#sorry arts been slow!! been trying to prep for this trip and ... school work... and commissions

[alexiadraws]

My business card that I’ll be handing out at CTNx next weekend…! I think it came out quite cute.

[pikemoreno]

if you ever wanna be in love

Chapter VI: Violets

a/n: and we’re back! so excited to finish this story in 2021! we’re about halfway through now! really appreciate you all for sticking with me through hiatus! happy new year!

pairing: marcus pike x f!reader

word count: 2.5k

warnings: angst :), nothing is solved, like one bad word, this burn is so slow :)

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“There’s nothing going on here, there never will be anything going on here, alright?” your words rang in his skull like awful, thunderous aftershocks.

In truth, he really had been just trying to leave. He and Adrian had received a message that they had a new case for the morning. It’d come in after hours.

Hennigan Gallery robbery. John Hennigan killed.

The group responsible was one they’d been chasing for a while, but their heists had never ended in a murder. Marcus had never been on *any* case that ended in murder. As such, Marcus quickly excused himself from sitting with Adrian to head home a bit early and get through some prep work. He waltzed towards the front door only to find that the foyer was where Wendy had dragged you off to. He didn’t mean to listen in, really. It was very obviously a private conversation that he wanted no part of, but in waiting for a break in conversation to try to sneak by he had heard the last of it. 

It was enough to know that you were talking about him. Enough to know that he should’ve interrupted and thereby saved himself the ache of hearing how you actually felt about your relationship to him. 

Nothing?

You certainly weren’t “nothing” to him. You were, well, not quite everything. Not yet, he hadn’t let himself go that far, but you were certainly something.

He felt your eyes drilling into him as he slipped past. What exactly did you want him to say? He thought as he gritted his teeth, letting the door fall closed behind him a little too loudly.

In that moment he felt the most uneasy mixture of heartbreak and anger. He wasn’t a generally angry person, but the flippancy of your “nothing” cut deep. It was like you were giving Wendy an obvious answer. It flowed so naturally from your lips. 

He’d once again gone too far, assumed he meant more, assumed this would turn out any different from any other relationship he’d found himself in. How did he go so wrong a third time? He’d really tried to take it so slowly, but still show that he did have some kind of intention with you. It had seemed at the time that you’d picked up on the good-natured flirting. Had it been too much? Not enough? Was he really that hard to love? He couldn’t afford to try to decipher it all. What hurt the most is that he had to hear it like this. It wasn’t because he took a chance and it wasn’t because you wanted to be honest with him. No, it was something he was never supposed to hear in the first place. Fate’s cruel trick. Though he guessed it was better to know than to continue being blissfully unaware.

But was it really better?

The Tuesday morning alarm was a rude awakening for Marcus, mostly because it wasn’t much of an awakening. Sleep had evaded him, just as he had expected it to after the events of the evening. He got up quickly-- better to keep busy than sit around, lost in miserable thinking. He didn’t work that way anymore. If he spent every day of heartbreak wallowing instead of pushing forward, well, it’d be a pretty significant chunk of his life at this point. 

After all, this shouldn’t be all that depressing right? It’s not like you two really were anything. Or that you’d even known each other for all that long. It’d been a matter of weeks. What were you to him anyway? You’d helped each other with a problem, that problem seemed to now be solved. The deal was done. You didn’t owe him anything. You could, and should, part ways in peace, go back to being work acquaintances that nodded at each other in the hallway and made small talk at the water cooler. 

That’s what people with “nothing going on” do, right?

Nothing.

But then what was all of that? 

Just… nothing.

He left his place without eating breakfast. 

Time to get to work-- and pray he didn’t see you.

--

The air in the office felt different the moment you stepped inside, but you decided that might’ve just been your impression. It felt like everyone you passed was staring at you. It was like they knew you’d inadvertently broken the heart of everyone’s best work friend last night. 

You guessed you deserved the cold treatment in that case-- even if it was only an imagined one.

The words had been out of your mouth before you could even recognize what you were saying. You were frustrated and felt cornered by Wendy’s questions that hit at too deep of a truth. You didn’t even mean them, but you knew it would take more than an excuse like that to explain the situation to Marcus. If you told him you didn’t mean it, then you’d have to tell him what you did mean, and that was a conversation you found yourself reluctant to have. 

Over the past twelve hours or so you’d taken the time to process what you actually meant, to understand it for yourself. In truth? You did like Marcus. It’d been a matter of weeks, but he had completely wormed his way into your guarded affection. He was caring and intentional and kind, with the goofiest sense of humor and the biggest love for breakfast food you’d ever seen. You truly couldn’t believe how anyone could’ve let him go. 

But of course, now you were doing the same. You didn’t like the way that realization sat in your chest. You let him go before you ever really had him, refusing to even bring him in in the first place out of fear. This had to be remedied, and quickly. The office felt different now without him in your corner. 

You looked regretfully at your schedule filled to the brim with interrogations. Interrogations that were originally supposed to be with Marcus by your side. Now he was reassigned to the Hennigan Gallery case and Wendy had taken his place with you. Probably for the best anyway, but damn, it would be good to see his face right about now. Unsurprisingly, he hadn’t made his usual trip by your desk this morning to say hello. 

A tap on your desk ripped you from your thinking and a split second of hope burned in your chest as you looked up.

No, not Marcus. Of course not. It was Wendy, eyes filled with compassion. Her voice was soft and sympathetic as she asked if you were ready to go downstairs and question the first person. You nodded simply, quietly gathering your things and standing to walk beside her. The silence didn’t break until the elevator doors closed behind you both.

“I’m so sorry about what happened yesterday and my part in it. Don’t get me wrong, that was a conversation you needed to have, but I should’ve waited to have that conversation with you,” Wendy pleaded. You sighed.

“It’s alright, Wendy. It’s not really your fault. It’s mine. If I would’ve told you the truth, it wouldn’t have ended the way it did.” Your confession was met with a confused silence, so you clarified after a beat. “These past few weeks I’ve really started to,” you mentally scrolled through the possible words you could use and found they all choked you before you could even begin to utter them. 

Like. 

Need.

Want.

Fall for.

“F-feel what you think i’m feeling… For Marcus. And the thought of that-- being asked about it-- just really freaked me out.”

In your peripheral you could see Wendy shake her head and you heard her breathe out the smallest laugh. 

“What?” you groaned, both of you continuing to stare straight ahead as the elevator doors parted open.

“You are the most emotionally constipated person I’ve ever met.”

“Shut up.” 

You stepped out together, taking an immediate right to greet the first of the Elizabet Ney Museum employees you had to question.

--

You couldn’t stop your foot from bouncing as you now sat back at your desk, wracking your brain over the notes you’d taken over the past few hours of interrogations. The Elizabet Ney heist was proving itself more and more as a tough nut to crack. There was too little information, too small of a suspect pool, and absolutely no evident motivation. Today you’d questioned every volunteer and employee that’d stuck even a toe in the museum in the past year and all of them seemed just as lost as you were.

Jane Meran, a 70 year-old retiree volunteer and avid art fan couldn’t imagine any reason why anyone would want the stolen goods. They couldn’t have been worth much, she laughed. Her alibi for the day of the crime was as honest and clear as the look in her incredulous eyes as she heard about the theft for what was apparently the first time.

The three sixteen year old volunteers who had been there that day-- Jeremy, Etta, and Leslie-- all snorted at the mere thought of any of them being the culprit. 

“Who cares about all of that junk?” they’d remarked. Their alibis were solid: they’d left their required community service hours for school and went and got high at a friend’s house. Etta had smacked Jeremy for that admission. 

“This is the FBI dumbass. You’re gonna get us in trouble.” Her whisper was loud enough for you to still hear. You sighed. 

Tony Berrara, an assistant manager of sorts and one of two people who’d brought in the artifacts-- the other of which was Mrs. Moa-- sang the very same tune. He had heard the endless nagging of the surviving family members who brought the heirloom and the bust all day while unloading it. They had told him over and over to be extremely careful lest he break either one, but he didn’t think they seemed all that special, not compared to some of the other items that had been procured for the museum. His alibi for later that evening was equally as airtight.

And that was it for the initial suspects. As you had already figured out, there was absolutely no motivation here, and that fact was now exacerbated by the alibis, all confirmable by outside sources. Back to the drawing board. You bit the end of your pen as you thought, looking out the windows at the panoramic view of the surrounding city. 

This case was going to require a little more intensive research. You wondered regretfully if Marcus had done any research before getting moved to the new case. He probably had; he always seemed to be prepared for anything-- obnoxiously so. Your glance fell back to your desk, dropping your pen as you rested your forehead in your hands. 

You could always just ask him.

Or you could do it yourself.

Or you could ask him.

That’d be a good way to talk to him, you reasoned. While you were at it you could clear the air. 

With a gulping breath, you stood up and headed to the elevator.

--

Marcus had had a very very weird morning.

It started off by him being so lost in his head that he had forgotten that he was supposed to go to the Special Crimes offices for the week. He was met with caution tape strung across the entrance to his usual floor and quickly hit the button to take him back down to the 5th floor. Of course it was too late by the time he punched the number and the elevator descended all the way back down to the lobby. 

There was a woman waiting at the bottom and the moment of confusion as she waited for him to get off was more embarrassment than he felt that he could handle at 8am.

“It’s ok. I’m going back up,” Marcus said sheepishly as the brunette finally stepped in. She noddly simply, but smiled at him as she replied.

“We’ve all been there.” 

The way she kindly tried to ease his embarrassment made him feel about fifty pounds lighter. He grinned back. She had a harsh face, but her smile was infectious.

The elevator dinged as it approached the 5th floor and he and the woman bumped shoulders as they attempted to get off at the same time. 

Marcus mentally smacked himself for not paying better attention. He was always the “after you” guy on elevators.

“Sorry, sorry. Go ahead, please,” he recovered, stepping back into place. Her look was quizzical, as if she wanted to ask him something, but she seemed to let it go as she stepped through the doors and turned the opposite direction from where Marcus was headed.

He was beyond grateful for that.

