#am i gonna regret posting this just before clocking into work with my phone at 20%

[hells-greatestdad]

"Ooh, it's a do not"

He eyes the two donuts sitting on the table

"Let's do and say we didn't"

He proceeds to eat one.

[running-tweezers]

After a lot of encouraging from my bestie @phantasmechanical, and some interest from a few folks here, I’ve decided to post the first part of an AU fic I’m writing (and have been hyperfixated on) with my favorite ocs. There are currently 6 parts written, over 13k words, and I’m still working on it. If you enjoy, I live and breathe off comments and reblogs and asks and such. And I’ll continue posting more here on occasion. SO, without further ado.

~ Pictures Of You - Part 1 ~

The year is 1989. Nate, with his sunshiney smile, his love of plants, and his mostly “normal” tastes, has fallen head over heels. There’s only one issue. He’s fallen for a gorgeous goth named Zephyr he only sees on public access TV once a week.

Rated: T

2255 words

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4

~ April 28, 1989 ~

Nate’s eyelids drooped a bit as the clock made its way closer to 1 AM. He would regret this in the morning. He always did. But it was worth it.

This Thursday night routine was all a secret for a while, until his sister started calling him out for nearly nodding off during their Friday lunch catch up sessions. He couldn’t hide it from her, he had to fess up. She had just laughed and rolled her eyes.

“Yeah, that figures,” she’d said. “You’ve always had a thing for the freaks.” She scolded him gently for not getting enough sleep and that was that, aside from the odd comment occasionally about his “hot TV goth.”

Nate poured a cup of the coffee he brewed just for this, hoping the caffeine would pull him through the next half hour without making him jittery all night. It was either that, or risk falling asleep on his uncomfortable couch again. Then he’d really regret it.

He settled in and flicked on the TV, switching it to the public access station before the screen could even fully light up. What played before varied from week to week. Sometimes it was this phony TV psychic, sometimes reruns of some televangelist, sometimes just infomercials selling Ginsu knives and love song compilations. He figured they couldn’t find someone willing to stick to such a late time slot. This week it was some New Wave guy with questionable talent and even more questionable haircut, banging on a Cassio keyboard and singing off key. He hit the mute button and sipped from his mug, waiting for the last few minutes to pass.

Soon the irritating Duran Duran wannabe cut out, and the screen filled with familiar color bars. He unmuted, just in time to hear the last bit of ringing dead air cut suddenly to the sound of guitars and deep droning vocals.

And there they were.

Behind a dimly lit desk in a brick walled basement, with thick black eye makeup and wild, ratted up hair, sat the whole reason Nate was still awake at this time every Thursday night.

“Welcome, night owls and creatures of the darkness.” The figure on the screen spoke to the camera, in a cold, deadpan voice, never letting their face show anything more than a wry smirk. “My name’s Zephyr and you’ve stumbled into my world for the next half hour. Aren’t you lucky.”

A phone number hung at the bottom of the screen as they continued their introduction. “If you have something worthwhile to say, call in. If not, don’t bother.”

They launched immediately into a long and rambling explanation of the song playing in the background that kicked off the show. Nate recognized the name of the band, ‘Sisters of Mercy,” from their music recommendations in the past. He barely knew anything about the goth scene they talked about. What he did know, however, was that they were gorgeous. There was something so entrancing about them. Something dark and mysterious that he couldn’t look away from.

Maybe Mick was right. Maybe he was just into freaks.

“Speaking of music, I got my hands on the single The Cure put out last week, the one from the new album coming out soon. I’m gonna get the album as soon as it hits the shelves, but whatever, I couldn’t resist.” Their face remained apathetic, but there was an undeniable light behind their eyes. It was obvious they were excited behind the thin mask of indifference. It was endlessly endearing.

“Fascination Street is the single, and it’s incredible, even the B-side is great—“ They paused looking down at their switchboard. “Looks like there’s someone on the line,” they muttered, fiddling with the buttons on the desk in front of them. “Hello, you’re on the air.”

“Yeah, me and my friend have a question,” the distorted phone voice slurred with the distinct cadence of a drunk college kid, with said friend laughing in the background. “Are you a guy or a girl?”

Zephyr breathed a weary sigh, and leaned back in their chair. “Doesn’t matter, I’m not gonna fuck you either way.”

“Who the hell said I wanted to fuck you, you ugly fucking frea-“

“Bite me,” they flatly interrupted, disconnecting the line. “Anyway, Facination Street…”

Calls like that were too common. More people called in to be rude than to actually talk. It just seemed to come with the territory, but they handled them pretty well. It took a person with a ton of courage to come on TV and deal with people like that, just so they could talk about things they loved. That only made them that much more intriguing.

“I got the cassette version, the 12-inch vinyl has an extended intro, plus an extra B-side. I heard that extended intro for the first time at the club the other night. I swear it was a fucking spiritual experience. Being on the floor at The Underground, listening to The Cure, with all those other people? That's church to me. That’s my religion.” He continued with that same intensity, as if nothing happened. That was their favorite band, they talked about them all the time. He’d never listened to any of their music, but every time he saw one of their albums on the shelf at the store, his mind lit up with recognition.

He daydreamed occasionally of bumping into them at Sam Goody, just by pure coincidence. Striking up a conversation. Asking them about what music they’d recommend. Hearing their passionate rambling in person. It was dumb. They probably went to much cooler, underground record stores than some mall chain. But it was nice to think about.

“We have another caller.” Once again they paused their stream of consciousness and pressed buttons on the switchboard. “Hello, you’re on the air.”

“The Cure sucks shit.” The voice on the other side of the phone managed to sound even more bored and detached, almost like it was a competition. “They’re nothing but mainstream garbage now.”

“Have you heard the new single?”

“No, but their whole last album was poppy bullshit.”

“It had a little bit of a pop sound, yeah, but the meat of what makes them good was still there,” they argued. “You’re acting like they became fuckin, Tiffany and started doing mall shows or something.”

“They might as well be.”

“I don’t think you know what you’re talking about.”

“Well I think you’re a poser.”

They noticeably bristled at the accusation. “I’m already halfway through my slot, I don’t have time for this shit.” They disconnected the call, looking a bit more shaken than usual.

Why did people call in just to be assholes? Maybe the anonymity combined with an audience was too sweet a deal to people like that. Nate genuinely couldn’t understand that way of thinking. Where was the joy in being mean to a stranger?

He glanced at the phone sitting on the end table by the couch. Calling in had crossed his mind before. He had even had the number dialed, ready to press the call button a few times, but he always chickened out in the end. What would he even say? He didn’t know anything about any of this. So he remained a silent observer, content to just watch this beautiful goth waxing poetic about the things they cared about.

They didn’t have to wait much longer for another call. They answered with a touch of exasperation. “Hello, you’re on the air.”

“Yeah, remember me, bitch?”

Without wasting a second, what was obviously the drunk caller from earlier, dove in with some of the most brutal nastiness Nate had ever heard anyone spew, much less a caller on their show. The onslaught of insults and hate speech seemed to be unending, attacking every aspect that he could think of. Nothing was off limits to this guy. It turned Nate’s stomach to be reminded so vividly how awful some people could be.

Zephyr didn’t look like they were faring well either. They scrambled to disconnect the call, blurting out a single shaky “fuck you,” before silencing him. They let out a heavy breath, their silence only accentuated by their faint music still playing in the background.

Something broke. The nonchalant, confident Zephyr he’d come to know through the screen was completely gone for a few brief seconds. Like they’d never been there.

They cleared their throat and sat back up straight in their chair, trying to regain composure. “Sorry about that,” they said, as solidly as they could muster. “Maybe we should just move on to something else…”

Nate made up his mind in an instant.

He grabbed the phone next to him and carefully dialed the on screen number, not hesitating to press the call button this time.

He twisted the cord around his finger as he waited to connect. The shift in Zephyr’s demeanor on screen let him know he’d gotten through. They looked defeated, like they were debating even picking this one up. He prayed that they did.

He saw the press of the button and heard the click from the phone a split second later.

“Hello?” They had dropped their regular script, too exhausted and annoyed to even finish it.

“Hi!” The first word out of their mouth was entirely too much energy, but once he heard that call connect, he was acting on pure instinct.

They relaxed, if only a little, obviously relieved to hear any voice other than the previous caller. “Hi?” they repeated, puzzled.

It hit him all at once, and he could only sit in silence for a split second. He was actually talking to them. Live on the air. He acted on such impulse, the only thought in his head was to block that asshole from calling back. He hadn’t thought past this moment.

“I uh… I didn’t really think through what I was gonna say.” Nate laughed nervously as he floundered for the right words. “I guess I just wanted to tell you that I really like your show? I’ve been watching every week for the last couple of months. I don’t know much about all this, but I like hearing you talk about it.”

Zephyr looked skeptical. “Is this some kind of joke?”

“No! No, I mean it!” Nate summoned every ounce of sincerity he could, to try and make Zephyr believe him. “You’re obviously really passionate about it, and I like watching you because of that.”

Yes. Because of their passion for their interests. No other reason. Especially not because he found them unbelievably sexy.

“Oh.” Zephyr’s drawn on eyebrows raised in surprise. “Well, uh. Thanks, I guess.” They struggled to accept the compliment and still maintain that mysterious facade. Nate thought for a second he caught the beginnings of a smile, but it may have been a trick of the cameras.

“You’re welcome.” He glanced at the clock. Just over 10 minutes of airtime left. If that guy wanted to call in again, he would have plenty of time to do it. He had to stay on the line and get them talking about something else.

“So, I do have a question,” he began, thinking back to his stupid record store daydream. “If I just walk into any regular mall record store, what would you recommend looking for if I want to ease my way into listening to stuff like this? Or do I need to look somewhere else for the good stuff?”

“Oh, that’s a good question, actually.” Their eyes lit up again, and they were off. “You can find good stuff there, it’s just gonna be the more mainstream artists. But there’s nothing wrong with that. I’m always gonna recommend The Cure, obviously. And no matter what that prick earlier said, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with their last album, and I feel like it’s pretty accessible. A good gateway, I think.”

He stayed on the phone, asking questions, and they were more than happy to answer them all. The next 10 minutes flew by, and soon he had a list of artists and albums scribbled on the back of an envelope.

Eventually, Zephyr cut themself off from the tangent they had been going on. “Oh shit, I’m almost out of time.”

“That’s ok, thanks for all the suggestions!” He couldn’t hide the smile in his voice, and it threatened to draw a smile out of the stone faced goth on the TV.

“Of course.” They answered, having turned that creeping smile quickly into a smug smirk, to maintain the illusion. “Have a good night.”

“You too!” He hung up the phone and watched as Zephyr went through their regular show wrap up. Only now did he realize how hot his face was. He made his dumb little fantasy come true, if not in the exact way he’d imagined it. And they came out of the horrible first half of their show unscathed. That’s all he could ask for.

“I suppose that about does it then,” they said, fully back in the swing of things. “Thanks for spending some time with me tonight. And remember, there’s beauty in the darkness, if you’re willing to let it in. Goodnight, and I’ll see you next week.”

The screen went black yet again, and Nate switched off the TV. He had to try to sleep. But between the coffee and what just happened, he wasn’t sure if he’d ever get there.

At least he’d have a hell of a story to tell his sister tomorrow.

[nejiraez]

one day, you all will know true peace when i stop making bakugou the default character to the maladaptive daydreamz i write. but until then...

get well soon! | bakugou katsuki

pairing: bakugou katsuki x reader // 2.9k words

genre: fluff — contains spoilers from mha chap 298; includes kissing, thats it!

summary: free bakugou until it’s backwards!!! but until then, he appreciates having your presence around as he takes the time to properly heal.

the way i haven’t written a full fic since oct </3... but i needed to post this b4 aquarius season ends tmrrw...

He’s never had to stay this long in a hospital before.

Sure, there were minor check-ins that he had to tend to at the clinics every so often from the injuries he’s received, but he never had to stay more than a few days at hand.

“Only a couple more days until you’re discharged…” 

The sound of your voice prompts Bakugou to shift his gaze away from the TV screen stationed at the corner of his hospital room to focus his sights on you. Deep shades of scarlet watch as your hands absent-mindedly pick at the white petals from the bouquet that his mother had gifted him. 

Carnations, a ‘get well soon’ present that would prompt him back to wellness. They were becoming quite the eyesore. The stems were beginning to droop and dull in colour with how poorly maintained they had been kept for the past week.

“That must be exciting for you, yeah?”

Bakugou shrugs, but he’s quick to regret his slight movement due to the small wince that follows shortly after. Despite being placed in the hospital for a little over a week now, a great mass of Bakugou’s body still aches. “It’s whatever,” he mutters, dismissing the subject matter altogether, “I’ll be back to doing the same crap over again anyway, so it’s nothing special.”

Closing your eyes, you sink yourself further down into your seat near his bedside and sigh. The windows a few steps away from Bakugou’s left allow for the sun’s late afternoon glow to beam into his room. You’ve sat here with him for the past two hours and a half from when you first came.

“You’re so pessimistic, you know that?” You announce, resting your arms against the bed’s side rails, which promote access to you, propping your cheek onto your hands with your face turned towards Bakugou. “Always thinking so negatively.”

Choosing not to respond to your comment, Bakugou soaks in the brief silence shared within the confines of his room.

For the past few days, other than his immediate family, who was relentless about visiting him as much as they could- save for the days where work would pull them away- your regular visits were something that became apart of Bakugou’s daily schedule. 

Wake up. Eat whatever shitty food the kitchen staff has to offer for the day. Wait through numerous check-ups and appointments, while the nurses examine the vital state of his internal organs. And then, he has a bit of free time to himself before either you or any visitor arrives at Hosu General hospital.

“I’m just telling it as it is.”

Bakugou would be lying if he said that he didn’t look forward to your visits.

Like Pavlov’s law, he’s grown conditioned upon awaiting your arrival every day, always finding himself sitting a bit straighter in his bed whenever 15:00 rolled around on the clock. 

Growing bored with not much to do, Bakugou allows his eyes to wander the room, skimming each object with little to no thought before his eyes would drop down on your form once again. With your eyes still closed, Bakugou takes this chance to absorb your presence before him fully. Watching the tiny twitches that would happen every now and then on your face out of curiosity.

The amount of fear and dread that washed over you the moment you caught news of how Bakugou jumped in front of his childhood friend, Midoriya, to spare his life, in turn, putting his own on the line had you aching to the bone. 

You were scared and couldn’t bring yourself to the thought that you would lose him, and there wasn’t much that you could do about it since you and a few others were far from where the main fight had gone down.

Regardless of whether Bakugou had a chance of waking up or not, you were still adamant about swinging by his hospital room as often as you could until the second day where he miraculously woke up. And caused an uproar as he did. He had to be restrained as he tried to check up on the others’ wellbeing as he did so.

To be placed inside of a room alone, with no one around to tell him what the fuck exactly went on, Bakugou was on edge. Hands down, that day would take the cake as being the most overwhelming experience he has had at his time here. Where were was Deku, for starters? And where did you disappear off to? 

He really didn’t deserve you.

Pulling himself out from his thoughts, Bakugou breaks the silence to pester you with something. “Pass me that, will you?” He asks, nodding his head over to the sole snack that sat on his bedside table. Something that one of the nurses left behind for him after his physical exam.

You blink, snapping yourself back to reality. You crane your next behind you, following his line of sight to the bright Tarami packaging. “Sure,” you grab and toss it for him to take.

Bakugou grunts out his gratitude. “Getting to eat normal food again will be the pinnacle of my life,” he states, rolling the Tarami around in his hands. “They feed us nothing but literal dog water and bland shit. “

“I’m sure the staff is trying their best. You aren’t the only mouth they feed in here after all,” you say, referencing the fact that your other peers, such as Todoroki and Midoriya to name a few, found themselves in the same situation as he did. 

“I fuckin’ guess,” he mutters in response, his focus shifted onto trying to rip open his snack but to no avail.

“Want me to - ”

“Don’t need it,” he says, cutting your sentence short. His bandaged thumbs are still fumbling to get a good grip on the plastic seal that stood in the way between him and his fruit cup. “This stupid gauze is just - ” The cup tumbles out from his hold and rolls out onto his lap. “Dammit!”

You smile at the display in front of you. Bakugou glaring at the container as if it had crossed him wrong was quite the sight to see. The fact that he has shown no signs of making another attempt at opening the seal gave you an indication that it was your turn to step in.

What a dork.

“Jesus, Katsuki,” you say, shaking your head at his stubborn nature. You take the fruit cup off his lap and, without issue tear the seal off before passing it back to him. He was too headstrong for his own good sometimes. “Nobody’s gonna bite you if you ask for help once in a while.”

Bakugou scoffs - losing steam now, he tips the rim of the cup against his lips, knocking back as many diced peaches he could fit inside of his mouth.

A mix of wonder and admiration suddenly crosses you as you study how quick he is to swallow down his food. Not even bothering to make use of the silver spoon left astray on the stand.

Bakugou silently chews. His cheeks have bulked up in size for the time being until all traces of food have been gone. Cute. “You’re so - ” You start but cut yourself short, wanting to enjoy the serene atmosphere rather than spurring him to the edge towards nagging at you.

You reach your hand out towards Bakugou, thumb grazing the corner of his mouth to clean the small mess he has made, to which he gently swats your hand away. His mannerisms were still the same as ever, never changing.

“I’m so what?” He asks, flicking his attention onto you as he watches the way your eyes linger on his face.

“You’re so amazing, was what I was going to say.” 

“Damn straight.”

You half-heartedly roll your eyes at his narcissistic response and reach for your phone, checking the time. “Wow, it’s now getting to 18:00?” You exclaim, swiftly entering the passcode to your iPhone and so that your fingers could scroll to the Tokyo Train Navigation app to check the times of when you should catch the next ride home.

Bakugou brows bump together in confusion at your surprise. “What about it? That means you’re ditching me already?” 

“Only for today though, the next train is coming in 30 minutes, and I gotta catch it before it gets dark out.”

As much as Bakugou isn’t a big fan of having your time spent together but abruptly short, he understands where you’re coming from, mentally putting himself in your shoes. 

At hours like these, when the begins to sun hide behind the city’s tall, towering buildings, it isn’t an ideal situation to have you walking out alone in the middle of dimly lit streets where villains may lurk at any corner. Especially after the shit show that went down this past week with the jailbreak.

He’d have no problem walking you home at times like this, but he can’t. Not when he’s on a “house arrest” list with the staff of the hospital.

“Fine,” he replies, dropping his head into his hands, which then finds purchase through his hair. Pissed with the cards he’s been dealt with. Feeling like he should clarify about your safety, Bakugou pipes up, “Make sure you ask the front desk to have one of their idiot guards walk you to the station. I hear that they do that.”

“Yeah, of course,” you say, collecting your belongings from the ground. “Not trying to be edited in with the clouds.” A remark that was supposed to prompt a lighthearted, humorous feel to the conversation, but Bakugou remains tight-lipped as ever. A fitting expression for your grouch of a boyfriend.

“I’m serious. Text me when you get home too.”

“And so am I! I love my life.”

And he loves you-- was something that Bakugou refrains himself from saying. It was something that he still had trouble saying verbally but had no difficulty expressing.

You walk towards the door, ready to bid your counterpart a farewell, but he beats you to the punch.

“The hell are you doing?” Bakugou’s voice halts you from making your grand exit.

He stares at you sharply from his bed. Glowering with jaw taut as he eyes your hand placed onto the sliding door. “Cut that shit out, come back.”

“For why?”

You hear Bakugou breathe out a hushed hiss, becoming peeved at how evasive you were when he knew for a fact that you were aware of what he wanted you to do for him. “Come and do the thing.”

At his sudden inquiry, you finally turn around to face him. “What thing?” You prod, wanting to hear him say what he wanted out loud. To be straightforward with you for once rather than dancing around the topic like he always does.

Sidestepping the multiple wires and the IV tube that he was hooked up to, at last, you close the distance between you both. Finding yourself back beside Bakugou’s bed, and now settle yourself down onto the small space that he has created for you on his mattress. 

You feel giddy. A hazy warmth exudes from your chest that spreads down to your toes as you watch the slow change of pigmentation in Bakugou’s face. Blotches of a soft, rosy pink littered his exposed neck, indicating the effect that had over him.

Caving in, Bakugou swallows down his pride and utters, “Kiss me…” His tone is wavering in the slightest.

There it was.

Propping your hand near Bakugou’s face to steady yourself, you nod. You’re gentle in the process as you move much closer to Bakugou, attentive as not to brush up against any of his wounds. “Okay,” you murmur. 

You think to yourself about how pretty looks from your point of view. Admiring how Bakugou's plush and soft skin was despite the light bruises and scratches he’s gained from the fight, he looked very well-maintained for a hospital patient.

The more time that you take, you become aware of the fact that Bakugou isn’t above taking a fistful of your shirt and tugging you down so that you could meet his lips. Hell, it wouldn’t surprise you if he were to do so right now.

But he doesn’t. 

Instead, he waits. Patiently, for you to make your move and just fucking kiss him already. Though there’s only so much he can take before he breaks.

Feeling the bed dip beside him, Bakugou could damn near feel his heart hammering against his chest. “Hurry up and get on with it will you,” he chides, his striking features already beginning to twist into an unreadable expression.

You laugh, unable to bite back your giggles as the male fixed you with his signature scowl. “Look at you, being a bully to the person you want a kiss from...” You say, leaning in close, now only hovering a few mere centimetres from his lips, both of you desperate for what would come next.

“You’re so mean, I swear.”

And that’s when you decide to close the distance, pressing your lips together.

It was quite sweet, literally, for his lips tasted of citrus.

Bakugou does a poor job at suppressing down his groan the moment your fingers wind themselves into his hair. The pads of your fingertips adoringly dance across his scalp.

The kiss starts off relatively chaste, both of you relishing in each other’s warmth as you pepper several small kisses against him—your stomach ties into knots as you experience how gentle he was being with you.

Despite the dull aching pains that Bakugou could still perceive whenever he made broad movements with his arm, his hand steadily finds its way to reach up towards your neck, pressing you further against him to deepen the kiss, swiping his tongue upon your lower lip. 

When your tongue comes into contact with his, it’s tentative and quick. And then it happens a few more times before fully feel comfortable enough to full-on kiss Bakugou.

Your thought process was growing muddled. Not a clear premise came to mind as his bandaged hand trails to the small of your back and back up again.

With every sound or hum of approval that you made way past your lips, it fed Bakugou’s desire to satisfy both you and his needs even. His thumb smooths over the curve of your jaw, easing your nerves each time you shyly pull away attributable to the great intimacy that swirled between you both.

He chases your lips, fervent on returning your energy that you were relaying to him, back tenfold. He loves you. So fucking much, and he only hopes that his appreciation and devotion may reach you.

You choke on a tiny gasp. “Katsuki - ” And that’s when he feels it, right in his chest. It’s as if he has been jump-started back to life, his heart quite literally skipping a beat at the sound of his name tumbling past your lips. It was adorable, and he wanted to hear you like that again. Say his name like that again, on loop without end.

Fuck.

With adrenaline coursing through your veins, your breathing was starting to grow laboured now, and you decide to break the kiss before things can escalate and before you miss your train.

Pulling away from Bakugou, the traces of confidence that you once had prior to the kiss have all but flung itself out the window, completely gone now. “I’ll, uhm -” You stammer over your words, brain trying to compose a proper sentence in spite of your current dazed state. “I’ll be back to see you again, with the others.”

With how flustered and scatterbrained you were acting, it stroked Bakugou’s ego beyond belief. A wicked smile threatens to split upon his face, but he bites it down along with his greed to ask for one more kiss before you go. “Tomorrow,” he affirms, flicking his eyes back towards the TV—an entirely new show publicized on its screen.

You hoist yourself up from the bed and stand to your feet, ignoring how your knees almost buckle. “Right,” you say. No fucking way were you this beat up over making out with your own boyfriend, for crying out loud- you thought as you wander towards the door, almost taking out one of the monitors in your trail. 

Sliding the door open you step out, but you poke your head back in, stalling a bit so that you could look at the blonde for the last time that day. “But until then, get well soon, okay?” 

Bakugou’s eyes stay glued to the screen, trying to distract himself from how damn sweaty his palms were, that or how he could feel the beat of his heart pick up in tempo. Its incessant pounding was all too much for him.

It’s so stupid how whipped he found himself to be nowadays. “I know,” he dismisses, a bit all too quickly. He wants your ass out before you have a chance to glance at the heart monitor he was wired up to.

Fortunately enough for him, you don’t. You wave and close the door behind you, your smile being the last thing he sees.

With the coast clear, Bakugou throws himself back onto his mountain of pillows. “Shit,” he curses, panting out a sigh of relief seconds after you were gone.

That was amazing, you were amazing, he thought, recounting the kiss. He swipes his palms against his sheets, being sure to get rid of any nitroglycerin that may linger to activate his quirk successfully.

Bakugou can’t stress how much he’s aching for nightfall to come, knowing that he would be one sleep from getting to see you again, and again, and again, until he would finally be let free.

But until then, as you had said, he had to heal.

And with the knowledge of you being around whenever he needed you the most, Bakugou was most definitely on the bright path to a speedy recovery.

[another-tmnt-writer]

Truth or Dare?

Raphael x Reader

Author: Admin Mo

Summary: When Mikey needs another actor for his film project, Raph gets roped into it. He didn’t, however, expect for his costar to be so cool.

Note: There are not NEARLY enough college au fics for the bayverse boys, so have this as my first contribution. <3

Warnings: Swears, mentions of drinking, plenty of fluff

Word Count: 3.9k

“Raph, PLEEEEEAAAASE!!!” Mikey folded his hands together, pleading. “We need actors for our project and our group members can’t be in it.”

