activity during my shows. And, as always, tips are appreciated but not required, come stay for awhile and feel the beat of the sound! I'm Drexxel Volkov, and may luck be forever in your favor!" 

It started with a small metallic chime, a shortstop of little taps on the rims of the set. But before long the square was alight with the beating of drums. His whole body moved in time with each beat almost as if he were dancing along to his own song. Small children bounced and tugged at their parents' sleeves, urging them to get closer. New comers stood with delighted expressions, some even getting a little antsy standing in one place, others giving way to bouncing their bodies to the rhythm. 

There was nothing better than this, looking out into the crowd as he thrummed away the minutes, flipping the sticks and singing along even though nobody could hear him over the heartbeat he'd created. 

The crowd was thick as usual but new faces stuck out easy to him. Even with the prick of sweat beginning to roll down his forehead, he was able to focus enough to make everyone feel included in his performance. One face in particular he stopped at for more than a split second. A taller man with vivid blue hair, dark skin, and a sort of shaken demeanor. He looked….out of place perhaps amid the crowd, like he could bolt at any moment. Drexel found himself stealing glances at the man throughout his show, a dizzying knot of butterflies in his gut as he saw the man start to meld into the hum around him. The thrill of the performance carried him through like a tidal wave crashing against the shore, his fiery passion shining through clear as day. Every movement felt natural, every breath felt like a whole new beginning. Drexxel never came from a background that favored this sort of thing, rather it was something he'd picked up on his own time. He had the extra energy to spare and needed an outlet to help with it. Besides, he always did like seeing people smile and what better way to do that then get them moving? 

Into the second song now and he felt a wave of static run through him. Someone in the crowd was a magician. He could feel it. Even through the loud beating of drums and the crashing of cymbals the low electrical humming filled his body. He was sure of it. But was this magician able to sense him as well? That he did not know. He wasn’t sure precisely where the feeling was coming from, but he was determined to draw it out. With it toying at his mind, he decided it was time to show off just a little more. After all, using magic was a good way to lure out another magician. 

Drexxel simply waited as he beat along in time to find the perfect moment to really show off his moves. Normally he would have saved this bit for later in the evening, but he just had to do it now. After feeling that little pang of magic, he knew he had to show whoever was producing it, that they weren't the only one with fancy magic at their fingertips. Just a moment longer....

When the final chorus of the song hit, he let it loose. His drumsticks sparked and crackled to life, enveloped in searing hot flames. With his sticks now burning with intense heat, he slammed away at his drums with more grandeur and energy than before. With each hit fire roared from the contact point, creating a dazzling display of towers of fire in varying sizes. If anything were to draw this other magician out, it would be this. 

By the end of the show, much to his dismay, this fellow kin had not revealed themselves. It was a bit of a shame really, he would have loved to have someone join in his performance. What a dazzling display that would have been. He could only imagine what kind of magic would have complimented his own.

"Thank you all for joining me this afternoon!" He gave a bow, his hair falling a bit loose from his bun. "It's a hot one out today so make sure to stay hydrated and get some good food in your belly!" 

 He stood and lifted his arms over his head in a long stretch before using the rad cloth tied to his side to wipe away the sweat that cling to his skin. The show was over, but people still lingered in the area, some tossing coins into an open bowl near the drum set, others approaching Drexxel with questions. He was small for his age of twenty-five, standing at mere chest (or just below) level with most other adult’s that spoke with him. He had a thin, but decently sturdy frame with most of his strength apparent in his legs. Most people would know him for a scar that ran along his right cheek. Whenever asked about it he would simply tell them he didn’t remember where it came from but knew he’d had it most of his life. 

The town square was still bustling with people as he began to pack up his things. Above it all though, he could hear footsteps approaching him. He paused a moment then spun on his heel to come face to face with a regular to his shows. The man was leagues taller than himself and had a strange look to his eyes. He was holding a piece of paper, crumpled and damp with sweat in his hands. Drexxel heard the man speak but didn’t quite catch the words. 

“I’m sorry?” He responded back, urging the man to repeat himself. When he did, a chill ran down his spine. “...Go out with me. Dinner.” He pushed the paper into Drexxel’s hands. “You’re so pretty.” 

The smaller pulled the note apart just enough to read it. In shaken scrawl it read:

‘Don’t make a scene. I’ve been planning this. You and I belong together.’

He’d seen this sort of thing before in books and screenplays. Some secret admirer gets too confident and goes after someone who isn’t interested and it becomes a problem. Problem being a kind way to put it. Harassment was a better word for it. Bold of him to make the attempt in broad daylight, let alone a busy square. In the kindest way possible, Drexel looked up at the man and spoke.

“I’d love to, but I have plans this evening. Another show I mean.” 

He felt the prickle of magic in the air again, but it wasn’t coming from the man in front of him. The magician was still in the area. 

"Excuse me, I'm talking to you." the man's voice broke him from his thoughts. "I'll be picking you up this evening."

Drexxel's brow furrowed, the energy around him shifting like hissing smoke trying to catch on damp wood. 

"I'm really sorry, I mean it." He offered a sincerely looking apologetic smile. "But I really must be getting home." He made a move to leave but was stopped when the man caught his wrist. 

"You're not going anywhere short-stack." 

This....could be bad. As much as the crowd had dissipated, there were still people lingering about. Too much of a risk to cause a scene. But every fiber of Drexxel's being was telling him to flee. He needed an out. In the most...nonchalant way possible, he attempted to wriggle his wrist free. 

"Your performance really spoke to me Drexxy. It's like you were composing a symphony just for me." As he was caught in his own little moment, Drexxel pulled his wrist free. But it only lasted a second.

He felt a pull against his skin before he heard a small snap. The man had missed when reaching for Drexxel's wrist and instead caught the beaded double bracelet on his wrist. Beads had gone flying haphazardly in every direction, landing on the stones below like pellets. In that moment he felt the pull of magic much closer than before. This other magician was close. Very close. 

Drexxel was unfortunately used to people approaching him with much more....fervor than he anticipated. However, this particular instance was something else. He'd never had someone so adamant on taking him home. If this were to go on for a moment longer, he was sure to lose his composer. He may be a pretty upbeat guy but he also had a notoriously short fuse. 

That hissing aura was rapidly kindling itself from a crackling campfire to a firestorm. When his bracelet snapped, he felt something in him switch. Rage bubbled up under his skin like pot boiling over on a stove set too high. His fist clenched and a growl escaped him. 

But then, out of nowhere, everything around him stopped. He was about to throw a fiery punch but stopped short when he saw another man between him and his new 'friend'. It was the man he saw in the crowd! He said he was there to help just now. But what was he doing here and how did he…

"How--?" Then it hit him like a hard slap to the face. "So you're the magician I was picking up on!" His anger flickered back to amusement and joy. "I knew I wasn't imagining it! Oh! The helping thing, yes." 

Drexxel offered the newest stranger a warm, bright smile. Without hesitation, he grabbed his hand and shook it furiously. 

"Nice to meet you, I'm Drexxel! What do you say we blow this popsicle stand and get somewhere far away from this creep?"

The other man seemed to freeze up, like he expected a much worse response. His whole arm wobbled when Drexxel shook it. His eyes were wide and his lips parted in shock. It took him a minute to process what the smaller man had said to him. 

“Oh, I…that is….popcicles?” The man felt his face go hot, blood rushing to his cheeks. He was sure the smaller man would mistake him for a tomato. 

Drexxel watched him curiously. It was like watching the gears of a clock turning, the way this man seemed to be having an inner monologue with himself about whether or not he’d made the right call to get involved. He could feel how shaken up the man was, his hand trembling. Not very good at keeping his cool was he? Finally he spoke again. 

“It’s localized. My….my magic…it…I mean I…no, it. It will wear off when we get a distance away. He could follow? I- who, well…popsicles?”

Drexxel had always been good at making new friends and getting people to laugh and smile. He was small, yes, but he made up for his size with seemingly boundless energy. It was nearly impossible to not like the guy. But, he could tell, he kind of took this one by surprise. But it wasn't the first time someone had responded this way. Not often he got to see someone turn that red before though!

Whoever this new guy was, Drexxel had never seen his face in Vesuvia before. And he’dbeen in the city for quite some time now. It'd been since he was about nineteen. He knew almost every face in Vesuvia, even if a good handful of them were only in passing. But this one, this one he wanted to know more about. Consider his interest piqued. 

When time came back and this new magician struggled to make a clear sentence, it was all Drexxel could do to hold in a laugh. Localized magic though, not sure he'd heard of that one before. He completely skipped over the popsicle schtick.

"Localized huh? Hey, think you could use your magic with mine? I'm thinking....a wall of fire!" He still hadn't let go of the stranger's hand. "I could put a wall of fire around him, just tall enough to trip him up of course. You could stop time around it until we get far enough away that your....localization wears off!" Mossy green eyes brimmed with excitement. He gave the hand in his a squeeze. 

"I bet we'll make a great team!"

He could see the man trying to process the words coming out of Drexxel’s mouth. He’ll admit, he was a bit of a fast talker when he was excited. 

“Wall of fire…” He repeated Drexxel’s words, more to himself than the other, considering the idea. Not terribly flawed, he thought. A quick fix but not long lasting. “Worth…worth a shot.” an unsteady voice. “Wait - a team?” Vell had barely gotten the words out before the air thrummed with magical energy and, just as promised, fire sprung to life around the note wielding creep. If the situation weren’t as it was, he might have taken time to admire the flames.

"That's what I said isn't it? A team!" He mused, giving this new friend a wink. 

When time did in fact stop around his flames, the passion in his eyes burned that much brighter. He beamed at this new stranger. 

"Talk about a cool party trick. Come on, let's get out of here." Still gripping that hand, he took off. Hopefully this new friend could keep up with him. 

They took off out of the square, rushing past pedestrians and shopping stalls in a race to escape the area. Drexxel had taken the lead, ducking and diving under obstacles like it was as easy as breathing. He felt his new found companion trip up a few times but he managed to keep up the pace. He was new to Vesuvia and hadn’t the slightest idea where the two of them were headed. Drexxel looked back to check on his new friend at just the wrong moment. The edge of his sandal caught on uneven stone, sending him tumbling into an unattended fruit cart, scattering oranges along the alley. He’d never let go of this new companion’s hand, and in turn, the two of them fell together. The other man now had him pinned, a leg on either side of him. 

“I-- We-- uh…” The stranger fought to find the right words, feeling like a tea kettle ready to whistle. “We fell.” 

Drexxel could feel his own face burning a bright shade. He would have been able to laugh it off if it weren’t for his immediate attraction to this man. Impulse guiding him, he offered the man a toying smirk. “You know, I think this might be fate.” He winked. “And I don’t even know your name.” 

“M-my name?” The other man stuttered.

He tried to stand, pulling on Drexxel’s hands to pull him up as well, only to lose his footing. He fell back onto the stone, the smaller of the two now sitting perched on his abdomen. The look in his eyes was….entrancing. Intoxicating even. He couldn’t look away. “I’m Vell.” 

“Vell…” Drexxel liked the way the name felt when he said it. He let his hands drift to the other man’s chest, watching him with bright eager eyes.

Now, what was that saying about playing with fire?

[boonki]

Ooh!!! "No more today, you’re at your limit.” ? ❣❣

Hi anon!! Thank you so much for sending this prompt in, I had so much fun writing it (also thank you for waiting, I’ve been a little slow with writing lately) 

do we want 3.2k of obikin in the bath? idk but i wrote it! (also do the apartments in the jedi temple even have baths? idk. in this story they do LMAO)

as always, i write at 3 am, so if there are any mistakes, please.. just dont look at them

enjoy!! 💖

____

Obi-wan throws a side kick that lands square in Anakin’s stomach, sending him stumbling backwards. He rolls over a shoulder, ready for the next attack. He blocks a fist to the face, and counters with a punch to Obi-wan’s stomach, which is easily batted to the side. 

They’ve been going at it for hours, lightsabers tossed to the side in favor of hand-to-hand combat. Their robes lay messily off to the side of the training room, discarded hours ago as the room sweltered in the summer heat, the pair left only in their pants rolled up at the ankles. Anakin can see Obi-wan faltering, making easy mistakes that cost him light bruises; he must be incredibly tired, just having returned lightly injured from a mission to the Outer Rim. Anakin would so much rather see Obi-wan resting and curled up over a cup of tea, or taking a nap on Anakin’s chest so he can pet his hair down and hold him. But Obi-wan had wanted to spar, and Anakin would never say no to that. 

Anakin sees the opportunity and tackles Obi-wan to the ground, straddling his bare stomach and pinning his arms above his head. Obi-wan bucks his hips to roll Anakin over, but Anakin had been prepared for that, digging his knees into the mat to keep grounded. Both of their chests are heaving, and a droplet of sweat drips off of Anakin’s chin and onto Obi-wan’s neck. 

“I think we should call it quits for today, old man.” Anakin releases his grip on Obi-wan’s wrists and perches back on his heels, looking down at him. 

Obi-wan smirks. “And stop while you’re ahead? No, let’s go again.” He makes to get up, pushing his elbows into the mat, but Anakin stops him with a hand to his chest. 

“I’m serious. No more today, you’re at your limit. You’re going to hurt yourself.” Anakin’s tone is serious as he can be, his eyebrows raised, features stern. 

Obi-wan falls back to the ground, closing his eyes as he catches his breath. “As far as I was aware, it’s you hurting me, but point taken, love. You win.” 

Anakin leans down and pecks a kiss to his cheek, tasting salt, and stretches his lips in a wide smile. “I’ll grab us dinner from Dex’s and I’ll meet you back in our quarters, okay?” He shifts his weight to the side so he can slide off of Obi-wan, wincing at the ache in his already sore muscles. “And go shower? You need one.” 

Obi-wan shoots him a wry look. “What, you don’t like the smell of sweat? I can’t, anyhow, I have to go report to the council first.” 

“Do you want your usual?” Anakin ignores his sarcasm and hops to his feet, making his way towards their forgotten robes, wishing he had remembered to bring a towel with him. 

“Of course, darling.” Obi-wan answers from the floor, still lying on his back with his arms stretched out above his head. 

Anakin dons his robes loosely, grabbing his ‘saber from the floor, and takes in the sight: Obi-wan is covered in a thin sheen of sweat, making him glow, and his hair is pushed back, giving him an oddly attractive tousled look. Anakin’s dick twitches in his pants, wanting to do nothing more than take him apart right then and there. But the desire to get some food in Obi-wan and see him rest and relax overwhelms the sexual urge. There will be time for that later on, no doubt. 

He makes his way back to Obi-wan in easy, long strides and squats down, kissing him sideways, holding his sweaty head in between his palms. “I’m serious, you stink. The council can wait. Go shower.” 

Obi-wan snorts. “No, they really can’t. Tell Dex I said hello.” 

____

Anakin shuffles through Padme’s favorite body shop, where she used to drag him when they had briefly dated years prior. He never would’ve admitted it to her, but he relished the fancy baths she had created for them, and had returned to the shop alone innumerable times since they politely ended things. His body always thanked him after a hot soak. 

With how tired Obi-wan seemed when he had come back from his mission and padded into their quarters earlier, and how sore he must be after today’s intense practice, Anakin wants to do something special for him. Besides, they’ve barely been able to spend time together because of the war, and Anakin misses it just being the two of them. He hopes the bath won’t be too much for Obi-wan, but he knows the man has a soft spot for fancy things under that rigid exterior. 

The shop is crammed and dense, with low ceilings littered with dried flowers hanging upside down, casting a faint rose hue over the entire place. Soaps in muted colors, wrapped in bright shades of paper line the walls, leading down to the wooden tables that hold syrupy oils and linen bags of flowers and herbs. Coarse soaps and lotions in clear tubs sit in wire baskets underneath the tables. The whole room smells like a meadow in bloom, and Anakin eyes the candles burning in the corners of the room in consideration. 

Thankfully, he’s the only one in the shop currently, so he can take his time picking the right products. He pops the cork out of a bottle of bath oil and takes a whiff: light, and flowery, with a faint hint of jasmine. Throwing it in his cart, he adds some cream soap, and, hesitating a little, a bag of assorted flower petals to hover on the surface of the water. He already has floating candle lights for the bath at home. 

“Are you all set?” Sasha, the elegant female Twi’lek that owns the shop, leans against the register, eyeing him fondly. She used to tease him all the time about coming here alone, but they’ve moved past that, into a tentative friendship. 

“Yeah.” He slides his basket onto the counter between them. 

She eyes his items, cocking an eyebrow. “Is this for someone special?” 

He can feel the blood rushing into his cheeks and ears, but doesn’t want to admit it one way or the other. “Maybe.” 

She barks out a laugh at his bashfulness. “Lucky person, whoever it is.” 

“Uh.” He doesn’t really know how to answer that. “Thanks?” 

Her smile is playful, like he’s a child that just said something particularly cute. With the efficiency of someone who’s been doing it for years, she rings out the total and wraps all the items up in a paper satchel, sliding it back across the counter at him. 

“That’s going to be 83 credits.” 

He really hopes the council doesn’t look into his expenses, he wouldn’t know what to tell them. 

____

The door to their quarters swings open cautiously and Anakin peeps inside, worried that he took too long. After popping by the body shop, he swung by Dex’s as promised, and Dex had wanted to catch up, and rightfully so; it had been too long. Anakin had shifted from foot to foot the entire time though, anxious about getting home to draw the bath before Obi-wan returned from meeting with the council. But Dex is a viable source of information, a fantastic cook, and most importantly, a long time and loyal friend, so Anakin had plastered a good natured grin on his face and quieted the nag of unease in his stomach. 

The living room and kitchen is quiet, and Anakin doesn’t hear any noise coming from either the ‘fresher or their bedrooms. Anakin is in the clear. 

He drops the food off unceremoniously onto the kitchen counter, throwing his outer robes over a chair on his way to the ‘fresher, bag of goods in hand. Flipping on the light, he starts up the hot water and pulls out the candle lights that sit underneath the sink. As the scalding water rises to the top, he pours in the oil and soap, and sprinkles the flower petals across the water, deliberately placing the candle lights in last so he could perfect their destination. They glow to life as soon as they make contact with the water, and Anakin smiles at the sight. 

Stretching back up to stand, he turns the light off and shifts the door shut, letting the dim incandescence float through the room, a heavy orange that immediately adds intimacy to the space.

He has to admit, he’s outdone himself. 

Then: a creak of a door hinge, the shuffling of tired steps, and crinkling of the take-out bag as Obi-wan no doubts sneaks a fry in before Anakin catches him. 

Anakin bounds back to the kitchen, like a child bursting at the seams. 

“I have a surprise, before we eat,” he says to Obi-wan’s back. (He is sneaking a fry.)

“That’s never good.” Obi-wan replies, turning around to lean back against the counter, chewing thoughtfully. 

“All my surprises are good surprises.” 

“Oh, like the time you superglued my datapad to the ceiling so I would pay more attention to you? You could have just asked, dear one.” 

Anakin huffs, and covers the distance between them in two short strides, nudging Obi-wan towards the ‘fresher, covering both of Obi-wan’s eyes with his hands. 

“Just,” Anakin murmurs, “trust me on this one.” 

They lumber towards the ‘fresher, Anakin pushing a blinded Obi-wan forwards with each step. When they make their way to the entrance, Anakin stops them, practically vibrating with excitement.

“Smells good, at the very least.” Obi-wan hums, in no hurry to have his sight back. 

Anakin, however, cannot wait and eagerly pulls his hands back, watching Obi-wan’s face for a reaction. 

The smile begins in Obi-wan’s eyes as they crinkle, and then it moves down to his cheeks and into his mouth, which is pulled back in a twisted, tender way. Joy sings through every feature, and Anakin is elated. 

Obi-wan turns his head to look at him, his gaze tender. “Is this for me?” 

Anakin bites the inside of his cheek. “For us, to share, if you want. Unless you want to be alone, I’m more than happy to go lay down, but I thought-” 

“For us, then.” Obi-wan leans in and kisses him on the jaw, already undressing. For the second time that day, Anakin looks down at a small heap of clothing. He closes the ‘fresher door behind them. 

As soon as he slides his legs into the water, Obi-wan moans, and Anakin, no matter how many times he’s heard it, blushes, his breath quickening. Obi-wan is somehow both the most proper, and most obscene person Anakin has ever had the good graces of knowing. 

The petals dance away from Obi-wan, ripples in the water sending them cascading in circles. “Come on, then,” he says to Anakin, who is still staring down at him with a dopey smile on his face. 

Anakin makes quick work of his clothing, standing naked next to the bath. He motions for Obi-wan to lean forward so he can nestle in behind him. 

The water is still piping hot, almost uncomfortably so, but Anakin makes a small ahh noise at the feeling of it on his sore muscles. He snakes his legs on each side of Obi-wan, pulling him back so that Obi-wan’s back lays flush against his chest, having to shoo a candle light out of the way. It bumbles along their sides, and out towards their entangled legs, illuminating the peachy bubbles and sunset tinged petals that bob in their wake. Obi-wan tilts his head back, resting it on Anakin’s shoulder, and sighs in contentment. 

He drops a kiss on Obi-wan’s temple, breathing him in, his arms finding their home around Obi-wan’s waist. The skin on Obi-wan chest, arms, and face glimmer in the candlelight, flickering orange, more radiant than any Tatooine sunset, and Anakin wants to fall face first into the radiant gleam of his heart, wants to crawl into Obi-wan’s chest and bask in the warmth of his love, his light. 

“This is lovely,” Obi-wan whispers, fluttering his eyes closed. “Thank you.” 

Anakin’s hold around his middle tightens a bit in response, trailing a hand up and down Obi-wan’s stomach in repetition, a mindless gesture. “You seem tired lately.”

Obi-wan turns his head toward Anakin’s, resting his forehead in the crook of Anakin’s neck. He doesn’t get a response for a few heartbeats, and Anakin wonders if Obi-wan heard him. And then: 

“Well, we are at war.” Obi-wan’s tone is flat, nondescript. Anakin knows Obi-wan is mincing his words for his sake, and as a bad habit of holding tight to all of his problems, like sharing them would break him. Anakin wants to share the load with him, help carrying the burden. 

“Are you sure that’s all?” He mumbles into Obi-wan’s humid forehead, sweat beginning to glisten at his hairline from the searing water. 

Obi-wan lets out the faintest of sighs through his nose, carefully considering his response. “I wish I…,” he grabs Anakin’s hands in the water, laying them on top and threading his fingers into Anakin’s, “I wish I could help more. Do more. None of it ever feels enough.” 

Anakin gazes over their tangled legs, barely visible underneath the bubbles drifting over the surface, and aches all over at the thought of Obi-wan feeling inadequate. He wishes Obi-wan could see himself as Anakin sees him: brave, selfless, the entire backbone of the war, and a brilliant General and inspiring leader. Anakin has, and would a million times over, follow him into the depths of hell. The petals stick to their skin, creating a small halo of reds and purples where their bodies meet the water.