He made it into the glass conference room right on time for the team’s meeting with the distraught Mrs. Hennigan. That was the most normal part of the morning, that is, until a particularly brash blond man by the name of Patrick Jane waltzed into the room like he owned the place and somehow managed to take over the case. Marcus had allowed it for the simple fact that he felt way out of his depth in dealing with a murder case, but he couldn’t say he was particularly excited about working with the irritating man whose reputation proceeded him.

Next thing Marcus knew, he was briefing an entire room of Art Squad and Special Crimes Agents on this theft-murder case that’d become so much more than he had initially signed up for. 

Then he saw her.

The woman from the elevator, walking into the meeting. He locked eyes with her for just a moment before checking himself and getting back to business.

She listened intently throughout the whole thing, looking him directly in the eye as he spoke, making the occasional comment. And soon he was finding he could only look at her.

Oh no.

Not again.

It was too soon.

But didn’t everyone deserve a rebound?

And it’s not like you’d even been together, right?  

There was no harm in taking interest in a woman that was more and more obviously interested in him by the second…

Right?

He attached to her side the moment the meeting ended. She was bright-eyed and curious, asking him all sorts of questions about art and specifically about the confiscated art storage in the basement. 

“Do you wanna go see it?” he beamed, revealing the dimple on his cheek. 

In that moment, he’d felt more important than he had in days-- weeks, even. Last night’s events had colored the past few weeks in such a way that he looked at them with a totally new perspective.

He hadn’t really mattered to you. He was a means to an end. A way to get your boss off your back. At best, he was an acquaintance.

But here? In this moment? He was important. Someone cared about him-- or at least what he had to say. That was a start.

The oddest moment of the day, though, came as he walked the woman-- Teresa, he’d discovered her name was-- out of the conference room to take her down to see the Art Squad’s “Aladdin” area in the basement. He could’ve sworn he saw a flash of a distinct multi-colored cardigan disappear around the corner. In his peripheral, it looked just like the one he’d seen you wear almost every day for the past week. But that didn’t make any sense. He wasn’t expecting to see you anytime soon, at least not because you were purposefully on his floor. 

He’d probably imagined it.

Just ghosts of the past.

The elevator dinged, signaling it was time to go down.

[basicjetsetter]

Part III

♡ Pairing: Peter Parker x Black!FemaleReader

▹ Warnings: Mild Language, Small mention of suicide attempt, Start of the Slow Burn

▹ Words: 3.1k

▹ A/N: Get ready for the slowest slow burn of your life.

Peter Parker is your Soulmate.

Peter Parker is also Spider-Man.

Your bewildered brain tries to rapidly absorb this news as he swings you back onto your apartment’s roof and nimbly sets you down on your feet, safely away from the ledge.

Well, that explains all the times he went missing during school trips. Those days are like a distant memory now, but you hazily remember the day Spider-Man rescued your classmates from a collapsing elevator in the Washington Monument. It was all anyone in Midtown talked about for weeks.

The boy-next-door was your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man all this time. Shock lags in your system. For some weird reason, you aren’t that surprised by the sight of Peter in the Spider-Man suit or by the idea of him being an Avenger, and as you stand on this roof mere feet from him, all you're concerned about is what he might possibly say.

Your heart races as you skeptically watch him spin around to face you. 

He rubs a quick, nervous hand against the back of his neck and then, in a split second, pulls off his mask.

Time’s barely touched him, but then again, you long pieced together that your Soulmate must have suffered from the blip. His slightly disheveled hair is still the same chestnut brown, and his cute, boyish features remain intact. The only thing different is his eyes. Nothing extremely drastic changed about them, but even in the dark of night, you spot that they’re somehow more mature than you remember, older in a way that oddly aches a small place in your heart.

All while you scrutinize Peter’s exposed face and apprehensively stare into his eyes, part of you braces for the fireworks to explode and all the stars in the universe to align. This is it, isn’t it? The fated moment your childhood stories preached to be an epically magical experience? Aren’t you supposed to feel something? Anything?

A cricket chirps nearby.

Peter clears his throat, extends a hand to you, and sheepishly says, “Um, h-hi.”

You stare at his hand until it drops down to his side.

“Oh, geez!” he smacks a hand to his forehead. “Sorry, sorry. That was dumb. You probably aren’t thinking about that right now. Are you okay?”

It takes a while to part your lips, and once they’re open, all that comes out is, “Huh?”

“Are—are you okay? You just fell off that ledge over there,” he adds the last part with a gesture to the ledge, as if he’s trying to jog your memory.

You glance at the edge of the roof behind you, then slowly drag your gaze back to him. “Yeah.” Shaking your head, you repeat louder, “Yeah, I’m fine. It was… it was an accident.”

He blows out a relieved breath. “That’s great. Glad I got to you in time cause that would have been a nasty fall.”

You try to hide your flinch, but you’re sure he catches it because he immediately casts his eyes downward, mumbling more apologies while shuffling from one foot to another.

Sobering silence clouds the air around you as the last five minutes replay in your mind. You nearly died. You were seconds away from ending your life. Peter Parker saved you.

Gulping past the enormous lump in your throat, you whisper, “Thank you.”

Both sides of Peter’s mouth quirk up into a soft smile. “You’re welcome.” He pauses for a few beats, appearing to choose his next words carefully, then says, “So… you’re my Soulmate.”

Hearing him speak the words aloud thickens the obstruction in your throat, and all you offer back is an acknowledging nod, which expands Peter’s smile into a grin so bright it trips up your galloping heart.

“I was beginning to think I’d never meet you. I kept, you know, hearing you say my name in my head, so I kinda guessed you were still out there somewhere. Just never thought you’d be in my neighborhood.” He holds out his hand again, and this time you grudgingly shake it. “We had Spanish together, right?”

Once again, you’re stunned into silence. How the hell does Peter even know you? Back in your high school days, you don’t ever remember speaking a word to him, let alone doing something memorable enough for him to know which class you took together. As far as you can recall, Spanish was the only class you shared, and half the time, he was too busy waiting for class to end to notice you.

While you search your memory's repressed files to trace back any time you may have interacted with Peter, he says your name, causing your eyes to flash to his. 

“You know my name?”

“Yeah…” he answers like it’d be strange if he didn’t. “We were in the same class for a while, and you painted that really awesome Starry Night with my friend, Ned.”

Something faintly warm and fluttery pitches around in your chest, but you’re quick to stow away the feeling into a locked box. It’s just a compliment—nothing more, nothing less. He seems like a nice guy and all, but there is clearly nothing between you two. No sparks. No deep gazes. No instant connections. Nothing.

Disappointment stings like a cut in your chest as you hurry over to the ledge and gather up your art supplies. When you turn back around, Peter’s staring at you with disheartened confusion, furrowing his brows.

Words haphazardly spill out of your mouth. “It was nice meeting you, Peter, and um, thanks for saving me, but I gotta go cause I have work early in the morning, and it’s super late—” 

“Wait, wait, wait!” he rushes, marginally lunging forward as you take a few steps toward the exit, hand outstretched to stop you. “I just—can you tell me where you work? Maybe I can come by, and we can, y’know, talk a little bit. Get to know each other?” he ends with a hopeful, lop-sided smile.

The “No, I don’t think that would be a good idea” sits right on the edge of your tongue, armed and ready for dispatch, but Peter’s anxious little smile stalls it in its tracks. Instead, you shockingly find yourself replying, “Hal’s Diner.”

Peter perks up. “Oh, cool. I know that place. It’s got good pie. So… um, guess I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” you mumble, trying hard not to kick yourself for giving in so easily. Out of courtesy, you force a small smile onto your lips and say, “Goodnight, Peter.”

He returns your smile ten-fold. “Goodnight.”

As the exit door shuts behind you, you hear the slightest Thwip.

Why couldn’t you just say no?

✦ ✧✦ ✧

Bright and early, you show up at Hal’s Diner thirty-five minutes before you’re scheduled to be there, currently helping Hal prep for the Sunday breakfast crowd. To say your boss was astonished to see you at the front door nearly an hour before opening would be an understatement, but he thankfully didn’t question you.

After everything that transpired last night, from the fall to meeting Peter, the last thing you expected was a restful night’s sleep, but you were zonked the moment your head touched the pillow. For the first time in forever, those words didn’t plague your dreams and your every conscious thought. Your mind is now gloriously quiet.

You finally met your fated person, and now, you can eventually move on.

Except, not really… because Peter thinks it’s necessary to get to know you. Not if you can avoid it.

With that thought looming over your head from the second you woke up, you zoomed through your morning routine and made it out of your apartment in record time. You didn’t really have a game plan or destination in the works when you left, but you knew that your hands and mind needed to be busy to keep the more pressing thought at bay. Hence, your reason for prepping with Hal. At the moment, he’s droning on and on about what a mess last night’s shift turned out to be while you peel potatoes.

“And that new hire, the Dennis kid, screwed up three orders. Three consecutive orders! Two of ‘em from the same couple. If the boy weren’t so good at cleanup, he’d be out the door,” Hal swears, eyeing his inventory list. “Looks like we’re gonna have to stock up on eggs again.”

You hum to show you were listening, but it didn't really matter. Hal could go on like this for days, with or without an audience.

He leans his heavy body against the gigantic industrial refrigerator, then perches his thick-rimmed glasses on the bridge of his bulbous nose. “Alright, now you mind telling me what’s got you here so early?”

“Nothing,” you lie breezily, taking your bowl full of naked potatoes to the sink to rinse them off. The hot water runs freezing cold but gradually warms as you painstakingly rinse the whole surface of every potato, struggling to keep your hands and mind busy. “Just thought I’d be a good employee and help out my boss.”

“Yeah, right,” he scoffs with a laugh, “If that’s true, then there must be pigs flying in Central Park.”

You counter, “Are you insinuating I’m not a good employee?”

“No. Good help like you is hard to come by these days, and everyone in Queens knows I’d be the first in line to praise your workmanship. I’m actually just expressing a nagging concern I have with you notoriously being late and then, in the blink of an eye, turning up here before I can even fit the key in the door. Now, either something’s real wrong or something’s real right. Which one is it?”

