#anyway Rudy would also sit you down from time to time to have some open and honest communication with you

[cerise-on-top]

hellooo, i love ur stuff and i wannted to see u write about how Simon, Price, Alejandro, and Rudy handle having a wife who is very head strong and such? Like the type of woman who was very successful and has a sharp tongue. A very badass woman in general. Thx<33

Hello! Thank you! I tried on this request as well, but people like that genuinely scare me ^^; I wrote this with a very hot headed person in mind because I'm not quite sure I understand what headstrong means, even when I googled it! It's probably a bit extreme, the way I wrote reader and it probably usually isn't that bad, but I barely know anyone who's like this!

Price, Ghost, Alejandro and Rodolfo with a Headstrong!S/O

Price: There are a few things Price is used to due to his occupation: People taking his orders without ever questioning them, and people, smart assed as they are, questioning his every move. Some differences could be settled quite peacefully, during others, harsh words had to be exchanged in order for an agreement to come between them. So it definitely wouldn’t be the first time Price had ever met someone like you. However, he can get along just fine with someone like that. You’re his spouse, not some soldier, therefore he can bite back from time to time if he needs to. However, if you’re about to do something extremely stupid where you will end up hurt, he will try to stop you, no matter how much you protest and snarl at him. He loves you for your personality, but sometimes some risks do need to be taken into consideration. He would sometimes get fed up a bit with you, especially if you keep doing what you do without really considering the consequences or yourself. At some point, he’d probably just let you do whatever it is that you want to do. If things go well, he’ll congratulate you, maybe reward you too depending on whatever it was, but if things go sour he would have to bite back a “told you so” occasionally. But other than that, he can appreciate your sharp tongue, always biting back at the people who are trying to belittle you. It shows him that you’re not someone who needs to be taken care of at all times and that you can handle yourself when it comes down to it. Don’t sass him too much, though, since he will also sass you back. But if that’s what you like, then go right ahead. 

Ghost: If he wanted to, he could insult you in a way that could destroy your sense of worth, and sometimes, when you are being a bit more difficult, he considers saying something mean himself. He never does, though, since he doesn’t want to ruin what the two of you have. While you being harsh with others and not letting them walk all over you is something he can appreciate, he will sit you down from time to time and tell you to take it down a notch or two, especially if you’re being harsh towards him. Communication goes both ways, though, so you’re also more than welcome to give him a piece of your mind. As long as you’re both being adults about it, he won’t mind. Like Price, he lets you do your own thing for the most part, unless you’re doing something extraordinarily stupid. He will try to change your mind, knowing fully well it would be futile, in a gentle manner, but if you don’t listen to him then that’s on you. He did try to help you. As much as he’d sigh at your antics, he would help you clean up your messes. Ghost isn’t much of a talker himself, saying the bare minimum when something needs to be said, so sometimes he’ll simply lean back and let you do the talking. Especially if the other person is being an idiot. You have a way with words that makes him snicker from time to time, especially if you’re a small and petite thing. The surprise on the other person’s face is such a delight, he can’t help but love it every single time. And if you’re a rather big and scary person then he’ll wordlessly watch the other person scuttle away. It’s nice, not always having to talk to people. He can be mean too, but he usually just rolls his eyes and walks away.

Alejandro: Alejandro is a rather passionate man about many things, therefore you would often come to butt heads. He used to be far more fiery when he was younger, so these days it’s not as bad as it used to be, but your arguments might end up with both of you yelling. Alejandro can be extremely stubborn and, unless you have some good arguments, it’s not very easy to change his mind either. Unless you start insulting him first, he won’t yell any insults at you either. He would absolutely never get physical with you, no matter how scary he might seem, though. Even in his heated moments, he values you more than anything and anyone else. In your eyes, you’re both right, and that might just be something you’ll both want to work on if you want your relationship to last in the long run. He is more than willing to do so, though, as long as you put some effort into it as well. May god save whatever soul has decided to wrong both of you, however. He will give them a piece of his mind, and so will you, meaning that person has twice the amount of people to be scared of. One of the many reasons you would come to argue would be you trying to do something that might be dangerous, with him trying to convince you it’s a bad idea. He’s a colonel, so he’s used to people taking his orders without very many questions. While Alejandro may not expect you to be his poodle, he does want to see you safe and sound. Ultimately, he knows telling you to not do something won’t change anything, but he’ll try anyway. Your safety comes before all else. Unlike Price and Ghost, he will tell you “I told you so”. Even when he tells you all the reasons why you really shouldn’t have done what you did, he will still patch you up and use his power to make sure you can continue being as successful as you are. So, even while mad he’s a sweetheart about and to you.

Rodolfo: Considering he’s a quiet man, he won’t usually talk back when you have something to say. Instead, he’ll force all of his emotions down. Very rarely, he might snap at you because of it, however. Again, you’ll both have to talk it out with each other, with you having to learn how to bite back something as well. Rodolfo isn’t nearly as feisty as Alejandro, so he’ll usually let you do the talking. Think the “he asked for no pickles” meme except Rodolfo could make his opinion known, but it’s more impactful when you do it. He likes to see you successful and in high spirits, even if he sometimes would wish you would tone it down a bit. Some bad potatoes at the farmer’s market aren’t the end of the world. However, he’ll barely ever voice such a thing, simply turning away instead when you’re getting too heated. He knows trying to calm you down will only make things worse, so he’ll wait it out. Out of everyone, he’ll be the most patient as far as your personality goes. If you’re ever trying something risky, he’ll make you aware of the risks, even if you do end up snapping at him, but won’t stop you. Again, it’s futile. While he may have enough faith in you to know you likely won’t end up hurt, you’re a smart cookie after all, he will sigh if things don’t end up according to plan. You’re probably too proud to do so, but you’re always more than welcome to come to him for help if you need it, he won’t mind. In fact, he’d prefer that over you getting hurt. If you’re both buying things, though, then he’ll let you be the one to haggle, you’re the most effective haggler he knows. In fact, if he ever needs something that requires him to bargain with people for anything at all, he’ll let you do it. You’re scarier than him, on the outside, so he’ll either get what he wants at a good price, or the other person will have learned a lesson. It’s a win-win situation either way.

#cod #cod x reader #john price #john price x reader #price x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #alejandro vargas #alejandro vargas x reader #rodolfo parra #rodolfo parra x reader #fem!reader #even though I think there's no mention of reader being a female in this #better safe than sorry #I think Rodolfo would be the ideal partner for someone like that because he'll just roll his eyes and let you do your thing #he's very patient as well and does prefer someone else doing the talking if it's with strangers #but again you might not want to be very extreme with a personality like that #I met someone like that once and she... was not a very kind person. I was scared of her and I still am #anyway Rudy would also sit you down from time to time to have some open and honest communication with you #he treasures you and wants this relationship to last as well

[sillylittlegay]

CoD Short story; AleRudy Café AU Part 5

Early in the morning Alejandro got up. He started his day like he normally would, the only differences being him slightly stumbling over Rudy's shoes that were in the way and him putting out a bit of breakfast for the other. He knew he said he wouldn't, but who was there to stop him from making his Best friend breakfast? Soon later he headed out.

Roach had the keys for the Café this time, because he already worked the later shift yesterday while Alejandro only worked early shifts – he liked having the evenings free to do whatever he wanted and Price was nice enough to actually consider that when making the shift plan. Alejandro worked the whole week, always early shifts. Roach worked early shifts with him on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays – later shifts on Tuesday and Thursday, while Soap worked early and later shifts the other way around. Ghost usually joined in on the later shifts, mostly so there'd always be two baristas at front. Technically seen they'd soon have to hire another one, Ghost clearly hung behind in the paperwork – the piles in the break room were a clear sign. Either a Barista or a manager, that's what they needed desperately and exactly what they wouldn't get until Price picked someone up by the neck again. He surely knew how to adopt random people in need – only reason Gaz called him "Café Dad".

Alejandro was right on time, standing in front of the cafés door, waiting for his co-worker to arrive. Roach usually wasn't one to be late, but in his defence he also used the bus to get here so there could always be complications. For now, Alejandro just would have to freeze his ass off. He silently cursed himself for not wearing something warmer. For some reason he had wanted to look good today – not that anyone would see anyway because of the mandatory apron all the baristas wore. Suddenly his phone rang – he immediately noticed that it was the ringtone Gaz had set to be Prices, a silent "you're my dad!" followed by idiotic music. He quickly answered. »Price, what's up?« He wondered, normally Price didn't call him – or any of the staff – unless it was important. »Don't open up today, I already called Roach. We're in a bit of a pickle.« Alejandro could hear Price sigh in annoyance, shortly followed by another sigh, one he could make out to be Laswells. »Why, what happened?« The barista wondered while already making his way home again. »We don't know, there's been some kind of mistake – we're in trouble.« Price answered, obviously shuffling around some paperwork. »Tell me when you get more info, maybe I can help sort stuff out.« »I'll keep it in mind son, for now just enjoy your free day.« With that Price hung up and Alejandro hoped it wasn't too serious. It was obviously serious enough that they wouldn't open the café – but there was hope that they'd be able to open soon again.

Alejandro made a quick trip to the store, just to pick up some basic things before returning home. Rudy greeted him once he opened the door – definitely another thing Ale could get used to. »Now that's what I call a record shift, why're you back so soon?« The shorter wondered, looking at Alejandro while eating the breakfast the other had put out. »There seems to be an issue going on, we can't – better said we're told to – not open up today. I don't know what happened though.« The taller sighed, sitting down beside Rudy. »Seems like our days started a similar way huh? I've also got bad news.« Alejandro rested his head on the table, slightly looking over at the other, waiting for him to continue. »The hag called me. Told me she'd sue me or something. She was real hysterical.« Rudy sighed heavily – apparently a sound Alejandro would hear more often today – and leaned his head on his fist. »She can't just do that though, she's got nothing against you right?« Alejandro said, clear worry in his voice. »Jandro she's awful. I only told her I moved out because she makes me uncomfortable and she runs with it. Fucks sake the amount of times I told her I'm—« He interrupted himself mid sentence. Something about the look in his eyes told Alejandro to not ask what he had been about to say. »Well.. we'll get through this Rudy, okay? Together.« He smiled instead, slightly reaching out to his best friend. Rudy smiled back weakly, carefully taking the hand Alejandro had extended.

»Yeah. Together.«

Your Honor I love them.

Story updates btw;

Currently writing the König x reader

Am planning an AU with AleRudy and GhostSoapKönig (we love poly relationships in this household)

And another part for the Ghostsoap story is in planning!

#call of duty #cod mwii #short story #rodolfo x alejandro #alejandro mw2 #alejandro vargas #alerudy #aledolfo #alejandro x rodolfo #rodolfo rudy parra #rudy parra #alejandro x rudy #call of duty rodolfo #rodolfo mw2 #rodolfo parra

[our-time-is-now]

August 29, 2019 (2): It is time… see you soon beloved bed!

(previous play)

You can find more information about the authors, translators, content warning and additional information about the plays in the pinned post on our blog.  

Attention! This play includes transgender topics. For more details see our interjection.

Thursday, 6:57 pm:

David: *today they really mostly managed to laze around when he came back from therapy after Laura had to admit at some point, that there’s really not much left to do and that they will be able to pack and/or disassemble the rest of the things on Friday or Saturday simply because they still need them* *therefore they played video games and watched a show together and cuddled and then they packed his plants in banana boxes and went to the flatshare with Rudi and the boxes* *distributed some of the plants in the kitchen and the living room - much to Hans’ excitement and Linn’s worry, since she was afraid that Nepomuk might get to them* *they were able to reassure Linn by telling her that turtles would surely not be able to climb or jump to the windowsill and quickly ate with Linn and Hans in the kitchen before Michi arrived and everyone went to their rooms* *grins at Matteo* And now let’s continue lazing around… *goes to his room with him and puts the remaining two plants on the windowsill there* *then throws himself onto the bed belly-down and only then realizes that for the next three months, this will be the last time in Matteo’s bed* *turns around, sits up and looks at Matteo pensively* I somehow feel like we should do something nice for your bed… after all, we’ll banish it to Alex’ for the next three months… basically just deport it… *pats the sheet*

Matteo: *drops down on the bed next to David* *was just about to reach for David and pull him close when he sits up* *looks at him first in confusion and then amusement* Do something nice for my bed? *laughs slightly* Like what? Do you want to dance on it? Or tell it a story? Should I leave the two of you alone? *reaches one hand out for David and tugs on his shirt* You’re cute… alright okay… *turns onto his stomach and talks to the mattress* Thank you for the good service you rendered us, David will miss you very much, we’ll see you again in three months…

David: *nods seriously when Matteo asks and lifts his eyebrows when he laughs* Pffff… sure, why not!? *but then smiles happily and conciliatory when Matteo agrees and turns on his stomach* *immediately lies back down next to him and looks between him and the bed* *at first nods at his words but then frowns again and adds* Matteo will also miss you very much! *puts his head onto the mattress and looks at Matteo* Here we fell asleep for the first time next to each other… if your bed hadn’t been so comfortable I surely wouldn’t have stayed the night… *suppresses a grin, because that’s not true, of course*

Matteo: *laughs slightly when David says that he’d also miss the bed* *was just about to disagree a little when he hears David continue* *grins slightly* Wow, now I feel good… so my bed was the determining factor… not my dazzling company? *reaches his hand out and cards through David’s hair* We did spent quite a few nice hours lazing around here, that’s true…

David: *has to laugh quietly now, after all, and scoots a little closer to him* Well, okay… your dazzling company /and/ your bed… *briefly closes his eyes when Matteo cards through it and humms in agreement* ...and we also had the best conversations mostly in /your/ bed… *opens his eyes again and looks at him* ...and I also spent the first night without a binder /here/… and the first time completely without binder and shirt was also here… *grins slightly and shrugs one shoulder* *then scoots a little closer again and loosely wraps an arm over his hip* *says quietly* You always say that my bed is bigger… *grins slightly* ...but we actually don’t need much space, anyways…

Matteo: *grins slightly when he relents a little* *but then shakes his head slightly* Not only here… *but then has to nod because the next things are true, of course* *also wraps his other arm around him when he scoots closer* But the first time was at your place… and we also had good conversation at your place and… *but then hears his last argument and humphs slightly* True… we actually don’t… but… *sighs slightly and looks at him* Okay, if you really want to then we can also keep my bed…

David: *laughs quietly and shakes him slightly* Hey, I didn’t mean it like that… *lifts his head for a moment and kisses him tenderly before lying his head back onto the mattress* I just didn’t want you to always belittle your bed so much… I like it… it’s yours… and I like everything that belongs to you… *pushes one of his legs between Matteo’s and then gets a little more serious* We’ll do what /you/ want, okay? If you want my bed then you’ll get my bed… I want my desk and I’m getting space for my desk… and three plants on the windowsill… and space in your wardrobe… I don’t really care about the rest…

Matteo: *gets a kiss and smiles immediately* *shakes his head in amusement* I don’t /belittle/ it - I just like yours more, because I like everything that belongs to you… *grins at him because by now it’s really their game* *squeezes his leg a little when he pushes it between his legs and scoots a little closer to him* Okay… *hesitates and then says* I want your bed. *kisses him and keeps his face close to David’s this time* Okay… and how exactly do you want to say farewell to the bed now? *wiggles his eyebrows a little*

David: *grins slightly when Matteo’s arguments are similar to his* *wraps his arm around him tighter when he scoots closer and then nods happily when he decides on one of their beds* Okay… *turns his head slightly toward the mattress and says quietly to the bed* But we’ll see each other again in three months… *then gets a kiss when he turns back to Matteo and smiles when he stays so close to him with his face* *thinks briefly when he hears his question* Hmmm… well I’d say first we put on comfortable clothes… or I’ll definitely take off the binder… and maybe we already put on our sleeping clothes… hmmm… and then… we’ll both tell the bed our favorite memory of it… and then… *grins slightly* ...we definitely must have sex in it one more time… and tomorrow morning we’ll hug it again tightly before we disassemble it… *nods slightly happily and conclusively* *but then remembers something and adds* And once a month we’ll go visit it at Alex’... *laughs quietly at Matteo’s look and adds* Okay, the last thing was a joke!

Matteo: *laughs when David is talking to the bed again* *says with a fake voice* I’m already looking forward to our reunion, David. *then humms along when David humms* *smiles at his plan and nods* Sleep clothes, telling it a story, sex, sleeping… sounds good… *then looks at him a little shocked when he talks about visiting* /You/ can do that… *then laughs when he relents* With you one never knows… *kisses him again and runs his hand through his hair before he sits up* Okay, let’s get changed…

David: *grins when Matteo imitates the beds’ voice and then looks at him lovingly* *returns his kiss after he has agreed to the plan and then nudges his nose against Matteo’s* *also sits up and ruffles around the bed for his sleep shirt* *finds Matteo’s shirt first and throws it to him* *then finds his own and quickly peeks toward the door to see if it’s closed* *still hesitates because Hans has the habit of coming into the room even without knocking* *briefly frowns when he notices that Matteo’s key isn’t in the lock anymore and briefly wonders if it’s outside* *then sits up quietly and says to Matteo* I gotta pee anyways, I’ll just get changed in the bathroom… *gets up, but leans down to him again to quickly kiss him before leaving the room*

Matteo: *gets the shirt thrown at him and grins* Thanks… *looks up at him when he says that he’ll get changed in the bathroom* *nods immediately* Okay… *kisses him back and looks after him when he disappears* *then gets up to also get changed and then slips back under the covers again* *looks around the room and sees David’s boxes stacked in one corner of the room* *can feel a pleasant tugging in his stomach and that he’s really looking forward to David moving in with him* *smiles to himself and waits for David to come back again*

David: *pees in the bathroom, changes and splashes some water into his face before he goes back to Matteo’s room* *can see that he’s slipped under the cover, which is now only a bedsheet, and smiles at the sight of a smiling Matteo* *crawls into bed and under the covers, positions his arm so that he can put his head onto Matteo’s shoulder and lies down with a sigh of pleasure* *looks up at him and asks quietly and a little amused* Na, what makes you smile like that?

Matteo: *smiles even more when David returns and lies down with him* *wraps his arm around him and looks down at him* *grins even more at his question* You of course… *presses a kiss to his hair* Well, then go ahead and tell me your favorite story of my bed… *grins a little more because it’s somehow so wonderfully David that he wants them to do this*

David: *grins and frowns at his question and laughs out loud* No, of course… I wasn’t even in the room… you still smiled… *then hears him say that he wants to hear the story and has to think* *turns onto his back for a moment to do so and stares at the ceiling* Puh… there are so many stories about your bed… hmmm… *eventually says hesitantly* I think I have two favorite occurrences that have something to do with your bed… is that okay or do I have to choose? *turns back to Matteo and looks at him questioningly*

Matteo: *laughs slightly* Oh and if you’re not there then I’m not allowed to think of you or what? *then stretches his arm when David turns onto his back* Hmmmm *looks at him with a grin* Of course that’s okay… maybe one of them is also the same as mine, then I don’t have to tell it again…

David: *looks at him with a skeptical smirk when he hears his answer and eventually says hesitantly* Hmmm… alright… *stretches a little to press a kiss to his cheek* *then hears that Matteo thinks that he can weasel his way out of telling his favorite story and shakes his head* *laughs quietly* Nooo… if my story is the same as yours then you have to think of a new one… *turns back to him, but quickly pats Matteo’s bed between them and murmurs* Okay, I’ll start… are you ready?! *then scoots closer to Matteo again and puts his head back onto his shoulder* *wraps his arm around his stomach and says* So the time I appreciated your bed the most was… *grins slightly* ...when we came back from Heidesee… after two weeks in a tent on the sleeping pad, your bed was so incredibly comfortable and soft and cozy and snug… and also the silence… having the flatshare to ourselves for 5 hours… I think that was the best lazing-around-in-bed ever - the one I appreciated the most and for which I’m very grateful for! *grins up at Matteo and asks* Do you think your bed remembers what we did on it that day or do I have to go into more detail?

Matteo: *laughs quietly when David says that he can’t weasel his way out* Okay, okay, then I’ll think of something new… *wraps his arm around him once more when he lies down next to him again* *listens to him and nods immediately* Yep… that was nice… *then laughs out loud at his question* Hmmmm, I’d say it can’t hurt… my bed doesn’t have the best memory… *grins at him challengingly because he’s not sure how far David would go*

David: *smiles when Matteo confirms that the event with the bed was nice, but then grins when he hits at the beds’ memory* *sighs a little theatrically* Okay… well first we had sex… *stretches a little, playfully bites Matteo’s neck and slips a hand under his shirt* *murmurs* I’m in favor of showing it later how exactly that went… or would you rather do it right now!? *but then grins, takes his hand away again and kisses the spot on Matteo’s neck where he just bit him* I’m in favor of doing it later… hmmm… and then we ate sandwiches in bed and cuddled a lot and decided that we’ll buy a plant together when we move in together. And that your name will be the first one on the doorbell. Then we unfortunately had to leave your bed alone for a little while to shower, but then it could profit from us being clean and smelling good… and eventually we had to leave it much too hastily because we forgot the time again while making out and Hans and Michi were suddenly already in the hallway…

Matteo: *laughs when he sighs like that* *was just about to say something when he gets bitten* Ouch! *but then grins when he says that they’ll show it again later in more detail* Later is good… I have to recover from this attack first… *sighs theatrically* *but then smiles again when he keeps talking* Yes… that’s how it went… a pretty perfect afternoon… *presses a kiss to his hair* Okay, before you tell your second one I’ll quickly tell mine… one of my favourite bed-stories is the first one… when you stayed here for the first time and we basically lived on the bed for an entire day… talked and ate and smoked and made out… okay, if I had known back then that you’re trans then I’m sure I would have eventually asked you to take off the binder, I still find it unbelievable that you wore it for so long… but apart from that it was also really a pretty meaningful weekend…

David: *nods when Matteo says that it was a perfect afternoon and murmurs quietly* I think so too… *nods when he says that now it’s his turn and listens to him* *smiles when he chooses this moment and thinks back on it* *draws some patterns on Matteo’s shirt and says quietly* Sick how long ago that was… *sighs quietly, then sits up a little and presses a soft kiss to his mouth* *then looks at him for a moment, briefly presses his lips together and then says* I already should have told you back then… *smiles a little sadly because he realizes again how scared he was back then* *then puts his head back onto Matteo’s shoulder and says* Back then I never would have thought that I’d ever get this... this here, I mean… *shakes him a little* ...I didn’t think I’d get this, anyways… but I rather meant that I never thought that I’d get this entire night and this and this whole day in bed with you… that I… no idea… can be so close to someone… that I am allowed to be so close to someone… *laughs quietly and shakes his head* And it was actually way too good to be true and I thought that it’s a one-time-thing anyways, therefore I should enjoy it as long as it’s possible… and now… *grins happily* ...and now we’re still lying here…

Matteo: *sighs and nods* Yes… almost 5 months… *smiles into the kiss and runs a hand through his hair* *shakes his head when he says that he should have told him back then* No, nonsense, we barely knew each other… *but then also considers and shrugs one shoulder* Alright, yes, maybe… but I mean, like you said… it could all have been over after that, you never know… *then laughs slightly when he says that he never thought that he’d get this* Me neither… *then smiles at him* Now we’re still lying here… and starting tomorrow, just in another bed… *leans down and kisses him tenderly* Don’t worry, you won’t get rid of me that easily anymore…

David: *is grateful that Matteo still understands why he didn’t tell him sooner, but then frowns a little confused when Matteo says that he also never would have thought that he’d ever get this* *still can’t really understand it but then briefly has to think about his conversation with Alex and about earlier conversations with Matteo where he considered himself “smaller” than he actually is* *gets pulled from his thoughts by Matteo’s next words and grins slightly* *murmurs pleasantly* It actually doesn’t really matter in which bed… what matters is that it’s the two of us… *stretches his head a little to return the kiss and then smiles again at his words* *puts his hand on his cheek and moves his head a little so that they can look at each other before he says* You, neither… *then laughs quietly and adds* Although I still don’t understand that you thought you won’t get something like this… once again, Mister Florenzi doesn’t have the slightest clue of how perfect he is… if that thing between us hadn’t worked out, then you’d have some other great guy lying here in bed…

Matteo: *grumbles in agreement* Yes, what matters is the two of us… *finds it so nice that they see it the same way, no matter where and how, what matters is that they’re together* *finds that somehow comforting and safe* *then smiles when David says that he won’t get rid of him, either* That’s good then… *wraps his arm around him a little tighter* *but then frowns at his next words and doesn’t understand at all what’s funny about it* *only shakes his head in a serious manner* I wouldn’t… and I’m not perfect, either… and I don’t want another guy… so stop it…

David: *sighs quietly when Matteo shakes his head because somehow he knew he would* *also gets serious now and says* The fact that you don’t want another guy doesn’t mean that you couldn’t have one. I’m glad that you don’t want anyone else… and okay… no one’s 100 percent perfect I guess… *tenderly runs his thumb over his cheek* ...but you’re pretty close… apart from all the things you are doing for me… what you are for me… *smiles slightly and a little disbelievingly* ...and that alone is already so incredibly much… you’re quiet and attentive… and one of the most tolerant people I know. You’re helpful and always there when someone needs you - the person doesn’t even have to say anything - you simply see or feel it. Everyone likes you. You’re modest and kind. You’d never hurt anyone intentionally. You’re invested in things that are important to you… *smiles again and slightly shrugs one shoulder* So to me, that sounds pretty perfect… and those were only the things /everyone/ can see… *grins slightly* If one day, we have two hours time then I’ll tell you why you’re perfect to /me/…

Matteo: *only shakes his head a little when he answers* Same for you... *thinks that David could immediately have any guy if he wanted to* *looks at him when he strokes his cheek* *takes a deep breath when David starts and eventually has to look away* *thinks that he did hurt people before because he was only thinking of himself, like Hanna, for example* *finds it really incredible that David sees him like that and somehow can’t really deal with it* *slightly shakes his head when he says that one day he’ll tell him why he’s perfect* *says quietly* Better not… *looks at him and has to swallow* *doesn’t know what to say and therefore simply kisses him* *then swallows again and says quietly* I… well, it’s incredible that you see all of this this way… but I… *swallows because he thinks that he doesn’t live up to the image, but can’t really say and express it and therefore shrugs one shoulder* *wonders if one day there will be a day when David will realizes that he was wrong* I… love you… and the fact that you see me like that… but… *tenderly runs a hand through his hair with his free hand* *kisses him again and then just has to cut the tension* *therefore grins slightly and asks* Can we please have sex now before I start to cry?

David: *can see that it’s difficult for Matteo to accept all of this and grins slightly when he says “better not”* *nods in amusement* Oh yes, tesorino! One day you’ll get the full blast! *but can see that it’s still working inside him and therefore gets more serious again* *wraps his arm around him again and squeezes him slightly closer* *slightly shakes his head at his next words and wants to correct him and tell him that he’s not the only one who sees him like that but that those were all things that are obvious to anyone, but first gives him time to collect himself some more* *smiles very broadly when he says that he loves him and feels his heart do a little jump, but then feels it constrict a little when he follows it with a “but”, which shows him that Matteo can’t really believe that he is the way he just described him* *returns his kiss and tries to not let it show that it hurts him that Matteo can’t see himself like that* *then hears his question and grins slightly* *shakes his head* First… what would be so bad if you were to cry…!? And second: My second bed-story is still missing… otherwise your bed will be sulky if I promise two stories and then only tell one… *lies back down again like he did in the beginning, his head on Matteo’s shoulder, his arm tightly wrapped around his stomach, feels a brief spurt of excitement rising up and then says pretty contrite at first* Okay… well my second favourite moment… happened on this incredibly hot day in summer… the moment… when… when you saw me completely naked for the first time… well you… and your bed… both of you so to speak…

Matteo: *slightly shakes his head* If I cry then it’s about me and no longer about the bed and it was supposed to be a nice evening and not a crying evening, right? *then nods when he says that the second story is still missing* *wraps both arms around him and pulls him close* *then hears which story he’s talking about and buries his face in his hair a little* That was awesome… well not just you being naked, that too… but I think that’s the first time I really realized how much you trust me… and how nice that feels… and I was so proud… of you and how brave you were… after only such a short time… *presses a kiss to his hair* It was our pleasure… well mine. And I’m sure the bed was also pleased…

David: *tilts his head when he hears Matteo’s arguments and finally nods* Okay, sure… it’s about the bed! *quietly whispers into his ear* But you’re actually more important than the bed, but don’t tell the bed, otherwise it’ll surely be sad… *then smiles slightly at Matteo’s reaction to his second favorite moment* *can feels his heart beat a little faster and can’t really tell if it’s because he remembers how nervous he was back then or if it’s because of Matteo’s words… that he realized in that moment how much he trusts him* *nods slightly and is quiet for a moment* *then says quietly* That’s good… that you realized then… how much I trust you… it’s… no idea… like I said in the ocean… I love it that you still like me when I don’t like myself… and my body… *slightly shakes his head* *doesn’t really want to talk about it and therefore leaves the sentence unfinished* I somehow felt even back then that this really isn’t important to you… that you see /me/ and not the things that are wrong with me… and I wanted so much to know what it feels like if there’s no more fabric between us… *grins slightly* Yes, okay, and it was also just really damn hot on that day… *then gets more serious again and looks up at him* *smiles* If you’re not counting our beds… then it somehow feels really good to be able to say that you’re the only one - and will stay the only one, who saw me like this… in two weeks from now there will no longer be anything that can be seen…

Matteo: *hears his whispers and simply squeezes him a little closer* *then nods slightly when David says again that he likes him* I do… always… *listens to him further and automatically has to grin a little* *then has to laugh slightly* It was pretty hot… all of it… *looks at him when he says that he’ll be the only one who ever saw him like that* *gets serious again and nods slightly* Yes, wow, there won’t be anything to see anymore in two weeks… but no matter what… I love you the way you are, okay? No matter what’s there or what isn’t there… *leans down a little and kisses him*

David: *also laughs quietly when Matteo says that all of it was pretty hot and nods* Yes, okay, true… *can feel his heart do a little jump again when Matteo says that he loves him the way he is and returns his kiss* *quietly murmurs against his lips* I love you, too… pretty much and exactly the way you are… *kisses him again and then scoots up a little to deepen the kiss for a moment* *somehow finds it pretty surreal once again that the date for his surgery is only two weeks away and can’t really believe it* *but then feels that it’s really real for a moment and can feel unbridled happiness and fear at the same time* *interrupts his kiss with Matteo, moves his head away a little and looks at him seriously* You do realize that this will be the last night where your bed will see me /like this/!? When we put it back up again, they’ll… I’ll look completely different!

