#LEMME LIST ALL THE THINGS THEY’D IMPROVE JUST FROM BEING THERE

[clover-the-awesomest]

And that’s why we need it

The real reason we’ll never get a another Turtles Forever is because if these three met then they would absolutely destroy everything in their paths.

Also they’d verbally eradicate any villain’s self esteem in like 10 seconds.

[theonetheycallhannah]

The Treatment of Captain Syverson-Chapter 11: Discharge Plan

Characters: Captain Syverson x OFC (Shane Dawson)

Summary: The highs of Shane and Sy’s first weekend as a couple are followed up by some big news from Sy, leading to our couple’s first fight.

Don’t miss a session! Click here to catch up on this story or explore my other works!

Word Count: 2.7

Warnings:  Language, mature themes, smut, sort of unprotected sex, rough-ish sex, angst, alcohol consumption,

Author’s Note: First off, I wanna talk about the word “victuals.” I’ve loved this word for a long time, even though it makes no sense, phonetically as it actually rhymes with the “fiddles” or “riddles.”(It’s true, look it up!) It’s very pastoral and somewhat archaic, so you don’t hear it too much anymore in current writing about the present, but I just felt like Sy would say it. Secondly, it was really hard for me to put my darlings through the argument in this chapter. I want them to have only happy times…but that provides no tension or motivation for story development…and I want to keep writing them more than I want them to be happy… I guess I finally understand why authors torture their characters! Lol! It might take a bit of time for me to sort out what their relationship looks like adding the distance factor, but I have some ideas that might work. Also, it might be an opportunity to do a bit more of Sy’s perspective, which I thoroughly enjoy, and may go back and fill in some blanks for him in between chapters I’ve already done. I hope you all enjoy this installment of the Treatment of Captain Syverson! Feedback in any form is always appreciated!

Disclaimer: Unfortunately for me, Henry is not mine, le sigh, and all mention of him, his characters, any characters from his films, or his precious doggy, Kal, are strictly for transformative and recreational use. I neither ask for, nor accept payment for the work I post on Tumblr or AO3. Unbeta’d because this is for fun and escapism.

Tags: 

@onlyhenrys

@cavillryarchive

@summersong69

@titty-teetee

@bloodyinspiredfuck

@agniavateira

@oddsnendsfanfics

@omgkatinka

@thisismysecretthirstblog

@misslaland

@speakerforthedead0

@tumblnewby

@suavechops

@radkesgirl83

@wheretheriversrunintothesea

Hope I’m not forgetting anyone! If you want to be notified when I post a new chapter or work, I’ll be happy to add you to my tag list! Stricken blogs are getting personal messages from me when a new chapter is uploaded because Tumblr’s faulty tagging system will not stand in the way of me delivering what the people want!(?) lol! (Although…their lackadaisical notification system might…sorry for that. I have no control. lol!)

X@X@X@X@X@X@X@X@X@X@X@

The rest of the weekend was spent in blissful relaxation. Sy went to his place to feed Aika and bring her over at Shane's insistence. The dog had been slightly standoffish with her, but Sy assured her that it was in her nature to be aloof, and that she needed to be engaged or instructed to behave more doglike.

"It's her training. She's still a soldier. It's hard for us to shake those habits. Like me calling you 'ma'am' at first."

"She's another die hard. I respect that." she chuckled, scratching Aika behind her perked ears, and eliciting pants of contentment from her.

Sy's skills with a spatula were unmatched. That was to say, he made the best pancakes she'd ever had. They almost didn't need syrup…almost. They ordered an obscene amount of Chinese takeout which lasted them about three meals each. Sunday evening, though, which had a gloom to it no matter the circumstances, required some comfort food. They agreed on pasta, so Shane made up some of her famous alfredo sauce and probably twice the recommended portion of pasta for two humans to consume. There were no leftovers. Sy had three helpings, himself. Three heaping bowls of it. Shane couldn't handle more than one and a half servings, even though she wanted to gorge herself. She knew too much would make her ill.

When they weren't eating, the were cuddling on the couch, or in Shane's bed. They watched more Parks and Rec, and a few other films and shows that Sy requested, just to break things up. Their bodies were constantly wrapped in each other, leading to frequent bouts of making out, fooling around, and sex in almost every room of the house.

