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boldlyvoid · 3 years

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Amoreena | Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

main summary: Heaven is a real place and it's located exactly 14.6 miles away from the FBI, Quantico Headquarters. Off behind a small park, under a fantastical willow tree surrounded by wildflowers, in every colour young minds can imagine.

Don't forget, heaven also comes with angels.

Chapter Warnings: fluffiest fluff ever, jealous amoreena, jealous spencer, the LaMontagne family is in this too !!

word count: 3.8K

from the beginning <3

He went to work with Y/N on Tuesday to fill out all the paperwork and officially become an employee at the D.C Public Library. He signed a contract, he was switched over to a different government healthcare, answering a million calls and emails all morning, he was officially not an FBI agent.

They had lunch together in the park, buying some sandwiches and walking across the street to a picnic table to talk about their days while they ate. He liked her co-workers, they all were shocked to find out she was “married” to him after being single the whole time she’s worked there.

They had plans to go get Amoreena from school a few minutes early, before heading to meet his mother, not telling her about the plans unless Diana had a bad day last minute and couldn’t see them. So far, according to the nurses, she was lucid and having a great day waiting for them.

“So about yesterday morning,” Y/N changed the subject, biting her lip like she was avoiding this.

“What about it?”

“Amoreena really wants us to have a wedding, I was thinking we could go up to New York for fathers day and have another fake wedding?” Y/N hypothesized her plan, hoping for Spencer’s approval.

He couldn’t help but smile, about to answer when he got an email on his phone. “I’d love to do that, it would be nice to go on a vacation with just as the three of us.”

“You can check that,” she said, noticing he looked at his phone as it buzzed.

It was an email. Not from anyone he knew, it wasn’t about work or healthcare, it wasn’t his mom or Penelope sending him funny things from the internet…

No, it was from Taylor Swift. He tried his best to calm his facial reactions and micro-expressions so she’d think it was just something work-related. An emailed contract, updated health forms, nothing too serious.

To: Spencer Reid From: Taylor Swift Subject: Amoreena

Hey Spencer!

Portia reached out and said that your wife and daughter are huge fans and you were interested in some summer tickets in Virginia… I was thinking if you guys ever found yourself in Rhode Island you’d all want to come to my place, my doors always open for friends 💛 Love Taylor xx

“What?” Y/n asked, trying to read over his shoulder as he turned the phone away.

“It’s a surprise,” he said, locking his phone and putting it in his pocket to reply to her later. “Have you ever thought about a beach wedding? Rhode Island is pretty nice in June.”

She tilted her head as she bit back a smile, wondering what he was planning, “Amoreena will have us reenact the little mermaid 2 instead of Enchanted then, just fyi, but yeah that sounds fun, we should get a beach house on Airbnb for the weekend.”

“Okay, let me handle it all, you don’t need to plan a single thing, just show up with a dress?” Spencer offered, knowing how scared weddings made her now.

She kissed his cheek softly, resting her chin on his shoulder as she leaned over on him, “nothing fancy or crazy okay?”

“Define crazy?” He teased her… she really had no idea what was coming.

To: Taylor Swift From: Spencer Reid Subject: RE: Amoreena

Thank you so much for the quick response and generous offer, we were thinking of having a small elopement in Rhode Island with just the three of us over Father’s Day weekend if that works for you? Seven is the song we danced to at our intimate personal wedding, however, Amoreena’s pretty sad she didn’t get to witness it, that’s why we’re having another one with her. (And hopefully you!) Thank you for making my girls so happy over all the years that I didn’t know them yet, you’re probably their favourite person in the world, even more so than me! It would mean everything to them to meet you or see you in any way, you’re incredibly kind for this.

Thanks again, Spencer Reid x

He tried his best to be as calm and nice as possible in his response, still managing to rant a little even in text format. It was just how he communicated, either not at all or all at once. He was so excited for Y/N and Amoreena.

“So you said your mom has a scrapbook,” Y/N changed the subject after Spencer spent 5 minutes in silence, turned away from her as he answered an email.

“She does, she’s going to show you a lot of photos of me today,” he smiled at the fact she remembered.

“I know you want to tell her about Amoreena alone before we come in, so I made her something for her scrapbook, it’s back on my desk drying,” Y/N was so precious as she got excited, that same giddiness he see’s in Amoreena bursting through her.

“Okay, let’s go see it,” he put his phone in his pocket and followed her back across the street towards the library.

On some beautiful floral scrapbook paper, Y/N glued an array of photos of Amoreena from the beginning all the way to the museum trip last week.

A photo of her first round of IVF, dated February 19th, 2013. Exactly 1 month after he donated, she must have chosen his sample as soon as it entered the system, even a photo of the sample jar reading “sample 2319”, A photo of her crying in the garden with her grandma when she found it she was pregnant, wrapped in a big coat and surrounded by snow. Her pregnancy announcement being a baby sock on a stuffed toy Sully from Monsters Inc, "new door opening November 2013!" Amoreena has been surrounded by references to books and movies since the beginning.

There was a photo from the moment Amoreena was born, crying and brand-new, resting on Y/N’s chest as she sobbed, more beautiful than he’s ever seen her before, completely in love with the child she made.

Amoreena Margery Y/L/N - November 13th, 2013, 9:53 pm 7lbs 12oz, 21 inches of perfection

“Her middle name is Margery?”

“Yeah,” she smiled back at his ever glowing face, wondering why it was so important to him. “Like Margery Kempe, my grandma’s favourite.”

“She’s my mom’s favourite too,” Spencer couldn’t help but laugh, it was such a strange turn of events. He saw so much of his mother in Amoreena just for her to have a middle name related to her.

Y/N couldn’t believe it, “I’m so excited to meet her!”

“I just hope she’s okay today, truly,” Spencer worried. “She is my best friend and a great mother, don’t get me wrong. But some of the things she did to me on her bad days were scary, and I never want Amoreena to experience that.”

Y/N pulled him into a hug, “it’s hereditary isn’t it?” He nodded against her shoulder as she tried to soothe all the impending anxiety out of his body. “I’m not going anywhere, she won't have to raise herself and care for you, that’ll never happen to her.”

She guessed, and she was right. Reading his mind like she’s already been in there and watched all his trauma, she knew all the right words and how exactly to push his feelings away. She was sunshine clearing his grey skies once more, about to cause a drought so he’d no longer rain on his own parade. Marching beside him, hand in hand into the future.

—

They waited at the gate of Amoreena’s school, none of the other parents were waiting yet, giving Y/N a chance to show Spencer around the yard and tell him about her school. “She’s in senior kindergarten, she has a November birthday so I opted to send her in when she was 6 instead of 5, giving me an extra year of home pre-school.”

“That’s why she’s so smart, not my genes,” Spencer smiled, walking around the edge of the gate with her hand still in his.

“They want her to jump right into grade 5 next year, I said no, she deserves a childhood with children she doesn’t have to compete with or see her as a threat,” Y/N voice was stern even in the recounting like she knew from experience. “Because she’ll be 8 in November she’s going into grade 2 instead, then she’ll be in the same age range and mental level, but all her friends she knows in grade 1 will be in the same recess yard as her.”

“I went from kindergarten to grade 4, then I jumped to grade 6 when I was 9 and I graduated high school at 13, it was terrible,” Spencer agreed, not knowing if he had a place in the decision but wanting her to know he agreed with it.

“Let’s go inside and get her,” Y/N smiled at him, understanding his meaning perfectly and dragging him into the school.

“Hello miss Ludlough,” Y/N beamed as she entered the main office with her arm tucked under Spencers, showing him off slightly.

“Y/N, good afternoon! Do you need me to call that little angel down early?” The secretary was a lovely older woman, wrinkled and happy as she smiled back.

“No, I just need to get some paperwork to put her dad in the files?” Y/N surprised Spencer with that and he almost stopped breathing.

“Really?” He whispered, capturing her attention as her eyes twinkled up at him.

“I’d like you on her emergency contacts, if they can’t get ahold of me I’d like you to be with her,” Y/N confirmed, patting his shoulder softly as Miss Ludlough handed her a few forms.

Spencer signed everywhere he needed to, handing them his licence to be photocopied into her file for proof when he picked her up in the future. He was glad to see there was a system, that they cared for his little girl and she wasn’t going to be going home with anyone who wasn’t in that file. And if she did he had no problem hunting them down and getting her back in whatever way he had to…

He shook the thought out of his head as it arises, reminding himself that that isn’t who he is now and she would be fine. They lived in a happy world where bad things didn’t happen.

Y/N’s hand rubbing his lower back helped, he stood straight again and pushed the papers over the desk, smiling as he officially became her father on 3 different sheets of paper. That was as real as it could get.

“Spence?” He heard an all to familiar voice from behind him.

Turning to see JJ and Will smiling with wide arms, waiting for his embrace. “What are you doing here?” She asked him, voice high as she was clearly shocked.

He walked into her arms and held her quickly, “I’m here with my wife,” breaking the news to her in the most casual way possible. “Picking up our kid.”

“Y/N?” Will noticed her then, “holy shit, you’re the wife?”

She nodded with a smile, hugging will quickly like she has known him for years, “how are you, cowboy?”

Spencer and JJ looked at each other incredibly confused, JJ clearly didn’t know her so how did Will?

“Will and I have been on what, 6 school trips together? Michael and Amoreena are buddies,” Y/N explained with a soft smile, “I knew Henry and Michaels's names sounded familiar…”

“Nini thinks I’m a cowboy,” Will laughed lightly, smiling at Y/N the way he did at JJ and something in Spencer almost snapped thinking about Will being the one person between him and the girl he liked, once again.

Only this time she was his wife and not the cute media liaison who had no interest in him until he came out of prison.

“She was very upset when she found out that Will was already married, she wanted us to be Woody and Jessie from toy story,” Y/N had no problem ranting about how their kids got along and how good of friends they had become over the last 2 years of school trips.

Y/N noticed the anxiety in Spencer’s eyes as he pulled away from JJ and made sure no one was touching him, “luckily, our little girl’s got the best daddy in the whole world now and all her dreams came true.”

“She sure does,” JJ agreed, “Hey, I gave your mom all those books you gave me for the boys, when you were away, so she had something to keep remembering you with, you should give them to Amoreena.”

“I will, we’re going to see her tonight,” he was able to push past the feelings and enjoy the moment of his friends meeting his wife, even if the title was just pretend.

“I’m so excited,” Y/N shook her hands the same way Amoreena did, stepping into Spencer's space and wrapping her arm around him. “Can we pick her up from the room Miss Ludlough?”

“Sure thing, do you want me to call down and say Mikey’s parents are here too?”

“Yes, please,” JJ smiled over the counter.

With the four of them walking down the hall together to get their kids, Spencer felt like he was sleepwalking. Too many emotions were running through his veins to feel real, but then Y/N took his hand in hers and rested her cheek against his arm as they walked and he was fine.

She tugged on his arm and waited in the hallway while JJ and Will entered the classroom first, “what’s wrong, she’ll know you’re upset?”

He sighs, shaking the stupidity out of his mind. “I had a huge crush on JJ before they got pregnant with Henry, and when I came back from prison she told me she had always loved me and it got weird for a bit and I’m still kinda mad when I see Will bond with the people I love.”

“I was wondering when you’d get possessive,” she teased him, “I’m yours and I wouldn’t have your ring on if I wasn’t, no matter how another man looks at me, I only love you.”

“I’m sorry, I know.”

“It’s okay, you’re not used to this are you?” She saw right through it. “Am I your first real girlfriend?”

“Kinda, Maeve and I never even really met until she was kidnapped,” he admits and it sounds so childish in his mind.

“Okay we’ll talk about this later cause that sounds like a good story I should know,” she tried to smile, standing on her tiptoes to peck his lips softly before smiling more. “Let’s go get your kid?”

“Let's,” his smile returned.

They turned the corner into the vibrant room, Amoreena was talking to Will when she noticed Spencer at the door, running towards him and almost pushing Will over to do so, “Dad!”

He picked her up and snuggled right into the crook of her little neck, giving her the biggest hug he’s ever given and not realizing just how much he missed her until she was back in his arms again. His baby, the littlest life he’s ever held this close to his heart.

When he put her down he noticed all the women’s eyes were on him, hands over their hearts at the pure display of affection between father and daughter. They all saw him as her dad, they had no reason not to, giving him all the attention he’s never received before.

“What are you doing here?” Her tiny voice asked as she beamed at him with wonder.

He kneeled in front of her to get on her eye level when Michael came running over, “Hi uncle Spencer!” He tackled him into a hug.

“Uncle Spencer?” Amoreena’s brow furrowed as she scowled at the boy taking her dad’s attention, she pulled Michael back by his shirt. “That’s my dad!”

“Amoreena, honey,” Spencer tried not to laugh, she was definitely his kid, “Michels mom, JJ, is my best friend from work and I’m his older brother Henry’s godfather, they’re your cousins.”

She looked at him like he was insane, “what’s a godfather?”

“If anything bad happens to his mommy or daddy and they can’t take care of them, they’ll come live with us,” it was the simplest answer, “I’m not their father, I’m yours.”

She nodded and hugged him again, sticking her tongue out at Michael in the process, “why are you here?” She repeated the question.

Y/N was standing over him with a hand on his shoulder then, “we’re taking you to meet your other grandma.”

Amoreena started to shake with excitement, moving her hands and grinding her teeth as she smiles, shrieking with excitement, “I have another grandma!?”

JJ was watching from the corner of the room, secretly filming it on her phone for the rest of the team to see Spencer with his baby. A sight many of them never thought they’d ever see as he slowly lost hope, losing himself somewhere along the way and no longer wanting to accept their help. This was a big moment for the team too, their little brother was finally happy.

—

In the car, Spencer sat with Amoreena in the back seat so he could tell her everything about her new grandma. Or as Amoreena wanted to call her, Princess Diana, “I can’t believe you’re actually royalty!”

They all laugh at how her fantastic little brain works, “you can’t tell anyone that Princess Diana is in DC okay? It’s a government secret!” Y/N teased from the driver's seat.

“I’m like Princess Mia!” She screamed at the top of her lungs and Spencer was astounded she could be that loud.

“Okay, okay, not that loud! we can't scare any of the people who live here. They like it to be calm and quiet so the patients can be happy,” Y/N settled her down, “Dad is going to go in and tell grandma all about us for a little while and then we’ll go meet her okay? He wants to make sure she’s happy today before we go in.”

With that, they were pulling into his mother's care facility and he felt like he was going to be sick with excitement. He used to visit his mother with the fear of rage and disappointment in her eyes, he was too proud to let his anxiety take that from him today.

He kissed her forehead before getting out, Y/N handed him the scrapbook pages through the window and he leaned inside to give her a kiss too. Receiving a disgusted groan from Amoreena, he pulled away and walked into the building while they found a place to park.

She was waiting for him in the garden, sitting at a picnic table with her scrapbook and gifts for Amoreena. “Spencer!”

“Hey mom,” he smiled as he hugged her, “how are you feeling?”

“Fantastic, where is this family you made?” She was so ready to meet them, truly there inside her mind and willing to learn more about this life he was making.

“Sit down first,” he said softly, taking a seat beside her at the table and placing the scrapbook page on the table. “This is my Amoreena.”

Her fingers glided over the words, “Margery,” she repeated her middle name with a smile. “She has a sperm donor for a father?”

“I’m a sperm donor, mom,” he smiled softly as he broke the news.

She turned to him with shock, “she’s yours?”

“We think so, so that’s what we’re telling people, she’s mine regardless.”

Diana wrapped him up in another hug, “I’m so happy for you Spencer. You always deserved a perfect family, I’m sorry I couldn’t do that for you. I hope your dreams come true with her.”

Just like that Amoreena and Y/N were rounding the corner and walking over towards their table. She had a huge smile on her face and a card in her hand, walking right up to Diana and handing it to her.

“Hi, grandma, I’m Amoreena,” she introduced herself politely before stretching her arms out for a hug.

Diana wrapped her up in the softest little hug, trying not to cry in front of her brand new granddaughter, which was fine because Spencer was the one crying. Turning away from them so Amoreena wouldn’t see as Y/N patted his arm with a smile.

They were fast friends, Y/N and Diana bonding over Margery Kempe and while Amoreena opened the two gifts Diana got for her, a simple colouring book and Spencer's original copy of Matilda from when he was a child. She sat down in the grass and read it while they all caught up, lost in her own little world.

It was the most perfect afternoon, just him and his family, happier than he’s ever dreamed he could be.

—

He checked his phone one last time before bed, Y/N was sitting against the headboard reading a book and so deep in the story, he knew she wouldn’t be able to read over his shoulder.

Scrolling through everything from the day to see that yes, there was a response from Taylor Swift. It felt insane, but he opened it and started to read her plans.

Spencer!! You’re so sweet, I’m sure you make them incredibly happy! I’d love to have you stay in the guest house here, and I’m ordained if you need someone to make it real and official ♥︎ let me know what I can do, I’d love to help in any way to make some fairytale dreams come true! Taylor xx

Smiling like an idiot, he closed his phone. He’d reply tomorrow, till then he was going to snuggle into his wife and appreciate their time together.

She lifted an arm to let him lay against her chest, “today she woke up and decided to be an explorer, the little girl with the wildest imagination stormed out of her home and towards the unknown part of her land. It was her destiny to travel across the bridge and unite the people beyond the field, towards the pond that was swallowed by willow trees,” Y/N read the grandmother's thoughts from the page.

“With her wooden sword, she sliced and diced on the ivy that surrounded the gate. Freeing the hinges and allowing the entrance to swing open, unlocking a new area of the world for her mind to wander.

“For what the regular human eye saw, Amoreena saw it times a million. Every colour and then some, new colours appearing in the morning glow as she stared at the dew on the leaves she just chopped through. She saw the world in a way that made everything exciting, there was never a bad thing, only good things with interesting quirks.

“She passed every mushroom and toadstool, every strange-looking tree and human-shaped moss ball, greeting them with a good morning as she strolled through the once-forbidden forest. Her adventure only beginning, the objective not yet known.”

“Your grandma could see the future,” Spencer whispered as she turned the page, “that’s our wonderful little girl’s mind in words.”

Y/N kissed the top of his head, “our wonderful little girl.” She repeated the words, loving the way they sounded on his tongue as much as he loved how she said it.

Taglist: @shemarmooresfedora @spookyspence @spencers-dria @reidsfish @manuosorioh @mochionly @samuel-de-champagne-problems @jswessie187

#spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid self insert #spencer reid request #criminal minds smut #criminal minds imagine #amoreena

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becausethathappens · 3 years

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Will you please write a super angsty fic where Link is freaking out because he thinks the wedding vows he has written aren't good enough and Rhett helps him go over them and make corrections and says they're perfect but also, just says the vows he would say for Link if it was them like it should've been because he's heartbroken and Link can tell but their hands are tied and they don't know what to do so they soldier on without saying a word, but wordlessly communicating lifelong love and misery and everything, maybe comfort as well?

i'm really really sad and i can't shake it off and i really want some good angst and hurt/comfort and i really love you, maura, you're awesome

I don't do unhappy endings, anon. I'm confident you don't either. In fiction or otherwise. So, pardon this if it’s not what you expected.

Please enjoy? This was done a little hastily to share it with you (and I should be writing other things per usual) but I've had a rough week and I want to hopefully make someone smile. (I have way angstier stuff in the drafts and I will be sure to get those out eventually, too.) You’ll feel better soon. 🤞 Thank you! 💞

-———————-

now or forever

4k - Rhett writes Link vows.

If you were my boy, Blue

I’d bathe you in honeys (sp?)

I’d sing write you a love song

I’d shoot you a star**

If you were my boy, Blue

There ain’t nothing in this life I wouldn’t give

From my heart, to my toes, to my fingers, my nose (**)

Whatever it takes just to watch you live

continue to ‘ ’ grow with you like a vine ‘round a rose

If you were my boy, Bue

I wouldn’t want you all for myself

There’s no star bright enough to match your lightin’

In sickness, blue, so certainly while we have health

Hand in hand, no longer fightin’

What’s destiny (**)

You and & me

If you were my boy, Blue

I'd marry you

Thank God for Rhett. Giving him, delivering him, blessing him with Rhett.

Link is in the middle of a spiral (what he’ll later recognize as a panic attack) when Rhett arrives, the eve of his wedding. Bailing him out of this with pen, paper, and a smile.

Link has always been good at improv.

Though Rhett tended to find the words to start. These were his own vows and Link has been putting time to sit and start them off for weeks. Now that he has to, he’s dumbfounded, despite being deeply in love.

Amidst all the planning and chaos, writing his vows was such a given that Link left it as priority sixty-seven on a list of many more.

Unfortunately, even as busy as they’ve been, that list was shredded with the “who gifted what” tracking sheet (both literally, accidentally, and figuratively) back around the bridal shower and it’s been anarchy ever since.

So he thanks God for Rhett, who’s here, to stop another needless disaster from happening.

That same generous God, however, watches him plagued with thoughts of utter devotion at Rhett’s willingness to drop everything on a weeknight and rush over to help Link find his words.

His lyrics, really, is what Link has in mind. Since they used to write songs together and this felt much the same. He’s been floundering all night and now that Rhett’s here, he knows he’ll at least get what he needs done. Even if it’s not all he wants, right now.

That same God seeks judgment on his every decision or flinch against His will, for any reason, to spite him.

For this reason.

He wants to smush Rhett’s face and kiss him. Deeply. He doesn’t.

Even if there were sometime in the past that he could get away with a platonic smooch, now he can’t. He simply could not prevent that from escalating.

So, he merely tightens his grip on the wrinkled scrap paper in his hand and scrunches his eyes.

“Why can’t it be you up there…” Link bemoans, loudly, in his frustration.

Rhett’s eyes widen, in horror, and Link slams his other hand at his mouth, rolling his eyes. “Not like - I mean - why can’t you go say my lines for me. You’re so much better at this kinda thing.”

“Let me read what you’ve got,” Rhett says.

After some review, Rhett sighs, not unkindly and sits down next to Link. “Let’s just talk through what you’re trying to say because, yeah, this reads like liturgy.”