Matteo: *can feel this flutter and this feeling of happiness again when David says that he loves him* *kisses him back and runs his hand over his side when he scoots up* *grumbles when he pulls away from the kiss and looks at him* *but smiles slightly when he hears his words* My bed is just like me… it loves you no matter what you look like… *runs his hand through his hair and pulls him closer again* *doesn’t want to think about the surgery any more and wants to enjoy the here and now instead* *kisses David and slowly slips one hand under his shirt*

David: *they have spent the last night in Matteo’s bed, and the next morning they decided to immediately disassemble it after breakfast and to take it to Alex’* *is just leaving the bathroom when he sees Matteo rummage around in a tool box (god knows where he got it) and sees him hold a screwdriver out to him with a grin* *theatrically throws himself onto the bed with his arms spread wide and whimpers quietly* It is time… see you soon, beloved bed! *hears Matteo laugh and suggest again that they can also keep his bed if he’s so attached to it, but wants Matteo to decide and therefore pulls himself up again with a sigh and shakes his head* No, it’s okay… it’s only for three months… *then disassembles the bed with Matteo and they load it into Rudi to bring it to Alex* *briefly considers performing another farewell scene there, but then leaves it at only stroking over the mattress one last time before they leave the piano room again*

(next play)

#druck #druck og #matteo florenzi #david schreibner #davenzi #davenzi plays

[just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi]

Taken - Rudy

TW: Kidnapped whumpee, captivity, pet whumpee, manhandling, trying to escape/run (doesn't get out of the house but tries), muzzle mention.

Rudy was shaking, finding it hard to breathe in the car trunk. His fingers hurt from scratching at the scratchy carpet and plastic. There was another bump and he yelped. Out, out, out, out please, please, please, please let me out. Let me go home.

Tears poured down his face as he sobbed into the carpet. Where was the masked figure taking him? What did they want? He shuttered violently at the thoughts running through his head. Byre. The pet he oversaw on Master’s computer. Masters could be horrible monsters and he knew that. His Master never was, but his Master also wasn’t the type to steal pets from the park.

The car turned one last time and stopped, turned off.

Rudy thought he might throw up.

Moments later, the door opened and Rudy closed his eyes as tight as he could, curling away from the opening. A hand landed on his shoulder and he jolted, hitting his head on the hard plastic above him.

“P-P-Please, please take me home. Please, I need to be home, I need to be with Master and Clyde ple-”

The hand wrapped around his arm and pulled him forwards and partially out of the opening. In a panic, he jammed his legs against the trunk, holding onto the edge.

“No! No! No nonono! Please! Help!” he screamed, but the figure didn’t respond except with another, stronger tug. His grip slipped and Rudy fell out of the trunk, hitting the concrete on his knees. He whimpered and tried to climb back into the trunk, but the person wrapped their arms around his waist and picked him up.

“Quiet down, I’m not going to hurt you.”

Rudy froze and opened his eyes. He was in a closed garage, being carried towards the house door. That voice, he had heard that voice before - hadn’t he? By the time the shock wore off, the person closed the door and placed Rudy on the floor. He scrambled away, looking up in terror at them.

They took off the mask and Rudy’s eyes went wide as saucers.

It was one of Master’s friend.

“Y-Y-You?” he stuttered, crawling back further away from the man and into the house. Casey smiled warmly at him and put the ski mask on a hook by the door.

“Me! Oh, I’m so glad you remember me!” He took a step forward and Rudy got to his feet, backing away.

“Why? Wh-why would you, you’re… w-what?”

Casey clapped his hands together and rubbed them overjoyed that he finally had the pet he had been wanting for so long. “This is so great. Here, I even got you a collar!”

He reached forward and Rudy practically dove away from him. Casey tutted at him and picked up a green leather collar that had been sitting on the counter. Rudy blanched and grabbed his collar with two hands.

“No! You can’t do that! This, this, this is my collar! I’m not your pet! I belong to Master Mason Driver! You know that! Let me go, let me go home!”

Casey shook a finger at him, face turning stern. “No, you don’t address your owner that way.”

Rudy was panting in fear, chest rising and falling quickly. He, that man, Casey, wasn’t his master. He knew well and good who he belonged to, and where he belonged. He glanced over his shoulder into the rest of the darkened house and bolted.

He could hear the man running after him, and he turned the corner out of the laundry room as fast as he could, sneakers squeaking on the tile. He saw the front door and sprinted towards it, desperately trying to pull it open. It was locked, and he couldn’t even see a deadbolt or latch on this side. He whined loudly and pounded on it, one hand still on the knob.

“Now-”

The voice was so close and Rudy ducked, twisting around and running in the opposite direction. Some part of him realised he was running deeper into the house, but the part that was screaming run run run was far louder.

He went down the hall and tried to dash into one of the open doors. Before he could, Casey grabbed the back of his shirt and threw him to the ground. Rudy struggled and fought, but the man was far larger and stronger. It wasn’t but a moment and Casey was sitting on his back, one arm pinned under him and the other twisted painfully behind his back.

Rudy sobbed, forehead pressing into the hardwood. “P-P-Please, please I want to go home.”

“You are home,” Casey emphasised, twisting his arm farther until he whined in pain. One hand pressed down on his back, making it hard to breathe. “Stay,” he ordered with a squeeze before he stood.

The pet did not stay.

The moment Casey was up, Rudy scrambled for his feet and ran back the direction they came from. He went back to the laundry room and the door to the garage they had just entered from, devastated to find but that one was locked as well. He heard heavy, consistent footsteps behind him and he pulled as hard as he could, pounding on it, kicking, crying out for help - for someone to hear him and save him.

He couldn’t remember anything after his head was slammed into the wood.

Rudy slumped to the floor and Casey grunted, annoyed but placiated for now. With care, he turned the boy onto his back and reached around to unclip his collar. The black leather one with Rudy’s name and Mason’s information was tossed in the trash, replaced with his rightful green one, cute little round tag engraved with ‘Archimedes’. The pet might not like the name change much, but Casey was ready to get it sorted out.

The other device he brought was a muzzle, thick and bitted. It was easy to fasten and lock onto the unconscious boy, not too tight but enough that it wouldn’t move or chafe. He didn’t want it to be uncomfortable. He would have to get used to it, anyway. He was being loud at the moment.

Smiling to himself and running a hand through the boy’s hair, Casey picked him up to bring him to the bed he had prepared. It was at the foot of his bed, where it should be. He laid him down gently and connected the leash to the collar with a small padlock. It might take Archimedes a while to get used to his new home, but Casey was so excited to get started.

~

tagging

@whumpingredroses @suspicious-whumping-egg @as-a-matter-of-whump @albino-whumpee

#whump #whump fic #kidnapping tw #captivity whump #pet whump #manhandling tw #failed escape attempt #muzzle mention #stalker arc: rudy and clyde #rudy and clyde don't need a tag #casey

[pixy-stix-art]

I was thinking about the tiny assistant au and like how it would be so crazy and jarring if benchtrio switched places! Idk how that would work logically, the best my brain could think up is either a shared dream or just like, not cannon but I would love to see you write it.! Ranboo having to get used to being big and not having information just. Fed through their brain + having to walk everywhere and being super tired bc tubbo usually carries them. And not knowing how gentle to be with tubbo.1/2

Ok so I know I should work on the beginning of this AU, but this was too good not to do something for. So not cannon, but a very good idea. I don’t know how close this ended up being what you wanted, but I hope you like it. This would take place before Tubbo finds Tommy and shortly after Tubbo and ranboo actually become friends.

(I spent way to much time on this and I’m still not perfectly happy with it so hope you enjoy. I was to frustrated to grammar check too, also sorry it’s short)

THE SWITCH

Tiny assistant AU

(Warnings: accidentally fear play, hurt/comfort panic)

———————————————————————

Ranboo gasped at he woke up. He was on a soft surface. He must be on Tubbo’s pillow. He set up looking to see if Tubbo was awake yet. But now as he set up he was equal size with all the bed and all the familiar furniture of Tubbo’s room. He tried not to panic thinking this must be a dream, but he didn’t have dreams… He slowly stood up looking around. He was human sized now. He tried to feel outwards with his mind for his phone to maybe figure out what happened. But he couldn’t feel his phone. Ok, now he could panic.

Tubbo grumbled as he woke up on a hard cold surface. He couldn’t remember why he wasn’t in his warm soft bed. He set up rubbing his eyes. He froze as he looked around. He… he was sitting on top of a phone…on his desk. He yelled scrambling away from the phone. That he now recognized as Ranboo’s. “What the fuck?!” He yelled catching up to the fact that he was small. As small as Ranboo or Tommy was.

Ranboo jumped out of his spiraling thoughts as he heard a scream. A familiar one, Tubbo. He looked around not seeing his friend. “Tubbo?” He called out.

Tubbo froze as a voice calling his name rang out. He covered his ears, it was too loud! He wimped as he felt information buzz in his head informing his that it was Ranboo who called him. But how was Ranboo so lound? Unless… He slowly took his hands off his ears now fully looking at his giant room. There stood someone who he assumed was Ranboo, but he didn’t look quite the same…. He looked human. No mismatched skin or tux. Just a normal black shirt with black n white pants, and blonde-ish hair. “Ranboo…?” He called out nervously to who he hoped was his friend.

Ranboo heard a small voice say his name. He turned looking at the desk. His eyes widened to see Tubbo standing on the desk. He slowly walked over and bent down so he could be at eye level with Tubbo. “What happened?” He asked eyes shining with awe.

“I-I don’t know….” Tubbo said backing up from his much bigger friend. Oh god….he was so much taller now…

“I think we switched, I’m human and you’re a assistant?” Ranboo tilted his head. Tubbo looked a bit different. Did he have, horns? He reached out to Tubbo curious of what he was looking at. He quickly pulled his hand back seeing the fear on Tubbo’s face. “Oh, sorry…” He winced.

Tubbo took a deep breath seeing the giant hand retreat. “Um, it’s ok. You just startled me a bit.” He was more then startled but he Rudy want Ranboo to feel bad. He was so much bigger now, Ranboo could literally do anything to him right now. Maybe he would? After all Tubbo did to him at first, why wouldn’t Ranboo want a little revenge?

“Oh, ok.” Ranboo said much softer now. He felt bad for scaring Tubbo. He wasn’t used to being scary. Tubbo must be so freaked out. “I was just curious about your horns.” He said.

“My whAT?!” Tubbo screeched feeling his head. Sure enough there was two small horns coming out of his head. “I have horns?!” He yelled freaking out again.

“Whao! It ok.” Ranboo said trying to calm him down without touching him. “You’re a assistant now. It’s not permanent!” He rushed out not wanting Tubbo to get to upset. Negative emotions took up more battery. He didn’t want Tubbo to have to deal with a low battery.

“How do we know it’s not permanent?! We don’t even know what happened to us!” Tubbo glared at Ranboo. He paced the top of his desk. “I’m so small right now anything could happen! I have a headache from this constant stream of information running though my head! I can’t even understand half of it, and you could do whatever you wanted to me! You could take your revenge for everything I did to you…” Tubbo stoped pacing as he got the the end of his rant. He looked nervously up at Ranboo. Oh no, this is when he hurts me. He thought.

Ranboo felt horrible hearing the end of Tubbo’s rant. He wasn’t going to hurt Tubbo! They were friends now, he wouldn’t ever hurt him. “Oh, Tubbo. No I’m not going to hurt you.” He said sadly.

“B-but I deserve it. After hurting you so much…. I should have some sort of punishment for what I did.” He hung his head. He tensed up seeing Ranboo being his hands up to him and curl around him. He squeezed his eyes closed.

Ranboo gently and slowly curled his hands around Tubbo. He gently rubbed Tubbo’s back. “Hey, Tubbo look at me.” He said softly.

Tubbo slowly opened his eyes and looked up at Ranboo. “W-what are you going to do?”

“I’m not going to do anything.” Ranboo frowned. “You’re my friend Tubbo. I’m would never hurt you. I know you’re scared, but it’ll be ok. I promise.”

Tubbo broke down going to hug Ranboo’s fingers. “I-I’m so sorry.” He sobbed clinging to Ranboo.

“You don’t have to apologize. I know how scary it is. But I’ll help you till you get back to normal.” Ranboo said curling his fingers around Tubbo. “Can I pick you up.” He asked.

Tubbo was nervous to be held. But he nodded anyway. If Ranboo wasn’t going to hurt him then it should be ok to be held. He just wished he could turn his brain off.

Ranboo curled his fingers around Tubbo picking him up. He was fascinated by what it felt like to hold a small person. He was surprised feel how protective he was over Tubbo like this. “You ok?” He asked holding him near his face.

“I think so….” Tubbo said starring into Ranboo’s eyes with awe. They where so close right now.

“Ok good.” Ranboo sighed. He smiled softly noticing Tubbo staring. “Whatcha looking at?” He asked with a chuckle.

“What? Nothing!” Tubbo looked away laughing. The tension was slowly going away.

“Uh huh…” Ranboo rolled his eyes. He smiled. It was good to hear Tubbo laughing.

It was calm as they talked like they always did. Till Tubbo frowned feeling a ache in his arm. “Ow….” He mumbled.

“What’s wrong?” Ranboo asked.

“My arm feels funny?” Tubbo shook his head.

“Does it hurt?” Ranboo held Tubbo closer looking him over.

“Kinda? It’s really not that-“ Tubbo jumped as a lound voice? Ran through his head telling him he needed to charge and the pain got worse.

“Tubbo?!” Ranboo asked worriedly.

“I- think the battery in the phone is low…” He leaned back in Ranboo’s hand not being able to sit up.

“Oh no-“ Ranboo rushed to find his, no Tubbo’s phone. He grabbed it and hurriedly plugged it into a charger. He looked back at Tubbo in his hand. “Is that better?”

“A little.” Tubbo nodded. “The pain is going away.” All though slowly… he wasn’t going to tell Ranboo that.

“Ok good.” He sighed. He hadn’t wanted Tubbo a go though that. He should’ve kept an eye on the phone. “I’m so sorry I should have charged the phone sooner.”

“It’s ok. I’m ok.” Tubbo waved Ranboo off.

“I’m pretty sure you’re not…” Ranbo was going to say more but was cut off by a door opening and closing now stairs.

“What was that?” Tubbo asked hearing the loud slam.

“I think that was your dad coming home.” Ranboo said quietly frozen still.

“Oh shit-“

#mcyt g/t #mcyt gt #mcyt g/t community #the tiny assistant au #pixie writes #pixies writing #g/t #giant!ranboo #tiny!tubbo #giant/tiny #g/t writing #hurt/comfort

[favefandomimagines]

Happens For A Reason (d.s.)

Summary: after rudy breaks up with you for elaine, you’re thrusted into the arms of none other than drew starkey.

AN: i wanna marry drew starkey and idk why it took me so long to write for him

also: i know rudy and elaine wouldn’t be the kind of people to do this, this is entirely a work of fiction! no hate to either of them, especially elaine!

You saw it coming. That was the worst part about your ever so subtle break up with Rudy. It was subtle to the fans but you, and everyone else, saw it coming. The second Elaine came into the picture, it was a matter of time before everything went to hell. 

You had been dating Rudy since a few weeks after Outer Banks started shooting in May 2019. Now seeing as its April 2020, the rumor mill hadn’t stopped since Elaine’s numerous posts of Rudy.

Drew had known Rudy was going to break up with you for Elaine for a few days and it was killing him not to tell you. 

Rudy had confided in him that the relationship with you just wasn’t working anymore. He said he loved you but he couldn’t stay with you when he had feelings for someone else. 

Drew told Rudy it was going to hurt your regardless and Rudy just couldn’t accept that he was going to cause you pain. 

But then it happened. And the worst part was that you didn’t yell, swear at him or get angry. You were quiet, though he could see the tears brimming in your eyes. 

“That’s it? Just, ‘okay?’ You’re not going to yell at me?” Rudy asked you. “I knew this was coming. You and her had been inseparable for months. I was just in the way.” You said sadly. “I still love you, Y/N.” He said. “Not like I love you though.” You replied. 

A solemn silence fell upon the apartment as you sat down on your couch. “I think you should go.” You said quietly, quickly wiping the tears from your cheeks so he wouldn’t see. 

Of course he felt guilty. He never wanted to hurt you and yet he ended up doing so by making you feel like you were in the way.  

You sat on your couch, bringing your knees into your chest to make yourself feel calm. You were on the edge of a full blown panic attack because you felt like you weren’t good enough. 

Your boyfriend broke up with you for another girl. What did she have that you didn’t? Aside from Rudy now. 

After a few minutes passed by, there was a knock on your apartment door. Whoever it was, you didn’t feel like the company. 

Drew left Rudy’s apartment and quickly went to your’s the second his friend returned. He could tell by the look on Rudy’s face that you probably weren’t in the best state of mind. 

He knocked on your door and waited for you to answer but that never came. 

“Y/N, I have a key so I’m just going to come in anyways.” Drew said from the other side of the door. You didn’t move though. Not feeling like removing yourself from the comfort of your couch. 

The door opened and Drew stepped inside, seeing you clinging to yourself on the couch. “Y/N,” He started, walking towards you with haste. He sat down beside you and pulled your distraught figure into his chest. 

He held you close as you silently cried to him. “Why wasn’t I good enough?” You asked. Mostly as a rhetorical question but Drew needed to tell you that you were wrong. 

“Y/N, you are more than good enough. Rudy’s an idiot and I know one day he’s going to regret ever letting you go.” Drew told you. 

In the moment, you didn’t believe him. You thought you’d always be second best. 

Over the next few weeks, a whirlwind of things happened to you. You began to realize that your relationship with Rudy was simply because you felt like it was right for you to be together. Your characters on the show were love interests, so of course lines were going to blur. 

Outer Banks had been picked up for season 2 but amidst the pandemic, no one knew when filming would start. 

And you and Drew had started going out. It started slow, him not wanting to rush you or make you feel like you had to go out with him just because he had feelings for you. But the pandemic had other ideas; the two of you ended up being on lockdown at his apartment. 

But neither of you were complaining. You got what you could from your place before hunkering down at Drew’s.

It started out as you sleeping on the couch and various nights of binge watching Netflix. You didn’t tell Madison or Madelyn, in fear of it getting around. The only person Drew told was Austin. Mainly because he had waited so long to be with you he needed to tell someone. 

But fans started to notice. Your instagram pictures had the same background as some of Drew’s lives. You’d post a story of a movie and an hour later, Drew would do the same.

Eventually you moved from the couch to Drew’s bed (not sexually). You and Drew got unbelievably close and soon it was time to make it official. 

And it was the happiest you had been in quite a long time. Finally you were in a relationship where you didn’t feel second best or as if you weren’t good enough. Drew made sure you knew that you would always be the first choice. 

__

Outer Banks was finally back to filming in Charleston and you were thrilled. You hadn’t seen any of your cast mates since before the pandemic. 

You and Drew had arrived shortly after everyone else and met them at Chase’s apartment that night. After the daily COVID test you all would have to endure. 

“We’re here!” You greeted as you stepped into the apartment, Drew’s hand wrapped tightly around yours. 

Madison and Madelyn ran to you and hugged you tightly, one that you happily returned. “I missed you! Where have you been? You and Drew went AWOL for like two weeks.” Madelyn said. 

“We had a little getaway for a bit before all the craziness started. Wanted a little relaxation just the two of us.” You answered. “Seriously you guys are the cutest couple ever. Instagram won’t stop talking about you two.” Madison said. “It’s been, what, five months?” Madelyn asked. 

You nodded your head, a sappy smile plastered on your face as you thought about he past five months Drew. “Look at her! She’s blushing!” Madelyn commented. 

You and the two girls were in the kitchen talking, while Drew was with the rest of the guys. “How are you and Y/N?” Chase asked. “We’re great. Like seriously, it’s been amazing. It doesn’t feel like it’s only been five months.” Drew answered. 

It was clear that Rudy was a bit uncomfortable with the subject matter since you were his ex girlfriend. “Okay, there’s something I want to tell you guys.” Drew started. “And what is that?” Austin asked. 

They watched as Drew subtly fished something out of his pocket and all their jaws dropped when they saw what was in his hand. “Dude, no way.” Chase commented. “Are you serious?” JD asked. “Yeah, I got it a couple weeks ago.” Drew answered, a smile on his face. 

“I know it’s only been five months but I’ve loved her since that first month on set. The timing just wasn’t right.” He added. That was clearly a dig at Rudy and what had gone down between the two of you. “Don’t you think it’s a little early to get engaged? I mean, I get why’d you want to, you’re 26 but does she? She just turned 22.” Rudy interjected. 

Drew felt he had no right to judge him on his relationship with you when he was the one who broke up with you to begin with. “Well, if you actually paid attention to her instead of another girl while you were dating, you’d know that she wants to get married and start a family by 23.” Drew snapped. 

“That is true.” JD said bashfully. It seemed that Rudy was so preoccupied with another girl that he didn’t bother to listen to you and everyone else did. No wonder it was so easy for you to move on. You were being treated better than he treated you.

“I don’t know when I want to do it but I want to do it soon. While we’re here because this is where we met.” Drew explained. “I think it’s a great idea. You two are great together and I’ve definitely noticed a change in Y/N. She’s been way happier.” Austin said.

Drew smiled as he looked at the ring in his hand. He went to great lengths to find the perfect ring for you and that was making a fake pinterest account to follow your engagement ring pinterest board.

“Have you told the girls?” JD asked. “Are you kidding? They’d 100% tell her and I want this to be perfect.” Drew said.

Rudy sat there silently to himself, listening to Drew talk about amazing you were and proposing to you. He didn’t need to be reminded of how great you were because he already knew that. He knew better than anyone, he dated you for a year.

“Did you hear about Rudy and Elaine?” Madelyn asked you. “No, what happened?” You asked. “She cheated on him. A few weeks ago actually.” She explained. “Really? Is he okay?” You questioned. “He says he’s fine but I know he’s devastated. I mean, he did let you go for her and it bit him in the ass.” Madison answered.

Of course you felt bad for Rudy. It’s a terrible feeling to be cheated on and you wanted to make sure he was okay. “Should I talk to him?” You asked. “I think he’d appreciate that.” Madelyn said.

After everyone had settled down, you had gotten Rudy’s attention and asked him to join you outside on the balcony.

“What’s up?” He asked. “I, uh, heard about you and Elaine. I’m really sorry.” You said. “It’s okay. It was probably my karma. I let go of the best thing I had and then this happened.” He said.

“Rudy, it happened for a reason. I was devastated after you broke up with me. I thought I wasn’t good enough for you. So, I know how you’re feeling. Like you weren’t good enough and you clearly didn’t make them happy. It sucks but you’ll be okay. I’m okay now.” You told him. “Does he make you happy?” He asked.

You thought back to all the times you were at your lowest and Drew was always there.

“Yeah. Yeah he does.” You said with a smile. “That’s all I want. I just want you to be happy.” He said. You gave him a friendly hug, mainly for closure.

You both walked back inside and Drew pulled you down to sit on his lap. You pressed a kiss to his forehead as you fell into casual conversation with everyone.

Drew looked up at you as you laughed and smiled with your friends, completely enamored with you.

He knew you were it for him and you knew he was your endgame.

__

Drew had been planning your proposal for a while. It was now October in Charleston and the whole cast was going to the South Carolina aquarium on their day off.

Madison’s girlfriend, Mariah, was also in town visiting and Drew felt it was perfect.

Madelyn would have your parents on Facetime while Chase had Drew’s. All of the people you loved in one place to celebrate you and Drew.

You were walking through the giant ocean exhibit, admiring the animals, holding Drew’s hand.

All of your friends trailed behind, not wanting to ruin your moment.

Drew stopped you and you looked at him with furrowed brows until he got down on one knee.

“What the hell?” You questioned. “Y/N, you are the greatest thing that has ever happened to me. Since the day I met you, I knew that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you. Even when I didn’t have you, I knew we’d end up together. And I know it’s been about seven months but there’s not a doubt in my mind that I want you to be my wife.” Drew started.

Madelyn and Madison were crying, the boys were smiling, Rudy more than the rest. He could see how much Drew loved you, more than he ever thought he could.

“So, Y/N, will you marry me?” He asked. “Duh! Of course I will!” You answered. Drew smiled and placed the ring on your finger.

@y/n__: umm WTF i’m engaged?! i love you to the moon and beyond @drewstarkey​ 

@rudeth: congratulations you wonderful humans! i love both of you

@madelyncline: i’m not crying, you’re crying 

@fan1: OMG YAY CONGRATS

@fan2: my otp is getting married!!!!!! 

@drewstarkey: i love you more (oh and thanks for agreeing to spend the rest of your life with me)

#imagine #imagines #Outer Banks #outer banks imagine #drew starkey #drew starkey imagine #rafe cameron #rafe cameron imagine #rudy pankow #chase stokes #madison bailey #madelyn cline #austin north #jonathan daviss

[literallythebiggestfuckingsimp]

Our Little Secret

description: you and rudy have been sneaking around for a while now, what happens when you get caught in front of thousands of fans?😳😳

warnings: making out?? ooo and swearing oops (as a british person i can’t just NOT swear)

            Rudy’s lips smashed against yours, moving hungrily as his arms snaked around your waist. You gasped, arms moving to hook around his neck as he slipped his tongue in your mouth. You had to be on set in five, and you were just passing the time with your good friend Rudy in his trailer.

Between the two of you, neither of you were quite sure what you were. So far, all you guys had done was purely physical. Of course, there had been lingering touches, longing stares, stolen smiles. But you hadn’t talked about it. 

It had started with flirty jokes, and then, boom! It just kinda happened, if you were being honest.

Not breaking the kiss, the two of you stumbled backwards until you bumped into the table. You jumped up and he took his pace between your legs, detaching his lips from yours and turning his attention to the skin on your neck. You moaned, heading rolling back to give him more access.

“Hey, Rudy? You in there?” Your eyes widen at the voice outside the trailer door, freezing both yours and Rudy’s movements.

“Uh, yeah?” Rudy says, clearing his throat.

“Why’s the door locked, toot?” You could practically see the suggestive smirk on Chase’s face.

“Cause I’m about to take a shit and I didn’t want anyone to come in here and smell that,” Rudy replies, looking at you with a grin on his face. You rest your head in the crook of his neck, pressing your face up to it to suppress your laughter.

Chase laughs. “Alright, then, but have you seen Y/N? I’ve been looking for her everywhere.”

“Nah, sorry bro,” Rudy calls out when you shake your head at him. “I’ve gotta take this shit or I’ll explode. See you in a sec.”

“It’s good, bro,” Chase replies. “She’s gotta be on set now, though. I’ll find her, don’t worry about it. Probably went off to craft services or something.”

You glare at the door where Chase is stood on the other end, but your eyes widen wen you realise you’re gonna be late to set.

“Cya, man,” Rudy says, helping you down from the counter as you pat down your hair. Chase mumbles a “bye”.

You two wait until it’s clear, giving Rudy a quick peck as you subtlety sneak out the trailer door once you’re sure Chase is gone.

As you walk - more like jog - away, you look back. Through the window you salute to Rudy, and he salutes back with a maniacal grin on his perfect face.

♡

You’ve just finished shooting for the day, and straight away, you headed over to see Rudy. He’d slid you a note earlier in the day to meet him at his trailer once you were done.

Arriving, you were immediately pulled into a kiss by by the blond headed bimbo who’d stolen your heart. You smiled against his lips, happily thinking about the fact that you could finally call him yours.

Around two weeks ago now you two had finally sorted through your shit and admitted your feelings for each other. However, you’d both decided it would be better if you kept your newfound relationship to yourselves. You didn’t want to make things awkward if it didn’t work out, and, besides, sneaking around was fun. “Think of it as our little secret,” you had said.

You pulled away from the kiss and he pouted. Laughing, you pecked him on the cheek and watched as a smile took over on his lips. Rudy’s arms situated themselves around your waist as he laid the two of you down on the makeshift sofa in his trailer.

Rudy was lying on your lap as you played with his hair, occasionally kissing him as some stupid ass movie played on the TV. It was a nice breather from all the crazy scenes you’d been filming and you couldn’t feel more relaxed.

Well, that was until there was a knock at the door. You wasted no time in rushing into the bathroom, hiding as Rudy went to answer the door.

“Yo, dude,” you hear JD greet and you mentally cuss him out.

“Uh, hey, JD, Maddie,” Rudy says. “What’s up?”

“Why’re you being so weird?” Maddie questions, confused as to why Rudy seemed hesitant about letting them in.

“Me?” Rudy asks, shaking his head. “Nah, I’m not being weird.”

“Whatever,” Madison huffs. You hear her and JD walk in and mutter profanities under your breath. Thank god you had picked up your phone from the sofa or you would be toast. “We wanted to watch a movie and you have the comfiest couch.”

“What’re we watchin?” Rudy asks, bouncing on his heels. Madison shares a look with JD, confused as to what the hell was up with him.

“I dunno,” JD shrugs. “I gotta take a tinker in your bathroom, though. I’ll be right back.” He says, and your eyes widen.

“No!” Rudy calls out, and you search frantically for an escape route. There’s a window, but it’s kinda small, you’re not sure if you’d fit. Fuck it, you think as you hear JD and Mads confront Rudy about being weird.

“I just mean ... it’s kinda rank in there,” Rudy says, scratching the back of his neck.

“Disgusting,” Madison mutters.

“I’ll just block out the smell,” JD shrugs. “I’m desperate, bro.”

Rudy silently prays to himself as you fumble about the bathroom, climbing on top of the seat. You put one leg through the window as the footsteps land right outside the door, and  try to slyly maneuver yourself out with your phone in one hand. Your plan fails miserable and you tumble to the ground, landing in a bush.

“Fuck,” you mutter, sitting up and pulling leaves out your hair.

The door to the bathroom swings open and you run as fast as you can back to your own trailer. You ignore the confused looks of the crew members, and Drew calling your name as he sees you run past with twigs in your hair.

As soon as you get back to your trailer, you shoot Rudy a quick text.

I jumped out the window ;)

Jesus, Y/N. You good?

Yeah, just thank god for my super rad spy skills.

Sure, baby. Sure.

♡

You giggle as Rudy pushes you down on your bed, peppering your skin with kisses, making you laugh more.

Filming had ended and you were currently quarantined with the cast, stuck in yours and Madelyn’s apartment. After the release of the show, you had gained quite a big fan base and your time had been occupied with online interviews and live streams. You’ve barely had the chance to sneak around with Rudy, not wanting to raise any suspicions since fans had already started shipping the two of you, pointing out the way he looks and interacts with you, and vice versa.

You didn’t want to let your friends catch on. Not yet.

Swiftly, you flip you and Rudy over, straddling him as you pull him in for a passionate kiss. You must not have heard the footsteps creeping up to your room, or the door swing open as you kissed your boyfriend.

A quick shriek alerted you of someone’s presence. You scrambled away from Rudy, cheeks red and eyes wide. It was Madelyn, stood frozen in the doorway, eyes wide. Clumsily, she dropped her phone, the object clattering to the floor

“Fuck,” Rudy mutters, pulling on his shirt as you put your hands over your face in attempt to hide you embarrassment.