Her favorite had been the shower. She insisted on getting cleaned up, but Sy had objections.

~~~~~~~~

"I'll be less than ten minutes, come on, I reek! You can't wanna kiss me when I smell like this!" she said, trying to shut the bathroom door on the human mack truck before her. Broad and formidable.

"You smell like sex, and…me, darlin. I've never wanted to kiss you more," he said, backing her up toward the shower doors. "but I guess if you must. Lemme help, though." he pulled open the glass door, forcing her into his captivating kiss, and maneuvering her backward into the walk-in, stone tile shower. He pulled off her tank top, capturing her breasts in his hands and mouth for a moment before kneeling to remove her shorts and kiss her thighs. He pulled himself away too quickly and started the water flowing.

"Sy, you're fully dressed!" he was barefoot, but otherwise, in jeans and her favorite of his tees. The letters DILLIGAF across a skull, black on red. She always laughed on the inside when she saw it. Because although Sy often had to put on a calloused and brusque act when he'd been an officer in the Army, he was terribly soft and sweet when the occasion called for it. The irony being that although he didn't look like he gave a fuck, he actually did.

"I've got more clothes in the truck and you've got a dryer." he maneuvered her under the pulsing stream of the showerhead. "Gotta get you wet." he let the water run through her hair as he reached for her shampoo, a coconutty concoction that reminded her of summer, squeezed a bit into his hand, and lathered it up. He worked the suds into her wet hair gently, raking his nails across her scalp in a way that excited and ignited every atom in her. She sighed at his touch which made him groan with need.

He tilted her head back to rinse the lather out and reached for the conditioner. He was a bit more generous with it than strictly necessary, but she didn't protest. He pulled her hair forward in two sections, one over each shoulder and worked the emollient into the strands. His hands slick from the product, he ran them over her breasts and her abdomen and hips…between her legs. There her own arousal was primed to combine with the tropical unction. She gasped as he worked his fingers over her, slow at first, but speeding up, only to slow again. When she finally whimpered in frustration, he undid his jeans, and backed her up to the stony grey wall, not giving a fuck, as his shirt had suggested, that he and his clothes were getting soaked. His only care now apparently, was to satisfy the simpering cries of "yes, please." from Shane.

His first few thrusts were slow and measured, knowing that she was still adjusting to his size. But it didn't take long for him to lose control. She wasn't sure what was making him like this, but she was not complaining in the least. The texture of his jeans on her bare, wet thighs was a sensation she wouldn't soon forget. She gripped at him, holding onto his shirt for dear life as her climax built to impossible heights.

She was loving the way he lost himself in the ferocity of the act. And his release led to hers immediately. She wrapped herself around him in blissful embrace, and whispered his name as a prayer.

"Sorry, darlin,' I meant to…"

"It's okay. I'm on the pill and I'm not at a particularly dangerous time in my cycle."

He kissed her tenderly and reached for her bath puff and some body wash. "Well, let’s get ya cleaned up."

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The only good part about Monday was that she'd be treating him. Although, he was scheduled in the afternoon. Her morning would drag on eternal.

He greeted her with a typical "hey, susnshine" and she led him into the gym, feeling his gaze on her ass, wanting, even though they'd just left each other quite satisfied that morning. He was freshly showered, beard well groomed, and his hair growing back in very nicely. He'd asked her weeks ago whether he should keep the buzzed look or not, and she had been entirely for growing it out. She wanted something to run her hands through. She'd be fine if it was at least shoulder length, but she wouldn't push that on him.

They did their normal warm up on the bikes, followed by some plyometric drills, which made him scowl at her in a way that lit her up like a firecracker. But the fact that he was able to jump up onto the box was encouraging. He couldn't have done that a month ago. He was progressing so well and was so close to his long term goals and discharge. It almost made Shane sad. It wasn't as though they wouldn't see each other, but having him break up the insanity of her day three times a week for just an hour was invaluable.

As they were doing their usual end of the session stretch in her treatment room, and she noted the improved range of motion he was getting, he broke the amiable silence with a question.

"Hey, can I bring a pizza or somethin' over for dinner tonight after you get off?"

"Sure!" she could tell there was something he wanted to say, but was holding back. She prodded. "Everything okay? You've been a bit…off today."

"I'm good. Just a little distracted." he deflected by touching her hip, grinning like the Cheshire Cat. She swatted him away.

"Not here, Sy."

"But that makes it fun!" he pouted.

"No, that really could get me fired! Getting frisky on company time!"

"Mmmm, I'd love to frisk you right now." he reached between their legs to try and grab her again, but she thwarted him and pinned his wrists at his ears.

"Cool it, cowboy, or your last two sessions are gonna make you wish you'd never met me." she threatened.

"Ain't nothin', nothin' on God's good green earth could make me wish that, sunshine." His stunning blue eyes softened her resolve and she let go, continuing to stretch him.

"Still…cool it." she grinned.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She'd just had time to change into some comfy clothes, wash her face, and put her hair up when her doorbell rang.

Sy stood smiling under the porch light, a modern white knight, carrying a large pizza from Pizza Hut and a six pack of Miller High Life.

"Aren't you a sight for sore eyes! And it's nice to see you too, Sy!" she laughed, teasing him.

"Should I leave the victuals and go?" he asked, mock concern on his sarcastic brow.

"Get in here, soldier."

She got out napkins and paper plates because as horrible as it sounded, she just couldn't think about doing dishes tonight. She was even glad Sy had brought drinks in disposable or recyclable containers, and not wine, which she tended to prefer. She was exhausted, but not upset, which made the silence they ate in bearable. Sy still seemed to have something on his mind, though.

"Did you have something you wanted to talk about tonight, Sy?"

"Kinda, yeah, uh…it's kind of a big thing for me, and I know this is new, what we have, but…well, I'll just tell ya."

"Go on." she encouraged, worried.

"I…I talked to my old CO about jobs in the private sector. He referred me to a company that…well it's sort of an employment agency for vets. Mostly security for private companies and individuals. I had a phone interview with them this past Tuesday. I just got a call this morning that they want to meet me in person to finalize everything. Mostly a formality. When I go for that, I'll also have to stay there a couple of weeks to a month for training."

"Where is this…gig?" She said, flat affect hiding the feelings brewing under her skin.

"The offices are in Charlottesville…Virginia. And there may be some cross country training there in Shenandoah National Park."

"Cross country…by that do you mean survival training?" She was still cool, but getting more livid.

"You could call it that, I guess. But it won't be a challenge for me. I'm more worried about the technical stuff." His bravado and flippancy about the whole endeavor was enraging her. The thought that he'd be in the wilderness alone, was only a fraction of the big picture. He was going away for a month? And he had known about the job for a week now. A week in which so much about their relationship had changed, and shifted. How could he think she'd just accept this without a bit of raging.

"You waited until after we slept together to tell me this. You did it on purpose, Sy." that was the biggest problem, she thought. The fact that he seemed to be hiding it from her. It brought back old trauma that she thought he'd never have subjected her to.

"Yes and no, Shane. I wasn't intentionally keeping anything from you, I just didn't wanna bring it up until somebody bit."

"You wanted to keep me in the dark about something you were excited about? How do you think that makes me feel?"

"I didn't wanna get your hopes up or mine. Honestly."

"Saying 'honestly' doesn't make it honest, Sy. I've told you about everything that Elliott put me through. The lies. The secrets. This puts a bad taste in my mouth. You have to see that. Can't you?"

"Oh, sunshine, I--"

"No, please. Do not do that right now. Don't call me sunshine when all I can see is the night."

"I'm so sorry. My intention was not to make you feel in any way like that asshole ever did. Please hear me when I say that. I want to be the opposite of him in your mind in every way, darlin.' Please believe that."

There was so much sincerity in his voice, now nearing tearfulness that she felt he must be telling her the truth. She nodded. But was still apprehensive about the nature of the job and the training.

"But…what if you get hurt again?"

"I won't. You've all but fixed me, Shane. I'm stronger than ever."

"Can't you just…find a safe job? Here?" She was being selfish. She couldn't help it. Even though she knew she might regret it.

"Sit at a desk, ya mean? Deliver pizzas?" he indicated the box between them on the table. "Call people and ask them if they're happy with their cable services, Shane? Is that all I'm good for now?" he was angry.

"I didn't mean it like that."

"No, of course not. You're a PT. That's what you were meant to do, right? Well, imagine if you couldn't do that no more. Something or another, an injury, perhaps, or just plain ol' shitty situation, left you in a position where you couldn't go back. Couldn't do your dream job. Couldn't fulfill your purpose." he spat. "Wouldn't you do anything you could to be some shadow of what you were meant to be?"

She couldn't speak. Because he was right in so many ways.

"Because right now, I'm nothin'. I'm not doin' anyone any good. I'm a drain on my country, the one I swore to protect with my very life. It's like I've broken an oath. And it's fractured my soul."

"I see that. I truly do. But I need you here. You do ME good, Sy. I'm already half dreading d/c'ing you. I don't wanna have to say a goodbye, too." it was her truth. But it hit him very much sideways.

"So…what is it, Shane? You only want me when I'm broken? You only want me so you can fix me?"

"No, of course not! That's not what--"

"Am I a charity case to ya now? Is that why ya finally gave in and let me in your bed?"

"Sy, no!" she was crying now. It had hurt so much to think that he could have gotten that from what she'd said.

"I think if you can have feelings hurt about this situation then so can I."

He stood to leave, but she caught him by the wrist.

"Shane…you know I would never, ever harm you. But please… don't test my limits. Let… go." She did.

She was still quite a bit faster than him, so she ran ahead and blocked the door.

"Move." he insisted. She didn't.

"Hear me out, and then I'll let you go."

He crossed his arms and nodded, his gaze still one of cold steel.

"Sy, I didn't mean to make this job that you're clearly excited for into a source of anguish or to make it about me. I'm thrilled that you're going to get to do something you want in another field. I really am. I just…being with you has made me realize how good life can really be. And even if you'd told me before we slept together, I would have said the same thing. It was selfish of me to haul my baggage into the conversation when you aren't, have never been, and could never be Elliot. His best couldn't compare with your worst. And I will do my best in the future to think about who you are before I complain about the work you find to do."

"It's like I said about Aika before. She's a soldier. Hard trained. And so am I. It took a lot of hard work for me to get where I am, so much that it fundamentally altered who I am as a person. Now, in my opinion, those changes were for the better. I was kind of a shit before I became a soldier, thought the sun rose and set with me. I got some perspective and met some good people…lost some, too. Saw some shit I can't unsee. Some of it haunts me to this day, and I figure it always will. But I reckon if I can keep fighting the fight somehow. Keep protecting people in whatever way I can, my training and experience won't be a total waste."

"I understand and respect that, Sy. And I will back you in any way I can. I'll water your plants, I'll keep Aika whenever you're gone, I'm here for you."

"Oh, shit! I wasn't even thinking about having to leave my dog behind! Maybe this WON'T work!" he chuckled.

"Second fiddle to another woman already. I knew you were gonna break my heart, Captain Logan Syverson."

"Never intentionally, sunshine." he hugged her, tight, and with his whole body. Their argument in the past and their future an exciting mystery. Shane had never felt so safe and loved.

Up Next: Chapter 12: Final Home Exercise Program

[artificialqueens]

Bet You Look Good On The Dancefloor, 3 (Branjie) (and background everyone else) - Ortega

a/n: hey fam!! we are over halfway through the rewrite so hopefully soon i can get a brand brand new chapter out to u soon, in the meantime enjoy chapter 3 all over again and see if u can spot the differences lmao?? idk but i hope u enjoy anyway!!

fic summary: Strictly Come Dancing enters its 18th series and its producers, after being goaded by a rival dance show on its inclusivity, commission it to be an all-female cast. Unlike Akeria who’s just here to bone her potential dance partner, dancer Vanessa is ready to act like a professional.

And then TV presenter Brooke Lynn walks into the rehearsal room.

***

28th September 2020

Vanessa has never been more excited in her life as she paces the rehearsal room, checks herself out for what is surely the millionth time in the mirrors and pulls a few strands of her dark hair out of her ponytail to frame her face. There’s a cameraman and a lighting person and a random producer set up in one corner too but Vanessa hardly acknowledges them, because it’s her first rehearsal with Brooke and in a moment she’s going to walk through those doors and they’ll get to start their journey together.

Saturday night had been a blur. They’d been rushed off to film their post-show reaction interview and Vanessa hardly remembers what she’d said. She supposes it couldn’t have been more incoherent than her immediate reaction. Or perhaps it had been. They’d swapped numbers excitedly, Vanessa’s heart dipping a little as Brooke insisted she couldn’t join for post-show drinks as she had to film early the next morning. With a pang of embarrassment, Vanessa remembers the text she’d sent to Brooke in the early hours of the morning as a result of Monique and Akeria’s shocking influence and way too much tequila:

V: iknow its 1am but im still so excited to be partnered wirg u and i cant wait for first rehearsal!!!!!!! x

It’s a miracle Brooke had still been up so her reply could come instantly and Vanessa didn’t have to wake up smelling of alcohol, kebab and regret the next day.

B: I’m excited too!! Have a good night, can’t wait for Monday x

It’s not like Vanessa has a crush- she’s just excited, as she keeps reminding herself, and Brooke is her first partner. It’s natural to look forward to seeing her as much as she is.

Vanessa inspects her reflection again, frowning and pulling out two more strands of hair from her ponytail to hang loose. She gives a cry of frustration as she realises she’s ruined it by pulling out way too much, so she bends over and hangs her head down between her knees to gather her hair up again.

She’s in this position when the door opens and she hears Brooke’s voice ringing into the echoey room.

“Good morning! Oh shit, am I interrupting something?“

Embarrassed, Vanessa flips her hair back and stands up straight, walking quickly over to Brooke as she dumps her gym bag at the door. “No, fuck, sorry, I was just fixing my hair! Hey!”

Brooke has her arms out ready to hug Vanessa and she accepts gladly. She smells all clean and of fabric softener. She probably uses in-wash scent boosters like an adult who has complete control of her life and more money than sense. They pull out of the hug and Vanessa fixes Brooke with a smile.

“So!” Vanessa starts, but there’s a noise from the other side of the room. One of the producers has stepped forward.

“Uh yeah, ladies, we can’t use that intro. We’re gonna have to film again.”

“How come?” Vanessa asked, realising too late that it’s because she was bent over with her hair hanging to the ground and that Brooke swore. The girls share a guilty laugh and Brooke retreats to the door. The good news is that they get to hug for a second time when they reshoot, and Vanessa gets another scent of Brooke’s detergent and the protected feeling of having the other girl’s strong arms around her.

“So, first rehearsal!” Vanessa chats cheerfully, leaning on the barre and tilting her head as she talks to Brooke. “How we feelin’?”

“Good! Excited. Ready. Positive adjectives,” Brooke says all at once, smiling at her. “How about you?”

“I’m happy. Kinda nervous, ‘cuz now I have to live up to your expectations.”

“And they are great expectations.”

Vanessa nods. “George Orwell style.”

Brooke pauses, fixing Vanessa with a funny look, then bursts out laughing. “Even Charles Dickens?”

Vanessa laughs, shrugging. “They both wrote books, I stay winning.”

She watches as Brooke doubles over clutching her stomach in hysteria, and feels a sense of pride at having made the girl laugh so much. Remembering the film crew in the corner, she smacks her hands together. “Right! For our first dance as a Strictly partnership, we are doin’ a…quickstep!”

Brooke raises her eyebrows and nods slowly. “Ballroom first, okay! I can do that. I guess I’m surprised we’re not doing Latin.”

Vanessa shrugs. “Ballroom ain’t my strong suit so I figured it’s better to get it out the way early while we got other, shittier girls we can hide behind.”

There’s a beat of silence as the two girls look at each other. They both speak at the same time. “…Farrah.”

“Reshoot!” the producer shouts over, Vanessa feeling herself roll her eyes like a teenager. Brooke snorts a laugh and Vanessa feels that little match spark up in her gut again. They reshoot, having the same conversation as before in so many words. It’s tricky remembering not to swear- Vanessa peppers fuck and shit into her daily language like she’s seasoning it, so it’s odd attempting to remove that from her vocabulary. She should probably be trying to give Brooke the impression of a mysterious and graceful woman who says gosh and darn but if she’s going to be working with her she’s going to be working with her, not a cookie-cutter picture perfect imitation.

“You wanna warm up?” Vanessa asks her, feeling a little bashful as Brooke rolls her neck slowly. She gives a small shake of her head as a long strip of her bare neck is exposed, her blonde ponytail falling over her shoulder. Vanessa feels like shaking her head herself, shaking all the thoughts that just entered her head out of it. Get a grip.

“Nah, I already did a bit before I came. We’ve got a gym at the flat, so it’s good for that kind of thing.”

Vanessa feels her eyebrows fly up her face. What kind of fancy-ass flat does she live in? “You wanna just do a bit of conditioning then? I saw you were good at it on the induction day, so you prolly don’t need to do much-”

“You had your eyes on me on induction day then?” Brooke interrupts, gives Vanessa a cheeky wink that makes her face hot. She thinks about making a jibe related to Brooke eyeing her up during squats, but she thinks it’s maybe a bit much. This is only the third time they’ve seen each other, after all. She doesn’t know why she’s acting like such a teenager.

“You wish, princess,” she sticks her tongue out. Brooke laughs and Vanessa joins her, trying not to think too much about where that princess appeared from out of nowhere.

Brooke shrugs in agreement and they do a bit of conditioning on the mats that are kept at the studio. They don’t really need to be doing too much- it’s a quickstep, it’s not exactly Cirque du Soleil- but Vanessa enjoys giving her muscles a proper stretch anyway. She doesn’t need to be the bendiest dancer in the world but she likes to feel as if her flexibility and strength are constantly improving. The film crew stay to catch some rehearsal shots but Vanessa feels as if it’s only her and Brooke in the room, their easy small-talk coming naturally as they stretch and chat over the chill R&B Vanessa’s stuck on in the background. Brooke’s been working that morning already, shooting for The Voice. They’ve moved filming to the morning so she can participate in the show. Vanessa says she hopes it’s not inconvenienced her too much and Brooke laughs and waves her apology away, saying it’s been her dream to get asked on the show ever since she rose to TV-presenter status.

Vanessa agrees, tells her about growing up watching the show with her Mom, how it inspired her when she began to compete all those years ago. She could get into other stuff, like the Summer when they couldn’t fly back to Puerto Rico because Vanessa had begged and pleaded with her Mom to spend the flight money on another term at dance school instead and it had caused a rift so huge it almost tore a hole in her family. But she doesn’t. As Vanessa reminds herself, it’s only their third meeting.