“Ain’t is supposed to? It’s in a chapel!”

“What do you like about her?” Rhett asks, ignoring his nitpicking. “Christy?” Rhett stares at him, waiting, too upset for Link to chastise but clearly wanting to.

“She’s patient,” Link says, reminded by the similar. Rhett folds over the book to an open page and clicks the pen in his hand, writing that down. “A-And she’s kind. Like considerate, ‘specially with babies and little animals. Sh-She does this thing where she immediately drops to their eye-level to make sure they don’t feel unheard or seen. Probably ‘cause she’s always been so tall…”

Rhett’s still writing.

“Then when I’m sick, she forces me to rest. You know I hate that,” Link says, voice rising a little, at the memory. “But you know I need that. You won’t be the last to make me stop and smell the roses or take a break, once in a while.”

“Her hair, write, her hair - the way it looks in the sunshine. Like warm caramel with flecks of gold. She’s a vision, an angel. Especially when she’s wearing all white, like,” Link says, pausing to point to Rhett’s undershirt and pale grey sweats. “Makes blondes look ethereal-like, always has.”

“Oh, and her voice. Sometimes, the way her accent catches, well, you know she don’t like to sing like us, never has, but when she says certain things, asks a question the right way - it’s music. The way it harmonizes with my answer, reminds me of singing, reminds me of us.”

Rhett keeps writing, quiet, and focused.

After a short time, Link can’t stop and wants to crane over to see what he’s come up with. Rhett hands it over after crossing a final “t” somewhere on the page.

“Those’re good, Link, but I think you need to keep closer to what I wrote, leave out the stuff about me.”

“Stuff about you?” Link asks, having spoken in a stream-of-conscious style, Link forgets most of what he even said

Rhett looks away, shakes his head.

Distracted by the desire to read the rest, Link abandons the lingering questions he has about Rhett’s suggestion and response.

“These are great, man, thanks,” Links says, pushing a soft hand into Rhett’s side.

His eyes scan to the bottom where Rhett’s added a few lines about the journey, the marriage, all the ceremonial aspects of the day for him to close with, but then something more.

Something about him.

Rhett catches him catch it and looks further away. “I know Christy pretty well, too, y’know. Y’all are just alike, in that way. She might need some back-up vows, to have and hold.”

Link reads them.

“You know, just in case.”

Link looks up and tries to laugh.

He doesn’t laugh.

He goes back to reading them.

Rhett shifts uncomfortably, touches the back of his neck, and shuts his eyes.

“Rhett, these ’re…”

“I know, bo, you can forget ‘em,” Rhett excuses, still not meeting Link’s gaze. “You want me to… I can rewrite the others on a different - I can turn the page and write ‘em there so you can just…”

“Hey, hey,” Link interrupts him, mad at Rhett putting down his best friend, and eager to explain his actual thoughts. “Rhett, these are perfect. These are… I’m sad I can’t say anything as nice in return to you.”

Rhett finally looks up to acknowledge that and their gaze heats and lingers.

“Not that I…” Link stutters to clarify. “Y-You’d have to be a - if that’s something that was gonna - you know - if that was gonna work…”

His mind does it’s usual jump to a visual for the worst case scenario depicting the implication he stumbled across. Him out eight grand on the wedding. Not to mention a wife, a family, a future, a faith -

a friend -

Link gulps, pushing that back away, pushing them both forward, in his estimation.

It’s too much to bear to think about for another second. When he glances at Rhett, he can’t get a read on his face what he thinks about it, and that’s scary enough for him to want to abandon the concept altogether.

“Christy’s gonna love them.”

It’s enough, saying his fiancée's name, to ground him again. Enough to make it okay for him to grab Rhett’s palm and squeeze it in thanks, between them.

Rhett’s made his choice to give up on film school.

Link’s made his choice to give up on whatever schoolboy obsession he has with monopolizing all of Rhett’s days and nights.

He’ll stick to the days or every other weekend, however they can still fit time together, is fine by him. This ceremony, tomorrow, feels as much about his graduation from friend to husband, and all that that entails.

They’re adults.

They both know there’s a lot of sacrifices to be made and this feels like the first time he’s really acknowledging how hard they’re going to be to make. He hopes they’ll still see each other.

He hopes their kids will get along.

He has a lot of hopes.

All of them involve Rhett.

There’s a lot he should write down for when Rhett finds his own bride to wed.

Link notices, suddenly, that Rhett is crying. The same part of him that's nearly broken the headwind of these conflicting emotions turns back to comfort him.

“Hey, don’t cry,” Link soothes, realizing he’s also still holding Rhett’s hand.

“‘M sorry,” Rhett intones, the words bubble up and out of him simultaneously, sounding like water draining in a filled sink. “And the night before your wedding, good Heavens.”

“Hey, I’ve been crying all week,” Link says, waving a hand at the stress that planning a wedding has kept put on him. “Nothing I haven’t seen in the mirror.”

Rhett laughs, rubbing a thumb over his own thigh in a way that brushes upwards against the place Link’s clasping his hand. Link nearly pulls his hand back, thinking Rhett’s trying to get him to sense his want for space, but when he meets his eye it’s clear he’d like nothing less.

“I think I’m just -” Rhett starts to say, trailing off. The light from the lamp on the far coffee table is the only thing on in the room. Link drops his gaze a few inches to try and see more of Rhett’s downturned eyes as he hems and haws. He squeezes their hands together, again, this time clasping it more firmly, still pressing Rhett’s large palm down from above. “I think I’m just a li’l jealous, is all.”

It’s the quietest admission he’s heard from Rhett since he told him he failed their chemistry mid-term in eleventh grade.

Link is also so lost at the innocence of the admission that he can only think of follow-up questions. “Of me?”

Rhett looks at him for a long, long minute and finally, when Link’s gaze remains confused for the whole length of the pause, he shakes his head, no.

Then he waits.

He waits for Link to realize what he means.

But he’s still waiting when Link, oblivious, moves onward trying to comfort Rhett, instead of understanding him fully.

The tension in the room is palpable as Link talks, but only to Rhett, it seems. Only Rhett pictures air bags being deployed in a car safety video as metal hits cinder block. Only Rhett moves his hand, though it’s all it takes to dislodge them from each other completely.

“I know you’re gonna make an amazing husband some day.” Link is saying.

Rhett’s hand aches where cool air now surrounds it.

“I know your wife is gonna get to hear you say such wonderful things about her.”

Rhett wipes his hand of the misunderstanding on the cotton of his pants.

“I know she’s gonna say the same kind of things about you, when it’s your turn up there.”

Rhett mourns the idea that this would ever be requited.

“I know she’s gonna love you, just as much as I do, so she’ll have plenty to say.”

Rhett looks away, wiping the last of his tears from his eyes.

“I’ll make sure she has plenty of ideas where to start.”

Rhett pats Link’s leg, in camaraderie, and nods.

And that’s it. They shoot the shit, they make a plan to meet up at a donut place for the groomsmen’s breakfast to thank them for their help, before the ceremony, and they’ll talk things through if Link’s feeling jittery still. Then Rhett’s gone.

It’s not until the next day at eleven on the dot (everyone has an agenda to follow and every moment is accounted for) that Link understands Rhett’s pain.

His mother straightens his tie and flattens the edges of his suit. “You’ll wanna know I heard Christy looks like an angel in her dress, from the girls upstairs.”

“Those actual angels you been talkin’ to, Sue?” Rhett jokes, where he’s twisting his cummerbund around every so often, bored.

“Very funny, honey,” Sue ribs back. “From the cousins, Beth and Hailee Sue. Remember they’re friends with the hairstylist you got to do the curls for Christy’s hair, today? She was over last night getting Christy ready for bed with how to wash and dry it a special kind of way. They were there, too.”

Link starts to tune her out, since there’s a lot on his mind, but then she says more.

“She says the hairstylist was talking about how jealous she was of Christy, all night, getting to marry you,” Sue relays.

“Oh, mama, please,” Link dismisses. The compliments he’s been getting have felt faker than the toupee on his uncle Bruce. That girl has never even met him. “I’m the only person here people should be jealous of, who would be jealous of Christy,” he says, trailing off, muttering his reasoning as he did. “Marrying a trainwreck like me.”

Link looks up in the mirror where some of his friends continue to mingle in various states of undress. Rhett is already dressed, however, and staring straight at Link like he’s been caught with a hand in a cookie jar.

Link’s about to ask what’s wrong when he remembers his words. Then looks again over the planes of Rhett’s face.

Last night’s words slam back into his mind and Link’s mouth drops open.

The church organ belts out an opening flurry of notes before Canon in D begins playing loudly through the sound system built into the rafters above them. Link looks up to see one of the church staff at the door instructing them to join the bridal party to line-up.

Link’s mom dashes off to where she’s paired with her nephew, Link’s favorite cousin, to be escorted down the aisle.

Rhett sees Link’s face rushing through a wash of emotions from a distance, he nods to the staffer in silent understanding that he’ll handle it, and then they’re alone.

He walks up to Link and takes his hand. He squeezes it.

“Hey, you gotta go. We gotta go. It’s showtime,” Rhett insists.

Link looks around like a bomb went off, since in some ways it did, and he doesn’t know what to do.

Rhett seems to pick up on that. He squeezes Link’s hand again.

“I’ll get over it, Link, it’s okay,” Rhett whispers, on the verge of desperation.

That confirmation is enough to fully shatter Link.

Only for a moment.

The music continues and Rhett keeps his hand hold.

They are adults. They are in love. They have to marry.

None of these things can be helped.

“I’m gonna be so jealous of Her, too,” Link whispers back. He squeezes Rhett’s hand one last time, as they part.

They leave.

They walk straight.

They part again.

Until later.

They move houses and cities and states.

They move mountains, inside and out.

They move together.

Much later.

They join again.

They run crooked.

They return.

To one another.

Link has spent years worrying a ring that means too much to too few people.

In the beginning, when he cries himself to sleep at what he thinks has been the mistake of a lifetime, it’s His talisman. It reminds him of the expectations upon this life he’s made.

As the years pass, however, the adherence to the bogeymen of their childhood’s rules wears thin. It starts to strictly represent love and patience.

Sacrifice.

It begins to feel like a burden. A representation of what’s been lost, not what’s been found.

He contemplates taking it off, but believes that to be a betrayal of all that it stands for to the people he stands for.

Then, one day, (surely mid-spin) he hears Rhett tell a story about wanting to change his ring.

He watches the silver twirl as Rhett explains.

He believes he was rushed into a certain type of marriage and a certain type of life by a certain type of person.

It’s a life that he’s grown to love but the ring represents a union forced by custom and not one that’s grown through devotion.

His ring reminds him of that too often to be good for him.

Link twists his again at the admission.

So, Rhett’s thinking about replacing the ring.

Link returns home that night in a stupor. He’s sure he said one too many things to Rhett to emphasize how wild it felt to hear him talk about changing rings.

Any memories of that day, their wedding, bring up a rush of emotions that he’s never been good at sorting through.

Today’s admission makes him feel the same spur to make use of idle, betrothed hands he feels when he cleans the fridge.

He wants to clean the slate.

He finds an old DVD copy of their wedding ceremony that he paid to have converted from miniDV some years ago. Now he struggles to find a place to watch that DVD. How quickly time has flown by.

Eventually, he ends up in his son’s room - no one’s home for the remainder of the night but he and Christy - now, he’s sitting on a bean bag, squinting at the game console’s controller trying to get the joysticks to move to “play” on screen.

The ceremony bursts to life and, like it was yesterday, Link’s nerves fizzle awake.

About halfway through the video, Christy finds him like that and sits down next to him in a thwump absorbed mostly by the stuffing of the chair.

They watch themselves smile happily at each other and Christy takes his hand.

“Should I be happy or scared to find you alone watching this on a Saturday night?” she asks, wryly, squeezing his palm.

Link doesn’t know what to say. He’s caught up in Rhett’s bygone script being spoken on screen. Words about Christy and about Link that were not their own, declared loudly in front of the congregation.

“I don’t know,” Link admits, shrugging. He doesn’t. He squeezes her hand back.

“You wanna tell me what’s eating you?”

Link hesitates, but relents. He wants that clean slate, after all. “Rhett’s getting his wedding ring replaced.”

“Replaced?” Christy asks, balking.

“Replaced, yeah,” Link responds, sure he didn’t misspeak.

“With what?” she asks.

“Oh, some new one. Fancy thing, very cool, made of trees or something. Honestly he wears the other one, the slick black one more than his wedding band half the time. He says it feels like the old one? It’s the kind of ring you get in a bauble at a vending machine crank. So, he wants a new one.”

“Jeesh,” Christy says, making a face at the screen. The camera catches Rhett stealing glances at the couple, then at the crowd, beaming at all with unbridled pride.

“Wouldn’t you be mad if I did that?” Link inquires, still baffled at the idea.

“Well, no, but don’t you love your ring? Heirloom and all that,” she says.

Link cringes. “Yeah, yeah. Honestly, I do.”

“So?”

“So, I still kind of want to and I’m not sure what that means.”

They watch the screen together.

“Do you wanna stay married?” she asks, in a small voice.

“Yes,” he breathes out.

There’s a long pause.

“To me?” she asks, her voice even smaller.

“Yes,” he breathes in.

She squeezes his hand, her confidence built back up. She begs him to join her.

“And him?” Christy whispers.

They both look the screen, the lens centered on the two of them, but their gaze is mutually torn to where Rhett stands wiping a tear from his eye at Christy reciting the last of the vows that he wrote her. Wrote him. Wrote them both.

She squeezes his hand again.

“Yes,” he breathes out.

She leans her head on his shoulder.

“You should probably get another ring, then,” she jests. “We shouldn’t have to share everything.”

The slate is clean.

There’s a lot he wants to say to Rhett about it, but just as before, he’s relied on Rhett to give him the right words to say. So, instead of words, he starts wearing Rhett’s ring.

Then, a new one, when he realizes he can match him separate from the other, all told. Have something of Rhett’s, all to himself.

In his unspoken push towards something more, their hands now match along with their steps, as they walk forward.

On the last week in July, they get ice cream at the fifth place that month to mistake them for husbands, but the first one he hears Link crow an affirmative in response.

Rhett waits for him while he triple-tips the cashier (for the guess) and pays for their cones.

“Bad joke,” Rhett says, softly, but firm.

“Who’s kidding?” Link parries back, a smirk dancing it’s way across his lips.

Rhett watches him with a wistful look of disbelief.

“Link, we’re married,” Rhett warns him.

Link shrugs. “I know. I’m just waiting for you to figure that out and minding my ice cream here, all right?”

He’s got a mouthful of vanilla bean and extra cookie crumble, the next second, so his vow ends there.

Later, at home, Rhett startles Jessie awake when he fully realizes Link’s words.

He shakes her awake. He shakes them both awake.

“I’m in love with Link,” he says, like it’s a confession.

She kisses him because so is she. So are most people.

“What’s wrong?” she asks.

Rhett repeats himself.

So does she.

They stare at each other under the cover of silk and moonlight.

“We’re married,” Rhett whispers, touching his hand to hers. Their rings clink, new and shiny.

“Yeah, and so are we,” she whispers back.

They fall asleep smiling.

The next day, Rhett sneaks up behind Link while he’s working and causes him to spill his cup of coffee. He gets the stink eye for only a minute because it’s the same length of time he can stand Link’s grumpy mug before he has to swoop down and kiss him on the lips.

“You figured it out,” Link says, grinning.

“I did,” Rhett chirps as he kisses Link more.

They take a car to their house. It’s filled with their love and the history of it; before, during, and after.

“What’s this?” Link asks, dazed in their post-sex glow, naked and alive.

He spots an old chord book of theirs from last time they wrote music.

“Oh,” Rhett says, bashful. “I came looking for you here this morning, hoping you slept over again, but, uh,” Rhett stalls, looks away and tries to take the songbook from Link’s hand. Link pulls it far enough he can’t reach. “You were already at the job.”

“And?” Link asks, using his spry, sinewy body as an advantage to slink away from the bed out of Rhett’s grip. He still has the book in hand.

“Those are your vows,” Rhett explains.

Link looks down and squints, confused. These aren’t the vows that Christy read at their wedding. He’s seen that video only a few months back and is sure of it.

“Our vows,” Rhett whispers, explaining further, at Link’s puzzled look.

“It’s a love song,” Link notes, marveling at the gesture. What it means to a young version of himself that once felt like they had surely cut out and mourned the possibility of this - all of this - ever happening. To have that thought coexist with the image of a nude, hulking tree trunk of a husband laid before him smiling up adoringly felt panoptic.

“So are you.”

Link begins to cry.

“Play it for me.”

Rhett wipes his cheek.

“Get my guitar.”

They sing twice more that night, always in harmony (not always in lyric), then spend the rest of their lives together doing much the same.

#things i wrote #@anon #i hope you are doing well soon #💙#rhink

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moonbeamsung · 3 years

Text

Winter Nights & City Lights

Because nothing says ‘Christmas’ like spending the big day (and not to mention the whole holiday season) in the Big Apple living with your high school friend-turned-roommate, Mark Lee.

member: mark (featuring johnny)

au: roommate!mark x gn!reader, college roommate au, christmas au, ‘the gift of the magi’ au/inspired

word count: 9.5k

genre: fluff, angst, slice of life

warnings: profanity, underage drinking, hangovers, insecurities, mentions of food and drink, money issues, embarrassing moments

author’s note: This fic is close to becoming my favorite that I’ve ever written. It’s also almost twice as long as I planned, not to mention that tumblr crashed right as I tried to post it so here I am, two hours later. Overall I had a blast writing it and I hope you enjoy reading it! Please let me know what you think, too! :,) Happy holidays! <3

taglist: @astroboy-lele @kisshim @radiorenjun

network tags: @kpopscape @neo-constellations @starryktown @culture-cafe @dreamlab-nct

“That parade was so cool! I mean, did you see the size of all those balloons? They were huge! I’ve never seen so many people all in one place before,” Mark chatters away like an excited child as you navigate through the crowd that always seems to grow bigger year after year, gathered along the curbs of the New York streets to watch the famed Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade.

“How are you not more excited about this?” He questions, and you stifle an amused giggle. “I’ve lived in the city for over a year, Mark. I’ve seen a thing or two.”

“Oh, right. I knew that.” The cold air only accentuates the blush on his face as he remembers that particular detail about you. It isn’t often that it’s demonstrated, however, considering you spend so much time cooped up inside of your shared apartment cramming in university work and studying. There are hardly any opportunities during the year to take in the sights of the concrete jungle you live in the very heart of, but luckily, one of your long-awaited breaks is coming up soon.

Thoughts of Christmas vacation are the only things keeping you going, along with countless cups of steaming hot coffee, as you prepare for exams in just a few weeks, weeks that seem to go by in a flurry of snow.

There’s less than three days left until your first one, but you’re nothing short of drained after pulling so many all-nighters, and you need a break. A breath of fresh air seems like just the cure for your burnout, so you slam your textbook shut and lethargically drag yourself off of the soft comforter you’ve been sitting on for the past two hours. You grimace at the deep imprint left behind.

Trudging through the living area, you knock softly on Mark’s bedroom door. A tired “Come in” sounds from the other side, and you push it open, immediately noticing his disheveled state. Eyes heavy with fatigue and lacking their usual sparkle of youthful innocence, he blinks back at you, “What’s up?”

“You look like you need a break just as much as I do,” you insist. His already-open mouth widens a bit more, “But... our first exam is on Monday, we can’t just—”

“Mark, come on, you’re one of the smartest people in our class. If anyone’s going to pass, it’s you.”

He huffs, “Maybe you have a point.”

“I do have a point, and you know it. A little walk in the park never hurt anyone, right?”

Mark rubs his eyes with the back of his hand, fingers raking through his dark locks before he musters up enough strength to push himself off of his bed and into a standing position.

“I’ll get my jacket.”

Central Park is a sight to behold on its own all year round, but something about the Christmas season makes it even more magical. You and Mark step at the same pace, your paths lined by metal benches blanketed in fresh snow. Even through the many layers of warmth you’re both wearing, the chilly air still nips at your skin. It’s Mark’s first time experiencing the holidays in New York City, and you’re determined to show him everything this real-life winter wonderland has to offer.

The story of how you two came to be roommates in the first place is an extremely lucky one. You met in high school, and had been part of the same group of friends along with six younger boys. Both Canadian, you’d been hoping to get into the same New York college since what felt like forever. The day that you received your acceptance letters in the mail was full of joy and celebration, but not even a week later, Mark got an unexpected scholarship to a local but prestigious university not far from where you lived that he simply couldn’t pass up.

Parting ways after graduation, you had thought you might never see each other again until you got a call from him. It was the day after your last exam of the spring semester in college and you were sitting on your two-person couch, feeling rather lonely. The number seemed too familiar, too good to be true, and scrambling to pick up the phone as it blared throughout your fairly small apartment, you answered with a shaky voice. Mark’s recognizable tone met your ears, and a wide smile met your face. Though he couldn’t see it, he could hear the happiness in your words.

As it turned out, his college had given him the opportunity to transfer to yours for the remainder of his four years, as their programs were closely linked and on similar levels. Graciously, he had accepted, and wanted you to be the first to know.

“So, uh... are you living with anyone?”

The question he dreaded asking more than anything else. Call him cliché, but he had the biggest crush on you in high school, much to his dismay and to the rest of his friends’ excitement. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to like you, but he feared that college could tear a potential relationship apart, regardless of whether or not you went to the same one.

As a result of this, he had never acted on his emotions. But he’s older now, and wiser, which leads him to believe that maybe it wouldn’t be so hard to maintain one, should he ever gain enough courage to ask you out.

“No, actually, I have my own apartment.”

Silence.

“...Are you looking for somewhere to stay?”

“Yes! Yes,” he replied a little too quickly, eager to accept what would hopefully be an invitation from you. He wasn’t disappointed.

“Well, my place isn’t the biggest, but you can live with me if you want to. Plus, we could split the rent between us!”