Experience with Hal and his prying questions over the last three years taught you how to lie tactfully. Always start with a full lie, then go with a half-truth to throw him off your trail. “I finally got more than four hours of sleep.”

“Great!” Hal beams, clapping his hands together. “Now, why’s that?”

You sigh exasperatedly, “For the love of—Can’t good news just be good news, Hal? Must there be an explanation?”

“Alright, alright. I’ll back off.” He pushes his glasses back up, harrumphing, “Just know that truth is too damn narcissistic to be kept in the dark. It always finds a way to be seen.”

With that, Hal grabs a tattered dishrag and a bottle of cleaning solution off the nearest counter and leaves you in the kitchen, heading out to the dining area to give the booth tables one more wipe down, grumbling about buying new upholstery for the seats.

Try as he might, Hal doesn't have a hope of scaring you into telling him the whole truth. You’re not rolling over that easily. No one in this diner is ever going to find out that you met your Soulmate, and if you’re lucky, it’ll stay a secret until literal pigs are flying in Central Park.

Somehow, someway, you’re going to figure out how to escape whatever this connection is because there must be some cosmic loophole for those who simply don’t want their destiny. There’s no way you’re the only person on this planet who’s ever decided to break from their Soulmate.

If there is any sliver of a connection between you and Peter, he’d understand why you can’t stay. He’d understand, and he’d move on.

You hold onto this hope throughout the rest of the workday. Hal doesn’t badger you again as the diner opens and the Sunday crowd comes bustling in, hungry for syrup-saturated French toast sticks and freshly brewed coffee.

Every time the welcoming bell at the entrance jangled, your eyes fearfully snapped to the door, expecting chestnut hair and a boyishly thousand-watt smile. And every time it wasn’t him, an obnoxious pebble of dismay sank to the pit of your stomach. Between serving customer after customer and watching the door, time slipped away from you, and before you even registered the difference, the warm afternoon sun streamed directly into the diner, and the last ten minutes of your shift approached.

Chris is dragging out a goodbye with a dazzled mother and her teenage son, inadvertently milking more tips out of them with a hilarious story about his favorite ketchup stain on his apron, while Wendy mops over the same black and white tiles for the seventh time, blinking in and out and stifling yawns. You set down two plates of grilled cheeses and steak fries for a young couple, smiling with your plastic smile and brightly telling them to enjoy their meals and to call for you if they need anything else.

As soon as you turn around to check up on the regulars sitting at the stools, the bell jingles, and there in the entrance stands Peter, cheerfully greeted with a perfectly timed, “Welcome to Hal’s, dude!” from Chris.

Your heart stutter-stops, then bursts into a full-on sprint, and before you even understand what you’re doing, you duck down, scurrying behind the bar. Two regulars on the stools, a middle-aged biker nicknamed Spikes and his buddy Garrick, lean over the counter with querying stares. Hastily, you mouth, I’m not here, and they curtly nod in unison, sitting back down.

On the other side of the bar, you hear Chris seat Peter in a booth that sounds dangerously close to your hiding spot, so you squinch down as far as you can go, balling yourself up in a position your knees and back will hate you for later.

“My name’s Chris, and I shall be your server this fine afternoon. Anything I can start you off with…?”

“Peter,” Peter fills in, then answers, “And a slice of Banana Cream Pie would be great.”

You intently listen to the scratch of pen against paper as Chris scribbles down the order. “Sweet, dude. I’ll bring that out to you as soon as possible.”

“Thanks. And, hey, um… does a girl named Y/N work here?”

Your eyes bulge.

“Yeah! Do you want me to get her?” asks Chris helpfully while you internally scream, adding, “I think she might be in the back. Could have sworn she was out here a second ago.”

The best scenario out of this situation would be if Chris miraculously misses your hiding spot, walks into the back and sees you’re not there, then comes back out, missing you again, and informs Peter that you must’ve gone home early. The absolute worst being Chris trips over you and nearly breaks his neck.

By the way things are shaping up, you might as well give yourself away.

“Y’all talking about the little miss with the bun in her hair?” Spikes gruffly interjects. “Cause you just missed her.”

You almost puff out a sigh as relief washes over you like a tidal wave. Spikes has got free burgers and milkshakes coming his way for a month.

“Huh… thought she was here.” Chris stays quiet only for a second, probably questioning the efficacy of his eyesight, before speaking to Peter again. “Sorry about that, man. Still want that pie?”

Just like that, your heart kicks into high gear. Please don’t say yes. Please don’t say yes. Please don’t say yes.

Again, to your utter relief, Peter says, “No, thanks, I actually gotta get going. Mind if I borrow your pen and paper real fast?” You hold in a tense breath as Chris rips off a piece of pad paper and hands it to him. More pen scratches against paper, then Peter speaks up, “Can you make sure this reaches her?”

“Definitely. Have a good rest of your day, and come back anytime, dude.”

You don’t uncoil yourself from behind the bar until the door jingles again and a good five minutes pass. Your muscles and joints achingly cry out from the mistreatment as you warily stand to your full height, and Spikes and Garrick give you a confirmational thumbs-up when you smile at them gratefully.

Chris, spotting you out of the corner of his eye, swivels around and gapes, “Where’d you just come from?”

“The back.” Not entirely a lie.

Chris frowns, “But Spikes just said—”

“I was leaving,” you hurriedly cut in. “But I—I, um, I forgot to…” Your eyes rove around the diner and land on the couple you recently served. You hit your head with your palm in an oops manner and nervously chuckle, “I forgot to give those guys their check. So, I’m just… gonna go and… do that.”

You skirt around Chris’s inquisitively raised eyebrow and head over to the cash register to tabulate the couple’s bill. That was a way too close call. And by the way Chris is still staring at you, it looks as if you’re far from being out of the woods.

Once you hand the couple their check, rush to the back and clock out for the day, and come back out in the dining area to leave, Chris is waiting by the door, holding up the triangled piece of paper Peter left for you.

“Some guy named Peter came by to see you. You know him?” A flash in his eyes dares you to deny it, as if he caught onto your game.

You defiantly square your jaw. “I might. Did he leave that for me?”

“Maybe,” he shrugs, “Wanna tell me who he is?”

“No, I don’t think I will,” you winningly grin as you snatch the paper from his hand.

Chris wears the same winning smile. “Fine, don’t tell me. I’ll ask him when he comes back tomorrow.”

You blanch, “Wh-what—what makes you think he’s coming back tomorrow?”

“All my customers come back. Always,” he promises. Chris never seemed like the type to issue positive threats, but here he is, threatening you with that friendly smile lighting his jovial face.

The promising threat rings in your ears as you walk out the door and head to your apartment. Halfway there, you remember the crumpled piece of paper grasped in your balled-up fist. You move out of the flow of pedestrian traffic, lean against the brick façade of a mini-mart, and unfold the paper.

Peter’s straight-forward scrawl reads: Sorry I missed you. Be back earlier tomorrow :) – Peter P., and at the bottom of the note is a phone number with an arrow pointing to it, saying, My cell #.

A small, itty-bitty smile flits across your lips as your eyes linger on Peter’s smiley face, and for the briefest moment, you’re transported back to the roof, losing your breath all over again as he smiles that innocently beautiful smile.

Avoiding him is going to be tougher than you thought.

...

Part IV

[acklest]

A preview of Chapter 9 of Anything and Everything All at Once (The first 8 chapters on AO3), Wincest (but none in this preview), Sam POV, WIP. 

Words: 1,431

2003 and the Escape Velocity

Palo Alto, CA October 2003

“We’re going to Gstaad for the holidays. Again.” Brady rolled his eyes as if he was griping about a trip to the DMV. With his fork, he quarantined three olives to an unused corner of his niçoise salad, then took a cautious bite and grimaced, theatrically allowing his plastic fork to drop into the container just before he forced it closed. “I specifically said no olives and not to salt the greens. Why did I think eating on campus was a good idea?"

Sam wasn't even sure what was in his container. He thought he was ordering a salad, but it was actually mostly thin pasta. It also had more goat cheese than he thought was really necessary, which was any amount whatsoever.

Since a service-related rant from Brady could last for an hour, he ignored the question and hoped that his vague recollection about rich kids and Gstaad was correct. "I thought you liked skiing."

“Oh, I love skiing.” Brady pushed the plastic container away and wiped at his mouth with a napkin. “But this is theatre, Sam: Strings of tasteful white lights twinkling from the boughs of an eastern white pine that wasn't bothering anyone. The carefully tended fireplace. The flattering golden light that doesn't appear to have any source. The mulled cider that has either too much or too little Calvados. Five course meals served with brute-force cheer as only Germans can provide. Everyone politely overlooks the fact that my mother has been blitzed on vodka and Valium since the second day. Then it's time for the annual family portrait, for which our clothes were selected in advance to comply with a color palette that was agreed-upon the month before that. It was almost thrown into chaos this year by a controversial last-minute change from dove gray to a slightly softer dove gray. So a holiday in Gstaad is mostly just me standing around in an expensive sweater wishing I was skiing, but too drunk to do so.” He raised his mineral water imperiously. "Gesegnete Weihnachten!"

Too many times Sam had blown his scholarship cover by going wide-eyed at these stories. Not that Brady gave a shit, but still. Yachts, second homes, elite prep schools, brushes with celebrities? He might as well be reading The Great Gatsby.

As Brady explained it, there were three types of rich kids: Kids who grew up with easy access to a yacht, kids whose parents owned the yacht, and kids whose parents sold them that yacht so they could get a better one.

"Swap out yachts for horses, same thing."

Brady was the second type.

To his surprise, most of the rich kids here weren't eager to really show it off. They wore jeans and random t-shirts just like Sam did, theirs just weren't from Target. Their German-engineered cars were never more than two years old and in flawless working order, but not as showy as he would've expected. Half were fiercely competitive and the other half pretended not to care, with no in-between. But they stumbled into their first morning classes just as confused as Sam.

Then there was Brady, who thought subtlety indicated a lack of imagination.

Noticing the time on his watch, Sam collected the book from his last class from the table and stood. “Thanks for lunch, man. I have an art history exam in two days, and I can’t even tell you what happened in the last class, so I’d better get going.”