So why does she have to fight the compulsion to tell Brooke her damn life story?

Before Vanessa can blurt out any emotional moments from her upbringing (and she doesn’t exactly have a shortage of them), she slaps her thighs, stands up and rolls the mat away.

“Okay, let’s get started. Now obviously you’re good-”

“Oh, of course,” Brooke jokes. Vanessa’s heart gives a dip.

“- so I think we can maybe just start learning the full thing? If it’s too hard then we can just do some of the basics and go over lil’ techniques an’…stuff,” Vanessa clocks the cameras, changes the “shit” she was about to let out. “But the good news is we got two weeks to learn this one instead of one.”

“So there’s no excuse for it not to be perfect,” Brooke nods immediately. Vanessa freezes, taken aback. Brooke in turn looks almost as if she’s been caught out, and her face turns a little red. “Sorry. That probably seems way too keen, it’s just a fun dancing show-”

“Nah, keep that spirit. I’m a fan of that,” Vanessa smiles at her and Brooke, reassured, smiles back. The girl’s clearly a perfectionist. Vanessa adds that to her growing list of things she’s learning about her new partner. “Aight, I’m gonna show you how it’s gonna look. Lemme get my phone.”

Vanessa dashes over to her gym bag, scrambles about in it for a moment. She spent all of Sunday and stayed up all night finishing off the choreography with Crystal, who she’d also helped choreograph her first dance too, not that Crystal needed any help choreographing Latin. Or indeed ballroom. Or indeed any dance full stop. They’d brainstormed and drank gallons of water and chatted together excitedly the whole time. Being on the show with Crystal is nice because they practise their Spanish together so Vanessa doesn’t lose too much of it, and she understands what it’s like to be away from her huge extended family on days like Cinco di Mayo when the only real celebration of that in the UK is a display of Mexican party food in Tesco, and they moan together about the fact that neither of them have seen a single plantain on sale since arriving in the country. Finally finding her phone in her gym bag, Vanessa searches for the video she and Crystal took of the quickstep once it was all finished. Finding it, she plops down next to Brooke who’s sitting on the dusty floor and leaning against the mirrored wall. She hits play, holds her breath nervously and hopes Brooke will like what she’s come up with. Vanessa is relieved when a small smile grows on Brooke’s face.

“Are we actually doing it to Pon De Replay?”

“Damn right we are!” Vanessa replies proudly. She got her song request in early and the producers approved it on Sunday morning. She knows that she’s not as good at ballroom but she likes the fact that she can use songs she likes and twist the style to fit, making it more comfortable for her. The dance she’s created is clever, even if she does think so herself. First week is all about showcasing your celebrity and what they do, what kind of person they are, so Vanessa wants to give Brooke a challenge. The first half is a straightforward quickstep and the second is the same but everything mirrored and in reverse. There’s a silly bit at the start where Brooke’s going to pretend to be interviewing Vanessa to reflect her everyday career. It’s cheesy, but that’s Strictly.

The video comes to an end and Brooke is smiling from ear to ear. “Oh my God. I love it.”

“Ah! Amazing. I’m so glad,” Vanessa beams, happy and relieved all at once.

“I mean, it looks hard. But I didn’t think any of this would be easy.”

“It’ll get easier, though! Just needs practise. And remember, we’ve got two weeks!” Vanessa reminds her, standing up and shaking herself out. “So we’ve got ages. I mean. In between all the press and social media madness, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Brooke laughs, pushing herself up from the floor. “Right, come on then, teacher. What do we start with?”

Vanessa begins showing Brooke the routine, the complex and intricate little steps and hops of the quickstep taking Brooke a little bit of getting used to. But by lunchtime, they’ve gone through a little chunk of the dance already and they’ve run it without and with the music. Vanessa’s pleased with their progress and when they stop for their lunch break they’re both exhausted, sweaty, and smiling.

“You good?” Vanessa asks Brooke, who’s taking a long swig of her drink. Her eyes widen as she nods quickly.

“Yeah! Christ, it’s so tough. You’re a good teacher, though,” Brooke says, finally finishing her water. The praise makes Vanessa blush; she’s glad she’s already red from all the dancing so it doesn’t show as much.

“You’re doin’ great. Makin’ my job easy,” Vanessa smiles at her. She bites her lip before speaking again. “Hey, you wanna come have lunch with me?”

Brooke pulls a face and pouts. “Aw, that sounds amazing but I’ve got a meeting with my agent at quarter past. To make sure you’re not committing human rights violations against me or whatever.”

Vanessa snorts a laugh, tries not to look disappointed. They promise to meet back at the studio in half an hour, and Vanessa heads to the canteen where she knows some of the other girls will be having lunch too. The studios that a bunch of them have had the foresight to block-book are great and modern, and Vanessa feels bad for girls like Jan who’s having to rehearse in a draughty church hall near Jackie’s sleepy Hounslow suburb. Pushing open the double doors, she finds Phi Phi, Jaida, Monique, Crystal and Plastique already sitting at a table and eating lunch. Vanessa dashes over.

“Beep beep, hoes! Winner coming through,” she shouts over to them cheerfully, Monique laughing and rolling her eyes long-sufferingly as Jaida shakes her head at her.

“Take several seats, bitch.”

“One’s fine, thanks,” Vanessa flutters her lashes at her, causing the other girl to laugh.

“How did you even get in through the door with your head this big?” Monique scoffs, as Vanessa chucks her bag down and rakes through it for her lunch.

“Hey, you’d be crowin’ as well if you saw what my girl can do,” she points out, ignoring the way Monique’s eyebrows fly up her face at the my girl.

“It’s not about who’s got the best dancer from the start, it’s all about the potential,” Plastique shrugs at her. Vanessa gives a laugh.

“Aw, Scarlet’s got loads of that, right?” she jibes, the other girls laughing. Plastique rolls her eyes.

“We spent half an hour on a step-ball-change. Every object in the room slowly started to merge into implements with which I could kill both her and myself,” Plastique put her head in her hands. She’d ended up being partnered with the soap star and Monique, to her badly-suppressed delight, had been given singer Monet.

“At least she’s trying to work hard,” Phi Phi sighed, her face taking on a sour expression. “Willam is killing me. She keeps doing shit wrong and if I point it out she just makes a joke about it. And she keeps dashing next door to show shit to Courtney! What the hell is up with that? Courtney’s got Blair to worry about, she doesn’t need a damn goofball interrupting her rehearsal every two minutes to add to that.”

“Where is Courtney, anyway?” Vanessa asked, taking a big bite out of her chicken and rice. She knows Courtney shares their studios too and she’s notable by her absence.

Phi Phi pulls a face in response. “Let’s just say her and Blair have a lot of work to do.”

“Well, I can’t relate,” Monique smiles smugly. “Me an’ Monet have been doing amazing.”

“So’ve me and Gigi! She’s awesome,” Crystal pipes up excitedly. Vanessa swears she can see her pupils turn into little hearts as she speaks. “She’s so hardworking. We’ve done, like, half our dance already.”

“No you haven’t, stop lying,” Phi Phi nudges her under the table with her foot. Crystal rolls her eyes, resigned.

“Okay, not half, but maybe like a quarter. An eighth? A twelfth.”

The girls explode laughing and Vanessa actually has to wipe tears from her eyes. When she calms down, she asks Jaida how her rehearsals with Yvie are going so far.

“Alright, I guess. The girl’s really great, she’s got so much talent. But the bitch won’t stop filmin’ shit for her fuckin’ vlogs! I’d leap out the damn window but our room’s on the ground floor.”

Another roar flies up from the girls. It’s always funny to see how they all gel with their dance partners, and Vanessa has never got to experience it for herself until this year. She’s so happy she’s been paired with Brooke.

After the girls finish their lunch, Vanessa and Brooke continue to rehearse. The days pass like that easily with hours spent in hold, out of hold, stepping, hopping, watching Brooke tear her hands through her messy ponytail in frustration when she can’t immediately nail a particular move. Vanessa learns that Brooke’s hard on herself and, though she never snaps or yells, Vanessa knows it annoys her having to really properly work at the tricky bits. Truth be told, Vanessa gets annoyed at herself too. She curses herself whenever Brooke struggles with something, becomes convinced she should have made the dance a little easier for her. If Brooke doesn’t pick something up quickly Vanessa is irritated at her own teaching methods. She knows Brooke wants to be the best no matter how much she plays the competition off as simply a bit of fun, and she gets annoyed when it seems like she’s not doing enough to help her achieve that.

On the whole, though, Vanessa tries not to beat herself up too much. They do seem to be making really good progress in comparison to some of the other girls, and they’ve more or less learned the whole dance by the end of the first week. It bodes well for their next few weeks together, as they both know the two-week rehearsal process is a luxury that’s not going to be afforded to them for the rest of the series. Besides, next week is full of social media madness and promo filmings and they’ve got their It Takes Two interview with Cheryl on Friday. It’s going to be exhausting.

“It’s going to be exhausting,” Brooke smiles gently, contemplating the week ahead and rubbing her eyes at the end of their Saturday night rehearsal. It’s 10pm and probably far too late and Vanessa should’ve let Brooke get an early night but she got carried away polishing up little sections with her.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have kept you so late tonight,” Vanessa laments, frowning. Brooke frowns back, her face full of concern.

“Don’t apologise! I’m willing to stay as long as it takes. However long you think I need,” Brooke gives a small laugh, and Vanessa concedes and joins her laughter. The thought hits her that they’ve not shared too much on social media yet. Some of the pairs are giving round-the-clock updates as if they’re News 24 (she doesn’t think Aja and Farrah have stopped going live on Instagram since they began rehearsing but that’s what you get with a reality TV star as a partner), and Vanessa feels a bit guilty. She knows she’s got fans- it never gets any less crazy to say but it’s true- and she knows they’re as excited about her Strictly journey as she is. So she takes her phone out of her bag and waves it a little at Brooke.

“Hey. I know it’s late, but we’ve been workin’ so hard we kinda forgot about all the fun shit. Wanna take a few post-rehearsal selfies for Insta?”

She pauses as Brooke lets out a small laugh, suddenly feels embarrassed. “You know. If that’s your sorta thing.”

“I’m a TV presenter, Vanessa, I’m not the Prime Minister. I’m allowed to have fun,” Brooke laughs, struts up to stand beside her and faces the mirrored wall. “Go on then, Naomi Campbell, start the damn photoshoot.”

Vanessa laughs and her heart gives a little flutter as Brooke locks her fingers and rests them on her shoulder, leaning down and resting her head on them. She pouts and in turn Vanessa throws up a peace sign and sticks her tongue out. She takes a burst of five photos that will all look identical but she knows she’ll be able to find a tiny, minute difference in them all. Brooke leans over her phone as she scrolls through the photos, and suddenly jabs a finger against her screen.

“That one. It’s cute.”

Vanessa obeys orders and puts it on her Instagram story along with a timestamp and a little gif of a teddy bear falling asleep.

“Now do a video!” Brooke bounces on her toes all excited, and Vanessa has to laugh at how much she’s getting into the swing of things. Vanessa points the camera at them both, begins recording.

“Hey guys, Vanjie here with my girl Brooke Lynn, so it is…” she forgets the time, appeals to Brooke. “10.05? 10.06?”

“Way-too-late-o’clock,” Brooke chimes in, pokes Vanessa’s face teasingly. Vanessa rolls her eyes.

“We’ll go with that. An’ we have just finished a run of our full dance, you’re gonna love it, I can’t wait to show off this girl, y’all are not ready.”

Vanessa feels her face grow ever-so-slightly flushed as Brooke turns to her and smiles. “Aww. That’s cute, thanks! Oh, can we tell them what the song is?”

Vanessa faces her and laughs. “No way! We gotta wait til Monday, that’s when they all get released.”

“Please?” Brooke actually pouts. It’s too adorable and her face is so close to Vanessa’s in her attempt to fit into frame that Vanessa could totally lean forward and give her the tiniest little kiss if she wanted.

She doesn’t want to. Why the fuck did that thought just appear in her head?

“No! They’ll find out on Monday. And the dance too! No special treatment.”

“Ugh. I’m so telling my agent, this is definitely illegal. Should’ve stayed on the damn One Show.”

Vanessa bursts out laughing at Brooke’s joke, shakes her head at the camera. “I have to work with this diva. Jeez. Well, see you guys later!”

“Yeah, see you all later! If she hasn’t murdered me by then.”

“If I haven’t murdered her by then. Bye, love ya!” Vanessa signs off and stops recording, posts the video to her story as Brooke laughs. “You’re a natural at all this social media shit. Right, go get some rest. See you Monday, girl.”

“See you Monday,” Brooke smiles. Vanessa doesn’t miss the way she sort of hovers, lingering with the smile still on her face before looking to the floor and then leaving the room. Vanessa wonders what she was thinking. It couldn’t have been that important.

Before Vanessa begins to pack up she checks Instagram to see the reaction to the stuff she’s just dropped. There’s a few replies- she always gets them on her stories from fans and she tries to reply to most of them. One in particular catches her eye- a reply to the video which is peppered with heart-eye emojis and simply reads:

OHMYGOSH!!!!! You guys are SO cute together!!!

Vanessa doesn’t realise how long she’s been smiling until she’s left the studio and walking to the tube.

They both have a day off on Sunday- they all do. It’s been a long first week and they’ve all earned it. Vanessa has an ice bath because she’s forgotten how intense it is to be rehearsing all day every day with just one other person. It reminds her of the show she did that Summer with-

Well. It doesn’t matter now.

What matters now is Brooke, and Vanessa spends most of the daytime on Sunday sitting on the small sofa that’s squashed under the ceiling beam in her tiny narrow flat, curled up under a blanket and trying to figure out how to text her. She wants to make that connection with her partner, she wants her and Brooke to be close friends and to be able to go for lunch and talk about anything together and have their own little jokes and stuff like that. Lots of the dancers have that kind of connection with their girls already- Crystal and Gigi are averaging around two silly selfies a day on social media, Vanessa can hear Monique and Monet’s laughter ricocheting off the walls and down the stairs from their rehearsal room, and there is already some are-they-aren’t-they media speculation in the form of Jan and Jackie, who were papped going to get bagels in a break between rehearsals with their pinkies interlocked and small smiles on their faces. Vanessa’s not jealous of them, whatever it is they have. She’d asked Crystal about them, because she’s closer with Jan, and Crystal had laughed it off and said they’re just friends and they’re getting on very well. Vanessa has reason to doubt her, mind you. She knows chemistry when she sees it.

Vanessa finally decides to shoot Brooke a message at around six at night. She’s making a cheat meal of mac and cheese with a bunch of chorizo through it, because she damn well deserves a carb and some dairy and some oily meat. It’s when she realises that she’s made enough for a small village that she takes her phone out, messages Brooke before she can overthink it.

V: i’ve just made way too much mac and cheese, u wanna have a rehearsal room floor picnic tomorrow? x

The moment it’s sent she regrets how outrageously fucking pathetic she sounds. That is until she gets a reply around two minutes later, one that makes her face hurt with a smile.

B: No chance you’re offloading your failed masterchef attempts onto me. How do I know it’s edible? x

Her reply is flirtatious. Vanessa tries to explain it away but she can’t, so she positions her phone in front of the huge earthenware tray she’s just taken out of the oven, the breadcrumbs giving a satisfying crackle as she sticks a serving spoon into it and takes a boomerang of the strings of cheese and billows of steam that emerge as she pulls the spoon out and a golden slice of the baked pasta with it. She sends it off to Brooke without any written reply and for a moment she forgets about any potential response as hunger overtakes her. She grabs a white bowl with a small crack down its side and piles the pasta high into it, sitting back on the couch and pulling the purple blanket over her knees as she scans the channels for something to keep her company as she eats. She settles on a rerun of some 90s gameshow and as it eventually finishes, so does her dinner. It’s only then that Vanessa remembers her phone, and as she dashes back across to the kitchen counter her heart gives a giant thump of joy as she sees four messages from Brooke.

B: Omg I take it all back, I will never doubt your cooking skills again x

B: Is that chorizo???????? I’m so hungry x

B: Are you mad at me because I said it wouldn’t be edible?? I’m sorry!!!!!! x

B: Please bring some for lunch tomorrow! I’ll get us a dessert, call it an apology x

Vanessa looks at the little “x” after each one. She’s blushing before she even knows it and it’s almost like Brooke has planted real little kisses on both her cheeks.

V: i’d say it’s a date but i’m not gonna give u the satisfaction x

A reply from Brooke doesn’t come but somehow it doesn’t bother her.

They have their picnic on the floor of the rehearsal room the next day, just as had been promised. Brooke makes ridiculous noises as she takes her first bite of the mac and cheese and Vanessa pokes fun at her for buying the cakes and not baking them (but Galaxy cake bars are delicious, so she doesn’t complain too much). They make a silly video for Instagram- “Hey guys! We’ve stopped for lunch and I brought a picnic!” “Hey, I made cakes!” “Bought cakes. Bought.” - and they’re almost too full to practise afterwards but they do, until late into the night, and the day after that and the day after that. They squeeze in their photoshoot for the title sequence and an interview for the Radio Times and the days pass in a busy blur. Vanessa’s smile grows wider with each rehearsal as they become better and better at the dance and on Thursday night they run it through with no mistakes at all, Vanessa so happy that she jumps into Brooke’ arms and squeals with delight and Brooke squeezes her tight and does the same. Before they know it it’s Friday, they’re the last It Takes Two interview of the week, and the first show is a little over twenty-four hours away.

“You nervous?” Vanessa whispers to Brooke as they watch Cheryl interviewing one of the past contestants they’ve invited on to give their insight. The sister show of Strictly isn’t watched by a huge number of people but it is watched by the hardcore fans, and Vanessa is anxious to make a good impression.

“A little. I’m used to conducting the interviews, not giving them,” Brooke frowns a bit, sweeps her blonde hair over her shoulder. She turned up to the studios in a smart blue suit and orange heels and Vanessa is amazed that she hasn’t dissolved into liquid form under Brooke’s gaze.

Brooke is so beautiful, and Vanessa wonders if she’ll ever stop thinking that to herself.

Vanessa drops a shy hand to her side and takes Brooke’s, lacing their fingers together and giving them a squeeze. They hold hands and press their bodies together and look into each other’s eyes all the time as part of the dance so it’s not weird, it’s almost routine. When Brooke smiles at her, reassured and at ease, Vanessa relaxes by at least ninety percent.

They’re soon called out while a pre-recorded VT of their rehearsal footage plays and they whisper an excited hey to Cheryl in all her fake-tanned, white-toothed glory, the very vision of an Essex girl-turned-professional. Vanessa’s been interviewed by Cheryl before, last year when she was on the bench and all she had to do were some silly challenges and goof around with the other pros. This is different.

Vanessa takes a quick breath in and holds it while she smiles maniacally at the camera and Cheryl does their introduction. “Alright, now, joining us for the last interview of the week- it’s Brooke and Vanessa!”