You’ve always liked Mark. He’s hardworking, kind, and humble, maybe a little too much of all these things for his own good. Even back in high school, you spent endless nights and very early mornings on the phone with him, trying to convince him to go to bed after he refused to stop studying. To reassure him that he did the right thing by ending that friendship, or to insist that he tell the teacher no one worked on the group project, so he did everything himself. You’ve been his shoulder to cry on for years, you’ve seen a side of him that he’s never been brave enough to show anyone else because they expect so much of him.

Mark knows he’s blessed to have had a picture-perfect childhood, a good family, and an education that was rigorous yet rewarding enough to prepare him for his next chapter in life. The pressures that came with being so lucky just got to him sometimes, and they made four years of high school seem more like fourteen.

You, on the other hand, didn’t quite have all the same luxuries that he did, but you still managed. He’s been there for you plenty of times, too. In your opinion, though, he’s the much more vulnerable one of the two of you, mainly to his cumbersome insecurities and shortcomings, however rare those shortcomings may be.

So in your mind, Mark Lee deserves the entire world and then some. The least you can do is share your apartment with him, either until he finds what you’re sure would be a much more desirable place to live, or if he wants to stay with you indefinitely.

What you don’t realize, and will eventually struggle to admit to yourself, is that your admiration for his perseverance and endless generosity is teetering rather precariously on the edge of blossoming into something more than just platonic.

“Sounds good, then. Thanks so much!” He had exclaimed, the sound of his pure excitement and gratefulness bringing a wave of heat to your face, and you were glad he wasn’t there in front of you to see it.

You talked a little bit more for the next few minutes, catching up and enjoying a lighthearted conversation about what you had both been up to. These sessions on the phone began to occur more and more frequently, turning into weekly, and soon daily, affairs. Mark planned to move in a couple weeks before school started again, giving himself some time to settle in and adapt to urban life in general. The calls became a highlight of your summer vacation, and every day without fail, you found yourself waiting to hear the unique ringtone you had set his contact to.

Less than twelve hours before Mark was scheduled to arrive at New York’s largest airport, you were on the phone with him just like always. The clock in your apartment chimed eleven o’clock, and as reluctant as you were to hang up, you knew you should turn in for the night. After all, the sooner you went to sleep, the sooner the morning would come. The morning you would meet him at the airport.

“So I’ll see you tomorrow?” His voice was hopeful. Slightly unsteady, but hopeful all the same.

“I guess so. What time does your plane land, again?” You confirmed the time you had scribbled down onto a neon yellow sticky note a few days earlier as he repeated the short string of numbers, nodding to no one in particular. Why did you feel so nervous? It’s just Mark, you had told yourself.

“Have a safe flight!”

He bade you goodnight in return, accidentally throwing in a “sweet dreams” before he could stop himself. When you put your phones down, you were both too busy trying to calm your racing pulses, however, so it didn’t matter. Mark collapsed onto his bed, hand bumping his duffel bag and heaving a sigh. You sank down into the couch cushion, closing your eyes and leaning your head against the back of the furniture. Neither of you could find the strength to stand in those moments, scared that your legs would give in from the unsteadiness of your nerves, your hearts, your emotions.

A singular worry occupied both of your minds from that point on until you greeted him in the JFK airport terminal the next morning, shy smiles on your faces: is it dangerous to enter into the impending situation of living together? Are you really ready to be in such constant close proximity to the object of your affections, however oblivious you might be to them?

Before his brain could talk his heart out of it, Mark had wrapped you in a tight hug, extra thankful for the welcome since you were all he had here, in the city. You wouldn’t have missed his arrival for the world, and you told him so. You also wouldn’t have missed the chance to make him flush a deep but adorable shade of red, reaching from his rounded cheeks all the way to the tips of his ears.

In your long-term rental car, you drove him back to your apartment, enjoying the quiet sounds of surprise and amazement that spilled from his lips, generated by the city’s sights. As you passed underneath towering skyscrapers, navigated bustling avenues, and caught glimpses of world-renowned landmarks that you both had seen only in the movies when you were younger, you just knew Mark’s eyes held their signature sparkle, despite your inability to see the dark brown orbs glimmer with wonder. You kept yours on the road ahead.

His first day was spent unpacking his suitcases and bags full of possessions, one of which was his most prized: an acoustic guitar.

It had been a gift from his parents when he finished the eighth grade, and all throughout high school, he had turned to music as an escape whenever he needed it. As any new musician does, Mark had played around with chords, experimenting and seeing what sounded good, and before you knew it he had composed a song. Another one followed, then another, and by the end of his freshman year he had written enough to fill an entire album if he so wished.

The guitar had heard every note, every lyric, carried every melody from his heart into the world. It had grown to be a part of him, a worldly sliver of his soul in the form of a simple musical instrument that could convey every hope and every dream, every concern or every frustration. Every love confession. Though that wasn’t saying much, since he only had eyes for you. You didn’t know it, but one of those songs was about you. For you.

You and Mark’s circle of friends tried to set you two up one day in the school’s band room after hours, with the excuse that the second-youngest of the group, Chenle, had forgotten his piano sheet music in there. They sent you to retrieve it, which you only agreed to do after being persuaded by the boy’s intimidating but still lovable pout.

With no sheet music in sight, your eyes landed instead on a diligent Mark that appeared to be the only sign of life in the room, plucking away at the strings as the sun set outside. You had sat with him for a while, neglecting your task and listening to him strum gracefully, softly murmuring lyrics that sounded like your name at one point. You didn’t think much of it, though, not making the connection behind the rest of the words coming out of his mouth and accompanying the chords. His love song was left unacknowledged by the subject of it themselves, and that was both the first and last time he ever attempted to confess to you.

He wondered if now that you were sharing an apartment, he would let something slip by accident. What would he do then?

University had other plans, though, and his fears were temporarily relieved. So fortunately and unfortunately, you were so occupied with schoolwork that trying to balance dating, or even mere thoughts of doing so, with all of your other responsibilities would have been exhausting, not to mention impossible.

Snapping out of your memory-induced daze, you realize that you nearly wandered off the path into a deep snowbank, only aware of this fact because Mark catches you by the wrist and pulls you back toward him to walk at his side. His fingers stay curled around your forearm as you approach a famous bridge, stepping to the side and gazing down at the icy waters below, calm and rippling with the chilly breeze.

“What do you want for Christmas?”

You honestly haven’t thought about it yet, so you can’t give Mark a definite answer. The same goes for him, both of you leaning against the brick railing in a comfortable silence.

In Mark’s mind though, he knows what he wants to give you: something to complement your own equivalent of his guitar, a large collection of handwritten letters and notes from your childhood and school days. Sentimental by nature, you had saved every colorful post-it note one of your friends would slip through the narrow slats of your locker, every birthday card received over the years, every thoughtful postcard from someone’s vacation.

Your favorites are undoubtedly the always-awkward Christmas cards that your friends’ families consistently mail out each December, by far the most humorous parts of your growing collection. You always found yourself chuckling at the pictures displayed on the front. Eyes bright with mirth, you would observe their forced smiles and arms slung carelessly over siblings’ shoulders, their eyes flickering between the camera and something going on behind it, probably the family pet getting into trouble across the yard. You pitied the photographers, surely beyond frustrated as they would try to get everyone to stand still for more than five measly seconds. Mouths were clamped shut and for a brief moment, the air was void of complaints of how itchy someone’s sweater was.

Then the camera would snap, capturing an image that was simply “good enough.” They’d plaster it on the card and in a few days, it would magically appear in the mailboxes of relatives and close friends. Grandparents would overlook the uncomfortable expressions and focus instead on how fast the kids were growing up. You didn’t blame them. Even in four years’ worth of cards, so much could change. In between fits of laughter, you’d stare in awe at the way your friends grew into their features, only becoming more handsome with time and some growing so tall that they even towered over their fathers. You always kept the letters they included, too, detailing the highlights of the year that was soon to come to an end by the time they dropped it into a nearby mailbox.

And like he could read your mind, Mark makes an offhand comment right then and there. “My folks texted me the other day to ask for our address. You know, for the Christmas card.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah,” he laughs. “Shame I couldn’t be there for the family photos this year.”

“Is it really a shame, though?” You prod, tilting your head a bit at the boy. “You always told me you couldn’t stand waiting around for the so-called ‘right lighting’ and all that.”

“Well, I couldn’t, but now that I’m not there I wish I could go back to those days. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, you know?”

“Right,” you sigh, thinking about how the same saying could easily apply to the way you felt about Mark all throughout your first year of university.

You have a box, made of a dark mahogany wood and lined with elegant golden trim, where you keep all of these letters, these handwritten memories and souvenirs from some of the happiest moments in your life. A gift from a past Christmas, your family had your initials engraved onto the front in a loopy cursive font, making it truly unique and utterly irreplaceable. And, you’ll soon come to realize, valuable.

Mark remembers it well, remembers the many times you’ve shown him its contents, remembers how his eyes sometimes land on the delicate container resting beneath the windowsill in your room, sunlight catching the accents. He knows how much those letters mean to you, and he also knows how much you love returning the favor.

That’s why he wants to give you the tools you need to do just that, and to do it well.

You’ve always been one for writing thank-you notes for any and every gift you receive, your parents having ingrained the habit in you since you were very young. Slowly, crayons turned into pencils and lead became ink. To this day you remain unfazed by the increasing amount of yellowing papers residing in the letter box, but the words imprinted on them never quite fade, strong enough to withstand the test of time.

Too many times in high school Mark would find you, hunched over your dining room table in frustration with a stack of letters beside your arm that you deemed “failed” because your handwriting was bad, or something of the sort. Usually it was the other way around, him being the one in need of comfort, but on those days your roles were reversed.

He had always wondered why you didn’t have fancier supplies that were more suited to your task, but he supposes now that maybe it simply wasn’t an option for you and your family. So a stationery set seems like the perfect gift for you this year.

On a similar note, you’ve already decided what you’re getting him: a guitar case. You happened upon a sleek leather one while browsing the website of a popular music store, coincidentally with a location not too far from your apartment.

Now it’s no longer a question of what to get the other, but how. As university students living on your own, money is scarce. Unknowingly, you both contemplate this concern as you walk side by side, returning to the start of the path that you set out on at least a half hour ago.

This stroll of yours was supposed to clear your minds, but why are they racing even more than before?

There’s no time to worry now, though, and for the next week, your thoughts are forced to shift back to the topic of school and midterms and all your academic endeavors.

Your exam week is over before you know it, and the two of you return to your apartment after the last one only to collapse onto your respective beds, beyond exhausted.

The dreary Friday afternoon clearly calls for a nap, but unbeknownst to you, Mark decides to seize the opportunity that has so conveniently presented itself to him: a chance for him to go out and buy your gift without suspicion. He drops his backpack on the carpet next to his dresser and sighs, wondering if what he’s about to do will be worth it. But it’s you, of course it’ll be worth it.

Thus, his next move is done with a heavy heart. He’s been forced by a lack of funds to come to a decision about your gift, and a difficult one at that. The only thing he can think of doing to even come close to affording a nice stationery set is to sell some things in exchange for cash. Namely, the most valuable item he owns: his beloved guitar. He doesn’t really want to, but deep down he knows that a true friendship warrants the occasional sacrifice. He’s done some research on a nearby pawn shop, and however sketchy those kinds of places may seem, it’s his only feasible option at the moment, with just a week left until Christmas Day.

After making sure you’re fast asleep, he not-so-stealthily slips out of your shared flat, his actions far from silent but even so, you don’t wake up. Mark winces at the unintended high volume of pulling the front door shut behind him, sticking his hand into his jeans pocket and relaxing when he feels his keys at the bottom of the fabric compartment. Guitar strung over his shoulder by the flimsy, fraying strap, he sets off.

With his phone in hand and directions to the pawn shop displayed on the screen, he strides through the lobby of the apartment building and pushes the revolving door, stepping onto the busy sidewalk and into the cold winter air. Shoppers crowd the pavement with hands full of department store tote bags, crinkling loudly as they pass by one another. Shoulders knock together and heels click against the concrete, just some of the many sounds of the city that Mark is still growing used to hearing.

A few blocks and several wrong turns later, he finds himself on a quieter street, standing in front of the shop. It’s dimly lit inside and looks almost abandoned, the letters painted on the window chipped and faded from the wear and weather of past years. A soft bell rings when he lets himself in, searching for some sort of employee.

From behind a cluttered shelf a tall man emerges, the shabby name tag pinned to his vest reading “Johnny.” Well, he’s not some shifty-eyed, balding man wearing a muscle shirt stained with grease. New York continues to be full of surprises.

His dark hair looks neat, the jacket he’s wearing free of any wrinkles and face young but chiseled, high cheekbones prominent.

“How can I help you today?” Johnny booms, stepping behind the counter and absentmindedly sifting through some loose change in bottom of the cash register.

Mark gulps, “I’d like to sell something.” Still not entirely sure he wants to do this, he instinctively tugs on the strap resting atop the fabric of his wool jacket.

“Well, you’ve come to the right place,” Johnny assures with a small laugh. “What did you have in mind?”

Taking a deep breath, Mark slides the guitar off his shoulder and holds it near his chest for a moment, before extending his arms out towards the counter.

“A guitar, huh? We don’t see many of these,” the tall man comments. “Are you sure? It seems pretty valuable to you in more ways than one.”

Mark’s fingertips trace the strings for the last time and he decides to just get it over with, before he can change his mind. His hands are shaky as he gently places the instrument down on the counter in front of Johnny, taking a step back once he’s done so. “I don’t have much of a choice. I need the money to buy a gift for my… uh, my friend.”

Johnny raises an eyebrow, “Just a friend? Or a special someone?”

“They are special,” Mark confirms, noncommittal to either title that Johnny suggested.

“They must be if you’re willing to give up something like this for them. Okay, that’ll be…”

Johnny tells him what the guitar is worth, matching the amount with a stack of cash and a few old coins, rusty but still holding their value.

Despite the pain of letting something so meaningful go, a bit of joy creeps into Mark’s heart as he realizes that now he can give you a gift that will hopefully become just as meaningful to you as his guitar was to him.

He thanks Johnny and bids him goodbye, step lighter than when he entered, much to his surprise.

It’s the next day when you and Mark find yourselves getting into the Christmas spirit for the first time this season. After he had returned yesterday, you were still out cold on your bed, so he chose to follow your example and do the same. The both of you had slept the rest of the day and almost the entirety of the following morning away, waking up just before noon.

With a sudden burst of energy you spring up from the sheets, overtaken by your excitement for the nearing holiday as you dig out the artificial Christmas tree you had bought last year from your closet. Sure, it may seem lazy of you, but let’s face it: there was no easy way to find a real one in New York City, let alone lug it down the streets, through an elevator and down a narrow hallway to a door it wouldn’t even fit through.

Mark hears the loud rustling of various decorations as he begins to stir, leisurely getting out of bed and checking one of his dresser drawers to make sure he hadn’t merely dreamed up his shopping adventure of the previous evening. There the stationery set sits, tucked safely at the back of the wooden cabinet.

The bookstore he stopped at on his way back last night had many different options to choose from, so he made sure to get one that both matched your box of letters and reminded him of you, with its color scheme and style. A surge of pride brings a smile to his features, pleased with his choice, and he pushes the drawer shut before joining you in the living area.

Your knees brush as he sits down next to you to help unpack the large but manageable box, taking out the tiers of the tree to eventually stack on top of one another. Working more quickly than usual (and probably necessary, there are six days left after all), you assign Mark to stringing the lights across your small balcony while you finish setting up the tree. You knew you shouldn’t have let him do it alone, though, because when you look over at his progress you find more lights wrapped around his body than the metal railing.

“Do you need a hand?” You question, holding back a laugh at the way the cord restricts his arm movements to the point where he can’t even reach for the handle on the sliding door.

From outside he opens his mouth to reply, but pauses, looking down at himself and the mess he’s made of the lights before meeting your eyes once more. His voice is muffled by the glass, but you hear him shout playfully, “I’m the tree now! We don’t need that one.” He tries to gesture to the one you’re currently decorating, but fails, and this time you aren’t able to contain your amusement.

“Let me help you,” you offer, joining him on the balcony and helping him untangle himself from the glowing strands. “Thanks,” Mark replies, sheepishly rubbing at the back of his neck. With your combined efforts, you manage to thread the string of lights through the railing with little to no mishaps, and both of you continue decking out the apartment with other seasonal items for the next several hours.

At some point during the afternoon one of you decided to connect their phone to a speaker and play some music, all Christmas songs of course. As the classic version of “Jingle Bell Rock” begins to blare throughout the living room, Mark abandons his task momentarily to walk over to you. He extends a hand down to you, sitting on the floor, and you accept the invitation to stand up with a questioning look.

“Dance with me?”

It’s hardly a platonic request, Mark realizes once the words leave his lips, but even so you don’t shy away, glancing down at your feet with a slight trace of bashfulness in the action.

He intertwines your fingers somewhat loosely, placing his non-dominant hand on your waist and beginning to sway, slowly at first but then his movements become more exaggerated, shoulders tilting dramatically to one side after the other and straying from the rhythm of the music. You join Mark in drawing out the jesting movements, losing yourself in laughter and leaning forward to bury your face in his shoulder, the heat of your breath hitting his skin through the thin t-shirt he’s wearing. In one last attempt to keep the joyful smile on your face, he steps back a bit and holds your wrist above your head to twirl you in a circle.

The electric guitar in the song fades as you collapse onto the carpet, recovering from your fit of giggles. The sun has begun to sink in the sky, you can tell by the gold and orange glow that your apartment becomes bathed in as it sets, inching closer to the horizon and eventually becoming hidden by tall skyscrapers in the distance.

Satisfied with your progress so far, you both decide to call it a day, though in truth there aren’t many decorations left to put out. A few stray ornaments and some garlands remain, still packed up in boxes that you would need help reaching. You’re also eager to get your mind off of the way your heart was palpitating as you danced with Mark, your roommate and friend but nothing more, nothing less. You have enough to worry about at the moment, not wanting to add potential feelings for the boy into the mix. Shit, you think, you still need to buy his gift.

“What should we watch?” Mark asks, scrolling through the list of movie choices on the TV screen.

“I don’t really care, anything’s fine.”

His finger presses a button on the remote to select a film at random, the intro playing as you scan the refrigerator shelves for a frozen meal. Hopefully it’s not one of those cheesy holiday romances.

Settling down on the couch a few minutes later, you with the warmed-up container in your lap and Mark holding a cup of ramen noodles, both of you fall into a comfortable chatter about the movie. Thank god it’s a comedy.

Occasionally you find yourself diverting your attention from the harsh display and directing it over to the panes of floor-to-ceiling windows, where you watch more and more lights flicker on in the distance, illuminating the urban landscape as night falls. The view is breathtaking, but so is the way your face softly glows with their warmth, even from blocks away. Not that Mark would ever tell you that, of course.

“I’m going out!” Mark hears shuffling from outside his bedroom the next morning, your voice instantly bringing him to his senses. Curious, he shoots out of bed and flings the door open to find you, one arm stuck through the sleeve of your coat and the other buried in a bag, but it’s not the one you usually bring when you leave the flat. Eyes wide and panicked at the boy’s unexpected appearance, you clutch it to your chest with a visible amount of difficulty, Mark notices.

“Where are you off to?” He squints at the brightness of the living room, the early morning light pouring in through the glass on the far wall.

“...Maybe I can’t tell you,” you respond with a huff, slinging the heavy bag over your shoulder and pulling the rest of your coat on.

“What do you mean, you can’t—oh.”

“Nice going, genius,” you shake your head, feigning disappointment. “It’s not like it’s Christmas this week or anything.”

“My bad, sorry.” Mark winces and rakes a hand through his bedhead, abashed.

“I’ll be back soon, okay?”

With that, you step into the hallway and offer a parting smile over your shoulder, shutting the front door behind you.

At least your being out of the apartment gives Mark time to wrap your gift. All he has to do is figure out how.

Johnny gets a familiar feeling when he sees you enter the pawn shop, fumbling with your things and reluctantly gazing at whatever’s in the tote you’re holding. Are you also about to make an exchange you could potentially regret?

“One second,” you excuse yourself as you step up to the counter, placing the heavy bag down and removing the large item from inside: your letter box, minus its contents. Of course you would never get rid of those, but despite the letters and notes being so special to you, the box they were always kept in is also a significant part of your attachment and the memories you hold dear.

With a thud you set it down, Johnny glancing between the hesitation on your face and the wooden container on the counter in front of him. “Let me guess, you want to exchange this for cash?”

“Yes, sir, that’s exactly what I—” You pause, biting your tongue. “Hold on… Look, I know this is a pawn shop and that’s what people do here, but how are you so sure?”

Johnny’s gut tells him he shouldn’t give away the fact that a boy wearing the very same expression and with the same sense of purpose and determination was in here just two days earlier. So he corrects his mistake with a simple “Lucky guess” and a hearty chuckle.

Without Johnny even asking, you tell him that you’re also looking for some extra cash in order to afford a gift for your “friend,” and you say the word with so much conviction and certainty that it’s almost laughable. The information given to Johnny helps him fully connect the dots in his mind, realizing that each of you are the one the other talked about.

Before handing you the money, Johnny tears off a sheet of paper from a nearby notepad and asks you to fill out your information, most importantly your address. He has to lie a bit, saying it’s for contact purposes, but his heart is in the right place nonetheless. Just in case something goes south (and the sinking feeling in his stomach tells him that it will somehow), doing so gives him an option, even if he doesn’t know what that option might be yet.

“Thank you, Johnny, and Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas!” He returns your wish cheerfully as you push the door open to leave.

“Good luck finding a gift for your ‘friend,’ too.”

You feel heat rise to your cheeks when you see his teasing use of air quotes, but still smile.

On your way back to the apartment Mark texts you and asks you to check the mail, saying he forgot to do so yesterday. When you arrive in the lobby and make your way over to the cluster of mailboxes, you’re instantly shocked to find a large cardboard box shoved into the small cubby with your and Mark’s name on it. You’re already struggling to carry the guitar case you bought for him, so you decide to make a second trip later.