Madelyn stands dead still, frozen to the spot. “Oh my god, guys, I am so so so sorry! I didn’t know you two were-”

By now, you had alerted the attention of Chase and Drew, who came running over at the sound of a scream. It didn’t take them long to connect the dots, between your rosy cheeks and swollen lips and Rudy’s messy hair and flustered appearance.

“Oh, shit,” Drew swore, eyes wide.

“Uh, guys ...” Madelyn spoke up, chuckling nervously. “I was on live and they saw ...” she motions between the two of you with her hands, “that.”

Honestly, you think you could’ve died, right then and there. You scramble to grab Maddie’s phone from the floor, seeing the comments screaming about what they had just accidentally witnessed and quickly end the live.

“I’m so sorry!” Maddie squeals, cheeks tinging red. “I was planning on scaring Y/N and I didn’t think Rudy would be in here, let alone that you two would be-”

You quickly cut her off, scratching the back of your neck and biting your lip. “It’s fine, Maddie. Seriously, don’t worry about it.”

“Yeah,” Rudy clears his throat. “You couldn't have known.”

“Uh, well,” Drew chuckles. “This is awkward.”

“Honestly, I’m gonna need a good few shots to erase the embarrassment of this moment from my memory,” you state, walking through the door and towards the kitchen where a bottle of vodka awaits you.

“I second that,” Rudy says, following you and lazily placing an arm around your waist.

Chase grins, watching the two off you. “So ... “ he trails off, gesturing between the two of you with his hand. “Are you two, yanno, together?” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.

You nod and Rudy smiles. “Yeah, we have been for a while now.”

“God, it’s about time!” Chase exclaims.

“You guys were pretty bad at hiding it,” Drew states, a grin of his own on his lips.

You mock fake offence, gasping as you poor the vodka into your shot glass. “We’ve been dating for four months, so, obviously not.” 

Madelyn’s mouth hangs open. “Four months?!” she yells. “And you didn’t tell us?”

Rudy shrugs, kissing your cheek fondly. “Eh, it was pretty fun sneaking around.”

“Agreed,” you say, smiling up at him. He meets your gaze, pecking you on the lips.

“Ew, you guys,” Chase groans. “Just because you’re together now doesn’t mean you can be all openly affectionate.”

Madelyn whacks his arm, rolling her eyes. “Shut up, they’re cute.”

“Nah, they’re gross,” Drew jokes, laughing. “Anyway, I made Mama Starkey’s casserole. Who wants some?”

“Me!” you exclaim, grinning excitedly. If there was one thing you loved it was Mama Starkey’s chicken casserole. Also, eating and drinking would be a good way to get your mind off the fact that practically the entire world saw you on top of a shirtless Rudy, making out with him.

A/N: AHAHAH THE WAY I DIDNT KNOW HOW TO END THIS SHDJSHJDH also pls excuse the crappy writing this was made at 4am last night😳

#jj maybank #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank x reader #obx fanfiction #obx imagine #outer banks pogues #outer banks #john b routledge #outer banks imagine #rudy pankow #rudy pankow imagine #rudy pankow x reader #rudy pankow fic #madelyn cline #madelyn cline imagine #chase stokes #drew starkey #outer banks cast #obx cast #drew starkey imagine #drew starkey x reader #rudy pankow smut

[mermaidssonshipss]

ruin the friendship

another request! yeehaw! so i didn’t know if you wanted like an established relationship or not and i tend to not write established relationships (the pining and angst and hidden touches are always the best part once ur in a relationship it’s boring lmao) so i’m taking this and running with it but also putting my own twist on it but i really hope you enjoy it. it took me forever to write and i don’t know why i just. wanted it to... work? idk ANYWAYS! i hope you enjoy it yeehaw.

warnings: smut, obviously

pairings: rudy pankow x reader

word count: 3,082

At the age of 21, you were still a virgin, and the thought irritated you. It wasn’t like you hadn’t had the chance, or that you’d never had a boyfriend, the truth was you were just scared. When you were 16, your older sister had come into your bedroom right after she lost her virginity, whining about how bad it hurt and how uncomfortable it was. She couldn’t even sit down. She’d went into detail and to be quite frank, you were traumatized. So, whenever the opportunity to have sex presented itself, you’d always back out, which lead to many of your breakups. You knew you were being silly about it, but you just never felt like the guys you were with would care enough to take your feelings into consideration and make sure you were comfortable. You’d dated nothing but assholes who only wanted you for your body, and finding out you were a virgin never turned them off, it only made you a challenge, and when they realized they weren’t going to concur you, they dropped you. 

Currently you were sat on Rudy’s couch, the both of you arguing over whether he should shave his mustache or not. You were highly against the hideous thing, arguing that it looked like he had a caterpillar above his lip, and he argued that the caterpillar was his friend. 

“Question. Have you kissed a girl since you’ve had that thing on your face? Honest answers only,” you pressed, though you knew the answer already. He opened his mouth to reply, but fell short, his back falling into the couch as he glared at you.

“Is it really that bad?”

“Yes.”

He huffed out at that, crossing his arms and turning his face back towards the TV. You got up, making your way into his bathroom and coming back out holding shaving cream and his razor.

“Shave it. Now.”

“You shave it if you want it gone so bad,” he replied, raising his eyebrows, challenging you.

“I literally will, Rudy. I’ve been shaving since I was like.. 13. I’m not afraid to use a razor,” you quipped back, and he threw his head back, letting out a groan before he pushed himself off the couch and snatched the items from you, making his way to the bathroom as he shot a glare at you over his shoulder.

You settled back down on the couch, grabbing your phone. A couple of texts from your best friend, Han, popped up, and your cheeks turned red as you read the contents.

Han: dude... did you see Jake’s tweets?

Han: he’s literally subtweeting the fuck out of you.

You quickly opened the twitter app on your phone and went to his account, your heart dropping. The past several tweets were about how he was tired of being led on by “prudes,” how his last ex (you) thought she was too good for anyone, and finally, he ended it with “never date a virgin, dudes. they’re the worst.” You were hurt, but you weren’t really surprised. He’d broken up with you two days ago after he’d tried to pressure you into having sex with him again, and you’d held your ground, saying you weren’t ready. He’d stormed out of your apartment, screaming that you were over.

A tear slipped down your cheek and you quickly wiped it away as Rudy entered the room, now sporting a clean-shaven face. You tossed your phone to the side as you looked up at him, throwing a smile on your face at the sight, but it was clear to him you were upset.

“What happened?” He asked, sitting down next to you and you shook your head, giving him a shrug.

“Nothing. Jake being a dick. It’s whatever.” You’d never really discussed your sex-life with Rudy. It wasn’t that you weren’t comfortable with him, to be honest you were more comfortable with him than you’d ever been with anyone, it just never came up. He’d assumed you weren’t a virgin due to your boyfriends, and you never told him why things actually ended.

“What’d he do?” He looked angry, and you smiled at him softy; it was cute how much he cared.

“Just some stupid tweets,” you replied, not expecting him to grab his phone and go onto Jake’s profile.

“What’s his fucking problem? Why is he calling you a prude? You’re not a virgin?” His tone was questioning, realizing that you two had never really talked about the topic.

“I am a virgin,” you responded simply, scrunching your nose up slightly as you looked at him. He was silent for a moment, his mouth opening into a silent O.

“Close your mouth, Pankow. You’ll eat a fly,” you laughed and he quickly snapped his mouth shut before placing his phone next to yours.

“If you don’t mind me asking... why?” he was genuinely curious, his eyes watching you closely. At this question, your cheeks heated up. You weren’t ashamed that you were a virgin, but you were definitely embarrassed about the why. Without letting yourself overthink it, you launched into the story about your sister and how scared it had left you.

“I know it’s stupid,” you groaned, your hands covering your heated cheeks, “but seriously... the way she talked about it... like I’m fully expecting it to feel like I’m being ripped in half and I’m not okay with that! If I could find the right guy maybe I’d think about it but everyone I date is a fucking asshole that only cares about getting themselves off, and not my precious vagina. Like I don’t need to be in love with the dude I just need to know he’s gonna take his time and not hurt me!” your cheeks were absolutely flaming at this point, your fingers running through your hair as you tugged on it. Rudy was laughing next to you as you rambled, his eyes closing as tears leaked down his cheeks from how hard he was laughing. “Stop laughing!” You shouted, but you yourself were also laughing.

“I’m sorry,” he choked out, trying to calm down, “Like it’s not funny I get it but the way you talked about it is hilarious,” his laughing had calmed down now, and he sent you a sincere smile, “I’ve definitely heard it hurts for a girl though, but like you said, you just need to find someone who’s gonna be careful with you. Someone you trust and are comfortable with.”

“Rudy. Men suck. You’re the only man I trust with my life,” you dead panned, and he raised an eyebrow at you. He was quiet for a moment, and you could see the wheels turning in his head before he finally spoke up.

“Let me take your virginity.” He was confident as he spoke the words and you sucked in a breath, not expecting that to come out of his mouth.

“Rudy...”

“Hear me out,” he sat up straighter now, his entire body facing you, “We’ve been friends for how long? Like 10 years now, right? I know you better than anyone else, and vice-versa. You also just said you trust me, and are comfortable with me. I’ll admit I’ve never been with a virgin before and I don’t want you to think this is me trying to check something off a checklist or whatever, but I care about you and your feelings in general, so of course I’d care about that in bed. I’ll be gentle. I’ll listen to you and what you want and make sure you’re as comfortable as you possibly can be.”

You thought about it for a moment, weighing his words around the corners of your brain, before deciding that he had a point.

“Okay. But it absolutely cannot ruin our friendship.” He nodded his head in agreement, running his fingers through his hair as it flopped into his eyes.

“Absolutely. I don’t think anything can ruin our friendship at this point, anyway,” he was smiling softly at you as he spoke, and you knew you should feel nervous under his gaze, but you were comfortable. This was Rudy, your best friend, and you trusted him with the world.

The two of you were silent for a moment, letting the reality of the situation sink in, before Rudy stood up and held his hand out for you.

“If you’re sure you want this, I’m gonna wager losing your virginity in my comfy bed is much better than on my couch,” he smirked at you, and you rolled your eyes, but slipped your hand in his anyway. He tugged you up gently and lead the both of you to his bedroom, shutting the door gently after you had fully entered.

“I’m gonna kiss you now.” his voice was a whisper as he stepped closer to you, his hand resting on your cheek softly as his other hand landed on your waist, giving it a gentle squeeze. You simply nodded, not trusting your voice at the moment.

His lips were on yours moments later, all of the nerves in your body melting away as the two of you moved in-sync. For the first time in a very long time, you felt butterflies exploding in your stomach from a simple kiss, and you wound your arms around his shoulders to pull him closer to you. Your shirt was currently being bunched up under your ribs, his hands moving it up slowly as his fingertips trailed against your warm skin. He broke the kiss for only a moment, pulling your shirt off and tossing it onto the floor before his lips were attaching to yours once again, this time the kiss much more passionate. The two of you were stumbling slightly as he pushed you over to his bed, a few soft laughs being exchanged as he almost tripped over a pair of his sneakers.

“Remind me to clean up this mess,” he mumbled against your lips, and you could feel a smile on them as he hoisted you up, your legs wrapping around his waist as he crawled onto the bed and gently placed you down, your head resting on his pillow.

His eyes were drinking you in as he hovered above you, and you silently thanked yourself for putting on your favorite red lace bra that morning as his pupils widened at the sight.

“Beautiful,” he mumbled, and you weren’t sure if you were supposed to hear him, so you just smiled up at him before your fingers began fiddling with his shirt, tugging at it to signal you wanted it off. He was quick to pull it off and toss it across the room.

“Don’t forget to clean that up later,” you smirked, and he glared at you, but you could see he was holding in a smile.

“Can I?” his hand had slipped underneath you, his fingers resting on the clasp of your bra, waiting for your answer.

“Rudy, we’re about to have sex. Which I already agreed to. You’re allowed to undress me.” You could see his cheeks turn red as you spoke, but he rolled his eyes at you and quickly unclasped the bra before sliding the straps down your arms slowly, removing it fully. For a moment, you were tempted to cover yourself, but something about the way Rudy was looking down at you, his eyes scanning from your chest to your eyes, stopped you. 

Soon his lips were back on yours, both of you fighting for dominance as he tugged at your shorts, pulling them down your legs and kicking them off the bed. His hand wrapped around your thigh, pushing your legs apart as he trailed feather light touches up the soft skin, goosebumps erupting across your body. His lips were moving down your neck and to your chest now, softly sucking the skin as your fingers flew to his hair, tangling them into his blonde locks. 

Without warning, he slipped his large hand under the fabric of your panties and cupped your mound roughly, causing you to let out a sinful moan. You could feel him smirk against your chest as his thumb rubbed against your clit, drawing figure eights on the already throbbing bud. If you weren’t wet before, you definitely were now.

“Just gotta get you ready.” he whispered against your skin, his lips wrapping around your nipple as he let his teeth graze the sensitive peak, causing you to gasp and tug at his hair, which awarded you a groan from Rudy. You would gladly let him get you ready at any moment if it felt like this.

His finger teased your entrance, gathering up the wetness that pooled around the hole before slipping in easily, reaching places your own had never reached before. He was quick to slip a second finger in when he realized how wet you were, and he bit down on your nipple a bit too hard as he heard you moan out his name. It sounded sinful, and he wanted to hear you chant it for hours. As you writhed underneath him with each pump of his fingers, he was tempted to make you cum like this, intrigued to see you coming undone just from his fingers, but he didn’t want to overwhelm you, not this time, at least. When he could feel you clenching around his fingers, your whimpers growing louder, he pulled away, causing you to gasp out in displeasure.

“M’not done, princess,” he assured you, rolling next to you on the bed as he quickly pulled his pants and boxers down in one go. He was painfully hard, his cock slapping up against his abdomen the second it was free, and he let out a hiss as the cold air hit it. Quickly he threw his bedside table drawer open, feeling around it for a moment before his fingers finally latched onto a condom and he let out a sigh of relief. It’d been a while since he’d sex, to be honest, and he wasn’t sure if he had any condoms around. 

“Hurry up,” you breathed impatiently, your hand slipping down as you began to rub your own clit, and Rudy thought he was going to explode at the sight.

“Jesus christ,” Escaped from his clenched teeth, and he was quick to move himself back on top of you, ripping the condom package open with his teeth before rolling it down his length, a painful moan escaping at the friction. He slapped your hand away, positioning the head of his cock against your entrance for a moment before dragging it between your folds, collecting your wetness on the condom.

“Please,” you whimpered quietly, causing Rudy to bite his lip. He had pictured you underneath him many times, but he had never pictured you begging him to take your virginity. 

Slowly, he pushed inside of you, watching as your head pushed back into the pillow, your mouth falling open silently. It stung, but he was so gentle and so slow, giving you time to adjust as he very slowly pushed his entirety into you, finally bottoming out, you barely felt the discomfort. 

Your hands wrapped around his back, your fingernails digging into his tan skin, and you whispered quietly into his ear, giving him permission to move. His body was resting down on yours gently, his own arms between your body and the bed, clutching onto you as he began to move his hips, dragging his cock against your tight walls as slow as he could force himself to go. His continuous moans mixed with yours, both of your names rolling off one another's tongues in ecstasy. You wrapped your legs around his waist, your heels digging into his ass slightly as you pushed him deeper into you, your body consumed with pleasure. His lips found yours again, but this kiss felt different. His lips were rough against yours, but there was a passion behind it that he had been holding back, feelings that had been hidden for years pouring between the two of you as he finally decided to give in to them. 

He could tell you were close, your walls clenching around his cock, causing his hips to stutter at the feeling. His hand slipped between the two of you, finding the button that would let you release around him, and he began to circle his fingers around it quickly, the pressure of his fingers varying.

“Let go, pretty girl,” he whispered into your ear as he finally pulled his lips away from yours, soon resting them on your shoulder, his teeth sinking into the skin as you exploded around him, yelling his name out as your fingernails dug even deeper into his skin, leaving scratches behind. You’d gotten yourself off many times before, but it had never felt like this. You’d never felt this full, his cock deliciously scraping against your walls. He continued to pound into you, relishing in your whimpers before he too was coming undone into the condom, riding out his high until there was nothing left. 

His body collapsed onto the bed next to you, sweaty and sticking to the sheets as he pulled the condom off and tied it up, tossing it into the bin next to his bed. You were absolutely blissed out, a soft smile on your lips, and Rudy pushed himself onto his side, wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you into him, his fingertips trailing up and down your side.

“Are you okay? I didn’t hurt you, did I?” his words were genuine as he looked down at you, his eyes full of adoration and what you think looked like love.

“I’m... wonderful,” you decided on, your own hand reaching up and tracing along his jawline, “It stung a bit in the beginning but after that it was... jesus I can’t believe I haven’t done that before,” you laughed, and Rudy laughed with you quietly, leaning down and placing a gentle kiss on your lips for a moment before pulling away and resting his forehead on yours, his eyes staring into yours, “think it only felt that way because it was with you though,” you admitted, your voice small as you spoke, and Rudy once again pecked your lips. He had decided kissing you was one of his favorite activities. 

“I think... we just ruined the friendship,” he admitted, but he was smiling against your lips, and you knew what he meant.

“I think I agree.”

#rudy pankow smut #rudy pankow x reader #jj maybank x reader

[tweedlydumbtweedlydoo]

Rudy Pankow x reader

Requested by anon // Summary: You and Rudy play the Maybank siblings on the Outer Banks and are good friends off set. Rudy comforts you after your boyfriend cheats on you. 

A/N: This is my first Rudy Pankow x reader... Leave some feedback?? I would love to start writing for Rudy, Drew, Chase, and JD. 

I hope you guys enjoy it! Also, if you’re still waiting for a request, i’d like to apologize for taking so long and ask you to be patient. I promise, I will get to them:)  My mental state hasn’t been the best the last week and I’ve been taking some time to myself. 

Tag list is at the end. Let me know if you want to be added xx

**MASTERLIST**

Requests: OPEN {CLOSED}

** Who I Write For **

********************************************************************************************NOT MY GIF, CREDIT TO OWNERS

“Damn it JJ, don’t be stupid!” Your character huffs as she follows her brother in the yard.

“He touched you y/character’s/n, I’m going to kick his ass!” JJ, or Rudy, faces you. It takes everything you have not to laugh and not break character.

“and.. cut! Great guys, that’s a wrap for today!” The director announces.

You let out a laugh as soon as he says cut. Rudy shakes his head at you, starting to laugh, “Seriously, y/n? Again?”

You nod, “I can’t help it. You do this thing with your face and I lose it.” You hold your stomach in laughter.

“I will give you something to laugh about.” He holds his hands up, ready to tickle you.

Your face goes serious and you point a finger at Rudy, “Don’t do it.”

He smirks, “Imma do it.” He then attacks your side in tickles.

You erupt in laughter, “r-rudy please! Stop!”

He chuckles, stopping, “fine. Only cause you said please.”

~

The two of you head back to your trailers, “You want to go out with us tonight?” Rudy asks as the two of you walk up to your trailers, which were side by side.

“We got done early, I think I’ll head home and surprise Brad.” You smile, opening your door, “Thank you though!”

Rudy nods, stuffing his hands in his pockets, “Well, you know where to find us.” He gives you a small smile. He was disappointed you wouldn’t be tagging along to the dinner. He loved spending time with you. However, you were taken, and he didn’t have a chance. Doesn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy being your friend and hanging out with you.

~

“Surprise! I’m home early!” You announce opening the door of your apartment. As you started to slip off your shoes, you could hear a commotion coming from the bedroom. You frown and head that way when you heard a woman’s voice, “Where is my underwear!”

You didn’t even hesitate. You threw open the bedroom door. There was a half naked woman and your boyfriend scurring around the room, picking up clothes around the room.

“B-babe.. uh what are you doing home early?” Brad, your boyfriend stutters.

You laugh, shaking your head, “Get the fuck out!”

“Babe come on.. it was a mistake!” Brad says, coming near you.

You put your hands out in front of you and push his chest, sending him stumbling back away from you, “I said get the fuck out!”

~

You didn’t want too, but you had a job to do. You had to pull yourself out of bed and head to work. It was your job, even if you felt and looked like shit.

You sat on your couch in your trailer, already crying as you wait for make up to come in. You jumped a little at a knock on the door.

“y/n?” It was Rudy.

You grab the tissues off the couch and wipe your eyes, “come in!”

He slowly opens the door and immediately knows something is wrong, “What’s wrong? Why are you crying?” He shuts the door behind him as he steps in and walks over to you on the couch. He’s already dressed in his JJ Maybank attire. 

“I um.. I caught Brad cheating last night.” You laugh a little, wiping your eyes.

“y/n.. god I’m so sorry.” He whispers, slowly sitting next to you.

“It’s okay. I mean she was prettier than me anyways.”

He shakes his head and pulls you into his arms, that’s when you break into sobs again. “I can bet money she was not prettier than you, y/n.”

You sob into his chest as his arms tighten around your frame, “Why did he do this to us?”

“Cause he’s a fucking idiot.” He breaths out, “A fucking idiot for thinking someone was better than you.” He rubs circles along your back, “You are the most beautiful, talented, kind and smart woman and any man would be lucky to have you. He obviously didn’t know what he had.”

“How is it you always know the right things to say?” You laugh a little, wiping your eyes with the tissue in your hands.

He chuckles softly, “Guess, I’m just good like that.” He reaches around you and grabs another tissue, handing it to you.

“You’re a really great guy, Rudy. I mean it.” You lay your hands in your lap, looking at him, “You’ve been my person ever since we met.”

He pushes a strand of hair behind your ear, “My person huh? You’ve been watching way  too much Grey’s.”

Both of you begin to laugh as you nod. Slowly, the laughter begins to die down and there’s a comfortable silence fallen between the two of you. “I love you, Rudy.” You reach and take his hand in yours, giving a light squeeze.

“I love you too.” He knows your I love you has always been in a friend way and it may always be that way, but his, it’s never been. He’s loved you more than a friend for months and he wished he’d told you before Brad so he could have saved you this heartbreak. However, he knew in a way, the world was giving him a second chance to tell you.

It wouldn’t be in this moment, but when the moment was right, he’d confess his love for you.

Obx taglist: @poguestyleskye , @alexa-playafricabytoto , @kaelyn-lobrutto24 , @prejudic3 , @turtlee-says-rawr , @outrbank , @k-k0129 , @annedub , @rockyyc77​ , @ilovejjmaybank​ , @treestarrrrrrrr​ , @thedarkqueenofavalon​ , @write-from-the-heart​ , @eclecticpuppyhollywoodhumanoid , @lasnaro​ , @kiarasgold​ , @normatural​ , @kaylinfayezink​ , @lordsagittarius​ , @moose-squirrel-asstiel​ , @thelovelydreamer17​ , @chasefreakinstokes​ , @fanficscuziranout​ , @diverrdown​ , @tregua-oca​ , @junkiemuppettxx​ , @afterglowsb-tch13​ , @hardyxlove​ , @cinnamon-roll-seth​

(I hope it’s okay I tagged all the JJ Maybank people and the OBX taglist! I figured you guys would enjoy being tagged in Rudy as well:) 

JJ Maybank taglist: @thatweirdblonde​ ,  @saltwatercowb0y​ , @popcrone818​ , @thee-sex​ , @coni-martina​ , @pm-my-hubbies​ , @timotaychalabae​ , @katiaw2​ , @maybebanks​ , @sataninsatin​ , @obx-beach​ , @fangirlvoice​ , @lolitstiana​ , @teamnick​ , @danicarosaline​ , @losers-club6​ , @bananasfromtarget​ , @jasminesuperstar123456789​ , @fratboystark​ , @notmcchkn​ ,

All my works tag list:  @blossomreed​

#rudy pankow #rudy pankow x reader #rudy pankow imagines #rudy pankow imagine #rudy pankow fanfic #rudy pankow x #rudy pankow x you #rudy pankow x y/n #rudy pankow fanfiction #rudy pankow fic #rudy pankow x female!reader #outer banks #outer banks netflix #outer banks imagine #outer banks imagines #outer banks fanfic #outer banks fic #outer banks fanfiction #obx #obx imagine #obx imagines #obx fanfic #obx fanfiction #obx fic #jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank imagines

[ilovefandoms102]

As Long as You Love me- Part 2*

Pairing: Rudy Pankow x Plus Size Reader

Summary: A new chapter for Rudy and Y/N begins, will they be able to overcome the hardships with a wedding, and a baby on the way?(sequel to SOMH)

Note: My baby fever is really out of control! I’m so happy you guys are loving this! As always let me know what you think!

Also I hate HATE the p-word but I felt like it was needed🙃

Anyways have fun with some fluff and spice😋

Part 1 Part 3

=====================================

The days seemed to dwindle by, my stomach had grown a little, and my boobs had gotten ginormous…

If I didn’t feel big before, I definitely do now. The Maddie’s had set to work on planning a gender reveal party, something I thought before I became pregnant was tiresome, but now that it was happening for Rudy and I...I was more than excited to see what they had planned. I knew however the baby would be revealed was going to be something hilarious with all of us being the giant goofballs we are. 

I still hadn’t heard a word from my parents, which soured my mood some days. It floored me that they wanted nothing to do with their grandchild despite their constant nagging beforehand for me to get a boyfriend in the first place. Then I started dating Rudy, and it was like something switched in their minds. Maybe they were just worried that Rudy would leave me, but somewhere deep down I knew that probably wasn’t the case either.

=====================================

I was putting some of our laundry away when I caught myself in the mirror. My hips had widened, not significantly, but they still were a tad bigger. My baby belly was protruding from one of Rudy’s larger tshirts, and my boobs look saggy in my eyes. I felt so ugly, a wave of emotion coming over me. How will Rudy want me after I have the baby, or even now? I looked like a potato, and when I get farther along, the bigger I’ll be. My skin will be saggy from the baby, and I’m sure I’ll have even more stretch marks. My lips started to quiver, tears cascading down my cheeks. I sobbed into my hands, sitting down on my side of the bed. I heard Rudy call out that he was home, making a run to the store for me. 

“Babe?” he shouted, his footsteps bounding up the stairs to the bedroom. He gasped at my state, quickly making his way over to me.

“What’s wrong? Is it the baby? Are you hurt?” he asked, taking my face in his hands.

“No...I just..I’m so fat!” I wailed, his eyes softening immediately.

“Sweetheart you're pregnant, you have our little baby in there.” he spoke softly, rubbing my bump.

“I look like a whale, and what about after the baby is born? You won’t want me anymore.” I sniffled, he brought his shirt up to wipe my nose.

“My love, you are the most beautiful person on this planet. I will always, always want you. I wouldn’t have asked you to marry me, or knocked you up if I didn’t want you.” he chuckled, a watery laugh leaving my lips.

“My belly will be saggy, and I’ll have even more stretch marks.” I blubbered.

“That’s where our baby came from, our little creation. That’s what I’ll think of when I see that, and how strong you are for carrying our child. Pregnancy is a beautiful thing.” he said, my heart bursting.

“But-” I started.

“No...I meant it when I said you are the love of my life y/n.” he spoke firmly, his eyes intense as they stared into mine. 

“Rudy,” I whimpered, the tears coming back.

He leaned in to kiss my lips, leading them down my neck. I took in a shaky breath, moaning lightly when he nipped playfully at my skin. Rudy pushed me back gently on the bed, hovering over me. He smiled down at me, nuzzling his nose to mine. I held on to his cheeks, tracing the planes of his face. He took both my hands in his, pinning them above my head. My eyes widened with excitement, the smirk on his lips making me squirm underneath him. 

“Will you let me show you how much I love you baby?” he asked, brushing his lips against mine as he spoke.

I nodded my head, squeezing his fingers. He growled deep in his chest, taking my bottom lip between his teeth. I whined as he tugged, watching it snap back in place. Rudy let one of my hands up, taking his finger to trace down my face, to my neck, and stopped to circle my nipple that was poking through his shirt. His thigh was between my legs, so I tried to grind my hips down to get some sort of relief. My punishment being Rudy pinching my nipple between his ringed fingers.

“Patience my love,” he whispered, moving his fingers lower.

He gently caressed my heat over my leggings, pressing in to feel the wetness already pooling. I grunted, shuffling around to get him to move faster. Rudy sat up, pulling me with him. He took off his shirt, then proceeded to pull mine off. He cursed lowly under his breath when he saw I was bare underneath his shirt, leaning to trace his tongue around my nipple switching back and forth to give both equal attention. My fingers waved into his soft hair, falling back down on the bed. Rudy kissed down lower, stopping to kiss all over my belly. I could hear my heart pounding, the love I had for this man blooming that it felt like I could combust at any moment.

“My little baby,” he cooed, smiling up at me as he laid his head on my stomach.

“Ru,” I croaked.

“Love you here, here, especially here and here.” he said, shooting up to kiss my hip bones, my belly, and both my breasts. 

“I love you baby,” I whispered, staring into his eyes.

Rudy finally descended to where I desired him most, lifting my hips to slide my leggings down. He kissed up both my legs, leaving love bites on the inside of my thighs. I choked on a moan when he finally took his first swipe from where I was leaking all the way to my clit, stopping to nip at the bud playfully. My chest started to heave already, putting my own legs over his shoulders. Rudy reached up to grab my hands, my engagement ring clanged with one on his middle finger, and I’m not sure why that made me even more turned on. He lapped at me feverishly, shaking his head to get more of me. My back arched off the bed, my eyes closing at the feeling of his tongue. 

“Feel good babygirl?” he taunted, a moan leaving my lips as he brought my clit between his lips.

“Yes Ru, please don’t stop that.” I pleaded, his reaction being to suckle on me harder. 

He let go of one of my hands, switching his tongue down to enter inside of me as his rings rubbed me vigorously. His tongue wiggled in as far as it could go, slurping up the juices pouring out of me. I whimpered at the filthy sounds, my heels flexing into his back muscles. I was so close to letting go, feeling the rubber band about snap. I could feel myself throbbing against his tongue, he moaned into me, and that was my undoing. I gasped as I came all over his tongue, his thumb on my clit working me through my orgasm. 

Rudy crawled up my body, slamming his lips against mine. I could taste myself on his tongue, our teeth clanking together from the passion searing. He hummed in my mouth when his still clothes member rubbed against me, my hips bucking up from the tingles shooting up my spine. He sat up to quickly rid himself of his pants, stroking himself a few times. The tip poked at my entrance as Rudy teasingly rubbed himself all over my heat.

“Who’s pussy is this?” Rudy questioned, smirking when I whined.

“Yours baby, please.” I moaned, trying to pull him closer by wrapping my legs around him. 

“Only mine right?” he growled, slamming himself all the way in.

“Yes.” I squeaked, my hands grasping his sides.

His ringed hands glided up my thighs, feeling all over my body as he sat inside me. I tried to keep my eyes open, but he was making it so hard. I breathed heavily, arching up into him at even the slightest movement of his member against my walls. He took his time exploring every patch of skin, kissing, sucking, and biting anywhere he could reach. I clenched around him involuntarily, Rudy grunting as it caused him to rut up into me. 