“You’re doing enough.” Anakin sighs. “You barely sleep, you’re always doing briefings and writing reports, and when we’re finally on a break you’re off training younglings, sitting in for the council, kriffing asking for sparring practice.” He huffs a laugh of disbelief into Obi-wan’s hairline. “You practically run this war yourself sometimes. When do you ever rest?” 

Obi-wan is silent for some time, probably thinking of some way to deflect everything. He comes back with rare and unusual honesty. “It feels selfish, taking time for myself when I know there are people out there dying. Innocent people.” 

Anakin scoffs. “How are you supposed to help them if you’re ready to keel over yourself, hm?” 

“We’re jedi, that’s what we do. Besides,” Obi-wan rubs his face on Anakin’s neck, tone turning sweet, “I have you to make sure I don’t.” 

Anakin grins into the wet curve of his head, his hair plastered to his skull from the steam wafting up around them, making the edges of the room disappear into a soft and warm fog. 

“You’re enough, and you deserve rest.” He plants an overdone kiss on Obi-wan’s skull, rougher than usual to make a point. 

Obi-wan hums noncommittally and tightens his hold on Anakin’s hands, somehow sinking further into Anakin’s chest. 

He squeezes once and then untangles his fingers from Obi-wan’s hold to trace over his body. The tops of his thighs are as far as Anakin can reach, so he starts there, letting his fingertips graze over sensitive and supple skin, over soft hair and old scars. He moves to the base of Obi-wan’s stomach, purposefully ignoring his cock in favor of showering him with pure adoration and affection. He’ll let his hands wander there after they’ve eaten and gotten into bed. 

Anakin loves the broad plain of Obi-wan’s chest, loves to rest his head on it after a long day, so he spends extra time there, dragging his fingernails across the pink skin, smoothing the sting down with the flat of his palm. He glides up to Obi-wan’s neck and into the base of his auburn hair, gently massaging the tense bundles of nerves that always seem to gather after a long and stressful day, and Obi-wan melts into him, humming sleepily. 

Overwhelmed that Obi-wan is his, that this breathtaking man is resting in his arms, seeping into his chest and finding home in his heart, he can’t help but want to stay like this forever: clean, warm, safe, and together. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Anakin breathes out, voice cracking, “and I love you so much.” 

The petals gleam in agreement, hovering in reverence near him, their red hues like Anakin’s beating heart, holding Obi-wan in place. He understands their predicament; he, too, would bloom and fall and bloom and fall for this man, would reach out as far as he can from the wet and mossy ground to be regarded and gazed at, plucked and taken home. Even if it meant dying, wilting away, it would be worth it to be held near his face, to be carefully tucked into a vase to watch over him in the final days. Him and these flowers are one and the same, always gravitating towards the brightest point in the room, his sun, his reason for blooming. 

Soft and slow breaths escape Obi-wan, and his chest evens out in a regular cadence. He must have fallen asleep. Good, Anakin thinks. 

Anakin holds him close and watches the bubbles pop, one by one, as the time passes. Candlelight reflects off of the still surface of the water, the rise and fall of Obi-wan’s chest the only movement causing faint ripples. This is the closest he’s come to meditation lately, and it feels so wonderful. 

He’s not sure what time it is, and can’t be bothered to care if anyone has comm’d him. Here in the four corners of their shared space is Anakin’s entire universe, and bliss simmers in his chest. 

Anakin’s fingers are starting to prune and sweat drips off of chin. The water is starting to cool, though, and if Obi-wan hadn’t been stuck to his body, he probably would want to get out. He doesn’t want to wake him though, as sleep is rare and precious these days. 

His stomach, however, has a different idea, and growls loudly, startling Obi-wan awake, who chuckles at the sound. 

“Maybe we should go eat that food you brought back,” he teases. 

Anakin can’t help the guilty smile that creeps its way onto his face. “How does eating and going back to sleep sound?” 

“Sounds like the best plan you’ve ever improvised, my dear.” 

Anakin makes a psh noise. “I don’t ever improvise.” 

Obi-wan scoffs, a high pitched laugh from the back of his throat. “So this was all planned, then?” 

Anakin sees the opportunity and takes it. “What, falling in love with you? No, but that has been my greatest achievement this far.” 

Obi-wan raises his head from Anakin’s shoulder and meets him at eye level, twisting his body around to kiss Anakin deeply, biting his lower lip and sucking. Anakin snakes a hand to the back of his head and kisses back, trying to pour all his love, his entire heart, all of him, into Obi-wan’s mouth. He wants Obi-wan to pluck him, and know he loves me, he loves me, he loves me with the pull of each petal. 

Obi-wan breaks their kiss and leans back, staring into his eyes. “Well, unlike you, I do actually plan, and my greatest achievement this far will be devouring the order of fries waiting for me in the kitchen.” 

Anakin laughs, and flicks water at his face.

[yes-ihavealwaysbeengreen]

The Next One’s on You 4/5

This one is going to hurt. I’m sorry. Here is chapter four: Champagne. Thank you so much for your support. I love every reblog, comment, and like.  Pairing: Maxwell Lord x F! Reader 

Warning: 18 + for language, mentions of pregnancy, toxic relatives  Taglist: @josepedropascal @mrschiltoncat @mrsparknuts @ghostwiththemostbitch @zannemes @oldstuffnewstuff @yespolkadotkitty @heythere-mel @justanotherblonde23 @artsymaddie @anetteaneta​ @maxlordsgf​ 

My Masterlist 

Chapter Four: Champagne 

From the outside the coffee shop looks closed for the evening, the neon's are off, the chairs are up, and all is quiet. Except for the light bleeding from under the door that leads to the back room. There you sit, on the cold freshly mopped tile in the most expensive dress you could ever imagine. Heels kicked off, knees pulled up to your chest, and head down. You slowly raise your head and see your face reflected off the walk in across the room. A diamond headband in your hair, curls falling out of the once elegant up-do, and mascara running down your cheeks. This was supposed to be the happiest day of your life, but it’s quickly become the worst. 

Becoming a figure in the public eye was never part of your ideal life plan. But, falling in love with Maxwell Lord IV and becoming his future wife, did not leave you with much of a choice. When he made the announcement at the next public event the press went crazy. Tearing apart every inch of your life with tweezers, paying old friends, roommates, people you had gone to school with for even a smidge of gossip. They were ruthless and hounded you all hours of the day from the moment you stepped outside your home and then all the way to work. At the coffee shop business was booming and every day you felt like the new animal at the zoo. Everyone coming to stick their ugly faces against the glass and ooh and ahh at the barista who had managed to ensnare Maxwell Lord.

They weren’t interested in who you were as a person or even how you had fallen in love. Because stuff like that, it doesn’t sell papers. Luckily, your fianc�� had been navigating the press for years and knew how to keep them off your tail in your private life. Shielding you from them in the comfort of your own home and helping him plan the ‘wedding of the century.’ Maxwell hired a wedding planner that he thought would get along with you and thankfully Juliet was perfect. She was organized, professional, and knew exactly what you wanted.

Yes, it wasn’t the small intimate wedding you had always hoped for but at least it wasn’t gaudy. Invitations had been sent out, food ordered, floral arrangements chosen, cake sampled, everything was going according to plan. Even going dress shopping with your mother, and grandmother had been perfect. Finding an eggshell colored dress with no train and small puffs on the sleeves. The salesgirl had placed a diamond headband in your hair holding the veil in place and giggled telling you it was sent over by Mr. Lord as a wedding present. The headband was white gold and had leaves encrusted with diamonds that shimmered in the light.

The big day was fast approaching, and thankfully Mrs. Lord the former was nowhere in sight. Although it didn’t leave you with a good feeling in your stomach, she had been too quiet. 

On your wedding day you woke up bright and early, Juliet bringing you breakfast in bed and going over the schedule for the day. You sipped a cup of coffee and smiled just letting her talk. When she was finished a team of stylists came in and got you ready. Manicure, pedicure, massage, makeup, and an elegant up-do, you glowed from the attention. When the dress was lifted over your head and cinched into place your breath caught in the mirror at your reflection. Fingers tracing over the fabric soft under your fingers and fitting just perfectly. They slid the diamond headband in place, and you wiped quickly at the tears streaming down your cheeks.

“Oh honey,” you turn and laugh as your father cries watching you, “you’re so beautiful.” You hold out your arms and hug him and he squeezes you tight. Juliet ushers the two of you down and to the limo to take you to the cathedral. The only church big enough for all the guests you had been forced to invite. When you step from the limo you feel like Princess Diana on the television and give a small wave to the growing crowds. Fingers digging into your fathers’ arm as he confidently leads you forward. Inside are your roommates and friends Michael and Robin acting as your bridesmaid/man. They are ushered down the aisle to the wedding march and your dad takes a deep breath leading you.

Your steps are slow and sure as you pass the elegant floral arrangements of white roses. The petals lining the aisle as you smile at some of the familiar faces. When you look up your breath is sucked out and you beam at your husband to be. Wearing a tuxedo and a hint of a familiar pocket square sticking out. He’s perfect, and smiling so brightly he rivals the sun, as he watches you glide toward him. 

You reach out to grab his hand and feel it tighten around your own. His eyes glassy with unshed tears as he smiles at you. Not the fake one from the television but the one he reserves just for you, warm and so full of love. You beam right back at him and mouth I love you before turning to the officiant. You choose not to write your own vows instead following along with the usual lines. Saving your vows for when you’re alone later. When he comes to ask for objections your smile dims as the sound of heels clacking on the floor directs your attention to the aisle.

Mrs. Lord in a white chanel suit is stalking towards you with a sneer. Maxwell moves to stand in front of you when the doors at the back of the church open and in walks….Tom? Your sleazy date from the first night with Maxwell is strutting confidently up the aisle wearing a tuxedo and smiling broadly, coming to stand beside Maxwell’s mother.

“Hi baby,” he coos at you and you shudder.

“What is the meaning of this?” Maxwell hisses clearly angry.

“I have come to bring an end to this sorry excuse for a wedding. My son,” she turns to the crowd like the detective in the novels you read does before unraveling the great mystery, “has been tricked by this little harlot! She has been part of a plot to steal my son’s money and company from the beginning!” She turns to gesture at Tom. “Thomas here told me of her scheme. One year ago, she hired him to pretend to be her date and take advantage of her. She knew my son would be at the restaurant and wanted him to come to her aid.”

“That’s absolute bullsh-“ you're cut off as Michael steps forward.

“It’s true! She asked if I knew anyone she could use as a date to trap some rich guy, I never knew she meant Maxwell Lord,” he points at you and your heart beats loudly in your ears watching one of your oldest friends lie to your face.

“I was there that night, the night she needed to be ‘rescued’ she was all over my son and straddling him on the couch, sure didn’t look like someone who just needed comfort to me!” she shrieks, and several people scoff in outrage although at who it isn’t clear.

She continues on and on making more outlandish claims and each time you go to defend yourself another of your friends, coworkers, or even acquaintances would step forward and collaborate with her. Until you are in tears and Maxwell is withdrawing further and further away from you. The room goes silent as she makes the biggest claim of all, “AND I know she is pregnant! The little bitch is trying to claim my son is the father of her bastard child!”

Maxwell frozen turns to stare at you and your mouth drops open a hand coming to quickly cover it as the tears stream down your cheeks. From the back of the room another voice speaks out, “I can confirm it! She had the appointment two weeks ago, and I performed the ultrasound myself.” The technician from your doctor’s office steps forward holding out a black and white photograph.

Maxwell stares at it and then turns back to you, “Is it true?” he whispers voice cracking.

“Maxwell-“ you reach for him and he takes a step back.

“Is it mine?” he shouts, and you tremble, lip wobbling as you bite down hard enough to taste the tang of blood in your mouth.

“How can you even ask me that? Of course, it’s yours,” your voice quivers and he scoffs.

“Because it seems like everyone you know, is accusing you of sleeping around with fucking Tom!” he shouts, and you take a step back hand protectively covering your stomach.

He glares at you and you take a step back, “Were you going to tell me?” he begs, “That the baby isn’t mine?!”

Your voice cracks, “It is yours! I haven’t been with anyone else Maxwell, you know this!” you shout sobs swelling in your chest. All the guests watching the drama unfold. 

“Another lie!” his mother shouts, stalking over to Maxwell and whispering in his ear like the snake that tempted Eve. “She only wants to take your money, everything that you have worked so hard to build. All of your success will be hers. She doesn’t love you.” 

Your heart splinters as he nods and drops his head, she turns to you grinning. “I think it’s time for you to leave, you are not welcome here anymore.” 

“Maxwell,” you cry reaching for him but he is far away from you now. You hold your head up high and glare at the people who stepped forward. “How fucking dare you,” you say low and threatengly, “some of them taking a step back at the venom in your voice. You walk down the steps slowly and hold up a hand as your family tries to rush you, walking towards a smirking Tom you rear your fist back. It makes a satisfying crunch as you break his nose.

Shaking your hand as it stings and he curses at you from the ground, “Fucking bitch!” 

“Go to hell you lying son of a bitch! If you ever get near me or my child, I will have you arrested,” you storm out of the church blood boiling stomach sour. As you slam open the doors to the waiting area, a waiter for the cocktail hour passes and you crash into him. Coating you in champagne as he quickly apologizes begging for forgiveness.  You're too upset to even notice and when you open the doors of the church the press go nuts. Cameras flashing, you race toward the limo. Jeeves the driver, holding the door open as you dive inside, slamming it closed behind you. He quickly climbs into the driver's seat, and the tires squeal as he drives away. 

“Mrs. Lord, what happened?” You sob into your hands and try to catch your breath. 

“I didn’t become Mrs. Lord,” you mumble and he stays silent just driving until you’ve calmed down enough to give him directions. The night is dark and you make your way across town. You have nowhere to go. You live with Maxwell and your former friends and roommate betrayed you. “Jeeves?” he looks into the rearview in sympathy, “take me to work please,” your voice is soft and he nods turning the limo toward the coffee shop. He pulls up out front and you quickly wave him off as you get out of the car and stumble towards the door. Giselle is locking up for the evening and freezes upon seeing you. Quickly rushing to the door and letting you inside. You collapse in her arms and she lets you spill everything, running her hand up and down your back. 

The wedding, Maxwell’s mother, Tom, Michael, the baby...all of it comes pouring out. When you're spent and your eyes have no more tears you haul yourself off the floor and push into the backroom. Giselle follows and you ask for the keys, “I’ll lock the door when I leave just...please let me stay.” She nods and hugs you tightly again before grabbing her purse and sliding out the side door. You lock in behind you and lean against the door sliding to the floor. 

From the outside the coffee shop looks closed for the evening, the neons are off, the chairs are up, and all is quiet. Except for the light bleeding from under the door that leads to the back room. There you sit, on the cold freshly mopped tile in the most expensive dress you could ever imagine. Heels kicked off, knees pulled up to your chest, and head down. You slowly raise your head and see your face reflected off the walk in across the room. A diamond headband in your hair, curls falling out of the once elegant up-do, and mascara running down your cheeks. This was supposed to be the happiest day of your life, but it quickly became the worst. 

You place your hands protectively over your stomach, rubbing gently. Oh fuck...what have we gotten ourselves into now…

The rasp of knuckles sounds at the back door. 

[hazbbyhaz]

sleepless || harry styles

fourteen

pairing: Harry Styles x OC

synopsis: a last minute trip

disclaimer: cameras, small talk of family

Sometimes, I think you get the worst of me

“Can I take a photo of you?”

Avery turns her head to look at Harry. He was sitting on the floor, leaning against the green sofa with Oliver in his lap. His camera clutched in his hands.

“I always look so sick in photos.” Her head falls back on the cushion as she closes her eyes, momentarily resting them. She thinks back to the dream she had a couple of nights ago, the scenes playing in her head like her own personal movie. The scenes playing before her closed eyes were better ones, happier things were happening. She was glad that she got a small break from what they usually entailed.

Soon, the sound of a camera shutter breaks her peaceful daze. The streetlamps illuminated the ceiling, giving it a soft, yellow glow. Avery wasn’t sure that she had ever really looked at the pattern on her ceiling until now, though countless nights were spent exactly like this. “We should go to the beach.”

The ceiling is divided into squares with thick edges, and with the glow from the streetlamps, it almost looked like a cloudy night sky. “We can’t just go to the beach.”

“Why not?” Harry questions, the shutter click echoing through the apartment again. “Me and my mom used to drive down to East Sussex.” Third click. “Camber Sands is down there. If we left now, we would be there by the time the sun rises.”

“I'm tired Harry, and that's got to be at least a two and a half-hour drive.”

“Everything is different by the sea, Ave. Have you ever been?”

“No…”

“Then it's settled. Let’s go.” The fourth time the camera goes off makes her turn around, but Harry is already quick on his feet, scaring Oliver in the process. He makes a quick escape through the open balcony window.

“I don't know…”

“I'll buy you ice cream. Three scoops.”

“Four.”

“Deal.” He puts on his boots and retrieves his keys from the counter while Avery watches him from her spot on the sofa.

“Are you serious?” She giggles as Harry puts his camera around his neck, waiting for her to follow him.

“Life is to be lived, Ave.”

��So she grabs another hoodie, a blanket, and a bottle of water before making her way towards him. As they descended down the stairs, for the first time she could see the different colors around her. She had always been able to see them, but this time it was different. Everything seems so much more vibrant

She saw different shades of yellow and green, even a little bit of red. It wasn’t just blue, blue, blue. Avery runs after Harry, after the colors because the further away he is, the darker it gets. She picks up her pace, trying to catch up with him.

“Thought I’d leave without you?” He grins, holding the passenger door of the car open for her.

“No.” She lies with a smile, trying to just enjoy this moment. This moment is now, and she doesn’t want to be stuck in the past any longer.

“My sister used to take this car a lot, so there's got to be a hair tie somewhere,” Harry says, his eyes moving back and forth between the dark street in front of them and the interior of the car. “Take a look in the glove compartment.”

He’s right. Under numerous papers that had been shoved inside the small space was a leopard print scrunchie. “Found one!” Avery cheers, putting her hair in a low ponytail. “I didn’t know you had a sister.”

“Yeah, her name is Gemma, she lives abroad.” He explains. “In a way, her job reminds me a lot of Chandler Bing, because I’ve honestly no clue what she really does, but she travels a lot for it.”

“That must be difficult, I don't know if I could do that. Pack up my life every six months.”

“It's quite perfect for her, I think she would go crazy if she had to stay in a single place for longer than a year or two. What about you? Do you have any siblings?”

“No,” She says quietly. “And, if I’m honest, I didn't want any.”

“Isn’t a sibling something everyone wants?”

“I guess I just… they don’t deserve that… no one does…”

He stays quiet for a while after that. Did I say too much? The air suddenly felt colder, so many unanswered questions flying about. Harry couldn't find the right one to ask, so he just went with the basics. “What's your favorite color?”

“Green.”

“Ha! That's the color of my eyes, does that mean you fancy me?” a childish grin plastered onto his face.

“What? Your eyes are not green. Look at me!” She knew they were green, it was hard not to notice. But, she wanted to feed into his antics for a bit. It seemed to be lifting the tension.

“I’m driving, Ave. That's not gonna work.” He laughs, focusing his gaze back on the road as more cars started to make their way onto the once quiet street.

“Harry?’’

“Hm?”

“Who is your roommate? At your party I had accidentally stumbled into a bedroom, thinking it was the bathroom. There was a guy in there by himself.” She had never told him about the strange encounter she had that night, thinking that Harry would have asked her about it at some point. After not being brought up for some time, she figured he wasn’t going to and left it at that.

“Oh, you mean Francis… you met? He didn't mention anything.”

“He had told me that several other people had walked into his room instead of the bathroom, that's probably why… so, he’s your friend?”

“Yeah… we’ve known each other for ages, since about grade one I believe.” There is something in his voice that doesn't seem right. He seemed saddened by the sudden mention of his friend, almost like he hadn't fully prepared for the topic to be brought up.

“Francis is probably the kindest, most generous person I know. He is much better than me, and I honestly don't know why he has stuck with me for this long. You should meet him. He's not fond of meeting new people, but nevertheless, he would be nothing but nice to you.”

“I'd love that.” Avery smiles. The smile doesn’t leave her face while Harry continues on about Francis.

“We should have taken him with us.”

“He is with his parents at the moment.”

“Oh, well maybe next time.”

“Yeah,” Harry murmurs. “Next time.”

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Taglist: if you would like to be added, please let me know!

@serenametanoia @magicalmongerherringfan

[random-mha-thoughts]

Kiss of Death (Todoroki x Reader)

Pairing: Todoroki x Reader

Genre: Angst

Summary: If the Angel of Death came upon you but you had half an hour, what would you do?

BGM: Ateez “Inception” slowed + reverb

Word count: 1,639

Warnings: Character death and preparation

Tags: @rintomoj​ @yuki-osaki​ @yamichxn​ @lonelyfangirl453​ @cyanide9602​ @liviitehe​ @iamsoftsodonttoucheume-blog​

a/n: Really proud of this one, I really like it and I hope you guys do too.

The figure looms over you, its shadowy silhouette casting the room in darkness against the moonlight streaming through your window.  At first, you figured it was a thief or murderer breaking in; anyone else would have concluded the same judging from the dark clothes and intimidating demeanor.

That is, until you realize the massive shadow blocking out all the light is due to a pair of overarching, feathery wings.

Your mouth can't help gaping open as you jolt up in bed.  There's a supernatural creature visiting you at what you assume is an ungodly hour of the night.  The thick grey wings retract into their back, allowing you view of their entire physique as the moonlight rushes back into your room, no longer restricted.

The figure appears human, their white cloak's hood settles over squared shoulders and hips of roughly the same width.  Their hair cropped short and the rest of their features remain androgynous.  You should be scared of the intruder, but something about their serene expression and inexplicably calm aura dispels any tension in the room.

"My child, forgive me for disturbing you," their airy voice is just as serene as their appearance, a gentle fingers barely ghosting your cheek, "But I'm afraid your time has come."

Your eyes widen.  "M-My time?  As in..."

They nod slowly, the hand cool hand trailing down to gingerly take your hand.  "It is sudden, but to compensate, you are allowed half an hour to do as you please."

It's expected that being told you're going to die would send cold down your spine and threaten your entire being, your body shivering as your mind tries to comprehend what exactly it means to cease to exist.  While it does happen, you're calm and collected, smiling at the messenger.  "I'm thankful for the warning.  At least I won't have to leave without preparations."

Your mind is surprisingly rational in the face of an earth-shattering reality, you're unsure if it's because of the influence of the angel or your complete blind acceptance of fate - you hope it's the latter.

You begin your preparations.  The first thing you do is gather as many letters and envelopes as you have in your room.  Each one is addressed to those dear to you: to your closest friend and loving family members.  Pouring your most genuine feelings out into each of these makes your only slightly regretful that you might not have showered them with enough love in your life this far, but at this point you can only hope your affections shine through in your last moments, and that the thought of you writing your last words to them in your dying breaths will hold more weight.