A few moments after stepping out of the elevator, you knock on the door to your apartment, hoping with all your might that Mark won’t actually open it and instead just answer with a “Come in” as he always does. Your wish is, thankfully, granted, but it’s quickly followed by “Wait, wait, wait!” As it happens, he just finished wrapping your gift and needs another minute or two to tuck it away somewhere until the big day arrives. “Can you stay out there until I say?”

“Sure,” you reply, “but I’m going to have to ask you to do the same.”

“How about I stay in my room while you come in and do… whatever you need to?”

“Sounds good.”

With his door closed, Mark hears the front one open and shut as you enter. Trying not to make any noise that would give away the size of the item you just bought, you finally settle for hiding the leather case underneath your bed, concealed by the drapery attached to its frame that hovers just above the floor.

Mark had hastily placed the now-wrapped (though not elegantly so) stationery set back into his dresser, so he’s already out of his room by the time you leave yours. “Any letters or packages?” He questions when he sees you.

“Oh, right!” You snap your fingers, “We do have a package but my hands were full, so I’ll bring it up right now.”

“Eggnog?”

While the box had looked fairly ordinary from the outside, upon opening it and glancing at the return address you learned it was actually anything but that. Mark’s and your parents had sent a holiday care package of sorts, including both of your families’ Christmas cards and a carton of eggnog, along with some small gifts that are meant to be saved for the morning of the 25th. Also mixed in are a few small decorations (not that you need more), some baking supplies complete with a copy of the recipe for the cookies you make every year, and a soft pair of mittens for each of you. He hopes you don’t realize that one of the items is a sprig of mistletoe.

“You don’t like eggnog?” You ask, stunned. Mark shrugs, “I don’t really care for milk but it’s the thought that counts, I guess.”

That evening you and Mark take another stroll, this time choosing to stay on the streets and admire the festively adorned buildings and shops as you pass by them. Admiring Christmas lights at this time of year is nothing new to you and Mark. In fact, when you lived in Canada you would do the same thing. The only difference is that back then, it involved driving through quiet suburban neighborhoods and not ambling through crowded city streets and alleyways on foot.

Snowflakes begin to cascade from the heavens as you make your way back around to the block where you live. Mark sticks his tongue out to catch one of the small crystals, and it immediately melts in his mouth, eliciting a high-pitched laugh from the boy. Snow is also something you both are more than used to by now, having grown up with white Christmases all your lives. It makes you wonder if the holiday season would be the same without it.

“You know what we should do?” Mark turns to you just as you’re about to enter the apartment building again. “Go ice skating at Rockefeller Center.”

“Mark, c’mon, you know stuff like that is overpriced. And besides, I can’t skate to save my life. Remember—”

“That time in sophomore year? You bet I do,” he laughs as he remembers how you clumsily fell not even two seconds after stepping onto the ice with your skates, and then refused to let go of the railing for the rest of the day. The elevator whirs to life, climbing floor after floor with ease.

“Hey,” you offer, “we can still go and watch people skate, I’m sure there’s some place to sit.”

“And we can look at the Christmas tree, too,” Mark adds, eyes brightening at the idea.

“Right. I forget you haven’t seen it in person before.” The cabin doors open with a ding and you step out, your eyes landing on the door to your apartment a few yards away.

When you turn on the TV, Mark becomes mesmerized by the movie that’s playing, since it takes place in NYC and he recognizes so many places from actually being there. He scrambles to remove his jacket and beanie, plopping down onto the couch once they’re safely hooked on the coat rack.

Watching him, you sigh. Would anything really change if you were dating? Assuming your feelings were returned, of course, but you can’t imagine that your relationship would differ much. You certainly wouldn’t go on extravagant dates, or buy expensive gifts for each other, but that’s not what love is about, anyway. With the exception of a few extra hugs and the addition of kisses, along with more forms of physical affection in general (actually, scratch that, Mark’s always been awkward with those kinds of things), you’d still be by each other’s side just like always.

As you sit down next to him and feel an arm wrap around your shoulder, you don’t shrug it off, instead embracing the warm and fuzzy feeling in your heart that you can’t blame on the holiday season this time.

Mark’s glad, too. He’s been working up the courage to do that all day.

Late that night, you quietly tiptoe into the living area, retrieving an old box from your move-in last year that will fit his gift perfectly, and won’t give away what’s inside. Your hands fold and tape the wrapping paper with care, tying a neat ribbon once you’re done. Sure, you had to give up something that meant a lot to you in order to afford Mark’s present, but the gains outweigh the losses. You find comfort in imagining the way his face will surely light up with pure joy on Christmas morning, drifting off to sleep with ease once you’ve hidden the rectangular parcel back underneath your bed.

A few days pass and soon it’s the 23rd, and you join Mark at the railing of the ice rink, of course on the side with solid ground. “Ice is solid ground,” Mark had corrected, but you stood firm in your words. “More like slippery ground, if you ask me.”

Luckily you had been allowed to stand here for free, because god only knows what small, simple thing someone would be charged for in New York. It’s happened to you before, and you’re not even a tourist.

Mark’s dark eyes gaze up at the 75-foot-tall tree in wonder, pupils dilating and reflecting the tens of thousands of bright lights strung through the dark green branches. They seem to sparkle with sheer amazement. Just then someone skates a little too close to the section of railing you’re leaning on, startling Mark out of his LED-induced daze and putting the most adorable look of surprise on his face.

His focus shifts to the people on the ice, wearing sweaters and jackets of every color imaginable, and the sight is still as beautiful as the looming Christmas tree above. He notices some couples, holding onto one another or skating hand-in-hand, and it makes him wonder if that could be you two someday, at a future Christmas, or if it’s an idea absurd enough for an alternate reality.

Mark sees you shiver out of the corner of his eye, and it’s his cue to suggest returning home for the evening. In a very cliché and boyfriend-esque gesture he offers you his jacket, but you decline, insisting that it’s not far and assuring him that you’ll be okay.

Back in your heated flat, you twist open the lid of the eggnog carton and pour a small glass for yourself. “Are you sure you don’t want some?” You call out to Mark from the kitchen, snatching one of the cookies you made the other day and finding a paper plate for the thin shortbread wafer, lined with elegant white icing and dusted with sprinkles.

“I already told you, I don’t like eggnog!”

“Have you even tried it before?” Mark grumbles at your nagging. You really sound like his mom right now.

“No…”

You appear at the other end of the couch, holding out a small cup with just a sip or two of eggnog in it. “Try it. You never know.”

He knows you won’t leave until you see him lift it to his lips for yourself, so he does. Immediately the sweet drink overwhelms his taste buds, and also leaves a slight sting on his tongue.

“What’s in this stuff?” He coughs, nose scrunching a bit from the strong taste. Surprisingly, though, he doesn’t hate it. Following you back to the kitchen, Mark pours a full glass this time, already gulping it down.

“Uh,” you scan the ingredients on the back of the carton once he sets it down on the counter, “milk, cream, sugar, eggs…”

“...whiskey? What the hell?”

“It has alcohol,” Mark slurs, his giggling interrupted by a hiccup. Having never drank before, he’s undeniably a lightweight, and even a little bit can get him wasted almost instantly.

“Mom and Dad must have mixed something up, because they definitely didn’t mean to send us alcoholic eggnog.”

Sure enough, back home in Canada your parents are wondering why they only have the kid-friendly stuff in their fridge.

Mark latches on to you, arm curling lazily around your waist. Great, he’s one of those people that gets clingy when they’re drunk. “Try some,” he whines, nuzzling into your shoulder a little.

“Are you crazy?”

“No one will know,” he laughs, hiccuping again. Giving in to his adorably drunken pout, you take one sip from your original glass but no more, an unpleasant buzz taking over your whole mouth.

Not looking forward to finding a hangover cure on Christmas Eve of all days, you pray that you’ll stay sober enough to take care of the tipsy boy, who’s currently pressing his face into the back of your neck and—shit, did he just kiss you there? You really don’t need this right now.

“Mark, you’re drunk, okay? Stop it,” you caution.

“But I love you,” he murmurs, warm breath fanning your skin, and you want to kick yourself for almost saying it back. Does he even mean it, though? Alcohol makes people say crazy things, things they don’t mean, so you shouldn’t get your hopes up. You unhook his arm from your torso and turn around to push against his chest, frustrated. “Let’s get you to bed.”

He seems to have just remembered something, because he ignores you and instead goes over to where the care package was still sitting, digging into the bottom and pulling out something you hadn’t noticed before. “Look,” Mark declares in a nasal voice, “mistletoe.”

You exasperatedly hang your head, desperate to slam it into the nearest wall. With much difficulty, you eventually manage to get him tucked underneath the blanket, leaving a glass of water on his nightstand for when he wakes up. “Get some sleep,” you say simply.

He tells you goodnight with a fond mumble of your name as you shut the bedroom door behind you. Rubbing your eyes, you yawn before turning off the lights and heading to bed yourself, trying to block out the events that had just taken place.

Your head aches when you wake up the next morning, and you feel like garbage, so you can only imagine how much worse Mark must be doing. Quickly chugging a water bottle, you reluctantly go to knock on his door, hearing a pained groan once you enter. He’s sitting up, chin resting in one hand and the other anchored onto the heavy comforter covering his legs.

“How are you feeling?” The obvious question with an even more obvious answer makes Mark wince. “Awful.”

“Sorry.” It’s silent for a moment, Mark pressing three fingers to his throbbing forehead and you staring aimlessly at the wall. “I knew that eggnog was a bad idea.”

“You were the one that told me to try it!”

“I didn't know it had alcohol in it!”

You sigh, dejected. Something tells Mark that your head isn’t the only thing hurting.

“Hey, I know that look. What’s wrong?” He prods, voice soft and gentle and altogether unlike how it had been last night. You meet his eyes for a moment, about to speak but biting your lip at the last second. Mark’s brain puts two and two together at your expression.

“Oh god, did I say something? Do something?”

“Yeah, actually,” you reply in a huff. “First you kissed my neck, then you told me you loved me, and then you held up a clump of mistletoe and implied that we should kiss underneath it.”

His memories of the previous evening are all a blur, so he truly would have no idea what happened if you hadn’t just said something. Mark knows he screwed up, bad.

You tense when you feel him place his hand over yours, but you don’t snatch it away. After collecting his thoughts, Mark clears his throat.

“Look, I… I know that’s not the best way for you to find out how someone feels about you. But I’m completely sober, and I can tell you that I meant what I said last night.”

“You promise?”

“Promise,” Mark replies.

“...Can you say it again, then?”

He blushes, “That I…?”

You nod, the corners of your lips lifting into a small smile.

“I love you,” Mark tells you for the second time in the last 24 hours, but this time you know you can believe him. The pain of your hangover goes away for a moment as he takes your jaw in his hands and connects your lips, just barely retaining the buzz of the alcohol but not enough to bother you. Slowly you kiss him back, sinking down onto the mattress beside him.

Mark pulls away for air a few seconds later, thumb grazing your cheek lovingly. “Does this mean we’re—”

“Dating? If you want it to, then sure,” your finger traces swirly shapes on the small of his back while you assure him that neither of you need to rush into anything if you aren’t ready.

“I don’t want things to change, though.”

“Who said they have to? I’ve been thinking about it for a while, and we’re already pretty close, you know? Making it ‘official’ doesn’t necessarily mean ‘different,’ so...”

Mark hums in agreement, “You’re right. Okay, I can live with that.”

“And I can’t live another second without food. I’m making breakfast,” you quip, reverting back to the usual banter between you and him.

“I’ll cook the eggs,” Mark insists as you both make your way out of his bedroom and into the kitchen.

“You absolutely will not!”

The night before Christmas had started out unlike any that you’d ever experienced before, with you confronting your now-boyfriend about a drunken love confession the previous day. But now, it’s ending just like every year, with you cozy and curled up in front of the television as the last few segments of the news play.

It’s the coldest Christmas Eve in years. You learned this after the meteorologist had informed viewers of the record only a few minutes earlier, inadvertently planting an idea in Mark’s mind.

Right as you’re about to turn in for the night, setting a plate of decorated cookies and a glass of milk down on the end table (as is tradition in your families, no matter how old you are), Mark holds out his arms like a child might. “Can we…?” He asks in a quiet voice, nervous to finish his sentence.

“Huh?”

The boy inhales sharply, “It’s freezing. Do you wanna sleep in my bed tonight?” His cheeks flush a deep red that’s almost the color of Christmas itself.

You’re slightly taken aback, and then you remember it’s just Mark. “Sure, why not,” you answer with a light shrug and a smile on your face.

“But no funny business,” you inform him as you climb under the sheets together, instantly happy with your choice to join him because double the people means double the body heat. “I wouldn’t dream of it,” Mark replies, pecking your lips. His wrist finds the warm skin of your neck and you flinch away.

“Your hands are cold!” He just snickers at your whining.

The two of you fall asleep more quickly than you ever have on Christmas Eve, usually overcome with nerves and excitement, but now, as two college-aged kids, you’re comfortable and not rushing the morning’s arrival at all, content in each other’s arms for the moment.

You feel like you’re 10 years old again as you rush into the living room at 8am the next day, the bright, early morning sky lighting up your entire apartment. At the base of your Christmas tree sits a humble amount of presents, composed of the two that you bought for each other plus the half-dozen small ones from your parents.

You hand Mark one of the cookies from the end table and grab one for yourself, taking a bite of the sweet treat as you sit down and motioning for him to do the same.

“Open yours first,” you say eagerly, referring to your gift for him. Mark shakes his head and points to what he got you, “No, you go first.”

“Fine, we’ll open them at the same time.” Mark nods, satisfied with the compromise and handing you both the packages.

“On three. One, two…”

The final number barely leaves your lips before you both begin tearing into the paper excitedly, Mark reaching for the flaps on the box and you unfolding the tissue paper.

When you each see what the other gifted you with, it’s completely silent, save for the TV playing a Christmas Day special in the background.

He gazes blankly at you, licking his lips as his eyes dart between the guitar case and your expression.

“I appreciate the gift, but I…” Mark pauses, unsure how to tell you this.

You don’t say a word, raising your eyebrows as a signal for him to continue.

“I sold my guitar to pay for your gift,” he breathes.

“You what? Mark, that guitar means everything to you! Why would you do that?”

“Because you’re worth it, of course!”

“Well, I did the same thing,” you break the news with an unamused expression. “I sold my letter box to pay for that case.”

His eyes become impossibly wider at that, nearly bulging out of their sockets. “Are you serious?”

“Dead serious.”

You groan and lie down on the floor, beyond discouraged. “Let me guess, the pawn shop on 23rd?”

“Yep.”

“Hey, wait a minute.” An idea hits Mark like a rush of cold air. “Maybe we can work out a deal or something.”

“Meaning?”

“We go back and see if we can trade in our new gifts for enough money to get our old things back.”

“One, I doubt it’s that easy, and two, pretty much everything is closed on Christmas Day.” You’re half tempted to laugh because of how ironic this situation is.

Mark sighs, “I guess that makes sense.”

“We can still try, though.”

Sure enough, the pawn shop is dark, even more so than usual, and the door doesn’t budge. A sign taped to the window from the inside confirms your fear: Closed on Christmas. Gloved hands pressed onto the glass, you and Mark admit your defeat. You had been bested by the giving spirit of the holiday season, almost too generous for your own good.

But it’s the message that the day itself stands for after all, for putting aside material value and doing something out of the kindness of your heart just to make someone else happy. That’s what it’s all about, and you and Mark had personally experienced it this year.

So you’re surprised to find two boxes leaning on the wall beside the door to your apartment the next morning, shapes oddly familiar. Could it be?

Just hours earlier, the hallway surveillance cameras caught a tall man striding down the corridor, carrying those exact packages under his arms. In the video he pulls out a scrap of paper and a pen from his coat pocket, scribbling a short message before tucking it underneath the ribbon of the larger parcel and leaving the building just as quickly as he came.

You and Mark’s only clue as to who had returned your items is a messy ‘J’ at the end of the note attached to the box containing his guitar. Exchanging knowing glances, you both grin, squeezing your intertwined hands with the same name in mind.

...So what if Johnny had to take a bit of money out of his own paycheck to cover the cost of the items? Besides, it’s Christmas. And his boss never has to know.

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twomoonstwosuns · 3 years

Text

at first sight [bonus chapter]

back to you [series masterlist]

pairing: professor!poe dameron x reader

warning: none? language?

word count: 2.5k

a/n: well im sorry this took so long to get up...we are struggling hard right now. and if you are too, know you're not alone and we’ll get through this <3 stay tuned for this same chapter but from poe’s POV

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

New year, new me. You told yourself the same thing at the beginning of each school year.

Although it was usually just said on New Year’s Eve in preparations for the brand new year, you felt it applied to starting a new semester as well: new classes, new teachers, new schedule, new routine. It was also the beginning of your senior year of college, your last first day of school ever. So in a way, you were preparing for something new. You’d graduate before you knew it and then adulthood would creep up on you.

But you could hardly wait to see what the next two semesters would bring you in the meantime.

You made sure to leave your apartment early to stop at your favorite coffee stand in the student center. Waving at your friend Qi’Ra behind the counter, you got yourself in line and replied to your mom and sister’s happy first day texts.

“I knew I’d find you here.”

The familiar voice of your best friend Karé made you smile and you squealed quietly as you hugged her. She had spent the night with her boyfriend Snap after being out of town the last week before school, so you hadn’t seen her after you moved in.

“I’ve missed you! How was your vacation?”

“Awesome as usual. Weather was amazing, we spent everyday out on the water. Snap’s sunburn is finally starting to heal.”

“God yeah, you sent me that picture of his back…that looked awful.”

She nodded. “He was all ‘oh, there’s lots of clouds in the sky, it’s not going to be that bad’ and now I get to hold this over him for the rest of his life.”

You laughed as she rolled her eyes as you finally got to the counter. Qi’Ra already knew your order by heart and, like the first day of every new semester, she gave you your drink free of charge. She whipped it up right away, handing it to you with the promise of getting together soon. You and Karé walked outside, the bright sunshine making your drink sweat and the both wish you didn’t have to spend the next couple hours stuck inside.

“So, how’s the stuff with your dad going?”

You shrugged. “If I had spoken to him at all since he walked out, I’d have something to tell you.”

Karé’s shoulders slumped. “No…seriously?”

You sighed and nodded as you stirred your drink.

“Not one word. I told you my uncle came by a few days after he left to tell us he was okay?” Karé nodded. “A couple of weeks went by and the next thing I know, he’s filing for divorce. But he hasn’t actually talked to Tallie and I.”

“Y/N, I’m so sorry…”

You sighed heavily and shook your head. “It’s whatever. Nothing I can do. Haven’t talked to him since and he abandoned us for his secretary so I don’t plan on talking to him at all.”

Karé nodded slowly and reached over and squeezed your arm and you gave her a small smile of appreciation.

“Anyway…what class are you off to first?”

“My advanced math class.” You made a face and she chuckled. “Yeah, you’re not jealous at all, are you?”

“Not even a little bit.”

“What about you?”

“Oh, I get to start out my day with my half semester class…three hours, twice a week, tons of homework.”

“Fun. Who’s your professor?”

You grabbed your phone from your pocket, bringing up your schedule and looking at the details.

“Uhhh, Dameron. Heard of him?”

“I think he’s one of the newer teachers here.”

“Well, hopefully he’s good.” You took a sip of your drink and checked the time on your phone. “Guess I’ll go find out.”

“See you later, then.”

Karé gave you a quick hug and you walked in opposite directions. You walked to the building of your classroom and though you were grateful for the air conditioning, you hoped that since it was the first day you’d be let out early. The sun was out, flowers were still blooming along the sidewalks despite the late season. Fall semester was always the one you dreaded the most…stuck inside staring at four blank walls during your favorite kind of weather.

The classroom was on the third level, which meant minimal traffic in the halls and big windows that showed a great view of campus. The blinds were open, allowing sunlight to flood into the room and making it that much more welcoming. A few students were already seated and the professor nowhere in sight but his stuff at his desk. You made your way into the room, not finding a friend yet, and walked to a seat right around the middle of the room. You took your things out and waited and scrolled through three different social media apps as more students trickled in. Your name was called and you looked up and saw a girl you worked with the previous semester and smiled as she sat down next to you. At least you kind of knew one person in the class.

“Alright, let’s get started.”

One glance up at the source of the voice was not enough as you practically did a double take. Your professor was an extremely handsome man. Dark hair sat on top of his head in a mess of curls that laid just between styled and unruly. You could see from your seat that his eyes were dark…brown, maybe. He was young; you guessed that he couldn’t be more than thirty-five. As he came around from behind his desk, you took notice of the way his dark blue jeans fit snugly around big thighs. His sleeves were pushed up to show off tan forearms and as he leaned back against his desk, he crossed his arms in front of his broad chest.

“Good morning, everyone.” Three simple words grabbed the attention of every girl in class. “I’m Professor Dameron. I hope you all had a great summer. I don’t know about some of you, but I am very excited to get this semester going.”

There was some polite laughter. He was using a light, friendly tone of voice, making sure his very first impression on people wouldn’t wasn’t a bad one.

“Subject-wise, this is one of my favorite classes to teach. The only way I could get this class in this year was to teach it in half the amount of time as a normal class. I’m warning you now, this is going to be a busy class. We are fitting about fifteen weeks worth of stuff into seven weeks. Attendance is going to be very, very important.”

Some of the students visibly gulped, others nodded slowly as the realization of how much work would have to go into this class started to sink in. “Don’t worry, I will have lots of resources to help you guys. Um, just an example…I will make all of the lectures and slides available on the portal after class, including any key notes from the textbook and discussions that come up during class. That being said, you still need to attend class. I’ll go over more of this when we go through the syllabus.”

You admired him as he spoke. The hint of smile on his face showed his excitement for the class and the new semester. His voice was smooth like honey and you were sure you could listen to him spout off the most boring stuff in the world and not tire of it.

“First things first…attendance.” He turned to grab his clipboard and you and the girl next to you both checked out his ass. “In lied of just calling your names, we’re going to do an icebreaker.”