“Vasquez or Gray?” Brady asked.

He winced preemptively. "Barksdale."

“The serpent queen?” Brady intoned, horrified. “I had her for Intro to Greek Art as a freshman and I only lasted two sessions before I dropped it to get something else. Good luck.”

Sam clapped his shoulder as he walked away. "I'll need it."

When he got back to the dorm, Jerome, their dread-locked RA, slowed down in mid-jog to block him. Sam had yet to see Jerome actually walk anywhere, like he only had one speed. Maybe on speed. “Mack’s looking for you. Seems more pissed than usual."

He groaned inwardly at the mention of his roommate. “Did he say what about?”

Jerome shrugged. “If he did, I wasn’t paying attention. Just letting you know so you can brace yourself before you walk in.”

Sam thanked him, but Jerome was already out of earshot.

As he pushed open the door, Mack rose angrily from his bed. “Finally! Look, I told you I had to sleep today because the bus for Sacramento leaves at three this afternoon. And there's a damn phone somewhere that's been going off all morning. It's gone off like twenty --”

The ringtone of his old LG, which loudly mimicked the bells of an analogue phone, made the room go white around him. His hearing faded out for a second and his mouth tasted like metal.

“Twenty-one,” Mack amended angrily.

Sam went down on his knees and started digging around under the bed. Books that he wasn’t able to resell were shoved one way, binders and notebooks from past classes were shoved the other, until he saw the blue shoe box next to the electrical outlet. The red light that blinked to indicate missed calls played against the underside of the box spring.

A puff of dust rose up as he pulled the box forward, roughly separating the phone from its charger. More dust went up his nose as he flipped open the phone.

As if the muscles required to say it had atrophied from disuse, Sam's first attempt at the name failed to produce any sound at all, but his voice worked on the second try. "Dean?"

“Don’t hang up.”

That would've been his first impulse, but from the sound of his voice, Dad wasn't pulling his usual Gunny Highway shit.

In no universe was this good news.

The metallic taste in Sam's mouth intensified. It felt like his teeth were coated with it. From the floor, he waved his hand dismissively at Mack, who lingered curiously. He thought of a couple of cutting things to say ("better talk fast then"), but that wasn't what came out. "Is Dean okay?"

Was that weary laugh offended? “I hope so. How fast can you get to San Jose?”

It'd been two years and he was out of practice with Dad's condensed bursts of information, no extraneous syllables. “What?”

“San Jose, Sam. How fast?"

“An hour or so,” Sam answered faintly. “Dean’s in San Jose?”

“At a hospital on Forest Avenue, O’Connor.”

His chest tightened with panic. “Is he –”

“I don’t know,” Dad interrupted. “I could barely get them to confirm he was even there. You still have your old IDs?”

They were in the same box where he’d been keeping his old phone.

“Sam! You still got your old IDs?”

Right, nodding didn't work over the phone. “Yeah.”

“I told them that I was calling his cousin, Paul Di’Anno, and that you would be up there to see him. Please tell me you still have that one.”

Sam tucked the phone between his ear and shoulder and rifled through some personal records, class schedules, and dust bunnies before finding them. He quickly removed the rubber band and started thumbing through them. Phil Lanzon, Dave Brock, William McCafferty and --

He let the rest fall back into the box. “Got it.”

“Get up there as fast as you can. He’s under the name Terence Butler. If he can stand up, walk him out. I'm in West Virginia, there's no way I'll make it in time."

“In time for what?”

"I just found out a fresh felony warrant's been issued outta Nebraska as of this morning, blow back from a job we did there back in June. That ID's burned, and if what happened to him was bad --"

"The hospital has to report it."

"And I don't know if he had his gun on him when they brought him in or how fast the San Jose PD is gonna run the ID.” He could practically see Dad rubbing his hand down his face. “Sam, I'm sorry to ask, but I need your help.”

Did that hurt? Sounds like it hurt.

Sam bit it back just in time. "But what do I --"

He heard the beep of the call ending and pulled the phone away from his ear to snap it closed.

But what do I say to him?

Dad wouldn’t have been able to answer that one anyway.

Mack still hovered nearby, looking more intrigued than actually concerned. “Everything okay?”

Sam stood up and dusted himself off. "I need your car."

[eternalnight8806-3]

Ch 4 The Cat and the Fox

Category: Romance, Modern College AU

Rating: Will be Explicit but for now I’ll just say Mature for language and drinking

Pairing: InuKag

Words: 2,276

Also available on ff.net and AO3

Chapter 1

Tag list: @keichanz @noviceotakus-blog @hinezumi @morikothehalfangel @cstorm86 @digital-art-monster @cammysansstuff

Enjoy!

Speaking to Foxy on her trips to and from work had become a daily routine in the last few weeks. Kagome worried that she was interrupting his sleep schedule too much but he kept insisting she wasn't. So, she happily spoke to him as often as she could. Her morning commute had become quite enjoyable with him keeping her quite blissfully distracted. So much so in fact, that she never noticed when another person began riding the same trains with her every day.

He was tall, but not overly so. His hair was waist long, black and greasy looking, almost to the point of being in dreadlocks, but not quite. His skin was pale and ghostly, hanging off of his gangly frame like a malnourished child. But the most disturbing thing about this man were his eyes. They had an unnatural red color surrounding his dark irises. He wore simple clothes, jeans, a hoodie or t-shirt, sneakers, never standing out in a crowd. But almost everywhere Kagome was, so was he.

 Foxy, are you leaving for break next week?

 Nah. Got nowhere to go. I always just chill here. Why? Are you?

 Yes. I'm going back home to my family's shrine. I miss my mom, brother and grandpa so much. I've never been away from them for so long.

 Spoiled wench :P

 Hey! That's mean!

 Never claimed to be nice woman

 Yeah well you better start

 Oh yeah? Or what?

 I'll come over there and make you!

 Anytime wench ;)

Kagome stared at that last message for several minutes without responding. What the hell did that mean? Was he just messing with her? Her naïve little brain didn't know what to make of his words. Sometimes this relationship they had was confusing for her. They talked all the time, even seemed to be flirting with eachother, but they were both too chicken to even ask the other's name let alone meet again in the light of day.

Once again, she was saved by the proverbial bell as the train slowed to her stop. She tucked the phone into her pocket, determined not to think about it for now, and made her way out of the station up to the street. She pulled her jacket closer around her neck as she came up and the chilly late November air brushed over her. The vibration from her pocket drew her attention.

 Oi wench when do you leave?

 Week from tomorrow. Why?

 So I know when the last time I can text you is

Her brow furrowed in confusion as she rounded the last corner before Yoro North. When did I say you couldn't text me when I leave?

 You didn't I guess. I just assumed you wouldn't want to talk to me while you're visiting your family

 Why?

 Idk

 Well, you can. I may not always respond right away but I don't want to stop talking

 Ok

 I have to go now though. I'm at work. Later Foxy

 Bye wench.

Kagome walked into the door only to be immediately tackled by a little kitsune.

“Kagome!” Shippo exclaimed as he leapt into her arms and latched onto her jacket with his tiny little fists.

Kagome looked down at him and smiled. “Good morning, Shippo. Why aren't you in class with the others?”

That moment Ginta came running from the direction of said classroom, looking quite exasperated. “Shippo! What do you think you're doing?” he bellowed out.

Huge green eyes filled with tears and looked up at Kagome, imploringly. “I-I-I just wa-wanted to gr-greet you, Ka-go-me!” he managed out around sobs.

Stroking his back soothingly, Kagome looked up at Ginta. “It's all right, Ginta. No harm done, right?”

He seemed to be taken aback by her statement, but he hung his head. “Yeah, I guess. Just make sure Koga doesn't find out,” he whispered at her as he made his way her direction.

Stifling a giggle, Kagome nodded. “Our secret, Ginta. Where is Koga anyway?”

A nervous look crossed the demon's features. “Um, I don't know. He just said he was going out for a while.”

Kagome's face bunched up in confusion. She had never seen him not be here in the morning when she arrived in the month since she had started. Odd. Shrugging it off as an anomaly, she snuggled Shippo close to her chest and started for the classroom. “What'dya say we go join the others, eh Shippo?”

“If we really have to...” he said, voice low and sad.

Stopping in her tracks, Kagome looked down at the boy in her arms seriously. “Shippo? Is something wrong?”

Shippo stared up at her with his wide emerald eyes. “Dumb Hiten won't let me play with Soten. He says his sister doesn't need to be associating with stupid little kits.”

Kagome frowned down at him. “Is that so? Well, we're just going to have to set him straight, aren't we Shippo?” With those words, she stormed off towards the classroom, a nervous looking Ginta in tow.

xxx

“Miroku, it's been over a week since we figured it out! I don't know how much longer I can keep this from her.” Sango told her boyfriend as they sat together on the couch of the living space of his frat house.

“Patience, my dearest Sango. These things take time. I'm working on it.”

“What exactly are you working on?”

“We need to get them in the same room together, without masks this time. Surely once they see eachother in person again they'll realize they should just be together. Have you noticed that they've actually scheduled time to talk now?”

“Yeah. It's friggin' creepy. She just stares at her phone for atleast an hour a night. No matter what she's doing she'll always respond to him. Sometimes she laughs or sighs weird. I've given up trying to talk to her about him. She won't tell me anything other than basic info.”

“Same here. Course, with InuYasha that's not too far from the norm anyway.”

Sango's eyes widened. “Y-you've never told me his name! Now how in the hell am I supposed to keep that from her you jerk??”

Miroku opened his mouth to speak but quickly closed it, a thoughtful look crossing his features. Finally, he simply shrugged at her, a slightly shamed look on his face.

Sango narrowed her eyes at the man. “You... you are such an ass.”

“I'm so misunderstood,” he proclaimed. “Look, you said she's leaving next week for break, right?”

“Yeah...” Sango said.

“Alright. Well, the house always throws a combo platter new year's/back to school party. Just hold out for one more week and she'll be gone. Then when she gets back just get her to come to the party and I'l handle the rest.”

Sango glowered at him. “Fine. But no longer than that or I'll tell her everything I know, consequences be damned.”

