#and it says 'maybe it's time to give broccoli another go?' and 'no matter what you'll always be my baby'

[umbracirrus]

... Animal crossing, man.

[cerise-on-top]

Giving König a Bracelet to Help with His Anxiety

@puff0o0 Hey, I'm the anon who said they'd write this! I know you deleted that ask, which is why I'm not really sure if you care about this anymore in the first place, so if this bothers you, just tell me and I'll delete it! Either way, I hope it's enjoyable enough and thank you for the idea!

From the doorway you watched the behemoth go about his day, with him currently picking out the food he would like to make. From what you could see, both options he weighed seemed to have been some form of pasta, although his large frame did cover the picture of the second bag. With a sigh, he put down one of them, the winner seemingly being noodles with broccoli sauce.

“I hoff meim Liebling werdn’s schmecken. Guad sans jo eigentlich scho.”

Fascinating, he was speaking his mother tongue again, but seemingly in the way where no machine translator in the world could help you. Strange as it was, to have been so confident in what little German you did know, there were many times you failed to understand him, but that’s what made it all the more charming as well. Either way, dialect or not, you had something else planned, something transcending language.

Creeping up to him, like a benevolent shadow, you took the piece of jewelry out of your pocket, holding it in your hand as you gave it another quick glance. It should fit him, but hopefully, it won’t pinch him too much. Seemingly distracted by the packet of noodles, or maybe he was just playing along with you, it was hard to tell, you stood behind him, not making a move. It was a bit ironic in your eyes: The gift you had gotten him takes its bearer’s anxiety and cleanses it, yet here you were, worried he might not like it. It still wasn’t too late to go back, or maybe leave it somewhere for him to find. Which, however, would make way for another problem, mainly that he would think it belonged to you when such couldn’t be further from the truth. You were certain König was a different man on the battlefield, fierce, frightening, fatal, but when it came to domestic things, he seemed a bit lost.

He was a sweetheart to you at all times, very aware of his strength and how easily he could hurt you by accident. He’s cracked several eggs on his hand instead of inside the frying pan, he’s even broken glass by holding it. And even then, the problem wasn’t the splitters in his hand, he was more worried about you being mad at him for breaking it. The guilt in his eyes was something else as you patched him up.

“I don’t deserve someone like you.”

And every time anew, you would tell him:

“Who said that?! Who do I need to cuddle the sadness out of?!”

Stupid as it was, it would always make him smile. But you couldn’t always be there with him, reassure him that everything was going to be alright. You probably didn’t need to, but you couldn’t help but want to, no matter what. For as scared as you were this time, you had to bite the bullet, let it be known that you loved and cared for him, even got him something. “Honey?”

“Oh, you’re back home. I am so glad to see you, I was just about to make dinner. Say, do you like broccoli?”

König turned to face you, his slight excitement was evident in his voice, the fact he tried to swallow it down even more so. It was adorable how his eyes almost glistened in the artificial light just because he was looking at you instead of pasta instructions now.

Softening your grip on the small bracelet, you hadn’t even realized you were gripping tightly enough to cause pain, you put your other hand on top of it, making sure to conceal it entirely. This was all or nothing. “I, uh, got you something. Can I have your arm for a moment, please?”

“Naturally.” Taking the pack of pasta into his other hand, he extended his arm towards you. It never ceased to amaze you just how big it was, his hand, too. He could likely take someone’s skull and crush it using just one. But in that moment, all it did was hang there, giving you the opportunity to attach the bracelet. That you did, putting the hook through the loop to make sure it wouldn’t fall off.

“There we go.”

König lifted his arm towards his face, inspecting the little accessory closely. While he wasn’t quite sure what those pretty crystals were, he could make an educated guess, having listened to you talk about them from time to time. The purple one, he was sure, he could make out fairly easily, the faintly pink one made his gears turn for a moment. “...amethyst and rose quartz? Is that what those are?”

“Oh, you actually remembered.” Taken aback for a second, you recovered quickly enough, taking his arm into your hands. You ran your thumb over the back of his hand. “But yes, that’s what they are. Good job, König, that makes me really happy.” Flashing him a smile, you took a shaky breath. “I got you this because it will help with your anxiety, though it seems like I should have one myself, haha. The amethyst calms the mind and the rose quartz will soothe the heart. But generally speaking, rose quartz will also help you when you can’t sleep at night. I want this to be yours so you will be well wherever you are.”

König’s eyes widened for a moment, breaking eye contact with you to look at the bracelet instead. It was absolutely gorgeous, a reminder from you that everything will be alright, no matter when or where he may be. Softly, he rubbed your arm with his free hand before pulling you into a hug. You couldn’t complain, he was tall, strong and warm. It calmed your senses, feeling his arms wrap around you, as he muttered his gratitude to you.

“Danke, Schatzi, ich hab dich so so lieb, du hast ja gar keine Ahnung.”

That German seemed to be easier to understand than what he said about the noodles earlier.

“I love you too. Be well and come back to me always, alright? Do you promise you will do that for me?”

You pulled away from the hug, putting a hand on König’s cheek while caressing it gently with your thumb.

“Yes, of course.”

________________________________

“I hoff meim Liebling werdn’s schmecken. Guad sans jo eigentlich scho.” = "I hope my darling will like it. They are normally pretty good."

[butmakeitgayblog]

Yes I’m born ready for THAT convo about the real MVP of moms 💪💪💪 Anything for MBFW 🫠

Babe she is the fuckin shit as a mom. Okay? Cuz for for the majority of her teen years she never really thought she'd want to ever have kids considering how she grew up, but then she met Clarke and the entire Griffin broad basically adopted her and it was like "👀 wait a min... this family thing's kinda the tits..." But even after that, she really had no intention of actually giving birth. It wasn't that she was against it per se, it was just... when they'd abstractly talked about having kids sometime in the distant future, it was always with the unspoken understanding that Clarke would carry them. It was just such a given that neither even really discussed it, even after they got married and settled in and decided to actually start trying.

And then Clarke had two miscarriages.

And was told it probably just wasn't going to be a reality for them.

And as soon as that was made clear by the doctor, Lexa held up her hand and was like "haha no, we're having these kids 🙋‍♀️Griffin baby uterus right here ready to go, hi 🙋‍♀️"

Cuz honestly, what could be better? She not only gets to be a part of this familiy that took her in and cared for her even when sometimes she maybe didn't always deserve it, but she also gets to bring another little one into the world?! She gets to have her own little Griffins??? Every family reunion and holiday gathering she gets to have her own little pack of the chaotic broad running around? Hearing the, uh, more senile members grumbling "which ones are those again?" and somebody saying, "That's your great grand-niece, Marvin. You remember. Clarke and Lexa's kids."

Insanity.

Amazing.

10/10 experience.

And the best part?

She got to give that to Clarke. She got to make Clarke a mother too. For all of her fuck ups in life, she get to give Clarke the thing they'd been dreaming about since they were 19.

And she was not going to take it for granted. So Lexa absolutely becomes the kind of mom who works to find the right balance. Schedules chore charts and play dates and the quintessential soccer mom SUV, saying ok to ice cream before bed but only if they eat three bites of broccoli. She reads bedtime stories with funny voices after Clarke handles bathtime and makes a big deal over all their finger painting (and is much better at remembering to empty the trashcan when they throw them away in 2 weeks before their little artists can see 😬). She shush's Clarke's yelling whenever she's embarrassing their daughter from the stands when Madi eventually starts little league. She's the first one to learn sign language after Aden comes along and is intensely serious about raising him with all the tools he needs to be exactly who he is.

She still keeps her career going as a writer, but after... well, everything. And how badly she once fucked all this up with Clarke, she always tries and takes the steps to keep work and home life balanced. She wants to raise their kids knowing that their mother's are not only wives and partners in every aspect of life, but are also the epitome of best friends.

She's not perfect by any means. She loses her patience and gets worn out and sometimes makes the wrong call when it comes to their kids. But she tries, and never stops trying, and she always comes back and apologizes right to their little faces whenever she realizes she's messed up. Because she'll never want their kids to feel the same kind of sadness and fear of being a disappointment like she felt when she was growing up. She'll never want them to ever wonder if they matter less to her than her own happiness, like she'd struggled with when thinking about her own mother when she was a kid.

So yeah, she may never have envisioned her life the way it turns out. But, like Clarke reminds her every time she's feeling insecure or like she's not doing Enough, Lexa really was born to be a mom

[stella-so-sly93]

Long personal post ahead...

At the end of January I was laid off from my job and have unfortunately had no success finding a new job. Thankfully, I qualified for unemployment and that has helped me out but no longer having a stable income has been very stressful. I didn't expect to struggle this much to find another job and I know that I'm not the only one in this situation.

With all the free time I've had due to no longer having a set schedule that comes with having a job, I've been teaching myself how to cook and it's starting to become something I'm pretty passionate about.

I've come to really enjoy experimenting and coming up with my own recipes that I think would taste good and it makes me feel so fulfilled when something I throw together turns out better than I expected. Recently, I made this broccoli cheddar potato soup (though it was really chunky so it was more of a chowder than a soup) and it came out so well that I ended up eating all the leftovers myself. Haha.

This very unsuccessful job search has been incredibly frustrating and has definitely taken a pretty hefty toll on my mental health. It's hard not to feel discouraged when it feels like no one wants to give you a chance or take you seriously.

Despite how hopeless I've felt over all this, I'm just trying not to dwell so much on the negative aspects of this situation. It's better to focus on the positives and I wouldn't have taken the time to improve my cooking skills as much as I have in the past few months if I hadn't been laid off. I've had the free time to focus on what truly matters to me and I'm grateful for that.

I applied for a job yesterday, one that involved an assessment that took a bit of time to complete and it only took them A DAY to send me an email saying they weren't going to move forward with my application. I'm so fed up with feeling like I'm never given a fair chance at an interview and even to be hired. I've been set up for disappointment so much over the past few months that I'm starting to feel like I'm better off looking into paving my own way, using my passions as a way to earn a living. I've always felt I was wasting my time working at jobs that never let me show off my real skills so maybe it's time I take advantage of this unemployment struggle and turn it around.

I know this was a fairly long post and if you actually read this, I appreciate it. I wanted to get my feelings off my chest and this also felt like the best way to offer myself some self affirmation towards my desire to turn my passions into profit.

[amisbro]

Let's Discuss: Broccoli's new app

So if you haven't heard then allow me to give you the skinny

This is an article that was posted a few days ago and it was about a "Game App" that Broccoli was working on...yes you heard that part right because this one ISN'T under the control (to the best we know) of KLab whom currently still runs the JP server for Shining Live. Now what is fascinating about this is we have only the one screenshot in the post (which is also on Broccoli's Press Release) with STARISH standing on a stage. I THINK (and I could be wrong) but I think these costumes come out of "Maji Love 2000%" which is INTERESTING if you know anything about "Start Dates" for the Anime seasons See the Date for "Maji Love 2000%" was April 8th of 2013 and this image was posted on April 14th of 2023...yes friends this is literally around the 10th Anniversary of that season! I find it fascinating that they are actively doing a callback to that season in their own way but then again when you also think about the fact that they are also going to be incorporation "Raging Entertainment" now its gonna be a lot of fun! Yes kids...HEAVENS makes their official game debut! Now we have to ask some questions 1. Visual Novel or Rhythm game? If you ask me I think this will be another Rhythm Game BUT I think they will take the approach that Happy Elements does when it comes to EnStars in that they are going to do long chapters with segments voice acted per usual. I also think however that the story will actually lead to something (The UtaPri Awards Showdown. SSS ,or maybe a new contest) so that the game doesn't feel "Aimless" which was a big criticism of mine 2. How would songs unlock? If this is a Rhythm game I think we are going to see more of the Happy Elements approach in that songs will be unlocked after events and that there maybe be other ways too (like the equivalent of a "Live Fes" from EnStars). so there is that also. 3. If It's not a Rhythm Game at first could we see "Idol Training game"? Oh sure! Like since we have Shining and Raging Entertainment its not out of the possibility to see that happen. Like literally in EnStars (Basic and Music) there is "Yumenosaki Academy" and "Reimei" so if we go the route of a game like "ES Basic"...sign me up! If you notice that I am using the "Happy Elements" approach its because of the fact that they OWN their games so they don't have to ask for permission to get songs from someone. I think that might have been a problem for Shining Live a little bit because KLab never owned the content for it. I imagine having to ask for permission a lot is quite the tab Now the big thing is this When does it release? We just really heard about this a few days ago so I suspect that we'll not hear about it again (at least in terms of a title) in June when the 13th Anniversary happens. At that time (if we do hear about it then) I suspect the name and game format to be explained and (POSSIBLY) the "Sunset" of SL for the JP server. I only say "Possible" because it still has a lot of players but again this is all speculation on my part. If you ask me about Dolce Vita...I still think that game could be announced also but then Broccoli would have to think about this: If you announce Dolce Vita that HAS to be the only game announcement for the year. You CAN announce the name of the new Game App but I wouldn't announce a release date because people might be more interested in Dolce Vita honestly. I also think that if they do announce that this new game is a Rhythm game and people don't get a proper update on Dolce Vita then there is gonna be a problem. We know about the "BackPri" issue and how that didn't go well with people so I could see that being a real PR issue if something isn't said about DV Anywho fam that is all I have for right now but I am curious to what you think about this because I am really hyped no matter WHAT it turns out to be...not gonna lie I'll be happy as hell if we get a new rhythm game but sad if that means getting rid of Shining Live altogether. Take care fam and talk to you again soon

[storiesofsvu]

Her Everything Ch 16

The next day Rafael welcomed you into his apartment warmly, you’d texted saying you were a little behind schedule, not that he minded the bit of extra time. Cat was on the couch happily munching on some cheese and crackers her attention completely taken over by Elena of Avalor.

“So?” You quirked a brow, accepting the cup of coffee from him, “How was it?”

“I..have learnt so much about mythical countries that don’t exist and I have no idea how I’m supposed to keep them all straight.” You let out a hearty laugh, missing the way Rafael’s eyes warmed at the sight of you truly happy for once.

“You’d be surprised how easy it is to figure out, I’m sure it won’t take you long Mr Ivy League.” You teased, “She was good though?”

“Yeah.” He hummed over a sip of coffee, “We played about fifty rounds of Candyland, there was lots of colouring, some dancing along to Elena, and someone seems to have inherited your obsession with tater tots…” He grinned at you over the rim of his coffee and you rolled your eyes.

“Potato counts as a vegetable…and if you air fry those cauliflower or broccoli cheddar ones they’re pretty good. Don’t judge me.”

“I could never.” He offered you a small smile,  “I commend you. It’s been less than a full day and I’m exhausted…four years..doing this full time plus a full time job? I honestly don’t think I could do it alone.”

“Well that’s the thing…I’m thankfully not alone. The squad helps out whenever they can, your Mom’s always more than willing to spend time with her, and…now she has her Dad.” You squeezed his arm softly, “think you could handle her for a full weekend?” He let out a huff of a laugh,

“Might need a few extra pots of coffee, but at least she goes to bed early.”

“I’m sure you could manage it.” You finished off your coffee, “I’ll chat with her, see how she feels about it. If she’s down and you’re free maybe you could take her next weekend? Friday after school to Sunday dinner? I added you to the approved pick up list, I can send a bag of essentials with her to school so she’s got everything she needs.”

“I’d like that.” Rafael warmly smiled, a relief spreading through him knowing that you were comfortable with this, that you were ready to actually do this. “You sure you’re okay with me having her two weekends in a row?

“I’m still on desk duty…remember? I’m literally just doing everyone’s paperwork, I could use the extra free time. Then we can start with alternating weekends? It’s not like Holidays will be a problem, we’re at Lucia’s for all of them anyways.”

“What about compensa—“ He was slightly surprised when you cut him off.

“No. I’m not about to talk legalities with you right now. You’re a lawyer, you have an unfair advantage if mine isn’t present.”

“Carisi?” You laughed, the smile still on your face as you turned back to him.

“You really think I’d let a junior A.D.A who chugs Pepto like water with a custody issue against a senior attorney?” He laughed, thankful for the playfulness still evident in your voice, “I didn’t know if you were coming back, and if you did how you would…behave…over the matter. Once your name was on that birth certificate I called Calhoun.”

“Rita? Really?”

“She’s the best of the best.”

“You’re not wrong.” He smirked. You sighed, glancing over towards the living room where Cata was still heavily entranced with the t.v.

“I don’t want you to think that I lawyered up to try and weasel you out of anything, I just wanted to do what was best for Catalina, it’s what she deserves.”

“I know..” internally you jumped at the sudden feeling of his hand on yours, giving it a reassuring squeeze, “but like you said, this is a conversation for another day.”

“Thanks.” You prayed your cheeks were as hot looking as they felt as you smiled, “I’ll swing by the firm and we can hash it out.”

“Sounds great.” His hand quickly dropped from yours as he turned towards the living room, his voice louder as he called out to your daughter, “Cata, time to go.” She turned with a pout on her lips,

“But ‘Lena..”

“No..” Rafael softly warned, “I’m sure Mami has Disney+, you can finish your episode at home.” You smiled at the way they interacted, and honestly, you were eager to be witness to more of it. Rafael really was stepping up into his role as a father. Still slightly pouting Cat jumped down from the couch, pattering towards the door where her bag was packed and ready to go. You helped her into her coat and shoes (that she insisted on velcro-ing herself).

“Say goodbye to Daddy.” Rafael crouched down so he could give her a proper hug, wrapping his arms tightly around her, kissing her cheek gently. There were small murmurings of goodbye and I love you’s between them before she retreated to you, grasping your hand. “I’ll call you later.” You gave him a soft smile, “Bye Raf.”

“I’ll see you soon.”

*

Not surprinsgly, Catalina was more than enthusiastic about her sleepover at her Dad’s, rattling on the entire way home about how much fun she had. You delved into the idea of spending an entire weekend with him and she was very excited at the concept. Once Rafael had spent his first full weekend with her and managed to make it through unscathed, you took the time to sit down and figure out all the details. Rita really was there more as a technicality, you and Rafael agreed on pretty much everything, there were just certain legalities that even he wasn’t sure of, not having a lot of experience in family law.

The next few months were spent peacefully co-parenting, much to the joy of everyone involved. The three of you always got together with Lucia on Sunday nights for dinner like before, making the Sunday night switch off even easier. There were some not so frequent during the week trade offs when you got swamped with cases, an overnight shift or undercover op that Rafael would end up picking Cata up from school for a day or two during the week. You were thankful she didn’t do too much bouncing around, sticking to a pretty regular schedule. You were also eternally grateful at how well Rafael was doing with her, you couldn’t help but smile at how much he’d grown, not just since returning to New York, but even longer. Back when you’d been together you’d both agreed that you didn’t want kids, you never thought the sassy brash A.D.A you’d been engaged to could ever be as incredible of a father that he turned out to be. You each had your solo days with Catalina, but also made sure to start including more whole family events, you’d meet for dinner out in the city, or have a little movie night at one of your apartments, in an attempt to make things as normal as possible for your daughter.

A few days before Christmas Rafael found himself at the 16th precinct working through a plea with Sonny and a client. Indulging with some small talk with Carisi on his way out, his hand had just hit the elevator button when he heard a shout coming from the entrance to the bullpen.

“Raf!” You jogged through the door, slowing as you approached them. You may have been completely unaware of the nickname used but he didn’t miss it (and honestly…neither did Sonny).

“Yeah?”

“Kat’s out with the flu and—“

“Is she okay?!” He instantly jumped into Dad mode and your face scrunched in confusion before you realized.

“Oh, fuck. Yeah, Catalina’s fine…Tamin’s out with the flu. I’m stuck covering her Christmas Eve shift, can we swap things around? You take Cata for Christmas Eve and I’ll just meet you at your place in the morning for presents like we planned before going to your Mami’s once mass is done? You can still have her Christmas night.”

“Of course! And you can keep her on Christmas, she deserves a Christmas night with her Mom.” You chuckled lightly in response,

“She’s had four years of that. It’s what we agreed upon, and…you can finally suffer through three watches in a row of the Muppets Christmas Carol.” Both Rafael and Sonny laughed at that,

“Okay.” Rafael smiled across at you, “I’m basically off from now ‘til New Years, let me know if I can help.”

“Thanks.” You gave the two of them a quick wave before turning and heading back to your desk as they stepped into the elevator.

“Seems like things are goin’ pretty good then?” Carisi asked, a smirk on his face as he turned toward the older man.

“Despite..everything..we’re making it work.”

“Well, for what it’s worth..and I never thought I’d say this to ya…from what I hear you’re a pretty incredible Dad.”