Rudy started off with slow, loving thrusts. Gentle kisses spread across my cheeks and lips, my heart soaring through the roof at the raw emotional and physical connection we made. I couldn’t think or feel anything other than him, it was like my brain had completely voided anything I ever thought aside from Rudy.

“I love you,” he whispered, staring intently into my eyes. 

“I love you so much,” I whimpered, managing to hold his gaze for a minute before I was throwing my head back in ecstasy. 

His pace picked up, his hips hitting against mine the faster he moved. I let out a strangled moan when he switched his angle to hit that spot deep inside of me, my nails tarnishing his perfect skin. The sensitivity I felt from my first orgasm was creeping up on me as my clit rubbed against his pubic bone, amplifying even more when Rudy moved his hand down to roll it between his fingers. 

“Gonna cum baby,” I panted.

“Cum with me baby, now.” he groaned, rubbing me even faster.

Both our moans were heard through our bedroom, our muscles tightening up as we tried to stimulate each other through our highs. He leaned down to kiss me, swallowing the last of my whines and whimpers of his name. We breathed heavily into each other’s mouth as we came down, staying connected until Rudy completely softened inside of me. He rolled off to the side, his hand coming to rub the skin of my belly. 

We stayed laying in each other’s arms, basking in the post orgasmic afterglow. Eventually, both of us fell sound asleep only to wake up to do it all over again. 

=====================================

The gender reveal party was today, and I could not be more excited. Rudy and I were instructed to wear white, so I figured this was going to have to do with how we were going to find out what we were having. I chose to wear a white romper, the fabric complimenting my baby bump which made me smile. 

Our crew arrived at our house early in the afternoon, helping both Maddie’s set up the decorations. I got yelled at anytime I tried to lend a hand, so I sat down on my couch and ate the little snacks Maddie B had put out. One corner of the living room was already overflowing with presents, my fingers itched to know what was inside. 

“Wait so the baby like...moves inside of you?” JD asked, all of us turning to give him a ‘duh’ expression.

“Did you think they just chilled in the same position all day JD?” I chuckled, pressing around on my belly to see if I could find where the baby was.

“Does that not feel weird?” he questioned.

“Here, I think they’re just waking up.” I said, placing his hand right where I had felt a little kick.

“Holy shit!” he exclaimed, retching his hand back.

“I wanna feel!” Drew gasped, his eyes widening when he felt the same flutter JD did.

“Ok guys, stop feelin’ up on the baby mama. These decorations aren’t gonna hang themselves.” Maddie C huffed, the boys rolling their eyes as they went back to work.

=====================================

Some of Rudy’s other friends and relatives were able to make it along with his parents and two brothers. I didn’t even tell my parents about it, I figured they wouldn’t care. Rudy’s mom took me into a big hug, congratulating us on both the engagement and the baby. She teared up a little, Rudy rolling his eyes which made me smack the back of his head.

“Be nice,” I hissed, his head leaning to kiss my cheek.

It was finally time to reveal what Rudy and I were having. Maddie C handed me a can of white silly string, Maddie B doing the same to Rudy. Everyone got their cameras set up, Rudy and I smiling like crazy from excitement. 

“Alright ready? GO!” Maddie B shouted.

I aimed the same time Rudy did, blue silly string bursting from the can. Cheers erupted everywhere, Rudy tearing up slightly as he pulled me into a deep, wet kiss. We both laughed as we pulled silly string from the other's hair after a multitude of pictures. 

“A little boy, we’re having a little boy.” Rudy croaked, tears streaming down his cheeks. His face dove into my shoulder, his shoulders shaking as he sobbed against me. 

“You’re gonna make me cry Ru,” I chuckled, tears forming in my eyes now. My hands moved up and down his back, my head tilting to kiss his neck.

“I’m just so, so happy my love.” he blubbered.

“Me too,” I sighed, snuggling further into him.

=====================================

Taglist:

@jeyramarie​​ @drewswannabegirl​​ @sexualparkour​​ @teamnick​​ @jiaraendgame​​ @agirlwholovescoffee​​ @outerbongs​​ @jaxxandcomet​​ @velyssaraptor​​ @baby-pogue​​ @they-write-once-in-a-blue-moon​​ @must-be-a-weasley-92​​ @kaitieskidmore1​​ @ma10427​​ @ifilwtmfc​​ @lasnaro​​ @justcallmesams​​ @judayyyw​​ @lonely-kermit @gviosca​​ @iamaunicorn4704​​ @jellyfishbeansontoast​​ @fernweh-fangirl​​ @runway-to-my-aid​​ @eb15​ @hurricane-abigail​ @tangledinsparkles​ @haley-talks-too-much​​ @sunwardss​ @http-cherries​ @bibliophilewednesday​ @evaporatedrosepetals​ @thetomatosaucee​ @tomatosauceagent​ @redosmo​ @ilikealotofpeople-younotsomuch​ @obx-direction-sos​ @mxltifandoms06​ @kindahavefeelingskindaheartless​ @gracielou0518​ @hannahhistorian92​ @lemur46​ @ohdangitsjay​ @screechinglawyer​ @leasly​ @sambucky8​ @babebenhardy​ @poguestyleskye​ @joshy-obx​ @harryswigss​ @simpingforrudypankowonly​ @x-lulu​ @k-k0129​ @theotherscottishgirl

#rudy pankow x plus size reader #rudy x plus size reader #jj x plus size reader #jj maybank x plus size reader #rudy pankow fic #rudy fic #rudy pankow #rudy #rudy x y/n #rudy x reader #rudy x you #rudy pankow x you #rudy pankow x y/n #rudy pankow x reader #rudy pankow smut #rudy smut #jj smut #jj maybank smut #rudy pankow imagine #rudy imagine #rudy pankow one shot #rudy pankow obx #rudy pankow outer banks #rudy obx #rudy outer banks #rudy fluff #rudy pankow fluff #rudy pankow series #rudy pankow story #rudy series

[barbasbodaciousbeard]

Love you to the Moon and to Saturn

Summary: Caring is not an advantage. To Mycroft, this was a belief he found through the calculated logic that ruled his life. If was analytical and detached and certainly had nothing to do with Sherlock or the childhood neighbor. 

A/N: In a break from my regularly scheduled SVU writing, here’s a four part Folklore inspired Mycroft Holmes thing.

Please, picture me in the weeds Before I learned civility I used to scream ferociously Any time I wanted

“Mycroft, promise you’ll remember me here,” Ruth whispered, laying on the blanket beside where he sat with his legs before him. It was wholly undignified, but it was the clearing they spent their free time in the summer when Sherlock wasn’t there for them to watch over.

“Why here?” he asked, brow lifted as he watched her carefully weaving the bevy of flowers she’d picked. It had made their walk three times as long, but he was content to watch her as the sun shone on red curls and the yellow sundress flowed in the wind. Uncle Rudy wouldn’t approve of the way he was beginning to think of her. The neighbor girl in the summers who helped him watch over his precocious brother and never knew the sister that still haunted his nightmares. He was sixteen now, but the tension was not yet gone in the Holmes house. Ruth’s insistence on dragging him to the clearing always served as a reprieve.

“You don’t act so stuffy, so it’s where I’ll remember you. I want our memories to match when you go off to school in a couple years.” He might have taken offense if she weren’t right, something she must have known because she added, “It’s probably good one of us already acts politely. But I like seeing you when you don’t look so stressed.”

“I’m under no stress, Ruth.”

“You’re a good liar. But we’ve also spent four summers together now. You always play quite serious, but I’m learning to read you.”

There was no reason she needed to know what weighed so heavily on his shoulders. His parents had yet to realize the weight their pressure put on him. He’d been scolded for not watching Eurus more closely, not watching Sherlock and Victor as they played. Then, Uncle Rudy had decided two years before that fourteen was man enough to know the reality and partake in taking care of the family. 

Rudy would always claim he occupied a minor position in the British government, but whatever it was allowed him to put Eurus somewhere far, far away. In a few years, Mycroft would go to Oxford, study something that prepped him to join Rudy. When the time came, managing the secrets would be his job. He would minitor Eurus at Sherrinford, hide the secrets away from his parents, let them think their daughter dead and maintain the illusion she was. At least he would give her creature comforts, gifts on birthdays. 

Mycroft wouldn’t lose the humanity or kindness Rudy had. It took work to learn it, but it was carefully curated and hidden away, reserved for a select few, and Ruth was one of them. He didn’t want to tell Ruth all the darkness Rudy kept tucked away or the way he had to monitor Sherlock to ensure he didn’t remember Eurus or that redbeard wasn’t truly a dog.

“I am unknowable, Ruth,” he nearly hummed, allowing the corner of his mouth to lift. “But I promise to remember you dirtying a perfectly lovely dress in order to weave flowers into a wreath.”

“It’s a crown, Mycroft,” she said emphatically. “I bring blankets now so you won’t dirty your slacks.”

“What a kindness.”

“You used to be more like me.”

“What do you mean?”

“You act like a teacher. All serious and proper and wearing slacks and a sweater and a collared shirt to spend a day in the yard.”

“I’m just trying to act like an adult.”

“We’re not adults.” 

He wanted to tell her he wasn’t allowed to be a child anymore. That he wanted to go with her to get drunk at bonfires and snog and do all the things his peers did. But, between his intellect making most people simply unbearable, the jealousy he wouldn’t acknowledge when some lad talked to Ruth, and the fact that would mean risking something happening to his brother, he couldn’t. If Sherlock were hurt, his parents would blame him, as they did with Eurus, so Mycroft hovered over him. Luckily, he seemed to like the attention from his big brother, often snatching books he knew Mycroft had finished and devouring them to discuss them proudly in earshot of Mycroft.

“I suppose you’re correct. I still have no intention of going to one of those bonfires with you. Sherlock will be home soon. We ought to go back.”

“You’re not his parent.”

“I just enjoy his company.”

She squinted, placing her newly finished ring of flowers atop her head, and he smiled despite himself. It was probably good she made him take these breaks in the summers. Otherwise, he’d never take the time to breathe or feel the sun on his face or anything else. One day, he wouldn’t have the option. Caring wasn’t an advantage. That’s what Rudy kept telling him, but Mycroft couldn’t see how this could be anything but.

Sweet tea in the summer Cross your heart, won't tell no other… Passed down like folk songs The love lasts so long

“This isn’t tea, Ruth,” he said, distaste apparent as she set the pitcher before him. 

“It’s sweet tea, Mycroft. Just try it.”

“You were raised by Americans. This is a bastardization of tea. I won’t have it.”

“You take your tea with so much sugar, anyway. It’s hot out, and I wanted something that wouldn’t make me hotter. There’s mint in it. And sugar. Just try it. For me?”

Mycroft made a noise of dissatisfaction, taking the offered glass and sipping it. He didn’t want to admit it was bearable, but when he took another sip, he could see the look of pride on Ruth’s face. Expectantly, she crossed her arms, and he sighed as he realized she’d wait until he answered.

“It’s acceptable. Still a bastardization. Hot tea is perfectly lovely on a hot day.”

“I’ll take it. Especially given how easily you’re drinking it.”

“Impossible.”

“You love me,” she sang playfully, and he wanted to tell her he was becoming quite sure he did. She was who came to mind when he heard love described. Ruth was who he trusted, was comfortable around, and made him want to be less of a miserable pain. She was also beautiful and smart and interesting, not like everyone else he’d dubbed as goldfish as of late. It was infuriating. 

“To the moon and to saturn,” he said softly, mirroring the way she’d said the same thing affectionately to both him and his brother. His eyes were closed as his head rested against the back of the patio swing, and he felt the tickle of Ruth’s braids before he felt her press a kiss to the top of his head. His heart pounded, and Mycroft was suddenly more aware of her closeness as he opened her eyes. The sound of Sherlock calling out to his audience of toys as he played echoed to them, but for once they were the background noise to his mind and all he could focus on was Ruth’s soft laugh as she watched his brother from her place beside him.

“To the moon and to saturn,” she smiled. “You’re my best friend, Mycroft.”

He didn’t like the word friend in that moment, but saying as much would mean admitting he was smitten with her. There was no way he could keep that from mummy and father. He wasn’t one for affection, but he let her rest her head upon his shoulder, a dignified hand pressing to her cheek before returning to his lap. 

“And you are mine, Ruth.”

“You mean that?”

“I do.”

“Thank you.” 

Ruth stayed against his side, only sitting up when Sherlock ran up clutching some piece of a broken gardening trow he seemed quite proud to have found. Ruth took it gladly, promising she’d try to think of a way to give it a handle again. In the fall and spring, it was always harder for him to keep up with his younger brother; mummy and father both taught at the university and found their time researching and writing indispensable so they could enjoy the winter break and summer. They said the boys would be fine on their own, but what they meant was Mycroft would be watching. It was better with Ruth, who genuinely seemed to enjoy helping to make Sherlock feel included. 

With Eurus gone and Victor dead, the ten year old only had his brother and their neighbor. He also had the same distance Mycroft remembered so well, the sea between himself and everyone else because their minds simply worked differently. People could be so boring, especially if they were unwilling to deal with the Holmes’ peculiarities. Everyone was so delicate, still learning who they were and building self esteem, that Sherlock and Mycroft with intelligence to rival the teachers and eccentricities abound didn’t know how to interact, especially given how long their mother had kept them home schooled. Victor had always understood his brother, and now he was gone. Ruth was the first close friend Mycroft had found, the only one where he didn’t have to calculate what his next move should be.

“Mycroft,” Sherlock asked, pulling on his brother’s sleeve. He was still all dark curls and blue eyes. It was still admiration on his face instead of the annoyance that would take its place ten years later. “Do we have any of the big wooden dowels left? Ruth says we could use them to make a handle!”

“We do,” he said softly, straightening the boy’s collar. “You’re quite lucky she’s always so willing to assist in your restorations. Her father does restorations for museums. I’ll fetch the dowels. You help Ruth set up your work station.”

I’ve been meaning to tell you I think your house is haunted Your dad is always mad and that must be why I think you should come live with me  And we can be pirates, then you won't have to cry

“Why are you hiding?” 

Mycroft looked up from his book, back against the wall of the attic. It was the first Christmas since he’d left for Oxford, and he was pleased to learn both families would spend it as they did their summers. If anything had been confirmed for him, it was that he was irrevocably in love with her. He’d now kissed and slept with a couple of people and each time he wondered how it would be if it were Ruth. 

Rudy had made it apparent that until he was needed at a job once he graduated, his summers were his, and he was pleased to know he had three summers with her before Eurus was his responsibility. Sherlock had been acting out since he left, and he had a feeling soon enough the boy would be his responsibility from afar.

“I’m not hiding,” he argued as she settled beside him. “What, no hello?”

“Hello, Mycroft. I missed you terribly.”

“I missed you too, Ruth.” 

“You never call me. We don’t get to run into each other when you’re at school. So we’ve got to put in effort.”

“I’ve nothing terribly interesting to say.”

“Call and bore me then, okay?”

“You require quite a lot of attention.” His tone was as playful as she’d ever heard, though to anyone else she was certain it sounded monotone. But, the corners of his mouth weren’t turned down, even if he did seem more exhausted than she’d ever seen him.

“I just wanted to make sure you’re okay, Mycroft.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I could hear your dad.” Mycroft sighed, placing his bookmark and setting the novel aside. His hands came to rest on his lap, fingers laced, and he just couldn’t quite bring himself to look at her. “Was it about Sherlock?”

“He’s been acting out with regularity. Mummy and father think I should come back more. That he misses me. I do not know when they expect that I will be able to, but I’m going to make an effort to.”

“Mycroft, he’ll find something else to act out over. He’s only turning eleven. It’s a change he’ll have to get used to because one day, you’ll be prime minister or something and never have time for any of us.”

“Don’t wish that upon me.”

“Sometimes, I think something bad happened here. And that the energy gets to your dad. He isn’t like this in the city from what you tell me.”

“Are you implying ghosts make my father angry, Ruth?”

“Maybe,” she shrugged. “You should come stay with me. I’ll sneak you in through the window.”

“Your father would have me killed. He’d assume I had nefarious intent.”

“He left,” she muttered, picking at the loose thread of the rug. 

“Ruth-”

“I’m fine. He still visits me, and I visit him. It’s just so strange being here for Christmas without him. He met a woman at work…”

“How’s Catherine?”

“She’s taken it well. She stays out a lot. But she’s been home for the holiday since we came out here.”

“I am always here if you need to talk about it. You could have called me.”

“I know,” she said, squeezing his fingers. “Are you ready to run away from responsibility yet? I still think we could have a lovely roadside stand somewhere. A cottage.”

“You could always come to Oxford.”

“Maybe I will.”

“I’ll always have a place for you.”

“I’m just pleased I get to see you. It’s been too long. You’re my favorite person, you know?”

“And you’re mine.”

“No, Sherlock is,” she teased, nudging his side. “But that’s fair.”

“I love you.” The words tumbled out before he could stop them. He’d said it dozens of times, but always in response to her. There was something else behind it now as they hid away from their families. It felt comfortable. He felt at home now that she was here. Wasn’t that a sign? That he still felt unstable when surrounded by his parents and Sherlock, but a peace washed over him when Ruth’s head poked out from behind the attic door. 

“Mycroft-”

“It’s perfectly alright if you don’t.”

“I do.”

“What?”

“I said I do. I love you too, Mycroft Holmes.”

He didn’t know what to do now. Oxford was the first place someone had kissed him, a brunette boy at a party his roommate had held. There was also a woman, one much older than him, who he met at the library. Those had been simple enough because the weight of his feelings wasn’t attached. He’d worked so hard with Rudy to control them, to remember caring isn’t an advantage. It was acceptable to love his little brother; Rudy reminded him that would make everything easier. But loving Ruth? He’d always made their friendship an exception, but as he realized he had the opportunity to kiss her he took it. 

Long fingers cupped her jaw, and his heart soared as he realized she was looking to his lips. She leaned in before he could, hands going to his sides as she kissed him sweetly. Each kiss he’d had before had a purpose. It was hard and wanting and found the inexperienced Mycroft in a bed somewhere. Now, he could just hold his lips to hers like this forever, never progressing, and be happy. When they did separate, she buried her face into the crook of his neck, and his arms circled her waist as he savored the closeness. He could feel her heart pounding as his was. 

“I love you, Mycroft.”

“And I love you, Ruth.”

“Promise?”

“To the moon and to Saturn.”

#Mycroft Holmes #mycroft holmes x oc #mycroft holmes x original character #mycroft holmes fanfiction #sherlock #bbc sherlock

[sillylittlegay]

CoD Short story; AleRudy Café AU Part 4

A few days later Alejandro had cleaned the second bedroom – well he hadn't cleaned it, he just threw some things out and stashed others away in unnoticeable corners of the apartment. He didn't care though, he knew Rudy wouldn't mind, the room would be a mess anyway until they had organised it.

While he put away another useless trinket he had bought without needing, he heard the doorbell ring. »'m coming!« He yelled, quickly getting his keys and walked to the door. Upon opening it, he saw Rudy, his face was flushed red and his hair messed up – Alejandro knew it was because he had to carry his things into the second floor but for some reason it made his heart jump a bit. »You could've told me you're already carrying everything up, I would've helped you.« He grinned as Rudy huffed and rolled his eyes. »We both know you would've carried it all by yourself.« »Well yeah I can't have you carry anything, you're way too bad at carrying things, I mean look at you!« Alej teased, lightly nudging Rudy's shoulder. Rudy only groaned and carried a box into the small hallway.

A few minutes later the two had carried all the boxes and bags inside, all placed in the hallway, mostly in front of the door of the second bedroom. »I'm done. If I do any more work today I'm going to evaporate.« Rodolfo sighed, leaning against the wall and sliding down. »This must be what hell feels like.« Alejandro laughed and messed up the others hair. »C'mon, we have to at least get your bed done so you have somewhere to sleep!« He grinned. »Unless you wanna sleep in mine?« Just watching Rodolfo get red was priceless – he always got red at the smallest teasing of Alejandro, something he always liked using just to get his best friend embarrassed. »You're a menace Jandro. I mean it in the most awful way possible.« Rudy groaned, hiding his face in his hands. »You're too lovely not to tease Rudy.« Alejandro could hear Rudy curse under his breath. »Okay then, I'll go try to get your bed set up.« He grinned, halfheartedly grabbing the box labeled "BED" and shortly wondered how the ever loving fuck Rudy had been able to get a whole ass bed into one box.

Alejandro grumbled – he usually was able to fully build anything together. Well, apparently anything but this bed. »Pure Bullshit.« He muttered, hearing Rudy chuckle behind him. Rodolfo had only been watching him, content on not moving another muscle for today. »Would be just awesome if you helped me Rudy.« Alejandro groaned, slightly annoyed at the other. »Oh but you're doing so great Jandro! Only a bit more and I think this bed will never be build together again!« Rodolfo laughed, moving to sit beside Alejandro on the floor. A few minutes later Rudy had built up the bed. »You asshole.« Alejandro stated, not believing the fact that Rudy had simply watched to make fun of him. »Since when do you speak like that to your best friend, eh Alejandro?« The taller just rolled his eyes at him, muttering a low "whatever".

Afterwards Alejandro got to cooking while Rudy got together the rest of his stuff – most still packed in boxes apart from the rest of stuff for his bed and his desk with a few folders. Alejandro was humming along to some song in the radio when Rudy walked into the small kitchen area. »Feels almost like back in the day.« Rodolfo smiled, leaning against the counter beside Alejandro. »Back in the day we also had shooting training every other day Rudy. Sure hope it's not like that anymore, we both know your aim sucks.« That earned him a punch in the shoulder. »My aim was better than yours, dickhead.« The other answered, making Alejandro chuckle and silently agree. He fully knew that statement was a lie – Rudy had always been too scared of shooting things, not that that was bad, he was fully able to if he needed to, but most of the time he believed talking could cure anything.

»Well, Mister Best aim, how about you throw something on TV and I'll get this delicious food over there, sound good?« Rudy snorted and left the kitchen area, Alejandro could hear him throw himself onto the couch. A few minutes later he walked to the couch himself, a plate full of food in each hand. »Almost seems like we're married.« Rudy laughed, looking away from the TV. »If we're married I want half of what you own of your company, Mi amor.« Alejandro called in a mocking tone. »Bold of you to assume I'd ever marry you.« »Bold of you to say that I couldn't win you over.« The bickering between the two continued while they were eating and watching TV, each adding to the joke in their own way. »When we're divorced I'm taking the kids.« Rudy chuckled, lightly jabbing into Alejandro's waist. »Kids? Are you serious?« »Two dogs. That's what our kids would be.« Alejandro couldn't help but grin at that, obviously Rudy would prefer dogs over actual kids. »I'll get sent to jail because I couldn't take being away from you.« He then laughed. »Just a second ago you said you'd never make me breakfast and now you can't take being away from me? That's all you have Jandro?« Rudy raised a questioning brow at him. »I told you, it's because I'd work too much! Do you even listen to me Rudy?« Alejandro dramatically put away his plate and put his hand on his chest. »This is the exact reason this marriage isn't working!« Rudy just rolled his eyes and continued eating.

»Okay, I'll have to get up early tomorrow, I've got to open the café together with Roach. You can stay up if you want, but don't be too surprised to wake up to no breakfast.« Alejandro grinned at Rudy, obviously still adding to the joke from before. »This is why we sleep in separate beds Jandro.« Rudy called, acting as if he was annoyed. »But okay, I'll make myself breakfast. Sleep well!« Alejandro smiled and told Rudy the same, going to the small bathroom and getting ready to go to bed.

For some reason Alejandro didn't mind this life at all — just because Rudy was his best friend of course.

Café AU Part 4!!

I actually made notes for my stories now so I now have a more detailed plan of what I'll write

Also as little teaser; I'll make another story of this café AU after this one's finished — currently planning it to be a GhostSoapKönig one but I haven't decided 100% yet lolz

#call of duty #cod mwii #short story #rodolfo x alejandro #alejandro mw2 #alejandro vargas #alerudy #aledolfo #alejandro x rodolfo #rudy parra #alejandro x rudy #rodolfo rudy parra

[anonymous0writer]

Saving You II JJ Maybank

Part One: Fine Line

Author: @anonymous0writer

Summary: You and JJ had been best friends for as long as you lived. But the feelings that would change your status haven’t been said. Will the words ever be said?

Warnings: Alcohol use, parental abuse, swearing. Brief mentions of depression/ self harming. 

Please read at your own discretion! (I struggle with depression so I wrote it how I experience it.)

Requested: “Reader and JJ are friends since kindergarten. She is his complete opposite - shy and low-key and introverted, but that’s why they fit so well together. They have feelings for each other, but never confessed. She knows about his issues at home, but JJ doesn’t want her to interfere, its dangerous. One day tho she sees as JJ's dad is abusing him and tries to help him, but she gets hurt as Luke slaps her too. JJ freaks out and after this mess he tells her how he feels”

A/N: This was really fun to write!! I love a best friends to lovers troupe. :) And this is long.... I hope you like it anon!! It’s also long..

Also: My second JJ series!! I actually have a plan for this, so it won’t be like Not Together Anymore, which was pretty bad! But for this series, I have four parts roughly planned... and I’m excited for it!!

Let me know what you think!!!

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Add yourself to my taglist!

If any one wants to be added to the taglist, let me know!! :)

Tags: @jayjaymaebank @rudys-pankow @maaybanks @everydayimfangirling @outrbank @thelocalpogue @teamnick @bxbyyyjocelyn

Y/N was laughing, with her head thrown back and her eyes alight with amusement. She didn’t catch the look her best friend gave her. But it was there, the secret glances filled with love and longing. In fact, ever since seventh grade, the two had been stealing admiring looks, hugging a little longer and smiling just a bit wider at each other. 

They were in love, yet the strict line of “best friends” kept their mouths shut, confining them to longing and dreaming of the day one would toe the line. But years had gone by, and no one had toed the line or even stepped just a little too close to it. The line was there for a reason right?

They’d met in third grade, and once they knew that the person staring at them was their person, they made up for the years they missed quickly. The two, ever since they met at the field trip to the beach when they were eight, and forced to be in a group together, they never left the other’s side. At eight, they knew that they were soul mates. Maybe not romantically, but in every other way. They never kept a secret and never left the other behind. They had a secret understanding that they couldn’t abandoned each other. Y/N and JJ were each other’s rocks. Any thing they needed, the other would be there in a heartbeat. 

And that’s how Y/N knew about JJ’s father way before anyone else. He’d been able to deal with it for a couple days, but when he showed up for work one day, grunting and wincing up a storm, Y/N demanded to know what had happened. JJ knew he couldn’t lie and say it was Rafe or another Kook. That was how Y/N learned that JJ’s father had beaten him ever since seventh grade and his mom left. Ever since then, whenever Y/N sensed something was off, she drove to JJ’s and found him hurting and bruising, and would nurse him back to health and kept her mouth shut.

JJ knew about Y/N’s struggle with depression. She’d been hurting herself by biting herself since the start of high school. The episodes hit out of no where, and when Y/N didn’t show up for two days at school, JJ knew something was very wrong. Y/N was never late to school. Hell, she hated missing class more than anything and came in once when she was half dead from a cold. So JJ had barged in, and found her in the shower, staring blankly at the wall, bruises and angry red teeth marks marring her arm. He’d nursed her back to health, promising to keep her struggles a secret from everyone, including her parents as long as she didn’t hurt herself anymore. 

Both had secret they’d rather keep secret, but they couldn’t keep it from each other. They had a pact. They’d be there and help each other, and they’d never leave the other. 

The two were practically attached at the hip. You didn’t see Y/N without JJ close behind. You never saw JJ without an arm around Y/N’s shoulders or her laugh chasing after him. They were always together, and it was a shock if you saw one alone. They didn’t avoid each other if they fought. Sure, they rolled their eyes at each other and called each other an idiot or a dumb ass, but they still sat close and acted as if there wasn’t a fight. They’d make up, deciding it was too much work to be mad at each other. But no matter what, they were always together. Some called them twins, or the two. Even the pogues didn’t call them individually. Even when JJ was begin a dumb ass, and Y/N was just sitting next to him, Kie would yell, “Quit it you two!”. 

But with knowing each other since they were eight and spending every day together since then, and knowing each other’s deepest darkest secrets, they fell in love silently. They’d both crossed the line without the other knowing, thinking it was untouched.

And Y/N would’ve known that the blonde was in love if only she saw the look he gave her as she laughed. But she didn’t, so she never knew. 

-----

The Boneyard party was in full swing, but a small group of kids from the Cut were sitting by themselves, opting for hanging out with each other instead of getting shit faced drunk with the rest of the kids. 

Pope Heyward sat, back pressed against a dead tree, no beer in sight. The boy liked to keep the ‘signal clear’ and not get a DUI. The boy ran a hand through his hair, eyes bright as he talked. He wore an old fishing T-shirt and was sitting cross legged, talking enthusiastically with the girl across from him. 

Kiara Carrera was shaking her head at Pope, waiting until he finish so she could launch into her own point. Her long and dark curly hair was tamed into a half up half down bun, the curls bouncing around her shoulders. She wore a bright yellow crop top, her shorts faded and worn. Her flip flops were discarded beside her, and she dug her bare feet into the warm sand. When it was her turn to speak, the boy on her right poked her in the stomach. Kiara slapped his hand, and started over. 

The boy who poked his best friend was John B. Routledge. Called John B. because his father was also a John, and John B. fit him more than John. He laughed and poked the girl again, but let her talk as he took a sip of his beer. He was tall, tan and wore a half open button up. He sat on a log, and dropped the empty beer can to the sand, asking his best friend since the second grade to hand him another. 

JJ Maybank grabbed the cooler seated next to him and fished out a beer, popping it up into the air for his friend to catch. “Nice one, slick.” He commented when the boy failed to catch it and it hit him in the stomach. The blonde laughed, smirking hard, but was able to listen to the girl who’s feet were in his lap. His hands rested on her legs, thumbs tracing small patterns onto her skin. JJ was wearing his famous backwards cap that tamed the blonde hair underneath. His tan arms were on display in his sleeveless T-shirt. 

The girl with her legs on JJ was Y/N Y/L/N. Head thrown back as she listened to the heated conversation of the two next to her, and smirking at John B. and JJ. Her longest friend here was JJ, but John B. was in close second. Kiara was her sister and Pope was the fellow genuis. Each kid had their own connection to each other, but in all, they were the closest group of friends you could find, best friends since the day they met. 

And with the closeness of the best friends came a few set of rules. 

One: Never leave a Pogue behind.

However, the rule had been broken a few times when they came a little too close to the cops catching them. But the rule was the foundation of their group. They would die for each other and wouldn’t even think about leaving one. Except when the cops were inches away from putting them in a cop car. The cops were the only exception, though JJ had a knack for ending up there anyway.

Two: No pogue on pogue macking.

That was established by Kie. And seconded by Y/N. If people started to sneak around, the intricate webbing of their friendship would unravel. The rule sharpened the line between Y/N and JJ. This was also another foundation of the group. No kissing or messing around with each other, and everyone would be fine. Sure, they’d kiss on dares and on time Y/N kissed Kie because the boys wouldn’t leave them alone, but that was strictly... ‘professional’. 