Mikey, as part of his endeavor to explore every creative program at the university the turtles were currently attending, was taking a filmmaking class. And, as a part of that class, he and his fellow classmates were required to make short projects in order to learn the basics of filmmaking, from writing to directing to using the equipment to editing. As an added bonus because his professor was so especially cruel, none of the people in his group could appear in his project, and while they had managed to recruit some of their classmates to fill in the smaller roles, one of the main roles was still unclaimed.

Raph scoffed. “Mikey, you know I can’t act for shit.”

“You don’t have to actually be good at it!” He pleaded. “You should see some of the other projects. No one in the program is good at acting.”

Raph was quiet for a second, his large arms crossed in front of him, thinking. “How long is it gonna take?”

“Few hours.” Mikey shrugged. He raised an eyebrow. “And your costar is really, really hot.”

Raph sighed, disgruntled. “When?”

“YES! DUDE THANK YOU SO MUCH! YOU WON’T REGRET IT!” Mikey ran and returned with a script and a schedule, shoving it into his older brother’s hands. “We film tomorrow!”

Raph’s eyes widened. “TOMORROW?!”

***

Raph went with Mikey to where the rest of his group was meeting to film their project. He hadn’t really had time to look at the script and Mikey assured him that they’d be filming in small enough chunks that he wouldn’t need to have very much memorized at a time. He also didn’t really know what kind of movie it was and he didn’t care; he just couldn’t wait until it was over.

A few minutes after they arrived, so did his costar. And god, he couldn’t stop staring. Mikey was right. God, why was Mikey always right?

“I am so sorry I’m late. The bus almost hit a pedestrian and it was a whole thing.” You apologized.

“Don’t worry about it!” Mikey waved off your concern. “This is my brother, Raph.”

“Nice to meet you, Raph. I’m (Y/N).” You introduced, a warm smile on your face.

Raph didn’t miss the way your eyes lingered on him, but instead of the looks disdain he usually got, instead it seemed to be curiosity. Awe, even? Weird, he decided, but not unwelcome.

It was a long, awkward moment before he realized he’d better respond. “Oh, uh, nice to meet you too.”

“Um, you guys can get to know each other a little better. We’ve gotta get the equipment set up.” Mikey said, leaving the two of you on your own.

The filming location was a place you were very familiar with: the library. Particularly, in front of the cozy little coffee shop in the library.

“I didn’t really, uh, look at the script, but I’m guessing they needed a monster for a horror movie or something…” Raph flipped through the pages, skimming.

“It’s a rom com.” You corrected quietly. “I’m the main character. You’re the love interest.”

If Raph could physically blush, he was sure his cheeks would rival the color of his mask. “…Oh.”

“Is that alright?” You asked.

“Oh! Yeah, yeah it’s fine, I just…” He chuckled to himself. “I ain’t ever acted in anything before, let alone anything romantic.”

“It’s not too much, I don’t think.” You reassured him. “I’m pretty sure the most they’ll have us do is awkwardly brush hands. It’s a coffee shop meet-cute.”

“Gotcha.” And while he was relieved, he was also a little…disappointed? Huh. Weird. “So, uh, what’s yer major?”

“I’m a film major. I’m in Mikey’s class and they needed actors, so I’m paying it forward in case I need someone in my project. What’s yours?”

“I’m undecided. Just, uh, taking some time to figure things out, you know. I never really had any…school experience before this.”

“That’s a lot to adjust to.”

“Yeah, it is. I’m getting used to it, though.”

“That’s good! If you need any help with anything, let me know. I’ve picked up a bunch of good tips and tricks.”

He chuckled. “I will, thanks.”

“Do you have snapchat?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“One second.” You fished your phone out of your bag and unlocked it, opening the app to your snapcode, which he scanned and added you. “There you go.”

“Thanks.”

“Of course.”

Raph took some more time reading over the script to get the gist of the scene and you were right. Indeed, it was a rom com. Not his preferred genre, by any means, but maybe he’d warm up to it a bit over the course of the day.

“Hey (Y/N)?” Mikey called from over where they had the camera set up on the tripod. “Do you know how to white-balance this thing? Everything is orange for some reason. Which is a great color, but I’m sure Smith will dock us points for it.”

“Oh, I’ve got you.” You nodded. You looked up at Raph, your purse in hand. “Will you hold this for a second?”

“Uh, yeah. Sure.” He nodded, holding out a giant three-fingered hand to take the bag from you. He watched you walk over to where the rest of the group was standing, crowded around the camera. You worked your magic, shuffling through the menu and helping adjust the camera correctly. Raph couldn’t stop staring. You looked so focused. So passionate. He could tell you really liked film and everything it entailed and he wished he could just find something he cared about as much as you cared about your major.

“Awesome.” He heard Mikey say, his eyes fixed on the camera’s screen. “Thanks!”

“Of course!” You walked back over to where Raph was and he handed you your bag back. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, no problem.” He opened his mouth to say something else, but Mikey walked over to the two of you.

“You guys ready? I think we’re good to start now.”

“All set.” You confirmed, giving him a thumbs-up, and Raph nodded.

***

Raph might have to reconsider his stance on this acting thing. Did he think he was all that good at it? No. But so long as he had you as a costar, he’d act willingly in any project Mikey (or you) needed him for. And at the end of the shoot, he ended up having a really good time. So much so that when you guys were all done, he was…sad. Like, really sad about it.

You parted ways. You weren’t in any of his classes, so Raph wasn’t really sure if he’d see you around that much. And he didn’t see you around…until a few weeks later.

He was at the library studying with his brothers at their favorite table when suddenly, his phone buzzed, a message from snapchat coming in. He looked at the notification, doing a double-take when he read your name there. And when he reached to answer it, he moved too fast and knocked his shell-shaped cell phone off of the table.

Shit.

He bent down to pick it up and when he opened the snapchat, he was surprised to see…the back of his shell? It was captioned: “I spy with my little eye…Something red and green 😉”

Immediately, he whipped around, and sure enough, nestled in a table by the windows was you, looking at him over the top of your laptop screen. You giggled when he spotted you, waving.

Raph nudged Mikey, who was sitting across from him and Mikey traced Raph’s eyeline to where you were, his face immediately lighting up.

“Oh! Hey (Y/N)!” Mikey waved. “You wanna sit with us?”

“Is that alright?”

“Hell yeah!” Mikey motioned you over. “The more the merrier! We can pull up a chair over here on the end.”

So, you gathered your stuff while the guys rearranged some things, putting you on the end of the table, right between Mikey and Raph. When you got over there, you noticed they were sitting with the other two giant mutated turtles on campus, who you had heard of, but hadn’t met yet.

“(Y/N), these are our brothers. Leo’s over there in the blue, our fearless leader. And this is Donatello, the one we go to for homework help.”

“Not tonight you aren’t. This paper is due at midnight and it is…” Donnie glanced down at the clock on his laptop and as soon as he did, he started typing impossibly faster. “Eleven thirty-seven. Do not look at me or breathe in my direction.”

“Noted.” Mikey nodded, a trace of fear in his eyes.

“Nice to meet you, (Y/N). You’re in one of Mikey’s classes, right?”

“Yep! I’m in his film class.” You smiled, taking a sip of your iced coffee. “I got the pleasure of costarring with this one.” You nudged Raph lightly, causing him to smile the most genuine smile Mikey had ever seen on his older brother’s face.

Huh. Mikey took note, something devious stirring in the back of his mind. Interesting…

“What did you get on that, by the way?” You asked.

“We got an A! Well, Minus. But you know how Smith is.”

“Dude that’s awesome!” You bumped your fist against his. “Good job. I’m pretty sure my group got a B, but we’re not mad about it. C’s get degrees, as they say.”

“Cheers to that.” Leo chuckled.

“What are you working on today, Raph?” You asked, tilting your head in a way that sent his heart racing in a way he could not explain.

“I have a paper for my Writing 150 class.”

“Oof that sucks. Who do you have?”

“Trainor.”

“Ouch. She hated me.” You grimaced, shaking your head. “She found out I was bi and it was all over for me.”

“Did you report her? I’m pretty sure you can report her for that sort of thing.” Raph asked, trying not to get heated over it. He was pretty sure she didn’t like him very much either, but it was probably due to the fact that he was a giant green turtle. “That’s bullshit.”

“I’m in the process of that right now.” You nodded. “She’s a bitch. I don’t know if they’ll actually do anything about it though.”

“Keep me posted. I might file something too if she doesn’t stop glaring at me during class.” Raph grumbled. “It’s annoying.”

“That would be annoying. Her beady little eyes glaring at you for two agonizing hours of ‘This is how to correctly use a comma’.”

He chuckled. “Yeah. It is.”

You glanced at your phone, which buzzed with a text from one of your roommates. “Oh! Uh, do you guys have any plans this weekend?”

“Nope. Why?” Mikey asked, curiosity seeping into his voice.

“My roommate is throwing a party, if you guys wanna come. It’ll be pretty chill. Drinks, pizza, some music.”

“Oh hell yes.” Mikey nodded. He looked at Leo. “Leo, can we?”

“I don’t see why not.” Leo shrugged. “Sounds like a good time.”

“Is there a dress code?” Mikey asked. Now that he was finally allowed to socialize, he didn’t want to fuck it up.

“Nope. Just casual. Come as you are.”

“Do you need us to bring anything?”

“If you guys have a drink of choice, bring that, I guess, but otherwise, my roommate’s boyfriend works at a pizza place, so we get a pretty good discount and we have literally so much wine.”

“That’s amazing.” Mikey nodded, making a mental note to look into jobs at a pizza place later.

“We’ll bring a veggie tray.” Donnie said, his fingers flying across the keyboard of his laptop until finally, he stopped. “I finished, by the way.”

“Good job, dude!” Mikey gave him a thumbs up. “You wanna write mine next?”

“Ha.” Donnie stared at him. “Funny.”

“What’s your paper on, Raph? Maybe I can help.”

Raph turned his laptop towards you. “We have to write it about like growing up. You can, uh, read it if you want. I don’t mind. I’m kinda stuck right now anyway.”

“Okay.” You agreed, switching his laptop for yours. You winked. “Trade ya.”

“What are you writing about?” He asked, scrolling to the top of your document.

“Women in Film.” You shot finger guns at him. “I’m about to make some Film Bois REALLLL mad.”

“Roast ‘em, (Y/N).” Mikey laughed, knowing all too well exactly which film boys you were talking about. He was not a fan.

“That’s the plan.” You chuckled and then started reading over Raph’s paper. You had known before meeting them that they hadn’t exactly had the best childhood, but…wow was it eye-opening reading the experience from his eyes. “Holy shit.”

“That bad?” He joked, trying to read your expression.

“No, it’s…Raph, this is really good, but wow. You guys went through a lot, huh?”

“Yeah…” He shrugged. “It wasn’t all bad, but it sure wasn’t normal by any means.”

“Mmm…” You nodded, looking up at him. “I mean, normal is kinda overrated.”

He chuckled. “I’m glad ya think so. Not many people do.”

You shrugged, smiling softly. “Well, it’s a good thing I’m not like many people.”

***

“(Y/N), this place is as clean as it’s gonna get. It’s a party. It’ll be messed up in,” your roommate, Haley, glanced down at her watch, “like twenty minutes.”

“I know, I just…I’m nervous. These guys are basically superheroes. I want to make a good impression.”

“Fair point.”

You swept the kitchen floor and got out the cutest paper plates you had in the cupboard as well as some solo cups and plastic wine glasses. If you could avoid broken glass today, that was probably the move.

The doorbell buzzed and your heart raced, but it was just your other roommate’s boyfriend with the pizza.

“Is Darcy here?” He asked.

“She’s upstairs getting ready, you explained, helping him get the pizza and breadsticks and everything set up on the counter. He’d also brought a few two-liters of Pepsi, which was good. You put it next to the giant jug of fruit punch you’d bought at the grocery store. It was important to make sure your non-drinking friends had something to drink, too.

A few minutes after, guests started arriving. Darcy came downstairs and started up her iconic party playlist. Your neighbors popped in. It was easier to invite them and let them have a good time with you than have them call security on you guys for throwing a party, even if it was the weekend and it was only nine.

You turned off the lamps in the living room and instead set your strip lights to party mode, causing them to cycle through a bunch of colors in time with the music. It was then that the doorbell rang again and you rushed to the mirror to check yourself once more. You adjusted your hair, straightened out your top, and checked your teeth for food. Nope, you were good.

So, with the rest of the hosts distracted, you opened the door. On the other side of it were four tall, green gentlemen, one of them carrying a veggie tray.

“Hey guys, come on in!”

You moved out of the way so they could step inside.

Mikey’s eyes widened, looking into the living room full of dancing college kids. “Woahhhhh this is awesome!”

“Glad you think so.” You laughed. “There’s food and drinks in here, the bathroom is in the hallway, and everyone else seems to be either in the living room or the back yard.”

“Where do you want this veggie tray?” Donnie asked.

“Thank you so much for bringing this, by the way! You can set it over by the pizza boxes. I can get a spoon for the dip.” You said, walking towards the silverware drawer and producing a spoon while Donnie popped the lid off of the plastic serving tray and opened up the dip. You handed him the spoon.

The guys were each sporting their signature color, but they were wearing clothes you hadn’t seen them in before. Usually, Raph liked to wear a large gray hoodie, but today, he was sporting a black t-shirt and an impossibly large red flannel with some jeans. It looked good on him. Like, really good.

Apparently, he was thinking the same thing, because as soon as you were free, he walked up to you and nudged you gently. “You look really good.”

Your cheeks flushed with warmth and you wished you could blame it on wine, but you hadn’t even had a sip yet. “Thanks. You clean up pretty nice yourself.”

Had you worn a red top on purpose? Yes, absolutely. Would you admit to it, though? No, definitely not.

But Mikey noticed. Oh, Mikey noticed everything. And he couldn’t help but think that you and his older brother would make quite the couple. Maybe there was something he could do to just…give it a little push.

***

The time came later, when the party was finally starting to wind down. Some people had left. Your neighbors had gone home, and you’d switched the strip lights to a light, warm color. You’d also switched the upbeat party playlist for something chill to play in the background. The remaining partygoers were all settled in a circle in the living room, eating whatever pizza was left, sipping on box wine, and playing a game of truth or dare.

“Haley, truth or dare?” Darcy challenged.

“Truth.”

“Okay…Fuck, Marry, Kill: Chris Evans, Chris Hemsworth and…..Chris Pine.”

“DAMN.” She cursed. “You can’t do that to me. Shit. Uh…Fuck Chris…Hemsworth. Marry Chris…Pine? And—”

“Don’t you do it!” You warned.

“Kill Chris Evans.”

“Noooooooooo!” You whined, taking a sip of your drink. The rest of the group laughed. “Poor Captain America.”

“Rest in pieces, Cap.” She agreed, shaking her head. “Okay…Mikey, truth or dare.”

“Dare.” Mikey answered quickly. He always picked dare, so in the fifth round of the game, it wasn’t much of a surprise.

“I dare you…to take a shot of straight lemon juice.”

“Easy peasy.” Mikey scoffed, pouring himself a shot and downing it.

You watched as his face contorted at the sour, sour taste. You couldn’t help but giggle a little at that.

“Good job, Mikey.” Donnie laughed, dipping a piece of broccoli in dip before popping it into his mouth.

“Taking it like a champ.” Leo added, nodding.

“Alright, my turn?” Mikey asked, looking around the circle for his victim, pretending he hadn’t been planning this since round one. “(Y/N). Truth or dare?”

You thought about it for a second. How easy it would be to just choose truth again, but for some reason, you were feeling a little brave, so instead, you picked, “Dare.”

“Oooooooh,” the circle said, all of them a little surprised by that choice.

“Okay. Alright.” Mikey rubbed his hands together mischievously. All according to plan. “I dare you to kiss the hottest person in the room.”

“OOOOOOOHHHH!” The circle all stared at you and you thought for a second, a smirk settling on your features.

“Oh that’s easy.” You got up and crossed the circle until you were standing in front of Raph. Even sitting down, he was almost your height. “Think I could get a kiss?”

Raph stared up at you, shocked, waiting for you to say Sike! HAHA! Did you actually think I thought you were hot?! Loser!

But you never did, instead looking down at him with sincerity, patience. Were you a little…nervous, even?

“Why me?” He whispered, his eyes fixed on you. There were plenty of good-looking human guys still there, and yet you were certain. Unwavering. Then, louder, he asked, his heart absolutely fighting to get out of his chest, “Are you sure?”

“Positive.” You nodded, starting to lean closer. Once you were most of the way in, you let him meet you in the middle, your soft human lips meeting his, which were, you had to admit, way softer than you thought they would be.

Raphael kissed you like you were made of glass, like if he moved too fast, you would shatter. It was his first kiss, after all, and he didn’t want to fuck it up.

When it finally ended, you walked back to your seat in the circle, your cheeks rosy, heart racing. Haley gave you a nudge and you giggled, your stomach filled with butterflies. The rest of the game went along with little fanfare, and once everyone was tired enough, the apartment cleared out even more, leaving just your roommates, Darcy’s boyfriend, and the turtles, who insisted on helping clean everything up. Well, it had been Leo’s idea, but the rest had agreed to stick around to help.

You volunteered to go out into the backyard to pick up all of the stray solo cups and White Claw cans. You hated litter. You worked out there alone for a bit. As you bent down to pick up the last can you heard the signature screech of the sliding door opening.

Raph squeezed through the narrow doorway, cursing his shell for making him so damn wide.

“Hey,” you said softly, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. Your voice was almost swallowed up by the sounds of the choir of crickets outside.

“Hey.” He closed the sliding door. “Can we talk?”

“Yeah, of course.” You nodded, tying off the trash bag you were using to collect garbage. “How was your first college party?”

“It was great. Really, really great.” He said, taking slow steps through the grass towards you. “Um…I…did you mean what you said? Earlier.”

“What do you mean?”

“When you…was I really…” he laughed at the absurdity of it. “You think I’m hot?”

“I do.” You nodded. “Of course I do.”

“I’m sorry if I find that a little hard to believe.” He shook his head, stopping right in front of you. When he was standing in front of you like this, he was remined of just how big he was compared to you, just how much he towered over you. Just how different you were. “I’m just used to the opposite reaction.”

“Believe it.” You reached forward and took his hand in yours, gripping one of his giant green fingers.

“I’m trying to.” He chuckled and fiddled with your little hand, nervous. “You know, uh…that was my first kiss in there. I wasn’t too awful, was I?”

“I didn’t mean to steal your first one.” You laughed softly. “Sorry. But to answer your question, I thought it was perfect.”

“That’s a relief.” He was quiet for a moment, thinking. “Uh…If it’s alright with ya…I’d like to give you my second kiss, too.”

Instead of answering, you took another step closer, looking up, up, up into his piercing green eyes. “You’re gonna have to come down here; I can’t reach.”

He laughed. “Right.” Raph craned his neck down, one of his large hands tilting your face up towards his so he could meet you in the middle for another perfect kiss.

***

“What are you doing?” Leo asked Mikey, who was peering through the blinds into the back yard of the apartment.

Mikey only grinned proudly, nodding to himself. “Works every time…”

[floating-in-limbo]

You're my sun, my moon, and all my stars.

Tw: self h*rm, depression, angst.

GN!Reader x Hawks angst

A vent fic I wrote because I needed to do something to cope healthily. I might write a short second ending, but idk. I didn't beta read this, but I'll polish it tomorrow and post it to my AO3 as well. Much love.

BNHA writing blog @hawksmodelofficial

The room was dark except for the faint light shining from your phone's screen. It was some what quiet due to the sound of your fan whirring, keeping your room cool. All this was part of your typical nightly routine and wouldn't be concerning except for the fact that you felt suffocated. Again.

You're sitting on your bed, the air blasting you giving you one of the only physical sensations you can feel in this state. Staring ahead into the black room, you sit and listen to all the horrid thoughts running through your head.

You feel numb and would give anything to feel something other than this suffocating emptiness. You tried your usual coping mechanisms: watching videos that usually make you laugh, listening to your comfort bands, distracting yourself with any sort of pastime.

None of it is working though. None of it has been working for a while now. This numbness, emptiness, hollow feeling consuming your body grows every day. Some days you can manage to push past it, jump over the hurdles and clear the finish line. Not today.

The last option you can think of before doing something harmful is to reach out to someone. You've been isolating yourself, but you desperately want their help at the same time.

Looking at the phone resting in your hands, you pull up Keigo's contact. It had been a couple days since the last time you two talked. He's the #2 pro hero, so he's constantly busy, but always tries to make time for you.

Y/n: are you awake

You sent the message and watched it deliver. You only ask because it's currently 3:26am and most people are asleep at this time. He responds a minute later.

Dodo Brain: what's up?

You're staring at his message. On one hand you're relieved Keigo's awake but on the other, you can already feel the guilt eating away at you for bothering him.

Y/n: i need help

Y/n: i hurt

You typed out the messages with shaky hands. Your chest tightens and you feel sick. You hate asking for help. Why should you make other people suffer because you can't help yourself?

Dodo Brain: are you ok, kid? what's wrong are you hurt???

Looking at the clock, it really hits just how tired he must be and how much you're intruding on his personal time. You decide to call off your cry for help before you make it any worse for him.

Y/n: ah yeah nvm dont worry about it sorry to wake you

You toss your phone onto your pillow. Once again, you're sabotaging yourself but you don't care anymore. Getting up from your bed, you head to the bathroom to get bandages, and tissues. While doing this, you fail to notice your text notifications going off.

Dodo Brain: kid what are you talkin about

Dodo Brain: why arent you answering

Dodo Brain: please answer me you're making me worried

Dodo Brain: im heading over now

Once you have your supplies to clean up, you head back into your room and sit back on your bed. You grabbed your hidden blade on the way and now just contemplate your actions.

Craving to feel something, anything, even if its pain and regret, you'll take it. You chose where you want to cut and begin, pulling a long line across your skin. You hiss at the immediate sting. Blood already begins to bead.

You continue to do this, almost in a daze yet you feel tears suddenly well from your eyes and fall. It hurts. Not just what you're doing, but what lead you to this point.

Unbeknownst to you, Keigo immediately flew to your residence. He grabbed the spare key you gave him and unlock the front door. Its eerily quite except for the faint sobs he can hear as he navigates the dark residence.

After you were satisfied with your work, you just sit there letting the blood drip down your skin. You'll have to do laundry but that's the least of your worries. You lean your head back against the wall and cry. Soft whispers of "I'm sorry..." leave your lips.

Keigo finds your room, using your quite cries and soft words to navigate. He flips on the lights and gasps at the scene in front of him. You jolt your head forward, eyes wide and you scramble to hide yourself. Unfortunately that only makes you wince in pain and open the wounds further.

"We need to get you cleaned up. Dont move okay? You already have bandages so let me do the work." Keigo's words dont really reach you but you sit there anyway.

He moves towards you with conviction but the energy around him is scared, nervous even. Sure he's seen your old scars before but never this. He grabs the bandages and antiseptic, applying them to all the wounds.

Every now and then you wince, and he immediately spills apologies. Your head is hanging low, you can't bear to make eye contact with him. Once Keigo finishes cleaning you up, there is an awkward silence.

"I'm sorry..." is all you can croak out before your sobbing into your hands. Embarrassment floods your head. Regret. Resent. Why did he have to come? Why did he have to see this?

"Fuck, kid. Please don't apologize. You didn't answer my texts and I figured something was wrong. I just wish I got here sooner." You can hear the pain in his usually cheery voice.

"I didn't know what to do anymore! I'm sick of feeling like this! Im sick of hurting so much that I have to hurt myself to distract from everything else. It's not fucking fair..."

Keigo stands in front of you assessing the situation. He reaches out to touch you but you shrink away from him. "Please leave, Kei...please...I'm tired."

"So am I, y/n but if you think I'm leaving you alone like this, I'm pretty sure you're the dodo brain out of the two of us." You smile ever so slightly. Its broken and he can tell.

"Let's get some clean sheets on the bed first, ok? Then we're going to sleep and I'm not leaving you alone. Not when you're hurting like this. Can you move?" You shake your head no. Not only do you hurt, exhaustion set in.

"I'm gonna pick you up alright, kid?" You nod and that's all he needs. Gently, he wraps his arms around your frame and pulling you into his chest. Red feathers move throughout your room, pulling the bloodied sheets off and tossing them into your hamper.

"I'm gonna set you down so I can grab the spares. Promise me, you'll be okay until I get back."

"Kei, you're just going down the hall."

"Y/n." His voice is stern but still soft at the same time. "Look at me." You gaze up at him and see the broken expression on his face. You never noticed the pain he probably feels right now.

"Pinky promise you'll be okay for a couple minutes." He holds out his hand, sticking his pinky out for you to reciprocate. You slowly do the same and cross fingers. "I'll be right back."

He leaves your room and you can hear him grabbing stuff from the closet with spare bedding. You sit with your head hanging down, eyes closed, thinking of everything. Keigo comes back with am armful of bedding and you shakily stand so he can change the sheets completely.

"Let's go to bed, okay?. I'm taking tomorrow off and I'm staying with you until we figure this out.

"You dont need to do that. I'll be fine, really. I dont want to burden you..." You can feel the tears well up again and you begin to shake. "Y/n, please. I can't bear to see you like this. You're the sun I see in the sky when I fly and the moon when I rest at night."

You look at him with disbelief. "Let's go to bed and talk more in the morning okay?" You nod and he moves you to bed, pulling you close but still aware of where you're hurt. His wings come around on top of you, almost like he's shielding you.

Your eyes slowly dip close as he rubs circles on your hand with his thumb.