“You have my word, my dearest Sango.”

xxx

Twelve hours later, Kagome exited the building housing all those disgusting creatures she seemed to care so much about. He would never understand what about those nasty things she could possibly find appealing. He supposed it was just her kind, pure hearted nature, something he would have to be sure to set her straight on before it got too far like with her. Blanching inwardly, the greasy haired man took up his normal post across the street and a block or so behind her. He knew she was heading straight for the train, so he had no fear of losing her. Besides, nothing would keep his Kagome away from him.

How was work today wench? InuYasha typed his message out when he knew she would be on her way to the train from her job. Talking to her had become as second nature to him as breathing. If he hadn't texted her, she would have texted him, of that he had no doubt.

 Tiring. I had to scold the same kid about 100 times today. He's just so aggravating! He thinks he's better than all the other kids because of his heritage.

 I know the type. The asshole is the same way. Kinda why he hates me.

 Oh yeah?

 Yeah. The half thing remember?

 Right. Different moms. She not as classy as he thought she should be?

 You could say that. You have a lot of homework tonight?

 Not really actually. Most of my classes have actually lightened up in prep for the finals I guess. I have a free Saturday night for once.

Something inside InuYasha clenched at those words. Briefly, he had a flash of him sitting with her somewhere quiet, where they could talk. Maybe even look at the stars... Shaking his head of those traitorous thoughts, he focused back on what he could share with her.

 Yeah. Me too. Damn room mate hasn't been around much the last few weeks ever since he found himself a girlfriend.

 Oh yeah? My room mate has been mia too. I think she's been seeing a guy but I haven't really seen her to ask. Makes me feel kind of pathetic.

 You're not pathetic. If anyone is pathetic it's me. I haven't had a girlfriend since high school. And I use the term girlfriend very loosely.

 Why?

Something about her short response made InuYasha feel guilty, though he didn't know why.

 Yeah. We hung out for half our senior year. She was the most popular girl in school. I had no idea why she was hanging out with me of all people. Everyone else hated me or atleast avoided me. She was different.

 Sounds lonely.

 Eh. I had my friend. And her. It wasn't all bad.

 What happened with her?

Staring at his phone for several minutes, InuYasha contemplated what to say about her. He didn't even know why he had brought her up. He hadn't spoken of her in years. Ever since she had left him.

 She left me

 She just left? No reason?

 She found someone else.

 Oh. I'm sorry.

 It's alright. I'm over it.

Atleast 15 minutes passed before he received a reply. He had almost thought that she had gotten busy or fallen asleep when his phone buzzed once again.

 Hey Foxy, do you ever think about calling me?

InuYasha stared at her latest message with wide eyes. In the month since they had met, neither of them had suggested anything more than their simple text relationship. Though if he was being truthful with himself, he had thought about it. More than once. Did this message mean she did too? Damnit! He hated stuff like this. He had never been good at reading between the lines, being a direct and to the point kind of person himself.

 Why do you ask?

 Because I do. But I don't want to if you don't. I'm fine with this too.

 All the time wench.

Almost as soon as he had hit send, his phone was buzzing incessantly, flashing 'Catwoman' in big letters across his screen. Gulping, InuYasha pressed the green button and held the phone up near his face.

“H-hello?” He inwardly cursed his choked sounding voice.

“Hey.” Her voice was soft, timid, and so sweet.

“Hey.”

A giggle came from her end. “You said that already.”

“Nuh-uh! I said hello.”

“Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't realize there was that much of a difference. Excuse me.” Her tone indicated she was messing with him.

“Yeah, well, there is wench.” A small smile came to his face at saying that word aloud to her for the first time.

“How.. how are you?” She asked timidly.

InuYasha lay back in his bed, resting his left hand on his chest. “I'm good. I feel pretty good about my finals next week. How bout you, freshman?” A small smirk crossed his features.

Kagome sighed loudly. “I think I'm doing ok. My job has me a bit ragged. He works me more than I initially thought he would but I'm not willing to give it up. I love it so much. I'm still getting good grades as far as I know so I'm keeping my fingers crossed.”

InuYasha frowned. “Do I need to let you go so you can study? I don't want to be the reason you fail...”

“NO!” She almost screamed at him, causing him to pull the phone away from his head a bit. “I-I mean, no. I'm ok. I promise,” she amended, a lot more quietly.

His chuckle reverberated through her earpiece, sending a slight shiver up her spine. “Alright, wench. How's that bitch at your job? What's her name? Ayumi?”

“Ayame. And just as much of a brat as ever.”

“Brat? Is she five?”

“No...” she said, sounding a little confused. “Oh, wait, you were being faceitious. Oh shut up you jerk!”

“I've told you so many times, you make it too damn easy, woman.”

“Yeah, well, you're a butt face.”

InuYasha's eyebrow quirked. “A-a butt face? That's... something.”

“Yeah! And a jerk head.”

“A... jerk head. Ok, then. Duly noted.” He couldn't keep the wide smile from spreading across his face.

“You're smiling aren't you? I can hear it in your voice.” Kagome's tone was slightly hurt, but in that playful way.

“Only for you, wench.”

Kagome's entire face became beat red at his words. “O-oh.” The line was silent for a few moments as she gathered her wits about her. “H-hey Foxy?”

“Hmm?”

“Have... have you ever wanted to know my name?”

A huge wave of panic washed over InuYasha.

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[fanfic-inator795]

RotTMNT/Baron Jitsu Fanfiction: Dating... With Children - Chapter Two

(Also on AO3 if you want to leave a comment or kudos)

Plot:  Benjamin Draxum hardly considered himself a man of high social standing. Not because he was uncouth or unworthy of it, mind you, but simply because he didn't have much of a social life. Hard to have one when he usually spent his days at work, cooped up in a lab for so long that he often had his lunches in there, and his nights at home reading or doing research for more personal projects. But perhaps meeting handsome semi-retired movie star - as well as his four young sons - could change all that...

((Chapter two, ya’ll! Thank you to everyone for their support on this story so far, and I hope you enjoy the next chapter! ^v^))

“...What’ve you got there, baby?”

Mikey smiled, and held the drawing - consisting of crayon, marker AND a bit of paint - up for his father to see. “Lots of drawings!” he replied, “Didn't wanna choose one, so I made ‘em all! Like this guy here is a super cool dragon, an’ here's his friend who’s a turtle that can skateboard, and this is a bee that's always makin’ up words and making people spell them!”

“Heh, I'm sure I know what that's inspired from,” Lou chuckled, remembering how Raph shared that his class was having a spelling bee a couple weeks ago. He sat and listened to his youngest explain each doodle, nodding and making quick comments of his own as he did so.

“And that's all I really have so far,” Mikey finished, setting the paper down, “but I think I wanna try to add a few more drawings. Maybe some stickers too, THEN it'll be perfect!”

“Alright,” Lou nodded, “But when you're finished, would you please clean off the table? Remember, we have company coming over tonight.”

“Oh yeah! Don't worry, Papa, I will!”

“Good,” Lou smiled, ruffling his curly hair and making the boy giggle, “Thank you.”

“I'm glad Dr. Draxum is coming over,” Donnie spoke up from the beanbag, looking up from his textbook, “I wanna talk to him more about science stuff. And look!” He held up his book - ‘The Building-Blocks of Life’. “I'm reading up on genetics too! And I'm pretty sure I’ll be about as smart as him on it by the time I'm finished.”

Amused, Lou raised an eyebrow. “I didn't realize they were teaching genetics in the first grade.”

“They aren't. I finished my work early and got to go to the library again.” “Ah.” Lou made another mental tally in his head. The school hadn't said anything yet, but if this kept up, he'd have to go there himself and look into possibly moving Donatello up to Raph’s grade. “Can you believe that some kids aren't even interested in looking at the big kid section of books? Or at the non-fiction section? Those are the best sections!”

“Heh, no, I can't. But then it's a good thing that you can appreciate them.” He began to stand up, but stopped when his ears picked up on something. Some quiet whispers, a couple soft footsteps… The martial artist smirked, and prepared himself.

After a couple seconds, he felt something heavy run into him, slamming him to the carpeted floor. He let out an “OOF!”, unable to help himself, while giggles filled his ears. “I got you, Pop!” Raph grinned, “You're pinned!”

“Oh, are you sure?” Lou asked, “because I think-” He twisted his body quickly, knocking a surprised Raphael off before scooping him up into his arms, making the boy squeal. “That I have YOU!” Raph squirmed in his father’s grip while Lou gave him a couple quick noogies before kissing him on the top of his head.

“Daaaad!” Raph groaned, sticking his tongue out. Lou just laughed, letting the boy go.

“Told ya you couldn't beat him, Raphie,” Leo said, grinning at the whole scene as he sat on the arm of his pop’s chair, growing legs swinging, “He's like, the best fighter in the whole world!”

“Yeah well, I still pinned you for a second, right Pop?”

“Mm-hm,” Lou nodded, “Though next time, make sure to actually pin them once you have them on the floor. Don't just sit on them, but try putting your hands and weight on their shoulders. Makes it harder for them to move, slows them down some.” After a moment, he added “But, maybe don't try to tackle our guest tonight, hm?”

“Heh, I won't.” “Good. Now why don't you and your brother wash up?” Raph and Leo both glanced down at their grass and dirt covered limbs, grimaced at them and dashed out of the room.

Still chuckling a bit to himself, Lou picked himself off the floor and headed back into the kitchen. He had already started prepping a couple dishes, but he still had plenty left to do for their meal. His smile softened a bit as he thought about their guest…

It had taken five days for Draxum to call him. In that time, Lou had tried looking him up online. Draxum’s social media was pretty standard, nothing offensive or red-flag raising but nothing too interesting either. The only other piece of the man online was a brief biography on his lab’s research site along with a photo - where he had a very serious and professional expression on his face. A far cry from the fairly casual man he had met at the art gallery.

When he did finally call, it had been late at night, just after he'd put the boys to bed and right before heading to bed himself. Lou had wondered if perhaps this was planned, as a sort of “welp, I tried calling but there was no answer, oh well” type of thing. But Lou had answered, and much to his (and certainly to Draxum’s) surprise, they had ended up talking for a couple hours.