Next, you pull out your bank card and all the money you have stashed in an extraneous corner of your sweater drawer.  Dividing it into two even piles; one goes into the envelope for your parents and the other for your closest friend.  In the envelope for your parents, you also include your bank card and the PIN, along with the trust that they'll know how to divide the money in the bank - though you very strongly suggest the idea of them taking much needed vacation for themselves.  To your friend, you also include a list of all your social media and email accounts connected to friends you can only talk to and not meet face to face, mandate that they split this money between the other friends who need it most, that you trust their judgment, and also to spare some for themselves.

Finishing all the writing, the weight on your shoulders slowly lifts, as if releasing all your affections on paper is a much needed therapy.  You try not to think of the possibility that it might just be your soul slowly disconnecting from your body.

"What will they think I died from?" you ask curiously, placing the envelopes face up on your desk.

The angel - who has been patiently watching your tranquil planning from afar - blinks.  "They will think you simply died in your sleep.

"I see."

The only remaining preparation in your home was to leave your apartment key under the mat in front of your door.  You send a text to that same closest friend to come by in the morning to help clean, and if you didn't answer the door to use the spare key under the mat.

All of this took up a 25 minutes of your remaining time.  However, there is one more person you couldn't stop thinking about as your time of expiration looms closer and closer.  You turn to your companion.  "Would you mind teleporting me somewhere?  There's one last person I need to see."

~

Three raps on the balcony door was all it took for you to see movement in the bedroom.   The lump rolls over, a head peaks out from under the blanket, first checking the time then lifting up to face the window.  Bicolored hair is illuminated as the figure slowly retreats from the bed, clad in nothing but dark sweatpants.

Your heart pounds and your stomach churns, the normal reaction that he elicits out of you whenever you're near him.

The boy rubs his eyes and blinks the sleep away, focusing on your waiting figure.  He opens the balcony door full of confusion.  "(Y/n)?  Why are you here?  It's 3 am."  His voice is as gravelly as you've only imagined hearing it being, thought you usually picture him greeting you in the morning after sleeping next to him.

Anticipation wells up inside you.  Up to this point, you had no problem spilling your deepest thoughts to your loved ones, but something about him had always made you think twice before showing any sort of affection.  Call it a force of habit, but you've never wanted him to know about your crush on him since you wanted to preserve your friendship and keep your relationship from becoming awkward around your mutual friends.

But you have nothing to lose at this point; might as well cross this final what-if off your list in your last few minutes.  "I know it's late, Todoroki, but I have to tell you something  It can't wait until morning."

He sighs heavily and leans against the door frame.  "I'm listening."

You use the ever-lightening weight you feel unraveling within you as strength to call upon.   "I have feelings for you."

The boy's expression doesn't change after you've ripped the bandage off, his stoic expression still in tact.

You can't help but let out a puff of laughter.  "You're the only person I've met who I can confidently say I've imagined waking up next to.  I always thought we would've been compatible as a couple, we would've been happy together.  Your calm nature, your quiet power and charisma, your heart, I did fall for all of it.  And... I didn't want to leave without finally saying this to you."

This is your first confession.  Every other crush you had, you let pass you by without so much as a word or hint.  But now, you've run out of time to hide it.  In a way, you're grateful for the pressure to finally overcome your fear of rejection, but only regretful that it came under these circumstances.  If he rejects you now, it doesn't matter.

But Todoroki's response was unreadable, the only display of feeling being his slightly widened eyes.

Your face gets hot and you laugh to cover it up.  "Yeah, I came at 3 am to confess to you, I'm sorry."  Your eyes flicker to the clock on his bedside table, the time telling you that you have barely two minutes to wrap this up.  Behind you, the angel makes its presence known by gingerly touching their hand to your shoulder.  "I need to be going now."

You're about to leave the balcony when another stroke of bravery crosses your mind.  Squarely facing him, you grip his neck and tug him closer until your lips meet gently as you've dreamed of on many occasions, though the burst of electricity that erupts between you two is indescribably better than what you've imagined.

Todoroki's hand reaches to meet your wrist just as you pull back to rest your forehead against his.  You want to laugh; such a blissful feeling was waiting for you this entire time where you could've had endless kisses like these, but you have to be satisfied with just the one as it's the only one you're getting.  You almost forgot that you have to part ways with him forever now.  Still, it's a perfect way to die, you think in bittersweet parting sorrow.

You step away from him for his tether on your arm to keep you still.  He finally exhibits emotion: desperation and hunger for another one, mixed with fear as he acknowledges there must be something amiss.  "Don't go," he pleads, as if this is the last time he sees you.  Little did he know it would be.

You give him one last smile.  "Goodnight, Todoroki.  Thank you."  Your body is feather light now, your time whittling away to the final seconds.  Without a second thought, you let go and fling yourself off the balcony.

In the blink of an eye, you're back in your familiar room, laying in your bed.  The conflicting sensation of a heavy body but weightless inside overtakes you, and you know it's time.  The lingering aftermath of your final kiss still on your lips, you smile to yourself.  If your soul can remember memories, you hope this feeling remains permanently engraved in them.  "I'm ready to go."  Your eyes flutter closed and you breathe out, your terminal exhale coming with the tingle of a thin thread gently unraveling its last fibers.

A faraway caress is your final feeling.

"Rest now, my child."

.

Part 2

[jerakeenc]

many kidfics i’ve read and loved

look who’s reccing a million year old fics now. kidfics, very many. posted to dw for snowflake, thought I’d copy here as well. will be reading most, if not all. if you don’t hear from me again, this list is the culprit.

101 Ways To Get Lucky (In Love) by lenore

18,200 words | SGA, McKay/Sheppard

Rodney McKay is rich, gorgeous and at the top of his game—except someone just moved the goalposts! Now Rodney realizes he is sorely lacking the one status symbol that everybody seems to have…the perfect family. Rodney needs help, so he hires a relationship coach. Single-dad John Sheppard may be an expert, but not when it comes to his own relationships! And every day he spends with Rodney makes him wish that he could be the one to fill the vacancy in Rodney's life…

A Beautiful Lifetime Event by astolat

29,000 words | SGA, McKay/Sheppard

Life is what happens when you're busy making other plans.

An Earlier Heaven by regann

67,400 words | X-Men, Erik/Charles

In the wake of Cuba, Charles and his students are ready to pick up the pieces and work toward achieving Charles's dream of a safe haven for young mutants. Those plans, however, take a surprising turn thanks to a very unexpected complication. As he slowly builds a future for his students and for his child, Charles struggles with the loss of Erik and the secrets he's willing to keep to protect his family, but those strides are shattered when Erik makes a startling reappearance into his life. [mpreg, kidfic, ensemble]

And everything nice by noelia_g

30,200 words | Social Network, Mark/Eduardo

The one where Mark somehow ends up with a child and of course needs a nanny for the amount of time he spends at the office. Only problem is a string of nannys keep trying to get into his pants for what he assumes is his money. Cue Mark's assistant hiring a male nanny, enter Eduardo.

asking to be born by longtime_lurker

26,500 words | Bandom, Pete/Patrick

"Don't worry, it's probably just his big gay freakout," Andy yells cheerfully and unhelpfully into Patrick's ear as they're hustling Pete over to the nearest private clinic.

Better with You by harriet_vane

38,100 words | 1D, Liam/Louis

Based on this prompt at the kinkmeme:

Single parent and solo artist Liam Payne hires Louis Tomlinson to be a full time nanny to his four year old son Sammy. Although the two men don't quite click from the start it's love at first sight between Sammy and Louis. Eventually Louis and Liam warm up to each other and get on like a house on fire, in fact the two become a little too fond of each other.

I refuse to apologize for how sweet this ended up, okay? It's kidfic, I am forever writing kidfic, and this one is even kid-fic-ier than usual.

Can't Get Enough of You (Baby) by eternalbreath

22,100 words | Inception, Arthur/Eames

Eames vanishes from dreamshare and Arthur goes a little crazy looking for him until he stumbles across him -- with a baby.

Chelsea, Chelsea, I Believe by empathapathique

300,800 words | Hockey, Kane/Toews

Patrick meets a girl his rookie year.

Don't You Shake Alone by dsudis

62,180 words | Generation Kill, Brad/Nate

Nate looked exactly like Brad always pictured him: exhausted in the full life-in-a-combat-zone sense of the word.

Dude, what's a bulwark? by kellifer_fic

12,150 words | Teen Wolf, Derek/Stiles

Beacon Hills is the kind of small town where everybody knows everybody, and what everybody knows is that surly diner owner Derek Hale and free spirited single dad Stiles Stilinski have been in love with each other for years. If only they knew it too.

Every Other Beautiful World by rhiannonhero

43,280 words | SGA, McKay/Sheppard

Some things are unexpected but still inevitable in every beautiful world.

Forever, Now by harriet_vane

227,100 words | Bandom, Frank/Gerard, Jon/Spencer, Brendon/Ryan, Brian/Greta

Brian rescues kid!Gerard and Mikey from life on the streets, and eventually everyone finds a family.

here comes the sun by oflights

56,600 words | Social Network, Mark/Eduardo

This is a story about growing up, sad 70's rock songs, too much hair gel, "Maxwell's Silver Hammer", a baby with curly hair, a Geiger counter, a dog that isn't named Max, the Chicken Dance, Cheerios, pepper-spray, drugs, sex, and a stuffed chicken named Cluckerberg, nicknamed Cluck. or: Mark raises Sean's accidental baby, and I write the fluffiest thing ever.

I Got a Love (That Keeps Me Waiting) by svmadelyn

163,700 words | Hockey, Kane/Toews

There's a lot of different ways this summary could go, like:

Patrick Kane gets more than a gold medal in Sochi.

Or, the classic: It's too late to pull out now.

Or: Patrick Kane continues to thrive in high pressure situations.

Or: Patrick Kane gets knocked up, goes to White Castle, and finds love, not necessarily in that order.

But, ultimately, all that really matters is this: Patrick Kane is keeping his baby.

I Would Be by cathalin

20,290 words | American Idol, Kris/Adam

AU. Adam and Kris meet a few years down the road, when down-on-his-luck Kris and his young daughter Katherine show up to rent a room from Adam, who never made it to an Idol audition.

Ice Ice Baby by uraneia

51,340 words | Hockey, Claude/Danny

A gold medal isn't the only souvenir Claude brings home from Prague.

OR: The one where Claude gets drunk, gets pregnant, and gets convinced to move in with Danny, whom he's been secretly in love with for years. What could possibly go wrong?

my heart is bigger than the distance in between us by estrella30

15,000 words | 1D, Nick/Harry

Nick chuckles quietly but grabs the remote and follows Emma, Aimee coming up close behind him. It’s indeed Harry on the telly, singing along to his latest radio hit and smiling slowly into the camera far too seductively for half eight on a Friday morning, if you ask Nick. He presses the volume just in time to catch the crowd’s roaring applause and see the pink flush Harry’s cheeks. Nick watches him duck his head as he gives a small wave to the audience, and it hits Nick that Harry is still the most humble and appreciative billionaire Nick’s ever met.

Good job, popstar, Nick thinks to himself.

or, Nick is a single dad and Harry is his bff and it's a bunch of years into the future and they fall in love

Once Upon a Furry Octopus by skoosiepants

11,270 words | SGA, McKay/Sheppard

He was an intelligent, intuitive pet, but he wasn’t going to start sniffing out ZPMs or hidden Ancient weaponry or detailed instructions on how to kill a Wraith with a common household item. A pen, for instance.

Reconcilable Differences by astolat

40,000 words | Smallville, Clark/Lex

Luthor Family Values.

Shelter by harriet_vane

63,500 words | Social Network, Jesse/Andrew

From the kinkmeme prompt: Some sort of AU vaguely based on Shelter! For whatever reason, Jesse has to take care of Hallie and give up his dream of being an actor. He ends up working in a dead end job when former, now successful friend (Andrew) returns home. They fall in love, etc, only Jesse can't go away with him because he has a responsibility to his family. CUE ANGST.

Show Me The Way Back Home Baby by stilinskisparkles

15,000 words | Teen Wolf, Derek/Stiles

In which Lydia and Jackson produce the world's cutest baby, and the pack goes crazy-- the good kind of crazy. Except for Derek, who is afraid of tiny cute babies and Stiles who plans to be the best Uncle ever. Even if Danny called dibs on Godfather.

Skybird by windsweptfic

33,785 words | Inception/White Collar, Arthur/Eames

Arthur and Eames adopt a kid and raise that kid into Neal Caffrey.

Small Cells and Fibers by sevenfists

7,830 words | Bandom, Frank/Gerard

Tuesdays were finger-painting days. Frank made sure to wear his oldest pair of jeans, because even with his full-length apron and his constant reminders that paint belongs on paper and not on clothing, he always ended up with tiny, multi-colored handprints all over his clothes. There wasn't a thing he could do about it, so he just wore pants from 1995.

Small Primes and Square Roots by liviapenn

12,500 words | SGA, McKay/Sheppard

"I hope you picked someone really intelligent, otherwise it seems like it would be kind of a waste. Of incubation time, if nothing else."

So Wise We Grow by deastar

81,250 words | Star Trek Reboot, Kirk/Spock

"Commander Spock, we have located your son," the Vulcan lady on the screen says, which would be great, except Jim can tell by the look on Spock's face that he's never heard of this kid before in his life. "If it is expedient, the child will be sent to join you on the Enterprise within the week."

Something Better by lovelypoet

18,350 words | Bandom, Frank/Gerard

"We all have to take jobs we don't like sometimes, you know?"

The Next Time You Say Forever by Thistlerose

27,300 words | Star Trek Reboot, Kirk/McCoy

After his ex-wife's death, McCoy is forced to leave the Enterprise to look after his teenage daughter. Under normal circumstances, this would be the end of…whatever it is he has with Kirk that's more than friendship, but less than what he wants. But the universe has other intentions.

The Reeducation of Misters Kane and Toews by jezziejay

15,900 words | Hockey, Kane/Toews

In which Kaner sort of has a kid, and Mr. Toews doesn't know which of them is the bigger brat.

AU featuring teacher!Jon and hockey-player!Kaner. With bonus 'Hawks characters, love notes, pasta jewelry, Be Better Pizzas, pirouettes, a sprinke of angst and guest appearance by Derek Jeter.

The Road Delivered Us Home by keelywolfe

117,430 words | Hobbit, Thorin/Bilbo

In the years since Bilbo left Erebor, he has lost his respectability, gained a nephew, and gotten on with life at Bag End.

He'd left aside adventure for the comforts and peace of his little Hobbit hole, and for the love of a child who needed him. Though perhaps, adventures can yet find him.

This Story Was Brought to You by Our Sponsors by scaramouche

29,500 words | Supernatural, Dean/Castiel

Dean's post-apocalyptic life is a friggin' soap opera. Romance! Angst! Separations! Reunions! Pizza Dinners! A Child Dean Never Knew He Had! It's all very dramatic.

throw a little sparkle all over it by etben

26,000 words | Bandom, Frank/Gerard

"Hey, Ma," Mikey says. "No, everything's fine—well, I mean, Gerard accidentally adopted a baby—no, he's changing her now, he can't talk."

Tiny Houses by ohmyjetsabel

77,130 words | Teen Wolf, Derek/Stiles

"So this is what Stiles does. He lies in Scott’s bed and waits for Melissa to say she’s found someone to get it out of him, to cure him of the wrongness and the bad, and he dreams.

God, he dreams.

He dreams of fire and swollen bellies and that scene in Alien, of giving birth to jackals through his urethra, the whole horrific nine yards. His head is a terrible place to be, he can’t imagine his stomach is much better, why anyone would want to put a thing inside of it."

Tip, Slide, Tumble by j_s_cavalcante

42,900 words | due South, Fraser/Kowalski

Ray knew when he found the body in the alley it was going to change someone's life. He just didn't expect that life would be his.

Turn by saras_girl

306,000 words | Harry Potter, Harry/Draco

One good turn always deserves another. Apparently.

Unless it's lies or it's love by sprat

25,300 words | American Idol, Kris/Adam

In which Adam (a rock star) meets Kris (a single dad) at an Emergency Room in Arkansas at the end of a particularly shitty night. Also features: San Francisco, fresh starts, baked goods, OCs, cameo appearances by Matt and Megan, pirates, monsters with garbage heads and a recording studio.

What Child Is This by lamardeuse

30,150 words | Merlin, Arthur/Merlin

A modern AU with Merlin, Arthur, mayhem, a baby and a jingly elf hat.

What to Expect by arsenic

29,200 words | Bandom, Bob/Mikey

Mikey has his band, and his little girl, and that's enough. Really, it is.

Winter's Children by neery

66,890 words | Marvel, Bucky/Steve

When their attempts to recreate the super soldier serum failed, Hydra started trying to breed Captain America clones from his genetic samples. Unfortunately, the serum's effects aren't passed down genetically, so instead of an army of tiny Captain Americas, they get a bunch of tow-headed, asthmatic, allergic, immuno-compromised little Steves.

And then the Winter Soldier stumbles across Hydra's failed experiment...

With Six You Get Eggroll by speranza

31,000 words | due South, Fraser/Kowalski

"Kick 'em In The Head: A Guide To Parenting."

ETA: Bonus! Because I apparently lost my bookmark for this one but have the memory of an elephant for kidfic, so it came to me eventually. :D

A Farm in Iowa 'Verse by sheafrotherdon

166,000 words | SGA, McKay/Sheppard

John inherits a farm, Rodney ends up entirely out of his element, and there is much ado about baseball.

[iwantthedean]

Have You Ever Thought ...

Summary: During a night out with Jared, you entertain an idea you’ve never thought of before.  Pairing: Jared x Reader Word Count: 1510 Warnings: Drinking. The usual cliche fluff you might expect from me :) Square Filled: Friends to Lovers for @spngenrebingo​ A/N: I didn’t realize until after I posted my last fic that I hadn’t tagged anyone -- that’s my bad! 

Saturdays were your day to get your life together. You cleaned up your apartment from the mess that had gotten a little out of control, finished the tasks you had started but not finished over the last five days, you did laundry, sometimes caught up with friends … it was just your day to wrap up loose ends. It had been this way since your last break up — you took a few days to cry it out, then decided you weren’t going to let your life fall apart.  Routine was what you needed and Saturday get-it-together tasks were part of that routine. 

Between the vacuum and the music you had blaring to get you through your household chores, you didn’t hear anyone knocking on the door. You didn’t hear anyone turning the lock or announcing their presence in your apartment. 

Which is probably why when you turned off the vacuum and went to the kitchen for a glass of water, you screamed at the top of your lungs. The tall man setting drinks on the counter couldn’t help but laugh. 

“Oh, Y/N, I’m so sorry,” Jared chuckled, “I knew you didn’t hear me knock probably because of the bathroom, but I figured you heard me over the vacuum.”

“Alexa, stop the music,” you commanded the device, a hand at your throat while you tried to catch your breath. “That better be an iced coffee from Dunkin, and they better both be for me after you scared the crap out of me.”

He was still smiling. “I had intended to drink one, but you’re right, maybe I do owe you the extra one.”

You pushed a straw into one of the drinks and rolled your eyes as you leaned back against the counter. The unexpected iced coffee cooled your nerves and you decided it wasn’t so bad that Jared had shown up after all. 

“So, what are you doing here, creeper?” Ashley asked, nudging his leg with her toe. 

He set his own drink on the counter and crossed his arms over his chest. “Came to see if you were still doing get-it-together Saturday.”

“You know I am, Jar. I’m not looking for dates and I’m perfectly happy to spend my Saturdays being productive, sleeping in Sunday morning, and just relaxing before the week starts again.” You shrugged. You weren’t too worried about it; you were okay being single. 

“Fair enough. Want me to hang out? Need any handyman tasks done?”

“Mmm, well, I could do it if you don’t want to, but I have a couple light bulbs up high that need changed out, if you’re in a helping mood.”

Jared sipped on his iced coffee again, nodding. “Yeah, sure, no problem. Bulbs still in the same place?”

“Yep! The bathroom ceiling light and one bulb in the bedroom fan.”

He left his drink on the counter. You finished yours off before dumping the ice in the sink, tossing the cup away, and going back to your loose ends. 

After another hour, you were done with your list. Jared had changed out those bulbs, unloaded the dishwasher, and snaked your shower drain. 

“Now I owe you,” you sighed, falling back on the couch. “Wanna go out for drinks tonight?”

Jared shrugged. “Sure. We could grab a bite first, if you want.”

“There’s a frozen pizza in the freezer.”

“Perfect! I’ll get that going while you get cleaned up.”

You thanked him with a quick kiss on the cheek before gathering a couple of clean towels and heading for the shower. Music started from the Alexa again, and you sang along, uninhibited, while you washed up. 

Since it was just drinks with a friend, you put on a cute top and jeans, dropped some sandals next to the door to slip into before you left. Your hair had dried in nice, beachy waves — for once — and you put on the bare minimum of makeup. 

“Ah, that pizza smells so good!” you raved, picking up two pieces from the pan and dropping them on paper plate. You filled a glass with water and took a seat at the table with Jared. 

While the two of you ate, you discussed which bar you wanted to go to. You wanted to be able to talk, and Jared wanted to hear good music. There was a couple of places that fit those requirement, so the two of you picked the closer of the two. 

“So, how much longer are you going to avoid dating?” Jared asked during the drive. 

“Jared …”

He waved off your protest. “C’mon, Y/N/N. You’re beautiful, you’re driven, you’re smart, you’re funny — you check off everything on the list. You’re just going to isolate yourself for the rest of eternity? He isn’t worth that.”

“I am not isolating myself,” you scoffed. “I’m just not looking at the moment. If someone comes along, then sure, I’ll give it a shot. But like I said, I’m okay by myself. Maybe I’ll meet someone at the bar tonight, you never know.”

Jared sighed in frustration, but smiled. “Okay, sure. I guess I can buy that. For now.”

You chuckled and turned up the music. As you started singing along, Jared eventually chimed in. He was smiling big enough for his dimples to show, even while he sang, and you had to stop yourself from leaning over the console to kiss him.

Wait. What. 

That wasn’t a thought you’d had about Jared before. The two of you were friends — yeah, he was a handsome man. You weren’t stupid, you weren’t blind. You could see that Jared was a catch. The friendship had really never been like that, though. 

Until now. 

You ordered your mind to shut its mouth and thought about anything and everything else. Once at the bar, in an effort to clear your mind and reset your perspective, you walked far enough away from Jared to fit two more people between you. He gave you a hard time about it, but you only joked that he smelled bad. Lame, but it was the best you could do with these new thoughts rambling through your brain. 

There was an open table on the patio and the weather was gorgeous, so you and Jared snagged up a couple of the chairs before anyone else could claim the table. He got up to get your drinks from the bar; the eyes of the other women in the place following him back inside didn’t escape your notice. 

Had Jared ever thought about you like this? He had said some pretty nice things about you in the car. But, he was your friend. Didn’t he have to say those things, though, as your friend? Maybe. Maybe not. 

Three drinks in and ready to tell the other women in the place to stop checking Jared out, you still hadn’t figured out where you were going to land on the matter. Jared returned with a fourth round, and you blurted out your question. 