A cheer goes up from the production crew as they both wave to the camera, and it makes Vanessa’s smile turn more goofy than she’d intended it to be. She leans into Brooke’s side as she laughs and she notices that Brooke’s got an arm resting on the headboard on the sofa behind her.

“Now, Brooke, you’ve had a fortnight of rehearsals and had to work around your busy taping schedule- what’s that been like?” Cheryl asks, leaning forward with interest. Vanessa has always liked Cheryl, mainly because an interview with her feels like a chat with an old friend and she always genuinely seems interested in what someone has to say.

“Ugh, you know what? It’s been amazing,” Brooke smiles, and Vanessa’s heart lights up in affirmation. She turns to look at Brooke and she’s already smiling at her. “Obviously it’s been tiring at times, I think I’ve had a combined total of about 10 hours of sleep this week-”

Vanessa snorts, laughs at how dramatic Brooke’s being.

“-but I wouldn’t change it. I’ve learned so much, and V’s such a good teacher. I really struck it lucky with her.”

The production team let out an “aww”, and Vanessa tries to bite back a grin and fails. Brooke’s arm goes from the headboard to rest around her shoulders and Vanessa is scared to move in case she scares her away like a butterfly.

“Now speaking of- Vanessa,” Cheryl’s face breaks into a smile as she turns to her, and Vanessa’s stomach flutters a little with nerves. “You obviously felt you struck it lucky with Brooke too, let’s remind everyone of your reaction to getting paired with her.”

Vanessa lets out a wail of protest and buries her face in her hands as the clip of their pairing is played, and she can hear Brooke creasing with laughter beside her. Her embarrassment is rewarded with Brooke squeezing her shoulder in reassurance, and Vanessa supposes it’s sort of worth it. The clip comes to an end and, as Vanessa takes her hands away from her face, she knows she’s blushing hard.

“Now, you were…I think you were a bit happy?” Cheryl teases sarcastically. Vanessa playfully glares at her, and Brooke squeezes her shoulder again. “Are you still as overjoyed with having Brooke as a partner now you’ve started to rehearse with her?”

“Aw, I’m still as happy as I was on launch night. Honestly,” Vanessa smiles at Cheryl, turns and smiles at Brooke too because she can’t help it. “She just makes it so easy because- she doesn’t stop smiling, so rehearsals are fun, and she is just the hardest-working girl…that even a word? Hardest-working…most hardworking..I don’t know, but she’s it, you know?”

Her praise is rewarded by Brooke dropping her hand down to her waist, and Vanessa’s heart gives a judder. It’s not like she’s not used to Brooke’s hands on her, but the context is different, and it throws her off ever so slightly in the best possible way.

“I think what’s nice is- I’ve wanted to be on this show for so long and it’s V’s first year with a partner, so we’re kind of doing this whole journey together, and it’s special,” Brooke smiles, and Vanessa nods in agreement, as if the movement of her head will stop the blood rushing to her cheeks in a blush.

“It is nice! Because I suppose, Brooke, you ain’t gotta compare yourself to anyone because there’s not been any partners before you,” Cheryl adds with a shrug. Vanessa smiles at her words and nods, turns to Brooke as she speaks.

“Yeah. You’re my favourite.”

Brooke’s eyes have a twinkle in them as she smiles back at her. “Aw, thanks.”

The interaction is so quick that Cheryl’s already on to her next question before she can pick up on it. “Now, Vanessa, you chose a quickstep for week one, why was that?”

Vanessa sighs a little as she thinks about it. She doesn’t want to come across too cocky, come out with because my girl’s the best and I knew she could do it in her sleep with her eyes shut, so she instead tries to come across as humble as she can. “I think because- it’s a fast dance, and it’s good to go right in at the deep end on your first week. I can see Brooke Lynn’s potential, and I know what she’s capable of, so we just sort of went for it and she’s coped so well. She’s thrived.”

“Not survived, but thrived! I love it!,” Cheryl laughs along with her. “Now, this pairing, I have heard…through the grapevine…this is a bit of a linguistically challenged pairing, am I right?”

Vanessa blinks at her. “What’s that even mean?”

Brooke howls with laughter beside her and Cheryl does the same opposite, and Vanessa pouts. She doesn’t like to look dumb, and the wounded part of her wants to remind them both that she’s the only one out of the three of them that speaks more than one language, but she lets it drop when Brooke explains it to her softly. “Like…words and stuff.”

“Oh right! Yeah, so Brooke’s got lil words for all the steps we’re doin’.”

“It just helps me remember the timing!” Brooke laughs, her turn to feel embarrassed as she covers her face with her hands.

“Yeah, so we go, like…step, hop, beans-on-toast!” Vanessa explains. Cheryl’s looking at Brooke as if she has two heads.

“What is beans on toast?!” she exclaims. Brooke shakes her head, gives Vanessa a look of admonishment.

“It’s just a little phrase, and it goes with the timing of the steps of the dance, and it helps me remember them…I won’t do it on the night, you won’t hear me say it!” Brooke laughs. She’s got the slightest hint of a blush hitting her cheeks, and part of Vanessa feels warm with the fact that the stage lights are too bright to pick up on it and it’s like a secret only she knows.

“Well, Vanessa, there’s also a revelation I’ve heard today that I’m a little bit shocked by…” Cheryl begins, and Vanessa feels nervous, as if Cheryl’s about to rip the butterflies out of her stomach and show them to Brooke as some sort of proof of any embarrassing little feelings she’s got for her. “…you’re a Strictly pro that can’t actually say the name of one of the dance moves?”

“Oh my God,” Vanessa lets out a groan. She knows instantly what Cheryl is referring to, and Brooke’s hand is wrenched from its position on her waist as she claps her hands with mirth.

“Can you say it now?” Brooke teases, and Vanessa rolls her eyes at her.

“Girl, you know I can’t!” she whines, prepares herself to try and say the offending word. “Sash-ay?”

“No!” Brooke laughs, the twinkle in her eye almost blinding.

“Sash-ay?” Vanessa hears herself, and shakes her head. “No, wait, I already said it like that.”

“It’s not like a sachet of sauce,” Cheryl supplies unhelpfully. Vanessa raises her eyebrows at her. She tries again.

“Chassé,” she finally comes out with, and a roar of satisfaction erupts from the crew behind the cameras. She laughs as she protests her lack of pronunciation. “Leave me alone, I got two languages to try an’ speak in!”

“And you can’t say chassé in either of them,” Brooke teases, sticking her tongue out at her. Vanessa finds it hard to rip her eyes away from her partner as Cheryl speaks again.

“Well, you two, you’ve been a joy to have with us today, good luck for Saturday night-”

“Thank you!”

“- Brooke and Vanessa, everybody!”

A cheer goes up from the crew, and Vanessa can’t help but giggle at the silliness that was the end of their interview. As Cheryl introduces another section of the show, Vanessa feels Brooke slip her hand into her own, squeezing it once. Vanessa squeezes back, and Brooke meets her eyes in a calm smile. It’s Friday evening, they’re off to rehearse as soon as this is over, and then it will be Saturday and their first live show as a couple. Vanessa is the best kind of nervous, and she finds herself shutting her eyes for a second as if to check she’s not dreaming.

Another squeeze of her hand from Brooke Lynn brings her back to earth with a bump, but she doesn’t mind.

[argylemnwrites]

Living with the Consequences

Pairing: Drake Walker x MC (Riley Liu)

Book: The Royal Romance (Post The Royal Heir, Chapter 2)

Word Count: ~1900

Rating:  PG-13 (adult language)

Summary: Drake knew that choosing to allow their child to be named heir to the throne would have its complications. He just didn’t fully realize how many of them there would be, or how soon they would hit.

Author’s Note: Written for Day 2 of the Choices July Challenge (prompt - Regret). Trigger warning for mentions of pregnancy loss and blood.

I know that PB won’t give us a miserable MC and her spouse in TRH, regardless of how stressful and upsetting I think this whole our-baby-will-be-heir scheme would be in reality for Drake and MC. But after chapter 2 of TRH, I just had a lot of angsty ideas, and I wanted to explore them.

The first twinges of regret came early. If Drake thought that the media attention when they arrived home at Valtoria was overwhelming, that was nothing compared to the sheer frenzy after the announcement was made: their baby would be named heir to the throne upon his or her birth. Drake knew that their, no his, choice would draw more attention to the two of them, but he was quickly realizing that he hadn’t fully processed the ramifications as he found himself staring at shot after shot of his wife’s midriff all over every news website.

The content of the articles was endless speculation with zero actual sources, of course. It was the typical cheap, lazy bullshit he was used to from the press. But the photos were nothing he anticipated. It was like the rest of her barely existed, a token full body shot to prove that the torso in question belonged to her. That all that mattered about her was whether or not she was pregnant.

“What have I agreed to put her through?” cycled through his head over and over. He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, staring at his phone. Eventually though, he was jolted out of his self-loathing thoughts by a pair of hands on his shoulders. His first instinct was to kill his phone screen. Shield her from the stories for as long as possible. But she was quicker than him, reaching down and snatching his phone from his hand, her long hair swinging against his cheek as she leaned over his shoulder.

He waited with baited breath as she skimmed over the screen, wondering just how pissed at him she would be.

“Well, at least I was wearing a cute shirt,” she quipped, handing him his phone back before she walked around the island, grabbing a mug from the cupboard and pouring herself some coffee.

“You aren’t mad?” Drake couldn’t believe how cavalier she was acting about the whole thing.

She shrugged as she walked over to the fridge, pulling out the creamer. “These photos were kind of inevitable. At least they were taken on a public sidewalk, not drone shots on our grounds.”

Taking a sip of her coffee, she walked back to the other side of the island, plunking herself down on the stool next to him and grabbing a muffin out of the basket before she continued, “Besides, they’re wrong, at least this month.”

“So you got your-”

“Yeah, this morning.”

So, she wasn’t pregnant yet. It did explain why she was drinking coffee today. Drake wasn’t sure how he felt about that. How he was supposed to feel about that. Hell, he wasn’t really sure how she was feeling about it. But one thought kept creeping back into his mind as they shared their breakfast - Should he be glad that the speculation in the article was wrong, or should he dread the fact that they would probably have to endure this all again next month?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Drake thought he felt bad about his choice before. But as he looked at the article on the tablet Bastien handed him, he wanted to be sick. What had he gotten them into?

“What the fuck is this shit, Bastien?”

“It came through on our media cull for mentions of Liam. Obviously, The Ruby Rise is not known as a reputable source, but this story is salacious enough we fear it might gain traction.”

“We?”

“Liam was notified, of course.”

Drake sighed, “And he sent you to deal with it?”

Bastien paused for a moment before he responded, “He wasn’t sure if you wanted his input on anything related to this pregnancy at this point.”

Drake clenched his jaw. He knew that Bastien was trying to frame things diplomatically, but things between him and Liam had been pretty strained recently. It had all started with that positive pregnancy just two months after they’d agreed to Liam’s plan to name their child heir. Liam had asked them to announce the pregnancy early. It would ease the pressure on him so much, he’d said. But only five weeks later, when Riley’s scream had woken him up and he’d seen the blood all over the pyjama pants, the sheets, her skin, suddenly what should have been their private loss had to be a national story.

Drake knew he wasn’t being fair to Liam. It’s not like the miscarriage was his fault. But if he hadn’t had them announce in the first trimester, they would have been able to grieve and heal together, without reporters breathing down their necks for an exclusive interview. And no number of apologies from Liam could change that fact. 

So a few months later, when they had a second stick with a plus sign, they made the decision to not tell anyone until the second trimester. That had been a few weeks ago, and when they invited their closest friends over to Valtoria to announce their good news, it was clear that Liam wasn’t thrilled they had kept it from him. Since then, their once open friendship felt tense and closed off. More adversarial, confrontational. It hadn’t helped that Liam had asked for numerous public appearances from the two of them, not seeming to understand that Riley’s morning sickness was still horrific and had no respect for its name, popping up at all hours of the day, causing Riley to want to stay home near a bathroom. It had not shown any improvement like her doctor hoped it would by this point, making Drake defensive, wanting to protect her from any additional stresses.

When he took moments to think about it, Drake knew more of his anger was directed at himself than at Liam. If he hadn’t said yes to this insane scheme, if he had just focused on protecting his family, then Riley wouldn’t have had to endure half the shit she’d been put through. The most recent offense was the list of “approved names” that had arrived at Valtoria two mornings ago. Drake had been ignoring the texts from Liam, asking if they had a chance to review the “communication.” He hated feeling like there was this third awkward party in this pregnancy.

And now, this. A piece of tabloid trash, to be sure. Drake just hoped it didn’t gain any traction with the larger news outlets.

“Thanks for letting us know. Lemme go warn her before she sees it.”

Bastien said his farewells, perfectly comfortable seeing himself out as Drake went upstairs to their bedroom. Waking Riley up with this would not be pleasant, but he had to let her know about this sooner rather than later. But when he got to their bedroom, their bed was empty. Her phone was sitting on her pillow, though. She often browsed some websites before she got out of bed for the day, and Drake just had a bad feeling about what she could have been reading this morning. He unlocked it and saw it was on The Ruby Rise website. Well, shit.

The sound of Riley retching in their bathroom interrupted his thoughts. He slowly pushed the door open, crouching down next to her by the toilet, taking her hair out of her hands and holding it back himself. She gagged several more times before sighing and shifting backward, leaning against the side of the bathtub and closing her eyes.

Drake ran his hand across her shoulder, letting her catch her breath for a few moments before broaching the topic.

“Is it morning sickness, or did you see the article?”

“Yes,” she said, opening her eyes and looking at him. She looked exhausted.

“Yes to which one?”

“Both. I’m pretty sure it’s the morning sickness, but seeing that someone decided to publish that they have some bullshit ‘source’ who has it on good authority that we have a traditional Cordonian marriage and that the only reason our child will be heir is that it might be Liam’s didn’t exactly do anything to soothe my stomach.”

“Riley, I’m so sorry.” Drake had lost track of the number of times he’d apologized to her since their honeymoon. “I never should have made you agree to this.”

She just shook her head. “Drake, you didn’t make me do anything. We decided to do this together.”

He brushed her hair back, dropping a kiss against her temple. Her revisionist history was sweet, but Drake knew that the blame here lay more with him. But at this point, all he could do was try to make her life easier in any way possible.

“You want some of that mint tea?”

She nodded. “Thanks, I’m just gonna brush my teeth and meet you downstairs.”

As he went to their kitchen, pulling the kettle out of cupboard and grabbing the tea bags, he tried to calm his own thoughts. He needed to stay steady for her. But that article kept running through his mind. It was just one more burden on their road to becoming parents. He just wasn’t sure at this point how many more of them they could endure.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Drake didn’t think it was possible for him to love anyone more than he loved Riley, but forty-two hours of labor later, he learned that wasn’t the case. The moment he held their child, his son, in his arms, he felt a wave of emotion, of love and protectiveness, that he’d never felt before. His love for Riley grew, too. Somehow, someway, he felt so much more than he ever had before. It was overwhelming, but in the most perfect way possible.

Or rather, these moments would have been perfect if he had never agreed to Liam’s insane plan. Because this wasn’t just their child. He was Cordonia’s future king, at least for now. And that meant they couldn’t just keep him to themselves.

So now, mere hours later, a team of stylists were swarming around Riley, brushing her hair, putting on makeup. Because god forbid she looked like she had just been in labor for almost two days. She had to look polished. Poised. Like the mother of a future monarch.

Liam had seemed genuinely sorry when he arrived, telling them that the length of Riley’s labor was causing a lot of concern, and that moving up the first public appearance would help soothe tensions. Drake wondered if he should have fought it more, but here they were.

As Riley winced as she was helped into a pretty green dress, Drake felt powerless, standing there watching, holding their newborn son, trying to protect him from the vultures of the press and the court for just a few more minutes.

And then they were whisked through the hallways, much more security surrounding them than before. Liam joined them in the lobby with a sad smile.

“I can’t thank you both enough. I know I can never repay you for all of this.”

Drake nodded roughly before turning to Riley, “Are you ready for this?”

She shrugged. “I guess,” she replied, standing up from her wheelchair and stepping close to him to take their son into her arms before the public appearance. As they struggled through passing him between the two of them, an awkward task they hadn’t quite gotten the hang of yet, she dropped her voice, whispering so that Liam couldn’t hear them.”

“Do you ever wish we’d just told him no?”

“Everyday, Walker. Every damn day.”

Tags: @dcbbw @jovialyouthmusic @iplaydrake @gibbles82 @drakewalkerisreal @riley–walker @thequeenofcronuts @notoriouscs @butindeed @choicesjulychallenge @kinda-iconic

[living-dead-parker]

Costco and A Kiss - H.K

A/N: We’re switching it up around here, holy shit. So this is more of a platonic!Harley type of thing bc I don’t necessarily feel comfortable writing romantic stuff with him right now but gimme a couple months and we’ll see how I feel about things! (It’s mainly bc Ty Simpkins is 17 and I feel weird about it lmao) Also, there is WinterIron in this, it’s not the main focus but it is in focus so let’s see how that goes.  

I also need to add that heroes and Avengers are not a thing in this universe, no superpowers or anything!

Summary: Harley has a crush, and there’s a Costco trip involved.

Warnings: cussing i think, winteriron,i just pulled this out of my ass, so I’m sorry if it’s not good. Also, this is lowkey dedicated to @1-800-gotjunk bc they wished for more Harley Keener fanfic and I like to please my audience (this may or may not be my way of saying I’ll gladly take requests), and I tried keeping it gender-neutral as possible, so lemme know if I slipped up on pronouns and stuff! Also, introduction of a new character!

Word Count: 2.5k

Gif not mine and this was the only recent Ty Simpkin gif I could find. The others were obvs JP gifs or IM3 so yuhh

"Y/N, Peter, Harley, Riri!" Tony yells as he finishes compiling a list of all the foods they'd need for sure. Bucky emerged from one side of the kitchen with a list of other housing items -toilet paper, cleaning supplies, the works- that the family needs, as well as some optional stuff. Bucky hands the list over to Tony while pressing a kiss onto the older man's cheek.

"Ew, please stop!" Harley comments as the four teens walk into the large kitchen. Tony rolls his eyes and hands the list to his eldest child, Y/N.

"We need you guys to go shopping for some items for tomorrow's get together and for household stuff," Tony says as he looks over at all the kids. You're quick to nod as you put the lists into your pocket.

"Yeah, please get everything on the list, and maybe some other optional things for yourselves," Bucky chimes in, once more earning a nod from you. Harley was too lost in looking at the beautiful h/c haired beauty. Unfortunately, he could never be with them, for many reasons. The current one being age.