The conversation had started out pretty slow and standard. Lou asked how his day at work was, and Draxum asked how he and the boys were doing. After a while though, things became a little more natural, and their conversation almost became more of a banter. They’d go back and forth, discussing their favorite forms of entertainment, hobbies they enjoyed, and even sharing a couple personal anecdotes. And after all that, there was no way Lou wasn't going to end the call by inviting him over.

Draxum told him he'd have to check his schedule. It only took until the next morning for Draxum to text, letting him know that he would be free the following weekend. Again, Lou couldn't help but wonder if Draxum actually had to check his schedule or if he just didn't want to appear to eager, but said nothing. Instead, he simply gave him a date, time and his home address, and let him know that he was looking forward to it.

Lou had to admit, Draxum wasn't usually his type, but he was still unique enough to catch the ex-movie star’s interest. After all, how many buff science-type bookworms did one meet in their life? Draxum was certainly intelligent, and had a bit of a dry wit but never seemed like a snob. He was a bit stiff but not boring, spoke his mind and, if Lou was really being honest, was so hot. (Again, buff bookworms. Who knew?) Plus, his kids really seemed to like him too. In Lou’s opinion, that last bit was the most important one of all. So, with all that in mind, Lou just figured: “Eh, why not?”

It was funny how often that phrase came up during the big decisions in his life - like when he had decided that he wanted to try being a father when almost everything else in his life seemed hollow, and ended up adopting four kids instead of just one.

---------

Draxum looked at his watch. 5:17. A bit early but, wasn't that better than being late? Really, it was a good sign he was there at all, given that he was still a bit surprised at himself for even accepting the invite. ...Not that spending more time with Lou was necessarily a bad idea...

He then glanced up at the house he was now in front of. Having never actually been invited to a celebrity’s home before, he hadn't quite been sure what to expect. But a medium sized, cozy looking and slightly run-down home in Brooklyn certainly was a bit of a surprise. Maybe making action movies didn't pay as well as Draxum thought.

Still, he kept these comments to himself as he went up the walkway that was littered with chalk drawings and up to the door, knocking twice. It took a couple moments for someone - one of the boys, the one with light patches of skin around his eyes who was wearing a blue tee - to open the door. “You know the password?” He asked.

Draxum’s expression twisted slightly in annoyance, but he kept his cool. “Open says me?” He guessed.

“Mm nnnnope, sorry.” With that, the door was slammed in his face. From the other side, he could hear more young voices, scolding and lightly arguing with each other. The door opened again, and one boy had become four. “I was just joking!” Leo insisted while Donnie continued to glare.

“Hi, Dr. Draxum!” Mikey greeted with a wave.

“Sorry about my dumb brother-” “Hey!” “You can come on in,” Raph added.

Draxum nodded. “Thank you,” he said, moving his arm a bit so he could reveal more of the small box he had been carrying. “If you hadn't let me in when you did, this probably would have melted.”

Leo’s eyes widened. “Wait, you brought cake?! Well you should’a said so!”

With a ghost of a smile on his face, Draxum walked inside. The living room to the Jitsu home was inviting and very much in-use, but not the cluttered and messy space that Draxum had been worried it might have been. There was a reclining chair, a love seat, two kid-sized beanbags, a coffee table with several colorful marks now permanently on it, and a flat screen tv that was playing some cartoon. There were a couple toys on the floor, though not enough that Draxum had to worry about tripping over anything, as well as a few framed pictures on the wall. One of Lou at what looked like some award ceremony, one of him with a Chinese woman (ex wife, perhaps?) and of course, one of him with his children that looked like it was taken just a couple years ago.

“Hey, Doc!” a voice called from the kitchen, bringing Draxum out of his thoughts, “How’s it going? You find the place alright?”

“Yes, there's this wonderful thing called a gps that really helps,” Draxum dryly replied.

Lou chuckled, smiling at him over his shoulder, and blinking when he saw the ice cream cake in the taller man’s hands. From the look of the packaging, he could guess that it came from a pretty high end bakery. “Oh, you didn't have to bring anything.”

“Well, you said you were making supper, I figured the least I could do was bring dessert,” Draxum told him, “Should I just put this in the fridge, then?”

“Yeah, go right ahead.” Draxum did, and then sat down at the table. He noticed that Lou was just in a loose fitting, pale yellow tee and some jeans. Immediately, he felt overdressed, even if he himself was just in a button-up long sleeve shirt and some dark khakis. Still, Draxum tried to look as ‘casual’ as possible, but clearly it wasn't working by the way Lou kept glancing back at him from the kitchen counter

“I'm glad you could make it, by the way,” Lou spoke up, trying to break the ice a little, “I'm sure you get pretty busy, being a scientist and all.”

“Actually, unless I hit a big breakthrough or doing work on a time sensitive project, it's pretty much a nine-to-five job most of the time,” Draxum replied, “The work stays steady, at least.” Lou nodded, and went back to his cooking. Not wanting to risk falling into uncomfortable silence once again, Draxum decided to ask something that had been on his mind since they first met. “And what do you do for a living these days, given that your last film was in, what, the early 2000s?”

Rather than being offended or caught off guard, Lou just smirked. “...You sure you're not a fan of my films?”

“Definitely not,” Draxum retorted so quickly that it made Lou laugh

“If you say so! Anyway, yeah, that was about the time I moved from LA to here. I was smart about my last few paychecks, so I pretty much live off my savings.

Draxum blinked. “...Seriously?”

“Seriously. Though, I know I can't use ALL of it - I know at least one of my kids is going to be going to college - so I do odd jobs when I need to. Make appearances at conventions, do a quick commercial or two sometimes- heh, last year I was even paid to play on a gameshow. A stagehand kept an eye on the boys as they watched me play from the audience, I won some money for a charity, and then the next day I took them to Disneyland. Used most of that paycheck to do it, too. So, I guess you could call me a bit of a sellout.” Though judging by his tone, Lou didn't seem bothered by this at all.

“I don't think anyone could really blame you for taking less time consuming work,” Draxum offered, “Still, do you ever miss making movies, as cheesy as they are?” Or rather, were.

Lou thought for a moment as he tossed the last few ingredients into the frying pan. “...Yeah,” he admitted, “I do. Though, there are plenty of things about the industry that I definitely don't miss, and besides…” His smile softened a bit. “I've got plenty of other things to occupy my time.”

Suddenly, there was a shout. Turning in surprise, Draxum looked through the doorway and watched as Donnie tackled a laughing Leon to the floor. “...Speaking of which, do you know that your kids are tackling each other?”

“Oh yeah, they do that sometimes,” Lou nodded, not even moving from the counter, “Boys will be boys and all that. They're going to roughhouse no matter what I say, and as long as they follow the rules, I usually don't need to step in.”

“Rules?”

Setting down his stirring spoon, Lou counted them off his fingers. “No holding anyone down for more than a couple seconds, no using force to get someone to play what you want to play, if someone says they don't want to wrestle then just leave them be, and no making anyone cry. They're good boys, so that last one is usually punishment enough when they accidentally break it.”

“Ah, I see,” Draxum nodded. Well, that was one way to teach kids how to control their strength and think about their actions. Still, he wondered how Lou would go about things once his sons got a little older and possibly became interested in following in their father’s martial arts footsteps.

It didn't take much longer for their supper to be finished. The kids came to the table without even needing to be called, smelling the food and eager to eat as well as being excited to talk with their guest again. While Raph and Leo told Lou all about the latest exciting climax in their cartoon, Mikey shared one of his drawings with Draxum, who could only stare at it.

“It's, uh…” He tilted his head a bit, staring at the mess of bright colors and scribbles. What on earth was it supposed to be? A natural disaster mixed with a rainbow? “...Very nice, yes.

Mikey beamed. “Really?! Which one is your favorite?”

Shoot, there was more than one drawing there? Well, that at least explained why everything was so cluttered. “Er, well…” He focused a little more on the drawing, and try to find anything that resembled something other than a blob or a tumbleweed to him. “I like this… Cat. Yes, this cat over in the corner, with the… Ice cream on it?”

Mikey looked back at the paper. “That's not a cat.” “Oh, sor-” “But that's a good idea!” The boy gave Draxum another bright smile. “I’ll draw you a kitty with ice cream later, kay?”

“Heh, very well,” Draxum nodded, relieved that he didn't offend the young artist.

“-And then, they used the magic sword, and blasted the bad guys right into the sky!” “Yeah, and the main hero guy said the BEST thing afterwards! He's soooo cool!”

“Well of course, he IS the main hero, after all” Lou chuckled, setting the last of the dishes down at the table, “Donnie, please put your book away now.”

Donnie frowned, reluctantly closing his half-finished textbook. “Fine…” As he placed it back into his ever-present backpack, Draxum managed to catch the book’s title.

“Genetics, hm?” He asked, smiling a bit. Perhaps the boy had been inspired. “Enjoying it so far?” Donnie nodded, keeping his eyes on the silverware in front of him.

The meal was fairly simple. A baked fish as the main course, with fried rice and an easy-to-make salad as the sides. Still, what it lacked in uniqueness, it more than made up for in good flavor. “I'm usually not much of a fish eater, but this is quite good,” Draxum commented, after only a couple bites.

“Mm-hm,” Lou smirked, “I'm not just a handsome actor-martial artist, after all. I know how to cook.” Draxum just rolled his eyes, mildly amused at his date’s cockiness.

“You should try eatin’ the fish and the rice at the same time,” Raph advised, “They go really good together!”

Draxum was the type to keep his food, as well as the tastes and textures, separate while he ate, but he did try the combination once just to appease the eldest Jitsu child. As he continued to eat, Draxum kept glancing over at Donatello out of the corner of his eye. The boy in purple nibbled and picked at his food, fidgeting a bit and staying silent. Certainly different from the eager and inquisitive boy Donnie had introduced himself as, so what had brought on this sudden shyness?

Was it something Draxum had said? He couldn't think of anything that could've been taken as discouragement or dismissal. So, maybe Donnie just didn't care for his field of science but didn't want to offend Draxum by saying so? No, that didn't seem right either. So then, what-?