“Do you ever think about us?” 

Jared set the drinks carefully on the table. “Us? What do you mean?”

“Us,” you repeated, motioning between the two of you. “You think I’m beautiful and smart and driven and all of that … did you say that because I’m your beautiful, smart, driven friend, or because you see these things and it makes you think maybe you want more with me?”

Jared mouth gaped a little and he stared at you without blinking for what your intoxicated mind processed was too long of a time for your question to be something that wasn’t going to ruin your entire friendship. 

“Or did I just ruin everything?” you asked, quietly. 

“No, you didn’t ruin anything,” Jared assured immediately, “I … I don’t know. I do truly believe those things about you, Y/N, but I’ve never … until now.”

“Same. Well, tonight. In the car, you were singing and smiling and I had this completely sober thought that I wanted to lean over and kiss you and I’ve been trying to figure out since then what in the world is happening in my mind.”

Jared licked his lips and tucked his hair behind his ears. He cleared his throat scooted his chair close to yours. With a soft hand under your chin, Jared hesitantly pressed his lips softly to yours. His eyes were closed, but you almost couldn’t believe what was happening if you didn’t see it. When Jared pulled back, hand still under your chin, your eyes were wide open with shock. 

“I’m sorry,” he apologized, “I thought that maybe if we tried that kiss, it might give us some answers.”

“Did it give you answers?” 

Jared nodded. “You?”

Slowly, you nodded. One end of your mouth tugged up with the hint of a smile, and you pressed your forehead to his. 

“What if we change our minds when we’re sober?”

He leaned forward. “Then we’ll deal with it.”

Again, you nodded. Words were unmanageable, and you were too eager to have Jared’s lips on yours once more. 

The Whole Shebang: @illisea​ @ashleymalfoy​ @busybee612​ @mrswhozeewhatsis​ @sherlock44​ @ravenesque​ @feelmyroarrrr​ @atc74​  @theplaidshirtmadness​  @blacktithe7​ @moonlessnight14​ @kitchenwitchsuperwhovian​ @smoothdogsgirl​  @melbrandes​  @xtina2191​ @spnbaby-67​ @emoryhemsworth​ @goldenolaf25​ @gabriels-trix​ @applesugar88​ @rainflowermoon​ @deansgirl215​ @thisismysecrethappyplace​ @calaofnoldor​ @jerkbitchidjitassbutt​ @sleepylunarwolf​ @chances-and-miracles​ @sandlee44​ @foxyjwls007​ @cpag7​ @deanwanddamons​

[master-sass-blast]

Cabin Fever.

Hi hello time for more fluff.

Summary: A snow day shuts down New York's school system --though, thanks to the remote schooling options offered by Xavier's, you and Piotr are still obligated to your scholarly professions. Fortunately, you manage to keep from getting bored --if only just.

Pairing(s): Piotr Rasputin x Reader.

Rating: G.

Warnings: None.

Set after “It’s Truly Magical.”

Also, let me know if y’all want to see how the ‘sex by the fire place’ goes down, and I might do it.

Taglist: @marvel-is-perfection, @girl-obsessed-with-things, @super-darkcloudstudent, @chromecutie, @dandyqueen, @leo-writer

“Wow. This is downright ridiculous.”

The outside world is coated in a thick blanket of snow. Tree branches bend under the weight of the cold mass, sagging towards the ground until it looks like they should break. Your front porch is gone, consumed by the rapidly encroaching freezing mass.

Even your husband, a purebred Russian farm boy, doesn’t want to go out in this weather –and that’s saying something.

Piotr finishes building a fire in your home’s fireplace, keeping the doors open just a hair so that enough oxygen can get in to keep the flames blazing. “Forecast predicts another ten inches before end of day.”

“Jeepers fucking creepers. Goes to show that climate change’s a double-edged sword, huh?” You take a sip of your hot chocolate, then smile over at your husband. “Well, at least we can have a fun snow day with each other. Drink hot chocolate, make cookies, have sex by the fire—”

Your husband chuckles, but shakes his head. “It will have to wait, myshka.”

“What? Why?”

“Remote schooling today. I must present lectures, be available to help for assignments, grade papers. Usual fare.”

“How the hell is this not ‘snow day’ conditions?” you ask, gesturing wildly at the layer of white fluff covering the outside world.

“After pandemic, we decided to fortify remote education options. Now, we can school in all situations –and students do not have to worry about delays eating into summer.”

You roll your eyes, let out a disgusted huff, then glare out at the drifts of snow. “Fucking Coronavirus. I should’ve known.”

 ***

 The two of you go about life as normal –well, as close to “normal” as it gets when a polar vortex is blasting your home in the face. Piotr gives his lectures to his students, answers questions via online chats and emails, and the two of you grade assignments together on the couch.

It’s nice. You can cozy up to your husband in front of the fire, warm your feet against his thigh, and get all the hugs and kisses and hand squeezes a gal could want.

This isn’t so bad, you reflect, smiling softly as Piotr puts an arm around your shoulders.

***

 By one in the afternoon, you’re losing your mind.

You’ve already reviewed all the assignments on your case load for grading. And double-checked them. And triple-checked them.

You’ve also helped field questions for Piotr, done two loads of dishes, made lunch for both of you (with real vegetables, thank you very much), done all the ironing you’d been putting off, and cleaned your bedroom’s bathroom.

You sigh, drumming your fingers against the kitchen counter as you watch Piotr give his third lecture for the day. Come on, hurry up! How much longer can this take?

(Suddenly, you understand why the students at Xavier’s complain about your husband being ‘long-winded.’)

You drop your head against the countertop –then lift it back up when an idea strikes you. Oh, fuck yeah.

You do your best to walk upstairs as calmly as you possibly can. The last thing you want to do is tip Piotr off to your mischievous misdoings. Once out of sight, you scamper into the master bedroom and make a beeline for yours and Piotr’s shared closet.

Namely, for your dresser in said closet. The bottom-most drawer, to be precise.

You keep a stash of random items in your bottom dresser drawer –a couple bags of candy that you’d told Piotr you were buying for trick or treaters but were really for you, a package of glow sticks leftover from Wade’s most recent birthday party, some fun bathbombs and scented lotions for when you feel like pampering yourself, a few fancy notebooks…

You grin when you find the objects of your desires –a few multi-shot Nerf guns and a stash of foam darts. Bingo.

They’d been a wedding gift from Wade; he’d figured that the two of you would enjoy pranking and play-fighting with each other –or, at least, that it’d be a good way to keep your aim sharp.

You load up both guns, stash the rest of the darts in your pockets –then frown when you realize that you don’t have a good way to sneak the guns past your husband. Distracted though he may be, at the moment, he’s not entirely unobservant.

And then you spy the full dirty laundry hamper, and things start coming together.

 ***

 It takes practically nothing to get past Piotr. With the guns tucked under a couple shirts, he doesn’t even have a reason to suspect you.

And he doesn’t. He gives you a friendly smile and blows you a kiss when you walk down with the laundry basket, then goes back to giving his lecture on the various art movements in the twentieth century.

You pretend to go down to the basement, but stop in the hallway that leads you to the basement door and Piotr’s office. You pull out the guns, then creep back towards the stairs –where you set one of the guns for Piotr to find—then crouch and wait.

And wait.

And wait some more.

And wait even longer.

Good grief, honey. Wrap it up! You shift, wincing uncomfortably as you try to keep your right foot from falling asleep—

“That covers today’s instruction. Be sure to read pages fifteen through forty five…”

Finally. You wait for Piotr to finish talking, then wait a couple beats longer to make sure he’s got his camera and microphone off –and then you jump him. “Boo! Hands in the air!”

Piotr jumps, then holds his hands up to shield himself from the darts. He laughs as he tries to disentangle himself from his laptop and charger cord. “Hey! Hey!”

“Ultimate death match!” you crow, dashing around the couch before he can lunge for you. “Every person for themselves!”

He guffaws, trying –and failing—to avoid your shots. He notices the gun on the staircase and makes a grab for it –then stops when he sees you reloading your gun. “Where are my darts?”

“In your gun.”

Piotr gapes at you. “This only carries six!”

“That’s kind of the point.” You grin, then start firing at him again. “Lock and load, honey!”

He makes a valiant effort, but considering you have all the darts –and don’t let up on him long enough to collect extras—he’s doomed from the start. That, combined with being such a big target to begin with, makes it all too easy for you to trounce him.

Eventually, you corner him against the kitchen island. “Surrender! Or face the consequences!”

Piotr grins at you, then cocks his chin up defiantly. “Never.”

“Have it your way.” You unload your gun, shooting him square in the chest, then burst into giggles when Piotr collapses to the ground and lets out groans of “pain.”

“Wounded… betrayed… by woman I love most…” he says, placing the back of his hand against his forehead like a true damsel. “There is nothing to console me… in death…”

You giggle again, then drop down so you’re straddling him. “Gotcha.” You kiss his nose, then sit back on his hips, grinning like the cat that got the canary. “Weren’t expecting that, were ya?”

“Definitely not,” Piotr says, grinning wryly. “Very nicely done, myshka.”

You mock-bow, then laugh when he applauds for you. “Well, now that I’ve gotten you away from your laptop, how does sex in front of the fireplace sound?”

He scoops you into his arms, then carries you around the couch before laying you out on the rug in front of the fireplace. “With you? Delightful.”

[blackssuunn-mandoandyodito]

Big dreams, expensive taste

Part two: you can't light a fire without a spark

Read part one here

Pairing: Maxwell Lord x f!reader

Rating: M

Words: 3.3k

A/N: this is still setting ground to the story but I hope you like it. Everything mentioned about NY is written by research alone, I've never been there but I love the city. Also, I need to clarify this is a Modern!AU. Enjoy!

Warnings: SMUT, nervousness, brief f masturbation, slight power kink. Let me know if I should add something.

Summary: What happens after you first met Mr. Lord? How will it go?

(humor me and imagine this is him but blonde please)

The thing about New York is, simply, you either multitask and adapt or die.

Midtown Manhattan is one of the blessings that found your way when you arrived in the city, despite how crazy it mostly is. Filled with tourists that walk through Times Square, cry at the price tags in the Fifth Avenue and stare in awe up the Empire State, so many cultures and languages mixing in the same zone can be quite overwhelming. But that's exactly what New York is about.

 After renting with an asshole for three years in a shoebox and saving every single penny you didn't need to spend, you finally had reunited enough money to pay the initial rent that most apartments asked for and enough left of that to fix whatever may need to be fixed.

Back then, your roommate had been taking a girl every night to the apartment you shared, and you could hear the moans and screams that were most likely fake through the wall separating your rooms that resembled more of paper than an actual wall. You were so fed up with it that one day you just decided to go apartment hunting, alone and angry.

You had to go through hours of walking and walking. Anything over 3,000 was too much and even that was pushing it. Most of the ones you could afford were even smaller than the one you were living in, and the ones you liked were way out of your budget.

By some kind of miracle and while you were walking down 53th Street on the verge of tears and with a slice of pizza in your hand, a studio apartment came into your life.

And you didn't even stop to think about it.

It had been three years of 12-hour shifts 6 days a week, and you can't find a good enough apartment for 2,000 dollars every day, much less in New York. So when you saw the opportunity, you took it.

The Third Avenue lets you see the usual office buildings that are often associated with Midtown Manhattan, while the side of the Second Avenue resembles more of a residential neighborhood, with jazz clubs and cafés in sight wherever you look to.

While Midtown's prices tend to be through the roof, you could afford to pay for that one without too much trouble and without sweating it a lot. Sure, it wasn't as big as you wanted to but not a shoebox either. A perfect in-between.

Living on the last floor of the building also had the luxury of being near the roof and letting you see out the window to marvel at the skyscrapers of one side and the more calm neighborhoods of the other. It was a weird resemblance of living at the coast, where two worlds crash together. Letting you be far enough of the chaos to be able to breathe and relax but not such that made you forget where you were living at.

Extremely convenient, considering that the entrance for the Subway was just a few steps away. There were also lots of bars near the area, and one of the most important rules of New York is to have a go-to place, just to be safe. Thankfully, the zone provided plenty of that.

It needed some fixing up, a little paint, and slight trouble with stuff in the kitchen. But after some weeks of Diane and other friends helping you, it slowly became the place you had always dreamed of.

Which is why, at the end of your shift, when you go to Maxwell Lord's office and the old lady from before lets you in with a warm smile, the fact that his office is bigger than your place is, to put it simply, infuriating.

Your mandatory heels click as you walk inside his office, forcing your back to stay upright once his heavy glance hits you full force. His eyebrow arches just as you stop a few steps away from his desk, not showing any sign of being intimidated by the way he's sitting with his legs open and leaning back on his chair.

Not at all intimidated.

Propping his elbow on the armrest of his chair, he rests his chin on his open palm and grins. The visual is one that reminds you of the kings and queens sitting at their thrones on the series you often binge watch when you're not too tired to do so.

You clean your throat, mustering up all seriousness that you can.

"Did you ask to see me, sir?"

Surprisingly, your voice doesn't waver for even a second as you talk, satisfying the part inside of you that resists on giving to Maxwell Lord's power.

He sighs, shaking his head slightly. With one hand, he waves at you to sit at the chair in front of his desk. The rings that garnish his fingers glint to the last glimpses of sunlight that his office takes in. The back walls are complete crystal, from the floor to the ceiling.

The ones that give to the building are Oxford grey, with a cabinet full of the best liquor you've ever seen to the left side and a white boardroom table to the right. It's arranged in a way that if he sits at the edge, everyone else is facing him with their backs to the landscape. You guess that sitting there feels like hanging at the edge of a cliff when you either accept whatever the man in front of you asks or you fall.

It starts to feel like that when you take a sit in front of him and he leans towards you, studying every movement you dare to do and the ones you stop yourself from doing.

"Are you satisfied with the position you're currently in?"

It takes you a second to realize that he's talking about work, not other things that your mind kindly provides. You squirm slightly under his eyes, without looking away.

"Yes sir," you answer, "it is one I am good at that has a good salary and flexible schedule"

He hums, lowering his eyes to the files spread over his desk that you hadn't realized were there. 

You squint your eyes to get a good look at what he's reading.

All the blood leaves your face when you realize those are your files.

"Wouldn't you like a promotion?" He asks, not bothering to look at you as he moves the papers. 

You frown at him, confused. A promotion? 

"And what would it be, sir?" You say, hesitant to voice your question. He smiles at you and closes the folder, moving it aside as he leans towards you with his fingers interlaced.

"A few days ago my assistant quit" he answers, smirking knowingly of something you're unaware of. "I've been searching for someone to take their place, and I think you might be just perfect for it"

You clear your throat, amazed at how straight forward he is. No wonder why he's one of the most respected, if not feared millionaires.

"And why would you think that, sir?"

There's a clicking sound as he spreads his palms on his glass desk and rests his back on his chair, looking you up and down. 

"You are very good at setting limits," he answers, "your files also say that you have experience in accountancy and management. You've been an assistant previously, which means you also know how this works" 

You nod, looking at him straight in the eye.

You gulp as his eyes harden and his voice gets colder, deeper. "What I need right now is someone who can support my work and have a good effect on the success of my company. I need someone who tells me the truth and not what they think I want to hear"

He takes a deep breath and tilts his head, waiting for your answer.

Of course, you were fully capable of doing a good job, but that was not why you were hesitating on giving him a yes right away. The reputation of being a total asshole with his close workers was most likely not unfounded.

At your hesitation, he frowns at you.

"Is there a problem miss?"

You grip the chair with your fingers, torn between saying something and keeping quiet. 

Ultimately, you take the decision to see for yourself if the rumors are true.

"When will I start?"

The big smile that spreads through his face sends shivers down your spine, gulping but repressing the desire to run away and hide.

"8 AM sharp tomorrow, don't be late. You can get my schedule from Amanda outside"

You nod as his look on you lingers for more than it's deemed appropriate, rolling one of his rings between his fingers with an arched eyebrow.

"You can leave now," he says, dismissive. 

You quickly stand up and smooth your clothes, tilting your head at him.

"Thank you, sir"

He doesn't say anything else as you walk away, but he calls you just as you're about to step outside his office, stopping you abruptly. You turn around, tense.

"I sincerely hope you live up to my standards," he says, with a strong voice without a trace of the amusement you had heard before. 

You're not sure if that's supposed to be a compliment or an insult. Your eyes harden, and you clench your hands at your sides, straightening.

"With all due respect sir, if you doubt of my capacity for the job you shouldn't have considered me in the first place"

Your answer startles him, and for a moment you think he'll fire you on the spot at the flame that seems to light in his eyes when he clenches his jaw. 

But he only sits straight and nods at you, lips pursed in a thin line.

"Good night," you say, walking away with shaking hands once again. He only blinks, so you step outside the office with strong steps and not looking back, missing his smirk as he hears you talk to Amanda, arranging things for your first day as his executive assistant tomorrow.

He hopes you survive, he's become quite fond of you.

When you arrive home, every muscle feels sore already from the tension you had felt every second close to Maxwell Lord. You sigh as the sound of the keys resonate through the apartment once you step inside and leave them at the table. The heels feel even more burdening than other days, and you can't help but wonder how it will be from tomorrow on.

You shake your head and decide to take your mind off of it. Stripping off your clothes, you go take a shower. 

The hot water feels amazing as it runs down your body, easing out all stress of the day from your muscles. With your eyes closed, you wash your body delicately, almost like a caress. 

Before you know it, your mind starts to drift to your boss, at how powerful he looked sitting at his chair inside his office on top of New York, how he had looked at you with such hunger it made you shiver and burn with something you had never experienced before.

The man in your imagination starts to walk towards you, smirking and with his hands inside his pockets as you have your back to the crystal. He's cornering you, not letting you any option to get away even if you wanted to.

But the point is, you don't. 

You squeeze your eyes shut inside the shower as your hand moves down to your clit, circling slowly and sending pleasure up your spine.

The man in your fantasies grins at you once you're too close to the glass, afraid of fully leaning into it. 

He tilts his head, eyes blown and dark with a glint of mischief in them.

"Aren't you afraid to fall?" The illusion asks, extending his hand to your neck and caressing it with a ghost touch. Goosebumps spread through your skin when his thumb traces a line up to your lips, outlining them and making you open your mouth.

You shakily nod, letting him manhandle you to turn around and put your palms flat against the window. 

You gasp at the sudden change, and he kicks open your legs so you're slightly bent over in front of him, facing the city.

His breath hits hard against your neck as he stands flush against you, moving his hand behind you and pulling your skirt up, leaving you exposed to him. One of his fingers hook at your underwear and pulls down, grazing your wetness and making you jump.

"Stay still." He whispers next to your ear, pushing his body against yours to pin you to the clear surface.

The real you jumps when you let yourself lean to the wall, breaking you out of your daydream when your skin touches the cold tiles.

Guilt creeps into your mind and replaces the red hot fantasy that your brain decided to create and torture you with.

You shake your head, thinking about other things. The fantasy must have been a result of the tension and tiredness, you chose to accept. After all, not every day you meet the owner of the company you work in and he decides to make you his closest co-worker.

You finish showering quickly after that, not letting your mind slip away from your actions as you dry yourself and then go to bed.

Your phone dings with a received message, but your mind is too far away from consciousness to do anything about it.

The first thing you do in the morning is call Diane and let her know your change of job, and the way she screams at your ear makes you flinch.

"How the fuck did that happen!?" She asks, as you climb down the stairs and then walk down the block to the entrance of the Subway with the MetroCard tightly held in your hand.

"I still don't know," you answer, "he simply asked if I wanted to and I just said yes"

Diane giggles and you roll your eyes at what she must be thinking. She seems to sing "Money, Money, Money" by ABBA under her breath, and it makes you laugh a little.

"And are you sure?" She asks.

"Too late to think about it, "you say. "But judging by what I saw on his schedule, the man doesn't even sleep"

"Which means you probably won't either" she finishes just as the background noise of people comes with her voice. Living in Queens and arriving by the up ground stations must grant her of service, but no one inside the subway appreciates someone talking on the phone, so you decide to end the call.

"I guess." you say, "I'll call you later, I'm about to enter the subway"

Diane wishes you luck, says goodbye, and hangs up. The rest of your trip goes with the usual maniac activity of the New York Subway, a void at the bottom of your stomach as you get closer and closer to your stop. You must have a terrified expression on your face because at least 5 different people look at you with concern in their eyes, and no one ever pays attention to someone else in the morning. You sincerely hope their concern turns out to be unfounded.

The sound of your heels clicking as you go inside the building and go straight to the elevator is a big contrast to just arriving at the lobby and starting to work right away. Your hands feel sweaty when they grip your briefcase, not used to carrying one around. There's even some cold sweat in your forehead, but you quickly wipe it off. 

The ding of the elevator makes you jump when it arrives at Maxwell Lord's office floor, and you straighten again when you go out and walk towards it. Your cheeks feel hot when you remember the night before, but your mind quickly brushes it away. You're nervous enough as it is.

His voice hits your ears the closer you get to the door and Amanda is already there, looking at you with what you guess is supposed to be an encouraging smile. She must have a lot of experience dealing with him. 

"He's waiting for you," she says, "his first meeting is at nine o'clock, and he wants you to manage it"

Not trusting your voice, you nod and smile at her, going inside the room. 

His gaze immediately rises from what appears to be a contract and looks at you with the beginning of a smirk tugging at his lips, and he waves you to come closer. You oblige, keeping all emotion that may be going through you by showing a stoic face. 

"Give me a moment," he says to the phone, then covers the speaker and turns to you. "I need you to work here with me, so your own office will be there"

He points to a smaller office at the corner of the room that you had failed to see previously, with a dark crystal barrier that most likely will let you see to his office but not let him see to yours. 

You nod and walk to the door, opening without expecting much. 

What greets you is quite the opposite.

There's a big desk with white orchids at the edge, with one side against the wall and a computer ready to be used in the middle, a fancy coffee maker in a kitchenette at the other side of the room and a small cupboard stuck to the wall on top of the sink. There are even some shelves with books about finances and management next to your desk. Another door is behind your chair, two steps away if you stand up.

You walk to open it and discover you've also got your own bathroom, with white tiles and a golden faucet. It looks so neat you're afraid of getting inside, so you close the door.

Having your own space to work feels slightly overwhelming. From spending all day dealing with people to having a room for yourself feels like a huge change done in just a day.

But out of everything that apparently comes with working for the CEO of Lord Enterprises directly, what takes the breath out of you is the sight you have of the city. 

The city shines in front of your eyes, with yellow dots navigating the streets and hordes of people running from one point to another. You can see everything from there, almost all of Central Park filled with trees that soon will turn brown and yellow in the fall, windows that let you see how a lot of people start waking up and continue living, businesses that open to provide people with food, coffee or even just a place for people to take his mind away, sit down and breathe for a second.

The view brings tears to your eyes. This is the city that became your home when you arrived, full of wild activity and even wilder people. New York, after all. 