“Thanks Carisi…” There was only a slight tinge of sarcastic sass laced through Barba’s response as the two men stepped out of the elevator, heading their separate ways through the city.

*

Rafael picked Cata up from your place in the morning on the 24th, giving you plenty of time to relax a bit before you had to head into work. You normally would’ve been bored out of your mind in an empty precinct, instead smiling at the array of photos you got throughout the day. Rafael took Catalina through Central Park, playing with her in the snow, there were a few shots of her making tiny snow angels. A shot of a somewhat derpy snow man they built together, and Cata with a dollop of whip cream on her nose as they stopped for hot chocolate.

Once she was changed into Christmas PJ’s, and a plate of cookies and glass of milk left out for Santa, she curled up against Rafael on the couch for the Rudolph movie. In that moment, the Christmas decorations surrounding his living room, an old childhood favourite on the t.v, and his daughter snuggled up into his side giggling at the reindeer’s antics every so often, he felt like nearly everything had finally fallen into place, that nearly everything was perfect.

If Rafael thought toddlers woke up early on a regular basis, he was not prepared for the barely seven a.m. wake up call as Catalina raced through the room, jumping onto the bed, and successfully him in the process.

“It’s Christmas!!!” Her tiny excited voice rang through the room with a shrill, “Daddy wake up!”

“Oh-Kay..” He chuckled, rolling over as he sat up, snuggling against her deeply as she giggled. “Merry Christmas Cata.”

“Merry Chrismis.” Her teeny voice replied, another giggle echoing through the room as he tickled her sides softly, the laughter getting louder as she collapsed over onto the bed, his tickling fingers moving faster, one grasping at her foot as she flailed. “Daddy!”

“Okay, okay.” He surrendered, ducking to kiss her head gently, “You want some breakfast?”

“Presents!” Thankfully she still had her bear in her arms, struggling to crawl off the bed in her speed to get back to the living room.

“Uh-uh. Cata. You get your stocking from Santa right now that’s it, we’ve got to wait until Mami gets here for the rest.” She huffed, crossing her arms over her chest with a pout and God Rafael knew he was staring at a carbon copy of you in that instant. It was honestly lucky she didn’t push it, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to stand ground otherwise.

“Otay.”

She reached her hand up, linking around his finger as they walked out to the living room, a surprised squeal escaping her lips at the extra decorations Rafael had put up after she went to bed. He flicked the switch to turn on the Christmas lights, smiling at the way her face shone in the glow, silently taking it all in. Catalina bounded into the living room towards the stockings as Rafael turned on the coffee pot, pulling a few things out of the fridge into the oven so there would be food ready when you got there.

“This one?!” He straighted up, looking over into the living room to see his daughter holding the stocking with the C embroidered into it,

“That’s right! Good job sweetheart!” He made his way into the living room as she giggled, tugging the stocking to the couch where she sat herself facing him. Her tiny hands digging into the fabric, gasping and squealing as she pulled a variety of small toys, trinkets and treats out. Rafael snapped a few photos on his phone to document, feeling like his cheek were about to split at just how happy Catalina was, and in turn, how happy he was to witness it.  

About twenty minutes later he was tugging food out of the oven, placing it on hot pads on the counter while pulling down some plates. Catalina was sat at the kitchen table, a mug of warm hot chocolate in front of her, loaded with marshmallows and whipped cream while Elena played on the iPad to keep her occupied. Your knock on the door came earlier than you’d stated, but Rafael had been expecting it, remembering how much you loved Christmas.

“Merry Christmas.” He greeted, pulling open the door.

“Merry Chris— Jesus it looks like Santa’s elves threw up in here, holy shit Rafael, you really went all out.”

“Well…you did say it yourself, Christmas is the only holiday that matters…” Your eyes shot up to his, a sudden softness in them he hadn’t seen in years, you felt your breath catch in your throat, knowing exactly what his words meant.

“Raf…” You could feel the bristling of too much emotion in your eyes, and honestly, you surprised both of you as you nearly launched into a tight hug, your voice muffled into his shoulder, “thank you.”

“You deserve it…both of you do…” your gaze drifted over to Catalina, eyes still trained on the iPad, blissfully unaware of the hot chocolate moustache gracing her face. You snorted at the view, squeezing Rafael’s arm in thanks as you made your way into the apartment.

“Momma!” The movement finally dragged Cata away from Elena, “presents!?” She looked excitedly between the two of you. You laughed, nuzzling against her face, kissing her cheeks, pausing to wipe away the moustache with a napkin.

“In a minute baby. Can we eat first? Momma’s starving!”

“Momma plleeeaaase?” You rolled your eyes, glancing over at Rafael, a grin on your face.

“Can I at least get a coffee first?”

“Yes.” Catalina proudly answered, jumping down from her chair. She not so patiently waited while Rafael poured you a mug, letting you dress it how you’d liked, you swiped a cranberry orange muffin from the tray as you made your way into the living room. You weren’t going to starve just because your child was a overly impatient and dramatic.

Everything was conveniently wrapped in specific wrapping paper, Catalina knowing that the ones in princess paper were for her (though, to be completely honest, 90% of the presents were) not that she was getting spoiled this year, but everything was wrapped individually to make her feel that way. She tore through them faster than you’d expected, a flurry of chattering coming from her as she opened each one, you casually reminding her to say thank you when needed. When she reached the end of it, she surprised you by instead of tearing open the packaging to start playing she tumbled over to the mantle, picking up the other two stockings, bringing them over to the couch where you and Rafael were seated.

“Here Momma.” She handed you one, passing the other one off to Rafael before returning back to her pile of new things, her attention fully on them.

“Raf…” you glanced across at him, “you didn’t have to-“

“Santa must’ve known you’d be here Christmas morning. Didn’t want you to feel left out.” He shot you a friendly wink that you playfully rolled your eyes at.

“Thank you.”

A few moments passed while your eyes moved between the t.v playing the Disney Parks parade and Catalina exploring her new presents (though her attention was on the t.v the second a princess showed up). Then your gaze turned to the tree in the corner and your brow scrunched,

“You get distracted with the other decorations or something?” You asked, nudging Rafael’s leg with your foot.

“Hmm?”

“Your tree’s a little on the bare side.” He glanced up, the pine had a strand of colourful lights, and a trail of silver garland wrapped around it but nothing else.

“I believe it was you who told me the first ornament on the tree needed to be the most important. All things considered…it’s the first Christmas with the three of us, I figured I’d wait.”

“Raf…” he shot you a smile as he leant forward, grabbing a gift in pink wrapping paper from under the tree.

“Catalina, would you like to come open this?”

“Yes!” She nearly shrieked, bounding toward him quickly, tearing the paper from the box, “Elena?!”

“Yes.” Rafael replied, opening the box and pulling the ornament out, “she goes on the tree. And I think you should pick the best spot for her.” He glanced over his shoulder at you as he scooped her up into his arms, standing to walk towards the tree.

Catalina hummed and hawed for a few minutes, babbling half English half toddler speak through the room. You’d moved from the couch to her other side, brushing some loose hair from her face as she picked the perfect place, wrapping the string of the ornament around a tree branch with an assist from you.

“Perfect job baby.” You kissed her cheek softly, smiling at the way she snuggled agaisnt Rafael. You couldn’t help your hand coming up to his shoulder, resting gently a moment before giving it a squeeze, “I’m sure Papi has some more decorations for the tree, would you like to help us finish decorating?”

“Yes!”

The rest of the morning went just like that, Catalina passed between you and Rafael as she picked spots for the rest of the ornaments, successfully bringing the Christmas tree to its full potential. You all munched on some Christmas delicacies and far too many treats, and way too much coffee for the grown ups. Cata passed out in your lap just after noon as a mindless Christmas movie played on the t.v, Rafael moved from the couch to start tidying up as you stayed snuggled with your daughter. And for once, for the first time in a very, very long time, everything felt right, everything felt so domestic you couldn’t help it. The two of you knew deep down it truly was just because it was the Holiday season, and neither of you had had a true family to spend it with in god knows how long, but for now, you’d take it.

A few hours passed and you nudged Catalina awake as it was time to head to Lucia’s for dinner. The family feeling extending into the evening as you indulged in incredible food and delicious wine. Cata showed off as many of her new presents to her Abuelita as she could, babbling on about how great this Christmas was and Lucia warmed at the thought of all three of you spending a very civil holiday together.

This time Catalina passed out in Rafael’s arms, which he warmed at even more than anything else. You reassured him that, as previously stated, she was to spend the night at his place. You gave Lucia a tight hug, kissing your sleeping daughter on the head, giving Rafael’s hand a gentle squeeze of reassurance before you bid them goodnight.

You knew the whole co-parenting thing had potential to be a fucking disaster, but you were more than happy with the way it seemed to be going so far. Sure, you still had your hesitancies every once in a while, but things were looking pretty damn good. You both respected each other’s schedule’s (it helped that you knew how demanding your jobs were), and there was never any fighting when you had to shift things around, everything was always kept equally balanced. To say that things were finally looking up…would be 100% accurate

[roscgcld]

GOJOTWINS!AU || greatest gift

request: I have a request for the twin-sided-with-Geto AU if you're up for it (as angsty or as fluffy as you like)? As a last request, Y/N twin asks Satoru to look after his niece/nephew. A child that looks just like Geto but with his sister's eyes.

note: hmmm....I was more concerned between if I want to make it angsty or make it fluffy, since this idea was definitely interesting for me to explore. However! This definitely gave me some creative juices! The entire ‘jjk men as parents’ trope is honestly so cute >< I wish Gege showed more scenes of Geto with his two ‘daughters’ - domestic!Geto sounds so fucking hot 😣😣 but writing this also makes me want to write something like ‘the adventures of uncle gojo and his niece’

warning: spoilers for anime-only fans! proceed with caution

pronouns: she/her

gojotwins!au masterlist

“You need to finish your veggies, Rei-chan. You know the rules.”

The young girl that sat before Gojo pouts softly, crossing her tiny arms over her chest as she turns her puppy eyes up at the older man. Gojo looks down at the pouting girl, his own oceanic blue eyes were shining behind the darkly tinted sunglasses as the young girl - Rei, as she was named - tried to use her puppy eyes to get out form eating all the ‘tiny trees’ that sat on her bear themed child plate. 

From the outside you would assume that Gojo was probably just babysitting the toddler; the man is wearing an odd uniform in Japanese norms, but it is still certain that he is in school. And from the looks of things, he is definitely a young adult - no older than a college student, despite how good looking he was. And they were right to some extend; the young girl, besides the eyes, does not look like Gojo Satoru at all. 

But Gojo and Rei definitely shared a unique relationship than your average ‘babysitter and child’ one. “Come on, bunny - you gotta eat all the greens if you wanna grow big and strong like your daddy.”

At the mention of her father, Rei perked up immediately; yet immediately deflated at the sight of the broccoli that was held out to her by Gojo once more. Rei lets out a soft whine and a huff, yet she reluctantly leaned forward before she ate the broccoli; making a face at the taste of it on her tongue. “Not a fan, huh?”

“The tiny tree taste bad..,” Rei mumbles quietly as she finishes chewing her mouthful of broccoli, pulling another face that has Gojo chuckling quietly as he grabbed a napkin from the napkin dispenser to clean Rei’s chubby cheeks. “I know they do, bunny. But you gotta eat them to make sure you grow strong, right? You wanna be a sorcerer like me one day, don’t you?”

Geto Rei was not your average child; born with Gojo blood flowing through her veins, she is the ‘love child’ of Gojo Y/N and Geto Suguru; Gojo Satoru’s twin sister and her boyfriend. When Geto first went ‘rogue’ and kill the village he was sent to, Y/N had found out that she was pregnant with his child. She was sure it was his, since Y/N and him have been dating for about a year up to this point. There was no denying who the father was. And that terrified her; she was worried that the elders will do something bad to the child that was growing inside of her. 

Even if she is one of the strongest sorcerers of the century, she is still a woman first - and women who are to have kids outside of marriage, and with someone who isn’t approved by the elders of the clan, are just asking for trouble. And whilst she was sure she can take on whatever the elders will put her through, the thought of her unborn child having to deal with the leftover anger from her parents’ actions, to be brought up in a world where others would shun the little bean, was too much to bear. 

So, even with Gojo’s pleas for her to stay, Y/N had packed up and left without a trace for others to find her. Yet Gojo was certain she had upped and left so she can spend her ‘future’ with her boyfriend, even if she knows that their love story will only end in tragedy. So you couldn’t believe Gojo’s shock when he opened the door of his apartment one random night, having been roused from his slumber in the early mornings; only to find a baby sleeping peacefully in blankets placed at his doorstep. 

Pinned to the front of the baby’s blanket was a simple letter addressed to him, and immediately Gojo knew what the content of it was. There was no denying who the young baby, who Gojo found out was a baby girl, was either. Because in the morning, when the little youngster finally opened her eyes, were a pair of his very own Six Eyes staring up at him curiously as a thick and fluffy head of black hair surrounding her.

“Dear God...wait until ma and pa find out about this...”

That is how Gojo found himself today; third year college student quietly coaxing the young toddler to eat her veggies as they waited at a café for another two kids he had ‘adopted’ to get off from preschool. He was honestly questioning everything he is doing with his life right now. “Since you’ve been a good girl...maybe later, when ‘Gumi-nee and ‘Miki-nii come over, we order some ice cream~”

Just the mention of the frozen treat had the little girl perking up in excitement, causing Gojo to laugh as he gently rests a hand on her head; already being able to sense the waves of excitement that is coming from Rei. “But in exchange, you have to finish your veggies,” Gojo continues as he gestures towards the child plate before Rei; which held a few pieces of veggies from the small salad that came with her meal.

So that was how the Fushiguros found the two in the café, having grabbed some lunch whilst they waited for the two to get off from school. Rei, who looked over when the café doors were pushed open, perked up at the sight of the familiar duo walking towards them. Gojo just grinned and picked her out of her babychair before he sets her down on the ground, watching in amusement as Rei ran towards Megumi and Tsumiki on her chubby little feet.

Megumi, who was her target today, paused before he bends down to catch her as she stumbled into him; scowling over at the smirking Gojo who was still seated at the table. “Don’t worry Megumi-kun. I was 100% sure that you were going to catch her~,” Gojo called back teasingly, his grin only widening at Megumi’s annoyance as the young shikigami user made his way towards the table where Gojo was seated at once more. “Turn that frown upside down, Megumi-kun - try to be like Tsumiki-chan more, she’s super cute.”

Megumi just rolled his eyes as he settles down in a free seat, letting Rei cuddle up into the younger male whilst Tsumiki giggles at Gojo; who had reached over to playfully tug at her cheek. Soon though Gojo gestures for the two kids to order what they want for lunch before they go home; a habit of theirs now since Gojo cannot for the life of him cook. 

The one time he tried cooking...well...lets just say the kids have since begged for him to never attempt cooking ever again. 

Hence why, after a brief lunch and a brief visit to the grocery store, the four of them made their way back towards Gojo’s home. He had long since moved out from the apartment that he rented in the beginning, understanding how important it is for Megumi and Tsumiki to have their own private spaces to retire to after a long they. Because after all that they’ve been through and are going to be going through in the future as people touched by the jujutsu world, they are still growing kids first. So Gojo had invested in a nice home close that is close to the college, yet not too far away from the city where the kids might feel cut off from their friends on the outside. 

“Alright, time to get you into the shower,” Gojo grins at a giggling Rei, who he had set in her baby seat as he puts away the groceries; Tsumiki had offered to make some katsudon for everyone for dinner tonight. Hence the brief stop at the grocery store. Since it was still little early into the afternoon, the two Fushiguro children retired in their rooms to unwind and catch up with homework before preparing for diner. So for now, Gojo and Rei were alone once more. “Gotta make sure you’re cleaned up before your nap~”

Rei just giggles and smiles over at the older man, reaching her arms up so the man can carefully picked her up as he made his way towards his bedroom. It was a normal routine for him to give Rei a shower after coming home from the outside, worried that she was going to be carrying dirt and germs into her bed before she is laid down for her nap. So Gojo carefully filled the baby tub he set out inside his shower stall before he carefully filled it with warm water and bubbles; making sure the water was warm enough before he carefully strips Rei and sets her in the warm bath. 

Many people have questioned him before as to why he was taking care of her like she was his own child. Even though she is her niece, her parents are Curse Users; they defected from the jujutsu world in order to live in a life of crime. Or more so Y/N leaving behind her family and friends for something as feeble as her ‘love’ for Geto Suguru. Many people call her delusional, stupid, naïve - no one can picture just what was it that made her choose between the life on the run with Geto, for the luxurious life that the Gojo estate has, and still would, provide to her. Even after Rei was born.

However, to Gojo, he just knew she saw it differently. 

If there was one person who he can rely on completely, without having to fear of judgement, it was definitely Y/N. She was his twin sister, someone who ‘cursed’ with the same power as he was, and knows all the struggles and stress that comes with being ‘the strongest’. When she had found out she was pregnant, she was terrified - running into his room in the middle of the night with the positive pregnancy test in hand. She was scared shitless with the entire idea that she was going to be a teen mum alone.

And no matter how much Gojo had tried to reassure her that if Geto was here, he would be ecstatic with the idea that he was going to be a father, Y/N was inconsolable. She was terrified at the idea that not only would the baby will not have a father, they might even have to suffer through the stigma of having a parent that was a murderer in their world. Y/N was also going through it as well; it was clear as day that Geto was the last thing that was truly keeping Y/N sane. Although Gojo and her had a special bond, it was like Geto was that extra support that made sure both of the Gojo siblings were still staying strong. 

Maybe it was the stress of the idea that she was going to be called out by the elders of the clan, or her parents might be disappointed in her, or maybe the idea that she was going to be a teen parent itself officially cracked her. Gojo, to this day, isn’t 100% sure as to why Y/N chose to do what she did; chose to stay with Geto even though she knows that it will bring more stigma onto her daughter after she was born. 

At one point even Gojo had admitted to himself that she was naïve and selfish for choosing what she did instead of facing the brief music that will come from the adults in her life.

But as he playfully makes animal noises at a giggling Rei, Gojo hopes that Y/N rest easy knowing how many people loves Rei. How Shoko, Mei Mei, and even Utahime had essentially dubbed themselves as Rei’s godmothers and spoil her even more than he does; and that is saying a lot. Sure, the elders were not as welcoming to Rei, even more so because she was not carry the Gojo name on top of the fact that her parents were not married when they had her, were definitely not helping her case.

However, Rei was special. She was born her with her mother and uncle’s Six Eyes; and it was because of this that the elders have yet to officially cut Rei off from her surviving biological family. 

Whilst he was thinking back about everything, Gojo’s body went on autopilot as he bathe, dried, and dressed Rei like usual. He kept her occupied to the best of his abilities, but from the trip they had earlier today plus the grocery store trip, Rei was already nodding off when Gojo was blow drying her soft black hair. This caused him to smile as he carefully gathered the little girl in his arms, letting her curl up against his chest as he made his way towards his messy study desk. 

Even if he is a sorcerer and taking care of 3 young kids, he still needs to do mundane things like homework before he can fully graduate from Jujutsu Tech. And as much as he wants to just cuddle Rei and sleep as well - he’s been putting off this essay for about 3 days now. And its due date is tomorrow; so he has to get cracking on this essay if he wants to be eligible for the final exam this year.

“I wish I can live as carefree as you do, Rei-chan,” Gojo mumbles quietly to the young girl in his arms, glancing down at her sleeping features as she rests her ear above his heart. It was quite jarring honestly, since the little girl looked like one of his best friends, Geto Suguru. A man who he sometimes wish late into the night that he had made a better effort into reaching out to when they are at their lowest.

Gojo knew that the death of Riko had effected all of them in their own ways; and although Gojo had asked Geto a few times if he was alright, he just wished he tried harder. Maybe if he wasn’t so full of himself, that he tried to spot more of the chances in Geto’s behaviour - just maybe, he might still be here right now. He would be the one who witnessed Rei saying her first words (it was ‘dog’ because of Megumi’s Divine Dogs that he lets out at home), to her standing up on her own for the first time, to her first steps. 

Gojo felt guilty for being the one to witness all of her firsts when her parents should be the one to do that.

“I hope you know just how much your parents love you, bunny,” Gojo mumbles quietly to the sleeping toddler in his arms as he cuddles her closer, his somber eyes watching her tiny back as it rose and fell with each one of her deep breaths. “I know you don’t really understand things now, but I hope you do not grow up resenting your parents for giving you away before you even have a chance to know them. Your mother is a brave woman; she knew what she had to do in order to ensure that you’d get to live a fair and comfortable life.”