He noticed Leo leaning over, whispering to Donnie for a moment before being nudged away. Rather than being annoyed, Leo just looked a bit concerned while his twin just looked… Embarrassed? An epiphany went off in Draxum’s mind. So THAT was why Donnie wasn't talking to him.

“Donnie,” he began, getting the boy’s attention, “I was wondering if you had any thoughts on your research so far?”

Donnie continued to squirm, squeezing his fists in his lap. “I-I mean, I'm still reading through the book so, so I'm not really an expert on it yet.” Truth be told, while he liked all sciences, he had really taken a shine to robotics and technology the most. “But talking to you ‘bout it before gave me a good head start, and I know the basics of it already and, um…”

“Yes…?”

“A-And, I…” Donnie scowled before suddenly shouting, “I have a scientific theory! A-About genetics, I mean.”

Draxum nodded, keeping composed (because, wow, even he could admit this was kind of adorable). “May I hear about it?” he asked, making sure to keep his voice neutral to avoid sounding patronizing, knowing that a child as smart as Donnie would definitely notice.

“Well… O-Our genes are inherited from our birth parents, right? So we only have a possibility of getting what they, or the rest of their people in their family, had. But, maybe there could be a way to, um, switch out genes somehow? Maybe with gene samples from other people, or with genes made by scientists, and then those new cells could develop and make whatever kind of person with whatever features they wanted.” Donnie winced a bit once he was finished, and waited for Draxum’s reaction.

The scientist hummed. “Well, that is a sound theory. Perhaps a bit difficult to test at the moment, but I can understand the basis of it, as well as see how it could be possible one day.” Donnie’s eyes widened. He stared back at Draxum, and began to grin widely, as if he had just received the best compliment ever. Draxum held back a chuckle. “Would you like to discuss this theory further?” “Yeah!”

Unsurprisingly, once Draxum began sharing the concept of gene mutation, the conversation devolved into a mix of scientific theorizing with some sci-if-esque levels of speculation (Donnie) and a debate over which animal features and mutations would be best to mix with people (the rest of the boys). Still, the discussion was no less enjoyable, to the kids or to Draxum.

And as for Lou, he just watched and listened, a warm smile on his face. This may have been their first shared meal together, but Draxum already felt like a seat at the table that had always somehow been there

----------

“...I think I just made it impossible for your kids to go to sleep tonight.”

“Eh, they've had worse sugar rushes. Trust me, this is nothing. Besides, they'll burn it all up soon enough.”

The remaining slices of the ice cream cake had already been placed back into the fridge, and because it was still somewhat light out, the boys had been allowed to go play outside for a while. So, they raced out the door, leaving their father and his date to watch by the window while they started playing what Draxum could only describe as a mixed up version of soccer and cricket.

He wasn't even sure if they were keeping score. All he could tell was that the game involved running all around the small yard, using foam swords and hockey sticks to hit a ball as well as kicking it with their feet. Either way, they all seemed to enjoy it, with Raph happily teaming up with Mikey and offering him a piggyback ride whenever his youngest brother struggled to keep up.

Draxum hummed, taking a small sip from the tea Lou had made for him before setting the cup back down. “Your kids are definitely unique.”

“Heh, they sure are,” Lou agreed, “They really are good boys… And they really like you, you know.”

Draxum nodded. It was still sort of hard to believe himself, given how he often thought of children as nothing more than tiny annoyances. Yes, Lou’s kids were loud, and strange, and still a tiny bit annoying. But they were also clever and endearing, and even a little cute. So, he had no real problems with them liking him, or with liking them in return.

“...And,” Lou began, taking a step closer, suddenly making Draxum very aware of his presence, “I really like you too.”

“I-...” That was all Draxum could get out as he turned from the window, looking Lou directly in the eyes now. The handsome (‘ugh, why did he have to be so handsome,’ Draxum thought to himself, knowing this would all be so much easier if he wasn't) man stared back at him, lips curled into an honest smile. No cockiness or playing up his ego, Lou simply wanted him to know how he felt.

“And I mean it too. And uh, heh, no pressure or anything but… I hope the feeling’s mutual.” Draxum didn't say anything, but he didn't look away either. Lou took another slow step forward. Close enough together to do so now, Draxum dared himself to take his hands.

“I think… That's a possibility,” Draxum told him quietly, finally finding the words to reply.

Lou smiled, letting out a soft chuckle that made Draxum’s heart leap a bit. “Good to know…” They were closer now, enough for Draxum to see himself in Lou’s glasses. He told himself that he wasn't the kind of man to kiss on the first date, but Lou was making it SO tempting!

Their faces were getting closer, with Draxum’s own feeling much too warm. He placed his hands on the shorter man’s chest… And gently pushed him away.

The ex-action star blinked, the intimate mood gone in an instant, suddenly leaving him feeling cold. Still, despite his disappointment, Lou backed away.

“...It’s getting late,” Draxum stated, “I should probably get going.” He didn't waste time moving past Lou, now standing in the doorway between the kitchen and living room.

Lou nodded. “Right, of course. Well, thanks again for coming over. I had a nice-”

“I’m-” Draxum suddenly began to say, still refusing to look back at him, “I’m… Available next weekend, as well. So, perhaps you could come over to my place and we could have dinner there.” He paused for a moment before adding, “Just the two of us. It, it's the least I could do, cooking for you in return.”

“...” Lou’s grin returned. So there WAS going to be a next time! “Yeah, that sounds great! Just text me a time and your address and I’ll be there!”

Draxum nodded. “I will.”

“Heh, I’ll be looking forward to our next appointment, Dr. Draxum.”

Even with the light blush still in his cheeks, Draxum turned back around halfway, scoffing at him. “You don't have to keep calling me that. I have a first name, I won't be offended if you use it.”

Despite his internet search on the man, Lou continued to be coy. “You never told me it, Dr. Tall, Dark and Handsome.”

His date rolled his eyes, sighing slightly. He was tall, definitely, but he wasn't anywhere near dark. His skin just barely had a tan! “It's Benjamin. Benjamin Draxum.”

“Ah. Well, Ben, I’ll see you next week.” Draxum nodded, hesitating for only a moment before moving once more. Lou followed him to the front door, and they each gave a quick good night before Draxum left.

“Heh, a second date,” Lou told himself, still grinning about it, “How about that?” With his steps light and earlier disappointment being unable to touch his now sky-high mood, Lou went into his backyard and began trying to wrangle up his kids and get them back inside for pajamas and teeth brushing.

[master-sass-blast]

Everything Needs a Little Magic

ALL. ABOARD. THE FLUFF TRAIN!

Seriously. This is just fluff. Entirely self indulgent.

Summary: You and Piotr spend the day watching Disney movies.

THAT’S IT. NO PLOT. NOTHING BUT FLUFF. I’M DEADASS SERIOUS.

Pairings: Piotr Rasputin x Reader.

Rating: T for making out.

@colossus-and-cable-and-thanos THIS IS ALSO FOR YOU, BB. YOU KNOW WHY! YOU KNOW!

(Also, while we’re here, I highly recommend that y’all check out @x-men-babe‘s blog. They’ve got a masterlist (unlike me, who can’t get their SHIT together) and their writing is really fantastic (READ ICEBOX. DO IT. YOUR LIFE WILL BE BETTER FOR IT. I PROMISE!).

And, unlike me, they take requests! I’ve had a couple people ask me if I take requests. At this point, I don’t, and I’m not sure if I ever will. Outside of special occasions (or finishing my Piotr fic series, which’ll probably take at least a year), it’s not something I can see myself doing. I get very attached to ideas and tend to covet them closely, which ultimately doesn’t work well with doing requests (that and I don’t struggle with writing of my own volition).

But yes! Check out x-men-babe’s blog! You won’t regret it! 10000% Goblin Guarantee of quality!)

Sunlight dapples the bright green undergrowth of the woods behind the X-Mansion. Birds chirp overhead, their merry sounding songs echoing up to the bright, flawless blue sky. Bees occasionally buzz past, in search of the next patch of cutely colored flowers.

It’s a picturesque day.

You, however, are not.

You’re absolutely drenched in sweat, slick and shiny with it as you jog on a well worn path in the woods. Your shirt and gym shorts cling to your body, darkened with your excess perspiration. Your hair is equal parts limp and frizzy, and the strands that have fallen out of your haphazard pony tail --tied during the ugly hours of the morning when you’d first woken up to start your work out--are plastered against your forehead or your neck. Your knees are smudged with dirt from where you tripped earlier --along with your hands--and you just generally look like a mess.

A happy mess, though. A well-exercised mess. This run has been a part of your daily routine for several months now, and you’ve built enough endurance to go the whole distance without stopping or passing out!

You are, however, realizing that you might need to get up earlier if you want to avoid the sweltering summer temperatures and the corresponding sweat bath. You’re not sure which is more disgusting --being so sweaty that people can see their reflections when they look at your skin, or getting up early.

You’re pretty sure it’s getting up early. Probably.

As you jog through the gardens and towards the back of the mansion, you spy Piotr sitting out by the back door in his human form, presumably waiting for you.

Part of it is elating --because just last night he confessed he was in love with you and borderline made out with you on a secluded bench behind a tree, and you’re always happy to see him--but part of it is groan worthy --because just last night he confessed he was in love with you and borderline made out with you on a secluded bench behind a tree, and right now you look absolutely awful.

You slow to a stop a few feet away from him and spread your arms wide, as if waiting for applause before taking a bow. “Behold me and all my drippy glory!”

Piotr chuckles as you flop onto the ground. “You look fine, myshka. I take it your run went well?”

“Yeah, it’s fine, but it’s so damn hot.” You sit up and grimace when you try --and fail--to wipe stray blades of grass off your arms.

“Perhaps you should start waking up earlier.” He’s frowning now, concerned. “It is not good to run in this heat. You could make yourself sick.”

“Okay, I know you’re just trying to help me be healthy, but you should know that suggesting waking up anytime before eight is treason.”

He smiles fondly and shakes his head. “Will you listen if I offer something in return?”