You smile, realizing that this is closer to what you were searching for. There’s a new sense of excitement in your chest, full of expectation and desire to conquer. You feel ready for anything. 

But his voice breaks you out of the moment when he calls your name.

"Please come here," you hear muffled through the crystal, and you can see how his chair is completely turned towards you with one leg up the other one and his fingers interlaced on top of his lap, looking at your door without really seeing anything, frowning. 

So you take a deep breath and walk out again, with renewed energy. You know that, no matter how hard it may be, you're now on top of the world.

Tag list (let me know if you want to be added):

@evidenceofzoe @the-feckless-wonder @aeryntheofficial @cryptkeepersoul @cable-kenobi @fruitsaladtree

[someonefantastic]

If You Thought the Head Trauma was Bad…

More migraine Shawn and roommate stuff! Basically I headcanon that Shawn, Gus, and Juliet all lived in the loft together between s8 and the first movie. Also if you want more fics on Shawn and migraines, then feel free to check out my day 3 or @bijulesspookyohara​'s day 5. Shoutout to the folks of the psych discord, primarily @victoriantrashjohn for coming up with the concept and jackal switch for a lot of these migraine remedies. Oh and also @tonystarksspoopyhouseofkids because she drew this adorable pic of Shawn that inspired a scene in this. And shoutout to @chaosintheavenue for beta reading this! Summary: Shawn has a migraine. It's a good thing his best friend and his girlfriend are there to help. Warnings: migraines, nausea, ambulances ___ Shawn groaned as he snuggled deeper into the couch, barely even able to open his eyes. It had been an incredibly long day- he had spent most of it trying to infiltrate an illegal jewelry ring with little success, just another failure on his quest for Juliet’s engagement ring- and he was in the middle of a full blown migraine. He had seen it coming, recognized that the sharp pains in his brain and the small ripples of nausea could easily lead to later pain, but he had ignored it, instead letting the image of his girlfriend (fiancėe’s) elated face spur him to work harder.

And now he was suffering the consequences. No ring, no joyous girlfriend (fiancėe), just a massive, brain pounding, vision blurring migraine.

He sighed, pulling the fluffy blanket tighter around him. He was sitting on the couch, legs crossed, blanket over his head, its soft fabric enveloping him. A pair of child-sized kitty earmuffs were placed squarely on his temples while the sounds of 80s heavy metal filled the air. The shades had been drawn keeping the sun from invading- not that there was much on a rainy San Francisco evening- and the room was cast in a red glow, the source being a small red LED candle that Jules had bought him. It was cozy and nice and he could almost forget the incessant pain in his head.

There was a jiggling at the door and Juliet and Gus walked in, their loud joyous laughter causing him to wince. They paused, and he caught Juliet frowning as Gus walked over and collapsed into the armchair besides him.

Juliet’s hair was falling out of her half-ponytail, Gus’ tie was slipping from its knot, they smelled like coffee.

“Headache?” He asked, voice much quieter.

Shawn barely nodded, squeezing his eyes tight as sharp pains radiated through his skull.

“I’m sorry, babe,” Juliet’s soft voice spoke from his side. Warm fingers gently brushed his hair and he relaxed into her touch. “Did you take anything?”

His voice was strained, “Ibuprofen, a few hours ago.”

Gus spoke up, “He could take acetaminophen. It works differently than ibuprofen so it won’t cause any problems.”

“Perfect,” Her lips pressed against his forehead, “I’m going to go get changed and get you some meds.”

“Thank you,” He muttered, sad when she pulled away.

“Can you get me some too?” Gus asked, beginning to undo his tie, “My side is killing me.”

“Sure thing.”

After her small footsteps faded away, Shawn cracked an eye open. “What’s up with you?”

Gus frowned. “I pulled a muscle lifting boxes for that cute girl in marketing.”

His memory flashed back. A woman in blue, long black hair, Gus doing the thing with his nose. “Michelle?”

“Yeah… it was all for nothing, I overheard her talking about some dude named ‘Levi’.”

“Tough luck bud. That’s a solid name.”

“You know that’s right.”

Shawn’s eyebrows furrowed as he noticed Gus rubbing his side. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” He nodded, “Hey, where is the heating pad?”

Shawn jerked his head back, groaning as the motion caused the throbbing to double. That wasn’t his brightest idea. “Under Jules’ side of the bed. Just make sure to put it back when you’re done, she needs it for cramps.”

“Ah,” Gus nodded, standing up, “Sure thing.”

A stain on Gus’ pant leg, the carpet was rumpled, an empty can under the chair.

He shut his eyes tight again, trying to stop himself from noticing, an in vain attempt to ward off his abilities. Instead he flashed backwards, various images and memories jerking to the forefront of his mind, waves of nausea close behind.

His blue bouncy ball in fourth grade, divorce papers being signed, a bright smile on a beautiful blonde.

His jaw clenched, swallowing roughly as he tried to keep the contents of his stomach down. He leaned forward, trying to focus on the music around him. The beats moved in and out, giving him something to concentrate on.

“Babe?”

His eyes cracked open, the corner of his mouth turning up at the sight of his girlfriend (fiancėe). Her hair was now all the way down and she had pulled on his Thunderbirds sweatshirt. Even though she was only wearing the hoodie because it smelled like him, he couldn’t help but feel a little bit of pride- after all, she usually refused to wear any football team’s merch aside from the Dolphins’.

“Here.” She handed him some pills and water which he promptly took, noting how Gus did the same.

The cool water felt nice but did little to soothe the ache in his head. “Thanks.” He frowned, noticing how her knuckles were bruised, “Did you get into a fight?”

“What?” She glanced at her hand, giving a good natured shake of her head at his abilities. “No- well, kind of. I was sparring with Sam and accidentally punched him square in the jaw.”

He chuckled, “That’s my girlfriend.” Not noticing how she frowned at the term.

Now that his eyes were open, his brain leaped back at the chance to pick up on things.

Small smudge of mascara under her right eye (probably missed it when washing her face), a few crumbs above Gus’ lips, dog hair on the hoodie sleeve.

He groaned as a sharp pain erupted in his head, vision blurring and stomach churning dangerously.

“Shawn?” Juliet’s voice was worried and he soon found her sitting next to him, guiding his head to her lap. She shushed him, beginning to run her fingers through his hair. “I need you to stop thinking, okay? Just focus on my hands.”

His eyes fluttered shut and he relaxed, allowing himself to fixate on her and only her. He felt warm and safe in her arms, her presence always serving to be a beacon in his crazy mind. Honestly he couldn’t imagine life without her, ever since he walked into that dinner nine years ago she had become a permanent staple in his life. He loved her so much it made his heart hurt. Even though the idea of marriage still terrified him, he knew deep down that he didn’t want to marry anyone else but her.

“I love you,” He muttered, reaching up to squeeze her hand.

“I love you too Shawn,” He could hear the soft smile in her voice, “Get some rest.”

He snuggled deeper, a small smile on his lips. Her hands would occasionally drift over to his temples, rubbing where the earmuffs weren’t situated. It was very calming and soon he felt sleep begin to overtake him.

Somewhere between Judas Priest and Holy Driver he heard a groan- and not from the music. It dragged him out of his sleep. Vision blurry and head foggy, he cracked open his eyes. The groan sounded again. He barely registered Juliet’s hand pausing it’s soothing motion and her concerned voice, instead his eyes were on his best friend. Gus was clutching his side, the color draining out of this face.

Jerking upright, he ignored how his head throbbed. “Gus? You okay?”

There was no answer as Gus’ eyes rolled back and he pitched forward, landing on the ground with a heavy thud.

“Gus!” Shawn and Juliet yelled in unison.

In a flash they were both at his side, Juliet’s fingers on his neck and his hand being held tightly by Shawn. “He’s still alive, I’ll call an ambulance.”

Memories flashed through Shawn while his mind burned.

A large crowd, pain in his side, sweating, collapsing, a white room.

He should have noticed sooner, should have seen the signs. If it wasn’t for his headache-

“I think his appendix burst.” He all but shouted, words tumbling out of his mouth. This was all his fault, he should have noticed, he was trained for this for pete’s sake. The one thing he was good at was picking up on information, little things that most people didn’t notice.

He had failed Gus.

Looking back, he remembered the time between Gus collapsing and the ambulance coming so clearly but in the middle of it all, it frankly felt like a blur of regret and blame and worry.

As he watched Gus’ unconscious body being loaded into the ambulance, his hands shook, tears threatening to fall. Juliet grabbed his hand, beginning to lead him to her car. The paramedics only had room for one person but selfishly he needed Juliet to be his rock. He wasn’t sure if he could hold on without her.

She squeezed his hand, wide, worried eyes gazing up at him. “He’ll be okay.”

Nodding mutely, he followed her to the car. All he could hope was that she would be right.

[lovelylogans]

paper rings

i like shiny things, but i'd marry you with paper rings uh huh, that's right, darling you're the one I want i hate accidents except when we went from friends to this uh huh, darling, you're the one I want

part of the wyliwf verse.

ao3 | other fics on tumblr | coffee?

warnings: food mentions, underage drinking, drinking, slightly tipsy/drunk adults, proposal, complicated parental relationship, this one is really mostly just fluff y’all but please let me know if i’ve missed any!!!

pairings: moxiety, logince

words: 9,924

notes: okay. so, SOMEHOW, it is the first anniversary of me uploading the first chapter of where you lead, i will follow!!!!! i remember where i was when i uploaded the first chapter; i was studying abroad, and i thought that i may as well keep on writing during the trip, since i always keep writing, and this was the project i felt most passionate about, at the time. and now, a year later, the world certainly looks very different, and my life does, too. but this project is still going. i love this little universe, so much, and i’m so happy and proud and grateful that all of you keep reading it, and you’re cheering these characters along right beside me. so, from the bottom of my heart, thank you so very much for reading. and happy birthday to this little universe.

patton’s been basically vibrating with excitement since monday, and now that it’s actually friday michel’s banished him to his office because “your happiness is scaring the customers,” but patton can’t help it!!!!

it’s labor day weekend, starting today, which means at any minute logan’s going to be coming into town, straight from yale, his first time being home since he moved into his dorm about three weeks ago now, which means logan’s gonna be home!!!!!!!!!!! 

he’s due back in town any minute!!!!!! he’s going to be here for about four days!!!!! logan and roman are going to be in town for four! entire! days!

sure, patton has seen him at friday night dinners, but that’s not the same as him being home! patton can pester him about classes and how frequently he’s taking breaks and ask questions about how he’s settling in and any potential new friends, because sure, he and dee are roommates, but patton wants to ask questions about his other dorm roommates (suitemates? it’s technically suitemates, isn’t it?) because patton only got to see just a glimpse of them on move-in day, so he doesn’t really know much about them, and—

and patton has a lot of questions and a lot of things he wants to know, generally, and also, logan’s going to be here!!!!!

patton looks down at the paperwork on his desk, considering it.

yep. he cannot focus on this at all. it’s basically a lost workday, at this point. goodbye productivity, he hardly knew thee. it’s time to go and sneak downstairs under the guise of checking in on the guest’s dining room, but really to sneak a cup of coffee and maybe also a cookie.

he descends the stairs.

“no,” michel says, without looking up from the guestbook.

“i’m just checking on the dining room!” patton protests. “i’ll be out of your hair, in and out, you’ll barely even notice me.”

“too late,” michel says, then, “stop making that facial expression.”

“i’m smiling, michel,” patton teases. “i’m happy.”

michel grumbles something in french, and patton’s about to ask what he’s saying, when he hears the door open. he swivels to see—

logan.

he’s wearing the navy blue yale sweatshirt patton bought him when he made his college decision, part of the pack of “yay yale, go yale!” stuff patton had kind of went nuts on—he can see an unbuttoned shirt and a loosened tie underneath it, along with a pair of jeans and sneakers that host a couple of roman-penned doodles. he’s got cocoa’s leash wrapped around one hand, cocoa panting happily at his feet, and he’s holding onto the strap of his backpack with the other.

patton’s moving before he can even think about it; logan drops his backpack to the ground, and patton’s wrapping his son up in the biggest bear hug he can manage.

logan’s done growing now, and is still firmly stuck at taller than him, something that when he thinks about it too much still strikes him as strange and still makes him a little bit emotional. logan smells like the laundry detergent he and virgil bought in bulk for him, and something patton can’t quite pin down, maybe something Inherently Yale, and maybe he’ll never be able to pin it down, but patton crams down the wave of sadness at the idea of him and logan growing apart; kids grow up, that’s what they’re supposed to do, he reminds himself.

still. all of those complicated feelings aren’t quite enough to quell the wave of my baby’s home, my baby’s home!!!!!!! happiness and excitement that’s been building since logan mentioned over phone that he was going to come back to sideshire as soon as his friday class was over.

patton draws back, hands on logan’s shoulders, beaming.

“there’s my college-goin’ boy,” he teases. “how’ve you been, kiddo?!”

logan’s lips twitch up into a smile, and patton feels his heart swell up with fondness at the sight of it.

“good,” he says, then, “i have eaten basically nothing but dining hall pizza for three straight days.”

patton laughs, and claps him on the back. 

“very collegiate,” he quips. “i’ll keep the secret from virge, if you want. i’m assuming you’re probably not going to want pizza, then?”

“like grandma and grandpa will serve us pizza tonight,” he says, adjusting his grip on cocoa’s leash; patton reaches out a hand, and logan hands it over as he picks up his backpack.

“true, true,” he says, and reaches down to pet cocoa, because she’s butting up against his shins in a clear ploy for attention. “i know, yes, you’re a very good girl—well, clearly you’ve been by the house, do you want to hang out here or—?”

“please get him out of here,” michel shouts from the front desk, and patton pivots, holding up the leash. 

“but cocoa is here!” patton says teasingly. “you don’t wanna kick out cocoa, do you?”

cocoa wags her tail at the mention of her name. she loves michel; patton really doesn’t know why, but ever since patton had taken her to work for the first time, back when they were training her as a puppy and didn’t think she’d do well shut up at home all day, she’s always made a beeline straight for michel.

michel, also, is very much a dog person. he watches the westminster dog show religiously each year, and his two chows, paw-paw and chin-chin, probably eat better-quality food than patton’s parents. and ever since he’d discovered that cocoa’s part chow, well...

it’s moved him to look at least tempted to take back his continual askings for patton to get out.

“no, that’s okay,” logan says. “i was going to ask if we could stop by the diner, anyway?”

“hungry?” patton guesses, and smiles a bit when logan nods.

“didn’t have time to stop for lunch,” he admits sheepishly, and patton gasps, only a little jokingly.

“oh, well, we definitely have to get you right to virgil, then,” he says. “he’ll get you something nice and healthy and not dining hall pizza—we’re going now!” he calls to michel.

“good riddance,” michel says, perhaps a bit less enthusiastically than he would have if it was just patton and logan, and if cocoa wasn’t part of the deal.

patton’s about to head over to the inn’s parking lot, but logan says, “can we walk?”

“oh! yeah, sure!” he says. “wanna see the town, huh?”

“just—cocoa,” logan says awkwardly, and moves to take back cocoa’s leash. “and it’s, um. nice out today. have you taken your allergy medicine?”

“yes, no sneezing because of pollen from me,” patton says, not to be deterred, “and you missed the town?”

logan grumbles something, and then moves to check his phone, and patton directs his grin out toward the inn’s grounds.

it’s that sweet point between summer and fall, where all the sweltering heat and humidity has died down, but the fall chill hasn’t quite crept in yet; the leaves and grass are all still green, the sky still a perfect shade of cloudless blue, but there’s a slight breeze that tempers any of the heat of the bright sunshine. 

it is very nice out today.

it’s the perfect backdrop for a walk with his son and his dog; cocoa eagerly plants her nose against the ground and spends most of the walk sniffing every little plant, weed, and patch of grass she can find, while he asks logan all about classes and dorm life and how his first quizzes and papers went; he knows most of this, from their daily phone calls, but it’s still very nice to hear logan say it without the distortion of the phone’s speaker.

it’s probably good that they’re treading old ground, conversation-wise, because people keep stopping them on the sidewalk. 

dot and larry beam at logan and patton. babette and morey stop in the middle of a walk to enthuse over the pair of them. emile’s walking toward remy aserinsky’s café, and clasps his hands together and gushes over them. mrs. torres nearly starts crying at the sight of the pair of them. 

patton guesses people are really happy to have logan back in town? which, like, fair, he doesn’t blame them, not one bit. logan’s the best, and his absence has been keenly felt during all sorts of town activities; mayor porter had even stopped him after the last town meeting, bemused, holding out a paper of pr-perfected answers that always frustrated logan about needing to include, asking where on earth logan was, he’d usually emailed the mayor’s office three times to get these answers.

except the occasional visitor seems like it’s almost nothing, when they approach the main square of town; there’s a veritable crowd.

patton, bemused, looks around at them: his neighbors, the business-owners in town, even a few of his workers—it’s like half the town has turned out, and patton turns to logan.

“is it a holiday or something?”

“hm?” logan asks, distracted by making sure cocoa doesn’t tangle her leash around a telephone poll.

“it’s just,” patton says, and jerks his chin out toward the crowd. logan seems to catch sight of all of them, and his eyes narrow, just for a moment, before his facial expression smooths back over into indifference.

“it’s not a holiday, to my knowledge,” logan says. “but who knows, with taylor involved?”

patton acknowledges this with a slight laugh. “i bet it’s double-coupon day at the store, or something. i can never keep track of all the promotional deals that he puts on. i haven’t seen any posters for festivals or anything.”

“that’s probably it,” logan agrees, still somehow distracted by cocoa, who has long since freed herself. 

they draw closer to the diner, and his son lets out a laugh, and surges forward, and runs to hug a familiar face, also grinning from ear to ear.

“roman!”

patton watches roman rush forward, wrapping his arms around logan’s waist and picking him up off the ground, spinning him around with the force of his hug, and he can’t help but smile when he hears logan laugh; to patton’s knowledge, this is the first time they’ve seen each other since they went off to school.

“my love!” roman enthuses, setting logan on the ground but keeping his hands wrapped around his waist, “mi querido, my beloved, oh, i have missed you—”

“i’ve missed you too,” logan admits, barely above a whisper, and as patton’s politely averting his eyes from them kissing, that’s when he notices something strange.

the curtains are drawn.

virgil never draws the curtains, not even when they’re closing at night. the last time patton can remember that happening is when they painted the diner, nearly two years ago.

and there’s a CLOSED FOR BUSINESS, ONLY OPEN FOR DANES, SANDERS’, AND PRINCES on the door.

“do you think virgil’s doing something at the diner?” patton asks logan and roman, who have stopped kissing, but they’re holding hands.

“what?” he says.

patton gestures to the curtains.

“oh,” logan says. “maybe you should go in and check.”

“if he’s doing something—”

“he would have deliberated it for months at a time and argued the pros and cons with you,” logan says pointedly. “i barely managed to convince him to re-upholster the seats a couple summers ago, remember?”

patton does. “but still—”

“he specified that it’s open for us, go check,” roman insists, at a pitch barely below a squeal, and so patton slowly opens the door to the cheerful jangle of the bell.

and he’s overwhelmed by yellow.

there are bundles, heaps, mountains of yellow daisies; crowded in every booth, sitting at the center of every table, fighting for space among candles that definitely weren’t there before, clustered around the feet of the table. there’s the biggest daisy chains that patton’s ever seen, ringing the diner’s ceiling, brushing against the pride flags behind the counter, and pots of daisies sitting in every chair, every booth. 

patton pivots slowly, trying to take it all in—daisies bundled up in mugs, daisies twining pillars, bouquets of daisies tucked into every spare surface, every spare nook or cranny, soft instrumental music that patton definitely knows, even if he’s never heard this particular version of it—and he knows, he knows something big is going on here, hovering just at the edge of his brain but refusing to click, and he hears footsteps, turning to see.

virgil’s stepped out of the kitchen, through a clearly designated path from all the daises, there’s so many daisies, and smiles at patton.

“hey,” he says softly.

“hey,” patton breathes out. “what’s—” he struggles for a word, still trying to search for what this is, what the sense of déjà vu is—“all this?”

virgil smiles at him. there’s something nervous, in his face, making his smile a little awkward, and virgil wipes his hands on his jeans. he’s wearing the homemade hoodie, the one virgil wears most often, the one patton loves best, and his dark outfit looks strangely out of place in all this brightness, these florals, all this cheerful yellow.

he has That Look on his face, the soft one, the loving one, that always makes patton feel like he’s melting into a sentimental, happy little puddle of goo.

“so, turns out,” virgil says, “a thousand yellow daisies sounds super impressive, but once i got them all piled in here i decided i needed, like, way more, so i’m pretty sure i’ve bankrupted the east coast out of all the yellow daisies it’s got.”

“i’m sure you did,” patton says breathlessly. 

virgil’s smile quirks at the edges. “you don’t remember?”

“i—”

“i mean, you were pretty specific, but i don’t blame you, it was eighteen years ago,” he says. “and you were kind of preoccupied with a lot of other things, it being logan’s first christmas eve and all the rest of everything going on, back then.”

and then, very suddenly, it clicks.

“ but proposals… that’s a once-in-a-lifetime thing, right? it should be planned. it should be magical... it should be—it should be more. there should be music playing and romantic lighting and a subtle buildup to the popping of the questions. there should be a—a thousand yellow daisies, and candles, and—and more than just an oh, i guess.”

“oh,” patton breathes. all of a sudden, he feels very dizzy, and very warm, and the thoughts in his head could really only be described as the sound a kettle makes when water comes to a boil.

“yeah,” virgil says, “so” and he slowly gets down on one knee. patton is distantly aware of some clicking sounds.

“virgil,” patton says thickly, vision already blurring with tears, even as virgil smiles up at him, removing a small velvet box from his hoodie’s pocket.

virgil clears his throat, but it doesn’t stop his voice from sounding rough as he begins, “when i first thought about us being married—” 

patton can’t help but let out a choked noise, somewhere between a sob and a laugh of sheer delight. married. married!!!!!!!!!

“—i thought that maybe this part would happen like how we’d moved in together; we’d slowly come to the realization, and figure out that we’ve basically been married the whole time, and maybe go off and elope, with the kids in tow. 

“but then, well, i kind of remembered something you said, and i realized i agree. this—us—it’s a once-in-a-lifetime thing. you are a once-in-a-lifetime thing. you and logan and roman—the family that you’ve helped make and bring me into—that’s a once-in-a-lifetime thing, one that i cherish, so so much. you let me into your life, you let me be a parent to your son, our son, and i can’t—i can’t thank you enough. for everything that you’ve done for me. i don’t know who i’d be without you in my life, and i don’t ever want to find out.”

patton sniffles, and hastily reaches his fingers to swipe at his eyes under his glasses, because virgil’s going blurry, and he doesn’t want to miss this. he doesn’t want to miss a single second.

“you deserve the—the big romantic gestures, with the daisies, and the candles, and the music, and wedding with cake and cookies and flowers and dancing and—and everything you want, i’ll try my best to give it to you, because you deserve—” virgil’s voice breaks, and he clears his throat. 