The collection of heavy sighs made him chuckle lightly. “I know, I know…they’re not always fun and you’ll probably do a whole bunch more after today. Personally, I like to get to know my students. We’ll be spending a lot of time together this semester and the more comfortable you feel talking to me, the more open you’ll be to telling me what you need to help you succeed in this class. So, let’s do it and get it over with. Tell me your name, something fun you did over the summer, your favorite type of music and…what do you think? Favorite color? Favorite animal? “Let’s do favorite animal.”

Glancing around, you saw people look anywhere but at their teacher, hoping they wouldn’t catch his eye and make them go first.

“Alright, come on guys, you’re acting like I’m going to pull your teeth out. I’ll go first. My name is Poe, this summer I visited my dad in Colorado where I grew up and saw friends that live on both coasts. I’m a big fan of classic rock but catch me jamming to a pop song every now and then…” That got some laughs from the class and he laughed with them. “Seriously, anything by the Weeknd.”

“The Weeknd has a lot of songs about sex,” the girl next to you whispered and you nearly choked as you took a sip out of your water bottle.

“And my favorite animal is a dog. Alright, let’s start in the back.”

One by one students introduced themselves. He asked questions about their summer jobs and their summer vacations, genuinely interested in the details and making them feel comfortable talking to him. A couple of people named weird animals as their favorite, such as lizards and dinosaurs, that spurred further discussions and got the class completely off track. It was all fun and games until you got to your row and you counted how many people were before you and practiced what you would say in your head.

“Okay, um, I’m Y/N…” Poe looked at the attendance list, finding your name and marking you down in attendance. “I didn’t do anything super special over the summer, just worked my two jobs and went to the cabin with friends and family. I like pretty much any kind of music, as long as it’s got a good beat I don’t really care what genre it is…though I am a sucker for pop music sometimes. And my favorite animal is an elephant.”

Poe cracked a smile and you let out a quiet sigh of relief as the girl next to you introduced herself. As social as you were, you still hated speaking in front of a classroom full of people.

“Okay, see? That wasn’t so bad.” Poe teased as the last person finished speaking. A few people laughed and you smiled. Almost an hour into class and you already knew this would be one of the classes you’d look forward to the most. “Let’s start going over the syllabus. I’ll have you pass these down and I’ll bring it up on the screen here…”

He handed a stack of papers to a student in the front row and they started passing them down. Poe went back around his desk and connected his laptop to the projector. The desktop image of a Corgi laying in the grass with a toy appeared and you along with half the girls in the class let out not subtle aww’s.

“That’s my dog, Beebs.” Poe smiled sheepishly when he noticed the screen had popped up.

“How old is he?” One of the girls from the back asked.

“He’s probably three, three and a half…I rescued him as a puppy so I’m not too sure.”

More aww’s filled the room as he brought the syllabus up onto the screen. You grabbed one when it reached you and passed it along and a quick glance through the five pages showed the class schedule and detailed expectations. When everyone had a copy, he started going over it, talking about the schedule in extreme detail and laying out what a typical class day would look like.

Poe finished up the syllabus and gave you a fifteen minute break before diving into the first chapter. His teaching style was the dream, the way that every teacher should teach: not too fast, not too slow, answering every single question before moving on, and making sure everyone was keeping up.

Despite it being a three hour class, you no longer dreaded it…you knew that Poe would do as much as he could to help you all succeed.

“Alright, homework for Thursday: chapter two, print out the study guide and start working on it. We’ll finish our chapter one discussion then as well. You’re good to go.”

You gathered up your things, shoving them into your backpack and checking the time to see you had just enough to grab something to eat before your next class. You had just reached the top of the stairs when you realized you hadn’t put your water bottle into your backpack. Letting out an annoyed groan, you doubled back up the stairs towards your classroom. You snuck in past a couple of students that were just leaving and beelined for your desk, making Poe look up at you.

“Sorry, forgot my water bottle.”

You found it tucked under your seat and grabbed it, giving him a small smile as you passed to head back out the door.

“Why elephant?”

Looking back at him, you saw an easy smile on his face. “Sorry?”

“You said your favorite animal was an elephant. Usually it’s household pets or animals that live in the forest…or apparently lizards and t-rex’s. Why elephant?”

You shrugged with a nervous smile. “I, um…I don’t know. I just think they’re beautiful and strong and they roll around in the mud and water and act like such babies…baby elephants actually suck on their trunks like babies suck on their fingers—“

“Do they?” You blushed hard, feeling like you just made a fool of yourself. “So you don’t just think they’re cute…you’re practically an expert on them?”

His tone wasn’t teasing like you expected, but instead curious at the knowledge you shared.

“No, I actually saw that on one of those random Facebook videos.”

A heartfelt laugh erupted from his chest and you laughed with him.

“I know what you’re talking about,” he said as he continued packing up his bag. “They’re those videos that are on random pages you liked years ago or from a news source…I’ve actually found some good recipes from them.”

“So you know. Random but good information.”

He nodded and you felt your phone buzz in your hand. You looked down at it and saw a message and noticed the time.

“I should go, um I have class…I’ll see you around, Mr. Dameron.”

You gave him a small wave and internally cringed at yourself as you headed towards the door, the flush of embarrassment in your face.

It was going to be an interesting semester.

tag list [closed] - @ah-callie @gloomygoregirl @leilei-draws @imaginecrushes @i-ievu @brianamaree @yeeintensifies @spider-starry @krazykatkay456 @milleniawrites @afootnoteinyourhappiness @easterncryptid @my-child-gaara @myrandom-fandomlife @onebatch--twobatch @the-cry-of-youth @p3nny4urth0ught5 @porgiez @umchrisevans @galaxy-of-stories @seeking-a-great--perhaps @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead @dameronsgalaxygal @mserynlarsen @yougottakeeponkeepinon @linibirdimagine @hannie2k @starrykitn @cloud-leader @damnyoudameron @liadamerondjarin @april-14-blog @demigod-dragonrider-schoolidol @xremember-me-notx @obiwanownsmyass @princessxkenobi @yourbucky084 @frietiemeloen @softly-sad @xxidontwikeitxx @roserrys @clairesmunchkin @justanotherblonde23 @voidmonny @neaveloren @sergeantkane

#poe dameron x reader #poe dameron x y/n #poe dameron fanfiction #back to you series #modern poe dameron #poe dameron fluff #poe dameron x reader insert

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hamilsquadwritings · 4 years

Text

The Flowers (Philip Hamilton Soulmate AU) ~ part 2 ~

A Soulmate AU in which flowers bloom from your left ring finger, coiling up and around your body, Identical to your soulmates. They stop growing when you meet and turn white when you get together

(I decided to work on an old idea I had on my old blog @stargazelaurens and develop it properly)

Words- 1.85k

Warnings- Eacker being a tool

Tag list {omg people want to be tagged?!<33}: @angelicl-y @popbubblegumpop @elizabethgrace459

Things were going.. okay?

It was a few weeks later and you'd gone out with George more times. You were really beginning to like him, your parents of course liked him. Your sister however.. she felt there was something off about him. She couldn't put it into words however so you pushed it aside to focus on trying to make it work. It helped you have someone to take your mind off of Philip. He'd often be at your house with your sister so it was nice to head out with George.

He'd taken you out to the gardens, for dinner, to the market, but not back to his parents home. Well until last night. He’d invited you to dinner with your parents. It had started off well. They'd be pleasant, even a little warm which made you feel happy, maybe you'd have a relationship with them. After dinner his mother suggested that he give you a tour of the estate, his family was rich so it was a lengthy tour. You were happy to learn more about it, so far it was be surface level questions you'd asked about him, and he about you. He started the tour with the gardens, they were beautiful, his mother had a vegetable patch that she was incredible proud of, she also had a pink and red rose bush that had been in the family for over 100 years, all the family wedding bouquets were picked from that bush. Next was the library, it was incredible, far more impressive than you'd ever seen, you could spend hours just counting the books let alone reading them. Every place he showed you were prettier than the last. Until you got to his room and the small room next to it.

____

"This will be your room once we get married, we've have a bathroom through there," he said pointing at the second door in the room "and three maids set out for you to help and assist as you need. You'll be able to roam the grounds as you please, when we don't have guests of course. And you'll come to events with me and when I have time off you'll be able to leave with me-" you had cut him off mid ramble

"Wait- I won't be able to leave on my own?" You asked in disbelief, he couldnt serious could he?

"Well of course not, you're not some common girl-" he started

"What about seeing my friends? And my family?" Your asked quickly

"I'll be your family" he replied simply

"I'd like to go home" you replied and turn to move, he grabs your arm to stop you getting any closer to the door

"Listen" he said, leaning really close "you don't get to decide, you're going to be MY wife which means you if don't to do as I say- STOP IT!" He yelled as you struggled against him. You continued to struggle so he let go, striking you across your cheek, you landed on the floor in shock. He looked down at you in disgust "I've been nice these last few days to settle you into our way of life since your father let's you live on such a loose lead but I won't tolerate it. If you want it the hard way we can. Get. Up."

______

That's how you ended up in the carriage. You'd been given a moment to compose yourself before returning to the dinning room for tea with your "husband" and "parents". Your new family..

After tea and biscuits George called for a carriage

"I can get myself home.." you mumble but he follows you into the carriage anyway.

"I'm taking you home, you shouldn't be out on your own" he says "you won't be after next month anyway.." he says

"Next month?" You ask meeting his eyes for the first time this evening "what..?"

"Our wedding of course.. the date was set last night, the 13th.." he says. The 13th? That was a little less than three weeks away! "Oh? I guess your father hadn't told you.."

"Uh, no.." you respond quietly, you couldn't let that happen, they couldn't take you away from your sister and Theo!

The carriage ride home was quiet. George had tried to talk to you a couple of times, quickly giving up when you wouldn't respond. He didn't mind humoring you, you'd be his in less than three weeks, then you wouldn't be able to ignore him. As soon as the carriage arrived you shot out, walking down the path, not even replying when he said goodnight.

"Hi" a soft voice says from behind you causing you to jump "sorry!" Philip says quickly "I didn't mean to startle you! Your parents went out for the evening and (s/n) is getting ready for- what's wrong?' he asks when he sees your panic stricken face

"Where is everyone..?" You ask your self once you get inside. You couldn't see either of your parents or your sisters. All the downstairs lights were off.

"I'm getting married.." you whisper, shaking your head quickly when he smiles "they- they won't let me see my family after the wedding.. they have a little room I have to stay in and-"

"Oh (y/n).." Philip says softly, wrapping his arms around you quickly. You fell against him with tears in your eyes "that's really unfair.." he didn't know what to say, it was more than unfair but he didn't know how to comfort you. He hadn't had much interaction with you over the past few weeks. Sure he'd spent a lot of time at your house but he'd either been with your sister or you'd been out you with George. Angelica would tell him a lot about you, mainly how nice and lovely you were. Philip had graduated school last summer, and you'd finished just before He'd met your sister. He'd always remember the day you'd gone into the debate club, you'd destroyed Jefferson's son on your first turn, he knew you'd make a great addition to the team. He'd left the team in your capable hands last year, just as you'd left the team in the capable hands of his little brother last month after you'd graduated.

"I-I’m sorry" you said quickly pulling away from him, what were you doing hugging and crying all over your sister fiance

"It's okay I promise" he says reassuringly as he pats your back gently as your sister appears at the top of the stair case

"(Y/n)??" She asks as she descends the stairs, her worry for your clear across her features "what's happened?" She asks as she pulls you close, her arms wrapping around your protectively. Philip sits with you and your sister as you explain everything that had happened that evening.

By the time you'd finished your sister was shaking with rage, Philip had had to get her a glass of water and physically hold her back from standing up. He knew if she got to the door she would've marched over, well called a carriage, to the Eacker’s estate to give him and his parents a piece of her mind. NO ONE treated her little sister badly, not a single person.

"There's got to be something we can do.." Philip says softly as the room goes quiet in thought

"You're not marrying him" your sister declared after a few seconds, over her dead body would she let her baby sister be mistreated. How dare that- she was pulled from her thoughts by your voice

"I don't have a choice Daddy-" you start

"No, if I have to marry for his business and power you should have too" she says cutting you off, she gives Philip a sympathetic smile but he nods and smiles gently. He already knew, he'd met Theo a few days after their first date. He'd been with (S/N) when Theo had spotted her in the market and came running over to say hi. He'd made that connection pretty quickly.. it was a shame because he was really beginning to like (S/N), it was okay though, maybe if she was off with Theo it would give him a chance to look for his soulmate.. they had to be out there right? Little did he know she was sat across from him

"(S/N) there's nothing you can do.. he's already decided and they've set a wedding date.." you sigh softly, your eyes filling with more tears as your sister hugs you quickly to comfort you

"What if..." Philip says softly as he looks at the wall, he turns to your both, a small glint in his eye, could he have the answer? "I convinced my dad to call off our engagement unless your parents call off the Eackers?"

"They.. they might go for that.." your sister says as she thinks it over

"Y-youd do that for me?" You asks Philip quickly, you were in shock. You'd been actively avoiding Philip and he was willing to do this for you?!

"Of course" he says quickly, a little too quickly, he blushes lightly hoping neither you nor your sister would notice. Your eyes fill with more tears as you hug him, your emotions over powering you. How was it that your sister was going to marry such an amazing guy she didn't even want and you were stuck with Eacker. Well maybe not, hopefully you wouldn't be stuck with Eacker but it still pained you that Philip was promised to your sister, especially when she already had Theo..

"That's a really good idea.." your sister smiles as she hugs Philip

You spent the rest of the evening in your room with Philip and your sister, working together to come up with a plan. Philip would explain the situation first to his mother, putting great emphasis on how worried he was for your safety. She would be appalled at George's actions and would immediately tell Slexander, he wasn't sure how his father would react. Either he'd pull the engagement because if this got out it would be bad for your father which would be bad for him, or he would cut contact for moral reasons. Anyone who could allow their child to be imprisoned like that was NOT someone he wanted his family to be associated with.

Meanwhile your sister would talk to your parents, explaining the situation from a protective older sisters view. She would explain how she'd found you crying and had finally managed to coax out the story of the evenings events. She would demand that they cut the engagement or she'd refuse to marry Philip. If he didn't want to cut off the Eackers’ then she'd give Philip the okay to talk to his mum and set the second plan in motion.

"You really think it'll work..?" You ask nervously wiping the tears. A small smile breaks out when they nods reassuringly.

You only hoped that it would work, the thought of marrying a man who would lock his wife away I a room made you sick to your stomach..

#hamilton #hamilton imagine #Philip Hamilton #philip hamilton x reader #hamilton x reader #hamilton musical #Anthony Ramos #TheFlowersAU

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stealing-jasons-job · 4 years

Text

Fic updates & timeline 🥰

Here is my current prompt list and potential timeline.

I’m currently participating in the @t100fic-for-blm initiative, and I am working through those prompts in the order I’ve received them. I appreciate all of you guys being patient (especially with my WIPs that have taken a backseat for the initiative), and I’m excited for what’s coming down the pipeline! At the moment, I am not accepting new prompts until I can work through this list. <3

The rest is under the cut, but here is an up-to-date look at my fic list:

Current ongoing projects

Upcoming fics

WIPS I swear I haven’t abandoned

Current ongoing projects

Wreck Jroth Club Fic Collab

Would you choose the end of war and suffering in your own lifetime if it meant the end of every other universe, too—including ones where you, your friends, and your family are happy and at peace?

Or, the S7 finale rewrite where Clarke experiences some of these other lifetimes and makes the ultimate choice of whether or not the end of suffering in her own reality is worth sacrificing infinite others where things might have gone differently.

An angsty fic collab where different writers from the Bellarke fandom write different chapters as part of an overarching story. Each intro is written by me, as well as the first chapter, last chapter, and a few sprinkled in the middle. Follow @wreck-jroth-club for updates!

Bellarke Big Bang - Find me in the light

While I can’t unveil the premise just yet, I am a writer, creator, and mod alongside @animmortalist for Bellarke Big Bang 2021! First chapter will publish in June, but I’ll be working on this fic in my spare time between now and then. Y’all, get ready for some ANGST. I haven’t been this excited about a fic in a long time.

_______________________________

Upcoming fics

Linctavia prompt — official title TBD

Prompted by @1munequita

Linctavia as sexually frustrated parents whose daughter continually interrupts them.

Cross my heart - official title TBD

Prompted by @thecspenciskillingme

Gallagher Girls AU!

Normal 18-year-old girls graduate high school and then go off to college with their friends. Maybe they join a sorority. Hell, maybe they get a boyfriend or girlfriend and fall in love. They sleep in and skip class and stay up late with their equally normal friends.

But Clarke Griffin has never been normal.

It comes with the territory of being the daughter of two renowned spies for the CIA. Clarke had been raised to speak seven languages and be able to change her entire appearance with nothing but a pair of nail clippers and some shoe polish. She wasn't built for normal.

Angsty. Spy shit. Multi-chapter.

I see a monster’s eyes in the mirror - official title TBD

Prompted by @constellationbellamy

S6/7 AU — Bellamy got nightblood in S6 when Josie took him prisoner, and Bellamy is who Slim Sheidy "takes over" in S7. Fulfilling all of our void!Bellamy dreams without the religious indoctrination ala Steve and Etherea. Also, there will finally be a reason why no one killed Slim Sheidy as soon as they realized he was back.

Is this potentially the angstiest idea I’ve ever had? 120% But don’t worry, it’ll have a happy ending. My name is not Jason.

Criminal Minds AU - official title TBD

Prompted by @constellationbellamy

A Bellarke Criminal Minds AU.

Song prompt: Let You Down by NF

Prompted by @edgelessness

Everyone thinks Clarke has the perfect life, including her best friend's older brother Bellamy. But that's far from the truth.

Angsty AF.

Bear Grylls AU - official title TBD

Prompted by @slyth-princess

A collab between myself and @writetheniteaway for Beardcave.

Don’t expect me to fall in love with her, too - official title TBD

Prompted by @writetheniteaway

Against all odds, Steve Doucette fell in love with Bellamy Blake. And Bellamy fell for him, too. But once they start rebuilding back on Earth after the "the last war” and transcendence turns out to be a myth, Steve starts to realize exactly what Bellamy meant in the cave when he said Octavia and Clarke were the most important people in his life.

As he gets to know the blonde, he can see the deep connection that exists between her and Bellamy. They are part of each other’s souls, and Steve can’t help but admire the way they are together. He’s not going to stand in the way of their relationship, whatever it is — after all, he was raised believing you could love more than one person equally. He knows Bell loves him, and he’s okay with the knowledge that Bellamy loves Clarke, too. But just because he understands why his boyfriend loves her doesn’t mean he has plans to fall in love with her himself.

Then again, you know what they say about well-laid plans.

Angsty. Sappy. <3 The OT3 we deserve. Multi-chapter.

Two sides of a coin — official title TBD

Prompted by @sparklyfairymira

Bellarke/Jeresa crossfic for all you QotS fans! Teresa and James are trying to establish themselves in the Dallas market, but DEA agents Clarke and Bellamy are determined to not make it easy. Throughout the fic, both sides will start to understand the other a little more and learn how to coexist without sacrificing their livelihoods or their integrity.

Angsty AF. Multi-chapter.

WIPs I swear I haven’t abandoned

Since joining the BLM initiative, my focus has shifted away from WIP updates and toward completing prompts as they come in. To be honest, I was not expecting to receive as many prompts as I have (which is amazing on so many levels), so I apologize for how long it’s been since some of my fics have been updated.

I appreciate you all being patient, but here are the WIPs I swear I haven’t abandoned! If anyone wants to prompt chapter updates for the BLM initiative, that will help get these on the prios list sooner. But otherwise, these bad boys will still get done. Albeit more slowly.

I'm gonna get myself back home to you

S4/5 AU where Bellarke gets together before he goes to the Ring, and he never believes she’s really dead. Told from multiple POVs before, during, and after the Ring.

Next update: Ch. 6 — March 2021

Intertwining Your Soul

Arranged marriage grounder fic.

Next update: Ch. 12 - March 2021

Amor vincit onmia

S7 rewrite to spite Jason.

Next update: Ch. 2 — March 2021

There are some things written in the stars

Timeless AU

Next update: Ch. 4 - April 2021

Choices We Make

Greys Anatomy AU.

Next update: Ch. 9 - April 2021

___________________________________________________________

If you’ve made it to the end of this long-ass update post, I commend you. lol But hopefully for those of you wondering when certain things will be published or what upcoming fics you can expect from me, this provides some clarity!

You may have noticed I took off the expected publish dates. I’m trying like hell to stick to a schedule, but I can’t make any promises and I hated letting anyone down if something didn’t get published on the expected date.

Shoutout to my BAHSA babes for keeping me sane, thebellarkes Discord for enabling my angsty-ass fic ideas (and for prompting me for BLM to write a ton of said ideas). Forever grateful for a community of people who support my writing!

Come hang out with me on AO3 @stealing-jasons-job or Twitter @stealjasonsjob!

#madison writes things #my fic list

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adarafaelbarba · 4 years

Note

hi! this is kinda a spin off of the insecurities barba x reader but reader is really smart like dr level smart (reid from criminal minds basically) but instead of going to college to be a dr they stay and do like youtube (idek??) and then barba wants her to meet lucia and she gets degraded because lucia wants whats best for her son and rafael just makes her feel better and stands up to lucia (this was worded horribly...👉👈)

// I gotchu!! I’m happy you liked “Insecurities”! It was definitely something I enjoyed writing! 😊 Here’s your request, hope you like it 😊 //

~~~ MASTERLIST! ~~~

Not College Material

Pairing: Rafael Barba x reader

Fandom: Law and Order Special Victims Unit

Requested: Yes

Request: «hi! this is kinda a spin off of the insecurities barba x reader but reader is really smart like dr level smart (reid from criminal minds basically) but instead of going to college to be a dr they stay and do like youtube (idek??) and then barba wants her to meet lucia and she gets degraded because lucia wants whats best for her son and rafael just makes her feel better and stands up to lucia (this was worded horribly…👉👈)» - bucky-babygirl

a/n: Reason she never went to college will be cause she couldn’t afford it (wasn’t given a scholarship, so she runs a blog (semi successful) on psychology.