There were other rules, but none as important as those two. And, with the closeness of JJ and Y/N, people automatically assumed that they were a couple. Hell, out of the five in the circle, they were the only ones touching, with Y/N’s feet in JJ’s lap, his fingers tracing a soft pattern in her skin. There was no denying or arguing the fact that those two were the closest out of all of them. Soulmates was the one word to describe them.

“Alright, Kie,” JJ called out, thumbs pressing a little harder into the calf of Y/N. She didn’t mind it and smiled lightly at the surfer. “You gotta pay up.”

Kie glared, pulled out of her conversation with Pope. But now everyone’s attention was on the blonde. He smirked and raised his eye brows at the dark haired girl. 

“For what?” Kie asked. 

JJ laughed, “C’mon. The bet about-”

“Yeah, yeah. I know, JJ.” Kie grumbled, embarrassed about loosing the bet. 

The five bet all the time. Nine out of ten times, JJ was involved, but everyone gambled with each other. Over stupid things, but one was always granted a kiss, money or fulfilling a dare. This time, the award in question was a kiss. If JJ could do three of the difficult tricks on his board, three times in a row without messing up, (in one go) Kie would give JJ a kiss. 

But Kie being the clever girl she was, knew JJ didn’t specify the kiss. She smirked, and leaned forward, mouth hovering near JJ’s. 

Y/N looked away, mouth twisting at the thought of JJ wanting a kiss from Kie. It made her heart ache just a little. Y/N had fallen in love with the boy in front of her since high school and had helped her through one of her darkest moments. The blonde never reciprocated the feelings, and Y/N never pursued them. The line between them was clear. Friends, and friends only. Even if she felt like crossing the line, she knew JJ would never feel the same way. Not in a million years. The countless girls he took from Boneyard parties and the locked doors was enough evidence of such. So Y/N kept her secret close to her heart, keeping it from the guy she’d never lied to in her whole life. She’d kept it for two years, silently yearning and begging the boy to feel the same way. 

But here he was, grinning as a girl leaned toward him, rewarding him with a kiss. And not just a girl. Kie. The girl he flirted with shamelessly. Sure, JJ did that with Y/N, but it was toned down and not as obvious. Y/N even overheard the surfer refer to her best friend as “the super hot hippy chick”. It was obvious why JJ made the bet with Kie in the first place, no less established a reward as such.

But Kie wasn’t into him. Or the bet. She smirked for her own reasons and planted a soft kiss on JJ’s cheek. Kie pulled back and sat back down, ignoring the squawk of disbelief from the boy.

“That wasn’t the deal!”

“You never said it had to be on the lips, idiot.” Kie muttered, eyes glancing over to Y/N to see her friend frown slightly at JJ’s reaction. “You’re a dumb ass.” She reiterated, but this time for a different reason. 

Kiara was the only one that knew the feelings the ‘two’ had for each other. But none of the two involved knew that she knew. She saw the way JJ looked at Y/N. Sure it was always different from the way he looked at everyone else, but something had changed in the past year. JJ had caught feelings later, but Kiara knew Y/N had loved the boy since the beginning of high school. 

“What?” JJ pouted, flashing his baby blues. When Kie shook her head, the blonde turned to Y/N. “You’ll kiss me, right?” 

The boy puckered his lips as they curved into a devious smile. Y/N blinked and met the eyes of her best friend. JJ leaned closer, waggling his eyebrows. However, Y/N recovered quickly, and smirked. She leaned in like she was going to kiss them, and then as their lips neared, she put her hands on his chest and shoved him back. JJ floundered, hands reeling and his jaw dropping in disbelief. 

Y/N giggled, smiling at her best friend. But as her stomach erupted in butterflies at the thought that JJ asked her for a kiss, even if she was the second option, JJ’s stomach was sinking because of the slight rejection. 

They knew each other inside out, but for their own reasons, they didn’t know that the other was feeling the same thing. They were falling in love, but they thought they were alone in the plummet, when they could be falling together.

#obx #outer banks #outer banks imagine #obx netflix #anonymous0writer #imagine #jj #jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank x you #jj maybank x y/n #jj maybank smut #jj obx #jj outer banks #jj obx imagine #jj obx x reader #jj one shot #jj maybank series #obx jj #obx jj maybank #outer banks jj #outerbanks jj #jj imagine #john b routledge #kiara carrera #pope heyward #the pogues #writing #outer banks series #request

[12yeahiminluvwu]

Calm

pairing - Rudy Pankow x Little Sister!Reader

summary- Requested by @deathcompass :) “hi! your writing is amazing :) i was wondering if you could write something with drew/rudy where his younger sister has a panic attack and he helps her calm down because she gets them a lot?”

word count- 1.9+ 

warning(s)- panic attack tw, anxiety tw, swearing (maybe? idk), kinda cliche… gives me 2016 wattpad vibes ngl, the ending sucks i’m so sorry! very loosely edited

series masterlist 

masterlist

Disclaimer: I’ve only ever had very mild panic attacks so I’m going to use my own experiences to write this, but I do understand that they can be very severe and I’m not in any way trying to romanticize anything at all. I love you, stay safe <3 

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

“Hey bug, you ready to come home?” You sighed, realizing that summer was ending and you would be having to go back to Alaska for school. It hadn’t snuck up on you, but some part of you had hoped that you’d get to stay with your brother forever. 

“I guess…” You mumbled back, not wanting to hurt your parents but also not wanting to go back. 

“You’re all set to fly out in a few days, we can’t wait to see you!” Your mom exclaimed. You could hear the excitement in her voice which only broke your heart even more. The familiar feeling began to bubble up in your chest, making it seem like you couldn’t breathe in all the way, like something was taking up space in your lungs preventing you from getting enough oxygen. This hadn’t happened all summer, not since you came to live with Rudy. It had been so long since you felt it, you almost forgot the feeling altogether. 

“Sweetie? You still there?” Your mom’s voice brought you out of your own head and back into the real world, where a few minutes of silence had passed. 

“Yeah, yeah I’m here. I’ll see you soon. Love you guys.” You quickly ended the conversation, wanting to get as far away from your phone as possible, as your mind assimilated it with the panic you were feeling. 

This time, you were able to keep yourself calm.

--

“Baby, do you really have to leave?” Your boyfriend asked, his arms sliding around your waist, leaving goosebumps in their wake. The feeling of his skin on yours always ignited a fire within you, one you didn’t want to put out. You leaving in a few days felt like a storm threatening to wash away the wildfire the two of you had created together. 

“Yeah… I have to go back to school, my brother is gonna be filming season two of his show in Charleston, I’d have no one to stay with…” You mumbled into his chest, soaking in his scent, aching to remember every piece of him. Part of you wanted to believe that a long-distance relationship with him would work but the rest of you knew that it wasn’t fair to either of you. 

“Go to school here, with us! You could stay with me!” One of your best friends chimed in. A spark of hope lit up in your stomach, maybe you could stay. But then, like clockwork, that same feeling from earlier began to slither its way through your body. Your mind raced to all the things you’d be leaving behind, all the friends you had back home that you hadn’t seen in months. 

But as your mind raced and you sat with your new friends, and boyfriend (something you never thought you’d get back home), you realized the people in this room meant more to you than the people back home, who were only still friends with you because they didn’t have anyone else to be friends with. That still didn’t keep the panic at bay, but once again, you were able to keep yourself calm. 

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

“Roo, I wanna talk to you about something…” You said, coming into his room that night. 

“What’s up kid?” He asked, watching you sit down next to him on his bed. The way you twiddled your thumbs and chewed on your lips told him you were nervous about something, his mind racing to find out what it could be. The energy in the room shifted, and it was like all the oxygen had been sucked out of the room. Taking a big gulp, you started trying to verbalize your thoughts, even though it felt like you couldn’t breathe. 

“So… I was thinking- maybe- I… I could stay here with my friends and go to school here. She said she’d- she’d talk to her mom and ask if it was ok. But like, I would- I would need your help talking to mom and dad because I don’t want to hurt their feelings, but I really- really don;t want to go back home…” You stumbled out, hoping that he would understand what you had just word vomited at him. Slowly, you began to feel the burn of tears coming to your eyes, and desperately you tried to hold them back. 

“You want to stay here? How come?” He asked. He sat up, coaxing you into his arms cause he knows it calms you down. You laid your head on his chest and kept trying to take deep breaths as he stroked your hair. 

“I feel more understood by the people I’ve met here than I do by anyone in that stupid little town…” You whispered, “I’ve gotten closer to them in 3 months than I did to anyone back home in 16 years, Rudy. I have no one... no one real anyway.” 

“So you want to stay here in LA?” He asked again and you nodded. The sound of his voice was distant, sounding miles away. You did your best to focus on your breathing but that focus was quickly slipping away as your breathing became more sporadic and uneven. It was as if something was sitting on your chest, preventing you from getting enough air. 

“I’ll talk to mom and dad and see what they say. Kiddo, I need you to focus on your breathing ok? Focus on taking a deep breath all the way in and breathing all the way out.” He continued to run his fingers through your hair as you gasped in deep breaths and let the tears fall down your face. Slowly, the room started opening back up and even though the tears still ran down your face and your hands shook like an earthquake, it got a little easier to breathe. 

“That’s it, just like that,” He cooed. You sighed at the sound of his voice, remembering when you used to get these all the times before Rudy left home. After he was gone, they picked up even more and your mom and dad just didn’t quite know how to ground you like Rudy did. He was always there to protect you, it was a kick in the gut when he left you. But here he was, calming you down.

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

Rudy sat up in the living room, the next morning. You were still asleep, somewhat exhausted from last night's events. The phone rang and he took a deep breath, hoping for nothing more than to be able to get you what you want. 

“Hey Rudy! How have you been?” Your guys’ mom answered and he smiled, hearing the happiness in her voice. 

“Hey mom, is dad around?” He asked and heard shuffling on the other end. Suddenly his dad's voice sounded from the line and they got a little lost in simple conversation. Rudy then remembered exactly why he called them and got down to business. 

“So I wanna talk to you about Y/n…” He trailed off and your parents went a little quiet. He started to feel the sweat gather on his palms and gulped down the nervous lump in his throat, noticing the shift of energy in the call. 

“Is she ok? Did something happen to her?” Your dad spewed out, worried that something might have happened to his little girl, but he shook his head before remembering they couldn’t see him. 

“No no no she’s fine, but I know you guys are gonna be a little skeptical about what I’m going to tell you,” He sighed before continuing on, “ She wants to stay here for the school year…” 

The line went quiet. He could tell his parents were shocked, the fact that their daughter didn’t want to come home was a lot to process and they had no idea what the reasoning behind it was. 

“What do you mean? She doesn’t want to come home?” The woman gasped, feeling tears well up in her eyes.

“She’s ade some really awesome friends, people she’s closer to than anyone she is with at home. She’s already lined up a place to stay while I’m shooting. I think you’d really like them actually. It’s one of her best friends and her mom, they’re really nice! I think you guys should change Y/n’s ticket so that you guys can come down here…” He rushed out, hoping they understood him, but he was met with silence once again. 

“Uhm… We’re not making any promises, but we’ll come down there so we can talk about this as a family…” His dad said and he nodded with a smile, agreeing. 

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

You woke up feeling the events from last night lingering in your shoulders and neck. 

It was a familiar ache that only ever happened after an attack, a muscle tightness that made it feel as though you’d been sleeping on concrete for the past week. Doing your best to roll out the soreness, you walked into the kitchen to see Rudy with a look on his face that you couldn’t read. 

“So… I talked to mom and dad, and they’re gonna come here so we can talk about you staying!” He smiled and you felt like a little bit of the weight you’d been feeling lifted. 

“When are they coming?” 

“They’ll be here tomorrow,” He said, coming over and hugging me tightly, “We’ll get you where you need to be kid, promise!” 

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

The tension in the room was thick enough to cut with a knife. Your parents sat across from you and your brother, silently. You could tell they were deep in thought, but it didn’t help the shaking that began to take over your hands. 

All you wanted was for them to understand. They weren’t always great at that… 

“Mom, are you gonna say anything?” You finally asked, wincing when she let out a sign.

“Y/n, I just don’t like the idea of you living with someone you just met three months ago....” She said finally and your dad nodded along with her. 

“You don’t understand though. I’m closer to them than I am to anybody back home! I know her and I know that she cares about me, her mom cares about me! When I wasn’t here, I was there. I’m practically already a part of the family! She’s had me and Rudy over for dinner so many times I lost count. She’s hosted dinner parties for the cast because she wants to get to know the people close to Rudy and I because she cares! She’s like a second mom to me. And I love you guys, I really do. But I’m just not happy at home! It doesn’t feel like home anymore. This… This feels like home.” You stood up, pacing back and forth, your voice gradually raising to try and hold in the tears that threatened to fall. 

“Baby…” 

“Momma…” You whispered pleadingly, looking her in the eyes for the first time since she’d arrived and finally letting the tears fall. Rudy was next to you in seconds, pulling you into his arms, doing his best to keep you grounded so you didn’t fall off the edge.

The silence was filled by your sniffles and Rudy’s whispers into your ear. Your parents looked at each other with a knowing look in their eyes. It was obvious that they were not your home anymore, and no matter how much it broke their hearts they knew they had to let you go.

“Y/n, honey, we want to meet the family first, but we think you should stay. We want you to be happy bug, and if this is where you’re happy, then this is where you should be!” Your mom finally said, coming over and wrapping you and your brother in a tight hug. Your dad followed in suit and soon enough you started to feel yourself calm down.

#rudy's little sister #rudy pankow #rudy pankow x reader #rudy pankow imagine #outer banks #imagine #x reader #jj maybank #pogue #netflix #y/n #rudy pankow x y/n #x y/n #self insert

[annab-nana]

Drew dating a High School Teacher?❤️

Ooo I like this (mainly because I want to be a high school teacher and I want to date Drew) but anyways here we go

Also we’re doing a headcanon for this and it got kinda long haha sorry

You two met in college after having a class together and became great friends

However you knew about his big dreams of becoming an actor so you had prepared yourself for him to leave North Carolina one day

And that day came quickly

You were both sad to part with each other but he promised to come back often and you told him you’d try to visit him during breaks

And that’s what you two did

You visited each other and FaceTimed all the time

He’d read over scripts and practice his lines while you’d do your lesson plans and try to find new ways to make your content more fun for your students

Then he landed the role of Rafe Cameron in a new Netflix show called Outer Banks where he’d film in South Carolina

You both were so excited to be closer to each other meaning you guys could visit each other more often but y’all were still very busy people

One day you FaceTimed him while he was in between scenes and asked him what fund raisers he did in high school since you were now the lead sponsor for the student council at your school and needed some new ideas

“Wait is that y/n?” you heard a voice, one that particularly belonged to a female

“The y/n?” A guy asked after the girl

“Starkey, did you get a girlfriend and not tell me about it?” you joked right before a blonde popped on the screen

“It’s her, Chase! She is even more beautiful than we thought,” the girl squealed with excitement and grabbed the phone from Drew

“It is so good to finally meet the girl he never shuts up about! I’m Maddie!” She chirped with a huge grin

“And you must be Chase?” you asked the shaggy-haired boy with a bandana around his neck and what looked like a bad bruise on his eye

“Yes ma’am,” he told you with a salute

“It’s nice to meet you guys. Drew tells me a lot about you guys,” you told the pair before Maddie laughed

“There is no way you hear about us more than we hear about you. You should come down here sometime. We’d all love to meet you in person,” she suggested

“I’m actually gonna come down on Friday since we have a three day weekend.” 

After the words left your mouth, you watch her smack Drew on the arm

“What was that for?” he groaned as he held his arm, pretending as if it actually pained him

“You didn’t tell us the almighty y/n was coming. We have to celebrate!”

You and Drew collectively rolled your eyes at her before laughing

Soon Friday came and you had arrived at Drew’s place

He opened the door wide and wrapped you tightly in his arms for a huge hug, lifting you off the ground momentarily

He sat you down but kept his arms around you

“I’ve missed you so much.”

“I’ve missed you too, Starkey.”

Maddie had been waiting for you to come so when she heard you and Drew, she ran out of her place to greet you

Then she invited you to dinner with the rest of the cast so you could meet them all so you did

You met Austin before you all left for dinner together and then at dinner, you met Rudy, JD, Madison, and Deion and they were all so nice and welcoming

Once you were back at Drew’s, he pulled you into his room to talk and it honestly scared you seeing him so serious

But all was well when he finally told you his feelings and you told him yours

So you two started dating officially

But your time in South Carolina was cut short by a phone call from a fellow teacher who needed you to cover for her at the ticket booth at the basketball game on Saturday night

So you took in your time with Drew and left first thing in the morning after saying goodbye to the rest of the cast

You stayed on the phone with Drew for most of the ride home

You told him how you would come back the next weekend but you were going to be swamped with grading tests and the next weekend you would be helping your students make signs for homecoming

You were both too busy each weekend until Christmas and even then, y’all would be with your own families

The weekend after you were at Drew’s, you were sitting at the counter with several tests sprawled out everywhere when you got an unexpected knock at your door

And to your surprise, it was Drew

“What are you doing here?”

“I came to see my girlfriend because I didn’t get to see her much last week.”

“I’m sorry about that, but now you’ve ruined my surprise,” you pouted while Drew followed you to the stool you were just sitting at

“What was your surprise?” he asked, taking a seat next to you

“I was going to try to get all this done early and try to go down and surprise you either late tomorrow night or early on Sunday.”

“Well, can I help you get it done and then we can spend the rest of the weekend together without any work?”

“That sounds lovely, Starkey,” you grinned before pressing your lips to his cheek

So you set the answer key between you both and you got the grading done twice as fast

Then he helped you look up ideas for the homecoming signs for next week and things you’d need to get for them which you would both go get tomorrow morning

You plugged in all your grades into the computer system to update them with the tests you and Drew just graded and with the two homework assignments from the week as well

Once you had done that, you decided you were done and anything else that needed to be done could be crammed into your planning period or you can do after school sometime during the week

Now you were focused on Drew and spending your time with him, especially since it was cut down so short last time

“All done?” he asked when he looked up from his phone to see you closing your laptop

“All done,” you confirmed

“What do you want to do?”

“Honestly? Go to bed. I’m so tired.”

“Then let’s do it sweetheart,” he said before scooping you in his arms and taking you to your room 

Even though you were both very busy people, you managed to find time for each other whether it was surprising the other with a visit or if you had to do things virtually on FaceTime

But he made it all worth it because he clearly loved you 

And you loved him

taglist: @tovvaa @killingbxys @moniamaybank @makebank @ilovejjmaybank @sguymon21 @x-lulu  @obxflowr @astronomical-parker

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#drew #drew starkey #drew headcanon #drew starkey headcanon #headcanons

[lovelylogans]

debutante

previous chapter | chapter two | next chapter

part of the wyliwf verse.

warnings: mention of creepy adults/pedophilia, transphobia, memory loss problems, food mentions, kissing/making out, arguing, 

pairings: logince, moxiety

words: 21,995

notes: there are spoiler warnings for the first three seasons of downton abbey, and dee and logan have a discussion of journalistic ethics that includes a mention of a teacher that is creepy toward teenage girls; it’s an abstract idea for the sake of argument, there is no actual creepy teacher, but i wanted to put a warning in here anyway.

⁂

he really needs to get on patton about getting a new rug for his bedroom, virgil muses.

his bare feet are resting against the hardwood of patton’s floor. patton, who usually clings to inanimate objects with an intensity fueled almost entirely by reminiscing, even patton had admitted he probably should let go of the raggedy bedroom rug, and he’d been meaning to replace it, but. he hasn’t yet. so virgil’s sitting on patton’s bed, waiting for patton to finish brushing his teeth and washing his face, so that they can curl up in bed and go to sleep. 

that’s a new thing—it’s not entirely new, but new enough that virgil feels too awkward to just curl up in patton’s bed and wait for him to come back. so. virgil is sitting here, in his pajamas, thinking about patton’s bare bedroom floor and his need for a new rug.

and not thinking about the various strides he and patton have been making in their relationship, slow but sure. virgil knows that patton’s really excited, and eager to move forward in their relationship, and virgil is too, but, surprise surprise, virgil’s anxious about it, so patton’s been very understanding about moving at a much slower pace than he’s used to—“you’re worth it, honey,” patton had said, his chin hooked over virgil’s shoulder as they cuddled at night, “there’s no rush at all. it’s been this long, ya know? i want to do all of this right,” and really, virgil did not deserve patton, he really didn’t.

there’s the sound of bare feet padding down the hallway, though, and virgil looks up, smiling despite himself, as patton opens the door. 

“hey,” he says warmly, closing the door behind him and shutting off the light—the lamps on the bedside tables are still lit—and patton continues his path, only detouring to lean down to kiss virgil sweetly before he sits down on his side of the bed. 

“hey,” virgil echoes, and at last swings his legs up on the bed, settling back against the pillows. “how was your day?”

this part he likes a lot, too—this, sitting in the same bed, talking about their days. it’s cavity-inducingly domestic.

patton hums, already squirming to be under the covers, and virgil copies him; they’ll move to cuddle once they’re done talking, virgil knows, so he mostly just stays where he is.

“the usual,” patton says. “um—got news of a wedding incoming, so i’m sure i’ll be going nutty about that in… a year and half or so.”

virgil knows that the weddings held at the inns hold some of patton’s favorite and least favorite parts of the job—helping make people happy, seeing people fall in love all over again, making everything so beautiful and lovely, but also, bridezillas and flighty grooms—and he smiles, mentally calculating. “you don’t usually get fall weddings, right? that’s mostly a spring/summer thing.”

“i know!” patton says brightly. “i hope they timed it nice so that it’s a warm fall day, and they get all the pretty leaves falling, and the sun hits the ceremony just right…”

“that sounds nice,” virgil says honestly, because it does—a picturesque fall wedding, sookie making some fancy version of an apple fritter for appetizers, a pumpkin-flavored cake. “fall wedding, i mean. it’s so pretty here in fall, i know we get boosted tourism because of it, but. not many weddings.”

“not many weddings,” patton agrees, and squeezes his arm. “and it’s a lesbian wedding, too, so from the conversation we had, i really think they’re gonna lean into the whole witchy-alternative vibe. the word celestial was thrown around a lot.”

“oh, that’ll be really fun,” virgil says, refining his mental image—black dresses and a tux, maybe, star-studded hairpieces, lots of fairy lights. “you’ll have to remind me when it’s actually being set up, i want to see how they decide to decorate. you never get to do witchy lesbian alternative celestial-themed weddings.”

patton laughs, and leans in a little closer to virgil. “no, i can’t say i’ve ever gotten to help out with a witchy lesbian alternative celestial-themed wedding. so that’ll be fun!”

patton continues with other work things—he has a much sooner wedding in spring, and unfortunately it is not a lesbian wedding, but a double wedding of two sets of insufferably rich twins, so there’s a lot to deal with there—before he winds down and says, “well, that’s about it with me, really, how ‘bout you?”

“um, pretty calm, pretty typical,” virgil says, before he reaches over and squeezes patton’s thigh. “oh, before i forget, the middle davis kid—”

“yeah?”

“—going by brick for now, while they’re trying to figure out what fits better,” virgil says. he leaves his hand on patton’s thigh, because. well. he can.

“brick,” patton says, delighted. “oh, that’s a great nickname for them—every time i see them, they’re insistent that they’re gonna bulk up and hit a growth spurt any day now.”

virgil allows himself a grin—brick is a pretty ironic nickname for a skinny little korean-irish kid who’s been hankering for their growth spurt since they could have possibly hit puberty, and now at age fourteen it was definitely becoming a bit more plaintive, but they also said it’s because they have the subtlety of a brick, so it fits in at least one way.

“they are still using they/them pronouns, right?” patton checks.

“yeah, still they/them,” virgil says. “you’ll have to ask them if they’ve added any pronouns when they turn up for your get cultured day—which is why i brought it up, brick brought by their dress for me to try and alter so that sequins don’t constantly scrape, so that’ll be a fun little challenge.”

“ooh, i hated wearing sequins at their age,” patton says sympathetically, and pats virgil’s arm. “good luck with that one.”

“other than that, though, today was mostly boring, my interesting stuff all has to do with the debutante ball,” virgil admits, rubbing his thumb back and forth over patton’s thigh. “oh, except for the part where kirk’s trying to sell topical funny t-shirts now.”

“ah, kirk,” patton says fondly. “where would the town be, without kirk and his seemingly millions of part-time jobs?”

“yeah, well, the best he could come up with today was rudy ate oatmeal, so i’m not really holding out hope for the funny t-shirt business,” virgil says.

patton snorts, and then tries to pretend he hadn’t—but, really, kirk becomes way less aggravating when you take him as comic relief. virgil knows, it’s the way he’s managed to stand all of kirk’s eccentricities over the years.

“anyway, yeah, that’s about it,” virgil says. “how'd the dinner go—i mean, i know emily at least gave you the dress, so that went okay, right?”

patton shrugs a shoulder and says, “i guess. i mean, i have a feeling this isn’t over, but… gosh, you should have seen her and logan stare each other down.”

“intense, huh?” he prompts, when patton goes quiet. he squeezes his thigh again, because physical touch is one of patton’s top two love languages. he knows, they took the test together.

patton chews his lip, before he says, “he looked like me. back then, i mean. the look on his face. my mom must’ve seen it a million times when i was his age.”

virgil squeezes a little tighter.

he knows that patton’s teenage years were rough. again, patton doesn’t really like to talk about them—virgil doesn’t blame him—but virgil did see patton struggle through the later end of his teens, and he was there for him when he’d broken down in tears. now, with as old as he is, as removed as they are from it, having seen logan and roman grow up and realizing how truly young patton was when they first met, the thought of teenage patton—struggling so fiercely in a house full of people who hadn’t understood him just made him, how hard patton had had to work to get a better life for himself and his son, the years of therapy patton had gone through—just made him want to grab patton in a hug and never let go.

“so,” patton says, pauses, and lets out a sigh. “i don’t—i don’t know. it went okay. but seeing logan copy me like that, i just…”

virgil leans over to kiss patton on the cheek.

“the difference between you as a teenager and logan as a teenager is massive,” he says lowly. “because logan’s got you, and me, and roman, and ms. prince, and rudy. he’s got this whole bizarre town. you had you, and christopher, i guess, but he didn’t understand. you’ve learned coping mechanisms that you passed onto logan, so he knows other ways to redirect his feelings. if he’s being rebellious to help protest something he thinks is sexist or unjust, i think that’s a pretty good reason to rebel. you did a great job with him. he’s a great kid. yeah?”

“yeah,” patton says very quietly. “yeah, he is.”

“you’ve come really far,” he says, and leans to see patton better, and gently pokes at patton’s cheek, just to make him smile, and he adds, “plus, i’d think if teenage-rebel you came to the future to see that your son’s protesting the gender stuff you’d been struggling with, i think that would’ve made you pretty happy, huh?”

and, yes, patton does smile at that, and something in virgil relaxes at the sight.

“yeah,” patton says. “yeah, i think it really would’ve.”

“well, good,” virgil says, and kisses his cheek, before he decides to just kinda go for it and lean in to wrap his arms around patton, initiating the cuddling early. “so, other than that déjà vu—”

“it went okay,” patton says, wiggling into virgil’s arms. “i mean—still weird to look at the dress that my mom bought for me. but other than that, it was okay.”

virgil hums sympathetically, and presses a kiss to patton’s head.

“well,” he says. “i’m gonna adjust it so that it’s logan’s dress, and his dress only. does that help?”

he feels patton smile against his collarbone.

“you know,” he says musingly. “i think it really does.”

⁂

logan has never walked into a store afraid to touch something before.

granted, most stores he walks into are grocery stores or convenience stores; clothing stores, sometimes, mostly before the school year or whenever roman decides he simply must check out the latest collection of things that the outlet mall in woodbridge had to offer. most of the time, the stores logan knew were quiet, maybe with some inoffensive music piped in, with products he knew how to use, or how they looked.

this was not the case in a bridal boutique.

which is where logan and roman are; though logan had the dress once intended for his father, roman still needed to get his own, and had so enticed logan to come along with him to help him choose.

it’s a saturday afternoon, and they’re technically on a date. there’s a bookstore just across the street, and a frozen yogurt parlor near there, and a thrift store they could dive into so logan could see the second-hand books and roman could hunt for some kind of retro statement piece.

logan inspects his hands again. there’s a stray inky blue smear across his hand that must have gotten there when he was taking his notes earlier today. he eyes the pearly-white tulle suspiciously, and takes a step closer to the center of the room, away from any of the merchandise.

objectively, he knows that touching these delicate, temperamental fabrics and testing the sensation of them by running his hand along the skirts won’t harm them, but. logan has laid eyes upon the price tags in this room. he is not going to even slightly risk ruining these dresses, somehow. 

roman’s spinning some kind of tale for the bemused, yet seemingly enthusiastic dress attendant—something something debutante ball, something something drag family induction, something something the most experimental stuff you’ve got!—and logan considers a dress a shade of blush pink so light it’s practically white, with a delicate, lacy flower overlay, the whiteness of the flowers being the only thing to really give away the pinkness of the dress itself. he wants to reach out and rub the material between his fingers.

he also knows that, with the location in the store and the quality of the material, the dress likely costs upwards of five thousand dollars. possibly more. maybe even double.

“logan!” and logan looks away, to where roman’s waving him back toward the dressing room section. thank god, somewhere to sit and not worry about accidentally tripping over a dress and leave an irreversible mud print from his shoe, or something.

the attendant burbles something along the lines of “so supportive!” that logan doesn’t really listen to, and doesn’t really have to respond to, because she’s pointing roman in the direction of a dressing room and logan gets to sit down in a chair and finally not worry about catching a ragged edge of his fingernail in a veil and accidentally ripping it in two.

logan waits until the attendant leaves, and says, “you’re really getting a dress from here?”

“it’s not all high-end,” roman says. “they have some old samples that they’re desperate to get rid of—that’s the kind of thing i want.”

logan nods, absorbing this, and his shoulders start to relax. obviously, roman’s monetary discretions are not up to him, at all. considering it comes from either his mother or working at his mother’s studio, therefore it should primarily be roman’s concern or ms. prince’s concern, but it is reassuring to know that roman isn’t about to ransack his college fund to get a pretty dress he’ll wear once as a prank.

the attendant comes back with armfuls of tulle, which roman claps his hands at with excitement, and steps into the dressing room with her. the door closes behind them, and logan can just barely hear their muted conversation beyond the door.

logan digs around in his backpack and pulls out his history textbook, his history notebook, and a pen; he may as well study while roman’s getting primped.

he gets through about a third of the chapter on enlightenment ideals by the time the door opens again.

he puts down his pen and glances up in enough time to carefully fold his lip under his teeth in an attempt not to laugh.

roman makes sure the attendant is occupied with adjusting the train before he pulls a blech! face at logan, one he’s accustomed to seeing whenever someone attempts to serve roman anything with cauliflower.

blech, logan thinks, is right. the fabric looks like it’s made of aluminum foil. it’s all bunched up in the front, like the dress is made of paper that’s been crumpled up by a giant hand, but there’s a long train in the back, and the whole thing is bedecked with big, chunky gems, like plastic rhinestones.

of the pair of them, roman’s always been the more fashionably-minded one, but even logan can tell this dress is not good.