[1-800-roflmao]

Wash Day Delight Pt. 4

Rating:  General Audiences

WARNINGS:  None

Fandom:  Undertale (Video Game)

Relationships:  Papyrus (Undertale)/Reader, Papyrus (Undertale) & Reader,  Papyrus (Underfell) & Reader, Papyrus (FSG) & Reader, Papyrus (Swapfell) & Reader

Characters:  Papyrus (Undertale), Reader, Edge (UF Pap), and Mentions of Other AU Skeletons

Additional Tags:  Reader Is Not Frisk (Undertale), Reader Is Not Chara (Undertale), reader is poc, Reader has curly hair,  Undertale Monsters on the Surface, Friendship, Wholesome, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, I'm Bad At Summaries, Not Beta Read, Romance if you squint, Subtext, Let Papyrus be Sassy, Edge Is The Unwilling Dad Friend, Idiots in Love, Fluff and Humor, Slice of Life, Teasing Edge Is Fun, Papy is Best Boi

*Split this chapter into two. Will be posting both today. Morning thoughts and Papy has a great idea! Tried avoiding using y/n as much as I could, but had to this chapter.

PREVIOUS || FIRST || NEXT

She would say morning came too quickly, but in all honesty, this was technically her second time waking up that morning.  Somehow, in spite of the tireless workout she had been put through the night before, she had woken up at the usual time right before her alarm--that was NOT set cause she turned that off with plans to sleep in today--would have gone off.  She’d spared a single, groggy glance at her phone’s clock.  The notifications lining the screen not even registering in her mind.  No, she’d get her well earned sleep in had been and without further adieu, she had put the phone back down, rolled over, and snuggled back in for another few hours of sleep.  

    That had been earlier.  Now, she blinked awake as light from the mid-morning sun sneaked through the slim openings of the curtains just behind her bed.  Blearily, her eyes followed the rays path across her form, her bed, and eventually over the floor where it seemed to highlight her shed clothes along with the open bathroom.  Right… she had forgotten to brush her teeth in her haste to sleep.  Rolling her tongue and opening and closing her mouth, she winced as she felt her cheek move against the now very cold wet spot on her pillow.  Well, at least that second round of sleep was apparently heavy and content.  

“Eugth…” Not that it made waking up in your drool anymore pleasant.  Trying to sit up resulted in even more groans as her muscles protested.  Yup, there were those core muscles that had been oddly silent yesterday acting up today.  Her arm she had tried to push up on had not been too much trouble, but her shoulder had twinged and she had gone back down.  She had managed to at least roll on her back and away from the drool pool though.  Positives.  Focus on the positives.  For a few moments, she just let herself completely relax into the mattress and pillows, just breathing--in and out, slow and even, again and again until all her tension dispersed. 

“They really did me in,” she mumbled as she began to roll her wrists, “But I’ve got too much to get done to be lyin’ around here all day feelin’ miserable.”  Too much considering her now very awake mind realized she had forgotten to wrap her hair, but thankfully she had splurged on satin sheets and pillowcases, so it shouldn’t be too bad.  Maybe it was a blessing in disguise, she didn’t get her wrap sweaty… “Still gonna wash it.”  By now, she had started stretching and working her shoulders with careful, slow rolls and reaches.  The more she moves, the more she’ll loosen up and actually be able to function.  She just couldn’t overdue it.

As she moved onto her legs, she couldn’t stifle a little moan of discomfort as she lifted one limb at time to carefully draw her knee in towards her stomach before extending again.  It took time, but eventually she was able to push herself up into a sitting position.  Muscles in her back, abdomen, and surprising what felt like her butt that she hadn’t been aware of protested, but a few more deep breathes calmed them.  Seeing her phone laying on the sheets near her, she guessed earlier that morning she hadn’t bothered to put the phone back where it went exactly, but current her was very thankful for her sleepy self’s carelessness.

Picking up the device, she decided to take a moment to rest before continuing her war against her body.  Besides, she could remember that she had messages to reply to.  Tapping the screen, she input her pattern and tapped on the messages app.  The first one she opened was Coffee’s.  “Oooh,” she cooed as she looked over the drawing once again with fresh eyes.  Last night, she remembered thinking the hairstyle was cute, but now she could see the little details he included, like his choice of including a custom undercut design.  Could her barber achieve that?  She’d have to ask, but for now.

(to JavaBoi)

Flooffie:  Good morning! 

Flooffie:  Sorry about not replying last night

Flooffie:  This hairstyle is so cute

Flooffie:  And the undercut design is SICK!

Flooffie:  In a good way 

Flooffie:  I’d love to wear it, but I’ll have to check in with my barber about the undercut.

She waited a moment to see if he’d answer, but no little dots popped up so she guessed he was possibly still sleeping or he was busy.  Most likely the former.  Leaving that conversation, she sent a quick message to her barber asking how complicated a design he would be willing to do on an undercut.  She hadn’t expected an answer, but no sooner had she went to click the back button, his answer popped up.  His answer surmised that he had done more complicated pieces, but it all depends on the design.  “Makes sense…” she mumbled before forwarding the doodle to him.   It took him a moment longer to reply this time, but his answer had her beaming: “Sure, just get a better reference.  Bigger too.” 

(to JavaBoi)

Flooffie:  I feel like I’m spamming you.  Sorry!

Flooffie: But I got with my barber and he said he could do it

Flooffie:  Just he needs a better ref

Flooffie:  Could you draw it bigger?  

Flooffie:  I’ll treat you!

        She included some pleading and heart emojis for good measure, even though she was sure he wouldn’t mind one bit.  Moving on, she opened up a certain someone’s convo, eager to see how he reacted to her last text.  A little laugh bubbled past her smile as she saw his reply, full of exclamation marks and a little pause between two of the replies.

(11:33 PM) Papaya:  ….

(11:40 PM) Papaya:  !!!!!!!

Papaya:  TOUCHE! ALTHOUGH I HAD TO GOOGLE WHAT YOU HAD MEANT

Papaya:  MY SKILLS AT PICKING UP THESE IDIOMS IS IMPROVING

Papaya:  WHO CAME UP WITH THESE THINGS?  WHY? WHY NOT JUST SAY WHAT YOU MEAN?!

(11:45 PM) Papaya:  YOUR LACK OF RESPONSE MUST MEAN YOU HAVE FINALLY GONE TO  BED

Papaya:  GOOD

(12:01 AM) Papaya:  SWEET DREAMS, (Y/N)

    Her amusement at how Papyrus could continue a conversation with no one there was overshadowed by the warmth the last text brought.  It was such a simple little thing.  It’s not like he had even called her a pet name, but it still had her flushing and turning her face away from the phone like that would somehow ease the heat.  Maybe it was because she could see the timestamp and knew he had taken the time to pick up the phone again after setting it down for a while just to send that message.  Was it narcissistic to think she was his last thought before he fell asleep?  “It’s too early to be this flustered!” she whined, the fingers of her free hand playing with ends of one of her braids, “All over a text that might not have any deeper meaning…”     

    After her little grumble, she did her best to ignore the sting the words brought.  One more deep breath, she turned back to her phone and the texts, allowing a small smile.  There was no sense in making herself miserable.  It was still a dear friend thinking of her after all.  

    (to Papaya)

Flooffie:  Morning Papi!  Hope you had sweet dreams as well

        Before she could start her next message, she saw those little dots pop up and chuckled.  Of Course he was up already.  

Papaya:   GOOD MORNING!

Papaya:   I DO NOT REMEMBER MY DREAMS, BUT I’M SURE THEY WERE GREAT!

Flooffie:  Just like you, eh?

Papaya:   OFCOURSE!

Papaya:   UM… HOW ARE YOU FEELING THIS MORNING?

Papaya:   NOT TOO SORE I HOPE

    She snorted at that before replying.

Floofie:   Like I got hit by a 18 wheeler in the fast lane and somehow survived to regret it.

Papaya:   ….

Papaya:   APOLOGIES

Papaya:   BUT ARE YOU COMPARING YOUR PAIN TO GETTING HIT BY A SEMI?!

        She could just feel his panic and knew he would start fretting through the text.  She felt just a little guilty laughing at his reaction.  Thankfully, it wasn’t too difficult to calm him down and assure him she was simply exaggerating.  No, he didn’t need to take her to the hospital.  No, he had not broken her.  At Least as far as she knew he hadn’t.  

Throughout, she had slowly worked her way to the edge of the bed and now sat with her legs hanging off.  In between texts with Papyrus, he opened a few of the others.  One was Edge checking in with a reminder that she shouldn’t over exert herself.  She went to send a little thumbs up, but paused and instead juggled between two responses.  Which would mess with him more?  Biting her bottom lip, she finally settled on one and quickly sent it:  “Yes, Daddy~”.  Knowing Edge, he was up, but wouldn’t look at the message until he had a moment, so she closed the convo.  She could see the damage later.

More puns and jokes which she graced with appropriate responses: groans at the especially bad ones and chuckles at the ones that were actually clever.  She of course made her approval known with quick little texts and gifs; the bad ones received the same treatment.  None of it was mean and to tell the truth, it only fanned the flames for these gremlins as she had learned.  They seemed determined to dig up the worst puns they could manage.  By the time, she finished replying, she had made it to the bathroom and was finally taking care of her dental hygiene.  

Her phone now dinged instead of buzzing with each new text.  Most of which were from Papyrus she assumed.  Toothbrush in her mouth, she picked up her phone and opened the texting app again as she resumed brushing with her other hand.  She had been correct.  A line of texts from her friend popped up on the screen and they ranged from bringing up his question about idioms from last night to checking in that she was actually taking the time to rest.  She thanked the stars that her phone wasn’t on the larger side as it allowed her to hold and type with one hand.  

Flooffie:  Decided to make today wash day since people are INSISTING I rest.  Was due for one anyway.

Papaya:   WASH DAY?  YOU HAVE A DAY DEDICATED TO WASHING?

Papaya:   I THOUGHT HUMANS PRUNE IF THEY ARE IN WATER TOO LONG?

She let him get out all his ponderings and ramblings, which took a good minute, before she finally jumped in.  Although she’d love to convince him it was a secret, sacred holiday and ritual that humans have to partake in a few days a year for… reasons, she fought down her inner prankster and cursed Cash for his influence on her.  

Flooffie:  It’s nothing elaborate… kinda?

Flooffie:  It’s just that people like me tend to have a lot of hair and it takes time to properly care for it.

Flooffie:  So, we make a day of it.  Chill and relax, pamper ourselves, etc

She was a bit surprised he hadn’t replied immediately and had actually finished with her dental routine by the time he finally texted back.  

Papaya:  SO IT IS A DAY DEDICATED TO YOUR HAIR?!

Oh, she hadn’t seen this much enthusiasm from him for her hair in a good bit.  As his texts came through, she felt touched he wanted to learn more and she was happy to inform him, best she could over text anyway.  There was another long pause in between his text.  Just long enough for her to reach for her shower handle as she decided to finally take a shower and get started on her day.  Her phone dinged and Papyrus changed all her plans.

Papaya:  WHY DON’T YOU HAVE YOUR WASH DAY AT OUR HOUSE?!!

[xvnqsb]

soulmates pt. 1

A/N: ahhhh finally posting the first chapter. i have about the first five or six chapters written, so i will have them scheduled for different days while i focus on school! hopefully you all enjoy!

of stardust and space. masterlist

chapter one. soulmates pt. 1

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

"I'm pregnant." The words fell from the blonde's lips so effortlessly, as if they were casual words that are said in casual conversation. But they were definitely not words that were casual. These were life-altering words that could be the make or break of anyone.

"You're...pregnant?" His jaw dropped. "H-how?"

She rolled her eyes, sighing, and picking at her nails as if she was bored. "Well, T., when we fucked, somehow, our protection didn't work because here I am, knocked up with your child."

No shit. "I know that, but how? I've always used protection. This can't be real. Take another test."

"I took three. You think I want to be pregnant?" She stared at him accusingly.

How was this his fault? It takes two to create a child.

"So-uh-are we keeping it?" He didn't know what to think. Was he really ready for a baby?

"Do you want to?" Her voice had become a whisper, afraid of what might happen in the next few moments.

He paused, before smiling and nodding as he brought her in for a hug. "Yes."

She wrapped her arms around him, squealing excitedly. "Then yes."

He couldn't believe it. He, Tony Stark, was going to be a father.

"What do you mean 'you're going to be a father'?" Jason asked.

Tony had the telephone between his shoulder and ear, working on one of his latest inventions. He exhaled happily, putting down the tool in his hand as he adjusted the block phone.

"I mean, I'm going to be a father! Jasmin'e's pregnant," He heard a disappointed sigh from his best friend down the line. Knowing what the conversation was going to lead to, he sat down on the closest chair. "What?"

"Jasmine? Are you sure you want her to be the mother of your children?"

"Jason-"

"No, I know what you're going to say. I know you love her and everything, but Tony, what did your parents say?"

"I haven't told them," he mumbled, clearing his throat as he continued. "Besides, it doesn't matter what they think or say because it's my child and my life. And, I would like to point out that you got Vivie pregnant first!"

"You're right, but with a child, you're going to have a tie to Jasmine for the rest of your life."

"And?"

"She's insane-"

"No, she's not!" Tony scoffed, shaking his head at the thoughts of the man on the other end of the line. "She's not crazy."

There was rustling on the other end of the line, and then Vivie's voice was heard.

"Congrats, Tony! Jas just told me the news! I can't believe we're all going to be parents!" She squealed.

"Baby, give me the phone," Jason asked, and she complied. "Look, I got to go. I'm glad you're having a kid, Stark, just don't do anything else before you know what you really want."

"Fine, I won't." He picked up a pack of blueberries from his workstation, popping some in his mouth before speaking again. "Do you think our kids are gonna hate each other?"

He's never been this nervous. Well, that's a lie. He hasn't been this nervous in years.

But this time, he's sitting in front of his parents, figuring out how he's going to tell them he got Jasmine pregnant. His father was staring him down, almost annoyed at how long it was taking his son to speak.

"Mom, Dad-" He couldn't even finish his sentence, because his father jumped up, slamming his hand down on the table. Tony flinched, taken aback by the sudden movement.

"You knocked her up, didn't you?" He spat, disappointment evident in his facial features.

How'd he know?

"Y-Yes. Jasmine is pregnant, with my child."

His mom put her hand on his father's shoulder, trying to calm him down.

"I always knew this would happen. I can't believe this. I can't believe you." Tony didn't move or say a word, allowing his father to get out his anger. After what felt like an eternity, his father sighed. He sat down, rubbing his face. "How much?"

"Oh, my god." Tony scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief. "We're keeping the baby."

"What?" His mother gasped, obviously shocked at the decision of her son.

"You're not serious, are you?" Howard questioned, laughing as if this was all a sick joke. "You're throwing your life away, Anthony."

"I am not."

"If you have this child, it will be one of your biggest regrets."

"No, they won't."

"This child will ruin your life! You will have the greatest opportunities turned down because you will be a father-"

"Those won't change!"

"This will be the biggest mistake of your life!"

"Then it is my mistake to make!" Tony stood, angrily shoving the chair back. He felt tears threaten to spill, and his face grew hot with anger and frustration. "And it is not a mistake, because they are going to be the best thing that has ever happened to me."

Apples, bananas, carrots...lettuce? No. Watermelon.

"Babe, are you almost done?" Jasmine called from the living room.

"Yes!" He picked up the plate of fruit he had arranged and carried it to her. Her face lit up as she saw the food, squealing excitedly. "Healthy snacks for a healthy baby."

"Yum," She moaned as she bit into a watermelon slice, chewing and swallowing before continuing. "I did not understand why this child wants such healthy food but now I know! Watermelon is so good."

He grabbed an apple slice, chewing it as he picked up the book he was reading. TThey sat in silence as she finished her afternoon snack, the book in her hand closing once she was finished.

"Honey," she called sweetly, and Tony hummed in reply. "Do you want a boy or a girl?"

"What?" He looked up from his book, confused at the sudden question.

"I'm just curious."

"Well, uh," He cleared his throat, closing the book in his hand. "I'd, uh, I want a girl."

"Really? Why?" She looked at him so intently, so lovingly that his heart stopped.

"Because she'd be the best big sister in the world. And, I'm going to teach her how to kick ass!"

"You could barely kick-ass yourself! How are you gonna show her?"

"Well, Ms. Vonz, I know some martial arts."

"What if it was a boy?"

"I would love him all the same! I get to pass down my knowledge to another ruggedly handsome Stark!"

"And you can't do that with a girl?"

"Well, yeah. My kid would be smart and a badass."

"WhatifIalreadyknowthegenderandtoldyouitwasagirl?" She said the words so quickly, Tony could not process them.

"What?"

"What if," she gulped, sitting up. The blanket fell off of her stomach, revealing the small bump. "I already know the gender, and I told you it was a girl?"

"W-what? Oh my god," Tony shot up, a smile on his face as he repeated the words in his head. "It's a- We're- It's a girl? We're having a girl?"

"Yes."

Later that night, as they counted down from ten, Tony couldn't help the smile etched onto his face. He looked between Jason and Jasmine, incredibly happy about the recent events. The clock struck twelve, and Tony pulled her in for a kiss.

"Happy New Year to you and our baby girl."

"Have fun with Jason!" Jasmine whispered as she watched the man double-check himself.

"Thanks, Jas. I promise you can give me my birthday present when I get back." He leaned down and kissed her forehead, before going down to her big belly. He placed a kiss on where he hoped his kid's head was. "Even though she's already giving me the biggest and best gift already."

"Stop being all gushy," She pushed him towards the door, blowing him a kiss. "Have fun. Be safe."

When Tony arrived at Jason's apartment, he was greeted by the sight of Vivie bouncing a sleepy Jonah in her arms.

"Hey V. Jonah," he brushed a knuckle gently against his godson, the five-month-old reaching for his hand. "Is Jason ready to go?"

"Yes!" Jason came then, kissing his fiance and son goodbye before leading his best friend towards the elevator. "How's it feel to be 21, Stark?"

"Same as being 20, Mullem." They took it down to the lobby, and as they walked out the doors, Tony stopped in his tracks. "Are you serious?"

Jason had a huge grin on his face, nodding as he slapped his best friend on his back. "All this for you, Tony."

"I fucking love you." He mumbled as he entered the limo.

"I fucking love you too."

Tony's pager beeps for the seventh time that night. 911. His father insists that he pick it up, so he leaves the dinner table and calls the number.

"Bellevue Hospital Center."

"Hi, yes, this is Tony Stark. I got a 911 to my pager?"

"Mr. Stark?" A male's voice came from the end of the line.

"Yeah, that's me," He rolled his eyes at the man on the other end.

"Yes, Mr. Stark, I'm Dr. Jones from Bellevue Hospital Center. Your wife has gone into labor."

"My-My wife?"

"Jasmine Vonz, sir."

Oh, God, it's happening.

"Y-yes! Sorry, it's just...unexpected." He turned to look into his dining room, his mother and father in conversation. "I'll be there soon."

He hung up, feeling sick.

"Anthony, is everything alright?" His mom called.

"Y-Yea-" He didn't finish his sentence, running to the bathroom and vomiting his entire dinner. When he was sure he was done, he got cleaned up before heading back out to the dining room. He grabbed his keys, wallet, and jacket, looking at his parents. "Jasmine went into labor."

"Oh, honey!"

"I-I gotta go. I'll let you know when she's born!" He called out as he ran out of his house.

The ride to the hospital, he was jittery. His cab driver kept giving him dirty looks, looking relieved as they finally pulled up to the hospital. Tony gave him more than enough cash before stumbling out of the cab and into the hospital. He went up to the nurses' station, having trouble finding words.

"Can I help you, sir?" One of the nurses asked.

"Ye-Yes. My girlfriend went into labor, uh, not so long ago."

"What's her name?"

"Jasmine Vonz."

She looked for her information, nodding when she found it. She gave him directions towards the room, saying a quick 'see you soon'. When he entered the room, Jasmine was pale and sweaty, gasping as she saw Tony.

"This baby will not stay in." She clutched at his hand as another contraction came. "I'm scared. I don't think this is how it's supposed to feel."

"I'm sure it's fine, honey." Tony pressed a quick kiss to her head, whimpering quietly as she crushed his hand. "My hand, not so much."

"I'm Dr. Jastin, " The doctor said as he came in moments later, his team right behind him. "Alright, Mom, Dad, are you ready?"

"We're doing this in here?" He asked, looking at the nurses setting up the baby stuff. "Isn't there, like, a labor room or something?"

"Yes sir, but it seems your daughter does not want to wait," the doctor answered as he snapped on his gloves, putting on a mask before setting himself in between his girlfriend's legs. "This baby is coming here and now."

The delivery was a painful process, and he was pretty sure a couple of his fingers were broken. After the final push, he heard the cries of his baby girl throughout the room. He sighed a 'Thank God' as his hand was released.

The doctor handed her over to one of his nurses, working on closing Jasmine. The nurses worked on the baby, wrapping her in a blanket and doing other...nurse/baby stuff.

"You did so well," he muttered in her ear, kissing the side of her head. "Gave us a beautiful baby."

"Where is she?" she whispered, gulping and trying to locate her kid. "Tony, where is she, is she okay?"

"Yeah, honey, she's with the nurses."

Tony looked up at the team of nurses working on his newborn baby. They seemed to be taking longer than necessary.

"Dr. Jastin?" One of the nurses called as he finished up.

"What's going on? What's wrong?" Tony asked, finding Jasmine's hand and squeezing it.

"It's fine," the doctor told the nurse before lifting up his baby and carrying her over to them. "Who wants to see mommy and daddy?"

Jasmine shook her head, looking away from the doctor and baby.

"Ms. Vonz?"

"Jas, what's wrong?" Tony whispered, moving her hair behind her ear. "You don't want to hold our baby?"

"No," She mumbled. "I don't want the baby."

Tony reached out for his daughter and was oblivious to the words that were muttered by his girlfriend. His face lit up with a smile, his heart pounding at the feeling of holding such a small life in his hands. He rubbed his finger against her cheek, a happy sigh escaping his lips.

"Can't believe you're here," he whispered, leaning down to press a kiss against her forehead. She cooed, reaching up, and beginning to cry. "It's safe to say that you're the best thing that has ever happened to me. Besides your mom, of course."

The next day, Tony took his parents to the nursery. There were at least 25 babies, some being days old, while others were mere hours. He pointed her out, his parents smiling at the small infant.

"Doctor said that we could take her home tomorrow," he said, nodding as the nurse indicated if he wanted her to take the baby up to the window. "I can't wait."

"Me neither," Howard whispered, subtly wiping at the tears building on his waterline. "Where's Jasmine?"

"She's resting in the room," he replied, suddenly remembering his duties. "Do you guys mind waiting here while I set up the car seat and crib? It'll only be an hour."

His parents agreed, waving him off as he raced to begin his new life.

Lilah was in the carrier, gladly sucking on a binky, as she and Tony walked up the stairs to her mother's apartment. It's the third day they've been home, and Jasmine has refused to see her child. He figured she was probably struggling with postpartum depression and wanted to help. He had found a great support group and some counselor's that focused on such things.

"Ready to see mama?" he asked her, taking the garbled sounds as a yes. "Me too. I miss her. And I can't wait to take more pictures of the two girls in my life."

Finally arriving at the door, Tony unlocked it and stepped inside. He stopped in his tracks at the sight of the barren apartment, looking around in shock. Knowing it was worthless, he put the carrier on the counter and looked for his girlfriend. All he found were two envelopes taped to the mirror of the bathroom.

He grabbed them in disbelief before grabbing his daughter and leaving the apartment in anger and hurt. The drive home he blamed himself for her leaving, muttering insults to himself.

The envelopes sat at the bottom of his drawer for years, refusing to be read. As he fell, his parents helped take care of their granddaughter. They fed her and changed her when she woke them screaming in the night, while their son laid in bed with no will to live. He ignored his daughter, refusing to hold her and look at her. He didn't want a memory of her, leaving the house after a week. Howard called Jason, asking him to take care of Tony. For the first month of Lilah's life, she was raised by her grandparents, who had grown quite fond of her.

"I'm glad Tony had her," Howard whispered to Maria one night as they rocked her to sleep. "She's going to save his life."

Maria smiled, rocking her granddaughter back and forth as she thought of her next words carefully. "Will you ever tell him?"

He exhaled deeply, rubbing his face and sitting down on his son's bed. "Yes, just not right now. He's already dealing with her leaving."

"I know but-" Howard looked up to see Maria staring at the door, and followed her line of vision.

Tony stood in the doorway, watching his daughter. She had been falling asleep until her head fell to the side and she caught sight of her father. At the realization of who it was, she began to cry and kick at the woman, attempting to reach out to him. Without hesitation Tony crossed the room, taking her into his arms and beginning to rock her back and forth. She calmed, relaxing at the feeling of being in her dad's arms.

"Let's go," Maria told Howard, shooing him out of the room and closing the door behind them.

That night, Tony got up to care for his crying daughter.

"Is the table set?" Maria called from the kitchen.

"Yes, Mom," He called from the dining room, finishing the silverware on the last plate.

He went up to his room and checked up on Lilah, who was just waking up from her nap. She reached out for him, giggling as he sniffed her diaper and exaggerated a gag.

"Someone's not ashamed," He muttered, changing her before taking her downstairs. "Guess who's up?"

"Where's my girl?" Howard called out, coming in from the living room. He reached for her, kissing her cheek as Tony handed her to him. "There she is."

A twinge of jealousy shot through Tony, but he quickly shook it off as the doorbell rang. He opened the door, taking Jonah from Vivie's arms and pressing a kiss to his cheek. The Mullem's greeted his parents, seating both children in high chairs before gathering around the table. They held hands and prayed.

"What are you thankful for, Stark?" Jason asked, looking across the table at his best friend.

Tony looked at his daughter, pinching her cheek. "The best thing in my life."