~~~

You had met Rafael by cheer luck one day while on your way back home from your favorite bakery. He was coming in and you hadn’t really seen each other which resulted in you dumping piping hot coffee down the front of his coat. «I am so sorry sir!» you had gasped, looking at the the older man in horror. «Please. Let me make it up to you!» you added, tears threatening to spill any second now. He looked really important and you knew he would start yelling at you soon enough.

However, he told you it was okay, and he should have been looking where he was going. His voice just seemed to grasp you in. «At least let me clean your coat sir.» you had offered, «I live a block away from here.» he nodded, and you both made your way to your apartment.

«Brave of you to invite me inside», he stated, looking at you as he handed you his coat. «Just something about you that makes me trust you.» you shrugged, getting to work on getting the coffee stains out of his coat. «I’m Rafael.» the name suited him, and you gave him a small smile as you shook his hand, «(Y/N).»

…

You had been seeing each other for about six months when Rafael asked you to meet his mother. you were really important to him, and so was his mother, so even if you were super nervous to meet the woman who raised Rafael.

He took you to a fancy restaurant on the other side of the city from his apartment, «It’s easier for her to come here», he explained as they entered the place.

«Rafael!» his mother called out when she spotted him. «Mami! Como estás?» he said, hugging his mother. «Bien, Rafi», she responded. «Mami, this is (Y/N) (Y/L/N), my girlfriend. (Y/N), this is my mother Lucia Barba», Rafael said introducing you to Lucia.

«It’s a pleasure to meet you Mrs. Barba. Rafael tells me a lot of great things about you», you said, shaking her hand. «Nice to meet you too Ms. (Y/L/N).» she sounded almost distant, like she wasn’t interested in talking to you.

Brushing off the feeling, the three of you sat down and went to look at the menu. «So Rafi tells me you’re a psychologist?» Lucia asked, looking at you. «I write a psychology based blog. Helping people who can’t afford getting help professionally», you explained. «Oh», she sounded even less impressed now, but you tried not to let it get to you.

«Where did you go to school then?» she asked. «Mami!» Rafael warned, looking at his mother who only gave him a shrug in response.

«I—uhh—I didn’t go to university», you mumbled, looking down in your lap. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to go get a degree in psychology, because you did, you just could’t afford it. With your father’s medical bills you had to work from the time you graduated high school. You had only been living in New York for about 2 years. The passing of your father meant you couldn’t stay in your hometown anymore. It wasn’t that you had been kicked out of there of course. But the idea of staying there after how the rest of your family had treated you after you had been looking after your father, while also raking in the majority of the money used for the bills.

«And that’s perfectly fine. She’s got a job that pays her bills.» Hearing Rafael say that, you froze slightly, like you did most times when money were in the question. He noticed it of course, taking your hand in his. «You okay Cariño?» You nodded at that, having some water before excusing yourself to the bathroom.

You didn’t know what came over you. But you figured if Rafael’s mother was going to talk him out of dating you, you’d rather not be there to hear it.

Walking into the vacant bathroom, you leaned over the sink, taking big breaths. The only person who knew what you had been through was Rafael. You had told him one night after he had found you crying in your shared bedroom, something that had been caused by your sister calling to ask for money. Of course you knew you couldn’t sit on the truth for the rest of your life, he would find out eventually. And as you had told your readers many times, if you have a secret eating you up from the inside, tell someone, that way you’re not alone. So you knew you had to tell him, that was you could hopefully move on.

After a couple of minutes you decided you had been in there long enough. If Lucia had talked some sense into Rafi, they would both be gone by now. However, when you came back into the restaurant, you saw them both sitting there.

Rafi got up as soon as he saw you, pulling you in for a quick hug and a peck on your forehead. «Are you feeling alright cariño?» he asked, his voice low. «I’m okay», you murmured, sitting back down. «Sorry I kept you waiting», you added, directing it more towards Lucia, who’s attitude towards you seemed to have changed.

«I want to apologize for my words earlier (Y/N)», Lucia said, looking at you. «It’s okay Mrs. Barba», you responded, looking at her. He must have told her while you were away. You weren’t mad at him per se, sure you wanted as few people as possible to know about your past. But he must have thought it was better for her to know before she continued judging you.

«Mami!» Rafael warned before she said anything, he knew better than anyone that his mother would drag it out to show you that she was sorry, it could sometimes do more harm than good. «It’s fine Rafael, Mrs. Barba. Let’s just enjoy lunch.

When the bill showed up, Rafael and Lucia started arguing about who should pay. He wanted to pay because he was a gentleman, not to mention he had been the one to invite to the lunch. Lucia on the other hand wanted to pay because she still felt terrible for how she had acted. She had been raised to never be unnecessarily unkind. «Mami come on, let me pay», he groaned, taking the bill. «Oh, alright. But next time I’m paying», she said, giving up. «They always said it was impossible to argue with a lawyer», she stated, looking at you. «So I’ve heard», you chuckled, leaning over to press a kiss on his cheek. «But he seems to be someone who was born ready to win an argument», you added, getting a laugh from Lucia.

«It was truly wonderful to meet you today (Y/N). You should come see my students one day. Maybe they’ll get something from it», Lucia offered, giving you a warm smile and a tight hug. «You too Lucia. Thank you. I’ll be there whenever you’ll have me», you responded, hugging her again.