“what do you think?” the attendant asks.

“it’s…. unique,” roman says diplomatically, smoothing his hands along the fabric; the bodice is strange, and clearly not fitted to suit roman’s chest. “definitely on the right track toward campy. but, um—”

“you tend to favor golds over silvers,” logan offers, which is true; one of roman’s signature colors was gold for a reason. “the crumpled look isn’t the best, either. you could certainly pull off a, um—”

he makes a hand gesture, and roman offers, “high-low skirt.”

“—right, high-low skirt, but the bodice isn’t the best, either,” logan continues. “something more theatrical would suit your personality, certainly, but i think that’s more in terms of, you know. a very outdated dress, or maybe something ostentatious, but not—”

“not this kind of ostentatious, yeah,” roman finishes for him, and the attendant looks between them, seemingly starting to question why she took in two teenage boys to try on dresses. the look falters, though, and she pastes a smile onto her face—professionalism must prevail, logan supposes.

“back to the dressing room, then!”

she trots roman out in a few other options—an a-line dress with a lacy bodice and a tulle skirt, a trumpet dress with chantilly lace and a sheer back, a relatively simple a-line dress that roman keeps twisting around in to gleefully poke at the massive bow perched at the small of his back—and logan offers commentary when asked. as she sees roman adjust the bow again, the attendant smiles.

“you like the bow?”

“i like the bow,” roman agrees, grinning. “i look like a birthday present.”

“all right,” she says. “i’ll bring out something a bit more experimental again—”

at the looks on their faces, she adds, “not quite as avant-garde as the first dress. actually, it’s fairly old-fashioned, but i think it might have that theatrical aspect you’re looking for. i’ll go back and change you out of this one and bring it back for you so you can take a look, does that sound good?”

roman agrees, and accepts her hand down off the stand, with a wink at logan, before they go off into the dressing room together. logan turns again to his history textbook; he’s nearly done with the chapter, which means one less thing to stress about when he should be focusing on a date with roman.

he can hear roman laugh from inside the dressing room and, unbidden, the corners of his mouth lift, too. either this dress is hilariously terrible, or roman’s thrilled at the idea of wearing this dress which he thinks is perfect for him.

when roman hops up onto the stand, logan honestly can’t tell which it is.

it’s like some fashion designer decided to stick every terrible fashion trend from the eighties onto one dress. there are big, puffy balloon sleeves made of tulle, secured with rosettes, in addition to typical spaghetti straps with smaller rosettes all over them; there’s a panel of beading down the bodice; there’s an overlay of rows and rows of ruffly tulle over a skirt of satin.

and, of course, there is a big, fluffy bow, perched right at the small of roman’s back.

it is extra. it is absurd. it is dramatic.

“i love it,” roman says gleefully. “oh, my goodness, it’s so much!”

it is, of course, roman.

“you look beautiful,” logan offers, and roman flashes a radiant smile in his direction, before he turns to offer his exuberant thanks to the attendant, who seems relieved (”we’ve had that sample longer than i’ve worked here, i’m sure they’ll be thrilled we’re rid of it!”) and takes roman into the dressing room, to help him out of the dress and go ring him up.

logan packs up his history book with some satisfaction; he has succeeded in taking notes for this chapter, which meant that frees up some time tomorrow, which meant he could probably work to get ahead in his latin class.

or, more likely, his dad would insist he go out and do something fun, despite the fact that he’s clearly doing something fun now. and yes, fine, he’s brought his textbooks, but clearly there was time to study here, so logan will provide this chapter of notes as an example as to why studying in the midst of a date was necessary.

logan slings his backpack over his shoulder just as roman emerges from the dressing room, in the same outfit he’d been in before he’d enlisted on a dress-shopping extravaganza; despite the fact that he’s wearing a red linen button-down tucked into a pair of high-waisted, dark-washed jeans, along with a dark overcoat to fight any of the last of the spring chill, a look that still seems very put-together—it seems almost like he’s a little underdressed, after all of the wedding dresses.

he doesn’t voice this—underdressed or not, roman constantly looks lovely—and instead he offers his arm, saying, “shall we go pay?”

“we shall,” roman says in an officious british accent, probably making fun of logan, just a little, but he laces his arm through logan’s anyway, and tugs him out of the dressing room area, to the front, where he chitchats cheerfully with the attendant and takes the truly massive garment bag, hoisting it above his head to avoid letting it drag on the ground.

“virgil’s going to have a hell of a time with this dress,” roman says gleefully. “should we go and grab a cummerbund for him? you know, just to make things easier for him.”

“he’s going to complain the whole time he gets all dressed up,” logan points out.

“i know,” roman says brightly, and tugs logan again. “c’mon, let’s go drop this in the car so we can go get fro-yo. i hope they’ve got gummy worms, i wanna make the super-fruity bowl this time.”

“so it falls to me to make some chocolatey flavor, i suppose,” logan says; for the pair of them frozen yogurt, unlike lucy’s, is prone to sharing, and as to avoid unfortunate flavor combinations, such as pineapple tart and whoppers, each of them make a bowl for each flavor—one for fruity flavors, and one for chocolatey flavors. “do you think i should combine coffee and fudge brownie?”

roman kisses him on the cheek, even as he’s pushing the door of the dress store open. “you’re a genius, my darling love.”

logan realizes in the middle of a bowl of coffee-chocolate frozen yogurt that roman’s managed to get him to leave behind his textbooks in the car, along with the dress.

he can’t bring himself to mind all that much.

⁂

this plan straight out of the plot of an early 2000s movie, if early 2000s movies had meaningful and visible trans characters, is somehow working.

dee still can’t believe it, somehow, even after a weekend of getting texts from known-but-aren’t-supposed-to-be-known members of secret societies like the porcellians (the porks, to those in the know, and dee is most decisively in the know) and the clairs and the skull and dagger and the sphinx club and the order of the gorgon’s head—truly the secret society names at this school were something else. 

he’s consulting his list on his way to meet up with logan to give him a morning update (could use some more involvement from the knights of the lamp and the old crows, and if he’s truly dreaming big he’ll try to crack all twelve of the twelve peers) when he glances up to see logan at his locker, looking truly startled as he’s being accosted by a freshman, who is waving a piece of paper at him with a fierce look on her face, her voice loud, but dee can’t quite make it out over the chatter and clatter of the morning crowd getting their books for the morning, and catching up over the latest weekend gossip.

as he gets closer, he realizes who it is. poppy mcmaster, whose legal full name is so genuinely atrocious that he could only feel pity for her when he’d scanned all the freshman’s files early in the year. who in their right minds named a child coppelia parthenope mcmaster and expected them not to get brutally bullied? unless, of course, they somehow preternaturally knew that poppy would turn out with the kind of aggressive, single-minded ambition whose brashness made her preschool teacher cry.

he mostly knows her because their families move in similar social circles, as ten generations of mcmaster have attended harvard. she stands at all of 5’2”, quite a bit shorter than logan, and yet she seems to be threatening him.

dee sidles closer to get a better look at her—dirty blonde hair pulled half-up, intense dark brown eyes, chilton uniform in perfect regulation—and approaches right as she’s saying, “some discretion, for the love of god—”

“dee,” logan says, spotting him. “um, this is—” and he glances at her, eyebrows furrowing. “you didn’t say your name.”

“coppelia mcmaster,” dee says, partially to show off but also because, coppelia. “or are you going by parthenope again? or something short for parthenope, anyway.”

poppy scowls at him, fierce, and snarls out, “poppy.”

“of course, of course,” dee says placidly. “poppy. how long has it been? i don’t think we’ve spoken since your bat mitzvah. mazel tov, once again.”

“todah,” poppy says, with the kind of tone one usually reserves for saying thanks for a present they resoundingly dislike. “you’re involved in this whole debutante plot, aren’t you?”

“well, yes,” dee says. “logan’s brainchild, of course, but one could say we’re co-parenting.”

poppy then proceeds to shove a familiar piece of paper into his hands, and she says, “mr. gardiner nearly saw and grabbed this if i hadn’t pretended it was a participation sheet from the student council.”

dee sucks in a breath, turning over the sign-up sheet—oh, wonderful, they have gotten another member of the twelve peers—but his eyes also land on the Contact Logan Sanders for details.

“thank you,” dee says at last, and turns his eyes to logan. “how many of these are up around the school?”

“three,” logan says. “that one included.”

“well, we’ll have to take them down,” dee says decisively. 

“what?” logan says.

“you’ll get in trouble,” poppy says. “detention, suspension, maybe.”

“we are planning to disrupt a large social event for the daughters of the american revolution,” dee says, and glances at logan. “as you can likely imagine, social protest is not exactly the kind of press attention chilton would like to receive.”

logan scowls, and says, “tinker versus des moines—”

“—was a public school,” poppy says impatiently. “i know you came from the backends, sanders, but this is a private school. different rules apply to us.”

“plus, we’re recruiting for protest,” dee says. “i’m not sure how well the tinker test will hold up for us, and i’d rather not find out. the word’s been spread enough, we can further recruit over private text message and dms.”

logan concedes this point with a nod, and he says to dee, “i’ll defer to your judgement.” then, to poppy, “thank you for interfering. that would have complicated matters unnecessarily.”

poppy shrugs, and says matter-of-factly, “it’s common knowledge that either of you will likely be editor when i enter the franklin junior year, i may as well attempt to establish myself as one of your proteges this early on to improve my chances for being assigned the better pieces junior year, and to provide an even clearer path to editor senior year.”

logan looks startled at that, and dee turns admiring eyes to poppy—he’d known her ambitions, of course, but planning this far in advance was preparation that dee could appreciate.

she says to logan, “do you have an escort yet?”

“um,” logan says. “no. no, i don’t.”

“all right then,” poppy says, and fishes out a reporter’s notepad from the side pocket of her backpack, removing a pen from her breast pocket, scrawling, and then ripping out the paper and handing it to him. “consider the slot filled. i’ll do it.”

logan looks at the paper—her phone number—and then back at her. “you’re joining?”

“obviously,” poppy says. “the clairs are involved. my cousin was a clair, her mother was a clair. the connections you make with clairs last the rest of your life. if this helps me get closer to joining with them, i’ll do it, just so i won’t have to spend all year killing myself to get in. plus my mother has been insistent i attend a debutante ball for ages now, she’ll be crushed i’m doing it in a tux, and crushed that i’m not going for the puff route like her, but these are the sacrifices we must make.”

she doesn’t sound particularly sorry about crushing her own mother, but logan acknowledges this with a nod, digging around in his own backpack for a flyer before handing it to her.

“everyone is going to attend a sort of crash-course in debutante ball culture,” he says. “the dance, the bow, the curtsy, so on. here is the address and any supplies you should bring. do you already have a tux, or should i send you some information for rentals?”

“rentals,” poppy says, and exchanges a look with dee—dee knows logan wasn’t raised in all this, but seriously, a rental?

“i take that as a no,” logan says, undeterred, before he zips up his backpack again. 

“fantastic,” poppy says. “i was wondering about the strategy for establishing a working relationship with you, i’ve known him,” she flicks a dismissive gesture toward dee, “for years. it just so happens that this route will also help take care of my social life and allow me to enact some form of teenage rebellion, because it’s been scientifically proven that teenagers who rebel constructively form a robust sense of self and are more likely to a have a clear sense of direction, beliefs, or relational commitment, and those who don’t may find it hard to settle or focus on building a meaningful and satisfying life. this is excellent multi-tasking.”

poppy looks delighted. logan looks like he might be developing a headache. dee has found this a typical reaction to people within proximity of poppy.

⁂

virgil looks up as the bell rings and immediately steps out from behind the counter.

brick is struggling cheerfully with a stack of tupperware in their arms, and virgil takes the top few so that brick can see.

“i got it,” brick complains.

“i don’t want you tripping over chairs, i’m sure you can handle the weight,” virgil says. “i was thinking you could set up over at this table here—right by the door, but out-of-the-way enough so that you don’t have to deal with anyone bumping into you. that cool?”

“yeah, that’s cool,” brick says. “thanks, virgil!” and immediately sets down the tupperware on the table in question. virgil follows suit, setting down his own load, and arches his eyebrows, impressed.

“you guys could put fran and lucy out of business with all these baked goods,” he says.

because that’s what brick is here for—the first shift of kids manning a table for a bake sale, to raise funds to make sure the sideshire kids can afford their slots in the debutante ball. 

brick stares at him for a few seconds.

“sarcasm,” he elaborates, because brick doesn’t really pick up on that too well, most of the time.

“got it,” brick says. “um, i’m gonna go help ellie—they brought a few other things, so save up that comment for them, i’m sure they’d get it.”

“need any help?” he says, knowing full well that brick will say—

“nah, i got it!” brick says, and darts out of the diner again. virgil waits by the door, just in case they need someone to open it for them—which they do, brick with another load of tupperware, and elliott with a poster tucked under their arm, a register in hand, and a plastic jar under their other arm.

“hi, elliott,” virgil says.

“hi, virgil,” elliott says.

“right over here,” virgil says, gesturing to the table, “do you need any help?”

“um, do you have tape?” elliott asks, frowning. “i just realized i don’t have any.”

“tape, got it,” virgil says, and ducks into the back to see if he’s got any in his office.

by the time he’s come back out, brick and elliott are already seated behind the table, arranging the last of the opened tupperware, with the plastic jar having a sign taped over it saying DONATIONS FOR THE BALL, and virgil pauses to dig a ten out of his pocket, dropping it in the jar before he hands over the scotch tape.

“thanks, virgil!” brick cheers, as elliott quietly thanks virgil for the tape and goes about taping the poster to the front of the table. it’s definitely homemade—there’s glitter, and marker, and there’s a little flyer taped beside it that explains what exactly they’re trying to do at the debutante ball.

“you want drinks?” virgil asks, tucking his thumbs into his front pockets. “on the house.”

“ooh, cocoa, please!” brick says. “the—the minty one. do you still do the minty one?”

“i still do the minty one,” virgil says. “peppermint should be a year-round flavor. ellie, you want anything?”

“cocoa/coffee,” elliott says.

“that stunts your growth,” brick points out.

“i’m taller than you,” elliott tells brick, who bristles and immediately opens their mouth, and virgil ducks out to get their drinks.

by the time he brings back the two steaming mugs, brick is finishing off their tirade with “—i’ll end up built like korra, and then you will see.”

“drinks!” virgil says, and sets the mugs down in front of them. “uh, just so you know, we hit one of those weird lulls, so we’ve probably got half an hour or so before things start picking up for dinner rush.”

both of them make noises of acknowledgement.

“so,” virgil says, settling in a chair near them. “elliott, i know you were thinking about what you were gonna wear slash do, did you decide that?”

“i, um,” elliott says, fingers tracing the rim of the mug. “i thought i’d wear, like, a half-dress half-tux thing. i dunno if i’m gonna debut or escort yet, though, that kinda depends.”

“that sounds cool,” virgil says encouragingly. “do you have a picture?”

elliott does, but since it’s only partly designed—their sister liked messing around with fabrics like that—it turns out all the sideshire kids who are planning on going to the ball are in a groupchat, so after elliott’s phone pings with a message from there, there’s a brief tangent that ensues because elliott sends out virgil says hi to everyone and a picture of the bake sale, so virgil gets to hear about everyone’s plans which is also cool. and he also records a video with brick that brick pinky-promises to just send in the chat, so he ends up learning one of the latest memes that the kids are watching these days. god, he’s old.

“the debutante thing’s really awesome,” virgil says. “i kind of wish i’d gotten the chance to do it back in the day.”

elliott looks up at him, and says, “you do?”

“yeah,” virgil says. “i mean, i’m not roman or anything, but i still wear makeup a lot of the time, i’ve got a few makeup palettes, i wore some skirts back in the day—”

brick’s head snaps up at that, and they say, “you did?”

virgil blinks—he’s not sure why this is surprising, but.

“yeah, i did,” virgil says. “i bet i’ve probably still got them buried in my closet somewhere. my heels, too.”

this also gets elliott’s attention.

“you do?” elliott says.

“i mean, maybe,” virgil says. “i might have donated them, i dunno, but—”

“why don’t you wear skirts or heels anymore?” brick says.

“well, right now?” virgil says, and gestures to the outside. “it’s cold. but, uh—i don’t really know.” 

and it hits him—he doesn’t really know. he just kind of kept going for jeans.

“just a habit, i guess,” he continues to the kids, because i don’t know is a bit of a weak answer. “it’s easier to match things with jeans. plus, it looks kinda weird to wear a nice flowing skirt and then just, like, a hoodie and a pair of sneakers i wear all day because i stand all the time. and wearing heels while i stand all day is just asking for a sprained ankle.”

“yeah, that makes sense,” elliott says. “sneakers kinda clash too.”

“but you wear boots too,” brick says, and points. “you’re wearing boots today.”

virgil glances down at his combat boots, the ones that he’s also got the gel foot insoles in. “well, yeah. i guess i am.”

“and leggings or tights would probably help with cold,” elliott says.

virgil looks between them, and says, “you two want me to wear a skirt, don’t you?”

“yes,” they both chorus, unapologetic.

virgil pauses, considering this. well. he definitely has at least one skirt, maybe more, they’re probably just tucked away where he doesn’t see them everyday. and he is fully down for these kids running in there and shaking up the patriarchy. and he does support men, or anyone on the gender spectrum who doesn’t fit soundly in the box of “woman,” wearing more traditionally feminine clothing, as long as they’re comfortable with it. and the surprised looks on these kids faces when he’d mentioned he used to wear skirts more often, and then the studies he’s read of how much representation means to kids...

he turns and calls out, “jean?”

“yeah?” jean calls from the back.

“i’m gonna run upstairs for a second, would you mind keeping an eye on things out here?”

jean calls back an affirmative, and brick and elliott exchange a look, before turning back to virgil.

“are you—?”

“maybe,” virgil says, standing, feeling a strange sort of excitement just from their excitement, but also, it’s been a really long time since he’s worn a skirt, and he’d liked wearing skirts. “again, i can’t remember if i’ve donated ‘em, but—”

“awesome,” elliott says, while brick is nodding along with them, wide-eyed.

“all right,” virgil says, and then, “uh, cool” and makes his awkward exit, heading upstairs for his apartment.

it takes a bit of digging, but he does manage to find where he’s stashed his skirts over the years. he’d even managed to fold them neatly before he put them away, so they’re not even that wrinkled or anything. and then he remembers the various struggles of matching an outfit with a skirt, because in his mind, a skirt outfit has to be at least a little fancy, and so after he examines and discards nearly every shirt in his wardrobe he ends up pairing a plum, long-sleeved button-down with a black pleated skirt that falls down to his ankles, even after he tries to make the skirt a bit high-waisted.

and then he gets a little more carried away, and smokes out his dark eyeshadow and pops some purple glitter in the crease and the inner corner and does a little cat-eye for the eyeliner and puts on plum lipstick, before something in his brain says back away from the makeup products, you are in danger of re-enacting your teenage emo phase, and so he does, not without a bit of a longing look at the black eyeshadow, because this is fun. why hasn’t he done something like this in so long?

he has to pick up his skirt one hand as he walks his way down the stairs, before he tugs aside the curtain that covers up the stairs that lead up to his apartment, and steps out from behind the counter.

brick and elliott swivel to look at him in almost-hilarious unison. and then they just. stare.

oh, the staring. the whole staring thing is why he hasn’t done something like this in so long.

virgil clears his throat, running a hand through his hair to make sure it isn’t too messy. “is it that bad?” he tries to joke.

“i,” brick says, voice strangled, “am gay.”

“uh,” virgil says, unsure of what to really say to someone less than half his age declaring that, then, “i’m with patton, happily so, and also, i am way too old for you, you are a kid.”

elliott rolls their eyes, and says, “they mean you look, um. good. you look really good,” and then they elbow brick in the ribs. brick shakes themself.

“yeah!” brick says. “you look. good. you look good!”

the bell above the door jangles, then, which means brick and elliott are distracted by attempting to sell baked goods, and virgil escapes to behind the counter, ready to start up for the dinner rush.

(he does take a few seconds to remind brick and elliott that anyone over eighteen is too old for them, at the moment, and the dangers of grooming, and also he is here if they need to talk about being concerned for anyone or if they need someone to talk to, in general, before brick says, “ugh, fine, jeez, you sound like the guidance counselor” so that takes care of that particular situation, virgil guesses.)

virgil does get a few compliments on his appearance, throughout the dinner rush, and also a few questions about why he’s dressing up nice, which means he can direct their attention to the baked goods table (brick and elliott leave after a couple hours, and so a couple more sideshire high students start their shift) and the cause that they’re raising money for, so. things are going well.

he ducks back in the kitchen, for a minute, when the staring gets to be a bit Much and he needs to take a second to breathe. he’s not super anxious, necessarily, it’s just—well, he frequently has the thought people are looking at me, which tends to make him anxious, and that’s true tonight, so. he needs to take a bit of a breather. and so he cooks.

cooking’s been a good outlet for his anxiety, ever since he was a kid and didn’t really get what anxiety was, ever since he was an asshole teenager who had recently been wrangled into his first therapy session by his parents following a doctor’s diagnosis. it’s almost always the same—if you follow the same directions, you’ll get the same result, almost always. and, sure, it could be an outlet for creativity, too, if he so chose, but right now he’s grilling burgers and assembling salads and making pasta. it’s an adventure in multitasking he does almost every day. he knows what to do, and so he does it.

he feels calmer by the time they’re in the midst of the dinner rush, partially because of the time spent in here, but also because the increased business is something that’s also familiar and somewhat comforting. so he chances poking his head out of the kitchen door, evaluating if he’s ready to enter back into the fray and start helping out with the waiters. 

he pokes his head out just in time to see roman, logan, and patton sliding into a booth, and he breathes a soft sigh of relief—those are people he can definitely go over to and not start to feel nervous just because they’re looking at him.

he’s about to fully step out and make his way over unnoticed by everyone else, except—

roman looks up, and makes eye contact with him, and declares “virgil! i came as soon as i heard!” loud enough that virgil can hear it over the background music and the dull roar of the dinner rush conversations.

virgil winces a little, before he sheepishly walks over to the table. he probably should have expected this, given roman’s vocal and often repeated desires to give virgil a makeover.

all three of them come into view—roman, eager at last that virgil is stepping outside of his typical fashion comfort zone; logan, mostly neutral if a bit curious; and patton, who is staring at him, eyes wide behind his glasses, and visibly swallowing. a flare of heat burns to life in virgil’s stomach at that, and so he turns his attention to roman, so that he doesn’t start blushing and his thoughts don’t become immediately obvious.

roman looks him up and down, surveying him, before he says, “you look like a goth femboy version of a librarian fantasy.”

virgil runs a hand down the skirt, a little self-conscious. “oh.”

“but,” roman says, pulling a face at him, seemingly detecting virgil’s mood change, “at least you’re showing some sense of style. this is an improvement over your daily wear, believe me. one would even say substantial.”

“oh,” virgil says, more sarcastic this time, with an eye-roll to boot. 

“however,” roman says, “can i request that you at least extend your color palette to something that would not look at home as a poster for an emo pre-teen? and your foundation, virgil, you do not have warm undertones, you have neutral undertones, if you’re going to start wearing makeup more you need to have a summer and winter foundation—”

virgil reaches over to flick roman’s ear, and roman complains “heyyy” before logan glances up at him.

“why wear a skirt today in particular?” logan says.

“oh,” virgil says, and jabs a thumb in the direction of the bake sale table. “y’know, i figured i’d support you kids. people ask me why i’m all dressed up and so i get to point ‘em there, and then, you know, solidarity,” he says, taking his skirt in hand and swishing it a little. “win win.”

“all right,” logan says and looks across the table at roman, cocking his head.

“roman,” he says. “what is a ‘femboy.’”

roman folds his lip under his teeth.

“um,” roman says. “well, y’see—”

“i’ll get you some waters!” virgil says, before he has to bear witness to roman explaining that concept to his boyfriend and his boyfriend’s dad. he knows that a femboy is just people who are male or non-binary presenting themselves in a feminine way, the word kind of started around his teenage years, but he also knows that particular expression on roman’s face means that virgil has probably missed some segment of Youth Internet Culture that might provide the backstory behind the newfound popularity of the word a bit… complex.

by the time virgil comes back, logan is jotting something down on one of the notecards he carries around with him all the time, and roman looks normal, so the conversation must not have been too awkward, but patton—

well. patton looks at him, once again looks like he’s swallowing his own tongue, and turns his face back down to the table, but not before virgil can spot the pinkness in his cheeks.

oh. interesting.

virgil has to swallow himself, before he readies the notepad.

“what do you want for dinner?” he says, in a tone that is perhaps a bit gruffer than normal, and patton immediately and not-very-subtly puts a hand over the back of his neck to hide that that’s going pink too.

very interesting.

virgil doesn’t get much of a chance to observe this interesting phenomenon—it is dinner rush, after all, and he’s got other customers—but when he does observe it, it brightens that low flame in his stomach, like someone slowly turning the knob on a gas stove, and patton grows gradually more bold. 

looking at patton’s general personality, one would probably assume that he’s a generally shy boyfriend—hand-holding and kisses aplenty, to be sure, but fairly unassuming when it comes to public displays of attention.

looking at patton’s general personality, one would probably not assume that patton is a flirt.

but he is—he is absolutely a flirt, and a startlingly adept one at that, so when virgil swings by the table perhaps a bit more frequently than he usually would, patton stares at him with a little smirk on his face and with zero shame as his eyes roam over virgil’s face, his arms, his mouth. 

patton looks up at him from under his eyelashes, biting his lip just so, and virgil nearly drops patton’s plate—and notices, distractedly, that patton has managed to use virgil’s distraction to finesse his way into a helping of fries instead of the vegetables or salad that virgil would usually suggest.

and when virgil brings over the bill, handing it to patton, patton takes the bill and then takes virgil’s hand and kisses his knuckles with a cheerful “thanks, honey!” and virgil has certainly forgotten any anxiety that might stem from someone staring, because it’s patton who’s staring at him.

patton, who had gotten so flustered at the sight of virgil in a skirt that his eyes nearly popped out of his head; and now, patton, resting his lips against his knuckles for just a moment, lingering, and virgil feels like an elizabethan maiden about to make her way to the fainting couch because of it.

virgil excuses himself to settle the bill, and also maybe rest a cool hand against his own cheek. honestly. it was a kiss on his hand.

he’s about to go back the table and hand back patton’s card, but he glances up as the bell jangles, roman and logan already leaving, and patton stepping close to the register, his hands behind his back, rocking up onto his toes and back onto his heels.

“hey,” virgil says, and shakes himself, before he offers patton’s card. “um. here.”

“thanks,” patton says, tucking the card into his pocket, before he bites his lip. “um. could we go up to your apartment and get the book i asked to borrow?”

what book, virgil wonders, before patton hastily adds, “if you have time, i mean, i don’t wanna—take you away too long,” and oh, he wants to go—okay. okay.

“i have time,” virgil answers, maybe a little too quickly. “um—sarah,” he calls, “me ‘n patton are going upstairs for a little bit, so—”

“we’ve got things down here,” sarah says, “go, go” and so they go, patton reaching out to grab virgil’s hand and squeeze, running a thumb over his knuckles. and so they ascend the stairs.

virgil shuts the door behind them, and turns to face patton.

“i was, um,” patton clarifies. “i was asking to come up here to see if you wanted to kiss for a little bit.”

“i know,” virgil says, then adds, because consent is important, “i do.”

“oh thank god,” patton breathes out, and before virgil can get out a response, patton surges up against him, rocking up onto his tiptoes and pressing virgil back into the wall, and virgil barely has the time to wrap his arms around him before patton’s kissing him with searing heat.

patton is a remarkable kisser, genuinely the best that virgil thinks he’s ever been fortunate enough to kiss, and patton knows the precise angle to tilt his head and the precise way to possessively splay a hand at the back of virgil’s neck to make the kiss deep and heady and excellent, a kiss so downright lascivious that virgil’s thoughts about retiring to a damn fainting couch doesn’t seem near dramatic enough.

virgil is distantly aware that patton must be rocked up onto his tiptoes, and he splays his hand at patton’s waist, squeezing him gently, giving himself the excuse that it might help patton keep his balance a bit better, and also because his hand fits so beautifully at patton’s waist it could make virgil cry, the warmth of him even through his sweater and the way he can feel patton breathing in unsteady breaths, so maybe virgil isn’t the only one who is losing it here a little.

simultaneously, like they’ve choreographed it, they stumble back together until patton’s knees hit the arm of the couch and virgil practically falls on top of him, virgil barely breaking the kiss to make sure he hasn’t crushed him before patton’s twining his fingers into virgil’s hair and dragging him back into the kiss, wriggling a little so that his thigh is pushed between virgil’s, and virgil groans into his mouth, patton greedily swallowing the sound.

time goes a bit fuzzy, then, everything narrowed down to patton’s breathy gasps and the slick slide of his lips and the warmth and pressure of a thigh between his own and patton’s wandering, unabashed hands in his hair, on his back, wandering down to give him a cheeky squeeze, gripping at his thigh, like patton’s using the touches to punctuate a sentence that virgil has no hope of reading but it sure sounds nice anyway. 

and then there’s a loud sound—someone’s dropped dishes downstairs—and they break apart, the pair of them looking toward the apartment door, startled, and as soon as it sinks in what it is that’s happened, they look back at each other.

patton’s smiling up at him, plum lipstick smeared all around his mouth, coy and unashamed, but with a little quirk at the corners that tells him that make out time is probably over. it is an image that immediately sears itself into virgil’s brain that will probably pop up at incredibly inconvenient moments, but he cannot really feel bothered about that right now, because christ is that unexpectedly hot.

virgil clears his throat, because there’s never exactly a non-awkward way to end something like this, that is until patton’s brow creases and he reaches forward to touch virgil’s lips.

“oh, no,” patton says, a little distressed, “i messed it up!”

“i can redo it,” virgil promises immediately, barely even thinking of the words before they’re out of his mouth in attempt to make that coy little smile come back, and he clears his throat to try and make his voice go back up to its usual octave, not the gruff and low near-growl that came out of his mouth. “um—you kind of have—”

patton’s brow creases even more, before he wiggles a hand free from under virgil and smears a finger beneath his bottom lip, holding it up to see for himself, and he giggles.