Bucky and Tony met three years ago, both instantly making a connection. One thing that instantly connected them was that they each had a kid and a parasite. Harley is Bucky's adopted parasite, while Riri is his biological kid. People tend to not believe it for many obvious reasons, but neither of them cared about people's comments. Y/N is Tony's biological kid, and Peter was the blood-sucking best friend who felt like Tony was a dad to him. Admittedly, Tony does love Peter like a son. The two men had been introduced by Steve a few years ago, becoming sort of friends, until they eventually got some crushes on each other. They started dating, and a year later, they've moved in together into a new and improved Stark Tower. The millionaire could never give up the luxury of his own luxurious tower. He has the money, why not?

"Got it, fatherinos," you tell the two men as you grab your phone from the kitchen counter. Harley is quick to follow behind you, following like a lost puppy. Bucky and Tony were quick to notice the boy's crush on the eldest of the group.

They'd seen all the signs. He'd get nervous around you, he'd stare for a very long time, he would be at your every whim, and he'd always be so close to you. It's cute, really. However, the two parents wouldn't dare say a thing because they want to see how it ends. Surely, there wouldn't be bad blood. Especially not for Peter and Riri's sake. Y/N is the oldest of the group, being eighteen. Peter is the second oldest, being seventeen. Meanwhile, Riri and Harley are both sixteen.

You head down to the garage area, grabbing the keys to the G Wagon on the board holding all the keys to every car. It's a black matte color and it's bigger than most of the car, so its used more often for grocery store trips. Admittedly, it's your favorite car too. You lead the way to the car.

"I call shotgun!" Harley yells as he runs over to the car. Nobody really protests, because why would they? So Harley gladly takes the passenger seat as you unlock the car. When you get in, you notice Peter sitting behind you and Riri sitting behind Harley.

The car engine roars to life, followed by the sound of the Bluetooth connecting to your phone. You hand your phone to Harley and let him pick out the music as you check all your mirrors. Once everything is perfect, you begin backing out as the sound of 7 Rings by Ariana Grande comes on. Almost in sync, everyone in the car cheers as they begin singing along to the song. Peter and Riri roll their windows down and you do too. Harley is recording everyone and putting it on Snapchat and Instagram, which you don't mind.

The drive doesn't take too long. Five songs later, they're in the parking lot and getting out of the car. Riri runs to get a cart and Peter follows behind, getting another cart. With how big the bulks are and with how much you'll be buying, you might need four in total. So when you reach the entrance, you instruct Harley to get another cart as you grab one as well. The four of you walk side by side, annoying a lot of the fellow shoppers just trying to get through.

Four teens shopping at Costco on their own was never a good idea from the beginning. Harley can't seem to steer a cart right, occasionally running over the backs of your legs or crashing his cart into Peter's. It was especially bad that Riri was making pun after shitty pun. Sure, they were really funny, but they were pretty bad. Peter was trying too hard to show off how strong he was, and your competitive side was coming out. Now it's on to see who can lift the most. So far, you've managed to pick up three cases of 24 packs of water bottles in one go. Peter rolled his eyes and stacked a fourth one on to his stack.

"Peter, we only need six cases. Put one back," you instruct. Peter sighs while grabbing one of the cases and puts it back in the display area. Harley and Riri are talking amongst themselves, laughing at something.

You've all been at the store for about half an hour now and haven't even made a dent in the list. You're only a quarter of the way done, only one basket halfway filled because they all want to be so childish. You can't put all the blame on them though since you've been slacking too.

As you approach the refrigerated area, you grab the list and grab random vegetable packs, milk, and other items on the list. Harley joins you, and when he sees you shiver, he's quick to take his jacket off and hand it to you.

"Here, you seem cold," Harley says. You smile and take it from him, thanking him as you turn back to the items you need to get. Harley watches as you grab random items. He stares as you compare certain brands or read over the names and what the items are. He can't help but stare as you put more items into the basket.

He knows having a crush on you is sort of weird, especially because at this point there's no turning back for Tony and Bucky. They're in it till the end, going the long run. So, they'd be family. They are family, just not technically. However, Harley can't help but still indulge in his little crush. He knows Y/N doesn't like him like that. He knows that your eyes are set on someone else, but he still can't help it.

The two walk out with a basket full of frozen goods and meet back up with Peter and Riri, who this time around are laughing at memes on their phones. You approach the two laughing friends and gesture in a way telling them to get a move on.

You all stay in the store for another hour before you've gotten everything on the list and some. Now you're waiting in line, looking over at the cart that Harley stands behind. Everything that was on the list managed to fit into three carts, so the last one was filled with the things that you guys wanted. Or things you know Bucky and your father would appreciate. Chocolate cake, boxes of popcorn, jugs of juice, industrial jars of Nutella, and so much more. The entire time the four of you wait in line, Riri goes on to ask and beg to stop by at Starbucks. Harley spent the entire time staring.

You knew about his little crush on you. You'd even consulted Bucky about it, asking if the young man has a crush on you. Bucky didn't even try to hide it. It's so obvious. Neither of you are sure on how Peter and Riri haven't suspected a thing. You notice how he stares dreamily, he blushes when you look up at him. The way he texts back immediately, the hearts around your name in his phone. How happy he got when he saw the heart at the end of his name in your phone. You wouldn't dare crush him by admitting everyone you care about has a heart at the end. Harley's is yellow. Peter's is blue, Riri's is purple, Bucky's is green, and your father has a red and black heart at the end of it. Right by your best friend, Matt, you have a big red heart, but you wouldn't tell Harley that.

When everything has been loaded up into the car, you begin the drive to the nearest Starbucks. Upon pulling up to the window, everyone bombards you with their orders. You can only focus on so much, so you get their order one by one until every order has been taken. You pull up, pay, deflect every flirtatious comment from the girl behind the window, and take your drinks.

"Looks like someone got a number!" Peter says as he accidentally grabs the receipt. You roll your eyes and toss the now crumpled receipt somewhere in the back of the car. The drive back home is short but once you've pulled up, your phone begins to ring.

"It's dad," you say, seeing Tony's number pop up on screen. You grab your phone as you unbuckle yourself and answer the call. "Yes?"

"Hey kiddo, I need you to run to the nearest drug store and buy some Pepto and some anti-diarrheas. Maybe some Gatorade and some crackers."

"Is Bucky sick or is it you?" you ask as you hop out the car, noticing Riri and Peter begin taking things inside. Harley is missing, so he's most likely inside already.

"Buck, he ate some old takeout leftovers. Can you please go?" Tony asks.

"Yeah, I'm just gonna wait on Harley to come back down so I can take him with me, probably gonna talk to him."

"Time to let him down?" Tony asks softly. He was the first to suspect his crush.

"Yeah, can't let him go on with as much hope as he has. It's unfair."

"Well, good luck kid. Please hurry though. Buck is dying here. Surprised he doesn't have projectile coming from both end-"

"Ew dad!" you screech as Tony begins to giggle. You hang up when you see Harley coming back with Peter and Riri in tow.

"H, we're going to Walgreens or something, come on. Pete, Ri, can you guys take all the stuff back in? Don't forget we have the pallet jack, just pile things on it and take it."

The two teens nod and go over to the stationary items in the garage and pull out a pallet jack as you go to grab the keys to one of the many Audi's your father owns. You're not sure why he owns so many, but he does. Harley follows close behind, getting into the small but luxurious black car.

"H, can we talk?" you ask as you lower the music. You've decided that you'd wait until you were out of the garage and out of the gate to the tower.

"Yeah, what's up?"

"I know you like me," you begin, deciding not to hold back. "Like like me."

"W-what? N-o I have n-no cl-"

"Harley, it's okay to have crushes. I find it flattering that you have a crush on me, but I need you to know that-"

"You don't like me. I know," Harley says sadly as he looks down at his hands.

"H, please don't be mad. You're a cool dude, and anybody would be lucky to be with you. I mean it, but I just don't see you that way. Plus, our dads are kind of dating, soon they'll be married. It would be weird," you tell him.

"I know but you're so cool and you're really attractive! Plus you're so nice and smart and I could go on and on! It sucks being in love-"

"Woah, woah, woah slow down buddy. You're not in love with me," you tell the young man. "Yeah you like me, but it's not love."

"How would you know what I feel?"

"Because you were the same about Ned, and about Ally."

The car goes silent for a few seconds. The sound of Shawn Mendes quietly plays in the background.

"I just never felt like this about someone, and I hate that it's you because I know it's wrong."

You frown and look briefly at Harley. You reach the store and the two of you are quick to get off and into the store. Harley winds up separating from you to go look around. You decide not to push it, so you go looking for what you need and head to the checkout desk. The whole thing only takes ten minutes, but soon the two of you are back in the car.

"If I kiss you, just this once, will it be enough to fulfill some dream of yours?"

"W-what?"

You sigh as you look down at the steering wheel before turning over to Harley.

"Look, obviously something about this is bugging you because I know you. You're not one to get mad at rejection. You respect people's decisions. But something is bugging you and I just want to know, if I kiss you, will it fix something within you? Enough to get you over this little crush? I mean, you're a month shy of seventeen, so it's technically not illegal or something, not like it's sex but still."

Harley looks you in the eyes, his showing confusion. Nothing but confusion.

"Y-you'll kiss me?"

"Let's make a deal. I'll kiss you, lips on lips, as long as you start getting over this silly little crush on me," you propose. Harley looks at you and you can see him begin to grin. You roll your eyes as his cheeks begin to blush.

"R-really?"

"Yes," you begin. "But that means no being shy around me, no staring at me doing the most mundane of things, and definitely no sadness that we won't ever be in love and get married and have fifty children and a farmhouse."

Harley nods eagerly. You can already feel yourself regretting this. Why would you propose this to him?

"I just wanna let you know that I've never kissed anyone and I'm scared that I'll be bad a-"

You cut him off by pressing your lips to his. If there's one way to get him to stop thinking about it, it's by doing it. He stills for a few seconds but not too long after, he's kissing back. Your hands rest on his cheeks and his move to your waist. Once he began to shift in his seat, you decide that that was enough. So you pull away with a soft smile. His cheeks are red and he seems very bashful.

"How was that?" you ask.

"For your sake, it was really bad," Harley says. You smirk, turning the car on and heading back home.

"Good, now you know you're not missing out on much."

"I hate you," Harley says. You continue smiling, happy that everything has been put out.

"I hate you too, H."

Please send feedback or requests! Come send me asks or just talk to me!!

[our-smooty]

Flowerbeds and Fertile Soil: Chapter 9

Fandom: Good Omens

Rating: Explicit

Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens, )Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer

Tags:  Kidfic, Mpreg kind of, they can choose to present however so idk, Crowley Has A Vulva (Good Omens), Crowley Has A Penis (Good Omens), Aziraphale Has A Penis (Good Omens), Aziraphale Has A Vulva (Good Omens), OCs Galor, parenting, using your snake form to avoid confrontation, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Pregnancy, if I missed a tag lemme know

Summary: They could do anything, go anywhere, all without the worry of Above or Bellow making a fuss. Even so, they mostly kept to their little patch of Eden, their cottage and garden and the simple life they’d carved out among the locals. Aziraphale opened a book shop in town, where he only occasionally sold any books (and the ones he did sell, were all modern and stocked specifically for that purpose). Crowley focused his attentions on the garden, and if he occasionally helped their elderly neighbour with her disobedient willow tree, then that was a secret no one needed to know. Lately, however, they had both been feeling rather restless, unbeknownst to each other. Aziraphale tried reorganizing his store, changing the way he tied his bowtie and even ate pizza –something he considered to be far too messy for him personally. Crowley had branched out into birdwatching, and then car maintenance (the human way), and even reading. Nothing scratched the itch for either of them.

Ao3 Link

Things improved slowly. Not the being sick, or the dizziness, that was still rubbish, but between him and Aziraphale. Aziraphale was much more mindful of his hovering and Crowley was getting used to actually asking for things instead of keeping everything to himself. It made life a lot easier, even if it was uncomfortable. He didn’t have to pretend to be alright all the time for one thing, which meant he didn’t have to feel as bad about not taking Aziraphale out for meals and dates. He didn’t have to, though he still did sometimes. It was something that still kept him up some nights, the idea that he wasn’t giving Aziraphale enough anymore. If that was the case, then the angel hadn’t said anything, but Crowley still worried. 

His morning sickness hadn’t faded, though the tea and herbs helped in the moment. Most mornings and many early afternoons had been spent with a bucket at the bedside and Crowley’s head pillowed in Aziraphale’s shoulder as he took tiny bites of cracker and even tinier sips of tea. Usually by midafternoon he was feeling alright enough to get up and putter around the garden, though with the quickly changing weather there wasn’t much to be done for the plants themselves. And doing the raking by hand was a little more than he could manage most of the time. So he did what he could without throwing up everywhere, and used a miracle for the rest. 

About a month after Alfie’s birth Crowley was sick--no pun intended--to death of being laid up in bed. He wanted to go out and do things again, especially with Aziraphale. There had to be something they could go out and enjoy together. He could have texted Anathema for ideas, but after the way he stormed out a few weeks ago… well it wasn’t high on his to-do list. 

“Angle,” he whined one afternoon as they were once again relaxing on the sofa. Aziraphale had his nose in a book, one he’d read and re-read enough times to have it memorized. “Angle I’m bored. I want to go do something.”

Aziraphale hardly looked up from his book. “Like what dear? We tried going out to eat last week but the food and the smells made you sick. We tried walking around town and you nearly collapsed fifteen minutes in. I thought we agreed to take some time to relax, at least until you’re feeling better.”

“I am feeling better,” Crowley said with all the petulance of a 4-year-old child. “I didn’t get sick at all this morning, did I?”

Aziraphale thought for a moment, and Crowley felt the beginnings of a victorious smile on his own lips. “No, and you were out of bed earlier than normal. I guess if you’re up to it we could--”

“Yes! Whatever it is yes just get me out of this house!” Crowley sprung up, his clothes magically shifting into the jacket and skinny jeans he usually wore out. Around the house he’d taken to leggings and comfortable shirts out of convenience, so it had been a little while. His trousers felt tighter than normal which made him wiggle his hips with discomfort. “Now. Let's go now.”

Aziraphale blinked for a moment, startled by Crowley’s sudden movements, but smiled fondly. It made something in Crowley’s stomach match the funny feeling in his hips. “You don’t even know what I was going to suggest dear.” The book was set aside anyway, it’s well-worn and well-repaired cover thumped softly against the wood. “What if I was going to say we should go to that town hall meeting being held in the village?”

“You wouldn’t.” Crowley narrowed his eyes, the yellow slits piercing and unwavering. “You hate those meetings just as much as I do. What was it you called Mrs. Thompson after the last one? A fussy old bi--”

“Yes, well. I wasn’t going to suggest that. Just teasing you dear,” Aziraphale interrupted, a tinge of pink to his cheeks. “I thought we might take the Bently out, down some of the country roads. Take in the Autumn leaves.”

Crowley hopped from foot to foot excitedly. “Good, good. We can do that, let me get my keys.” In his eagerness he nearly tripped over his own feet as he grabbed his jacket--the one Aziraphale had gotten him that always seemed to radiate the warmth his own reptilian body couldn’t. Behind him he could hear Aziraphale’s exasperated sigh. “I’m good, I’m fine. Let's go.”

They drove around for hours, Aziraphale admiring the changing leaves and Crowley enjoying the feel of the Bently’s engine rumbling smoothly beneath him. The back roads were completely clear, which may have been Aziraphale’s doing, he wasn’t sure, but it meant that he could go as fast as he wanted, his previously bland mood bleeding out through the shaking steel. There was something about driving that was so different from any other mode of transportation and pushing his car to the limit of its speed capabilities always gave him a special kind of rush. 

“Did you see that oak back there? What a lovely shade of orange. Oh and that maple! Simply gorgeous! I do wish I’d thought to bring my camera.” Crowley was only half listening because the road was getting particularly windy and he needed to focus. “We could have a picnic when you’re feeling up to eating more.”

“Mhm,” Crowley answered, taking a particularly tough corner nice and smoothly. A tingle went up his spine at the satisfaction of a well pulled off maneuver. “Sounds good.”

Aziraphale happily flapped his right hand in Crowley’s direction. “Wonderful! Hopefully that will happen soon, Anathema did say hers got much better after the first trimester.”

Crowley still wasn’t paying attention, but he knew that wouldn’t deter his angel from nattering on for the foreseeable future. Aziraphale could, and would talk for hours uninterrupted, especially on a topic he was passionate about. Picnics and food in general were definitely two of those topics. 

“Do you remember those little sandwiches we had last year, at that delightful bristo with the sunny garden patio? I know you say watercress is boring but you have to admit the bread really balanced it out. Anyway, I recently found this bakery the next town over and their bread is so much like the one from the bistro I thought I might take a crack at making a few sandwiches of my own. And wouldn’t that be lovely, making a picnic spread by ourselves instead of ordering the food. Even if we have so many wonderful options…”

Crowley let Aziraphale’s voice fade into the background, a familiar drone. One that he’d enjoyed for millenia and it was comforting in a way. Between the rattle of the Bently’s frame and the sound of Aziraphale’s voice he was essentially, exactly where he wanted to be. Exactly where he needed to be to relieve the intense boredom that had plagued him while he’d been basically house-bound

“--and we could bring a comfortable chair for you; I read somewhere that carrying a child could be dreadful on the back. But we could also do something else if you prefer, maybe a trip somewhere warm where those dates you still like are in season?”

Of course Aziraphale was always thinking about him and his comfort. Things had been easier since Crowley started asking for things and Aziraphale started offering instead of just doing. It made accepting the angel’s care less complicated if his brain couldn’t skew it as charity or pity. If he asked for it, then he could control it, control how much other people were involved. Sometimes he almost wanted to laugh at how stupid it was but it worked.

An unsettling wobbling feeling in his stomach made Crowley ease up off the accelerator for a few moments. Was it the morning sickness making itself known as they were easing into mid-afternoon? Because the name “morning sickness” was complete and utter bollocks as far as Crowley was concerned. It didn’t feel like he was going to be sick though. Move like a restless moving feeling. Maybe it was because his pants weren’t fitting right? He couldn’t think of any other reason for the weird feeling, so he pushed it aside and slammed the pedal to the floorboards once again. Aziraphale continued on talking. 