“you deserve everything, anything, that i can give. you deserve the very best in life. you’ve been through so much, and you’re the strongest person i know, and i just—you deserve everything good in life, everything you want, and, for whatever reason, somehow, you’ve chosen that you want me, and—and i’m so grateful for that, for you, every day, and i want to show you that, and i want to give that to you, because i love you.”

“i love you too,” patton manages to squeak out. his cheeks are wet, and aching.

“so,” virgil says, drawing himself up as straight as possible, cracking open the ring box, and patton lets out another sobbing laugh, like he’s so full of joy he can’t help but let it escape his body somehow, “patton thomas sanders. i adore you. i love you more than anything in the world. i—i am not sure how many times i can communicate i love you, i feel like i don’t have words big enough for how i feel about you, but. i want to spend the rest of our lives trying. will you marry me?”

“yes,” patton bursts out the millisecond the question’s fully out of virgil’s mouth, “oh, my goodness, yes, yes, a thousand-million times yes, virgil—”

virgil breaks into a relieved smile, and he fumblingly removes the ring from the box and catches patton’s hand, his own hand shaking. he holds onto patton’s hand to steady himself—or steady patton, patton thinks he might be shaking too—and carefully slides the ring onto his finger.

it fits perfectly.

patton lets out another sobbing laugh at the sight of it, the ring on his finger, they’re engaged, they’re going to get married, and virgil rises to his feet, smiling the biggest patton’s ever seen him, and—

“oh,” patton sobs out, and pats down his pockets, even if he knows full well he doesn’t have it. “oh, this is so silly, it would be so much more romantic if i had it on me—”

logan clears his throat.

patton had nearly forgotten he was there, but he whirls, and—

and logan’s smiling, just a little, but his eyes are wet enough that patton can tell he’s emotional over this, too; roman’s clasping his hands to his chest, practically bouncing up and down, clearly just barely holding in every comment he could possibly make.

and logan’s holding a camera in one hand, and the black velvet box that patton’s been hiding in his knitting supplies since logan helped him pick it out in the other.

“oh,” patton says, beaming. logan knew, logan knew about this, logan knew and he went by the house to get the ring box for him, and patton loves him, so so much, and he leans in and rocks onto his tip-toes to kiss his son on the forehead before he takes the ringbox from him, and spins to present it to virgil, opening it—

and virgil laughs, and this time he’s the one who’s crying, and patton can’t help but laugh, too, opening the box.

“virgil—”

“yes,” he says immediately, smiling so big, and patton is so in love with him, and patton lets out a messy, sobbing laugh.

"can i ask?”

“oh! sorry, sorry—”

“marry me?” and “yes” leaves virgil’s lips as soon as he asks, and patton manages to slide the ring onto virgil’s finger, and virgil immediately cups patton’s face in his hands and leans down for a kiss.

and cocoa’s barking at their feet, knowing that something’s going on and excited to get in on it, and he can hear the clicking sounds of logan taking pictures, and roman is hollering behind them.

and everything is perfect.

⁂

virgil feels so jittery with happiness that he thinks he might vibrate to another plane of existence.

patton had scooped up a discarded daisy chain fashioned it into a flower crown that’s nestled in the midst of his curls, and every time he looks at virgil he bursts into delighted laughter, eyes crinkling up with a smile, and he’s adorable, and virgil is so lucky, feeling the urge to reach out and touch patton, just to make sure that it’s all real.

they’re engaged. patton said yes. patton had also been planning on proposing.

virgil thumbs the ring on his finger—still new to him, even with the retro look it’s got going for it, still something to get used to, but the metal’s already warm. it’s fairly simple: a gold band with a single diamond inlaid in some kind of silver rectangle, flush set, ‘cause i read that lots of little stones are bad when you work with food, since you don’t wanna get anything lost in the dough and stuff, patton had explained, and then he’d bitten his lip and asked do you like it? as if that was even remotely in the realm of possibility, as if virgil could not like the engagement ring that patton got him to symbolize their commitment to each other for forever.

virgil had tried asking patton the same thing, though, and patton had spun his gold band around his finger—well, it looked more like two gold bands joined around several small diamonds—and said “you silly goose, of course i love it” so virgil figures that their emotions are the same on this particular subject.

they’re alone, just for a bit; roman and logan had dashed off to get the champagne that roman had apparently badgered his mother into buying for them on his behalf, so they’re sitting together on the floor of the diner, surrounded by their thousands of yellow daisies.

“i just,” virgil says, and fiddles with the ring on his finger, before looking at patton. “we’re almost married.”

patton giggles, leaning forward to press their foreheads together. “we are,” he agrees.

“i love you,” virgil says, giddy and almost a little helpless, because he couldn’t think to say anything else, he couldn’t think of words big enough, but—but patton knows that. he’d told him.

patton twines his fingers into virgil’s hair, and pulls him in for a kiss.

patton is an exceptional kisser; virgil has known this for years. but apparently, they get exceptionally clumsy when the pair of them are beaming so widely that they can barely even move their lips together, and they keep trying until patton laughs and virgil breathes it in, lightheaded with the euphoria of all of it, and they break apart.

“we’re so happy we can’t even kiss right,” patton howls with laughter, which gets virgil to start laughing, which means the pair of them are cackling like hyenas at each other as the bell jangles, roman calling out “who wants champaaaagne?!”

virgil tries to explain, but he catches sight of patton, flower crown gone askew from their kissing attempt, which just sets him off again.

logan sighs “dads” at them, which makes virgil even happier, which turns to him grinning even wider which means he’s laughing louder, and roman rolls his eyes at logan, grinning, looping an arm through his.

“they’re happy,” roman says.

“overjoyed,” patton offers, grinning.

“elated,” virgil tacks on.

“ecstatic,” a voice says, which is when he notices ms.—isadora, right, she’d told him to call her isadora, but it took a lot to break eighteen years of habit—and he and patton scramble to their feet.

after a pause, logan adds, reluctantly, because he cannot resist a word association game, “jouissant.”

“ooh, good one,” patton says. “that’s a ten dollar word right there, look at what you’re learning off at college!”

“from the french,” isadora says. she’s holding the champagne bottle awkwardly; virgil had learned on the day after both logan and roman moved to college the amount of times she had drunk alcohol could have been counted on one hand, then, but after that day it was escalated to two. patton moves to take it from her, looking at virgil, clearly about to ask for—

“i don’t have champagne glasses,” virgil realizes.

patton says, “i think mugs’ll work, it’s not like we’re going for class, here.”

virgil acknowledges that with a shrug, and, after checking with isadora, goes to gather five mugs. 

patton’s the one to pop the champagne, and virgil quickly moves to put a mug underneath it to catch anything fizzing over—he just mopped these floors, before all the daisies had come in—and patton splashes a generous amount into it.

they end up splitting the bottle among five mugs, and roman lifts his, clearing his throat.

“to virgil and patton!” he declares. “we have seen this coming since i was five—”

patton elbows him jokingly, grinning.

“—and we wish you all the best together,” roman finishes. “salut!”

“salut,” they all echo, clacking their mugs together in a chaotic rendition of cheers, and patton smiles at up at him.

“aren’t we supposed to link arms or something?” virgil asks him an undertone, and patton’s smile widens.

“save it for the wedding,” he says, in the same undertone, with a sly grin that he barely hides with his sip of champagne, and virgil has to hide the silly grin that springs onto his face with his own sip of the bubbly, sweet champagne.

isadora sips at her mug with all the delicate class that he should have expected, but it’s still kind of funny to watch her lift her pinky and sip demurely out of a gaudy SIDESHIRE PRIDE PARADE branded mug, which has more rainbows on it than possibly anything else virgil owns.

roman breaks off with patton to start making his own daisy chain, and they tug logan to join them, too, so that leaves isadora and virgil standing alone together.

“congratulations,” she offers quietly, and virgil smiles at her.

“thank you,” he says, equally soft, touched.

a pause, and then, “remus would be thrilled.”

theres a prick of bittersweetness near his heart; not nearly enough to puncture the happiness, but enough to twist his smile, just a little bit.

“he’d try to pull a carrie at my wedding,” he says, and isadora smiles. it’s a very nice smile, one that he almost never sees.

“part of the reason he’d be thrilled,” isadora agrees. “still. regardless. he should be here congratulating you.” a pause, a sip of champagne, before she says, “he would be proud of you. as am i.”

virgil swallows down the sudden lump in his throat.

remus had, almost always, relentlessly teased him, on the rare occasions he’d had dates as a teenager. the baby’s growing uuuuup! he’d croon, and then proceed to attempt to sabotage him, “lovingly,” with something that virgil could easily undo, but something that would distract him from any mounting anxiety over a date. 

he thinks remus and patton would have eventually gotten along. it would have been a rocky road, to be sure, but. they probably would have bonded over fatherhood, over their sons being friends. maybe because virgil cared deeply about both of them. he’ll never know, though.

“thanks, izzy-dory,” he says.

isadora’s smile has its own bitter quirk to it, at the re-emergence of a nickname that no one but remus had had the bravery to use on her; but, somehow, it isn’t sad, even as they’re remembering their own shared grief.

because she’s right. remus would be thrilled.

⁂

patton feels like he’s filled up with helium and he keeps bursting into peals of laughter at absolutely nothing at all.

virgil had taken over driving, like he usually did when he came to friday night dinners. they’re a bit late, patton’s sure, because when he and virgil were changing into their suits patton kept giggling, because they’re almost married, and then he got distracted by trying to kiss virgil again, so—

so, they’re a bit late, but he got engaged today, sue him.

virgil’s holding his hand, the other one on the steering wheel.

“i wonder how they’re gonna react,” patton muses, because, well, it shouldn’t exactly be a surprise, they moved in together a while ago and patton’s been pretty gosh-darn clear that virgil’s gonna be the one he’s spending the rest of his life with. he really hopes they aren’t gonna be too... well. them about it.

virgil says, “i did ask your dad about a family ring, a while ago—”

“oh, shoot,” patton says, turning to face him. “i totally didn’t think to do that!”

“essie got the family ring,” virgil says reassuringly, “so you didn’t miss anything, there isn’t a male family ring, as far as i know, but—but they had some forewarning, at least.”

“well, good,” patton says decisively. “they’re gonna be happy about this, okay? they’re gonna pop open some cristal and say congratulations and they are gonna like it.”

“that’s the spirit,” logan says dryly from the backseat.

“that it is,” patton says, and squeezes virgil’s hand. “anyway, logan, you’re home! do you have anything you wanna do over the weekend?”

logan considers this, before he says, “virgil told me he was planning this for this weekend, so—”

patton turns slightly. “you did?”

virgil shrugs. “i knew you’d want lo to be there.”

patton beams, and presses a kiss to virgil’s knuckles. 

“roman was planning on something tomorrow with all of us,” logan continues, “but otherwise—i think the regular things. the bookstore, the press, the diner.”

“roman’s planning something, huh?” virgil says warily.

logan smiles, and doesn’t say anything else. virgil grumbles to himself.

“he’s a journalist, he knows how to keep secrets,” patton says, and, teasingly, “especially if they’re from his boyyyy-frieeeeend.”

logan mumbles something under his breath, turning ever-so-slightly red, and patton grins.

they end up plotting out a loose plan for logan’s weekend: a shopping spree of all the latest books at the bookstore, topping up any school supplies logan might have forgotten at home, doing the laundry logan had hauled back from yale, and an investigation of the library’s most recent shipment, hanging out with roman, and lots of diner food.

they pull up to the sanders’ house, and patton takes a deep breath, squeezing virgil’s hand one last time before he gets out of the car.

as soon as he walks closer, virgil immediately laces their fingers back together, squeezing.

“if you want, if they end up turning on us, we can go,” he says, in a low voice. “this day’s for us, right?”

“right,” patton says, and lets out his breath. “and who even says that they’ll react bad anyway?”

virgil doesn’t answer that—probably a good choice on his part, since he’s most likely already overthinking and patton is nervous enough—and logan knocks on the door.

his mother opens it.

“finally, you’re here,” she says, and they file in after her.

“sorry we’re late,” patton says, smiling, “we got a bit held up.”

she sighs. “well, nothing to do to fix it, then—come in, come on, would you like a drink?”

“um,” patton says, “well—”

“now?” virgil says in an undertone.

they enter the living room, where his dad’s already fixing himself a scotch at the drinks table.

“why not?” patton says, equally quiet; if we don’t, they’ll be upset we didn’t say right away, patton tries to communicate with his eyes, and virgil seems to understand, squeezing his hand.

“hello, logan,” his dad says, turning. “how’s yale?”

“busy,” logan says. 

“hey, dad, why don’t you come over and sit down?” patton offers. “we, um, we have some news.”

richard and emily exchange a glance, before they sit on the couch together.

“what?” his mother says, turning to face them.

“it’s, um,” patton says, and makes the mistake of looking over at virgil, who is giving him That Look which makes his heart burst into butterflies and he can’t help but giggle, “well—”

“we, um,” virgil says, trying to help, but he can’t help smiling, too, and patton covers their held hands with his own—hiding his ring from view, coincidentally.

“oh, my god, you didn’t,” his mother says, aghast.

patton blinks, and virgil squeezes his hands harder. “didn’t what?”

“oh, my god, you did,” she says, a look of horror blooming across her face.

“now, emily—” richard says.

“you eloped!” his mother fumes, slamming his hands on the couch cushion and standing, and patton yelps out “mom!”

“i knew it, i knew you’d do anything to keep me out of your wedding!” she rants. 

“mom, that’s not—”

“well, that is just cruel, patton,” she continues, overriding his attempt to intervene, moving to begin to pace, “a mother waits and plans for this day, even your mother, and tonight you just waltz in here—”

“we’re engaged,” patton bursts out. “we didn’t elope, i mean—well, we’re going to get married. in the future. since we’re fiancés now.”

his mother stops in her tracks.

“oh.”

she slowly sinks down to the couch.

“mom...?” he prompts, because he can’t really interpret the look on her face right now.

“who proposed?” she says.

“i proposed, but he had a ring too,” virgil says.

“it was very romantic,” patton says, and he can’t help but smile at virgil, all soft and silly. 

“i was there, it’s true, he was very romantic,” logan confirms.

“oh,” richard says, attempting to blink off whatever whiplash must come from expecting your son to have eloped only to figure out he’s gone about the thing properly, for once. “well, congratu—”

“when’s the date?”

“oh,” patton says, caught off guard, and looks at virgil. “um—”

“the venue, the florist, the registry?”

“we got engaged today, mom,” patton tries to point out.

“i know that in a million years, you would never let me plan your wedding,” his mother starts, sounding a little wistful, and oh, no.

“um, mom—” patton begins, because. well, he’d expected the “differing social classes,” protest, he’d expected the “he’s not well-educated enough” protest, he’d expected, maybe, the “we revoke every little thing we’ve done to signify approval,” protest, or maybe even “we will start openly attempting to sabotage your relationship now.”

he hadn’t expected the mother-of-the-groom version of bridezilla. mother-in-law-zilla, maybe?

“i gave up on that dream a long time ago,” his mother continues, putting on the full, oh, what could have been, i miss that dream so face. emotional manipulation, emotional manipulation, he chants to himself, trying his best to summon emile’s voice. “yours was going to be a russian winter theme—the romanovs.”

huh. that sounded strangely familiar, but patton couldn’t put a finger on it; his brain’s been doing that a lot today.

“before the firing squad or after?” logan asks, in a blank, studious tone that only barely masks the sarcasm, and virgil just barely manages to stifle his snort. patton elbows him in the side.

“snow white roses, trees with white lights and candles, snow everywhere—”

oh, well, that doesn’t sound too—

“—you arriving in a silver sleigh with white horses...”

aaaaaaaand there it is.

“wow,” patton manages to get out, and she deflates.

“you hate the idea.”

“no, it just—” patton says, and struggles with how to put this delicately. “it doesn’t seem very... us, mom.”

“yes, well, it would have been beautiful,” she sniffs. “what will it be now? burgers and fries for the dinner? you walking down the aisle with a ketchup dispenser in hand?”

“hey,” patton says, a little sterner. 

“i dunno, pat, a diner wedding could be cool,” virgil says jokingly.

“what do you think of the romanovs?” his mother says, giving virgil her most withering stare.

“they probably had it coming,” he says, stone-faced, and patton elbows him again, a little harder.

“happy day,” patton says, and looks at his mother. “let’s celebrate the engagement now, and leave all the wedding planning for later.”

frankly, it had probably been kind of naive to assume that his mother wouldn’t try his best to butt her way into wedding planning; she had gone into raptures about the potential of his debutante gowns and future outfits enough when he was younger to ohhhh he’d forgotten about the wedding talks. that’s where he’d heard all the talk about the romanovs.

well. at least it isn’t a bad reaction, he figures.

“yes, yes,” richard says. “ah—champagne?”

“yes!” patton says eagerly, ready to get past his mother attempting to worm her way into wedding planning. “yes, let’s—let’s do champagne!”

“elsa!” his mother calls, then, undeterred, “you know, it’s tradition for parents to help pay and plan for the wedding, and if we could just get in touch with your aunt celine, i bet most of your father’s side of the family—”

“small wedding, mom,” patton says, “we’re probably going to want a small wedding.”

he glances at virgil. “right?” he checks.

“yes, small wedding, absolutely,” he confirms. “my family, your family, the town—”

“the town constitutes a small wedding,” his mother says, doubtfully.

“we were talking about champagne!” patton says quickly, as elsa comes into the room. “um, elsa, can i go help you find champagne flutes, preferably until my mother exhausts this topic of conversation?”

“you’re doomed,” logan says, and patton tries his best to glare at him.

he can’t really manage it, though. 

because, well. he can’t really blame his mom. he’s very excited about his wedding, too.

patton decides to take this as a win, even if he knows he’s going to spend the rest of his evening trying to dissuade his mother from throwing money at their wedding.

⁂

“okay, spin, twirl,” roman says.

virgil sighs, but does so, awkwardly; he’s wearing a purple flannel and a pair of black jeans, very regular for him. like, not very fashionably forward of him, but very regular. roman surveys him, squinting.

“since when do you need to do outfit approval for an outing?” virgil grumbles.

“since always,” roman says happily, before he smooths his hands over virgil’s shoulders; he supposes the whole thing is semi-formal—he’s wearing a white top tucked into a red skater skirt, which he guesses passes for cute but semi-casual. “okay, but, hang on, what if—”

“how many times have i told you i don’t want a makeover,” virgil says wearily.

“and how many times have i listened?” roman says. “it’s not even that much, anyway, just—” 

he digs out a jacket that pairs well with it, a black one, one that at least takes virgil’s outfit to i threw it on to i at least attempted to plan, which virgil shrugs on with a sigh, and roman immediately sticks his fingers in virgil’s hair.

“hey—”

“i’m not even doing that much,” roman says, correcting virgil’s bangs, before stepping back. “okay, now you’re set.”

“finally,” virgil grumbles. “why don’t you do this to patton and logan?”

“because patton is very set on his sense of dad-fashion and logan at least has some kind of officious-looking thing going for him,” roman says. “you are just helplessly grunge.”

virgil rolls his eyes, but gestures for roman to go ahead. roman skips down the stairs, catching logan’s hand, because they’re together, in the same space, where roman can touch him and not just see his face over grainy video call.

“hi,” roman says, and presses a kiss to his cheek. “ready to go?”

logan smiles at him; unlike patton and virgil, he knows exactly what’s going on.

“we all are,” logan confirms. 

“right!” patton says brightly. “what’d you have in mind, kiddo?”

“you’ll see,” roman says, instead of stating an elaborately crafted cover story he’s sure he could come up with on the spot—virgil not knowing what’s going on means he won’t be super surprised when roman leads him to, well. the thing.

he keeps a tight hold on logan’s hand as they walk, swinging it between them. they hadn’t really gotten to spend a lot of time together yesterday, with the engagement and logan’s grandparents and all, so roman is absolutely planning on capitalizing on logan time when everyone else is occupied. 

it’s an easy walk, from patton’s house to town; the weather’s still really nice, and the breeze feels nice on his legs, and logan’s hand is cool in his, and the closest thing he has to dads are behind them, trying to be subtle about their reinvigorated lovebird honeymoon phase but failing miserably.

roman squeezes logan’s hand. “so, my big yale man—”

“nickname denied,” logan says.

“all right, eli-logan—”

“slightly better,” logan says, then, “wait, you researched yale nicknames?”

“of course i did, that’s four years worth of new material there,” roman says. “so, anyway, i have news for you.”

“news?” logan says, startled.

“um, yeah,” roman says. “i asked my mom and caught up on all the taylor gossip, i bet you could write an exposé over thanksgiving break. so, i’ve got common knowledge, and town meeting stuff, and apparently my mom’s got some info for you, so i managed to get her to tell me that so you know everything before everyone else—”

a little smile breaks out on logan’s face, and he leans in to press a kiss to roman’s cheek.

roman blinks at him, but smiles. “what was that for?”

“just,” logan says, and he smiles wider. “you look very pretty today.”

roman preens; he did put extra effort into his hair, and he’s wearing a bit of makeup, a fun little glitter look on his eyes, and he usually wears skirts on special occasions, he used to wear them more when he was a kid; he borrowed this one from charlotte.

this skirt would be pretty short on him, if it weren’t for the fact this skirt is too big for her. most ballet women are tiny; charlotte’s 5′5″, and she’s the tallest of his new friends. 

“well,” roman says, and preens even more obviously, so that logan will laugh. “obviously.”

logan’s laugh buoys him all the way to the point where they’re nearly to the town square, and he can hear the rush of noise, and music.

“what’s going on?” patton says curiously.

“well,” roman says slyly, and moves aside. “go and see.”

patton breaks into a smile, probably remembering the last time that roman told him to go see something.

“roman,” virgil starts, and they turn just in time to see.

the town square’s decked out with all the yellow daisies that virgil had used to propose, and a banner that says PATTON AND VIRGIL’S ENGAGEMENT PARTY, and the gazebo’s twined with blue and purple ribbons and there’s stacks of presents, and there’s a cheer that comes from people gathered: his mom, and a ton of girls who go to the dance studio, and mrs. torres, and emile and remy, and dot and larry, and babette and morey, and even taylor, all here for—

“what’s all this?” patton says, delighted.

“well,” roman says. “since i’m a poor college student and couldn’t exactly afford an elaborate engagement present, i figured i’d do the next best thing and give you an engagement party.”

“roman,” virgil says.

“i—i made it so that there’s music, and dancing, and food and stuff,” roman says, gesturing vaguely, “so even if it’s a party for you, the attention won’t always be on you, since i know how you feel about—”

he gets cut off, though, because virgil cuffs him gently around the head and pulls him in for a sidehug.

“you’re a good kid, roman,” he says, gruffly, and roman can’t help but smile. he feels like his heart is glowing, from the happy look on patton’s face, to the outward expression of fondness from virgil, to the way logan’s looking at him all proud like he’s doing something super special.

