I love your fic about cap and Adele 😭 would love to see more moments with the cap and/or logan and the dumais kiddos🫶🏼
Fic O'Ween Day 3: Potion Mishap
Dumais family (biological and by acquisition) for the holiday! Characters belong to @lumosinlove and fest prompts/ guidelines/ submissions from @noots-fic-fests <3
“Any minute now,” Pascal muttered.
“Not likely,” Celeste countered. “Look. Marc has a wand.”
Pascal grimaced, though that may have been his continued refusal to put his reading glasses on while peering out the kitchen blinds. She would never understand the desire to make his life harder for no reason. The glasses made him look quite handsome, in an academic kind of way.
“That hat is going to be ruined.”
Celeste turned the page of her book. “It was too small anyway.”
“Isn’t she going as a witch this year?”
“You are so…” She gestured at him, laughing. “Restless, right now. What is going on?”
“They’re going to get sick,” he insisted, as he had been since the rain began. “It’s cold out there. You never know.”
Eugh, cold. Celeste was perfectly content to sip her hot cider in peace. “Sirius and Logan are very responsible, mon cher.”
“Pssh.”
“If you’re that worried, you can go tell them to come inside.”
Pascal finally looked away from the window, blinking in the change of light. The corner of his mouth turned down and dimpled his cheek. “But it’s so quiet in here,” he said, evidently put-out.
“Then let them play and come join me.”
Often, all it took was a simple invite—that, and the expectant arch of her eyebrow while she shuffled her legs up to make room on the loveseat. The old wood bones creaked when he sat beside her with a long sigh. Celeste set her drink down and followed the tug of his arm around her shoulders happily, drawing the blanket with her as she laid her head in his lap. Her hairpin slipped out without a single pinch. His fingers combed through the ends, searching for tangles.
“If they get pneumonia, I’m blaming Logan.”
“Pascal.” She craned her neck up to get a good look at him. “They’re fine.”
“I know.” His thumb swept across her smile. He gave her chin a nudge to turn her again. “I worry.”
“You could power a small city.”
“We have a perfectly warm and dry house.” A warm palm found the pressure point at her nape for a gentle massage. Celeste let her eyes fall shut. “But no. Mud pies in the yard. I don’t understand.”
“Be grateful,” she murmured. “I almost locked the door behind them.”
“I’m sure we’ll hear all about it later.”
“I’m going to cut all my hair off.”
He made a distressed sound, working his fingertips at the back of her scalp. “No, why?”
“Heavy.” She stifled a yawn. Dark skies and a warm home were creeping up on her. “Maybe to my shoulders.”
His wordless noises were still distressed. She could get him better than that.
“Changed my mind. Pixie cut.”
“Why do you torment me?” he groaned. “You’re so beautiful and so cruel.”
“I think it would look nice.”
“You would look wonderful with any haircut, mon amour.” Now, that was properly mournful. Celeste smiled and kissed the bit of his thigh nearest to her. He was doing some sort of braid; she felt the ends of her hair lift and tug, ever so gentle.
“I won’t go that short. Maybe a few inches off, for the winter. What kind?”
“Fishtail.”
“Adele taught you?”
“She tried,” Pascal laughed. “It’s a bit of a mess right now. I’ll try again in a moment. How’s your book?”
“Less interesting than this,” she said, stretching her legs as carefully as she could without disrupting his pattern. “But good. I like it for a storm.”
“Quebecois beach read.”
“Exactly,” she snorted. Corduroy scratched her cheek pleasantly when she shifted. His index finger hooked a stray piece of hair that had been stuck over her ear, and she shivered.
“Cold?”
“Comfortable.”
He hummed in agreement, but tucked the edge of the blanket over her shoulder anyway. Outside, thunder rolled past and brought a wave of shrieks and giggles with it. She hadn’t seen lightning yet. The first flash would have her sending Pascal out to bring them in for real, but for now, this time was theirs. A little after-lunch peace in the eye of it all.
As it turned out, she didn’t have to wait for the lightning, nor commit her husband to wet socks and a blast of cold. The next peal of thunder saw the back door opening in a tumble of mayhem and mud. The rain was tender on the roof, but it had apparently been anything but for the mess of sopping children that crowded onto the welcome mat.