"Did she wake you?" Tony asked quietly, looking towards his father who stood at the door.

"No, I've, uh, been in the study." Tony nodded, returning his attention to his tired daughter. "How's she doing?"

He turned her towards him, eyes slowly closing and mouth open. "Almost there."

They stood in silence for a few minutes before Howard turned to go to his room.

"She's the best thing that has ever happened to me, Dad."

Howard looked towards his son, and it seemed like there were tears in his eyes. "I know."

Lilah had officially turned six months yesterday, and everything had been normal. He lacked attention from his father but witnessed him give it to his daughter. His mother gave him the same love she gave his daughter. They were a happy, content family.

Until hours ago, police showed up at the door to inform him of the news.

He didn't believe it. He thought it was some sick joke. But it wasn't.

Howard and Maria Stark were dead.

Car crash.

They weren't the only things they said, it was just what he could make out.

They were involved in an accident.

Didn't make it.

The pain was all too much. The mother of his child leaving him. His parents dying. He wasn't going to make it.

The funeral was rough. He doesn't remember much, just giving the eulogies and greeting old family friends. Accepting condolences. Hiding his kid away from those who began to pry too much, it was a funeral, why were they more interested in his kid?

After that is when it got worse.

He began to fall again. Scarce meals, drinking, bad hygiene. He didn't answer the door for anyone.

He simply lived and breathed for his daughter. He didn't want her to grow up an orphan. He changed her and bathed her and fed her. everything he was avoiding on himself he did to her.

"Baby, please, stop crying," He begged for the millionth time. Lilah was refusing to take a bath. She kicked and screamed bloody murder when he tried to lower her in the water. "What is it? Do you want me to shower with you?"

Hoping it was just that, he let the water go and turned on the showerhead. He undressed before picking her up and stepping into the water. She didn't cry or scream or throw a tantrum, just began pulling at his hair as the water hit it.

His body relaxed, soaking in the feeling of showering. He sighed in content, pressing a kiss to the side of her head.

After the shower, he put them both into comfortable clothes before deciding to take a nap.

Tony had put Lilah in her crib and had just laid on his bed when she began to cry. He left her alone, hoping she would put herself to sleep.

He gave up after fifteen minutes.

"What is it, sweetheart?" He picked her up, rocking her gently. He sat on the bed, and her crying seized. He chuckled at his realization. "I get it. Do you want to sleep with daddy? Is that it, my girl?"

Lilah cooed, swinging her arms.

Tony laid back, allowing her to rest on his chest. She put her ear against his chest, falling asleep to the rhythm of his heart.

Lilah was turning one and Tony was freaking out.

Sure, he thought about it. But he never realized how old she was turning. Much less realized how fast the past year has gone.

"You need to calm down," Jason told him, helping the 22-year-old father wrap his daughter's presents.

"Were you calm when Jonah turned one?" Tony asked, looking at his best friend.

"No." He sighed.

"Then you can't come bitching at me about it!"

"Watch the language boys." They looked up to see Vivie enter with both kids in the double stroller, dropping the diaper bag on the table. "Why did I have to take them out again?"

"Because the party is a surprise?" Jason responded in a 'duh' tone.

"They're babies. They don't even know what's going on." Vivie set both children down onto the ground.

Tony walked over to pick up his daughter, pressing a kiss to her cheek. Jonah lifted his arms at his godfather, and he complied. Tony held both children in his arms, attempting to avoid their grabbing hands at his ears.

"What if Lilah has a photographic memory? What if she remembers her first birthday years into the future and hates me because we didn't surprise her?"

Jason groaned, shutting his eyes. "Again Tony?"

"Yes! My child can be a super genius."

"That's not possibl-"

"Okay, boys." Vivie interrupted them, grabbing Jonah from him. "Let's finish decorating, get ready, and enjoy the party!"

"Yeah." Jason agreed, raising his eyebrows at Tony. "Enjoy the party."

Tony held Lilah all night long, only passing her to her godparents when he went to the bathroom. The party was over. Jonah was asleep in his crib, Jason and Vivie were cleaning up, and Tony was in the living room with Lilah on his hip. He was swaying them back and forth gently, humming softly to the song that played. She was falling asleep, brown eyes watching him before shutting for a few seconds then opening again.

He pressed a kiss to her forehead before whispering, "Happy birthday, baby."

"Don't move! Let me get the camera!" He ran to the kitchen, grabbing the video camera. He turned it on as he raced back to the living room, placing the phone back between his shoulder and ear. He began recording Lilah, who stood holding onto the sofa. "I told you, Mullem, my kid's going to walk first."

"No, my kid is gonna walk first," Jason said through the phone, causing Tony to roll his eyes. "You're just upset because Jonah started talking first."

"He hasn't even said a word!"

"Yes, he has!"

"What? 'Bajdkfs'? Those are baby sounds."

"He spoke first, and he's going to walk first."

Lilah let go of the sofa, and Tony perked up. "My kid's going for it."

"Mine let go of the sofa."

"So did mine."

They stayed silent, each urging their kid to make the first move. Lilah looked at her dad and smiled, taking a wobbly step towards him.

"Ohmygod, I won! She took her first step!"

"No!"

"Good job sweetheart! Take another." he encouraged her. She took another wobbly step before falling onto her bottom, giggling at her father's happy expression. "Yes!"

"No! Jonah just took his first steps! It's a communication error."

"Nuh-uh, Jason. Your kid got speaking first, mine gets first steps."

"He didn't even say a real word."

"Aha! I knew it!"

"Whatever. I got to go, Vivie is furious that we're competing."

"I bet. Did you tell her you lost?"

"Screw you, Stark."

They hung up, Tony picking up his daughter and setting down the video camera. He kissed her head, smiling and bouncing her. "You wanna speak first too? Give Jonah a run for his money?"

She babbled nonsense.

"I agree."

He sat her back on the ground, sitting across from her.

"Say 'Dada'. Da-da. Easiest word in the book, kid." She crawled to him, standing with the help of his legs. "Daddy would be good too. Dad. Pops. Anything."

She babbled once again, stepping onto his legs and reaching up to support herself against his chest.

"Really? Quite interesting."

She laughed, leaning forward and pressing her nose against his. He scrunched it in confusion, a smile gracing his lips. "What are you doing kid?"

"Dada." She said before pressing a kiss to his nose.

"Yeah, I'm your da-Wait what?" He picked her up, shock and disbelief running through him. "What did you say?"

She babbled, dancing in his arms.

"You cannot do this to me. I need proof that my kid is the best." he stretched his arms slightly. "Dada. Say it again, baby, please."

Nothing.

"Por favor?"

Nada.

"Please, for me?"

She smiled. "Dada."

It wasn't perfect, but it was real. An actual word.

"Yes! Thank you, thank you, thank you," He kissed her head once more, sitting her in his lap. "Jonah may be older, but he has his dad's brain."

His eyes landed on the video camera, hope filling him.

"Please be recording."

"Daddy," Lilah gently pushed his arm. "Daddy."

His eyes open slowly, taking in the sight of his tired four-year-old. He sighed, reaching his hand up to cup his daughter's face. "What's wrong-what the hell?"

Shooting up, he brought her onto his lap, back of his hand pressing all over her face. She was sweaty and sticky and her skin was burning.

"I don't feel good." She mumbled, a whine leaving her and she grabbed his hand. "My tummy hurts."

He picked her up, putting on his shoes before heading downstairs. She rested her head against his shoulder, her stomach rumbling. She was asleep the whole ride, waking when they got to the small 24-hour store. She whined and cried silently as they moved about the store, gripping onto him so tight her knuckles turned white.

"Ooh, fever?" The clerk asked, scanning the box of medicine.

"Yup. She was fine when she went to sleep but she woke me with a fever." Tony replied, taking out some bills to pay for the items.

"Weird. They usually exhibit signs."

"Yeah, last time I could tell. But this time was a surprise."

The clerk handed him his bag and took the bills. "If she's not better in a few days, you should take her to the doctor."

"If I can't have the fever down by tomorrow, I might have to." He took the change from the man, stuffing it into his wallet. "Thank you. Have a good night."

"You too, man. Hope she gets better soon."

"Thank you."

Tony soothed her on the way to the car, rubbing her back and telling her she was going to be okay. He buckled her into her car seat, dropping the bag by her feet when she burped. Eyes wide, he emptied the plastic bag and put it under her mouth in time for her to throw up into the bag. He rubbed her back once more, wiping vomit off of her mouth with his sleeve before starting the car. He made sure she held onto the bag, trying to get home as quickly and safely as possible. She puked once more on the drive home, crying and calling for him.

"I know, princess, just hold on."

They were in the driveway and he was turning off the car when she began heaving and climbed into the backseat to help her. He quickly took them inside, struggling to carry his sick daughter, the get-well items, and her puke bag. They eventually made it to the room, where he changed her into a new set of pajamas. He had her rinse her mouth before giving her the dose suggested on the box. She drank it, unwillingly, and cuddled up to his side when he laid them down.

Tony was gently massaging her head, slowly falling asleep himself when her small voice filled his ears.

"I love you, my pretty boy." She whispered, voice drowsy from the medicine.

"Your pretty boy?" He questioned, curious of the sudden nickname.

"Mhm, my pretty boy. You're my pretty boy, Daddy."

He smiled, pressing a kiss to her head. "Guess that makes you my pretty girl."

"Guess so," she muttered, finally drifting off

"I love you, my pretty girl."

"Kindergarten was so fun Daddy!" Her voice screeched through the phone, Tony smiling at her voice. God, he misses her.

"Really?"

"Mhm! We made a nametag and got to color it and draw on it and-"

"Whoa there, sweetheart," Jason interrupted his daughter. "You're talking too fast for your old man's ears."

"Hey, I'm not old," He spoke into the phone, her giggles coming down the line. "You're old."

"Yeah, Tio Jay, you're older than Daddy." She started screaming with laughter, a sad smile on his face. "Daddy! He's-stop!-tickling me!"

"Better stop tickling my daughter Jason, before I have to kick your ass."

Her laughter slowly stopped, her breathing heavy. "Ooh, you said a bad word."

"Uh-oh, don't tell Aunt Vivie or she'll kick my ass."

They laughed, shuffling heard slightly on the other side. "I'm gonna make dinner, you can finish talking to Tony, baby."

"Mhm," He could hear her moving around. "What are you doing, Daddy?"

"Well," He cleared his throat, moving to get comfortable on the hotel bed. "I'm in my hotel room talking to a very pretty girl."

"Really? What's her name?"

"Tokyo."

"Hey, that's my name!" He waited for a moment, and she gasped in realization. "Ohhh, you're talking about me."

"Of course I am. What other pretty girl do I know named Tokyo? I think you're spending too much time with Uncle Jay." She giggled, and he could almost imagine the smile on her face. "Sorry I couldn't be there for your second day of school."

"It's okay. You were here for my first day," She grunted quietly. "Are you still coming home on Saturday?"

"Of course. I promised to get us ice cream, didn't I?"

"Yup," she popped the 'p', the smile widening on his face. She let out a quiet sigh, and he could tell her mood shifted. "I miss you, Daddy."

He sighed. "I know. I miss you more."

They were both silent for a few minutes, her breathing slowing slightly.

"Hey, baby?"

"Hm?"

"Wanna tell me about school?"

She gasped, excitedly. "Yeah!"

"Do you want to stop and get her a cheeseburger?" Happy asked from the front of the car. Tony shook his head, sighing.

"I don't want to give her happy food and then tell her the bad news."

"But it's not bad news."

"For her, it is," He ran a hand down his face. He can't believe he's doing this. "This is her life! Her world. I wanted her to grow up here like I did. She already struggles with the fact that I'm on a business trip almost always, she's gonna hate me because of this."

Happy drummed his fingers on the wheel, pulling over in front of Jason's house. He honked, and Tony looked out the window to watch the door. "What has Vivie said?"

"We thought she was getting better. But, uh, Jason heard her crying in her room the other night." The door opened, and she gave her aunt and uncle a kiss on the cheek. She began to run to the car, backpack swinging back and forth on her back, the metal bracelets on her arm bouncing with her every step. "Maybe we should get her a milkshake."

Tony opened the door, and she jumped in, landing on top of him.

"Hi, Daddy!" She placed a kiss on his cheek, moving to sit on the other seat. She shrugged off her backpack and threw it below her feet before buckling herself. "Hi, Happy!"

"Hi, Tokyo. You buckled?" He asked her, looking at Tony through the rearview mirror. She nodded, looking out the window. "I was thinking of getting a milkshake, want one?"

Her face lit up, and she turned to her dad. Tony smiled, nodding at her.

"Yes please!" They began their drive, and she was watching him. He didn't realize it until he glanced at her and she quickly looked away.

"Why are you watching me, creepy lady?" Her face reddened, embarrassed from being caught. "I'm too handsome for you not to look at, is that it?"

She rolled her eyes, smiling at his comment. "Of course, Daddy. You're the handsomest man in the world."

"Whoa, wait up," Happy spoke from the front, feigning shock. "Last week you said I was the handsomest man in the world."

"Well," She stopped, thinking. "You both are."

"Mhm," Tony raised an eyebrow, causing her to give a shy smile. "Nice save."

They sat in silence for a few moments before she spoke up. "What's wrong?"

"Hm?" He looked at her, but she was looking out the window. "What do you mean?"

"You're sad."

"I'm not sad." He made eye contact with Happy once more.

"See? You and Happy are looking at each other And I know when you're sad, just like you know when I'm sad."

"You know when I'm sad?"

"Mhm. I know when you're happy, sad, mad. I know what you're feeling all the time."

"All the time? How?"

"You're deflecting, Dad."

Dad? He was definitely screwed.

"That's a big word for a first-grader." She gave him a look, "Okay, fine. We have to talk."

"Okay. Are you going somewhere?"

"Y-Well, yes." He cleared his throat, nervous. He didn't know how she was going to react. Will she cry? Be angry? Shut down? "But it's different this time."

She shrugged "I think I'll be okay."

He took a deep breath and watched her, gauging her reaction. "We're moving. To California."

She opened her mouth but hesitated.

"Are you mad?" He asked quietly.

"No. Never at you, Daddy." Big brown eyes looked into his, and he smiled slightly. "Is that all?"

"Yeah," He gave a relieved sigh, ruffling her hair.

"Cool. Are we still getting a milkshake, Happy?"

Tokyo handled the move amazingly well. Tony thought she would cry, throw a tantrum, be angry at him for having to leave her life. She seemed unfazed. It's been two years, and she's still doing great.

"Stark Industries." Pepper answered the phone. Tony was resting his eyes, worn out from the meeting. "Oh, well, he's right here."

"Tony," He opened his eyes as Pepper nudged him, hand covering the receiver of the phone. "It's Tokyo's school."

"Oh shit," He sat up, taking the phone from her hands. "Hello?"

"Mr. Stark? It's Mrs. Forman. I'm calling because there was an incident. We tried to call your personal phone but you weren't picking up."

"Yes, I apologize, I left it in the hotel room this morning. What happened? Is To-Lilah okay?"

"As of right now, she's fine."

"What do you mean, 'as of right now'? What happened?"

"We already contacted Mr. Hogan and he's on his way to the hospital with her."

"The hospital? Why is my daughter on the way to the hospital?" He muttered, waving off Pepper and running a hand down his face. "What did she do?"

"It's not something she did, per se, but she did break her wrist."

"Whoa, wait. What? What do you mean she sprained her wrist?" He covered the microphone, turning to Pepper. "Book me the next flight home. Now."

"And she sprained her ankle, Mr. Stark."

"What the hell happened to my daughter, Mrs. Forman?"

"She was on the monkey bars and slipped off. She landed on her wrist, and another kid fell on her foot."

"I can't believe this." He mumbled, hanging up the phone. He looked over at Pepper, worry on her face. He shook his head, before looking back out the window.

He landed in LA two hours later and arrived home an hour later. The car was in the driveway, and he practically barged into the house. Tokyo and Happy were sitting on the couch, eating pizza and hot wings. They froze as soon as they saw Tony, Happy slowly standing and exiting the room. Tokyo set her food down, not looking at him.

"I got a call from the school." He said, slowly walking towards her.

"I know." She tried to move over, but he stopped her.

He sat down on the other side of her, examining her injuries. "Want to tell me what happened?"

"I fell off the monkey bars." She was watching the TV, but she wasn't focused on it. He turned it off, pulling her attention back to him.

"How so?"

"I don't know. I was climbing them with Alex, and then I heard Jonah's voice in my head, and I was looking for him but he wasn't there. And then when I had gotten to the next monkey bar, there was a zap and I fell."

"And Alex? Did he feel it too?"

"Yeah, but he was a little behind me."

"How behind?"

"Like two."

"Can I see your cast?" She lifted it, and he grabbed it slowly. Her fingers were purple and blue in some spots. "Those are some nasty bruises."

"Mhm," She tried to move them around, but winced at the pain. "I can't write with my left hand, so I don't know how I'm gonna do my schoolwork, Daddy."

"Don't worry about that, hm? I'll talk to the principal and your teacher. Okay?"

"Okay."

He turned the tv back on, laying back. "So, what were we watching?"

"Anastasia."

"Again?" She nodded, face turning red. "Alright, let's do this."

"Wait!" She turned her head slightly, hand on his to stop him from pressing play. "Happy!"

"Uh, Dad?" Tony looked up from his lab station, Tokyo standing at the entrance. She looked nervous and...embarrassed? "Um, something happened."

"What?" He put down his tools, moving towards her. "Are you okay?"

"I kinda started..." She trailed off, looking at him in hopes that he picked up what she was putting down. He was clueless.

"You kinda started what? A fire?"

"N-no, I, uh, my, uh..." She covered her ears. "JARVIS help."

"It appears Ms. Stark has started her menstrual cycle," JARVIS answered.

The color drained from his face. "Oh."

"I, uh, asked Pepper if she could bring me some, uh, you know."

"Pads, sir." JARVIS clarified.

"I know, JARVIS." He looked at her, not knowing what to say.

"I'm going back upstairs." She turned, but he stopped her.

"Next time, tell me. I'll get them for you." He felt awkward, but she was his responsibility. His parenting classes had informed him of the situation and how to handle it, but he didn't realize it would be so soon. "I'm your dad. Don't be embarrassed."

"Okay."

"Do you need anything else?" She thought for a moment before shaking her head. "Okay. I'll be up to make dinner in a bit."

"Okay." And with that, she sprinted up the stairs.

Tony was fuming. He felt as if smoke was coming out of his ears. He doesn't think he's been this angry before. Let alone at Tokyo. Not even when she broke his prototype.

He didn't say a word the whole way home. He gripped the steering wheel, glancing at her from time to time. She was avoiding him, staring out the window the whole ride home.

He had pulled up to the driveway, parking the car. She jumped out, racing to the front door. By the time he got to the door, she was heading inside. "Where do you think you're going?"

She stopped her beeline to her room, standing still and facing away from him.

"Look at me." She turned, backpack hanging from her shoulder. It was then that he realized she was different. He just couldn't place it. "You're not getting out of this."

"I'm not trying to." She raised an eyebrow.

"Tell me what happened." He crossed his arms over his chest, foot tapping impatiently. She looked away from him, picking at her fingernails. "Now, Lilah."

"What's going on?" Pepper came out from the office, followed by Happy. She looked worried.

"Nothing that concerns you."

"Watch yourself!" His jaw clenched, and he closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. "Lilah punched a kid at school."

"What?" Pepper looked at her, stepping forward slightly. "Why, Tokyo?"

The young girl huffed, looking down at her hands. "He wouldn't stop grabbing me, even after I told him to stop."

"He grabbed you?"

"You can't just hit someone every time they touch you!" Tony exclaimed, shocked at what he was hearing.

"I don't! It was just this one time!"

The energy in the room was high, Tony thought he could hear static.

"It doesn't make it okay!"

"Stop!" Pepper yelled, holding up a hand to quiet Tony. She walked forward to where she could talk to her. "What do you mean that he grabbed you?"

"I wasn't paying attention to him, so he kept on grabbing my wrist. I told him to stop and he grabbed my waist and turned me to face him. And I punched him in the face."

It was at that moment that he realized what had happened. She was standing up for herself. Defending herself.

"He's done this before?" Tony asked, quieter.

"It's okay, it doesn't bother me anymore I don't know why I-"

"It's not okay," Pepper interrupted her, placing a hand on her shoulder. "I'm glad you punched him."

"Did you explain this to the principal?"

"Yes, but he didn't care." She looked towards Happy, who hadn't spoken. "It's my fault. If I paid attention to him he wouldn't have grabbed me the way he did and it's my fault."

"No, it's not." Pepper turned to him, anger evident in her eyes. "Tony, you have to do something."

"There's no point!" She cried out, obviously frustrated with the whole ordeal. "Can we please just drop it? I'm already suspended, so there's no point."

"I can call the principal and-"

"Just drop it!" She threw her hands up, the power cutting for a second before turning back on. She turned and sprinted up the stairs to her room.

Happy followed her after a few moments, leaving Pepper and Tony alone.

"You need to call the school and sort this out."

"I will. I just, I need a moment to process what she just told me." He sat down on the couch, head in hands. "I was hoping, that she would never have to deal with this."

"I think we all did. It's not something we want to happen."

"No, it's not." Sighing, he looked at her. "She's fourteen. How long do you think this has been going on?"

"I-I'm not sure, Tony. Honestly."

"She's come home a few times with bruises on her arms. You could tell that someone had grabbed her but I..." He trailed off, disappointment in himself setting in. "I brushed it off."

"You couldn't have known."

"I did." They turned as Happy walked down the last few steps, a sad look on his face. "She told me that this boy was bothering her, grabbing her to get her attention. She gets uncomfortable every time she's around him. I told her, 'next time he grabs you, sock that fucker in the face.'"

"Guess she took your advice." Tony looked down at his hands, picking at his fingernails. "She won't even talk to me."

"She's scared of approaching you." He looked regretful as soon as the words slipped out. "Says she doesn't want you to be angry at her."

"Why would I be angry?"

"I think you should talk to her. Let her tell you. Let her know that you're there."

"Take her an ice pack, and talk to her while you're up there," Pepper told him, leaving no room for argument.

Nodding, he followed her advice. He went up after the sun had gone down, assuming it was enough time to allow her to cool down. When he entered her room, she was curled up on her bed, facing the window. Her room was dark, the only light coming from the moon. Lilah was watching the waves crash against the shore before pulling back into the ocean.

Much like her.

"I'm sorry for punching that kid." She mumbled, voice hoarse.

"I'm not." He sat on her bed, waiting until she was facing him to hand her the ice pack. "You did the right thing."

"It's just, he creeps me out." She started, and Tony felt a tiny bit of happiness at her opening up to him.

"Maybe you should be rude. Let him know that you mean business."

"I was at first, but he wouldn't go away. So I just gave up."

He felt helpless. So he talked slowly, hoping it would come to him.

"I'm going to call the principal, and tell him about what happened-no arguing." She nodded, closing her mouth. She twirled the bracelet around her wrist, the red star in the middle glimmering every time it hit the moonlight. "But you're already suspended, and I'm not going to try and revoke that."

"So I have to stay here with Happy for the rest of the week?"

"No," He spoke before he could think. "I'm taking the rest of the week off. I miss spending time with you. Feel like I never see you anymore."

"Me too." She sat up, adjusting the ice pack. "I didn't do this for attention, just so you know."

"Oh, I know." The idea came to him, right then and there. "I hope you'll tell me the next time this kid bothers you though."

"I will." She stood up, stretching out her hand. "I have to go apologize to Pepper. I was mean."

He chuckled. "Yeah. I don't think she cares about that. I think she's worried more about you. But still, apologize."

"I am."

"Okay, go say you're sorry and then start making dinner. I need to make a phone call."

"How'd it go?" Happy asked as soon as they walked in the door. Tokyo shrugged her shoulders, sighing. "Uh oh."

"Yeah, I-" She took out her license, a smile taking over her face. "Passed!"

"Congratulations!" He pulled her in for a hug, placing a kiss on her head. "Who taught you better? Me or your old man over there?"

"Hey, I'm not old," Tony spoke up, placing the keys on their hangar. "Second, I taught her better."

"You both taught me amazingly well." She began towards the stairs. "I'm gonna go call Jonah, give him the good news."

A scream came from up top, Jonah's laughter filling the air. Tony was about to run up the stairs when Happy stopped him.

"Jonah's up there," Happy told him. "Wanted to surprise her."

"More like scare her," Tony added, heading into the kitchen.

"Do you think she's doing better with him here?"

"I mean, she's happier."

"But not better."

"Look, I love Jonah. He's my godson and her best friend," He lowered his voice, not wanting anyone else to hear. "But I think he's making her worse."

"How?"

"I could feel it. It's not right." He sighed, making his way to the fridge. "Plus, she was crying the other night. Couldn't sleep. She was having nightmares."

"Like, the ones in New York?"

"Exactly like those. She said that these were worse. Scarier. They seemed more real."

"Tio Tony!" Jonah called. He turned to find both teenagers climbing down the stairs, his godson outstretching his hands. "How are you?"

He hugged the boy, an uneasy feeling clawing at his stomach. "Hey Jonah, what are you guys doing?"

"She told me about her license. Sucks she got it the day before we graduate."

"You have your license," Tokyo interjected, narrowing her eyes at him. "You've made it quite clear."

The environment got very hostile. Not physically, but emotionally. Mentally. Tony felt the air around him thicken and felt as if there were static.

Jonah laughed it off, hugging the girl. She hugged him back, hesitantly. "Alright, well. I've got to go. I'll see you guys tomorrow."

They bid their goodbyes. Tokyo ran upstairs to get ready for tomorrow.

"Did you feel that?" Happy asked, eyes wide.