“well, duh,” roman says, like he isn’t grinning so big that he’s sure it’s messing up his makeup. “go on, go, it’s time for the party!”

and so virgil goes to patton, who takes his hand and drags him straight for the throne-like chairs that are set up for them to start opening their presents, and logan bumps up against his shoulder.

“i still can’t believe you did this,” he says quietly; they’ve been facetiming a lot so logan could help plan it, so it’s not like this party is news to him.

roman shrugs, and leans into logan’s side in a blatant ploy; logan obliges him, and wraps an arm around roman’s shoulders.

“well,” he says. “they’re important to me, too. i wanted to do something special.”

logan presses a kiss to his temple, and says, “wanna get some cake?”

“hell yeah,” roman says, and so they go and get in line to get some cake.

⁂

the sun has set, there are twinkling lights on, the music is playing, the party is still going fairly strong, and logan sways to the music.

this mostly has to do with roman dragging him out to dance, and he’s obliged, mostly because of how happy it makes roman, how excited he gets, how beautiful he looks.

roman’s hair is sweaty and has long since become a bit more of a wreck than it originally was. the glitter around his eyes has smeared a little, and his sweat catches the light, making him gleam and glow in a way that is unfairly attractive, for his version of being a sweaty mess.

he’s never, ever going to be as good a dancer as roman—for one, he hasn’t been training for nearly fifteen years—but he’s perfectly content to dance with hm, so long as he can see roman look this great, be this happy.

the song ends, and roman whoops, putting his hands up in the air, before he fans at his face.

“want a breather?”

“yes,” logan says gratefully. he runs fairly frequently, but he also isn’t nearly as in shape with roman (again, training for nearly fifteen years) and his feet ache.

roman grins at him, grabbing his hand so that he could drag logan out of the crowd, and logan follows along, trusting roman’s sense of direction in a crowd far better than his own.

they pop out somewhere near the beverage table, and logan spies, somewhere deeper in the crowd, his dad trying to twirl virgil around and virgil awkwardly ducking his arm, to gales of laughter from his dad.

“they’re happy,” logan notes.

“yeah,” roman says. then, “do you think sookie’ll kill me if i steal this bottle of champagne for us?”

logan glances over at roman, who’s grinning, and holding up a recently-opened and not-very-depleted bottle of champagne.

“it’ll be worth it,” logan decides, and roman giggles, before taking logan by the hand again, dragging him to the exact place that logan expected.

they settle on the steps of the gazebo, stretching out their legs and beholding the crowd. roman sighs, pleased, and logan tries his best not to stare at roman’s tanned thighs and the way they look in that skirt.

he has been doing that quite a bit today.

“champagne, my good sir?” roman says, mockingly officious, and logan blinks.

“we forgot to grab glasses.”

“well,” roman says, and takes a swig directly from the bottle, before offering it to logan. “i’m pretty sure you don’t have cooties, and if we do, we’ve definitely cross-infected each other by now.”

“well, who knows what kind of super-cooties you could have picked up in new york,” logan says, and tries his own swig; he’s less practiced than roman, and he gets a near-painful mouthful of fizz and bubbles that makes him cough, just a little.

“a joke!” roman says, thumping him gently on the back. “college really has taught you things.”

logan rolls his eyes, and bumps his shoulder against roman’s.

they technically both got drunk for the first time at the same time; patton had offered his house for it—you’ll both probably get offered to drink at college, and i want you to try it somewhere where you know you’re safe just in case, all right? patton had said, and so they’d drank candy-flavored drinks in glass bottles and roman had tried to experiment with bartending and they’d kissed a little but logan’s pretty sure that he’d fallen asleep in the middle of it, because the next thing he remembered was waking up with a dry mouth, draped over roman, on the floor of the living room.

he hasn’t drunk very much since; unsurprisingly, roman likes parties more than logan does.

they swap the bottle back and forth in mostly companionable silence, watching the party go on; patton and virgil get champagne flutes clanged at them a few times, making them lean in and kiss each other to cheers from the crowd; the music rumbles on, and roman dances in place, singing along quietly; they watch emile and remy dance, and kirk’s bizarre arm-flailing that might pass as dancing.

logan feels warm, and pleasant, and a little floaty, and he turns to rest his head on roman’s shoulder.

“this is nice,” he says.

“yeah?” roman says, amused.

“i—this is really nice,” he says earnestly, and roman snorts, adjusting so that he can cup logan’s chin in his hand and examine his face.

“are you tipsy?”

“moderately, i think,” logan admits, and roman throws back his head to laugh, before cupping logan’s face in both his hands.

“you’re adorable,” roman teases, and he leans in to kiss him.

logan hums happily into his mouth, leaning into it as much as he can. he’s missed this; he’s missed him, so bad. this is his first time living away from roman, his first time not going to school with roman there, to talk to him at the press or for logan to steal into the studio to watch roman dance. it’s been harder than he thought it would, to be away from him. from home.

but he’s here now, and he’s so happy, and he feels so warm inside.

his dads are getting married, and roman is right here, kissing him, and logan parts from him with a dreamy little sigh.

“i love you so much,” logan tells him, and roman’s face goes soft.

“well, i love you so much too, bulldog-an,” roman says, and brushes some of logan’s sweaty hair out of his face, ignoring the face logan made at the highly questionable bulldog logan pun. “like, so much.”

“oh,” logan says, relieved, “good,” and roman laughs, but not in a mean way, not at all.

“you’re a peach, baby,” roman says, and logan rests his head on roman’s shoulder.

the party’s still going; it’s a slow song playing, and his dads are dancing slowly, eyes closed, completely in their own little world.

“you know,” logan says thoughtfully, “when i propose to you, i wouldn’t mind something like this for us. i think that’d be nice.” 

roman laughs, a little nervous, and he says, “what?”

“when i propose to you,” logan repeats. “or when you propose to me, i guess. however. i don’t care which way. but a party like this, then, it’d be pretty—mmph,” because roman’s pressed his lips against logan’s, hushing him.

and oh, logan has missed kissing like this; feeling like he was melting into it, hyperaware of every swipe of roman’s tongue and promising hint of the scrape of teeth and the taste of champagne on both of their tongues, roman’s hand a warm presence he can feel burning through his shirt that’s inching lower and lower, and logan twists his fingers in roman’s shirt in kind, dropping down to squeeze at roman’s bare thigh—

“this skirt,” he growls, “has been distracting me all day.”

“yeah, i know,” roman says, pleased, wiggling into the touch, flexing his muscles on purpose, “that was the goal” and how could logan not lean in to kiss him even more at that, spreading his hand as wide as he could to feel as much of roman’s soft skin as he could, kissing him heated and quick and desperate, and—

and there was the clanging of champagne flutes starting again, someone hooting and hollering, and roman and logan broke apart.

well. logan kept a possessive hand on roman’s thigh. because feeling up roman’s muscles was just very nice.

“we should probably get back to the party,” roman breathes, and he’s still close enough that logan can feel the breath on his face.

“i—yeah,” logan says. “we probably should.”

roman laughs, and leans in to kiss him on the cheek. “i’ll get you some water first, though. stay put, okay?”

“okay,” logan agrees, leaning back; well, as much as he can lean back, when he’s sitting on stairs.

roman giggles, and walks off, with more swaying to his hips than he usually would, looking over his shoulder to give logan an ostentatious wink.

logan can’t help but burst into a smile.

i’m going to marry that man.

⁂

"wait! wait, wait, wait, wait,” virgil says, frowning, wrapping his hand around patton’s wrist to keep him from going into the house, and patton bites his lip to keep himself from laughing.

listen. patton knows he’s a lightweight. he usually plans for these kinds of things, so that he doesn’t end up drunk off his butt from what would usually get other people teetering their way from tipsy into drunk.

with that, it follows that he’s been around virgil drunk more than virgil has been drunk around him.

but the champagne had been flowing, and everyone had been eager to fill up the newly... affianced? newly fiancéd? the engaged couple’s drinks throughout the entire party.

and as such, virgil is frowning, almost over-exaggerated, clearly going through some kind of calculation that must make sense in his drunk brain.

“i gotta do the,” virgil says, and vaguely mimes something. “the carry-you-over thing.”

it clicks in patton’s brain, then.

“you want to carry me over the threshold?” he asks, amused. “honey, that’s what newlyweds do. people do that when they get married.”

“we’re basically almost married,” virgil argues, and patton tilts his head, considering this.

look, he’s not sober either, okay?

“all right,” patton agrees with a laugh, holding out his arms. “carry me over the threshold, darlin’.’

virgil beams at him and, carefully, gets into place.

“ready?” he asks, and, when patton nods, lifts him with a small grunt, and patton squeaks as his feet leave the ground, wrapping his arms tight around virgil’s neck.

virgil slowly ascends the porch stairs, patton beaming at him, until virgil comes to a pause.

“what?” patton asks.

“the door,” virgil says.

“oh, i can get—”

“i’m not putting you down,” virgil says, as if offended by this potential slight to his ability as a good fiancé, and scowls at the door, as if he’ll be able to open it with telekinesis. 

“no, virge, i mean—” patton says, with a laugh, then, “hang onto me tighter?”

virgil obliges, and patton reaches over, twisting the doorknob.

“there,” he says, satisfied.

virgil leans ever so slightly to smack a kiss of gratitude to patton’s cheek, before stepping carefully over the threshold, making sure that patton doesn’t bump his feet or his head against the doorframe.

and patton expects that to be it, for virgil to set him down right there, except he keeps going, ignoring cocoa barking excitedly at their feet.

“virgil!” he squeaks.

“night, logan!” virgil calls to logan, who calls out a cheerful “night!” and moves past them, clicking his tongue for cocoa to follow him, for her to go out one last time before bed.

and virgil keeps going, moving up the stairs much more slowly than they usually would, a combination of the pair of them being tipsy and giggly, and virgil climbing the stairs with patton in his arms.

the door’s slightly ajar, and so virgil turns to bump it open with his hip, and carries patton across that threshold, too, and, at last, deposits patton on the bed, patton bouncing ever so slightly with his landing, bursting into laughter.

virgil immediately looms over him, crawling above him, and patton giggles at the sight of him, moving to cradle his cheeks in his hands. 

“my big strong man,” patton purrs, “you’re such an amazing almost-husband—”

virgil dips and immediately moves to devour patton, and patton gasps into his mouth, snaking his arms around virgil’s waist. virgil bumps noses with him, and patton laughs, adjusting, before he surges up and kisses him again, and he feels so excited, all of the energy of the party resurging and making his blood heat and patton presses himself closer and nips at his lips and kisses him, and virgil gasps into his mouth, and—

“you’re drunk,” patton groans, and virgil sighs, resting his head on patton’s collarbone.

“but kissing,” he whines into patton’s chest. “and—other things.”

patton snorts, nudging virgil so he rolls off of him, and he does so easily, with no resistance.

“you’ve had to tell me to not get too eager when i’m drunk,” patton says, “and now i’m telling you.”

virgil pouts, and it is awfully difficult to not just dive right back in and kiss him, when he’s all rosy-cheeked, and he’s got kiss-swollen lips. 

“nope,” patton says, and swipes a kiss across his cheek. “payback for that one time after my final final exams.”

“you were drunk,” virgil protests.

“and so are you!” patton says, laughing. 

virgil lets out a long, weary sigh, and grumbles, “fine,” rolling away from patton.

“aw, lovely,” patton says, and puts his hand on virgil’s side, shaking him a little to get his attention. virgil pretends to mope—or maybe it’s not pretend, virgil can be a sulky drunk, and he usually is, until patton draws him out of whatever corner he decided to brood in, and then he gets all blushy whenever patton kisses him on the cheek or gives him gestures of affection or pays attention to him, generally—“hey, honey, we can still cuddle, n’stuff.”

virgil visibly perks up at that. he rolls back over.

“yeah?” he says hopefully.

“yeah,” patton says, “of course we can cuddle, just—we should get ready for bed, first, and then we can cuddle all you want.”

“mkay,” virgil says, and steals one last kiss before he ambles away to go brush his teeth, even as patton squawks after him, because that’s cheating, they aren’t supposed to kiss and stuff when they’re drunk, those are virgil’s rules!!!

patton ends up butting up against him in the bathroom, bumping his hip against his, and they brush their teeth together, making funny faces at each other in the mirror. 

they tumble into bed together, patton letting out a relieved groan.

“the party was very fun,” he sighs. “but i am very tired.”

“seconded,” virgil groans, wrapping an arm over patton gracelessly; it’s like he wants to touch as much of patton as possible, hug him as close as he could, and patton smiles, burrowing closer.

a beat, then, “okay, i know that i’m the one who said we should follow the rules, but—”

“mm-mm,” virgil grunts, and patton sighs.

“yeah, i figured.”

“well,” virgil says, after a beat. “look at it this way. we’ve got the rest of forever to kiss and stuff before bed.”

patton hides his grin at the thought of that in virgil’s chest; he knows their rings are resting side-by-side on their nightstand table, their symbol of their commitment for the rest of time.

virgil’s right. they do have forever.

and that sounds just about perfect to him.

[skzsauce01]

42nd Moon Pt 7

Description: By some stroke of luck, you get off the waitlist of your biology class. You’d never have guessed you’d find your soulmate there, let alone that he already has a girlfriend... Or that he comes from a fraternity of werewolves.

Warning: accidental nudity

Word count: 1.8k

Pairing: werewolf!Hyunjin x fem!reader, werewolf!Jisung x fem!reader

Chapter List

“Hi.”

“Hey.”

“Please don’t apologize again.”

“I won’t.”

“Okay.”

You continue watching the child fit blocks into a sorting cube toy as Hyunjin sits on the couch behind you.

“How’s the, um.” He points to your wrist.

“Better. I hardly notice it anymore.” You raise it up for him to see. It, like his, is noticeably lighter in color now.

“Oh. Cool.”

You appaude when the baby fits the square into its hole. You hand her a triangle.

“How are you?” you ask without turning to face him.

“Good,” he replies habitually. 

You let out a low hum.

“Alright, yeah, it could be better,” he admits. “But I feel bad if I talked about it in front of, you know, you.”

He reaches to flip the box over to give his daughter the correct orientation, but you catch his arm. 

“Let her figure it out.” 

He follows your instruction and goes back to his chair.

“Talk about it.”

“What?” he asks, confused.

You whip your head around to look at him over your propped up knee. “It’s fine if you want to talk about what you’re going through. I know you haven’t talked to the boys about it because they’ll either blame you for everything or judge your masculinity or something, so let it out now if you’d like. People usually feel better when they do.”

“I have even more reason not to do it now!” he objects. “You have it so much worse, and it’s all my fault.”

You turn back around with a shrug to stop the baby from gnawing on a plus-shaped block. “My situation doesn’t prevent me from sympathizing. Let’s carry each other’s burdens.”

“Your burden isn’t the same as some breakup,” he argues.

“But it isn’t just some breakup, right?”

Hyunjin lets out a sigh and looks at his hands. “Yeah…”

You look back at him silently, waiting for him to continue. 

“I just really thought she was the one, you know? She made me so happy. I was willing to do anything for her, and I thought she felt the same.”

“Yeah…”

“And the child… she was the one who really wanted it. Remember when we fell asleep together that time? I felt so bad about it, I had to tell her. She got mad, obviously, and said she’d only forgive me if I gave her a kid. I couldn’t bear her leaving, so I-- I…” He buries his head in his hands. “It was stupid, I know. I even knew the consequences, and I still went with it. I still listened to her because I didn’t think she’d leave me like this. With her baby. Even now I can’t believe it.”

Hyunjin cannot hold back anymore and lets out an audible sob. You pick up his child and sit the both of you besides him. You rub his back as he cries.

“I really loved her. I really, really did. And she took that and she used it. Y-you know what I got in the mail just now?”

You shake your head and he pulls out a crumpled envelope from his back pocket. The return address indicates that it is from a law office. Inside are papers giving Hyunjin sole custody of the child. 

“Wow,” you breath softly. “What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know. I mean, I’m taking her, of course. She’s my daughter and, well, a wolf. I don’t have much of a choice, but I don’t know how to raise a child, or-or teach her the right things! I can’t even file my own taxes!”

“Maybe I can help,” you suggest.

He lifts his head up to look at you. Even his tears are frozen mid-fall in shock. “What?”

“For my, um, circumstances, the werewolf council is covering my living expenses for as long as I, well, live, meaning I’ll be living in one of the spare rooms here soon. It’d be convenient enough.”

“But why? Shouldn’t you hate her? She’s the reason why you’re dying!” 

“This isn’t her fault.”

“Well, you must hate me, right? You shouldn’t be helping me.”

“I think I can decide whom I help. And besides, I can’t hate you, Hyunjin. Maybe it’s just the soul thing talking, but I can’t.” You laugh dryly. “Sure, I can’t admit to loving you anymore, but love, no matter what state it’s in, is strong. So yeah, I should run as far away from you as I can, but I guess I’m the stupid one now for being here, talking to you. I suppose my own stupidity is why I kind of understand why you did that for Jiyoung. I understand, but I’m not validating it.”

“Then why still be here? Why help raise her?”

“Children need a mother figure for proper development; she didn’t ask to be a wolf or for her mother to leave, and I’m trying to make an impact with whatever time I have left, I guess.”

“W-well, th-thank you.” Hyunjin continues staring at you, eyes wide in surprise. The universe gave him the most pure-hearted soulmate, did it? 

You shake your head. “It’s for her.” You turn to the baby. “Isn’t that right,” you coo.

She stares at you for a moment before reaching to grab your cheeks. 

“Mama!”

88

Being a single father means a few changes for Hyunjin. For one, bath time. Hyunjin thought it was a good idea to take one with her so he can get clean himself at the same time, and also because he read about it on some parenting magazine and thought it would be cute.

“Ready for bathy with Daddy?” he gushes.

He feels the temperature of the water and gets in first before lowering her in too.

“Good. Just sit right here,” he says, setting her down on his belly. 

He scoops up some water and runs it through her hair. 

“Now where’s the shampoo?” he wonders aloud. “Ah, there it is.”

He reaches forward to the other end of the tub. Just as he is about to grab it, he feels something painful shooting up his left chest. He looks down and nearly faints.

“Y-Y/N!” he cries in panic. “Y/N! Y/N!”

You burst into the bathroom, your eyes darting around frantically to see what is wrong. You see Hyunjin crouched over himself with his face withered in pain.

“What’s wrong?”

“She’s-- She’s--”

He leans back for you to look. Unfortunately, he is unaware of what else he is letting you see.

“Ooh!” you exclaim, quickly throwing your arm over your eyes.

“What’s-- Oh my moon, I’m so sorry!”

You hand him a towel, and he tucks it around and under himself. When he gives you clearance, you rotate back around to see why he has called you.

On him is his daughter latched onto his chest. However, she isn’t doing so by her hands or arms; she’s using her teeth. To make it worse, she has turned wolf.

“When did she last eat?” you inquire incredulously.

“Breakfast? I was going to give her lunch after we cleaned up.”

“Okay, maybe feed her before being this-” you wave your hands in circular motions at him- “vulnerable in front of her.”

“She’s not even a year old! I didn’t think it would be a problem!”

You lean over to see her bite. “Can you stay like this for five more minutes?”

“Yeah,” he nods. “I think I’ve gone numb.”

You nod back. “I’ll be quick.”

After five minutes, you return with a bottle of warm formula. 

“Here, here, Li’l Pup,” you sing, holding the nipple to her mouth and scooping your arm around her waist.

The baby releases her father and chomps down on what you are offering. Hyunjin gives a sigh of relief when you lift her off of him.

“Thanks, Y/N,” he breaths.

“No worries. Finish your bath first. You can give her hers when she’s eaten.”

“Yeah, but.” He points towards you.

You look down to where he’s pointing and see that she is dripping wet, soaking through your shirt and dripping onto the floor. 

You are wearing a white t-shirt.

It’s your turn to yelp now. You pivot the other way and hold the pup a little higher to protect yourself.

Hyunjin faces the tiled shower wall bashfully. “Guess we’re even,” he coughs.

“T-this also means I can’t go outside right now,” you stamber. “Minho just cleaned the halls and will throw a fit if she drips all over it. We have to wait for her to turn back human.”

“Okay. I, um, I’ll be quick. Just keep facing that way.”

You swallow awkwardly. “Please do hurry.”

Hyunjin throws himself under then scrubs on shampoo in record time. After soap, he turns on the facet for a rinse. He feels his muscles relax as the hot water hits him, so he lets out a small sigh of delight. Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees your back rocking side to side so that at one moment he sees furry ears appear to your left and at another, he sees the tip of a tail poking from the right. He rotates his head fully toward you, a smile forming on his lips. He could get used to this-- this perfect family picture.

Wait, what? No. That’s not right.

Hyunjin shakes his head to clear it of thought. He goes back to rinsing; he’s wasted enough time even though he promised to be quick.

“I’m ready,” he tells you after two minutes.

“Are you covered?”

“Yeah.”

“Close your eyes.”

He does as told, and you turn back around to put a happily fed pup in his arms.

“Thanks again, Y/N.”

“Of course.” 

As you straighten up to leave, he calls for you once more. “Y/N?”

“Yes?”

“Jisung’s in the TV lounge you’d have to pass to get to your room. Take my hoodie; it’s next to the sink.”

You find the said garment and smile at the man with his eyes still squeezed shut.

“Thanks, Hyunjin.”

~ ad.gold

[myarmsaretoolong]

@whumptober2020​​ Prompt #16: “A Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day” - Shoot the Hostage

Word Count: 1754

Warnings: Gun Violence | Major Character Death

Synopsis: After receiving a bloodstained note, Peter throws himself into searching for the hostages, only he didn’t expect one to Ben’s murderer

Read Under the Cut | Read on AO3

Peter ran through the desolate hallways of an old, abandoned police precinct. One that, ironically, closed down thanks to Spider-Man's effect on crime in the city. He searched every inch of every floor, not knowing what he was looking for, only that this was the location written on that bloodstained note addressed to him.

Setting eyes on that note for the first time sent a chilling shiver down Peter's spine. One he surely would never feel the likes of again. It was simply taped to a lamppost along Peter's usual patrol route, the words 'Come find me, Spider-Man' written in cursive above the address. Splats of crimson marred the perfectness of the uncrinkled paper.

The precinct was a five-storey building where every surface held a think layer of dust. The ground floor housed the Homicides bullpen, looking back, that should have been the first clue. All the files had been transferred to other precincts, of course, but barren desks with long-forgotten computers still stood sentry over the uninhabited floor. 

The first floor once belonged to the Cyber Crimes Unit, again stripped bare of everything but the basic furniture. The second floor housed a sign on the door reading Drug Enforcement Administration, the inside as dismal as the rest. Dark - the lightbulbs long since burned out - not a single sign of life bar the scuttle of rats feet as Peter raced across the floor, throwing open every door, checking under every desk. Wondering what he'd come face to face with.

What if it was already too late? If whoever the maniac who left the note had grown tired of the game and left, leaving Peter on a wild goose chase, or killed an innocent civilian out of boredom. Having another lost soul on his conscious would be enough to break Peter, who already carried the weight of the world on his young shoulders.