«You better look after this one Rafi», she said, turning to her son. «I have no plan on loosing her mami», he commented, hugging her before Lucia parted ways with the two of you.

~~~

«I’m pretty sure mami wants to hire you as her school’s counselor», Rafi commented that night while you were laying in bed. «She can’t do that though can she? I don’t have a degree», you mused, looking over at him. «Mami can do whatever she wants. She’s the one running the school», he said, pulling you to lay your head on his chest. «And if mami wants something, she’ll get it, just you wait.»

#rafael barba #rafael barba x reader #ada rafael barba #rafael barba imagine #rafael barba one shot #requested #karen writes

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jbbarnesnnoble · 4 years

Text

Chaser - Downdraft (Part One)

Chapter Title: Downdraft

Series Summary: Storm chasing is your passion. You decided in high school to study atmospheric science and spend your life studying storms. An accident leads you to the Avengers compound. A mother hen Tony Stark, a confused and concerned supersoldier, and some meddling friends, life is taking a new and unexpected turn.

Part Summary: You and your team head out to track a storm, putting you on a collision course with danger.

Features: Storms and storm chasing, incorrect science

Pairing: Eventual Bucky Barnes/Reader

Notes: In this part, we’re introduced to reader and her ragtag team of storm chasers. We also see a bit more of her relationship with Tony. We haven’t met Bucky yet.

Word Count: 1866

Log #15042018

Location: Lynchburg, Virginia

Downdraft (n.) - “a column of cool air that sinks toward the ground. It is most often accompanied by rain.”

The air was heavy with the promise of a storm. You knew the conditions were perfect for tornado formation. Usually you didn’t venture too far to the east in the midst of tornado season but you’d been tracking the storm system and knew the potential for fireworks was there.

For as long as you could remember, you were obsessed with the weather. Your mother would recall how you could tell it was going to storm without ever looking at a radar map when you were a child. You almost wondered if you had some kind of mutation. It was an ability that persisted into adulthood. Your mother’s favorite story to tell was about how you begged her to go home one day when the weather was clear and rain wasn’t in the forecast. Three hours later a storm rolled in that knocked out power for most of the town and brought down some of the bigger trees.

“What’s the game plan, Twister?” Sheridan asked you. Casey Sheridan was one of your partners in the field. The man was a trained first responder, volunteering back home with the local EMS. You had a small team assembled, all with the goal of studying storm systems to advance the science communities understanding of them.

“Thanks to our generous benefactor, we don’t have to pull a Jo Thornton and get right up with the tornado. The AI system will control the flight of the probes into the tornado and give us perhaps the most comprehensive data to date. The more storms we do this with, the more complete the data set becomes. Even if the probes become damaged entirely, the data will hopefully transmit. They have a home base they’ll return to and enough energy for a three day trip. Thanks to Stark we have them,” you explained.

“I hate that we work for a billionaire,” Deacon grumbled. No one was fully sure of what Deacon’s real name was. You knew it because you hired him. He adopted his nickname from Fallout 4 and stuck with it.

“We don’t work for him Deacon. We’re an independent group of scientists with funding from Stark Industries…there’s a difference,” you argued. He raised an eyebrow in your direction.

“Potay-to, Potah-to, Twister. Stark pays our bills, and I for one say, eat the rich,” Deacon replied. You shook your head at him.

“Well when you’re done plotting how you’re going to overthrow the bourgeoisie, I need you to finish a last check on the probes, Deacon. You know. Your job,” you said. You saw him roll his eyes and laughed to yourself.

You had two modes of transport. The van followed the pickup truck. The probes would be launched from your truck closer to the tornado. All you had to do was press a button on a remote you had in the cab of the truck. It was the first time the probes were going to be used. Up until then, your research had depending on distance analysis and observing the damage after a storm.

“National Weather Service just issued a tornado warning. It’s go time. Radar indicated rotation about two miles south,” Cody said. She was your eyes and ears on almost everything. She and Casey worked together tracking the radar and any warnings. Your main job was ensuring your team stayed safe and analyzing the data that came in.

You had a degree in meteorological and atmospheric sciences. It was your passion. You had graduated from Cornell and had your master’s, with a dream of getting your PhD eventually. Your encounter with Tony Stark had changed your life for the better.

Anxiety was setting in as you and your team headed south toward Lynchburg. You had a good idea of where the tornado would touch down based on the radar imaging. Cody and Casey remained in the van with Deacon driving. You were on your own in the pickup. You always worried going into a storm. About your safety. About the safety of your team. It was only natural.

“FRIDAY what’s the radar looking like?” you asked the AI as you drove. Tony had outfitted your truck with access to FRIDAY. You argued at first but she was helpful in a pinch. He had done a lot to add protection to your truck and the van. You knew he worried about you, which still shocked you.

“There is rotation approximately a half mile south,” she said. You nodded to yourself, and opened up the comms, another gift from Tony.

“We’re about a half mile out. There’s definite upward motion on that cloud up ahead. Pull off to the left coming up. We don’t want to get too close to this thing,” you said.

“Rain. We need to be ready to move. If this thing is rain wrapped,” Cody said her voice trailing off.

“Looks like we’ve got touch down. I’m deploying the probes. FRIDAY’s sensors will guide them toward the tornado,” you said as you pressed the button. You watched as the probes flew off toward the storm, praying they worked. When confirmation came from the team you had silent moment of celebration.

“Twist, I think we gotta go, this thing is going to come up toward us and we don’t want to get caught out,” Casey said.

“Copy, Sheridan. Let’s continue moving to the south. We can avoid running into it and still gather images. Keep your eyes up Deacon, you never know when something will pop up,” you said.

You drove forward, keeping an eye on the storm as you tracked it’s path, doing your best to judge what a safe distance was. You didn’t expect the debris that knocked into the truck that made you swerve off the road and flip.

——————————————————————————————————–

Tony was pacing around the lab. Bruce was doing his best to reassure Tony. Most of the team had never met you, but Bruce had. Your innate curiosity always managed to turn things around and diffuse the tension when Bruce and Tony would argue.

“We have a problem,” FRIDAY said, breaking the tense silence.

“What’s going on?” Tony asked, trying not to sound panic.

“Sensors in her truck indicate that there was an impact and the truck has flipped on its side,” FRIDAY said.

“Is she alert?” Tony asked.

“In and out, sir. I will patch you in to their comms,” the AI said. Tony knew as soon as he was patched in.

“Status report,” Tony said.

“Christ Stark a little warning,” Sheridan snapped.

“Noted. Now, status report,” Tony said.

“A piece of debris hit the pick up. We were about one hundred feet back. She went careening off the side of the road and the truck flipped. EMS ETA is about ten minutes. She’s been in and out of consciousness but there doesn’t seem to be major external injury,” Cody replied.

It didn’t take Tony long to get to Virginia, not with a quinjet. He was grateful to have Helen Cho on his payroll now, because as soon as you were stable, you were going to the compound, no arguments. There were few people Tony cared about on a deeper level. You were one of them.

“Kid’s in surgery, but the doctors think she’ll be fine,” Tony said. He called Pepper as soon as he had news.

“She won’t be happy about being dragged to the compound,” Pepper pointed out.

“Tough. She needs to recover, not be out on the next chase. Her team agrees. They’re all going on vacation to be with their families, no argument. She needs to rest. And we both know she won’t do that if she’s not at the compound,” Tony said.

“You’re on your own then. Because we both know she’s not going to like it,” Pepper said. Tony sighed.

“She’ll be on board when I give her free reign of the lab,” Tony said.

After talking to Pepper it was a waiting game.Tony had to pull serious strings to be able to see you. Your family was hours away and they weren’t going to come. He knew that. If you were awake, you’d know that. It had been that way for a long time. Another reason Tony worried about you, why he looked out for you.

“Hey kiddo,” he said once you were awake.

“Tony?” you asked, your voice raspy.

“Yeah. You had a bit of an accident,” he said. He watched your expression change as the memory of what happened came back. You groaned. He wasn’t sure if it was in pain or annoyance.

“How’s the truck?” you asked. He snorted.

“I’m having it brought back up to New York. Too much Stark Tech in that thing to let it go to a salvage yard,” he said.

“So it’s totaled?” you asked.

“Afraid so, kiddo. Gert is no more,” he said. You had named the truck, something that amused Tony to no end.

“And the others?” you asked.

“They’re fine. A little shaken, but fine. The van’s coming back up to the compound too while you recover. Your team is taking time off too. Visiting their families,” he said. You looked at him. He knew an argument was brewing. It was prime time for tornado season. You didn’t want to miss it.

“Tony,” you started to say. He shook his head.

“Kid, you broke your leg. You’re down for the season. You need to rest and recover,” he said.

“But you have that cradle thing,” you argued.

“That we only use for life threatening injuries or if we desperately need someone back in the field. There’s no shame in letting things heal the old fashioned way,” he said.

“I need to be back out there,” you argued.

“No. You need to rest. Your team needs time to rest. They thought you were a goner, kid. You’re lucky it seems to only be a minor concussion and a broken leg,” Tony retorted. A nurse soon came in, ending the standoff between the two of you. It wasn’t long before you were being brought up to the roof, where a quinjet was, and loaded in to be brought to the compound. Tony hadn’t come alone.

“Romanoff, meet Jo Thornton. I think you two will be spending a lot of time together,” Tony said. You glared at him.

“That’s not my name,” you snapped before offering your real name up. Tony had a habit of calling you by the name of the main character from Twister. You preferred the nickname Twister or Twist, if for no other reason than it being the nickname of a character from Rocket Power.

“Well, you know what they say Dorothy. There’s no place like home,” Natasha said as the aircraft began making its descent. Tony had opted to pilot it, leaving you to get acquainted with Natasha. You had a feeling she was one of the people Tony was going to rope into looking after you.

You allowed yourself to relax and drift off into a light sleep, dreaming of your next chase and the thrill that came with it.

#Bucky Barnes Fanfic #bucky barnes #bucky barnes/reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes reader insert #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction #marvel reader insert #winter soldier fanfic #winter soldier #chaser

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andrea-lyn · 4 years

Text

So, remember how I wrote Buffy the Vampire Slayer AU malex? With Liz as the slayer and such? Well, my brain decided that I wanted to do more - originally tagged onto the original post, but @christchex could not find, so a repost for her!

The sun has yet to go down, but Michael can hear movement in the back of the library, where the tall shelves create a shadowy effect and he glances up towards the source of the shuffling, listening for the familiar foot falls to place who it is. It’s no surprise that it’s his erstwhile husband, here to grovel.

Hopefully.

“I hear you,” he says absently, flipping the page of the latest book he’s been reading, trying to find out what demon Liz had run into, digging out a bookmark so he could slide it in, to mark his place.

Moments later, Alex comes skulking out of the shadows, head bowed, looking sad and pathetic.

“I wanted to apologize.”

Michael waits patiently, because he hasn’t heard an actual apology yet, and he’s not planning to give Alex any leeway until he hears it. The fight they had last night had been one of their worst, though not the worst, but Michael has opinions.

“I’m sorry that I want to turn you before you get too old and we look ridiculous.” It’s not a great apology and Alex seems to understand, because he inhales deeply and then reels himself back. “It’s your decision about when you want to be turned and I’m sorry I called you stupid for not wanting to do it now.”

Michael is thirty-nine years old. He knows that mentally, he wants to do this before he turns forty, but he’s also been waiting on Liz to graduate. Now that she’s in her senior year and with plenty of college opportunities awaiting her, Michael thinks he can start to look at his own future.

“You’re always going to look younger than me,” Michael points out, taking off his glasses to polish them, sliding them back on his face as Alex approaches, tenderly sliding his finger over the arm of the glasses.

Alex pouts slightly. “You won’t need these after I turn you.”

“No,” Michael agrees. “Maybe I’ll still wear them at my husband’s request.”

“I just need to know why,” he pleads. Michael understands, too, and that might be his fault. He has his reasons, he has Liz in mind, but he’s never told Alex, because he never thought that it would be such a bother. “I have the soul spell ready, so the instant after I turn you, we’ll put the soul in you so you won’t feed on anyone,” he insists. “I have a blood supply ready, and our house is already outfitted with everything we need.”

“Baby,” Michael sighs, reaching for Alex, wrapping an arm around his waist to tug him in. “When you turn me, I won’t be able to come to work anymore. I’ll have to quit my job here at the library and as a Watcher, and I know we’ve been establishing a business on the side, but I want to be here for Liz until she graduates. She’s my slayer.”

No one had truly trusted him to be a Watcher, especially not when everyone at the academy had discovered he had a vampire boyfriend, but he’d taken a role designed to fail and excelled. Sure, Liz had died the once, but they’d brought her back to life and now she’s about to graduate.

She’s going to fight demons at a college level, soon.

Alex settles into Michael’s lap, his fingers drifting up and down Michael’s neck, over the tendons and muscles, tickling him slightly.

“It’s just Liz, then? It’s not me?”

Michael gives Alex a worried look. “You think I’m backing out of eternity with you?” He scoffs, shaking his head. “I married you and I know the vow ‘until death do us part’ probably didn’t have people like us in mind, but I took it seriously.” He reaches up to slide his thumb over Alex’s furrowed brow. “I’m not worried about how ugly you’re gonna find my vamp face, I’m not worried about surviving on rabbit blood, I just…”

Liz is his slayer and he loves her like family.

“I need to be here, in this library, until she’s done with school.” He eases up to kiss Alex, trying to reassure him, because he doesn’t want him to worry that he’s suddenly going to love him any less.

That would be impossible.

“We’ll make a date after graduation,” Michael promises, leaning in for soft little kisses, chasing after the first. “I’ll enjoy a last meal as a human, we’ll get up to some funny business, and then, you can turn me and do the spell,” he promises. “Deal?”

Alex looks slightly chastised, but nods. “Deal.”

“That’s my vampire,” Michael praises as he digs his fingers into Alex’s hair a little harder to kiss him, eagerly encouraging Alex to slide into a straddle, despite the fact that they’re in the library of Roswell High, and not their own private home.

Privacy isn’t guaranteed, which is made clear when the doors swing open.

“Hey, Guerin!” Liz’s voice calls out. “Any news on that demon? I got a graduation dance to plan for and if I’m gonna be multi-tasking, I want to get a head start on …” She comes to a stop when she sees Alex in Michael’s lap, wrinkling her nose and covering her eyes frantically. “Oh ew, no,” she pleads. “You both have your pants on, right?”

Michael laughs as he wraps his arms around Alex’s waist.

“We’re decent,” he promises.

Liz peers at them through a tiny crack in her fingers, staring at them suspiciously like she’s not so sure. “I don’t think you ever are,” she says, and grabs the book out of Michael’s hands. “Is this my guy?”

“That’s the one. Take backup,” he warns. “Maria, for sure, in case you need a spell.”

“What about Kyle?”

“Sure, the demon could use a snack,” Alex snarks.

Liz gives him an impatient, annoyed look, but takes the book with an eager smile. “Thanks Guerin,” she says. “Bye Alex,” she says in parting, “You two should behave! Students actually do use the library sometimes!”

She makes plenty of noise as she leaves, but Alex goes right back to what he’d been doing before, prying Michael’s glasses off to kiss his way back down his neck. “She’s lying,” he teases, softly brushing kisses against the spot where Michael knows he’ll one day bite down and turn him. “I’ve never seen a single student in here studying.”

“I ah,” Michael pants, “guess this place has a reputation,” he moans. “All kinds of dangerous things roaming around, you’re safer studying at home.”

Alex grins as he eases back, and smiles so brightly that Michael knows they’re definitely done fighting. “Damn right, I’m dangerous,” he says, with the cutest little pleased smile.

Is Michael going to argue?

Hell no, he’s got better things to do – and right now, he is the better thing to be done.

#malex #malex fic #buffy the vampire slayer au #btvs au #roswell new mexico #watcher!michael #vampire!alex #slayer!liz #there might be one more to flashback to watcher academy #michael/alex

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goindownshipping · 4 years

Note

‘ this is your favorite, right? ' - frostiron, if you please :D

A few of my favorite things

Pairing: Tony Stark/Loki (Frostiron)

Rating: Gen (G)

Notes: Some snarky frostiron fluff for your consideration! Thanks for the prompt @ohwereusingourmadeupnames!

Warnings: Quasi teacher/student (Tony is a student teacher, Loki is his cooperating teacher), but everyone is of age and nothing happens until it would be deemed appropriate :)

Word count: 2k

Summary:

The last day of school was always bittersweet for Loki, but this year brought a whole new meaning to the word ... Anthony Stark, his student teacher for the semester, was causing more trouble for him than he ever expected. The trouble had nothing to do with his knowledge of science or his teaching ability. As a student teacher, Mr. Stark excelled and had a bright future wherever he chose to go next. No, the challenges came in Loki’s personal attachment to the man.

Or, Loki and Tony connect when Tony is assigned as Loki’s student teacher for a semester. Some lack of communication can’t get in the way of their witty infatuation and eventual love for each other.

The last day of school was always bittersweet for Loki, but this year brought a whole new meaning to the word. He had some of the brightest students he’d ever taught in his classes that semester; the AP students were bright and up for the challenge, the ninth graders were eager to learn, and his research students asked all the right questions. He knew all those students were going on to bigger and brighter things, many of them would be back the following year, though.

However, the students weren’t the challenging ones to say goodbye to. Anthony Stark, his student teacher for the semester, was causing more trouble for him than he ever expected. The trouble had nothing to do with his knowledge of science or his teaching ability. As a student teacher, Mr. Stark excelled and had a bright future wherever he chose to go next. No, the challenges came in Loki’s personal attachment to the man.

Five months ago, Anthony Stark walked into Loki’s classroom with a natural affinity for science and education that Loki had never seen or experienced. Sure, he was a young teacher himself, but he knew that what Mr. Stark possessed was special. He was proven correct when he observed Tony build real relationships with students, reimagine teaching styles to meet their needs, and take on responsibilities that neither Loki nor his professors expected of him.

Tony’s knack for high school chemistry and physics only scratched the surface of who he was. Loki couldn’t pretend that he wasn’t struck by Tony’s beauty from the very beginning, but he knew that wasn’t a subject that he could broach while Tony was under his mentorship. Tony never pushed it, but he knew the lingering glances and accidental touches were mutual between him and his cooperating teacher. There was one particular interaction between the two men that neither of them seemed to be able to shake.

About halfway through the semester, right around spring break, Loki and Tony were sitting around Loki’s desk grading exams and going over Tony’s progress. Loki had his daily English Breakfast tea in hand and Tony had to physically force himself to keep his eyes on the stack of tests in front of him rather than the gorgeous man across the desk.

“You know, these kids are only doing so well this year because you’re such a great teacher,” Loki said.

Tony blushed slightly. “I don’t know about that. You designed the curriculum.”

“Sure, but you’ve been taking the lead for the past few weeks. You figured out the best way to teach the concepts, not me.”

“Well, thank you. But I really am learning from the best.”

Loki blushed this time, but couldn’t bring himself to meet Tony’s gaze. “Have you thought about your plans for after graduation? You could get a job teaching physics or chemistry anywhere, Anthony. You’ve done really well here.”

Tony shrugged. “I’m not sure. My family really doesn’t want me to go into teaching at the high school level. I’ve been accepted to a Ph.D. program with a research emphasis…” Tony trailed off.

Loki looked up at the hesitation in Tony’s voice. “Is that what you want Anthony?”

Tony held his gaze. “It doesn’t really matter what I want, does it?”

Loki paused. He knew Tony’s family life was complicated. Being a Stark certainly wasn’t easy. He also knew that Tony wasn’t only referring to that particular situation with his comment.

“Anthony,” Loki started.

“No, don’t,” Tony said firmly. “Please.” His shoulders sagged, all the fight going out of him with that final plea.

“For what it’s worth, I know what you mean,” Loki conceded.

Tony snorted, “Thanks, Mr. L.”

“Really, Tony? Mr. L?” Loki’s face morphed into a combination of hurt and confused. Over the past few months he and Tony had grown close; closer than he could’ve expected to grow with a student teacher. He knew it wasn’t breaking any rules, but he made sure that their relationship, if you could even call it that, never crossed any lines.

Loki cherished their daily chats over coffee and tea, countless inside jokes, and private smiles more than almost anything. He would give anything to explore a relationship with Tony outside the classroom, but he couldn’t do that - not yet. Tony just had a few more months under his guidance, then they could figure it out. He only hoped Tony would still be interested that far down the road.

“Sorry, Loki. It’s just- you know.”

“I know, Tony. Let’s get just get through this,” he gestured to the tests between them, “and go from there. Then once the semester is over, we’ll figure that out too,” he said hopefully.

The rest of the semester passed smoothly. Their students continued succeeding and Loki and Tony moved around each other seamlessly in the classroom, creating a positive learning environment for everyone. After school hours, Tony and Loki chatted over their hot beverage of choice and continued to build a connection neither man saw coming.

That was why Loki was so surprised when the last day of school came and went without so much as a goodbye from his student teacher. Tony’s semester had ended a few weeks prior, so his final evaluations and observations were already completed. When the high school semester came to an end, there weren’t any loose ends for him to tie up. As soon as that final bell rang, he was out the door without so much as a backward glance.

At first, Loki was hurt and confused. He thought they would’ve at least talked about whatever they could be once the school year ended. Tony’s disappearance made it abundantly clear that he wasn’t interested in figuring anything out.

A few weeks into summer, Loki’s confusion turned into acceptance. He knew how much pressure Tony was under, both self-inflicted and from his family. Loki resigned himself to thinking wishful thoughts that Tony found a way to pursue his own dreams, not the ones he was pressured to explore.

3 months later

The start of the school year was always chaotic. No matter how much planning and preparation Loki did, the first day of high school chemistry never seemed to go smoothly. From the fear in the eyes of his advanced placement students to the sheer boredom of his last class of the day, it was always the longest day of the year. At the same time, he never seemed to have enough time to actually get the ball rolling. When the last 16 year old sluggishly exited his classroom at 2:30pm, Loki was ready to collapse.

And he would have if there wasn’t an immediate knock at his classroom door. So much for catching his breath. He glanced through the narrow rectangular window and was surprised by the familiar dark eyes he found peering back at him. He nodded at the visitor, indicating for them to come in. His breath caught at the sight of Anthony Stark standing on the threshold of his classroom. It was a familiar sight and yet everything was different from that day nearly nine months prior.

“Anthony?”

“Figured I should make the rounds finally,” Tony shrugged. “Being the new kid on the block can be pretty tough.”

“The new- what?”

“Didn’t Fury tell you there was a new Physics teacher in the department?”

“Well, yes, I knew we were hiring, but just last week it was still vacant.”

“Well just last week I decided research was overrated,” Tony said with a smile.

“It’s lovely to see you, Anthony.” Loki’s face stretched into a grin without his permission and suddenly he was grinning like an idiot at the man in front of him. He took a few steps toward the door as Tony pulled the door shut behind him.

Tony smiled that crooked grin and Loki’s resolve nearly broke. “Oh,” Tony closed the distance between them and reached a hand forward, extending a large reusable mug into Loki’s hand. “This is your favorite, right?”

Loki looked down in disbelief then back up at Tony as the scent of English Breakfast filled his nose as the steam billowed up from the mug. “Depends on what you’re referring to. You or the tea? Because it’s a hard decision right now.”

“I’ll leave that up to you,” Tony smirked. With that, he spun on his heel and headed for the door.

“Wait!” Loki called, desperate to stop Tony before he opened the door to the chaotic after school hallway.

Tony turned around, his hand loosely gripping the doorknob. “Yes?”

“Don’t just leave again,” Loki whispered, a hopeful smile on his face.

“I couldn’t have gone far, Loki. My classroom is just down the hall.”

“Still. Let’s get out of here. There’s never any real work to be done on the first day, right?”

Tony’s face broke into a grin again. “You tell me, Mr. L.”

“Oh god, no. None of that,” Loki groaned.

“I’ll meet you in the parking lot in 15 minutes.” Tony waved and before Loki could reply, he was disappearing down the hall.

Loki smiled as he sipped his tea, not quite sure what he was doing, but he couldn’t be mad about it. He quickly straightened up his classroom and locked the cabinets before laying out his plans for the following day. Before he knew it he was packing up his briefcase and locking his classroom. The halls were gratefully quiet by then, and when he made it to the parking lot he couldn’t help the pleasant butterflies in his chest at the sight of Anthony leaning against his car.

By the time he was directly in front of the slightly younger man, he had to physically stop himself from reaching out.

“So, where to Mr. Stark?”

“You’re not too far from here, yeah? Is it too forward to invite myself to your house?”

“Certainly not,” Loki smiled. “I’m just over there,” Loki gestured to his car across the lot. “Follow me out?”

“Sure thing!”

Loki stood still for a moment too long, and Tony didn’t miss the opportunity to let his eyes sweep up and down Loki’s tall figure. Loki felt a blush rise to his cheeks at the attention Tony was giving him. After just a few months away, he couldn’t seem to get his fill.

“You want a ride or something?” Tony asked with a smirk.

“Excuse me?!” Loki spluttered.

“To your car, Bambi. You look like a deer in the headlights.”

Loki cleared his throat and took a small step backward when he heard a group of students on the field behind the parking lot. “I’ll be just fine, Anthony. I’ll see you shortly.”

Loki could hear Tony laughing softly as he took long strides across the concrete, desperate to stop embarrassing himself for just a moment. He knew it would continue at his house, but a short break was better than nothing. As soon as he was behind the wheel he glanced at his reflection in the mirror. His cheeks and the tops of his ears were bright red, no doubt due to Tony’s flirting and teasing. Loki shook his head with a smile. He was in for an interesting afternoon.

3 years later

“Hey, Lokes!” Tony called down the hall. “We’ve gotta go if we don’t want to be late!”

Loki scurried down the hall from their bedroom into the kitchen, looking nowhere near ready for the day. His hair was barely pulled back and the buttons on his shirt were off by one, creating an unintentional asymmetric look.

“Fix your shirt, I’ll get your tea,” Tony said fondly.

Loki pressed a quick kiss to Tony’s cheek, continuing his tornado-like movement throughout the kitchen. “Thank you, Anthony. You’re the best.”

Tony just nodded and smiled to himself, watching his fiance bustle around the kitchen and grab random papers and books that had been strewn across the counters for weeks. As soon as Tony placed a lid on Loki’s tea and his own coffee, he turned to find Loki smiling right back at him.

“Ready, love?”

“After you, Mr. L.”

“Hey, that’ll be Mr. S soon enough,” Loki retorted as he headed for the front door.

Tony shook his head, “You still sure about that?”

Loki squeezed Tony’s hand, “More than. After all, you are my favorite.”

#frostiron #frostiron fic #mine #loki x tony

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flipomatic · 4 years

Text

Internship Chapter 7: Day 2 - Amity

Author Note: I recognize that Odalia is probably not head of the abomination coven. I'm rolling with it anyway.

First Chapter Previous Chapter

________________________________________________________

When Amity told her siblings that school was quiet without them, she hadn’t been kidding. The halls were emptier, the cafeteria had more open seats, and the overall chaos level of the school was greatly diminished without their presence. It was a nice change.

Today was the second day of their absence and school had just ended for the day. Amity had put her books away and was currently walking towards the front of the school. She had a lot on her mind since the day before, after hearing about her siblings’ internships.

It had her wondering about her own future and what coven she might join after graduating from Hexside. What if she didn’t make the cut for the Emperor’s Coven? If she didn’t join the Emperor’s Coven, where would she go?

Those thoughts filled Amity’s mind as she neared the front of the school building. She was planning to visit the library, maybe do some reading in her hideout. At least, that was the plan until she saw Luz.

Her friend was wearing her usual school uniform, with the rainbow sleeves and leggings that designated her as being in every track. It was a cute look for her, though Amity didn’t have the nerve to tell her that.

She was walking ahead of Amity, on her way out of the school and bouncing a little with each step. She must’ve been happy or excited about something, which Amity loved to see. Wait, no, hated to see.

As if she felt Amity’s eyes on her, Luz turned to look her way. When their eyes met, a huge wonderful radiant smile spread across her face. Amity’s cheeks were warm as Luz lifted a hand to wave at her, changing course abruptly to walk her way.

“Amity!” Luz called out her name as she approached, a sound that always set Amity’s heart fluttering. “Are you doing anything after school?” She asked enthusiastically, the pair stopping a couple feet away from each other.

Solidifying her plans in her mind, Amity replied. “I’m thinking about doing some reading at the library.” After saying it, she wondered if she should invite Luz to join her. She wanted to invite Luz, wanted to hang out with her, but could she say it? Just the thought of doing it was warming her face and probably turning it red.

“Sound like fun.” Luz didn’t seem to notice, she just carried on with the conversation. “Eda is making this huuuge toxic potion at the Owl House, she told me to stay away or else.” Luz dropped her voice to imitate Eda for the last few words, then burst out laughing at her impression.

If Luz didn’t have anywhere to go that afternoon, that changed things. Amity didn’t need courage, not if Luz needed her!

“Would you uh,” She took it back, maybe Amity did need some of that courage. The way Luz’s brown eyes locked on hers wasn’t helping. “Like to come with me?”

If Luz’s smile could grow any larger it would’ve. “Absolutely! This’ll be so much fun!” She bounced slightly on the balls of her feet, even as she stood still. “There are so many books I haven’t read yet.”

“Do you have one in mind?” Amity was curious what Luz had been reading about. She was interested in the strangest things sometimes.

“Hmm.” Luz thought about it for a moment, then grinned. “Nope!”

Amity smiled at that, it was so typical of her but somehow still so charming. “I’ve been wondering,” Amity said, changing the topic to what had been on her mind for the last day. “What coven are you going to join?”

“Hmmmmmm.” Luz brought one hand up to her chin, thinking for even longer than before. Her eyebrows were scrunched together. To be fair, it was a much harder question. “I can’t decide, they’re all so cool.” She finally said, bringing her hands together in emphasis.

“That’s true,” Amity couldn’t help but smile for a moment, before her concerns about the Emperor’s Coven resurfaced in her mind. “I ask because, well, I’ve been thinking about it lately, which coven I want to join.”