"What did I say?" He leaned in closer.

"Do you think something happened?"

"I fucking hope not."

"She's two people down from this side." Pepper pointed out Toyko, who waved at her family.

"Can't believe she's already graduating. I feel like she just went into kindergarten yesterday." Happy spoke up, having been there since she was a toddler.

"I know. This is it. Besides college." Tony said, watching as she quickly became next in line.

The purple gown and cap were on every female student, the males in white. She was wearing the white dress she wore to her father's parties, white flats as well. The silver bracelets she never took off were on her wrists, and she wore silver hoops as well. Who knew he would have focused on her outfit this much?

"Lilah Stark." The teacher called.

They cheered her on, watching as she shook hands with the principal and took the photo with her diploma. She was smiling the whole way back to her seat, speaking to the girls in front of her.

Tony didn't realize it until he was outside, but he was crying. She came out of the stadium, eyes searching for her dad. When they made eye contact, she practically ran at them.

"Congratulations baby," Tony muttered into her hair, arms wrapping around her as she hugged him tightly. "I'm so proud of you."

"Thank you, Daddy." She let go of him, hugging Pepper and Happy. "Where's Uncle Jason, and Jonah, and Aunt Vivie?"

"I'm not sure." He looked around, not spotting them anywhere. They didn't sit together at graduation. "Maybe we'll see them at the house later."

At the house, Tokyo rid herself of the cap and gown. They threw a small party, just the four of them. Tony was telling stories of her childhood, drunk and tears streaming down his face.

"Okay, Dad, I kinda have a surprise for you." She spoke up, and he turned his attention to her. She lowered the music that was currently playing, pulling out a letter from one of the books.

"Oh, Tony, you might want tissues handy." Pepper nudged him.

"Okay so, Daddy, I have to let you know that I wrote this a few years ago. And then some more at like 3 am."

"I feel special." He chuckled, sipping on his whiskey.

"Yeah," she nervously laughed, straightening the paper. "Dear Daddy, if you're listening to this, it means that I've finally graduated. I made it through senior year, and am now on my way to college. I'm writing this early because you never know what could happen. I might graduate earlier than expected, or I might graduate on time.

"I know you're upset that I didn't go to MIT at 14 as you did. But I did apply to MIT and I got a full-ride scholarship for civil engineering. I began thinking of your stories. You spent your teenage years in college and less at home with grandma and grandpa. I wanted to do that too, but I couldn't bring myself to leave you. I wanted to spend the rest of my adolescent life with you in every way I could. I didn't want to leave you sooner than I had to. You are my soulmate. You understand me in a way no one else does. Happy once said that we were more alike than different. If I remember correctly he said, 'Stop finishing each other's thoughts. You guys are creeping me the fuck out.' We were talking about getting a sandwich from Subway and had gone for the same sub.

"Moving on, I want you to know that I love you, so much."

Her voice cracked, and she fanned her face with her hand.

"I know I worried you a lot when you went on business trips. I told you it was because I was afraid you would leave and never come back. At the time, I thought it was because you had the choice to leave me. As I got older, I realized that wasn't the reason. I feared you would leave me, but not by choice. I can't imagine what it's like raising a child, let alone raising a daughter. You did a great fucking job, Dad. I know you have moments of self-doubt. But believe me, you're the greatest fucking person on Earth."

"Those are a lot of curse words, young lady." Pepper jokes, causing the group to laugh lightly.

"I owe you the world. You are the reason I was able to graduate. You encouraged me and battered me into becoming a great student. I really couldn't have done this without you. I graduated because of you, Daddy."

She was in tears, and so was he. They all were. Tony stood, hugging her tightly.

"I love you, you know that?' He kissed the side of her head.

"I love you more, my pretty boy."

Tony woke with a start.

He couldn't see anything out of the ordinary. He felt it. It was just that feeling. Getting out of bed, he went to check on Tokyo. She wasn't in her bed.

"Tokyo? Baby?" He called out as he walked downstairs. She wasn't there, and nothing was out of place. Running back to his room, he grabbed his phone and dialed Jason.

"Tony." He sounded panicked.

"Jason, is Tokyo there?"

"No, I was gonna ask if Jonah was at yours."

"He's not. And neither is Tokyo." He ran a hand over his face, suddenly remembering JARVIS. "Maybe JARVIS saw them."

Covering the microphone, he called out for the AI. No answer.

"What the fuck?"

"What?" Jason asked, worry evident in his voice.

"He's not answering." He walked over to his emergency computer, trying to find out the problem. "Oh, God."

'What, Tony? Did you find them?"

"No, J-JARVIS was disabled. Someone took Tokyo."

"Calm down. Are you sure it wasn't Tokyo who disabled it?"

"It-it wasn't her."

"How do you know?"

"Because I'm watching the person who disabled him."

"Right now?"

"No, from five minutes ago."

[rpsocsandcanonohmy]

A Fighting Chance

Note: This is part of an ongoing story that can be read on AO3 here. Reading previous installments is reccomended for context purposes but is not required. Posted here for Whumptober 2021 @whumptober-archive

Day 6: Bruises

-------- The next day, Lori was tasked with helping Abilene around the house. Despite the size of the house and how many people trekked through it on any given day, very little of the work centered around cleaning. No, today, Lori was going to be testing her patience with cooking and food prep.

Lori knew how to cook. In theory. She knew how to use an oven (electric, gas, and the occasional wood-burner). She knew how to heat up something in a pan or a pot. She could even make a few things from scratch, assuming she had the ingredients handy, mostly eggs and pasta.

Food prepping for a ranch was a much different story.

There was no experimenting to see if the temperature dial was accurate. There was no obsessively checking the clock in lieu of a timer. There was no double-checking the instructions written on the box. 

Nope. Abby’s kitchen was run with fresh ingredients that were either being prepped for a later meal or being used in a current one. Abby had (semi-correctly) assumed Lori didn’t have much experience with cooking like this and just put her in charge of cutting vegetables or stirring sauces. Technically she was also a Taste Tester but that seemed more like an honorary title than a useful role.

She was chopping some apples under Abby’s not-so-subtle watch when the doorbell rang. “I’ll get it,” she said, leaving Lori to her chopping. A few moments later, she heard giggling and the sound of loud footsteps coming near the kitchn. “Oh, Cordi’ll be so happy to see you! It’s been ages… Oh, Lori! Hoyt, this is Lori. She’s one of Stella’s friends from school; her dad’s out of town so she’s staying with us for a while.”

Lori smiled softly and waved. “Hi….”

“Howdy.”

Abby snorted and gently pet Lori’s back. “I’m gonna go check on Bonham and Liam. Will you two be alright alone?”

“Yeah.”

“Sure.”

She turned back to her chopping. Hoyt came around the counter and grabbed a few pears to chop with her.

“So,” he started. “What happened?”

“Pardon?”

Hoyt chuckled. “You’re at home for the day on a school day, you’re working in the kitchen instead of being sick in bed, and I noticed that bandage. Something happened.”

Well. That was her caught. Lori shrugged, clearing away some apple chunks to make room for the next one. “I got into a fight. Some girl was being a bitch to Stella and August so I broke her nose.” There was no point in lying; it’d probably just come out later anyway.

“I can respect that,” Hoyt said. “Sounds like the kind of stuff I used to get into back in those days.”

Lori nodded, focusing on her chopping.

“You’re a good friend. Stella’s lucky she found you.”

She liked the way he said that, like she wasn’t some lucky charity case that got picked up out of pity. That didn’t make it any (potentially) less true, but still. Lori wondered if he had his own experience in a situation like that.

-----------

Lunch was miraculously uneventful. Hoyt didn't even ask her about why Liam was being careful around her, course he was likely too busy telling wild stories about whatever mess he’d gotten involved in while he was away. She was just glad not to be the topic of conversation at a meal for once.

She felt her phone vibrating in her pocket while she was putting away the last of the dishes. Checking to make sure no one was paying attention to her, Lori ducked into the next room and pulled out her phone. The text was from an unknown number, but she knew who it was. Only one person would text her out of the blue like this without an introduction.

[Text from: Unknown]: Hey boo. You still in Austin? There’s a tourney starting next week and I’d love to put your name in the ring. Withdrew your entry fee from my bank account today xo

[Text to: Unknown]: Hey. Yeah, I am. I’m not sure if I can compete though; I’m under a little surveillance atm

[Text from: Unknown]: When has that ever stopped you before lol xo

[Text to: Unknown]: It’s different

[Text from: Unknown]: Come onnnnnnn

[Text from: Unknown]: It’s a massive payout. Big city, big names, big tournament. It’s all monsters right now though. They’ll flip if they get a hunter in. Massive bucks sweetie 

[Text to: Unknown]: There’s always a massive payout

[Text from: Unknown]: Not like this. We’re talking almost 5 digits if you make it to the top

Okay, that was impressive. It would definitely come in handy when she met up with Dad again. They would definitely need the cash even if she didn’t have to pay bail this time.

[Text to: Unknown]: You know me so well

[Text from: Unknown]: Is that a yes?

[Text to: Unknown]: Duh

[Text to: Unknown]: Just get me the time and place

[Text from: Unknown]: I knew I could count on you xo

[Text from: Unknown]: I’ll get you the deets. Meet me in the locker room and we’ll discuss my cut

She wanted to respond but the number was blocked. Of course it was. That was how he operated. She’d never get used to that. He’d get her the address later, probably through email, and they’d just go from there. Like they always did.

All Lori had to do now was figure out how to sneak out….

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

One day, Lori was going to suggest the Walkers invest in a security system that wasn’t accessible through a smart device. She’d have to figure out how to bring that up without mentioning she’d been able to bypass the alarms on Cordell’s phone with relative ease first though.

Regardless, she was out and headed for her destination. Why are these things always held in the most out of the way place possible? she thought as she entered the abandoned warehouse. She worked her way through the crowd, holding her duffle bag with her gear close to her chest, and headed for the locker room area. Once she was there, she got dressed and checked her first aid supply while she waited

“I was afraid you might back out,” came the all too familiar voice.

“Like I’d ever squelch on a deal with you,” Lori replied with a grin. She turned around and there he was, standing uncomfortably close as usual. “How’s the crowd looking?”

Darian grinned. “Very good turnout. I worked the room a bit, lot of people looking forward to seeing you in the cage. And, get this, they put you against a Were for your first fight!”

Of course they did. Hunter v. Monster fights drew a crowd as it was. Pitting a Hunter against their Thing? Pure gold. “Do you know anything about them?”

He shrugged. “Just that he’s a small thing with a big temper. It’s not his first rodeo but he’s not as well known as you. A lot of people are betting on you to win.”

“I take it you tossed your hat into that ring too?”

Darian smirked. “Always. Don’t worry, you’ll get your cut of that once you get to the top.”

Classic Darian, working all the possible angles. He was a smart guy, for a shapeshifter. She was about to respond when the fighting bell rang and her name was called over the loudspeakers.

“Showtime, babygirl. Make me proud!” Darian waved her off as she headed for the arena.

Lori took a deep breath and her mind cleared as she entered the cage. The crowd roared and she let it all wash over her. The sounds, the lights, the smells, everything. This was it. In here, she wasn’t a pitiable soul taken in by a friend. She wasn’t a reminder of her mother. She wasn’t a forgotten soul in the wasteland of The System. Here, she was Lori fucking Graves, one of the best fighters in the ring and the youngest hunter in the system. She was a badass, an icon, the love-to-hate-em fave. And she owned it.

The bell rang and the fight was on. Werewolves were tricky because of their claws and teeth, especially when she didn’t have a weapon of her own. But she’d been in worse situations before. A swift kick to the nuts took him to his knees and gave her the chance to land a few solid punches to his face before he got back up. A part of her couldn’t wait to see the bruises later. The larger part of her was regretting she couldn't run away faster when he lifted her above his head and threw her at the chain-link wall. That was going to smart later. But she could handle it.

Punch, kick, jab, punch, dodge, swerve, punchkickjabdodgepunchkickswerve and on it and on it went. Once she got into a rhythm, she could work off muscle memory and fall into a state of near zen. This is why she loved the fights. This is why she’d never walk away. This is why the payout was always worth it. This is why working around the bruises and scrapes would always be worth it, no matter who she was with.

It felt glorious. 

Her opponent was tiring out and she took advantage of that to elbow him in the face and knock him to the ground with a kick to the shin. She pinned him down and spit in his face while the ref counted her. 

She won.

She was bloody and bruising and she was definitely sleeping in tomorrow. 

But she won.

“Excellent work, darling.” Darian smiled proudly and gently clapped her on the shoulder as she stepped out the ring. “Payout for tonight is $915. Well, minus my cut, of course….” He handed Lori the cash and she stuffed it in her bag.

“Thanks. When’s the next one?”

“They’re gonna finish out the first round over the next couple days. I’ll text you the morning of so you have time to figure out your excuses.”

Lori shouldered her duffle bag and made her way to the back exit. “Alright. I’ll see you then.” 

It was a long walk back home, but the bills she counted later were more than worth it. She just had to figure out how she was going to hide the evidence from the rest of the house…..

[softbiker]

Born to Run - Chapter 17

Warnings: angst, alcohol abuse, anxiety, heartbreak, police violence (potentially triggering encounter, please heed the warning), language

Word count: 3.2k

A/N: Well, here it is. All I can do is say...I’m sorry. But I promise I’ll fix it. I decided to go ahead and post this tonight because I haven’t gotten to write much lately, I’ve been working constantly and now I’ve got a second job - so I just love getting to write and post when I can. Thank you for sticking with this story. It’s almost a year old now! As always, let me know what you think!!

“I dunno, Mom - I mean it’s not like I planned this-”

“Well, no, honey,” her mother huffed over the phone. “It doesn’t seem like you planned any of it.”

Y/N winced at the sting of her words but didn’t argue. With her phone wedged between her ear and her shoulder, she grabbed another stack of underwear and socks from the dresser and turned back towards her bed, where a suitcase lay open. A few pairs of jeans and a couple of sweaters were already folded inside. Off to one side, her toiletry bag was stuffed full - skincare and toothpaste and hair products she might not even use but tossed in anyway in her flustered packing frenzy. Her grip on the socks in her hands tightened to keep her fingers from trembling.

It had been 2 days since her fight - breakup - with Bucky. For the first 24 hours, she fell into an anxious, disorganized catatonia; she shuffled from room to room in her house, pacing and biting her nails, opening cabinets at random then promptly closing them. Her fingers tapped restlessly against her thigh, and her heart raced at a breakneck pace. If a single clear thought managed to arrange itself from the scattered clutter of her panic, it was only Bucky’s face, red-eyed and tear-stained as he pleaded with her. After splashing some water on her face and changing into sweatpants, she had put herself to bed, settling in for the longest night of her life. She tossed and turned, hearing the minutes tick by from the clock on the wall. At around 3 am, she threw off the covers in heartbroken frustration and stalked to the kitchen, setting the kettle on for tea and raiding her cabinets for any treats she could find. Thank God she still had that fancy dark chocolate she’d gotten last time she went to the city; it was the only thing her cupboards could provide in the way of comfort food. Armed with a steaming cup of lavender chamomile and an entire half-pound of dark chocolate she settled back under the covers and grabbed the T.V. Remote from her nightstand. If nothing else, she prayed Netflix could distract her, fill her mind with different faces, different voices - drown out the one that wouldn’t leave her.

She managed to doze off towards the end of Breakfast at Tiffany’s, tearful confessions playing in the background of her not-quite-dreams, and woke just before 7. A cold, clear morning greeted her through the window, the air in her room practically frigid, but something in it settled her. Quieted the static that had blurred out all thought since Bucky walked through her door the day before. With a deep breath, she threw off the covers and swung her feet out of bed, leaving the tea cup and chocolate wrapper to deal with later. It was her running shoes she reached for.

An hour and 10 kilometers later, she jogged back up her front porch steps, breathing heavy and feeling light. Her cheeks were charted from the wind, and her nose was running, but the grip on her heart had shaken loose. And as she clambered into the shower, stinging hot and billowing steam, new thoughts began to string together - thoughts for tomorrow, and the tomorrow after that.

Still in sweatpants, hair dripping, she’d scribbled down a list while she sipped her coffee. Names, to-do’s, a seed of a plan. In order, she phoned the clinic, her best friend, her residency program coordinator - and now, at last, her mom.

“I’m driving up to stay with Kat for a few days - maybe a week,” Y/N sighed, ignoring her mom’s comment. “Just to…clear my head, you know?”

“Sure, sure,” her mom agreed. “Though I don’t know why you couldn’t come here…I haven’t seen you since Thanksgiving-”

“Mom.” She closed her eyes, one hand settled on her hip. “It’s not a vacation.”

“No, sweetie, but it doesn’t hurt to come let your mom take care of you…”

Knuckles pressed to her eyelids, Y/N sat down on the edge of her bed. The old mattress creaked, as it had every night she slept in it for the last several months.

“I-I just,” she licked her dry lips and tried to swallow. “I need to be alone for a little bit, Mom. Once I’ve got it all figured out, I’ll let you know. And maybe…who knows, maybe I can come visit soon.”

“Sweetheart.” The voice on the phone is tired, resigned. “Why do you always try to do these things by yourself? You don’t have to be alone.”

Y/N’s throat tightened, her fingers curling into the fabric of her pants. She breathed slowly, warding back the lump that threatened to close off her voice.

“I’m sorry, Mom. But this time I do.”

**********

“You’ve got to go in there and wake him up-”

“I’m not doing it - I wouldn’t touch him with a 10 foot pole when he’s like this.”

“Well, someone’s got to. We’re bugging out in just a couple days-”

Heavy-eyed, and feeling like death warmed over, Bucky stirred at the sound of the voices outside his bedroom. Harsh winter sunlight burst through the blinds over his window; even before he opened his eyes it hurt. Something throbbed inside his skull, and his tongue felt thick and heavy in his parched mouth. Why the hell did he feel this bad? He couldn’t remember the last time he drank like this, to the point of blacked out nausea. His stomach roiled as he turned over, and he felt far too old to be drinking like there was no tomorrow, like he hated himself-

And then he remembered.

Y/N.

Suddenly he had no interest in getting up, getting water, getting something that would settle his stomach. He covered his face with his hands, fingers pressing firm against his eyelids and blocking out any light that came through. It was hot in his room, the combination of heating and a pile of blankets that someone had tucked him in with, but he didn’t move the covers, choosing instead to sweat underneath them.

How had he fucked up so badly? The best thing that ever happened to him - and now she was gone, baby, gone. It would’ve been alright, maybe, if Natasha had allowed him to talk to Y/N himself, but-

Natasha. Just the thought of her set his blood on fire, and he sat bolt upright in bed, his eyes flying open - only to immediately regret it as a stronger wave of nausea threatened to claim him. He quickly folded himself in half and put his head between his knees. When his head finally stopped spinning, he propped his elbows up against his knees and threaded his hands through his hair.

Already, he felt a thread of shame and guilt tugging at his gut. It wasn’t right to blame Natasha. He knew that. The lies were all his own; all Nat had done was reveal the truth.

But, God, the look on Y/N’s face - she had never looked at him that way, not even in the beginning when she was afraid he might be a criminal. It chilled him - right down to the marrow of his bones - the cold anger, the mask of disgust and disinterest that she wore to hide the way she hurt. And she did - he could see her pain cracking the ice in her eyes, no matter how she tried to hide it.

He hated himself for it.

A soft knock at the door, and Steve’s blond head poked in.

“Oh,” he said, eyebrows jumping in surprise. “You’re awake.”

Bucky’s scowl deepened as Steve and Sam kindly let themselves into his room and took up post at the foot of his bed.

“Yeah - thanks to you two. You wouldn’t know how to whisper if your life depended on it, Wilson.”

To his credit, Sam didn’t respond - merely rolled his eyes and cast an exasperated glance at Steve. With a sigh, Steve crossed his arms over his chest, his eyes down on the soft blue quilt Bucky had haphazardly wrinkled during the night.

“Look, I understand that you’re really upset right now.” Steve’s voice was soft, barely more than a murmur. “I know…I know how much she meant to you.”

Bucky felt his eyes starting to burn as he stared at his friends, and he hastily scrubbed at them with his palms, sniffing.

“But,” Steve continued, licking his lip. “We’ve got our marching orders - we’re on standby to pull out any day now. We - I - can’t have you going on binders, AWOL for 24 hours, and then stumbling in here piss drunk at 3 in the morning.”

“We thought you were dead, Barnes,” Sam added, clenching his jaw. “We’re on fuckin’ suicide watch, man. You’re gonna drink yourself to death over a breakup? Huh?”

Growling, Bucky reached behind himself for a pillow and hurled it at Sam’s head.

“Shut the fuck up-”

“No, Buck, Sam is right.” Steve’s brows were knitted together tightly. His eyes were sympathetic, but the rest of him was unflinching as stone. “You can’t do that again. What if you’d run yourself off the road, or gotten hit by a car?” Bucky scoffed, but Steve didn’t back down. Raising his voice he went on. “No, I really want you to think - would you be better off dead? Is that what you want? Is that what she would want?”

Eyes squeezed shut, Bucky saw her face right before him once again, her smiles, the way she used to look at him. The panic in her eyes during his parking lot showdown with Rumlow, the way she bit her lip when she was concentrating on something, how sleepy her eyes were in the mornings - each little piece of her, precious secrets he had tucked away in the hidden corners of his heart. He had thought, dreamed, that he had a lifetime to collect them all, fit all her parts together like a puzzle one piece at a time, and love every moment of it. Now, though. These lone pieces are all he has left, and they will never be enough.

What did she want? He knew only one thing for sure - that she was the only person who could say.

“I don’t think it matters to her either way, punk.”

**********

A few miles outside of town, just past the last lonely gas station, was the exit ramp to the interstate. The road had seen better years; the pavement was pitted with potholes and cracks, haphazardly patched with uneven lumps of asphalt that left drivers weaving between lanes and wondering which would do more damage to their tires. But, since this part of the state saw less traffic than other areas, infrastructure money was slow to trickle down towards repair and reconstruction.

Y/N had driven this road a handful of times - as she moved into town, and then when she had taken the drive a couple of times to visit her friends in the city. It was desolate enough to be a slightly depressing drive; nothing but scorched fields for miles on either side of the road, and the steep ditches that banked it on either side were overgrown with wispy stalks of dead grass. Overhead, a grey and overcast sky shadowed everything, promising a winter day best spent indoors.

She tuned in and out of a true crime podcast while she drove, hardly seeing the road in front of her. Her mind was too far gone on the events of the past few days - and everything she had to do with the coming ones. But there was something comforting here, in the grip of the wheel in her hands, a travel mug of coffee still steaming in the cupholder, an open road ahead of her. She felt…awake, present. Bruised, but not broken. And ready to get back up.

Of course, it shook her when a cop car pulled out of the overgrowth on the shoulder of the exit ramp, putting on speed to keep up with her. Mentally she reviewed her driving - still only 5 over the speed limit, her lights were on and working, her tags were in date. They had no reason to pull her over, she rationalized.

And they didn’t. The car stayed right behind her for the next 10 miles, quietly driving at her speed, keeping a couple car lengths’ distance between. No flashing lights, no sirens.

So why were her palms sweating?

After 20 miles, the sirens finally started blaring, blue and red flashes blinking in her rearview mirror. Despite being raised to respect the law, she felt nervous as she glanced back at the car, easing her foot off the accelerator, but not quite braking to pull over. She bit her lip, hesitating another few seconds as the alarm grew louder behind her. Her stomach clenched nervously.

Stop freaking out. You’re just worried about getting a ticket. Sucking in a deep breath through her nose, she scolded herself and gently pulled her car over to the side of the road, careful not to get too far into the muddy grass along the shoulder. Fingers fidgeting nervously on the steering wheel, she watched as the officer got out of his car and strolled up to her window at a leisurely pace. His head was shaved, and he wore dark mirrored sunglasses, in spite of the gloomy light of the day. As she rolled down her window, she squinted at his face, trying to recognize him from the adrenaline-blurred memories of the night Bucky killed Brock Rumlow - but the low slope of his cheekbones, the clean-shave, the firm-set frown are all unfamiliar to her.

“Good afternoon, ma’am,” he greeted her, one hand on his hip. It drew her eyes down towards his gun. “License and registration please.”

Instinctively, she nodded and reached towards her wallet lying in the passenger seat to dig out her license. The officer was silent, propping one hand against her car while he waited; she could hear her own heartbeat in her ears and willed herself to calm down.

Clearing her throat, she gathered her courage and spoke up.

“Excuse me, officer-” He barely glanced up from where he was perusing her car registration. “Why did you pull me over?”

He looked up at her fully at the question, shifting his stance and licking his upper lip.

“One of your tail lights is out,” he said, shoving her papers back through the window. “That’s a real safety issue.”

“My tail light…?” Her tail light - which had been changed only a month ago. She knew, because Bucky did it himself. He had always been worried about her safety; every time she was going somewhere without him, he did a full inspection of the car, testing brakes and changing the oil, going over every last inch of it and then filling up the tank with gas before she left. Last time, she’d sat in the garage nursing a cup of cider as she watched him fiddle with the lights…

She shook her head to lose the thoughts of him.

“I’m sorry, sir, but my tail lights are working just fine, I just had the bulbs changed.” She leaned forward in the seat, peering up at the officer. “Are you sure that there’s something wrong with them?”

Frown deepening even further, he crossed his arms and widened his stance.

“Ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to get out of the car?”

“Excuse me?”

“Get out of the car, ma’am.”

“What? Why?”

“Please, just calm down and get out of the vehicle.”

“But-” her protest broke off as he shifted his stance back, one hand inching towards the mace in his belt. She glanced at her phone, sitting in the unoccupied cupholder with her aux cable connected to it. Her fingers twitched - for a microsecond, she contemplated the very bad idea of reaching for it, refusing to get out of the car, calling-calling…someone. Someone.