Only silence greeted Gojo after his soft admission, yet all that did was make Gojo let out a brief chuckle through his nose. “She may call me a dumbass, but she trusted me enough to know that there was no way I am going to let you fend for yourself in this cruel world,” He hums as he reaches up to stroke her chubby cheek ever so slightly, a soft and fond smile tugging against the corner of his lips at how Rei just cuddled closer to him in her sleep. 

“Because at the end of the day, you’re the greatest gift that has ever been gifted to all of us.”

© roscgcld — all rights reserved to me, rose, the author and creator of these works. do not repost/translate/claim my work as yours on any platform.

[songbirdstyles]

when i’m sixty four.

summary: a year in the life with professor harry, post graduation - part 1. (sequel to when i kissed the teacher & good vibrations)

pairing: professor!harry styles x reader

warnings: fluff, angst, smut

word count: 10.6k

song inspo.: when i’m sixty four - the beatles

“Are y’sure your parents don’t mind you coming here?”

You roll your eyes, unwinding your arms from around Harry’s bicep as you lean back against the wall, watching him pause his fiddling with the key to glance up at you. It’s such an innocent question and yet not, at all, if the rather mischievous glint in his eyes tells you anything at all.

“Doesn’t really matter.” You drop your head back against the wall, the smile that had been tugging at your lips for the entire evening seeming glued to your face. His smile is wide and disbelieving, as if he’d never thought you’d get here. Graduated, finally, after nearly a year and a half of sneaking around and secret rendezvous and feeling burning stares into the side of your face while you ate dinner in the cafeteria. It was over. “My mum, maybe. I don’t think she was having the time of her life at dinner - did you?”

Harry’s chuckle is soft as he finally pushes the door of his apartment open. Your hand drops down to grab his, intertwining your fingers as you pull him inside his darkened home, hand dragging up and down the wall beside the door to find the light switch - got it. 

The door shuts and he locks it, turning around to face you, and you don’t spare another second - just take a step forward, wrapping your arms around his waist and pressing yourself as close to him as you could get. The entire evening, during dinner with your parents and Anne, you’d been finding excuses to touch him, to hold his hand or brush a stray curl out of his face, just to relish in the fact that there was no reason to hide anymore. That, even in a crowded Italian restaurant where you could easily recognize five of your classmates and their families dining post-graduation, it didn’t matter if you and Harry were affectionate.

And you’re not sure if he knows that’s the reason - never complained about how touchy you were, though you weren’t sure why he would. His arms wrap around your neck, pulling your head into his chest, fingers combing through the ends of your hair. Harry’s voice is soft when he speaks, cheek against your head, “Y’know, she seemed fine up until y’kissed me while we were waiting for our table.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, face burning, and as if he can sense your slight embarrassment, he’s speaking again - “S’not like I didn’t like it. Appreciated not being the clingy one, for a change.”

“Would you call it being clingy or being in love?” Your voice has a teasing lilt to the edge of every word, and you lift your head up to look up at him. Harry’s eyes hold a softly emotional glow, something you can’t quite decipher, and you’re sure yours have a similar glint. In lieu of responding he merely ducks his head down, pressing a soft kiss to your lips, and you sigh into it, “I just like not having to hide, y’know? Less than five minutes away from campus, and it didn’t even matter if people saw me kiss you.”

He hums contentedly. “Not sure we’re quite out of the dark yet, though. Should give it some more time before being too open with it all.”

“So I guess that means we can’t go shag in the middle of campus, then?”

Harry grins, taking a step back and bracing his hands on your shoulders. You squint up on him, trying to resist the smile begging to burn onto your face but - naturally - you fail. “Yeah, maybe a few more weeks for that, baby.” It’s then that he finally leans down to press another soft kiss to the tip of your nose before turning and heading off into the kitchen, dress shoes oddly loud on the hardwood, and you take the brief moment you have by yourself in the foyer to kick off your heels. “Got somethin’ special for you,” his voice calls from the kitchen, and you turn to glance at where he’s already walking out, one hand behind his back. “Little - little graduation gift, I guess.”

You scrunch your nose as Harry hooks his ankle around one of the chairs surrounding the kitchen table, pulling it out and plopping into it. You take a few steps closer to him and jump onto the table, shifting so he’s sitting between your legs. “You didn’t have to get me anything, professor. Would’ve been fine with just a celebratory fuck, y’know?”

He rolls his eyes at that, leaning in to press a kiss to the top of your knee. “You can have that, too,” he says, and you grin down at him. “But it is a big deal, you know?” But you’re barely listening as he removes his hand from behind his back, resting the small black box he’d been clutching on top of your thigh. You reach down and pick it up, testing the weight of whatever’s inside of it, though you reckon you already know.

And you’re right, as you slowly open the box and look at what’s inside. It’s a ring - the most beautiful ring you’d ever seen with your own two eyes - and you can feel a lump rising in your throat as you bring it closer to your eyes to examine the small diamond.

Harry’s hand rubs soft circles into your bare thigh, eyes on you as you reach to take the ring from the box, sliding it on your ring finger and examining how it looks on your skin. You can tell he’s nervous - nervous of what you think, but it’s entirely unwarranted. Tears burn the back of your eyes and you exhale softly, pressing your palms to his cheeks and finally meeting his gaze.

“Do you like it?” his voice is hardly more than a breath yet in the unadulterated silence of the apartment it’s just loud enough. 

You smooth your hands back into his hair, fingers running through his curls, and you still feel just on the verge of tears but you swallow the lump in the back of your throat. “I love it,” you tell him, quiet and thick with emotion, and you can see the relief in his eyes, as if he’d ever thought you could dislike such a gift. “I love it so much. And I love you so much.”

At that, he pushes himself out of his chair, hands braced on your thighs as your lips slot together. His hands are slowly pushing up your bare thighs until his fingers have ducked ever so slightly beneath the fabric of the dress he’d helped you pick out, and you shiver at the feeling. “S’a promise ring,” he mumbles into the kiss, teeth clamping gently down on your bottom lip before he pulls away, forehead against yours. “Promise to love you forever an’ ever.”

You smile at that - forever and ever. As he leans in to press a kiss, soft as a butterfly, to the tip of your nose, you certainly think you’d be more than happy to have this forever and ever.

There’s another brief moment where your lips reconnect, his hands moving from your thighs up to your hips. Your legs wrap around his body, forcing him closer to you, and you can hear him chuckle into your mouth. Then he pulls away again, fingers drumming into your waist, and that same mischievous glint is back in his eyes from earlier. “Now,” he begins, as your fingernails dig gently into his scalp, just like you know he loves, “what were you saying about a celebratory fuck?”

 —

 There’s something about eating Chinese takeout on the floor that makes your lo mein taste that much better.

It’s not as though you and Harry can’t eat at the table, because it’s sitting hardly five feet from you and you’re perfectly capable of standing and plopping down in one of the kitchen chairs. But instead you and Harry had opted for the floor, sitting cross legged across from each other and picking at each other’s food occasionally.

It just feels more intimate. And you’d spent the entire weekend moving all of your stuff into Harry’s apartment (which was easier than you’d expected, because the majority of your things had wiggled their way into his home at some point, anyway) so you reckon you deserve to have this small moment of intimacy with the man you love.. Your name is on the lease and that means it’s not Harry’s apartment, it’s yours, too. You didn’t think such a simple thing could feel more extraordinary, but it just makes your heart race every time you look up at him and catch him struggling to pick up his sushi with his chopsticks. And there’s music playing softly from the kitchen - you think it’s Lovesong by The Cure but it’s just soft enough that you’re not quite sure.

“What’re you thinking about?” Harry’s voice is muffled as he brings the back of his wrist up to his mouth, wiping at the bit of soy sauce that had begun to drip down his chin. You reach beside you for the bag that had been strewn across the floor when you’d taken all of your food out, stretching so you can reach it, and you pull out the pile of napkins from the bottom of it.

You peel a napkin off of the stack and hand it to him, and he gives you an appreciative, sushi-filled grin before bringing it up to wipe at his mouth. You settle back in your spot, picking up your chopsticks and digging them into your noodles before shrugging. “M’not quite sure. Just thinking about everything, I guess.” He doesn’t speak and you know he’s waiting for you to say more, so you continue, “I’m just really happy.”

You can practically hear him smile, and you look up at him just to confirm your suspicion. His cheeks are tinged pink and there’s a soft grin on his face, and when your gaze finally meets his, his eyes are soft and light. “What about, baby?”

“Just being here,” you tell him, catching a piece of broccoli on your chopsticks and bringing it up to your mouth. “And my name is on the lease.”

Harry chuckles at that, resting his sushi on the floor between you two. “That’s what you’re so happy about? Your name on the lease? You’ve practically lived here for two years, y’know.”

“A year and seven months, actually,” you tell him, and you grin as he rolls his eyes. You place your takeout container on the ground, too, reaching out to grab his hand and he doesn’t wait to intertwine your fingers together. “S’just official now. An’ that means you’re never getting rid of me.”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” Harry admits, leaning in to brush a kiss against your nose. There’s a brief moment of softness between the two of you, and he says, “I don’t think there’s anyone else I’d rather eat sushi with on the floor than you.”

You snort, pushing yourself onto your knees and shuffling closer to him - he takes the hint and pushes your food away, letting you clamber into his lap. Arms wrap around your waist, pulling you to him, but instead of melting into his body like usual you keep yourself back so you can still look into his eyes, crinkled with the grin growing on his face.

Your palms press to the side of his face, squishing his cheeks together as you lean forward to press your forehead to his. From the kitchen, the song changes - You Make Me Feel So Young coursing through the air. “Can’t believe the semester starts next week.”

He hums in agreement, “S’gonna be weird, not seeing you on campus. Not as weird as last year, though - big change, not having you in m’class everyday.”

“Wasn’t too fun for me, either,” you tell him, hands sliding back on his face until your fingers are smoothing through his messy curls. “Just make sure you don’t fall in love with another student, alright?”

“Y’know, you said that one last year, too, and it hasn’t gotten funnier since.”

“It’s the only joke I have - cut me some slack, professor.”

With a loud, barking laugh, Harry leans in and presses his mouth to yours. The pair of you are still giggling and the kiss doesn’t go on too long before you’re pulling away, tugging at the messy curls at the back of his neck just to see the way his lips part at the feeling. Even in the goofy state you’re in, you know pulling at his hair never fails to have that reaction and you love it.

Harry rests his hands on the small of your back, briefly, and then slides them down to grope at your ass through the fabric of your joggers. The mood has changed entirely faster than you’d expected and you sigh as his head moves forward to mouth at the column of your neck. “Don’t think we’ve ever shagged on the floor before - have we?”

“Only once, after my birthday, and only ‘cause you were pissed.”

“Oh,” is his response, and he pauses his attack on your neck for just a moment. “Well, it’s our first shag-on-the-floor with your name on the lease, then.”

His hands have dipped beneath the hem of your pants, grabbing at your arse with no barrier, and you drop your head back with a moan. There’s no need for a response as he uses his grip on you as leverage to roll your hips back and forth against his sweatpant-clad cock, and you can hear the soft grunt he emits at the feeling.

There’s also something a bit more intimate about dry humping like this - perhaps because it seemed oddly adolescent, but it was one of Harry’s favourite things to do, even if he’d never admit it. It was the foreplay to just about everything you did, no matter what position, but you knew he liked it the best when you’re on top. When there’s barriers of clothing between you and it’s merely a preview of what’s to come - he loves that.

And if you’d ever needed more proof of how much he loves it, the way his eyes roll back into your head as you press your hips against him is all you need. It’s not entirely unlike the face he makes when he sinks into you for the first time and it makes your stomach flip, pressure shooting straight down to your clit like a bolt of fucking lightning.

“Fuck,” Harry breathes, and you can feel his fingers hook into the elastic hem of your panties, picking them up off your skin before letting it smack back down. You jump at the feeling, pulling his head closer to yours, and just before your lips reconnect Harry pauses the roll of his hips up into yours. “Wait.”

And, with an arm hooked around your waist, he leans forward, and you can hear the crinkling of the paper bag your takeout had been delivered in. Finally you hear him gasp, “Aha!” and then he sits back straight, and you lean back in his lap to glance at what he’d got.

“Are you serious?” You glare down at the two fortune cookies in his hands, both of them cracked in their noisy plastic wrappers. “You stopped to get fortune cookies?”

He nods as if he’s proud of it and you grab the less broken one from him. As the pair of you begin to unwrap your cookies, Harry tuts, “I thought you were the one who said Chinese takeout night isn’t complete without reading our fortunes.”

You suppose he got you there - you did say that, and you still believed it, but considering you’d hardly been able to eat half of your lo mein, you wouldn’t consider it complete anyway. But you bite back your response as a smile tugs at your lips, tossing the wrapper of your cookie aside. Harry’s still struggling to get his open with one hand, arm unmoving from around your waist, and you wait with your broken treat in your palm for him to finally unwrap it.

“On the count of three, right?” Harry asks, and you nod, picking through the remnants of your fortune cookie to finally reach the small piece of paper that held your fortune. He does the same, pointedly squeezing his eyes shut so he doesn’t peek either of your fortunes. “Alright … one … two … three.”

You flip the fortune in your fingers, squinting at the small text. You can feel your heart swelling as you read it, and you look up at Harry with a bright grin. “A lifetime of happiness lies ahead of you. That’s so sweet, Harry - s’like they know me.”

Harry’s staring down at his fortune with an amused smile on his face, and you clear your throat as an indication for him to read it to you. “Mine says there’s no such thing as an ordinary cat.”

“Really?” You crane your neck to read his fortune, giggling slightly as you see that, sure enough, he’s right. “What does that mean?”

“I think it means that Marie’s the superior member of this family,” Harry tells you, and you roll your eyes playfully. He pops his fortune cookie into his mouth (which is starting to look much less broken than yours, oddly) and then glances down at your fortune, still clutched between your fingers. “But yours is good. Can’t believe you got such a bloody sweet fortune, and mine’s about cats.”

You hum softly, and then bring your palm up to your mouth, tossing the broken bits of your cookie into your mouth. You wait until you’ve swallowed to reach down, resting your fortune on the floor beside you, and Harry follows suit - waves his hand against the small slips of paper to send them flying across the floor, landing ten feet from you, and you watch them float back down to the ground before looking back at him. 

“Anything else you need to do?” you question, bringing your hands back up to the back of his head. Fingers curl into his locks and he closes his eyes blissfully with a soft, pleased hum at the sensation. 

He pretends to ponder the question, hands trailing along your waist to the bottom of your shirt (or, you suppose, his shirt) and tugging at the hem. “No - don’t think so,” he mutters as you lean back, sticking your arms up so Harry can peel the shirt off of your body. He tosses it off to the side of you, and out of the corner of your eye you can see the white fabric landing dangerously close to the small container of soy sauce Harry had been enjoying, but then his hands are groping at your bare tits, and you can’t find it in yourself to care. “D’you mean to tell me you haven’t been wearing a bra all day and I just found out about it now?”

It doesn’t seem like he cares too much as he lowers his head to your chest, tongue flicking at your nipple before his mouth closes in around your skin. You drop your head back with a cry, squeezing his hair in lieu of giving your affirmation. Your hips have resumed their rocking against his hard-on and you can feel him stiffening beneath you, moaning around your boob before pulling his mouth away. His lips form a small o as he blows softly on your saliva covered nipple, and he grins as you whimper.

“Would love to -” he pauses, swallowing thickly as you grind your hips against his, clit brushing against his cock and sending a shiver through both of your bodies - “would love t’eat you out ‘till you’re screaming, but I don’t think I’d last.”

You’re not sure you’d last either, and so you nod, dropping your hands to the bottom of his shirt, and you pull it off of him like he’d done to you only moments ago. When you lean back in to slot your lips together he makes a point of pulling your body closer to his, chests pressed together, and he’s hot where you’re cold - palms against your waist and yours dragging up his back.

“Don’t care,” you breathe, hot against his neck, “just need you t’fuck me.”

“First fuck with your name on the lease,” he says again, voice holding a teasing lilt even in the thick of the moment. You smile as you press a kiss to his lips, and for a moment that’s all you do - until Harry shifts, lying you down on the hardwood, body hovering above yours. And when his fingers start pulling at the tie on your joggers, you lift your hips to let him pull your pants down to your ankles. “Kick ‘em off for me, baby,” comes out in a soft breath against your neck, and you comply.

You drop your head back against the floor as you hear him shuffling above you, and you take the second to catch your breath. The apartment still smells distinctly like soy sauce, and you’re entirely too aware of the fact that, when you turn your head, your eyes are directly level with your abandoned takeout container.

It’s only when you feel his fingers hooking in your panties, pulling them to the side instead of down your legs that you pull your eyes back up to him. You’re soaked for him and he knows it, you can tell - but his knuckles still drag through your folds, collecting your wetness on his digits. His mouth opens into a satisfied grin and you have half a mind to roll your eyes at how smug he is, but then he mutters, “Hope it wasn’t your lo mein that got you this wet, baby.”

Just as you open your mouth to reply, Harry sinks into you with one long push. Your breath catches in your throat as you moan out, eyes squeezing shut, and he groans from above you - there’s always the second after he first pushes into you, where he whines out, “Bloody fuck,” and you can’t be bothered to do anything but cry out. Every noise the two of you makes mingles with the music still playing from the kitchen, contrasting the soft melodies of Close To You by the Carpenters, and you really think you’re as close to Harry as you can get, now.

His hand gropes at the soft flesh of your inner thigh, hoisting it up and around his waist, and the stretch makes him hit every sweet spot deep inside of you as he pulls out and thrusts back in just as fast. He’s still above you - too far away, feeling like a million miles, and you reach up to grab at his bicep, tugging him down to you. And he obeys - why wouldn’t he? - dropping down on top of you so your tits are pressed to his chest and his breath is burning against your collarbone.

You’re sweating, body coated in a thin layer of it, and when you bring your lips up to mouth a kiss against his forehead, he’s just as sweaty as you are. Every thrust has your body rocking back into the floor in a way that should be painful but you don’t quite mind, you realize. On the contrary, the way your shoulder rubs against the hardwood feels almost nice, combined with his hard thrusts. His rings - ones you’d got him after realizing how much you loved the first one - are cold against your thigh, grip tight and pressing marks into your skin.

All of the goofiness of the moments before this has evaporated in the blink of an eye. It’s all fast thrusts, quick and hips slamming into each other, sweat dripping in between the valley of your breasts even in the cold air of the apartment. His head is merely an inch above yours, and you lean up to close the distance between you. Harry’s lips are soft and moist, tongue swiping into your mouth, and one of his hands presses to the side of your head, holding you up ever so slightly off the ground until finally he rests your scalp back down against the ground, lips disconnecting as he returns his focus to his penetrating thrusts, hard and deep.

Usually he’s the one murmuring into your ear, telling you how tight you are, how fucking good you feel around him but his head has dropped into your shoulder, lazily groaning and crying out so you figure you’ll take over on that.

“So fucking big,” you whisper, and the words struggle to escape your throat because your vocabulary feels quite limited, especially as his hand snakes between your body and lands on your clit. One rub of your sensitive nub has your hips bucking up into his hand and, in turn, into his cock, still drilling into you, and whatever you’d been meaning to say slips from your mind almost immediately. “Oh - shit, Harry, do that - do that again -”

Lips press to your neck as he complies with what you’d said, fingers pinching gently at your clit and sending a rush of pleasure through your body. Your leg tightens around his waist, a wet moan getting caught in your throat, and you tug at his curls - slightly sweaty, knotted beneath your fingers. There’s another quiet groan against your neck and you could smirk at that but you hardly have the capacity to do anything except keep your leg around his waist and cry out.

“Gonna cum?” His voice is quiet, a hiss against your neck, barely audible against your panting whines. “Can feel you - fuckin’ clenching around m’cock like tha’. Cum for me, baby. Know you’re close - come on, now.”

It’s only a few more slow circles on your clit that releases the pit of pressure in the core of your stomach - eyes squeezing shut as your cunt flutters around him, feeling the euphoria in every single nerve of your body. Your breath rattles in the air around you, orgasm forced onwards by Harry’s soft praise directly in your ear as he lifts his head ever so slightly, pressing a wet kiss to the side of your jaw. Your leg unhooks from around his waist but his hand holds it steady, forcing it to remain around him even if you’re not much help in keeping it there.

He’s still thrusting, hard and heavy, milking every last drop of your orgasm until you’re fucking struggling to breathe, body jerking and seeing stars and galaxies instead of the ceiling above you. When you’re coming back around he’s whispering in your ear, through gritted teeth, “Taking me so fuckin’ good, fuck, gonna fill you up - you’d like that, hmm? Tell me.”