“i guess i do,” he says, and beams up at virgil. “be a dear, would you? i don’t wanna walk out there and make it too obvious that we’ve been mackin’ on each other this whole time.”

virgil nods, and, regretfully, rolls off of patton to go to the bathroom, attempting to steady his breath the whole way. 

he bends to get the makeup remover from under the sink, and straightens, at last looking at himself in the mirror.

he looks thoroughly kissed.

his plum lipstick is smeared all around his mouth, down his chin, which shows off how his lips have reddened and gone a little swollen; his black hair is ruffled, especially sticking up in the back; and the generally gobsmacked, slightly stupid look on his face is a dead giveaway that he’s been spending time kissing patton.

there’s the soft padding of footsteps, arms wrapped around his waist, a face pressed between his shoulderblades, before patton pokes his head around him to see himself in the mirror, too.

he bursts into more giggles at the sight of them—matching messy lipstick, matching messy hair, matching slightly stunned look, except on patton it doesn’t look stupid at all, it looks like he’s thrilled with himself, a smirk playing around the corner of his mouths, like a particularly flirtatious cat who’s caught particularly prettily painted canary.

virgil can’t help but grin, too, and patton arches up to press a deliberate kiss to tendon of virgil’s neck, and virgil’s grin turns into a groan, more out of frustration than anything.

“what?” patton says, smiling playfully at him in the mirror. 

“if you keep doing that,” virgil says, and then he’s at a loss for words, but patton seems to get it, slipping out from behind virgil but still leaving an arm wrapped around his waist.

“i don’t particularly want to stop, either,” patton agrees, before he reaches up to turn virgil’s attention away from the mirror, and so that he’s looking directly into patton’s eyes instead. patton continues, voice lush and full of promise, “i’d keep you up here all night, if you wanted, but, well.” 

“we’re taking it slow,” virgil says ruefully.

“we’re taking it slow,” patton agrees. “plus, you’ve got a diner to close, and i’ve got a kid at home who’ll probably stay up too late reading if i don’t bug him about bedtime.”

“yeah,” virgil says, but he can’t help but sigh a little—they’ve both agreed that moving slowly is the responsible thing to do, they’ve talked about it a lot, first to agree to slow then later to refine their mutual definitions of slow, which turned out to be pretty damn different at first, but. well. 

“i know,” patton agrees fervently. and he really does—he’s literally the only other person right know who understands exactly how virgil’s feeling, and that sets him at ease more than anything.

“all right,” virgil says, and peels back the top of the makeup removal wipes package, removing one. “lemme see your face.”

patton obligingly tips up his chin at virgil, smiling.

virgil cups the underside of his jaw and works to clean off patton’s face, gently rubbing away the plum smears around patton’s mouth with a purposefully soft hand. 

it takes a few wipes for virgil’s lips to twitch up into a smile, too.

“stop it,” virgil scolds, without any heat.

“stop what?” patton says, still smiling.

“you’re smiling at me,” virgil says. 

“what, i can’t be a little happy that i spent some quality time with my fella?” patton asks. 

virgil ducks his head, because that’s one of his top two love languages, and patton knows it. instead, he says, “‘course you can, i am, too. but you’re gloating.”

patton’s grin widens, and virgil sighs, lowering his hand—he won’t be able to help patton at all with patton grinning up at him like that.

“i have,” patton says, “the prettiest fella. i’m allowed to feel at least a little smug that you’re the belle of the ball tonight, darling.”

“stop,” virgil grumbles, looking away.

“what?” patton says. “it’s true! you’re gorgeous, honey.”

virgil mutters under his breath and rubs at the back of his neck—he isn’t the best with accepting compliments, he never has been, especially when it comes to things like this.

but, well—

“so,” virgil says, staring at the makeup wipe in his hand. “you… liked it?”

“liked it?” patton says.

“y’know,” virgil mumbles, and gestures vaguely up and down his body—the skirt, the makeup. “it.”

patton grins up at him, and tugs him down a little so that they’re eye-to-eye.

“i,” patton purrs, “love the skirt.”

it takes a little bit longer to get polished back up after that. and if, perhaps, virgil walks around the diner a bit more at ease than before, with a bit of a stupid smile on his face even after patton blows him a kiss on his way out of the door, well. that’s virgil’s business.

⁂

christopher calls when logan’s studying at the diner. his dad’s already headed home, most of his dinner conversation having been rhapsodizing his deeply-held desire to put on his pajamas. virgil’s busy behind the counter settling everyone’s bills now that the bulk of dinner rush is over.

it’s still unusual enough to logan that christopher brings himself to call semi-regularly now—even stranger that it’s weekly, and on a set schedule. wednesday nights at seven. he even remembers to call precisely on schedule, most of the time. but still—every time his cellphone buzzes and lights up with a photo of him and christopher and dad at a sanders-hosted thanksgiving a few years back, he’s surprised.

it takes quite a bit of work to unlearn sixteen years that consisted mostly of irregular, unscheduled visits and not showing up when the visits are actually scheduled, logan supposes.

“hey, kiddo!” christopher says brightly.

“hi, dad,” logan says, digging around for a bookmark, before giving up and placing a clean knife in his science textbook to mark the page and closing it. 

a moment later, logan curses his mental preoccupation with studying and the upcoming phone conversation he’ll have to have—the napkins are right there.

“so, what’re you up to?”

“studying.”

“you’re always studying,” christopher says, and there’s something in the tone that sets logan’s teeth on edge; he knows that christopher isn’t exactly academically inclined, and in fact would likely be better described as an academic anarchist, seeming to disdain upon the opportunities and privileges he was given with no strings attached that logan would almost certainly kill to have, not to mention many other people who would put it to better use, but. it’s not the time to pick a fight, logan supposes.

“yes, well,” logan says. “i have science test this week.”

“you’ve always got tests.”

“chilton is an academically rigorous school,” logan says, in a tone that implies he’s explained this a hundred times, because he has. “and i would like to maintain my position as a competitor for the top of my class. how are… things?”

this allows him a brief reprieve—since the official collapse of christopher’s business, not too long after he’d visited last fall, he’s been picking up a variety of odd jobs and temporary work, whatever catches his interest—christopher spends about five minutes explaining that he’s found some temporary work at a bar, now, to make some spare cash as he looks for something more permanent during the day. 

“—but yeah, that’s about all that’s going on with me right now.” a pause. then, christopher prompts, “how about you?”

logan shrugs, even though christopher can’t see it. “not very much. the test. i think i did well on a pop quiz on monday—”

he explains his various schoolwork and extracurricular activities—christopher hums in all sorts of places—before he adds, “oh, and roman and i went on a date on saturday.”

“hey, finally, something fun!” christopher says. before logan can even say something like but the debate team’s mock trial was fun, he says, “what’d you do on your date?”

“we had frozen yogurt,” logan says, “and roman wanted to go to a thrift store to get some things, and we both got a couple books, and roman got something for the ball, so that’s good—”

“whoa,” christopher says, “hang on, rewind. the ball?! what ball?”

logan winces.

because, well. it’s complex to navigate building a relationship that he initially blackmailed his father into, rather than have him propose to his dad. it’s even more complex to figure out how to handle a dad who had, for sixteen years, mostly showed up in irregular, unscheduled visits and not showing up when the visits are actually scheduled. 

he has a dad. for the vast majority of his life, patton has been the only biologically-related adult on whom he could rely. if there was ever anything a parent needed to be involved in, whether it be a parent/teacher conference, or parent’s night, or a parent volunteer for his classroom—he’s always penned down patton sanders without a second thought. virgil, occasionally, if he’d known that his dad had a scheduling conflict, but—always, patton first. that’s just the way it is. christopher had never even stepped foot in sideshire before last fall.

but now, well. now, he has to navigate should i have asked him to come back for this? because the rules say he needs his dad to escort him. 

and for so long, he has been so used to only having one of those. (well. two, but one biological dad. the other one kind of adopted him on sight and now he fusses after logan getting proper vegetable and protein intake.)

having both parents be involved in your life is even more unnecessarily complicated than i could have anticipated, logan thinks, before he pinches the bridge of his nose.

“um, yes. a ball. the daughters of the american revolution debutante ball, to be more specific.”

“you’re kidding,” christopher breathes out. “jeez, what kind of dirt does emily have on you that you had to recruit your boyfriend to escort some girls, too?”

logan blinks. “i have no idea why a handful of soil would motivate me to do that?”

“no, like—” christopher begins, and, perhaps, logan was overemphasizing his usual ignorance for use of slang just to give himself a break.

“well, that isn’t the case, regardless,” logan says, before he decides to just get it over with. “he was getting a dress. we both have one. we’re going to be the debutantes, not the escorts.”

there’s a pause.

“is this a gay thing?”

logan cringes, ever so slightly—christopher sounds more bemused than anything, so logan doesn’t think it’s a necessarily passive-aggressive comment, rather a more genuinely ignorant one.

“no, it’s not—” logan says, and pinches the bridge of his nose a little harder. “it’s not, um. a gay thing. we’re recruiting a lot of chilton students and sideshire kids to join in, it’s more of a public statement than anything.”

“oh,” christopher says, still with that tone of bemusement. then, “a public statement of what?”

“we’re making a statement about how sexist it is that society still deems it appropriate to trot young women around like that,” logan says. “we—the boys, i mean—are wearing dresses as a gesture of support and solidarity with them.”

“oh,” christopher repeats.

there’s an even longer pause.

“how many people did you say you got to join in?”

“we’re almost at forty, the last time i checked,” logan says, and christopher whistles lowly.

“your grandma’s gonna throw a fit.”

“we told her, actually,” logan says. “i wanted to see if she still had the dress she was going to make dad wear.”

“and how’d she take that?”

“she’s making me wear heels,” logan grouses, and christopher laughs.

“well, can’t say i expected her to be especially nice about anything,” christopher says. “so, tell me all about this massive prank you’re cooking up, then, i knew that some of my teenage troublemaking had to rub off on you somehow.”

though logan wants to say it’s not a prank, he supposes that it doesn’t exactly harm the movement if christopher thinks that; it’s not like he’s about to tell christopher the real reason, after all.

but logan tells him, all about the chilton kids, and the sideshire kids, and the upcoming Culture Day that his dad and isadora were organizing, and the bake sale that the sideshire kids were doing to raise money to actually enter into the ball in the first place, and the way logan’s had to hide sign-up sheets from teachers, and it seems to go okay. 

that is, until christopher says, “hey, i guess if you’re going as a debutante, you need your dad to escort you, right?”

“oh,” logan says, and coughs. “um, actually, dad’s already doing that.”

there’s another long pause.

“oh.”

“i mean,” logan says, and shrugs, even though christopher can’t see it. “you’re saving up for other things, you hardly need to come out from california just to do this.” 

“i would’ve,” christopher says, defensively. “if you’d asked.”

“right,” logan says, and the sarcasm slips through before he can even really attempt to modulate it into something resembling politeness.

“i would’ve,” he repeats, more insistently. “i know i haven’t been the best—”

“look, i have to get back to studying,” logan says, cutting off whatever platitude about i know i wasn’t present for you throughout your childhood, when you most would have needed the stability of your other parent, but i am trying now after you had to blackmail me into not upsetting your life, “next week, we’ll talk?”

another pause. a defeated sigh.

“sure, kid,” he says. “yeah. i’ll talk to you next week. same time. love you.”

logan flounders, for a moment, before he says, “next week, then, bye,” and hangs up before christopher can return the farewell salutation.

logan takes a moment to lift his glasses so he can press the base of his palms into his eyes, before he resettles them on his nose and opens his science textbook again.

the conversations with christopher are… something. they tend to go cordially most of the time, even, it’s just—

well. like he’d thought earlier. he’s so used to having one parent, and christopher only ever making contact irregularly. no guarantee for birthdays, no guarantee for christmases, no guarantee for thanksgivings. no guarantee for if logan really wanted to lean on someone, if he’d be there, solid and steady, or if logan would be sent sprawling to the ground. metaphorically.

it’s a bit like that cartoon that logan recalls, as a child—lucy, holding the football, insisting that she wouldn’t yank it away at the last second, leaving charlie brown tumbling head-over-heels.

christopher has insisted that he wouldn’t yank the ball quite literally since logan was born. forgive logan if sixteen years of ending up flat on his back hadn’t exactly endeared him to exactly trust that christopher would hold the ball steady, even if christopher had ended up being much more punctual and consistent with phone calls than expected.

it’s just—difficult. to adjust. to really believe that christopher might stick around, this time.

he suddenly feels his (already immense) sense of respect for patton rise all the more, because he trusts people like this all the time, no matter how many times he’d ended up flat on his face; logan’s thought it naivete for so long, that now that he’s attempting to practice it, he finds himself… well, if he’s to continue the metaphor, he’s found himself unwilling to even attempt the run-up to the ball.

logan attempts to shake himself, as if the thought is something that he can dislodge, like water in his ears. he refocuses on his textbook and readies his pen for any notes that he needs to take. which he does, for a while, his pen scratching a familiar rhythm under the quiet rush of other people’s conversation, and the soft, inoffensive music the diner plays, that is, until the plastic of the pen cracks under the force of his grip. logan scowls, and tosses the pen aside.

“here.”

logan looks up, startled; virgil’s standing over him, holding a small plate. he’s wearing another skirt today—purple, and it falls just below his tights-clad knees.

“what’s that?”

virgil sets down the plate, careful to avoid any notebooks, pens, or textbooks. there’s a slice of loganberry pie on it, which is actually logan’s favorite, despite the downside of the many puns his dad has made about logan liking loganberry pie.

“you look like you need pie.”

“i do?” logan says cluelessly.

“pen tossing usually signals the need for pie,” he says.

“you,” logan says. “brought me pie.”

virgil arches his eyebrows. “i could take it back.”

“thank you,” logan says quickly, sliding the plate toward himself, as if virgil would snatch it away, and virgil snorts, reaching out to ruffle logan’s hair before he retreats back to the counter, and—

and it really is just the sugar that has logan’s shoulders relaxing as he stares at his science notes, he tells himself.

⁂

the science test is predictably grueling. logan sits at his lunch table, his brain still tracking over various formulas and small facts he’d memorized, as if in a half-stunned stupor.

there’s the sound of a tray clacking on the table. logan looks up, startled.

dee, in his usual cape and hat, looks over at him, and arches his eyebrows as if daring him to say something. after logan blinks at him owlishly, dee resumes settling himself, as if he has sat at logan’s lunch table a great many times and not at all as if this isn’t the first time he’s done this.

come to think of it, logan’s uncertain if he’s ever even seen dee during their lunch period before. he sets aside the question of then where does he eat??? and instead reaches into his lunchbox, grabbing something at random to start eating.

a clementine. okay.

logan starts peeling the clementine as dee gets his lunch tray in order, and dee says, very casually, “would you like to come over so we can discuss arrangements?”

logan’s fingernail catches; he resists the urge to curse as he punctures the fruit, and instead reaches for a napkin to wipe his hand dry of juice.

“arrangements…?”

dee looks at him. “for the project.”

logan’s test-addled brain then proceeds to panic and mentally trace over every single one of his shared classes with dee, attempting to pinpoint how on earth he possibly could have overlooked an upcoming project, before—

oh.

“i—yes,” logan says, and resumes peeling the clementine. “yes, that works out fine, i think. um—do you live near a bus stop?”

dee flaps a gloved hand at him dismissively. “i’ll have one of the drivers take you back home.”

one of the drivers??? then, he has even one driver???? what on earth necessitates plural drivers???

“i… sure,” logan says, rather than comment on that, “i’ll text my dad and tell him i’ll be home late.”

dee nods, and so logan eats his clementine in sections as dee’s lunch tray depletes with a rate of speed that would already be impressive if not compounded by the fact that logan doesn’t even really see him eat, before he pulls out his phone and texts his dad, I’m going over to Dee’s after school, I’ll let you know how long I’ll be there when I have a better idea of the time frame.

he’s walking to his next class when his phone buzzes, and he glances at his phone. 

Dad: okay!!! say hi to the adults and be on your best behavior! love you, have fun!!!

he is uncertain how much ‘fun’ will weigh into the activities for any event at dee slange’s house.

⁂

dee’s pretending to be on his phone almost the entire time a chauffeur drives them back (he could have driven, but he hadn’t felt like it this morning, so therefore he didn’t have his car in the afternoon) but really he’s looking out of the corner of his eyes at logan.

logan is sitting stiffly, and he has been since he’d gotten into the car; it’s as if he’s nervous he might scuff up the leather if he moves. he’s holding his backpack in his lap, and his eyes keep darting to the driver, suit-clad and silent, and out the window, before glancing at dee, and then back out the window. 

as they creep up to the gate, and the chauffeur inputs the code that’ll open the gate so they can drive up the maple-lined driveway, to the house, dee has abandoned the ruse entirely, because logan looks the most confused dee’s ever seen him look.

the look only grows more obvious once they break past the trees, and logan actually gets a good look at the house; dee knows the townhome was designed to be magnificent, especially on first glance, but he’s been so accustomed to it that seeing logan’s eyes dart from the fountain in the middle of the driveway to the sprawl of primroses and lavender and hydrangeas and all the rest of the landscaping, and the towering height of it all, the brick crowded with overgrown ivy and climbing roses. the historic townhome may not have multiple wings, and it might not really hold a candle to the ultra-modern mansion where his parents live, but it still, certainly, is impressive.

“you live here?” logan says, stunned.

“obviously?” dee says.

he’s tempted to say something like if you ever saw my parents’ house, maybe pull up that old e-edition of a magazine that had covered it once, just to see logan’s eyes pop out of his head, but the chauffeur puts the car in park and logan’s saying “thank you, sir,” and scrambling out of the car as quick as he can.

dee arches a brow, and the chauffeur moves to open the door for him, because he was raised with manners, jesus, wasn’t this emily and richard sanders’ grandson? one would think he’d know something about how to comport himself.

his brain provides several mental images, though: the little yellow clapboard house logan lived in, the absurdly picturesque tiny town full of brick buildings and repurposed barns and colonial charm, logan’s voice saying, my dad and i were effectively homeless until i turned six, and feels a strange clenching in his chest. 

dee shoves it down and arranges his face into his typical boredom by the time he’s walking up to the front door, logan quickly falling into step behind him.

he opens the door—the chauffeur’s going around to the servant’s entrance—and by the time he’s stepping through the door, nanny has materialized at his side, and looks only slightly surprised that there is another teenage boy with him.

logan is too busy looking around at the entry hall—the rugs, the paintings, the furniture, the post-its stuck up on the front door—to really notice any of that, for which dee can’t help but breathe a little sigh of relief.

“hello, we have a guest,” nanny says. 

“i told granmè,” dee says, and his stomach sinks as nanny gives him a sideways look, as if to say you know better than to let that serve as a notification system anymore, before she refocuses on logan.

“your name, young sir?”

“um, logan,” he says, looking boggled that he’s being called sir, and adds, “sanders. logan sanders.”

“emily and richard’s boy?”

“their grandson, yes,” logan says, looking to dee for some kind of help; dee would shrug at him, if he wasn’t kind of enjoying watching the usually unflappable logan flounder a little bit.

nanny nods, and says, “welcome to the lavandelands,” which is technically the townhome’s name, but they only ever use it to introduce the house to new visitors, so dee forgets the townhome has a name at all until it comes up again—it’s the same with the manor, which is technically the hearthfields. logan doesn’t seem to notice, nodding at her like he can’t think of anything else to do.

nanny turns to dee, instead, and asks, “would you care for any refreshments?”

“just the usual tea should suffice,” dee says. nanny looks at logan.

“um,” he says again—dee is a little delighted, because he has never heard logan get so knocked off-center before, and after all this attempted antagonizing about his grades all it took was bringing him to his house—“just—just water’s fine. thank you.”

nanny nods, says, “i’ll be with your grandmother in the greenhouse. mr. sanders, it was a pleasure to meet you, please have mr. slange ring for us if you require anything,” and sweeps off.

“you have a greenhouse?” logan says blankly.

“we have a greenhouse,” dee confirms. “you can see it later, if you’d like. shall we go study?”

logan nods, and falls into step behind dee; dee considers going to the dining room, the way logan did when they were making posters at his house, but he wants nanny, bertie, ingrid, and martha to have plausible deniability in case his parents demand to know if they’d heard anything about this, and so he leads logan up the staircase and into his room.

it’s been cleaned today recently, he can tell; it smells like the lemon candles he likes, the ones martha lights whenever she airs out his room, so the room is in its tidiest iteration; vacuumed rugs, swept and mopped hardwoods, dust-free surfaces, with a made bed and no mess anywhere anywhere.

it practically seems like a hotel room, if not for the legal pad on his desk with his handwriting on it.

and of course, logan crosses almost immediately to the desk; dee only catches on a minute later, when he bends slightly to get a better look inside the vivarium.

“luke, leia, and han, right?” logan says, glancing at dee for confirmation before scanning the plants and rocks; dee crosses over, too, and gestures toward the rock in the back corner—mostly hidden by plants, but the sun lamp shines directly upon it.

“they like to nap here,” dee says, and he’s right—luke and han are curled up, sunning themselves, and logan makes an ahh noise when he spots them too.

“they’re larger than i expected,” logan says, staring at them, eyes lit up with curiosity.

“mm,” dee says vaguely. “females tend to be longer and bulkier than males. leia’s biggest, she’s a little over two feet.”

“where is she?” logan says. “you said she was the checkered one.”

dee tries his hardest not to seem surprised, but—logan remembers his snake’s markings. from a a throwaway comment he made nearly a month ago. 

“probably hiding,” dee says. “she likes to stick near the water, so she’s probably curled up under the lip—”

logan kneels down, all the better to see, and he says, “i see her!”

“asleep?”

“i think so,” logan says, and frowns. “i’m not as familiar with snakes as i am with other reptiles, though.”

dee blinks. “which reptiles are you familiar with?”

“frogs, mostly,” logan admits. “lots of frogs and toads would be around the pool, when we lived at the inn, and they’re very common in the pond there. salamanders and lizards, sometimes, during summers. i had a brief phase of hunting for reptiles and bugs, i thought i would be a reptile research journalist, or something—i kept bringing them home and dad had to pretend he wasn’t scared of any creepy-crawly bugs or scaly things, he’d call over virgil so that there was someone i could show all the bugs to who wouldn’t get freaked out.”

dee has a mental image, then, of logan—shorter, and baby-faced, holding up a salamander and babbling to this mysterious virgil about its various properties, who would nod and ask questions and generally care what a child thought, his dad shoving down his fear long enough to listen to logan, because it’s something that interested him, something that logan cared about.

and then a memory of himself, hip-deep in snake research books, trying to tell his new adopted parents all about why snakes were so interesting and cool, and receiving three snakes for his first birthday state-side and overhearing maybe she’ll shut up about the stupid snakes now, his mother saying at least we won’t have to see them, they’ll be in her room, maybe she’ll stay there more and children should be seen and not heard as nanny and martha tidied up the wrapping paper from his birthday party—

he squashes the not-jealousy with extreme prejudice. 

“oh, and the occasional turtle,” logan adds, breaking dee’s train of thought. “not many snakes, though; not many of the inn’s employees were keen on letting the five-year-old try to find out if one was venomous or not, so i’d be stuck watching if they ever found one.”

“...right,” dee says, unsure of what to really say to that. also, he’s a bit busy listening to the purposefully-heavy footsteps coming down the hall.

“so i’ve never seen snakes up close like this,” logan finishes, and dee just. nods.

fortunately, a knock on the door breaks any lingering awkwardness; dee calls out “come in!” and nanny comes in with a tray of a typical afternoon tea.

“just leave that on the storage bench, thank you, nanny,” dee says briskly, and so nanny sets the tray of snacks on the bench at the base of dee’s bed, before she presents a water bottle to logan, and says, “there’s a chilled glass for you on the tray.”

“oh,” logan says, and takes it. “um. thank you.”

almost as if he’s unable to help it, his fingernails tap-tap-tap against the water bottle as he looks at the design, whatever sense of culture shock that might have faded after looking at the snakes rearing right back.

“thank you, nanny, that will do,” dee says, and nanny nods to him, before she departs and closes the door on the way out.

“this water bottle is made of glass,” logan says, as if it’s a question.

dee arches an eyebrow at him. “do you not like water served in glass? do you only like plastic containers for your water? shall i call for nanny to get you a plastic cup?”

“no,” logan says, “no, it’s just—” and he squints at the label, before he looks up at dee and says, “this bottle of water is from a glacier.”

“you can keep the bottle, if you like,” dee says, “we have plenty more.”

“the source is only accessible from the ocean.”

“yes, i heard you,” dee says. “it’s not like i would already know this, since i have lived in this house and had that water for years, but do go on.”

“our goal was to create the world’s first luxury premium glacier water product with unmatched quality—purity—elegance. created from an award-winning source, from the hat mountain glacier in beautiful british columbia, canada, we have captured the hearts of water connoisseurs worldwide,” logan reads from the label, and looks up at him. “dee.”

“i don’t understand what your issue is with the water,” dee says, even though he’s very aware that logan’s issue is primarily you even have fancy WATER?! but it’s fun to see how absolutely bemused he is over it. “if it’s good enough for water connoisseurs worldwide, it should certainly be good enough for you.”

logan hesitates, before he sits on the bench at the end of dee’s bed, and picks up the chilled glass. oh, nanny set out to impress, that’s one of the nice crystal glasses that granmè only ever really brings out for parties.

it also has the added benefit of logan’s eyes becoming even rounder behind his glasses, and looking between the water bottle and the glass, as if weighing if he’s blue-blooded enough to consume it, or if he’s so much of a commoner that taking a sip of it will cause him death, like the false grail in indiana jones.

evidently, the combined hayden-sanders genes must win out, because he carefully pours himself a glass, and then looks even more hopelessly confused when he turns his attention to the tea tray.

really, dee at the start of the school year would be clapping his hands in absolute glee at how much he’s managed to catch logan off-guard.

“are these cucumber sandwiches?” logan asks faintly.

“ooh, yes,” dee says, plucking one for himself and promptly shoving it into his mouth, fast, so that sanders won’t notice while his attention is captured by their snack. “plus pear and stilton, here, and ham-brie-apple, and pesto chicken, and those ones are prosciutto-fig, i think. of course there’s scones and clotted cream, battenburg, crumpets...”

“you,” logan says, looking hopelessly lost, “you just asked for tea?”

dee looks at him, amused, even as he’s pouring himself a cup of tea. “my grandfather was english, sanders. it’s afternoon tea.”

logan blinks, before he says, “i didn’t know that. that your grandfather’s english, i mean.”

“and my grandmother’s french,” dee says. “my particular branch of slanges relocated to the americas much later than your branch of sanders did.”

“you know that?” logan says, startled.

“of course,” dee says. “sanders’ came over on the mayflower, daughters of the american revolution, et cetera et cetera. our grandmothers have been friends for years, did you really think i wouldn’t know?”

he waits a beat, before he adds, “and, well. know your enemy.”

“i suppose you took that much more seriously than i did,” logan says at last, before he reaches for a safe option—a blueberry scone—and cracks it open, spreading it with jam.

“yes,” dee says pridefully, “yes, i did.”

logan rolls his eyes, even as he plops a generous helping of clotted cream on top—

“oh, cornish method, interesting,” dee says, just to see that confused look come rearing back, and is immediately satisfied—

before logan shakes himself, and says, “why did your grandparents relocate here, anyway?”

dee tries his very best not to brighten too obviously, it’s just—it’s been so long since someone so blatantly handed him an excuse to spin stories on a platter.

“well, that’s a very interesting story,” dee says, leaning back, “and really, it all starts with my great-grandfather. or, rather, my great-grandfather’s very distant cousins. you see, my family had a lordship—”

logan looks at him, surprised.

“—a very minor lordship,” dee says, “technically barons, not dukes or anything. you probably wouldn’t have heard of them, it’s not like they were major members of the house of lords or anything. anyway, my great-grandfather didn’t know that, because again, he was a very distant cousin, and the main line of the family had three daughters. no women could inherit.”

logan frowns. “sexist.”

“mm, quite,” dee says. “anyways, they were counting on a closer cousin to inherit—a second cousin, i believe—but he tragically died in a boating accident, and so the family came calling to my cousin—who was a solicitor at the time—and brought him to the estate, which was called,” dee quickly casts about for an alike-enough name, “...upton priory.”

and so dee goes on cribbing details from the first three seasons of downton abbey, changing names and having a merry old time. logan gets close to realizing—he says “that sounds rather familiar, actually,” when dee reiterates the whole plotline of his supposed great-grandfather’s valet getting arrested for supposedly murdering his wife, to which dee says, “it was quite a scandal, perhaps you’re remembering the details from your grandmother, goodness knows she’d find it fascinating,” which buys him even more time until he kills off his great-grandfather, the matthew stand-in, after the birth of their second child.

logan frowns, and says, “well, that’s rather sad, but—i thought you said your grandfather was eldest? why would he give up a lordship?”

“why else, sanders?” dee says, and gestures expansively. “love.”

logan arches his eyebrows, and takes another sandwich—he seems quite partial to the pesto chicken and ham-apple-brie—and says, “go on, then.”

and so dee goes on stealing details and weaving a story, this time from the king’s speech, explaining how his grandmother was a divorcée (she is not) and his grandfather wanted to marry her anyway, as they’d met and she’d become his mistress during an outing to new york (possibly true, but in the same way that the moon landing being faked is possibly true) but as she was a divorcée (again, untrue) and he was a prominent member of the church of england (as far as he knows his grandfather was a catholic) to have a lord marry a divorcée had caused quite the drama between the family, and then dee cribs even more details from downton abbey to describe the fight, mounting and dramatic and full of high passions, going on for another fifteen minutes, until his grandfather finally decided—

“to abdicate the throne?” logan finishes dryly; they’ve picked the tea tray mostly clean of snacks, by now, and logan’s long since finished his water and has stolen a cup of tea. “i didn’t realize you were a descendant of edward the eighth. should i have been calling you your majesty this whole time?”

dee tries his very hardest not to pout, but he does cross his arms. “how long have you suspected?”

“around the time you said he gave a lordship ‘for love,’” logan says, “but i knew for sure when you started talking about how your grandmother became a mistress in new york. she’s french.”

“damn!” dee says, not really angry at all, but still, he had to keep up appearances. “i managed to fool brad with that whole backstory until he saw the king’s speech five years later.”

and then dee waits; he waits for logan to get mad, or to snap at him for wasting time, something that dee will attempt to brush off and maybe even laugh at. he waits for logan—journalism-obsessed, fact-checking, scientifically-minded logan—to react to what was dee, essentially, lying straight to his face for about half an hour.

but then:

“well, that’s brad,” logan says, “it doesn’t take much to fool him, i’d imagine.”

dee smiles, pleased. “no, it doesn’t.”

“so where was the other stuff from?” logan says. “upton priory, i mean. i’m assuming that doesn’t exist. i know the story from somewhere.”

he’s… curious.

he’s curious??? dee repeats to himself—this is logan, who is, as stated, journalism-obsessed, fact-checking, scientifically-minded—he doesn’t seem mad. he just seems… intrigued.

this bears much more investigation that dee would have thought prior to inviting him over.