The third floor brought up sickening memories; he'd been too fixated on the mission to even notice. Even in it's forgotten state - moth-eaten coats, grime coated desks, and dusky smell - Peter recognised every inch of the room. The same room he'd once sat in, numb to the world around him as he waited for May and Ben to come and collect him. Because no one else was going too. The same room he'd sat in only a few years ago, this time with blood on his hands and the first innocent soul on his chest. Only May would collect him, this time. Her face wistful and yearning for a love she'd never feel again, tearstains on her cheeks.

Peter pushed past the memories. Past the surge of grief building in his chest. Past the pain. And kept searching. 

The fourth - and final - floor had even longer been abandoned, deserted the same day SHIELD fell. Call it coincidence if you want, Peter didn't believe in such things. Not anymore. Not after everything he'd seen. Walking through the door felt surreal, like stepping into an entirely different world devoid of colours and warmth and comfort. Just a harsh, cold, emptiness that sucked the breath from Peter's chest.

Every piece of furniture -chairs, desks, computers - had been stripped away to leave behind a vast swathe of nothingness. Sun-faded patches on the wall plaster stood in stark contrast to those which had been covered by paintings and posters. A ceiling fan swung painfully slowly in the middle of the room, creaking as its defective blades danced through the air to a tune only they could hear. Peter's eyes fell to the floor next, where a thick layer of dirt, dust, and grime covered from wall to wall. Cutting through it... Footprints.

Peter's heart hammered as he followed them, tracking his own through the mess as he did so. There was more than one pair, that was for sure, maybe three or four, it was hard to tell from the muddle of prints. Only one set seemed to be wearing any shoes.

They led to a door. Blue paint flaked off of it, and a large, square window stood at head height, though it was too dark inside to see through. Steeling his nerve, lips pressed into a thin line and determination in his eyes, Peter opened the door and stepped through. 

He threw his arms up, ready to fight the madman within... But his Spidey-Sense gave nothing more than the general feeling of unease he'd got first stepping into the building. A dim light flicked on overhead, just bright enough to light the room. Peter was in one of those police lineup rooms with a white wall painted solely with height lines. In front of it, four people stood in identical brown, baggy khakis and plain black T-shirts, a cloth sack clumsily thrown over their heads and hands cuffed behind their backs.

"Hello, Spider-Man."

The voice came over an intercom. Peter whirled around to face a mirror, presumably one-way glass.

"I'm glad you made it. Though, I must say I've been waiting a while. I don't like waiting."

"What do you want?" Peter spat at the mirror, hoping he was looking at least vaguely close to the person behind it.

"To play a little game." They paused just long enough for Peter to open his mouth before continuing. "Take a look to your left."

Peter turned, looking at the door once again. Just beside it, on a small, square table, sat a gun. The sight of it caused Peter to step back. "No," he said, turning to face the mirror once again.

"Yes," they replied, their voice eerily lacking in emotion. "The rules are simple. You're going to kill one of these people."

"Why would I do that?" Peter asked, his voice a little too loud to play off as if he were calm. Who was he kidding, calm so far out of the window he didn't know what it meant anymore. His heart hammered so loud it was a miracle the person behind the mirror couldn't hear, every muscle like a tightly coiling spring, ready to act a seconds notice.

"Have you ever heard of a dead man's switch, Spider-Man? Handy little contraptions. I've got one in my hand right now, if I let go of this button... you can say goodbye to your nice Aunt May. I've packed enough explosives in the basement of your apartment to take out the whole block."

Peter began pacing the room, raking a hand through his hair as he decidedly kept his gaze away from the gun. Vaguely, he could hear one of the hostages sniffling under the cloth bag. He rounded back on the mirror, eyes burning with rage. "How do I know you're telling the truth?"

"Well," they left a short pause before continuing, "I could let go so you can see for yourself..."

"No!" Peter said quickly, his voice an octave too high. "No, don't do that!"

"Then I think you already have your answer."

Slowly, Peter walked to the table with the gun and reached out a hand. He picked it up, the black metal cold against his trembling hands. His eyes flicked over to the hostages, standing silently in a line, waiting for Peter to make his choice. He threw the gun down and stumbled away. "I can't," he rasped, voice gravelly. "I- I can't do this."

"Time's ticking, Spider-Man. I can tell you about them if you want. Make the choice easier." Peter shook his head fiercely, knowing who they are would only make the decision harder. But the person behind the glass ignored him. "One of them is a charity worker, spends every moment of his time helping others. One's a criminal, a murderer to be specific. Another has a wife and kid back home, the last has no one. A loner who lives a peaceful life."

"Shut up!" Peter yelled, pressing his hands over his ears. "Just stop it."

Despite his best efforts, the crackle of the intercom still found its way to Peter's ears. "Here's the real kicker. The criminal, the man he murdered went by the name of Ben Parker."

Peter shot dead upright, hands falling limply to his sides as vengence clawed its way up his spine. He'd failed to save Ben once before, but now he had a chance to make that right. To save other lives in his name. Without realising he'd moved, the gun now once again rested in Peter's hands. This time, he seized it with fearsome strength, not a tremble in sight.

Pure rage burned in his eyes as his finger curled around the trigger, examining each of the hostages. He'd been there the night Ben died, saw the murderer escaping, surely he could pick them out of this lineup.

"Tick tock, Spider-Man. Time to make the decision."

Peter levelled the gun at the second hostage from the left. In years to come, Peter would look back on this night and wonder why him, what made him choose this person out of the lineup. He squeezed shut his eyes, the sudden realisation of just how wrong this whole thing was washing over him. 

But it was too late, he'd already pulled the trigger.

The sound echoed throughout the small room. A pit opened up inside Peter's stomach and he fell to his knees, doubling over. All he felt was regret. The remaining hostages screamed, or cried, or both, Peter couldn't be sure through the numbness. The trembling returned tenfold.

"Take a look, Spider-Man," the person behind the glass sounded happy, no... Elated. "See if you made the right choice."

Peter shuffled across the floor towards the growing pool of blood under the chest of the fallen hostage. Shakily, he reached out and tugged back the cloth hood. A sob escaped his throat when he saw the person underneath. Hurriedly, he pulled them into his lap, blood staining his suit, and tried to stem the steady flow leaking from his chest.

"No," he whispered, barely able to make a sound. "No, Mister Stark! Please!"

Tony's eyes stared lifelessly up at the ceiling, his face contorted in pain.

"I'm s-sorry," Peter stuttered, "I'm so sorry, Mister Stark. Please, c-come back. Don't leave me!" He tried his best to wake Tony, but he never would wake again.

In years to come, Peter would look back on this night and wonder why him. And he knew why. It was the familiarity. The vague sense that he knew the man under the hood, and picked him assuming it to be Ben’s killer.

Who was the killer now?

[rainbowchip2003]

“and you’re ugly, just like your mom”

for @misslivvie !

word count: 1646

november 2nd, 2019

10:25am

*third person*

it was a typical morning in casablanca plaza. all of the staff had gathered in, and were going through their opening routines. in wild side inkorporated, it was so quiet, you could hear a pin drop. vince is always the last to show up, so it was just the tattoo artists for now. luna was making today’s playlist, while billy scribbled a design on some scrap paper. lennon, a nonbinary newbie, sanitized their station.

“what day is it?” billy asked lennon. 

“saturday.” they confirmed as they checked the clock. billy’s eyes drifted to the side in realization, while luna ran a hand through her multicolored mane.

“oh, shit.” she whispered.

“what?”

“we never told you this, but vince brings his daughter to work on the first saturday of each month!” lennon chuckled at the mental picture of the two hiding from a little kid.

“i’m sure it’s nothing to worry about?” the rookie giggled once more.

“imagine veruca salt but, like, maybe 5% less stable.” just then, vince came in with his daughter, liesl, ready for a new day at the tattoo parlor. liesl had her mom’s auburn waves, and her dad’s smile. she stared at her tablet, ears covered by a pair of lol surprise headphones. liesl even had a small, glittery purse shaped like a unicorn!

“morning!” vince waved before taking off his leather jacket, and helping liesl with her pink coat.

“good morning, vince!” the artists chimed in nearly perfect unison. the ginger never looked up from whatever was on her screen.

“...and liesl.” luna muttered. lennon took the opportunity to introduce themselves; they bent down to her level, and put on their friendliest voice.

“nice to meet you, leisl!” they said with a warm grin.

“...hi.” liesl greeted. unlike most children her age, she seemed unfazed by their punk appearance.

“i don’t think we’ve met; my name is lennon!” lennon put out their hand to shake, which she accepted.

“lemon?” the little girl asked.

“no, lennon, with an “n”.” they laughed it off, it was a common mistake.

“daddy, how much longer until the shops open?” liesl already started her whining kick.

“riiight about…” vince looked at the giant clock on the wall, only seconds away from opening time. “now!” at last, it finally struck 10:30, and casablanca plaza was officially open!! “here’s $20, go crazy.” vince handed her three $5 bills, and five singles. 

liesl let out a cheer as she ran out the door. whether her father was being sarcastic was a mystery; but alas, she took his word as gospel. in vince’s eyes, $20 was nothing; but to any six year old, it was winning the lottery! ironically, there was a patch on vince’s jacket that read “greatest father in the galaxy” under liesl’s birthdate.

she blended in with the first flood of shoppers just fine. liesl only gets to visit casablanca once a month, so she has to make the most of every trip. how does she do so, you ask? nothing much, she just makes people’s day a living hell. no one questions vince on why he lets his young daughter run around unsupervised. 

liesl’s first stop was thunderbolt coffeehouse, where she has her own signature drink. the beverage in question is 6oz of water mixed with the tiniest splash of white chocolate syrup. because it’s basically nothing, liesl only had to pay a dollar. having just opened, tommy was the only person in the store.

“good morning, liesl! the usual?” he adjusted his burgundy visor with a lightning bolt sewed on it.

“you know it!” she left a dollar on the counter to pay. tommy prepared liesl’s first of many mall treats. behind the display case, liesl noticed some brown and orange squares sitting atop a doily. “what are those?”

“pumpkin cheesecake bars.”

“i want one!” she demanded as she tapped the sneeze guard.

“you’re only allowed your special drink.” tommy said softly, yet firmly: “ ‘cause you nearly bought the place out, remember?” he referred to her first visit, where she blew all her money on thunderbolt fare, and didn’t finish most of it.

“can’t you make one exception for your favorite customer?” even liesl’s best puppy eyes weren’t charming enough for him!

“i’m afraid not.” luckily, tommy has more patience for her than anyone else in the mall.

“you’re so inconsiderate!” leisl scoffed as she folded her arms.

“it’s just what your dad told me-” tommy sighed.

“and you’re ugly, just like your mom.”

“sorry to hear that, have a free cheesecake bar.” he forked over the seasonal goodie, knowing mr. simmons would freak if he caught him. but hey, if it’ll get the twerp to zip it! she swallowed one bite of the pumpkin bar, and shoved it into her purse.

on her way to poisonous novelties, she saw that dee, her youth group leader, was here! she went over to his little cart, where he handed out pamphlets promoting the church.

“hi, mr. snider!” she doesn’t often see him anywhere other than the chapel.

“hi, liesl!” although she was the problem child of dee’s youth group, he still treated her with the same amount of respect as anyone else. “excited for service? as a belated halloween treat, we’re watching wishbone in the legend of sleepy hollow!”

“never heard of it.” liesl shrugged.

“i used to watch wishbone as a kid; i think you’ll like it.”

“are you giving out zebra cakes, or oatmeal pies after?” part of the only reason she even bothered going to service was because of the snacks dee would hand out.

“popcorn!” 

“ooh, i can’t wait!” “i’ll see you tomorrow!” dee waved to her, and went back to work. if only dee knew how she treated everyone else....

she went up the escalator, and ran into the candy store so fast, she didn’t notice bobby sitting behind the counter! her main priority was getting as many sweets as she could while staying within her budget.

“did you have a fun halloween?” he attempted to make some friendly small talk.

“yeah, i went as butterbean!” she boasted as she got a paper bag, “my costume had shoes, and wings, and even a wig!”

“that’s so cool!” bobby started to approach the young girl. “i, uh, was barney, the purple dinosaur!” he lied. the poisonous novelties gang actually went as steel panther, with him as lexxi. leisl was barely listening, as she wasted no time shoving random stuff to the bag. “don’t you still have halloween candy?”

“traded most of it.” suddenly, liesl reached into the container of marshmallow bananas, and started picking out the fluffiest ones with her bare hands! 

“can you not-”

“nobody eats these anyway!”

“you didn’t use the tongs, so you have to pay for that entire thing!” he wished he could be as intimidating and strong as bret, but didn’t have the confidence.

“how much?” at this point, liesl found it was best to accept her fate.

“$15.”

“can i keep them?” she asked as she handed bobby some wadded up dollars. his lips widened into an almost taunting smile, and just shook his head no.

liesl made her way to the foodcourt; she had just enough money for a basket of cheese fries. she topped the greasy goodness with ketchup, regular and lite mayo, and barbeque sauce. she walked to kiss kosmetics, on the other side of the mall, as she ate. liesl stood outside the door to find vinnie texting, while paul helped a customer match their foundation.

“you need to finish that before you go inside!” vinnie exclaimed, setting down his phone. the basket wobbled in her hand as she carried it with only four fingers. 

“i’ll be careful, i promise!” as predicted, liesl tripped over nothing and fell face first. she dropped the unholy sauce with a side of fries onto the once pristine white tiles. liesl rolled onto her back on the floor, and whined like she was half her age.

“if you think you’re getting out of here scottfree, you are sorely mistaken!” although paul didn’t have kids, he went full dad mode!

“i do what i want!!” liesl stamped her feet in exasperation. she made such a scene that someone started to leave!

“i’m calling your dad!” paul had both parents on speed dial, just in case. saturday used to be his favorite day of the week, but thanks to her, it’s thursday!

“get to cleaning.” vinnie rested some napkins and a spray bottle of tile cleaner on her stomach.

liesl dragged herself up and hastily began to pick up her mess.

“yeah, vince? this is paul; you’ll never believe what your daughter did today!” the tantruming redhead slammed the bottle on the floor. “we keep telling her not to come in with food, and she did anyway! she dropped whatever she was eating, and now she’s refusing to clean up.”

“i’m getting grounded for falling?” liesl threw her head back.

“you don’t think i know about what happened at the candy store?”

“what’d she do?” vince asked on the other line.

“i got a text from bobby saying that she took out all the marshmallow bananas with her hands. your wife needs to pick her up before she causes any more chaos.” 

“put her on.” paul came out, and brought the phone to her ear. “liesl, what did i tell you about manners?!” 

“there weren’t any signs…”

“you don’t need signs, you need common sense!” paul rolled his eyes.

“you march to the parlor, get your jacket, and you’re getting in mom’s car without a fight, do you hear me?!” 

“yes, daddy…” she sniffled. “bye, guys.” leisl hung her head as she left the store pathetically sobbing.

“good riddance!” paul sighed in relief, more than proud of himself for successfully setting the little brat straight.

[rirah1writes]

When pieces fall together.  Chapter one: No Cap (no pun intended)

SUMMARY: Gathering intel goes wrong, running for too long puts stints in your side, and meeting a hot guy at the bar is a PERFECT distraction from work. (Plus no cap, you love ballcaps.)

 A/N: Soo I decided I wanted to start a series.. No smut (yet) even though that's my usual forte. Feeling adventurous. First chapter in this series so its just a lot of character and plot development..Don’t worry I’ll build up to the good stuff! Hope ya’ll like it(: <3

WARNINGS: hOt bar MaKeOuT sesh! some violence, mentions of death. (uhh that's it)

 Your brain was screaming at you to stop. Your muscles aching as you struggled to keep striding. There was no way you could stop now, or you wouldn't ever see her again. Or any of your family for that matter. A flash of her perfect smile and golden blonde hair flashed through your mind, keeping your legs moving as fast as you could make them. “I’m going to make it home to you Ella.” you huffed. You were trying to convince yourself more than anyone at this point, silently promising her as if she could hear you. 

   You briefly glanced over your shoulder rounding a corner to see how close they were, two men still bounded after you, maybe twenty yards away and closing. “FUCK...” you panted. You wouldn't be able to keep this up much longer, outrunning two grown men was becoming a quickly retired plan, you would have to think outside of their range if you wanted to make it out of this. You jumped a concrete barrier through a construction zone and somehow ended up in Kuta Square. There were plenty of tourists around, and you had bought yourself at least a minute or two of time before the assailants caught back up to you. 

   Indonesia was supposed to be an easy job. Gather intel from the informant, hell, the meeting had even been set up for you prior. But when a bullet darted through the window and through his neck barely missing you, not much was left to do but to grab what files you could and dash. Had it been a set up, or was there a mole in the agency that had tipped them off? You didn't know, shit you didn't even know who was perusing you right now but you didn't care. All that mattered was getting to safety, and securing the intel. 

   You slowed and pulled your hair back into a low pony tail, attempting desperately to change your appearance. You tied up your T-shirt in the front. “I need a fucking cap..” you mumbled to yourself, scuttling through the crowd as fast as you could. You spotted a bar that was playing live music, people were crowded out the front, drinking and hanging out, sounds of laughter filling the air. You slipped past the crowd, hostiles were nowhere in sight, but you didn't let yourself breathe easy as you entered the bar. The music seemed to be rattling the whole building and the lighting was poor, perfect place to hide.

   You pushed your way to the back of the building and posted at a bar stool that allowed you a direct line of sight to the door and a direct line of escape through the back hall. Heart still pounding, you ordered and amaretto sour and sipped it attempting to calm yourself down. “Here with someone?” A voice made you choke on your drink, as you turned to see a handsome man with beautiful brown curls pushed back by a black ballcap. He was dressed nicely, black tee hugging his muscular upper arms, dark jeans, and black boots. He was certainly breathtaking. 

   Then you realized who he was. “Oh my..fuck..I’m sorry.” you chuckled, attempting to wipe the dribble of coke and whiskey from your chin. He smiled back at you “No, I’m sorry I didn't mean to startle you.” he laughed handing you a napkin. “Umm.. No! I’m here alone actually. I’m here for work, well..not at the bar for work obviously..In Indonesia!” he still had his cool smile across his cheeks, how was he making you, the smoothest talker known to the CIA and MI6, a flustered mess. 

   “Interesting, well if you’d like some company, can I buy you a drink, or your next drink?” He took a seat next to you, abandoning his friends that were lingering close by around a pool table. “Absolutely!” you smiled up at him. “I’m Tom by the way.” He extended his hand to you and you shook it. “Yeah, Tom Holland, I’m familiar with your work.” you had met celebrities before, the last thing you’d want to do is gush and make him feel awkward. “Oh yeah..and you are?” he chuckled and stared into your eyes. You couldn't help but dart yours away, not letting anyone look in your eyes, your training told you this was a sign of weakness and vulnerability. “I’m Y/N.” you offered up a cheeky smile, trying to still your nerves of the fact that somewhere out in the city, probably right outside the square, two men were trying to locate you. 

   But the drinks were warming and the loud atmosphere served for some sense of security, paired along with Tom’s company you could allow yourself to hide away for a while longer. “So, what kind of work brings you to Indonesia? Must be great to have a job that allows you to travel.” Your lie came immediately, it was one you were trained to tell in such situations. “I’m a journalist!” You stated, patting the vanilla colored files you had held firmly under your elbow for protection. “I’m doing research on crime, politics, and the drug pandemic in foreign governments and this is just the next stop on the list.” Tom’s eyes widened as he slid you your third sour, and sipped his own beer. “Wow, that's amazing. We’re just here on holiday, I’m a native of southwest London..” He continued on the conversation and proved to be a very intriguing man. You told him (as much as you could) about yourself without having to stretch the truth too much, about how you were Texas born and raised, started you career out in the prison system and after earning your degree got into “ Journalism.” You also talked about each others families, not forgetting to tell him about your youngest sister Ella, who you considered your own daughter.  

   The next half hour escaped from you, and even though you’d had five drinks, you were barely tipsy. After being drugged, poisoned and drinking as a casual cover for your work it took much more than that to put you out. Tom however was blissfully tipsy, the two of you leaning close in and thoroughly enjoying the atmosphere and conversation. You noticed the bar door push open for what happened to be the millionth time that night, but you immediately recognized the two men that entered, searching the bar for you. Internally you started cursing yourself for letting your guard down so easily. They were moving closer, making their way through the bar, nearing to where tom was sitting with his back to them. You had to act fast. Grabbing the cap off of Toms head you put it on your own, then meeting his confused expression, you pulled him by his T-shirt and crashed your lips to his positioning yourself between his knees hands traveling up his neck and threading your fingers through his curls, using his hat (and face) to cover your own.

   After adjusting to the initial shock of your actions, Tom moved his lips together with yours, deepening the kiss, his tongue pushing past your lips and entangling with yours as he groaned into the kiss, cupping your neck with his hand. The  two men passed by, you presumed to check out the bathrooms for you, or to exit the back alley of the bar. Either way it was time for you to go. You waved the bartender down grabbing a pen and napkin you scrawled down your number and slid it over to Tom. Leaning into his ear, you whispered...”I’ll return this hat to you, text me...I’m in London as well.” And  with that you left the bar through the front exit, leaving him flustered, but as you looked back, you could see his hand trailing over his lips as he grinned.

   Slipping back into the night air you knew you couldn't return to your hotel so you hopped in a cab and searched for a new one. Finally settling on a safe location, you checked in, cursing the fact that you had abandoned your bag at the previous room and couldn't go back considering whoever was after you probably was sifting through your belongings right now. “Good thing there wasn't anything important in there..” you grumbled to yourself. Sitting at the desk, you pulled out the files taking a deep breath. What was so important that it was worth taking multiple lives? Pulling the papers out it was easy to tell the files were incomplete, you couldn't grab everything in all of the confusion. Pictures of a woman who seemed familiar, but you couldn't identify was seen meeting with a known gun for hire, they called him The Body, presumably because of the fact he ruthlessly mutilated countless victims. Your brow furrowed. Your eyes scanned over the text until a sentence caught your eye “...United Solutions Co. employee, Michelle Campos, assistant to the ceo seen colluding with Antonio Balarez.” You read aloud to yourself. “Antonio... Now, what is the ringleader of a Venezuelan cartel doing meeting with an assistant to the ceo of a major pipeline corporation..hmm all very suspicious.” you mumbled to yourself, thinking if this was something as simple as an arms deal, money laundering, or was this something deeper? Rubbing your temples, you leaned back in your chair as your phone lit up on the bed. 

   Leaning over you saw an unfamiliar number pop up, the message underneath it read...”Had a wonderful time, Hope to see you soon, maybe in London? By the way, the hat looks better on you darling. Goodnight x.” A smile spread across your cheeks and your heart picked up in your chest. You confirmed the intel with your department head, Johnathan, confident he would see it early in the morning. Then sent signal for an extraction for first thing in the morning. Finally able to lay back and relax, you drifted off into soft sleep, your thoughts lingering on Tom.