“--and a picnic would let us relax and enjoy the scenery, which I can only see a little of now. I do wish you’d slow down, at least on the turns darling. There’s so much we’re probably missing!”

“Trees, fields, idyllic countryside views. Not missing much we don’t see every day,” Crowley quipped, though he may have still slowed down a tad over the next few minutes. Aziraphale shot him a sidelong smile and reached a hand across the gear-shift to rub at Crowley’s knee.

“Are you feeling better? You’ve been rather quiet.” Crowley’s manic driving had taken them far out of town, so far they were surrounded by fields filled with free-roaming cattle. He let the Bently roll to a more socially acceptable pace because he knew Aziraphale had a bit of a soft spot for cows. The strange wiggling in his stomach continued, and he wanted to be able to pull over and get out quickly if he had to be sick. Vomit in the Bently was not something Crowley wanted to deal with. 

“Think so. Stomach’s feeling… weird but not in the usual way,” Crowley answered. Just the fact he was feeling more talkative was a clear sign that the strange mood from earlier was passing. “Not like I’m gonna be sick or anything, so don’t worry about your trousers.”

Aziraphale laughed, a beautiful tinkling sound like antique teacups against their saucers. “Thank you for the reassurance, my love. Do you think you might be hungry? I know you don’t usually go in for that sort of thing often but with the baby your body might be craving things outside your usual fair.”

Another, more insistent fluttering feeling had Crowley gasping and bringing a hand to his stomach. It didn’t hurt, and it wasn’t exactly unpleasant, but there was something strange about it. “Think my trousers are too tight. They didn’t fit right this morning anyway.”

In fact, the button of his pants was digging into his belly right this moment and that was unpleasant. One hand still on the steering wheel he tried to adjust the waistband with the other. It didn’t help. “S’like they’re too small, but these are the same ones I always wear. Miracle must have gone wrong.”

Crowley kept his hand on his belly, just over his shirt and under his jeans. And that was when he felt it. The wiggling feeling from before but now he could feel it against his palm too.

“Holy shit!” he yelped slamming his foot against the break and making them both shoot forward against their seatbelts (an addition Aziraphale had insisted upon when they began taking regualr drives together). “What the fuck?!”

“What in Heaven’s name was all that about?” Aziraphale asked, his hands still braced against the roof and dash. “You’re lucky no one was behind us!”

Normally Crowley would have snapped about how he would have known if there had been someone behind them because he was a semi-omniscient being. But this time there was no witty or snarky comeback because something was moving inside him. He hadn’t done a lot of research about pregnancy--it was still a little too much for him, reading all that human stuff--but this had to be--it really was—

“They’re moving,” he whispered, awe and fear and trepidation colouring his voice. “Angle, they—”

Aziraphale’s hand immediately shot from Crowley’s knee to his belly, right alongside Crowley’s own. They both waited silently, breath held until there was another flutter. If Aziraphale had been a human he probably wouldn’t have felt it. The look on his face when he did made Crowley infinitely glad they both had heightened senses. 

“My word…” Aziraphale breathed, bodily leaning over the gearshift so he was pressed up against Crowley’s side. The atmosphere in the car was heavy, but in the way a warm blanket in the early morning is heavy--soft, comfortable, and warm. “Crowley that’s them! That’s our baby. Oh Lord, that’s them.”

“Yeah…” For some reason his eyes were stinging. The Bently had put itself into park and was keeping the engine idle by itself, so he used his other hand to wipe at the quickly-forming tears. Up until now he hadn’t really realized, or he had but not all the way, that was their baby inside him. This was happening and Aziraphale was right there with him, just as excited and awed as Crowley was. “I didn’t know--little shit’s been dancing down there all morning and I didn’t--”

“Don’t call our baby that, Crowley!” Aziraphale complained, shooting him a scolding look. Crowley rolled his eyes and huffed.

“They can’t hear us angel, s’not a big deal,” he insisted. Another movement under their hands stopped their bickering in its tracks. Crowley grunted softly as the squirming intensified, then ended again. “Active one, aren’t they?”

“I love you,” Aziraphale said abruptly. He pressed his free hand to Crowley’s chest, just over where his heart was hammering away. “Crowley this is--you’re amazing.”

“No you,” Crowley shot back, laughing weakly. Tears began to streak down his face but for once, they were happy ones and not sad. “This’s real, isn’t it?”

He looked over at Aziraphale just in time to catch the possessive, loving look on his face. Suddenly Crowley realized that they both had a hand part-way down his jeans, pulled off to a secluded spot at the side of the road. Pressed close together like this Crowley couldn’t help but lean in, seeking the warmth and comfort and closeness to his lover. His sensitivity to smells had been decreasing as well, and so for the first time in a few weeks, he took a long, indulgent sniff of Aziraphale scent without trepidation. 

“Are you just realizing that now dearest?” Aziraphale must have noticed Crowley’s reaction to him because there was a little bit of teasing to his voice. “And are you sniffing me? I do hope my cologne isn’t too strong for you.”

“You smell nice,” Crowley squeaked as Aziraphale’s hands both shifted down. The one on his chest landed around his right hip, while the one in his trousers gently traced the very top of his pants. “A-ah, you—?”

Aziraphale hummed, his fingers dipping under Crowley’s pants. “Seeing you like this… it makes me want to have you again and again.” An embarrassingly garbled noise escaped his throat. “I love you so much. You are my everything Crowley.”

“Ngk,” Crowley moaned. He wished he could be as good with words as Aziraphale, a least when it came to things between them. Aziraphale was always better at the softer things, at being a good person, even if he could be a bastard at times. “We’re in public?”

“Not really, we’re far out from any of the farms and I haven’t seen another car for at least an hour now. But if you don’t want to, we can drive back and—”

“No no I want to, just let me—” he popped the button on his jeans open and sighed in relief. “Much better. You can keep going now.”

Aziraphale laughed again and his mouth was so close to Crowley’s neck he could feel the vibrations. “Better turn the car off then, hadn’t we? And maybe we should move to the back seat, there’d be more space at least.” But Aziraphale’s hand was still moving further down his front, cupping his sex in his warm palm. The tips of his fingers dipped ever so slightly between Crowley’s lips, a tantalizing tease. 

“Get your hands out of my pants then,” Crowley grumbled, making no effort to remove Aziraphale’s hands himself. In fact, he may have willed the driver's seat to recline a little bit more, to give the angel more space to work. The car shut itself off, and the music cut out completely, leaving them in silence save for their breathing and the sound of wind outside. 

“You don’t want me to do that,” Aziraphale sing-songed, pressing a little firmer with his fingers so he was brushing Crowley’s clit. “At least the car’s off, it wouldn’t do to be creating pollution.”

“N-no.” Crowley was answering out of habit, rather than actual understanding. He hadn’t been wet before, but that was quickly changing. Aziraphale’s touch, familiar at this point, always caused a sort of reaction in Crowley’s body. One that screamed more more more. “Aziraphale, need you—!”

“I’ve got you my dear,” Aziraphale assured him, stilling petting with the barest pressure against Crowley’s clit and labia. “I can never get enough of you.”

“H-hedonist,” Crowley stuttered, ending in a cry as Aziraphale gave one firm press to his clit. Bastard.

“Call me what you want to, but I think you benefit from my overindulgences too, don’t you Crowley?” Crowle squirmed against the leather seats, wishing that for once he’d left the house in his trackies. “Well anyway, you don’t seem to be complaining.”

Crowley groaned, his hips bucking and twisting impatiently. Aziraphale tutted and put more pressure on Crowley’s hips, pinning him to the seat. He loved it when Aziraphale showed off his angelic strength. Crowley was better built for sneaking and slithering while Aziraphale had once been a warrior. Though it had been millenia since the angel had wielded a weapon of any kind, that strength remained and Crowley greedily hoarded the opportunities to experience it.

“Fuck, fucking get on with it!” he whined. His fingers wrapped around Aziraphale’s wrists, urging them deeper. The crotch of his pants was soaked through and his slick was beginning to make his thighs damp and sticky. It was gross and uncomfortable and he needed more of it right now. 

“Oh very well.” Aziraphale pulled back completely which made Crowley’s eyes shoot open in shock. “Don’t look like that dear. If we aren’t going to make it to the back seat I thought this might be the most appropriate.” He settled back into the passenger seat and patted his lap. Crowley’s mouth went dry; one of his most overplayed fantasies from back before they were together was Aziraphale fucking him in the Bently. They’d just never gotten around to it. Until now.

He’d deny it if Aziraphale ever brought it up, but Crowley made a mess of climbing over the space between the seats and into the angel’s lap. When he settled down on Aziraphale’s thighs the angel was obviously trying to hold back a chuckle. Crowley glowered. 

“Like to see you do that with your trousers half down,” he grumbled, redfaced and out of breath. “Aziraphale, come on, don’t make me beg.”

“Not this time, maybe later. I would like to ride you, make you ask for my permission to come while I use you for my own pleasure,” Aziraphale hummed thoughtfully. He snapped his fingers and both of them were bottomless, putting Crowley’s drooling pussy on full display. At least Aziraphale seemed to be just as excited, a messy dollop of precome pooling at the tip of his member. “It has been a little while and I must confess I’ve been thinking about it far too much.”

“Yes,” Crowley hissed, grinding down so Aziraphale’s cock rubbed against the full length of his cunt. “Wanna be in you, wanna give you whatever you want.”

Aziraphale grabbed his hips and stilled his rocking. “Right now I want you to be still and let me set the pace, alright? I want to look at you. Is that alright dearest?” If he hadn’t been seconds away from losing it, Crowley would have laughed. Didn’t Aziraphale know he could do anything with his body, that Crowley’s entire form (metaphysical bits included) belonged to him? Crowley hissed out an affirmative noise and stopped struggling against the angel’s grip. 

“Good, thank you love. Thank you.” Aziraphale guided Crowley down, his cock catching against the rim of his entrance. “I love you, you wondering creature. With everything in my being, Crowley, everything I am, you are so precious to me.”

The praise would have been a little much if it hadn’t been making Crowley melt like ice cream in the sun. Loath as he was to even think about it, there were still times where he doubted Aziraphale, where he needed reassurance. Aziraphale was more than happy to provide those things and did so profusely. Especially when they were having sex. 

“Ngk—!” Crowley screeched as Aziraphale pulled him down those last few inches so they were hip to hip. No matter how many times they did this it always took a few seconds for Crowley to adjust, to get over the overwhelming feeling for Aziraphale inside him. It wasn’t even that the angel was too rough, or too big, he was just Aziraphale. And this was something he never thought he could have, but it turned out he could and sometimes that was a little bit too much. 

“Put your arms around my neck dear, there’s a lamb,” Aziraphale murmured into the demon’s neck. His voice was strained like it was taking a huge amount of effort for him to keep still. “Hold onto me now, I’ve got you.”

Crowley did as he was asked, locking his arms tight around the angel’s neck like he would never let go. To be perfectly honest, he might not; being attached to Aziraphale for all eternity didn’t sound too bad. And this way the angle was better, each thrust adding fuel to the fire burning inside him. Who cared if the leather seat was sticking to his forearms and there was probably going to be some significant staining, this was everything he ever wanted. 

“Sssssshit Aziraphale!” he hissed, his eyes drawn down to the space where they were connected. Everything was slick and messy, mostly thanks to him. “I wanna--mmm!--wanna kiss you, angel.”

Aziraphale didn’t bother saying anything, which Crowley appreciated gently. He rather gracelessly flopped forward, his hips still driving into the demon even as he connected their lips. Somebody, the spark of Aziraphale’s lips on his was almost more intense than the sensation from below. Almost. Crowley focused hard on kissing back as much as he could without losing control and letting his corporation begin to slip. It wouldn’t do for his fangs to pop out and cut his angel. 

As they kissed their near-frantic pace slowed to match the slide of their lips and tongues. The feel of Aziraphale weighing him down and keeping him still as he pummeled up into him made Crowley moan helplessly against the angel’s mouth, powerless to do nothing but kiss back and take whatever Aziraphale wanted to give him. Crowley wanted everything and anything.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale gasped into the almost non-existent space between them. “Crowley, God, you beautiful creature how did I ever--how are you mine?”

“Always yours,” Crowley gasped rawly. “Since fucking--ah shit!--Eden. Since Eden--!” And even though they’d had a decade together it still made him ache with the satisfying completion of finally being with his other half. Aziraphale’s hands came down to smooth over Crowley’s chest and belly, pausing at the slight swell between his hips. 

“Are you close dear?” His tone was breathless and desperate. “Please, I can’t--not much more--”

“Yes, yes, yes,” Crowley keened, arching his back to get a better angle. “Close--need a little m--!” Aziraphale’s hand slipped down to circle Crowley’s clit once, then twice. That was all Crowley needed to come, a wordless gasp wrenching its way out of his gut as his muslces clenched and released. Aziraphale followed soon after with an unflattering whimper, like he’d been waiting for Crowley to go first and barely hanging on himself. In the immediate seconds afterward Crowley couldn’t help himself from nestling his head in Aziraphale’s shoulder and nuzzling. 

Aziraphale shifted so he was half lying on the seat, half lying on top of Crowley. One of his hands, the one that wasn't covered in various fluids, splayed over Crowley’s stomach possessively. 

“Alright love?” Aziraphale asked, his voice husky and sleepy. Crowley answered with a satisfied wiggle and a huff, suddenly realizing he was still wearing his sunglasses and they were terribly smudged. With a floppy hand he batted them off and onto the floor, where they’d probably be lost forever. “I assume that’s good?”

“Very,” Crowley hummed, returning to nuzzling against Aziraphale’s neck. “Think all that rocking put them to sleep though, it’s quiet down there.”

“I can feel that. It really is quite extraordinary, isn’t it?” Aziraphale was petting his belly like some sort of dog but Crowley let it slide because it felt pretty nice. “I wasn’t too rough, was I?”

“Pshh, you were perfect.” As their bodies began to wind down the stickiness and general prevalence of sweat began to make itself known. “Not sure the Bently made it out unscathed through. The seats sticking to me.”

“I think that may be my fault. Here, let me.” Aziraphale snapped briskly and the mess disappeared. They were also both dressed, though Crowley’s skinny jeans were replaced with a pair of the comfy stretchy trousers he kept at home.

“Mmm, don’t wanna drive home now.” Crowley was very comfortable, and just a little (a lot) sleepy. “Think I’ll take a nap.”

“On the side of the road?” Aziraphale asked, like they hadn’t just had sex on the same roadside less than ten minutes ago. “My dear you’ll get a sore back all cramped up like this.”

Crowley grumbled unhappily and tightened his grip on the angel. “Then miracle us home. Cause I’m not driving and if you drive we won’t get home for hours.” For as much as Aziraphale complained about Crowley going over the speed limit, he wasn’t much better at following the rules of the road. He’d learned to drive in a time before regulations and decided that there wasn’t much point trying to keep up with the every-changing rules of the road. What resulted was a strange mix of driving under the speed limit while completely ignoring most rules and driving etiquette norms. Crowley had banned him from driving the Bently outside of emergencies in the mid-’50s after a few hair-raising outings. 

Aziraphale tutted. “Such a frivolous use of a miracle.” But still, Crowley heard him click his forefinger and thumb. When he cracked open an eye he could see the eves of their cottage through the window. “Did that little trip make you feel better?”

“Much,” Crowley said, a smile in his voice. “You couldn’t just put us inside though?” He knew he was being a whiney brat, but he also felt like he deserved a little bit of pampering. Nevermind that Aziraphale had basically been waiting on him hand and foot for the past month. 

“Spoiled serpent,” Aziraphale said fondly, tucking a sweaty hank of fiery hair behind Crowley’s ear. “I think it’ll be good for you to get up and stretch. Besides, I didn’t want to risk forgetting the Bently behind, I know that would set you off.”

“It wouldn’t let itself get left behind, it knows better,” Crowley grumped, but still he unwrapped himself from the angel and sat up on his elbows. With his shirt back on he couldn’t see the bump anymore, but he knew it was there. It was only going to get bigger too, and eventually no amount of clothing would be able to cover it up. The thought made him blush a little. 

“Are you feeling ok? You’re looking a little flushed,” Aziraphale asked, his brow furrowing a little. Crowley nodded and looked away; it’d be easy to blame his glowing cheeks on the return of his morning sickness, but he really didn’t want to spend another week in bed. 

“Yeah, yeah. Just uh, we’re not gonna be able to do stuff like this once it gets bigger, are we?” Aziraphale sat back as well, maneuvering around so he could shuffle over and get the door.

“I guess not. We’d better make good use of the time we have now.” Crowley squeezed himself through the open door. Immediately Aziraphale’s hands were back on him, one grabbing his hip and the other taking his hand. Crowley loved when the angel was like this, when it was like he couldn’t bear to be without him for even a minute. It soothed the still-healing edges of ragged want in his soul. After ten years of constant tending that wound had only just begun to scab over and it would probably take many, many more for it to fully close. But he was getting there, slowly.

“Round two, after we take a bath?” he asked, leaning into Aziraphale’s embrace. The laugh that startled out of him was surprised and maybe just a little turned on.

“Fine, but this time I want to do what we discussed before. Is that agreeable?” Aziraphale’s eyes sparkled with mischeif while Crowley smirked slightly. 

“As if you need to ask. You know I like being inside you.”

“Marvellous. Let's get going then dearest!” Not the way Crowley had expected to alleviate his anxiety and boredom, but maybe exactly what he’d needed.

[victimofthemusic]

Five Times Tony Stark Was a Good Dad (And One Time He Wasn’t) Pt. 3

Hello! No, you guys aren’t misreading this, it’s an actual update! It’s taken me a long time to get back into this story, my life has been very crazy and I’ll be honest, I haven’t written much in the last six to eight moths. However, I saw Infinity War and holy shit, did it place me back in this Universe. I’ve had the beginnings of this chapter to written out since the last update of this story and it took me this long to finish it. I’m not sure how happy I am with this chapter compared to the last two, but I think it fits. I know Peter has Super Spidey healing, but I’m such a sucker for these kinds of fics and I really wanted to write one. Thank you so much for the love and support of this series, Part 1 has well over 2,000 likes and Part 2 is working it’s way up to 700, that’s the most I’ve ever received on any of my stories and I’m completely blown away. I love each and every one of you. If you’re new to this series, you can read Part 1 here and Part 2 here. Also, I have one other Homecoming Fic, where you’re Tony Stark’s daughter and you get rescued by Spider-Man and that can be found here and a dating MJ Would Include request here. I hope you guys enjoy!! (:

P.S. If I missed anyone that wanted to be tagged in this, I’m so sorry! I’m posting this at 3 in the morning and trying to sort through all your kind messages and keep track who wants to be tagged is a bit of a challenge, I think I got all of you, but I apologize if I didn’t! 