You’re at a loss for words, his fingers unrelenting on your clit, and you can already feel the pressure building again in your tummy. Harry’s hips are slowly, slowly, dropping in pace and you know he’s close - you grasp onto his curls again, tug his head up with what little strength you can muster to look straight into his lust-blown eyes, and breathe, “Want you to fill me up, professor. Please?”

It gets the exact reaction you’d desired - his mouth drops open with a breathy moan and, sooner than you’d expected, you can feel his cock giving its telltale twitch inside of you. You use your grip on his hair to pull his face to yours, smashing your lips together just as you feel him release inside of you. His hand on your clit slides out from between your bodies, palm pressing to the hardwood beneath you as he gives another low groan, warmth filling you up just as he’d promised. Harry’s eyes roll back when you pull away to look at him, gazing at the pure ecstasy on his face with a sort of childlike wonder. You’ve seen him cum more times than you can count but it never seems to stop amazing you - knowing you’re the only one who gets to see him like this.

“Jesus, fuck,” Harry grunts, green orbs rolling back down so he can see you. His face is sweaty and red and your hands in his hair slide down to his cheeks. He tilts his head to the side, pressing a sloppy kiss to the underside of your wrist, and his hand on your thigh slowly guides it down to the floor, relaxing your muscles. “You’re fuckin’ - amazing, baby. And s’not just the orgasm talking, I promise.”

You giggle breathlessly at that, shifting your hips where he’s still buried inside of you. You’d been so close - too close - to cumming for the second time and if you move your hips just right - just so - you know you’ll get there, clit brushing against his lower stomach.

Harry’s eyebrows crease ever so slightly, dropping his head so he can look down where your bodies are still connected. “What’re you doing?”

No point in lying, because he can always see right through you. So you give him a guilty grin and murmur, “M’so close, Harry.”

“Oh,” Harry replies, voice heavy and quiet, and just like that, the moment resumes. He could never let you go even slightly unsatisfied and you know that - not sure why you ever doubted it. He pulls out of you, leaving you whimpering as the sudden emptiness overtakes you, and begins his descent down your body - kisses to every exposed bit of skin he sees, swirling his tongue around your nipples.

Nights like this, lying on the floor of your apartment (yours, too, not just Harry’s) and feeling his tongue flicking on your clit, makes you just that much more positive that your fortune cookie will turn out to be right, after all.

 —

 You and Harry didn’t fight much, and it was one of the things you both prided yourselves on. He was a firm believer in never going to bed angry and you hated raising your voice at him and the two virtues balanced themselves out. You had your fair share of disagreements but they always worked themselves out before either of you could get truly angry or upset with each other.

Well - most times they did, you suppose. You can’t even remember what you and Harry had started bickering about, but it had escalated from something positively miniscule into whatever’s happening now. 

He hasn’t spoken to you for six hours.

And you know that because you’ve been counting.

Some asshole comment you’d made, voice short and snippy as you’d announced to him that you didn’t fucking care if he’s upset, Harry, it doesn’t fucking matter. You’re being dumb. And you’d known as soon as you said it that it was too far, you telling him you didn’t care about his feelings, and he’d merely stared at you for a minute, jaw set, before standing up and walking out of the kitchen. The apologies you called out as he walked away went seemingly unnoticed, as if he hadn’t even heard them.

He’s on the couch now, head down as he types away on his laptop. His curls are messy, unbrushed from the morning, and you know he’d have gone into your shared bedroom to get his hairbrush off of the dresser if you hadn’t been residing on top of the bed for the past few hours. You’d love to walk up behind him now, brush your fingers through his locks until they’re smoother, listen to the way his breathing steadies as you do it.

But no, you won’t. Not yet, at least. You know he’d jerk away from you if you did, roll his eyes and shift to the other end of the couch and you can’t quite deal with that right now. All you want is to go back to the very beginning of the day, when you and Harry had woken up at nearly noon and planned to spend the entire Saturday relaxing with no mention of work related stuff and -

It just hadn’t turned out like that. Within nearly an hour he’d settled onto the couch with his laptop, determined to ignore every single thing you said, and you’d only just left the bedroom to try and fix dinner for the pair of you.

You clear your throat from where you’re leaning against the doorway of the kitchen, and you keep your eyes trained on the back of Harry’s head to see if he’ll react at all to the noise - nope. Doesn’t even tilt his head to acknowledge that he heard it, and, if anything, the furious typing gets even louder as if to drown you out.

“Harry,” you call, taking a step out of the doorway and padding closer to the couch. There’s absolutely no response, and you sigh softly. You hate this, everything about it, the silent treatment. You reckon you’d prefer if he were screaming at you, though you know he’d never do it. At least you’d know he was hearing you. “Um - I made dinner. S’just mac an’ cheese, though.”

His typing slowly stutters to a pause and you swallow thickly, crossing your arms over your chest. There’s a brief spark of hope that lights inside of you - maybe he’ll stand up, at least share a meal with you, and you can tell him how sorry you are, because you know he didn’t believe you before. But instead, he merely nods, a slow jerk of his head, and then mumbles, “Alright.”

Your hope, buried deep in your chest, deflates almost immediately. You can feel a lump rising in the back of your throat and you really don’t want to cry in front of him and you’re not even sure if he would care, but you would. So you merely nod, even though he can’t see it, and murmur, “Oh - alright.” If he notices the way your voice cracks he doesn’t mention it, and you take another moment to stare at the back of his head. Willing him, in some way, to turn around and say something else, or ask to have dinner with you, or do something.

But he doesn’t add anything else - you can just hear him resuming his typing as if you’d never spoken. You’re sure you could maintain some semblance of your dignity if you turned and walked away - scooped your mac and cheese into a bowl and sat to eat it by yourself. But, truthfully, you couldn’t give less of a shit about your dignity when Harry was still furious with you, and your shitty mac and cheese couldn’t taste half as good if you weren’t eating it with him.

So you take another step forward, your socks (or his - you’re not quite sure) muffling your footsteps on the hardwood. Your hands drop to the back of the sofa, on either side of his shoulders, and you can practically feel him stiffening even though you hadn’t even touched him. 

“Harry.” You’re quiet and almost pathetic sounding, but not half as pathetic as you’re feeling. Your eyes drop to his fingers on his keyboard - they’ve paused, drumming ever so softly on the keys, and you take it as a sign to keep going. “I’m really sorry.”

He doesn’t speak for another moment, but just as you’ve opened your mouth to continue, he finally says, “S’fine.”

You could roll your eyes at that, but instead, you walk around the sofa until you’re in front of him. A mug of tea sits on the coffee table directly in front of him and you move it aside, taking its place when it’s out of the way. Harry’s refusing to look in your eyes and it makes you feel silly but you try not to let it deter you. “S’not fine. Don’t know why I said that, really - I care about you more than anything else in the world.”

That, at least, gets a reaction out of him, even if it’s not the kind that you’d wanted. He shuts his laptop and rests it on the couch beside him, and then he leans forward, elbows on his knees, brows creased. “Baby, you picked a fight over the way I made the bed, an’ then you said you didn’t care when I was upset about it.”

You wince at the reminder of exactly what you’d said, dropping your gaze down to your knees. They’re barely covered by the jumper you’re wearing - it’s Harry’s, one that’s just a bit too small for him, and you’d practically claimed it as your own. It doesn’t quite smell like him anymore but you still love to wrap yourself up in it, and so you tug the bottom of the sweater down until it’s fully covering your knees as you mutter, “I know. I’m really sorry, Harry. I know it doesn’t make up for it - I really don’t know why I said that.”

There’s a thick silence in the air as Harry sighs, running a hand through his hair. Then he leans back into the sofa, palms resting on his thighs, and you can feel the familiar lump rising in the back of your throat again. He’s taking too long to talk - and then - “I think you’ve been very on edge lately.”

“On edge?”

He hums in affirmation, and when your gaze meets again he has one eyebrow arched, as if waiting for you to speak again - when you don’t, he sighs again and says, “I don’t know. You’ve just seemed really different - that’s how I’ve been making the bed for almost 2 years an’ you never said anything, not once.”

You open your mouth to reply but quickly shut it - have you been on edge? You’re not quite sure. You’d been feeling a bit ill recently - perhaps it had made you snipper with Harry. But, no matter what the reason, it wasn’t an excuse to be an asshole to him. You’ll worry about that later, after the two of you manage to work through this. Put it behind you.

“Oh,” you breathe, and you’re not quite sure what to say. There’s a weird turmoil happening in the pit of your stomach and you swallow again, lips tightening into a thin line. “M’sorry for that, too. Really.”

“S’alright,” he responds, tone quiet and reassuring, and you still don’t believe him. As if he can sense your apprehension, he reaches out, palm resting on your knee and squeezing slightly. “But if there’s anything going on with you - if something’s wrong - y’can tell me anything, you know.”

I know, you want to say. Want to reassure him that nothing is wrong, that you’ve just been having a bad week, but you’re not so sure, suddenly. You’ve been sick and moody and now that you’re thinking of it, your boobs kind of hurt, too. Have they been hurting the whole week? You can’t remember, but they’re certainly hurting now. Earlier in the week, you’d had a headache, too. 

Fuck. It all seemed to be coming together in the exact way you don’t want it to and yet now your stomach is sinking because what other explanation is there? It doesn’t make sense - you’d never skipped a day on birth control. You have reminders in your phone and Harry has reminders in his phone to ensure this internal freakout you’re having wouldn’t happen until you’re ready.

“Baby?”

And his voice is full of concern, laced with worry all around the edges, and your eyes snap back up to meet his. Harry’s looking at you with an unreadable expression, his brows furrowed, and you merely shake your head. Falsify a grin - no point in telling him your worries. You’ll deal with it tomorrow, maybe. Or next week. “I’m fine. Really, Har, I’m fine. Just been having a difficult week - y’know, at work and whatever.” 

It seems to relax him just a bit, and you rest your hand overtop of his on your knee. There’s a slow smile spreading on his face and you bring your other hand up to his chin, making him look at you the way he always does. And then you say - in a voice far more confident than you’re feeling - “I’m really sorry. I love you a lot, Har. An’ I care about you a lot.”

There’s another pause, and then Harry leans in, pressing one light kiss to the tip of your nose. Your eyes shut and you can’t help but feel oddly overwhelmed by everything happening, even as Harry stands and grabs your palm to pull you up with him. You give him a grin, though, letting him throw his arm around you and pull you close.

“Really, honey, s’okay. We all have our bad days.” His reassurement could make you cry just on its own as he tugs you towards the kitchen, arm around your neck. “Bu’ I think you did say something about mac an’ cheese, and I haven’t eaten for hours.”

So as you enter the kitchen, his focus immediately dropping to the pot of macaroni sitting on the stove, and there’s something so wonderful about watching him go off to grab bowls for the two of you. You won’t mention it now. On Monday, you’ll buy the test from the store. Give yourself the weekend to calm yourself down about it. If it’s negative, there’s no harm done - and if it’s positive -

You’ll cross that bridge when you get there.

 —

 When Monday rolls around, you have not at all calmed down about the situation. If anything, it’s worse and it’s been fucking up your whole day - you hadn’t been able to look at your toast this morning without feeling nauseous, so you’d gone without breakfast, and you’d also zoned out at work while your boss was talking to you imagining what, exactly, you would do if the stupid pregnancy test came back positive.

It wasn’t as though it’s a secret that Harry wants children. He’d never bothered too much to make it anything less than painfully obvious, playing peek-a-boo with babies in strollers when you took walks at the park and dragging you into the baby aisle at the store to show you how small the clothes were. You’d never spoken about it directly but you know he wants them, and you do too - you’d just suspected you would have a bit more time before that part of your life comes. At least a year or two of living together, learning how to have a relationship with each other that isn’t confined to stolen moments in his office and his apartment, You’d barely been at your job for a month, and soon you’re going to be having to take maternity leave?

If you’re pregnant. If and only if.

You squeeze your eyes shut. The pregnancy test is shaking in your hand as you glare down at it, as if willing it to somehow give you your results faster than the general five minute wait time. Your timer, sitting on the bathroom counter beside you, shows you that there’s still 3 minutes and 48 seconds until you’ll be able to tell, but you can’t tear your gaze from the stick.

It’s been a much more hassling process than you’d expected, and you wish someone could’ve told you that beforehand. You weren’t sure which test to pick when you’d stopped at the grocery store on the way home, because there were so many brands and surely they all did the same exact thing, but you still felt like you chose the wrong one. And you’re a grown woman, of course, but it was still distinctly uncomfortable to look the cashier in the eye as he scanned the test, his gaze seeming to mock you when you finally looked at him to murmur have a nice day. The brand you’d chosen had ended up being Clear Blue, for no other reason than you’d liked the name, and the box sits beside you. The edges are worn and soft from where you’d been plucking at the white cardboard in the car and when you were squinting at the instructions, which told you - more or less - just piss on it, idiot.

Which is - well, exactly what you’d done.

And now you’re here. Your knees are tight to your chest and you’re clutching the stupid pregnancy test for dear life, and there are tears burning the back of your eyes. You wish, more than anything, that you had fucking told Harry so he could be here with you right now. Arms wrapped around you, chin on your shoulder, telling you s’gonna be okay, baby, no matter what the test says. 

The timer ticks down to a measly 2 minutes before you’re supposed to see your results, and if you squint, you’re fairly positive you can see the lines, ever so faint, coming in - no. You stand up, dropping the stupid stick onto the bathroom counter, and it clatters into the sink. There almost seems to be a weight lifted off of your shoulders when the test disappears from view but it doesn’t last too long - just because you can’t see it doesn’t mean it’s not real. When you tilt your head just so, you can see it, resting on top of the drain, face down.

There’s a minute left, now. The seconds are passing faster than you want them to and you reach into the sink, grabbing the test and resting it back on the counter. Face down, of course - makes you too nervous to look at it.

You lean back against the wall, gazing up at the ceiling above you. Working on steadying your breathing is easier said than done but you try it, anyway. No matter what happens, you’ll always have Harry. And you both have good jobs - his better than yours, fresh out of college - and there is a spare bedroom that you could revamp into a nursery, and age it up as your baby grows. And Harry would be the greatest dad, you’re sure of it. You’re not quite as confident in your abilities to be a mother, but you know he’ll be the best. Thinking of the future, oddly, makes you feel significantly better than focusing on the present. You and Harry have just been able to come clean with your relationship and your mother still doesn’t like any of this and you’re not quite ready to see the look in her eyes when you tell her that he’s knocked you up. But - who knows? - maybe a year or two in the future, she’ll come around. Or even sooner. She’s always wanted to be a grandmother, anyway.

Only if you’re pregnant.

The timer dings and you turn your gaze back down to the test. The results face the bathroom counter and you reach out, stopping the dinging of your phone, leaving you in a brutal silence that fills the room and it’s nearly overwhelming.

Waiting won’t change the result, you tell yourself, so you grab the test and flip it around, staring down at the small screen embedded in the stick.

Oh.

It’s exactly what you’d expected, the two small lines, and yet there’d still been a part of you that hoped there’d only be one. That you’d be able to dump it in the garbage with a dry laugh, roll your eyes at the amount of worry you’d set yourself up for and never think about it again. Double down on your efforts with birth control - you still can’t remember the time that you’d missed a day but you must have, or you’d just fallen into the unlucky percentage that had it not work.

It doesn’t matter, though. Doesn’t matter if you’d skipped a day or merely just had a bout of bad luck. You are pregnant, and you’re not sure the reality of it has quite set in yet because you’re not sure how you’re feeling. If you’re scared or sad or happy or - or anything. Just feel slightly numb. You suppose it’ll set in later - everything you’re supposed to be feeling - perhaps when you tell Harry.

You squeeze your eyes shut, grip tightening on the pregnancy test. Telling Harry is something you hadn’t even started to think about yet but you suppose you’d better get a move on, because you’ve already felt horribly guilty hiding your suspicions from him for barely a day and a half. You don’t reckon you’ll make much more than an hour once you see him, holding onto a secret like this. It’s best to get it done as fast as you can -

So you pick up your phone, horribly aware of your hand shaking slightly, and tap into your texts with him. You’d last texted when you’d got out of work - he’d told you he was going to get home later because he was grading, and you suppose he’s still there now. If you know anything at all about Harry it’s that he won’t stop until he’s graded everything, and you also know that he’s just assigned the 1984 essays (which holds quite a special place in your heart) so your fingers fly across the keyboard, typing a message and sending it just as fast.

Y/N: can i meet u at ur office? maybe we can go to dinner or something?

You aren’t expecting too quick of a response but within just a few seconds the typing bubble pops up, and soon after that his reply rolls through.

Harry S.: Yes!!!!!!!!

Even in spite of everything that’s happened in the last five minutes his enthusiasm makes you grin, so you shove the pregnancy test in the pocket of Harry’s jacket that you’d thrown on the second you’d got home. It’s big and plaid and smells like him mixed with a hint of your perfume from how much you like to steal it from him, but you can’t help it - not that he’d ever complain. Loves seeing you in his clothes, you know, so you figure, maybe, donning his jacket while you tell him absolutely life changing news will soften the blow, just a bit.

At least, that’s what you tell yourself as you slide into your shoes, slipping your phone into the pocket of your jeans. As if anything could make this shit less drastic. But it soothes you, just a bit, as you grab your keys and leave the apartment, locking the door behind you and heading off down the hall.

 —

 From the moment you’d walked into Harry’s office, you’d felt a sense of dread, weighing you down with every step.

It had started the second you stepped foot outside of your apartment, feeling the late afternoon sun beating down on you. It was nearing the end of September, still with a dull chill, and you’d tugged Harry’s jacket closer to your body. Buried your nose in the fabric and sniffed, smelling his shampoo and his cologne that you’d gotten to know so well. It was fucking overwhelming, nearly leaving you lightheaded, and that was when you first felt it. Like a cloud, raining on top of you, where every other person on the street was surrounded by the sunshine.

And it had worsened the second you stepped into Harry’s office, catching the way his eyes lit up when he saw you. How he pushed himself up, making his way around his desk to wrap you in a hug. How he presses a kiss to the tip of your nose - if he notices the way you wince, ever so slightly, away from his touch, he doesn’t mention it. Because you had just made up after the fight on Saturday, and yesterday had been fairly awkward, too. Harry had chalked it up to you still feeling bad about what you’d said to him and, of course, you still do feel bad about it, so you let him coddle you, assuring you up and down that he wasn’t still mad. That it was fine. Hearing his reassurance, even if it was misguided, was easier than telling him the truth.

Harry had still seemed blissfully oblivious as the two of you left his office, headed outside where the slightly warm sun had dulled into a slight chill. It’s nothing you hadn’t expected - hence the jacket, pulled tight to your body - but when he reaches down, zipping his plaid jacket all the way up to your neck with a playful can’t have you getting sick on me, baby, it does overwhelm you. It’s just such a soft gesture, shows how much he loves you, and imagining him as a father is so easy and so beautiful and your head spins at the thought of it. 

Now, though - he seems to be understanding there’s something wrong. The entire five minute car ride has been silent, save for Elvis Presley crooning how he can’t help falling in love at a dull, low volume. And the two of you are normally so talkative, him ranting to you about the terrible essays he’d read and you telling him about some asshole thing your coworker had done. Car rides are the places for easy conversations but there’s nothing easy about the forced small talk Harry is making and you can hear his concern growing with every soft, short response you give him.

It’s not your fault, you want to tell him. But you’re too scared you’ll burst into tears if you open your mouth for too long so you bite your tongue, rest your head against the cool window and glance at the shops he’s driving past.

“You know,” Harry says, voice strained and desperate and you turn slightly so you can see him from the corner of your eye. He’s staring at the road with a crease in his eyebrows and a frown tugging his lips down and you swallow at the sight, turning back to the window. It’s easier not to look at him, for now. “Think I’ve finally graded a 1984 essay worse than yours.”

You exhale dryly, breath fogging up the window ever so slightly. Swallowing softly, putting the lump in the back of your throat at bay, you murmur, “Hard to imagine,” and leave it at that. It’s the same sort of half assed response you’d been giving him the entire car ride and you hate it. Because - if this were any other time - you’d joke about it with him, laugh remembering how terribly you’d analyzed the easy book.

It’s difficult to bring yourself to do that now. Can’t quite get more than a few meek words in edgewise.

There’s a small pause, and then Harry chuckles, tells you, “Got a 66,” in a voice barely above a whisper. “And, before you ask, won’t fall in love with him. S’a promise.”

It’s a weak attempt to get you to laugh so you do - give him a soft giggle and you can sense the way it relieves him. Harry’s hand rests on the center console, fingertips drumming on the surface, and at any other time you’d reach out, grab his hand, squeeze your reassurance.