“downton abbey,” dee allows. “i can’t believe you caught onto the historical significance of edward the eighth meeting his mistress in new york, and yet i throw three season’s worth of downton abbey at you and not even a little bit of recognition.”

logan shrugs. “i’m not very good with pop culture. that’s more—” and very suddenly he looks like he wants to slap a hand to his forehead, if logan was at all prone to dramatic, cliché gestures like that. “roman. he was going on for days about matthew dying in the same season they killed off sybil, that’s where i heard all of it before, it’s from roman.”

“the boyfriend,” dee says. 

“yes, the boyfriend,” logan says, “who is very excited for the excuse to wear a pretty ballgown, by the way.”

dee accepts this for the subject change it is, and digs out his notebook and a pen.

“right, then,” he says. “as previously discussed, i’m handling chilton participants, and i’m pleased to announce that with the addition of ana salazar, the entirety of the clairosophic society are involved.”

“oh, excellent,” logan says, and so dee goes on listing chilton students they’ve enlisted—he’d been right, recruiting the puffs and the skull and dagger had caused a wave of wannabes to join in too—and they discuss setting up a form for people to ensure that they’ve paid their way in, dee eventually digging out his laptop and making a couple drafts of one. 

as he does that, logan talks about the sideshire students (behind on payments, but they’re doing an ongoing bake sale at virgil’s, which, dee doesn’t know how small town things work, but he supposes he should trust that logan knows what he’s talking about) and logan taps his own notebook with his pen, going over all of the entrants and discussing anything that needs finer-tuning—not very much on their end, it turns out, but they’ll definitely need to have another meeting after what logan’s dad is apparently calling get cultured day, where he and logan’s boyfriend’s mother will teach everyone the dance they’ll need to know and the proper way to curtsy and so on.

logan scans over his notes, nodding in satisfaction, before he says, “we were a bit oversaturated on debutantes, the clairosophic society should help balance things out with escorts.”

“ana wants to go with janey,” dee corrects. “so she and janey are already taken, but otherwise—”

he blinks. “ana and janey are dating?”

dee looks at him, amused. “you know nothing about the social stratosphere at chilton, do you?”

“i don’t have much tolerance for gossip,” logan says. 

“really?” dee says. “i’d think that as a journalist you’d keep an eye out for these kinds of things.”

“i don’t report on gossip,” logan says. “what do i look like, francie jarvis? anyone else who lives and breathes that rag?”

“what, the jefferson?” dee says. “are you kidding? that’s the most useful thing that chilton’s ever provided me, and i’m including the education, here.”

“useful?” logan repeats, looking as offended as dee had expected him to look when logan would catch on to dee lying his ass off for half an hour straight. interesting. 

“well, admittedly, they can be rather behind when it comes to certain things,” dee says thoughtfully, “but the chaos that happens on the day it comes out? masterful.”

logan frowns. “i thought you wanted to work on the franklin.” 

“oh, i do,” dee says. “like i said, they’re not exactly cutting edge, i can do better with a well-coordinated social media check than they can do with an entire staff full of rumormongers. the whole,” and he flaps a hand, “truth and investigation thing, for the franklin, that’s interesting. besides, the franklin has more effect when it targets adults; with the jefferson, they just want to confirm that the algebra and the calculus teachers are having an affair, which they are—”

logan looks perplexed. “how do you—”

“—don’t ask,” dee says. “believe me, i wish i didn’t know.”

his eyes narrow, as if to say why should i believe you? which, good. he’s learning.

“but in the franklin, one can publish a deep-dive anonymous investigation and get shady male teachers tossed out of the schools on their ear for their too-frequent uniform checks and saying that uniform skirts are distracting. the franklin has more real-world power.”

“not that an investigation of an adult potentially preying upon teenage girls isn’t important,” logan says, “because it certainly is, but journalism isn’t about acquiring power. it’s about holding those in power accountable.”

“isn’t that the same thing?” dee points out. 

“no,” logan says. 

“but it is,” dee says. “because the concept of holding power is so multi-faceted. everyone’s idea of power is different. the upper class has power, the president has power, the people protesting have power. people like francie jarvis and tristan have power, but then, so do you and i. but all of those kinds of power are different.”

“well, that i agree with,” logan says cautiously, and then he frowns. “how do i have power?”

dee looks at him. he looks at him harder.

“what?”

“you’re kidding,” dee says. “you’re a sanders and a hayden.”

“the haydens are not particularly pleased that i am a hayden,” logan says. “the haydens would adore nothing more than to tidily remove me from the family tree.”

interesting.

“but they can’t tidily remove you being a hayden from everyone’s memory,” dee points out. “and, well. power can be privilege.”

“well, i certainly have privilege,” logan says. “i’m white, i’m a cis male, i’m attached to an affluent family.” he frowns, and amends, “families, i suppose.”

“oh, good,” dee says. “you’re a sane person who recognizes white privilege, i won’t have to kick you out.” 

also—attached to an affluent family, not part of an affluent family. more intrigue.

“anyways. you have plenty of power—take chilton, for example. say you wrote that piece on a pedophilic teacher that i was talking about. it would be due to your actions, your hard work and diligence, that removed him from his post. that doesn’t seem like power, to you?”

logan shakes his head, and repeats, “that’s what journalism’s about. just because there are effect from the story i write, to hold said teacher accountable, that doesn’t mean that is personally driven from me. that would be a response—from parents, from students, from headmaster charleston, eventually. there are responsibilities that journalists have, important ones, and we serve a purpose for society. perhaps the story has a powerful impact, or the story is emotionally powerful. that doesn’t mean that i am powerful. i didn’t direct people to fire him, i didn’t influence anyone. i would have presented the facts and exposed his wrongdoings, that’s all.”

“well, i suppose it does depend on your definition of powerful, that’s accurate enough,” dee says thoughtfully. “but the more philosophical idea of what is power? isn’t what i’m trying to address, at the moment, i’m addressing you. another example, then—academically, you’re powerful. tristan dugray would pay a tidy sum for any one of your study guides.”

logan frowns. “i wouldn’t cheat.”

“yes, yes, you’re very moral and ethical, good for you, you’ve passed the after-school special test,” dee says dismissively, “but specifically, for this definition of power, it’s a certain level of strength. but that’s a different kind of power, than, say—”

“tristan dugray never getting in trouble for his foolish pranks because of who his father is,” logan says.

“right,” dee says, “although you’re wrong on that front, he’s a prank on a bad day away from being sent to military school, but—yes, you’re seeing my point. power varies, power changes.”

“well, i never disagreed with that,” he says. “but those aiming for power—their main idea is almost never let’s be a journalist! unless they’re decisively within the yellow journalism era, or if they are fictional character charles foster kane. and even then, he was a media magnate, his attempts at journalism were just to manipulate public opinion and make a lot of money.”

dee sighs longingly and says, “if i were white, that would be my ideal era to work in.”

“what,” logan says, and suddenly they’re talking about yellow journalism—logan is very boring and against it, because he likes things like accuracy and facts—and then logan looks like he’s about to blow steam out of his ears when dee tells him that his ultimate career goal is to write for and maybe run something like the national enquirer, which leads to even more discussions on journalism, things like what qualifies someone to be a journalist and who decides what journalism is, and they’re on a little side-tangent about journalism as portrayed in films when there’s a knock on his door.

“mister slange, mister sanders, dinner is ready,” nanny says, and dee tries his best not to startle, because—logan’s been here for three hours. and he has not once gotten annoyed at dee for reasons outside of journalistic, ethical, or moral debate, and even then, logan seems to set all of that aside relatively easily.

and dee, apart from making up his entire ancestral backstory, has barely even lied.

“coming!” dee says, and then to logan, “i hope you like snail caviar.”

an expression of panic pops up on logan’s face, and dee laughs at him.

“kidding,” he says reassuringly. “it’s french onion soup and croque monsieurs.”

logan looks relieved, and he even laughs, and then proceeds to bump into dee, the way that friends on tv shows jostle each other when one tells a particularly biting joke, and then logan pauses, looking at dee.

very suddenly, dee thinks, oh.

does he think he’s my friend?

they’ve been debating for the better part of two hours, and dee lied to him for half an hour, and dee has been purposefully throwing as many rich-people things into conversation as possible to get logan looking baffled, and logan thinks that they are friends.

is that what friends do?

dee clears his throat, before he grabs logan’s bicep in a way he hopes is normal and does not at all give away that he has not had a friend since he immigrated to the united states, and says, “come on, then, i’ll let you stick your head in the library on the way.”

“you have a library?!” logan asks eagerly, following along as dee tugs him down the hall, and dee tries his very best not to smile too openly.

⁂

dee’s house is…a lot. it’s a lot.

(dee had pulled up a picture of his parents’ house to show off how it could be his own personal xanadu, when they’d been talking about citizen kane, and logan has mentally tabulated the publication he was talking about to fact-check that, because that—that was just absurd, even more so than this one.)

but the smell of french onion soup and croque monsieurs—essentially french ham-and-cheese, either sandwiches or baked lasagna style—is a little more comforting. logan knows these smells, baking bread and ham and melting cheese and onions—granted, virgil’s diner does a french onion soup, but he’s sure it’s not as fancy as what he’s about to eat with dee.

and, as they cross into the dining room, his grandmother, seated at the head of the table.

logan’s technically had lunch with mrs. slange before; it had been at the country club, and he’d been more preoccupied with glowering at dee, but he has met her and spoken with her. she’d been nice; she’d spoken to his grandmother quite a lot about landscaping, and flowers. azaleas in particular, he’s fairly certain.

she’s a rather diminutive woman, her already short stature shrunk down even more from age; her hair is thin and pure white, fluffing up in a way that makes logan think of dandelion fuzz. her face is wrinkled, especially with smile lines around her eyes, her mouth. she’s wearing a cardigan over a button-down, much like his grandmother wears on particularly casual days, but whereas his grandmother prefers solid colors, mrs. slange’s cardigan is white with embroidered pink and purple flowers; it matches her pastel pink button-down. 

by all accounts, she should register in logan’s mind as a fragile old woman; a nice one, one that seems to have more concern about her flowers than anything else. but there’s something glinting in her eyes—flinty, icy blue—that reminds him very much of dee, despite the fact that they are not biologically related.

it’s cunning, logan thinks, or intelligence—she must have both in spades, to help raise someone like dee.

she smiles at dee, and says something in french—logan can manage a basic spanish conversation due to his proximity to the princes, and he’s taking latin classes, but he’s absolutely hopeless with french unless he lucks out and they say something with a latin root word—and dee responds in kind. logan notes that their accents are different. logan puts together, barely a second after he notices, that one of haiti’s two official languages is french.

logan spares a second to wonder if dee can speak the other, haitian creole, before his grandmother turns to him directly and says—something in french. he has no clue what.

“il ne peut pas parler français, granmè, utiliser l'anglais,” dee says, looking almost a little amused at logan’s expense—well, logan can put together he can’t speak french, use english, just based off of context clues.

she starts a sentence in french, pauses, furrows her brow, as if unpuzzling it, and then continues in lightly accented english, “welcome to our home.”

“thank you very much for having me,” logan says, his dad’s be on your best behavior! text at the forefront of his mind, with his dad saying evelyn, right? i always liked her shortly behind. “your home is beautiful; the landscaping’s lovely.”

her wrinkled face settles into its worn lines she smiles.

“mer—” she begins, shakes her head, takes a breath, and then continues, “thank you very much. the roses are finicky little things, this time of year, i’m quite pleased with how they’ve turned out. i think they’ve thrown their last primadonna fit until fall rolls around again.”

and from there, it’s easy to prod her into conversation as they eat the soup course—logan mentally apologizes to virgil, but if he’d taste it, he’d probably agree that this french onion soup is better than his, too—just by asking about the various plants she tends to favor, the particular conditions that each seems to like. the conversation seems perfectly fine, if not for dee staring at the pair of them out of the corners of his eyes, as if monitoring their conversation to make sure neither of them says anything unseemly. 

which is a little unsettling—logan doesn’t think he’s said anything horribly rude to an old person lately, unless one counted his paternal grandparents last fall—but the conversation seems to be fine. logan admits that most of his knowledge of plants is theoretical, scientific, which prods her into asking about their shared science course, and dee takes over that conversation.

it’s fine. the whole dinner is fine, and it seems to be going well, even, and he keeps on thinking so and thinking so as he digs into the main course of croque monsieurs, and she says—

“how do you find the meal, christopher?”

it takes logan a second to register what’s wrong with that statement, and, as soon as it does, unwittingly, his eyes flash to dee.

dee has frozen, fork halfway to his mouth. it’s like he has to buffer for a moment before he visibly stiffens, setting the fork down. logan is about to excuse it as a slip of the tongue—she had known both his parents, surely, perhaps it was just a misstatement. most people in his grandparents’ sphere exalted his resemblance to christopher, even though he was quite clearly a carbon copy of patton excepting his sharper bone structure, straighter hair, and thinner frame, until—

“logan, granmè,” dee says, in a very gentle tone that does not at all match his fists curling up on the table. “this is logan, christopher’s son. do you remember? we had lunch with him and emily.”

her brow furrows, and she says, “right. of course. logan.”

she quite sounds like she thinks that dee is pulling one over her head, and she’s going along with it, the way one did when a small child was pulling an incredibly obvious joke on them.

she maintains that tone and slips a couple more times—christopher, how are straub and francine? as logan’s halving his croque monsieur; christopher, didn’t you say you were going out to california? when the maid, as tight-faced as dee, is setting dessert on the table. 

and it dawns on him, slowly: why dee had to prompt her to use english, when she was born speaking french, and why it had taken her a few seconds to clearly switch over in her head when dee went from french to english at the drop of a hat; why there were so many post-its near the front door; why the household staff had seemed surprised at a visitor, despite the fact that dee had told his grandmother he was bringing home a guest; why his grandmother had said she’s coming out less and less lately, it’s been a while since we’ve had a good, long chat; dee keeping a keen eye out, as if he’s monitoring what they’ll say; not for him, logan realizes, for her. 

she has a disease. she’s aware enough that her gardens are in splendid shape, she’s aware enough that she clearly knows who dee is, but. but she can’t remember who logan is.

it is an exceedingly awkward dessert.

he can’t deny the chocolate-raspberry souffle is absolutely delicious, though.

⁂

the dinner is over. nanny is taking granmè to the library. logan and dee are left alone at the dinner table.

dee has been mentally preparing for this since his grandmother’s first slip—comebacks, things to say, particularly acerbic and witty things he could summon up if logan is rude about it. he’s ready. 

that is, until logan just says, “can i see the greenhouse?”

dee blinks at him. “what?”

“the greenhouse,” logan repeats. “you said i could see it after dinner. can i?”

okay, dee thinks. changing the setting of the argument. he isn’t sure what logan’s play is here, but—

“sure,” dee agrees, and stands, purposefully languid and unhurried. “follow me.”

and so he leads logan through the narrow hallways of the house, mostly ignoring logan as they go (“is that a velázquez?” he demands of a painting, which dee doesn’t really deign answer to—of course it’s a velázquez, does his family seem like the type to settle for a framed imitation) and at last comes to the door of the greenhouse, which he opens without ceremony.

logan walks in. dee expects him to maybe go to sit down, and ask dee why his elderly grandmother thought he was his estranged father, but no—logan beelines straight for the hostas.

well. okay. dee trails after him, meandering vaguely around the greenhouse. logan’s route seems to make sense to him, and only him, but he pokes his nose close to each plant, adjusting his glasses on his nose as he crouches to examine the soil, the roots; if dee was walking into this situation with no prior context, he’d think perhaps that logan was an enterprising botanist who had just gained entry to a highly regarded greenhouse.

but logan is just in the greenhouse of an old lady with memory problems, who he did not know was an old lady with memory problems until she repeatedly referred to him by his father’s name. 

and so dee follows as logan examines fauna, and flora, and the goddamn soil. everytime logan hums with interest, dee thinks it’s a precursor to the beginning of this conversation, but no, he’s just humming at the plants. the plants. they’re plants, his grandmother’s plants, so he’s used to his grandmother being very fond of them and rambling about them even if he’s mostly indifferent about them, most of his emotion toward plants being if it makes granmè happy. the key word in that sentence is granmè. he does not particularly care if these plants make logan happy. he cares what logan will say about his grandmother.

they’ve looped three-quarters of the way around the greenhouse by the time dee’s patience runs out.

“well?!” and it tears out of him in a kind of snarl. logan, from where he’s crouched beside the lilies, blinks at him, his fingers resting on the arm of his glasses, as if he’s about to adjust them again.

“what?”

“what,” dee repeats, then, “what?!” and before he can even think about it, he has his bowler hat in one hand, thwacking logan over the head with it.

“ow!” logan says, clearly more out of the surprise of being thwacked when he wasn’t expecting it. that, or logan is a big baby, dee didn’t even swing that hard.

“what,” dee repeats, jamming his hat over his head again before logan can see any semblance of hat hair, “what, are you kidding me, sanders, of all the times to go quiet when you clearly have questions, you choose now?! say something!”

logan blinks at him, before he says, very slowly, “about…”

“my grandmother,” dee snaps. 

“ah,” logan says, then, almost like he’s reciting something for his latin class, “i am… sorry that she is ill, and i respect your privacy during this time?”

dee actually leans forward because of the force of the Look he is giving logan.

“you know i’m bad at this kind of thing,” he says defensively. “what do you expect me to say?”

“i don’t—!” dee says, and nearly throws up his hands, but he is not allowing himself to get that carried away. “i expect you to say something! not just wander around the greenhouse and let me wait and see if you say something stupid!”

logan looks at him, and says, “was that insensitive of me?”

dee’s eyes must look close to popping out of his head, because logan’s hands are already rising to protect the crown of his head, like he expects dee to hit him with his hat again.

“do you,” he says, and gives dee a strange look, “do you want to talk about it?”

“not particularly!”

“that’s what i thought!” logan says. “i assumed the prior agreement of you wanting to speak to me about anything that particularly affects you would take precedence—”

agreement, dee mouths, and mentally backtracks, until—

“my parents wanting to out me and you coming up with this whole debutante plot and my grandmother having dementia are two different categories!”

“i didn’t think that a statement like ‘if you want to talk about it, i am here’ needed categorization!”

“the previously agreed upon ‘it’ was specifically about my parents’ plot to out me by way of american daughters of the revolution!” dee says, near-hysterical.

“okay!” logan says, “okay, fine, i put forward the terms of that particular definition of ‘it’ being broadened to anything particularly troublesome in your life and wait on your acceptance, or your proposal on how exactly to renegotiate ‘it’, does that help?”

dee stares at him, jaw hanging open, and says, “there is no way that you are an actual person, are you serious?!”

“i don’t know what you want from me,” logan says, near-mournful, and the absolute absurdity of the situation sinks in enough that dee starts laughing.

his parents want to very publicly out him without his consent, his grandmother has dementia that will only get worse and worse and it will only be a matter of time before his parents realize what is happening and send her into a nursing home and force him to move back in with them, the household staff who are the closest people he had previously considered friends have no choice but increase their focuses on spying on him for his parents in order to distract them from noticing anything wrong with granmè, or else risk unemployment, and logan is here talking about renegotiations like they’re on a legal team, and talking sure as shit isn’t an option, so dee can’t do anything but laugh.

“christ,” he says, and half-crumples, half-slides to the ground beside logan, who looks very bemused. “putain de merde, sanders.”

“i’m assuming that’s impolite,” logan says primly, and dee snorts.

“yeah,” dee says, in the same tone would say duh. “yeah, impolite, let’s go with that, shall we?” 

logan pauses, for a few seconds, as if allowing dee to get his bearings, before he says "dementia?" with a tone of curiosity that has dee swiveling his head to glower at him.

"sorry," logan says, not sounding particularly sorry.

"journalist habit," dee mutters, beating logan to the punch for his own excuse.

"yes."

they sit in silence for a little longer.

"i didn't know she knows that particular side of the family," logan says. "the haydens, i mean."

"oh, yes," dee says absently. "we probably lunch with them about twice a year, sometimes more—less now, though, now that they've moved away."

"huh," logan says, then, "what are they like?"

"what, you don't know?" dee says, glancing at him.

"not particularly," logan says. "i've only met them three times, and considering i was still in the hospital post-birth for one of them and was learning how to crawl for the other—"

"huh," dee echoes.

how weird it must be for logan, to hear that dee's had more regular interactions with his grandparents. both sets, probably; he would have remembered if logan had gotten dragged into various family gatherings the way he has.

"they," logan says, purses his lips, and says, "the haydens were particularly transphobic."

"yeah, well," dee says. "that doesn't surprise me."

"homophobic too," logan says, and he glances at his hands before he looks sideways at dee. "deviant was the exact word used in my presence. i'm assuming there was more, but dad kicked me out of the room before i could hear anything else."

dee rolls around various replies in his mouth. he could offer sympathy, or something equally socially accepted and something dee would have no problem letting roll off his tongue like a well-rehearsed monologue.

but.

he would tell all of those monologues to people who don't know that he's trans, that have never been to either of his houses, that have never listened to him spin a lie for half an hour and not be mad about it. he would tell all of these monologues to someone who didn't know that his grandmother has alzheimer's.

so dee doesn't offer a monologue. he offers something that he assumes logan might appreciate, something he'd recognize in a fellow colleague: curiosity.

"which dad?" dee asks. "patton or—"

"patton," logan says, cutting him off. "christopher walked me out, though, to make sure i actually stayed out."

another pause. it seems like curiosity hasn't been the outright wrong move, so dee strives for more questions.

"are you close?" dee says. "with christopher. i've only met him a couple times."

logan's mouth twists downward at the edges.

"i don't suppose you'd be willing to offer definitive parameters for close, would you?"

"no, not really," dee says. "closeness is subjective."

logan shrugs a shoulder. he looks almost uncomfortable.

"what?" dee says, interest now piqued—because if he didn't know any better, he'd say logan looked guilty.

"i," logan says carefully, "might have blackmailed him."

"you what," dee says, turning to face logan head-on, not even bothering to hide his shock. or his delight. he doesn't bother hiding that either.

"after the visit last fall, he," and the corners of his mouth twist down even further. "well, that doesn't matter anymore. anyway, i dug up as much of his public financial and legal records that i possibly could and made him a deal that i'd extend equal efforts in getting to know him as he would getting to know me. we have a standing weekly phone call now."

"you blackmailed him?" dee says gleefully.

"with public information," logan says huffily. "it's not like i hired a private investigator or anything—"

"nuh-uh, nope, you used the word blackmail," dee says merrily. "you don't even have to justify it with saying where you got the information, you still used information you dug up on him to coerce him into a deal. that is the textbook definition of blackmail."

"i don't know if it's the textbook definition—"

"nope!" dee says. "nope, i'm not listening to your semantics. you blackmailed someone."

"you don't need to sound so thrilled about it," logan grumbles.

"are you kidding?" dee demands. "this is by far one of the most interesting things i've ever heard about you. please tell me there's more misbehavior like this in your past—no, no, wait! i'll figure it out myself!"

"good luck with that," logan says. and then, almost randomly, "everyone says i look like him."

dee stays quiet—give the interviewee time to consider their answer, if it's short, mel had lectured once. always leave a couple of seconds for them to think about if they want to add on to their answer before you move to an entirely different question.

"i mean," logan says, and runs a hand through his hair. "other than this, i don't particularly understand why. i pretty clearly favor my dad—ugh, patton, i favor patton, this is the problem with two dads—but everyone says i look like christopher. my grandparents—both sides—their friends, a couple teachers. it's usually rather frustrating, and though i can't prove it, i have a feeling it's somewhat rooted in transphobia, for most of those friends."

he pauses a beat, as if understanding where he's going with this particular line of conversation. dee suddenly feels a lot less excited about the potential for uncovering any more of logan's past misconduct.  

"but," logan says. "it, ah. it makes more sense, if your grandmother has more recently had contact with that particular side of my family—"

"don't," dee says, and the exhaustion in his voice almost stuns him.

"don't what?"

"don't," dee says, and flaps a hand. "don't make excuses for her. she has alzheimer's, she's not stupid. everyone's patronizing her now and i hate it, even though i find myself doing it sometimes, it's like everyone's scared that they'll somehow catch the alzheimer's if they don't talk to her like she's a toddler."

and now logan's the one who's quiet, just for a little bit, like he's strategizing how to carry out the rest of the interview. 

except, dee thinks, this isn't an interview. this is a conversation. this is that talking thing that logan offered so readily, back when dee had come out, back before logan came up with this whole absurd debutante plan. 

it's just—difficult. to consider turning this strategizing, conniving part of his brain off. he isn't sure if he ever has, ever since he was first notified it was there in the first place. why would he turn this piece of himself off when it protected him, when it kept him aloof and above it all and safe to conduct himself in the way that felt most true to him? if it took lying and manipulating along the way, so be it. he has no patience for attempts at moralizing the way he lives his life. immanuel kant was a fucking moron who would have gotten himself and his friend killed because he decided his perfect duty was to always tell the truth. what was the point of something like truth if it hurt you? if it put you in danger?

it's not even a choice. 

or, at least. it has never been a choice. because logan is no murderer at the door, or machiavelli-wannabe gossip, or high-society rich person who held so much more power than one could even think of through backdoor deals and secret donations, who had adopted a poor orphan from haiti because it might look good as an accessory, and people would think them charitable, and they would barely even thinking about that poor orphan from haiti growing into their own person with pesky, inconvenient things like wants and needs and opinions.

telling the truth would logan would be... telling the truth to logan. logan, who lived in a tiny, pleasantville knockoff town with things like dance marathons and punnily-named cat-themed stores. logan, who had once blackmailed his own father in order to obtain a standing weekly phone call. logan, who had a trans dad, and who had a boyfriend that he had brought to the school dance, and danced with him, and kissed him, and it didn't even occur to him to care who might see, who might disapprove.

logan, who was once homeless and penniless, and who had extended various sources of information that dee had in his hands, ready to drop into the public eye at any given moment.

logan, who had just sat and talked about citizen kane with him and didn't catch onto three seasons worth of downton abbey but immediately clocked a reference to wallis simpson. logan, who had looked helplessly confused at the sight of fancy water and finger sandwiches and afternoon tea. 

logan, who might think that they are friends.

it might become more of a choice then, dee thinks. 

so when logan asks, very quietly, "how long have you known that she's sick?" it only takes dee swallowing down the saliva rising in his throat to be able to answer.

"she was diagnosed about three and a half months ago," he says. "but i've known something's wrong for a lot longer than that."

logan swallows, too, and dips his head in a brief nod, as if to show he's absorbed the information.

"i'm sorry," he says.

dee could say any number of things: she could live as long as twenty years after her diagnosis, but it's more commonly four to eight years. or one day she's going to forget who i am and i am absolutely terrified. or when my parents catch on they're going to send her away to a nursing home, and i won't be able to live here anymore, and i'll go crazy if i have to stay in that house for too long, their screaming and shouting will drive me crazy. or you don't even know the half of it, the household staff that you probably think are so nice and who practically raised me have no choice but to spy on every little thing i do because otherwise they'll get fired.

but for as much as dee can briefly turn off that part of his mind, he cannot turn it off all at once. there is no way he's opening the floodgates of information like that. they might be friends, but dee isn't in hysterics. he can control himself. he can control this. 

"yeah," dee says, and tips back his head to look up at the ceiling; half of it is glass, leading up to where it joins the rest of the house. the sky is bleak and black tonight, with no moon or stars in sight. "yeah, me too."

⁂

the chauffeur closes the door behind logan, and logan has to fight the urge to jump, even though the chauffeur was also holding the door open for logan to get into the car in the first place.

he has to shake himself before he turns to look at the front door of the lavandelands; dee is standing outside, letting the light spill out of the house and backlight him enough that logan can see him leaning against one of the columns, one arm casually wrapped around his stomach. his bowler hat overcasts his eyes.

"your address, sir?" the chauffeur says, and logan has to fight the urge not to jump again. he tells the chauffeur the address to virgil's, anyways, and turns his head to look at dee again.

haltingly, he lifts his hand and waves, just a little bit awkward. dee's shadowed form doesn't move.

there's a brief moment where logan's left with his hand raised in the air, and he cringes to himself ever so slightly before he starts to lower it.

but then, dee lifts a gloved hand, and tosses logan a lazy, three-fingered salute off his bowling cap, and logan tries to smile a little bit. he can't quite manage it, but he's pretty sure the chauffeur isn't judging him for not looking pleasant enough, as the chauffeur’s a bit busy pulling the car into a neat, three-pointed turn, before beginning to drive away.

logan glances over his shoulder, just enough to see dee, shoulders slightly slumped, re-enter the house. logan lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding and redirects his attention to his phone, which he's mostly been neglecting this entire bizarre sojourn at dee's.

he takes enough time to text his dad and virgil that he'll be dropped off at virgil's, so he can pick up a study snack before he heads back to their house, and reassures his dad that he doesn't have to wait up for him or anything. 

he reads a text from roman—a brief complaint about a girl in his dance class, not one of the ones he teaches but the class he actually takes, and logan sends a response that he hopes sounds like the proper, thoughtful response to a mostly inconsequential venting message from his boyfriend.

and then he sits and stares at his homescreen, still that selfie of roman, his dad, and virgil that they took last fall, when he was staying at his grandparents, before everything with thanksgiving and patton's pneumonia had rather tidily messed that week up.

because he has his dad, and his other dad, and virgil, who consists as a dad figure, and he has ms. prince, in her way, and he has roman, a wonderful supportive boyfriend who he has always been able to talk to throughout most of his life. he has rudy, even if he has never particularly leaned on rudy as a means of support. he has maria, and meredith and mark, and his host of cousins from the danes side of the family. he has his grandparents in their own strange ways, even if their relationship prior to this school year would best be described as stilted. he has friends from sideshire high and his teachers and mentors that he left there.

dee has practically no one.

it seems so obvious, looking back at the start of the school year, how dee had seemed so desperate to cling to his academic superiority over everyone in the grade, because that's what he has. he has an ill grandmother, and exceptional grades, and three snakes. he has a former nanny and the rest of a household staff who seem more preoccupied with his grandmother's care. he has his secretive stance in the chilton social ladder, but he didn't have friends. 

logan worries his lip between his teeth. he is incredibly ill-equipped to handle this kind of situation. honestly, he's probably fortunate he only escaped with dee hitting him with his bowler hat; anyone who attempted to have an emotion-centric conversation with logan knew that he wasn't exactly the ideal person to talk to. that's never been his forte.

it has always been his dad's. his dad, who dee had seemed fascinated with, who certainly had a certain level of similarity in their life experiences. and though logan, of course, would never betray confidences...

he could, perhaps, offer some of his vast support system for dee to partake in. leave the choice to him, of course, but. but at least logan would have tried.

and so logan takes a breath, and sends out a text.

Logan Sanders: Dad, would it be all right if I asked Dee sleep over the night of the Culture Day you're planning with Ms. Prince?

#my post #text #my fic #sanders sides fanfic #sanders sides fanfiction #the sideshire files #moxiety #logince