~~~~~~~

It was an unusually quiet night around the Tower, Rhodey was upstate at the new Avengers facility for his weekend stint of physical therapy for his legs, Pepper was back in Malibu working on the new StarkPhone launch and Happy had followed her there for security, leaving Tony to his own devices.

When usually when left with nothing to do, he’d be down in the lab working on a project or tinkering with the Iron Man suit or rebuilding the transmission in one of the twenty cars that he owned. But, for some reason, he found himself in the living room, staring at an infomercial and occasionally replying to emails that he’d been neglecting over the week— choosing to spend time with Peter in the lab instead.

Ever since he invited Peter and his little friend into the lab a few weeks ago, Tony found that he didn’t really mind the kid’s company and what had originally started as a one time offer to appease his guilt, had turned into a three or four time a week thing. Sometimes the kid would come over and they’d screw around with upgrades to the Iron Man suit or they’d try to improve upon Peter’s web fluid—which, Tony admitted with no small amount of pride, was damn near impossible considering Peter’s original formula was damn near solid. That didn’t stop them from trying to make it stronger and last longer, but their attempts usually didn’t come out very successful, much to their collective frustration. And sometimes, when they were tired of messing with Iron Man or formula’s for new web fluid, Peter would wander off to a part of the lab table that had become his own little spot and catch up on his homework, occasionally asking for Tony’s input.

And Tony…didn’t really mind. He didn’t mind that Peter had slowly but surely became part of his daily routine and taking up a space in his life that Tony, once upon a time, didn’t really want to be fulfilled. He knew that Peter wasn't necessarily a child of his own biological making, but that didn’t stop him from feeling a sense of responsibility and dare he say it, an attachment to the kid that was more paternal than mentor like. He liked having the kid around him, in his lab, in this big Tower that got more lonely as the days went by without the other Avenger’s bustling around it—Sam teaching Vision and Wanda to cook in the kitchen, Natasha and Clint wrestling in the living room, Steve watching from the couch with exasperated amusement in between sketches, Thor polishing his hammer at the dinner table while Rhodey read the news paper and Bruce tinkering around in the lab with Tony.

Peter breathed life into this Tower that had been robbed of it when the Accords came into play and had divided the only family Tony had ever really been apart of. And damn if Tony didn’t love the kid for it.

So that’s why, sitting there, alone in his big and empty Tower, that Tony began to physically feel the kid’s absence.

He glanced down at his StarkWatch, biting his lip. It was 10:30, surely the kid wasn't that busy that if he were to, theoretically, call the kid and see if he wanted to come over tomorrow and work in the lab, maybe go to the new science exhibit at Museum of Natural History—he did, after all, have an in to the Research Library—grab a late lunch and come back and watch some movies with Vision and Rhodey, since it was still technically movie night even though the rest of the old team wasn't here and if it got too late, he could always crash in his room here and he could always take Peter to school Monday morning, as long as it was cool with Aunt Hottie—

“Sir, you have an incoming call from Ned Leeds,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. said, startling Tony out of his train of thought.

Curiosity piqued, Tony said with a wave of his hand, “Patch him through.”

A moment of silence and then the sound of loud music and laughter rang through the overhead speakers of the Tower, making Tony wince.

“Mr. Stark, sir, sorry to interrupt your evening, I’m sure you’re very busy, but may I just say that I think it’s totally awesome that your A.I. answers your phone calls—“

“Thanks, Guy In Chair, but—“

“Can she do like, a trace on the number and then like, a background check on the person—“

“—how’d you get my number? And, here’s the real question, how’d I get your number?”

“Oh, I got your number from Peter’s phone and I did a reverse phone hack and added myself into your contact list, in case of an emergency—“

“Lemme stop you there kid,” Tony said sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose to stave off a headache, “you mean to tell me, you stole my number from Peter’s phone and managed to reverse hack into my phone, which, by the way, I don’t appreciate, and added your number to my phone on the off chance that I would need to call you? And why, may I ask, do you think that would ever be a possibility?”

The tell tale sign of a gulp could be heard over the line and Tony sighed in exasperation, “Was there a point to this conversation, Ned or—“

“Oh!” Ned exclaimed, “Yeah, sorry sir, um you see, it’s Peter—“

Tony’s heart most definitely didn’t stop working at that sentence and it didn’t seem like taking oxygen into his lungs suddenly became more difficult at the thought of Peter being in any sort of danger.

“Is he okay?” Tony demanded, sitting up straighter and summoning the suit.

“You see sir, I told everyone in our gym class that Peter knew Spiderman and then Liz—this really pretty senior that, like, half the school is in love with including Peter—mentioned she was having a party tonight at her house that basically the entire school was invited to and that we should stop by, which was so awesome because we’re only sophomore’s sir and not cool people—“

“If there’s a point here, Ned, I’m missing it, so you better get to it.” Tony demanded sharply.

“Right, anyway, we got invited and well, um, Peter was nervous and a senior handed us each a drink and Peter downed his and well, he’s really drunk and is about to swing through this house in his, you know, other identity and I tried to stop him, but he wouldn't listen to me and—“

“I’ll be there in five, try to stall him as best as you can.” Tony said quickly, ending the call.

He ensured that F.R.I.D.A.Y. had located the call before he summoned one of his cars to the location and he was off into the night, trying to quell the anger and shame that was boiling through his veins.

Anger, that the kid could be that stupid and utterly reckless, to risk his secret and the safety of his loved ones for kids he wouldn’t even waste another thought on after graduating high school.

And shame, because he knew what it was like to be Peter’s age and to want to be seen and seem cool by your peers. To want to fit in so desperately that you're willing to do almost anything to get it. Alcohol has cost Tony so many things in his life and he’d be damned if he let someone like Peter follow in his footsteps.

He made it to the party in three minutes, taking a moment to do the deep breathing exercises Bruce taught him, so he didn’t completely lose it on the kid and alert everyone to his sudden appearance at the party. He landed with a dull thud against the roof, alerting the intoxicated teenager that was attempting to don his suit a little too closely to edge of the roof for Tony’s heart to handle.

He really was quite the sight—he had the suit on backwards, well the half he had on, the other half was dangling pathetically in the evening breeze while Peter seemed to be trying to figure out how to get the rest of it on without jumping too far and falling off of the roof.

“Mr. Starkkkkk!” Peter slurred in greeting, eyes bright and blood shot with the alcohol, “What’re you doin’ here? Did you know there was go’na be a party here? Did Liz invite you—“

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Tony demanded, completely ignoring Peter’s inquiry, lifting the faceplate of the Iron Man mask. He was doing everything in his power to keep his voice level and not shout like he so desperately wanted to, breathing exercises be damned.

Peter hiccuped, “”M trying to put my suit on because I told ev’ryone that ‘Piderman was go’na be here, but—hiccup—I got ‘istracted when I got here n’d now my head s’all—“ he made a waving gesture in the air, like that explained it all, which, to be fair, Tony did understand what he meant a little too well and it only added to the anger welling inside of him, “—weird, like it’s not part of my body n’d I was go’na swing through the house n’d be like ‘wasss up ev’rybody ‘m ‘Piderman’ and give Ned a fist bump so he looks like he’s cool too—“

“And how do you plan to do all of that when you can’t even get both legs in your suit, kid?”

Peter gazed dumbly back at him, before looking down and yeah, okay. Mr. Stark had a point.

He looked back up at Tony with unfocused eyes and with such a blatant uncaring shrug that only teenagers knew how to accomplish, that Tony snapped.

“Do you realize how stupid this is?” Tony said sharply, “Not only could you hurt yourself or someone else, you’re running the risk of outing yourself to your entire school! Who, I’m sure, have all their little smartphones with their little cameras and it’s only a matter of time before this would end up on YouTube, then the media would get a hold of it and then that’s it, kid, you’re no longer anonymous and you’ve put everyone you love in danger. Do you want that?”

Peter opened his mouth to reply but Tony couldn’t handle it, “Not uh, you don’t get to talk, the adult is talking,” he snapped, waving his hand as if he could physically swat the rebuttal on the kid’s tongue away, “Now, what you're going to do is get out of the suit, put your clothes back on and then you’re coming back to the Tower with me and if you know what’s good for you, you’ll do it without any sort of complaint.”

Peter, thankfully, heeded Tony’s words and, after some struggling, managed to get the suit off and into his own clothes. He swayed slightly on the spot and Tony acted fast, tapping the center of Peter’s suit, summoning it back to the Tower and he scooped Peter up, cradling him like a baby against his chest. Peter rested his head gratefully against the cool armor, the world beginning to spin around him at an uncomfortable rate as he felt the repulsers of the suit ignite and Mr. Stark take off into the night.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., please send a text to Peter’s little friend and inform him there’s a car waiting for him outside and that it will escort him home and that if he doesn't leave that party in five minutes, it’ll be a phone call to his mother.” He heard Mr. Stark’s voice over the whooshing of the wind and Peter giggled. Who knew Mr. Drunken-Womanizing-Playboy-Tony Stark could be such a dad.

Iron Man, more like Iron Dad, Peter thought to himself, giggling.

His giggling came to an abrupt stop, however, when his stomach gave a uncomfortable lurch. Suddenly, the cool wind washing over his face felt suffocating and Peter could picture how high up they were, how small the buildings would be and how the only thing separating him from death was Mr. Stark’s gentle grip and his stomach gave another churn and then—

Oh no

“Uh, Tony, I—I—don’t feel so good—“

“Kid, I swear to god, if you toss your cookies all over this suit—“

He opened his mouth to reply, but instead of words, the tacos he and Ned split before the party came back up and he tried, he really tried to aim away from the suit, but there was only so much he could do when he was squished against Tony’s chest and suspended twenty-thousand feet into the air.

“Mr. Stark, I am so—“ Peter began, beyond mortified and feeling much more sober than he was five minutes ago, but Tony shook his head and Peter could feel the heat of his glare through the faceplate of the suit.