But surely, if she cooperated, this would all be worked out with just a minor headache, or maybe a ticket, she reassured herself. She repeated it in her head as she unbuckled her seatbelt and opened the door, climbing out of the car carefully, her hands held out to her sides where they could be seen.

Once she was out of her car, the officer took a step forward and pushed on her door, shutting it with a resounding click.

“Okay, I’m out of the car…”

“Turn around and put your hands on the hood.”

“I’m sorry, what?” she exclaimed, hearing her voice hitch in alarm. Her eyes cast up the road and back towards the exit ramps - there were no other cars in sight. No witnesses. “Am I under arrest?”

“Shut the fuck up,” he growled, out of patience. His hand went to rest on his gun now. “Turn around and put your fucking hands on the hood of the car.”

Her fists curled and she stood her ground. She willed away her thoughts of Bucky.

“No. I haven’t broken the law, you can’t arrest me for having a tail light out-”

In a blink, his gun was up and trained directly on her.

“Put your hands on the fucking car!” he yelled, loud enough to make her wince at the volume. Her thoughts tunneled on the barrel of the gun aimed at her chest.

Wordlessly, she turned and planted her hands on the cold metal, shivering in just her sweatshirt, her winter coat tossed in the passenger seat while she was driving. The tips of her fingers went numb and her eyes watered, stung by the wind. Her dry tongue pressed against the backs of her teeth - if she tried to swallow she’d choke.

“Who are you?” Her voice shook, but she managed the words. Scared and alone, but she’d fight, goddammit. She’d fight. He would want her to fight. “Who the hell are you and what do you want?”

“Shut up.” A firm, cold point of pressure between her shoulder blades as he pressed the gun against her back. There was a faint buzzing sound and then the rustle of fabric; when he spoke again, it clearly wasn’t to her. “Yes, sir?” He answered his phone. “Yes - we’re on schedule. I have the package. Will confirm when its secure and en route.”

Her heart raced wildly and her mind went white with fear. What was he talking about? This had to be some kind of mistake, a misunderstanding-

Just as she opened her mouth to speak again, the butt of his gun came down against the back of her head; her vision exploded in stars, and then faded to black as she slumped against her car. Barely conscious, she felt herself being dragged away down the road, lifted and shoved into the backseat of the squad car, unceremoniously dumped with her face down against the cold leather. The engine hummed to life; a seatbelt clicked - not hers.

“Sir?” He spoke again from the front seat. “Package is secured.”

She wondered if Bucky was coming to find her. He would, she told herself. He’d come.

And then, nothing.

[songficsbyrissi]

Let Em’ Know (part 4)

Previously on Let Em’Know......(click here for part 3)

Through her paralyzing fear, the woman was confused and gulped loudly. “M-may I ask why what?”

Erik cocked his gun, placing it underneath the woman’s chin and chuckled darkly. “You’ll see why they call me Killmonger.”

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

This nigga had you fucked all the way up. The audacity of him doing this shit when he fucking knew better. You highkey wanted to punch him dead in his shit. 

That fucking liar.

Stephanie observed you as you continued to fold panties angrily and raised an eyebrow.

“You ok, girl?” She asked in her blaccent and you sighed deeply, looking straight ahead.

“I’m fine, Stephanie.” You looked back down and heard someone walk into the store. “Why don’t you go tend to the customer?”

“Mhmmmm I will gladly tend to him.” Stephanie walked away and you shook your head, just wondering why does your manager keep fucking with you by always putting you to work with her. It’s like she was begging you to clock her shit.

“Hey princess.”

You glanced up to see the nigga that got you pissed the fuck off.

“Go away, Erik. I’m fucking pissed at you.” You huffed moving to the rack of clothes and he followed you, of course.

“What did I do?” Erik was genuinely puzzled at your anger towards him. You turned around to look at him.

“You fucking lied to me. That’s what!”

Erik’s heart began to pound furiously against his chest. How the fuck did you know? Shit he was caught and he was going to lose you.

“Y/N, I can explain...” he cleared his throat.

You folded your arms, kinking an eyebrow. “Yes please explain to me what the fuck was so important you couldn’t text me when you got home!”

Record scratch. That’s what you’re so mad at him? Erik thought he was caught. He hid the relief on his face and began to chuckle.

“Princess, a nigga got in the crib and knocked out. My bad. You know how it be like that.” He grinned in realization. “Aww you were worried about your man?”

You sucked your teeth as his arm wrapped around your neck. “No I wasn’t.” “So you admit I’m your man?”

You sucked your teeth hard. “No.”

“Took too long to answer, Princess.”

You turned on your heel to head to the back when he grabbed your wrist, caressing it with his thumb by rubbing circles which you didn’t wanna admit, made you tingly inside.

“Lemme take you out on a date.” Erik told you softly then narrowed his eyes. “And I mean an actual date. Just you and me. Not your dumbass friends tagging along.”

“Erik!” You freed your hand from his grasp and put it on your hip.

“Don’t get me wrong! I fuck with your friends. They’re good ass people but those niggas are dumb as hell.”

“You right.” You mumbled looking away then picked your head up, snapping your fingers. “But they’re my dumbasses!”

Erik continued to stare at you, waiting for his answer. You sighed deeply trying to avoid the heat in your cheeks.

“Fine. Friday night. Pick me up at 7.”

Erik grinned kissing your forehead. “Aight bet.” He went on his merry way and you called after him.

“Don’t make me regret it, Stevens!”

Erik turned to face you while still walking away from the store. “You won’t! And you know you won’t!”

You shook your head, fighting back a smile. You hated to admit it but he was fucking right. You were looking forward to this date and you knew you would have an amazing time. You spent your shift thinking about Erik and what to wear on this date.

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

Erik pulled up to the abandoned warehouse which was his place of business. Exiting his vehicle, he greeted the men posted up in the front and entered looking for his beloved cousin. When he found her on her laptop sitting next to Klaue, he marched in front of her and slammed her laptop close.

“Yo what the hell?!” Soraya looked up at her cousin with furious eyes. “Why the fuck did you do that, Erik?! I was in the middle of something!”

“I don’t give a fuck!” Erik hissed getting in her face. “What I do give a fuck about is my girl and imma need for you to leave her the fuck alone. I’m not playing with you, Soraya.”

Her brows drew together in confusion as Erik sat back. “Erik, what the fuck are you talking about?”

“I’m not stupid, So. You think I ain’t peep that fucking black Volvo lurking around my girl���s house? That was you and you need to cut the shit.”

Soraya scoffed, getting in his face. “First of all, bitch, I’m not the only one in this damn city that drives a fucking Volvo, aight and second, you think I give a fuck about your love life? I DON’T.”

Erik sucked his teeth loudly and stood up straight. “Whatever. Just stop that shit.”

“Killmonger, she’s got a point. There’s many black Volvo’s in this goddamn city. Could be anyone. Could be an enemy. Could be your girlfriend’s neighbor. All I know is.....” Klaue stood up from his chair and walked up to Erik, coming face to face with a serious expression. “You better stay focused or I’ll get someone else do your job. Got that?”

“You can’t kick me out of this shit, man. I’m the best.”

Klaue leaned in. “Watch me.”

With that last remark, Klaue walked out of the warehouse doors and Erik sucked his teeth for the millionth time today and faced his cousin. She was smirking in amusement.

“You’re Klaue’s bitch. Never thought I would see Killmonger as the white man’s bitch!”

“Soraya, shut the fuck up. His pasty ass is bluffing. Motherfucker knows he needs me.” Erik scoffed then crossed his arms, beginning to laugh. “And you really gonna sit here and talk about the White man when your daddy is one? If anything, your moms is one.”

She ceased her laughing fit and rolled her eyes. “First of all, I don’t claim my white side and you know that. Second of all, that’s your aunt, stupid.”

“I’m aware. That’s how a family tree works, stupid.”

“Anyways, I found another house that needs a repo job. We gotta hit that shit Friday night. We can’t go too late because the family-“

Erik put his hand up to stop his cousin’s talking. “Let me save you some time. I won’t be able to hit this lick. Y’all gonna have to do this one without me?”

“Why nigga?”

“None of your damn business. That’s why.”

Realization dawned on her face and she folded her arms, scoffing out of annoyance. “I know what it is. Your girl. Erik, you can’t be seriously neglecting your fucking job for some girl!”

“She ain’t some girl, SoSo. She’s my girl. I would quit all this shit right now for her but I’m not. I’m just taking a day off. Now get off my fucking back, aight? You keep forgetting I’m the boss here.”

Soraya let out a sardonic laugh. “Really? Answer this for me, Erik: if your girl found out this shit right here is how you make your living, would she still be fucking with you? If she found out all the dates and gifts you giving her was possible because of you being involved in this shit, will she ride for you?”

Erik just stared at his cousin with his nostrils flaring, his jaw clenched, and his fist closed tight by his side. He honestly didn’t know how to answer that question and it really pissed him off.

Soraya’s tough demeanor softened and she placed a hand on his shoulder. “Erik, I’m just looking out for you. I see you just completely disregarding the mission and I just wanna make sure this broad is worth the distraction. That’s all. I just need you to be careful.”

Erik turned his chin, looking at her through narrowed eyes.

“And when am I not?”

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

Friday finally came and to say you were just a mess was an understatement. You couldn’t find anything to wear and Erik refused to tell you where y’all were going so you can have an idea. It was beyond frustrating.

“Fuck it! I’m just gonna go naked!” You declared as you flung yourself on your bed dramatically. Neriah, who was already sitting there, snickered.

“Yeah do that. Erik’s ass would LOVE that.”

You glared up at her. “You’re not helping.” You turned your glare to Rayvon who was playing Candy Crush on his phone at your desk. “You too, Ray Ray!”

He sucked his teeth, sparing you a glance. “Girl, I’m a nigga. I don’t even know why I’m here.” You stood up walking towards him.

“Because....” You snatched the phone from his hands. “I need a nigga’s point of view.”

Rayvon gestured towards your other friend. “Neriah eats pussy and plays basketball. That’s enough of a nigga for you!”

She got off the bed and tied up her straight black hair. “Boy, I will fuck you up!”

“Can y’all stop?! Please?! I just want to look good for Erik but be appropriate for whatever the hell we’re doing! If you ain’t gonna help me, get the fuck out!” After yelling at your two best friends, there was a silence upon the room. You looked between the two of them as it seemed like they were deep in the thought.

Then Rayvon spoke up.

“I got it. Booty shorts and a tank top.”

You shook your head vigorously, pushing both of them towards the bedroom door.

“No. Get out. Just get out.”

“What you mean? That was helpful! You wanted a nigga’s point of view!”

Neriah began to protest as well. “What? I didn’t even do anything!”

“Nope! Bye! I’ll call you when I get back!”

Even though they kept protesting, you continued to push them out until they were outside of your room and you slammed the door shut, locking it. You loved your friends. You really do but Erik was right. Those niggas were dumb as hell. You finally found a red button down sundress and wore it with a light blue jean jacket. You wore black strappy sandals, showing off your pedicure of white toes. You styled your box braids in a high bun and stared at yourself in the mirror. Hopefully, this outfit was good for whatever Erik had planned.

You heard the doorbell from downstairs. You were home alone due to your parents and your little brother going out of state. You would’ve went with them but you had to work as much as you can before you went back to school. You went to answer the door and on the other side was Erik dressed in a red shirt, light blue jean jacket, black jeans and matching black Jordan’s. You eyed him up and down and he did the same with you.

“So I’m guessing you were watching me dress through my window or some shit because I’m not understanding why the hell are you copying me?” You raised an eyebrow, jokingly.

Erik chuckled showing off his gold fangs as you locked the front door behind you and walked with him towards his car. “Princess, please. You knew I was wearing this and wanted to match your man’s fly. I ain’t mad at you though. It’s cute. Second best fit you could wear.”

“What’s the first?” You asked as he opened the passenger door for you and you got in.

“Ahh the first would be some booty shorts and a tank top.” He stared off into space for a bit and looked back at you who stared at him through squinted eyes. 

“What?”

“Either you’re fucking with me or y’all niggas are all the same. Ray told me the same thing.”

Erik blew air out of his mouth, shaking his head. “Damn the one time that nigga says something smart, you don’t listen to him.”

“Shut up and drive.”

The ride to the secret destination was filled with talking and trap music playing in the background. You didn’t know why but you felt a sense of deja vu. Your eyes were glued to your phone when the sight of bright lights caught your attention. You looked up and your eyes dropped. He brought you to the annual city fair. Now you know why everything felt so familiar.

“We came here on our first date.” You breathed still staring at the light and amusement rides before you.

“I’m glad you remembered, ma. I was scared you didn’t.” Erik replied lowly as he put the car in park.

You glanced at him giving him a wide smile. “Of course I remembered. We went again the next after that too. I haven’t been here since........” your wide smile dropped. You didn’t want to say it.

“Since....?” Erik urges taking your hand and forcing you to make eye contact with him. You obliged with a huge sigh.

“Since you told me you were leaving and we broke up.” You whispered and you could feel Erik’s rising disappointment in himself. “I remember it like it was yesterday. We came to this fair and we were having a good time. Well at least I was. You seemed distracted the whole night. It was bugging me and scaring me. I didn’t know what was up with you. I was terrified you were going to break up with me. Tell me you didn’t love me anymore and that you had feelings for someone else. We were driving home and-“

“You annoyed the fuck out of me the whole ride.” Erik took over the story telling. “I wasn’t ready to tell you but you kept pushing for me to tell you what’s up. Then I finally told you that I was leaving. I will never forget the heartbreak on your face. That shit haunted me in my dreams. I never wanted to break your heart and ended up doing that shit. What broke my heart even more was when you said you wouldn’t wait for me. You didn’t want a long distance relationship. I couldn’t blame you for that. It wasn’t fair for me to expect you to wait for me but a nigga was hoping.”

You swallowed hard and stared at your fingers. You had no idea that Erik was hurting too during that time. You kept painting him as a selfish motherfucker but he was doing what was best for him which caused you to do what was best for you. What was best for both of y’all ended up hurting way more in the end. You felt Erik grab your chin, forcing you to look in his sincere brown eyes.

“I want you to know that I am really back for good, baby girl. I ain’t going nowhere. I mean that shit.”

You found your hands grabbing his bearded face and connecting your lips with his. The two of you kissed for a few seconds before he pulled away, smiling.

“Come on. As much as I rather just kiss you and have you to myself in this car, that ain’t a real date.”

As a true gentleman, Erik went around and opened the door for you to get out and you two held hands, entering the fair. You started off on going on roller coasters then hit the games. You two won the games and received prizes. You shared fried dough and ended the night going on the Ferris wheel. You two made out as it went around and the teenagers above you voiced their disgust.

“Eww! Get a damn room!”

Erik looked up, shouting. “You better shut the fuck up and mind your business before I suck her titty on this damn Ferris wheel!”

“Erik!” You hissed hitting his arm.

“What?! They acting like they never seen kissing before!”

After the Ferris wheel, you called it a night and went home. Erik walked you to your front door and when you went in for a kiss goodbye, he dodged it. When you had a look of confusion, he chuckled holding your hands.

“Y/N, I’m not gonna ask you if you’ll be my girl because you’ve been my girl. You were just playing games.” This caused you to giggle and he continued with a smirk on his face. “Now will you stop playing games?”

You wrapped your arms around his neck, matching his smirk. “Yes. I will stop playing games. I’m your girl.”

“Let em know, baby girl and say that shit louder.”

You sighed and took a deep breath. You began shouting from the top of your lungs.

“I’M ERIK’S GIRL! I’M ERIK STEVENS’ GIRL!”

Back in the passenger seat of the black Volvo, Damien blew smoke out his mouth and hissed. Seeing your lips on Erik pissed him off. That should be him and it’s going to be him.

“Y/N, you don’t see that nigga ain’t for you but I ain’t mad at you, baby. That fuck nigga is a good actor.” He brought the blunt back to his lips and exhaled harshly. “It’s cool because I’m gonna make you see that that nigga ain’t for you. Just wait on it.”

Tags:  @lifelover4u @dessianna1 @brattywriters-anonymous @marvelpotterlove @purple-apricots @blackpinup22 @ljstraightnochaser @slimmiyagi @cancerianprincess @iamrheaspeaks @blowmymbackout @vibranium-chakra @nerd-lovely @chaneajoyyy @ohliyaxoxo @chefjessypooh @yourfavoritefavorite @airis-paris14 @ljstraightnochaser @quietstorm-73 @msincognito67 @sociallyawkward18 @mychemicalimagines @nerd-lovely @marvelpotterlove   @destinio1 @madamslayyy @thehomierobbstark @fd-writes​ @semianta​

[georgemackayhey]

Silver Lining: Chapter 2

In which you and George decide to make the most of life after meeting up at the wrong place at just the right time...

w/c: 3k

a/n: Thanks for such lovely feedback, already! This has been so much fun to write and we’re just getting started y’all! Please let me know if I forgot to tag you or if ya want to be added ♡

taglist: @etherealallure @maria-josefin @shelbygirlsclubx @loulouloueh @clarkewithameme​

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───※ ·❆· ※───

Seen yesterday 11:12 am

Of course, he hadn't responded to the shared google doc, you laughed to yourself in the car park of the airport. What were you thinking, inviting a stranger on holiday? You were nearly full of more regret than excitement for your pending adventure. But here you were, double-checking all the things in your handbag.

A pair of sunglasses, your plane tickets, and passport all accounted for, you unplugged the charger from the console and double-checked the time on your phone screen.

Right on time. You locked your phone, sliding it into your bag as a wave of nerves swept through you. Was this even going to be any fun? What was the point of going on some big romantic getaway if-

Your phone buzzed in your hand before you had let go all the way. When you pulled it into view a single notification lit up your screen... from George.

Wait up for me? ;)

Oh. Oh? You found yourself staring between the text message and his name in the corner of the screen. Was he really coming? Or was the cheeky emoji his way of sardonically letting you down easy?

You clutched your phone, trying to read between the lines as you collected your luggage from the back seat. You glanced at the message again as you locked your car and made your way inside the bright airport. Would lingering around the lobby make you look like a loon when you were inevitably left all alone? Would checking into your flight summon George, but all too late?

You glanced down to your phone one last time, decidedly turning it off along with your useless worries. You slid the device into your bag, reaching for your tickets and passports in exchange. And right when you turned your heels, you stopped in your tracks.

"Good morning!"  

It was him. George Mackay was stood there, in some high-end joggers, sporting perfectly messy hair and a smile that made you wonder what he had to be so damn happy about.

"You're here."  You realized, looking him up and down like taking notice of the laces of his shoes would solidify his existence.

"For some reason, I am." George nodded, shifting his weight as you stood staring. You wondered for a beat, what exactly you'd gotten yourself into. But all at once, a family of four rushed by in a hurry to the tune of their father chanting, "We're gonna be late!"

"Shall we?" You decide, remembering you were on a clock. You extended one of the plane tickets to George, whose already pleasant grin grew during the exchange.

You moved together, checking your bags, shifting through security and strolling amongst the slew of fellow travelers.

As you walked through the airport alongside George, crept into a conversation about how you’d both ended up here. About your recent ex’s, how for a dozen different reasons you should have seen it coming. How it was still sort of hilarious the way it all came to an explosive head. As George laughed along with you over the shitty situation, you felt more like you’d been catching up with an old friend than getting to know a new one.

Sure there was an air of elusiveness between the two of you, but it didn’t seem George had anything to hide. He took his time forming most of his responses, knowing there was a certain level of trust being built as you marched toward spending a handful of days together. But even though his quips were quiet and maybe even coy, he spoke in a manner that was confident and sure. You found yourself in a bit of a daze, studying his face as he spoke. He wore a hint of a smile and an almost furrowed brow. His sparkly blue eyes glancing at you every now and again, as if to check you were still listening.

All these factors added up to dampen your worries over if this was a good idea. George hadn’t given you a single reason to feel unsure of his company. He even asked somewhere back at the baggage claim if you were sure about his tagging along. By the time you wound up at the waiting gate, it seemed you’d found fast friends in one another.

“Are you sad about the wedding?” George wondered, sitting on a stool at your side. You rested your purse at a low risen bar, spinning on the stool to face him.

“I guess a little. I’d spent so long planning.” You shrugged. Funny how you really didn’t miss Colin, though. You explained to George how you met Colin in high school, before he got a big fancy job and fell in love with the money and power he gained. How you’d already settled into the role of doting on him, and you stopped feeling anything for the guy a while back, but only realized after it ended. You explained how you were glad for it now, but how it scared you a little to have been so blind.

“What about Chloe? Do you miss her?” You wondered, propping your elbow on the table at your side, and resting your head in your hand.

George gave you a lifeless grin, casting his eyes off in the distance as he explained how she was hardly ever around. How he wasted more breath begging for her to pay attention to him than ever actually spending much time together. How he felt silly for trying to make it work, after realizing all the signs it never would, were there from the beginning.

“I wish her the best, though, I suppose.” George sighed as if he wanted to hate Chole for what she did, but his purely kind soul wouldn’t allow it.

“I found her Instagram last night and scrolled through. I wanted to be mad at her, but I wasn’t. I mean, lots of her posts were pretty annoying, but I digress.” You gave a light chuckle. The girl had thousands of posts and saved stories, most of which were emoji saturated over-filtered bullshit. But she was studying to be a nurse and she had a family and friends who cared for her. She was just a normal girl who fucked up.

George hummed in a sort of agreement but the way his brow drew together made you toss him a look that demanded he speak his mind.

“Social media really isn’t my thing,” George informed matter of factly. Ah, so that explained why you hadn’t been able to find any accounts of his, last night.

“But you’re famous. Isn’t that like the prime place to advertise or whatever?” You chuckled, sitting up a little, stretching to shift positions.

“I’m not famous,” George stated, plain as day, that same perplexing micro expression lacing his features together. You huffed a laugh as his expression remained,

“Well, I recognized you and I'm nobody. We live in different worlds." You pointed out, playing along.

“That’s not true, is it? Look at us now.” George rose a coy brow as if to prove a point. A montage of muddle memories of the past couple days flashed across your brain as you looked to George, realizing this was really truly happening.

“Why’d you decide to come anyway?” You wondered all of a sudden. Shouldn’t he be off charming a few news anchors or something?

George sat up a little from where he’d been slumped against the counter space, giving a small slow nod as if he knew this question was coming sooner or later.

"Well... I've got some time to enjoy myself before I start my next film. The last one I worked on was, well it was intense. Made my head spin a bit, if I'm honest. The next one will probably do the same, so I figured a bit of spontaneous fun was in order."

"How could you possibly enjoy work like that?"

"I like bringing these stories to life, even if they're hard to tell. Besides, not all of my roles are quite so intense." George explained, drumming his fingers on his knee for a beat. "Ah, but you should know, I'm apparently quite famous."

He cast you a blank look, waiting for you to crack a smile before he did. With a shake of your head, you let out a laugh and stopped marveling over how you ended up here long enough to appreciate the fact that this was happening at all.

And then, it was time to board the plane. You found your seats, watching the last of the passengers cram their belongings overhead.

"Why Rome and Barcelona?" George asked as he settled by your side once more.

"Colin wanted Barcelona. I wanted Rome so he booked it first to get it 'out of the way'" You mocked your ex, feeling more grateful by the minute to be rid of him.

"You really scored with that charmer." George snickered, relaxing back against his seat.

"And now I have a masochistic actor taking his place. I'm so lucky."  You shot back withholding a massive grin. You did feel pretty damn fortunate.

"You literally asked for it." George pointed a finger your way.

"You literally offered." You countered. His lips were upturned, and parted as if he wanted to respond but only a defeated breathy laugh escaped. It caused you to wonder if he was regretting making the strange offer. If he'd suddenly realized what he was doing and wished he'd never agreed to it.

That's about the time the plane started to jet down the runway. When the wheels lifted off the ground, the small worry in your stomach spread to your chest and everything seemed so insanely wrong all at once.

"I've never flown before." You admitted quietly, gripping onto either armrest and hoping the feeling of dread would pass if you alluded to it out loud. George glanced to you, sitting up a little straighter, and speaking up in that tone of his that was calm yet demanding all at once.

"It's just like a roller coaster, just at first. Then it's like nothing."

"I threw up on Splash Mountain." You fretted, the one and only ride you ever had the experience to draw from.

"Gives a new meaning to the name aye?" George joked, but you could find it in yourself to laugh along.

You knew George was only trying to keep up the banter you'd picked up somewhere back at the airport, but you were far too freaked out to join in. You hoped the sorry look in your eyes was enough of an apology before you screwed them shut, trying to ignore the invisible vice around your throat.

"Okay, it's alright, you've just gotta breathe." George shifted beside you, leaning in a little closer to gently relay his message.

"My heart's beating so fast I can't even feel it," You admitted. It felt like the buzz from the broken air conditioner vent overhead, with a flap vibrating against cold air. George followed your gaze to the thing but shook his head as your focus remained.

Then, without a word, George gently tore your grasp away from the armrest. He decidedly pressed the back of your hand to his chest, holding it there as he said,

"Focus on that beat and try to match it."

His heartbeat was unmistakable and strong. His concentration was on you, and you were almost lost taking note of the exact color of his eyes. They were sodalite, the color of a world you could have easily lost yourself in.

"Thanks." You mewled, daring to keep your focus on George, forgetting for just a split second, what you were so anxious about.

After you'd gained composure, and there was no reason for your hand to be intertwined with Georges any longer, there was still a nervous flutter in your chest.