You’ve never felt heavier in your life. You’re not sure you could even make it into the Mexican restaurant you and Harry love, where you’d begged him to go, hardly five minutes from campus. It seemed the best spot for such a conversation but now, as Harry pulls into a parking spot just in front of the restaurant, the thought of going inside makes you feel fucking sick.

So you don’t make any move to unbuckle your seatbelt and neither does Harry, and there’s a moment where you both just sit in silence. Elvis switches to Can’t Smile Without You, playing so softly you can hardly hear it, but it’s the only distraction from the awkwardness settled into every nook and cranny in the car.

“Baby,” Harry begins, and you worry your bottom lip at his tone of voice. His knuckles are white, gripping onto the steering wheel, and you’re not sure what he’s thinking of, exactly, but it can’t be good. “Can you look at me?”

No, you want to say. You don’t, actually, think you can. So you shake your head, dropping your gaze down to your lap. Fingernails scratch at your jeans, swallowing the lump buried in the back of your throat, and then you sniffle, ever so slightly.

But Harry can pick up on your I’m-about-to-cry signals from miles away, and immediately he’s shifting in his seat, reaching over to you. Two fingers rest underneath your chin, tugging your face up ever so slightly to look at him, and seeing the anxiety burning in his eyes makes you feel ten times worse.

It’s now or never, you think. No amount of reassuring him that you’re fine, just had a long day, will make him drop this so you shove your hand into the pocket of his plaid jacket, fingers feeling the stick in the fabric. 

“I have to tell you something,” you tell him, voice hardly louder than a whisper. You turn the pregnancy test over in your fingers a few times before grasping it fully in your clammy palm. It would be so easy to pull it out, drop it in his lap, but you don’t want to do that - want to tell him with your words. Control how, exactly, the message comes across.

“Okay,” Harry murmurs, fingers dropping from beneath your chin. 

His hand lands back on the center console and your gaze lowers to your lap, fingernails drumming against your thigh, and there’s another thick bout of silence. Just for a brief second, besides Barry Manilow’s singing, and, finally, you say, “So - I don’t really know how to say this.”

If you were in a different state of mind you’d have immediately known what conclusions he’d drawn up in the back of his mind, hand retracting from the console and dropping into his lap. His head drops back against the headrest, gazing up at the ceiling. Harry’s breathing is soft yet ragged and you take it as the slight encouragement you’d needed to continue, so you do.

“Jus’ - don’t say anything until I’m done, alright?” You wait to see his head jerk up and down quickly, his eyes distinctly glassy in the reflecting light as the sun goes down, before continuing. “On Saturday, I - uh - I started to get really nervous, about everything that’s been happening in the past week.” You don’t think you’ve ever felt so overwhelmed in your life than right now but there’s no going back. So you take one final deep breath, pull your hand out of your pocket, test clutched in your hand. “So today, after work - I took a pregnancy test.”

It takes a few seconds for the effect of your words to hit Harry, so you pause and watch for when it does. How he lifts his head ever so slightly, turning to glance at you. His eyes are burning with confusion, brows furrowed, lips parted. There’s anxiety coursing through your veins, sending heat burning up your cheeks and bringing a fresh layer of tears to the forefront of your eyes as Barry Manilow changes to When I’m Sixty Four, background music to the situation at hand. And it doesn’t let up, fear settling into your heart, until Harry finally breathes, “What?”

You lift your hand up, resting the pregnancy test on the center console between you two so he can reach out, grabbing the test in a shaking head. You’re careful to observe his reaction, paralyzed with the force of every emotion running through you as he squints down at the small screen embedded into the stick. The two lines - the writing on the side, telling him exactly what the two lines means. And, though it doesn’t seem like it needs to be said, you whisper, “I’m pregnant, Harry,” and that’s when he finally looks back up at you.

Harry looks - God, you’ve never seen anything like it, a mix of emotions you’ve never encountered. You’re practically shaking and you’re finding it hard to breathe - you just need him to say something, anything, so you know how he’s feeling.

“Are you serious?” he finally asks, and you nod softly, voice hitched in your throat. “S’not a joke? You promise?”

“Why would I -”

But you don’t have time to finish your sentence before Harry has practically thrown himself over the center console. His arms are wrapped around you, face buried in your neck, and for a second you don’t know how to react - for every bad reaction you’d imagined this is what you’re getting, feeling his tears against your neck, and it’s so fucking good that you could cry too.

So you do, naturally, the dam breaking as you throw your arms around Harry’s neck, pulling his body as close to yours as it can get. Every worry that’s been plaguing you since you first took the test dissipates in fucking seconds at the feeling of Harry’s hug, warm and tight, where you’re shaking beneath him. And he’s murmuring words you can’t quite understand and you don’t try. It doesn’t quite matter to you, now.

“Oh my god,” Harry mutters when he pulls back, giving just a few inches between the two of you. His palms press to your cheeks, holding your head in his hands as he observes the tears streaking down your cheeks, similar to the ones gracing his own face. “S’this what you were so nervous about, baby? Having a baby?”

You laugh breathlessly, leaning in to slot your lips together in a short lived, passion filled kiss - to anyone passing on the sidewalk, the two of you probably look like any other couple getting a quick snog in. Only the two of you know the importance of this moment and that’s all that matters, you suppose. “Thought you were gonna be mad,” you confess, and it sounds just a bit silly, falling from your lips, now that you know how he truly feels.

He shakes his head, landing another kiss to your lips - then another - then another - and then he pulls you into him, your face burying in his neck. “Never,” he assures you as your arms loop around his neck, pushing yourself closer to him, and his arms wind around your waist. “Never, never.”

There’s a beat - one of pure, unadulterated joy - before Harry finally speaks again, muffled into your hair. “Bloody hell, thought you were breaking up with me. Was gonna start crying, right here an’ now.”

Slowly you pull back, letting your fingers comb through the short hair at the nape of his neck as you furrow your eyebrows at him. He looks almost guilty for thinking it and you shake your head firmly. “Don’t worry, professor,” you tell him. “You’re never getting rid of me.”

“Thank God,” Harry sighs, hands smoothing up and down your back. You don’t think you’ve ever felt so in love with him than in this moment, especially as he moves one of his hands to rest on your stomach, feeling around over the jacket he’d zipped up earlier. “I’m mad about you, y’know that?” he tells you matter-of-factly, leaving positively no room for you to confess to him how head over heels you are for him, as well, before he adds, “and I think we should move our celebration into the restaurant. Maybe they’ll give us free dessert, if we tell ‘em you’re eating for two, now.”

You could banter with him about it - you’ve got to be less than a month along, you reckon, not at all eating for two - but, as much as you love celebrating in the car with him, you can’t say that tacos wouldn’t add to the moment drastically. “Think that sounds perfect, professor,” and you lean in to give him one final kiss for good measure. 

[five-rivers]

Cultivar

For @feministhotline

.

Consider Brassica oleracea, wild cabbage, a single species of plant. Once humans got their hands on it, they bred it into useful and radically different cultivars. Cabbage, kale, collard greens, kai-lan, brussels sprouts, broccoli, and cauliflower, to name a few. Not to mention the cousins of the species, which included turnips, bok choy, rapeseed, and mustard.

If people did this for a moderately tasty plant, it was, therefore, foolish to think that there was only one cultivar of blood blossom, a plant that could affect ghosts in such an intimate way.

The blood blossoms ghost hunters had gotten their hands on had been bred to cause ghosts paralyzing agony when in close proximity. A good idea in theory, but short sighted in the long run. Especially when the cultivar was unable to affect half-ghosts in their human forms.

There were more interesting varieties.

The one commonly known as ghost nip, with its lily-like flowers, compelled ghosts to consume their stamens, which both induced a sense of calm and euphoria in the ghost and caused the ghost to begin producing pollen for the flower, which in turn would be spread to other flowers when the ghost moved on, fertilizing them. Those were valued among some ghosts as a recreational drug and reviled among others.

The ­tattoo rose’s microscopic seeds would take root and spread delicate, glowing vines just under a ghost’s skin, feeding off their ectoplasm. When prepared to reproduce, thumbnail-sized red flowers would burst from beneath the ghost’s skin. The process tended to weaken the host, render them lethargic and hungry, but tattoo roses were also beautiful and, somewhat counterintuitively, had a notable stabilizing effect on the ghosts they inhabited. Many weak ghosts, or ghosts on the verge of dissolution, had been saved by the tattoo rose. It was lucky for everyone else, however, that the tattoo rose was not, like its namesake, permanent, but only lasted through three blooming cycles before fading.

Hanahaki was a very niche cultivar, one that subsisted exclusively on the stresses and emotions associated with unrequited or unconfessed love. It grew primarily in the mouths, throats, and lungs of ghosts unfortunate enough to have them. Although ghosts have no need to breathe, those afflicted often lost the ability to speak. It had been bred in one of the Cherry Kingdoms, as a punishment for one of the Empress’s suitors.

Meanwhile, false poppies – named for their effect more than their appearance – made ghosts drowsy. There were stories of ghost falling asleep in beds of false poppy blood blossoms and waking only when their blooming season was over, roots having grown over their still forms. Less potent false poppies could, if one were careful, be harvested for sedatives.

Witch’s clover was another one that had first been used by humans. Ghosts exposed to it became more suggestible, gullible, pliant, and vulnerable to other forms of control, such as hypnosis. A boon for a group of people who gained power from their dealings with ghosts. Of course, some ghosts had use for it as well.

The saltseed varietal had sparked the myth that ghosts were repelled by salt. In truth, the tiny, cubic white seeds of the plant simply absorbed ectoenergy so quickly and so efficiently that ghosts would recoil from it.

Then, on the opposite end of that spectrum, was the wishing rose, which would give any ghost who touched it a massive boost of ectoenergy—all while injecting them with one of its seed pods. Which would eventually explode to spread their seeds. The explosion typically wasn’t fatal to the ghost, but that didn’t mean it was pleasant.

None of this even touched on the hybrids Sam was developing. It was a tricky proposition. It was difficult to tell exactly what any given hybrid would be like, what traits they would pick up, what new traits might arise from the combination. None of the ones she had tried so far had the combination of effects she wanted.

However, she had a much greater ability to experiment than any other ghost or human. Her father’s power combined with her human immunity to most blood blossom effects guaranteed it.

The hybrid she was currently carrying showed promise in early trials. Now, she was taking it to the real test.

She emerged from the great forest that had grown in the ruins of Amity Park and smiled at the sun on her face. Her dress of petals rustled behind her as her father’s vines shifted behind her.

Ahead of her, on a small hill, stood a dome made of blood blossom vines and scavenged ironwork and glass. Concentric rings of blood blossoms, each containing a different mix of cultivars, surrounded it. She checked the health of the plants as she passed, revitalizing the ones that seemed to be wilting with a thought.

When she reached the dome, she gestured, and the vines peeled back, opening a hidden door as they went. It squealed, announcing her presence.

In another life, she might have thought about oiling the hinges. Now, it didn’t even cross her mind as she entered her greenhouse, her miniature garden, which she had constructed for one person and one person alone.

One person who was, aggravatingly, hiding from her. Again.

She rolled her eyes and surveyed her surroundings as the gate shrieked shut behind her.

It was hot and humid in the dome, the air full of luminous clouds of pollen, thick enough that even a person without allergies might have trouble breathing, might feel drowsy. More practically, it prevented the inhabitant from using a certain sound-based weapon.

The blood blossoms were healthy, for the most part. The ones whose vines comprised the main structure of the dome were thick and strong, their hanging blooms full of color. A version of false poppy, they kept the ghost contained within from destroying the dome in partnership with the saltseed planted around its base. Elsewhere in the dome, the more healing varieties were largely untouched. Although, the ghost nip had been destroyed. Again.

(How stubborn. She had planted them with the hope that he would, for once, relax.)

The fruits and vegetables, some ghostly, others largely human, which had been planted to provide more material sustenance for the garden’s inhabitant, appeared to have been cared for and harvested since Sam’s last visit. Good. She didn’t want to deal with a pointless hunger strike.

The spring at the center of the dome burbled merrily.

“Danny,” called Sam. “I have something for you. Won’t you come out? We haven’t talked for so long.”

She could, of course, give him her gift without being anywhere near him, such were the powers her father gave to her, but she really did want to talk to him.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” said Danny, who was hiding in a tree.

“There’s always something to talk about. My offer still stands. It gets boring without you, Danny.”

“Maybe you should have thought about that before you used everyone else for fertilizer!”

“Well, I can’t exactly take it back,” said Sam. “It was something father decided on.”

Silence.

Danny, scowling, jumped out of the apple tree. He stumbled somewhat on landing. The prolific blood blossoms combined with his sporadic eating habits and the heat had weakened his core. His skin was slick with sweat. Or, perhaps, he had taken a dip in the spring, earlier.

Sam felt a fond smile spread across her lips. It really had been too long.

“What do you want?” asked Danny, leaning against the trunk of the tree. He kept glancing at her but seemed unable to hold her gaze for any length of time.

She walked closer.

“It’s good to see you, Danny. Isn’t it enough for me to want to see a friend?”

“Yes,” said Danny, bluntly. “Why don’t you go see Tucker?”

Sam sighed. “I’m sorry you feel that way, Danny.”

He flinched. “Stop saying my name,” he muttered. “You aren’t her.”

Her smile became more forced. Well. He was back on that, now, was he? No matter.

She flicked her fingers, sending the miniscule seeds she had brought with her to Danny, and waited. Tattoo roses rooted quickly, and so did this hybrid.

She knew the process had started when Danny hissed and started clawing at his skin. She grabbed his hands, stopping him.

“W-what—” he started before Sam shushed him.

This hybrid had a number of useful features, having been developed from tattoo roses, witch’s clover, and false poppy. It was, as was the case with all tattoo roses, impossible to get away from. The mild false poppy effects lowered the ghost’s defenses and provided an analgesic effect that was necessary given the greater size of the cultivar compared to the typical tattoo rose. The contribution of the witch’s clover was pliability, rendering the affected ghost docile and obedient. Finally, as an extra treat, Sam had discovered that the hybrid could last up to ten blooming cycles. Cycles she would use her abilities to draw out for as long as possible.

Danny sunk to his knees, his breathing, already heavy, becoming ragged.

“Hurt-sss,” hissed Danny, shuddering.

Sam cradled his head, noting how feverish he felt, a welcome change from the frigid, hypothermic temperature he’d maintained for the months after Amity Park fell. “Shhh, shhh, it won’t last long.” She traced the slightly raised and vibrantly glowing skin that indicated the presence of a vine. As she did so, she started to feel the leaves unfurl and tiny buds begin to form. “There we are. How does that feel?”

Danny raised his head. His eyes were foggy, unfocused, his pupils blown wide. “Who?” he slurred.

“It’s me, Sam.”

“Hmn, Sam. Id’nfeels’g’d.” He let his head drop back to her lap as small flowers began to force themselves out of the skin of his scalp.

Sam examined the flowers closely, pinching off the ones that seemed ill-formed. She would have to monitor Danny carefully for the next little while, to see how he adapted. He took so much care to cultivate. Truly, a tender, delicate, hothouse flower. But it was worth it.

After all, out of all the plants her father had given her, all the flowers in her garden, blood blossom cultivars included, Danny was surely her most prized.

[lets-try-cooking-this]

Keep it (Kinda) Simple Garlic Pasta

Everyone knows the staple "college foods".

Basically anything and everything simple: pastas, ramen (or ramyeon depending on what brand you get), pizzas, ready-made meals, sandwiches, the works. If it can't be thrown in a microwave or easily made then its a no-go.

Jennifer Bui, College Food Pyramid

Well, unfortunately for me and those probably like me, that's not so simple. Due to some health problems, the foods I get have to either have to be insanely specific or have to be relatively fresh. So I can't rely so heavily on the keep it simple meals that so many college kids eat. So nothing that can just be tossed into the oven or put into a drawer that can last for a few months (with maybe the exception of pasta).

Last year, when I was diagnosed with IBS, I knew that my options were going to be more limited and more expensive. If I wanted to use butter in recipes, I was better off getting the avocado butter than the cheaper kind. Pasta (which I have yet to find a gluten-free alternative for that I actually like) had to be treated as something to make more on the weekend so I can deal with it at my dorm. Ice cream in general was a no go.

To put it simply, it sucked.

So I started trying making my own recipes using ones I already knew. If I wanted to make pasta with a type of meat sauce, it wasn't going to be simple; I was going to add garlic, onion, a bunch of spices, mushroom and spinach (for the fiber). Instead of using normal lettuce for sandwiches, I just used spinach. Burgers were to be kept more vegetarian if I could help it. Potatoes were made with avocado butter and a bunch of spices. You get the idea.

During this time, I was also teaching my roommate how to cook. I was showing her the basics, what spices go together and how to make sure she didn't accidently poison herself.

One day, she asked me what she could make out of pasta. I blinked at her as if she had grown a couple of extra heads and said, "Uhh... literally anything? You can toss it in sauce, butter, a sort of pesto, it doesn't matter."

Well she told me she didn't want any of that. We ate pasta with sauce a lot, we don't necessarily have pesto just lying around and butter was too boring.

I told her it didn't have to be so simple, the easiest thing to incorporate with other things would be the butter. So I told her to saute some onion and garlic in the pan with butter while cooking the pasta and then toss it all together with spices.

Needless to say she slow blinked at me and I had to walk her through how to make it.

Eventually, it was done cooking and she had the garlic butter pasta for the first time and... she really enjoyed it. She really liked the garlic and it wasn't boring like she was expecting it to be.

This recipe is essentially how I taught her to make it, only with more vegetables to give it some variety.

Recipe:

Ingredients

1 box of spaghetti

butter (I use avocado butter as an alternative, olive oil butter is also good)

3-5 cloves of garlic, minced (I added 6 but that's just because I love it)

1 small yellow onion, thinly sliced

1 grated carrot (you can also use match sticks)

4 oz of white mushrooms

1 small bag of frozen broccoli

1 tablespoon of olive oil

salt

pepper

garlic powder

onion powder

basil

crushed red pepper

*NOTE: I did not include measurements to the seasoning nor did I do it to the butter because I feel its to ones preference how much they add in this dish. I added the seasoning pretty liberally but that's purely because I prefer to be slightly more heavy handed in seasoning because that's how I like it. You do not need to do this. Add however much of one thing or another as you like. My only precaution is to not completely coat everything in seasoning, since that will overwhelm the dish. Roughly 1 teaspoon of each seasoning with each new vegetable added may be more than enough for some of you.

Directions

Boil your water for your pasta and add a tablespoon of olive oil in the water to prevent the pasta from sticking and salt to the water before adding the pasta. Cook that per package instructions.

While waiting for the water to boil, prep your vegetables.

In a saute pan on medium heat, add butter then slowly add your vegetables, starting with your onion and garlic. Add a dash of salt, pepper, garlic powder, onion powder and basil to your pan and toss together.

*important note: if you feel you need to add more butter to this dish, feel free to do it. I added butter with the addition of every new vegetable added to the saute pan. I used roughly 6-7 spoonfuls of butter in this, but that's because I added roughly a spoonful for every addition to the pan and wanted to make sure it was buttery and delicious.

4.After 1 minute, add your carrot and mushroom to your saute pan and add another dash of the spices mentioned above.

5.Add your broccoli to your pan, adding one more dash of garlic powder and onion powder.

6. When the pasta is finished cooking, drain the pasta and slowly start adding it to the pan, making sure to coat the pasta with the butter and vegetables each time.

7. Add 1 1/2 teaspoons of basil and red pepper flake. Serve immediately.

That's it! This dish is incredibly simple to make and tastes delicious. This can be served with chicken, beef, or just by itself for something simple and flavorful to eat. Plus, because this recipe could realistically feed four people, its perfect to save in the fridge for the few days and eat more later. And try adding your own favorite vegetables into it to see what combinations you like and let me know your favorites too!



[candycityy]

Some (established relationship) Rivetra birthday crack/fluff, ft. awkward!Levi, because I can.

Levi sucks at giving gifts.

Maybe it's just the fact that he's awkward as fuck, but the notion of having to find something nice for another person fills him with equal parts dread and exhaustion. Honestly, how would he know what they'd want, anyway? He'd much rather just shove a couple of coins in their direction and call it a day.

The whole concept of gifts had been a culture shock to him, after leaving the Underground—not that he didn't understand what it meant to get someone something, but just the whole song and dance about it, of how every even remotely special occasion called for a gift of some sort. The first time he'd heard of it, a squadmate was asking him to contribute something to Erwin's promotion hamper, and he'd almost snorted, assuming it was a joke; the fucker had just been promoted to Commander of the Survey Corps, honestly, wasn't that gift enough?