“Save it, kid. You’re lucky this is one of my older suits.”

~~~~~~~~~~

They made it back to the Tower without another incident and once Tony was out of the ruined suit, he sent it off with DUM-E to get it hosed off, he sent Peter up to his room and he sent himself to the bar for a drink.

He eyed the bottle of bourbon, but thoughts of a drunk and stumbling Peter on a roof top made him opt for a bottle of water instead.

He collapsed on the couch, suddenly feeling everyone of his years and rubbing his temples to ward off the migraine that he could feel blooming behind his eyelids, he wondered, not for the first time, how he could've done this to his mother. Tony had started drinking right around Peter’s age, and at first, it had started as something to piss his father off, but he soon came to realize that alcohol numbed the pain and help hide the scars his father’s words had left behind. Drinking had turned to experimenting with drugs and if it wasn't for Rhodey, who’d pulled him back from the brink of every bender, he would’ve been dead before his twenty-first birthday.

His drinking and partying had put a strain on his relationship with his mother and did nothing but serve to be a source of shame for his father with all the headlines his drunken shenanigans had earned him.

And while Peter wasn’t his kid, not biologically or legally, he felt responsible for the kid. A sense of duty to steer this kid in the right direction and Tony would be lying to himself if he said he didn’t love the kid and care about his wellbeing.

Peter reminded him a lot of himself at fifteen. Always the smartest kid in the room, always interested in things that weren’t cool and struggling to find a place amongst his peers who teased him for being who he was. The difference, however, was that Peter was good. He was so inherently good and all the harsh things that this world had done to him had yet to diminish the purity and resolute kindness that radiated off of the kid in waves. Peter used his powers because he wanted to help people, Tony did it because he hoped, that maybe, for every life he saved, every act of good he did, it would serve as a penance for all the bad he had done to the world.

Peter was too good of a kid to turn out like Tony and it scared him to think of Peter following in his footsteps. Of making his mistakes. He knew, logically, that Peter was still a teenager. That he was going to make mistakes, but Tony couldn't help but feel disappointed in the kid anyways. He wanted Peter to be better than him, damn it. He had to be.

It was only eleven, but Tony felt beyond exhausted, so he made his way to his room, passing Peter’s along the way and he couldn't help but stop and peak in the doorway. He wanted to make sure that the kid actually made it to his room in one piece and didn’t drown himself in the shower.

Peter did manage to make it in bed on his own—sprawled out on top of the sheets in the Iron Man pajamas that Tony had bought him as a joke, he never expected the kid to actually wear them—and if the snores coming out of the kid said anything, he’d been passed out for a while.

Tony smiled, shaking his head before padding softly across the fluffy carpeting of Peter’s room, grabbing a blanket that was thrown across the love seat in the corner and gently draped it over Peter. He snuggled into the warmth, seeming to relax a bit more in his sleep and Tony brushed his bangs back from his forehead.

“Oh, you’re going to be in a world of pain tomorrow, kid,” Tony muttered, “I wouldn’t wish a first time hangover on anybody.”

Peter snuffled in his sleep, eyebrows furrowing as if he heard what Tony said.

Tony chuckled softly, shaking his head once more, “Good night, kid.” he whispered to the quiet room.

Peter rolled over on his stomach, burying his head in the pillows, mumbling in his sleep and Tony paused, because there’s no way that kid said what he thought he said—

“G’night, Irondad.”

Tony blamed the warm feeling in his chest on the alcohol that was still sitting, untouched, in the bottle downstairs.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sunlight, Peter decided, was literally the worst thing that world had invented. It burned every time he opened his eyes, threatening to fry his corneas right from his skull and it was only made worse by his Spidey-senses, which usually made every one of his senses feel like it had been dialed to eleven, but today, it felt like they’d been dialed to one hundred.

And it was only made worse by the high voltage electric guitar that was blaring from downstairs and Peter recognized it as one of the songs on Tony’s I’m Trying To Be Productive playlist he’d played in the lab.

Wait—

Peter glanced around at his surroundings and he realized he was in his room. But not in Queens, where his Very Worried Aunt would expecting him to be sleeping, safe and sound.

Instead, he was in his room.

In Stark Tower.

Which was in Manhattan.

And he had no idea how he ended up here.

Cursing colorfully, Peter flew out of bed and immediately regretted it—the room started to spin and his stomach churned dangerously, bile rising in his throat and threatening to come up all over the dark grey carpeting.

He took a second to breathe, fighting back the nausea and praying he wouldn’t ruin Tony’s carpet. Eventually, the restless ocean in his stomach mellowed out, the nausea turning into more of a bleh feeling.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y?” Peter asked hesitantly, rubbing his eyes.

“Yes, Mr. Parker?” The A.I. responded dutifully.

“What happened last night?” Peter asked, toeing the carpet and wondering if he really wanted to know that answer. Now that he was awake, the night was coming back to him in flashes and he prayed that some of those flashes were wrong.

“Mr. Stark received a call from Mr. Leeds last night at around 10:35 pm, informing him of your whereabouts and possible levels of intoxication and he flew to the residence of Ms. Liz Allan’s, where he encountered you, on her roof, attempting to put on your suit. He flew you to the Tower and provided a car to escort Mr. Leeds home.” F.R.I.D.A.Y. replied.

Peter nodded—which, come to find out, makes splitting headaches worse—and thought over all the information the A.I. had provided for him and while all of it fit, there was one thing that was missing and he hoped, beyond all belief, that it wasn't true.

“Did I—,” Peter cleared his throat, wishing he hadn’t, which seemed to be the running theme of today, “—did I by chance, possibly, when Tony flew me back to the Tower, which I’m assuming was in the Ironman suit, did I uh, you know, um—“

“Mr. Stark is headed up in the elevator, Mr. Parker.” F.R.I.D.A.Y. interrupted him.

Shit

“On a scale of 1-10, how mad is he?” Peter asked meekly, glancing up at the ceiling.

“While my body scans show no outward signs of irritation, Sir’s heart rate is elevated and his blood pressure is higher than normal, so my estimate would be an 8.5.” F.R.I.D.A.Y. answered after a brief moment of hesitation and Peter couldn't decide if it was his imagination or if he just wanted someone on his team, but the A.I.’s voice sounded sympathetic and that was a bad sign when a computer felt bad for the wrath that was bound to rain upon him.

“On today’s episode of Peter Screw’s the Pooch, we talk about underage drinking and it’s adverse effects it has on young heroes and their abilities to think properly.”

The door to his room burst open and Peter winced at the noise of wood hitting dry wall, but that paled in comparison when he saw an angry Tony Stark standing in the doorway.

“And while we usually save questions from the audience for the end of the show, today, I think we can make an exception,” Tony continued, making his way into Peter’s room, a sarcastic smirk dancing on his lips and his usually kind eyes were on a low simmer, anger lurking in the shadows.

Peter gulped.

“To answer your question, Mr. Parker, yes, you did, in fact, regurgitate your tacos and cheap beer all over my Mark fifteen, after I kindly took time out of my night, to fly over to the suburbs of Queens, to a house full of your classmates, to save you, from possibly making one of the worst decisions of your teenage life.”

Peter winced at Tony’s steadily rising voice, one because it was making his headache worse and two, because, well, Tony was yelling at him.

“So, since I didn’t really get a coherent answer last night, what the HELL were you thinking?!” Tony demanded, crossing his arms tightly over his chest.

Peter swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing nervously, “I uh—“

But Tony cut him off, “Because I can tell you what you weren’t thinking. You weren’t thinking about the fact that if you flew into that house, drunk off your ass, might I add, you not only could’ve injured yourself, you could’ve hurt someone else. Or, more importantly, you could’ve exposed your secret to all your little classmates, who all have their little smartphones, with HD camera’s and access to the internet and you could’ve been the next viral sensation, which would blow your cover to the ENTIRE WORLD.”

Tony’s shout made Peter jump and shrink back from the rage in his voice, but he was so lost in his rant that he didn’t even notice, “Which, not only put you in danger, but all your little friends and your unusually attractive aunt.”

Peter’s eyes widened, “Oh god, aunt May, Tony—“

He waved him off, “Oh, now you’re thinking of someone besides yourself? Don’t worry, she thinks your sleeping over at Ned’s tonight because me, being the cool parent that I am, brought you here, instead of dropping you off at home last night and saved you from the verbal ass chewing of the century.”

Guilt swelled in Peter’s gut, eclipsing any nausea that had been lingering, and he dropped his eyes to the floor in shame.

“Seriously, Peter, what were you thinking?” Tony demanded and Peter could hear the exasperation and fatigue in his voice and his guilt increased ten fold.

If Peter was being honest with himself, he wasn't thinking. Not entirely, at least. He just wanted one night, one night, where he could be a normal teenager. Who went to parties and let loose and danced and didn’t have to worry about saving the city from weird thugs with Avenger’s masks and high tech weapons. Who didn’t have to worry about keeping up with homework and studying on top of late night patrols and keeping up a secret identity from his aunt who worked two jobs to supplement the lost income because her husband died in a robbery that Peter was too angry and bitter to stop. He wanted to fit in, to be cool and seen by the most beautiful girl in entire school.

He just wanted to be normal.

It all sounded so stupid, now that he thought it out.

Well.

“I just wanted to fit in.” Peter said softly, “The kids at school, they don’t see me, you know? I know it’s stupid, but I just wanted to know what it was like. To be cool. To be—“

“—normal.” Tony finished for him, voice unusually gentle and Peter glanced up at him hesitantly, nodding.

“Yeah.”

Tony sighed, rubbing his hand down his face, taking a seat next to Peter on the bed, “Kid, I get it. Maybe not the whole hero thing at fifteen, but when I was fifteen, I was in college, with kids that were older and cooler and I just wanted to fit in. But Pete,” Tony said softly, “drinking is never the answer.

For anything. Trust me kid, alcohol won’t solve any of your problems, they only create more problems. And they can lead to things that you’re not ready for.”

Tony glanced away from him, “Take it from someone who knows, it takes you down a path you’ll have a hell of a time getting off of. I know I have a hard time showing it, but kid…you mean a lot to me and I never want to get another phone call like the one I got last night, you hear me? I’m not kidding. If I ever hear about you doing something stupid that involves the suit, I’ll take it away from you and you won’t get it back.”

Peter’s eyes widened and he opened his mouth to protest, but Tony shook his head, “No, I mean it. If you want to make it public that you’re Spiderman, you’ll do it when you’re older and on your own terms. It’s not going to be because you made a stupid choice when you were drunk and you exposed yourself to the entire world. This is for your safety as much as it is for mine and everyone else you care about.”

Peter sighed, “I understand. And I promise it won’t happen again. Especially if this is how I feel as a result.”

Tony chuckled, ruffling Peter’s hair, “Hangover’s are a bitch, kid, if that’s not enough to make you want to wait to drink until you’re older, I don’t know what will.”

Tony stood up, “Alright, I’m gonna go order breakfast—what are you doing?”

Peter, who thought that the lecture was over and it was safe to go back to bed, propped himself up on his elbow, “Um, going back to bed? I wasn’t kidding, I really don’t feel good and I’m tired—“

“Oh no no no,” Tony tutted in disapproval, backing his way out of Peter’s room, “You’ve got a suit with your puke all over it, waiting to be cleaned in the lab and then you have homework to do and web fluid to make—“

“But—“ Peter looked longingly at the California king with it’s soft sheets and fluffy pillows and his body physically ached at the thought of leaving it.

“Or I can always call your aunt and tell her what really happened last night—“

“Coming!”

Tony smirked.

Iron Dad indeed.

~~~~~~~

Thank you guys for reading! I hope you enjoyed it and I’m excited to hear your feedback! Suggestions and requests are much appreciated! (: 

@jadepc @autumnhunter1 @randommemewithadream @rebbie444 @abaikgirl @fantabulousshipperfromcamelot @afittingdistraction @letsallsleepoverwork @pepperr-pottss @help-i-need-a-cool-username @onedaysomedaytoday @ileavechaosinmywake @bloop-da-loop @rachhhhhl @anniejglee @hiccup-is-left-handed @spid3rboy @bonza-bear @claraangi

[seesarahaccomplishstuff]

Therapy today helped a bit.

I told my therapist how I’ve been having intense breakdowns since Monday and haven’t been doing okay.

She asked what happened and I told her how I thought the childhood stuff wouldn’t bother me because it was so long ago, but it’s so frustrating to see how much my parents fucked me up. And now there’s this huge list of ways I’m broken that won’t stop growing. And it’s my entire personality. And more people are leaving and that triggered my anxiety, and someone that I’m trying to trust massively crossed a boundary that made my rejection issues even worse.

So she nodded and said “you have a lot to work on. And you really jumped all into it, which is really great, but you’re going to feel like you’re losing for a while. It’s going to overwhelm you a lot. And it’s going to feel easier to lock yourself in your room and off yourself.” (Which I didn’t expect her to say, but she’s right) So I said, “I just don’t fully see the point in trying to fix 30 years of broken.”

“What’s wrong with your personality?” “It’s all fucked up. Everything I do is codependent.” “Sure. Give me an example.” And I couldn’t think of one offhand, so I said, “the thing I realized the other day was I do something for someone because I care right? Which is fine. But also when people are stressed about their situation they get mad. And when that happens I get snapped at and shoved away. So I help to avoid that too I think.”

She was not sold on that. “You used to buy dinner for friends a lot. You did that so you wouldn’t get in trouble?” “No. I did it because I like when people do nice things for me and they don’t always make sure they can eat so I do it so they feel cared about and are healthy.” “That’s just being kind. When you would pay a bill for them they typically pay it right back. So is that codependent?” “No. They need help so I help and they pay it back.” “The times you did it when you didn’t have money to spare. (Which I argued and she called me out lol) The times you let them blow off repaying- that was codependent. You do have a lot of codependent tendencies. But kindness is inherently codependent. You can’t rip apart any time you’ve shown someone kindness. Your biggest codependency issue is not holding boundaries for yourself.”

“You need to repeat the phrase ‘People treat you the way you’ve taught them to treat you’.” “My friend used to say that to me at least once a week.” “Yea well, they’re smart and we’ve covered that you needed to listen to what they’d tell you more than you did. You also need to remember that you don’t control other’s emotions. And other people don’t control yours.”

“People think you’re manipulative and controlling. That’s what they’ve taken from your behavior. You can’t control that. You know it’s not what you intended. You know you’ve been improving for many months. I know you have. But you made them feel a certain way and their opinions didn’t change. You can look at that and acknowledge it and re-examine your behavior like you are. But you can’t change their minds. And their feelings don’t make you that person. So fixating on it doesn’t get you anywhere.”

And then she asked me if I was doing all of this for me or them and I told her I’m having a hard time prioritizing myself. That it pisses me off when people pull the “great pain means great growth. You’ll look back and smile” bullshit. Because the way this feels is terrible and I hate it. So, I know I can’t change anyone’s view of me, but I’m doing all this to try and be who I wanted to be for people who had to leave because of my behavior. And she accepted that.

I also have to start some EDM... pretty sure it’s 4 letters. It’s something to work through past trauma. She said she’d send videos to watch. My alanon group leader asked if she did that sort of thing last week so I guess that’s just where we are. Wait lol... edm is music lemme actually Google the acronym so I seem less ignorant. EMDR, damn dyslexia. Anyway. That.

But basically, I need to really work to not shred myself when I’m low. It’s gotten bad. I also need to start on my books that came yesterday. 2/3 are here. She wants me to try and list my codependent behaviors. I also need to start painting and journaling again. I like this outlet and it’s easiest for my brain, but the way I was doing it all in my watercolor notebook was really therapeutic. It’s just been a bitch of a week.

I’ll be fine and I feel less like having a breakdown or dying. I think I know another thing that is really fucking with me through everything, but I don’t feel comfortable posting it here right now I think. I also can’t do anything about it.

Last night in alanon a woman said “when one door closes another one opens, but the hallway is hell.” And like, yea. Fuck dude. I took a psych class once where the teacher had a gazillion psych type degrees and would open the class with us getting to ask about mental health shit. And one kid asked if it was possible to change personalities. And he said “sure, but you usually see it following a trauma where it rewrites your thought processes. Because it’s hell to do otherwise, and a lot of people can’t handle it.” And I get it now. I thought he meant habits and comfort zones. But it feels like being handed a pile of shards that used to be your brain and given a timelimit to reassemble it. But half the pieces are trauma copies and you have to figure out which parts are imposters, but they actually fit better than the pieces that should be there. And if you fail you lose everything.

Anyway, that’s where I am today. I queued a couple posts last night so you might see random downers, but what I’m thinking of doing is only reblogging positive stuff, and queueing negative stuff that resonated for like, 7am. And I say that because sometimes I rescroll my blog to recount the day or previous day to either feel good with the good posts again or reevaluate the things I’ve said the day before. Since with my mood they don’t always apply still or I may have a totally different approach at that thought. And I do that when I go to bed around 2. So at 7 I won’t be seeing negative shit right before bed. Cuz I’ve fallen asleep and woken up bitter the last few days.

We’ll see. I have lots to do today. I’ve been off twitter so no children have reminded me to do my taxes. I also have to get a new phone today so I’m fully out from under my mother. And I have insurance stuff and inspection cleaning to tackle. It’s only 1 and I’m ready to call it a day.

I hope what my therapist said helps anyone else who is struggling. I like hearing the lines that have stuck with patients and really helped them. So when it doesn’t fuck with me I’d like to be open about what I discuss in therapy. I always used to think it’d solve so many of my problems if I could send my friends zoom links of my sessions since I’m so bad at expressing myself lol. So this is also a bit of an exercise for me to be more outspoken about my feelings (if this bothers anyone you can send an anonymous ask) And therapy isn’t accessible to everyone so maybe it gives someone what they need to go forward a bit in their struggles. (Alanon and CoDa are free and on zoom now though! Definitely look into it if it applies to you!)

There’s a line in a bts song. Idk which one honestly, Ik it’s in the BE photo book though I can post a pic. It comes to mind because my friend would write it a lot when they first heard it. And it’s something like “sometimes we get to know that broken is beautiful”. My therapist today said “you are broken, everyone is. And no one is as broken as they think they are.” I hope one day this feels like a beautiful moment in my life and not the purgatory it feels like. I hope I grow enough for it to be worth it.