“Laundry room!” Sirius ordered over chattering teeth and half-shouted greetings. “Hey, no, shoes at the door, who raised you animals?”
“My fault!” Celeste called. She laughed out loud when Logan hoisted Louis up under his arms to drop him behind the laundry room door.
“My god, they look like pigs,” Pascal whispered, audibly gleeful.
“Okay—okay—I can get my own shoes off,” Sirius laughed, hopping on one foot to work his muck-coated sneaker free as Katie attempted to untie his shoelace in a puddle of giggles. Speaking of…
Celeste watched the rainwater pool at their feet in a sideways, half-asleep sort of haze while Sirius and Logan herded the kids into the laundry room. Noise ebbed and grew with every sway of the door. After a moment, Logan emerged alone, tiptoeing along the floor as if that would save his ruined socks.
“What happened to you?” Pascal asked. His voice was a light, teasing hum between her shoulder blades. Utter bliss.
“We had, ah, a bit of a potion mishap.” Logan’s grin was broad and bashful. He glanced back toward the laundry room at a very Sirius-sounding yelp. “They’re going to devour him.”
“Oh?”
“They need to ritually sacrifice the dragon—” He broke off for a moment when he ducked into the bathroom. Celeste exchanged a look with her husband. Ritual sacrifice? he mouthed. The shower squeaked on, and Logan materialized again. “—Sorry. Sacrifice the dragon to get the dragon blood to finish the potion to rescue the princess. And the wizard.”
“Who’s the princess?”
“Me. Louis made a hat out of leaves.”
“IT’S A CROWN!” Louis hollered from the laundry room.
“HOT SHOWER’S ON!” Logan yelled back. “And you’re last in line!”
“Do we tell him he’s still wearing some?” Pascal murmured, one hand half-covering his mouth. Celeste hushed him quickly.
Sirius hustled the children out of the laundry room, now missing their raincoats, socks, and sweaters. He looked, impossibly, even muddier than before. “Go, get out of here, go kill each other for the shower and leave me out of it!”
Adele skidded to a stop in front of the doorway and braced her arms against either side, blocking the path to curling steam. “Hold on,” she declared. “You were on the ground the most, don’t you want it?”
On the ground. Poor boy. Sirius only stuck his tongue out at them and tossed a loose sock behind him. “I have a shower at my own house that I can use.”
“You’re not leaving,” Marc said with a sudden sadness. “You can’t, we’re having your favorite.”
“What?”
“Mama’s cooking.”
Logan jumped in immediately. “Yeah, Sirius. You can’t leave.”
“…fine,” Sirius sighed, after a moment of pondering pause Celeste saw right through like glass.
“But you still get last shower.”
“YES!” Louis cheered.
The slam of the bathroom door made them all jump. Celeste heard the lock go a half-second later and stifled a laugh in her hand. The clamoring kicked off once again, three voices begging Adele to play fair and gimme a chance and don’t use all the hot water. Logan was enough of an adult to keep his mouth shut, but even his face scrunched with betrayal.
She felt a tap at the curve of her shoulder and glanced up, where Pascal was waiting with the smile she had fallen in love with. “You’re done.”
“Hmm?”
“Your hair.”
She blinked, raising a hand to feel. She hadn’t even realized the weight was off her neck, leaving room for the heat from the fireplace to toast her skin. Each strand of the plait ran in an even ladder beneath the pads of her fingers. Sweet man. Hopeless romantic. “Merci, mon chou,” she sighed, closing her hand around his and pulling it around to kiss the band of his ring. “It’s perfect.”
“Only the best for you.”
Sirius gave them a smile and a little wave as he passed with the other kids in tow, shepherding them upstairs to the other showers. In the kitchen behind him, she heard Logan put the kettle on. Lightning flashed in a white-purple arc in an indigo sky.
“Hey.” She tugged Pascal’s hand and felt him sit up. “I’m going to work on my blog tonight.”
His eyes lit up. “Can I proofread?”
“Please.” She went to turn back around, then did a double-take. “And wear your glasses.”