George eased into a conversation about his favorite books, asking you to list off yours, joking that you needed to find something in common besides the grim reality of being recently dumped. He made you laugh, and he listened when you spoke. You'd almost forgotten where you were headed, and why, entirely too lost in the fun you were having on the ride there.

By the time the plane landed, it was as if you'd planned for this trip together all along, with George rambling about the things you'd organized in the google doc you shared.

In the blink of an eye, Rome was alive all around you, at long last. You passed through colorful markets and waved to musicians in the streets as you took a short journey to a hotel just outside of the city.

When you ended up in the bustling sunlight saturated lobby, the very kind and tired looking woman behind the front desk let you know that the room you'd reserved wasn't quite ready. She very kindly offered to stow away your bags until then, while you decided to take to the streets.

All the while, George was always somewhere right behind you, charming the lady at the front desk and making a cab driver laugh so hard he cried. You realized you were in the presence of someone very special, George wasn't like anyone you'd ever known. And strange as it was to sit by him in these sudden change of plans, it was oddly familiar. It was as if it was always meant to be this way.

The cab dropped you off in the heart of the city where you pointed out sights and ordered some coffees from a vendor to fuel your stroll through town. You were finally in the place you'd longed to end up, even having only just gotten there, there was so much beauty to spin around and soak up. The sun was low in the sky, peeking through a dusty alley in a quiet part of the city you'd wandered to. When you took to a bench to rest a beat, you checked your notifications and found your phone was full of missed phone calls from your mother. You couldn't help but wonder if you'd made some kind of mistake.

But then there was George, lingering a few feet away, snapping photos of a street sign like a dad on vacation. The golden sun highlighted his charming features as he turned to you with a smile.

"I see why you choose this place. It's like nothing bad can happen here." He spoke, sauntering your way with that same dopey smile he'd been sporting all afternoon.

"What about in the '80s when that girl got kidnapped by the police and the church covered it up?" You spoke up, crossing your arms as he approached you with the shake of his head.

"You're a real ray of sunshine, huh?" George laughed, shifting his weight to stand right in front of you. "There are bright sides to every story too, ya know?"

"Says the guy who keeps auditioning for horrific films." You shrug with a grin. This was what you'd been doing all day, trying to uncover each other's layers between the deepest level of small talk imaginable.

"Okay, first of that's just a lie," George pointed, "And who says I'm not looking for the bright side in those stories? Why not try and make the most of the bad part of life?" So that's why he was here, you figured. But you had to counter him.

"Sometimes life is just shitty ya know?" You shrugged as a breeze blew past.

"Yeah, well not now. Come on, let's go get some dinner." George held out his hand for you to take, pulling you from where you sat on the bench. You couldn't help but chuckle as you followed his lead. Your shared laughter echoed through the empty streets as George directed you to an eatery where tiny tables were packed into a vine-covered stone patio. He'd found his way there without fault, leaving you to wonder if he'd been here before. And if he hadn't, George's assuredness was admirable.

The crowded restaurant was full of smiling faces, yours included. Everyone vendor and passerby you'd interacted with thus far was incredibly kind. Rome was everything you'd imagined and more, and you'd only been for a couple of hours.

As you ordered food and ate, you and George went on slyly getting to know each other. He mentioned his family, comparing the dinner he ordered to his grandmother's best recipes. You admitted your mother had phoned a dozen times throughout the day. George insisted you call her back right away, recalling a time he ran off as a boy, almost giving his mother a heart attack and still felt guilty to this day.

So to cease his pestering, you called her right in the middle of your meal. The conversation with her wasn't very long, as you informed her you'd taken off on the trip you planned for and that you'd call to tell her the rest of the story later, only ringing now to let her know you were safe and fine.

And by the time you finished eating, George refused to let you pay for any of it.

"You've planned and paid for most of this trip. I can't just tag along with nothing to offer" George laughed, but swatted your hand away from the bill all the same. "So it's either I pay for dinner or I force you into some spectacular plan and blow all my savings on it, your choice."

"You're impossible." You nodded, slumping back allowing him to pick up the check, just this once.

Back at the hotel, the lobby was just as full of people as it had been early in the day. You almost reached out to George as you pushed through the crowd, just so you wouldn't lose him, but you didn't.

After collecting your room key and luggage, you were greeted with your first issue. It was inevitable for something to have gone wrong, but the stakes were a little higher now, in the company of a man you just met. You didn't even know his middle name.

But now you were stuck in Rome together, in a teeny tiny hotel room with one small bed and a wooden chair in the corner.

"I'll go see if they can switch rooms." You sleepily sighed, spinning to head back down the couple flights of stairs you'd just trudged up.

The same sweet woman at the front desk looked even more exhausted when you reached her again and you almost felt bad for asking, but you had to.

When the lady regretfully informed you that they were entirely booked, pointing to a walk-in who opted to sleep in the waiting lounge, you wished her a goodnight and worried all the way back upstairs.

"We could take shifts like they did in the war." You shrugged, informing George that your trip down to change things proved unsuccessful.

"I don't think that's a viable option." George chuckled. He was sitting in the rickety wooden chair, thumbing through a paperback that rested on the desk beside him. Before you could speak up again, he shut the book and stood, announcing that he was going to get cleaned up for the night.

You sorted through a few of your belongings as George occupied the bathroom, pacing at the end of the tiny bed. The room was quaint and warm and held all the charms you'd longed to be surrounded by. But what the hell were you supposed to do now?

You kept on trying to brainstorm when it was your turn to clean up, but you'd had far too much to still try and process about today, that your mind went blank.

Back in the room, You found George settled below the paint chipped window, leaning back against the desk. His legs kicked across the floor, that old ratty paperback in his lap.

"George, get up you're not sleeping on the floor." You sat on the edge of the bed, turning back the covers. He twisted to gaze up at you, confused.

"Come on, we're grown-ups and we're only here two nights." You gestured for him to occupy the bed space beside you, easing toward the edge best you could. You could practically hear him thinking from all the way across the very small room.

"Don't make me count to three." You threatened, giving George a look. He let himself smile as he rolled his eyes and stood with a sigh. He turned off the light and somehow after you'd both situated under the covers, there was a miraculous sliver of space between you.

Worn out from all the travel you were nearly asleep when your head hit the pillow. Tomorrow was a tour of the Sistine Chapel and the Vatican. It was the day you'd planned for a million little things you'd always dream of doing, but now, you felt guilty.

"George..." You spoke out, quiet as you could, gazing out of the window you faced.  "If you got to spend a day in Rome what would you want to do most of all?" He offered to tag along on your trip, but you wanted him to have fun, too.

A beat passed in the still of the night and you figured the guy on the opposite side of the small but arguably cozy bed, had fallen asleep. But then in a low gentle whisper, George replied...

"Do as Romans do."

When in Rome, you thought... It was a saying used as an excuse to indulge but you'd forgotten it really meant to adapt to your situation, to roll with the punches and not get hung up in trying to fight or figure out the natural flow of things.

With that, you fell asleep, dreaming of waking up to another adventure

───※ ·❆· ※───

[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.

[ladybugsfanfics]

Shut Up And Kiss Me [11/?]

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x reader

Style: Multichapter

WC: 2k

Warnings: mention of blackout, exstreme awkwardness, 

Summary: You and Professor Hiddleston have been colleagues for many years now, and through those years the hatred for each other has only grown. Now, as a new school year starts, you’re being told that you have to share a classroom or a class. Neither are happy about the outcome, but knowing you’ll never come to an agreement, you let the class choose for you. Team-teaching is rare in 2019, but it is a lot harder to do when you can’t stand the person you’re doing it with. 

A/N: aaaa, i have been so absent, I know. This has taken forever, but now I can promise you I’m gonna be back. Not only will this, hopefully be updated more often (I have inspiration), but I also got like a ton of writing mojo (wrote 4k words yesterday) and a Loki!Piarate au is soon done and i have other shits, my requests are becoming easier though turns out they’re getting long. Anyways, I hope this can please you and I hope to be able to post more in the coming time. I love you all so much ^_^ P.S. it’s close to christmas and a christmas party... ;)

Previous | Seires Masterlist | Part Twelve

You can’t place the feeling. Not really. All you know is that something feels… off. Wrong. 

It’s Sunday, three days since halloween and you met Emma’s friends. Even though that was fun and all, the night could have been better had you stuck with the people you know. Not only would you be able to continue to get Tom being nice (which had your heart race a mile a minute), but you could also, maybe, have more fun seeing as you wouldn’t panic everytime you said something. 

However, three days later, something feels off. You’re not even sure if it has anything to do with Halloween (if it has anything to do with Tom lending you his coat because you were barely dressed in your costume),  or if it has something to do with the fact that you have no recollection of what you did last night. 

All you know is that something is not as it should be. 

You try to shake off the feeling and reach for your phone, where it lies on your nightstand. The clock on it reads 07.39 AM and you curse your annoying drunk self for always making sure you wake up early―it’s not that you go to bed early, no rather late actually (like you gotta stay up ‘til at least 3 AM), but more that whenever you do get drunk, you actually fall asleep right away and you actually sleep. Maybe that’s the cure. 

Despite wanting to continue your slumber, you decide to get up. Maybe you can figure out what’s giving you this feeling of something being amiss. 

One slightly wrong, though not that surprising, thing lies on your couch. Y/BFF/N has their face half planted in one of your pillows, though the angle works for them to breathe. One arm hangs loosely off the couch and their legs have tangled themselves in a blanket, where one is thrown over the back of the couch. You have no idea how that can be comfortable, and you bet they’ll tell you how much they regret it when they wake up. 

Yet, you know that’s not the feeling that haunts you. Seeing your best friend crashing on your couch is not a rare sight, though it is becoming rarer as time passes. 

Nothing is amiss in your apartment. Everything where you left it when you went out last night, even the now half-full bottle of wine you opened before leaving that sits on your countertop. 

The mystery continues, but the answers are not in your apartment. One thing’s for sure, you’re not about to go out and find out. 

Before you decide to check any messages or notifications, you find a glass, fill it with water and down it in seconds. Pulling your head back you become aware of the ache in it, and with the water helping you clear your mind a little, the pounding slowly creeps into a loud drum. 

Okay, so you’re not getting away from being hungover. Good to know. 

Not being able to focus with the drums really taking off in your head, you rush to the bathroom and find aspirin. You take two and swallow them with another glass of water. It’s gonna take a little while before they help so you slide down the bathroom wall and sit there to let yourself ease into the beating that keeps interrupting your thoughts. 

It feels like it takes forever, but when you check the clock, the pounding starts to wind down a little after more or less fifteen minutes. You don’t have the energy to get up from the warmth of the bathroom floor, so you continue to sit as you open your phone. 

You have three snaps, five messenger texts, two texts and eleven missed phone calls. The phonecalls belong to three people; three from Tom (your heart skips a beat at the thought that he thinks of you), six from Benedict, and surprisingly, two from Chris. 

The two texts are one message of having voicemails (three), and one message from Tom; I heard from Benedict. He’s worried, are you okay? - Tom. You ignore it, making a note to reply and listen to the voicemails after checking messenger and snap. 

It takes three seconds to regret checking snap. Two of the snaps are from people you have no idea who are, but who you probably added last night. The last one is a video of you from Y/BFF/N embarrassing yourself to the nth degree on the dance floor. You know they saved it, and you know there is no point in asking to delete it―no matter what, you know they won’t post it anywhere. 

In a state of shock, checking messenger becomes more automated that anything else. You read the messages; one with a similar name to one of the snap usernames that you ignore and delete the friend request seeing as the message itself is not one you want; one that’s from a groupchat with you, Y/BFF/N and another mutual friend that you don’t see that often as they live abroad, but whom you trust fully and therefore has replied to your drunk texts about wanting to fuck a certain person whose name shall not be mentioned; three texts from Chris asking what’s going on, if you’re okay and if there’s anything he can do to help. You only reply to Chris’s by asking why he wonders, saying yes and asking him if he knows anything about what happened last night―you do not admit to having no memory of the evening. 

Waiting for a reply you listen to the voicemails. All three are from Benedict; one he sounds mad in, one he sounds worried in, and one he threatens to call the police and tell them that you’re missing and that you might be in danger―it feels a little weird not knowing if that actually happened. 

You sigh, blowing your hair so it falls in your face. Well, well, gotta keep searching. 

In the living room, Y/BFF/N lies in the same position as before. You ignore them, instead focusing on the low rumble from your stomach. 

Hopefully, some food will help clear the mystery. 

The food itself doesn’t help. However, the replies from Chris does. 

Chris: asking because you seemed very drunk and i wanted to know you’re okay, good that you are, and no, i don’t know since you never really gave me anything to go on

You: okay, well, there are no other messages between us, anything I did to alert you??

Chris: uhh, no, actually it was Tom that called me

You: Tom?? Hiddleston?? The dude who I teach with?? 

Chris: yeah… i was surprised too, maybe talk to him?

You: yeah, im gonna 

Of course, that’s what you tell Chris. You know, with every ounce of your body, that you will not pick up the phone and either text or call him because you know that that would be the death of you. 

You will wait, as long as you can, to ask Tom why he called Chris. The thought of it alone just has that feeling of wrongness expand. You shake it off, put away your phone and return your attention to your food. 

 --

Going into work on Monday is not on your list of fun activities, but it is something you have to do. You suppose it would have been on your list of fun if not for the looming conversation you need to have with a certain professor. 

It takes little time after your first class to meet him. Usually, your schedules don’t coincide but you guess the universe isn’t on your side today. 

“Hi.” Tom purses his lips and puts his hands in his pockets. 

You nod. “Hi.”

“How was your weekend?” he asks. 

“It was good,” you say and nod. “You know what, I can’t really talk right now. Catch you later?” You shoot him a pained smile and hurry away before Tom can answer. There is no way you’ve ever been in a more awkward situation (and the worst part is that you don’t even know what it is that made it awkward―what the fuck did you say?!). 

You try not to think too hard about it as you make your way back to your office. With two hours of office time, you can get back to focusing on your research project and get your mind off Saturday night and your possibly very embarrassing utterance to Tom. 

God, what the fuck did you say?

It takes a solid five minutes for your mind to rush back to what’s been circling around the last twenty-four hours. 

“Okay, you know what?” you say out loud to the silence of your office. It does not reply back. However, in the need to say it out loud, you act as if it did. “I have to just ask. I’m gonna go to wherever he currently is and I’m gonna ask what I said and I’m gonna cut right to the chase and it’s gonna be alright. It’s gonna be okay. It’s probably not as bad as I think it is.” 

However, you don’t get up. It’s like you’re glued to your chair and no matter how much the nerves in your brain tells your legs to get up, they don’t move. 

For two hours, you just sit there. Almost so you’re late to class even. 

 --

“We’re doing a what?” 

Both you and Tom frown at Dean McHallan who, though with a slight roll of his eyes, nods. “You’re going to a conference in Scotland. I know it’s sudden and it seems weird, but they specifically asked for you two to speak.”

You raise a brow. “They asked for us to speak about what exactly? Do I have to prepare some kind of presentation or something now because, honestly, I’m not ready for that.” 

“They asked for you both to speak on team-teaching creative writing. They wanted input from your students as well so during the week now, ask them some questions that you can quote them on. And they wanted you, Y/N, to speak on your research project as they find it interesting and they weirdly enough hadn’t thought about it before. They would love to hear how you’re going about it.” 

Your mind races as you nod along to his words. What are you supposed to do? Say no, nope, you can’t do that. You literally have no choice because he’s already said you’re going and McHallan makes the final decisions and he also knows neither of you really have anything that important going on currently. 

“Okay, I guess we’re going to Scotland next week.” You’ve always wanted to go so maybe it’s an opportunity you should take anyway. 

“It’s settled then. Tom?”

The literature professor nods. “I can’t argue with your reasoning so I guess we’re going. I have some inquiries. Accomodations? Travel? Food? And when?”

McHallan hands each of you a piece of paper. “You will be in the same hotel, though different rooms. I think they’ll be just across from each other or something. You’ll fly there on wednesday morning, together, and have all wednesday evening to settle in and make the last preparations and so on. Food will be accounted for unless you eat above budget. There are breakfast and dinner included at the hotel, and lunch is served with the conference. If you eat anything outside of that it will be out of your own pocket. The schedule for the conference is on the back of that paper and the information you need about your flights just under there.”

You nod, going over the paper as McHallan talks and making different mental notes. Some of those make no sense, and one of them is ‘get trapped somewhere so you have to ask Tom what you did on Saturday’, though you’re afraid that one might be the hardest one to see through with.

[sublimestarker]

I am gonna ride til I cant no more

I forgot to post this yesterday

Peter Parker liked a few things - expensive cars, older men and a nice fuck. Usually those three wouldn't mix, but tonight was his lucky night. He had a date with Mr. Stark, a man who seemed too good to be true. You see when Peter signed up for a sugar baby website he expected to match with old horny pervs who had lots of money to spend on a date with a twink. But Mr. Stark was different - for one he wasn't boasting about his paycheck or cock size, like most men. And he wasn't just looking for a quick fuck - he wanted a genuine relationship first. Peter could respect that. The two men easily struck up a conversation and soon enough they had a date.

What the younger man didn't expect was to see a Tesla pull up to the arranged meeting spot. Most of the guys he hooked up previously drove minivans or big jeeps. Either this guy had serious bank or his midlife crisis had hit hard. Peter bit his lip, seeing a man got out of the car. Half-expecting it to be a driver, he didn't pay close attention until he said.

"Wow, Pete, you were all over me in our texts and now you won't even look at me." The younger man was about to apologize profusely when he saw who he was talking to.

"Holy shit, you're Tony Stark. You're the biggest tech developer there is.". Mr. Stark didn't have any pictures of his face, instead he opted for bellow the neck shots. That was a thing that most men did on the site did, so it didn't surprise Peter.

"I should've guessed you would know who I am, judging by the fact that you study at NYIT. This was a mistake."

"No, Mr. Stark, stay. I promise no more geeking over you. Also how do you know where I study?" Peter asked. He purposely met up with Tony at a public place, to avoid stalkers.

"I know the area. Plus your university hoodie was in the back of one of the pictures you sent me.". Peter reminded himself of all the photos he exchanged with Mr. Stark, their texts and phone calls and suddenly he was calmer about this whole thing. He got into the Tesla and hummed along to some song on the radio.

Tony had picked up a nice restaurant that was far enough from Stark towers, so nobody would recognize him. After his very public breakup with Pepper and the rumors about him and Steve and him and Stephen, he didn't need any more bad press. Peter didn't seem to mind, on the contrary, the boy was impressed with everything. Tony ordered for both of them and the younger man swore that food had never tasted that good. Between bites and non-alcoholic cocktails, the two of them struck up a conversation about sugaring.

"You're using the money to pay for your tuition? Nice job, but is that even possible?" Tony asked, eyeing the other man over the brim of his mojito mocktail glass.

"Well I work and I'm also on a scholarship, but I manage to make ends meet."

"Peter, I'm a genius , I know you'd need about 1500 even with a scholarship. How about I give you 2000 a month."

"Mr. Stark that's almost 25000 a year, I can't accept that."

"Kid, I'm a billionaire. I'd rather spend my money on that, instead of buying designer clothes or expensive cars."

"But the suit that you're wearing is Versace and you drive a Tesla."

"Okay, I used to like buying those things. But I don't need them anymore. They don't define me. I define me."

"Tony, it's getting hard to not reach over the table and kiss you."

"Then I should get the check and take you home. And I don't kiss on the first date."

The two men were too full for desert, so Tony just took Peter home. The younger man looked back at his date, this handsome older guy, just driving the Tesla, and suddenly he was overwhelmed with lust. So Pete batted his eyelashes and said in a sultry voice.

"Hey, daddy. Wanna grab your desert after dinner?"

"Peter, I'm driving, come on. Besides I thought we were clear - I'm not in this for the sex."

"The car can drive itself. And if you want to stop, just tell me."

"Look kid, as tempting as you are, I'm a bit more old-fashioned. So it's a no this time."

"Okay, I'll respect that. Just tell me when you're ready. "

Peter didn't mind waiting. He didn't mind Tony kissed him on their tenth date, he didn't mind that his daddy paid his tuition now, no more sugaring, he certainly didn't mind that their first time together was in Tony's king sized bed and not his Tesla. But he still wanted to fuck in that car, to feel his lover touching him with one hand and holding the steering wheel with the other. And soon he had the perfect opportunity.

Peter's birthday was in the summer, which meant that he and his boyfriend could have a romantic getaway, without college getting in their way. Tony, being Tony insisted on going to the Hamptons and renting out the most expensive house they could find. And for him the journey there was just as important as the trip. So that's why he was in his garage, with Peter, picking out just the right car.

"We could take the Ferrari, or the Lambo. If you want, you can even drive the Audi." Tony said.

"Remember our little ride in your Tesla on our first date?"

"You were all over me."

"Yeah. But I didn't quite get what I wanted back then, did I? So we can change that this time around."

"You wanna fuck in the Tesla, huh honey? Well there are gonna be a few rules. Rule number 1 is safety first - I know it drives itself, but we gotta be careful. Rule number 2 - we have to be discreet, I don't want a cop pulling us over. And finally rule number 3 - keep is as clean as possible."

"Okay daddy."

Peter really regretted his decision when his boyfriend woke him up at 5 am. Tony spent the first ten minutes of the trip actually driving. That's how long his resolve lasted, with Peter's lips on his neck. His babyboy's kisses were so sweet, yet needy and passionate. Tony turned the car on autopilot and moved his seat back. Peter undid his daddy's pants, stroking his exposed cock. God, it was so big. Pete knew how to handle, he knew he had to start with kitten licks, then take in more, while pumping the shaft, and add some kisses to drive Tony crazy. But his daddy also had a few tricks up his sleeve - he'd spank his babyboy's ass.

"Okay, baby, that's enough teasing for both of us. Hop on my lap."

Peter's shorts were gone in a flash and reached into the glove compartment, pulling out a small bottle of lube.

"Condom?" Tony asked

"Oops, I forgot to take one from my suitcase."

"So you prepared this little lube, put in in the car yesterday,instead of keeping it on you? And you wanna tell me you forgot to bring a condom? You practically carry them with you everywhere you go? Peter if you don't tell me the truth I'm turning this car around."

"I want you raw. Need to feel all of you inside me."

"You should've just said so, that turns me on so much. But before fucking you like the little slut you are, I'm gonna punish you."

Tony kept one hand on the steering wheel and one hand on Peter. He trailed his hand from his boyfriend's abs, down to his cock. He gave it a few pumps, before squeezing Pete's ass. 

"Mr. Stark, please."

Tony took his lubed up finger and slowly thrust them in. He started with one, teasing his lover. Then added a second, then a third. By then Peter was begging for his cock. Tony liked when his baby begged, and he liked denying him. He contemplated pulling his fingers out, leaving Peter unsatisfied. But the older man’s cock was hard against Pete’s lap. Tony poured the rest of lube of his member, and rubbed it against his boyfriend’s ass.As soon as he put it in, Peter started bouncing up and down in his lap. Mr. Stark almost came then and there, his babyboy was riding him so well. 

‘’Fuck, you’re so horny for me baby. I’m gonna fuck you so good, make you cum all over me.’

’‘’Yes daddy, you make me feel so good, so full.’’Peter wrapped his arms against his boyfriend’s neck. Tony saw that they were nearing the Hamptons, time seemed to pass fast. With about 10 minutes left until they reached their destination, he stopped fucking Peter and said.

‘’Make us both cum before we get there or you won’t cum during the whole trip.’’ Knowing that his baby loved a challenge. 

Tony sped up, the car going almost dangerously fast. In turn, Peter sped up his thrusts, clenching against Tony. He even started touching himself and soon enough he spilled his cum all over his boyfriend’s shirt. With about 5 minutes left on the clock, he doubled his efforts, while the other was still driving recklessly. 

4 minutes’ left 

Peter was kissing Tony’s neck

3 minutes’ left

He was biting down on it, leaving hickeys

2 minutes’ left

He trailed his arms up his boyfriend’s chest

60 seconds left

He could see the seconds pass on Tony’s expensive Rolex.

30 seconds left  

Peter could feel that Tony was about to cum, feeling his member twitch

10 seconds left

Tony slowed his thrusts, his rhythm lost 

5 seconds left

Tony came, his seed filling Peter up. They both felt so good, that Mr. Stark almost crashed the car. Thank God it was still on autopilot. They arrived at their Airbnb, it was still early, so no one noticed that Pete climbed off his boyfriend’s lap and get dressed. No one questioned Tony when he drove the car to the carwash immediately after setting the bags down. Everyone knew not to bother Mr. Stark and his lover, not to talk about their age gap, their relationship, the stains on their sheets. Because from that first date onwards Tony made it clear that no one fucked with him or the man who rode with him in the Tesla.   

[mendesmelancholy]

Marks - Chapter 1

A Shawn Mendes Series

Chapter 2 Synopsis: A series where Shawn meets a fan in a tattoo parlour and gets a matching tattoo with her which sparks an unexpected dynamic between two people, learning how to love regardless of their mental illnesses. Warnings: mentions of past self harm Word Count: 4k Author’s Note: I’m actually so unbelievably excited to share this series with you. A massive thank you goes to @shawnscheekscar​ who helped me figure out this idea and let me talk about my ideas and encourage them. I think this series is so important to people our age who suffer with mental illnesses on what a healthy relationship is. It is possible to be loved and to love. And I hope this series shows you that. With love, Isabella x Post A.N.: If you want to be added to the tag list, let me know!

     The last thing he expects when he walks into the tattoo parlour was for his song to be playing over the speakers. The heavy sound of the needle moving swirls with, yet contrasts against the gentle picking of the guitar flowing through the small space. He bites at his lip, trying to hide the smile so unmistakably tugging at his cheeks. He adores the tattoo artist’s sense of humour, and whilst some singers find a tattoo artist listening to their music uncanny, especially if the artist was unaware they would be early, he found it flattering and amusing.