Fortunately, his squad knows better than to ask him to contribute things; they just ask for money whenever they're doing a group gift, which he's happy enough to part with. And with matters outside the squad, well...he still doesn't really get why people thing he's so fucking terrifying, but in this, at least, he's happy to be excluded.

Well, until now. Unlike him, Petra actually does enjoy gifts; she's one of those crazy people who likes giving them, who handwrites cards and wraps presents in nice paper and glittery ribbons (another thing he doesn't get. He's supposed to spend time and money on wrapping paper that's just going to get torn into shreds?) and somehow, considering how they're dating and all, he doubts she'd be content with his usual fare of a few coins and a curt happy birthday over breakfast.

He briefly considers staging a training accident; surely, she wouldn't expect a gift from him if he were in the med bay recovering from a debilitating but non-life-threatening injury?

"Aha," Hanji says, briefly pausing in her monologue about Titan reproduction (he hadn't been listening in the slightest, but that's never been a deterrent) to point her spoon dangerously close to his face. "I recognise that look. You're thinking again, aren't you."

"None of your business." He pokes morosely at his dinner, and misses. The tines of his fork strike the porcelain with a rather unpleasant metallic screech that makes them both wince.

"It's not a good look on you, you know," she comments, shovelling a fragment of potato into her mouth as Levi watches with barely veiled disgust. "Thinking. You're much better off playing the role of the macho action hero, all brawn and no brain—"

"I will stab you with this butter knife," he threatens, with a kind of despondent savagery. The woman just leans on her elbow and waits, perfectly unruffled.

He chews, swallows, and after a long pause, finally admits, "Petra's birthday is coming up."

"And you're thinking about what to get her?" Hanji smirks. "Sweet."

"I'm thinking about why surface-dwellers have so much time and energy to bother with stupid things like gifts," he grumbles, spearing a chunk of broccoli with more aggression than strictly necessary.

"Well, they're a welcome distraction from the terrors of daily life, don't you think?" She pushes her goggles up her nose with a kind of practiced impatience, and continues, "I think...Petra probably would want something heartfelt. You know, something you wouldn't give to anyone else."

"I wouldn't give anyone anything, from the start."

"You know what I mean." Hanji rolls her eyes. "The gift's gotta make her feel special. Maybe something with a sort of significance, or meaning, or...oh! Something handmade? How good are you with handicrafts?" She eyes him, looking rather less hopeful than he'd like. It rankles him.

"I'm pretty good at carving," he snaps. Hanji brightens.

"Ooh. Wood?"

"Flesh." He shovels the rest of the stew into his mouth, ignoring her snort of indignation, and stands up. "Don't choke on your food, Four-Eyes."

==

In his time in the Underground, he'd learnt precisely two things about food: one, to defend it with your life, and two, if you chuck a bunch of ingredients into a pot and apply heat, you can call it a casserole, which is a fancy-sounding name for something that barely counts as a dish at all.

Furlan, being unable to cook for his life, had been put on permanent ingredient-gathering duty (read: theft) instead. Isabel, on the other hand, had an irritating tendency to get distracted, disappear off to fuck-knows-where with the food still on the stove, and promptly forget all about it. By the process of elimination, Levi had took over most of the cooking.

Being easy, flexible, and requiring very little attention, casserole had quickly become his signature dish. And yeah, he wouldn't call himself good by any means, but as far as he's concerned, no-one'd ever gotten food poisoning from a dish he'd made, which he counts a win.

Still, he figures that not poisoning anyone is a pretty low bar to set for a birthday dinner for his girlfriend.

For the eleventh time since entering the store, Levi wonders if he should just forget it. Get her some bauble or trinket, that glittery shit that girls always like. But against his will, Hanji's irritating voice drones in his head: something heartfelt. Something you wouldn't give to anyone else.

Levi scowls darkly at a shelf of cheese. "What the fuck's the difference between cheddar and mozzarella, anyway?" he mutters to himself, before giving up and shoving both into his basket.

He continues wandering through the store, grabbing whatever he thinks will go well together. He barely glances at the price tags as he goes, too distracted by his thoughts—does she like chickpeas? Or was it lentils? Are those different?

(Of course, he pays for his inattention dearly, when the cashier coolly informs him of his total and he almost chokes. Well, he really should've known; the storekeeper in the Underground always did seem to loathe them with an aggressive vengeance.)

==

Carrots—potatoes—beef. Levi measures out the ingredients carefully and scoops them into the pot, eyeing the stew bubbling cheerfully over on the stove, and allows himself a brief moment of smugness.

He's outdone himself, even if he says so himself. Everything's been planned, down to the last detail. In the morning, he'd presented Petra with a new fountain pen, a perfect decoy gift, especially since she'd mentioned earlier how she'd been needing one. He hadn't missed the flash of disappointment in her eyes—shitty Four-Eyes had been right for once, he supposes—but she'd schooled her expression into one of appropriate delight quickly enough, and exclaimed over it as necessary, and he'd known she'd fallen for it hook, line, and sinker.

He's even timed this whole dinner thing perfectly, getting the guys to keep her back for a bit after training (which they'd agreed to, albeit with some snickering) so he could prep for the meal. She'd be in the showers now, he guesses; and now, with the brick oven all heated up and the dish nicely in place, he probably has about twenty, thirty minutes before the next step of the plan, when he'll go to retrieve her from her room under some pretense or another, lead her to the dining hall, and—

"Levi? What's going on?" Petra rubs her eyes, strolling into the room and and sniffing the air curiously. "Are you—are you cooking?"

What the fuck.

"Petra." He tries his best to block the stove, desperately searching for a way out. "You're back early. This is, uh...an experiment. For Hanji. It could blow up any second, so off you go now."

Petra does not oblige. Her eyes narrow, and she tries to peek around him. "Your experiment is stew?"

"It's not stew, it's...Titan bait," he improvises wildly, making her brows lift in disbelief. "Seriously, Petra. Go away." His eyes dart to the wall clock; he needs about fifteen more minutes, at least. "Didn't Eld...didn't the guys ask you to stay for a bit?"

She shrugs, still craning her neck to try to see the contents of the kitchen counter. There's a hint of a grin on her face now. "Auruo was bragging again about something-or-the-other, and bit his tongue, and I slipped away in the commotion. Levi, is that cake?"

"I told you, it's Titan bait. Now get out, that's an order." He tries to keep his tone cold and steely, a feat which is proving much more challenging than usual with his very pretty, very annoying girlfriend standing on tiptoe, trying her best to peek over his shoulder.

Judging by her expression of keen amusement, he fails quite spectacularly.

"Levi," his irrepressible subordinate goes, her eyes gleaming, "your cake—sorry, Titan bait—says 'Happy Birthday, Petra'."

With a frustrated exhale, he gives up trying to block her, and slumps back to the kitchen counter. Petra waits, tapping her foot, still looking thoroughly amused. Her hair is still damp from the showers, he notices. But despite the fact that she has a towel around her neck and is dressed in a ratty old t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants—her standard evening attire—his breath catches in his throat. She's beautiful.

"Okay, fine," he grumbles, tearing his gaze away. "I'm cooking. It's for you. Happy birthday. You're still a brat."

She laughs, and the sound makes his lips pull into a reluctant smile, too. "I never took you for the domestic type, captain," she teases, leaning into him and winding her arms around his back. "Stew? But didn't you already give me a gift, though?"

"Casserole," he corrects. "It sounds fancier. And that was a decoy—this was supposed to be a surprise. I mean, I thought...since it's the first time you're having a birthday, well. With us, like. Together." He clears his throat, and silently wills himself not to do anything stupid and embarrassing, like—Walls forbid—blush. "Remind me to have a talk with Auruo, will you."

"Well, count me surprised," she says, leaning in and grinning up at him.

He rolls his eyes.

"Anyway. Since you're here so early," he goes, gazing at her with a look of utmost seriousness, "here. You can help to chop the onions."

Petra blinks, indignant. "Seriously?"

"Nah, I'm kidding. That's for ruining my surprise, you brat."

==

"...Levi?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

"Happy birthday, Petra."

[mudpuddless]

Q-Branch's Saturday night dish

aka. tofu & veggie noodles, because they make everything better, even nightshifts. (recipe under the cut)

Ingredients are (as the name suggests) highly variable and partially not even strictly necessary but if you want a simple simple dish you can always eat microwave lasagna, so:

noodles (instant ramen? rice noodles? leftover spaghetti? anything goes)

veggies (I used aubergine, zucchini and pea pods because thats what I had on hand. usually at the very bottom of a fridge there are at least some carrots, even in q-branch)

tofu (self explanatory. also not technically required but. ya know. just do it. q-branch typically has some on hand because it keeps for forever)

furthermore:

soysauce

sesame oil (no, its not necessary. its only a teaspoon. I'm not saying you need to add it but you absolutely need to add it)

cooking oil or butter

chili (powder? chopped and dried? fresh? or *gasp* none at all? doesn't matter. of you're cooking for the rest of the team you might want to leave that to personal preference but ya know.((if you want to join team villains, just dumb a whole bunch and dont tell anyone))

lemon juice (again not necessary but you should still absolutely put it, trust me)

garlic

onions

cream/ coconut milk (as per preference. you can always leave it out completely but it helps if you prefer milder dishes)

peanuts (just. peanuts. they can be salted or plain or leftover from some trail mix. again: check with the rest of the shift if anyone is allergic. putting peanuts in food for someone with a nut allergy won't even land you in team villains, even we aren't that bad)

sugar (or honey, if your boss happens to be the extravagant kind and keeps honey for tea around)

water (you always need water. if not for the dish because your noodles are already cooked and your veggies dont need to be steamed, you could always drink some. also take your meds.)

Then you need some kitchen appliances:

a pan, coated of possible because yes

a cutting board for this veggies you are adding because scurvy is not something someone from the 21st century should die from. also for the tofu.

a knife (NOOO) or two knives. or three if youre feeling fancy. the more the merrier and so on

a pot or kettle if you need to cook your noodles and depending on which noodles you're using.

maybe a measuring spoon, but you know. the rules were made to be broken.

NOW. COOKING *cries in teenager*

(these steps read like a choose your own adventure novel except there are no numbers because no. just follow the instructions)

#1 NOODLES:

-> if you have leftover spaghetti: good for you. onto the veggies.

-> if you are using instant ramen: prepare them like usual, except you don't add the seasoning and chilipowder and plant oil and whatever else, to make the worlds most disappointing bowl of ramen.

-> if you are using any kind of asian noodles: usually you can cook them pretty easily by playing them in a bowl and pouring boiling water on top. just let them steep and you're fine. (if they need to cooked, as in "in a pot" cooked (like spaghetti) , do that instead. if you have a choice between spaghetti and any kind of ramen, choose the ramen though)

#2 VEGGIES:

(just. pick whichever veggies youre using, again: these can grow cold so you could use left overs. just. consider what spices are already on them)

-> carrots: cut into thin slices (like wheels but more angled for fanciness points), roast in cooking oil with a pinch of sugar

-> zucchini: cut into 3 mm or 1/8 inch wheels, place in a bowl, cover with boiling water and a pinch of salt, till you like the consistency (usually 7-10 minutes), then drain

-> aubergine: steam with water and a pinch of salt until done, add more water as necessary, place aside when done

-> peapods: roast with a bit of oil and a pinch of salt, place aside when done

-> broccoli or cauliflower: split the little tree thingies into quarters along the vertical axis, roast with a bit of oil and a pinch of salt, place aside when done

-> peas or corn: if they're fresh, add them to a pan with a spoon full of water and roast in a bit of oil and a pinch of slat and sugar when they're almost done

-> any canned veggies (peas, corn, bamboo sprout slices etc): drain and put aside, canned veggies are all cooked in the canning proccess

!!! IT DOESN'T MATTER OF YOU NOODLES/ VEGGIES COOL DOWN OR GO COLD ENTIRELY, SO JUST MAKE THEM WHENEVER YOU HAVE TIME!!!

#3 TOFU

-> cut your block of tofu into cubes (circa one inch or 1.3 cm), place the cubes on a paper towel to get rid of excess water. in a pan heat a tablespoon of oil, a pinch of sugar, a pinch of salt and some chili flakes. add the tofu when the oil is hot and fry till golden brown.

!!! IT DOESN'T MATTER OF YOU NOODLES/ VEGGIES COOL DOWN OR GO COLD ENTIRELY, SO JUST MAKE THEM WHENEVER YOU HAVE TIME!!!

to finish off:

slice up some onions and roast in a bit of oil and a pinch of sugar and salt.

add crushed and diced garlic

add crushed or diced peanuts

add all your veggies and stir

add your noodles and stir

add any amount of soy sauce depending on the amount of food you're making. keep in mind the amount of salt you added to the individual veggies. (safe amounts are anything form one to four table spoons of soy sauce)

add one teaspoon of sugar

stir.

when you think you're done, keep stirring for another ten seconds.

taste: does it need more salt? sugar? soy sauce? this recipe is too vague on everything else for me to give precise measurements for the sauce, so taste test!!!

if you added too much salt, added too much chili or like coconut milk: add coconut milk

stir again

place in a bowl

sprinkle as much chili as you like on top

add (depending on your portion size and preference) half to a full teaspoon of sesame oil by drizzling it on top

stir and enjoy

use your newfound energy to take over the British government from the inside. join team villains :)

[nina-wrote-this]

Last Romance - One Shot.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader 

Summary: You move on after Thanos’s Snap, but a ghost from the past still wants to make things right. 

Warnings: Sadness, break up and a lot of melancholic ;)

Word count: 1,555

A/N: Hello, loveees! So, this is my first Bucky One Shot and I have this idea after having a dream with Sebastian Stan :) I also used two songs as inspiration: Long Break – Moody Woody and Último Romance / Last Romance – Los Hermanos (they are my favorite Alt-Rock Brazilian band). I’ll put the links below the GIF and if you want to listen while read, it will be an even better experience! I hope you guys enjoy and let me know what you think! If you find any typos, please let me know (English isn’t my mother tongue)!  

INFINITY WAR AND ENDGAME SPOILERS AHEAD!

Song’s links: Long Break - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mGh_Iyw6fgI | Último Romance - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=27TT85GA9VM 

Telluride, Colorado.

2 years after they come back.

“Thank you, Mrs. Bradley! Have a good night!” You gently said getting the heavy paper bags with all the fresh ingredients for your wedding anniversary.

“For you too, Darling! Enjoy your husband!” The old lady smirks.

“You can count on that!”

Your life was perfect now. After Stark’s death and all the story with Thanos, most part of the heroes and allies decide to get there retire, and you are one of this people.

You cross the country moving from the Avengers compound to a small town in Colorado, laying down your weapons and abilities and getting your brushes and canvas. At somehow, you were still trying to save people, but now using art.

And you have him. The man who give you more than you expect: love, safety, partnership and calm. Blake was amazing. You two rebuild yourselves together when everything happened.

Blake used to be an Interpol agent and his wife and daughter died in a car crash when the Snap happened, there uber's driver faded away and the car fell off a cliff.

You two found each other in the help group Steve used to organized. You moved in together, you grow together, you cried together and fight together against your own demons. Blake supported your decision to risk your life on the time travel and fight the battle even knowing that the first man you ever loved would come back. Blake would love you regardless of the choice you would have made.

And you choose Blake, he was your future.  

You drive through the shy suburb of the small town, and thank for being there.  

At the end of the street, was your house. A yellow wood little house in the middle of a large grassy rectangle, surrounded by hibiscus and white roses.  

Soon you get in, you start putting your plans in action. Pasta, broccoli, tomatoes, lettuce, Blake's favorite – weird – cheese, 3 bottles of wine. Cut, cook, wash, decorate, another glass of wine… shit, I can’t get high yet.

The music that was playing on the living room suddenly stopped and a strange familiar metal sound came to your ears.  

After years surrounded by wars, crazy insane Titans, Hydra and Shield, your mind was pretty fucked up. So, yes, a nosy sound was something to worry about.

You walked slowly following what was bordering your thoughts, but you didn’t have to do too much. Just few steps, and you see him in the corner of the room. I’ll always be in the shadows, babe. The memory of his voice hits your mind like a shoot.

“You scare me…” You took one last sip of your wine.

“Your place is beautiful.” His eyes were haunted and his voice come out like a whisper.

You nodded smiling.  

“How are you?” He tried to approach but stopped himself.

“Good. You know, retirement does me good.” You cross your arms, protecting yourself from your old feelings. “And you, how have you been? Still living in Wakanda?”

He faced the floor taking a deep breath.  

“I… I left Wakanda right after you…” He hesitated and you knew why. “I'm working with Sam now.”

You try to keep smiling, but your eyes meet with his, and you could read them like an open book: He was broken.  

James has a fucked up brain, he has his issues and Hydra problems, but the way he looked like now was something deeper. Years before, you saw this same look but was in your own eyes, every damn day, when you woke up and see yourself on the mirror.  

He was alone, he missed you.

“James, say it.” You broke the silence and he frowned. “You invade my house at the exact moment my husband isn’t. The only thing that motivated you to came here is because you probably have something to say. So, please… Just say it!”

“I miss you!” He didn’t even search for the right words. “And I want you back. I need you back!”  

“Don't!” You turn your back to him walking back to the kitchen. “Don't tell me you come here today to say this after all these two years, James.”  

For the first time he come closer to you.

“What did you expect?” He asked confuse. “Y/N, do you really think I'm doing this for fun? You know this isn't easy for me, talk about these things, and I know you can read me easily than anyone.” He said fast.

“James, I know you're in pain. But, if is hard for you, believe me, it’s two times harder for me.” You point your finger to him. "For you was like fall asleep for a couple of hours, but for us, for me, was and still being an eternity.” Tears already falling in the corner of your eyes.

“So, what was the purpose, Y/N? Bring me back, so you could feel good to yourself and return to your happy fake life?” His voice sounded disappointed and his metal arm fisted against the sink. “эгоистичный!”

Your heart broke in little pieces and the control was gone.

"Don't you dare call me selfish!" Your voice was cracking and the regret filled his eyes. "Did you really think that I left you because I don't love you anymore?"

He took a long breath, and you try to hide your tears.

“You still love me?” He gets closer to you without losing the fragile eye contact.

“Is this matter now?” Your eyes break the contact running the kitchen and your hands falling down in redemption. “Don’t hurt yourself, моя любовь.” You asked.

He placed his hands on each side of your face and bring to his chest. The cold of the leather jacket in contact with your skin sent a shiver down your spine.

Even knowing this was – at somehow – wrong, you let yourself relax on his embracing. James was warm, his muscles created a protective barrier around you and his fingers caressed your body looking for all the parts where your skin were naked for him. Your arms crossed around his neck and on tiptoes you barred your face on his shoulder.

“You cut your hair…” Your cracking voice whisper to him trying to break the tension, while you run your hand through his hair strands.

“Like you always suggest.” He smirked bringing you to face him. Yours foreheads touched and his eyes found your soul. “Come back, Y/N! I do anything to have you back, моя любовь…” His lips brushed against yours. “Whatever you want, just tell me, and we will do it, okay?”

For a couple of seconds, you imagined your life with James. Maybe both of you living in a big farm, waking up together, getting back the time you two lost. Kisses, shy touches, his overprotection full time, your crazy manias and his strange neuroses. Was perfect. Was much better than the time you guys lived in Wakanda.  

But was too late.  

You were sure you didn’t take the break up decision alone. You have asked him what life he wanted for himself and he choose to continue Steve's legacy, but you wasn’t available to live that kind of life anymore. Follow different ways was the best decision.

He tried to kiss you hardly, but you get back.

“I can’t, James…” You grabbed his black shit. “We can’t…” He closed his eyes and kissed your forehead. He felt the goodbye was happening again.  

The car's engine rumbled on the garage bringing you back to reality. Blake was arriving home.

“Y/N, we can…” James tried, but you knew what you have to do.

“Go.” You direct to the backyard door. “Now!”

“Where is my beautiful, lovely, super hot wife?” Blake screamed at the front door.

James leaves the house without looking to you, without any noise.

You clean the tears of your face, put on the best happy face and waited for your husband get in the kitchen.

“There she is!” His sexy voice said.

You turn around and there was Blake: dressed with his Professor social attire, flowers in one hand.  

Blake you’re perfect.  

“Hello, Mister sexy voice!” You kissed him slowly and intense.

But you’re not James…

He gets his hands free and finally hold you spinning around ourselves.

“You okay, honey?” He took a look on your eyes. “Looks like you cried, or something like that… Is everything good?”

Blake is perfect.

“Yes, honey!” You smile shooking your head and squeezing your eyes. “It’s just the wine!”