“Absolutely. Even if it’s just you taking your shirt off. Especially if it’s you taking your shirt off. Can you tell I have a vested interest in seeing you with your shirt off?”

His cheeks flush red, but he laughs anyway as he holds out a water bottle to you. “I thought you would be thirsty, since you usually don’t take drink with you. Which--”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Not healthy.” You groan as you press the cool plastic against your hot skin, then take a few icy sips and sigh contentedly. “You’re a real prince among men. You know that, Piotr?”

“Last I checked, it’s called being nice.”

“Pretty sure you’re just an alien that thrives off being courteous.”

He raises an eyebrow at you and smirks. “So, I am alien Prince?”

“I don’t see why not. You’ve got manners and can morph into a massive metal version of yourself. Pretty fuckin’ weird, if you ask me.” You guzzle a little more water, then groan as you push yourself into a standing position. “You’re dressed casual today. Is school not in?”

“Nyet. We are out for year.”

Right. You knew that. Duh.

Your brain does the math of it’s own volition. 

The students and most of the teachers are out for the day and won’t be back until late evening. Those who’ve stayed behind will likely spend the day doing what they want. And, as if that wasn’t wonderful enough, Wade and Nathan are out of the house on a job for Weasel. 

You smile as an idea comes together in your head. “Are there any missions you have to go on.”

Piotr shakes his head. “Nyet.”

“Do you have any hard set plans for the day?”

He’s smiling now, catching on to what’re you’re getting at. “I do not.”

“Then, what say you and I spend the day together once I’m done showering? I’m thinking marathon movie session.”

“I think I would enjoy that very much.” He opens the back door for you and ushers you inside. “But you really should take water with you on runs, moya lyubov’. Dehydration is no joking matter.”

You hide your fond smile by lifting the spout of the water bottle to your lips and let your mother-hen boyfriend lecture you about proper athletic safety and the importance of being well hydrated.

God, you love this man.

Once you’ve thoroughly scrubbed yourself and put on some dry clothes that don’t reek of sweat, you pop downstairs in search of Piotr.

He’s in the kitchen, making an early lunch for himself. “Have you eaten yet, myshka?”

“No. I prefer doing fasted workouts. You build more muscle that way.”

“Da, but you should eat something. You have burnt great deal of energy.”

“I’m going to.” You pat his arm reassuringly. “You don’t have to worry, okay? Believe me, I’m starving. There’s no way I’m going any longer without eating than I absolutely have to.”

The line of his shoulders relaxes as he exhales. “Sorry, I--”

“Don’t apologize, Pete. I like the way you’re sweet and want to take care of everyone; it’s endearing.” Then, to prove your point, you clamber up onto the stool next to him and kiss him.

Even though most of you is completely swept away by the sheer sensation of his lips pressing against yours, a tiny part of your brain still registers ‘holy fucking shit, I’m kissing Piotr, I’m his girlfriend now, I can kiss him whenever I want, this is so fucking awesome--’

He breaks the kiss with a smile and rubs the swells of your cheeks with his thumbs. “I don’t think I’m ever going to get enough of that.”

You grin and lean back in for another kiss. “Me either.”

He presses a gentle finger against your lips. “Eat something, please, dorogaya moya.”

You kiss the pad of his finger and hop off the stool. “Fine. If you insist. So, what movies are we watching?”

“I thought I would let you choose. I put my DVD binder on table in rec room.”

You stealthily lift a pack of Pop Tarts out of one of the boxes Wade has stashed on top of the fridge, then use Piotr’s meal prep distraction to slip into the rec room with your hard earned treat in hand. You situate yourself on the couch, open the foil wrapper holding the breakfast pastry as quietly as you can, and shove half a Pop Tart in your mouth while you start flipping through the DVD booklet.

The sheer number of choices is overwhelming. You wouldn’t have pegged your boyfriend as a movie junkie. The case contains a little bit of everything, from some discs with titles in Russian --no surprise there--to cheesy rom coms to several pieces by Alfred Hitchcock.

What is surprising, though, is when you spy Disney’s Peter Pan movie at the bottom right corner of one of the ‘pages.’ After staring at it for a moment, wondering why Piotr would have a kid’s movie, you shrug it off and flip over to the other side. He’s a teacher. Of course he’d have a kid’s movie or two.

Except it isn’t just one or two. Peter Pan is just the tip of the iceberg; a few quick, disbelieving flips to the end of the binder confirms that he has every Disney movie released on DVD, from Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs to Moana.

Woah. Did not see this coming.

“Pop Tarts are not a meal, dorogaya moya.”

“Agree to disagree.” You look up at him as he walks into the rec room with two plates of food. “Hey, why do you have so many Disney movies?”

“They are happy movies,” he says as he sets one of the plates in your lap. “Besides, I like the art and animation.”

“I’ve never seen ‘em. What makes them so great?”

“Well, the older ones were done by hand. Artists made backgrounds, then painted animation cels for each frame. The cels were photographed, then put together into full movie. It is...” His voice trails off as he tries to find the words. “Awe-inspiring, as artist, to watch. Compared to modern standards, the movies are arguably crude, but the amount of effort is... amazing. And I think the old movies are beautiful in ways that new movies aren’t. The texturing of the backgrounds, the softness... it is incredible.”

“Wow. That is cool. What about the newer ones?”

“Computer animation is fascinating. I doubt it will ever be ‘my thing’ but it is still interesting to watch. Plus, stories and plots are better written. Usually.”

“Always a good thing.” You shove the last Pop Tart half into your mouth and shrug. “Disney’s good. You pick where we start.”

“We start at beginning,” he says emphatically as he carries the DVD carrier over to the entertainment center.

You look down at the plate as he sets everything up and gasp when you realize it has a neat little pile of Cheetos on it. “Wait, is this for me?”

“Da. I told you Pop Tarts were not meal.”

“Man, I scored a total package. How did that even happen?”

He blushes as he stands and walks over to the couch. “I think am I the one who ‘scored,’ myshka.”

You smile and sigh happily when he presses his lips against yours.

There’s no way life gets any better than this.

Life, in fact, does get better.

Namely, in the sense that you get to spend the whole day watching Disney movies with your boyfriend.

And in the sense that, if prompted, Piotr will literally spend several minutes explaining the behind the scenes effort that went into the animating the old movies, the techniques used by the artists to construct the backgrounds, and the sheer level of talent it takes to sync audio to hand-fucking-painted animation.

That, and the movies are just that gorgeous. Granted, the writing in the newer ones are usually better --the two of you opt to hop back and forth between old and new since there’s no way you’ll make it through every single Disney movie in one day--but the level of artistry in all of them leaves you absolutely speechless.

“Man, I’ve really been missing out!” you murmur, awestruck, as you watch the ‘Whole New World’ sequence in Aladdin. “This is amazing! How did they even do this?”

“Much of animation was done on computers at this point,” Piotr says. “It allows for art to move better with music, more creative freedom.”

“No kidding.” You can’t help but smile as you watch the magic carpet soar up into the clouds as the music swells. “This is really beautiful.”

“Da,” Piotr agrees softly.

And then he shifts closer to you, stretches his arms above his head, and lets one settle around your shoulders as he relaxes again.

Suddenly, your proximity to your boyfriend is a lot more interesting than the movie. You’re tucked against his side, sitting thigh to thigh, and his arm is warm and comfortably heavy on your shoulder.

You’re hit by a desire to kiss him --and it suddenly occurs to you that there’s nothing stopping you. The two of you are in a relationship, there’s no one around that would make doing it ‘inappropriate,’ and you’re practically on a quasi-date. There’s never been a better time for it.

You wriggle into his lap until you’re straddling him, propped up on your knees --he’s so much taller than you that at times it’s almost ridiculous--and loop your arms around his next before leaning into kiss him.

Piotr’s hands flit up and down your arms, your shoulders, and your sides before settling at your waist. He uses his hold on you to pull you close, bringing the two of you flush together.

You let out a happy sigh when he wraps his muscular arms around you, effectively cradling you against his burly chest, and kiss him harder. You’ve been pining for him for so long, and now that the two of you are together you never want to stop kissing him. Touching him. Being around him.

“Is this your way of saying that you don’t want to watch movie anymore?” Piotr asks, a little breathless, when the kiss breaks.

“No,” you murmur as you kiss the bridge of his nose. “I just love you.”

His cheeks flush a lovely shade of rose as he smiles sweetly at you. “I love you too, myshka.”

You turn around and settle in his lap to finish watching the movie, snuggled happily in his arms.

This. Life definitely doesn’t get better than this.

Except it does. The universe is hellbent on proving you wrong today, and you’re loving every moment of it.

Once the film finishes, Piotr suggests that the two of you take a stroll through the gardens to get your blood flowing.

The carefully arranged and tended to patches of flowers and bushes look utterly wonderful in the golden, early evening light. A soft breeze stirs the late spring air, keeping everything perfectly comfortable as the two of you walk along the gravel pathways.

Piotr’s hand in solid and warm around yours, and you never expected such a small, simple form of contact to feel so exhilarating. You almost can’t believe that it’s real, that he’s really your boyfriend now and really loves you.

The two of you talk about whatever comes to mind --mostly the movies you’ve been watching--and take your time as you meander around the grounds of Xavier’s. There’s no reason to hurry; the students and teachers won’t be back from their beach trip for a few more hours, there aren’t any missions that need responding to, and with Wade out of the house on one of his jobs there aren’t any explosions or other disasters to shatter the easy, peaceful lull in the air.

“I’ve really enjoyed today,” you say quietly as you squeeze Piotr’s hand.

“So have I, dorogaya moya. This has been... wonderful.” He stops --slowly enough that you don’t stumble or jerk back--and bends down to kiss you.

You smile into the kiss, and rest one hand on his chest and the other on his cheek.

It’s absolutely magical. Maybe the Disney movies have been rubbing off on your life.

“Think we have time for one more movie?” you ask when he pulls back.

“I think so,” he says with a soft, happy smile.

“Cool.” You grin giddily as you walk back to the house, hand in hand, the promise of more quiet, intimate, magic-filled time together beckoning alluringly.

This. Life doesn’t get better than this.