“Have you picked one?” Luz asked, tilting her head slightly with the question.

Amity shook her head, “That’s the thing. I always thought I would join the Emperor’s Coven, but now I’m not sure. With everything that’s been going on, and with Em not making the cut, I don’t know anymore.” It felt strange to admit it, that she might not join the Emperor’s Coven. Now that she had said it, it felt more real than before. It had been her dream for so many years, to admit it might not happen felt like conceding a loss.

Luz was still looking right at her, eyes glimmering with ideas. “There are lots of other choices!” She stepped closer as she spoke, her voice louder than before. “Like abominations, or the other covens.”

“Abominations is an option.” It wasn’t ideal though, especially since her mother was head of the coven. She didn’t want to share that detail with Luz; it didn’t feel necessary. “But I don’t know what working there is like.” She had never asked her mother, since she never felt the desire to and never felt like she would get a meaningful answer if she did.

“We can totally find out.” Luz reached forward abruptly, taking Amity’s hand in her own. Amity’s face grew hot at the contact, a now familiar feeling, and she couldn’t find the words to protest. “I know just who to ask.”

Luz’s grip was firm as she started walking back into the school, practically dragging Amity behind her. After a few steps Amity was able to gain her footing and follow along, but Luz didn’t relinquish her hand. It was almost like they were holding hands, but not quite. Either way her heart was pounding out of control.

They walked down a couple hallways before reaching a wing of the school Amity knew well. It was the abomination classrooms, where she spent many hours of her days. They stopped in front of one of the classrooms, where Luz released Amity’s hand.

Amity looked down at her now empty hand while Luz poked her head into one of the classrooms. She seemed to find what she was looking for, since she then entered the room. Amity could hear her faintly from the hallway saying, “Hi Mr. Abomination Professor!”

Amity quickly entered the room as well, finding Luz talking with the abomination teacher. He was being held by an abomination as usual and appeared to have been half way through writing something on the board when Luz interrupted him.

“Good afternoon Luz, Amity.” He acknowledged both of them in turn, nodding in their directions. “What can I do for you?” He put his chalk down on the black board ledge.

“I have a question.” Luz raised her hand as if waiting to be called on. When he gestured in her direction, a bemused smile on his face, she continued. “What is it like working for the abomination coven?”

“I’m surprised to hear that question from the two of you.” He replied, having his abomination carry him away from the whiteboard and closer to the two of them. Amity knew he meant because of her mother and because her years in the abomination track, but she was still curious about what he would say. “I’ll still answer it of course.”

“Thank you!” Luz exclaimed, beaming. Amity nodded her thanks as well.

“The abomination coven places witches in a variety of jobs.” The abomination teacher went back to the board, picking up his chalk. He started to write a list on the board. “They primarily work in fighting roles. This includes assisting the Emperor’s Coven, performative fighting, and other supporting positions.”

“Performative fighting?” Luz’s eyes were sparkling, like she was imagining something. “Like abomination sumo?” What was sumo? Amity had never heard of that.

“I don’t know what that is.” The abomination teacher chuckled. “But there is a professional abomination wrestling ring, which might be similar. They host matches, all between coven members. It’s the last week of the season.”

“Ooh.” Luz turned to Amity. “We have to go to one.” She looked so excited and eager.

Amity couldn’t say no to her. “I’ll try to get tickets.” She wanted to go too, to see what it was like.

“Yes!” Luz pumped her fist once. “I’m so excited!” Then she seemed to remember where she was, and turned back to the abomination teacher. “Thanks for helping us.”

He smiled broadly. “You are very welcome. Run along now, go enjoy your afternoon.”

“See you tomorrow.” Amity said while Luz waved, the pair moving towards the door. A moment later and they had left, shutting the classroom door behind them.

“We should look for books about abomination wrestling at the library.” Luz said as they started walking back towards the front of the school. “I’m so curious, how do they wrestle?”

“There are probably books on that.” Amity had seen many books for each of the major covens around the library.

Luz wasn’t prepared to drop the topic yet. “I bet they’re like,” she raised her arms up in front of her, and made the exaggerated zombie face she’d been using when they first met. “blaaaah!”

Amity giggled, she couldn’t help it. Luz was too funny for her own good. When she regained her composure, she looked back at Luz. She had a small smile on her face and had been watching Amity laugh. Amity fought off a blush, pulling her eyes away to focus on walking straight.

They soon reached the front of the school and left to go to the library.

At the library, Luz was able to find many books about abomination wrestling, but none of them had pictures. She would have to wait to see what it was like.

Amity knew where the tickets were sold, she would probably even get a discount. She would go later to buy some. Hopefully they wouldn’t be sold out.

For now though, she enjoyed her time with Luz.

Next Chapter

#the owl house #the owl house fanfiction #lumity #amity blight #luz noceda #that's right there's lumity now #it only took 7 chapters to get some #i'm still working on this despite the new adventure time stuff #flip writes

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praphit · 3 years

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Happy New Year! (hopefully, cuz... whew!)

Ugh! Let's get this year over with; what do you say?? I don't even want to rehash the year like I normally would around this time of year.

Pre-COVID seems like so long ago: We were out at bars, games, concerts, and parties of strangers. We were dancing all up on each other, we were passing the bottle around, we were grabbing all kinds of doorknobs with no concerns. Kids were planning to soon graduate and step into their hopeful, bright futures. Adults were planning vacations around the world to escape a once hopeful present.

Times were good! Look at this groundhog eating pizza.

Not a care in the world.

And then, Thanos snapped his fingers, the world turned into shit, and we all realized how much we cared about Tom Hanks.

Can you imagine if that were literal? I think someone should get another gauntlet and turn planets into literal piles of crap. A new villain - "Poopfingers"

Ew... I know. I'm sorry.

Like I said, I don't want to talk about that stuff. I'd rather focus on entertainment instead. Join me for a few awards that I like to call "The Praphies"

MOVIE OF THE YEAR -

"WAP"

I know what you're thinking - "That's not a movie." Meh, it's movie-ish.

It's got two protagonists, whom are trapped in a mansion. It kinda reminds me of Willy Wonka's chocolate factory, but instead of chocolate being manufactured, we'd got... pleasure. Who doesn't want more pleasure after the year we've had??

There's a lot of weird things happening in the mansion, so that’s good for the plot. Plus, these ladies are all about... empowerment? - I guess?

Sure.

Kylie Jenner shows up for some reason, so I'm sure she's up to something; maybe she's the villain. And according to the lyrics "there's some whores in this house". Will they get rid of the "whores"? Will they embrace the whores? Perhaps this word will be taken back, and used as a term of endearment.

As mama looks at her daughter, walking bravely back into schools some day "That's my lil whore." Maybe we're all whores - what a twist.

It's a good picture. One of Scorsese's best. He did direct it right? I think so.

BEST ACTOR -

This one was a close race for me:

Jeanise Jones (Borat 2 - on the right)

This woman, who was not in on the joke, deserves a medal. She's the star.

Joe Exotic (The Tiger King)

Anyone standing behind Trump during those Rona briefings, who can hold a straight face.

Technically, Joe and Jeanise aren't actors, and Trump's people are... you know, TRUMP'S people, so I give the award to Mario Lopez for his role as Sexy Colonel Sanders.

Did y'all watch "A Recipe for Seduction?" It's entertaining. It was my runner-up for MOY.

SHOW OF THE YEAR -

Easy - "The Tiger King" for keeping us all together in the beginning of this 2020 corona mess.

Which leads me to MY person of the year (cuz let's be honest, Uncle Joe and Kamala... no)

The POY is -

Carole Baskin -

We all know that she murdered her husband, and yet she took over Joe's zoo property, continues her animal rights activism while being openly weird as hell, and was last seen being applauded on "Dancing with the Stars".

Only in America.

Animated action of the year - “Soul” for bringing us this negro,

played by Tina Fey :)

I’m just joking ( I love Tina Fey)... well, she does play him, but it’s not like that; still makes me laugh though. At least she didn’t have to worry about blackface.

I like my action flicks. They all can't be tear-jerkers like "WAP".

Which leads us to ACTION HERO OF THE YEAR --- Kiera Allen

If you saw the movie "Run" then you know this actress. She is the acrobatic, wheelchair-bound star of the movie. She is in a wheelchair in real life. In this movie she breaks through one window, climbs across a rooftop, breaks through another window, all with water in her mouth for a special finishing trick to end the scene. And she throws herself down a couple of flights of stairs. Let's see Liam Neeson try to do that!

I'm serious when I say - I expect to see her in the next "Fast & Furious" film.

Award for LEAST FUX GIVEN - Ricky Gervais, for lighting Hollywood on fire.

Athlete - TEAM JLo and Shakira

--- sidelined me (I attempted to dance like Shakira at work) and sent souls to hell

(that's some powerful booty shaking... and or just another example of white people being mad at brown people for existing)

SONG OF THE YEAR -

Vin Diesel’s "Feels like I do" - not up for debate.

Name another action star in 2020 with a single.

Album of the Year - "The Lion King: The Gift / Black is King" - by Beyonce

We didn't feel much like royalty, but at least we were being heard... well, for a lil bit; a lot more than I ever remember us being heard.

Remember when white people in Hollywood felt so much shame that they did this?

We had corporations like the NFL tryna pretend to be woke. Aunt Jemima and that Native American woman on the butter were freed

(though they did keep the land).

White people were afraid, and thought that perhaps this album was going to spark the second coming of Black Jesus.

It's interesting - black people protested (mostly peacefully); wanting justice, and white people got anxious. People started rioting and looting because of injustices rooted to this country's original sin, and white people, who's ancestors committed this sin, shook their heads at us in shame. Black people and anyone (of any color) standing with them were treated as hostiles, while white people with guns, shooting at black people were hailed as heroes.

What a time.

I wish Black Jesus really did come back to these Beyonce tunes.

Oh, and this stuff happened too

Toobin (Ha! This guy )

ASSHOLE OF THE YEAR (4 years straight)-

Trump

It's not even close. I was going to suggest that the dude from "The Vow" being a strong runner up, but even that would be disrespectful to Trump's assholery.

The world was on fire (metaphorically and literally), and Trump as our leader, threw gasoline on it. "BLM" came along to be heard and get justice for George Floyd, and Trump convinced his worshippers that BLM is a terrorist group. He shot away protesters, so he could pose awkwardly with a bible (doing God's work - this “work” included telling us to do the opposite of what physicians around the world plead with us to do during a pandemic, pushing drugs on us that these same physicians say no to, and telling us to inject ourselves with bleach. Hallelujah!). He accused Biden of corruption (pot calling kettle black). He loses to Biden, but fights the results with zero evidence, and at the sore loser rallies, there were stabbings and arrests, to which Trump praises their efforts.

A round of applause for the Michael Jordan of Assholes.

Donald J. Trump!

RESPECT!

Lastly, The Praphie (most coveted of awards)

The nominees are -

Kaylen Ward - raised over one million dollars for the Australia fires relief, by passing out nude photos of herself... yep. Seriously, look it up. Well, maybe don’t do that:)

Michael Jordan - "The Last Dance" was the only sports content for a sports addict like myself. MJ was the drug we needed.

Dr. Fauci - Really for putting up with us.

Dave Chappelle - a hell of a year for him. Plus, he was dropping N-Bombs and smoking on SNL

The Fly on Mike Pence's head.

Kamala Harris

Cardi B - just because

The winner is - Dave Chappelle

Not only for his great year in comedy (in this bleeped up year), but he has evolved into a modern day prophet. Who would have thought that the guy who made "Half Baked"

would be the one we'd seek out when racial tensions got to the highest levels this year??

Kaylen Ward would have won it, if she had continued her efforts. She could have raised some funds for Greta Thunberg. She could have used her nudity along-side protesters, or even joined doctors around the world, raising money for a vaccine. Smh. That's a shame.

In thinking about Chappelle's evolution, I'm reminded that we're all processing and changing as a result of this year. Some will change for the better, and others for the worse. Some will go to the depths only to rise up again. Regardless, of how you handle it, it's important to know who your true peeps are. Who loves you? Who’s got your back? Who do you love? We're all going to need true peeps to help us endure. Which leads me to my slogan for next year.

"If you love something let it go, if it doesn't return to you. Hunt it down and kill it." Idk about you, but that touches my heart.

Enjoy yourselves as much as you can tonight, and by that I mean safely :) Some of you might want to consider going to bed early, just to end this year faster.

Happy New Year, everyone!

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kusunogatari · 4 years

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[ ObiRyū October | Day Twenty-Eight | On Your Own ] [ @abyssaldespair ] [ Uchiha Obito, Suigin Ryū ] [ Verse: Best Years of Your Life ] [ Vulgarity, blood, death, gun ]

[ Previous ] [ Next ]

It’s two am.

And Obito is awake.

And not by choice.

Sitting at his desk with a cheek in a hand, he glowers at the wall in front of him. Not because it’s done him any offence, but because of what lies on the other side.

His neighboring apartment, for about two weeks now, has been playing host to a very fussy, very loud baby. Which has been keeping him up at all hours of the night, depending on when it feels like crying.

Needless to say, it’s been leaving him a little on edge.

Groaning, he drags his hand down his face. He has a very important appointment tomorrow, and he really doesn’t want to be losing any sleep right now. He was just finalizing his plans when the crying started, and now he feels his temper about to snap.

Can’t they shut that thing up?!

Growling as the decibels go up a notch, the pencil in his hand cracks and he stands with such abruptness that his chair nearly clatters over. Enough. He can’t take it anymore. He’s going to go over there and tell these people that they either shut that baby up, or he’ll do it himself.

Permanently.

Obito is, after all, no stranger to death. Having given up on schooling when a life-shattering accident left him too far behind to catch up, he turned to what began as petty crime to get by. And now? He’s barely into his twenties and already an infamous name in the city’s underground as a talented (and therefore expensive) hitman.

...in all reality, of course, he’s not going to hurt a baby. But by God he’s going to make them think he would if it will get him some Goddamn peace and quiet.

Wrenching open his door, he turns to face the proper direction, strutting up and pounding on the next door down. At least he always looks plenty intimidating. Hopefully it won’t take long to scare these idiots into -

He can hear the scrapes of the locks, and he puffs up as the knob turns, the door swinging open to reveal...a girl?

Good grief, is she even an adult?

Her face is pinched with exhaustion and worry, dark shadows under her pale eyes, and...wow, pale everything else. For a moment Obito’s almost convinced she’s a ghost haunting this apartment rather than living in it. But in her arms, still wailing like a banshee, is the baby.

“...uh…”

Suddenly he doesn’t know what to say. He wasn’t expecting...well, any of this.

But she clearly knows why he’s here.

“I...I’m so sorry,” she offers, voice a bit emphasized to be heard over the babe’s cries. “I’m trying to get her to calm down, I just...I think she’s colicky and she won’t settle. I’m so, so sorry…”

Obito just...blinks. Wait, is…? “...are you here alone?”

Immediately, the question - out of context - makes her stiffen.

He backpedals, hands lifting in defense. “I...I don’t mean like -? I mean...do you not have, uh...anyone else to...to help you?”

Oh no. He’s flipped a switch. As soon as he finishes his inquiry, her lip starts trembling, eyes brimming with tears.

He hates when girls cry…!

Lifting her spare arm, she tries to wipe them away, clinging to her composure by a thread. “N...no...I-I don’t.”

“Where’s the, uh...dad?”

She glances aside, looking ashamed. “...off to college. He didn’t….h-he didn’t want anything getting in the way of his...e-education. So he had his parents give me some money, and...here I am. But it’s already going so fast, and I...I don’t have anywhere else to go. This was the c-cheapest apartment I could find, but...I can’t find a job with her, there’s n-no one who can watch her, so I...I’ve just been sitting here trying to figure out w-what to do…”

Greys lift back to his face. “...I know she’s been d-driving everyone nuts. But she just keeps getting colicky and I don’t know why. I’m really sorry if she’s been keeping you awake. I’ll...I’ll try to get her to bed.”

Obito just...stares. So some jackass knocks her up...and then leaves her to her fate? Throws a little cash at her and calls it good?! What the fuck is wrong with this guy?! “...not to be, uh...creepy. But are you…? Have you graduated?”

“Yes...just last month. She came along two weeks later. I b-barely made it through my last year.”

“...and he’s off scot free, is he?”

“He -!” She hesitates. “...he’s...he already had a full ride. He’s really smart, and -!”

“I don’t give a fuck how smart he is,” Obito cuts in, making her jump. “He’s clearly trash if he did this to you. Fucking prick.”

Looking unsure at his volatile language, she doesn’t have a reply.

“...so you really don’t have anyone else you can ask for help?”

Her posture wilts. “...no. I was in, um...foster care. And my foster parents weren’t...the best. My dad was absent and my mom died when I was little. No other relatives that I know of, so...it’s just me.”

Sighing, Obito rubs at the back of his neck. He already knows what rent is here: it’s cheap, but still too much for anyone without a job. She’s been here two weeks...so rent’s due in another two.

In truth, the only reason Obito sticks around here is because it’s low profile. He has enough cash to upgrade, but staying low works well for him.

This whole situation isn’t sitting right with him...and something about her reminds him of...someone else.

“...first thing’s first. You need a babysitter. Or a...a nanny. Whatever it’s called.”

She blinks. “...but -?”

“Then you can start looking for a job. Odds are you won’t find anything that pays too well. You have a car?”

“N...no -?”

“Then either something within walking distance, or you commute by bus. Or there’s always the kind of job women get in a neighborhood like this, but,” he amends at her offended look, “that’s not...preferable.”

“...I don’t have any money for a -”

“I’ll cover it.”

Her face goes slack in shock, eyes wide.

“...consider it an investment,” he adds, glancing aside to avoid her gaze. “You get this kid on a schedule and get yourself on one too, maybe I won’t be losing so much sleep. My job pays well, and I don’t have much to spend it on, anyway. You need to get a foot in the door. And I know what it is to have no one to lean on.”

Clearly still unable to process his words, she just...stares at him, mouth slightly agape.

“...I’m Obito, by the way.”

“...Ryū…”

“And who’s this?”

She blinks several times before looking down to her baby. By now, she’s settled to a series of whines and half-sobs. “...Amaya.”

“Well Amaya, you’ve been a pain in my ass for two weeks,” Obito offers, hands on his hips and leaning toward the infant. Dark grey eyes - squinted shut as she cries - open as his talking distracts her, drawing her gaze. “So let’s do something about it, hm? Maybe then we can be friends.”

Seemingly entranced, Amaya stares up at him, suddenly quiet.

Both adults go still.

“...um…” Ryū seems at a bit of a loss. “...I think she likes you.”

Obito, staring back at the baby, looks equally confused. “...usually I frighten babies,” he admits, straightening his posture. “With the whole…” He gestures to his face.

“Well, it seems she doesn’t mind,” Ryū counters, managing a tired smile as Amaya sucks on a thumb. “Maybe I can finally put her down for bed…”

“And then I can do the same,” Obito agrees, loosely folding his arms. “I have work tomorrow, but...we’ll talk when I get back.”

“Do you…?”

“Hm?”

Ryū hesitates. “You...you don’t have to do this...I mean, we don’t -?”

“I told you, I have the money. And I need the sleep. Once you get a leg up, you’ll be fine. Not your fault you were dumped here without any help.”

Her expression wilts, and he prays she isn’t going to cry again. “I’ll...I’ll make it up to you! Do you need, um...anything? I could cook, o-or clean! I handled most of all that growing up, so I’m good at it!”

Obito blinks. He...hadn’t considered that. In truth he doesn’t need much cleaning, he’s pretty tidy (and not home much to make a mess anyway). Cooking, on the other hand…

Maybe that can be where they start.

“...all right. We’ll begin there. You can be my, er…” What’s the term?

“Housekeeper…?” Ryū supplies.

“Yes! That way there’s no commute, no fuss...and you can bring her with you, hm?” He gestures to Amaya.

Ryū brightens, looking at him like he just pulled her out of a burning building. “I...o-okay! Um…” She looks around, seeming a bit overwhelmed at the sudden plans. “...should I...wait until you get back tomorrow?”

“Yes. I need to, er...plan how this will work.” And by that he means making sure she doesn’t stumble upon anything...compromising in his apartment, like his selection of weapons and files on his targets.

That would be...unfortunate.

A wide smile blooms across her face. “All right then! I’ll just...wait to hear from you. And…” Her demeanor softens again. “...thank you. You have...no idea what this means to me. To us.”

A bit awkward at the praise, Obito looks aside and clears his throat. “Er...you’re welcome. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

The door closes, and Obito mulls over the entire conversation. Not...what he had in mind, but maybe this will work.

...he knows what it is to be left without anywhere to turn, anyone to lean on. But even then, he didn’t have a baby to worry about on top of it all. Poor girl.

...he shouldn’t call her girl. She’s an adult, only three years younger than himself. But...well, he’s aged a lot mentally in his lifestyle. And clearly she’s just getting started. A level one adult, while he feels like he’s at least level fifty after all he’s had to go through.

Sighing, he relishes in the silence as he heads back to his apartment, needing hardly any time to collapse into bed and find sleep.

Come morning...it’s time to get to work.

Going over his target’s file and the plan he’s made to get the job done, Obito packs his sniper rifle and heads out. Dressed in a suit and putting on an air of confidence, he walks right into a private office building and makes his way to a top floor. It’s currently empty, as well as several floors below it, in preparation of new clients.

The perfect opportunity, as his target works just across the street on the same level. He’ll have a shot, and some room to work (and hopefully go unnoticed enough to get out without being caught). Setting up the tripod, he cuts the glass of a window to give the bullet less to travel through, assembling the weapon and awaiting the proper moment.

Settled at the scope, he watches as the executive he’s been paid to off heads into his office, taking a phone call.

All alone.

Adjusting the crosshair to account for the wind, Obito takes a steadying breath, holds it...and fires.

A splatter of red blooms along the wall behind his target, body immediately limp.

Perfect.

Practiced hands then quickly disassemble the gun, getting it back into its case and making his way to the elevator.

By the time anyone heads up to investigate the noise, he’s already heading back out the door. A call to his burner phone confirms the kill, and the wiring of the funds to his account.

All in all, he’s only gone an hour.

Back in his apartment, he finds it’s still quiet. Seems Ryū and Amaya are having a good morning. Changing his clothes and stashing his gun, he then goes about readying his apartment for his guest.

Well...guests, he supposes.

He does have a gun safe, and all of his supplies fit within it. And a locked file cabinet holds all of his research and client information. He highly doubts Ryū’s the type to even begin sneaking around, let alone be able to get past the locks he has in place.

He’s ready.

Heading back to her door, he knocks and awaits an answer. Though still looking exhausted, Ryū appears a bit more perky today than she did yesterday. Maybe she also got some sleep.

“Good morning!”

“Morning. Should we, er...give this a try?”

Nodding, Ryū packs Amaya into a carrier, heading the few steps down the hall and into Obito’s apartment. A few glances show it’s...rather Spartan, with hardly any personal effects, or...even mess.

...does he really need her to -?

“So, uh…” Obito itches at the rear of his neck, trying to think. “I know there’s not much to be cleaned, but...it’s lacking in other ways. I don't go grocery shopping much. I tend to order food rather than cook myself. It’s expensive.”

Ryū blinks. He did say he had the money, though…

“It’s also not healthy. And my money goes to a better place this way anyway,” he adds, seemingly reading her thoughts. “So it’s a win several times over. Now we just need to, er...figure out how this will work.”

“Do you...work regular hours?” she asks, setting Amaya down.

“Not really. I’m a contract worker,” Obito replies, having perfected that lie long ago. “I get a call, I go in. Otherwise I tend to jump about doing other things. I’m at the gym a good bit.” Mostly to keep in shape for his work, but also to help keep his mangled body as limber as he can manage. That and the physical effort keeps him from thinking too much. “So usually I’m not home much anyway.”

Ryū curls a thoughtful hand against her mouth. “...well, I guess I could start with a time in the morning to get breakfast out of the way for you, and then...if you’re gone all day, fix lunches to take with you…? And I can work on other tasks while you’re gone, and have supper ready by a set time, or...you can call if you’re going to be late.”

Obito blinks. That...seems pretty simple. “Sure. I’ll get a new card to leave with you so you can pick up whatever you need. Pretty sure you know what you’re doing.”

“B-but -?”

“Hm?”

She hesitates. “...that’s...putting a lot of trust in me, isn’t it?”

“True. But if you mess up, I’ll just fire you,” he replies blithely. “I think you know better than to try anything.”

“I...I guess so. I guess I’m just not used to anyone, um...trusting me that much,” she admits.

“Well, you’re trusting me, in turn. I could be a total creep tricking you into all of this for other gains,” Obito counters as he folds his arms, seeing her jolt slightly. “...but I’m not. So we’re even in that regard, hm?”

“...seems that way.”

Glancing to a clock, Obito sighs. “...well, how should we start? Now? Tomorrow? Or -?”

“I can start today!” Ryū chirps in reply. “...that is, if you want me to.”

“Sure. Though I’ll need time to get the card, and another key…” He hums to himself, rubbing at his chin. “...I’ll do that today. Then you can really get started tomorrow. For now,” he adds, reaching into his pocket to fetch his wallet and handing her a wad of cash that makes her eyes go wide. “Go get whatever you want for the week.”

“O...okay. Um…” She looks back up to him. “Any...allergies, or dislikes…? Things I should avoid?”

He waves a hand. “Not really. So long as there’s no szechuan, I’ll be fine.”

To his surprise, she snorts. “Well, all right then.”

“We’ll go get the spare made first, then you can get going, and I’ll head to the bank. You’ll probably be back first.”

“Okay. What time should I plan for dinner to be ready?”

“I’m usually back by six.” A pause, and then, “Do you have a phone?”

“I do!”

He exchanges their numbers. “I’ll call if something comes up.”

From there, they both head out, a keymaker a few blocks away. Ryū totes along Amaya, who stays relatively quiet for the trip. Once she has her spare key, she scoots off to find groceries.

And Obito heads to the bank.

The card is simple enough, and will make anything else she has to get down the road a lot simpler. That way Ryū can just attend to any business without having to ask him about it every time.

From there, he decides to take some time at the gym until the end of the day. It’ll help him think, and blow off some steam. Especially since he actually has energy from a full night’s rest for the first time in...well, since Ryū moved in, really. As he pushes his body to its limits, he mulls over the situation as a whole. He’s sure this is going to work. Just...get her going. Make sure she has a kind of...foundation to go off of.

More than he was granted, since he’s able to pay his fortune forward.

Once the time for dinner starts rolling around, he walks back, the cool evening air wicking the sweat along his skin. He always prefers to shower at home...you never know what’s lurking in the public ones.

He’s seen some things.

One elevator ride later, he comes up to his door, finding it locked and slipping in his key.

As soon as he does, he pauses.

The kitchen is directly across from the entryway, and it’s...occupied for once. Hair tied up in a messy bun, Ryū scurries back and forth, juggling a few pans and something in the oven. A menagerie of smells actually makes Obito’s stomach whine petulantly in hunger. It’s clear she’s done some actual cleaning, too - while he doesn’t leave things lying around, he can’t remember the last time he dusted. A window is open, letting in fresh air and leaving the apartment smelling far better than its usual musty scent.

While the appearance isn’t that different, the feeling is...like another world. And not just the apartment...it’s clear Ryū is feeling a lot better, too.

It’s all so oddly...domestic.

After he stares for a solid thirty seconds, she notices him, perking up. “Oh!” Turning to the oven’s clock, she sees that it reads a quarter to six. “I’m almost done!”

“...that’s fine,” Obito manages to reply, finding his head. “I...need a shower, anyway.”

“Okay!”

Moving to the bathroom, Obito does just that, emerging and dressing in his typical evening lounge wear of sweatpants and a tank top. Peering back out, he finds the kitchen empty, food left to keep warm.

Instead, Ryū is on the couch.

She’s...asleep?

Head slightly tilted, her mouth is a bit agape, breathing softly. And atop her chest, also asleep (and clearly having just been fed), is Amaya.

In spite of himself, Obito’s face goes a bit warm at the sight, averting. He...can’t see anything from here (the baby is covering anything...lewd), but her shirt is still very clearly tugged to one side.

...seems she tuckered herself out. But the dark circles are starting to fade. Apparently she’s already making up her rest deficit. And while she’s clearly tired, it’s more of an...accomplished tired than ‘up with the baby all night’ tired.

In spite of himself, Obito feels his lips twitch. She really is cute, what with her demure demeanor. But...she’s also pretty plucky, trying to make this all work on her own. Part of him can’t help but admire that. She’s pretty tough despite her fragile appearance.

...okay, he’s...thinking about this too much. And they both need to eat something.

Not wanting to be rude, he sheepishly approaches, carefully jostling Ryū’s shoulder to wake her.

“...huh…?”

“You, uh...fell asleep. Hungry?”

Blinking a bit blearily, Ryū stares at him for a moment before stiffening, realizing her position. “Oh -!” She (very carefully) scrambles to adjust her outfit, not wanting to wake the infant. “I...I’m sorry -”

“No, it’s fine. I’m not the only one that needs to eat around here,” he tries to joke, lips flickering into a sheepish smile.

Still, her face is quite warm, carefully tucking Amaya back into her carrier to nap. “I, um...I hope dinner’s okay?”

“If it’s half as good as it smells, it’ll be more than fine.” Heading to the kitchen, he pauses, noticing she’s not following. “...coming?”

Her brow furrows. “...but -?”

“You made it, you get to eat it. Just...get over here.”

Blinking, Ryū does as asked, skittering across the apartment and taking a nervous seat opposite Obito at his little table.

An awkward silence blooms, each of them taking a bite.

Obito, however, quickly perks up. “...this is really good!” he offers after swallowing. “You take lessons?”

“Um, no...just...consulted the internet a lot growing up,” she admits, looking shy at the praise. “And...a lot of practice.”

“Consider yourself a permanent hire,” Obito adds, shoveling another spoonful into his mouth.

A bit pink, Ryū nonetheless brightens at his words, giggling a little and taking another bite herself.

Maybe this is going to work, after all.

Ohhhhhhh my gods this is late, but I’m been SWAMPED irl and just...really burnt out, so I kinda...took a week break BUT I’ve been working on things! I had another prompt for today but it kinda got...out of hand SO I did this in the meantime! I think it’s super cute ;w; Single parent AUs are just! really cute. I almost went with Obito being the parent (maybe I’ll do that another time lmao) but this just felt easier to do for a quicker one xD THREE MORE TO GO and one has a prompt already, I might tweak the other two. I need shorter ideas so I can get them done I’m so behind, I’m a bad u_u But at least there’s this for today, we’ll see how tomorrow goes! Thanks for reading~

#obiryū october #abyssaldespair #uchiha obito #suigin ryū #best years of your life [ au ]#vulgarity //#blood //#death //#gun //

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