But he is not James…

The living player come back with the song. Último Romance / Last Romance, Los Hermanos. Your honeymoon song.

“Right on time!” Blake automatically pressed his body against yours and start following the music melody, singing slowly.

“I love you, Y/N. Happy wedding anniversary!” He kissed your neck.

“I love you too, honey. Thanks for everything…” You rest your head on his shoulder.

You two stayed on that moment, seams like forever. When your eyes find the kitchen’s window you locked on James's eyes, staring your perfect moment.

“E ninguém dirá que é tarde demais / And no one will say it’s too late

Que é tão diferente assim / That’s so different

Do nosso amor a gente é que sabe / About our love, is us who knows”

*******************************************************************************************

A/N: What you guys think about some continues of this one shot? Maybe like, Y/N and Bucky's  time living in Wakanda, or Y/N’s wedding day, Y/N and Bucky’s break up... I really enjoy write this story ahahahah :) 

[zmediaoutlet]

in support of Texas relief, @merle-p donated $45, and requested Sam/Mick. Thank you for donating!

to get your own personalized fic, please see this post.

(read on AO3)

This hotel really is a tip. Mick takes the keycard up with him—American quirk—and shakes his head at the identical thin carpets, the shoddy elevator, the spotting on the mirror, the bed with its awful polyester duvet. No, not a duvet—a thin bedspread, with a vile leaf-and-flowers pattern that wouldn't do for wallpaper of even the saddest pensioner. He leaves his bag on the cheap luggage rack and tosses his keycard onto the desk and looks at the bed, rubbing his hand over his mouth.

He orders dinner from what passes for room service. He doesn't know what the Winchesters are doing—probably dipping away to some diner, from the profile work Lady Bevell had provided—but they don't call for him, either way. A chicken marsala of decent quality, sticky rice, overcooked broccoli. He eats it efficiently with his mobile playing a midnight stream of the BBC World Service, sitting at the table with the lamps lit. He looks out the window, its view of overcrowded trees and the parking lot and the road, and he does see the Chevrolet pull back in, bulky and too-big and too-loud and too-American, and he smiles at it even if he shouldn't, and passes the napkin over his mouth, and sits back in his chair, to think.

Work of a moment to set up the typewriter. A quick twist of the ink-ribbon and a murmur of Farsi and he sends his report back home. Casefiles distributed to local hunter, he types, and pauses. Tests of loyalty continue, he types, more slowly, and doesn't have much to add. His reports are terse as a matter of course but he isn't often given to dissembling. Not, at least, before the massacre at the headquarters. He unclenches his jaw and tears the sheet of paper out of the typewriter. That's more than enough.

Quiet, since the alpha vampire was destroyed. Ketch has been doing his own work, directed by both Mick and by the old men on orders Mick isn't given to know, and he's been allowed replacement assistance at headquarters but it isn't as it was. The Kendricks-trained goons they sent are more of Ketch's ilk than his and he doesn't know them. Mary Winchester has been distant. It's only Sam Winchester, really, that Mick knows at all in this country, and Sam is…

Mick sits watching the trees in the moonlight, for a few minutes longer, and then goes to the minibar in the suite's kitchenette. Not much to inspire, there. He calls down to room service, again, and makes an order, and then goes to the ensuite and washes his face, and swishes the marsala-flavor out with mouthwash, and then looks at himself, his suit somewhat rumpled and no tie and his eyes—he looks away from his eyes, and thinks, well. If it goes wrong, it will hardly be the first time something has gone wrong.

The suites are all on the same floor. Dean's in 703, Mick's in 706, and Sam's down at the far end of the hall, 712, the hall ending with a great picture window looking out onto the moonlit woods, and Mick pauses in front of that last door, watching out for a moment. Not yet nine o'clock. Plenty of time to turn around and try for a different night.

The elevator dings, halfway down the hall. Mick's mouth hitches, without him meaning it to, and he knocks at Sam's door. A moment, while Mick stands placid in full view of the peephole, and then a muffled rattle while the chain is disengaged, and then the deadbolt and then the door opening by a foot, Sam standing in the gap and giving Mick a look like he's not to be trusted. "Yeah?" he says, not exactly unfriendly but not welcoming, either.

Mick smiles, as friendly as Sam isn't. "I wondered if we might have a talk, you and I," he says.

"It's late," Sam says, which it clearly isn't. His brow tightens. "Something about the job?"

"Something like that," Mick says, and at that moment the girl arrives with the room service cart, looking confused. "Ah," he says, and gestures. "Please come in, miss, Mr. Winchester was just waiting for his order," and Sam blinks at the girl and then gives Mick a look that would melt steel, but luckily Mick is not steel. He opens the door wider and Mick sees he's in bare feet, his jacket removed, the most informal he's been in Mick's presence since he was being tortured—and Mick follows the room service cart into the suite and Sam's too polite or too circumspect or too self-controlled to stop him.

The room's dim, illuminated only by the bedside lamp, and the girl's uncertain. "Where would you like it, sir?" she says, and Mick gestures at the table under the window, and Sam's silent while she unloads the bucket, the two glasses set down with gentle clicks.

Sam smiles at her as she leaves—very fake, it drops off the second her back's turned—and waits until the door closes behind her to say, "What the hell, Mick. Champagne?"

Mick shrugs, pulling the bottle out of the silver bucket. "Not a good one, if that helps," he says. Appropriately cold, at least. He starts working the wire cage, ignoring the look he's getting. "I thought it might be appropriate, that's all. Inauguration of a new stage in our partnership."

"Our partnership," Sam echoes, with unflattering skepticism. The cork pops smoothly and Mick smiles at Sam, eyebrows high, and gets at least a sigh, an eyeroll, a shake of head. Slight exasperation—how he looks, sometimes, at his brother. Mick pours while Sam watches, saying, "If it's about our partnership, then I should invite Dean over."

Mick watches the bubbles rise in the second flute and licks his lips. That was a particular sort of tone, from Sam. "I thought we might discuss some things privately, you and I," he says, and turns to hold out one of the glasses. "Dean, I think, isn't yet my biggest fan. Though I'd like that to change."

"Champagne probably wouldn't do it," Sam says. He's giving Mick another look. Assessing. Mick tips his head and can't tell if he's been found wanting. A beat, before Sam walks over and takes the glass. "Maybe if you brought whiskey."

Damn Ketch. Mick shakes his head and extends his own glass as a toast—but Sam's already moving away, sitting in the chair on the opposite side of the table, looking out the window. His hair's tucked behind his ear, lamplight on his cheek and moonlight on his brow. Like a sculpture. Mick sits opposite him and sips the champagne and it's—sugary, light. "This really isn't ideal," he says.

Sam glances at him, and then down at his glass. He takes a sip and makes a face. "Sweet."

Mick licks his lips and gambles. "Truth be told, I like the cheap stuff better," he says, and—yes, Sam looks up at him and it's with slight surprise. An opening. Mick shrugs. "I wasn't always top Kendricks material. Had to learn to drink like my betters."

Sam huffs air through his nose. "Sounds familiar," he says. Mick raises his eyebrows and Sam half-smiles, his head tipping. "At Stanford I think I was the only one who actually liked Hamburger Helper without the hamburger."

Not a reference Mick gets, but he gets the sentiment. "To not being posh," he says, lifting his glass again, and Sam snorts but nods, and takes a drink, and Mick watches his throat move as he swallows, the way his hand's delicate on the flute. The size of him.

"I wanted to thank you, too," Mick says. He sets his glass down. "I didn't really get the chance, before." A frown, Sam not understanding. Is it genuine? Mick clears his throat. "For—killing the alpha vampire. I would've died if you weren't there."

Surprise—god, it was genuine. Mick's out of practice, being around people who aren't hiding ten different agendas up their tweed sleeves. "You're probably right," Sam says, after a second. His mouth lifts at one corner. A dimple. "No offense. But I didn't do it for you."

"Oh, thanks," Mick says, leaning back, and Sam actually laughs a little, says: "I meant, that's the point, of being a hunter. You kill the bad thing and save whoever you can. That's what makes the whole thing worth it."

He shrugs, sips at his champagne again. Makes another face but seems to be getting used to it. Mick taps his thumb on the table, watching him. "I'm getting that," Mick says. "I think. It was always… very academic, before. Clean research, without the messiness of the real world."

Sam's eyelashes sweep low. "Sounds easier," he says, with a queer twist to his voice that makes Mick wonder.

He's not going to uncover everything there is to know about Winchester the Younger tonight, however. He makes a note, puts it to the side, and instead tops up their glasses, reaching over the table to fill Sam's without Sam much helping. "Mick," Sam says, sighing protest, though Mick notices he doesn't actually pull away.

"Once the bottle's opened you have to finish it," Mick says, easy, "it'll go flat, otherwise," and he lifts his glass in a little toast and drains it in a few frothy swallows—Sam sighs, and takes a gulp too—and then Mick gets up, comes around the table, and sits on the edge, a little too much in Sam's space to be mistaken for casual.

Sam blinks at him. His mouth's still damp a little from the champagne. "What's up?" he says. Almost warning.

"I said I wanted to thank you," Mick says. He reaches down—Sam's legs long enough that his knee's close—so Mick puts two fingers there, very lightly, feeling the twitch of reaction. Still, Sam doesn't completely pull away. "I can provide other benefits than not-very-good champagne."

Sam's chin tips up and he looks at Mick very steadily. "You're serious," he says, after a few seconds. Mick lifts a shoulder. Sam's eyes tighten, minutely, at the corners. "What's with the British Letters and using sex to infiltrate the enemy? That something they teach at Kendricks, too?"

Mick swallows. It is, but Sam's not to know that, unless—he'd wondered, if Lady Bevell had, but he hadn't been part of her debriefing. "Not the enemy," he says, forestalling the thought. "And not using. And not infiltration, either, and not even, really, the British Letters, here." He takes a breath and gives Sam a little smile, feeling unaccountably like he's at the edge of a cliff without belays to hold him. "Just Mick. Michael, if you like. Expressing my gratitude and wondering how I can show it."

"Most people just do beer and pizza," Sam says, still with those tight searching eyes.

Mick doesn't move his fingers, where they're still just brushing the warm denim. "Never much liked pizza," he says, which he knows is stupid as soon as it comes out of his mouth, but Sam hasn't moved—isn't moving, still as a watching tiger in square uncomfortable chair. He chances it, spreading his hand flat on the lean muscle of Sam's thigh. It flexes underneath his palm and he breathes out, slowly. "You're ridiculously attractive. You know that, I trust."

"Thanks," Sam says, after a moment. He grips Mick's wrist, tight but not bruising, and Mick swallows again, meeting Sam's eyes and trying to look honest. He's out of practice with that, too. Sam looks at him, and at his mouth, and Mick thinks for a second—yes—but then Sam detaches Mick's hand from his leg, firmly, and pushes it back against Mick's chest. His fingers are briefly hot through Mick's shirt. "But I don't accept payment," Sam says, with a quick hard press for emphasis before he lets Mick go. "Especially not—" he starts, and shakes his head instead of finishing. He pushes his chair back and stands, turning to the window. He pushes a hand through his hair and it falls messily right back into place. He blocks out the moonlight. He's so oversized—in everything—smarts and skill and beauty. Mick wants to touch him again immediately and doesn't.

"My mistake," Mick says. He bites the inside of his lip very hard, until it hurts more than he can stand, and lets it go, and waits for the throb the grow and swell and pass, and in all that time Sam doesn't speak. He stands up, fixing his cuff, at pitches his voice to lightness. "At least you enjoyed my champagne."

"I wouldn't go that far," Sam says, not precisely light but not cruel, either, and Mick turns to go—and is caught, by the wrist again, while Sam says: "Wait."

He's being looked at, again, and before he can decide what expression Sam's wearing he's pulled forward and he's being kissed. His hand flexes in Sam's grip and with the other he touches Sam's stomach, surprised. Sam's hand on his jaw, controlling, and his mouth—firm, not giving anything up, but good, too—not a hint of uncertainty, not dithering about. Mick breathes in through his nose and enjoys it. A man's kiss, he thinks, hard and uncompromising. He tips his head back, letting Sam guide him, and parts his lips, and there's Sam's tongue—for a second, a hot brief flash that jolts his gut—and then Sam pulls back, a centimeter, breathing against him. Mick strokes a thumb over the waist of his jeans where his belt is weighing them down, and Sam ducks his head, breathes against Mick's jaw for a second, and then steps back entirely, letting Mick go.

There's a warm throb in Mick's wrist. Sam gripped him very tightly, for a moment there. "That was unexpected," he says, after a moment. His lower lip is damp and he very much wants to lick it, but resists the impulse.

Sam has no such compunction, apparently. He licks his mouth and stretches his jaw, too, resettling. Mick's put in mind again of a tiger, looking at willing prey, and his cock flexes in his trousers. "Just wondering," Sam says, casual.

Mick's startled into a grin. "You absolute prick," he says, and Sam smiles back at him. A little smug. "And how was it?"

A lifted shoulder, like nothing. "Maybe we can stay here again when we're done with this job," Sam says. Then, a little more serious: "We can talk. If it's just Mick, and not anything else."

Mick runs his tongue over the sore spot inside his lip. "I'm looking forward to it," he says, and Sam nods. He steps back and Sam lets him go, and Mick hooks the bottle of champagne out of the bucket, dripping ice-water onto the carpet. "But I'm taking this." Sam snorts. "And I hope you don't mind if I have a furious wank over this in about ten minutes."

An eyeroll. "TMI," he says, the bastard, and Mick sighs at him and exits with what dignity he has, and when the door's closed behind him he stands in the overly bright hall with the bottle still dripping cold against his trousers and breathes out. He licks his lips and gets a taste of champagne.

After the case is done, he thinks, and can't imagine for a moment what might go in that space. It's a strange uncertainty. For the first time in his life, something unplanned and uncalculated-for, something the Letters haven't decided for him. Something just for him. He flexes his hand, still feeling the echo of Sam on his wrist. After the case. He really is looking forward to it.

[f00pyf00p]

Four-Year Anniversary

Fandom: Sanders Sides  Characters: Logan, Virgil, Roman, Mentions of Patton Rating: General Relationships: Romantic Analogical Warnings: None that I’m aware of Word count: 3017 Summary: Roman is determined to make Logan and Virgil will enjoy their anniversary, even if they don't seem to be particularly interested in it themselves. Other Notes: Analogical Week Day 1: Debate/Anniversary @analogicalweek 

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Virgil was the first one out of the two to awaken. It was an odd but welcome occurrence, and one he celebrated by shifting over and cuddling into his partner, wrapping one arm over Logan’s waist, and kissing the side of his neck.

There was a soft mumble from the other person. Virgil kissed him again.

“I don’t wake you up when I happen to awaken first,” Logan grumbled. “Besides, I require abnormal amounts of strength today.”

Virgil frowned. “Why?”

“Roman.”

Right.

Today was their anniversary. It was their four-year anniversary (that thought alone had Virgil pulling Logan a little closer) and while to them, that meant… not a lot, to Roman it meant much more than it should, especially considering he wasn’t even in the relationship.

“20 bucks says he’s made the kitchen look like a really fancy restaurant.”

Logan's only response was a quiet groan.

“What things do you think we’ll see the moment we open the bedroom door?” Virgil nudged him. “I’ve got rose petals, a basket of chocolates, and a radio playing the sound of Roman singing love songs.”

“Teddy bears,” Logan yawned. He curled closer into the blankets and Virgil suddenly wished to grab his adorable boyfriend and squish him. He settled to push himself up for a kiss on the cheek. “On Valentine’s Day when Thomas went to CVS Roman kept looking from the giant stuffed bears to us. He probably summoned some.”

“He summoned some yesterday during the “First Time Thomas had Mac n’ Cheese” anniversary. Do you really think he’ll do it again?”

“He used those frilly streamers for a full week for “The First TV” anniversary, “The Steven Universe” anniversary, “The First Time Liking Broccoli” anniversary, and “The First Time Hearing the Evan Hansen Musical” anniversary.”

Virgil’s head flopped onto Logan’s shoulder. “Maybe we will have teddy bears then.”

“I’ll burn whatever stupid bear he gets me.”

“What if it's a unicorn bear?”

Logan’s cheeks tinted a very light pink and he opened both eyes to glare at the man hanging above him. Virgil gave a cheeky grin and Logan rolled his eyes before re-closing them and settling back into the pillows.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Virgil nudged playfully.

“Shut up.”

Virgil flopped back down and pressed his face into the back of Logan’s neck. He had barely been there for a second before he was peppering kisses down the back of it, triggering a loud sigh and then a rolling from Logan’s so they were nearly nose to nose.

“You have a lot of energy today,” Logan remarked.

Virgil reached up and kissed his nose.

“We could say in bed forever,” Virgil told him. “Then we get to avoid Roman.”

“That would hurt Roman’s feelings.” Logan’s expression turned more sheepish. “I’m trying not to do that anymore.”

Virgil’s heart bloomed with love for this man in front of him, who could accept the fact that he had made mistakes and who worked so hard to improve them.

“Still,” Virgil pressed. “We can stall.”

Logan shrugged and Virgil took that as permission to lean forward and fully capture his boyfriend’s lips within his own.

__

Roman was positive he had forgotten something. Something important. Something they needed.

He ran down his checklist.

A path of red and white roses petals, leading from Logan’s bedroom (which had pretty much become Logan and Virgil’s bedroom at this point) to the kitchen.

Baskets, filled with chocolates, fruits, flowers, and a coffee maker. Two large teddy bears, one white, one grey.

Then in the kitchen…

Waffles, cooked to perfection by Patton. Hot syrup, berries, whipped cream, and then there was the fact that the entire kitchen had been shifted to look like one of those fancy diners.

He had created an entire ballroom, filled it to the brim with random facets of Thomas’s personality, added music and snacks, and then closed it off for later.

His room was open to go outside and eat at the picnic he had set up, on a blanket completely covered in hearts.

What had he missed?

Crap! There were supposed to be chocolates at the picnic! Roman hurriedly snapped his fingers and felt himself relax.

Wait.

Music.

With another snap of his fingers, radios appeared at every single one of the spots he had set up for Logan and Virgil, all filled with the sound of his voice singing a variety of love songs.

Now, everything was perfect, as it should be for Logan and Virgil’s fourth anniversary.

The bedroom door opened. Roman could tell because the sound of him singing “You Matter to Me” from Waitress slowly started up, followed by Roman’s loud singing.

I could find the whole meaning of life in those sad eyes

They've seen things you never quite say, but I hear…

Logan came into the kitchen first. He blinked at the fancy diner and offered Roman what was probably a smile- Roman wasn’t quite sure, but admittedly, it wasn’t like the logical side smiled much anyway. As Logan gingerly took a seat, Virgil appeared behind him. His hands flinched slightly at the sight but he did smile at Roman before moving for the coffee machine.

“No!”

Virgil blinked. Had Roman turned to look at Logan, he would’ve noticed the side putting his head in his hands, but his gaze was fixated solely on Virgil and the mugs he was reaching for.

“I’ll do that!” Roman stepped forward and shoved Virgil towards the table. “It’s your day!”

“I um…” Virgil licked his lips. “I don’t want-”

“We appreciate it, Roman,” Logan interrupted. He fixed Virgil with a look. “Just breakfast, right?”

Roman nodded eagerly.

Virgil pursed his lips before moving back over to the table Logan was already seated at and taking the spot across from him. The two of them leaned forward, probably to tell each other how pleased they were with Roman’s efforts, while Roman reached for the coffee.

He had been setting up things like this for the past four years, every time their anniversary hit, and he had never seemed to get it quite right. Somewhere along the line, one or the other always disappeared and everything fell to shambles pretty quickly.

It didn’t matter. Roman would make today so enjoyable, they would wish everyday was Anniversary Day.

He placed two coffee mugs in front of them. “What would you like to eat?” He asked.

Logan and Virgil looked at each other, then over to the obvious stack of waffles sitting on the counter.

“Toast,” Virgil deadpanned.

Logan hid his smile with a single hand. He nodded vaguely in the waffles direction and Roman skipped over to the platter and then placed it in the middle of the lovebird’s table.

“Thank you, Roman.” Logan met his eyes and gave a quiet nod before reaching to grab a waffle with his fork.

They ate in relative silence, now and then raising an eyebrow or flickering their eyes in a direction to communicate some sort of message Roman didn’t understand. He waited patiently for the two of them to finish eating before snapping his fingers and clearing the table in an instant.

“Right! Now, I have an outdoorsy activity plan for you including Swan Boats-”

“I can’t!” Virgil interrupted.

Roman paused. “Why not?”

“I’m… allergic to water?”

There was a beat of silence. Logan stared open-mouthed at Virgil but Roman nodded knowingly.