     He unconsciously starts humming along to the end of the song, walking up to the counter and ringing the bell, placing the cardboard coffee carrier he’s holding on the counter. The music was so powerful he isn’t sure the artist could hear it, but he waits and he glances around the parlour. 

     The artist, Tony, had made a house call to his apartment in Los Angeles when Shawn was around and wanted his new ink. Now, Shawn insisted he actually came into the parlour this time, that Tony driving all the way across LA for a small tattoo was idiotic and Shawn was more than able to make time in his hectic schedule to drive to the parlour. He’s glad he did, as the parlour is spotless compared to his messy bachelor pad apartment, with a receptionist desk pushed up against the left wall and comfortable lounge chairs in a circle on the right side of the room. The walls are dark grey and the floors are gleaming white marble, contrasted by the black furniture and picture frames littered in the lobby.

     Shawn peaks down the narrow hallway, the several tiny areas sectioned off for each individual tattoo artist. He only hears one gun going along with the song slowly fading out. He glances at the clock on the wall above the desk and saw the gleaming 5:55 am. He originally figured Tony would open early for him to avoid any gawking fans or nosey people. He didn’t think there was someone before him.

     And on top of his song playing over the speakers, Shawn certainly doesn’t expect for it to loop back and start over again. That’s when he hears a small voice that doesn’t belong to Tony speak up,

     “Thank you for letting me listen to this song whilst you do this tattoo.”

     “Of course,” Tony’s hoarse voice matches his appearance. It was deep and burly - just like Tony. His entire body was covered in tattoos and his head was shaven, “You’re getting a tattoo for it. It’d be dumb if you didn’t listen to the song.”

     Shawn’s breath catches in his throat at Tony’s comment. He grasps his coffee from the carrier and cautiously steps forward, closer to the voices.

     “How’d you get his handwriting?”

     “Jenny met him at LAX and got it for me. She was waiting at the airport for me to get in and my flight had been delayed and she saw him in the queue for coffee. She had gone up to him and gotten him to write it out for me. By the time I saw her, he was gone,” she lets out a soft laugh and Tony replies, but Shawn’s brain is elsewhere.

     He wracks his brain for the memory and finds it concealed away somewhere in the corner. He remembers the girl coming up to him. He can’t remember what she looked like, other than her light brown hair and full smile. She briefly mentioned she was waiting for her friend’s flight to get in and her friend had been dying to get him to write a tattoo out for her. He didn’t think much of it as it was 4:03 am and he didn’t process the word ‘tattoo’. But, he smiled slackly, took a picture with the girl and wrote out the tattoo in Sharpie. The girl thanked him over and over again before finally answering her phone that had been vibrating ever since he started writing the lyrics on the back of a piece of paper - with what he assumed was her friend’s flight information.

     Shawn’s initial small smile he donned when he walked in the door was now a full-blown grin as he gets closer to Tony’s station. He remains silent, Tony’s glance flickering to him quickly before dropping his left eye into a small wink and turning back to the girl sitting in the tattoo chair. It clicks for Shawn then. Tony knew the girl was coming in with Shawn’s lyrics, early one morning and arranged Shawn’s appointment to be right after hers. Whether the interaction was for Shawn or the girl was unclear, but he can’t help but think Tony is a fucking genius. 

     Shawn cranes his neck to see the tattoo he’s working on. It’s on the girl’s upper right thigh, all the way at the top where her joint is. He notices the faint glow of red on her skin from the irritation of the needle and the blood Tony periodically wipes from her skin. The thick letters of his writing are permanently being embedded in her skin right before his very eyes. Also embedded in her skin are thick, white lines. Scarring, that was certainly intentional. Her tan, olive tone skin shows the white lines very clearly. Some of them are tinted with pink, suggesting they aren’t especially new, but they are the most recent ones out of the dozens, maybe even hundreds, on her legs. Shawn feels his smile dim slightly, trying to think of whether or not the lyrics he originally wrote down are being tattooed in a positive or negative light, ‘Sometimes I feel like giving up, but I just can’t - it isn’t in my blood.’

     He looks at the girl, noticing her dark, curly brown hair pulled up into a ponytail and the several piercings in her ears. Two are in her lobes with three more in her cartilage. Shawn shifts to the other wall to get a better look at the girl and the work Tony was doing. He wonders to himself if he should make his presence known or simply sip his coffee and observe and do what would be considered eavesdropping. He decides on the latter, knowing the perfect moment to introduce himself would occur when it was ready and he shouldn’t force it.

     Tony starts the word ‘like’ on her tattoo when she speaks again, in the same delicate voice she uttered in earlier, “Thanks for the other few tattoos. Sorry I’ve gotten so many today.

     “Not a problem, dear. They’re on the house anyway.”

     “No way,” her voice is quiet yet rigid, surprising Shawn slightly as she sits up, “I’m paying you.”

     "Dear-"

     Her voice is now a whisper, "No, Tony-" 

     “-It’s the least I can do,” he glances up at her with a look in his eyes and a character in his voice Shawn thinks is a mix of guilt and regret and sorrow and she pauses, sighing and settling back in her seat.

     “Okay,” she’s quiet afterward, “I’m gonna change the song.” She changes the topic as Shawn senses the unease rolling off her shoulders at what appears to be a heavy topic.

     “If you’re sure,” Tony’s voice is back to its original tone, the flicker of history gone as soon as it had appeared. The girl being in early made more sense if Tony knew her from somewhere else. He was too young for her to be her daughter and their body language was too foreign for them to be brother and sister. Shawn tries to decipher the dynamic between them when the song suddenly switches. 

     The introduction of the song seems tame, but fifteen seconds in, the guitars drop into a sequence of riffs, the drums crash and the bass threads through the speakers and scares the absolute shit out of Shawn. He yelps, the original quiet ambience of the tattoo parlour gone as the heavy rock song takes over. His coffee hits the floor with an unappealing smack, his beverage spilling all over the meticulous marble floors.

     “God damn motherfucking shit,” he swears, lurching to Tony’s metal tray next to the chair and fumbling for the roll of paper towels.

     The girl squeaks in surprise, shifting to look at the commotion as Tony stops his work and starts laughing. He switches the needle off and puts it down, handing Shawn some paper towels as he and Shawn bend down to clean up the hot coffee.

     “Goddamnit, I’m so sorry,” Shawn splutters, his cheeks heating up to a temperature that feels hotter than the coffee and keeps his head down.

     “Oh my God,” the girl whispers, recognising the curly brown hair from anywhere. She looks down at his hands to confirm her suspicions. There lays a swallow tattoo and it sends her into a spiral. Whether it was from her lack of sleep, the amount of caffeine in her blood, the pain of her tattoo or the shock of seeing the man who wrote a song that meant more to her than she could put into words - she becomes unstable. She leans back in her chair, looking at the ceiling as her mind fumbles to find a way to cope with the dizziness and anxiety that has crawled its way into her throat. 

     The steady strumming of the lone electric guitar grabs her attention and makes her listen to the song. She shuts her eyes and concentrates, “I reserve my right to feel uncomfortable, reserve my right to feel afraid, I make mistakes and I am humbled every step of the way, I want to be a better person, I wanna know the master plan, Cast your stones, cast your judgement, you don't make me who I am,” she shakily murmurs along to the lyrics of the song, trying to steady the pounding of her heart and the fuzziness in her head. The lyrics repeat in the song and she follows, eventually, the melody coaxing her out of her head and into a calm state.

     Shawn doesn’t hear her mumbling to herself or even notice she recognises him, as he’s down on his hands and knees, soaking up the coffee as Tony laughs at the fright. Tony helps, not saying a word to Shawn as he throws the soaked paper towels in the bin, holding out a hand to Shawn so he can throw Shawn’s away as well. Shawn gives him a sheepish smile, walking around the chair, glancing at the girl with her eyes closed and immediately panics,

     “Are you okay? Are you hurt?” He asks hurriedly. The girl’s eyes snap open and she takes a sharp breath at his proximity. It takes her a moment, but she answers with an exhale,

     “Yeah, I’m good.” She runs her hand through her hair, giving him a weak smile. He nods, reading the anxiety on her face with ease as he understands the look well. A look he’s all too familiar with when he would look in the mirror. He turns away, giving her space as he turns to the small sink on the counter of Tony’s station. Next to the sink is a neat array of ink pigments, unopened needles and transfer paper. His station is just as meticulous as the lobby.

     When Shawn finishes washing his hands, he dries them off on his jeans, turning back to the girl who had been observing him. She doesn’t blush, but rather offers him a small smile,

     “Sorry, I’m not usually this anxious.”

     “I understand, honey,” he says, pointing to the empty seat in the corner of the room, behind Tony who’s changed his gloves and picked up the tattoo gun again. She nods in confirmation and Shawn notices the song switching to something still rock, but not quite as startling.

     “Hey, it’ll be a while longer,” Tony mentions to Shawn who takes a seat and looks at the girl. He notices her eyes, which are several shades darker than his, and the sunspots that decorate her sun-kissed cheeks. Her lips are rosy and plump, her upper teeth dug into her bottom lip as Tony presses the needle back into her skin. Shawn watches as Tony continues his work, fixated on the way his words are being inked into this girl’s skin, for the rest of her life.

     “That was nice of your friend,” Shawn finally states, looking up at the girl who makes eye contact with him at the sound of his voice. She sends him a small smile, grimacing a little as Tony’s needle moves closer to her inner thighs, the tender skin despising the pinch of the needle, 

     “Hey, it’s okay,” Shawn coos, getting up and pushing his chair closer to hers. He sits in his chair, laying a hand on hers which is gripping the edge of the tattoo chair.

     “Told you it’d be sensitive,” Tony grunts, trying to move quickly, but accurately so he can start the line beneath it and move from the fragile space.

     “Shut up, Tony,” she replies quietly and Shawn laughs. Tony rolls his eyes in a light-hearted manner, continuing his work.

     “You can hold my hand if you want,” Shawn tells her and she looks at him, nervous and unsure if he’s being serious. He nudges her hand with his and holds out his palm for her to take if she wants. She slowly nods and moves her hand from the death grip on the leather seat to the soft hand held out to her. Her hand is much more petite than his as she threads her fingers in between his. He nods encouragingly at her, ignoring the tickle in his stomach, while she relaxes and drops her head back against the chair.

      “Thank you,” she sighs.

     “My pleasure.” His touch seems to relax her, her shoulders releasing themselves from the tight position that hugged her neck. She rolls her head to the side to look at Shawn,

     “I’m also pretty good with pain.”

     “This is the most reaction I’ve ever seen out of you,” Tony comments, finishing the comma after ‘up’ and moving to the outer part of her thigh where the ‘but’ is stencilled under the freshly tattooed ‘sometimes’. She audibly lets out a groan of relief, her grip on Shawn’s hand lightening, but not completely letting go.

     “It’s also 6 am, you’re allowed to be all of these things,” Shawn’s voice eases over her pain and anxiety like butter and she nearly melts at the tone. Her rough exterior which usually occupies her face and posture is gone, the exhaustion and pain catching up to her and letting her put her guard down. The girl who claims to have a stern voice and high pain tolerance is gone and replaced with the anxious, tired girl who’s having a hard time with this tattoo. Whether it was Shawn startling her that set her nerves ablaze, the change of a heavy song to a smooth song or the exhaustion catching up to her was not certain, he just hopes she was okay and comfortable.

     “Thank you,” she yawns, closing her eyes as her small nose scrunches and the silent movement of her mouth takes over her features. He feels her arms tense slightly and her shoulders raise, but she relaxes them and settles back in her seat.

     “Of course, honey,” Shawn coos, gently rubbing his thumb across the back of her hand.

     “What are you getting done today?” She asks, trying to create a conversation. Shawn notices the delicate nature of her voice, a soft, silky tone that seems to suit her small stature, but powerful presence.

     “A butterfly… I’ve always wanted one,” he admits.

     “Can I see a picture?”

     “Of course, darling,” Shawn adds another pet name and it makes her cheeks flush, but Shawn doesn’t notice. His gaze turns towards his phone, his left hand never leaving hers. She looks at him with interest, noticing the small things like his hair being free of product, his curls sticking every which way. His cheeks are flushed from she assumes was exhaustion, but what she didn’t know, it was really from the warmth of her fingers between his. He sports a worn, salmon jumper and black sweatpants, which both seem to fit him perfectly and swallow him whole. His normalcy at 6 am is comforting.

     When he finds the picture, he turns the phone to show the girl with curious eyes. Her face seems to light up, looking at the design,

     “Oh my god, you’re getting it?”

     Shawn chuckles, locking his phone and shoving it into his jumper, “Yeah.”

     “I think it looks fantastic, honestly,” she says, a little accent to her voice.

     “Where are you from?” He asks suddenly. She’s surprised at his attention to her broken tone.

     “I was born in America. I live in London for school and come back to America for the summer. Right now I’m doing a paid internship in New York.”

     “That’s incredible,” Shawn admires, watching her plump lips move. They glisten in the fluorescent lights of the tattoo parlour and he can’t help but wonder what they taste like.

     “Yeah, I love it in London, but I wouldn’t trade my internship for the world,” she smiles, glancing down briefly at the tattoo Tony was working on. Shawn follows her gaze, not daring to look any further up her, what seems like, silky skin. His eyes flicker over the scarring as they had earlier, noticing how deep most of them went. She notices his eyes trailing along with the scars,

     “This might be oversharing,” she starts, reaching over to the countertop where her coffee cup lays, almost as if she’s trying to distract herself, “But, the lyrics, kind of relate to those.” Shawn blushes at being caught staring at something so incredibly personal. He thinks he wouldn’t have ever known they were there if she wasn’t getting her tattoo on her leg, so why is he mindlessly staring at them?

     Her voice takes him out of his thoughts, “If you’d care to-”

     “-Of course,” he looks into her eyes and they’re warm and calm and seemingly open to sharing.

     “Well, the scars kind of represent how badly I wanted to end things, even though I didn’t have the courage,” she takes a deep breath, sipping at the coffee still in her hand, “But, I didn’t. I felt like giving up, but I couldn’t. And I got through it.”

     Shawn’s watching the way her eyes never leave his or show any sort of pain as she explains her thought process. There’s no pain from the tattoo or pain in her eyes. The peace remains and Shawn can’t help but feel completely and utterly at ease in her presence.

     “Yes, you did,” Shawn reassures her and she gives him a small smile. It’s so unbelievably genuine.

     “What’s the butterfly for?” She pries, taking the topic off herself again. Shawn quickly wonders to himself if she doesn’t like talking about herself. Or anything about her past. Her vague answers shed enough light on why she was getting the tattoo, but not what she went through which inspired her to get the tattoo. And Shawn thinks maybe she changed the subject so he wouldn’t have a chance to ask.

     “I’ve always had a fascination with them,” he admits, “They’re so delicate and beautiful in this incredibly dark world and I kind of want to get it as a reminder to stay positive and beautiful in dark times.”

     “That’s beautiful,” she admits, looking at the swallow on his hand and the guitar-shaped landscape on his arm. He takes a second to glance at her exposed skin for other tattoos. He notices a small satellite on the side of her left knee, wrapped in the tattoo bandage. His eyes follow the skin of her arm, noticing a healed tattoo on her left wrist, a new tattoo on her left forearm and another new tattoo on her inner bicep. The simple admiration of other artists work and the thought process of either of them is evident as silence takes over them, the details becoming evident to one another as they look at the swirling designs of ink.

     “You’re going in today, aren’t you?” Shawn teases quietly, already knowing the answer, trying to lighten the mood and match hers. She looks into his eyes, a certain emotion passing briefly, a flicker Shawn wants to stop and take a better look at. Her lips pull into a crooked smile instead of her small one,

     “Yeah. I’ve been saving up for ages. I just have a lot of ideas for tiny tattoos.”

     “She’s got a great mind on ‘er,” he comments, wiping away the blood around the word ‘can’t’ and starting the small dash before the words ‘it isn’t in my blood’ which are darker than the rest. She seems to blush at his words, ducking her head at the compliment. Shawn can sense her timidness and wants her to feel as comfortable as he does, so he changes the subject,

     “What other ones did you get today?”

     “Three. They’re all tiny. I got a 7 underneath next to my underarm, a rejection slip on my left calf and a ‘xo’ on my right upper calf in the corner.”

     “I like the placements,” Shawn comments, his eyes flickering to the places she mentioned. He can’t see the actual tattoo, but he can see the wrap around them. So, he looks at the girl in front of him, looking into her eyes which swirl with stories and history and emotions and thoughts and Shawn finds himself wanting to know all of them and he finds himself blurting out, “How about one more?”

     “Huh?” She asks, her head tilting to the side slightly.

     Shawn surprises himself at his own words, “I want to get a tattoo with you.”

     “You want to what?” Her voice squeaks. Shawn’s brain begins working a mile a minute at his impulse decision. A small bit of anxiety crawls in his throat at the sudden decision, as he always has to be one hundred per cent sure he wants a tattoo before he gets it, but something in his heart is telling him this idea is perfect, 

     “Well actually, not a new one, but... I think I want a second one today. And I need your help.” She’s watching with pure astonishment as she can see the gears turning in Shawn’s head. His eyes begin to squint and little wrinkles make crevices in his forehead as he thinks. He licks his lips, coming to rub at his lips with his thumb and forefinger, but never removing his hand from her.

     “How would you want to write out some lyrics for me, from ‘Something Big’?” He suggests, his voice slightly nervous whilst looking at the lyrics being tattooed on her leg. He would get the same placement, with different lyrics, in her handwriting. No matter where he would go, he would remember that his music helps people and that people relate to it. And he’d always remember the girl who got his handwriting permanently added to her skin.

     “You want my handwriting on you?”

     “Yeah,” Shawn replies, his voice more sure of his decision, “I want your handwriting on me.” He emphasises the same words she did.

     “Are you sure?” She asks, her voice small and timid as she asks the man she relates to more than she was willing to admit if he wants her handwriting on his skin forever, “I don’t want you to make an impulse decision.”

     “Do you believe in fate?” He asks her abruptly. Her brows furrow but she nods, “This feels like fate is screaming at me. Like, this is what I’m supposed to do,” he runs his fingers through his hair, his grip on her hand tightening slightly, “I can’t even describe it.”

     She brushes her lips with her tongue, watching him with uncertainty before looking at Tony. Tony is finishing the last word on her tattoo, nodding his head, encouraging her.

     “Okay. I’ll do it.”

[sambergscott]

queen of clean

actually managed to finish an entire fic!!! and i don’t completely hate it!!! what is this wizardry

Jake Peralta is an inherently messy person.

When he was a kid, his bedroom was a mess. His mom was always too busy working and dealing with the side effects of marrying a selfish, drunken slut to care and as a result, he never cleaned it up. When he finally got his own place, his bad childhood habits stuck. Clothes lived on the floor, dishes were never washed, shelves and drawers and cupboards accumulated clutter. He wasn’t any better at work; Holt once compared his locker to a Philippine garbage dump and Algernon the mouse was a frequent guest at Hotel Peralta, located in his desk drawer.

In a weird twist of fate, he ended up marrying Amy Santiago - the Queen of Clean.

Moving in with her was amazing and he’d never been happier, but it had also been a sharp learning curve. He was suddenly making his bed every morning (even though he just messed it up again every night #pointless), washing dishes after every meal and she helped him declutter Marie Kondo stylez. She has made him a better person in every way.

Unfortunately, with their jobs, they often work crazy long hours and bad habits sometimes creep back in.

Amy’s away and he’s been pulling double shifts all week and when he gets home all he wants to do is order Chinese food, Facetime his wife and fall asleep on the sofa in front of Property Brothers. Tiredness, missing Amy and being an inherently messy person are not conducive factors to a tidy, clean home. And, of course, he doesn’t realise just how bad he’s let it get until two hours before she comes home.

And it’s really bad. Even for his standards.

The laundry basket is overflowing. The bed has not been made all week. The kitchen is... Actually, he doesn’t even want to think about what state the kitchen is in. Talk about a Philippine garbage dump.

If Amy came home to this, she would flip. And probably immediately start cleaning it up. After a stressful week helping out her dad post- knee surgery and the always anxiety-inducing affair of travelling on her own, the least she deserves is food, cuddles and to come home to a clean apartment.

He changes into more comfortable clothes, switches on Lover and retrieves Amy’s cleaning kit from underneath the sink.

He starts with their bedroom and making their bed. He pulls the sheets over, smooths them out with his hand and styles with the decorative pillows Amy loves. It doesn’t look as neat as when they do it together, but it’s fine. It’ll do. He picks up his excess socks from all over the floor and empties the laundry basket into the washing machine. He throws all the chocolate wrappers from his bedside table away, wipes down the surfaces with Amy’s homemade cleaner and hoovers the floor.

Next, he moves onto the bathroom. He cleans the toilet, bath, sink and mirror and sprays some air freshener to make it smell nice.

Making excellent time, he begins to tackle the disaster zone that is the kitchen. A stack of pizza boxes and bottles of beer go in the recycling, he washes all the dirty plates and cups that are stained with coffee and tidies everything away into its appropriate cupboard or drawer.

That’s when Taylor is rudely interrupted by a text popping up on his phone.

AMY SANTIAGO, 17.57:

Babe!!! Great news!!! I managed to get on an earlier flight! David has just picked me up from the airport. I can’t wait to see you ❤️

“Shit,” he curses, looking around at how much more he has to do before quickly typing a response.

JAKE PERALTA, 17.58:

Can’t wait to see you either, Ames 😘

Picking up the pace, he cleans all the kitchen counters and the oven and also the floor and rushes round the rest of the apartment opening the windows, suddenly remembering that is something his wife likes to do. He straightens the dining chairs, cleans the table, and dusts some of Amy’s ornaments.

Moving onto the living room, he kind of regrets leaving it until last. It’s a total mess. Fortunately, he’s on a roll and it’s pretty easy to fix. He puts all the empty wrappers in the trash and cleans an extra coffee mug he forgot about (he drinks a lot of coffee, OK?). He dusts the TV, waters the plants and hoovers the floor. He’s plumping the final cushion when she opens the front door.

“You’re home,” he says dumbly before she crashes into his arms, hugging him as tight as she can.

“Now I’m home,” she responds, making him blush. She started referring to him as her home soon after they moved in together and, yeah, it’s cheesy, and, yeah, Rosa ripped into them when she overhead them say it one time, but it is true. She makes him feel safe and comfortable and vice versa.

“I missed you.” He kisses her. “So, so much.” He kisses her again. “Wait, how’s my best friend Victor?”

“He’s fine, just a little sore. And don’t let Charles hear you say that.”

“He’s probably had our apartment bugged for years,” Jake shrugs.

Amy scrunches up her nose in disgust. “That actually sounds like something he would do.” His actual best friend is obsessed with their private life. Like, obsessed obsessed. There are hundreds, if not thousands of examples, but just this week when Jake was Facetiming her at his desk, Charles popped up in the background to check whether she’d got her period yet.

(They’re trying for a baby).

(Jake was so excited when they finally decided to start that he accidentally spilled the beans to a delighted Charles).

(His obsession with her reproductive system at an all time high, he constantly recommends the best sex positions for conception, foods she should be eating and names for their future, although hopefully-not-too far-in-the-future, baby).

(Neither of them want to know how he’s suddenly started tracking her cycle).

“Speaking of the apartment,” Jake swiftly changes the subject, “what do you think?”

Using her finely honed detective skills, she clocks the neatly plumped cushions, the sparkling countertops and the lack of takeaway boxes anywhere. Her eyes water as she looks back at him. “You cleaned?”

“Yep,” he grins. “The entire apartment. Well, all the rooms I’d messed up. I didn’t go anywhere near your books, I promise.”

“Babe, it looks amazing,” she says, genuinely impressed and, to be honest, a little turned on.

“You should see the bedroom,” he lowers his voice into what he thinks is a sexy voice, kind of ruining the moment.

She rolls her eyes, following him into the bedroom anyway. Making the bed is a huge source of contention in their relationship and by the look on her face, she’s thrilled that he’s done that too.

“I even arranged your one thousand pillows,” he brags.

“Thank you,” she whispers, looking around the room in amazement. It never looks this tidy. There is always an errant sock or two on his side of the room, but the floor is 100% sock free. It’s beautiful. “I can’t believe you did all this for me.”

 “I love you. And this place was kind of a mess without you. I’m kind of a mess without you. But you’ve had a hard week and you deserve to come home to a nice apartment.”

“I love you so much, Jake Peralta,” she declares, grabbing his face and kissing him, pouring every ounce of love and gratitude into it.

When they eventually pull apart, he has a dopey smile on his face. “Maybe I should quit my job and become a full-time cleaner if you’re gonna kiss me like that.”

“You’re a dork,” she replies, punctuating her sentence with another kiss. She suddenly gasps. “Did you clean the bathroom as well?”

“Baby, I cleaned the whole damn thing. Toilet, bath, sink and floor. I even folded the toilet roll into a point at the end.”

“Oh my God. That’s the sexiest thing you’ve ever said.”

“That’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever said?” He blanches. His game must be way worse than he thought. 

“Mm-hmm,” she hums. “What other sexy things can you say?”

He quickly searches his brain for something cleaning related that his wife would find sexy. “I... uhhh... vacuumed?” He says awkwardly. “And I, um, put the laundry on.”

She gives him an encouraging nod. “Tell me more.”

“I separated the whites and darks,” he plays along. “I put it on a cold wash to save the environment. I didn’t drop any socks on the way there.”

“Ohhh, mama...”

He’s always been a messy person, but if sex is the reward for tidying their apartment, he’s for sure going to do it more often. If she’s the Queen of Clean, he’s going to be her King.