“Okay, then we can skip the Swan Boats and go right to the theater.”

Logan winced at that.

“Don’t worry,” Roman said quickly. “It’s gay.”

“Look, Roman, I’m sure your play is very good… who’s in it?”

“Me!”

Virgil closed his eyes and Logan licked his lips.

“Right. I’m sure it’s… adequate. But I’m not very fond of theater-”

“You’ll like this one,” Roman said. “Come on! I promise it’ll be fun!”

Virgil and Logan shared another one of their looks. Their hands laced together and both of them nodded over at Roman, who was all too happy to lead them out of the kitchen and towards his room.

When Roman glanced behind him, he found Virgil raising his eyebrows at Logan, an expression that Logan seemed to be purposely ignoring. Roman wasn’t quite sure what to make of it but he chose to leave his strange nerds to whatever they were up to and concentrate on the performance he was about to give. It would be a bit difficult to give, as for some reason, none of the other sides that preferred acting had liked the idea of acting for Logan and Virgil.

“Logan hates theater,” Courage had said, “and Virgil is scared of being the only audience member clapping. Besides, you know they don’t do anything for anniversaries anyway.”

Roman did know that, which is why he had set up this show for them. In his opinion, it was important to celebrate the big moments. Especially four years of being together.

His performance began with a song about feeling lost and alone. The moment the song began, Logan began shifting in his seat and Virgil muttered something in his ear.

During intermission, Logan went up to Roman and gave him what could’ve either been a smile or a grimace.

“I have work,” he said simply. “Virgil says he’ll watch the rest of your performance and tell me about it, because I don’t want your efforts to go unwatched, but I do really need to go.”

Roman stared at him. “It’s your anniversary! You should be relaxing!”

Logan just shrugged. “I don’t see an anniversary as an achievement.”

Before Roman could even begin to unpack all that, Logan gave him a tiny wave and left Virgil to watch the rest of Roman’s performance alone.

__

Okay, so the theater and the swan boats were a bust. That was fine. Roman had plenty of other things planned for today.

Except, then Virgil wanted to go work, so only he and Logan went to Patton’s cooking class.

And then Logan saw a book he hadn’t read in the library, so Virgil did the escape room by himself (he did manage to complete it though.)

And then both Logan and Virgil were busy, so the picnic was completely ruined.

By 3 o’clock, Roman had all but given up trying to get Logan and Virgil to do fun things and was sitting by the kitchen table, head firmly planted on the tabletop, and letting out quiet moans as if he were a fish that had just been gutted.

There was a creak from the chair beside him. Roman turned his head to the side and blinked rapidly at Logan. The side’s expression was unreadable, but Roman sat up and glared fully at his stupid friend.

“Why don’t you just enjoy the stuff I make you!?” Roman threw his hands up in the air. “You’ve been together for four years! You should celebrate that!”

Logan sighed quietly. “Would it make you feel better if Virgil and I did one of your… date ideas?”

“No!” Roman crossed his arms over his chest. “It would make me feel better if you wanted to celebrate.”

“So we can’t make you feel better then?”

It took Roman a second to figure out what he was insinuating. That the only reason he would do anything Roman planned was for him and not their relationship. “Why don’t you want to celebrate!?” he practically shouted.

Virgil appeared in the doorway. Roman’s eyes flickered between the two of them but it was Logan who answered his question.

“Virgil doesn’t like the over-attention, and I don’t see an anniversary as an achievement.” His voice was casual as if they were discussing how the sky was blue or that water made things wet. “The true achievements in a relationship are when you compromise, help the other through obstacles, show your interest in their interests. It’s not an arbitrary date.”

Roman stared rather blankly at him.

“The achievement,” Logan continued, “is just being in the relationship. It doesn’t matter to me how long I’m with Virgil, so long as I am.”

“You fucking-” Virgil spoke from the doorway, voice a bit more muffled than usual.

Logan glanced behind him, eyebrows knit together, and barely had time to ask “what?” before Virgil had hauled him out of his chair, waved at Roman, and pulled Logan out of the kitchen.

Roman snapped his fingers, and all of the plans he had made for the day- the party, the trivia game, the Disney movie marathon- vanished into thin air.

__

Logan walked into his room later that night and was not at all surprised to find Virgil laying across his bed, computer open to Disney+, and Virgil browsing through it in an attempt to find a movie they could watch together. It was a common sight- although normally, Virgil wore his hoodie instead of the skeleton onesie on at the moment. And normally, there wasn’t a unicorn onesie spread out off to the side of him in a very obvious message as to what Logan was to wear.

He scooped the onesie up.

“Dinner?” Virgil glanced over at him. He smiled widely at the sight of conjured Chinese food and then rolled his eyes. “Utter sap.”

Logan was still trying not to melt from the mere look on Virgil’s face and wasn’t able to find his tongue before Virgil had sat up and given him a soft kiss.

“We’re not eating on the bed,” Logan managed when they broke apart.

“Then you better set up the beanbags.” Virgil stuck his tongue out and then instantly went back to browsing. “Are you against musical Disney movies?”

“I suppose not.” Logan grimaced at the thought of the show Roman had put on. “However, I’d prefer it to not be a romance.”

Virgil’s gaze laughed back at him, as if he too was remembering the oddity of watching Roman play all parts of a romance play- although Logan had managed to escape before watching Roman passionately make out with… nobody.

And while he was sorry he had left Virgil alone for that, he was also incredibly happy he missed it.

Logan set the Chinese food down on his desk and headed over towards the hamper set off to the side of his room. It took him less than a minute to strip from his earlier dress clothes, slip into the onesie Virgil clearly wanted him in, and tie a blue tie around the front of it.

“Moana doesn’t have any romance in it,” Virgil said aloud. Before Logan could respond he muttered, “I’m in the mood for a classic though.”

Logan left him to it (Virgil would figure out what he wanted eventually) and made his way over to the ridiculously large bean bag usually set up in the corner of the room. Virgil had insisted they get it practically the moment he moved in, and Logan had to admit, the thing was quite useful.

At the moment though, it was completely covered in graphic novels Virgil read while listening to his loud emo music.

Logan sorted them onto the shelf as quickly as he could, ignoring the little “hmms” and “I hate that movies” coming from his bed. Once the beanbag was completely cleared off, Logan snatched their favorite blanket- a weighted galaxy one and sent it fluttering over the top.

“Have you picked a movie yet, Virge?”

“No.” Virgil sighed. “Yes. Maybe. I don’t know.”

“I think you’ve given me every possible meaning to that question.”

“Fuck you.”

Logan smiled softly at the familiar nonthreatening words. He tapped the back of Virgil’s legs as he walked back over to grab the Chinese food, as a quiet friendly reminder that everything was ready for him.

“Mulan,” Virgil said aloud. He twisted to meet Logan’s eyes. “Mulan? Not the hideous new one, obviously. The old one.”

“Satisfactory.”

Virgil's answering smile is bright and not for the first time in their relationship- or really not for the first time that day, Logan is reminded exactly why he fell in love with him. He said nothing as Virgil jumped up and settled into the beanbag, holding one arm out for Logan to curl into before dropping the weighting blanket over both of them.

Virgil balanced the computer on his knees and Logan used the tension of the blanket as a sort of table Chinese food. He curled into Virgil’s side, letting out a quiet breath.

“I can’t believe Mr. I-Don't-Care-About-Anniversaries got my favorite takeout for our anniversary,” Virgil teased lightly.

Logan ignored the heat rushing into his cheeks. “You still enjoy them, even if you don’t like grand gestures. I’m not above pushing aside my opinion to make you happy.”

“You are annoyingly sweet, Logan.”

Logan smiled and leaned up to kiss his boyfriend’s cheek. Virgil’s answer was to shove fried rice into his face and click the start of the movie.

“Did you know,” Logan said over the music of the opening credits, “that the true story of Mulan is a lot more feminist than what Disney was going for here?”

“Yeah?” Virgil supplied.

“Yeah. In the real folktale, Mulan’s family knew she was leaving and supported her. Plus, when the army found out she was a woman, they didn’t care and just let her stay because she was that strong of a soldier.”

Logan glanced over at Virgil and found that he was facing him, barely even an inch away. Their breath mingled and Logan's eyes darted down to his boyfriend’s lips.

“I expect you to rip this movie apart with me,” Virgil whispered.

“Obviously.”

He wasn’t sure who leaned forward first, but by the time Shan Yu had come on screen, Virgil’s lips were soft against his.

He did know that Virgil was the first to pull back and shovel another chopstick full of fried rice into his mouth.

“This guy sucks,” Virgil said, jabbing a single finger at Shan Yu. “I hope that when he goes to charge his phone, it only works at a certain angle.”

“He’s the villain- I- wait. Virgil, they don’t have phones-”

Virgil stuck a dumpling into his open mouth.

[lonelysoul029]

His Hufflepuff Secret ~ Seven

<-Previous Chapter

_____

Y/N walks into the Great Hall and sits down next to Hannah, who is sitting across from Darren. They're both talking with Cedric Diggory and a brunette girl named Laurie.

"How are you so sure you're going to win Cedric?" Darren asks the older wizard.

"I've got faith in myself, D," Cedric answers, throwing a small piece of broccoli at his friend," And besides, that Potter ain't half bad, so either one of us can easily take the win for Hogwarts."

"I, for one, don't doubt that Cedric," Y/N chimes in, taking a few fries from Darren's plate. She's  quick to avoid his hand swatting hers away.

"Thanks Fawley," the dark-haired boy smiles at her.

They continue to chat about the tournament. The boys even mention Fleur Delacour and the other Beauxbaton ladies and how 'pretty' and 'hot' they are compared to the girls at Hogwarts. This results in Hannah leaning over from across the table to smack Darren with her Care of Magical Creatures textbook.

"Ow! What'd you do that for?" Darren whines, rubbing at the top of his head.

"Beauxbaton girls are prettier than the girls here at Hogwarts huh?" Hannah scowls at the boy.

His face falls, "I-I was only joking, Hannah."

"Sure you were," she gets up from her seat, "Come on, Fawley. Let's go someplace where no gits are around to open their stupid mouths."

Y/N takes Darren's whole plate of fries and follows Hannah out the hall. They hear him trying to apologize to Hannah, but they're already halfway out the door.

~~~~•~~~~

The girls sit on one of the window sills near their next class as they munch on the stolen fried potatoes.

"So, since you're doing better after that incident with Pansy," Hannah speaks, "Maybe now we can talk about what happened at the Yule Ball?"

"Why? What happened at the Yule Ball?" Y/N knows what her friend is talking about, she just  doesn't want to talk about it.

"Don't play dumb with me, Fawley," the blonde points a fry at her, "You know exactly what I'm talking about. Hell, the whole bloody school knows what I'm talking about!"

Y/N bangs her head against the concrete behind her, which was a stupid idea considering her still fairly new head injury. What the fuck is your beef with your own head? "So you saw it then?" she mumbles quietly.

"Well, when you kiss Draco Malfoy in the middle of the bloody dance floor," Hannah says sarcastically, "Anyone, or rather, everyone present in the room will obviously see it. In this case, half our school and Durmstrang and Beauxbatons, happened to be present in the room," she grins at her.

"Okay but that's not true," she tries to defend, "Technically, he kissed me. Not the other way around."

Hannah laughs, "Doesn't matter who kissed who first. What matters is that students and staff saw it, and now you two are the biggest gossip around here. On top of that-"

"There's more?" Y/N groans.

"Yes," Hannah nods, "Pansy Parkinson has been bad mouthing you any chance she gets."

Seriously? When is she ever going to stop with this attitude of hers?

"Speaking of, how's your head feeling?"

"Physically, the cut on my head is healing; but with all that's been going on, my brain cells are about to run away to South Korea just to escape my thoughts."

Hannah gives her a sympathetic smile, "What are your thoughts, anyway?"

"About what exactly?" Y/N prompts.

"Malfoy."

She groans, "Ugh where do I even start?"

"Oh, I don't know..." Hannah says sarcastically, "Maybe from the beginning?"

So Y/N does exactly that. She explains to Hannah that she and Malfoy have been friends since second year and how they both agreed to keep it a secret, "...but that's the thing! We promised each other to be friends only behind closed doors and then he goes and takes me to the ball and kisses me."

"It sounds to me that he's got it bad for you," Hannah smirks.

"I highly doubt he's 'got it bad' for me, Hannah," she uses air quotes to emphasize her point.

"Let's look at the facts then, shall we?" she leans forward with her elbows on her textbook and her hands interlaced, "You said that you've been friends in secret for years. In said years, you two flirted back and forth with each other and he's always touchy feely with you. He's probably been in love with you from the beginning! Maybe, he finally got the courage to show his feelings for you and thought that the Yule Ball was the perfect opportunity to do it."

Y/N scoffs nervously, "You could join the Major Investigation Department of the Magical Congress of the United States of America with that investigative thinking of yours," she babbles, trying to deflect what her friend is implying.

"That is not my point and you know it," Hannah says sternly, "With all that denying of yours, I'd say you've got it just as bad as Malfoy does."

"You ladies talking about me?" a familiar voice says.

"Absolutely not," Hannah quickly replies.

Y/N turns her head and sees Draco Malfoy towering over them with a smirk on his face.

"You sure about that, Abbott? Cuz I definitely heard my name," he utters cockily.

"Didn't anyone tell you it's rude to eavesdrop?" Hannah retorts. Y/N is choosing to stay silent, both in embarrassment and not wanting to talk after what her friend just told her.

"I think if it's me you're gossiping about, I have the right to eavesdrop."

"Whatever, Malfoy," she rolls her eyes then pulls her friend up by the arm, "Let's go Y/N, we'll be late for class."

"Hey! I'm in this class too, Abbott," Draco follows the girls.

"And I care because...?" Hannah prompts as she walks faster.

He slows his pace and semi-yells, "Because that's my girlfriend you're dragging all the way there."

The girls stop dead in their tracks. Some students bump into them and some curse them for blocking the way. Hannah slowly turns around to face the Slytherin, "What did you just say?"

"Oh fuck," Y/N mutters under her breath before turning around as well.

"You heard me, Abbott," the boy says, his eyes flickering to Y/N's. A smug smirk permanently plastered on his face, "Ain't that right, sweetheart?"

She nervously meets Hannah's wide-eyed expression, "Yeah, uhh... small detail I forgot to mention?"

"Small detail?!" the other girl exclaims, "Y/N this is huge!"

"Hannah, please," Y/N rolls her eyes, "It's really not a big deal."

"Not a big deal my arse," Hannah grins, "I knew you've both got it bad. Turns out it's officially happening already."

"Can we just get to class?" Y/N groans.

"Fine."

The trio walk into Potions. The girls sit at their usual table with two other Hufflepuffs. On the other side of the room, Draco sits with Crabbe, Goyle and Blaise.

Snape is leaning on his desk, arms folded and face stoic as ever. If he dislikes his job so much, why not just quit? Y/N thinks.

The professor clears his throat, "Today, I will be teaching you about what can be considered the most powerful and most dangerous potion in the world; amortentia. Can anyone tell me what it is?" He scans the room full of bored students, "Mr. Nott."

"Amortentia is a love potion, professor. It can cause extreme infatuation or obsession from whoever drinks it," Theo answers confidently.

"And what is peculiar about it's scent?" Snape looks to the other side of the room, "Miss Fawley?"

Y/N looks up from her notes, "The scent is different for each person. Amortentia will smell like whatever the person is most attracted to."

"Would you like to tell us what you smell?" the professor says, gesturing to the cauldron at the front of the class.

"Sure, I guess," Y/N nods hesitantly. She gets up from her table and walks up to the front. Using her hand, she waves it over the cauldron and breathes in. "I smell apples, mint and... cologne?" A familiar snicker can be heard from one of the tables. Immediately, Y/N rolls her eyes.

"Interesting," Professor Snape hums, although his tone far from interested, "Please take your seat, Miss Fawley. Now, all of you are to brew this potion. I expect perfection and nothing less. Remember, amortentia is quite a dangerous potion, so don't ingest it. No fooling around. Anyone who fails to act properly will receive a month's detention."

The students nod, and a few 'yes, professor's' are muttered.

"You may begin."

Y/N grabs a cauldron while Hannah gathers the ingredients. They place the items back on their table and start going through the instructions.

"So," Hannah nudges Y/N's shoulder, "Apples and cologne, huh?" she smirks at her.

"Oh shut it, Abbott."

The blonde simply giggles, "Come on. Loosen up will you? At least you smelled your actual boyfriend, and not some other guy. That would've been completely awkward and embarrassing if what you described was antique rooms, firewood and Quidditch broomsticks, like Harry Potter's scent."

"Hannah, why in the world would I smell Harry Potter?" Y/N asks, extremely confused.

"Have you forgotten the beginning of second year?" Hannah raises an eyebrow at her, "I swear every single night you wouldn't shut up about him in our dorm."

Y/N takes a second to ponder, "Oh, right! I mean, Harry did look really cute that year," the girls both laugh but cut off by a tall man in a black cape.

"Is this laughter a product of working, ladies?" Snape's deep monotone voice rings in their ears. When the girls don't answer, he continues, "That's what I thought. Get back to the task. Next time, I will be deducting points."

"Sorry, Professor," Y/N mumbles. Snape glares at the two one last time before moving on to another table to pick on other students.

"Alright then. Let's finish this potion, shall we?" Hannah goes to add some rose thorns into the cauldron.

They finish the rest of the steps in silence and pretty soon, the smell of apples, mint and cologne surrounds Y/N's senses. "What do you smell, Hannah?"

"I smell... old books, red cedar and fudge. Ugh, of course even when I'm annoyed at him, he's still the one that I smell," Hannah rolls her eyes.

"Darren?" Y/N chuckles.

"You called?" Darren appears from behind them.

"Go back to smelling your 'hot' Beauxbaton girls, moron," Hannah repulses.

"Hey!I already said I was joking," he replies with an apologetic look.

Y/N watches the two, trying her best not to laugh at her friends. She turns away from them and spots Draco punching Zabini's arm and laughing. It seems as though Zabini pretended to guzzle down the potion and acted all lovey-dovey towards Goyle. Draco's gaze meets hers and he gives her a knowing wink. She smiles at him then sees Snape appear beside the Slytherin boys. Y/N turns back to her friends, knowing Zabini is definitely receiving that month's detention.

"That boy just knows exactly how to get to a girl's heart," Hannah says sarcastically. Darren has retreated back to his table and is purposefully avoiding the blonde girl's death glare.

"What even happened?" Y/N asks.

"He's just been a real git these last couple of days," Hannah sighs, "Saying all the wrong things all the time. I don't know if he's not interested in me anymore or he's just stupid, or both," she props an elbow up on the table and rests her chin on her hand.

"I say he's just stupid," she smiles and puts a hand on Hannah's shoulder, "I'm sure Darren will come to his senses."

"Thanks," Hannah smiles back.

"It appears all of you have finished," Snape announces, "But because you all took your precious time brewing the potion, class is now ending," he gives pointed looks at each table, "Take an empty bottle and label them with your names. You will pour the potion into the bottle and place it on my desk. I will assess and grade them after class. You're all dismissed."

The students do as they're told and place their amortentia potions on Snape's desk. Y/N and Hannah walk towards the exit then they hear a voice call out, "Fawley, wait up!"

They turn and see Draco and his friends catching up with them.

"What?" Y/N asks, already bored of the conversation she knows the topic of.

Draco stops right in front of her with a grin on his face, "Just wanted to know what you smelt from the amortentia."

She rolls her eyes, "You already know what it was."

"Maybe I just want to hear it again," he smirks.

Y/N scoffs, not wanting to give him the satisfaction, "You wanna hear how I smelt firewood and Harry's shampoo?" she smirks back at him.

"Ooh burn," Goyle says from behind Draco.

"Shut up, Goyle," Draco elbows him in the stomach. Goyle mumbles a sorry before Draco turns back to Y/N, "That wasn't funny."

"Really?" she bats her eyelids up at him innocently, "I think it was quite hilarious."

Draco grabs her wrist and pulls her closer to him. He leans down to her ear and whispers, "I think you should watch it, sweetheart."

Despite the heat rising in Y/N's cheeks from their closeness and the fact that their friends are seeing their obvious tension, she replies, "No, I don't think I will," she moves out of his grasp, but not before placing a kiss on his cheek. She winks at him then walks away, Hannah following close behind.

Draco just stands there, dumbfounded. Just when I think I have the upper hand... he smiles to himself.

"Merlin's beard, Malfoy. She's got you wrapped around her little finger, doesn't she?" Zabini jokes.

He just glares at Zabini, but inside he's thinking: Yes. She really does.

_____

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